#(side note tried a fic for that and uh...yeah no- to- to many episodes) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pascalscenarios · 4 years ago

Text

THE ONE (Frankie Morales x Reader)

THE ONE

Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You wake up at Frankie’s house. You spend the day with him, only for things to be finally revealed.

Warning: Swearing

Words: 4552

Authors Note: Whew... You guys aren’t ready for this one...Ahhh!!! Also I just want to say thank you so much for reading my fic. It means so much to me! Enjoy - k

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5

Chapter 5

The sunlight peeked through the window, shining down on the bed. Your hair was a mess, sprawled out and disheveled as your head rested against pillows. A white comforter covered your body. You slowly open your eyes to an unfamiliar bedroom. You should have felt scared or panicked when waking up in a stranger's bed, but you felt safe.

You could smell him on the sheets, it was Frankie's bed. You were at Frankie's house.

You laid there trying to remember the events from last night. You were partying with your friends in the club and somehow you ended up with Frankie? Your memories were blurred, only remembering bits and pieces.

You sit up in the bed, your head pounding. Looking down you noticed you were wearing an oversized grey shirt and sweatpants. These definitely weren’t the clothes you wore last night.

You look over to the nightstand to find two Advils and a tall glass of water. You pull the covers off from your body, tossing your legs off the side of the bed. You pop the pills in your mouth and chug down the water.

With the glass in your hand, you get up and walk over and open the bedroom door. The door led to a hallway with multiple other doors. Towards the end of the hall was a large opening, you assumed it was the living room because you heard that the tv was on.

Your feet padded against the wooden floors as you made your way to the living room. The local news was playing on the tv.

“Looks like sleeping beauty decided to wake.”

You gasped. Startled, you turn around to find Frankie leaning against the kitchen counter with a coffee mug in his hand.

“H-hi” you stuttered out.

“Good morning.”

Awkwardness and silence filled the air like usual.

You slowly walk into the kitchen, passing him to get to the sink. You set the glass down in the stainless steel tub and turn to face him. He was staring at you while sipping his coffee, waiting for you to say something.

You stared down at your fingers as you fiddled with them. “Frankie..”

You swear he could read your mind because he started explaining everything that happened last night. He knew you were most likely confused as to why you were at his house.

“You called me last night drunk.” He says placing his coffee mug down on the counter. “You were lost and didn’t know where you were. I’m pretty sure you meant to call Alex, but somehow you called me? I came to pick you up, took you to eat at Dolly's. I was going to take you home, but I don’t know where you live and you were sleeping, so I brought you back to my place.” He explains running his hands through his moppy curls.

“I gave you clothes for you to change into, you took a shower, and slept in my bed. I took the couch.” He motions his head in the direction of the living room.

You look over, seeing a pillow and blanket bunched up on the couch.

“You know I would never-”

“I know, Frankie.” You tell him softly. “I trust you. I always have.” Your heart wrenched. The fact he drove all the way into the city in the early hours of the morning and took care of you meant a lot to you. It was proof that despite what happened between you two, he would always be there for you.

“So… “ He says trying to change the subject. “How’d you get my number?”

God this was going to be embarrassing.

Your face started to turn red as you spoke “Santiago gave it to me. I told him once a couple of years ago I wanted to call you. I’ve tried many times to press call under your name, but I always got scared and chickened out.” you confessed.

“Funny, I did the same thing too, asking him for your number, but never calling.” He chuckled, folding his arms against his chest.

“Huh...you know for the past 10 years I thought you’d never think of me again after that night.” You say you continued to fiddle with your fingers.

“I thought about you every day since then, Smiles. You were always on my mind...you still are.”

You glance up at him. Your heart was beating against your chest at his statement.

You both make eye contact. God, those gorgeous brown eyes that always made you melt. You were a sucker for his eyes, they were captivating. You could always read him from the look in his eyes. His eyes were sorrowful, but also longing.

You quickly divert your eyes breaking you from the trance you were in. What are you doing?! You’re going to get married! You can’t be thinking so deeply about someone else, let alone someone being your ex-boyfriend. Snap out of it!

“So why are your plans for the day?” Making conversation and acting like you guys didn’t have a moment just then. You walked past him and went to go sit on his couch.

“Uh, I don’t know.” He says trailing off, following you, plopping himself down on the opposite side of the couch, giving you some space.

“I was gonna drop you off at home whenever you are ready then go fishing out on the lake for a bit” he picks up the remote and starts flipping through the channels. He stops when he notices Star Wars: Episode IV: A New Hope is airing on tv.

You didn’t want to go home just yet. A few weeks ago you were dead set on avoiding Frankie, but something changed. You wanted to be in his company and spend time with him, at least for today.

“Can I go with you?” you asked.

“Go with me?” He sounded confused.

“Yeah...I mean like spend the day with you...go fishing?”

“You’re hungover and want to go fishing...with me…?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Um...yeah?”

“Don’t you wanna go home?”

“I mean if you want me to leave I can-”

“No!” he said a little too quickly. He clears his throat. “No, you can stay as long as you want, it's just” he stops. “Several weeks ago you were pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with me. You said things between us weren’t fine, we weren’t on friendly terms, and for me to stop wedging my way into your life.”

“I mean it’s a little too late for that now, you managed to crack your way in.” You sighed.

“Have I?”

“You were always a constant in my life until you weren't. You were the closest person to me besides Santiago. So naturally for me, as much as I want to push you away, I’m also drawn to you... You’re familiar. Since you came back into my life, you’ve been on my mind a lot lately..” you opened up to him.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I don’t know... That I’ve missed you, despite everything. Think it would be therapeutic for us to talk and hang out for a day.”

Frankie stayed silent.

“Okay,” he nods, giving you a small smile.

…

You were getting ready to leave with Frankie. You didn’t have anything else to wear, so you decided to just continue wearing his shirt and sweats. It was that or the outfit you wore last night. You patiently waited for Frankie in the living room as he gathered things he needed. You walked over to the front door, grabbing your bag that sat on the small. You reached into your bag pulling your phone out.

Your phone had TONS of text messages and missed calls from your friends and Alex. Your finger sliced against your phone screen noting the long list of notification banners. They had no idea what happened to you last night or where you were. They were worried, thinking the worst possible things that could have happened to you.

You opened your phone, pressing the call icon. Looking at your call log, you noticed you did call Frankie last night. Shaking your head, you clicked contacts, and pressed on Alex’s name. You pressed the phone against your ear.

The call picked up

“Alex-”

“THANK GOD! Where are you?! Are you okay?! The girls were looking for you all night, I was so close to calling the cops! I thought something terrible happened to you!” Alex was worried.

“I’m sorry, I got lost, but I’m fine,” you reassured them.

“Let me come get you, where-”

“Actually, I’m not coming home yet…”

“What? Why? What's wrong?” Alex asked, he thought you were being suspicious.

“I just need time alone…” You lied. I mean you did want to be alone... but with Frankie.

“Time alone? What I’m confu-”

“Alex, I promise you fine. I’m safe….I just need to be alone right now. I’ll explain everything later. I love you. I gotta go”

“Wait-”

You quickly hang up the phone and put your phone back in the bag.

You put your phone back in the bag. You didn’t want to tell him what happened over the phone. It was better to tell him everything in person. You’re debating if you wanted to tell him you were hanging out with Frankie. What he doesn’t know wouldn’t kill the right?

You decided to walk around the room, looking at the various knick-knacks and miscellaneous items Frankie had displayed on his shelves. There were photos of Frankie with his friends and family members, people you recognized. A framed photo caught your eyes. It was a child's painting, with various bright colors brushed on the sheet. In the middle was a handprint of a small child, and one of a grown person.

You continue to walk around the room when you accidentally step on something. You lift your foot, noticing a sterling silver ring on the ground. It was a dainty ring of a crescent moon.

Girlfriend, you thought. You remember him talking to someone on the phone the night with Santiago. It had to be a girlfriend. He has a girlfriend and he brought you home while you were drunk? That’s not good. Yet again you are engaged and here you are spending time with your ex-boyfriend.

But nothing was gonna happen with Frankie. You both hand significant others. You guys were friends… Well sorta. You weren’t sure what to call this relationship.

“You ready?”

You look at him. He was wearing his hat, shirt, jeans, boots, and a backpack hanging off one shoulder. He was also wearing a fisher vest, which made you giggle slightly. Frankie was always a nature boy.

“Yeah.”

“What’s that?” He asks nothing you holding the ring in your hand

“Um, a ring. I found it on the carpet.” You say walking over and handing it to him.

He signs. “I swear she leaves everything everywhere...” he mumbles under his breath, but you couldn’t hear what he said because it was so quiet. He sets the ring on the coffee table.

“Alright let's go,” he says.

…

The lake was peaceful. The water slowly moved. Nothing but sounds of nature. It was calming and relaxing. You and Frankie sat in a small boat out in the middle of the lake. Frankie placed a worm to hook his fishing rod. He stood up, casting his line far out, then sat back down.

You sat there with a fishing rod in your hand patiently for something to bite.

“It’s nice today.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You must love it out here. This is very you.” You chuckle slightly.

“I try to come when I can. They have a camping site, so I’ll come out on a weekend and camp sometimes.”

“Usually I’ll come here to think.”

“Think about what?”

He shrugged, reeling in his line slightly. “It depends. Sometimes I’ll come to think about stuff like what's going on in my life. Sometimes I’ll think about the past.”

Silence fell between the two of you.

“Hey, Frankie…”

“Yeah?”

“The questions I ask you today, can you be open and answer them honestly? I know that might be asking a lot but-”

“Okay…”

“Really?” You were a bit surprised. I mean he had been honest with you, but only really scratching the surface. You wanted to dig deeper.

“Only if you do the same.”

“Deal.” You smile. “ Did ever come out here to think about me?”

“Plenty of times, Smiles.”

“So, when did you get discharged from the military? I remember you telling Alex you fly cargo?”

“I got discharged a little while after I left. I got my pilot's license suspended for a bit. I managed to get it back and started piloting for a cargo company about 5 years ago.” He reeled him his line, then stood out to cast it again.

“Did you ever get that job you wanted, the one at the magazine company?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good for you. I knew you could do it. I remember you being so nervous when you did your interview.”

You chuckle slightly at the memory. “Yeah, it was such a mess then, but apparently liked me. It’s a great job. It’s funny actually, Alex’s tech company is in the same building. Our mutual friend introduced us to each other. We were friends for a while, then started dating two years ago.”

You were curious about his girlfriend. He never mentioned her. I mean the phone call at Santiagos and the ring at his house, he had to have a girlfriend.

“How about you? How long have you and your girlfriend been together?”

“My what? Girlfriend? I don’t-”

“Woah!” You said as you jolted forward your hands gripping your fishing pole. You quickly stand up as the fish keeps tugging aggressively on the end line.

“Reel it in Smiles!”

You pull up on the rod as you quickly cranked the reel handle.

“Oh my gosh!” You laugh trying your hardest to reel in the fish.

“Come on, keep going you go!” Frankie cheered you on.

You reeled the last of your line. The fish flew out of the water as you helped the fishing rod up high.

“Alright Smiles!” Frankie laughed as he set his fishing rod into a holder, he stood up quickly and grabbed your line, holding the fish up. You had caught a Bass.

“This one's pretty big!” Frankie grabbed the fish from the bottom of its amount as he unhooked the fish from the line.

“You wanna hold it?” he extends the fish towards you.

“No way! I’m not touching that!” you say moving your body away.

“Come on smiles, you gotta hold a fish you caught!” He says bring the Bass closer to you.

“Frankie! No! Stop!” you protested as you turned away.

“Give your hands,” he says holding his hand out.

“Frankie...”

“Come on, it’s just a fish.”

You sigh holding your hands out. Frankie placed the Bass in your hands. You slightly squeeze its body, making sure you have a grip on the fish. The was Bass was cold, the scales poked the palms of your hands slightly, and it felt slimy.

“See, not so bad!”

The fish began to move, wiggling back and forth in your hand. You let out a yelp, letting out a shriek as you quickly give it back to Frankie.

Frankie busts out laughing as he takes it from your hands.

“That’s not funny!” You shove him as you laughed slightly.

“Stop being such a wimp! It’s just a fish!” He chuckles.

“I told you I didn’t want to hold it!”

“How about you give it a kiss then?” He moves it towards you.

“Stop it! Frankie!”

“It wants a kiss, Smiles, do leave it hanging!” as he tries to get the fish as close to your face as possible.

“Give me a smooch!” he animates his voice, pretending the fish is talking to you.

“NO! Frankie Stop!” You shriek. Frankie gets closer to you, shoving the fish in the face. You reacted by pushing him, Frankie lost his balance and ended up falling over the side of the boat into the lake.

You gasp, your hands flying over your mouth. You kneel on the bench, leaning over the side of the boat.

Frankie’s head pops up out of the water, his Standard Oil Heating hat on his head.

“Frankie are you alright?!”

He takes of his hat, tossing it the boat. He shakes his head, getting so water out and hair out of his eyes, then takes his hands slicking his hair back so he could see.

“Yeah I’m fine, I wasn't expecting to go for a swim though” he laughs as he treads water.

“Here let me help you up” you extend out your hand for him to grab. He takes your hand but you immediately regret it after seeing the mischievous look on his face. You let out a yelp as Frankie yanked you in, flipping over the side of the boat into the water.

Your body hit the water, you come up with the bubbles gasping for air. Frankie is laughing as he treads beside you.

“Now we’re even!”

‘You punk! You did that on purpose! Meanwhile, I accidentally shoved you in!” you slick your hair back out of your face. You splash water in his face.

“Two can play at that game!” he splashes you back.

You swim over to him, placing your hands on his shoulder, then pushing down on him, submerging you both underwater.

Underwater, he grabs a hold of your waist pulling your body close to his. Coming back up you're both laughing, his arms wrap around your body, as your arms wrapped around his neck.

Your guys’ laughs subside as you stare at each other. You take your hand moving a piece of Frankie's hair, out of his face and swipe it to the side. Your heart was beating fast, as you both started to lean in for a kiss. Your nose touches, but you learn your head down, pulling always from him. Swimming back to distance yourself from him.

“I-I think you should take me home now…please...” you whispered.

“Okay…” was all he said. You two swam towards the boat. Frankie got back up first, then helped. He turned on the boat and stirred back to the dock.

…

You both were dripping wet, but Frankie managed to pack extra clothes. You changed behind some bushes into a very large and long shirt that went past your knee. Frankie changed into a plain t-shirt and jeans.

After changing in new clothes and packing things up, you guys headed on the road, Frankie driving you home.

It was silent in the car. Neither of you has anything to say. You had an ongoing battle raging inside of you. You couldn’t believe you almost kissed Frankie, but part of you wanted to. You were so confused about how you felt. You needed to go home and truly be alone to think things over.

“I’m sorry-” You both say at the same time.

You both sign.

“I shouldn’t have leaned in like that-”

“It wasn’t just you Frankie...It was me as well. I should have known better.”

“-Nothing happened.”

“But something almost did, Frankie.”

“So what is this? What are we?”

“We’re not anything Frankie”

“Bullshit and you know that! We may not be together anymore, but we’ve got history. We’re connected. Stop denying how you feel” he snaps at you.

“I don't feel anything, Frankie! You don’t know how I’m feeling! I’m getting MARRIED! MARRIED!” you reminded him.

You huffed, your arms crossed against your chest. You wanted to open but the car door and roll out. You both sat in silence for a good 20 minutes, only speaking when you were giving him directions to how to get to your house you were almost home. You both had cooled off from the argument, but the tension was still high in the air.

As you sat in the passage side of the truck, you noticed something. “Who’s this?” You asked, staring at a polaroid picture that was tapped on his dashboard. You only noticed the photo until now.

Frankie closed his eyes for a split second and deeply sighed. He thought about what you said earlier ‘The questions I ask you today, can you be open and answer them honestly’. He made a deal with you, he had to keep his word. He had to come clean and make things right with you.

You peel the photo off the dash to examine it better. The photo was of a young teenage girl laughing as she smiled. She was outdoors sitting on a log in front of a campfire. Her hands wrapped around a stick with a marshmallow at the end. Behind her, there was a tent pitched up, woods, a lake, and an orange sunset sky that made up the rest of the backdrop.

“That’s my daughter.”

You stopped fidgeting with the photo. You quickly turn your gaze towards him. He didn’t look at you, he stared at the road ahead, his hands placed at the bottom of the steering wheel. You examined the photo some more. This girl had Frankie written all over her. The girl wore his Standard Heating Oil hat and the way her eyes squinted as she laughed was exactly like Frankie.

He didn’t have to tell you because you knew. It clicked. This was it. The answer you’ve been dying to know for years. She was the reason why he left you. Your eyes began to well up with tears. So many thoughts were circling in your head. You were rendered speechless. You had so much you wanted to say but didn’t know where to start. You didn’t know how to feel. You felt overwhelmed.

You kept your eyes on the photo.

“2005, our first break up. When the long-distance wasn’t working when I was stationed halfway across the country.” He began to say. He paused for a moment. “I dated someone for a few months after we broke up, but it didn’t work out with them. A little while after, we got back together. I had no idea she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me. I didn’t find out until she passed away in an accident. I was contacted, they told me I had a 5-year-old daughter and if I wanted to care for her I needed to do a whole bunch of legal stuff to gain sole custody. If I didn't, she would have gone into the foster care system. The night I left you, that’s where I went. I drove across the country to get her.”

You stuck the photo back on the dashboard, then turned to look out the window, watching the tree fly by as he drove down the highway.

“What’s her name?” you asked.

“Lilah...She’s fifteen.”

It was silent in the truck. Frankie said nothing more letting you take in everything.

You sat there thinking about what he told you. You put yourself in his shoes, imagining if you were in his situation at the time.

“I’m not even mad.” You admitted.

“Y-you’re not?”

“I’m more hurt than I am mad, Frankie.” Tears rolled down your face. “I don’t blame you for what you did. You have a daughter and that was your priority. It was important for you to get to know her, take care of her and be her dad.” Your lips began to tremble more tears spilled from your eyes. “I’m just hurt at the fact you didn’t think you could tell me. God, Frankie you should have told me!”

“I was scared! I-I was so scared to tell you! I didn’t know what you were going to think or say! I was afraid you would’ve wanted nothing to do with me after you found out I had a kid with someone else! O-or what if you didn’t want to raise her with me?! It was easier for me to leave you before you did it to me!”

“Frankie, you think I’m THAT terrible of a person? Do you really think I would have walked out on you if you told me? I told you that night, whatever it was, I would have worked it out with you! You had a daughter for crying out loud! Yes, I admit I would have been taken back and shocked, but I would have supported you! I would have raised her and loved her my very own. There's no way I would have turned her away, she half you of you, Frankie.”

“If-If I could go back a-and change things that happened between us, how I ended things-” his voice was shaking, stuttering as he spoke.

“But you can’t Frankie! You can’t change the past! What you did was done, and you’re going to have to live with that! You’re going to have to face the fact I’m getting married! What happened, happened, We just have to let it go...We both have to move on and let each other go”

By the time you said that Frankie pulled up in your driveway, parking his truck. You quickly grab your bag and hop out, closing the door.

“Smiles!” He yelled after you, getting out of his truck, and shutting the door.

You were walking up the walkway when he grabbed your arm. “Smiles-”

“DON’T touch me!” You snapped at him.

“We’re not done talking!”

“There’s nothing to talk about! Leave! Just get out of here!” you cried. You were feeling so many different emotions, you were confused about how you felt, you just wanted him to go so you could be alone. You turn away, walking to your door.

“I love you!” he shouted

Your eyes widen, whipping around quickly. “NO! You don’t get to say that! Not now! What do you want me to say? What the fuck do you expect me to say?! That I love you back?! I can’t! I can’t say that!”

“You can’t or you won’t?! I know deep down in there you love me. I know you do, but you’re afraid to admit it! Too damn scared to admit that you still have feelings for me!

“FRANCISCO MORALES LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE AND GO HOME!”

Alex came rushing out of the house, hearing you yell. He looked at the both of you. You were a crying mess, your hair damps and wearing a T-shirt. Frankie stood there with a pained and angry look on his face.

“What the hell is going on?” Alex had a million questions running through their head but quickly rushed towards you, putting themselves between you and Frankie.

“Baby you alright? You okay?” he asked, cupping your head in their hands.

“Smiles-” Frankie starts walking towards you.

“You need to fucking leave.” Alex turns around, protectively standing in front of you.

Frankie stands there staring at you. Your lips tremble as you avoid his gaze.

“Just go Frankie…” you whispered.

And just like that, he left. Frankie got back in his truck and drove away.

You started to break down, hysterical crying in front of your house. Your chest felt tight as you sobbed. Alex took you into their arms, comforting you.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He says rubbing your back. “Let’s go inside.”

tag // @icanbeyourjedi @im-an-adult-ish

#triple frontier #Frankie Morales x Reader #francisco morales #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal #pedro

110 notes · View notes

bagelbright-tok · 4 years ago

Text

Aspire To be

Hi honey!! I saw that your request were open and I had an idea. I really liked the imagine about Malcolm Bright and having an aunt. I was wondering if you could do more of that, but maybe this time Malcolm does know her and they actually like each other and maybe she helps him on a case instead or with Martin? If not it’s completely okay, I love your work tho!! Thanks sweets ❤❤

Requested By: @atjafshelby

A/N: Thank you so much for your support! I really appreciate your comments and request! That aunt fiction is one of my least popular fics. I hardly expected anyone to enjoy it and even be inspired by it! Again, thank you! I decided to do a similar thing I did for that last imagine. This is a one-shot and does not really correlate with any other Prodigal Son episode. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for your patience as well! I apologize if it seems sloppy at the end. I just wanted to get this out for you and tended to get sidetracked. _

Finally getting themselves a line of suspects for this crime, Malcolm realizes he might need more than his own profiling skills. Malcolm also has a person in mind who could help… Gil doesn’t agree with Malcolm’s decision, especially when the profiler’s mind has been altered recently. How could Malcolm Bright not go to the person that inspired him?

Malcolm Bright/Whitly x Aunt!Reader [Platonic]

Word Count: 3289 Warning(s): Mentions of murder, mind fog, insomnia, mentions of trauma, attempted murder, drug abuse, swearing, did not double check anything __

Some Good Things in Life __

“Whaddya got kid?” Gil nodded towards Malcolm, hands on hip, and a grin plastered on his already smug face. Gil was already confident in Malcolm’s ability. This would be a piece of cake for the profiler.

Malcolm shook his head. He was confused. This murder took two weeks to have suspects. Even then, they only had four suspects. There was something wrong, though. Malcolm couldn’t get a read on any of them. Their tones and words led Malcolm to many different directions. Malcolm also did not have the right state of mind, having skipped almost a week’s worth of sleep. “Nothing..”

Even he was surprised by his incompetence.

Gil lightly extended his head out towards Malcolm, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What?” He crossed his arms and returned his head to his shoulders. Gil’s eyebrows were now knitted together in concern and were no longer widened. “What do you mean?”

“I… I can’t get a read on them.” Malcolm finally admitted, his shoulders falling down in defeat. He left out a deep sigh and brought his hands to his eyes to rub. Why couldn’t he think straight? “It’s like my mind is just- just covered in fog.” Malcolm motioned to his head, wildly using his index of his right hand to press into his temple.

Gil sighed, looked down at the floor, and unfolded his arms. Taking a few steps towards the NYPD Profiler, Gil placed his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Go home, kid. It’s late and you need to sleep.” Gil was always the father figure that Malcolm needed. Malcolm understood the lieutenant’s concern, but couldn’t help not sleeping. Especially as of late.

Malcolm couldn’t say no. He shrugged his shoulder and peered into Gil’s eyes with his own tired and hazy blue ones. He nodded lightly, closing his mouth and shaping it into a half smile. “Alright..”

*** And with that, the insomniac ventured restlessly to his humble abode. Despite his hazy mind, he drove himself back to his place. On the way over, going through New York’s evening traffic, Malcolm had an idea. Recklessly, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he reached who he wanted. Tapping and putting the phone up to his ear, waiting for them to answer, he shook his leg anxiously. “Hello?” The voice came through, asking curiously.

“Hey! Long time no talk.” Malcolm was smiling, but the person on the other end couldn’t possibly see it. However, it was obvious that they could hear his happiness to be talking to them. “Malcolm? Hey! Where the hell did you disappear to?” They chuckled. “Thought there was a new Bermuda triangle only taking the cool people.” They stated sarcastically.

Malcolm laughed at their joke, shaking his head. “No. I actually got back in New York a couple of weeks ago. Sorry I forgot to tell you.” Malcolm cleared his throat and before the person on the other end of the call could respond, he continued. “Anyways, I could use some help…” “O-Oh? Help? Of course, what do you need?” Malcolm could hear them move from one spot to another. “Some… Some advice. You are still a body language specialist, right?” “Yeah. Need me to do some interrogating?” They chuckled, joking.

“Uh- Yes. Yes, actually..”

“Oh-”

“Could you meet me at my place? I’ll send you the address. If you get there before me, you can let yourself in. There’s a spare key buried in the plant outside.” Malcolm explained, stopping at yet another red light. Traffic had been bad due to another accident happening nearby.

“Of course!” It was obvious that Malcolm and this person were besties and hadn’t encountered one another in a long while. “I’ll get my bag and head out once I have the address.” “Thank you, so much. I’ll see you in a bit.” Malcolm gave a quite breathy chuckle. “Cya!” And with that, the call ended. Malcolm felt a little better. His mood improved, for sure. Malcolm’s shoulders were no longer held up but instead were slouched down. His neutral and tired face was now a happier tired face. Malcolm took note of how he would just have to tell Gil when he got home that he’d be getting some help. Help from someone they both knew. ***

Damn this headache. Malcolm could feel a dull pain in his head as he entered his home. Despite the pain being dull, he felt it making him weaker and even slightly dizzy. Malcolm simply shook the pain away and shut the door behind him. He tried to reach the door, but couldn’t. When he looked behind himself to see why, the door was already shut. His eyes burrowed in confusion. Again, he shook away the confusion and began to text Gil about what he was doing. Now, though, Malcolm couldn’t just shake off whatever was happening to him. He felt nauseous and he felt out of breath. He tried getting back to his phone to call Gil instead. Malcolm instead found that his vision had blurred. He blinked and blinked, even rubbed his eyes, but his blurred vision only got worse. He began to panic now. Something was definitely wrong. Malcolm tried to identify what could be going on, but still, his mind was elsewhere. Malcolm could barely even hear as someone entered his home.

“Malcolm?” The familiar voice could barely be heard as it echoed in his house and in his head. “Malcolm!”

This exclamatory statement of his name was not that of excitement. It was of concern, confusion, and despair. As far as Malcolm knew, he was standing. As far as his visitor was concerned, he was on the ground, unconscious. ***

“What did you do?” Gil asked angrily and accusatorily. He pointed at [Y/N], who responded by leaning back away from his finger. “Me?! Excuse you. I called an ambulance! Maybe next time, I shouldn’t?” [Y/N] argued back, leaning forward into Gil’s finger and raising her hands to her sides, palms up and fingers spread out. Her face was scrunched with anger. Her usual glowing and calm [E/C] orbs were now burning a hole into Gil. Her graying [H/C] hair was standing up due to the sheer frustration she was feeling. This wouldn’t be the first time someone accused her of something horrific due to her past. [Y/N] Bright [L/N]. Also known as [Y/N] Whitly, younger sister to Dr. Martin Whitly. In other words, Malcolm’s favorite aunt and the individual he had called for help in the case. The lady that had found him unconscious in his own home and called authorities. It was because of [Y/N] that Malcolm was in a hospital and not dead. It wasn’t just Gil there for Malcolm, there was also Jessica and Ainsley. Jessica had refused to talk to [Y/N], she never understood how or why Malcolm had taken a favorability to her. Ainsley wasn’t anything but rude to her, and made it clear she did not like her. Summary; All of [Y/N]’s fans were gathered in one place where they were called in an emergency because someone dear to them had almost died. “What were you even doing in Malcolm’s place?” Ainsley’s hollow eyes stared at [Y/N] with pure hatred. Like someone with unlimited darts, trying to get a high score.

“He called me to come over. Sent me his address and told me about the spare key in some weird ass plant outside his place.” [Y/N] swiftly explained herself, keeping her arms open. Her feet however, were closed and pointing away from both Gil and Ainsley. She really did not want to be there, being questioned. “He wanted me to help with some interrogating.”

“You-?” Gil erected his index again at [Y/N], now eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re the help Malcolm called for?” “Why would anyone go to you for help?” “I feel extremely uncomfortable right now!” [Y/N] declared, slapping her hands down to her sides. “I am just here to help with whatever Malcolm needs!” “Just drop it you three!” Jessica finally whisper yelled at them. “My son could have died and you are worried about-.. Her.”

The disdain in her voice as she referred to [Y/N] really set it in for the body language specialist. Nothing she could say would make them think any better of her. Not even if Malcolm were to explain the same thing she did. So, [Y/N] easily decided it would be easier to just sit down and give up the arguing. She felt like a kid once again, forced to keep quiet when faced with authority. She hated it. Gil would never allow for her to help unless Malcolm really made a good pitch to the lieutenant. Then again, when would Malcolm wake up? *** Malcolm was given a diagnosis fairly quickly. Carbon Monoxide poisoning that had been going on for over a week. It was a miracle he had gone so long without anyone noticing the symptoms. Despite the supposed long sleep he was to be put under, Malcolm found a way to wake himself up with his own brain. Waking up with a loud scream as a nurse ran out to get a doctor, and Gil and [Y/N] rushed in with concern. “Malcolm!” Both older individuals shouted at the once unconscious profiler. While the relief was mutual, so was the concern.

“Gil? [Y/N]? Where am I? What happened? How-” Malcolm was confused but mostly scared as well. One moment he was home and the next he was isolated by white walls and repetitive beeping.

[Y/N] made the first move. She steadily and smoothly moved closer to Malcolm’s bedside. She took a deep and obvious breath, straightening her back and lifting her hands with her as she inhaled. A similar action was taken during the exhale; obvious, she lowered herself back onto her feet, and lowered her hands. Although Malcolm was not having a panic attack, it could escalate and [Y/N] wasn’t having it. Gil followed afterwards. Malcolm mimicked [Y/N] in taking deep breaths and calming down. “Are you okay, Malcolm?” [Y/N] asked in a calmer voice.

“Yeah. I mean, I feel okay.” Malcolm buried his face into his hands. “Was I poisoned?”

With his brain working fine, he was able to remember his symptoms. It was unnatural.

“Yeah, in a sense.” Gil responded this time. “A week long exposure to carbon monoxide.”

“A week?” Malcolm removed his hands from his face and peered at Gil and [Y/N]. “Isn’t that around the time this case started?”

Now both Gil and [Y/N] were horrified. What was thought to be an accident, a simple leak in the home, now was a potential case of attempted murder. Whoever was the murderer in their case, knew Malcolm would be a problem and so tried removing him as an obstacle. [Y/N] and Gil took a glance at each other. Despite their… awkward relationship, they knew they had to work together on this one. Malcolm couldn’t leave the hospital, and couldn’t work on the case. His life was in danger and the safest place would be where he was.

***

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.” Gil told [Y/N] with a threatening tone.

“Why not two?” [Y/N] chuckled, entering the observation room sat right next to the interview room. Gil just gave a harsh squint. “Not a time for jokes, got it.”

“It was hard to get the suspects back. We’d released them last night because we had them held for too long.” Gil changed the subject swiftly, viewing into the room where they had the suspects. “We were only able to get them back in because Malcolm almost died last night, when he released them all.”

“It’s clear that all of them are upset that they are back. No profiling is needed for that.” [Y/N] noted this behaviour. “All of them are anxious and nervous. Crossed arms, tapping feet, rapid blinking.”

“All of them are suspicious?” Gil pondered curiously.

“Not necessarily. They are just nervous about being back. The idea of being falsely accused looms over them.” [Y/N] continued to scan the room, finally noticing some odd behaviour. She pointed at a man slightly separated from everyone else. “He, however, is a lot more confident than everyone else.”

“His arms are crossed too.” Gil pointed out, looking at [Y/N] with suspicion.

“Yes, but he is leaning against the wall. He is more relaxed. His lips are slightly parted, unlike everyone else’s compressed or pursed lips.” [Y/N] began her analyzing out loud, forgetting anyone was in the room. “His breathing patterns are very alike to everyone’s. Their breathings are picked up due to their nervousness. His picked up pace is because of excitement, though.”

“He’s leaning against a wall. How in the hell did you get all of that off of him?” Gil was just as curious as he would be if it were Malcolm profiling. It was just as mind boggling as when he profiled Carter Berkhead.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, Gil.” [Y/N] chuckled. “Was Malcolm in the interrogation room when they were all interrogated?”

“Yeah. He wanted to be close to profile.” Gil answered, not as confused now knowing that every question and answer would help.

“Splendid. This will make it far easier.” [Y/N]’s [E/C] orbs glimmered in amusement. Her smile was one that Gil had seen before. It was Malcolm’s smile, but it was one he’d seen on Martin’s face too. “I need you to repeat what you did yesterday. Question them in the same order with the same questions.”

Gil nodded. Just as he was warming up to her, some thought came in and set him back to his place. First and foremost, officers came and rounded everyone up. The interrogation began again. This time, it was just Dani, JT, and Gil. Malcolm wasn’t there. If [Y/N] was correct, the one she was suspect of most would give off more of a reaction than the others. Answers would likely remain the same from each person as well. They all want to get out as soon as possible. If Malcolm’s current profile was correct, the killer was arrogant and would show it. If the killer saw that Malcolm wasn’t there, they’d have some sort of mention or bodily reaction to this.

In the case scenario that she was wrong, [Y/N] was sure to make note of everyone’s reactions. Most did not even acknowledge Malcolm’s absence. Their moods had remained the same, anxious and nervous. Finally, it came to the man that [Y/N] came to know as James Lukai. Most of his answers remain the same, worded slightly different than before. [Y/N] compared his last interview, to this interview. The first showcased this man as nervous and anxious. Now, he wasn’t as much anymore. He looked around, as if to make sure his suspicions were right. He gave a quick smirk when he saw that Malcolm wasn’t there. His answers had remained mostly the same, but the tone had drastically changed. It was clear as night and day, it was this man. Just to prove a point further, [Y/N] straightened herself out and left the observation room. Much to Gil’s dismay, she entered the interrogation room afterwards.

“Heya Gil! Sorry I’m late. The call to replace Malcolm was just too soon!” [Y/N] announced with a large grin on her face.

Gil looked at [Y/N], only to respond by rubbing his face. “Don’t let it happen again.” He played along.

The man in question- James- was now shocked. “I thought you didn’t have a profiler anymore.”

“And what would make you say that, James?” [Y/N] immediately jumped on it. “Malcolm is just taking a little break. Family business.”

“What? He-?” James caught himself before he could say anything more.

“You’re too obvious, James.” [Y/N]’s smile immediately dropped.

“What’re you doing, [Y/N]” Gil questioned, only to get an answer through the raising of the lady’s hand to silence him.

“Want to know how we know, James?” [Y/N] confidently asked, not waiting a moment for his answer. “You are far too confident for this. You thought you had gotten rid of Malcolm, the only one who would have caught you.”

The man was speechless. He was caught. He rested his elbows on the table and put his hands through his brown hair. He was hunched, unsure of what to say now.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Gil wasn’t angry, but just extremely confused.

“Caught the bad guy. My job, Gil.” As confident as before, she exited the room.

Soon after, James confessed to the murders and the attempt on Malcolm’s life. Another day saved by [Y/N] Bright [L/N].

***

“Did you get him?” Was the first thing to exit Malcolm’s mouth that night when [Y/N] went to visit him. Fortunately for Malcolm, he had gotten the all clear, so was able to return home.

“Nice to see you too.” [Y/N] chuckled, entering his home. “Yeah. It was obvious. That poisoning really fucked with your brain if you couldn’t see it.”

“Speaking of which, the place was aired out and my heater was fixed.” Malcolm shut his door. “Inspectors had a nifty device and gave the okay.”

“That’s great!” [Y/N] clapped her hands together. “You plan on trying to get murdered again any time soon?”

Malcolm chuckled again, and sat down at his counter. “Ah, no. I don’t plan on it.”

“Good. Shouldn’t have to attend your funeral when I’m older than you.” [Y/N] glided over and sat with him at the counter. “So- Malcolm Bright. When did you change your name?”

Malcolm gave a small, “oh,” and nodded his head. “Several years back when I went to Quantico. You know, to become a profiler..”

Though [Y/N] knew the story, Malcolm felt obligated to tell her how much she inspired him.

“Couldn’t think of a name until the lady there suggested going with someone who I aspire to be. Then I remembered.. You.” His smile was soft and genuine.

“Really?” She smiled back, surprised by her effect on Malcolm. “I.. I’d never guessed I’d have that sort of influence.”

“I hardly say this, but you’re probably one of the more normal and stable members of this family.” Malcolm gave a light laugh, instigating a laugh from [Y/N] as well. “You prove to me that there are some good things in life.”

“I think there is more than just me that does that, Malcolm.” [Y/N] smirked. “You have all those folk at the NYPD! You have Gil, Dani, JT, and Edrisa.”

“Of course. They’re my friends. I trust them.” Malcolm explained. “But you were the first. You helped a lot when Dr. Whitly was arrested. I still remember that day. Even when mother yelled at you, it didn’t stop you from helping me.”

[Y/N] could only nod lightly. “Yeah, Yeah.. I- I remember that day too. I remember the days before and after that day too. I felt like I had to apologize for my brother. He couldn’t be there, so I tried to be. But Jessica never had a good opinion on me, even before Martin was arrested.” She chuckled at that sentiment. “Then Gil got caught up in all the gossip that I had something to do with Martin. At least Jess was skeptical towards all of that.”

It was dead silent after that until Malcolm decided to clear the air. “Anyways, you want some water, or something?”

“Sure!”

Boy. What an odd and bizarre family.

___ E N D

A/N: So sorry for taking so long! Hope you enjoyed it. I had a bit of a hard time trying to get an end for it. Sorry if it is abrupt.

55 notes · View notes

wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

Can we get a fluf fic where Mc tries to keep up with goofy/funny/silly/playful/sleepy/naughty Vivienne? Please I miss my babe😢

Pairing with: PLEASE ANY VIVIENNE X ZOE X MC FLUFFY WOULD BE APPRECIATED 🥺

PLEASE may I request ANY Vivienne x Zoe x MC fluff? Pretty please?…

...

In hindsight, you should have seen it coming. You didn’t even stop to think about where Vivienne had gone off to, used to her random disappearances in the morning and far too distracted with the newest episode of a show Zoe and you liked to wonder about it for long.

Almost buzzing with excitement, you enter Zoe’s room, dropping in the moving chair she has by her side and eagerly watching the screen.

“How much is left?”

“Half an hour, but I think we’ll manage.”

With nothing else to do but wait, you quickly dissolve into excited theorizing, while Zoe just sits there and listens, adding the occasional ‘uh-huh’ here and there. You both had worked out what the twist might be the other week, so you limit yourself to wondering about the characters themselves. That eventually turns into a discussion of ships.

Zoe isn’t much of a shipper, you’ve noticed. She keeps to the margin and analyses everything objectively, acknowledging character interactions but never focusing on them. You were the complete opposite, and a crack shipper to boot, which often clashes against Zoe’s logical side and sparks some amazing debates.

You’re in the middle of one right then when Remy interrupts, knuckles lightly tapping against the door’s side as he peers in, face blank as he looks at the two of you on your respective chairs, cocooned by a blanket, popcorn sitting on your laps. “I’ll never understand what you like so much about that show.”

“Excuse you,” Zoe huffs, angrily grabbing her soda and giving him a sour look. “It’s an amazing show.”

“Amazing!” You echo, as you have done many times before. “I am appalled you don’t see its genius, Remy! Appalled!”

“Right, sure. I remember you both were hysterical over the last cliffhanger. Did you figure out who the murderer is already?”

“Oh yeah,” you wave your hand around, as if dismissing the subject. “Last week. What we are discussing right now is why the prosecutor and the assistant are such a good pairing–” Zoe turns to look at you as if you had just proclaimed the sky was purple, and she looks so baffled you dissolve into a fit of giggles right then and there.

Remy smiles, shaking his head fondly, and stepping out without another word.

“Leaving that atrocious pairing aside…”

Zoe nudges the discussion into another direction and you allow it, satisfied with the reaction you got from her earlier. You’re both stealing anxious glances at the screen, excited to see that only a few minutes are left.

“This is it,” Zoe mutters softly. “The end of this case. The next one is going to be so weird.”

“We’ll probably find out what happen to the firefighter, right? Honestly, it just looks like they got abducted by aliens–”

“MC!” Rings a voice. Zoe scowls immediately, as if that was her standard reaction to Vivienne – or yet another interruption. Probably both.

“Hey babe, where were you?”

Vivienne’s smirk softens at the petname, quietly pleased. “Oh, you know, getting some things ready…”

“Huh? What, for the heist?”

“Something infinitely better.”

“What could be better than the heist?”

Her eyes gleam, dark pools of chocolate drawing you in like a sailor entranced by a siren’s call. “Why don’t you come with me and find out?”

Zoe groans.

“Can you stop being horny for–” her gaze drops quickly to the clock, “–24 minutes? It won’t kill you, will it?”

“You are always invited to join us, darling.”

“Pass.”

“Your loss,” Vivienne says, with a small shrug. “Then, MC–”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure babe, just gimme 24 minutes.”

“Twen– what?” Her eyes follow yours, locking onto the screen. “…Ah. Today is Monday. I forgot.”

“Prepared a whole ‘romantic’ outing for no reason, did you?” Zoe grins. “Sucks to be you.”

A light frown appears over Vivienne’s face. “It’s… only half an hour. I can manage that much.” She finally says, body turning slightly, as if she were on an internal war over leaving and staying.

“Great. You’re making progress, Tang.”

Vivienne rolls her eyes, most of her good mood visibly diminishing. She hesitates a second longer before turning in your direction, pursing her lips. “So– a show. I’m getting cockblocked because of a show.”

“A great show,” both Zoe and you say, nodding solemnly.

“But you already know how it’s going to end. Who the murderer is. MC, you told me that last week!”

“I mean, it’s only a theory Zoe and I have. We still need to see if it gets confirmed.”

“It surely will.” Zoe says, smugly. “The signs are all there. He won’t get away with it. The scarf will be his undoing, no doubt.”

“Wait, you’re still with that? It’s the statue! It’s too fishy! If they check it and–”

“MC, you can’t be serious–” Vivienne tries to interject, but Zoe quickly cuts her off with her own rebuttal to your argument, and the seductress gets this strange look on her face, gaze flicking between the screen, Zoe, and you, stunned for all of two seconds before she shakes her head, schooling her expression.

You distractedly wonder if she’ll leave, your attention quickly taken by the beginning of the opening notes of the show. You enter than zone where nothing else matters, nothing else exists but the screen and you are positively buzzing, mind racing with all the things that could possibly happen until a red blur passes in front of you, something heavy landing so unexpectedly on your lap it takes your breath away.

“Wha–”

“Ow! Hey! Vivienne?!”

It takes you a moment to understand what happened, snapping out of the concentrated state you were a few seconds ago. Vivienne has perched herself on top of your lap, curled there like a smug cat, her arms loosely wrapped around your neck and her gaze is so intense it sets your whole soul alight, consuming every thought you had previously.

You have the same reaction any person would have in this situation, which is, to have a full gay panic.

She– she feels so warm and she’s so close and oh god those eyes–

“Vivienne, what the hell!”

One glance to the right reveals what has Zoe so pissed: Vivienne has her legs high up in her direction, blocking her view of the screen. You don’t even know why she’s so mad, it’s a very nice view–

“The show just began! Are you really that salty?!”

Show? What sh– Ah. That show. Right.

You try to maneuver around Vivienne’s head to look at the computer, but one of Vivienne’s hands instantly grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her with a gentle but firm gesture. Barely, you catch her move her legs to block Zoe too.

“Eyes on me, partner.” She all but purrs, commanding, and your brain short-circuits when she presses herself against you.

“Really? Really?!”

Vivienne gives Zoe her best smoldering smirk. “Oh, I know that look. It’s okay, dear, you can go first… maybe bend me over the table–”

“I’m going to throw you out of the window–”

“Is that your kink, Zoe? Press me against the window, giving everyone full view of–”

“Oh my god–!”

Taking advantage of the situation, you try to peek at the screen again. Vivienne’s grip tightens, making you whimper slightly, her blazing brown eyes meeting yours again.

“Ah ah ah, what did I say? Do not disobey me.”

“Viv…”

“Keep looking at me, sweetheart. If I catch more wandering eyes, you’re going to regret it.”

“Ah… but I…”

Her eyes flash, her thumb tracing the lines of your lips roughly, effectively shutting you up. Vivienne looks pleased, all dark passion, grip softening. She starts tracing a line down to your throat, leaving a trail of tickling heat after the touch.

“Suffering from success, aren’t you, MC?” Zoe dryly states, maneuvering around Vivienne’s outstretched legs with a scowl that could give Nikolai’s a run for his money. She reaches for the back of the moving chair you had borrowed, beginning to push you. Vivienne makes a chocked sound of surprise low in her throat, tightening her hold over your neck. “That’s it. All I want is to watch my show in peace, no interruptions-”

“Um, our show-”

“-and no Vivienne being Vivienne for the next 20 minutes.”

“What am I supposed to be then?”

“Be a doormat for all I care, just do it outside my room!” She punctuates her statement with one final, fully determined push, sending you skidding towards the hallway. Vivienne thrusts her legs to the right, managing to use her weight just so to spin the chair in time. The back collides against the wall with a dull thump, and you barely see Zoe’s deadpan expression before she closes her door. “You better return my chair later!” Is all she says, presumably heading back to her computer.

“…aw, I wanted to see this episode.” You finally mumble, shoulders dropping dejectedly.

Vivienne blinks owlishly at you. “Isn’t the episode going to be available later?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m curious to see how the arrest will go. I don’t think I can wait another day.”

“Arrest. Such an ugly word, when you are a thief.” Vivienne hums, pressing into you just slightly, eyes alight with mirth. “You are quite taken with it regardless… Is it the thrill?”

“Uh…”

“You know, partner, if you want to be in cuffs so much, all you have to do is ask.”

Color spreads over your cheeks like spilled wine, sweet, impossible to hold back. Vivienne leans forward, eager for a taste, that smirk of hers firmly in place and you briefly wonder if you’ll just burst, too filled with surprise and frustration and a little bit of heat.

“Think only about me, MC.” Vivienne mutters, breath ghosting over the skin of your ear, coaxing a shy shiver out of you. The vibrations of her voice send ripples of emotion through you, make you groan slightly. Smirk widening, not caring one bit that you are still on the hallway, one of her hands drops down, down-

“20 minutes! Just 20 minutes!” A flash of gray. Vivienne’s startled squeak. Her grip loosens and she goes tumbling down your lap, the floor receiving her with its cold embrace. Zoe’s door slams shut – again – and your gaze drops, discovering the slipper resting by Vivienne’s hand with an amused snort.

“She got you good, huh?”

“She – just took me by surprise, is all.” Vivienne says, after a pause. You giggle, pushing yourself to your feet and offering her your hand, which she takes gratefully. She doesn’t let go, instead pulling you in the direction of the apartment’s exit, and you throw a longing look in the direction of Zoe’s room before accepting your fate.

You’ll have to watch that episode tomorrow, it seems.

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #queen of thieves #qot #lovestruck qot #lovestruck queen of thieves #vivienne tang #qot vivienne #zoe banks #qot zoe #zoe being done with vivienne #qot mc #fluff #fluffy #miscellaneous monday

77 notes · View notes

thestarswhim · 5 years ago

Text

MK needs some rest

Summary: “Look, kid, using that much power, your body can’t handle it.”

In which MK didn’t fully recover his strength after the Macaque and DBK situation, and is really trying hard to push through, anyway.

Thankfully, Monkey King intervenes.

Words: 3360

Notes: Has descriptions of anxiety and stress. Since this is in MK’s perspective, Wukong will just be referred as Monkey King throughout the whole fic, but if I end up writing this in Wukong’s perspective as well, that’ll change, or go back and forth between “Monkey King” and “Wukong,” to fit his own perspective.

Enjoy! :D

MK woke up feeling… tired, to put it simply. It had been like this for the past week, and no matter how much rest he got, even when he slept for ten hours given the chance, nothing elevated the hazy daze he felt himself constantly being in. It started after his “training” with Macaque and the fight with the Demon Bull King, and only got worse since then. Maybe that just drained his energy a bit more than usual. Yeah, that made sense, being more exhausted could happen to anyone.

He was doing work just fine, though Pigsy had to yell more and even louder to get his full attention every once in a while, and he may have had missed a few stops while delivering noodles (and had also, probably, dropped more than one bowl when cleaning up the shop. Pigsy was definitely going to take that out of his next paycheck). Then, when he and Mei would hang out and do their usual arcade/porty — party; he meant party — fun, he would zone out for a moment and stare blankly at nothing, lost in thoughts and memories that Mei had to quickly snap him out of. What were those thoughts and memories? … That didn’t matter. He was fine. His friends and family were fine. The city was filled with high energy and bustled with life. Nothing was wrong for now. Everything was fine. He was fine. And tired. Gosh, he was so tired— Anyway— After that, he would go home, with his feet being dragged on the floor by this point, and head straight to bed, not even bothering to change his clothes, or brush his teeth, or do anything. He just let the overwhelming weight of exhaustion that was seeping all the way into his bones to finally pull him into the state of unconsciousness. The dreams that he could barely make out left him shaken in the morning, and, of course, he felt like he never slept in the first place. He groaned in his pillow, fighting the tears of frustration that pushed at his eyes from leaking out.

It was a constant cycle, a routine, and the fact that no major threats had happened ever since the fight didn't make him feel any better. But, that could be the sleep deprivation — if he was sleep deprived because he did sleep — talking.

Today he was supposed to train with Monkey King who throughout the weeks would make him do the smallest of chores, up to the point where he only had to sweep the floor…? He was doing that on purpose, MK knew that much, because where was the life lesson for sweeping the floor? But, all his mentor would say was, "It's never a bad thing to take it easy once in a while," and that was that.

It had been a long day (again) before he finally got to the mountain, the energy he had left already drained and gone, but he was fine. After all, maybe he'd just have to watch paint dry this time. Okay, nevermind, that sounded excruciating and so much worse. “Welcome back!” Monkey King greeted casually, snapping MK back into the present. He blinked. When did he walk over to the cavern?

“Hey…” he greeted back distantly and started to become more and more aware of his surroundings as he looked around, stopping at the sight of Monkey King who jumped off the cloud he always laid on. “So, uh,” he shook his head to regain focus again which he quickly regretted when he got light-headed by the simple action. And now there were small dots in his vision. Great, just what he needed. “What—” he subconsciously rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, “what are we doing today— ah!” Monkey King was now in front of him, no warning or any indication that he walked closer at all, and eyed him carefully, brows creased. Before MK could say anything, two hands gently cupped his face and started to move his head around slowly from side to side as a way to examine him. He sucked in a quiet breath from the sudden contact, and had the urge to lean into the warmth the hands were giving off, but stopped himself since he would probably fall over. “You doing okay, bud?” Monkey King asked as softly as he could make his voice be. The kid attempted to nod enthusiastically, but it came out rigid beneath the palm of his hands. “Yup. It’s been a long day, ‘s all,” MK mumbled, though to himself he said that at normal volume. “Really now?” The hands then left MK’s face which apparently were supporting him since he did almost fall over regardless, setting a foot down in front of him to stop that from happening. “Well, there isn’t really much to do today… but you are staying over.” That brought his attention back. He looked up towards his mentor and raised a brow. “Wait, what?” “You’ll be spending the night,” Monkey King explained. “It’ll be for, you know,” he shoved a peach chip in his mouth, “training.” “I feel like you’re starting to use that as an excuse…” “Ehh, no. You’ll learn something from this,” and, again, that was that.

Despite MK’s mind running like a phone on save battery mode right now, a new energy seemed to gradually rise within him as he took a minute to actually process the situation. Would this technically be a sleepover? Having a sleepover with the Monkey King? How many people could say that? His excitement might be muddled by fatigue, but he was still excited! It was just…

“What are we going to do, then?” “First off,” Monkey King put a bag of the peach chips in MK’s hands, “you should eat something. I also got some of the instant noodles you could snack on later.” He stared down at the bag, making him realize that his appetite wasn't really apparent, and inwardly cringed. He hadn’t actually eaten much at all the last few days, only ever having a few dumplings or a bowl of noodles Pigsy would try to make him attempt to eat during break (he could never finish the noodles, though). You’d think he would be starving by how tired he had been, but nope. “I think I’m good for now. I’ll… eat later.” Monkey King looked at him for a moment once more, searching for something, and then hummed thoughtfully. “Okay.” MK let out a breath of relief, and his body slightly untensed. He didn’t think he could stomach anything right now.

“Let’s get watching!” Monkey King announced, carefully taking a hold of MK’s arm, and guiding him over to his house. “Hope you’re a binge-watcher ‘cause it’s a pretty long series. I mean, I’m in it, afterall, so of course it is.” MK let his teacher guide him, not trying to pay any mind to the fact that his legs were basically all sloshy and almost numb, and that Monkey King was holding onto him in the first place. That was new. But, they’re going to be binge-watching? …

Thank. Goodness. “Oh, yeah,” MK waved his hand dismissively as if there was no question needed, “I definitely am! Mei and I stayed up for two days straight one time watching this weird sci-fi movie series. Something to do with a guy named Jim? I don’t know, it was weird.” “Nice! One time I stayed up for about a month straight watching… literally anything.” What!? How was he even still ali— oh, right. Geez, his brain… and was he seeing everything in slow motion now, or…?

And now he was sitting on the couch. … Huh? When did they—? What? He rubbed at his eyes like it would help the dysfunction his state of mind was in, and blinked. Monkey King was turning on the TV in front of MK, and then went over to the couch and sat down next to him. His expression looked… odd for some reason? It wasn’t anger, but he did seem more serious (or was that concern?) compared to how he was moments prior, like something was bothering him. Did something happen? The weird expression instantly changed when he looked over to MK, his smile once again apparent. “There you are, kid. I was worried for a sec there. You, like, totally spaced out on me when I was talking to you.”

“Oh, uh,” MK instinctively rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile, “sorry about that. It’s been a long day.” Didn’t he already say that? He noticed Monkey King’s tail slightly twitch. “Right, right. Good thing we’re taking it easy today.” “‘Cause this is definitely training,” he thought— he said that out loud. “Exactly!” Monkey King then put a hand to MK’s chest and lightly pushed him further into the couch. “Now relax. You’re stiff as a board right now.” MK got sort of surprised by how easy it was for him to be pushed with such minimal force. You could poke him and he would probably go falling instantly. Hopefully, he didn’t feel even worse in the morning. He really, really hoped. This unnerving sensation swelled in his lungs and buzzed throughout his head as he thought of the possibilities of an enemy showing up while he was still like this, or not being able to do his job right at the shop and even as a hero, or be there for anybody, or—

There was a sudden pressure on the top of his head. He inwardly gasped and snapped his head toward the source.

It was one of the monkeys from the mountain.

“Oh,” was all he could breathe out as a few more showed up, one of them resting on Monkey King’s abdomen. The monkey on his head slid off to sit on the couch as well. MK looked back over to the TV when the first episode was starting, and actually tried to relax. It was the Monkey King animated series, he could totally focus on it no problem. ~~~

What was strange was that Monkey King had barely been saying anything while they watched. Maybe a few comments here and there, but other than that, nothing more. MK would have said something, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He didn’t even know what episode they were on. The daze he was still in was even more heavy and dragging, his vision getting hazy as he stared at the screen. The monkey was still on the couch, and MK just realized he had been petting them this whole time.

He felt like he was about to pass out at any moment, he wanted to pass out. But, something in him was saying not to. That if he were to fall asleep now, something, someone, out there would attack. But who? Ugh, why couldn’t he just calm down, and not think dumb thoughts! Everything was fine! Everything was… fine. “White Bone Spirit…” MK froze. His eyes instantly stayed locked on the TV, blocking out all his surroundings. The person on the screen was talking to the group, but the blood pounding in his ears wouldn't let him hear any of the words that were coming out of their mouth. He didn't recognize the name, but something wasn't right. Their white, pure hair, and those eyes. It was like they were staring right at him. Mockingly.

His entire body went ice cold. and he most likely even stopped breathing, but he didn't notice, he didn't care. He had to do something. Now.

"Hey," MK squeaked out, immediately on his feet. "Monkey King? Shouldn't— shouldn't we do some training?" His heart wouldn't stop racing, and his hands and legs became numb. He couldn't feel anything. Too many thoughts were flooding his mind, someone dangerous was out there, and if they wasted any more time...

Monkey King looked up at him, still sitting down. His tail twitched again. "I think it's getting a little late for the kind of training you're thinking of. You got work tomorrow, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I haven't been doing anything for almost two weeks!" MK didn't mean to shout, but his nerves were on end, and they were wasting more time. "Don't you think it's strange that nothing has been happening?"

"Well, yeah, but," Monkey King shifted in his seat, "we can't do much until something does happen."

"Except maybe train?"

Monkey King's face had that bothered expression again. He sighed. "Kid, I don't want you pushing yourself anymore than you already have."

MK formed his hands into fists, tightening them as flashes of purple shadows and blue whispers swept over his mind like a fog, and tried to keep his legs from giving out. "Someone's out there! Uh, maybe. I don't know, but we have to at least do something!"

"...Hey—"

“Because—” MK’s lungs were burning from his now ragged breathing, his mind was spinning, and he barely comprehend that he interrupted his mentor. Tears were starting to form in his eyes. "Because if I'm not ready, then I won’t be good enough, and then everyone will get hurt, and it will all be my fault— “ “Xiaotian.” MK instantly stopped, nothing but his harsh breaths breaking the weird, sudden silence that fell over them. The TV had been long turned off, apparently. Monkey King grabbed his arm again, even more gentler this time, and continued talking. “You’re shaking. Breathe.” He was easily pulled down back on the couch, and Monkey King repositioned himself so he could start… combing through MK’s hair?

It was so careful and… comforting. Strangely, that was what made the tears fall down, one by one, and MK quickly tried to wipe them away. It was like this for a while. Quiet, but a peaceful quiet, except for the hushed sobbing that echoed the room— and when did he start sobbing?

“It’s okay,” Monkey King said, petting his head with a nice, steady rhythm. “You’re safe.”

MK took in slow breaths, now attempting to do what he was told before. He was surprised how he hadn't completely passed out yet, but that didn’t matter at the moment. He was comfortable, and it had been too long (way too long than he had liked) since he truly felt that way.

After his breathing settled down, and he could, well, breathe again, Monkey King decided to speak up.

"Remember when I told you about using too much of your power?"

MK nodded, slowly, the reminder causing certain flashbacks that he had to shake away again.

"Well," he continued, grooming MK's hair more than petting it now, "it really wore you out, and I'm sure you know that," he chuckled the last few words with a tried effort. "You didn't fully recover by the time you had to go and basically fight again. Literally, once you came back, you were thrown into the prey."

"Wait," MK turned his head toward the monkey with narrowed eyes, "so you do still watch me."

He noticed Monkey King's eyes widen before he could cover it up with a side glance. "I… not all the time, no. I just wanted to keep an eye on you for a while." He flicked a piece of dirt that was in MK's hair away.

"Okay…"

"Seriously."

"Mhm…"

Monkey King ruffled his hair and laughed. It was so genuine that MK couldn't help but laugh as well, causing a weight to be lifted off his shoulders, and, wow, was he really feeling the exhaustion hitting him now.

"Anyway," back to the grooming he went, "that's why I was making you take it easy. You need a break so you can fully recover all of your strength which will help you for whatever danger might be out there. It's not always about the physical, you gotta focus on what's inside, too. We'll get to the 'fun' training stuff later, okay?"

"'Kay," MK mumbled, already slipping into a sleepy-like trance. If he had anything else to say, or worry about, he forgot; his eyes closed, and the welcoming blanket of rest enveloped him. Monkey King was saying something, but he sounded too muffled and far away.

The dreams never showed up that night, and he no longer was shaking.

~~~

“Kid!”

He woke up to his nose being pinched, and yelped. His vision only made out colorful blobs that apparently represented someone. “What happened?”

The blob cleared his throat in a failed attempt to hold in a snicker. “Nothing much,” he then shrugged, “except you’ll be late to work in a few minutes, so…” “What!?” MK shot up from the couch and started running straight to the door, everything becoming clearer in his sight of panic. “Oh my gosh, Pigsy’s gonna fire me!” Would he even be able to make it in time? Where would he end up staying once he was fired? Would he be replaced by that delivery bot? No, no, no, no! Definitely not! His hand was already on the doorknob by the time Monkey King appeared right behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait, wait! Slow down. How are you feeling?” MK turned around and started to run in place. “Fine, I guess! But, I have to—” His eyes widened as he realized and stopped his eager bouncing. “I… feel great, actually.” Huh. Monkey King’s eyes lit up, and his smile grew just a bit wider. “Good! Now,” he wrapped an arm around MK, “do you need a ride?”

“...What?”

~~~ After Monkey King shoved the bag of peach chips in MK’s hands again to which he devoured in a surprising matter of seconds, they were now both up in the sky. MK’s hair was flying back as the crisp air of the morning blew on his face, his arms tightly around Monkey King’s torso as they rode along on his cloud. He wasn’t sure how fast they were going, but his face felt numb, so that must have meant something. “I might just have to teach you how to ride this thing soon!” Monkey King yelled, his voice cutting through the rush of wind… somehow.

“That’d be awesome!” He could ride his board with ease, flying a cloud would just be an upgrade. A very, very awesome upgrade. It was hard to talk, though, and close his mouth no less. Ew, what if he swallowed a bug?

Not even a few minutes went by before they were nearing the shop, and MK couldn’t stop grinning when he jumped off safely onto the concrete ground. He wasn’t going to be late!

He spun around to face the Monkey King, who was still standing easily balanced on the cloud with his arms crossed, and waved. “Thanks, Monkey King! For, well, yesterday, and taking me here!” “Anytime, bud.” He hovered over and swiftly fixed up MK’s hair which was all over the place by the wind. “Try to eat something more on your break if you can, and remember,” he gave him one more pat on the shoulder, the features of his face softening, “one step at a time, all right?”

The way Monkey King had been grooming his hair during this time, and how casually he did it, too, like this was something he’d always done, that there was nothing wrong with showing this kind of… affection(?), made MK feel overwhelmed with a certain emotion he couldn't describe. Tears were wanting to well up again for some odd reason, but he smiled and nodded, holding it down.

Monkey King smiled back and proceeded to go on his way into the sky, leaving a gust of wind in his absence.

MK stood there, watching him take off before shaking his head to regain focus, and jogged over to the entrance of the shop. As the door chimed opened, a new sense of determination rose up within him; a new surge of energy buzzed throughout his body. And even though he still had an uneasy feeling, he knew — and he actually believed it this time — that despite whatever could happen…

Everything was fine.

~~~

Notes: This took me weeks to finish, but ayyyye! I love me some of that Hurt/Comfort, and the boy really needs it (especially with what might happen in season 2 OHOHO BOY). While writing this I realized that it’d be interesting to do this in Wukong’s perceptive, soooo... look out for that if I write it 👀

I hope you enjoyed reading it! I haven’t finished a whole fanfic in awhile, so this being over three thousand words is beautiful 🤩👌 Love y’all! Much Love, and many blessings! 💖

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #monkie kid fanfiction #MK #qi xiaotian #monkey king #sun wukong #hurt/comfort #LMK #fanfiction #fanfic

133 notes · View notes

mymadmedleyw · 4 years ago

Text

Fic Writer Review

I was tagged by @dp-marvel94 (I am just saying this is my very first occassion to by tagged in a thing like that, so filling this made my day really, thank you!)

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

22 – wow, that sounds many…

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

206.997, and more than the half belongs under one idea – that’s creepy…

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Oh, it’s many… once, I am into something, I have to write in that – surprisingly I am addicted to DP for nearly a year, and nothing else.

(But little bit of history, from the newest to the oldest: Danny Phantom, The Irregulars (that was really a short one), Guardians of Childhood/Rise of the Guardians (my very first finished multi-chaptered one was in that), Dark, Charmed (the old one, not the new series), Gravity Falls, Venom, Doctor Who, a crossover within Tangled: The Series and Milo Murphy’s Law, Death Note/Death Note: Another Note; and I had some ideas about a Rick and Morty and Gravity Falls crossover, and it seems I never uploaded here my concept about a not crossover Tangled: The Series idea, and either an independent one in Rick and Morty, hm… shame. Most of those are not finished. Okay, like 99% of it…)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Core (Danny Phantom), stand-alone, ~3k

What The Past Holds (Danny Phantom), wip, ~91k

Pitch’s Secret (Guardians of Childhood/Rise of the Guardians), finished, ~14k

We are not alone (Venom), really short one, ~1k

Phantom (Danny Phantom), stand-alone, ~2k

5. Which of your fic do you want more attention for?

Definitely it’s WTPH. It’s my current work. The idea about it came in December, and since that, I am working on that constantly. At first, I had ideas for eight chapters, and nothing else. Now, it grew into this monstrosity: a side-line (Bonds Over Time), and a collection that contains the deleted scenes or ideas that appeared in my mind and could fit into the story (Bits Of The Past), and also an entirely finished concept for Vlad’s past (Certain Moment Of Time), that could be connected to it too.

I also put many headcanons in that, and ticks of characters, and parallels, and layers that I just love: like Vlad having a sister and some details about his family background, Dan having Vlad’s memories too, how the explosion in the Nasty Burger happened and how Dan turned out like that… some precious things, really, but I won’t elaborate much, in case of anyone wants to give a read to it. Overall, I tried to make the TUE-mess into a somewhat more reasonable logical mess – if I managed to do that at all. I don’t know I’m just like a mother with a new-born with it: look, it’s my child! I made it! I developed it! here, hold it! and love it too, as much as I do! (Sorry, I don’t know how that metaphor came…)

6. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Even if it’s a kudo, or a keysmash as a comment, I write back. I mean, if someone writes – literally anything – and spends time with it, I write them back too. (And my very bad habit, that sometimes, if the comment hits an interesting thought, I tend to explain the background behind that more, and accidentally spilling some things I shouldn’t yet... In many cases, it’s like a brainstorming, and then I use that idea. I mean as, for example many of @dp-marvel94’s comments on ff, made me to realise some things, and how then I fixed those forgotten parts made my story along with it much better – once, I will list them, and you’ll be surprised how long is that list, and how obvious things I forgot about entirely…)

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Okay, I don’t have many finished story – shame on me. So, I’ll count the shorts. I think it’s then Phantom. It rolls around the idea what if in Forever Phantom, Danny can’t change back to Phantom, and his parents blame Phantom for the disappearance of Danny, and they start chasing madly the ghosts, making them leave the human realm once and for all – which means, Danny has to go with them. It’s really a short fic, but I very like this idea, and it was my very first in this fandom. (I was watching DP that time, I mean, getting familiar with it, but this idea got stuck in my head as I watched that episode, so that was my introduction here. Also, I watched my very first DP episode that time, which means, less then a year ago, so, I am that newbie here…) I am not spilling the end of the story, but it doesn’t have a very happy end I could say.

8. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Uh, yes? I have a crossover within Tangled: The Series and Milo Murphy’s Law. It’s unfinished, but that time I thought Milo and Varian have the same vibe, including clumsiness. It was only a short idea that time, but it’s definitely worth once to continue or finish somehow. I have a crossover within Rick and Morty, and Gravity Falls. That is standing within my very big idea, but it’s halfway written on my original language and English and that’s like after how a certain trilogy end, but it has some mentioning of ideas I never finished, so yeah… it’s not even published anywhere. Maybe, once, I’ll decide what language I prefer for that, and translate the other part and then, hardly, but I’ll finish it some day... – or, never, it actually would be a very big bite if I try to imagine it.

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I don’t remember to that. I mean, my main story (WTPH) kind of not everyone’s preference, ’cause of Dan, so that’s already divides the readers and I haven’t got all in all many comments yet on my stories (kudos are appreciated too, I am shy too to leave comments on fics, so don’t worry, I get it), so I think I haven’t got any. But I'd be curious to experience if someone reads one of my stories and leaves behind a comment that then criticizing it. I mean, I’d be open to learn what part is not fitting, or just too much. (I am surprised that no one ever mentioned my ’weird’ sentences. I mean for me those make sense, but those make sense for a native English person too? I’m always worried about that…)

10. Do you write smut? if so what kind?

Uh, yeah, I did. Not very proud of it, though I don’t have a heart to orphan that work. I mean, it belongs to me too. Sometimes I wonder to delete some of my works, but then I realise, no, that’s me, I won’t pretend where I came from, and shove into the dustbin my mad thoughts... All in all, my stories now, for a while, are much more family-friendly – if, anything within DP could be really counted as ‘family-friendly’…

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, I was very proud of my story back then, called Metamorphosis (Death Note), and I had a crazy idea and tried to translate it. So now, the first chapter is out there both in English and both in my native language, but I got stuck at the second chapter. I couldn’t translate wisely and logically the title of it to give out the many meaning it has in English. And I once tried to translate California (Gravity Falls) to English, but that would be a hard work, so I left it behind – maybe once…

Over that I sometimes has a crazy idea to translate back and forth my stories, no, beyond that, I haven’t had a fic translated from anyone else. And I think I am the only masochist that it ever crosses my mind, I guess…

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, not really. I’d be curious to once do that – maybe, but I’m not sure...

(To tell the truth, I’d be worried about that. I’d be glad to do that once, but I am anxious if I could understand my co-writer, or not. I mean, do you have any idea that I have to give five reads to any longer comments to understand it? I understand those (and I really love getting those!), but I have to give many reads to make sure I understand those well, and then, making sure, I answer back right, and my sentences make sense. My fics have ’fancy’ words, and I love working in English, but sometimes it’s a curse it’s not my native one. So then, I’m constantly worried about interactions, if I receive well something, and if my sentences are understandable for others or not. So, in short, you can see my struggle here… same reason I don’t do Invisobang, but I am considering it...)

13. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I’m not very much a ship-type. But I count Danny and Sam, as a fix point. (Danny and Val was nice and I’d have been very glad to see them in more episodes, but let’s face it, that wouldn’t work, because both of them are too stubborn to choose their other life and if once, they would face with each other, knowing everything about the other, they’d remain allies or at most very good friends.) If, the question is, what are the ships in my head (but not necessarily just ‘romantic’) that I prefer to read, well, it’s Dan and Valerie. I love their dynamics, especially in Deliverance. I don’t know why I just love reading it.

For other reasons I ship Dani and Valerie. Though I can’t write romance and stuff like that, but in one of my planned ideas they are dating - sort-of...

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Okay, there are many. Surely, it’s my Gravity Falls story, called California, but that’s a huge one, and the first one in a trilogy (plus some additional side-lines), and mainly in my head for years, so yeah… I think I won’t ever reasonably finish that as it should be finished. A Tale of Fords (Gravity Falls) could be count as one too. Oh, and Envision and ties (Doctor Who). Sad to say, but yeah, I am always saying, “maybe once”, but I am not sure when…

15. What are your writing strengths?

Okay, this is a funny thing, but I’ve realised I can’t deal with many characters at the same time. So, I think my strength are dialogues and interactions within two people. And I get into their thoughts, so I guess if I have to word it somehow: it’s character-studies then.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Can’t handle more than two people. No, seriously, somehow it always turns out, the third is unconscious, sleeping, leaves the room, and so on. I’ve just recognised it recently, and it was a hilarious recognition…

I am also bad at actions, like very very bad, I don’t even try that, because my brain just simple can’t come up with fight-scenes at all. I think I only can write character-studies, and nothing else.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Oh, man… does it count I am not a native English-user? So, technically I ‘always’ write dialogues in another language? But jokes aside, sometimes, I have ideas that the people use another language, and I am like “are you aware, you can’t even write English slang?”, so then, I gave up. Right now, though, I am planning to add ASL in one of my future ideas. I am wrecking my mind, how to do that nicely – but that’s only a forming plan, and dated for next year, currently, I am only collecting ideas for that.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Does it count my very first fic was a fanfiction of one of my friend’s fanfiction in high school? She wrote a really good story – not shared anywhere, we were just giving each other the hand-written exercise book (oh, the old days…). If I remember well, it was a crossover within Supernatural and Queen of the Damned (the movie, not the book). I had no idea about Supernatural, but the story was good, but I was not satisfied with the end, and in secret I wrote another end for it, to myself. I’m not sure where is that anymore, but I clearly remember that was my very first written stuff, and that’s how my origin story began and how is I am here now.

(Oh, and once, I wrote a H2O fanfiction short story to my sister as a name-day present, in which she was a mermaid, discovering her powers during a holiday at a beach (we were at that time in Croatia in a family holiday, so the timing was fitting), and that was one of my very first fandoms to write in it too… God, I have no idea why I wrote it down, it just crossed my mind, and I remember I thought it was cute, I think she was eleven or twelve that time, so I am not sure she appreciated as much as I found it fun to write that…)

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

This is mean… anyway, currently it’s WTPH, for obvious reasons. But I am very proud how the Angst Week turned out (my work for that is called Certain Moment of Time). First of all, I doubted I would be able to write for every day, since I planned to do the whole DannyMay, but things turned out differently and I am still sad, I haven’t done many. But I did not just managed to write for all days, but all could be counted under one idea, and also each of the chapters could be read independently at the same time. It includes a little bit of background story about Vlad, about a rewritten time, his struggles at the hospital, things around Danny’s birth, how Danny managed to survive the Portal incident, how Vlad was informed about the Ghost Boy, and that actually Danny’s separation was just a ‘plan B’ that Vlad tried to avoid… it’s complicated to describe the many things in that, but when I feel WTPH an unescapable mess, and I am frustrated by the lack of proper words to finish the coming chapters, CMOT is my absolute favourite. And I love the whole idea about it. No, I’ll be honest, that’s my beloved so far (just because it’s finished). But I like so much too my idea about Dan and Dani in Bonds Over Time, how they try to live together a normal life… okay, let’s admit it, this question is mean, I seriously can’t tell, and I am thinking right now only my current ones…

20. What fic are you most proud of?

Okay, this is mean too. I am proud of my old works as much that I always go back to them when I am in a nostalgic mode. (I haven’t read any of my old ones in ages, because I try to avoid distractions, and knowing myself, I’d start thinking about the continuation and never finishing my current works at all...)

I am proud of Pitch’s Secret, because that was my very first multi-chaptered one idea that I actually managed to finish. That in fact, gave me the courage to start working on a multi-chaptered DP one. (My original plan was to be brave and aim doing eight chapters, to top the five, and I would have been very proud of myself, but instead now it’s way longer than that original idea, and I seriously don’t know when it will end – twenty chapters maybe?)

I think, if I don’t include the previous question. (It’s the same, isn’t it?) I am very proud of the first chapter in my Doctor Who fic. That doesn’t tell anything about the plot or about anything, that just gives a very good atmospheric background. Every time I read that, it gives me shivers.

---

okay, I don’t know who to tag, anyone who feels like it, serve yourself, I am curious... :)

8 notes · View notes

adozentothedawn · 4 years ago

Note

Caduceus for the character ask? :)

Ah, not a Pillars character, I am intrigued! :D

Ask is here.

First impression

Truth is, I've always been thouroughly spoilered about chritical role, even when wasn't watching it yet, so my first impression was mostly, "Uh, pink cowman!" Followed later when I started by "I'm excited for the fluffy cowman, but also Mollyyyyyyyyyyy".

Impression now

I love him. Just. So much. I want to hug him. I want to drink his tea. I want him to tell me it's gonna be fine. Just. Give me more of him please. Taliesin, how do you keep doing this to me? Caduceus is also literally the only representation of an ace character I have ever seen and it makes it so much better I just can't love him. I don't care if some people think it's word of god. (Though there might be a talk about it some point? Maybe? I don't know I'm only at episode 80 something.) And it's such good rep too! I'm so excitded for his Trent talk.

Also how has no one made art of blowdried Caduceus yet? He is a cowman! Give me a fluffed up Caddy! There is a fic though which very is cute. (Nevermind I found one! I need more though 👀)

Favorite moment

I don't think I can choose, he has so many good lines. "I only have like, three cups." "He'll be dead eventually." "Sleep well with your bad decisions." "I met a ghost who I didn't want to punch. " "I'm always happy when they're here." I'm always a sucker for angst so him getting resurrected was also great. Also the Trent speech of course, but technically I haven't seen that one yet.

Idea for a story

Not really any to be honest. You'd think I'd jump to write fics about him but I don't really have any inpiration for that. Maybe once I'm done with the show I'll get to filling eventual needs I still have.

Unpopular opinion

I'm not really in fandom so to speak, so I don't really know what's popular and what not, I just personally wish people wouldn't write romantic ships with him. And no, I don't care if you try to justify why this aroace character is now in a relationship or having sex or whatever, you have so many characters to ship, you can leave this one alone. I'm not gonna start any fights with someone or anything, and Ao3 let's you filter tags for a reason but I do want to put it out there. Also, I want these people really think about how they would react to someone writing straight fics for a gay character. Just really think about it. Yeah, taking away rep suddenly doesn't seem so nice, does it? So please leave mine alone.

Okay my rant is over now, I just had to get this out of my sytem. I haven't a lot ship fics anyway, but there are a few and I'm dissapointed every time.

And I guess I'd also wish for more fics of him? Just without shipping. And there are some good ones, don't get me wrong! But it really seems that some people have decided if they can't ship him they're just not gonna write him. I'm not judging anyone in perticular here and nobody has to feel called out or anything! Nobody has an obligation to write a character or anything they have no interest in writing. It's just a larger trend that makes me personally kind of sad.

Favorite relationship

I love his realtionship with every one really! I feel like Fjord would be the basic answer, but if I really have to choose I'll say Melora. I'm always a sucker for cleric relationships and there are so many lovely takes and art out there. Also "Mom, put it back!" is one of the greatest comics I've ever seen. xD

Favorite headcanon

Not sure I really have one. Aside from the fact that he definitely gets fluffy when properly dried. That is fact though, no one can deny me this. Fluffy cowman for the win!

(As a side note for anyone reading this, if you have some angsty comfort fics for Caduceus, please feel free to send me the link, I need some more therapy for this man. He alwas tries so hard for everyone else, he deserves some attention too.)

#response #thanks for playing!^^#critical role #caduceus clay

14 notes · View notes

bubonickitten · 4 years ago

Link

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We’ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. “You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

39 notes · View notes

rvmmm21 · 5 years ago

Text

. you’re gonna spaghet it .

summary : a home-cooked meal and a baking show is too much to ask for. but only when the person asking is seungwan.

small note : i'm tentatively back. and here's the worse news. you get this pile of 'what-the-fic-is-this?!' before i start clonking you over the head with my leg of yandere ham.

think of it as your pre-christmas coal in your stocking.

(this sat in my drafts for so long its not even funny. if i had a cent for every second i spent thinking about whether i wanted this out here, i'd have accumulated enough for the plane ticket, the lawyers and the hospital fees to fly over to SM to clonk them myself.)

just for tumblr. if you want to read this but in pretty, it’s here.

tw : tickling, probably many grammar errors because i do not know how to write anymore, and my cretinous knowledge of how tv recordings work.

[irene x white-winged dove!wendy]

. . .

[6:15pm] A mischievous smile tugs at her lips when she sees how Seungwan struggles.

. . .

Bae Joohyun blithely watches her girlfriend titter around the kitchen preparing vegetables for the chopping board. When the sound of water beginning to boil reaches attentive ears, she secretly smiles at the melodious hum of a happy tune.

Everything is going as planned!

However.

Pangs of guilt are beginning to tweak at Joohyun’s conscience. Because what she really wants to do is not to be a good girlfriend and offer a hand at stirring the pot. She doesn’t even want to sit patiently and wait to hear Seungwan sing out for her when dinner’s ready.

No. Joohyun wants to play. And she knows who she wants to play with. Even though it’s going to be a complete setback to the lovely night she’s sure her Wannie has planned out for them.

It was Seungwan’s idea to cook tonight, then eat together while they watch their favourite TV program. Pfft, ‘their favourite’. What Joohyun really means is she’ll happily watch the season finale of the unorthodox cooking show her girlfriend is currently obsessed with.

. . .

“It gives me ideas, unnie,” Seungwan had explained when, about a week ago, Joohyun had walked in on a very experimental game of muffin-making.

The latest episode of “Baking for the Seoul” flashed through Joohyun’s memory.

“Don’t the ingredients have to be… in the bowl, though?” she asked incredulously, eyes searching for any part of their countertop that was actually visible.

“Hm?” Seungwan looked up, wiping the frosting off her nose… with the wrong hand.

Joohyun raised an eyebrow. “And which one are we putting in the oven, your sludge mix or you?” She inquired, now searching for any part of her girlfriend’s face – that was actually visible.

When the girl in question stayed concentrated, apprehension bubbled in her gut at the state of that exceptionally thick bowl of frosting. She surreptitiously strained to peer behind a thoroughly battered Seungwan, trying her hardest to not actually step foot into the kitchen.

Her girlfriend has this… ‘thing’ about work space. Especially the kitchen.

“Wan-ah,” Joohyun’s tone was equal parts warning and concern. “You didn’t get any on your wings, did you… that frosting looks too thick and last time you got yourself all mucky, remember we had to – ”

“It’s fine it’s fine, look! I’m being careful!” Seungwan quipped cheerfully, pirouetting round to give a worried Joohyun a glimpse of her wings which were nicely folded through each designated slit in the back of her sky-blue jumper.

The latter breathed a sigh of relief when she saw them; all white, fluffy and – most importantly – clean. She inwardly shuddered at how much of a nightmare that bath was. Thank god she’s behaving this time, she thought.

Although momentary relief didn’t stop her from contemplating an alternative method of keeping her mind at ease.

But the thought of having Seungwan wear her wing guards in their own home tugged at her unpleasantly. It was bad enough she had to have them on when they were out in potentially stressful situations. So she wouldn’t accidentally hurt herself or anyone around her… which had unfortunately happened once or twice before. It was clearly a burden to go about so obviously restricted, and despite Seungwan’s insistence on having grown used to them, Joohyun could always feel how upset she’d get whenever she was helping to do the clasps up behind her.

Definitely no wing guards then. And if that meant Joohyun would be bruising her knees for hours on end trying to keep dense baking mix and her messy baby bird two separate entities, then she’d happily do it.

Whatever kept Seungwan chirping.

Plus, her little chef looked damned determined, so she thought it appropriate to slip in one last passing remark before plucking a banana from the rack. “Yah, Wannie! Let me know if I’m gonna have to pick out birdie feathers from my cupcakes, okay?”

Seungwan grumbled something along the lines of a ‘hm, yeah whatever unnie’ in response.

Joohyun just laughed, heading back to their room and leaving the mastermind to her latest trial.

> > > > >

[7:00 p.m] Seungwan doesn't know which she finds more horrifying: what Joohyun intends to do to her or the fact that they're going to have to have take-away two nights in a row.

. . .

It should’ve been a simple mission.

Retrieve a fresh packet of spaghetti from the topmost shelf.

Her attempts are… laughable. She’s clearly doing her best.

Though she doesn't realise it yet, she’s still being watched. From the living room, Joohyun is watching. And she isn’t laughing. Hands ball into unconscious fists as a tight wave of numbness washes over her at how adorable Seungwan looks.

Just… like that: both wings tucked against her back, beautiful and neat as their owner. Strained muscles from reaching for something Joohyun already knows she’s going to have to help out with. And the tiny grunts when fingertips barely graze the edges of the packet.

Seungwan looks so soft, so frustrated. So vulnerable.

A small spike of inexplicable adrenaline leads Joohyun to head over to the huffing, moon-hopping girl.

She really needs to teach her little dove that being this cute comes with a price.

. . .

When a lithe body slides up behind her and presses against her back, Seungwan’s wings give a gentle flutter to mimic the stutter in her heart. She sighs affectionately at the pair of hands resting low on her hips.

The task is almost forgotten. Almost.

Unnie’s here to help, Seungwan thinks… ever so mistakenly.

“Hyun – ahh,” she’s interrupted by a slight shiver when the tip of her right wing is stroked between a finger and a thumb, delicately running across pure, downy feathers. A tried and tested (Bae Joohyun-certified) method of getting the girl absolutely weak.

Judging by the sound of strained breaths filling the space between them, it’s working.

Alas, dinner hasn’t been cooked, the sun’s setting and Seungwan’s time-management brain is screaming at her to get a move on. She points to the shelf, trying her hardest to block out the dangerously wonderful feeling. “Could you – could you please get that for me?”

Instead of complying, Joohyun chuckles, moving her hands from her back to glide them lightly up and down her sides. She isn’t surprised that Seungwan is already shivering, terribly overwhelmed from that alone.

Her smirk twitches when she feels the smaller girl squirm.

Seungwan has always been like this… so responsive, so susceptible to touch. Her touch. She’s jelly in her clutches, and even Joohyun has to admit that sometimes she really doesn’t deserve to be.

Sneaky hands grow bolder, finding their way under the hem of Seungwan’s fleecy jumper to continue tracing teasing lines against soft, sensitive skin.

“But it’s so cute to watch you struggle, baby,” Joohyun coos, beginning to rest more of her weight into Seungwan’s hips, keeping her trapped against the kitchen counter.

“U-unnie,” Seungwan tries, half-heartedly writhing against Joohyun’s hold, torn between wanting to cook dinner and wanting to be dinner. “Not – ah… not right now… it’s already late, we have to – ”

“And you smell so nice. Is this new shampoo?” Joohyun presses her nose into her nape, cutting her short, nuzzling into that pleasant fruity shampoo scent. She then pauses to nudge Seungwan’s legs suggestively ajar with her knee before leaning in to whisper into a ruby-tipped ear. “ Should I give you a reason to shower again later, hm?”

The younger’s eyes widen at the sinful implication.

Gosh, really? Right now? In the kitchen?

The kitchen. The place she cooks and handles food? (Sure, Joohyun will – once in a blue moon – dice the odd carrot or something, but that certainly does not give her the right to be making any unauthorised, hormonal messes for her to clean up). She must be off her rocker if she thinks Seungwan’s going to allow her precious workstation to be tainted by what she can already foresee to be copious amounts of bodily fluid just because someone can’t keep it in their pants.

It snaps something inside her. And – with all the strength neither of them knew she possessed – Seungwan wrenches out from under Joohyun’s weight with a firm “YAH! Stop fooling around!”, sending the older woman stumbling a few steps back.

For a second, they’re just as stunned and disbelieving as each other; Seungwan at her own apprently dormant Herculean strength –

– and Joohyun at the sheer audacity.

Then again, could this be any more timely?

God, Joohyun could kiss herself.

She straightens her blouse, putting on her best ‘I-can’t-believe-you’ve-done-this’ expression, and turning to lock the now slightly (and rightfully so) terrified-looking Seungwan with a stare. This is the best part. The part where she just glares, secretly gleeful as the other girl absolutely crumbles with apprehension.

The part where Seungwan thinks it’s her fault.

“Uh oh,” she tuts, sporting a grin to match that mischievous glint in her eyes, “someone’s in trouble, aren’t they?”

Seungwan is, of course, at a total loss for words, but she fumbles around anyway, desperate to justify whatever the hell she’s just done. It’s almost too much for Joohyun to handle, watching her dig her own grave like this.

Finally, Seungwan tries to back up, only to let out a sharp gasp when she trips over her own feet in her haste. She’s on the floor in seconds with Joohyun immediately following. There’s hardly a chance for her to get her bearings before she’s stuck on her back with a weight straddling her hips.

Seungwan goes wide-eyed. She might as well kiss the prospect of a candlelit dinner bye-bye… for tonight, at least.

“My clumsy, clumsy Wannie,” Joohyun mocks, holding herself above the smaller girl on her hands and purposely tangling their legs together. “Tonight was very thoughtful of you, baby, but I’m postponing our dinner plans to tomorrow night. I think we should order in, don’t you?”

“Ah unnie...” Seungwan groans, failing to ignore the way Joohyun’s predatory expression crayons her cheeks a soft pink, “we had take-away last night! I don’t wanna eat chicken aga – ”

“Then let’s get pizza,” Joohyun offers unhelpfully. She’s clearly got her own agenda that she’s determined to follow through with. “Okay? Hm, let’s see… you have to the count of five to agree with me or…”

She pauses to savour the panic in those deep brown eyes. “I’m going to have a very tired little birdie to take care of.”

That satisfied smirk leaves nothing to the imagination. Seungwan can practically read her fate on her girlfriend's rosy lips before they delve into hers, causing her eyes to roll back as they melt hotly into each other.

Seungwan hardly notices Joohyun lacing their fingers together until her eyes flutter open and she finds herself held down, arms stretched securely above her head. Joohyun adjusts her grip so she has both wrists pinned under one hand and the other free.

Ah, fuck, not again. Seungwan laughs emptily, fidgeting with high-strung premonition. When her one final struggle proves useless, she resorts to asserting herself with her voice. “Yah, unnie, I’m cooking tonight. Stop being annoying or you’re not getting fed.”

Ah, too easy.

Joohyun contemplates elaborating further. But she’s said enough. Besides, Seungwan doesn’t even deserve a response to that. That was a threat, wasn’t it? The prospect of starvation is a serious threat that should be promptly dealt with. And what do you do when you’re faced with a threat? Be that a burglar, a murderer or a very flustered Son Seungwan.

Tickle them. Obviously.

Joohyun leers over her, wiggling her fingers in anticipation. “Five…”

Seungwan’s eyes blow wide, and – with miserable luck – she renews her efforts at breaking free once again. “Hyun! Seriously?! You – I can’t believe you’re d – ”

“Four.”

“HYUN!”

“Three.”

“Okay! Okay! Let’s get pizza tonight! There, happy?! You can even choose the flav – ”

Seungwan hears a scoff above her. “Nope. Sorry Wannie. I made that decision. You’ve changed nothing.”

“YAH, YOU TRICKED ME YOU BIRDBRAIN! LET ME UP. YOU’RE SO DEAD!!”

One click of a tongue and Seungwan has never retracted any statement faster in her life.

“Okayokayokay! Sorry that was super mean! Please I – ”

“Two…”

Too late. She’s dead. She’s one hundred percent about to be on the list of the unfairly deceased.

Seungwan whines hopelessly. “Unnieeeee, you’re not being fair!”

It’s a ditch attempt, but one Seungwan doesn’t intend to miss. “OKAY SERIOUSLY I MEAN IT, GET OFF!”

Joohyun snickers. “One.”

With five fingers and wicked intent, she dives in.

. . .

A pair of pretty wings and an even prettier face make for an impossible choosing.

Even now, as she has Seungwan flat on her back with her eyes screwed shut and tears streaming down her face, she wants to flip her over so she can be blinded by white insulation. So those feathers can brush against her as she drives their owner to the brink of sanity.

She wants to feel her dove respond to what she does to her.

“Hyu – Hyun, p-please!”

Joohyun smirks down at her victim, who’s weakly pawing at the front of her blouse in what she can only assume is an attempt to get her to stop.

Pathetic.

Seungwan never fails to struggle. But then again, she never fails to forget that Joohyun, too, is much, much stronger than she looks.

All that tiresome squirming is easily dealt with. Only a fraction more pressure from Joohyun’s fingertips, and Seungwan’s arms fall to either side, limp and useless just like the rest of her. The only indication she’s even conscious is the violent trembling and – when she’s able to muster up the lung space – the occasional plea for mercy.

Even the laughter is silent.

Joohyun loves it this way. She loves having Seungwan all sweaty and flustered beyond belief; whenever and wherever she pleases, the younger girl is reduced to a quivering mess, trapped beneath her cruel dexterity.

So instead of getting the pasta boiling for a romantic dinner, Seungwan is graciously letting Joohyun have her one-sided fun while she’s forced to cough, splutter and laugh so hard her insides hurt. The reflex to try to buck Joohyun off or twist out of her clutches nips at her incessantly.

Although she really shouldn’t worm around like that, because it’s only making Joohyun’s job easier with how her jumper rides further and further up with every inch she wriggles away.

It almost makes Joohyun think her little songbird wants to be tickled.

“Aw,” she coos, playfully tweaking unintentionally exposed ribs. “So cute, Wannie. You want it here, too?”

Seungwan is breathless from the tickles before she’s even processed what Joohyun’s said. Those tantalising touches never linger on any part of her long enough for her to develop a resistance to them. Not that she could even if she tried. She’s as sensitive as Joohyun is skilled. And Joohyun strikes with dreadful precision, switching between light skittering and then deftly kneading her fingers into every spot that wrings Seungwan’s lungs for all they’re worth.

The smooth tile is cooling against her feathers, even if her wings are twitching beyond her control, trying their hardest to flip her over to give her some shot at escaping. She barely manages to crawl a few inches away before there’s a firm grip on her ankle, all but dragging her back because Joohyun sure as hell isn’t done with her that quickly.

Trying to get away? She cocks an eyebrow, scooting up to sit on Seungwan’s butt, pinning her hips to the floor.

“Oh no, my poor birdie’s flipped herself over,” she feigns concern, gently resting her palms on Seungwan’s wings, stilling their fluttering and holding them steady. The sight of them unfolded, outstretched from the struggle and completely exposed has Joohyun catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Did you hurt yourself here, Wannie? You need unnie to kiss it better?”

Seungwan shrieks at a pitch that’d have every dog in the neighbourhood cowering when she feels a pair of pillowy lips settle on that excruciating spot right where the arch of her wings meet her back, where she absolutely cannot stand to be touched.

Even under normal circumstances, Seungwan had made her swear to never spring upon her like that. And of course, by virtue of that alone, it quickly became one of Joohyun’s favourite places to touch her.

Luckily she’s too distracted now to protest.

The ‘kisses’ aren’t any less torturous than ten fingers going all at once.

Poor, tired Seungwan hardly has the energy to writhe as Joohyun continues to press her hellish butterfly kisses all along the length of those oversensitive appendages, nosing into her feathers and ruffling them gently with her breath. The younger’s expression contorts into silent agony when she feels the fingers return, this time digging into her armpits.

Fresh tears well up in the corners of her eyes as she lays there, flailing like a fish out of water, face down with zero leverage to combat her girlfriend’s merciless onslaught.

She’s as defenceless as a turtle on its back (or rather, a dove on its tummy). Her squirms are getting weaker, the laughter more strained, but it’s all so rewarding to her loving tormentor.

Seungwan is kept laughing till the hollow ring of the doorbell sounds through their apartment.

. . .

[An hour post stuffed crust pepperoni pizza with extra cheese]

Joohyun enters their room just as her girlfriend is getting dressed for bed, freshly showered… again. She lets out a low chuckle when Seungwan catches sight of her in her peripheral vision and hastily pulls the loose necked pajama t-shirt over her head.

“How was dinner?” she asks, arms folded and leaning against the door.

Seungwan rolls her eyes and releases her hair from its bun. “Too much cheese. We need to drink lots of water tonight or we’ll be pufferfish in the morning.”

“Aw, is someone grumpy?” Joohyun gives an uncharacteristically exaggerated pout and the latter hides a shiver.

Good god, please someone save her.

“Unnie, of course I am. We’re going to eat reheated carbonara sauce tomorrow no thanks to you,” Seungwan bluntly retaliates. “You’ve had your fun, now can you stop talking to me like I’m five, please?”

Naturally, her request falls on selectively deafened ears.

“Yah, seriously,” she punctuates the severity by manually unfolding her trembling left wing and pointing at it. “Look. I’m still shaking because of you. Now you're done, I really – ”

That’s all the grumpy talk she’s allowed before Joohyun jump-tackles her onto their bed, pinning her to it and watching sheer panic etch into deep cinnamon irises.

“When did I say I was done?” she asks, suggestiveness tracing the edges of her tone. She hovers above her, bringing a hand up to cup her face.

Seungwan hisses a laugh. “Unnie, I have a limit too, you know. You can’t just keep finding excuses to tickle the crap out of – ”

She chokes on a gasp when she feels a hand – the one she’d been as good as tortured under not two hours ago – trailing down her stomach… slipping past the elastic of her panties and –

– it just reminds her why she’ll always let Joohyun have her fun.

Because no matter how much she laughs, screams, cries or begs, there’s always a reward. Much sweeter than anything Seungwan thinks she could ever bake. Their sex life is anything but stagnant, however this is, more often than not, Joohyun’s way of making it up to her afterwards (much to her approval).

Or maybe she just wants to drive Seungwan to the brink of losing her voice so she won't have to hear the nagging about the next episode of Baking For the Seoul.

Which, by the way, came out tonight. And Joohyun made them miss it. She had better be praying they’d be able to find a copy online somewhere.

Either way, it’s so much more gratifying after an eternity spent howling your lungs out on the floor. Seungwan’s full attention is lasered down to where Joohyun is now softly caressing her under the thin cotton barrier. The warm ache beginning to settle in between her thighs prompts her to try to squeeze them together, but Joohyun catches on and wedges her knees in between them, spreading her even further.

“Ah,” she raises a smug brow as she leans in to press her lips to the base of her ear. Her own eyes darken with lust in response to her little dove writhing helplessly below her. “Be a good girl for me, okay, baby?”

It’s late. Seungwan can barely keep her eyes open. Oh, but she aches so badly.

“Still grumpy, hm?” Joohyun murmurs questioningly, hot breath fanning over Seungwan’s neck and echoing goosebumps over her skin. She glances down at the bulge of her hand stretching the fabric, fingers already coated in slick. Her index finger rubs against Seungwan’s clit. “Feel good, Wannie?”

Hopelessly turned on, it’s all the other girl can do to whimper in agreement.

The pleasing sound of those soft whines escaping right into her ear turns Joohyun’s grin into something downright wolfish. She gives the swollen bud a few more leisurely strokes before retracting her hand completely, leaving Seungwan squirming in anticipation with whatever energy she has left.

Joohyun tastes the arousal on her fingertips. “Mm, I love how small you look right now, in my hands. So small and needy.”

Seungwan pants out a quiet “please, unnie”, clasping a shuddering hand over Joohyun’s and guiding it back down to the heat in her panties. She rolls her hips up into her palm, silently begging for her reward for being such a ‘willing’ participant in the one-sided games they played today.

After letting her gaze linger for a second, Joohyun shifts so she’s lying next to Seungwan. She slips her hand back in and squeezes firmly, revelling in the hoarseness of the girl’s voice. Velvety lips delicately map out her shoulder, and Seungwan has to fight to keep her eyes open to drink in the image of Joohyun pressed up against her, right hand cradled under her neck, propping her head up so they can both see the other one teasing her down her underwear.

It’s when Seungwan turns away to frustratedly pout at the suspense that Joohyun smiles and gives her a quick peck on the nose.

“I’ll continue if you promise not to pass out this time, okay baby bird?”

She bites back a snort watching Seungwan nod like she’s ever been able to stay awake after.

Then she has to bite back another because since when has she ever not continued even after being fed these empty promises, time and time again.

Anything to keep her precious Seungwan happy.

#red velvet #wenrene #wendy #irene #wing kinks are only valid if you exploit the crap out of them #so irene's got the right idea

40 notes · View notes

the-real-tc · 4 years ago

Text

Fic UPDATE! Wide River to Cross: Chapter 23

A.N.: This chapter took way longer to churn out than I expected, and there will be another update very shortly. We're moved into Episode 713 territory now, so you know that means things are getting even closer to where they are supposed to be. Enjoy!

Chapter 23: Chance Encounter

The drive back from Moose Jaw on Tuesday was its usual eight-hour, mind-numbing slog for Tim Fleming. Shane and Miranda seemed to be doing fine without him, though something in his gut warned Tim there was something going on neither of them wished to speak of in his presence. The visit started off on a positive note. Shane excitedly asked about Pal before politely moving on to inquiring about his half-sisters. By the actual Thanksgiving Monday, Tim knew he was wearing out his welcome, as if Miranda could not wait to be rid of him. Yes, it was true they had called it quits, but there was a distant air about her that Tim could not put his finger on. When he mentioned he would like to come out in a month for the Remembrance Day holiday, he was met with a non-committal sort of answer, but not an outright "no". Shane's sullen resentment over the absence of a father-figure in his life was still brewing beneath the surface. Tim recognized the signs; he just had no idea what to do about it, especially since Miranda was apparently hedging about the next time he could visit his son. How was he supposed to be a father to Shane if he was not even permitted to see him on a regular basis?

By the time Tim reached Hudson, he was exhausted both physically and emotionally. He had half a mind to drop in at Heartland and stick around long enough to invite himself to dinner, but he was not in the mood to hear Jack complain about the sheep again, which he was sure to do. Instead, Tim pulled into the local McDonald's Drive-thru and ordered something he knew he would barely taste, but would otherwise tide him over until the next day. On Wednesday morning, Tim regretfully realised he was completely out of supplies and would need to head into town for groceries.

He was still contemplating what to do about convincing Miranda to allow him to visit again in a month's time while grabbing some steaks from a refrigerated shelf in the Deli section. Maybe the boy could come out to Heartland instead, Tim pondered. After all, Shane was still obviously interested in riding Pal. Amy and Lou would be happy to see their half-brother, of course. Tim also had a feeling Shane and Georgie would get along just fine, if given the chance.

What would he think about Tricia? Tim suddenly wondered as he mechanically loaded his groceries into his truck before starting the drive back to Big River.

What would Tricia think about Shane?

When is the right time to tell her about my "illegitimate" son?

Are we serious enough for that yet?

Those thoughts quickly fled as Tim did a double-take at the unexpected sight of an oddly familiar auburn-haired woman. She stood at the bank of green community mailboxes on the side of the rural road, unaware of his scrutiny. The presence of her nearby silver-grey Porsche SUV confirmed it: the usually blonde Lisa Stillman had returned to Hudson. Tim pulled his truck to a stop—he simply had to get the low-down on this. Lisa was the last person he expected to see here, especially after Lou bought back her share of the Dude Ranch so many months ago. Jack's continued silence on Lisa's whereabouts and the status of their relationship compelled Tim to approach. After all, Lisa was godmother to his granddaughter Katie. It would be impolite to drive past her without a word, he reasoned.

"Hey, Lisa!" he called when he was within earshot.

Her shoulders jerked slightly, causing Tim to feel slightly guilty for startling her when he caught the stunned expression on her face. She recovered in time to respond, though somewhat hesitantly. "Oh. Hi, Tim!" she called back with forced brightness. Her smile, too, was forced.

"Wow, I didn't expect to see you back in town," Tim said as he neared. "How ya been? How was France?"

"Busy. I've been really busy," she replied hastily, closing her mailbox door and snapping the lock shut before stuffing her envelopes into a side pocket. "Um, France was fine. Sorry I can't stay and chat. I just got back from dropping off my sister at the airport, and I've still got lots to do today. As a matter of fact, I have an appointment with someone in less than half an hour."

"Your sister was visiting?" Tim echoed. "Huh. That's nice. Don't think I've ever met her. The appointment wouldn't happen to be with Jack would it?"

Lisa's spirits sank at the mention of the man she loved but was avoiding. She wondered if Tim did it on purpose—honing right in on a person's vulnerable spot and then exposing it.

"Uh, no. No, I'm not meeting Jack," Lisa's voice faltered.

"Then who are you meeting?" Tim pressed.

Lisa felt cornered now. Knowing the news would eventually get out, anyway, she decided to be straight with the man. "A real estate agent," she answered testily. "I've put Fairfield on the market."

Tim's face betrayed mild surprise. Wow, he thought. She really is making that move to France permanent. "You're selling Fairfield. Whoa. Does Jack know about this?"

Lisa exhaled. "Jack knows I love France," she eventually responded as she averted her glance. "I tried to share that part of my life with him, but it didn't work. He hates France, and there's no changing that fact. It's best I make a clean break. For now, he doesn't even know I'm in Hudson, and I'd like to keep it that way, please. So don't tell him you saw me, okay?"

Despite not quite receiving a straight answer to his question, Tim nevertheless made a zipping motion across his lips. "O-kay."

"You promise you will not tell him I'm here?" Lisa said, eyeing him now with skepticism.

"I promise I will not tell Jack you're here, Lisa," Tim proclaimed, raising his hand in a Scout salute.

"Good. Thank you," she said, making her move back to the Porsche. "Now, I really have to go. Take care, Tim. 'Bye."

"Yeah, 'bye," Tim said, absently securing his hat on his head.

Without bothering to look back at him, Lisa raised a hand in a farewell gesture as she climbed into the driver's seat.

Tim called out: "But you are gonna tell him eventually, right?"

The motor roaring to life drowned out the question, causing Tim to frown. Aw, man. Something's gotta be done about those two before it's too late, he thought. I just need to figure out what.

Lisa pulled away from the mailboxes in a daze. Now that Tim had seen her, it was only a matter of time before Jack found out she was in Hudson. Of all the people I had to run into, why did it have to be Tim Fleming?! she fretted. And once Jack does find out, what will I do? Guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

The real estate agent warned Lisa from the outset her asking-price was high, given the current slump in the market. While she knew this, it was a tactic she hoped to use to her advantage. It was intended to weed out a bulk of potential buyers who would only waste her time. Genuinely interested buyers would be savvy enough to try to negotiate a lower selling price they would both be comfortable with. Lisa was ready to play that game. Besides, if someone did agree to the initial price, the agent stood to make a fantastic commission.

There would be no way to hide the signs or the real estate listing, of course, so even if she never laid eyes on Jack, he would eventually find out about the sale. She was plagued with feelings of guilt. Was it really fair to avoid him? How difficult would it be to make a quick call to say: "Hi, I've returned to Hudson to sell the old place. Thanks for the good times we had; I'm moving to France for good."

Very difficult indeed.

Those thoughts were quickly dismissed when Lisa reached Fairfield and business concerns once again consumed her mental energies. Among those concerns was the sale of Cinders, a horse for which Lisa felt an uncommon fondness due to his resemblance to her long-ago cherished Silver. Riding Cinders out to Lookout Point every morning was part of her daily routine when in Hudson, so she was reluctant to part with the animal. I have Indigo back in Toulon for my morning ride, Lisa thought practically, knowing one fewer horse to transport to France could be good for cost-saving in the long run.

A buyer from Montana was interested; Lisa was awaiting the finalization of that sale before booking transport. Three other horses would be going to buyers in Alberta; two to British Columbia, and one to Saskatchewan. That left several other horses that might eventually need to be auctioned, including the pregnant Rhapsody. The broodmare's pregnancy and the subsequent weaning process once the foal arrived meant travel any time soon would be ill-advised, so having her remain in Canada to be sold made sense.

The clone of Fairfield Flyer—when it arrived—was still a question mark. Dan seemed overly confident it would help them make their mark once they launched their breeding business overseas. Lisa was more cautious and hesitant about the whole idea; in time, maybe she would feel differently about the situation, as her sister Rachel had predicted.

And I'm still quite angry Dan did it, Lisa realised, almost feeling her blood pressure rising just thinking about the whole mess. Why am I even still in business with him? The answer she always arrived at whenever she pondered that question was that they still made good business partners, despite their failed marriage. This time, though, Lisa wondered whether business success in partnership with Dan was a good enough reason.

I have spent more than half my life doing this, Lisa said to herself. I've achieved a lot in that time. I would like to think I have made my father proud of the 'Fairfield' name. That alone should be worth it, right? And it's like I told Rachel: the money I've earned has made it possible to realise a lot of dreams, do things I wanted to do, and see the world. But at the end of the day, I go home to an empty house. What dreams am I chasing now? I always dreamed of retiring to France. And then Jack came into my life.

Lisa reflected fondly on that day at Heartland when she encountered Jack at the Open House barbecue. Amy had just awed the crowd by showing off her work with Promise, and with the way she had risen to Val Stanton's seemingly impossible, impromptu challenge to fix the hundred-thousand-dollar horse that refused to jump.

"You're doing a really good job with her, Jack," Lisa recalled telling him. What she didn't tell him was that she had inquired discreetly about his fifteen-year-old granddaughter after being impressed by her during their first meeting at Fairfield. Since Nick Harwell had sung Amy's praises regarding her work with Star, Lisa called him up. She hoped to find out a little more about this Amy Fleming, daughter of the late Marion Fleming. She had a vague recollection hearing about Marion and Heartland since returning to Hudson from the 'States. Even so, she had at least known of the existence of 'Heartland Ranch' in the same sort of familiar way Hudsonites would know of the existence of any other ranch in the area.

"I read in the Hudson Times about Marion Fleming's passing and how Amy's grandfather is a rodeo legend," Lisa had told Nick during their conversation. "What else should I know about this family?"

"Yes, Jack Bartlett is pretty well-known for his rodeo days. And Marion... Marion was something else," Nick had stated. "And I really think Amy has the gift, too. What did you think of her?"

"It's too early to tell," Lisa had replied honestly, "but I like her spunk. I had my reservations about Promise going under the care of a fifteen-year-old, but she won some points with me. She set me straight when she told me her mother didn't 'whisper' to horses; she listened to them."

Nick had chuckled. "Whatever you want to call it, Marion sure worked magic with horses, and Amy can, too. You just have to sit back and let the magic happen."

"How is Heartland Ranch doing?" Lisa then inquired. "Are they going to be okay without Marion working with troubled horses? That was their main source of income, wasn't it?"

"I'm not sure," Nick replied with a sigh. "Jack does have a herd of cattle, but it's small. His adult granddaughter Lou is back in town from New York to help, but who knows how long she plans to stay... And Jack's wife, Lyndy, died a few years ago. I heard through the grapevine Amy and Lou's dad is a rodeo legend too, but he's also a total deadbeat. So now Jack has got to raise Amy by himself. It's not going to be easy for them. I do believe Amy has her mother's gift, but she's still so young to be taking on the 'family business', if you know what I mean. Jack has his work cut out for him."

"Yes, I guess he does," Lisa had remarked thoughtfully, imagining an elderly man all of a sudden saddled with a responsibility he did not anticipate in the wake of his daughter's tragic death.

To see Jack Bartlett in the flesh was a revelation. The man was nowhere near the 'elderly' grandfather Lisa had envisioned after speaking with Nick. He was tall, fit, and grizzled with irregular features, yet handsome in an unconventional way she found attractive. She would almost have guessed he was Amy's father had she not known any better. So this was the man who was taking care of his teenaged granddaughter. This was the man who had clearly taken the responsibility very seriously, and was succeeding at the task despite the burden of loss and heartbreak. This man, a salt-of-the-earth type, exuding quiet confidence and strength—this man she simply had to get to know better.

He was the first man in a very long time Lisa felt the urge to flirt with; the first man she felt comfortable sending out signals she wanted to know him on a deeper level. Their first real conversation was brief. She paid him a compliment about the burgers he was grilling up, then added she thought he was doing a great job with Amy. She mentioned her own situation with taking on her nephew following his parents' divorce. As they parted company that evening, she brushed her shoulder against his after his offer to help with Ben, hoping the message was received.

Bringing up those old memories of the weeks and months that followed the Open House was bittersweet. Back then, it was Immediately clear to Lisa that Jack was nothing remotely resembling a social butterfly. He was never at any of the parties she attended, nor was he known to folks in her Hudson social circles. She would have to ferret out what his interests were and meet him at that level if she wanted to get closer to him. Lisa would be forever grateful to Maggie for suggesting Amy have a look at the traumatized Gallant Prince, as it provided more opportunities to visit Heartland—and to see Jack.

And then I asked him to accompany me to that auction... and his truck broke down.

It was a deviation in her plan she had not expected, but rolled with it by suggesting they eat right then instead of after the sale. They discussed nothing of consequence during that interlude while they ate turkey-and-swiss sandwiches, but Lisa enjoyed every minute of it.

"Aren't you something?" Jack had asked, clearly not expecting anything like this when she told him she made coffee for him; that she had planned a picnic treat from the very beginning.

The early fall weather was pleasant, a soft breeze fluttering through the leaves of the trees that surrounded them. She seldom had a chance to pause like this, sitting in the company of just one other person, undisturbed by the rest of the world. He complimented her on the coffee, subtly making her realise he had strong opinions about the beverage. Time slipped away much too quickly. After a particularly long stretch of silence between them after the last of the coffee had been drunk, Jack finally spoke up: "Well, I guess I should probably see if that old truck of mine is ready to start. Can't have you missing that auction, can we?"

Reluctantly, they tidied up and trekked back to the stalled vehicle. It started without complaint, bearing them safely to High River for the auction. Lisa mentally skipped over the part when they encountered Dan, knowing what she knew now about how he had the temerity to tell Jack she was still his wife. Lisa remembered her acute disappointment upon discovering Jack had abandoned her there without a word. Something about that scenario did not sit right with her, as she was quite certain he had enjoyed their picnic.

Perhaps another woman might have dismissed him for that perceived slight, Lisa reasoned, but I knew I couldn't let him go that easily. Fortunately, a good friend she ran into at the close of the auction was willing to give her a lift to Heartland so she could retrieve her Porsche. At the time, she was tempted to knock on Jack's door to demand an explanation, but something told her that would be the wrong move. Let this thing play out, she remembered thinking. Let him come to you when he's ready.

And the explanation did come out, confirming for Lisa she made the right choice by not blowing the situation out of proportion, though she had every right to be upset. Handling it with a dose of humour had de-escalated what could have been a very uncomfortable situation. After all, Dan had just sourly peeled out of Heartland, having been told off by Jack, and after being rebuffed by Lisa.

"Well, since men keep driving away on me, would you mind driving me home in your truck, please?" she remembered asking with a smile and a good-natured chuckle. Of course Jack had not minded one bit. She had noticed the look of gradual, earnest relief on his face once he realised she was not married to Dan any longer; that she had not been playing with his emotions or leading him on.

"Jack, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding with my EX-husband," she said contritely during that ride back to Fairfield. "He had no right to do that, and I want to make it very clear I—"

And he had broken in gently then, telling her she had no need to apologize; that he was the one that needed to do the apologizing for abandoning her at the auction.

"Hmm," she had said playfully. "I suppose you have a plan in mind about how you're going to make it up to me?"

"Well, as a matter of fact... I was wondering..."

After a few seconds of tense silence, he had asked if he could have the pleasure of her company at his private cabin in a few weeks' time. She could tell it took some effort on his part to ask the question, but she readily accepted his invitation to try a little fly fishing, despite the lateness of the season, as he told her.

"I would love to, Jack," she had replied, grinning from ear to ear, thinking this reconciliation had gone miles better than she hoped.

Maggie had helped her pick out all the requisite equipment after she realised she would actually need hip waders and rods for the date. Expensive hobby, she remembered thinking when her friend rang up all the purchases at the cash register.

"I'd better catch something, huh?" she had ruefully asked.

"I think you already did," Maggie had quipped.

At the time, the meaning of those words had not been lost on Lisa. Now, after all the time since those early days when they were still practically strangers, Lisa wondered if he was still on the line, or if Jack had pulled loose. Severed from her life, he would be pulled away from her shore, lost to the currents of the passing world.

Despite never using the equipment again since that first date, Lisa had never availed herself of Maggie's promise of a refund.

I always hoped we would go fishing together again, Lisa mused. Why is it we never did? Maybe it's high time I got rid of all that stuff; I certainly won't be doing much fly fishing in France.

Lisa shook her head slightly, knowing she had to cease thinking about such matters and concentrate instead on getting her Fairfield business in order. As if on cue, her office line rang, its call display revealing a Montana area code.

Looks like I have an answer about Cinders, she rightly guessed.

"Lisa, hi! It's Wayne Mosley. I'll make this call short and sweet: We have a deal on your horse. I can have the funds wired to you today."

"That's great, Wayne," Lisa replied, squelching the sentiment that unexpectedly sprang up at the thought she was really going to be parting with the animal for good. "I can get transport booked for Cinders as early as Sunday."

"Perfect. Thanks, Lisa."

"You're welcome. Glad we were able to work something out."

"It's always a pleasure doing business with you. Take care. 'Bye."

"Likewise, Wayne. 'Bye."

Lightning almost as bright as day flashed, visible even through Lisa's closed eyelids. That alone might have been enough to awaken her, but the following crash of ear-splitting thunder made it impossible to remain in the land of dreams.

Lisa rolled over in bed, gradually becoming aware of the fact of the storm raging outside. When she cracked open an eye to check the time on the bedside digital clock, she could barely make out a blank display screen.

Have we lost power? she wondered groggily. Another flash of lightning briefly illuminated the bedroom. Her ears picked up on the wind-driven rains beating against the windowpanes. A quick glance outside confirmed Hudson had indeed lost power. Seconds later, the Fairfield generators kicked in, bringing to life the security lights outside. The numbers on the clock now blinked '12:00' a.m. in a rhythmic pattern, its green glow a slight irritant.

With a sigh, Lisa let her head fall back onto one of the many the pillows scattered about the mattress. Installing those generators had come at some expense, but she was grateful for them now and in times past when an outage occurred. She listened to the sounds of the storm, unable to fall back asleep quite yet. Some of the horses in the stables would be restless, and she wondered if Rhapsody was okay, given her expectant state.

Harry and the rest of the hands are going to be dealing with a few grumpy, skittish equines in the morning, she thought as she finally sat up to re-set the time on the clock after consulting her iPhone.

The lightning flashes were less frequent now; the answering thunder a distant rumble. The storm was either moving on or its intensity petering out.

Oh, no. Things are going to be a mess out there tomorrow, this new thought entered her mind, as it dawned on her the power loss was probably caused by downed tree branches. The trees around Fairfield were never spared damage in such instances in the past. The real estate agent would expect the property to be in pristine condition if there were going to be any showings.

Better call the landscaping company first thing... It was the last thought she remembered thinking before drifting off again.

Clean-up the morning after the storm that knocked out power at Heartland occupied a fair chunk of the Bartlett-Fleming-Morris family's time. Branches lay haphazardly about the yard. Piles of scattered leaves and twigs littered the ground, blown off by the earlier violent winds.

Tim pulled up in his truck uncharacteristically early to lend a hand, though he certainly had ulterior motives. Lisa made me promise not to tell Jack she was back in town. She didn't make me promise not to tell anyone else, though... He approached Amy, hoping to determine if Jack was wise to the situation of Lisa's return to Hudson.

"Guess who I saw in town yesterday?" he asked his daughter, unable to keep a lid on the information bubbling up to the surface.

The surprise that registered on Amy's face told him everything: Poor Jack was clueless.

Lisa's backside smarted. That's going to leave a bruise, she thought ruefully as she checked herself over for any other potential injuries after being unceremoniously dumped to the damp ground by Cinders. But no, every other part of her body seemed just fine. No broken bones or sprains, thank God. That's the last thing I would need right now just as I'm trying to get things sorted out at Fairfield. Now where has that horse trotted off to, and what the heck happened?

Lisa's brow creased as she recalled a sudden uncomfortable, intense buzzing sensation right before being tossed from the saddle. Her eyes sought and quickly spotted something that confirmed a dim suspicion: a downed tree tangled up with the line from an electrical fence erected around the slough Cinders had stepped into.

So that's what that shock was, Lisa realised.

"Cinders!" she called, hoping the sound of her voice would bring the horse back. It was usually an exercise in futility; Cinders was not trained to come when beckoned as a pet dog might. A careful inspection of the sod around her revealed hoof prints.

I hope that horse hasn't gone too far, Lisa thought in irritation. In truth, she was more annoyed at herself for not noticing the downed line. Fortunately, she spotted the dappled grey horse not too far away, pulling at some vegetation.

"Hey, you," Lisa softly chided as she approached him with deliberate caution. "What was that all about? Did you get spooked by that silly electric fence?"

Cinders seemed to bristle slightly when she neared, but he did not refuse when she took hold of his bridle. "Let's go home, huh?" she said, placing her right foot into the stirrup to mount up. With a squeeze of her calves, Lisa cued the horse to begin the return the way they came. Ahead, she could see the muddy banks of the slough along with the energizer and tangle of electrical wiring and branches.

Everything about the ride seemed normal until they were a few feet away from the water. Cinders stiffened as soon as he sighted the pond, stopping dead in his tracks. He balked when Lisa urged him on again; a snort of terror issued from his nostrils before he reared up in protest.

"Whoa, whoa!" Lisa called out, barely avoiding another fall as she regained her balance. "What's the matter with you?"

Without being commanded to do so, the horse backed away, giving his head a few contrary shakes.

"Come on, Cinders," Lisa coaxed, applying more pressure to his sides with her legs. She clicked her tongue loudly twice. The horse eventually got the idea, and he sidestepped the muddy bank, pacing off to the right, giving the slough a wide berth.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Scott," Lisa said.

"You've always been one of my best clients, Lisa," Scott commented warmly. "Happy to be of service. I was surprised to hear from you, to be honest; I haven't had a call from Fairfield in months."

"I know," she said vaguely, "being in France and all meant I wasn't as hands-on here as I have been in the past."

At that moment, Ty ambled in to the holding area. If he was surprised to see her there, he hid the emotion well. "Hi, Lisa," he said casually, as if this were any other normal visit.

"Hello, Ty," she answered back with a wan smile. Kicking herself mentally, she now knew she should have counted on the possibility Ty would be on duty at the clinic today. Oh, shoot. First Tim; now Ty. It's going to be impossible to keep my being in Hudson from Jack.

"I noticed the 'For Sale' signs up at Fairfield," Scott continued. "Don't tell me you're thinking of leaving us for good?"

Lisa bobbed her head, still wary of Ty's presence. "Yeah, I've had a good run here," she replied. "I'm looking at a new opportunity in Avignon."

With that short answer, both Scott and Ty understood she was not going to say anything more on the topic.

"So what's going on with this guy?" Scott asked, looking now at the horse. "You said something about an electrical fence?"

"Uh, yes," Lisa spoke up, re-organizing her thoughts to focus on the reason for her hasty appointment. "Meet Cinders."

The horse's level of agitation had come down since the earlier ride, but Lisa caught subtle cues that told a different story, making it clear to her Cinders was not over the sudden electrical shock they had experienced at the slough. She explained the whole episode while Scott examined the animal, inviting Ty to do the same as a learning exercise.

Presently, Scott declared: "In my medical opinion, there's nothing wrong with him physically, Lisa."

"That's good," Lisa said in relief. She rubbed Cinders' forehead. "It's just that he now absolutely refuses to go near water, Scott. The shock was pretty intense. Even I felt it right before I ended up on my butt. I'm afraid he thinks he's going to get zapped every time he steps into a puddle."

"I wish there was a magic pill I could give him to cure aquaphobia," Scott said with a smirk.

"Yeah, I know," Lisa sighed. "I just sold him yesterday to a guy in Montana. He's being shipped out on Sunday. I can't sell a 'defective' product."

"Want me to ask Amy if she can take the case?" Ty interjected, sympathetic to her situation.

Lisa contemplated. Involving Amy came with a risk. If Jack found out... She was grateful Ty had not asked any prying questions, seemingly aware the topic of her reappearance was verboten, but his suggestion was her best chance at fixing the problem.

"Okay," she eventually replied. "But could you—could you please tell her to keep it confidential...? Jack doesn't know I'm back, and I mean to keep it that way."

Ty nodded at her with understanding; Scott looked at her quizzically, but wisely held his tongue.

"Thanks," she said, blowing out a breath. "I hope she can figure him out before Sunday. But then again, she's always come through for me in the past. Go ahead, Ty. He's all yours."

"I'll get Cinders trailered out to Heartland right away," Ty said, taking hold of the lead rope.

Once Ty was safely on the way back to Heartland, Lisa carried on with some additional errands. As she drove, she came to the conclusion she was simply prolonging the inevitable. Even though I've sworn Scott, Ty and Tim to secrecy, walls have ears. Jack's going to know I'm here before the day is done, guaranteed.

Jack's sleep had been restive and uneasy. Katie's fright over the storm in addition to her irritability at missing Lou had not made for a peaceful night. Pete had sheepishly apologized for the toddler's cries, but the older man sympathized. He had been through those same parenting woes when Marion had been a baby, though he had admittedly missed months at a time of her growing up due to being on the rodeo circuit.

As Jack drove out to the town Yard Waste and Recycle Centre to deposit their dead branches and leaf sweepings, he wondered what his grandson-in-law was going to do if Katie continued to regress in her potty-training regimen. Clearly, these new parents had not counted on a lengthy separation between child and mother during this crucial time. Pete was doing his best, but it seemed not to be enough at this time.

He was still pondering this problem on his return trip to Heartland, slowly coming to the realisation there might not be any easy solutions. He was so engrossed in this mental exercise he had a double-take when he spotted a woman he thought he recognized on the side of the road.

Lisa?! he thought in a daze. It can't be.

But his eyes were not deceiving him. This was no case of mistaken identity as in times past when he thought he saw her in town. This was his old flame, quietly checking her mail like any other person. Only she was not any other person. She was the one who somehow managed to slip through his fingers. A subtle heat burned in his chest as he brought the truck to a slow roll before setting the brake.

Lisa is back. What is she doing here? Why is she back? Lisa is here.

Jack very nearly stumbled over his two feet on his approach. He could tell she heard his footsteps though he was trying to be stealthy.

"Hi, Lisa," he uttered, unsure of what to say now that he had been presented with this unexpected opportunity to talk with her.

She looked up almost guiltily at him.

Busted, Lisa thought. Here I am, trying to avoid Jack this whole time, and he has to spot me getting the mail. How silly is that?

Yet, her heart swelled at the sight of this cowboy, dressed as usual in his boots, jeans, plaid-patterned shirt, coat and hat. He looks healthy. I'm so glad. And now that she had seen him, every word she had once hoped to speak to him fled from her mind, leaving her tongue-tied. Her first instinct was to bolt from the scene rather than try to explain why she had not told him she was in Hudson. That same reticence seemed to be reflected in Jack's eyes; this unplanned encounter thoroughly throwing them both into an state of confusion.

They both mouthed meaningless words to each other, clumsily working through some semblance of a conversation that lasted less than a minute. Twin coals that once burned as one had turned stone cold, the former lovers behaving more like passing acquaintances. Absent from this meeting was any sense of excitement or jubilation; no crushing embrace or feverish kiss.

Jack's heart sank perceptibly when Lisa admitted she had been back for maybe a week—and that she was selling Fairfield.

"Well, I guess that was always the plan, wasn't it?" he spoke with an air of indifference, despite the chill brought on by the revelation. Yes, you always said you wanted to retire to France, Lisa. I never figured it would be so soon; and not without telling me, first.

Rather than prolong the sheer awkwardness of the encounter, Lisa excused herself, claiming—truthfully—she had a busy schedule to keep.

"'Bye'," she said, before turning to climb into the SUV.

"'Bye'," Jack managed to articulate, a lump forming in his throat watching her hasty retreat.

No "See you later" or "Let's catch up soon", and certainly not anything close to "I'm ready to make up".

Jack looked on a second or two while Lisa drove away, struck by the memory of another similar departure over a year prior, the one that had come as a sort of coda to their "break". Attempts had been made back then to repair that break; circumstances had not been in their favour.

"Not goodbye," he had corrected her at the time, a sad smile creasing his face. He remembered being heartsick at the prospect of suffering another lengthy separation from her, especially when their relationship was still so fractured.

"'til next time," she had repeated, her eyes misting, almost as if she sensed it could very well be the last time they ever saw each other.

The fact it almost was the last time they ever saw each other was not lost on Jack. His brush with death brought her rushing back. Now, he considered something new: Would she ever have come back if I had not had the heart attack? She did write that letter... But no. Just as swiftly as she had arrived, she had left him.

And now she's driving away again. For a fleeting moment he entertained the notion of chasing her down. No, that would be foolish, Jack thought, idly scratching the side of his face. She gave no indication she was happy to see me; let it go. That whole meeting went over like a lead balloon. Dejected, he paced back to his truck, trying to stem the flood of old memories of happier times with Lisa.

We're driving off in opposite directions. I'm going to Heartland, and she's going to Fairfield. She's selling Fairfield. I must have missed the realtor's signs, somehow. Jack knew how he had missed them, however, as he had taken to deliberately avoiding looking at Lisa's property any time his course took him along the stretch of road bordering it.

He could not help but remember the first time he had seen Fairfield up close. I was driving Lisa back after I told off that jerk of an ex-husband of hers. I was so happy that she still wanted to talk to me after leaving her stranded at the auction. She's so forgiving. Why did she give me a second chance? She accepted my apology so easily. I thought I had blown it.

His brain had been spinning at top speed throughout that drive, reaching for some way of asking her out on an honest-to-goodness date, but could think of no simple way to bring up the subject. Thank goodness she had provided an opening when she playfully asked if he had a plan in mind about how he was going to make it up to her. He had always felt comfortable and relaxed at his cabin, so before he even knew what he was saying, he asked if she was free to go fly fishing with him in a few weeks.

"Well, as a matter of fact... I do have something in mind about how to make it up to you..."

And she said "yes" so quickly, I almost couldn't believe my ears. What was I thinking asking a woman like Lisa out to a ratty old fishing cabin for a date?

Presently, Jack pulled back into Heartland. The sun was starting to go down, splashing golden rays across the open fields, highlighting the tops of the trees. He noticed Amy and Georgie in the jumping pen; the former taking a new horse around the course over what looked like empty liverpools. Heart and feet heavy, he dragged himself onto the porch and sank heavily into the bench, mind still full of that first date with her.

"To whatever it is," she had toasted them, a spark of warmth bursting in those blue eyes he already loved so dearly.

Whatever it was, Jack now thought with a doleful shake of his head. She didn't even tell me she was back in Hudson. After all we've been through, she didn't see it fit to tell me she was selling Fairfield. I deserved that much at least, didn't I?

But the more he tried to take umbrage at Lisa's lack of communication this time around, the more he was convicted of his own behaviour the last time they were together. She doesn't want anything to do with me after that falling out we had over that ridiculous hospital bed. The spark in her eyes was gone today. I never thought those eyes could look so cold... And sad.

It tormented him to know he was the proximate cause of that sadness and cold, impersonal reception.

Of all the dumb luck. I can't believe after all that avoidance, I had to run into Jack at the mailboxes. Lisa replayed that disappointing encounter, analysing each careless word spoken, wondering what she might have done differently. I honestly have no idea how to interpret how that went down back there, she thought. I don't know how to read that expression on Jack's face. Was he happy to see me? He didn't sound like it. And he certainly didn't sound surprised when I told him I was selling my place. What did I expect, anyway? That he would break down and beg me to stay? Oh, no. That's not Jack Bartlett's style. In fact, I have no idea at all what he was thinking. It's like we were almost strangers by the way we talked.

Lisa pulled onto the access road to Fairfield, flashing by the 'For Sale' sign. Her heart throbbed after concluding that might very well have been the last time she ever saw Jack. What a sour note to end things on, she mused bitterly. What a wasted opportunity.

Business concerns soon took over once again as she was obliged to inspect the clean-up job done by the landscaping company. Everything looked ship-shape; Fairfield would be more than ready for prospective buyers the realtor wished to bring for a viewing.

Out of nowhere, a distant memory of Val Stanton's mocking voice surfaced. "So, you'll be living at Fairfield, then?"

Lisa paused in her tracks, swept up in the residual irritation of that long-ago exchange. "Jack did hit the jackpot, didn't he?" Val had teased, though she seemed to know she was poking at one of Lisa's private insecurities. "I'm sure you'll have an ironclad pre-nup."

Val's thinly veiled antagonism stirred up feelings of resentment now. Jack and Lisa's hasty engagement was over just as quickly as it had begun, all because they truly had not seriously considered how their lives would come together in a practical sense. Oh, we had the romantic side figured out, Lisa acknowledged, but now even that's gone. No engagement, no marriage. We'll never be together at Fairfield now, and we certainly won't ever have France. Our relationship is officially road-kill, and I'll bet Val the Vulture is still lurking around, just waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

Next Chapter: Chapter 24: Things I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You

#Heartland #Heartland fanfiction #My Fanfiction #wide river to cross #Chapter 23 #Chance Encounter #Jack Bartlett #Lisa Stillman #JISA #Tim Fleming #Amy Fleming #Ty Borden #Scott Cardinal #Val Stanton #Maggie Duval #Nick Harwell #Fairfield Stables #Cinders

8 notes · View notes

trensu · 5 years ago

Text

Episode 27: The One where I Want to Punch Basically Every Sect Leader in the Face. Repeatedly. With a Chair.

And we start off back in the rain, AKA OUR ENDLESS TEARS

Wwx is like, do you remember our promise?

And lwj flashbacks TO THEIR LANTERN SCENE FROM THE ONE WHERE LWJ FINALLY SEES THE LIGHT

WE GET TO SEE LWJ’S PRECIOUS BABY FACE AS HE FALLS HEAD OVER HEELS IN THAT FLASHBACK

IT HURTS SO GOOD

Wwx: i wished to stand with justice and live without regrets. But tell me now, who’s strong, who’s weaker? Who’s right and who’s wrong?

Lwj: wei ying!

Oh god, his voice! HE’S DISTRESSED

Wwx: is this the promise we pledged our lives to keep?

THEY BOTH LOOK SO HEARTBROKEN RN

Oh, look, lwj is doing the deathgrip of gay yearning on bichen again. We haven’t seen that in awhile AND I WISH WE WEREN’T SEEING IT NOW

Okay, but for real, how can lwj look so hurt here when the actor is literally doing nothing with his face??

I know i’ve mentioned that before, BUT C’MON, HOW?? HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK??

Wwx: my only regret is that i didn’t stop the jin clan who took living people as bait

I REGRET YOU NOT TAKING DOWN THE JIN CLAN TOO

WE COULD’VE AVOIDED SO MANY PROBLEMS IF WE’D JUST KILL OFF 90% OF THAT CLAN, OMG

And now wwx is all, i missed my chance to protect wen ning before so now i MUST leave to save him

BC WWX IS THE BEST MOST HONORABLE PERSON IN THE WORLD

Oh no

Oh noooo

He’s pulling out his demon flute. We’re gonna get THAT SCENE

Wwx: lan zhan, if i finally have to fight them, i’d prefer to fight with you

Wwx: if i am doomed to die, at least i can be killed by you. That would be worth it.

HE SAYS THAT BC HE TRUSTS VIRTUOUS LWJ TO STOP HIM IF HE REALLY IS IN THE WRONG

AND I AM SCREAMING IN PAIN RN

BC LOOK AT LWJ’S FACE

HE’S LISTENING TO HIS SOULMATE TELL HIM THAT HE WANTS HIS DEATH TO BE AT HIS HAND

Oh god, he’s doing the bichen deathgrip again

He tears his gaze away from wwx and turns to the side TO LET THEM ALL GO PAST

EYES LOWERED AS HIS HEART BREAKS INTO A MILLION PIECES

HE’S CRYING OH GOD HE’S CRYING

THERE ARE TEARS GOING DOWN HIS FACE, OH GOD WHY IS THIS HAPPENING

HE DIDN’T EVEN CRY WHEN HIS HOME GOT BURNED AND HIS FAMILY WAS MISSING AND/OR DYING

And now he drops his umbrella to the ground AS HE TRIES TO DROWN HIMSELF IN THE RAIN

*HYSTERICAL SOBBING*

THEY PACKED ALL THAT HEARTBREAK INTO THE FIRST 6MIN OF THE EPISODE, WTF, SOMEBODY STAB ME

And after all that emotional torture we get Plot Stuff happening

Blah blah wwx at the burial mounds blah blah sect leader banquet blah blah

Ugh, gross, they’re letting the idiot sect leaders talk again

They’re all blah blah wwx is evil blah blah he murders ppl blah blah we hate him blah blah

SHUT UP YOU BUNCH OF WALKING HUMAN-RIGHTS-VIOLATIONS

This whole part here is so difficult to watch. They’re literally just trash-talking my PRECIOUS SUNSHINE BOY

Jc, lwj, and lxc look visibly uncomfortable with what’s going down and they kind of sort of tried to defend wwx but they didn’t present a united front or hold their ground

Instead they let yao and ouyang run their stupid mouths

Anyway

Here’s little itty bitty bits of almost wangxiantics in the middle of this mess

Jgs: yeah, jc, i know wwx is your trusted bro and all but idk if wwx actually respects your authority. Do something about it, maybe

Lwj: *subtly glares at jgs*

And then everyone joins in on dragging wwx’s name through the mud bc apparently that’s the hot new thing in the cultivator world

If you look closely while this is happening, you can see that lwj legit GRINDS HIS TEETH with how much he’s holding back. MY POOR BB HAVING TO SIT THERE AND LISTEN TO EVERYONE DISPARAGE HIS SOULMATE

Jgs: wwx totally doesn’t respect you, jc, my bro. Everyone here heard him say how much he thinks you suck or whatever

Lwj: No I didn’t.

OOOOH, LWJ IS ANGRY AS HELL

HE’S OUTRIGHT GLARING AT JGS

Jgs: what??

Lwj: i never heard wei ying say that, nor did i see him disrespect clan leader jiang

HANGUANG-JUN I LOVE YOU, LOOK AT YOU DEFENDING THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE, I’M SO PROUD OF YOU

And ugh, disgusting, jgy steps in to be all “oh, well, wwx said so many awful things that day, who can possibly remember the specifics?”

Lwj visibly swallows here, as if he’s choking back a response, and his lips are all pursed.

HE’S FURIOUS. HE’S ROILING WITH IMPOTENT ANGER, WHICH IS THE WORST KIND OF ANGER, TBH

That’s all the wangxiantics we get from that terrible awful sect leader banquet

THOSE SECT LEADERS NEED TO GET PUNCHED IN THE FACE

LIKE, A LOT

WITH A CHAIR

OR A TABLE

YOU KNOW WHAT, LET ME JUST TAKE BICHEN AND BEAT THEM ALL WITH IT

OR BETTER, YET, I’LL USE BAXIA. I WON’T EVEN CUT THEM UP. I’LL JUST BEAT THEM WITH THE BROAD PART

*ANGRY YELLING*

Oh, wait a minute. Wait a minute!

This isn’t a wangxiantic

But it is an EPIC MOMENT that should be commemorated.

Because here we get…

*drum roll*

MIANMIAN BEING A BOSS

Jz: blah blah wwx kills our people indiscriminately blah blah

Mm: not indiscriminately

Mm: indiscriminate is not accurate

And everyone around her is like, confused and offended because they’re assholes

Mm: in this specific case, if the overseers did abuse the Wen prisoners and kill wen ning, then what wwx did was not “killing indiscriminately”

Ouyang: nah, the overseers said they never abused/killed anyone

Mm: OF COURSE THEY’D FUCKING SAY THAT. THEY DON’T WANT TO FACE PUNISHMENT, YOU IDIOT

(okay, she didn’t call him an idiot outright or swear, but it was totally there in her tone of voice and also ouyang is an idiot so there)

Mm: you all think you’re so smart and voice your opinions so loudly

Mm: I SECEDE FROM THIS BULLSHIT. FUCK THE JIN CLAN AND YOUR STUPID CLAN POLITICS

And she throws down her jin robes and mARCHES RIGHT OUT OF THAT SHITHOLE WITH HER HEAD HELD HIGH

MIANMIAN PLEASE MARRY ME

Lwj watches her do that and two seconds later follows her out bC HE RECOGNIZES BADASSERY WHEN HE SEES IT (and also she defended the love of his life)

And that badass moment ends

But the banquet of idiots keeps going

The jin clan needs to learn how to shut the fuck up

God, they just go on and on and on

Why are they torturing me like this

OH WAIT, WE’RE OUTSIDE THE BANQUET HALL NOW

We see lwj and mm standing together on a terrace, talking to each other

BUT WE DON’T GET TO HEAR WHAT THEY SAY TO EACH OTHER AND THAT HAUNTS ME TO THIS DAY

WHAT DID THEY SAY

TELL MEEEEEEE

Oh, side note to let you all know this direct quote from nmj - “that girl really has a backbone.”

Okay nmj, i’m slightly less angry at you now. I won’t try to beat you with bichen or a table or a chair.

(but now i kinda wish mm would join the nie clan. I think she’d do well there and also i want to see her carry a gigantic saber)

We get some chitchat with the Official Bros™ but idc let’s move on

(tho i do appreciate the look nmj gives jgy, like, HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME lolol)

Ooooh, now we’re getting lan fam time

ANGRY lan fam time, uh oh.

Lqr: lwj, have you regretted it? I didn’t punish you when you broke into the Forbidden Chamber bc i thought you’d self-reflect

Lqr: you shouldn’t have gone to qiongqi way and let wwx go. Should you make one mistake after another?

And lwj is kneeling in front of him this whole time with a blank face

Lqr: what’s the use of getting you to memorize the Great Big Book of Lan Fam Rules?? Tell me, what is rule 52?

Lwj: No association with evil

He answers immediately and without any inflection to his voice.

Lqr: did you forget what happened to your father???

AND WE FINALLY GET A REACTION HERE

Lwj practically gasps and lifts his gaze to meet his uncle head-on

Lwj: my mother, she…!

Lqr: hold your tongue!

And just like that, lwj shuts down again; expression flat and gaze lowered

GOD, THIS CLAN HAS HURT HIM SO MUCH THROUGHOUT HIS LIFE

I MEAN, THEY MUST’VE, FOR HIM TO BE ABLE TO JUST DISCONNECT LIKE THAT

THAT IS NOT THE BEHAVIOR OF A NORMAL WELL-ADJUSTED PERSON

Basically the entire lan clan needs to go to therapy, like, STAT

Oh, i just noticed, lwj has his fists clenched at his sides. He’s clenching them hard, too. I think they’re trembling a bit, actually…

Lqr: i’ve been taking care of you since you were a kid; you’re like my son.i was strict bc i wanted you to stick to the right path and avoid your father’s tragedy

Lqr: that’s what i wanted to say to you. I hope you choose the right path. You may leave.

Lwj still bows respectfully before taking his leave

And i’m sure y’all are wondering, hey trensu, why did you make us endure that angry lan fam time that hurt us deep in our soul?? That wasn’t wangxiantic at all!

That’s where you're wrong, my friends!

It’s actually SUPER wangxiantic bc lqr kept drawing parallels to lwj’s dad the practically whole time

You know, the dad that married their mother who murdered some guy and had the whole world turn against her.

(Sound familiar?)

The same mother that dad loved with his entire being and did what he could to keep her safe from the ramifications of her actions? By marrying her? And hiding her in the cloud recesses?

YEAH, HE’S EQUATING WANGXIAN WITH LWJ’S PARENTS’ TRAGIC ROMANCE

Bc, you know, that’s a totally hetero comparison to make lol

Oh, now we get to see our favorite Disaster Het be less of a disaster

We’re not going into detail here bc we’re not here for hetero shenanigans, yuck (actually, i’m apparently weak to Pining Idiots of all kinds bc this whole jzx/jyl scene is giving me tender feelings)

BUT

I do want to add that OMG FOR REAL LWJ AND JZX HAVE SO MUCH IN COMMON WHEN IT COMES TO THEIR LOVE LIVES, IT’S FANTASTIC

I NEED 10 MILLION FICS OF THEM COMMISERATING OVER THEIR SHARED DISASTER-NESS

Also, how the HELL did jzx end up being the one who was able to express his intentions clearly? He was all “please don’t go to the burial mounds, stay here with me so i can protect you from all who would want to hurt you”

DAMN IT LWJ, IF YOU’D JUST SAY THAT TO WWX, HE’S UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON.

YOU CAN’T JUST BE ALL “COME TO GUSU” WITH NO EXPLANATION

Jzx accomplished this before you did, YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED.

Huh, okay, i guess i did go into a bit of detail with that hetero nonsense. Oh well.

Now we’re at the burial mounds again with wwx

AND WE SEE A-YUAN PROPERLY FOR THE FIRST TIMEEEEE!!

ANY A-YUAN MOMENT IS BY DEFAULT A WANGXIANTIC, GUYS, TRUST ME.

AAHHHH, WE SEE A-YUAN DO THAT LEG-GRABBY THING HE DOES!!!

HE’S SO CUTE. TOO ADORABLE.

I LOVE YOU A-YUAN

Lol, wwx is all if you don’t let go i’ll plant you like a turnip

And a-yuan plops himself down in the dirt like YOUR THREATS DON’T WORK ON ME, OLD MAN, I LIKE BEING IN THE DIRT

Then he asks wwx for 3 elder brothers and 2 elder sisters, awwww. He thinks wwx can grow them in the garden (like cabbage patch kids!!!)

Plot stuff happens

Blah blah wwx and wq share moment blah blah jc shows up blah blah

Lol

Jc sees that glowing talisman door thing and is like THAT SIGN WON’T STOP ME BC I CAN’T READ

And then whips it down with zidian

Now we get some feelings-laden Yunmeng bros time

A-yuan shows up and leg-grabs jc and it’s ADORABLE

But jc yells at him bc he’s a JERK

Wwx scolds jc and then is a Dad to a-yuan: don’t put your hand in your mouth, you were just touching dirt!

Awww, we get to see jc fight back a smile at this! HE WANTS TO BE AN UNCLE, I JUST KNOW IT.

Plot plot plot stuff happens

More plot stuff happens

And the episode ends with us still in the burial mounds with the yunmeng bros

And you know what, i’m just gonna focus on our BAMF mianmian moment bc quite frankly the rest of the episode either had me in tears of anguish or spitting mad. There was no inbetween.

I’m gonna end up having blood pressure problems at this rate.

I’m too poor young to have blood pressure problems.

The Jin clan better pay for any medical bills I get because of them, I'm just saying

Return to Masterpost

#WangXiantics #wangxian #the untamed #cql

78 notes · View notes

alchemist-shizun · 5 years ago

Text

The Eyeless Cat

Part of the Welcome to Night Vale AU

Ts taglist: @whizzie72 @sapphire-knight @burningpersonflapsuitcase @softanxiouspatton @royallyanxious @kim-argent-moon @lance-alt @suffering-is-my-comfort-zone @sometimeswritingsometimesdying @pushussmollworld @mylifeisadeceit @spooky-scary-virgil @angstyfanfiction @artissijam @logicalberry (tell me if you want to be added or removed)

Word Count: 2,195

Characters: Deceit, Virgil, Roman, (Logan is mentioned)

Pairing(s): implied Loceit

Warning(s): eye injury, stitches mention, injured animal (please tell me if I missed anything)

Summary: Beware, the town's mascot appears to have found a new peculiar feline! Does it come for war or peace? Does it come aware of its conditions? Does it come? Does it at all? How many cats is Night Vale going to be filled with? Follow the subsequently solved mysteries with our two favourite beings.

A/N: Did someone order Deceit being excited about cats? The Night Vale aura might be a bit more off than the last fic but e h I'm trying my best. As well as Deceit might seem a bit ooc too as apparently I thought all of his dialogues in Cecil's voice (did I almost write Cecil and Carlos instead of Deceit and Logan? yes). I swear I will actually bring you Logan too, just you wait for me to write the 100th episode. That being said hope you enjoy! (Not all the events are actually taken from wtnv)

✾

❝ I'll morph to someone else

Defense mechanism mode ❞

« It was admirable how suddenly our favourite, and of course only, station cat was able to move from his spot. It did already happen once, back then when that ... devilish company unleashed an unharmful-looking beast that attacked him. » Deceit's voice lowered in a mix of repressed rage and regret.

Despite being in the past, memories would always come back to haunt you; sometimes they found you in a dark alleyway, sometimes they hovered over you when you pretended to sleep.

The black of the night seemed to be the most efficient medium to reminisce.

But other times all you needed was a detail, it would grasp your mind and never let go until you experienced second hand feelings from your past self. Everything at once in a matter of milliseconds.

When Deceit had seen Khoshekh's, or, rather, Virgil's cat body half bitten away by that horridly misleading creature, oh how deeply he had wished for his hands to be able to crush the toughest material.

The anger had soon left his skin and made way to concern and worry and that sense of impending doom impossible to ignore which set on the pit of his stomach.

It was one of the scariest days of his life, scarier than that one time he had almost died.

« And then he just … jumped out! I wasn't going to stop him, everybody knows cats can survive jumps from great heights. Like that one time Jasper, Derek's cat, had jumped from the tallest building of Night Vale and landed on his paws without a single scratch. That, of course, was thanks to the enormous wings attached to his body, which we learn that cats tend to grow around the age of five months old. Adorable! »

The fondness of Deceit towards said animals could be touched between the radio waves. He straightened his posture in his seat and leaned over his microphone.

« I simply looked out of the window, bending slightly towards the outside to witness what Khoshekh had in mind. And, listeners, you will never believe this. » Deceit smiled through the anticipation. « There was another cat right next to him! His fur was of a soft orange alternated with whiter stripes, but, sadly, I wasn't able to catch the eye colour. I couldn't believe myself when I saw them interact; Khoshekh made his first friend and we will celebrate this and welcome this new friend in our community with the warmest greetings we've gathered in our hearts. »

A shuffling of papers was heard while his tone shifted again. « More on the possible blossoming of a beautiful friendship as soon as we get more news on the matter. Let me take you to the weather. »

And the blasting of guitars started.

Deceit wasn't sure how long that weather was going to be: lately they had carried on for hours, almost forgetting about the passage of time which stretched and renewed with every instant, giving it no purposeful meaning.

This could only hold one significance: he was safe to visit Virgil once again, to check on him and see whether there were updates on the stranger cat or not.

It had been a long day.

Their search for a new intern hadn't yet been resolved; it's not like none desired to undertake the task, but they were literally still looking for their newest intern who had just applied.

It was a pretty young boy who had just moved to Night Vale for the sole purpose of working in the radio's internship so he could be more comfortable in the upcoming play he was going to star in. But, ever since he had applied, he had never been seen, nor he had ever shown up.

Deceit had been moving as if on autopilot, his body did the exact same trajectory for as long as he had wanted to check on Virgil.

He would make his way to the bathroom, wait for his friend to feel comfortable enough to appear in anthropomorphic form, talk to Virgil and then go back to make his last recording before finally going back home, unless the weather lasted for more than four minutes.

But this time he found himself out in the pavement next to the station's building, observing Virgil's moves.

The younger boy was in his cat form, staring directly at the corner of the station, as though he had been expecting something to happen for hours and hadn't yet gotten any sign.

« Waiting for someone? »

Virgil turned, his black fur like a speck of void sitting in the air. In a moment, a pale face was glancing back at Deceit, dark circles linked the white skin to the colourful tones of his left eye.

« There's something odd. » he mused with his arms crossed over his chest, the same spot he had gotten stitches on some weeks earlier. Deceit shook off the memory for the second time that day.

It was okay, nothing had happened.

« Isn't there always? What is odd, anyway? »

« I know, but- this is another kind of odd. »

Deceit let out an amused huff and walked closer. « You're starting to sound like Logan. »

Ever since the bio-machine attacked Virgil, he had stayed at Deceit and Logan's place to recover his broken bones and … trying to readjust to his previous life while dealing with all the injuries, the missing right eye he was now covering with his bangs …

And that was where he had started to pick up their habits, on a brighter note. They both found it delightfully precious.

« It feels different when he's around. »

« He? »

« The other cat. The orange one. » Virgil gestured to a spot, but Deceit saw nothing else other than a bench. « It's like he holds my own aura, he's more like me than he is like other cats. Not like Jasper, or Copernicus. »

« You think he can shape-shift like you? » Deceit tried to follow his connections.

« I'm not a shape-shifter. » Virgil had repeated for the millionth time, followed by a quick “Of course you aren't.” of his interlocutor. « I simply appear. » he added, scrunching his lips to the side afterwards, eyes narrow as he stared ahead of himself again.

He couldn't quite put his finger on that newcomer yet.

Now the newcomer was standing right in front of them, a few meters away, looking at- well, actually …

« Oh, those are some pretty red eyes! » Deceit approached, careful not to upset the feline, which at first backed away, but was far more comfortable when he sensed the soft and measured movements of the man.

He crouched down to him and looked at two little pinkish eye sockets. Deceit turned to Virgil.

« This poor creature doesn't have eyes? » he gazed back at the cat's face, which seemed to be able to capture where the man exactly was even with the lack of sight.

« Yeah, but that's not what's off about him. » the other clarified, while Deceit had already befriended the cat and had started petting its head, cooing at how cute he was.

The cat seemed to soften under his gloves' touch. « Oh, I think nothing is off about this gorgeous little buddy. » a wide ridiculous smile spread on his lips when he turned to Virgil. « Come here, he's very nice. »

Virgil rolled his eyes and complied, kneeling down next to them. He tentatively raised a hand and slowly caressed the back of the cat's body.

« We should name him. »

« Oh, please, you would end up with absurdities- What even is Khoshekh? »

« Excuse you? First of all, it's wonderful and second, you definitely love it- »

« I do not. »

« -You do. Now, who shall this new pal be? »

Virgil promptly picked the cat up without any other warning, surprisingly getting no other response from him other than a mute “Oh, alright, I'm being lifted off the ground I suppose. Neat.”

« I'm not going to stand here and watch you ruin his reputation for the rest of his days. » he started to back away, subtly amused.

« You're so dramatic. » Deceit snickered as Virgil clutched the animal to his chest.

« Thank you, I took that after you. »

« Come on, he can't just be “that orange cat”. »

« Why not? »

« He deserves a proper name. »

« You don't give proper names, Dec. »

« Then what would you think a proper name would be? »

The cat in Virgil's arms abruptly disappeared.

Instead, in them there was now a boy around his age, just a little taller than him, and just a little too close for Virgil's personal space.

« Uh … » he didn't move, not free from the other's arms yet. « How about “Roman”? »

Virgil blinked once, then twice and three times, disbelief still washed over him as he let go instantly after regaining his composure.

« You're … » just like him! « … the new intern? » Deceit questioned, remembering how familiar that name sounded. Pieces were all coming together: of course people couldn't find him, they hadn't been looking for the right creature.

« Oh! Yeah, that. I apologize, I might have missed the first few days but- » Roman cut off, looking down at his own body as if that would have explained his absence. « I got stuck. I had no idea I could do that. » despite his composed tone, confusion and mild agitation were still accompanying his face's features. A face with eyes, differently from his cat form.

« Oh well, there's always a first time as they say. Maybe Virgil could help you control that so you can still work for us? » Deceit regretted his own words the second he captured Virgil's death stare at the new citizen.

Trustworthiness of rare beings of your own kind coincidentally moving to your town wasn't going to be an easy effort. Especially when it came to him.

« Mh? » the new intern looked at the boy in question and put on the friendliest face he could muster. « Charmed to meet you, I'm Roman. » as he was extending his hand for Virgil to shake, the other began to walk back to the radio station's bathroom without a single word.

Words, in fact, were more Deceit's thing than his own.

« Aw, don't mind that. » he chirped, clasping his hands together. « Walking away from conversations is an open invitation to seek your interlocutor's company once again. I learnt that at the social interactions course in the community college. »

All he gained was a perplexed glance from Roman. « That's rather odd. »

Deceit tilted his head to the side, eyeing him cautiously. « Where … did you go to school again? »

« Uhm, New York City? »

New York City? he thought, that's not a real place.

Deceit brushed it off as Roman simply wanting to impress him. « Well then, new yorker, I guess, you might as well follow me inside; I'll show you around the place so we can get started. »

They stopped right before the entrance. « Ah, do not be bothered by station management, they will stare at you until their necks aren't able to turn anymore, which is normally around 437,27 degrees. » Deceit showed Roman one of his most encouraging smiles. « It's their way of greeting you, you'll get used to it. »

Roman blinked multiple times before he was able to process the information and follow Deceit inside.

✾

« Listeners, I have such exciting news I can't wait to share! » the pitch of Deceit's voice increased slightly. « So, in the past few hours where the weather took place, I had the pleasure to meet our newest intern, who's taking the place of our latest, as the passage of roles requires. » he waved at his current colleague. « His name is Roman and he's from … a place. A place on the earth, smiling at the sky with the same intensity as our desert town is yelling at the moon. Sorry about that, moon. We're trying to be better. »

Deceit shifted in his seat. « As well as we're trying to look out for any comforting sign the stars, any soothing sound in the wind or any pacifying rumble in the ground. But the important thing is: you're here and you're trying. Whichever option flows your way, bound yourself to it and let it hypnotize you into the eternal slumber of vigorous impetuosity. »

He let his temple rest on his hand. « Stay tuned next for quiet yelling and boisterous nothingness. » a smile crept on his lips when he realized he was very close to returning home to his boyfriend. « And as always, goodnight, Night Vale. » the smile grew wider.

« Goodnight. »

#purp's writings #sanders sides #fanfiction #welcome to night vale #wtnv au #ts au #sanders sides au #deceit sanders #ts deceit #virgil sanders #ts virgil #roman sanders #ts roman #logan sanders #ts logan #loceit #tw eye injury #read the warnings

110 notes · View notes

luckyjak · 6 years ago

Text

Why I Don’t Ship Widojest: A Master Post

An anon sent me an ask about this topic, and I debated for quite a bit about how to answer it. Then I decided the best way was to do a long post like this. I put a lot of thought into why I don’t like it, and I thought to share it.

A few things: 1) I am not telling you not to ship it. The goal of this is not to say “Don’t ship Widojest! It is a bad ship and you are a bad person for shipping it!” That is not my goal, okay? The internet and fandom in particular is meant for fun, and if you enjoy Widojest then more power to you! Don’t let me or anyone else stop your fun! Lord knows I have shipped significantly more problematic things. All I ask is that you tag shit more but that’s beside the point.

2) I am not particularly interested in argument. You are not likely to change my mind. I am not trying to be hostile, but if you know reading this is going to piss you off, then don’t read it. A question was asked of me, and so I thought to share my opinion. Unfortunately for everyone involved I am a high school English teacher, and so I cannot think about anything without completely overthinking it.

About my shipping preferences: generally, I like all the ships! I was particularly fond of Widomauk before Molly died, and I now I really enjoy Shadowgast, but I also like Fjorclay, Fjester, Beaujester, Beauyasha, Widofjord, Clayleb, Lavorclay, and, as the only person on earth, Yasha/Caleb. Hell, if Astrid gets a good redemption arc? Caleb/Astrid or even Caleb/Astrid/Edowulf. Any of those ships could become canon and I’d be tickled pink! You can even throw Nott into the mix, even though I mostly ship her with her husband. Nott/Fjord? Delightful. Nott/Caleb? Weird flex but why not? Nott/Jester? Absolutely! They are the best detectives!

I just don’t like Widojest and I don’t want it to be canon, and here’s why:

Doyalist Reasons First:

1) Laura and Liam played twins for years, still act like siblings even though they aren’t related by blood, and it squicks me to think of them together romantically.

Laura and Liam are fantastic actors. If they were hired to play a romantic couple, I have no doubt in my mind they could knock it out of the park.

But why on earth would they want to pretend to be a romantic couple, in a game they both play for fun?

It would be weird. I play D&D with several guys I consider my brothers, and I can’t imagine pretending to romance either of them in d&d for that same reason. It would be weird.

Maybe it wouldn’t be weird for Liam and Laura. Maybe they are more dedicated to their RP, and they’d be able to push that aside for the sake of fictional romance. But for me, that would be the last thing I’d want to play, and I suppose I project that onto Laura/Liam.

2) A lot of “evidence” for the ship is the way Liam looks at Laura.

To which I say...did you watch Vox Machina?

That’s how Liam looks at Laura all the time. He’s the president of her fanclub. He’s her twinsie. He always looks at her with hearteyes. I have a hard time seeing that as “evidence” for him having feelings for her when...that’s just what his face looks like.

Now, for Watsion reasons:

3) It has all the benefits for Caleb, and none for Jester

Seriously. What does Jester get out of a relationship with Caleb?

Don’t say someone who understands her, because Caleb certainly doesn’t. In fact, the only person who routinely “gets” Jester is Beau. (see: their conversation on the ship.)

Lots of people accuse Widojest as being a Manic Pixie Dream Girl ship because...let’s be realistic, it has all the makings of one. Tortured, broody man meets young, innocent girl who teaches him to enjoy life once again? Wikipedia’s definition is “[girl with] eccentric personality quirks and are unabashedly girlish. They invariably serve as the romantic interest for a (most often brooding or depressed) male protagonist.” Guys, that is textbook Manic Pixie Dream Girl! It gets even worse because Jester’s character is a healer! You want her to heal him? That is squicky!

And yeah, I trust Liam and Laura to be more nuanced than that, but do you know who I absolutely do not trust to be more nuanced?

The fandom. The fandom that is already producing mass amounts of Manic Pixie Dream Girl fanfic. And as that’s where I spend a lot of my free time...egads. I do not want that.

The few Widojest fics I have read (which, admittedly, are not a lot, because again, I don’t like the ship. The few I have read have been tagged as gen and then come to find out, weren’t.) have the distinct problem of woobie-fying Caleb so that Jester can take care of him, and gosh, I do not want that to become a trend.

4) Age Gap

Yes, thirteen years is not that major of an age gap. Yes, Fjord/Jester also have a large age gap.

However, there is a world of difference between “20 year old girl displays romantic interest in a 30 year old man, who decides he likes her back after getting to know her for months” vs “33 year old man decides to pursue a 20 year old woman after they danced one time when he was drunk and held hands and she showed general concern for his well-being.” One is decidedly more creepy.

(And would Jester be the one to pursue a relationship with Caleb? I almost think she’d have to, but again, why would Jester ever pursue Caleb when Fjord/Beau are right there.)

(Also, side note that I thought about making it’s own point but then decided it was petty: if Jester’s type is Fjord--tall, broad-shouldered, dark haired, muscled, then Caleb--skinny, red-head, shorter than Fjord--decidedly isn’t her type.

You know who is tall, dark, and handsome though? Beau.)

And do not say Jester is mature for her age, because she absolutely isn’t! In fact, the whole point of her character is that she’s not mature, she’s very immature and childish on account of her being locked away and being incredibly sheltered most of her life!

Also not a good excuse: Caleb spent 11 years in the asylum and therefore he’s only mentally in his 20s. Uh, no he’s not. He was in an asylum: he was not brain dead. He lived those years. He might’ve been crazy, but he was alive then. Nothing Liam’s done suggests that Caleb is mentally in his 20′s.

5) What would they even talk about?

This is probably actually the one that bothers me the most out of all these reasons, but uh....what would Caleb and Jester talk about, if they were in a relationship together?

Seriously.

They could talk about books? But Jester only ever reads terrible romance and smut. We saw when she tried to pay attention to the dunamancy lessons that she struggles to be interested in that academic stuff that is Caleb’s bread and butter. They could talk about their childhoods? That will go over well. Jester was locked away from society and Caleb straight up murdered his beloved parents. If they manage to avoid that, I’m sure they could fight again over income, what with Jester being a rich kid and Caleb being a poor farm boy. Pranking? Caleb enjoys a good prank now and again, but I can only imagine he’d tolerate getting banned from so many libraries.

They are a cat and a dog, literally. Caleb is an introvert and his idea of a good time is a quiet night at home with a good book. Jester’s idea of a good time is a party with lots of people! Yet I’m supposed to believe they’d have a happy and fulfilling relationship? Don’t get me wrong, many introverts and extroverts do get married in real life, but like...I have a hard time seeing this one working out. How many dicks do you think Jester draws in his spellbooks--which are expensive and time-consuming and require precise work--before that becomes a point of contention?

6) He doesn’t trust her enough to tell her his secrets

Hey quick poll! Who in the Mighty Nein doesn’t know that Caleb murdered his parents?

Fjord. Caduceus. And look, Jester.

I have a hard time buying that he sees her romantically when he can’t even tell her one of the biggest things about him. And he’s known her for months at this point.

If I liked a guy, and I found out he had this big secret, and he had told Beau but not me this secret? I would think he didn’t trust me.

I suppose you could argue that he’s trying to protect her. But then that just goes back into the whole “he doesn’t trust her” argument. He even had the opportunity to and he didn’t during their whole hand-holding thing a few episodes ago!

7) What does their ending look like?

Listen, my ideal ending for Caleb at the moment is “maybe after ten years of friendship he lets Essek tenderly hold his hand for just a moment but no longer” but that’s just me. I see a lot of people who seem to think Caleb’s going to settle down and marry Jester and they are going to have kids, and I just--

Caleb? Having children? Caleb, who murdered his parents and has severe PTSD surrounding that? Caleb, who was abused by his mentor daily for many years? You want to give that Caleb children??? Children who he would constantly worry may grow up to kill him, like he did his own parents, or worse, that he’d do something to accidentally hurt them in a fit of madness?

I could see Caleb maybe adopting a kid if one was forced onto him, but I cannot see him going “ah yes we should procreate!”

Jester, meanwhile, needs like approximately fifteen kids ten years from now, I think. She’d love them. She’d just adopt an orphanage and let the kids run wild and be the best at playing games with them.

Also, character arcs are important. Because Caleb’s ideal ending is stability and Jester’s is exploration.

Caleb, traumatized child soldier who has spent the past 15 years in an asylum and also fighting for his life, and before that spent time traveling between the Zemni Fields, Ikithon’s home in the country, and the Empire’s Capitol, who then escaped the asylum and spent all of his time running, trying to avoid being caught by Ikithon. The best ending for Caleb is to find peace; peace that involves not having to move around anymore, and having a home again, something he hasn’t had in almost twenty years. Maybe that home is a tower in Nicodranas. Maybe it’s a house in Xhoras with six other people. Maybe it’s a quiet bookstore in Zadash, or a little cabin in the Zemni Fields. A garden/graveyard in the woods. Either way, it doesn’t involve a lot of travel from place to place.

Meanwhile, Jester, who was trapped in exactly one place for her entire life, deserves a chance to explore the world. Even when the Mighty Nein disband, I can’t see Jester being happy to just go back to Nicodranas and stay there for the rest of her life. She may settle down eventually, but uhhh, not for several decades, I don’t think. Part of why my two big ships for her are Fjord and Beau: Fjord wants to be a sailor again, I think, which involves travelling the world, so I could see Jester going out with him. Beau, likewise, is an Expositor whose job is to seek out corruption, which again, means travelling, which Jester would be happy to do with her. Hell, the three of them could go together, sailing and punching evil for all of time! It would be great!

(Also: her god is called the TRAVELER why would you want her to settle down and be a mom??? What part of her story makes you think she needs to stay in one place?)

Lastly

I apologize if this post offends anyone. I’ve just been thinking about it for a while, and while Widojest as a ship has surged in popularity, I suppose I wanted to make a counterpoint about my feelings towards the ship. This isn’t meant as an attack on anyone, again, and please, if you like the ship then don’t look at this as a reason to stop liking it! Fandom is for fun! Keep liking what you like!

And I can’t promise I’m always going to feel this way about the ship--hell, the VOD of Thursday’s episode may come out on Monday, and I may watch it and be converted myself. Who knows! I didn’t like Vax/Keyleth at first either, but it grew on me and now it’s one of my favorites from Vox Machina.

(ALTHOUGH Mr. O’brien I swear to God if you romance Jester while flirting with Essek in a direct parallel to Keyleth/Vax/Gilmore I’m going to fly to LA just to punch you.)

Part of me wonders too if it just comes down to character interpretation, if there is something about their characters that is clicking for some people but isn’t for me. Admittedly, I love Caleb and Jester’s friendship, and I see them more as growing like siblings that romantically, but I’ve been wrong before and who knows, I may be wrong again. But if it is a character interpretation, I just wonder what they are seeing about the characters that squicks me but appeals to them.

#critical role #cr discourse #anti-ship #anti-w*dojest

154 notes · View notes

rainbow-sides · 6 years ago

Text

A Hand to Hold: Chapter Seven

Summary: Patton befriends an isolated boy at his high school and soon develops feelings for him that aren’t just friendship. Navigating a relationship of any kind with Logan Barry isn’t easy, but it sure is worth it!

Pairings: romantic Logicality, possible background Prinxiety but I haven’t decided yet

Word Count: 1,739

Warnings: talk about bullying, ableism from a parent, very brief mention of Deceit, mentions of abusive therapy (implied ABA), food mention, mild spoilers for Doctor Who, anxiety, school stress,

Notes: ATTENTION I am no longer using a taglist. Instead, please follow and click notifications for the blog @rainbow-sides-fics. I’ll be reblogging all of my old fics there as well as any new ones I’ll be posting. Alternatively, A Hand to Hold is now available on AO3. Love you guys! <3 ~Martin

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

___________________________________

“GCAT PUPY PUPY,” Virgil chanted, his palms pressed to his temples. “Guanine and adenine are purines, cytosine and thymine are pyrimidines. Right?”

Logan nodded. “Correct. Well remembered.”

“Thank God for mnemonics.” Virgil popped a chip into his mouth. “Okay. Okay. What else is on the study guide?”

“It says to understand 5’ and 3’ directionality, decoding amino acid sequencing, and be able to explain the process of DNA replication as well as translation from DNA to proteins,” Logan said, summarizing the study guide for what was probably the fourth or fifth time. Although he knew that Virgil obviously knew the material, he got anxious during tests. He had asked Logan to help study with him so he felt more prepared.

“I feel like I know all of that, but there's got to be a catch, right? I'm gonna fail. I'm gonna fail.” He started to breathe too quickly.

Chex, who had been resting on the floor next to Virgil's chair, sat up. She nudged Virgil's leg with her nose and let out a soft whine.

Virgil buried his hand in the fur on the back of the dog's neck and took a deep breath. “No, I'm probably not going to fail. I've never failed a test in this class before, and I've been doing all the work.”

“I don't believe that you will fail,” Logan agreed. He twisted the ring on his finger, not sure what else to say.

He wanted to help Virgil, but anxiety was complicated and Logan wasn't great at complicated emotions. Logan figured it was probably best to leave that to Patton. And Chex, of course. The sweet black lab was so in tune with Virgil's anxiety that she could tell even before he started to have an attack and would remind him to redirect his energy into more productive avenues.

“Would you like to keep studying?” asked Logan. “I have vocabulary cards for the whole unit, and there is always a vocabulary section on the test.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure, vocab practice sounds good. Hey, um, thanks again for coming over to study with me. It's nice to have a friend in that class now, I'm less stressed about it.”

Logan thought that Virgil still seemed very stressed. He didn't voice that opinion. “Codon,” he said, holding up the first vocabulary card.

“Uhh, uh, it's any series of three nitrogen bases that code for a specific amino acid, right?”

“Correct. Peptide bond.”

Virgil looked up at the ceiling. “It's...uh, well, peptide is referring to proteins, so...bonds between proteins?”

“Bonds between amino acids,” Logan corrected. “Okasaki fragments.”

“Oh shit,” Virgil muttered. “Um, something about the leading strand?”

“Lagging strand. Okazaki fragments are the stretches of DNA that are copied piece by piece on the lagging strand,” said Logan. He spun the ring on his finger again. He hoped that Virgil wouldn't get worried that he wasn't getting all of the vocabulary right.

“Right! I remember now.”

“Operon.”

“Oh, hey, I know this one. A group of genes that are functionally related,” Virgil said.

“Correct. Intron.”

They kept going until all of the vocabulary cards had been discussed. Logan put aside the ones that Virgil had struggled on so he could keep looking at them later.

“Seriously, thank you so much for coming and helping me out,” Virgil said. “I feel much better about the test on Thursday.”

Logan flicked his hand up near the side of his face. “You're welcome,” he said.

“I don't think I'm going to be able to cram much more into my brain right now, I need a break. Hey, how's the Doctor Who marathon with Patton going?” Virgil wondered.

With a slight bounce in his seat, Logan replied, “We watched Boom Town this weekend! On Wednesday afternoon, he is coming to my house to watch Bad Wolf and The Parting of Ways!”

Virgil leaned forward. “Oh, man, you're already almost to Nine's regeneration? Does Patton know it's coming?”

“Yes, and he says that he will miss Eccleston, but that he's seen David Tennant in other things and is looking forward to meeting Ten,” Logan said happily. He hummed to himself for a second before adding, “I am looking forward to reaching Ten's episodes, he is my favorite modern Doctor.”

“I gotta say, I like Capaldi. He's grumpier. More my style. Though Tennant at the end of his run is cool, he gets dark and edgy.” Virgil grinned. “The new season with Jodie Whittaker was freaking fantastic, too.”

“Much agreed,” Logan said. “I appreciate having a larger group of companions again, and the diversity has improved recently.”

Virgil scratched Chex behind the ears. “Yeah, big team TARDIS's are fun. One of my favorites was at the end of Journey's End was when they were all flying the TARDIS like she's supposed to be flown.”

Logan nodded. “May I ask you a question?” he said suddenly.

“Yeah, course.”

“What does it feel like to you when you are excited about something? Such as when you are talking about or watching Doctor Who, or listening to the music you like?” Logan asked.

There was a long pause as Virgil thought about that. “It makes me happy, I guess.”

“How does it physically feel?” Logan pressed.

“Oh, jeez, I'm not sure. It almost makes me feel peaceful? Like, um, listening to my music makes my mind slow down for just a little while. My body feels more relaxed afterwards. Same with watching something I like. It's a comfort, almost.” Virgil tapped his fingers against the table. “This is a tough question, dude.”

Logan leaned back in his chair. “I apologize.”

“No, it's okay. Really, I just need to think for a minute. Um...it feels warm in my chest sometimes. I guess that's about it. Well, starting a new episode almost feels like anxiety for me. But then again, most emotions turn into anxiety for me. That's just how anxiety works,” Virgil said. Then he asked, “What does it feel like for you?”

Putting his hands on his chest, Logan says, “I'm not sure. I have alexithymia, so I have a difficult time labeling emotions. I can sometimes describe it in physical sensations, though. And my excitement about my special interests feels like my heart and my lungs and my stomach are all on fire, if being on fire felt good and didn't hurt.”

“Sounds intense.”

“It is.” Logan looked down as Chex put her head against his leg. Her sweet brown eyes blinked up at him, and a soft warmth spread through his chest. “Hello,” he said. “Hello, Chex. Your ears are very soft.” He stroked her head.

“She wants to make sure that you're okay,” Virgil said. “She...she can hear changes in people's voices and checks up on them, even if it isn't me.”

“I'm alright. I don't have excellent volume control, or tone control. I never know what I sound like, exactly.” He couldn't tear his eyes away from the beautiful dog. “But I suppose that talking about my experiences with emotion do cause me some distress, which could have emerged in my voice without my noticing.”

Virgil stood up and walked over to the living room. “Want to come sit over here, Lo?” he offered.

“Um, alright.” Logan went over to join him. Chex followed him, and all three of them sat down on the ground. “Why?”

“Why does talking about your emotions distress you?” Virgil asked.

Logan froze up. “Because they are difficult,” he said slowly. “And I do not understand them. I do not like talking to people about things I do not understand.”

“Are you worried that someone might tell you that your emotions are wrong?”

A confused, bad feeling swirled around inside him. Chex laid her head and front paws in his lap, and he felt calmer. “Perhaps, but I'm not sure that I understand the question,” Logan admitted, running his hands down the dog's fur. It was almost as soothing as a full-body stim, and the pressure of her weight against his legs added to that effect.

“I mean, do you think that someone will come along and tell you that the way you are labeling your emotions is wrong? That the words you use to describe your experiences are incorrect?” Virgil tried to clarify.

“Yes, that is what happens.” It had happened many times before. The way he tried to describe what he was feeling to his mother or to his therapists had often been misinterpreted or simply ignored because it didn't make sense. Logan had learned to keep quiet about what he was feeling.

“But you're talking to me about it, even though it...scares you?” Virgil checked. “Is that right?”

Logan shifted. “Yes.”

Virgil smiled. “I think that means you trust me. Thank you.”

“I do trust you,” Logan said. “And I have learned that you and Patton and Roman are worthy of my trust. You've never once tried to make me act normally, or made fun of me.”

“It sucks that the bar is so low,” sighed Virgil.

Logan kept petting Chex. “I don't know that that means, exactly, in this context.”

“Um, it means that I don't think that somebody not laughing at you or trying to change you into something you're not should be the bar, the threshold or limit, for whether or not you can trust them. I mean...I guess what I really mean is that it sucks that you don't get that from everyone. In a perfect world, nobody would make fun of anyone or try to change them,” Virgil explained.

“But we do not live in a perfect world,” Logan reminded him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I know that very well.”

Chex whined softly and raised her head to look at Virgil. Her tail thumped a few times against the floor, and he scooted closer to put his hand on her back. He closed his eyes. Logan didn't say anything. They sat there petting Chex in silence for a while, and it was a soothing silence. Logan felt much calmer and less bad by the time his mother arrived to pick him up and take him home.

He sat in the living room and watched Ian flutter around his plants as the afternoon trailed on. His mother chatted to him as she cleaned and prepared dinner, but he wasn't listening. He was off in his own head, trying to imagine a perfect world.

___________________________________

Sorry for the long wait and the fairly short chapter! I’m working on the next one. But also I’m going back to work next week, and school starts a couple weeks after that, so who knows when I’m going to have time to write? Ah, well. I’ll do what I can.

And hey, check out Time and Time’s Turning if you like my writing! It’s a fairy AU with eventual Royality and Analogical. Also, it has art!!!!! <3 ~Martin

#a hand to hold #my writing #logicality #romantic logicality #platonic analogical #logicality fic #autistic logan

240 notes · View notes

creativeskullcreations · 5 years ago

Text

HTaHHQ Episode 1: First Meetings(part 1)

Stacy starts her punishment spending the Summer working at her step-mothers job as an Assistant. But she soon finds that things aren't what they seem to be, and must keep her wits about her to avoid getting caught.

First part of the first episode of my AU series! This will run alongside Outside, and serve as sort of... let's say reflection to the other fic. Part 2 will be soon!

Stacy laid her head against the car window, staring sightless at the passing buildings as Mary weaved through traffic. In the backseat, Danny sat reading a book on... the thirteen year old wasn't sure, actually. But it was probably something about cars or dinosaurs. That was usually what five year olds liked, right?

"Why am I even going again?" She asked. "This is more of a "you and Danny" kind of thing. I'm not needed for this, and I hate the show anyways."

"It's not a bonding exercise. It's a punishment." Mary told her sternly. "And it's also to keep you from just sitting around all Summer. Besides, it'll keep you away from your cousin, and I thought you'd like that."

"It's still going to be boring as hell either way." She said. "All I'm going to do is run around getting coffee for people."

"You'll be an assistant to the cast, not an intern." The older woman replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Trust me, there's a difference."

"Whatever." Stacy dismissed. "Just so long as I don't have to actually be on the show. My reputation would be ruined."

Mary snorted, but otherwise didn't say anything. Stacy wished she had music to listen to, but her dad had taken her IPod after the latest... incident. He'd told her she'd get it back when school started up again, but until then she was living a music less existence.

A tugging on her sleeve caught her attention, and she looked back to see that that Danny had put his book to the side and was staring at her expectantly. 'Ah, so it was dinosaurs.'

Stacy! Are you excited to meet Riley?

" He asked, an excited look on his face as his hands moved quickly. She nodded in reply, not able to turn around enough to answer properly. She wasn't actually excited about any of this, but didn't want to break his heart by saying so. "

She wants to meet you too! She has a big yellow dog, and sometimes she lets me play with him!

I've seen the show, Danny. I know about Rosco...

' She simply nodded again and turned back around, not wanting to see his excitement anymore. '

God, I want to go home. It's too early to be up with no school...

' She continued to ignore her brother as they pulled up to the building.

Stacy was out the door before Mary, using the advantage to catch Danny as he tried to run ahead of them. She held him by the back of his shirt as she grabbed her backpack out of the car, ignoring him as he bounced in place and lamenting the loss of the AC. Mary came around the front with a smile. "Are you two ready to head in." She asked both in sign and spoken language.

"No." Stacy deadpanned, finally letting her brother go. He ran to the front as they made their way across the lot to the large brick building. Mortimer's Handeemen was spelled out in huge letters on the front, with a large sculpture of Mortimer himself looming over it. The girl suppressed a shudder as she looked at it. '

So fucking creepy. I hate this place!

Inside the building, Danny made a beeline straight to an young woman with several other young kids around her. She high-fived him, then started signing to him which relieved Stacy. She almost followed, but was stopped by Mary placing a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Stacy. We have some paperwork to take care of before you get started." Stacy grumbled, but let her step-mother guide her down a different hallway.

They passed by several doors before finally coming to one. Mortimer Handee was what the name card said, which made Stacy wrinkle her nose in slight disgust as the woman knocked on it. '

Does Mary think I'm a little kid? Why would she bring me to some fake office for a puppet to sign paperwork?

"Come in, come in!" Came a familiar voice from inside. It made Stacy jerk in surprise, but Mary simply opened the door and ushered her inside, where behind a rather large desk sat Mortimer Handee himself. Or at least, the puppet. There was no chair, so Stacy assumed the puppeteer was behind the desk.

I know this is supposed to be a punishment, but I didn't think she'd go this far with it.

' She clenched her teeth, and did her best to resist the childish urge to hide behind Mary. '

I hate thisI hatethisIhateths-

"Ah, Mrs. Stein, and your daughter, I presume. I had wondered when you'd enter this room." He greeted them, looking up from some paperwork he was "doing". He put his pen down and set the papers aside, neatly folding his hands on the desk and giving them his full attention.

"Mr. Handee." Mary gave her a subtle nudge, and Stacy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "This is Stacy. She's very... eager, to be working here this Summer."

Liar.

' Stacy refused to even look at Mary. '

Are you seriously gonna pretend I actually

want

to be here?!

"Excellent!" The puppet at least sounded pleased and reached for a folder, setting it in front of them and opening it up. "Everything is all ready for you , my dear. All I ask is that you sign this page here." He tapped the paper, and then set a pen beside it while Stacy leaned in to look at it.

"Uh, no." She told him bluntly. He blinked, somehow managing to get across a confused expression despite his very wooden features. If this was anywhere else, Stacy might've wondered how that was possible.

"And why not?" He asked, sounding curious.

"Well, first of all I'm still a minor. Even if I did sign it, it wouldn't make it legal because I'm under eighteen." She told him. "Secondly, I don't want to sign it." She crossed her arms, hoping to hide her shaking hands. It was nerve-wracking enough to talk back to a teacher, much less a ... whatever the puppet was supposed to be. But Mortimer just chuckled, closing the folder and pulling it back towards him.

"Those are fair points that you make." He told her, putting it into a drawer while she and Mary stared in disbelief. "Very well then, yours is a name that I won't take." He moved his stack of papers back where it had been and picked back up his pen. "Mrs. Stein, Stacy's needed on set. Her work will begin as soon as everyone she has met."

"Of course, sir." Mary grabbed Stacy by the shoulder and almost dragged her out of the office. A quick glance showed that she had the "I didn't think things through" smile Stacy had seen on her many times before.

Maybe this means she'll let me stay home?

' The girl wasn't that hopeful about it, but it seemed at least a little likely now. She clung to that as Mary led her down several more halls and to a room where the woman from before was waiting. The walls were lined with lockers not unlike the ones Stacy's school, though they lacked the little vents. Each of them also had a name-plate, and some were even covered in bright stickers.

"Lydia!" Mary called out as the approached. "Here's Stacy, ready and able to work." The false cheer she was exuding was almost painful to hear, though Lydia didn't seem to mind, or even notice.

"Great!" The woman said, looking far too happy for Stacy's tastes. "My name is Lydia, and I'm the head assistant around here. Welcome to the team!" She held her hand out, but Stacy just stared blankly at it. The woman wasn't phased, though, and simply let it drop without losing her smile. Mary, seeing her work was now done, turned to the girl.

"I'll see you and your brother after work. Do what Lydia says. And," She looked Stacy in the eye, lowering her voice just a little bit. "I do not want to hear about any incidents. Understand?" Stacy nodded mutely, trying to keep her expression neutral, and Mary turned on her heel and left.

Bitch.

' Stacy stared after her, watching as she left the locker room, closing the door behind her. She was yanked from her thoughts when by a loud clap behind her. She turned to see Lydia motioning her over to one of the lockers.

"Alright, so this one right here will be your locker. You can keep anything you want in here." She indicated the name-plate, and Stacy noted that it already had her name there, written in a sparkly pink pen.

Yeah, I'm changing that as soon as I can

.' Stacy promised herself as Lydia pulled open the door, revealing nothing but an id card hanging from lanyard. She picked it up and handed to the girl.

"This is your ID, and very important, so don't lose it. It'll let the others know that you're supposed to be here and working." She explained, indicating her own ID. "Blue is for assistants, green for guests, yellow for the cast, and red for the others."

Stacy looked down at the card, noting that it, and the lanyard, were indeed a bright blue color. She also noticed that it already had her picture on it and frowned.

"Uh, how does this already have my picture on it?" She asked, trying to think back to when that could've happened. 'I think that's from the yearbook.' She realized.

"Oh, your mom brought one in so it'd be ready for you." The young woman smiled. "Now, put that on and I'll give you the grand tour!"

"She's not my mom." Stacy replied automatically. Still, she put on the ID and followed Lydia through the other door and onto the Set.

It was the most hectic place she'd ever been. And that included middle school.

People were everywhere, talking and moving and cleaning. A group of young kids, Danny included, were in the middle of a game of tag while another assistant tried to corral them. In the distance she could hear someone yelling, which only got louder as something broke

"Oh good lord." Stacy muttered faintly. Lydia just took a deep breath and gave the chaos a large smile.

'Looks like it's going to be a great day today!" She said. Stacy just gave her a worried look. "Come on! I'll introduce you to Riley first. She's probably the one you'll be helping out the most." She started off, and Stacy found herself having to jog to keep up.

"So," She started, "what are assistants supposed to do? Because Mary didn't exactly give me a job description-!" She yelped an apology as she dodged around a couple of guys carrying a piece of the set, which went ignored both by them and Lydia.

"Well, mostly we're just here to assist. We do things like corral the kids, fetch props, put up the sets, that sort of thing." They paused to let a group carrying more set pieces pass. "Sometimes we also clean, but we also have a team that does that on the weekends."

"Ah..." Stacy understood a little better now. '

So I am an intern, then? Great, this is exactly how I wanted to spend my Summer...

' She had to run when Lydia suddenly took off again, making straight for a door marked

Lab Set

. They went inside, where a couple of other assistants were trying desperately to put everything together.

"No! No no no! That is not right!" And there was Riley Ruckus, puppeteer already behind the counter. "I gave you the instruction, in plain black and white! These beakers go here, the scales go there! And the chalk board should hanging in the air!" The puppet threw it's hands up, obviously exasperated. A golden retriever barked from somewhere out of sight and she sighed. "Not now, Rosco!"

"Hellooo Doc~" Lydia leaned onto the counter, adopting a tone Stacy had only heard in Mary's shows. "Sounds like the minions are treating you rough."

"Ah, Lydia. Finally someone most excellent!" The puppet clapped her hands together, turning towards them. "And it looks as though you've brought the new assistant."

"Yep!" She clapped Stacy on the shoulder and brought her in closer. "This here is Stacy, Mary's oldest kid." She leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. "And I brought her to meet the best one first."

"Not my mom..." The girl growled out, pushing the woman's arm off of her. She drew back when Riley suddenly stuck a hand in her face.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Stacy. I'm sure our time together will be just peachy!" The puppet had an open expression and eager tone that put the girl on edge, not helped by the fact that she hadn't seen the actress yet. So Stacy glanced between the offered hand and Lydia, unsure what to do. She was saved from making a choice by Rosco jumping up between them, paws on the girl's chest. Stacy near shrieked in response, jumping back and letting the animal fall to the floor.

"Rosco no! Down boy!" Riley scolded as Stacy quickly backed away. She ducked behind Lydia as the puppet ordered her pet to heel, making him go back behind the counter and out of sight.

"My apologies, he can get quite excited when seeing someone new." Riley explained once she'd gotten him to sit and stay. "I assure you he meant only to greet and not harm you."

"Yeah." Stacy gasped out, blinking rapidly. "No... no problem." '

Don't cry don't cry don't cry-

She was sure she'd never be able to figure out how, but somehow she thought that Riley actually looked a little bit worried about her. Before it could go anywhere, however, there was a crash as the two assistants dropped the chalkboard.

"Idiots!" The puppet screeched, turning away from them. Lydia took the chance to grab Stacy's left arm and tug her away from the beginnings of a yell-fest.

"I'd better go introduce her to the others. I'll see ya later Doc!" She said with a wave, which the puppet ignored, too focused on scolding the guys. Stacy winced as as Lydia let the door close behind, which didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, don't worry about those guys!" She reassured the girl. "They're great at lighting and stuff. Less so with set building, so this happened pretty often."

"Okay, so we've still got to introduce you to Nicky, and then Daisy, and then get everything set up for the "dress rehearsal"." Lydia told her as they walked. "You'll love them, don't worry."

"Mmm..." Stacy wasn't so sure. It was one thing to see the Puppets on TV, but another, scarier thing to see them in real live. What she'd thought was just tricks to make them move so realistically seemed less likely with each puppet she saw. It made her wonder what exactly was going on, and if she even wanted to know.

Would it be worse or better if they were robots?

' She thought as they approached the

Art Studio Set

. This time the door was already open, and peeking in Stacy could see both Daisy and Nick inside and behind a table.

Daisy was "leaning" back against the table in what was almost a pose. Her arms were crossed in front of her on the table, and she had an almost relaxed expression on her face. Nick was behind an easel, checking around it every now and then as he painted her. He was also muttering, though it was too indistinct for Stacy to understand.

"Well this will make things a bit easier." Lydia said as they entered the set, making both puppets turn to look at them. She gestured to Stacy. "This is Stacy. She'll be working with us for the Summer."

"Delighted to meet you." Nick Nack said in his clipped accent, already turning back to his work. "I'm sure you'll do an adequate job."

"It's a pleasure, honey." Daisy said, not dropping out of her pose. "Danny's told all of us so much about you."

"I'm not surprised." Stacy replied, tugging her right hand sleeve a little lower. "I've told him before he needs to talk about something other than me to people." '

I have my gloves on, it's fine. Danny knows better than to talk about it anyways. It's fine. It's

fine.'

"Oh, he's told us nothing but good things, sweetie." Daisy assured the girl. She sounded genuine, but Stacy couldn't help but doubt it and looked away, still tugging on her sleeve.

"That's not the point..." The girl muttered, but she was ignored as Lydia went around the table and whistled at the painting.

"Lookin' good Nicky!" She said, slapping him on the back. He just barely avoided smearing paint all over it as he was jolted forward, quickly yanking the brush back. He turned to the woman with a glare.

"Lydia, please don't do that again." He told her with the tone of someone who had said the same thing several times before. "And the name is Nick. Not,

Nicky

The woman just laughed. "Sure thing Nicky. Good luck on the painting." She started walking away, pausing just long enough to motion Stacy to follow her. "Come on kid! It's time we start getting everything set up!" A pause. "Which means we gotta go back to the lab, since that's where the recording's gonna be at first. Let's go!"

Back at the lab set, Stacy found herself having to help the other two assistants. The younger one, a boy only a few years older than her, was named Johnny and seemed nice enough. The other was an older man named Bill, who seemed perpetually grumpy and eager to start arguments with Riley. However, helping them meant being in the line of fire when something inevitably went wrong and Riley started yelling.

"No no no! These are the wrong kind! Go back and get the right ones before we run out of time!" She yelled at Johnny, pushing the beakers into his hands. Meekly, he ran off while Stacy did her best to seem unnoticeable. Still, listening to her berate the assistants was beginning to get on the girls nerves.

Her legs aren't broken! Just put the puppet down and do it yourself if everyone else keeps doing it wrong!' But she bit her tongue, knowing that any mouthing off would be reported to Mary, and she really didn't want a worse punishment than this.

Eventually, with a few more fumbles, they managed get everything set up in time for filming. Stacy, not knowing what to do, decided to stick near Lydia in case she was needed. The two of them, along with Bill, sat near the camera crew and watched as the segment started.

It started as though Riley was finishing up another lesson, followed by a child asking a question about a different topic. Riley then started to explain an answer, sometimes in song, sometimes not. Sometimes, the kids would be doing experiments alongside the puppet, but more often than not they were just there as an audience.

Danny, of course, was sitting right at the front. This segment was his favorite, of course, so it made sense that he'd want to be as close to her as possible. And, while he was wearing his hearing aids, Stacy couldn't help but be worried about him.

Still, everything seemed to be going well. So well, in fact, that it was inevitable that something would go wrong. During one song, one of the kids, a boy just a bit bigger than Danny knocked over a beaker which rolled under Riley's counter. While the beaker was, thankfully, an empty one, that didn't stop the kid from crying about it. As a result, the director shouted cut while Lydia went to comfort the kid.

Stacy, on the other hand, just sighed and ignored the kid, instead going for the beaker. Crouching down to the side of the counter, she spotted it quickly and reached for it, only to look up when the sound of squeaking wheels caught her attention.What she saw left her frozen in a fear she hadn't felt for months.

While she had her theories for what made the puppets move so realistically, they were mundane things. Camera tricks, that fancy computer stuff, even just multiple puppets used for different things. But all of those theories relied on on thing, that they were still just puppets with an actor controlling them. But what she could see now threw all of that out the window.

These weren't just puppets. And she knew this because Riley had no actress.

#hello puppets #fanfiction #htahhq #happy times at handeemen hq #scout #riley ruckus #mortimer handee #nick nack #daisy danger #stacy stein #mary stein #danny stein #lydia harris

15 notes · View notes

its-pronounced-quoassoint · 6 years ago

Text

Hospital

Just a little logicality fic that I wrote late at night. I hope you enjoy it. I would love to post a part two or more. If I do I’ll link to it here.

Inspiration for this post

Patton had been getting better until his condition took a turn for the worst. He was born with a rare blood disorder and was certain he was going to die around the age of two. But now, as a fourteen year old, he was the most optimistic person, likely to ever live.

He had been in and out of the hospital for all his life and hadn’t been there for six or so months when he had fallen extremely ill. Being rushed to the hospital was a rush that he sadly knew all to well and was no longer scared by the sirens of the ambulance or the musings of his mother in her attempts to soothe him. Instead, Patton found this whole ordeal rather annoying. His breathing mask was a little crooked and the straps around his ears were itchy.

They arrived at the hospital and Patton was placed in a room he had been in many times before. Doctor Marcie came in and out, checking one thing then leaving to attend to another patient before returning, only to leave yet again. There were no children’s hospitals nearby so the child section of the St. James hospital was often understaffed and over filled.

Patton waited patiently, though he had his iPad to help with that. Soon he was told that he would have to stay overnight for a while and was sent to an empty room. There were two beds, though the other had no patient. Two TVs and a curtain separating the room in two. Patton was put in the bed farthest from the door and was left with his mother and older sibling Talyn.

“Oh, Pat, don’t worry.” His sweet mother assured him.

“I’m not worried momma!” He giggled.

You’re so brave.” She cooed.

“Momma, he’s been here so many times, I think he’s used to it by now.” Talyn stated.

“Talyn!”

“Momma, they’re right.” Patton said. He grasped his Mother’s hand and smiled.

“Oh hun, you are perfect.” She sighed.

“No I’m not momma.”

“Pat, you know this isn’t the time to argue with her.” Talyn reminded their small sibling.

“Yeah.” He replied grinning up at his sibling.

As the night drew closer Patton’s mother and sibling had to leave. It was a bit tearful for the older woman but Talyn helped their mother out and soon Patton was left in the room. Alone.

Oh, he hated being alone. No one to talk to, no one to smile at, nothing but silence.

Luckily, he had his iPad and the room had a TV. Patton began absently flipping through stations until he found reruns of The Office. Using that as background noise he started scrolling through Instagram, liking posts and watching makeup tutorials and satisfying videos.

Then, around eight pm, another kid was rolled into the room and put in the other bed. He too, had glasses and Patton desperately wanted to point out that fact.

However, he knew that many kids didn’t want to talk with their ‘roommate’ right away. So he kept quiet.

After assuring the other kid was comfortable in his bed all but one nurse left. She walked over to Patton and began checking on him.

“How are you doing Pat?” She asked.

“I’m doing good Nora.” Patton smiles. Nurse Nora was Patton’s favorite. She was often his nurse while he was at the hospital and she never looked at him with pity and sadness like all the others. He wondered if her eyes were always filled with hope.

“You’re lookin’ alright. Everything seems fine. Other than you being sick that is.” She made Patton giggle.

“When is Emile coming?”

“He’ll be here to see you in morning Honeybee.” Nora told Patton.

“Yay! Oh, I have to ask him Remy!” Patton exclaimed.

“I’m sure Dr. Picani will be happy to tell you all about it.” Nora said looking at the chart.

She set down the chart and turned to Patton.

“Pat, this is Logan. He’s gonna be here for a while like you.” She told him.

“M’kay.” He replied side-eyeing the boy quickly.

Nora gave him a small ‘bap’ on the head and turned to leave.

“I’ll be back in to check on you again around eleven Honeybee.” She called.

Nora left the room and Patton felt his face ease out of the bright grin he had and into a smaller, more comfy smile. Patton lowered the volume on his tv as another episode of The Office began. He laid back his pillow and watched intently at the screen. Well, at least he was trying to watch intently. Instead he was sneaking glances at the other boy in the room. Logan, as Patton now knew, had his glasses off and his nose in a book. In fact, it appeared he had been left with a rather large stack of books.

Patton particularly liked how the boy’s facial expression shifted as he read. Logan’s small smile turned to shock, then his eyebrows creased into an angry look, then he softened and stared at the page in endearment. At one point Patton thought he had caught Logan re-reading the same paragraph several times. He was chewing on the inside of his lip in nervousness, but his eyes betrayed that action. Logan’s eyes were shimmering with a glow Patton knew only as love. He must be reading something he loved.

Logan flipped the page and that glimmer of love in his eyes faded away. Patton felt his own face waver as he saw this.

Patton then realized he had likely been looking at Logan long enough for it to be considered rude and turned away. After not being able to fully focus on the show Patton decided to turn off the TV and play on his iPad. The WiFi at the hospital was horrid but Patton had time to waste. While one particular game was loading Patton decided to take another glance at Logan.

The boy had somehow fallen asleep. The book rested on his chest that rose and fell and his hair was tossed carelessly around his face. Patton felt a grin grow on his face as he saw how content Logan was. The other kids that Patton had shared a room with in the past weren't usually content. Those kids slept with a permanent look of pain. Their eyes were so full of sadness. Some had tear stains on their cheeks that Patton didn't know how long were there or how long would last. Seeing a boy so peaceful like Logan made Patton so simply happy.

Logan then turned on his side toward Patton, the book falling to the floor. When the sound didn't wake Logan up Patton grabbed the IV on the side of his bed and got on his knees so he could wheel it around the bed. He got it to the left of him and attempted to quietly get off the bed. Once his feet were safely on the cold floor, Patton walked to the book and picked it up. Good Omens, Patton read. The cover was a simple sketch of a man with angel wings reading a red book in front of a black background. The font was funny looking and Patton made a mental note to try and read it once he was out of the hospital.

He went to place it on Logan's dresser when he heard a sudden intake of air next to him. Patton looked over and saw Logan suddenly sitting up in the bed, staring at him, clearly startled.

"Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Patton rushed to say. "It's just, your book fell while you were sleeping and I didn't want it to be on the dirty floor."

"Oh." Logan seemed to calm once given the explanation, his shoulders relaxed. "Thank you."

"Of course." Patton squinted as he ginned. He placed the book on the stand next to Logan's bed and walked, his IV in hand, over to the right side of his bed before sitting down cross-legged on the soft blue blanket his mother had left.

It was quiet. Patton decided he didn't enjoy the quiet and perhaps this was the time to talk to Logan. He looked over at the boy who had put his glasses on and was fixing up his hair a little. Patton felt a giggle rise from his throat. His glasses were crooked. Not enough that Logan could tell but Patton sure could.

"Um, Logan?" Patton asked.

"Yes?" He looked over at Patton.

"Your glasses are crooked." Patton told him.

"Oh." He began his attempts to fix them. After several tries where he would look to Patton for assurance that they were level and get a 'no' as a response Patton decided to simply fix it for him.

Once again pulled his IV to the other side of the bed, Patton walked over to Logan and adjusted the glasses on his face. He smiled at Logan once done and the boy smiled back, though Logan's was, a smaller simpler smile.

"You seem to know the hospital staff very well." Logan pointed out as Patton sat back down on his bed.

"Yea, I've got a blood disorder so I'm in and out of here a lot." Patton explained.

"Hm." Logan appeared to be assessing Patton's expression, though Pat couldn't tell what he was looking for. "Why did the nurse call you Honeybee."

"Uh, well," Patton felt embarrassment creep into his cheeks. "Nurse Nora was one of the very first nurses that I had on the regular rotation and when I first met her, I was obsessed with this stuffed animal. It was a bee with a little pot of honey on top. So, she started calling me Honeybee. Only a few people call me honeybee around here. Nora, Dr. Picani, Dr. Bollis, the secretary at the front desk, her name is Virginia, and the pastry chef down at the cafeteria, Mr. Thomas."

Logan nodded along as Patton gave him unasked for information. He didn't mind however. There wasn't much else to do.

Once it seemed like Patton was finished Logan decided to speak up. "I suppose I should tell you about my condition, seeing as you told me yours."

"Oh, you don't have to Logan! I understand if it makes you uncomfortable to talk about."

"Really?" Logan tilted his head.

"Yea!" Patton gave him another toothy grin.

"Thank you." Logan reciprocated.

"I never would want to make you uncomfortable. A lot of kids here don't like to talk about why they have to be in the hospital." Patton told him. "It's normal."

"I've heard you mention a Doctor Picani, who is that?" Logan asked.

"He's the child therapist at the hospital. He comes to visit all the kids at least once when they're here over night." Patton explained.

"Ah." Logan nodded in understanding.

The two continued to chat for a while. Patton would explain something about the hospital to Logan and Logan would ask some more questions until Patton had a question of his own.

"What is your book about?"

"Sorry?" Logan looked at his other bespectacled friend.

"Your book, I think it was called Good Omens. It had funny font and an angel on the cover." Patton clarified.

"You want to know about my book?" Logan asked.

"Well, yeah, that's why I asked silly!" Patton giggled.

"Oh, uh, well, it's about this angel and demon, both were sent to Earth to observe human evolution and perform miracles, that's the angel's job, or create mischief, the demon's job." Logan began to tell. "After a few thousand years the angel, who's name is Aziraphale, and the demon, who's name is Crowley, realize that whenever one does something beneficial the other just counteracts it with a bad deed."

Patton looked at Logan intently as he explained away the book. "Eventually they become good friends and both live in central London. Aziraphale owns and runs a bookshop while Crowley has a Bentley, you know the old car."

Patton nodded, reading the excitement and glee plastered all over Logan's face.

"Then the Antichrist is born, and he's supposed to bring about the end of the world. However, neither Crowley or Aziraphale want that so they attempt to stop the end of the world on the Antichrist's eleventh birthday. So they-" Logan looked Patton directly in the eyes. "are you planning on reading the book?"

"Oh, uh, I suppose so." Patton shrugged.

"Then, I guess I shouldn't tell you what happens. People tend to not like it when I explain in detail the plots of the books I'm reading." Logan looked down.

"No! No, no, keep going. Though I know how it ends that doesn't mean I won't want to read it." Patton assured him.

"Really?" Logan asked. Patton nodded quickly and Logan continued.

He explained every event in the book in great detail and would even draw Patton a diagram of confusing plot points so he could better understand it. Patton tried very hard to focus on everything Logan was saying but he found that when the boy was joyfully going on about something he's passionate about, Logan is hard to look away from. At some point Logan had walked over to sit on Patton's bed with him and was giddily showing Patton the diagram he had drawn up though at this point Patton had completely given up on paying attention to Logan's musings. Instead he had zoned out, his mind racing, never stopping to think about one thought or another too quickly. Though he somehow always tied his thoughts back to the boy sitting next to him, Patton decided to not unpack all of that at the moment. Besides, what real harm was being done if his absent-minded staring just so happened to be in the general area where Logan sat next to him.

"Patton."

"Ya-huh?" Patton's eyes came back into focus as once Logan got his attention.

"Oh, uh, I was just making sure you understood what I was saying." Logan gave a small smile before turning back to the "evidence" he had laid out on the bed.

"Yep." Patton continued to stare in Logan's general area as the smart boy went on.

"So, as I was saying I think-" Logan turned his head to the right and looked at Patton realizing the cheery boy was staring at Logan's hair. Logan exhaled and lightly took Patton's chin in his fingers, tilting the other boy's head back to the diagrams on the bed. This time assuring that he could fully understand what Logan was saying.

Patton pursed his lips and visibly pouted a little but didn't complain. He did however sneak one last look at Logan who had just the lightest hue of pink dusting his ears.

As Logan drew to a close on his lecture about his the current book he was reading he transferred back to his bed and was organizing his belongings.

"Thank you for listening to me Patton. I usually can't find anyone willing to listen to me talk about my interests."

"Oh of course, to be fully honest I spaced out a little, but a book about an Angel and a Demon falling in love," Patton laid back in his bed, a dreamy look on his face. "what's not to be interested with?"

"What?" Logan looked at his curly haired friend, flabbergasted. "They're best friends, they're not in love."

"Yeah ok." Patton raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

"They aren't." Logan stated.

"Oh, please." Patton sat up, turning to look Logan directly in the eye. "Logan, I have been in and out of this hospital my entire life. I have memorized almost every facial expression there is. I can tell how someone is feeling just by how they walk. I can see past every faked smile and forced laugh. I know what eyes filled with pity or pain look like better than, I dare say, anyone. People's actions portray their feelings more than they know. And from simply all you have told me about Crowley and Aziraphale, I can tell you with complete certainty. They are in love." Patton punctuated the last four words forcefully.

Logan looked at Patton with a small amount of shock. That however, faded quickly. Replaced instead by a content resting face. "Well, I guess it is a possibility." He mumbled.

"It's essentially a fact." Patton once again laid back.

It was quiet for the first time in a while. Though, the silence wasn't awkward as Patton had become used too. Instead, it was an easy silence. Logan, though Patton couldn't see very well, was going over the notes he had made, clearly searching for something to disprove Patton's conjecture. Patton felt a smug smile reach his lips as he closed his eyes. Enjoying the silence. That is until Logan gives a frustrated grunt and slammed his note book shut. Patton sat up, concerned. This wasn't the outcome he had expected.

"Hey, uh, Logan." Patton tentatively began. "Your voice is really nice."

"What?" Logan jerked his head up, his voice breaking a little.

"Your voice. I liked listening to you talk about the book, but your voice is very calming." Patton continued explaining. "You see, my older sibling Talyn has a friend, Virgil, he's read those H. P. Lovecraft books and he loves talking about them. I usually tune it out, which sounds rude but sometimes I just cannot continue hearing him vent about such yucky topics. However, I loved listening to you talk about Good Omens. Though the book itself isn't as gross as Lovecraft I also think your voice is part of the reason why I was so interested."

"Oh, well," Logan took a shaky in take of breath. "Thank you."

Patton smiled as a response and let his head rest on the pillow behind him. The minutes ticked on. It was slow but Patton turned on his TV and the two watched reruns of whatever shows they could find that was somewhat enjoyable. At some point the clock had struck eleven and Nora came back in. Checking both boys vitals before turning off the TV and wishing them a goodnight.

The dark room was once again plunged into silence that neither boy seemed to enjoy. Patton found he could not sleep for the life of him and figured Logan had drifted off at that point. So, when Logan shifted in his bed and spoke Patton jumped just a little.

“Patton, are you still awake?” He whispered.

“No.” Patton admitted. Opening his eyes and allowing them to adjust.

“I cannot seem to rest.” Logan sighed.

“Neither can I.” Patton giggled.

It was quiet for a beat too long.

“I feel I should admit something to you.” Logan whispered, his voice full of hesitation.

“Shoot.” Patton assured his friend.

“Earlier. When I initially awoke from my nap.” Logan began. “You told me my glasses were crooked. I purposely never fixed them correctly.”

It was quiet.

“Wow.” Patton began a soft giggle that grew. “You are a lot more subtle than I am.”

“Oh?”

“Very much so.” Patton continued his giggle. “That was a pretty smooth move there.”

“My friends would have called it desperate.” Logan admitted. Patton pursed his lips.”However, I’m not good with emotions at all. I’m not the best at, well, anything of the sort. I can’t just tell you I think you’re cute now can I?”

“Why not?” Patton asked, completely dodging the fact that this adorable boy had called him cute.

“Well, for one you could be straight.” Logan pointed out.

“Me? I’m as gay as everyone’s first impression of Aziraphale, Logan.” Patton chided.

Logan chuckled. Patton too laughed at his own comment. It was quiet. Though he couldn’t see any colors other than dark grey and black Patton could feel the red on Logan’s ears. Or perhaps that was just Patton’s hope that Logan’s face felt as hot as his did.

"I love sleepovers." He sighed.

"Patton, I don't believe this counts as a sleepover."

"I'm in a nightgown aren't I?" Patton said as though this was an argument.

"It's a hospital gown and attire doesn't really make it a sleepover." Logan countered.

"Truth or dare?" Patton asked, turning on his side toward Logan.

Logan was quiet. Clearly searching Patton's face once again, this time likely for a sign that he was joking. After some time Logan looked away.

"Dare." He sighed.

#logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides #logic sanders #morality sanders

36 notes · View notes