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martianbugsbunny · 3 years ago

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I Could Drink A Case Of You (I Would Still Be On My Feet)--A Spones Fic

Martian’s first fic! Thanks to the advice of @peter-is-a-bean I’ve decided to take the plunge. Short, amateur, and unread by anyone but me until now. Based on A Case Of You, one of the prettiest songs I’ve heard in a while. Check out the James Blake version if you want to hear it at its best. Fic is below the cut. Neither the song nor the characters are mine. Enjoy!

Just before our love got lost you said "I am as constant as a northern star" And I said, "Constantly in the darkness Where's that at? If you want me I'll be in the bar" On the back of a cartoon coaster In the blue TV screen light I drew a map of Canada Oh, Canada With your face sketched on it twice

“I do not understand,” Spock said, his face carefully neutral. Were he human, his forehead would’ve been creased—but he expressed confusion differently. Which was to say, not at all. “I am as constant as a northern star.”

“Constantly in the darkness,” McCoy muttered. “Where’s that at?” He turned away, but Spock laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Explain, Leonard,” he commanded.

McCoy sighed, his shoulders falling. “It’s hard to be in a relationship with someone who is in continual denial about an entire half of himself. I’m not saying we’re through, I’m just saying…I need time to think. Maybe you do, too. If you want me I’ll be in the bar.”

Spock watched him walk down the hall towards the Enterprise’s cantina.

Hours later, McCoy sat alone at a table, a glass sitting before him. He exhaled heavily, fiddling with a spare coaster…the table had been set for two. There was a pen in the bag he’d been carrying since that day’s away mission, so he began to draw on the back of the coaster. The ink wandered over the small cardboard circle with no plan in mind, illuminated by the blue light of the screen on the wall; but when McCoy grew tired of drawing, he realized that he had drawn a country from Earth. It was one the Captain often visited for shore leave, and McCoy had heard many stories about it over the years. And in the features of the land he saw Spock’s eyes.

McCoy shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He set down a few credits on the table and left.

I am a lonely painter I live in a box of paints I'm frightened by the devil And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid

Spock stared at the line of compounds in their glass containers on his shelf. He kept them around to study, to use in experiments. He was, after all, a science officer. Chemicals and molecules and atomic makeups were his art. His life was colored and stained with them. They were all around him; in every place he looked there was metal or stone or a life form to be analyzed for its pieces.

But the doctor was right. All of him was devoted to science, both Vulcan and human alike, and yet the Vulcan side would keep him from ever saying he loved science.

And he did. He felt drawn to it in a way that logic could not explain. It made his heart sing. It filled him deeply, pouring into places which were previously empty.

Why could he not say things like this to McCoy? Let alone an expression of love for him—what about speaking of science in the lyrical terms he felt for it? He knew the doctor would understand; that was, after all, how McCoy felt about being a doctor. (Spock knew because McCoy spoke of his medical processes in the same way Spock thought about science.)

Spock was terrified of his human side. The emotion and tumult that it brought, and the darkness in those…his Vulcan side, so strong and stoic, skirted away from them. Was it only that he feared the pain his Vulcan strength could cause his beautifully human partner? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was that he had been raised in the same way a full Vulcan would, and he had never known what to do for his humanity, and therefore kept it at a manageable distance.

The people he found himself most drawn to were the ones who didn’t fear those demons. Captain Kirk, the man both he and McCoy would consider their closest friend, was a man of volatile, yet fragile, emotions. Spock found him fascinating. And McCoy himself was a shining example of humanity. He was acerbic, at times, which was certainly jarring, but he was also a deeply passionate and loving man. Spock had witnessed his beaming highs, after a successful rescue mission; and his sobbing lows, after the loss of a patient. Spock was allured by it all.

I remember that time you told me You said, "Love is touching souls" But surely you touched mine 'Cause part of you pours out of me In these lines from time to time

Once, McCoy had been able to draw Spock into a conversation on love. It was after one of Jim’s unsuccessful flings—it had caused Jim some heartache (for a few days, anyway) but to McCoy it was worth it, to get that discussion out of Spock.

“I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what love is,” McCoy had said, staring into the coffee in his mug. The answer would never be found there. “And I gotta tell you, Spock, Jim doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Love is touching souls,” Spock said without hesitation. McCoy startled, setting down his mug, and turned in his seat to look Spock in the eyes. “Are you surprised I should be so poetic, Leonard?”

McCoy smiled, getting up from his chair to stand right in front of Spock. He studied those dark, stunning eyes carefully. “A bit,” he replied, taking Spock’s hand. “Then again, as you’ve reminded me before, you’ve read Byron.”

“And Shakespeare,” Spock added. “And they have led to me to one conclusion: love means leaving a piece of yourself inside someone else. From their perspective and yours.”

McCoy paused to think. There was a bit of Spock in him, surely. Although it irritated him to no end when all Spock would come up with to say was “fascinating,” he found himself saying it more and more often. And he had without a doubt given a piece of himself to Spock. “You’re right,” he conceded. Spock raised his eyebrow, which was the equivalent of anyone else smirking. “And you just know it drives me crazy that you figured it out first.”

Spock nodded solemnly. There was a rare glint in his eyes. “I look forward to tormenting you with this information for years to come,” he said quietly, brushing McCoy’s hair back from his face. “Our shift starts in fifteen minutes. If you want to be ready on time, you had better get moving.”

And just like that, the conversation was over, but McCoy would remember it for the rest of his life.

I met a woman She had a mouth like yours She knew your life She knew your devils and your deeds And she said, "Go to him, stay with him if you can But be prepared to bleed"

Spock could’ve sworn that girl looked like McCoy; he thought she had his smile. He must’ve been imagining it—for some reason, he imagined McCoy everywhere. Logic was failing him.

Then he remembered McCoy had a daughter from his failed marriage. And since it was an Earth holiday, there was a decent chance she had been allowed to visit. “Joanna?” he ventured.

“Yes.” She was subdued, unlike her father. Perhaps that was because McCoy had told her about his relationship troubles. Then she smiled. She really did have a smile like her father’s. “You’re Spock. The man my dad loves.”

“Perhaps.” Joanna nodded. “He’s afraid that’s not how you feel about him,” she said. “He would be infuriated if he knew I was telling you this—he likes to keep his demons to himself—but his marriage to my mom did a number on him. He hasn’t trusted a person since. Not the way he trusts you.”

“It does not seem that he trusts me,” Spock replied, unusually perturbed. “Perhaps you have read him incorrectly.”

“It’s his trust in you that frightens him,” she returned matter-of-factly. Was it all McCoys who refused to let him be right? “He worries that you’re so determined to keep your humanity under lock and key, you’ll betray him in the end for your Vulcan disciplines.”

Spock understood what Joanna was trying to say. “If he did not trust me, he would not care,” he guessed.

“Bingo,” Joanna said. “He’s worth it, Spock. Go to him, stay with him if you can.” Spock finally thought he could. The puzzle wasn’t missing pieces anymore. “But be prepared to bleed,” Joanna added.

Human metaphors were often strange to Spock, but he had spent enough time among them to know what Joanna meant. It was something he had already figured out. He would have to cut his own heart open and let Leonard see the humanity deep within him.

Oh, but you are in my blood You're my holy wine You taste so bitter and so sweet Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling And I would still be on my feet Oh, I would still be on my feet

Spock went to McCoy’s quarters and knocked humbly on the door, not quite expecting an answer. Yes, McCoy had been the one to put a pause in their relationship, but it was because Spock had been wearing him down. Not anymore.

McCoy finally did answer. He stepped to one side to allow Spock in. Hands uncharacteristically trembling, Spock entered the room, taking a position only five strides inside. McCoy closed the door again; Spock wasn’t sure if it was sign he wanted to be alone with Spock, or if he simply didn’t want their coming argument to be overheard.

“I’ve come to ask your forgiveness,” Spock said softly.

“I could forgive you for almost anything,” McCoy answered. He wasn’t typically so gentle, but there was no room for pretense in the moment. “It isn’t forgiveness that concerns me. I don’t think I trust that you…love me.” His voice shook like Spock’s hands, as though he was ashamed to say it.

Spock responded quickly and ardently, to push that feeling from McCoy’s mind. “Oh, but you are in my blood,” he insisted. The passion in his voice was genuine. McCoy finally met his eyes. “You’re my holy wine,” Spock said, reaching for McCoy while maintaining the eye contact. He had always loved those eyes, bright and blue and full of light.

McCoy blinked back tears as he allowed Spock to hold him loosely by the shoulders. He had waited, waited, for an eternity he had waited to hear Spock say anything like that. For him to admit that the part of him that was just as human as McCoy was equally in love, too.

He tilted his head up to kiss Spock. A brief peck on the lips, really; Spock was still skittish about prolonged intimate touch. There were equal measures of cautious humanity and stubborn Vulcanness in Spock’s response; for him and for McCoy, it was both bitter and sweet.

McCoy had been given the greatest gift he would ever know. His partner had chosen him over fear. He wanted nothing more than to return the favor. And if Spock could use illogical, idiomatic language, so could he. “I could drink a case of you, darling,” he whispered, wrapping his arms lightly around Spock’s waist. “And I would still be on my feet. I love all of you—I love your shining moments of humanity and I love your deeply-ingrained Vulcan strength. You’re what keeps me standing.”

“And I love you,” Spock murmured back. Despite McCoy’s claims, he felt light-headed at hearing those exact words from Spock. Maybe Spock knocked him off his feet just as much as he kept him on them.

“I love you.”

#martianbugsbunny writes fic #spones #Star Trek #Star Trek tos #TOS #spock #leonard McCoy #tos mccoy #tos Spock #tos spones #for fic's sake

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - What is known as amazing the world

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets, 所谓一鸣惊人, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

This R&S features S2 Shaw, but no knowledge of S2 is required to enjoy this~

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s third S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

When mentioning the tutor of the Archaeology Department in Loveland University, Professor Shen deserves greatest respect. Precisely because of the high academic requirements, he had not recruited graduate students in recent years. However, he didn't find anything wrong with this. He occasionally taught undergraduates, then immersed himself in his own academic research. His days followed a pretty regular pattern.

During such an ordinary time, Professor Shen met Shaw for the first time.

The day he interviewed Shaw was also the warmest afternoon in the late spring of Loveland City. The sycamore trees on both sides of the road were working hard to produce new buds. Professor Shen carried a pile of materials, walking across the sunny open space to the building where the graduate students were sitting for the second round of examinations.

So far, he had re-examined five students. Their performances were very mediocre, and there was still quite a lot of distance from his expectations. However, the student to be re-examined later was slightly different. The materials showed that he was directly recommended to him by Loveland University. Based on his age, he should be a young student. Amidst the twenty-five, twenty-six, and even older re-examinees, he had subconsciously left an impression on Professor Shen.

After dusting off the sycamore puffs that had fallen on his shoulders, Professor Shen entered the classroom. Before long, what accompanied the hands of the clock reaching 2pm were two beeps at the door of the classroom.

"Hello teacher, my name's Shaw.”

Hearing this, Professor Shen lifted his head. The boy at the door was indeed very young, but his flamboyant bluish purple short hair, incomparably avant-garde clothes, and flat expression without much of a smile rendered Professor Shen stunned for a second or two. But he quickly smoothened his expression, warmly beckoning Shaw to enter.

The student named Shaw wasn’t reserved at all. He sat down naturally on the chair in the middle, placing a black schoolbag casually at his feet.

Whether he was making judgments based on appearances or was no longer holding much hope, at that moment, Professor Shen thought that this was another interview where he would simply go through the motions. He raised some standard questions. Unexpectedly, Shaw actually answered them decently. Professor Shen's spirits gradually rose.

"What you wrote about in your undergraduate thesis was..." Professor Shen flipped through the materials in his hands. Just as he found the information, a clear voice sounded fluently. "《A Statistical Analysis of the Age and Gender of Human Skeletons Unearthed in Xushan》. It includes the basic condition of the unearthed human bones, any damage, pathological changes, as well as an analysis of the population and health of that period.”

"Does this mean you’re interested in physical anthropology?" Professor Shen pushed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, staring at Shaw with interest. "In that case, why did you apply to be my graduate student?" He needed to know that Professor Shen’s research direction was mainly on the appreciation of ancient appliances and field archaeology.

Faced with Professor Shen's sharp and intense gaze, Shaw didn’t panic at all. He shifted his overlapped legs, arching his eyebrows slightly. “Physical anthropology is a field that I wasn’t really familiar with, so I wanted to challenge it to learn more. Teacher's research direction is what I’m truly interested in." After he finished speaking, he added, "By the way, if I have the chance, I’d like to participate in field work a few times."

"Oh? The graduation thesis is such an important aspect. Isn’t challenging a new field very risky?" Professor Shen continued to probe.

Hearing this question, the corners of Shaw’s lips slanted, revealing his first smile of the day. However, there was an incredibly serious look in his eyes. He didn’t give a direct answer, but spoke leisurely, word by word. "Archaeology has always been a risk where expectations may end up fruitless. Don’t you agree?”

The re-examination and what Shaw said greatly exceeded Professor Shen's initial expectations. Outstanding schoolwork, comprehensive knowledge and an open-minded attitude. Except for seeming rather brash and conceited, Professor Shen wasn’t able to find fault with him at that moment. He drew a circle on Shaw's materials, then lifted his head to ask the final question:

"Student Shaw seems to be a young man with a lot of personality. So why did you choose the archaeology major that most people find boring?”

[ Chapter Two ]

The new semester has commenced for almost two weeks. For Professor Shen, aside from the need to attend a few more professional courses, his teaching life doesn’t seem to have changed much. He hasn't taken a graduate student in two years, and he hasn't gotten used to it yet. Fortunately, Shaw has never been someone who would simply wait passively.

After class this morning, Professor Shen returns to the office. Right after opening the stack of archaeological reports he’s been reading recently, there’s a sudden knock at the door.

"Shaw, is there a problem?" Professor Shen removes his reading glasses and asks composedly.

Shaw has a black backpack slung over one shoulder. He strides over to Professor Shen's desk. Scratching his own hair casually, he speaks with laziness in his tone. “Professor, you gave too little homework. Can’t you assign more?”

Professor Shen suddenly chuckles. Even though it’s only been two weeks since school started, he has already seen Shaw's agile mind and excellent learning speed. Professor Shen isn’t surprised by Shaw's request. But in his opinion, being overly eager isn’t always a good sign to rely on.

Professor Shen ponders for a moment, puts on his glasses again, then says to Shaw, "There’s another assignment, but I don't know if you’d be willing to do it.”

“Tell me about it?”

“You could draw pictures of the flowerbeds in school and objects in the classroom, then practice your fundamental sketching skills.”

Treating flower beds as ruins and objects as appliances is a method that many archaeology students use when practising sketching. But when this assignment comes out of Professor Shen's mouth...

Shaw sweeps a glance at the genial Professor Shen as he sits behind the desk. He purses his lips. Without a word, he hauls up his backpack and turns around, walking towards the office door. Just as he’s about to leave, he turns slightly with a soft “hmph”.

He doesn’t know if Professor Shen heard this sound, nor does he care that much. After all, he has once again immersed himself in the pile of archaeology reports.

Just after 5pm, Professor Shen hurries to a research meeting while carrying documents.

The sky at the end of summer is still very bright, clear and azure, without a single shadow of dusk. Professor Shen turns around a corner, and suddenly finds that the back not too far ahead is very familiar - the bluish-purple hair is one of the few in the whole of Loveland University, and he knows at a glance that it’s Shaw. And in front of Shaw, facing Professor Shen’s direction, is a girl with short hair and dressed in a delicate manner.

Professor Shen walks closer and closer. He’s unable to hear what the girl says, and only sees the shy expression on her face.

“Hey, I’m rushing to the band. You’re in the way.” Shaw’s voice is very cold, and even somewhat impatient. The girl seems a little reluctant to withdraw, and reaches out to grab Shaw. However, Shaw turns sideways and steps backwards, dodging instantly. At this point, Shaw knits his brows tightly, his eyes dyed with a sharp and impatient light. “I’ll repeat myself for the last time. I’m. Not. Interested.”

After saying this with a decisive attitude, Shaw walks away.

Walking from behind Shaw to a different branch of the corridor, Professor Shen grips the documents tightly. Actually, whether a student likes to be in a band or is adored by girls, these things belonging to the private lives of students aren’t what he’s interested in nor what he has ever interfered in. To him, what students place value on most are the quality of learning and professionalism. As for other things...

Professor Shen glances at his watch and subconsciously speeds up his pace. While he hurries, he hopes that his original judgment was correct, and hopes that Shaw is indeed a good successor worth cultivating, just as he appeared during the re-examination.

[ Chapter 3 ]

A week passes by suddenly.

Sitting at the desk which receives plentiful sunlight, Professor Shen flips through the stack of sketching assignments that Shaw had just handed in, an imperceptible smile of satisfaction on his lips.

In addition to printed computer drawings, another half are hand-drawn sketches by Shaw using a pen, and they are of pretty good quality. Over the years, Professor Shen had seen too many young kids neglecting hand-drawn sketches because they relied too much on computer drawings. No matter what decade it is, the most primitive and foundational skills should be the most solid.

The sense of gratification causes Professor Shen to sigh. However, the page he just flipped to causes him to stop abruptly - this is obviously not part of the drawing assignment. It looks like an analysis report... Professor Shen props up his glasses, reading it carefully from the beginning. Then, he realises that this is an analysis of archaeological reports. Flipping to the back roughly, he finds that coincidentally, this analysis is targeted at the stack of archaeological reports Professor Shen had been reading recently.

With no time to be surprised, Professor Shen straightens his back in an instant, sits up straight, and reads the analysis written by Shaw from start to finish carefully. Whether it’s the standardised writing format, the hypothesis proposed in response to pictures and existing materials, or the objectivity of the comparisons drawn, they can already be regarded as the standard of a professional.

Even though he doesn’t know where Shaw obtained the archaeological reports, what is undeniable is that he used his "little brain". But what is even more undeniable is that just by skimming through the analysis, Professor Shen can see Shaw’s solid foundational and expansive knowledge.

Through this unassigned piece of homework, Professor Shen feels that what he sees isn’t just a very young student who’s just beginning graduate school. What’s displayed before his eyes is Shaw’s undiscovered potential and possibilities.

Professor Shen gets a full glass of water from the water dispenser, and Biluochun leaves twirl and dance in the transparent glass. He walks over to the window, blowing at the mouth of the cup. Then, he takes a few sips of tea slowly, appearing to be in a good mood.

In his mind, he recalls the content of the analysis report, as well as Shaw's appearance when he came to submit his assignment early in the morning.

At that time, his steps were confident and full of vigour. He walked straight to the table to set down his assignment, then raised his eyebrows in glowing spirits. "Professor, remember to read till the end."

Now that he thinks about it, Professor Shen seems to taste the unhesitating confidence and the unwillingness to admit defeat in Shaw's eyes that he didn’t notice before.

It looks like this kid felt that he was being underestimated before. Full of pent up grievances, he wanted to prove his capabilities! This was simply his slightly awkward yet incomparably confident demeanour...

Professor Shen sighs softly, then can’t help but chuckle.

Before him, the sun is still climbing up at 10am, but the radiance of sunlight is already incomparably dazzling.

[ Chapter Four ]

After a few autumn rains, Loveland City gradually turns cooling. Professor Shen's body isn’t very good, so he puts on a thick coat early.

On this day, Professor Shen comes to the office with a briefcase as usual. He methodically prepares Biluochun, takes out his materials and pen, and puts on his glasses. Just as he’s about to start work, the new young lecturer Xiao Fu suddenly turns to his desk while holding his phone. “Professor Shen, look at this quickly. This boy in the middle looks like your graduate student!"

“Why do I feel as if he might be that student of yours?" Teacher Fu looks increasingly certain that he’s correct. "I met him several times before. It’s that cool and triumphant look. Even the colour of his hair matches!"

Professor Shen lowers his head, pulling down his glasses, and the image on the phone screen is displayed in an instant. It seems to be a video of a performance. The musicians on stage are very lively, and the atmosphere under the stage seems to be extraordinarily enthusiastic. The person playing the bass intently and fervently in the middle - who else could he be but Shaw?

Even before Professor Shen speaks, Teacher Fu has already affirmed to himself. “That’s right, it’s him! I remember someone mentioning that he was in band, but I didn't expect him to look like this...”

Professor Shen's eyes are still focused on the phone screen. In the video, Shaw has the youthful vigour that he can only have at his age. He’s full of spirit, rebellious and eccentric, and exudes fervent vitality. He can attract everyone’s attention almost instantly, as though he's a natural focal point.

But such a Shaw seems slightly foreign to Professor Shen. In the past two or three months, the Shaw he has seen is a graduate student who rushes to and from school, but is very earnest in his specialised course, and is also very meticulous in research.

Teacher Fu has already taken his phone away and returned to his own desk. Professor Shen’s gaze returns to his materials, but there are still some emotions stirring in his heart.

The more interactions he has with Shaw, the more Professor thinks that he’s akin to a treasure. Although he may make someone feel conflicted, he always brings unexpected surprises to others. Initially, Professor Shen thought there might only be jade here. But after more digging, he found calligraphy and paintings and utensils. Thinking that this would be the end, taking a turn resulted in the digging of gold, silver, copper and iron. As for whether there would be other treasures in the future...

Knock knock.

Hearing knocks at the door, Professor Shen lifts his head instinctively - truly, speak of the devil.

"Professor, I came to ask about something." Shaw strides over. Standing before the desk, Shaw looks at Professor Shen with an indifferent expression, as if he’s just speaking thoughtlessly. "I heard that the excavation and inspection of the Hou Yin Tan site will be carried out soon. Anyway, my usual assignments aren’t urgent. I’m thinking of strolling around the area with you.”

Through the spectacle lenses, Professor Shen looks at the seemingly expressionless Shaw, and can’t help but chuckle.

He thinks to himself - perhaps no one has told Shaw that even though he always uses nonchalance as a cover, the insuppressible earnestness in his eyes are unable to conceal his genuine anticipation.

[ Chapter 5 ]

The excavation work has commenced for over a month, and everything is proceeding on tenterhooks and in an orderly manner.

Field excavation has always been a bitter and boring part of archaeological work. In addition to digging for long hours in a desolate field, it’s also common to find nothing after digging till the end. At the very least, Shaw has already experienced it several times this month.

It’s another cold and windy morning. Professor Shen comes to the excavation site early, only to find that Shaw hasn’t arrived yet, which is rare. Something noteworthy is that Shaw has been coming here earlier than him every day. But within a few minutes, Shaw appears, walking over while talking on the phone. Something is said on the other end of the line. Shaw arches his eyebrows in his signature style. "Tch, so long-winded... Got it.”

Professor Shen notices a cute rabbit pendant dangling from the bottom of Shaw’s phone, though he doesn’t know when it first appeared. He shows a smile of understanding, no longer paying attention to Shaw's actions, lowering his head to start a new day of work. After a while, a number of villagers from the vicinity also come over and they all greet Shaw first.

This is also something Professor Shen noticed on hindsight. At some point in time, Shaw had established a rapport with the villagers. Having the villagers in the vicinity cooperate and even participate in an amiable manner is another very important part of field excavation. In this aspect, Shaw's performance can be regarded as attaining a satisfactory full marks.

"Professor, leave the rest of the shaving to me." Shaw squats down beside Professor Shen, holding a shovel in his hand. Professor Shen doesn’t immediately express his opinion. Instead, he smiles slightly. "Finished your call with your girlfriend?" Shaw averts his eyes in a hurry, which is rare. He purses his lips. “Who said that she’s... Professor, don’t get infected by Mr Fu’s gossip.�� Professor Shen chuckles while standing up slowly. Then, he pats Shaw on the shoulder. "I'll take a look at the pit."

Shaving is time-consuming and hard work, let alone shaving in winter. In spite of thin sunlight, the bitter cold wind hovers over the site, causing Shaw's nose to redden unknowingly. His ripped jeans have long since been covered in dust, and even his originally shiny earrings are coated in ash. Even so, Shaw simply kneels on the ground with ease, cleaning the ground while holding the shovel firmly, shovelling the ground and four walls carefully.

The shaving takes five hours.

Dinner naturally consists of a group of people eating together. When Shaw arrives, he has already taken a shower and is restored to a clean and refreshed state. However, when using chopsticks to pick out vegetables, Professor Shen notices his unusual behaviour immediately: he rarely moves his chopsticks, and he has been picking the vegetables slower than usual. After a few more glances, Professor Shen realises that his hands had turned swollen during the five consecutive hours of shaving.

Despite this, even after the meal is over, Shaw doesn’t say a word or complain at all.

Professor Shen is even more satisfied with the only graduate student he has. He can’t help but compliment him coolly. "You’ve done a good job recently. If you want to learn archeology properly, you must have this earnestness and inextinguishable momentum."

Shaw pauses for a second, but still has that triumphant expression when he speaks. "That goes without saying." But Professor Shen clearly sees how Shaw's eyes had lit up in an instant, and how his brows raised involuntarily.

Professor Shen smiles while shaking his head, looking at Shaw whose words don’t match his genuine feelings. He doesn’t know what Shaw experienced, and perhaps his cynicism is to some extent a defence mechanism. As long as he pretends not to care, there will never come a time when his expectations come to naught. And this also gives him a chance to rewind the situation. Even though amazing the world with brilliant feats bring with it surprises, it occasionally makes Professor Shen feel that what he’s doing is akin to a child looking forward to rewards...

With this thought in mind, Professor Shen smiles while walking away.

When Professor Shen arrives the next morning, many people are already surrounding the area. There’s an interview with the TV station today, and Professor Shen had long since pushed Shaw out. A young man with such an advantageous appearance is suitable to be on TV.

As expected, the host is holding the microphone and conducting the interview. Looking at Shaw’s knitted brows, Professor Shen can't help but laugh, knowing that he’s trying his best to answer patiently. At this moment, the host suddenly asks a rather familiar question. "Why are you studying archaeology?"

This question seems to pull time backwards to more than half a year ago, when Professor Shen met Shaw for the first time -

"Student Shaw seems to be a young man with a lot of personality. So why did you choose the archaeology major that most people find boring?”

Shaw arches his eyebrows. "Because I like it." He lifts his chin slightly, showing a determined smile. "Isn't liking something the greatest display of personality?”

More from S2: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc shaw #my appreciation of Shaw skYROCKETED AFTER READING THIS #also I skipped the second r&s because that one mentions s1 #which means I have to translate his part of ch 37 first!#but it requires an explanation into other plot points which I don't want to get into hnnhgng

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kintatsujo · 4 years ago

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LoZ AU- The Courage of Running Away Part FOURTEEN

You’ll see why this one took a while in just a second, I did that thing where I drew a whole ass scene again

Content warning for fantasy religions based loosely on Christian schisms

#AU August

#LoZ AU: The Courage of Running Away

So while Link is getting acclimated to Castle life and getting hugs from Marla and Tonbo (and also getting unofficially adopted by the royal family) Astramorus flies back to the Sky Temple with his loftwing.

And he has a lot of time to think while he’s doing it; I don’t know how fast a loftwing flies but even so it would have taken some hours on Hera’s back and you don’t have anything to do up there but think about why you got blasted through a wall by a god-queen. So he gets back and he’s feeling pretty fucking subdued when he hands Hera off to the Sky Temple commune’s gardener/bird caretaker, Maurice.

[Image description: Astramorus, looking tired and still missing his hat, his hair a mess, is standing opposite a short and round mustached man with bushy eyebrows dressed in the same priestly robes, except that this man has his sleeves shortened to his elbows and is wearing thick gloves. This man is holding Hera the loftwing by a lead, while she makes a particularly vacant happy face. “NAYRU’S EYES, man, WHAT HAPPENED?” Astramorus gives a very small smile, and after a pause, answers, “TURBULENCE.” The man harrumphs skeptically, then says, “Well, LORD SERENUMBRA from the LORULEAN ORTHODOXY showed up three days ago and he’s been giving me ADVICE ON MY TOMATOES, so turbulence or OTHERWISE I’d appreciate you DISTRACTING HIM before I commit some WEEDING.” Astramorus smiles. “Ah,” he says in understanding. “Yes, thank you for your PATIENCE, Maurice.” End ID.]

A note on Maurice, originally I was going to make him look like Gaepora OR Rauru and then Ice suggested basing him on Maurice-Belle’s-Dad and I liked that, so I blended the ideas a bit.

I think I’ve mentioned that Lorule and Hyrule have different takes on the Hylia religion, haven’t I?

Basically since this Lorule is just the country south of Hyrule instead of a dark-mirror-universe world, Invid suggested that part of the idea might be that Lorule insists that Hyrule is wrong about which country the Golden Goddesses left the world from, and that the Triforce belongs there instead. I kind of played with that a little further, and so now part of the thing is that their royal line is actually also descended from Hylia directly, except that at some point a sister broke off from (one or the other of) the royal family, founding the Hilda line versus the Zelda line.

And real quick here’s the Hilda of this story, which I promise is relevant:

[Image Description: Sketches of a tall, black haired woman with pale skin and blue eyes and extremely long pointed ears, dressed in a cape and dress of purple, dark blue, red and gold. She wears a blue and green belt trimmed with gold and black gloves, and a diadem featuring a red gemstone and golden spread wings. There is an inverted Triforce symbol on her sash. She is also wearing black lipstick and red blush and eyeshadow. A sketch to the side shows her making a decidedly less dignified expression with the note “All the finery and rouge is a desperate attempt to fool you into thinking Hilda is in her twenties but she’s only actually seventeen, same as Link.” Another sketch shows her next to an old man with round glasses and priestly robes different to the Hyrulean priests, who only comes up to her chest. She has her hands on her hips and is ranting at him. A note reads, “Hilda TOL.” End ID.]

Anyway the thing is that currently, the two churches are relatively peaceable with one another, they have joint gatherings to quibble about tradition and who should be allowed to have what sacred treasures and who has to bring the roast boar next time, and that is how a very young novice Astramorus ended up as friends with the man he would eventually match in equivalent rank, Lord Serenumbra. Who gets a nice picture equivalent piece to Astra’s introduction because of symmetry:

[Image Description: The same short priest from the picture with Hilda. He has white loosely curly hair, circular gold glasses, a hat similar to Astramorus’s but in red, a dark red robe over a black underdress, both trimmed in gold, and is wearing a heavy golden neck piece with an inverted Triforce and golden wings framing a blue disc. To the side are various comic panels; in the first, he has taken an extremely young Astramorus’s hand and is saying, “Let me be the first to CONGRATULATE you, my friend!” In the second, he’s spread his arms wide while approaching Astramorus and Catena, Link’s mother. “Let me be the first to CONGRATULATE YOU, my friends!” he’s saying, and Catena laughs, giving Astramorus a rough side hug that lifts him off his feet despite her only coming to his chest, while Astramorus gives her a gooey smile. “TOO LATE,” she says, “I told my mum first,” and laughs. In the last panel, Astramorus has collapsed limp into a chair at a dining room table, his hair in his eyes, his face wet with tears, propping his head on one arm as Serenumbra pats his shoulder from behind the chair. “Let me be the first to say,” Serenumbra says, “How DEEPLY SORRY I am, my friend.” End ID.]

This is awful but that’s currently my favorite picture of Astramorus.

Serenumbra’s design is based on the priest and philosopher from ALttP and Link Between Worlds; the philosopher’s robes were red so I sorta priestified them. The blue disc in the center of his neck piece represents the Moon Pearl from ALttP, which was actually red in the game but blue in some of the promotional materiel, and the blue was a nicer contrast. The Moon Pearl was mostly important because it let Link run around in his human form in the Dark World but I always liked it because it was sort of weird and mysterious. In Four Swords Adventures there’s actually a LOT of moon pearls and they let you make portals between the worlds. There isn’t going to be a lot of world hopping in this AU, I just thought it was interesting context.

Anyway here’s two old friends having a conversation, image description and a little more commentary plus some bonus poking at Astramorus at the end:

[Image Descriptions: Astramorus is entering a room with a rounded door and a coat rack on the wall. “Seren?” he calls. “ASTRAMORUS, are you QUITE all right?” Serenumbra answers. He is sitting at a round table in the center of the room; there are two dining chairs, one of which he is sitting in, and opposite of him is a comfortable looking rocking chair. “I came because I heard about your SON, have you still not found him?” Astramorus, looking deeply pained, straightens some of his hair with one hand. “I found him,” he says. He settles into the rocking chair with a long creak. Serenumbra is clearly shocked by his demeanor. “Astra,” he says, concern clear in his face, “What HAPPENED?” Astramorus stares at the ceiling while looking like death warmed over. There is a panel fading from light to dark to indicate the passage of time, then we see that Serenumbra has a hand to his mouth in thought. “So the queen refuses to see the DANGER here,” he says. Astramorus has folded his hands together. “She’s right about my SON, though,” he answers. Serenumbra is quick to defend Astramorus to himself: “Well- he’s such a SOFT BOY, you wanted him PREPARED,” he begins, but Astramorus stops him. “I pushed him too hard, too SOON, and with too little CARE.” Astramorus lifts his hands and grins painfully, continuing, “WHAT was I DOING, trying to teach him how to FIGHT when all I knew was an ADULT’S routine?” He puts a hand to his chin, still smiling. “I must be the STUPIDEST MAN ALIVE.” “Astra,” Serenumbra begins again, and Astramorus interrupts again. “My wife used to tell me I WORRIED too much, did I ever mention that?” He asks. His face turns solemn. “It was even one of the LAST THINGS she said to me,” he says. We get a glimpse of young Astramorus and Catena together backlit by the sun; she’s wearing a blue version of the classical Link costume with a sword strapped to her back and plate armor on her shoulders, he’s wearing his priestly robes and hat. She’s reached up to grab his face, grinning, while he’s put his hands on hers. “And then she died,” Astramorus says. He sits up, animate once more. “What else could I DO but worry?!” he demands. “You’ve studied the legends, same as I-” he subsides again- “That mark on Link’s hand may as well be a DEATH SENTENCE.” He puts a hand on his face. “And I’ve so THOROUGHLY FAILED him that now I’ve put the Royal Family in danger TOO.” Serenumbra puts a hand to his chin, thoughtfully. “WELL, you never KNOW,” he says, “Princess HILDA is more of an age with Link, maybe the Triforce of Wisdom will arise in the LORULEAN line this time.” Astramorus laughs. “That doesn’t change the SITUATION, Seren,” quietly adding “But also KEEP DREAMING.” He then puts his hand to his mouth. “How do I even BEGIN to atone?” Astramorus asks. “Ahh, old friend,” Serenumbra answers, soothingly. “If only Catena were still WITH us, she’d know how to ease the boy’s burden. Why-she’d face down GANON HIMSELF if it came to that!” Astramorus makes an intense face, as if he’s been suddenly burdened. Serenumbra stands and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Get some REST, dear friend, you still look TERRIBLE,” he says with a smile. Astramorus is wringing his hands, staring forward. End ID.]

DUMBASS BRAINCELLS ENGAGED.

I didn’t expect “Got pegged by his wife so hard that the mere invocation of her name knocked him back to his senses after over eleven years of fucking shitty behavior towards their son” to be on the bingo card for this character when I started this project either, but this is Draft 0.5 so anything can happen XD

Astramorus is so layered now what the fuck!

[Image Description: Serenumbra, face full of concern, asks, “Astra, what HAPPENED?” Astramorus stares at the ceiling like death warmed over. Behind him are the words “HELLO DARKNESS MY OLD FRIEND.” End ID.]

[Image Description: Serenumbra, face full of concern, asks, “Astra, what HAPPENED?” Astramorus stares at the ceiling like death warmed over. Behind him are the words “WELL FIRST OF ALL I FUCKING DIED.” End ID.]

[Image Description: Serenumbra, face full of concern, asks, “Astra, what HAPPENED?” Astramorus stares at the ceiling like death warmed over. Behind him are the words “...my wife made this chair.” End ID.]

Catena got into carving as a hobby during long trips but she started making furniture while dealing with nesting urges while pregnant, so imagine this little tank of a woman assembling a rocking chair for her tol noodle husband while ranting about her weird cravings.

#my art #au august #loz #loz au #Loz au: the courage of running away

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crayonwriting · 5 years ago

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06 - Yes, I’ve Been Brokenhearted

Summary: Maiko just wanted her good ol’ dad to walk her down the aisle. So, she invited the three men from your past in hopes of meeting him. The only problem was, which one of them is it?

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader, Bokuto Koutarou x Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Disclaimer: This is based on the movie directed by Phyllida Loyd and written by Catherine Johnson which is inspired by the music of the pop group ABBA.

catch up here!

“Kuroo-san! Hi!” Maiko greeted. She spotted him a little ways away from the bustling party. He was staring out into the dark horizon letting the faint sound of crashing waves in the distance keep him calm.

“Oh hello, Maiko.” He was quick to approach her. “I think I should explain to your mother that we come in peace.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He took a step forward but she was quick to block his path.

“Oh, no, really. You should wait…,” she gulped nervously, “Let her have a few drinks in her first before talking to her, you know? Let her loosen up a bit.” Kuroo nodded in agreement, pursing his lips in thought.

“Good idea there.” Kuroo then remembered something and he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of folded paper. “By the way, I saw this tucked into my shirt pocket earlier.” He showed the rough sketch she made of Oikawa stretching on the boat. Maiko didn’t really think about it too much. She found the stray pen in his pocket when Kuroo let her borrow his shirt and her mind just told her to sketch something out of the blue.

“This is really good. Why don’t you pursue this, Maiko? You have a talent.”

Maiko just sighed with a soft smile. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “I have enough to do here.” Kuroo eyed her with a stern look.

“Is that really your dream though? Running the hotel with Y/N?” Maiko hesitated for a bit. Of course, she doesn’t mind helping you out with the hotel but she also didn’t mind doing something else. She wanted to travel the world; get out of the island and see other sites. But she knows she can’t do those things because she was worried about you.

“Okaasan just can’t do it by herself anymore. She needs me here.” She looked at him, firm. Kuroo just looked back at her and nodded once. He turned back to his previous spot, overlooking the whole island.

“I drew this place at the back of a menu one night.” He sat down on the ledge, a small smile present on his face at the memory. “I always dreamt of coming back.”

“What kept you?” She asked, hopefully. She nervously played with her fingers as she waited for his response. Is Kuroo finally having that paternal instinct with her? She felt that earlier with Bokuto but maybe she read the signs wrong.

Kuroo didn’t answer her question though. He just looked to his feet before facing her again. “What did your mother say about me?”

Maiko gulped down her nerves. “She never mentioned you.” Kuroo just hummed in response before asking,

“What am I doing here Maiko-chan?”

A cold chill ran down her spine. She didn’t expect this moment to be this...nerve-wracking. She hoped for warmth to envelope her and for tears to fall down her face at the relief of finally finding her father but instead, she felt a lot anxious and she was more uncertain than before.

Before she could open her mouth to reply, a nearby window opened and your voice echoed out loudly into the night. That got Kuroo’s attention as he hoped that you’d look out the window and you’d see him there. Noticing his distracted state, Maiko escaped and ran back to the party. Kuroo was too late to stop her.

—

Oikawa crawled underneath the table Bokuto was laid on. Maiko’s guests had dragged the three of them back to join their party. Seeing as this was a hen party, the girls went wild at seeing the three of them. Kuroo had managed to escape somehow, and he wanted to get a breath of fresh air as well.

He was nearing the end of the table so he kept his head down to not get the other’s attention. They were too busy dancing on top of Bokuto who seemed to be having the time of his life. Just as he was in the clear, he felt a hand pulling at his arm to help him up. He looked to the side and saw Maiko, a little out of breath, with a worried smile.

“Are you okay, Oikawa-san?” She asked. Oikawa laughed humorlessly, brushing off the dirt from his clothes. He told her that he was and both of them walked up to the empty bar. Maiko was behind him making sure that her friends and guests weren’t too rough on him.

They both ordered their preferred drinks and while waiting, Oikawa decided to make some small talk.

“This takes me back to my high school days.” Maiko just tilted her head in question, so he continued. “Well, not to brag, but I did have a fangirl club during that time. They were all over me every single day at practice and all of my matches. I didn’t snob them of course. But I didn’t entertain them much either. I was just grateful for their appreciation of me.”

Maiko chuckled to herself. She didn’t doubt that he had a lot of admirers—he was good-looking, even at this age—and it was no surprise if he still had them up to this day. Soon enough, the bartender served their drinks. They clinked their glasses together in a small toast before taking their respective sips. Oikawa side-eyed her and he felt a tug on his lips.

“You know, Maiko-chan, Y/N-chan is lucky to have a daughter like you.” He smiled at her. “You’re so grown-up and look! You’re even getting married.” Maiko felt her heart leap in joy. She’s been feeling like this since earlier and she swore her heart’s gonna burst out of her if this keeps on going. All three men must have been feeling their paternal instincts kick in and Maiko wanted at least one of them to acknowledge it and put it out into the open.

“Do...do you have any children, Oikawa-san?”

“Oh no. No, no, no.” Oikawa chuckled softly. “I don’t even have a dog.” He took another swig at his drink. “But I’d love to have one someday. A daughter, I mean.” Maiko was suddenly caught off guard. Oikawa didn’t notice and he continued to talk, staring off into space in a dream-like state. “If I had a daughter, she’s probably gonna be spoiled. It’ll most likely be my fault but I don’t care. She deserves the world.”

Oikawa smiled to himself and swirled the drink in his hands. He looked over at Maiko who had her eyes wide and a little bit teary. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the look she was giving him. It was a mixture of sadness and longing. Oikawa awkwardly looked back to the party and suddenly a question popped into his head.

“Maiko-chan, is your father here?”

Maiko remained in her stunned state. The words that Oikawa had said pierced her heart and a million things had run in her mind in an instant. The question never bothered her in all the years of her life but this time it was different. She wanted to scream out to him, What if I’m your daughter, Oikawa-san? Don’t you feel it? But of course, she can’t force that on him—on any of them.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I don’t know who my father is, really.”

Oikawa opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. She looked at her and her eyes seemed to look hopeful but before he could comprehend the message, she was suddenly whisked away by one of her friends back into the party.

***

Bokuto was having the best night ever. He hasn't gone to a party in so long. And with a party full of women, who was he to complain. He danced on top of the table like there was no tomorrow. He almost didn’t notice the party dragging Maiko from the bar and onto the table with him. Maiko seemed unsure of leaving Oikawa alone but looking at Bokuto, she couldn’t help but smile. At least one of them was enjoying their time.

“Hey, hey, hey Maiko-chan!” He greeted. loudly, over the loud music. “This party’s amazing!” He continued to dance and Maiko tried her best to match his steps. Bokuto leaned a little closer to her ear, “How did Y/N-chan get money to buy this place?”

“She was left some money by an old lady she looked after when I was little.” She replied, gauging his reaction. “Her name was Meiko, who I was named after.” Bokuto scrunched up his eyebrows together.

“Meiko-obaasan?” He asked.

Maiko just shrugged with an uneasy smile. “I guess.”

“I always heard my obaasan’s money was left to family…,” Bokuto said more to himself than her. He let the cogs turn in his head. His obaasan was nice no doubt about it, but she was old-fashioned. She would never leave money to just anyone. So why would she leave you money? You weren’t related in anyways with them. You were just a really close friend and a good help to his aunt’s bar.

Unless...Bokuto seemed to understand now, but he didn’t want to believe it. Naming your daughter after his aunt? The answer couldn’t have been clearer.

His movements slowed down to a stop. Maiko still swayed a little to the music that was playing but she kept a wary eye on Bokuto. He turned to her with wide eyes.

“Maiko, how old are you?”

“I’m twenty.”

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath. He passed a hand through his hair and with a slightly panicked expression, excused himself from the party. He looked around from his perch on the table to look for an exit. He needed to get out. He needed some air.

“Bokuto-san…,” Maiko placed a hand on his shoulders which made him flinch in surprise. Turning back to her, he offered an apology before hopping down the table and disappearing into the crowd. Maiko followed his figure with her gaze. She can’t let him go now. Not when she thinks he’s finally realized. Without haste, she followed him hurriedly.

“Bokuto-san! Wait!” Bokuto was leaping down the stairs with his large steps and Maiko did her best to catch up with him. “Why did your obaasan leave okaasan money?”

“I-I don’t know!” He quickened his pace in the slightest. He didn’t want to run away but he just wanted to let everything sink in. “What do you want from me?”

“All my life, there’s been this big question and I just want some answers!” Tears blurred her vision and she wiped at them messily. “Bokuto-san, please!”

Hearing her voice crack made him stop. He felt a sharp twist in his chest that he wanted to get rid of. Knowing what he knows now, he can’t just leave her alone and in the midst of crying too. He turned to her and they were a few feet apart. Under the light of the moon, he could see the tears that stained her cheeks, making him feel guilty.

“Bokuto-san, I just want to know…,” she sniffed, “A-are you my otousan?”

“Yes.” He blurted immediately. He sounded foolish. “I think so.” He wasn’t entirely sure. But the signs were all there, why was he doubting it? She was named after his obaasan, for kami’s sake! And the money left for family...his aunt never mentioned anything or even told him of the possibility of him being a father.

And how could he forget the intimate night he had spent with you and how you’d parted the day after. He didn’t expect for that night to bear fruit in one go…but here they were now. He had missed twenty years of Maiko’s life and he didn’t want to miss more.

With more determination, he looked at Maiko. “Yes, Maiko-chan. I’m your father.”

Maiko let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. A fresh batch of tears cascaded down her cheeks and she let herself cry in relief and bliss. The small gap she always felt has now been filled. She looked up at Bokuto with a big smile.

“I’m glad.” She laughed lightly. “I have a request for you Bokuto-san.” He raised his eyebrows to show her he was listening. “Will you give me away at my wedding?”

He gulped down nervously. All of a sudden, Maiko seemed so precious in his eyes. He’s been an absent father for how many years and yet here she was, asking him to give her away in one of the most special days of her life. He didn’t deserve this chance but he knows it was important for his daughter. You bet he’s not gonna miss any more opportunities.

“Okay. I will. I’ll be there for you, Maiko-chan.” He gave her a thumbs up and a smile. Maiko couldn’t help but close the distance between them. She wrapped her arms around him and let out a few more tears. Bokuto was a little surprised but he quickly returned the hug, enveloping her shoulders in one arm and putting a hand to the back of her head with the other.

So, this is what it feels like to be hugged by your father, she thought to herself. Feeling elated, she squeezed him a little and murmured a muffled thank you to his shoulder. When they pulled back, Bokuto kept his hands on her shoulders and tentatively wiped her cheek with the back of his hand.

“You better get back to the party. It is for you, after all.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay here for a bit. Just...need to let this all sink in.” He chuckled. “I’ll follow you back, don’t worry.”

Maiko smiled at him gratefully and, after a beat, she went back to the party.

—

Nana was dancing blindly to the beat of the song that was playing in the background before she noticed a shadow move in the darkness of the night. She looked in that direction and saw a flash of clothes pass by in a quick blur. As she did her best to focus her eyes towards the darkness someone howled playfully into the crisp air.

This caught the attention of the rest of the party so they moved to the main courtyard where the commotion was happening. Wearing traditional masks and carrying various bottles of booze in their hands, Minoru’s bachelor party had decided to crash Maiko’s own party.

The girls screamed in delight and excitement as the boys all dropped in one by one. The music seemed to get louder and soon enough, the party was even more alive than it was earlier. Most of the girls had matched up with one of the boys. Everyone was dancing and having the best time of their lives.

Minoru looked around the whole place in search of his fiancee. After a minute, she spotted her just coming up from the stairs. She had a shocked expression at the sight of the boys with the girls and she knew in herself that this could only be caused by one person alone. Like an eagle, she was able to spot him in the middle of the crowd with a not so guilty look on his face. She weaved herself in between bodies to get to him.

“What is this Minoru?” She did her best to look mad but she couldn’t. Minoru just laughed at her cute expressions and brought her into a hug. He pecked her lips affectionately.

“I missed you.” He whispered in her ear. She kissed him back. With all the excitement around them, Minoru swayed them both to the rhythm of the song. For a moment Maiko forgot about all her worries and just let herself bask in the presence of her lover.

In the corner of her eye, she spotted Bokuto had returned and was just standing on the sidelines. He was looking at her with a soft smile which she returned with one of her own. She noticed Bokuto then looked a little ways behind her and his smile suddenly dropped. Maiko was confused so she looked to where he was looking and saw you just getting out of the main villa—in more casual outfits than earlier—with Yoshiko and Rika. Bokuto’s feet moved automatically and made his way towards you.

Oh no. You can’t know that she knows Bokuto is her father. You can’t know that the reason he’s—they’re—here is because of her. Bokuto was already making his way towards you.

"Go dance with okaasan!" Maiko shouted over the music to Minoru before slipping past him. Maiko dodged the various people who were dancing. Just as Bokuto was an arm's reach away from her, she felt herself get yanked back by the arm.

"Hey!" She got annoyed in the slightest but it disappeared when she saw Kuroo with wide eyes and a small grin on his face.

"Maiko! I know why I'm here. Why didn't you tell me?" Kuroo laughed a little, running his hand through his hair. Maiko raised her eyebrows in question. What was Kuroo talking about?

"How long have you known that I'm your father?"

"What?!" She couldn't help but shout in disbelief; Kuroo took it as a sign of surprise. He was just beaming at her, letting it all sink in. Maiko couldn't believe this. She wanted just one of them to feel a paternal instinct with her.

"N-not long at all, Kuroo-san." She gave a fake smile. "Uhm, Kuroo-san, listen, please don't tell my okaasan. She doesn't know that I know. So, can we wait 'til after my wedding?"

"Who's giving you away?" He asked. Maiko just shook her head from side to side. Kuroo squeezed her shoulders gently and pointed a thumb to himself. "Wrong! I am. Don't worry, it's our secret until then."

With that, Kuroo blended into the crowd and decided to finally enjoy himself. Maiko let the smile she was forcing fall from her face. This wasn't good. Two out of the three think they're her father and she can't tell which is the real one. She wandered into the bustling party on autopilot. She didn't feel like dancing at all. She needs to fix the misunderstanding before the wedding.

Meanwhile, you danced with the other girls and guests around the party. Glancing to the sides, you saw your daughter staring off into space, standing stock still in the middle of the crowd. That was odd. You saw Minoru approach her, cupping her face in between his hands. Maiko pushed his hands away and ducked to escape his grasp.

Okay. Now you know something is wrong. You immediately stopped dancing and started your way to your daughter. It was a bit of a struggle to get past the crowd but you were determined to get to her. You accidentally bumped into someone’s chest when another body had pushed you a bit harshly in the back. The person you collided with held you tighter to themselves.

“I’m sorry—” Your voice caught in your throat as you looked up at Kuroo who was smirking at you with that irresistible face of his. You cursed yourself for blushing as you felt your face warm up.

“You always did find a way to get close to me.” He remarked. You pushed at his chest, desperate to keep the distance between the two of you but he was stronger as he kept you in place. He started swaying the both of you to the beat of the music. You went along with his actions as you didn’t want to make a scene and you also didn’t want Maiko to know that he was there. You glanced around but you couldn’t see your daughter anymore.

***

Maiko’s breath came out a little rushed as she distanced herself from Minoru and the party. She was able to find a less cramped space in the courtyard where she could finally breathe properly. Just as she wiped the thin sheet of sweat on her forehead, someone had bumped into her.

“Sorry about that.” The person apologised. With just a single beat the person pulled up the party mask they were wearing and Maiko soon realised that it was Oikawa. They stared at each for just a second before his eyes widened in realization.

“Oh my god.” Something hit Oikawa.

No.

“I’m your father!” Oikawa shouted excitedly. She started shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all, her mouth hanging wide open.

“Oikawa-san, I—”

“Now, that’s why you invited me! You wanted your good ol’ dad to walk you down the aisle.” Maiko tried cutting him off but no words came out of her mouth. Oikawa smiled like he had won the lottery. He couldn’t help but give a kiss on her forehead. “I won’t let you down, Maiko-chan!” he then immediately left and continued his dancing.

Maiko felt more frustrated and confused than she ever was since her fathers came to the island. She needs to get away, ASAP. As the confessions and realisations of the three men echoes in her mind, she didn’t notice herself getting pushed into the middle of the dance floor. Everybody was dancing around her and she could see their faces all at once—Kuroo, Bokuto, Oikawa and...you.

She saw the worried look you had that was directed toward her. She suddenly felt so guilty. Maybe she shouldn’t have invited them. Maybe she should’ve just been content with the stories. Maybe she should just run off with Minoru and never come back.

With the loud bass of the music, the spinning bodies and the humid atmosphere of the party, she felt her throat close up and she struggled to breathe. She tried to escape the small circle but to no avail. With her chest so tight and head feeling lighter than ever, she let the darkness engulf her consciousness and passed out then and there.

tags: @yikes-buddy / @ushi-please / @melodiamore / @akaashi-todorki / @honeymoneyy / @minty-mangos-world / @ochabby / @paettonissahotcheeto / @chrisrue15 / @cottage-babe2 / @tsukkx / @yashinosakura / @coconut-dreamz / @roseestuosity / @youstydiaa / @shiningstar-byulxx / @mkkhaikyuu / @waywardtrashfam / @otaku-fangirlse / @juni-multifandom / @voids-universe / @chimsblogg / @1-800-imagine

a/n: there ya go! hope this makes up for my absence! and just a quick note, in chap 4, i changed kuroo’s fiancee name to alisa cos i just want to hurt myself (kuroo stans iykyk)

tell me your thoughts please! i love u all!

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detectivejay-chuckles-halstead · 5 years ago

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Thanks // Jay Halstead x Reader // Pt 4

Description: Jay reaches out when he needs it

Warnings: Emotional Whump

Pairing: Jay x Reader (Eventual), Reader x Mouse!Platonic, Jay x Mouse!Platonic

Words: 1620

A/N: No worries, our favorite best friend will be back in the next part. I’m on a roll, the muse assisting to keep the creative juices flowing!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You checked in with the ED, knowing Jay got discharged later that day despite his doctors wanting him to at least stay the night for observation. He was stubborn, you were learning. Though, you’d be surprised if he wasn’t. You felt bad though, knowing he was going to be on desk duty for a while. It seemed as if he’d been through it before, knowing the routine pretty well.

It took a couple days for your phone to ring, an unknown number flashing on the screen. You’d just gotten home from work, tossing your bag on the couch. Honestly, you’d just been looking forward to a bath, some TV, and a glass of wine before bed.

“Y/N,” you told whoever was on the phone as you answered it.

“Hey, hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Jay answered, a smile quickly forming on your face.

“No, I just got home. What’s up?” You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the bottle of wine out of the refrigerator.

“I don’t want you to have to move your schedule around on my part to visit Mouse, so I’ll just tag along whenever you go.” There was something more to it, though. You could tell by the uneasiness in his voice, stopping yourself from opening the wine just yet.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I usually go on Mondays and Thursdays. You okay, Jay?” you finally asked.

“Honestly.” You heard him sigh on the other end of the line. “I’ve been better. Just a little stir-crazy you know? On medical leave for a little bit, and I really don’t want to take a taxi anywhere.” He chuckled nervously. “And Hailey’s at work, which makes sense. And so is everybody else. And Will is still pissed off that I got shot. I know he just worries but…”

“You’re rambling, Jay. Do you want me to come over? We could order a pizza, watch a movie? Just until somebody gets off work,” you offered, knowing it was going to be a 50/50 shot that he’d take you up on the offer.

“You sure? I’m not always the greatest company.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll pick up a pizza on the way. Just text me your address,” you assured him, putting the wine back in the refrigerator, glass in the cabinet. There went your plans for the night, but spending it with Jay seemed like a better option.

You were at Jay’s apartment less than an hour later, pizza box in one hand, pack of beer in the other. You weren’t sure if he was on pain meds or not, but figured it wouldn’t be a long shot that he was more of a beer guy than a wine guy. Making quick work of the stairs, you knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” you heard him call out, letting yourself in. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” you assured again, setting the pizza down on the coffee table in front of him. His lap was covered with a blanket, a pair of crutches right next to the couch. It was a well kept place, not overly fancy, but not a shit-hole either. Being a detective must have meant he made some pretty decent money. “You want one?” you then asked, holding up the six pack.

“Maybe later. The kitchen is right over there, if you could put it in the fridge. You’re more than welcome to have one though.” You followed the direction of his pointed finger, placing the pack in the fridge before going back into the living room. Quickly, you kicked off your shoes and shrugged off your jacket before joining him on the couch.

He’d turned on a documentary, eyes fixed on the screen except when he reached out to grab a slice of pizza. You knew better than to push it, knowing there was something more just under the surface. There had to be a reason he’d called you and not somebody else. It reminded you of sitting with Mouse, though you knew Jay was more than capable of expressing whatever was on his mind.

The documentary came to an end, Jay flipping through channels before settling on the hockey game. You’d propped your feet up on the table, leaning back onto the couch.

“You gonna be okay?” you asked him softly, Jay looking at you finally.

“Eventually,” he agreed with a nod. “I just...I don’t like being cooped up, you know? Gives me too much time to think.”

“I get it. But I’m here to listen if you want to talk. Not as a doctor, but as your friend,” you reminded him, Jay nodding again.

“I’m going to get one of those beers. You want one?” he asked, uncovering himself and grabbing his crutches. You tried not to look, didn’t want to make it seem like all you were going to focus on was his leg -- or lack thereof. But you noticed the white bandaging on the remaining section, shorts covering most of it.

“Yeah. I’ll take one,” you agreed before he walked over to the fridge. He had it all down pat, how to get around and grab what he needed to. That’s what thirteen years of being an amputee would do to a person. He handed off the bottle before sitting back down and covering back up.

He didn’t drink the beer though. He’d popped the top off, held onto it for a few minutes before discarding it on the table.

“It’s the same every time,” he finally said, your brow furrowing as you tried to understand. The two of you looked at each other as he continued to talk. “The first time I got shot on the job was a through and through on my right shoulder. That’s what got me into the unit I’m in now. It’s a running joke. You get shot, you get to choose your unit. The second time was after my dad died. Grazed my side, but no lasting damage. The third time I almost died. Right shoulder again, hit an artery though. The doctor said I should have died. That it was a miracle. And it’s the same every time. The ‘pop’ of the gun, the searing pain.”

“I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like,” you reminded him.

“I know. It was different, though, in Afghanistan. Here, I know I could get shot. Over there, it was just a question of when. A few grazes, nothing major. I mean, there was a firefight every day. But here, it’s the same every time.” He was repeating himself, that was the first thing you noticed before the shift in body language, hands gripping the blanket a little tighter, the stiffness in his shoulders and jaw.

“Jay.” You put on the psychiatrist voice, the soft and soothing voice. You didn’t move to touch him, staying firmly where you were. “You’re not there.”

“I know. I know. I just- God, what’s wrong with me?” he confirmed, shaking his head as if it was an etch-a-sketch trying to get rid of the picture.

“Nothing’s wrong with you. Like I said the other day, trauma can bring things up that we try to push away. It’s completely normal, a natural response. But the only way to work through it is to talk about it. Not to push it away.”

“Now you’re sounding like my last therapist,” he joked with a small laugh, despite the tears brimming in his eyes, running a shaking hand over his face.

“It is what I do for a living. But you do need to talk about it, Jay. To anybody, doesn’t have to be me. Doesn’t have to be a professional. A friend, a coworker, just someone.” This time, you reached out, letting your hand rest on his arm, rubbing circles on the flesh with your thumb.

“Mouse and I didn’t get to come home together. He was still in a coma, clinging to life in Germany. I got to come back though, knowing most of our team was dead or dying. And I walked away like this. It took a while. Will was in New York partying. My dad never liked that I joined the military. And my mom...she was really sick. So, I suffered alone for a long time. I learned to compartmentalize, to deal with the nightmares and flashbacks. Not in the healthiest way at first, a lot of drinking. A lot of drinking.” He nodded. “And when Mouse did get to come home, I threw myself into making sure he was okay. He was what brought me back time and time again.”

“You have a support system now, Jay. Your brother cares about you, that much is obvious, though he may not always understand. Your team is there. You were talking about your partner Hailey. I’m sure she’d listen and support you. There’s always Mouse, though he may not give the clearest advice at times.” You both laughed at that. “And you have me. You’re not in this alone anymore, Jay.”

“Thanks for coming over. It means a lot. Can we talk about something a little less morbid than about how fucked up my head is?”

The rest of the night was spent talking about his job, your job, how you grew up on military bases. It was the same type of conversations you would have with Mouse. It was normal, familiar. And that’s what he needed, letting him lead the conversation. As the night continued on, the sun long gone over the horizon and moon in the sky, there was one thing you became sure of. Whatever drew you to volunteer knew that you needed these two men in your life as much as they needed you.

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#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #mouse chicago pd #fanfiction

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deathsteel · 5 years ago

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30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt #13 -Regret

“Fuck”, Dean muttered, scrubbing at the dark ink curving over his collarbone with a washcloth.

It hurt like a bitch, the skin red and inflamed and raw like he was scrubbing over a sunburn. But, damnit, Dean was NOT going to keep looking at the name of his ex-fucking-girlfriend tattooed right over his heart like some damn fool.

Last night was supposed to be their 5 year anniversary, but instead Dean had gotten drunk alone at the divest dive bar to ever exist while looking at pictures of Lisa on her honeymoon on Instagram. They’d gone on to Jamaica, how lame. Dean would have taken her to see the Northern lights, kissed her in a forest, and climbed to the top of a mountain to declare to the world how much he loved her. In his hungover state, Dean spitefully hoped that Lisa and Benny got rained on the whole time they were there.

So yea, Dean was out a best friend and a girlfriend all in one fateful night two years ago. He didn’t even really know why he hadn’t unfollowed the two of them on Instagram yet. Sam said it was because he liked to torture himeself, but Dean had just thought of it as him playing the long game until Lisa was single again. He’d had the tattoo for two and a half years and it served as a constant, daily reminder of how shitty one Dean Winchester was at relationships.

“You should get that covered up,” his roommate Garth said, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway of the bathroom.

Dean just groaned at the other man who looked annoyingly well-rested and continued to rub at the curling script even though he knew it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He tried to avoid his own gaze in the mirror because he knew he looked like death warmed over and eventually just tossed the washcloth in the sink with a growl of frustration.

“Really, man,” Garth continued, cheerful as ever even though Dean had brusquely pushed past him on the way out of the bathroom. “The guy that does all of my work, he’s great. He specializes in cover ups too! He did this trailing flower thing on Bess’s side to cover up the scar from her accident. It's pretty awesome.”

Dean knew which of his girlfriend’s tattoos that Garth was talking about. Bess had worn a bikini last summer for the first time that Dean had known her and he’d seen the ink flowing gracefully down her ribcage. It had been lifelike and beautiful, dandelions both in bloom and as the white-tufted seeds clinging to delicate stems; waiting to turn into wishes. He hadn’t even noticed that Bess had a scar that the tattoo was covering up, but that was probably the point.

He stormed towards his bedroom, mulling over the thought of going under the needle to cover up Lisa’s name on his skin.

How much longer could he kid himself? Was it even healthy to continue to hope that he and Lisa would get back together? She was fucking married at this point, to Benny of all people! Benny was a good dude, the best dude. And Dean was scum for selfishly wanting them to split up.

The little voice in Dean’s head that sounded an awful lot like Sam whispered that it was time to let go.

“Garth!” Dean hollered, pulling a grey t-shirt roughly over his head and reaching for his discarded jeans from the night before. “You got the name of this tattoo guy?!”

Ethereal Ink was in the up and coming part of town that all the locals snidely called ‘gentrified’. It was located in a refurbished furniture manufacturing plant that had one been the town’s pride and joy in the 60s and 70s, but it had since been updated and broken up into smaller subsections that housed the tattoo shop, a smoothie bar, and a hot yoga studio respectively. Dean grimaced at the sign for the empty space next to the tattoo shop that declared ‘Artisanal Cheese Shoppe Coming Soon!’ as he walked into the parlor before dropping his jaw open as he started at the flash adorning the walls around him.

It was unlike any tattoo shop he had seen before, which granted he had only seen the one when he had initially gotten the ‘Lisa’ tattoo and it had been much seedier than the shop he stood in now. One of the walls of the shop was painted with a sweeping solar system, glowing in hyperrealistic color and scale, the stars and constellations radiating vibrantly against the starkly painted navy hue of the wall itself. A second wall was swathed in plaques and trophies, proudly displayed showing the triumphs and accolades of the shop’s employees.

The remaining two walls showcased lovingly framed flash art and pictures, but it didn’t look like the kind that someone could just pick off the wall and request to have put on their bodies. No, the placement of it looked purposeful. Arranged artistically and clustered into themes, the art seemed to capture the personalities of the people who drew them.

Dean noticed that the artists Anna seemed to prefer portrait art of people and pets, keeping mostly to a black and white color scheme. Hannah, on the other hand, used bright colors and worked in a style that reminded Dean of old sailor tattoos. Billie seemed to favor a tribal, geometric style, and Jess appeared to be the shop’s resident piecer since her cluster was artfully taken photo close-ups of healed piercings. But the last group of artwork, infuriatingly unsigned, seemed to be a marriage of realism and storybook illustrations. There was something arrestingly lifelike in the drawing of a fox posed among vibrantly pink wildflowers and playful in the drawing of a rocketship taking flight. Dean liked all of the artwork, but these caught his attention, these made his hands itch to reach out and touch.

“You my two o’clock consult?” A femenine voice asked causing Dean to spin around and face the counter that separated the awards from the rest of the store. A dark skinned woman with riotously curly hair and tattooed arms revealed by her black tank top leaned comfortably on her arms against the glass top of the counter.

"Yea," Dean replied, putting on a charming smile. "You Cas?"

“No,” the woman said flatly, unfolding her arms to reveal twisting dark tribal tattoos going up the inside until they disappeared under her top. “I’m Billie. Cas is sick and I’m the next best at cover ups.”

Dean tried not to be disappointed, Cas must be who the unsigned artwork belonged too and it was much more intriguing than the stark tribal pieces the woman seemed to favor.

It must have shown on his face though, “You can reschedule with him in about a week or so,” Billie offered. “He has the flu, so he shouldn’t be out longer than that. But Cas said you sounded pretty eager to get this done in your email so he asked me to see you.”

“Cool, well.” Dean floundered, not wanting to appear ungrateful because really, he wanted this fucking name off of his body like yesterday. “Uh...where do we start?”

“Come back to my office and show me what I’m working with,” Billie said, gesturing to the hallway that led behind the counter and deeper into the store before heading that way herself.

Dean followed quickly and was led into a doorless office that contained a padded, reclining tattooing chair, a very large tool chest that was covered in stickers, and even more art featuring tribal tattoos on the walls.

“So where is this no doubt beautiful work that you want to get covered up?” Billie asked blandly, taking a seat on a small rolling stool that had been tucked into the corner.

“On my chest,” Dean answered, perching on the tattoo chair before he hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the inked skin in question. “It’s just the name of an ex and well…”

“Hey, no shame,” Billie said, leaning forward to study the ink. “We all do dumb stuff for love, right?”

Dean shrugged and let out a puff of air through his nose in amusement. It was nice not to be made to feel like a tool for getting a dumb tattoo.

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten a person’s name put on me though…”Billie mused, pulling out her cell from her back pocket. “Mind if I take a few reference pictures? So I can make sure my sketch actually covers the old ink?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, feeling like a moron again. He should’ve never gotten this tattoo, even Lisa had thought it was dumb when he’d shown her.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?”

“Um...yea?” Dean said hesitantly, reaching back to pull the shirt over his head.

“Don’t be shy,” Billie replied, her phone audibly clicking as she snapped a few pictures of Dean’s newly revealed torso and shoulders. “This way I’ll know how much room I have to work with. Plus you’re not my type.”

“Oh,” Dean laughed nervously. “Not enough muscles?”

“Not enough tits,” Billie replied with a smirk, winking at him before snapping another picture and sliding her phone away. “But I’m sure there are lots of people who would appreciate your physique just the way it is. You can put your shirt back on now.”

Dean smiled to himself as he did just that; he had never been one to turn down a compliment from anyone, even if they weren’t interested in more than just admiring for aesthetic reasons.

“So what are you thinking as far as design?” Billie asked, taking her seat back on her stool.

“Well…” Dean started before hitting a proverbial brick wall. He really hadn’t thought beyond just wiping Lisa’s name off of his body. “I’m open to suggestions?”

Billie just raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you alway this impulsive when it comes to putting something permanent on your body?”

Dean just waved his hands in a helpless gesture and put on what he hoped was a charming smile. Based on Billie’s expression it didn’t really work as well as it typically did.

“Which art did you like the best out there?” Billie asked, smiling when Dean froze like a deer in headlights. “I saw you looking at Cas’s stuff? You like those flowers and nature things?”

“Yea, but uh...yours are really great too,” Dean offered trying to backpedal his way out of inadvertently insulting his tattoo artist.

Billie just waved away Dean’s compliment with a grin, “I know my stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. I can see the appeal in the Cas’s pretty stuff.”

Dean wanted to protest that the prettiness of the other artist’s work had very little to do with why he liked it, but honestly it was pretty and Dean was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that he liked flowers sometimes. Especially after all of that therapy he did after his and Lisa’s breakup.

“Listen,” Billie continued, entirely unaware of Dean’s inner monologue. “This is just a consult, we’re not getting married. If you like the flowers, I can forward these pics onto Cas and he can work something up for you.”

Dean gnawed on his lip for a second, ultimately deciding that another week or two with Lisa’s name on his body didn’t mean anything. Maybe he could just cover it up with some bandages or something. He nodded in agreement and moved to get to his feet.

“That settles it then,” Billie said, getting to her feet and leading Dean back towards the front of the shop. “But, let me get your contact info so Cas can reach out once he’s back to schedule with you.”

“No prob,” Dean replied, jotting down his cell number and email address for Billie before giving her a little salute and bidding farewell.

The first text came the next afternoon.

“What is your favorite color?” Unknown Number 1:47pm

Dean stared at his phone incredulously for a minute before shrugging and typing in ‘Red’ and hitting send.

It had been a slow day at work, maybe this was one of those call/text your number neighbor things going around again.

“What is your star sign?” Unknown Number 3:20pm

‘Aquarius,’ Dean replied, feeling bold. ‘What’s urs?’

‘Leo,’ Unknown Number replied a few minutes later, followed quickly by, ‘Favorite flower?’

Dean smirked to himself as he thumbed out a reply, ‘Chocolate sunflower.’

‘Opportunity’ Unknown Number 3:42pm

‘Huh?’ Dean replied back.

‘Chocolate sunflowers symbolize opportunity,’ Unknown Number answered. ‘I like proteas, myself.’

A quick google search taught Dean that proteas symbolized change and hope; he decided to share this newfound knowledge with his mystery text buddy.

He earned a photo in return. It was just a picture of a blooming flower, one which Dean now knew to be a protea, inked onto a forearm that was corded in sinewy muscle and ended in a long-fingered masculine hand. Dean noted the ink smudges on the tips of the index and thumb, the fine, dark hairs dusting the skin around the tattoo, and the freckle on the edge of the palm of the hand.

‘I was thinking of a bouquet,’ Unknown Number shared. ‘Something big to cover up that name on your chest. I’ll send some sketches along shortly.’

Dean swallowed hard, realizing that he had been flirting with his tattoo artist via text. His apparently inked and muscled and weirdly nerdy tattoo artist.

If asked he would deny stalking the tattoo shop’s instagram until the day he died, but it was in a picture simply captioned ‘#flowerboy’ that Dean managed to find a picture of the elusive Cas. The Cas who would be covering up the name of Dean’s ex-girlfriend. The Cas who had probably seen shirtless pictures of Dean courtesy of Billie. The Cas who was practically the walking embodiment of all of Dean’s wet dreams that featured a male counterpart.

He groaned into a pillow for a little bit, questioning all of his life choices, before beginning to feel better. Dean had a lot of regrets, but bailing on this tattoo would not be one of them. This could be an opportunity for something. A change that he needed. Hope for something more with a cute guy who had the swoonest arms that Dean had seen in a long time.

And yea, he did swoon. Just a little.

#30 day fanfic challenge #destiel #spn #regret #fic writing #fanfiction

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jabberbeans · 5 years ago

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Wangxian Coffeeshop AU: First encounter

I put Wangxian, coffee, urban magic, fluff and slowburn into the melting pot and crossed my fingers - read at your own risk. I’ll be updating this story in shorts before revising and posting a full length version to A03 (somewhere in the distant improbable future).

Featuring confused pining over magic tea and magic sweets, cafe shenanigans and baker/patissiere(?) WWX and LWJ.

Tranquility turned tea from pear-green to a deep sea foam. Lan Wangji felt this was appropriate - water was the most tranquil thing he knew. His uncle disagreed - as he often did - and had attempted to shift the colour back to its original green many times. That one was a failed experiment - it reduced the efficacy of tranquility and made the tea taste like grass.

“That’s not green tea,” Lan Qiren had scowled, pointing an accusatory finger at the perfect sea foam brew. “It isn’t traditional.”

Was magic traditional? Lan Wangji had been tempted to ask, but held his tongue. Using their energy to shape the natural order of things into something else - perhaps that betrayed tradition, or at least some law of nature. But magic ran as deep as blood, and the healing teas were so much more healing when they used magic, so sea foam it was.

They still called it green tea on their menu. It was very popular.

Gusu had been a traditional Chinese tea house, once. Lan Qiren would have been quite content to keep it that way too, but even he couldn’t shout gentrification into going away. Gusu was dying. So he turned the shop over to his nephews with the vague hope that they could reassess its business model and bring in some customers. Then he went on a long vacation.

When he returned, Gusu was transformed. Literally. Its dark wood finishings were gone, replaced with snow-bright walls. The tea was unrecognisable. There was a dessert menu. And a bar counter.

But there were also customers. So many, in fact, that Lan Qiren was forced to don his apron and help out not five minutes after walking through the door. Lan Wangji had never seen his uncle so disturbed as he’d been that day, trapped behind the counter while teenagers pointed their phones at his hands and cooed over the quaintness, the rarity, the sheer aesthetic - of hand brewed tea.

It wasn’t that Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji had betrayed their uncle and tradition. It was more accurate to say that they took his best ideals, put them in the proverbial blender and stood by silently to receive the scrambled results.

Floor seating and low tables remained - but there was also a large communal table and benches, and of course, the dreaded bar counter with its stools. The tea menu was largely the same, just tweaked to look and taste better. Ice blended options were now available, to their uncle’s everlasting horror. And there were traditional desserts - almond soup, sesame balls, milk pastry, cakes - all arranged artfully and minimally on little porcelain plates.

And so Gusu was preserved, albeit not quite in the shape their uncle would have preferred. But four years on, the cafe continued thrive - building a solid reputation among locals and visitors. Lan Qiren had mostly adapted to the teenagers with their phones and the cakes by now, but he still eyed the green tea with deep suspicion.

Lan Wangji was doing the very same that morning, as he regarded Lan Jingyi’s practice brews. The teen had arranged the tiny glass cups from dark amber to pale yellow. Perhaps he thought he might get points for neatness.

“Again,” Lan Wangji said with finality, eyes sweeping down the line. “When you make clarity, the oolong should lighten to parchment.”

Jingyi wilted first at again and segued quickly into bafflement at parchment.

“Parchment?” The boy repeated, unsure if he heard right. Lan Wangji paused to think it over, then nodded.

“Like paper white, tinted with yellow or tan. Parchment.”

Jingyi looked exasperated then, eyes wide and swivelling in their sockets to catch Lan Sizhui’s, who pretended not to see. Finding himself without allies in the kitchen, Jingyi’s shoulders slumped with defeat. “Yes, Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji didn’t blame him. Clarity was difficult to make. Oolong got particularly stubborn when energy was channeled into it. If one had poor magic control, the colour could turn almost violently, from amber to walnut to black.

He left Jingyi to continue his oolong studies and approached Sizhui instead, who had finished divining the difference between parchment and white the day before, and so was allowed to move on to desserts. Lan Wangji approached from behind silently, but Sizhui’s hands remained steady as they attempted to transplant a sesame ball onto a spun sugar base. It wobbled unsteadily when he drew back.

“I’ll do it again,” Sizhui said before Lan Wangji could. “The base is too brittle. It must have been the temperature.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji approved. “Continue.”

The boys were young, only fifteen, but they were fast and eager to learn. Their progress came at no little effort however, if Jingyi’s growing army of oolong cups was any indication. But Lan Wangji was not worried. His uncle had handpicked them himself from some branch or other of their very, very extended family, and they were proving to be dedicated workers. It had been less than a month since they began training, but they would soon be ready to work the counter.

There was a loud rattling sound from Jingyi’s corner of the kitchen, a hastily bitten off curse, and then Sizhui was abandoning his station to fly over with a towel. Lan Wangji pointedly did not turn around to look. Perhaps not /too/ soon.

Jingyi’s cups were no closer to parchment by the time Lan Xichen poked his head in. “Wangji,” he called. “Would you check outside? The customers say there’s an obstruction near the entrance.”

“The deliveries?” The deliveryman occasionally left their parcels at the front, if he was busy.

“He would have called if he wasn’t coming in.”

“I’ll check.”

It wasn’t a parcel. Lan Wangji spotted the problem the moment he stepped out - it was taking pains to make itself known, actually.

A little stickman was drawn onto the walkway in what looked like chalk. Someone had magicked it to life so that it danced about - harmless, but an annoyance regardless. It surged towards Lan Wangji’s foot, circling playfully and attempting to slide onto his shoe. If it succeeded, the chalk drawing would transfer to the leather.

Lan Wangji stepped briskly out of its path and tried to trace its spiritual source. It was strong, and he followed it easily out the gate. The little stickman raced to stay close, its arms waving about.

He was so preoccupied ensuring it didn’t touch him that he nearly tripped over the problem’s source.

“Careful!” The man squatting on the pavement said, flinging an arm up in reflex. His hand was covered in chalk dust. Lan Wangji stepped back to look at him. Then he looked again.

“You…” He had no words for what he was witnessing. The man was surrounded by chalk drawings that stretched all the way up the pavement, past the neighbouring lot. They were wriggling with life - little stick figures dancing, animals prowling, scribbled phrases vibrating - and food - so much of it, all moving.

It was a simple matter to implant spiritual energy in the drawings - small children could do it with enough practice. But that was precisely the problem, it was a trick for children, not adults.

“You’re blocking my sun, do you mind…?” The man said, not unkindly. He still hadn’t turned around, eyes focused on his next drawing. Lan Wangji did not move.

“This is vandalism,” he told him.

“It’s only chalk. It’ll wash away with the rain. Or a good sweep.”

The man looked up then, and…Lan Wangji did not know what he was expecting - he had no preconceived notions. But he felt a flicker of surprise. The man’s mouth was curved like he was laughing, though no sound passed his lips. His smile was sun-bright. For a brief moment Lan Wangji allowed himself to notice the rest of him - his impish features, his haphazard ponytail, and the red ribbon that tamed it, just barely.

He looked away.

“You’re obstructing our business,” he told the air in the middle distance. He sensed the man was staring at him but he kept his gaze averted. There was a small gasp, like the man realised something.

“Oh! You run the cafe?” Lan Wangji let the weighted silence speak for him, and the man continued to speak as if he’d received a proper reply. “I didn’t notice I was in front of your shop. I started drawing and I had so much inspiration that I forgot -“

“Please remove yourself and the drawings. You are inconveniencing the customers.”

The man pouted. “I want to save the drawings first…but I don’t have paper. That’s why I’m drawing out here. You see, I had this amazing idea for a triple tier reverse lava cupcake and I needed to sketch it out before the idea got away from me but all I had was this chalk in my pocket so -“

Lan Wangji was quite finished listening to him somewhere around paper. He said sternly, “If I give you paper will you stop?”

“And a pencil too, please!” The man said shamelessly, as if it was perfectly normal to make demands of strangers that he was inconveniencing.

Lan Wangji unfolded his wallet, and ran his fingers through it briefly. He kept some useful things inside - stationery, a first-aid kit, a spare apron - and his notebook. It was twice the size of his wallet and the man hummed with interest when he extricated it.

“Handy trick,” he commented, eyes twinkling.

Ignoring him, Lan Wangji carefully tore three pieces of paper from the spine. Then he glanced at the chalk drawings and tore another piece. The man was gleeful as he accepted them.

“I drew a lot, didn’t I,” He sounded pleased with himself. “Thank you.”

“Hm.”

He stood aside while the man lay the paper sheets on the ground, spreading them neatly. Then he wriggled his fingers and whistled once, sharp. The doodles froze where they were, some in the midst of sneaking onto the street. When the man tapped the paper with his finger they began to slide along the pavement very quickly, shrinking as they went, until they were paper drawings. Lan Wangji was surprised by the sheer number of doodles of cake, sweets and desserts - each one elaborately drawn and unusual.

Unbelievably, there was a reverse three-tiered cupcake - just like the man had described. A long string of untidy handwriting accompanied it, jostling the cupcake as they both slid onto the last empty spot. Then it was over, and the pavement was clean once more.

Almost.

“You forgot one.” The little chalk man was still trying to climb his foot despite the slight energy field Lan Wangji had put up to rebuff it. It hopped around the toe of his shoe, waving indignantly.

“Hm...” the man crooked a finger at it, and when that didn’t work, he whistled sharply. The little chalk man appeared to toss its head rebelliously at his efforts, marching away until it was behind Lan Wangji’s shoe.

The man only laughed, “You should keep him, I think he likes you.” Then he winked and turned away, his ribbons flying as he did. Like they were taunting him.

“You...!”

“Take good care of him,” the man called back, already walking away.

#mdzs fanfiction #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #fanfiction #the untamed #wangxian #coffeeshop au

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yoongi-sugaglider · 6 years ago

Text

Starry Nights and Hot Cocoa Delights

Based off of this request.

An artist struggling with the opening of his new art gallery seeks the solace of his favorite cafe in order to relieve a little but of stress.

Artist Taehyung x cafe owner Reader

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, lots of soft Tae blushing. More fluff...also fluff.

Word count : 2175

It never failed. When the chaos of everyday life got to be too much and he couldn’t find the peace he so desperately craved, he would come here.

A quiet coffee shop far removed from the busy main streets of Seoul and so infrequently visited that he always knew he’d be able to pick any seat in the place that he so desired.

Despite this he would make his way to the same table each time, a solitary seat by the window overlooking the street beyond. Though there wasn’t ever much to see besides the pigeons strutting their stuff as they looked for tasty morsels to snack on and the occasional cat looking to chase off said scavengers, he still preferred it.

It granted him the sunlight and peace he craved, along with an open view of his favorite regular employee.

A soft jingle echoed through the shop as he made his entrance, a pencil case covered in the Van Gogh painting Starry Night Over the Rhone and his trusty sketchbook in hand.

A soft voice drew his attention to the register, the cheery smile that greeted him lifting his spirits almost instantly as he moved to take his place at the counter.

“Hello Mr. Kim. The usual today I take it?” Her soft eyed smile melted the ball of anxiety that’d sat at his core since he’d signed the lease that would allow him to finally open his own art gallery.

He nodded, wiping a finger at the bags that’d formed beneath his eyes from one too many sleepless nights.

“Yes please. And a blueberry scone to go with it if you would?” His low vocal tone sounded far gruffer to his own ears than he would have liked and so he shuffled hastily to his seat, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the bedraggled state he’d fallen into over the last few weeks.

After settling in at the window, he finally allowed himself the chance to observe his surroundings, noting that the slight change in decoration they’d applied didn’t take away from the homey feeling he’d grown to love and almost crave.

A few small paintings hung on the walls, surrounded by knicknacks situated on small wooden shelves painted a light white that seemed to have been sponged on to simulate clouds that contrasted well with the soft blue paint of the walls. The effect did leaps and bounds to open up the space, along with pastel yellow tables covered in various floral print table clothes and seated with matching tall backed chairs.

Taehyung hummed, leafing through his sketchbook to find a blank page among the chaos as he shifted the flower shaped salt and pepper shakers aside and placed his pencil case down. Pausing for a moment he glanced over to the cafe’s counter, noting with a smile the way the young woman attending it danced along to the music playing in a whispered murmur in the background. He watched her hips sway back and forth as she handed a drink to another customer with a to go order, only just realizing that the place was slightly more crowded than normal.

It seemed that every other table had one or another customer sat at it, enjoying their drinks while reading from their phones or participating in conversation with their fellow table mate. He thought it odd, though it didn’t seem to bother him nearly as much as he thought it would considering this had been his quiet respite in the chaos of city life.

Turning back to the blank page he sighed, taking out a pencil and tucking the tip between the moistened creases of his lips as he leaned back in his chair to stare blankly out of the window.

“One triple chocolate hot chocolate with nutella whipped cream and a blueberry scone.” The rasp of her voice drew him from his revelry and he turned his gaze from the pigeons fluttering across the sidewalk to meet the warmth of her eyes.

“Ah, yeah sorry.” He blushed, scratching the back of his neck as he pushed the sketchbook off to the side to make way for his order.

“It’s alright. I’m used to it from you Mr.Kim” She giggled, the sound brushing against his ears and sending a warmth through him that glowed forth in the apples of his cheeks.

After placing the large mug and plate on the table she slid into the seat across from him, catching him fully off guard as she untied her apron and hung it on the chair behind her.

“Um…” His blush only served to brighten as he glanced down at his plate, hoping to hide the hopeful glisten in his eyes.

“Ah, sorry, I hope this is okay? We’ve been so busy today and I haven’t had lunch. I’m honestly starving and I figured...well” Her voice trailed off and he dared glance up at her, only just realizing she’d had a plate of her own adorned with what looked to be the most delicious sandwich he’d ever seen in his life.

“It’s alright, I mean I don’t mind...it’s just well…” The ding of the bell hanging over the door interrupted him and he waved to the door before tucking his hands in his lap to hide the trembling of his fingers.

“Oh? The customers.” She giggled, the sound sending the fire in his cheeks running towards the tips of his ears and threatening to smother him.

“Well, thankfully I’ve got Seokjin covering me from the kitchen. If he weren’t here I swear I’d die from hunger most days.” She smiled, though it seemed to turn more shy the longer he stared at his plate.

“If...if you’re uncomfortable I can lea…”

“No!” He jolted at the volume of his voice, reaching out as if to stop her. “I mean, it’s alright. I don’t mind, really.”

Her laugh of relief calmed him and he chuckled in return, trying to cover the butterflies fluttering in the pit of his stomach by taking a drink from the whipped cream covered chocolate delight she’d served him.

The whipped cream itself was a rich chocolate and hazelnut flavor, melting on his tongue instantly and serving to chase away some of the exhaustion he’d been feeling. He sighed, closing his eyes and inhaling the aroma with a quiet hum of appreciation.

A gentle chuckle tore him from his revery and he blinked owlishly at the woman across from him, realizing with a jolt that his appreciation of the drink she’d made for him had caused her presence to be erased from his mind, if only for a moment.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just…” He scratched at the delicate patch of skin just beneath his ear as his cheeks burned. “Your hot cocoas are the best in the city and with all the stress I’ve been under I guess I really needed it…”

Her smile brightened as she watched him stutter over his words. “You know, we were supposed to take that item off the menu once spring arrived. The only reason why I keep the ingredients in stock is for you Mr. Kim.”

His eyes widened at her statement and he swallowed thickly before setting his mug delicately back in its saucer. “R...really? I mean, if it’s going to get you in trouble I would hate for you too have to…”

“Aish, I doubt the owner is going to mind. She’s pretty chill. And besides, you’ve basically become a regular. I would hate to lose you to somebody else’s hot chocolate.” She continued to smile as she picked up her sandwich, giving out a hum of appreciation as she took her first bite.

A companionable silence settled over them as they began to eat, each lost in their own little world as they stared at separate points beyond the glass of the window beside them. The silent murmur of conversation in the cafe served as a soothing backdrop, setting Taehyung at ease and allowing him to pick up the pencil with a confidence he hadn’t had in a long while and begin sketching mindlessly as he watched the birds beyond the window play.

“So, you’re an artist?” The melodic whisper floated to his ears, gaining his attention as he turned to his table mate.

“Mmm, I am. Though, I’ve been second guessing my career lately. Who knew opening up your own gallery would be so taxing?” He chuckled, brushing a crumb from the paper of his sketchbook as he watched her chocolate brown eyes search his face.

“Your own gallery huh? That does seem like quite the undertaking. It’s a wonder you’ve been coming in here looking so stressed lately.” She crumpled up the napkin that’d been wrapped around her sandwich, folding her arms before her on the table and watching as his fingers glided elegantly over the stark white paper.

“Yeah? Sorry about that...I mean I didn’t mean to.. Ah...aish!” He could feel that blush creeping up again as he reached up and brushed the hair away from his eyes.

“No no it’s alright.” Her giggle served to increase his blush as he laughed along awkwardly with her. “It’s just something I do. Noticing things about my regulars. Especially the cute ones.”

“The..c...you think I’m cute?” He practically choked on the words. Mentally he groaned at himself, knowing for a fact he was making a fool of himself and yet seeming wholly unable to prevent the drivel that continued to spew forth from some deep dark teenager with a first crush depth within himself.

She nodded, the faintest hint of a blush spreading to her own cheeks. It took everything in him not to coo at how adorable she looked in the rosy color.

“So uh...t...tell me about your gallery? What’s got you so bothered about it?” She tilted her head at the faint sigh that heaved forth from deep within him.

“Where do I even start?” He muttered to himself as he turned back to stare out the window.

“How’s about starting at the beginning, work your way through it. Maybe talking to someone who’s not in the middle of the drama will help. Heck if anything it’ll be good to get the worst of it off your chest.”

And so he did, spending the next almost half hour unloading on the sweet barista that sat across from him.

And he’d have gone on if it weren’t for the elder man that came sauntering up to their table, looking very much on the verge of being put out to pasture with the amount of stress he seemed to be under.

“Hey boss...we uh...we got a problem with Wednesday’s delivery and they’re not taking please as an answer.” He huffed, shoving his round rimmed glasses up his nose as he nodded to Taehyung in acknowledgment. “Think we need your particular brand of bargaining Ms. Ln.”

“Wait...L/n? As in L/n’s Bakery and boutique?” Taehyung stuttered, shock coursing through him as he realized he’d been talking to his favorite cafe’s owner this entire time.

“Ah, yeah that would be me.” She giggled, pushing away from the table and making to stand. “And as acting owner of this grand establishment, I think it’s about time I get back to work.”

Her smile served to brighten the blush that’d seemed to have made a permanent home on his cheeks in her presence.

“If you’ll excuse me Mr. Kim, it has been an absolute pleasure speaking with you. And don’t forget, give that contractor hell if you need to but don’t let them take you for your money.”

And in a flourish she vanished, disappearing into the kitchen area of the cafe before Taehyung could even think to bid her goodbye. He huffed out a chuckle, eyes finally glancing down to the sketchbook he’d been busy with this whole time.

An almost exact image of the woman he’d found himself infatuated with stared back at him, a singular beauty captured on paper in carbon smears from his pencil.

She was a beauty worth being the muse of any master artist. And he just so happened to have the pleasure of finally sitting down to a conversation with her.

By the time she returned from the back room Taehyung was gone, along with a good portion of the lunch rush customers, leaving the main dining area for her to clean up in preparation for the end of her shift.

By the time she’d made her way over to the table she’d shared with the attractive artist her arms were sore and her fingers smelled of dishwater. But that didn’t seem to matter as she picked up the intricate drawing that perfectly captured her smiling face.

A thrill rushed through her at the image, and a gasp left her lips as she spotted the message written in sprawling script at the bottom.

Xxx-xxx-xxxx call me sometime, maybe I can treat you to dinner as thanks for your excellent advice. Signed Kim Taehyung.

#bts boulangerie #bts kim taehyung #bts kim taehyung imagine #bts taehyung #artist taehyung #coffee shop au #coffee shop owner reader

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etherealwaifgoddess · 6 years ago

Text

Grateful

Main Characters: Steve Rogers (and a little secondary Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Steve knows he should be grateful for the gift he was given through Project Rebirth but his new life wasn’t as easy as he expected it to be.

Warnings/ Content: Sad feels and some angst. Very brief mention of PTSD.

Word Count: 1943 (not intentional AT ALL. I’m currently laughing my ass off at this)

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! We’re trying something new today! My very first Steve fic and I’m nervous AF about posting it because I feel like this is a version of Steve that most people won’t really jive with. Everyone expects him to be this icon hero but like he’s still going to have some pretty raw emotions. The man went through war and losing his best friend and then battling his best friend, and alien monsters, etc. I refuse to believe that our sweet, scrappy little Brooklyn boy came through all this unscathed. We see other heroes battle their mental health but never Steve, he’s the stoic one. I think not. And so this fic was born. I hope you all like it as much as I do! Please be gentle, I’m just getting my feet wet writing Steve. And thanks for bearing with me while I rant, I love you all more than words can express.

XOXO - Ash

Grateful

Steve had a lot to be grateful for when he walked out of the Vita-Ray chamber in 1943. Something as simple as taking a full breath without wheezing or coughing seemed miraculous after twenty five years of battling endless illnesses in a tiny, frail, body. Dr. Erskine crowed that Project Rebirth was a success and in that moment Steve felt like one too. Steve had assumed life would have been easier now that he was in a more powerful form. He had the natural moment of adjustment, having shot up from 5’4” to 6’2” in just moments, but other than that he expected to have less hurdles in his life from that day forward.

Steve was wrong.

One of the first things Steve was grateful for was his improved eyesight. He no longer needed ultra thick glasses and his astigmatism had cleared up as well. The world was alive with fine details and vivid colors, and he couldn’t wait to get everything down on paper in his sketchbook. He wanted to capture the way strands of Peggy’s hair fell around her shoulders, slightly mussed, after a long day, and the way the rays of sunlight filtered through his bedroom curtains in the early morning. He never got them down though. Steve sat down one evening as Peggy curled up with a book, ready to commit the scene to his page when a sharp, snapping sound startled them both. Steve looked down at his hands and found he’d broken his pencil in two. The second pencil he held too gently, unable to keep his hand steady for fear of breaking it as well, and then in a moment of frustration he held it tighter and it too snapped. His once beloved sketch pad sat awkwardly in his hands, feeling as if it were the wrong size even once he got the pressure correct on his pencils. Steve missed his former size for a moment, the way the sketch pad had fit perfectly balanced on his lap, how the pencils had felt like an extension of his own hands when he drew. He was clunky feeling in his new form, his body designed for brute strength instead of artistic endeavors. Steve shook himself when he realized he was feeling down about the amazing gift he’d been given. Sarah Rogers had instilled a deep sense of humility in her son and Steve felt painfully guilty at having a momentary lapse of appreciation for the gift he’d been given.

Steve was so surprised the first few days when slept through the night. Outside of the times he was so ill he couldn’t maintain consciousness, he could count on one hand the number of times he had slept all the way through to morning. If it wasn’t his asthma waking him up to wheeze or cough, it was his arthritis aching so deeply it woke him. Sometimes his heart palpitations would start up as he slept too, waking him with a jolt, feeling like his heart would beat out of his chest. Bucky used to tease that he pitied the dame who tried to sleep over in Steve Roger’s bed. After Project Rebirth, Steve was grateful each morning for a full night's sleep, until the nightmares started after his first real battle in the war. Sleep wasn’t so appealing after that. It wasn’t until a lifetime later that Steve knew why the memories of war haunted his dreams, Sam taught him the word: PTSD. But back then all Steve knew was that he longed for the nights he was woken by a cough, instead of in a cold sweat with the cries of dying men echoing in his ears.

The thing that Steve missed most, on the rare moments he let himself admit he missed anything at all, was the way he used to disappear in a crowded room. Social anxiety was as palpable to Steve as his physical ailments and it was the one thing Project Rebirth couldn’t cure him of. He was called the star spangled man with a plan, but really he was still a sweating, nervous wreck when all eyes turned to him for direction. Steve wanted to curl into himself in the way his 95 pound body used to be so good at, and slip away into a corner, lost in the collection of larger bodies around him. Now he stood a head above the rest, the breadth of his shoulders and sharp line of his jaw inspiring confidence in his men as he detailed their next moves. It was fortunate Steve was a whiz with math, having taught himself more at home than he’d ever learned in school, and was able to piece together battle strategies based on logic and equations. His anxiety only increased seventy years later when he returned to a strange new world he was completely unprepared for. More often than not Steve missed the days he could drift through the world like a ghost. In the modern world he couldn’t even walk to the store without being stopped by a “fan” let alone try and spend a quiet day at The Met or grab a baseball game in peace.

It was both harder and easier when Bucky returned. Bucky seemed to instinctively know Steve was struggling. Bucky encouraged Steve’s art whenever he could and while Steve had gotten better, he knew he would never quite be what he was and it frustrated him. Bucky tried on several occasions to throw an arm around Steve like he used to when Steve would get nervous out in a crowd, but Steve would blanch at the embrace and Bucky would recoil, distraught that he had somehow made it worse. Steve wanted to explain it but couldn’t past the lump in his throat. Back in the old days Steve’s narrow shoulders had fit so perfectly under Bucky’s arm, pulling him in to shield him from the world. Steve was too tall, too broad, now and what should have brought him comfort was just a painful reminder that nothing would ever be the same.

After months of watching Steve struggle Bucky finally put his foot down. He’d been in therapy since before his trial started and it was helping immensely. His therapist had offered to see Steve for an informal meeting after Bucky had, reluctantly, shared some of his concerns with him. “You’re going. Tomorrow.” Bucky said firmly, staring at Steve across the dinner table.

“I don’t need a therapist, really. Maybe it’s working out for you but there’s no need for me to go. I’m not…” Steve trailed off before he could say something tactless.

Bucky didn’t let it slide though. “Not what? Hmm? Don’t punk out on me. What did you mean? Yes, I go to therapy. So what does that make me? Weak? Damaged? Less than?”

“That’s not what I meant, Buck.” Steve ducked his head, completely chagrined.

“Are you sure about that? Because you’re the one who’s struggling and refusing to go and even entertain the idea of getting some help. You don’t have to struggle. I know I’m not the poster boy for mental health but I’m a hell of a lot better off because of Dr. Franklin. I think you would be too. Just talk to him once, see if you feel any better afterwards.”

Steve groaned, knowing he was on the losing end of the argument.

“I need you to be okay, pal.” Bucky continued, “It’s you and me to the end of the line, right?”

“To the end of line.” Steve said quietly, nodding in agreement.

“Then tomorrow morning, after your run- don’t give me that look Stevie, we’ll go over to see Dr. Franklin and you can just meet him.”

“Okay, if that will make you happy, we’ll go. Now will you please finish your steak? You wouldn't believe what these things cost nowadays.”

Bucky chuckled and speared a piece of meat on his fork, grinning as he took a bite, his smiling eyes never leaving Steve’s.

~~~~~

Steve was still hesitant to meet with Dr. Franklin the next morning but he had promised Bucky he would go and he was a man of his word. Thankfully Bucky didn’t insist on participating other than the initial introductions. He said he had plans and would be back before the hour was up. Steve doubted he actually had plans but appreciated the sentiment. Dr. Franklin seemed nice enough, Steve mused. He could see why Bucky was so trusting of the man after a few minutes of idle chit chat. Steve didn’t expect to get anything out of the session but was too polite to say so.

It all started over a banana. There was a banana sitting on Dr. Franklin’s desk and Steve gave it a subtle glare when he spotted it. The doctor noticed and asked Steve if he disliked bananas. It was an innocuous question but somehow it was also the key to Pandora’s box.

“I used to.” Steve told him with a sigh. “They don’t taste the same anymore. Not that I’d had very many growin’ up but I remember the flavor and those things are just not it. I read a few years ago that apparently the variety we had back in the 20s have all died out and the kind available now are a different type.”

“I’m sure you find a lot of things like that.” Dr. Franklin said simply. But it was a leading statement and Steve took the bait whether he meant to or not.

“Oh boy, do I. You’d be amazed at how things change in seventy years.”

“Like what?”

“Well you certainly can’t get a normal cup of coffee, that’s for sure. And I will never understand why everything has to have a scent or color…” Once the flood gates had opened it seemed impossible for Steve to stop. Dr. Franklin steered the conversation around gently, letting Steve get things off his chest after so many years of being stoic and putting on a brave face. Steve talked about his confusion of waking up after the ice, the painful longing for the world he’d left behind in the 40s, and even a little about how hard it was to find that Project Rebirth hadn’t solved all of his problems after all.

Steve was mortified when the buzzer sounded and Dr. Franklin’s assistant announced his next appointment had arrived. Steve had gone on for over ninety minutes without realizing it. Dr. Franklin didn’t seem overly concerned and told Steve to think about what they’d talked about and consider coming back next week to talk again.

Bucky was pacing in the waiting room and Steve noted his hair was shaggy looking, like he’d been running his hands through it. “You okay, Stevie?” He asked, pulling him close for a quick hug.

Steve realized he must look as worn out as he felt. “I’m good, Buck. Can we go home though?”

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go.” Bucky steered Steve out the door.

Back at their apartment Steve was quiet for most of the afternoon and Bucky wondered if taking Steve to therapy had been a mistake.

Steve did a lot of thinking like Dr. Franklin had asked him to do and the next week, same day, same time, Steve was back in the therapist’s office baring his soul all over again. He went back week after week, even when it was tough to get over the hurdle they were tackling at the time. Slowly he healed. And eventually Steve found the peace and happiness he had been chasing since the lid to the Vita-Ray chamber opened almost eighty years before.

#Steve Rogers #captain america #sad steve #steve rogers is allowed to be sad #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #protective bucky #bucky barnes is a good bro #please be kind its my first steve fic #i may have to delete this if it bombs

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aivaehdaevis · 5 years ago

Text

The More Things Change: Ch 2

The More Things Change

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it. Summary: I have no idea how it happened, but one morning I woke up in the world of The Vampire Diaries. Which, aside from the insanity of waking up inside a television show made real, might not be so bad—if I weren't stuck in the body of vampire magnet and doppelgänger herself, Elena Gilbert. Pairing(s): OFC x Damon, OFC x Stefan, OFC x Elijah, OFC x Klaus Rating: M Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. References to sex and drug use. Mind control and all the issues of consent that go along with it. Character death. Master List External Links: AO3 | FF.Net | Wattpad

Chapter Two

The rest of the car ride was filled with innocuous chatter on Bonnie's end. She kept everything light, as if she feared the talk of magic and witches had summoned the crow. Most of it was gossip based. Since I knew of none of these people, I kept my responses monosyllabic when I wasn't nodding.

It wasn't far to the school from what I'd mentally dubbed as 'downtown' Mystic Falls. Less than five minutes, max. Bonnie's Prius joined a mix of cars that looked older to my eyes, but the show had started years ago. For the teens themselves, they had to be nice. I knew there was supposed to be a poorer side of town, but I wasn't seeing much evidence of it in the Mystic Falls High School parking lot.

I grabbed my bag from the backseat and met Bonnie's smile with a less than enthused one of my own. Her brows lifted. "First day of junior year."

"Yeah."

She pocketed her keys before pushing her door open. "Wonder how many committees Caroline's already signed up for."

Bonnie's droll delivery startled a laugh from me as I followed her out. Well. A soft chuckle, really. But it was genuine. "All of them?"

"Please. She's probably started a few new ones." Bonnie shook her head as she paused at the trunk and pushed it open. Her own bag appeared in her hand a moment later. She closed the trunk before slinging it over her shoulder. "And you know she's going to rope us into each and every one."

"Yep." I fell into step beside her as she continued on the topic of Caroline and her obsession with planning committees. A lot of 'remember whens' occupied her side of the conversation as we matriculated with the growing tide of students. I again smiled and nodded, but kept my sights sweeping out across the Mystic Falls High School grounds.

I noticed a lot of curious glances tossed our way, along with a few smiles and the occasional wave that Bonnie—and belatedly me—returned.

Right. Elena had been that girl before her parent's were killed and she descended into vampire drama. My hand tightened on my bag's strap. I was not that girl. I was a girl. I blended. The prototypical wallflower. Which I liked.

Before I knew it, my eyes were sketching the seams between the sidewalk, Elena's long hair sliding past my shoulders and hiding my—her—face. I tried to remind myself to keep my head up. That would be more in character. But whenever I'd catch another person looking, and then turn to talk—ugh. Sidewalk it was.

Bonnie didn't seem to notice. Or, more like, care. She carried on the conversation as if she kept up one-sided chats with her quiet friend all the time. It was probably a more recent development, though. What had Elena been writing about at the start of the series? Convincing everyone she was fine? Which meant she hadn't been doing a good job of it prior to the start of the series.

I wondered how often Bonnie had to shoulder the bulk of their friendship since Elena's accident. Hell, going by how often she'd done it on the show, way too much.

The impromptu consideration of Bonnie and Elena's friendship, and how one-sided it had seemed, occupied me all the way into the main building. It wasn't until my feet struck tile instead of concrete, and I caught a heavy glass and metal door before it could hit my face, that I zoned back into my surroundings.

From the loud cacophony of teenage voices, the banging of lockers, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum—it felt like being thrust back in time. I kept close to Bonnie as the river of students parted around her. And me, I suppose. "Where—"

"Gym." Her brows canted. "For our schedules?"

"Oh." I fixed my sights ahead. "Right. Like last year."

"Mhm. So, Ashley was driving Caroline insane. Like, she just could not get the landing. Care being Care starts to think that, maybe, she's doing it on purpose. To sabotage her chance at getting captain, you know? Which is crazy talk. Which I told her."

The trials and travails of Caroline and Bonnie at Cheerleading camp continued all the way down an absurdly long hall. We weren't the only ones. Seemed like the whole school was headed in the same direction.

Eventually we all flowed into what could only have been the prototypical high school gymnasium. Big open room with a tall ceiling and a basketball court painted onto the floor. The bleachers were folded up, pressed against the wall into a giant wooden jigsaw puzzle. Several tables had been set up under one of the basketball hoops, each seating a couple of staff members. Long paper signs were taped behind them, each one proclaiming a year and a part of the alphabet. Lines of students were stretched out in front of them.

I looked for year eleven and almost hunted for S before remembering it was supposed to be G. Unfortunately, this was where Bonnie and I would have to part. The G's were mixed in with the F's.

"Meet you at the doors?" Bonnie offered as we both wandered towards our respective tables.

"Okay." She could probably hear the relief in my voice.

We parted at the lines and I stepped up behind a tall red headed boy dressed in a polo shirt and khakis.

I fiddled with my bag strap, waiting for the line to move, when there was a slight commotion further up the line. A blonde head of hair appeared around the side, and a familiar face from my television screen lit up. "Elena! Hey!"

Holy shit. Caroline.

I couldn't help but smile back, the blonde's enthusiastic grin was so infectious. "Hi," I called, though not very loud and immediately glancing to the side to see if anyone noticed.

Of course they had. Caroline wasn't head of the cheerleading squad for nothing.

A flick of her head sent her immaculate blonde curls over a shoulder before she waved me towards her. "What are you doing?" she laughed. "Come here!"

Another glance around me revealed considerably colder looks than before. I swallowed before aiming a far thinner, close-lipped smile back. "Don't want to cut in line."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "No one cares." She aimed the most potent Bitch Look I'd ever seen at the girl behind her. "Do you care if my friend stands next to me?"

The girl, skinny and pale with a bad case of acne—which gave me an instant connection of deep empathy with her—startled. She quickly shook her head. "No."

"See?" Caroline returned, dismissing her existence. She motioned for me to join her again. "Get over here, Elena!" That tone would brook no argument.

I glanced around me, uncertain, before sidling out of place and nervously moving up. I was careful not to look at the faces of the students I passed.

Caroline pulled me into a hug the moment I was within arm's reach. "Oh my god!" she squealed. "I can't believe it. Feels like forever!" She pushed me back before I could do anything but be shifted about like a rag doll. "How are you doing? You okay?"

There was something kind of… performative about the sympathy. Then I remembered that season one Caroline was still a slave to her insecurities. The most major of which being Elena Gilbert. Great. "I'm fine."

She gave me a pursed lip look of disbelief. "Really?"

I drew in a breath and adjusted the strap of my bag, which was now threatening to fall down my arm from all the jostling. "Yep."

She gifted me another big, bright, beauty queen smile. "Great!" Her voice went slightly lower—though that wasn't saying much. "Have you seen Matt yet?"

"No."

"Wait till you do. He's so obviously pining."

Okay. Not sure what to say to that, I nodded.

"I hear he's been like that all summer."

More gossip. Great. "Oh."

"Yep." Caroline seemed disappointed I wasn't more into this tidbit of information. But, never one to admit defeat, she rebounded with another smile. It looked forced. "We missed you at cheer camp."

"Bonnie was just telling me about it."

Caroline's smile wavered. "She was?" She blinked. "What about it?"

Crap. I searched through the dazed haze that covered my mind throughout the fog of madness that had been the entirety of my day so far. "Ashley? Sabotaging you?"

Caroline's eyes narrowed to slits, her arms crossed, and she leaned into her hip. "Either that, or she's completely incompetent. I have no idea how she got on the squad in the first place." She glanced off to the side in thought. "Maybe it was a pity thing."

"Pity thing?"

"Yeah. Because of the divorce." Her voice screamed, 'duh.' She scoffed. "As if that's so special. My mom and dad divorced. You don't see me fumbling every landing." A frightening sort of intensity lit up her face. "I actually practice so I don't look like an idiot."

"Practice is good," seemed like something neutral to respond with.

"Which is why I'm concerned about you, Elena," Caroline's transformation from wrathful bitch to anxious friend happened so quick, I got whiplash. "You missed so much." She gave another doleful put. "I'm worried."

Yeah. She ought to be. Running was one thing, and I enjoyed cardio. Jumping and spinning and being all 'Rah Rah!' though? Nope. Not happening. But didn't Elena quit cheerleading? In fact, wasn't this conversation supposed to happen with Damon around? And didn't Elena meet Caroline back at school for the first time at the lockers?

While the questions settled uncomfortably in the back of my mind, the student in front of Caroline finished. "We'll talk more later," Caroline promised. At my nod, she gave a final smile and turned around, striding up to the table with more confidence then I think I've ever experienced in the entirety of my life.

I mulled over the differences between what I remembered and what had just happened until Caroline finished receiving her schedule. She gave a rippling finger wave to me as she strode off to the doors. I smiled back. Already my cheeks were starting to smart from all the faux grins I was pulling this morning.

Stepping up to the table, I discovered all I had to do was give Elena's name and they were rifling through a stack of papers. I had my hands on her class list and a padlock for a locker before I could give much thought to the change I'd already wrought. So I'd run into Caroline early and had a minor conversation about cheerleading? What did it matter?

I returned to the doors and leaned against the wall as I waited for Bonnie to get her schedule. By the time she joined me, another ten minutes had gone by. Apparently our first period class wasn't going to do much in the way of work. Which was good, since it was Trig.

Nothing like math first thing in the morning.

On the positive side of things, Bonnie was in the same class. As we compared schedules, we walked side by side through the halls and searched for our lockers. Bonnie spotted hers first and dropped off her bag. Mine was next, not that far from Bonnie's, but I chose to keep my bag with me. Call me weird, but I liked having something capable of carrying all my crap around with me.

Task complete, we were on our way to our first class when Bonnie grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop beside her. "Hold up. Who's this?"

Bonnie stared down the hall through a set of open doors into what looked like some administrative room. I doubted she meant the woman seated behind the desk, flipping through a folder of papers. More like the tall guy in the leather jacket standing in front of it. Broad shouldered. Wide stance. Brown hair. Sunglasses…

I squeezed the strap at my shoulder, hard enough that the stiff leather bent with a creak. "No idea," I lied.

"Too bad." Bonnie's ran an appraising eye from top to bottom. "He's hot."

And with his enhanced senses, he'd heard that. Uncomfortable, I watched as Stefan took off his sunglasses. The shades dangled from his fingers as he stared down into the administrator's eyes. Still as stone, she stared back several seconds before starting to move again.

Compulsion. He'd compelled her. Mind control was an actual thing that happens here. That man was an actual vampire. And not just any vampire, but a Ripper. The hair on my arms rose.

Oblivious, Bonnie added, "I'm sensing Seattle, and he plays the guitar."

She mustn't be witchy enough yet to pick up on his—aura, I suppose. If I remembered right, she'd have to touch Stefan before she felt anything off. "Not really into the grunge thing, myself," I muttered. And while vampires were fun to read and watch on the screen, standing a few feet away from one... Well. Ironically, my heart was starting to pound.

Bonnie grinned. "You're doubting me."

"Never." I mustered a wan smile.

"Jeremy, good batch, man."

The off-hand remark from a voice behind us that I didn't recognize, shouting a line that I sort of did, drew my attention. Searching over my shoulder, I found Jeremy. Apparently, he hadn't lied about the ride. He grinned somewhere into the crowd before ducking into the boy's bathroom. Frowning, I turned back around.

Right. Elena had followed her brother into the bathroom and chastised him. Tried to talk sense into him. It didn't work, because of course it wouldn't. But it was as she'd left the bathroom that she'd run straight into Stefan for the first time. Spoke to him.

Alone.

Yeah. No. That wasn't going to happen.

Bonnie was still studying Stefan's back. "Please be hot."

I shifted my bag further up my shoulder before glancing around at the other students still walking the hall. "Shouldn't we get to class?"

"In a sec."

Standing in front of a random doorway, staring at Stefan, waiting for him to turn around? Not weird at all. But I could hardly leave Bonnie. Not to mention I didn't know the way. So there I stood, awkward as hell, as the rest of the students streamed around us like we were rocks slicing apart the currents of some rushing river. "Isn't this kind of creepy?"

"Shh."

I pressed my lips together with a single, short nod. Right then. Creeping on the new guy it was.

Fortunately, it wasn't too much longer before he finished and turned around. He had his head tilted down, hooking his sunglasses to his collar. Of course, Bonnie had already started drawing in a startled breath. Even though I knew what he'd look like, that he was basically a supernatural predator, I was tempted to join her. He raised his head, putting the chiseled splendor of his face on display for all to see. Stefan Salvatore was a sigh-worthy sight to behold in person. Especially when those brooding eyes landed on me, widening slightly as his thick but perfectly groomed brows lifted.

His stare stayed pointed at me—or Elena—as he strode by. Going so far as to turn his head slightly as he passed us to keep me in his sights. I caught a hint of expensive cologne as Stefan came near enough that our sleeves almost brushed. The surreality of the moment almost sent me floating off into some mini version of astral projection. But all my nerves had woke up at his passing, anchoring me to my borrowed body as it tingled all the way to my toes. I did manage not to spin completely around, like Bonnie did, as he moved further down the hall. It was a near thing.

"Oh. My. God." Bonnie rounded back. "Worth it."

I swallowed. Why couldn't he look like a monster? "Class?"

She snapped her sights to me and stared as if I were crazy. "Your dedication to academics over ridiculously cute boys is inspiring, Elena." She shook her head. "But also? Kind of sad."

"Yeah." I shrugged, adjusting my bag's strap again. "So?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes but smiled. "If we must." Her arm threaded through mine and she tugged me back into the flow of students. "Let's go."

My mind stayed stuck on Stefan Salvatore as I followed Bonnie to the classroom, and well into the start. So did Bonnie's, if her sighs and constant wondering about the 'new hottie' was anything to go by. Unlike Bonnie, I wasn't just musing over his insanely good looks. Not entirely. I was only human, and holy shit Stefan was a beautiful monster. But he was a monster. He wasn't an early Damon, Katherine, or Klaus, but he wasn't innocent, either. There was as wall with a list of names in Chicago. Not to mention the asshole he became after Klaus got his claws into his head.

And I was stuck in the body of the girl who looked exactly like the woman who'd turned him. Worse, the Amara to his Silas. Fan-freaking-tastic.

I tried to put my mind off it. I felt pretty de-whammied by the time our introduction to Trig was over.

So of course, there he was in my next class. English.

I scurried in because it'd taken forever for me to find without Bonnie backup. He was already seated near the back—next to a very pleased Caroline. He watched me hurry towards the only vacant seat left at the very front. To be fair, everyone watched me rush in and interrupt the teacher.

I swallowed as I sat down, kept my eyes staring straight ahead at the chalkboard.

I could hear him, though. Well, I heard Caroline mostly. Hard not to. Occasionally there would be that mellow voice answering. God, how did a person sound gorgeous? It wasn't fair. Serial killer wall. Eater of bunnies. Ripper of people.

Of course, reminding myself of all his gruesome deeds wasn't exactly helping me to keep calm, either. I was a mess however I chose to look at it. Either I was another girl drooling over his stupid perfectness, or I was terrified he was going to snap and eat the whole class—though that last was foolish of me. I knew he wasn't that bad. At least, he wasn't on the show. He wouldn't be now. 'Course not.

Maybe if there had been anything interesting going on in the class I would've had an easier time keeping my mind off the vampire seated in the back. But all that happened was a lecture on the syllabus and class expectations and blah blah. The most exciting thing was when the books were passed out. I'd always enjoyed any subject having to do with reading, in high school or college. But the problem with high school lit classes is the list doesn't change. A glance and I knew I'd be re-reading a lot of 'classics,' only a few of which I liked.

Great. Stuck in this world, and with a boring stack of books to boot.

I raced out of class as soon as it was over, letting Caroline manipulate all of Stefan's attention. Also, I didn't want a repeat of being the last one in again. This time I stopped someone in the hall and asked where my next class was. After dropping my books off at my locker, which was on the way, I managed to make it to Biology with minutes to spare.

Unfortunately it was a class I shared with Tyler Lockwood.

He was never a favorite of mine on the show. From my first impression in real life, he was even more of a jerk. The entire time he talked and laughed, even blew spitballs at one of his teammates. The poor teacher didn't do anything but smile and nervously laugh along. Being a star football player and the son of the Mayor, I guess no one besides vampire hunter Ric Saltzman was interested in disciplining the kid.

I was thoroughly annoyed by the end of the class and could tell it was going to be a regular occurrence if this weird—situation—didn't end anytime soon. On the plus side, I wasn't alternatively daydreaming and fretting over Stefan Salvatore while I was fuming about Tyler Lockwood.

It wasn't until fourth period that I met up with Bonnie again in History.

I was so relieved to be sitting beside her, listening to how her classes had gone so far, that I didn't pay much attention as the other kids trickled in and sat down.

Not even when a somewhat familiar voice said, "Hey, Elena."

Bonnie's eyes widened, chin jerking towards the space behind me. Blinking, I remembered Elena was now me and swung about. Matt Donavan hovered near my desk, a strained smile on his face. "Matt. Hi."

"Been a while." He spun a pencil around his fingers. "How was your summer?"

Seeing as he thought he was talking to Elena, I had no idea. Bad, if I had to guess. Given her parents had just died. Still, I summoned another smile. It was getting easier. Ironically, it seemed I was as stuck playing the 'I'm just fine and dandy,' game as she'd been on the show. "Fine. Yours?"

"Alright." He shrugged and glanced down before lifting his sights back up to me. He obviously had something on his mind. I waited. "You still on for the Grill tonight?" When my brows scrunched together, he was quick to add, "Y'know. Everyone's usual meetup after the first day back."

"Yeah. 'Course. Wouldn't want to mess with tradition." That'd draw attention. Something I was trying very hard not to do.

His smile turned more genuine. "Cool." He cleared his throat and nodded. I nodded back, smile growing strained as I held it for a longer beat than the usual. He seemed to decide to just leave then, moving back to sit behind Bonnie. The two shared their own hellos.

Drama. I blew out a breath, slipping further down the hard back of my chair, wondering if the day could possibly get more awkward. The universe chose to answer by having Stefan Salvatore stride into the class at that moment. Naturally, like the earth pulled by the inevitable gravitation of the freaking sun, his gaze flew right to me.

I straightened back up, trying to smooth away any traces of annoyance. Just like the hallway, his stare stayed rooted to mine. I had no idea how he managed to find an empty desk, given he kept staring at me rather than looking for a place to sit. Maybe some sort of vampire sense, like listening for heartbeats or pulsating necks.

I hardly had room to judge. Even after the class started, I watched him too. I did try to keep it to don't-mind-me-just-bored-and-gazing-around-the-room peeks. Hard to do, given his gaze was constantly directed my way. But I couldn't help but look for some sign of—inhumanness. Apart from being a shade or two paler from the rest of the class, nothing stood out.

No, that wasn't true. He stood out, alright. But as far as creepy vibes? Nothing. If one could manage the herculean task of setting aside his amazing looks, he seemed normal. Apart from constantly staring at me, anyway. That was definitely off. Or, rather, the real me. I suppose someone as gorgeous as Elena wouldn't be surprised by the attention. Not that I'd never been on the receiving end myself, but not by anyone who looked like a freaking model.

Just to hammer in the point of how obvious he was being, my phone vibrated. Checking that the teacher wasn't watching, I flipped the older style case open to find a text message from Bonnie.

HAWT-E STARING U

Yeah, thanks. I'd have to be blind not to notice. Or focused on the lesson. Which, for once in an academic setting, I wasn't. Right now, I couldn't give a damn about history. Another first.

Thankfully, the class was the same welcome back here's your syllabus do your homework etcetera that the rest had been. Bonnie caught up to me after the bell signaled the end of our torture. She shared a look of girlish conspiracy as we walked out ahead of Stefan. "The whole time," she said quietly.

"Noticed."

Bonnie grinned. "Lucky."

The insane urge to burst into tearful laughter swept through me. I held it back with a non-committal hum. "Lunch?"

"Lunch."

The rest of the day was Stefan free. I don't know where he went to eat. The woods that seemed to creep around every few blocks in this town? Caroline joined Bonnie and I at the table. A few other girls, Madison and Sarah, along with a guy named Aaron, sat with us too. Which surprised me. But when I thought about it, it made sense. Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline could hardly have only each other as friends. They were just the closest and what the show must've chosen to focus on.

I couldn't get much of an impression of the other three. I gathered the girls were cheerleaders and Aaron was on the team with the other guys. I did pick up that he and Madison were a thing, which explained why he was sitting with us rather than over with Tyler's wolf pack.

Either way, I was able to sit back and let the rest of the table control the conversation. They seemed fine letting me stay quiet, joking back and forth and listening to Caroline's plans for the upcoming festival. Which I was roped into—flyer duty. I didn't fight. Some fates are simply inevitable.

The rest of my classes were a rotation of the various other characters, but no Stefan. By the time the end of the school day had crept around, I was left loading my books into my bag, a light load of assigned reading to do for tomorrow but not a lot else.

Bonnie was back, leaning up against the neighboring locker. "Sorry I can't give you a ride to the cemetery."

I paused. What? Why the hell would I—

Oh, right. Grieving girl. "It's fine." Well, hell. No way was I going to the cemetery. I could find my way back to Elena's house. Sure.

I struggled to remember where all the turns Bonnie had taken were. Main street, as I'd come to think of it as, would be easy enough to get to. I could find my way from there. Probably.

I hoped I didn't look as freaked out as I felt as I smiled at Bonnie. This must've been one of those things the two girls had arranged before. "Thanks for taking me this morning."

Bonnie gave me a look that said, 'don't even,' "'Course." She gave me a one-armed hug before straightening back up. "Say hi to your mom and dad for me."

"I will." Nope. Not going to happen because you couldn't pay me to go to a cemetery with vampires lurking around every corner. Mostly because that's where Elena first 'encounters' Damon. And runs into Stefan. While bleeding.

Yeah. No. Nope.

Bonnie and I separated with waves and promises to meet up later tonight at the Grill. I was curious where she was off to but didn't know a way to ask without making it clear I didn't already know. I had a feeling it was one of those things Elena shouldn't need to ask.

Instead, I hitched my bag up and set off for the 'main street' of Mystic Falls. If I could get to the corner where Damon had scared the crap out of us, I figured I could find my way back. After all, I knew where he and Stefan were going to be. Exactly where I wasn't.

No freaky fog or bloody knees for this girl!

Fortunately, it was a nice day out, and Mystic Falls was a beautiful town—when it wasn't being overrun with supernatural creatures. There was a ton of greenery around, even in the paved business district. Granted, it was mostly maintained greenery, but it was still lovely. Especially with the woods never further than a stone's throw away.

I found the main road easily enough. Learned it was Washington Street. Following it, I found it led right to City Hall and the infamous clock tower. The park that had been featured on quite a few early episodes was only a few blocks down. And then, there was the Grill. Its green banner flapped in the afternoon breeze. I stood for a few moments to just—soak in the wonder. I'd actually be visiting later tonight.

Of course, since I wasn't going to the cemetery, that meant I wouldn't lose Elena's journal. Stefan wouldn't have a reason to stop by. Which means he wouldn't know about the gathering and have no reason to go. That was good.

It was.

Frustrated that I didn't feel like it was entirely good, I huffed at myself and sped up, no longer so enamored with the kitschy little town. But the longer I walked, the more I wondered if I'd missed the turn Bonnie had taken.

By the time the shops were behind me with houses sprouting up to either side of the street and the ever-present woods on the horizon, I wondered if I should just go back. Visit one of the stores and ask for directions. Wasn't everybody supposed to know everybody in a town like this? 'Course, if anyone should know the way to the Gilbert's house, it would probably be someone who'd lived there her whole life. Be odd to ask. Wasn't sure if I wanted rumors of Elena spacing out or acting weird getting around.

Blowing out an annoyed breath, I pulled the phone from my pocket. A vague notion that I might find someone to give me a ride. With the occasional glance up to make sure I didn't stray off the sidewalk, I navigated my way to the contact list. Most of the names were unfamiliar. Bonnie's was the first I recognized, but obviously couldn't call. I had nearly made it through the 'E's, wondering how on earth this girl had so many numbers—just my luck to Quantum Leap into an extroverted popular cheerleader—when a, "CAW!" startled me.

I spun around, sights sweeping around the street. Perched on a nearby streetlamp was the crow from this morning. Or so I assumed. I suppose it could've been an entirely different crow but—c'mon. What were the chances? It cocked its head at me, beady eye gleaming, before it cawed again.

My heart sped up, gut clenching in dismay. Damon. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be waiting at the cemetery! I know I remembered that part of the pilot. I looked around, wondering if I'd wandered near the graveyard by accident, but there wasn't a headstone anywhere nearby. Another insistent, "CAW!" demanded my attention. Giving in, I found the damn bird watching me.

Damon—if it was Damon, and I had no reason to believe it wasn't—had to be stalking me. Elena. Whoever.

And Stefan was probably lingering around the cemetery, right where he was supposed to be.

I swallowed. Like Stefan, Damon was the real-world equivalent of a serial killer. Unlike Stefan, at the start of the series, he didn't give a damn if Elena lived or died. Nor did he share Stefan's diet that only threatened small woodland creatures. Damon reveled in his violent nature, gave in to his murderous whims. A temperamental thrill seeker who had no fear of getting caught.

I turned, noticed how thin the traffic was. I'd managed to get far enough from the business district that I'd past the last of the shops a block back. Another, "CAW!" made me jump. I drew in a breath, lips falling into a frown, before I doubled back for the shopping center behind me.

He wouldn't attack me in broad daylight, in front of a store full of people. Right?

I hurried down the sidewalk, the crow's relentless caws chasing me the whole way. It felt as if I could feel someone's stare crawling over my skin. My heart rate skyrocketed and my blood pounded in my ears. It had to make for a siren song to the vampire watching me.

A loud flutter of wings beside me had me looking down towards a bench anchored to the sidewalk. The crow had perched on an armrest and cawed up at me. I turned away, fixing my gaze back to the approaching stores.

I sped up to a near sprint and rushed into the first shop I saw.

Once I was safely past the door, I spun to peer back through it's glass display. Heart still hammering, I pressed my hand to my chest, willing it to slow down as I searched for the bird stalking me. And fuck my life for making that a thing I had to worry about now. Finding nothing outside, I gulped down a breath and stepped back around.

Hands grabbed my arms. I gasped as I found myself staring up into pale blue eyes, freezing me in place. The corners of those eyes crinkled as Damon Salvatore grinned down at me. "Whoa." He let go, holding his hands up with palms out as if to prove he was harmless. I knew better and stepped back.

How? I'd just been at the door! I'd been staring through its damn window!

I risked taking my eyes off his long enough for my gaze to dart around the rest of the store. Antiques. Lots of places to hide but... No, there. Another door at the back of the shop, drifting shut.

It had to be over a hundred feet away!

I refused to believe that it was possible anyone could move so fast. Weirdly, it was easier to accept the man could control a bird than flash across the store in the blink of an eye.

My sights snapped back on him, watching every move he made. As if I'd ever get enough warning. Futile or not, I couldn't help it. It was if some primal instinct was in control. And right now, it was screaming danger!

His head tilted, eerily reminiscent of the bird he'd been puppeting. His bangs were long—and messy—enough that a bit fell over his eye. His handsome face fixed into a mien of nonchalance that didn't quite quench the excited sparkle in eyes. Like sunlight reflecting of a frozen lake, it was almost blinding staring directly into them. All of him was as picture perfect as a winter landscape, and yet, as remote. Cold and barren.

The sensation of wrongness I'd sought earlier in Stefan I found in Damon. In spades. I felt it right in my gut, where it squirmed like a tangled ball of worms. Made me itch to find an exit. Get away. Even as he asked, "You okay?"

I wasn't alone. The shop keeper, an older man, stood behind the counter. Unaware of the danger, he sent me a polite smile before turning back to the computer sitting beside the register. The rest of the place was a claustrophobic nightmare. Display tables packed narrowly together, covered in every kind of knick-knack imaginable. It'd be a mess to try and run through. Despair threatened to squeeze the air from my lungs. He was the only other human in the place. That wasn't going to stop a vampire who could compel him to forget. Or kill us both before we even knew what was happening.

Heart thumping so hard I was surprised my ribs weren't rattling, I summoned the steadiest smile I was able to and nodded. "Yeah. Just," a drew a breath through my nose, "startled. Should have been paying attention." Like that would've helped.

The bastard's mouth curled into a playful smile. "Sorry." He didn't sound it. At all. His tall legs brought him a step closer. Fully in the center of his attention, I couldn't help feel like a mouse under the bobbing head of a snake. "You ran in here so fast, I thought you were in trouble."

I squeezed the strap on my book bag, holding the smile on my face before shaking my head. "No." I lied. "It's—I'm fine. Really."

Damon leaned to the side, pleasure slipping into those animated eyes. Too animated. Like he was exaggerating his expressions. "That's a relief." He smiled as he took another step, putting him within arm's reach. "Pretty little thing like you," the curve of his lips turned thin and wicked before he added, "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something…bad…happened."

Knowing what I did about him, I couldn't help but hear an implied threat. The corners of my already brittle smile tried to slide right down. I willed them to stay up, though it probably came off as a tad bit rictus.

He didn't seem to notice. Or, more likely, care. "I'm Damon, by the way." He held out a hand.

I didn't want to take it. Would it set him off if I didn't? Make him suspicious that I knew more than I should about him? But the moment was stretching towards too long. My mind gave off an inner scream I slipped my hand into his. He had to have noticed my palm was clammy as it met his. He didn't seem bothered by it. On the contrary, his eyes darkened.

Bothered by the implications, I focused on the softness of his skin. I'd expected him to be colder. Stiff like my grandmother's hand had been when I'd tried curling mine over it as I'd stood by her coffin. Damon's felt very alive. The muscles and bones all shifted as he gave a gentle squeeze, the borrowed blood in his veins warming his skin. "Elena."

"Elena. Hm." His eyes narrowed. "Sure you're okay, Elena?"

"Yeah." I made to pull my hand back, relieved when he didn't try to hold on. "I, um. I saw a bird." His brows flew up. I inwardly cursed him to hell. Since magic existed here, I hoped it'd work. Recalling a line from the show, I said, "It was very Hitchcock."

"A girl who can make a classic horror reference. Nice." Seeing how well known The Birds and Hitchcock were, I didn't think it was all that impressive. I couldn't decide if he was trying to flatter me, or if his opinion of teenagers—of humans in general—was that low. "If you're worried, I'd be happy to walk you home." He leaned closer, and it took everything in me not to draw away. His voice lowered as if he meant to share a secret. "I make a great scarecrow."

Oh hell no. "That's... really nice of you to offer." My bag's strap let out a tortured creak as my hand flew to it and squeezed. "But, I'm—waiting. For my aunt. She's picking me up soon."

"Mm." His smile stretched a little wider before he looked straight into my eyes and said, "But she's running late, isn't she? It'll be a while before she gets here."

I blinked, glancing around towards the window as I realized, "Jenna's probably running late, though. I don't know when she'll get here." Especially as she had no idea where I was. Or that I'd need her to pick me up.

Damon smiled. Soon as our eyes met, he was speaking again with that same intense stare, "You want me to walk you home."

Given all the dangerous things lurking around Mystic Falls, who better to keep away the monsters than a psycho vampire that had already killed several people since coming to town? "I want you to walk me home." Wait, that didn't seem right. After a moment, I added, "If you don't mind." There. Shouldn't assume things. That would be rude.

Damon's answering grin was all sunshine. Cold, wintry sunshine. "Of course not." He swept out an arm in an old fashioned, gentlemanly gesture. "After you, Miss Gilbert."

Had I told him that? No. Damon must've been stalking Elena well before this morning. He'd know where she lived, then! I smiled at him before leading him through the door.

#fanfic #the vampire diaries #tvd #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #the more things change #ofc #damon x ofc #stefan x ofc #elijah x ofc #klaus x ofc #elijah mikaelson #klaus #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #elena gilbert #jeremy gilbert

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pipesflowforeverandever · 6 years ago

Text

The Ink Demonth, Day 15: Time Travel

I borrowed @aceofintuition‘s Joey Drew, “Snowy”, again for this alongside my own, “Gingie”. This drabble is based on an RP we did together some months ago. You can tell by the length how much I enjoyed writing it.

Summary: An old man with blue eyes steps into the page of someone much younger with dreams ahead he still can’t see.

Word Count: 2942

The aging man heard the ring of the café door as he stepped in, the gentle sting of coffee immediate underneath his nose and its faint taste on the edge of his lips. His eyes glanced around at a world seemingly tinged brown like a yellowing photo, the soft, warm hues evident everywhere on this sunny autumn evening. There was a record playing somewhere as the sweeping of a broom scuffed next to the counter that caught the silver fox’s attention, but his light wrinkles crinkled a bit more as interest in the cleaning was brief; he was here for something else.

Someone else, he found as a shade of reddish-orange caught his gaze, and he felt lured closer just like a curious fish in the sea.

The young man had his back to him, a briefcase shadowed by his side as it leaned against the leg of a chair. He was the brightest thing in the room, like he lit it up the same way a candle does the spare, dusty bedroom; everything around him just seemed to follow suit to his cream sleeves and tan-brown pants. His cup of gold-tinted tea rippled as he bumped the table, reaching down for a hardcover book with pages sticking out in much the same way the case did.

The newcomer, still standing, allowed his ice blue stare to cling as he walked past the busy, seemingly ditzy boy. Or…well, “boy” as an accurate term is determinate on how old one is when perceiving it. The redhead certainly wouldn’t consider himself a boy at the ripe old age of 22, but someone without a line of color left in their grey hair would, and the mysterious person letting his black cloak rub past the seats as he made his way to the window was such a someone. It wasn’t until he sat down that the distracted kid had finished lugging up his notebook and felt his expression still at the appearance of someone he didn’t expect to see again.

After all, Joey had lived here for years, and most unusual folks he spied on in the park didn’t show up again somewhere else. Not in the same day.

The stranger was beautiful, with hair styled almost impossibly in a large swoop from the left to the right side of his head; the end of it had a distinct wave, and it all looked dyed as if steeped in moonlight for nights on end. His brown skin shone with the glow from the window, leaves falling from the tree just outside it past a pair of irises that would put the finest crystal glass to shame.

The aspiring artist with already pinkish skin felt it become pinker, heat nibbling at the top of his cheeks and the tips of his fingers and knuckles. The pages laid across his desk were undoubtfully familiar; what were the chances that he had seen them as he strolled past to the booth? In his panic, he calculated it to be high; even if the old man refused to look back at him, he must have known.

He’d find out many, many years later he didn’t, but the wrong assumption made the right thing to do. It was inevitable anyway, in a certain sense, as sketching strangers in the park without them noticing was a practice that can’t eventually go undefeated.

And Joey, even when he was young, was a man proactive in his introductions. Perhaps a bit more on the shy side than he would be running a studio, but still someone that would rather talk than let silence rule the day.

And so he did.

“G-good ev- afternoon! Sir!”

The silver-haired man lazily blinked and glanced to the side at the youngster who was hardly taller than him even when the former was sitting and the latter bouncing to the tips of his scuffed shoes. A grown man, perhaps, but Joey would always be teased for never growing an inch more. The blue-eyed man evaluated him, another set of honey eyes flickering slightly but constantly with nerves that had a shaky smile to match at the corners of his mouth. He noted there was no mustache above his lips, but still sideburns and glasses to accessorize his head.

He played dumb. “Hey.” The newcomer’s voice was deep with two accents coming together, one a southern drawl and the other the unmistakable hint of someone accustomed to speaking Spanish. “…What can I do for ya?”

Yes, of course, he had noticed the ginger staring at him from afar some hours ago. Yes, of course, he was going to enjoy seeing him squirm for a reason to cover it anyway. Truth be told, he was surprised that the kid came up to him in the first place; he figured it would be up to him to initiate a conversation, if one was going to happen.

But that had always just been Gin, it turned out. The old man tried not to smile at the idea of it, so there was just a twitch on the left side of his mouth.

“I- I was just!” Joey held his hands in front of his chest, chin turned down to restless, fiddling fingers. What could he even say?! ‘Oh, I’m so sorry for sketching you without even talking to you first’? No! He wasn’t even sorry! …Just sorry he got caught.

It was only then he supposed maybe he hadn’t been caught, as he assumed. The realization it was far too late to back out felt like a push on his back to keep spitting out words and hope they make sense.

“I…I hope this doesn’t come off in the wrong way, my good man!”

Said good man raised a brow as the other squeaked his way around the situation.

“But- but you made for a lovely inspiration!” Joey kept grinning until it hurt his face, as he looked at the stranger for any sort of reaction.

“…Beg your pardon?”

Oh.

“I! I simply!” Come on now, confidence! Only thing left to save him now! “I’m an artist! And I do life studies! And you simply are just FAR too interesting to ignore!”

And in both excitement and fear, the old man felt himself involuntarily tilting his head back as a book was shoved into his personal space, pages flicking until it fell to the last ones before the rest of the book seemed orderly. And there, indeed, was his own face.

In awkward silence, his wide eyes flicked back to look at the others’, just to see the ginger in the same sort of anxiety inducing panic that he was before- perhaps amplified. He blinked again. Somehow, he still wasn’t used to this kind of attention, even if he knew he should have known better.

Gin was a weird kid.

With the young man waiting, seemingly, for him to react first, the stranger gently gripped the book and pulled it away so it was at a better angle for his eyes.

And although he knew he was avoiding the growing need for a pair of glasses, the old man also understood at a glance this was something special.

“How about…” the older man drawled with as much patience he could muster, trying to begin a proper conversation, “…’Y pull your stuff over here? ‘Magine your back hurts from standing up so straight.”

With that, he had to try not to chuckle as he saw the kid realize his stance and overcorrect, abruptly adjusting where his limbs were in relation to his body before scrambling to bring his things spread across the table in an armful. They were spread once more before the other next to the window, and it didn’t take long for him to try to forget at least a bit of the horrible introduction that just happened.

It almost felt like he was evaluating his portfolio, with a bright-eyed new artist waiting with a bounce in his seat for commentary on the accumulation of his work and skills.

So he was the kind of guy to pour himself out without even knowing if the other person was an artist or not- just someone he…wanted to approval of. The old man supposed there was something there he was supposed to think about in relation to his friend, but didn’t have the attention to word exactly what as he plucked up a random sketch- a seemingly candid one of a rabbit tucked behind a thin bundle of flowers.

“These are nice,” the old man commented with a sharp but approving glance over. “Y’ got a real eye for detail, here, kiddo.”

It still didn’t cross the youngster’s mind that the whole ‘I’ve been drawing you’ thing was pushed aside so easily for a reason. He had been watching him back for even longer; no explanation was needed, and he couldn’t improvise a realistic response anyway as if he was surprised.

“I’m…an artist, sir,” Joey repeated again, somehow steadier this time but calmer. “I just draw what I see. And I quite enjoy it! I just-“

Joey interrupted himself with a hum that trailed off, in some way not wanting to finish that thought. The other man pursed his lips.

“Just what, kid?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“…Can’t really drop all these drawings on my lap and call whatever you want to say about them nothing, you know.” His tone was dry but the meaning was sincere, a tinge of softness in his voice, a kind of understanding a bit too familiar to put aside.

As such, after a few more seconds of fumbling, the shy young man simply nodded in agreement.

“Now…” the older continued, setting the held page down to pick up another, “…What do y’ wanna do?” The question was taken with a bit of shock, but he continued as easygoing as before. “What do you…wanna make with all this? What’s the dream, kid?”

It did feel like a dream, Joey inwardly agreed. He plopped himself onto a total stranger and found himself without hesitation being probed about what it meant to him. And usually Joey had answers! He could go on and on and on without taking a single breath about what it meant to him to create things, about wanting to do things for others to see. But he always said so unprompted; now that it was actually asked of him aloud, he found himself floundering on what to say.

“I…”

The old man tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at him, wasn’t so invested in the answer that he couldn’t hear anything else.

Joey exhaled and folded his hands on the table, thumb smoothing over his own skin in restless ponderance- a good emotion for a matching time in his life.

“I would…love if I could, somehow, use my art to…make people happy.”

Now that was something he had never considered, but there it was- spoken by none other than himself. He briefly bit his lower lip and looked out the window, perhaps avoiding making himself look at his art and the man that was now- unbeknownst to him- clearly staring with intent.

“I…want to do what my mother always believed I could do. You see- see, she told me I had a special kind of magic that matters to other people. That I’m so bright that…I can make others bright too, just by making them smile.”

It was so, so hard for the stranger to withhold his smile for just a second longer.

“But I…don’t quite know how that can be done!”

Joey’s eyes flickered back, and the nervous smile had returned; in spite of his optimism, it was like putting a blanket over the unsure, tumultuous waves of the sea.

“Then you try something out.”

The response, as quiet as it was spoken, was still strong and unexpected, and so Joey felt himself gasp. His honey eyes widened, and his whole head turned to attention.

And now- now he was letting himself smile. The man opposite of Joey knew that he was looking this time, and that it was when it mattered.

“You keep tryin’, no matter what. And piece by piece, something will come together. Just like when you figured out how to draw, right? Assumin’ you were normal and learned things as you went instead of being perfect on the first go.”

With his lips lightly parted, the young man in awe of someone who could- for all he knew- been spouting motivational nonsense without knowing a lick about art…was entirely believable.

It was the right thing at the right time, regardless.

Those brown irises had eyelids fall over one second more, returning to his own creations with a new perspective. The lines seemed more purposeful, the shapes more unique. It was something flawed and yet flawless, just as he had always seen anyone else’s art.

The old man was quickly becoming satisfied with the rare feat of making Gin stunned enough to shut up. He thought about leaving right then and there, as if this was all he had come to see and do, but he was once again the person between them surprised when the redhead stood up first, scooping up the papers in his arms. The young man forced his eyes away but towards the end of the collecting finally met his again, a twinkle there that made the silver haired wanderer feel more at home than he had been this whole time.

“Thank you,” he muttered, words slick and airy with what could only be relief. “Thank you.”

He stood up straight, adjusting his hold on his things until they were more orderly and less likely to fall away. “I…do hope to see you in town again.” His grin was fading in and out with each phrase, but the feeling was so pure, so freed, that an excuse wasn’t needed. “Apologies for…not…asking first!” he chuckled, buckling at the knees briefly.

The other man chuckled back, the sun setting behind the glass. “No problem.”

A wonderful, awkward pause filled the space between them, the conversation ending as it started with one sitting down and the other standing up. Joey didn’t know that the other person would have as much a reason to try to treasure this moment as he did. Eventually, he took a step backward and slowly turned around through the now near empty café, towards the front door and the streetlights beginning to be lit.

“Oh!”

And he spun right back around, much to someone else’s bemusement.

“What…-” the redheaded scamp asked with hesitation, “-Is your name?”

Looking him up and down, having forgotten to introduce himself too, the fellow with moonlit hair and a black coat leaned his arm around the edge of the booth and took a moment till he smirked.

“Mr. Flores.”

The man with sideburns and glasses nodded, mouthing a ‘right’ before abruptly turning back and leaving the room. Mr. Flores watched the brightest splash of color in this world stained like aged paper walk out his life, looking forward when he would walk back in. With he himself looking like he was out of place and dyed with blues- with an indigo tint in his clothes and the cyan like glittering water under his eyelids- decided it was his time to leave, too.

The suitcase Gingie had forgotten was reverently taken by the handle before disappearing in a portal, the rim of which shimmered blue, too.

The old man ducked out and into the room of another person, someone who he had grown old with. Nighttime had fallen and the shadows of unlit halls looks like ink thin and seeping into the wallpaper. What he surely knew was yellow now seemed a bit on the cooler side, and someone he had just seen looking like the fire of the sun in daytime now seemed like wax of a candle extinguished, in his cream shirt in the dark and top hat hung up on the coat rack. Gingie, his red hair looking paler as strands of it turned white, glanced up from a paper held between his fingers. His gaze was soft, mischievous, and made Snowy feel at home.

“Mr. Flores,” the other Joey smirked.

A hand came to hold his back, the two old men together with more winkles and greyer hair than when they first met- for either the first time or the second time. Snowy scoffed, grinning wide.

“You weren’t supposed to remember till I brought it up to ya!” he lamented humorously. “Wasn’t supposed to be that I just…show up after accidentally running into you in the past, then you suddenly know too. More dramatic than that!”

Gingie scoffed right back. “It seems like you and I have exchanged some…traits over the years. And here you were always teasing me for being the one to portal into your life first.”

Snowy sighed through his nose as a rosy hand cupped the side of his face, tilting into it with hooded eyes.

“…Nah.” Then the toothy grin came back, devilish. “You were as much of a chicken with its head cut off as ever.”

And to that, the other pursed his lips, still holding his cheek. “And you were as subtle as ever.”

Basking in the moonlight of the time Snowy was really from, Gingie pulled him closer, their silhouettes seen through the window if one was looking- their faces becoming one shape and the outline of their bodies shining like the glass under the stars, frost around them like a picture frame as snow began to fall. The lost suitcase was set down and very likely forgotten for yet another several decades.

#the ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #batim au #gingie #snowy #tak writes #batim fanfiction #fluff #time travel

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redskull-fanatic · 6 years ago

Text

Captain Hydra

Chapter 2

Zola chuckled as he closed the drawer of blueprints. His mind was lost in a humorous memory, a time he hadn’t forgotten and kept with him to calm his nerves.

The day was young and so was his partnership with Johann, back when the two didn’t really know what boundaries to put.

Schmidt was an odd one, his lines were strange and back then… The risks he took were something Zola never fully understood.

Right before he got onto the train, Schmidt gave him some weird advice.

“Dr. Zola,” he said, “Remember to look behind you.”

Arnim furrowed his brow in confusion, “... Herr Skull, I- I don’t understand, why would I look behind me?”

Johann simply smiled, “Your allies may be close, but foes are always closer. If you see them coming, it ruins the surprise.”

Arnim simply nodded, “... Very good, then-” He turned to get on, but Johann’s words stopped him.

“I’d hate to lose such a brilliant mind.”

Arnim turned around, almost in shock. However, he was met with the Red Skull walking away from him, back to the depths of the Hydra base.

Arnim never forgot that. There were lots of times he couldn’t forget.

Johann, one night, pushing him to create more designs, more blueprints. Another, the Skull allowed Zola to rest early, seeing he has been busting his back working hard the whole week.

Then they time they laughed hysterically at some failed experiment. Arnim was so surprised Skull was amused by it, and afterwards he simply said to abandon the project. Called it, “A good laugh, but a time waster.”

Johann’s manner seemed to change almost daily.

One day, he’s polite, strict, yet understanding and reasons well.

Others, he smiles almost constantly, gives constructive feedback, and just seems more full of energy.

However, everyone feared his bad days. The days he truly becomes “the Red Skull”.

He’s merciless, constantly yelling and has such a bitter tone you’d think his saliva was made up of poison.

The worst is when he gets physical, grabbing soldiers and throwing them across the training field. He once ripped out most of a woman’s hair, injured her jaw badly, and broke her hip. All because she reported a troop went missing in the woods.

Schmidt’s bad days were hell for everyone, Zola especially.

He much prefers the Schmidt who is strict, but at least polite when he manages to control his anger.

Schmidt seems to be having an excellent week today, but… He’s been distant.

He normally is, but more distant than usual. Some guards even told Zola they were sure he was heard talking to… Seemingly no one.

Zola shook his head more and more concerned, I hope Schmidt’s madness is kept at bay.

His thoughts were startled by the glass door sliding open, and a figure entered the dark room.

“Dr. Zola… “ Schmidt’s eyes seemed to illuminate the entire workstation, “... A word.”

000

“Zola, how would you feel taking on… a much larger project?”

Arnim swore he could hear the slight uncertainty in Schmidt’s voice. “Well,” Zola paused in thought, “… Depends how large the project is.”

Schmidt slightly licked his lips, “The largest project I might ever ask of you. It involves risks, Zola.”

Armin looked at him in horror, “… Schmidt, this won’t be.. Similar to the rabbit incident, correct?”

Skull grits his teeth, “We do not mention the rabbits, Zola.”

The doctor nodded, “Of course, of course… However-”

Schmidt pursed his lips in thought, “… Worse, maybe, if things to do not go well.”

Zola sighed, of course.

Schmidt stopped abruptly in the hallway, looking into the setting sun. The open windows in the hall allowed the air to flow, and the land around them to be more visible. Sure, Schmidt was a fan of giant windows, but was happy that some places he left without windows.

Of course, enemies had the possibility to sneak through, but details, details.

Schmidt stared into the sky, swearing he could see the image of Captain Hydra now.

Zola caught himself before he ran into the Red Skull, and made a confused gasp.

Schmidt noticed and briefly looked at him, “Arnim, how confident are you in your inventions?”

The doctor looked confused, “Well, very, Herr Skull. My designs have grown, and so has my faith. Why?”

Skull slightly bit his bottom lip, “… Do you think you can create something to slow down Captain America?”

Zola almost dropped his books.

Skull side eyed him in silence, waiting for an answer.

“A device-… Herr Schmidt, I- Why?”

Skull dreaded that question, “I have a theory… A rather big project, but if it goes well all of Hydra benefits from it.”

Zola tilted his head, “And that is?”

Skull huffed softly, “Simple. I want Captain America to join Hydra.”

___

Steve threw his head back, laughing hysterically. Bucky just told him the dumbest joke ever, and he had a hard time keeping his laughter in.

“I’m sorry, bud, but I’m serious! It just makes sense!” Bucky takes a sip of his drink, managing to hold back his giggles,

Steve sighs, “I never thought in a million years, you’d say something like that.”

Bucky flashed a stupid smile of his, “You should’ve.”

Both were interrupted by Peggy storming down the hall, pausing to smile at them, “Oh, hello boys.”

Steve shifted his sitting position and rested his sketchbook in his lap, a christmas gift from Bucky last year. “Something wrong?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

Peggy’s smile instantly grew sour, she crossed her arms and huffed angrily.

Bucky laughed, “Ooh, what did Howard do?”

Steve eyed Bucky, “How do you know it was him?”

The soldier shrugged, “It’s always him.”

Both looked at Peggy for her to answer.

Carter sighed, “He almost blew up half the lab, again. I keep warning him, and warning him, but he never listens.”

Bucky responded with a cheeky smile.

“I swear one of these days… He’s going to end up dead.” Peggy muttered, then strutted off to voice concerns with the Colonel. Her face as worried and as angry as ever.

“She worries a lot.” Steve voiced his concern, causing Bucky to lay back down.

“Ahh, she’s been like that ever since our first Hydra mission. You know her, good ol’ mother hen.” Bucky hummed, setting his drink on the table next to them.

Steve nodded, then looked down at his sketches. He didn’t even notice who filled up half the page.

The Red Skull.

Steve didn’t know why he drew him, he just does. He has this weird… Fascination with Schmidt, and sometimes found himself trying to get his hands on Schmidt’s file.

Phillips always caught him, though.

Bucky peeked up, “Whatcha drawin’?”

Steve shut his book gently, “Nothing, Buck… Nothing… “

000

Steve followed the troops out to the clearing, however he himself wanted to wander a little too far.

Steve found himself in thick, calm woods. Moss devouring every tree trunk and log it can, birds quietly chirping, and even a gentle breeze danced around him. He traveled further into a clearing a little ways from the woods, sat down and watched the sunset.

It was beautiful.

Different shades of red, colliding with the orange, Steve swore he could see some white too.

He sighed, Steve loved watching the sunset. He loved noting the mixtures of colors, how they often looked like paintings made by the most careful eye.

As a silly hobby artist, he appreciated it.

Steve rested his back on the soft grass below and tried to pick out some shapes.

First, he spotted a circle with a strange design on it. The colors were too messy for Steve to really figure out what it was. He shrugged, just assuming it was some mess in the clouds.

Next, he saw a weird shape… it looked like a group of people.

Odd, Steve thought.

Next he saw what he could only assume is a skull.

A very red skull.

Steve shuddered, shaking his head in disgust. He doesn’t want to be reminded such a monster exists. Quickly, he focuses elsewhere.

His eyes settled on a strange… rainbow of sorts.

The rainbow was made up of red, orange, lighter orange, what seemed to be yellow, and white.

It was odd, but still quite a lovely sight.

Steve sighed, thinking over the past few months. Out here was the only place he could think clearly.

They all seem like a blur, from joining the army, to the Super Soldier Serum, to first meeting the Red Skull.

God, that was the scariest moment of Steve’s life. The Skull shedding his skin like a snake, claiming Steve was “deluded” and that they were beyond humanity.

Then deciding to track down the Skull, with backup of course, but Steve felt so alone.

It was a vivid memory.

Boots stomping towards him, the sound of a voice entering his ears.

“Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait, but I must say, you do it better than anyone.”

It was clear the Skull was mocking him.

Me? Arrogant? Steve thought.

Skull made his way up to the American, staring resentfully into his eyes. His line of sight was locked into Steve’s, clearly focused on this new foe who entered the ring so suddenly.

Steve could only stare back, looking into Skull’s seemingly black eyes. They were so dark and deep, Steve almost got lost in them.

“But there are limits to what even you can do, Captain, or did Erskine tell you otherwise?” Skull slightly tilted his head, searching into the Captain’s soul.

“He told me you were insane.” Steve answered, trying to keep his cool.

The Skull continued to stare, raising his head, “Ahh..”

The silence followed by that response almost made Steve laugh. It was just so strange to him.

“He resented my genius and tried to deny me what was rightfully mine, but he gave you everything..” The Skull continued, scanning the Captain in such envy that Steve could almost feel it burning his skin.

He almost thought Schmidt would do something right then and there. Instead, his envy continued to burn.

“So, what made you so special?”

Steve smirked, “Nothing.”

The Skull’s clear confusion just made what he was about to say all the more humorous.

“I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

Skull, letting his bitter hate take over, punched Steve in multiple different places. Steve could tell he didn’t like what he heard.

Steve merely responded with, “I can do this all day.”

The Red Skull tsked, “Of course you can, of course-“

The Skull pulled out his gun, “Unfortunately for you, I’m on a rather tight schedule.”

Then the backup came, and the rest was history.

Steve shook his head, bringing it back to more recent events.

The destruction of another Hydra base, the success with the war, and then two months ago.

The bomb incident.

Steve almost laughed, gosh that situation was utterly ridiculous. He could feel himself slipping into another flashback.

He had raced after the Skull, dodging every bullet that man tried to shoot his way.

That is, until the gun ran out and Red Skull resulted in throwing the gun at him. It managed to hit his jaw, rough blow.

Schmidt cackled and continued to speed walk away, Cap shortly following after him.

They met in an open room, and continued their dance.

Skull punching Steve in the jaw as soon as the American entered, Steve aiming a blow in Skull’s ribs as a response, they two watching the other with fiery eyes as they violently danced around each other, fueled on bitter hate.

That was, until a bomb flew in.

Steve had caught it and in a panic threw it at the Red Skull. The German responded with throwing it back. They played hot potato with the bomb for awhile, until Skull threw it back into the chaos of their parties fighting on the ground below.

Steve stared at him, “Why did you do that?!”

Schmidt merely shrugged and answered in his matter-of-fact tone, “It would’ve blown us into pieces.”

Steve spared a glance at his friends below, “Now our forces will get blown up, Skull!”

Schmidt tsked, “Better them than me.”

Steve responded by lunging into Skull’s middle, grubbing the man by the sides and knocking him down. The Skull’s confused and startled reaction just made the situation all the more ridiculous.

Steve laughed, managing to drift out of the memory. It was all so silly if you think about it. A man with a literal red skull head, fighting another man wearing the American Flag. Both fighting over freedom, and a mysterious blue square. Sounded like a silly story younger Bucky would’ve told a younger Steve to help him sleep.

Now, that was his reality.

Steve sat up, deciding he spent enough time out here and made his way back to his friends.

That was, until he was knocked out.

Ahhh, got it done!! Hope you like it!!

#red skull #marvel #captain america #johann schmidt #steve rogers #my writing #captain hydra #chapter two #marvel fanfiction #red skull x steve rogers

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coffethoughts · 6 years ago

Text

Ghosts

My name is Garrison Dowe, I am 5'11", dusty brown hair, greyish blue eyes and a crooked smile. This isn't my story. This takes place years and years before my fathers father was even an idea between him and my grandmother.

This is about Calvin.

Calvin was 49 with thick horn rimmed glasses with the brownest eyes sitting behind them. He was wearing a brown plaid button up shirt with a navy blue bow tie, his golden brown hair parted to the side and loafers. I think it's because that's what he died in, but I also think it was his favorite outfit. Although if you've worn it for how long he has, it might become yours too. We are going back to September 3rd, 2869. Where young Calvin was about to enter the world. Little did he know there was more than one world to enjoy.

***********************************************************************************

It wasn't your normal July afternoon

It was cold, the cold you can feel in your bones. The kind of cold that you can't cover with blankets or sweaters.

The kind of cold that follows death.

It was the day Calvin died.

But lets start from the beginning. Calvin had a pretty normal childhood. for example; food in his belly, clothes on his back, both parents and a modest home. He himself was the oddball out though. He never stopped dreaming, awake or asleep. He never came back down to earth once he zoned out, and he NEVER let anyone touch his brown notebook.

Growing up and going into his first year of high school Calvin had average grades. Not because he was dumb, he was actually very intelligent but his attention level was awful. He was constantly zoned out.

Now Calvin had friends, he was the good popular. The one that everyone knew and liked, not the kind of popular that only associated with other popular kids. He always got invited to the parties and events and outings, even though his best friend was a notebook. He usually made a point to go out to these events,

Calvin was seventeen and in his last year at Mulove High school, He wasn't the most popular student, but he was loved by all because he made an effort to include everyone, he was also very funny. Sorry, he IS still very funny. (fact check, he was basically in every photo in the very full signed yearbook he showed me.) On the first day of his last year in high school, Calvin flew into the parking lot on his new Hover Bike he got for his birthday a few days earlier (new driver) and parked. When he got off his bike, he had a weird pain in his stomach, but it passed after a minute and he never gave it a second thought.

He walked in the school, book bag on both shoulders, a brown notebook and pen pinched between his ribs and arm while his left hand was in his pocket with his cellphone in his other scrolling through a list of songs that he could jam to as he headed to his first class. Calvin's mind was full of adventure, stories, funny quips, ideas and thoughts you couldn't possibly imagine. (I've seen the brown notebook) He never showed anyone, not because he was embarrassed, or he didn't think he was good enough. One of the reasons is because they were his, the things he wrote in the notebook were scary, incredible, frightening, funny, loving, envious, sad, heartbreaking, hilarious and feelings you never felt before. He had little quotes in his note book from eaves dropping on conversations, he has doodles when he was bored and procrastinating, he has diagrams of inventions for extravagant things, things you and me could never even fathom.

He found himself walking while listening to the music. He paused in front of his locker. Not sure how he ended up there as he was not thinking of his route at all. But after four years, of the same path in the same school, with the same people and same hallways, his body just new where to go and when. Calvin likes to zone out, move on to different worlds for a while, until it gets dark there and he returns to his "normal" state. (not much about Calvin is normal) He's ok with that.

(More to come later)

(later is now)

Calvin twists and turns his lock to enter his combination, he opened his locker and found a little note folded that looked like it had been pushed through the slots in the locker door. He was just about to open the note when the first bell rang for class, and he thought "shit, I'm late again"Â. He shoved the note in his pocket, shut his locker, ran to class and forgot about the note as his mind is always in other places.

In his first period class Calvin caught himself day dreaming of the new worlds that were all over the internet and news with headlines like "WE ARE SO CLOSE!" "WE WILL BE ON MARS SOON" and so on. With nothing to go on, no pictures or videos, just speculation at this point, your imagination. Calvin wrote all his thoughts in his brown notebook, he drew sketches and jotted down ideas, all about new types of life with gorgeous, wild, undiscovered flowers, insects, animals and even "humans". Because whose to say someone on mars or another galaxy isn't a human of their planet. Calvin dreamed that he would eventually get to these planets. Later on he would learn his imagination did not disappoint.

His entire life born on this planet was based on him off it.

"CALVIN? CALVIN?!? CALVVVIIINNN?!?!?"

"Oh, uh yes, Mrs. Bonnaveve?"

"Were you just day dreaming again? We have talked about this a million times, you need to learn the String Theory, it's essential"

“I was not daydreaming Mrs. Bonnaveve, I am doing research for when we can start travelling to other places"

"We can travel now Calvin?"

"Not to Zone 37 or Area 913, I'm talking about Mars, the forgotten planet Pluto, or the Catcus Galaxy that everyone thinks might be a hoax, but I know in my gut it's real"

When he was done talking, there was a very long silent pause. Followed by everyone including the teacher, the other classrooms that could hear him through the vent and their Mothers Mothers started howling so hard that one kid fell over and broke his arm. When that was over he turned up the volume on his phone, tuned into his favorite song and continued to day dream, the teacher left him alone at that point. This didn't affect his "popularity" like it would when you were growing up. Kids never forget. No not in the year 2886.These days were different. Winter formal came and gone along with parties, movies, dates homework, exams and winter break. Calvin always showed face even though his actual face was buried in his brown notebook and his mind was on another planet. This first semester we’re nt by quickly for Calvin as he was use to day dreaming since his first day in kindergarten and didn't plan to change this year. He was happy winter break was over and he could get back to class, not that he loved school, but he loved being around people to eves drop, learn how people think, act, are for new inspiration to jot down in.

The following semester wasn't so easy. Nothing had changed at home, with his friends or at school. It's been the same day after day for Calvin. Waking up from dreams about adventure to day dreaming at school about all the things his mind thought up, and going to bed with the same dreams. None of that chanted either. The one thing that did was the headlines. Instead of reading â€œWEâ€™RE ALMOST THEREâ€ they read â€œWE DID ITâ€ â€œSPACE TRAVEL IS HERE!!â€. Calvin couldnâ€™t contain his excitement. He has been saving every birthday dollar, every lawn mowing fee, every quarter, dime, nickle and penny to travel to space once they figured out how to, and now they have!

It was so hard for Calvin to stay in his seat, to show up to class, to focus on tests and assignments, he barley made it out of high school with a diploma. Which made it hard for him to apply for college, as he just wanted to take a year off and travel. His parents weren't on board and haven't been since it started effecting his grades more and more. They said that if he wanted to stay here for the year he would have to work with his father or head off to college. Working in city hall just didn't seem to call his name especially since his father hasn't taken a vacation in several years. which would hurt his travelling chances.

Calvin weighed his options to stay here and save even more but push back college a year and then that would mean pushing back traveling, or he could go into college for something that would let him travel and get paid? The laptop was pulled out of his back pack once he got home and began to research schools, and programs that would let him travel while getting paid after college, or even during college as a coop assignment.

#shortstory #novel #books #books and libraries #wannabewriter #write #writers #writlbr #pages #ghosts #fictional story #fiction #believe #differentkindoflovestory #unfinished #onechapter longershortstory

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