#<- regrets not being firmer in my stance

[stardancerluv]

Sugary Kisses and Broken Glasses

Summary: When loving Roman Sionis angst i never far away.

Warning: None. Language towards the end.

Arthur’s Note: This is after Creative Fervor Early Days with Roman, An Attempt but before Roman’s Lady is His Luck new chapter coming!!! and Gotham Lockdown 2020 (Christmas is coming to the lockdown!)

You bit down on your pencil as you stared at your blank page. The ideas, just were not coming. It looked like a lovely day, but you had a project lined up.

You knew Roman was already downstairs, going through rehearsals with the dancers and the singer for the brand new number. You could already hear the music. Sighing, you focused back on the page and got to work.

“Baby, what are you doing?”

You smiled, the sound Roman’s rich, deep voice made you happy.

Looking around your easel and surprise filled you. Roman, was in a fun and colorful t-shirt and jeans. “Roman?” You raised your eyebrows.

“What?” He gave you an easy going smile. “I want us to go out and have fun. I rarely get away from the club and with you, especially.” He came over to you. “

You nodded. “I know but..” you gestured to his clothes.

He shrugged. “I didn’t always wear suits. I wasn’t wearing a suit when I got those shruken heads.”

You rose an eyebrow.

He nodded. “I had a few adventures, before all of this.” He took the pencil from your hand, and the gently helped you up. “Today, let’s just disappear for the day.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Yes. Now, go get into something cute and I will wait for you by the elevator.”

“Ok, this is great Roman. Where are we going?”

“That new amusement park at the pier, The Booby Trap.”

Excitement prickled you even more! “Oh, Roman this will be so much fun!” You hugged him tightly and pressed a kiss on his cheek before you ran off.

******

Roman cut the engine and turned to you. “Here we are!” A playful smile was splashed across his face.

With your arms looped, the two of you made your way over. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Roman stopped, one way led to the amusement park area with the rides and the incredibly fun food. The other way was the pier that had several statues along the way. Perfect for a romantic stroll.

“Which way should we go first?”

You eyed both. “Let’s go to where the rides are. Maybe later before we head back, we can take a romantic stroll along the pier.”

His eyes, moved up and down you. He smirked. “Y/N, you look really good.“

Roman, had a way that even after being together for just shy of a year, made you still blush hard. “Thank you.”

“This stroll, I suppose, we could do something like that.”

Sometimes, Roman could really surprise you. He was one who liked to stayed close to his club and kept an eye on it. Only time he’d leave is to expand business or go to functions.

“Baby look,” He stopped. “I am not one for cute couply things.”

“Roman, you...”

“Baby,” He said a little firmer, but then his lips curled into a smile, the one he only gave you. “I never cared for anything like this. But you, make me want to do things.”

You smiled. “Oh, Roman I don’t know what to say.”

“You can tell me whether you want fried dough or a blooming onion?”

“Fried dough, please!”

“Great, let’s go!”

You didn’t think he would know about those kind things, but you were not going to mention that. He mostly likely either researched it or asked Victor. Which made you love him even more.

*****

The two of you huddled close to each other as you tore through the landscape on the huge wooden roller coaster, chuckles came from the two of you as drove and then drove into each other in the bumper cars, which took a moment for him to get used to since he always was driven.

In the shadows of the overly cutesy and peppered with hearts, tunnel of love you and Roman shared some sweet hidden kisses. Still giddy from all of them, you held on tightly to Roman’s arm, as the two of ventured into the haunted house. He chuckled a few times when you screamed in fright, but he held you closer.

You noticed, his cool on things were tested when you entered the wax museum. Many of the figures, made him a touch nervous. Especially, when there was one of Batman, cloaked in shadows. However, he was incredibly flattered when he saw there was a figure of him. You could resist teasing him, saying that maybe the figure was more handsome then he was. That was when he pulled you to the nearest shadows, and kissed in such a away that he led you away to the fried dough that left you breathless and your heart racing.

While, you enjoyed the powdery sugared dough, the two of you strolled into the area where he could win you a prize. After spotting a place where you thought they had the best prizes, he went after one for you. He was in his element. He took quite the stance. Every time, he reached the next level, you give him a kiss. They were kisses, sweetened and dusted with the powdered sugar from your treat. With a grand win, he handed you the purple cow your heart had fallen in love with.

With a firm hand, he helped you to climb up onto a lovely white steed with silvery accents. Beside you climbed up onto a black steed with golden accents. Around the two of you went. It was truly a wonderful day.

As the day began to darken and turn into a purple like your cow, then eventually into an inky black, you noticed he brought you to the pier with all the statues.

*****

“Let’s just go right up to the penthouse.” Roman, said once he parked and closed the underground parking area of the building.

“Sounds good to me.”

As Roman, lounged on the sofa you made the two of you a drink to enjoy after all the fun the two of you had. The purple cow now sat on the overstuffed chair near the sofa. She was also now being referred to as Millie.

You came back over with his three olive martini, Roman was giving Millie a very serious look. You handed it to him, and he lifted his arm so you could cuddle close with your amaretto sour.

Not missing the look, you looked at him and Millie and back again. “Roman?” You pulled one of the cherries out and enjoyed it.

He looked over at you, took a sip of his drink. A goofy, silly smile crossed his face. “The more I look at Millie, the more I wish I would have won you a companion for her.”

You smiled at him. “Well, we have until the day after Halloween to go back.”

“Three weeks.” He made a thoughtful sound. “Something, to think about.”

You smiled and cuddled closer.

The elevator, dinged and you annoyed buried your face into his side. You knew it was too much to have an entire evening alone with him.

Victor, seeing how the two of you were on the couch and scratched at the back of his head. He grimaced and his brow wrinkled.

“If you came up and felt it was important to find me, despite me telling you, I wanted one to be away from all of just one night it must be serious. Victor, tell me am I right?”

Victor, continued to look at his shoes and then he finally looked at him and you. “Two-Face is demanding to see you, Joker apparently...” He began when the elevator, ding announcing its arrive chimed through the penthouse.

“Why, are the henchmen...”

You felt as Roman, went rigid. His blue eyes were flames. You had not seen him this angry in quite a long time. You moved to give him some space.

“Sionis, your man here is not listening. Joker and Harley, killed five of my good men out of my men.”

“You have barged into my private quarters for that? What made you think I fucking care?”

The lethal edge Roman’s voice took would have given you a chill, if you weren’t his girl. And the fact that, he had never used that tone with you helped.

Two-face looked the two of you over. “I flipped my coin to try and decide what to do. It keeps on telling me to talk to you.”

“Then you wait fucking downstairs.”

“What if...”

“Go down there now and wait for me or you can fucking leave.” Roman snapped.

“Fine. Fine.” Two Face, held his hands up both sodes lookiny more relaxed at Roman’s words.

Roman, turned to Victor. “Find a way for that to never happen again. Or you will regret it.” He finished the drink. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

He threw the glass. “Fucking fucks!” He raged and threw the glass. Upon shattering, he pushed himself back into the sofa. “A few hours away.” He mumbled.

You moved back over to him, placing q gentle hand on his arm. “Roman?” His arm stiffened but then he relaxed and he gave you a a sidelong glance. He exhaled.

“I swear sometimes, I really could kill Joker and Harley. Why do they have to kill people out of hand?”

You shrugged, but you did know this further made you dislike the two.

He turned to look at you. “I better change and squash this.” He frowned. “They ruined our night.”

You nodded. “Roman” You decided so that no more heads would roll, you would attempt to get him out of the funk, he could be heading toward. “you are the king of Gotham,” you comtinued. “and sometimes, you are called to squash things like this.”

He smirked. “You’re right.” The storm in his blue eyes began to calm.

You smiled sweetly at him. “Would you like me to change into something cute for the club and maybe keep you company?”

He nodded. “I’d like that. Maybe that sexy little dress with the slit up the side.”

“I remember how it got the slit up the side.” You flushed, you always felt particularly naked in the shimmery black dress. “Anything, for you.” He had still liked the dress after slicing at it, so he had sent it to his tailor to fix it. Now, no one except the two of you knew why only the one side had a slit.

“Take your time, I want to watch you walk into my club.”

You smiled. “I’ll freshen up and make my way over to you.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiled, cupped your chin and gave you a kiss before making his way to his closets of suits.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @top-rumbelle-fan @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @rosionis @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @rentskenobi @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @pooshnulooshnu @blondekel77 @corey-clown @drarrylov3r

[nymphl]

Lie to Me - Hux x Reader x Ch. 14: Dirty & Clean

A/N: Hello xD It’s been a while since I last updated my chapters here. I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to update now regularly every Friday, while I write the few remaining chapters. Anyway, this story has 24 chapters already posted on AO3 and I’m posting it now on Wattpad as well, in case you prefer to read it somewhere else. Just a brief warning for this chapter, although I don’t think it’s too much, but there’s a bit of angst and physical violence. Hux is definitely not his best self in this chapter.

Story Summary: Falling for the enemy… That’s probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Letting him live… for he should be dead. And you should’ve been the one to kill him. You had him, right there… and you let it escape through yours fingers. He lived. And now only the time could tell if you made the right decision — more likely wrong — by saving the amnesiac General of the First Order and telling him he was your husband. [Hux x Reader - Hux x You]

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: from enemies to lovers; eventual romance; memory loss; fake marriage; fake marriage becomes real marriage; rebellion; married couple; canon divergence; slow burn romance; politics; rebel alliance; resistance; first order; OOCness; eventual smut; eventual sex; power play; power dynamics; syndicate; lies; you lie; Hux lies; Hux backstory; manipulation; political alliances; political betrayals; secret organizations; tros fix it; anti tros; nobody likes general pryde.

Wordcount: 4330

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

YOU COULD HAVE FAINTED.

Actually, you should have fainted. Nothing could prepare you for what was to come. Nothing could have prepared you for what happened already.  

Part of you wanted to ask him what he meant by I have always known, another was so afraid you could not even open your mouth. You decided to wait for his answer. It would come sooner or later. He knew your unspoken question; he always seemed to know what was going through your mind.

When the General pulled your body against his — your back meeting his nude chest —, you could not help but shiver. He traced your arms slowly, lightly, as if you were about to become dust under his very touch. When he found your left hand and entwined your fingers together, you bit your bottom lip. When he placed a strand of hair behind your ear, you held your breath. When he ran his nose over the sensible skin of your neck and inhaled deeply, you thought you would die.

You would not dare breathing.

You could not.

“You are a terrible liar.”

You refuse to look at me when you’re not telling the truth.

He said it once. In your heart, it felt like a long time ago, but in truth, not even two complete months had gone by.

Your heart clenched — it became really, really small — at the memory. It was a very embarrassing night with all his questions about his sexual prowess and later if you had any children and if he had taken them away from you — in case they belonged to your late husband.

Fear crept through your veins at the possibility of that moment being a lie; a game well played to have your sympathy. Your trust.

It only got worse with his silence — with his fingers running over your nude arms slowly; with his cadenced breathing caressing your neck. It made you wonder which moments were real — if he knew the entire truth all along why would he keep the façade of a dutiful husband? Why didn’t he confront you? He should have done that, right? — and which were just a lie. Was everything just a lie?     

“Was it a-a li-e?” Your voice broke at the end. Your throat felt dry, raspy. Sore. There was this overpowering need to cry, but no tears left. The burning sensation in the back of your eyes remained, though.

You breathed deeply and waited for his answer…   

…which did not come, as usual. In an act that both surprised and angered you — for he was playing with your feelings, with your heart —, he bestowed your temple with a brief, almost reassuring really, kiss.

“Was it all a lie?”

This time his reply was quick, but it only left your even more confused.

“Was it?”

His retort made your heart race. It galloped inside your chest. It beat so loudly, pumping the blood to your ears in such a strident fashion that you could barely hear the water splashing against the riverbank anymore.

“You tell me, (Y/N),” he said, his voice a mere whisper against your neck.

You shivered…

…and tightened your hold around the sheets. They covered most of your body, but they could not — could never — conceal your shame. Or hide your regrets. They were so… kriffing many.

You should never have lied.

You should have told him the truth.

Hopefully, he would not kill you.

Hopefully, he would let you live.

Hopefully, he would stay with you.

Hopefully, you would still… fall for him.

Because you needed him like… You just… You just needed him.

“My feelings for you.” You wetted your lips. The words got stuck in your tongue, “…not a lie.”   

He breathed harshly against your ear. His hand immediately left your arm — in that small, almost a mockery of a comforting caress — and wrapped around your throat. Instead of the light pressure he usually applied, this time he held onto you a bit more forcefully, cutting your breath short. A gasp died even before it could reach your lips.

Part of you wanted to grab his hand; to pry his fingers away from you, however foolish the thought was. You decided to relax in his hold instead. Fighting him would do you no good. That was what he wanted, after all — to show how much powerful he was, how much in control of your very life he was. A God. He decided whether you lived or died.

How ironic.

You started that lie — your first lied to him — because you wanted to live and look at where you were now.

A sob was born in your throat. The tears — refreshing and very much needed — were born in your eyes and found their way to your face, staining your cheeks and gathering at your chin.

When they dropped onto his hand, he loosened his hold slightly. You inhaled deeply and spoke, your voice firmer than before, “I know I love you.”

His grip on you tightened once again, bordering on unbearable this time. There was no need for a mirror to know your face was flushed. And, now, you could not help but claw pathetically at his hand, trying to loosen at least one his fingers.

He did it on his own. He let go of you and walked away. There was no need to look at him to know he had adopted that General instance of his. You took your time to inhale deeply through your nose and to touch your throat. You stopped halfway, though, letting your hand fall to your sides.    

“I still can’t understand your reasoning.”

You swallowed.

You didn’t either.

Was it out of sheer, pure desperation? Or was it because you wanted him to let you live — he would kill you if he knew you were once married to someone who was part of the Resistance, right? Or was it because you wanted to keep him away from the First Order?

How long? you wanted to ask. But you felt weak and you did not want to lose your time with such a stupid question. In fact, you wondered if it really mattered. He said so himself you were a bad liar. If he figured out right away or one of these days, it changed nothing.

“Why didn’t you kill me then?” Your voice was still weak. Still filled with uncertainty. Rough around the edges. The fact you cried did not ease the burning feeling in your throat. On the contrary, it only increased.

Your heart sped at his lack of answer.

You finally got your courage to turn around and face him. He was already buttoning his black shirt and wearing his coat. It made you tighten your grip around the sheet.

“Why did you let me live if you knew all along?”

He ran his fingers through his ginger hair, combing it to near perfection; his impossibly blue eyes focused on you. When he spoke, you forgot how to breathe.

“I told you,” he started, throwing your clothes at you. You got them with one hand, the other held firmly onto the sheet. “I would have you no matter what.”  

The way back in the gondola speeder was as quiet as possible. The General piloted the vehicle with his back turned to you, his shoulders squared; his posture was one of a proud man. In your place, you not only had the stance of a defeated party as you felt that way.

But considering your current situation, he had no other reason to feel any differently — to behave otherwise. He had caught you in your lie, after all. He had removed your mask and stripped you off the false security of your made-up stories.   

You tightened your hold around your coat and let out a sigh. It was difficult to know if it was still dark outside when he was going deeper in the cave. Part of you wanted to ask where he was going, another did not want to even talk to him.

The earlier talk and the revelation — the fact you had been relieved of such heavy burden — should make you feel light… clean. Instead, his last words — his confession — made you feel dirty and insignificant.

I would have you no matter what.

It made you recall the first time he said those same words, in a different context. Both situations had your heart almost leaving you through your mouth.

Back then, I already knew you would be mine.

If at that time you felt slightly nervous and somewhat giddy, now you knew you felt… small, used and worthless. It was as if he wanted to have you just to prove something… to prove he could — and would — have anything he wanted and not because he felt something for you.

You wondered if at some point in your brief relationship he actually cared for you — loved you. Part of you was dying to ask if his words after you returned from Aurra’s bistro — the night he orchestrated to make her believe you were his weakness — were truthful.

She was right about one thing: my feelings for you.

Did he have any weaknesses?

You doubted.

Your hand shot to your face when you felt it slightly wet. You wiped the tears before he could notice — and even though he seemed lost in his own world, you knew he paid attention to everything around him — and straightened your back as he brought the gondola speeder to a stop.

He disembarked and offered his hand. Unable to distinguish pretty much anything in the darkened cave, you accepted his help, placing your fingers over his. It was not lingering, though, for he let go as soon as you firmed your feet on the rocky ground.

Slightly ahead of you, he highlighted the place with a small flashlight, guiding you towards the entrance of the cavern. You were surprised, to say the least, when you noticed the cave lead to the woods close to the Hospital.

You wondered why no one ever invaded the place, but that was a very stupid question. They did — Aurra owned it. The place was hers. And you suspected the General owned it now — through a bargain or otherwise, you did not know, you were not sure you wanted to know.

His alliance with the Syndicate and with the Resistance was still a mystery to you. He said so himself he was loyal only to himself — and to you, and you were dying to know if the last part was the truth or not.

The General lead you through the woods in silence. You walked behind him cautious of where you stepped. If you believed the beginning of your night was funny, now you were not so sure. In fact, you hated it. Right now, all you wanted was some sleep — preferably away from him.

Your hand shot to your throat and you wondered if his grip had left any marks. He caught your action out of the corner of his eyes and he suddenly shifted to face you. Taking two steps away, you let your hand fall to your sides.

He closed the space between you and brushed his fingers against your windpipe, pressing it lightly. They almost wrapped around your throat, but he seemed to think better and let go. His bluish eyes were intense on you.

“You should have shot me,” he whispered, flexing the fingers of his right hand slowly. Pensively. You could have said you were naked and away from the blaster, but you decided to stay silent. He seemed to have notice your reasoning, for he took two steps back and turned on his heels. He took the electronic cigarette from the pocket in his coat and lit it, bringing it to his lips, “Next time someone hurts you, shoot them dead. No pity, no remorse.”

You returned home only two days later.

The thought of seeing his face again — of watching the coldness in his impossibly blue eyes — had butterflies dancing in your stomach. You knew he had been to the Hospital, waiting for you — or watching you, it was difficult to know.

You wondered if it all was not a ruse. If he was not using you to get to the Resistance. It would be much clever than killing you — it is, using you to destroy his enemies. To destroy General Organa.

It had been a few days since you gave information concerning the shipment to arrive in Rioza and so far, you received no word about the success — or utter failure, it was now more than a mere possibility, almost a certainty — of the mission.  

A shiver ran down your spine at the thought.

No.

He would not.

He would never.

Your hand found the small necklace you were using. Was it actually some old footage of Ben Solo or Kylo Ren — you did not know how to call him. Did the General really know him? Your knowledge concerning the First Order was ridiculous. Perhaps they have never interacted, and you fell for his lies like a fool.

Like you expected him to fall for yours.

You felt bad for judging him so harshly — it was bordering on paranoia, really —, but you could not help it. You pondered if he felt the same way when he realized you were lying about your relationship.

It is… if he was not playing you all along.

Would you ever know?

Would he ever let you know?

Would it make any difference?

With a tired sigh, you opened the front door and stepped into the kitchen. Unlike expected, D-Five did not greet you in his cheerful, dutiful voice. He was nowhere to be seen.

You removed your bag and walked towards your bedroom. The house was silent, which meant neither of them were in the surroundings. You shook your head, feeling utterly relieved and got rid of your clothes.

All you needed right now was a relaxing bath. You had barely slept in the last two days, you took a meaningless nap at the Hospital, but it was all so hectic with the new cases of that mysterious alien illness that you considered yourself lucky for even napping. Now, some children had been diagnosed as well and one died in your care.

Death was always something traumatic to you.

It did not matter it was expected.

It did not matter it was for the best.

You should have killed the General.

General Organa should have contacted you already.

You were unable to be impassible facing the loss of a life.

You should have shot me.

As if!

After you prepared the hot water, you immediately climbed in, not caring for the temperature — it was slightly hotter than what you were used to — and leaned your head against the border.

It took less than a few minutes for you to fall into an uneventful slumber. Even if you had taken a few minutes of rest in the Hospital, it was not enough to restore your energies. It did not help that the days were so hectic — that your superior continued to hide important information from her staff.

Between your personal problems and the professional ones, whenever you closed your eyes you would either see the General or a dying alien child.

A sigh left you as your eyes snapped open out of their own accord. You immersed in the already chilling water for a few seconds and then came back; your hair completely wet. All you needed right now was some vincha tea to relax your sore muscles and some sleep. The fact that your… — you did not know what to call him; surely, you should not call him husband — well, Armitage Hux was not home was a blessing of some sorts. You knew you were not ready to confront him.

You decided to go to bed without your tea — you were too tired to even think about boiling water and preparing the herbs —, but as soon as you left the refresher, you spotted him sitting at the armchair, an electronic cigarette resting between his lips.  

You shuddered…

…and bit your bottom lip.

Not sure of what to say — how to start a conversation and should it really be you the one to say something? —, you stood quietly in the middle of the room, feeling worse than a bantha in a confined space.

It was suddenly difficult to breathe.

You shivered again, this time out of cold. Nights in Dantooine were usually chilly and the fact you stayed in the water until it cooled off did not help the tiniest bit. Shaking your head, you let the towel fall to your feet — even if you felt slightly nervous about being around him, there was nothing about you that he had not seen or touched.

Biting your bottom lip, you cast a glance at him over your shoulder. Relief flooded you as you found him concentrated on his datapad and his cigarette. Placed over the table near the armchair there was also a glass with a golden-brown liquid you quickly recognized as Corellian brandy.

You took the opportunity to open your wardrobe, only to find it empty. There was no sign of your clothes — of his clothes. You furrowed your brows. Your body went rigid when you looked at him and saw him approaching you, a dress and underwear in hand.

There was no time for you to open your mouth and ask what was the meaning of that, for he spoke for you, “We are moving out.”

Unable to process the meaning of his words — moving out? You lived there for what? Four years now? Five? Close to that, surely —, you merely snatched the dress from his hand and pulled it through your head; next you took your underwear from him. Your hair was so soaked, your clothes were quickly drenched in it.

“Where?”

You bit the inside of your cheeks. What you wanted to say was that you were headed nowhere. With him or even alone. That was your home and you were not leaving it.

“Crystal Cave.”

“That is no place to live.”

He arched one brow, looking around. You bit your bottom lip, embarrassed. There was no need to hear his words out loud. His face conveyed such meaning astoundingly well.

You shook your head, discussing your living arrangements would get you nowhere.  

“Where is D-Five?”

Instead of a quick answer, he brought the Corellian brandy to his lips. You felt your mouth dry, but you did not dare getting closer. Part of you even wanted to try that cigarette of his — you always heard it was relaxing and it was all you needed right now.

All traces of sleep had left you — even if your body was beyond wasted —; you were very much awake.

“He’s already in the Cave.”

The fact he had called the protocol droid he almost slipped you. Almost. You bit your bottom lip; you were dying to know if he said he because at some point he started seeing the droid as more than a secondary being or because he did not want to fight over semantics. Probably the second.

He finished the Corellian brandy and placed the glass over the table, the electronic cigarette already back to his lips. As he walked to the kitchen, the trail of smoke behind him made you stay a few steps behind.

“Why are we moving?”

He was not looking at you when he replied — which in itself surprised you, for you were not expecting a quick answer, or any answer at all, “The Cave has technological and training facilities that are… adequate at best.”

You furrowed your brows.

As a General of the First Order, he probably lived with the best the technology had to offer. Dantooine was just an old and scarred planet. And even when it was under the control of both the Rebel Alliance or the Empire, it never received the best devices. All it had were some second-hand apparatus that could never compare to those used in Coruscant, both in the Republic and Empire Era, or the Hosnian Prime, in the New Republic.

“You will have your own bedroom.”

You bit your bottom lip at his words.

Even if you were hurt and wanted to stay away from him — you were so confused you did not know what you wanted anymore —, the fact that he did not want to be near you was… confusing?

No.

It hurt you.

It shattered… the dream?

Was it a dream? Or a lie?

The made-up story you have woven in your head, for the both of you. Married. For three years and half. With growing feelings for each other.

And now… Nothing.

“Why didn’t you leave for good?”

He cast a glance at you over his shoulder. He exhaled the smoke, making you scrunch your nose. His eyes were intensely focused on you. In the bright light of the kitchen — so very different from the Cave — you could see how much darkened his irises were right now.

“You know the answer.”

His tone — whispered voice, so detached and cold — had you shivering.

You looked at the floor, focused for a moment in the indentation you found there. The house was decrepit. It looked as if it was taken from some horror holofilm, really. You wondered if that was what denounced you — there was no way a couple would live in a place like that for three years and half. The Cave seemed like a mansion now.

Shaking your head — you had no time to think about where your lies had gone to waste, they were never that good to begin with —, you cast a glance at him. He had shifted and was now facing you. He removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled the smoke once again.

His words — coupled with his penetrating stare — from earlier returned to you.

I would have you no matter what.

They made your heart race. At the same time, it felt small. The thought of being only a possession — and not someone he cared about, he loved — made you gasp with pain. You grasped your dress, right over your beating heart and looked at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

You needed to know.

“Do you hate me?”

There was no answer from his part. Not immediate at least. And how you wanted it to be so this time. For better or for worse. You just… needed to know. Instead, there was only silence. Sepulchral. Melancholic. Somber silence.

His movements — the movement of his arm as he brought the cigarette back to his lips —, were almost too slow. As if he was a bit lethargic. His unreadable eyes, however, removed such assumption from your head.

He was his own master as always.

You were the one affected by that conversation.

Or lack thereof.

“I tried.”

His belated answer made you let out a deep breath. Your shoulders relaxed visibly. You let go of your dress and readied yourself for the next question.

“Do you…” You bit your bottom lip. The fact that he did not hate you did not mean much, right? It should not. Yet, you were a giddy fool right now. His answer to your next question would have the power to either crush your heart forever or cherish it for ages to come.

Do you love me?

You wanted to ask.

You wanted so badly to ask.

But you were afraid to know the answer.

I know I love you.

You said once — twice — and all he did whenever you told you had feelings for him was to back off. He never seemed to take very well to your love confessions. It was as if he was…

Afraid of your feelings?

Disgusted at them?

Probably the second option.  

“Will you kill me?” you asked instead.

He shut off the cigarette and turned on his heels, heading towards the exit.

“No.”

He opened the door and held it open for you. You crossed the threshold, but instead of going towards the hover sled, you looked at him. The two of you were close now — more than you have been in days. You bit your bottom lip and raised your hand to touch his face. Your fingers skimmed his jaw lightly — as if afraid he would jerk away from you —; the facial hair gracing his features made you remember your conversation before everything went downhill. A sad smile tilted the corner of your lips.

The General froze under your touch. He barely dared to breath. He did not do anything to move you away, however.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head against his chest. You felt so tired, drained even. All you wanted right now was for him to hold you close and say he forgave you for lying — that he had feelings for you.

He knew your unspoken question. It would be heaven if he could answer it right now. Answer it positively.

Instead, he ran his fingers through your hair in a soothing caress. You grabbed his shirt and pressed your face against his chest. The first tears stained both the black fabric and your face.

“Are you using me to destroy the Resistance?”

He went rigid under your touch. His answer, however, came quicker than you expected — for you were expecting no answer at all, “No.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.”

You swallowed.

The General removed your face from his chest and tilted it slightly backwards. You expected him to wrap his hand around your throat, but he merely brushed your tears away. His bluish eyes conveyed nothing of his feelings — did he have any?

When he spoke, your heart almost stopped for a moment, before it went back to that galloping pace.  

“You will have to follow your instincts.”

 A/N - And that’s all for today. I promise this time I’ll adhere to schedule and update every chapter here on Fridays. On Wattpad, chapters will be posted every Wednesday. See you! xD And hopefully, by the end of next week, I’ll also post chapter 25 - Lost & Found on AO3. 

Ah, you will also see that I decided I no longer will mark as italic the words related to the SW universe. It’s very inconvenient to keep revising and marking here every word and comparing them with my ms office because tumblr doesn’t keep the rich text. 

[peachesandlesbians]

I’m Here (For You)

FANDOM: The Arcana

PAIRING: Nadia Satrinava x Reader

GENRES/WARNING: A bit of angst, nightmares, comfort, fluffy ending, and Nadia being cared about like she deserves to be. 

WORD COUNT: Almost 800 words. 

TYPE: Imagine.

SUMMARY: Nadia has a nightmare, but you’re there for her (you always will be).

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Some of Magic Shop’s lyrics by BTS seemed fitting and I like the overall vibe. (Video not mine.)

“I want to take away your sadness, your pain”

“Days when you hate that you’re you / Days when you wanna disappear / Let’s make a door inside your heart”

“I won’t say cliché things like ‘have strength’ / I’ll just listen, listen”

“You’ll be alright / This is a Magic Shop”

A high-pitched scream broke the silence and you out of your slumber. You jerked upright, heart pounding at the sound of terror and pain. Was it . . . ?

At the thought of the cry belonging to Nadia, you flew out the door, toward her chamber, discarding your slippers. You willed yourself faster, panting as you ran faster than ever before. The image of her getting abducted or hurt drove you into a frenzy, hands clenched, stance poised for a fight.

Finally—one, five, ten minutes?—you found yourself at Nadia’s chambers. You paused for a moment before tossing the door open with a loud bang. 

Screw decency if it meant helping Nadia.

You expected a chilling scene: broken furniture, blood, and a missing countess. In reality, everything was like usual, the room pristine, a countess still there, though not at her usual place. 

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Nadia was at her vanity, her voice tired. Almost like she was giving up. 

“Milady—Nadia,” you corrected. “I heard a scream.”

“Ah.” She stared at her reflection in the mirror, the dark circles under her eyes grasping her attention. “Yes . . .”

You took tentative steps forward before halting. There was a wall around Nadia, a wall up to everyone, no matter who they were. One misstep and you would be sent flying backward. “May I approach?”

She looked over her shoulder, a smile quirking the corners of her mouth. “So polite. Please do.”

With given permission, you approach, hesitating only for a moment before placing your hands on her shoulders. 

You made sure to keep your voice soft as you asked, “Nadia? Was it you?”

A huff escaped Nadia as she leaned into your touch, you offering as much comfort as you could. “It was a moment of weakness. One that I regret—”

“There’s no need to hide around me.” You started massaging her neck and shoulders, and your efforts were rewarded with a sharp inhale, then a sigh. Her walls were falling. All it took was care and patience. 

“My sweet magician.” Nadia’s hand went up to meet yours. “I adore you with all my heart.”

“And I, you.” Your response was a whisper. “If you don’t mind me asking, what cause your yell?” 

She stiffened again, but you grasped her with a firmer hand until she melted into your touch. “It’s alright, my love.” Both your faces heated up by your slip of tongue but you pressed on. “You don’t need to tell me, but I wish to help you.” You bent down, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and looking her in the eye. “And it’s only me here.”

A gasp. Then a stifled sob, so low you had to strain to hear it. 

“Oh, no, no.” In one smooth motion, you lifted Nadia and sat down, letting her rest on your lap. Her hands automatically went around your neck, as she burrowed into your shoulder. “My love, my darling, it’s alright. I’m here.” You rubbed her back, letting her tears drip into your shirt. “It’s okay. You won’t get hurt anymore. Not when I’m here.”

Nadia sniffled. “I’m-I’m so sorry. This is completely undignified of me but it’s been so long—” Her voice cracked as fresh sobs started anew.

“I know, darling. But you won’t ever be alone again. Because you’ll have me.” Your words were a promise, a truth, that one would become two. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You held her, wiping away her tears.

“I was asleep. Normally, this would be a blessing but I couldn’t wake up. You were there, every single day, and the fear on your face was heartbreaking. But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t—”

“Nadia, that won’t happen. I promise you.”

“You can’t.” Nadia looked up at you. “You can’t promise the unknown.”

“I can’t promise the unknown, but I can promise I’ll do whatever I can to prevent it. We don’t know how you went into your stupor, but you were alone then. You’re not, now. I’ll help you, even if you slept for years again. I won’t give up.” Your words were a fierce promise, igniting the both of you with hope. 

“Dear heart, I love you so much that words cannot express how my heart beats for you, and only for you.”

You laughed, kissing Nadia’s forehead. “I’m sure you just did. Now, to bed?”

“Please.” You hefted Nadia up, laying her on the bed before rising to excuse yourself.

“Wait.” Her slender fingers gripped your wrist with surprising strength. “Stay with me?”

You turned, startled, but answered with a smile on your face. “I would love nothing more.” 

[citrusratz]

We Can Make It

A Wreck It Ralph Fanfiction from five years ago

Chapter Nine

Apologies, curses, and incoherent noises poured from her mouth like the sickeningly hot tears on her cheeks. She could barely hear herself pleading against Turbo’s red collar. The fans were shaking the whole console with their screams and the engines of the rival racers were drawing closer and closer to the finish line. What she could hear was Turbo. He stumbled awkwardly with the weight of her embrace, his arms twitching and flinching beside her.  

“Mavis, I’m not dead. I’m completely fine. How would you be nearly pushing me over if I were dead?” He stumbled backwards and bumped against his car. “Hello? Mavis? Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”  

His hands pushed against her shoulders gently at first, growing firmer with each nudge. “Breathe, kid. C’mon, let me get a look at you for a sec. Let go.” The approaching engines grew louder. “You really should be letting go now. Mavis. Mavis!”

She was wrenched off almost painfully, the little red racer holding her wrists at her sides. Her eyes were glued to the track. There was no way she could look him in the eye after that.  

“I’m sorry,” she choked, her lungs convulsing and trying to silence her. “God, I’m so sorry. I killed you. This is—” she squeaked, “—the worst – ” she hiccupped, “—thing I’ve ever done.”

“Mavis,” Turbo tugged at her arms, “this is ridiculous.”

“I know,” she shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “I know. I know!”

“Sshh, kid, c’mon! Take a deep breath, I don’t know, just, God, stop crying.”

All the eyes in the console, even the featureless faces of the screeching fans, bore down on her and crushed her into a horrible, compressed ball of awareness. She was making a complete idiot out of herself and she was not even having fun doing it. This kind of attention, this spotlight, being put on a pedestal in her moment of weakness, it all made her feel worse than vulnerable. At any second, she swore she could have cracked, fallen against the pavement, and died herself.  

She was shaken by the hands on hers. “Make-It, c’mon, snap out of it!” His hands flew up to her cheeks, patting them briskly. He took hold of her face and forced her to look at him, to see the frantic confusion and desperation in his glowing eyes. “I’ve had worse than that! I get worse than that every single day! Hell, that was fun! I’ve never flipped like that before!”

Her mouth hung agape for a second, a strangled squeak in her throat. “How could you possibly think that was fun?”

“Toots, that whole race was the most fun I’ve had since I was plugged in!” He shook her face slightly.  

Every rational part of her mind was agreeing with Turbo, trying to calm her down, to remind her that losing a life was hardly anything to him. It was not the dreadful, torturous glitch that it was to her. But her panic was still so fresh, so alive, and so very vicious. Any steady thought in her head was knocked into oblivion by the raging, blazing, painful shock rampaging through her whole body.

“I can’t do this again,” she spluttered, “I can’t kill you again. I KILLED you, cuss it all!”

“You’re not thinking straight, you’re in shock, okay? I’ve been there, believe me, I know!” His thumbs pressed into her cheeks, his voice falling into a hoarse whisper. “Just, please, stop crying!”

She held her breath, her chest twitching, staring at him for as long as her mind could manage. He stared right back, pressing his lips together, and what looked like a prolonged wince painted over his features. Her voice was hiding, but she mouthed, “I’m so sorry.”

Their exchange was cut short when Make-It’s heart jumped at the sound of screeching tires. Reflexively, before she knew she moved, she grabbed Turbo around the waist and rocketed into the air, barely avoiding getting mowed down by an enemy racer. Turbo cursed and clung to her shamelessly tightly. His last experience in the air, she recalled, was not entirely pleasant.  

When her adrenaline wore off, she dropped back down to the track, weak and shaken. One by one, the NPCs zoomed past, their cars squealing and stopping. Each of them leaped out at the first chance, advancing on the two, their eyes fixed hungrily on Make-It.

“I’ll kill her,” one of them breathed, “Good God, I’ll kill that little flying bitch.” The others seethed, hissing their malicious, barbaric intentions, fists clenching at their sides.

Her insides flickered with an angry, defensive spark. She squeezed the handle of her brush, her knuckles cracking with the strain. Before she could snarl a hostile retort, Turbo stomped in front of her, his stance tall and wide, and his head lowered in a warning glare. The blue racers slowed to a stop, and the bleachers fell silent in anticipation.

Turbo’s slow, purposeful, menacing words shattered the silence. “Unless you want to become upholstery, I suggest you back off.”

Make-It’s stomach twisted when she remembered that she was not in her game. All seven of the rivals wanted her dead, and though she was not afraid, she knew that she should have been. The air was thick and nearly painful to breathe for as long as the racers stared each other down, but the offenders steadily slid back, turning to slither to their respective cars. The matter was not settled, and everyone in the console knew it. The acid in their eyes was unmistakable; they would see her dead.

Her skin rippled as the crowds burst back into their unintelligible shouts again, and her heart smoldered with the underlying anger still present from when they cheered on as Turbo burned to death. She twitched, her muscles clenching, until she could not hold back any longer.

“SHUT THE EVER-LOVING CUSS UP!!” She bellowed, lightning cracking from the end of her brush as she swiped it through the air in rage. To her pleasant surprise, the deafening noise ended. She could feel each of them staring at her, completely still.

She nearly spat, scraping her feet and holding her brush firmly at her side. “DAMN. STRAIGHT.” Turning back to the others, she was nearly knocked over by the sight of every racer with the exact same perplexed expression.  

“Uh,” Turbo grunted, “okay, never mind,” he took her by the wrist and jumped into his car, tugging her in to sit oddly in his lap. “One thing at a time. And firstly, you’ve got to go home. The arcade’s starting way too soon.”  

Riding was a lot more comfortable when she was more properly seated, and she probably would have really enjoyed it if she were not still in a painful state of shock. As they sped towards the subway station, she slowly painted herself back to her default colors. Turbo was silent, having some difficulty reaching around her to drive normally.

“Sorry,” he grunted as he accidentally elbowed her in the cheek. “This isn’t exactly a two-person vehicle.”

“Mm,” she stared at her lap, rocking with the momentum as the car drifted to a stop.  

The two climbed out, and Make-It produced herself a new hat, pulling it gently over the back of her head. Turbo glanced around, licking his lips, scuffing the ground, staring at nothing, before stepping up to nudge her with his shoulder.

“Listen,” he began with a sigh, “I don’t know why you insist on blaming yourself for everything, but that really, really wasn’t your fault. Okay?”

“It was my idea, wasn’t it?” She wiped the dried tears off her cheeks, wincing at the sharp salt.  

“Well, yeah, but—”

“You didn’t want to at first.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“And I made that last maze way too difficult, didn’t I?”

“It wasn’t too difficult!” He protested indignantly, and then flinched at himself. “Uh. No, it literally wasn’t too hard.”

She turned to look at him disbelievingly. “You died.”

He stared at her, a begrudging scowl slowly deepening over his face. “I know. That was…” he sighed again, growling and grumbling.

She did not bother asking him to clarify. She was done. She just wanted to hide in her basement and not face emotions for the rest of the day. Or the week. Or the rest of her gameplay career, ideally. For a horrible, stinging moment, she found herself regretting ever leaving her console. Swallowing against the pain, she began to step into the subway car.

Turbo seized her arm and pulled her back. “That was me, okay? I crashed. I messed up.”

“Because it was too DIFFICULT,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Yes, yes it was. And that’s wonderful!”

One of her eyes cracked open the slightest bit to peer over at him. He looked emotionally and mentally exhausted, yet an encouraging grin twitched at the corner of his mouth.  

“Hardly anything is ever difficult for me! It was too difficult because… Because, yes, I do need some practice. But if it was easy, well… There would be no point, would there? Just a whole lot of fun that adds up to nothing. It was… It was great practice.”

She stared at him wordlessly.

“I know, I know…” he closed his eyes, sighing gruffly. “I know I’m a perfect racer and I couldn’t possibly have anything more to learn. And God damn it, does it piss me off that I’m even telling you this…”

A snicker bubbled in her throat. After that horrible breakdown, just the tiniest laugh felt like Heaven.

He continued, “But I need you to at least try to understand that a flawless, valiant winner like me is not brought down by a couple of lost lives. What happened was not your fault, but even if it was, I’d still want you to come back and do that again, because holy cuss, was that worth it. It’s exactly what I need, okay? And I just know that you’re thinking about never coming back and doing it again. Maybe not even coming back at all, Hell, I don’t know…” He tried to scratch the back of his head, but his nails only squeaked against his helmet, so he quickly shoved his hand in his pocket.  

She took in a long, slow breath and sighed. “I don’t know, Turbo… These past couple of days have just been… augh. I’m so upset with myself on so many levels and I’m not sure where to begin trying to fix it. The thing is, I don’t fix. I just make. I make more things to clean up after.” She flicked her brush and turned one of the train cars green.  

“I… don’t think that’s what ‘Make-It’ means, toots. I don’t really know what it does, but… Well, you definitely are a walking heap of trouble, but, c’mon, let’s face it, trouble is fun.”

Her brows knit together for a moment. “That depends on what kind of trouble, honestly.”

“Wait, wait, I phrased that wrong, uh,” he clenched his knuckles, his eyes seemingly searching for the words in the air around him. “Look, I don’t know, toots. Just… I want to do that again.”

She smiled ruefully at him. “I’ll be back. I don’t know when, but I will. I just need some time to think. And… I need to straighten things out with Ralph and Felix.”

“Mmm. Good luck with that. Really.”

“Yeah, God knows I’ll need it,” she tried getting into the subway car again, but was once again yanked back. “Woah, okay, Turbo, did you or did you not say that the arcade was about to open?”

He seemed to mentally stutter as he licked his lips, staring at her contemplatively. “You… are coming back. Right?”

“Yes,” she tilted her head. “Of course. My favors aren’t over.”

He breathed out a bit of an incredulous laugh. “Favors… You’re still going on about that?”

“And I will be for a while,” she grinned, feeling her heart lift significantly as she reached up to tug at his cheek. He winced and swatted her away, and she said happily, “Don’t worry.”

He huffed. “I’m not… worried. I just, well, I’d need to know if this were the last time I’d see you.”

Her heart perked up in a horribly irritating way, but she turned her gaze back to the subway car. There was entirely too much emotion somewhere in the farthest stretch of his words and she was not feeling quite ready to face it, not even from that distance. It made her feel incredibly strange, kind of lost, and a little bit exposed.  

“…Right,” she swallowed. “It’s not. Not the last time. Nope.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod briefly. “Okay,” he let go of her arm. “Go on home, then. I, uh, I’ll see you… whenever.”

“Whenever sounds perfect,” she finally managed to climb in and sit down, and the ride activated, slowly accelerating and tugging itself along the tracks. As she approached the tunnel, Turbo’s voice called after her.

“Thanks, by the way.”

She blinked and glanced back at him standing at the station. “For what?”

“Uh,” his mouth searched for the right word, starting many, but ending them before a syllable could form. “Anything,” finally slipped out as he shrugged dramatically.

She snorted. “Any time, sourheart.” She waved, and as he disappeared when she entered the tunnel, she caught a glimpse of his hand twitching in a half-wave. Scooting along the tracks, she could have sworn she heard him curse a few times.

The walk back to her game felt like a death march, and she tried to waste as much time as she could. She painted the garbage cans with plaid polka-dots, began writing on the floor before a particularly righteous-looking baseball player picked her up and lectured her about defacing of property, balanced on the backs of the benches, weaved between passersby and avoided speaking to them in over-the-top maneuvers, and created herself a pair of sticky-soled shoes to hang from the ceiling with. Ralph could not reach her up here, she told herself, folding her arms firmly.  

Once a booming voice echoed through the whole station announcing that the arcade was opening in ten minutes, however, she shivered and pried herself out of the shoes to tumble down and land on her bare feet. Ten minutes, she reminded herself. That would be five minutes for each of them if she wanted to talk with both Felix and Ralph before the day started.

Taking a deep, steadying, yet slightly terrified breath, she finally found her way back to her game.

She hopped cautiously out of the train car when it arrived. The console was eerily quiet. Or, it might have always been this quiet, she mused to herself, and only eerie due to how her knees quaked slightly under her. She took another deep breath, trying to decide which one would be scarier to talk to.  

Finally deciding that Ralph was the easier option, she leaped along, clearing the little bridge in barely a skip, and found herself at the bottom of the dump in a few bounds. Jumping up the side of a mountain of bricks in her bare feet was not something she found particularly fun, nor did the clanking and tapping with each unsettled brick help calm her nerves.  

Her mouth dry, she called out, “Ralph?”

After there was no answer, she gulped and called out again, “Ham-hands?” She flinched. That would definitely earn her another punch, but if she were honest with herself, she kind of wanted to see herself brought to justice by hulking fists.

She was almost at the top when she heard a great shifting at the peak. A few stomps later, he was towering over the curve of the hill, thinly-veiled rage sitting behind his expression.

She waved.

“YOU DIRTY LITTLE GREMLIN!” He barrelled towards her, bricks flying out with each step, a few scuffing her cheeks and shoulders. She held her ground, bracing herself, and squeezing her eyes shut. Death was coming, but she deserved it and needed to get used to it.  

She felt his final stomp fall just before her face, and she squeaked in anticipation of his fists raining down on her, but nothing came. He must have been really winding up. God, this one was really going to hurt. Nearly a minute later, there were still no huge hands pummeling her into the brick.

One of her eyes dared to open, seeing a foot that was probably half as big as she was. Ever so cautiously, she let her gaze rise to his face. He still looked completely enraged, but he was also frozen in confusion, his fists raised over his head.

“Why aren’t you running?” He asked suspiciously, eyeing her as if she were rigged with dynamite.

She frowned. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you wanna crack my skull?”

“Well…” he clenched his fists tighter. “Not gonna lie, yeah, I kind of want to toss you across the arcade right now.”

“Do so, then,” she nodded. “I’m sorry for messing things up yesterday in my little hissy fit. So, as a favor to you, I’m gonna let you beat the crap out of me.”

His hands fell to his sides. “That’s sick, kid. I’m not gonna do that.” He turned and climbed back to the top angrily.

“What? No, it’s not.” She hopped after him.  

“I’m not gonna kill you just because you’re a twisted little brat who wants me to. That IS sick.”

She sighed. “Yeah, okay, it kind of is. Kind of really is. But uh… I just thought it would help you feel better, maybe.”

“What makes you think you know anything about making me feel better?”

“…That is a valid point…” she frowned, suddenly feeling terrible for making no attempts to get to know Ralph better. “But, well, I also feel like I deserve it for messing up so badly… Just kind of, uh, trying to take… responsibility, I suppose?”

He snorted, stretching his arms out in front of him. “Since when does Make-It Mavis, Cuss of the Century, care about responsibility?”

“I don’t,” she sighed. “But I should. Maybe a punch to the face will help me feel more responsible.”

“It won’t, kid.”

She pressed her lips together. “…Okay.”

Ralph let out a long breath through his nose. “Assuming you meant your weird little apology, though, that was pretty decent of you.”

Her spirits stirred and lifted slightly. “Was it?”

“Yeah. For you, anyway. Can’t recall ever hearing you apologize for playing pranks.”

“I don’t apologize for pranks, no, and I won’t,” she smiled impishly for a second, but it faded as she continued, “but yesterday wasn’t a prank. It was a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

“Good for you. Don’t do anything like that again or I might actually step on you.”

“I’m uncomfortable making very many promises,” she put her hands behind her head slowly, “but I will try. I’ll try to try.”

“Wow, that’s… Yeah, okay. I’m gonna… Whatever, kid, just get to your spot before the arcade opens.”

“I’m actually going to go talk to my cousin… How has he been?”

Ralph’s bushy eyebrows raised. “Well, he hasn’t been exactly happy. More like worried sick.”

She sighed deeply. “Great. I… I am not looking forward to this,” she turned to face Niceland, gazing up to Felix’s room. His window was wide open, a warm yellow light glowing from within. A completely horrible idea surfaced in her mind and her grin steadily reappeared. “Say, Ham-Hands…”

He grunted.

Peering at him sidelong, she continued, “How good is your aim?”

“Why?”

“What are the chances that you could toss me through that window up there?”

His brow furrowed and he glanced up at the building. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Dead being the operative term, here,” he growled. “If I miss, it’s not gonna tickle.”

“I believe you could do it. Who’s got a better throwing arm than you?”

“Power isn’t the same as precision, y’little dweeb.”  

“Look,” she rolled her eyes, “all you need to do is throw me and I’ll stop bugging you.”

“For how long?”

“’Till I can walk again, assuming your aim is as bad as you claim.”

He heaved a heavy, gruff sigh. “Fine.”

Grinning, she curled herself up as tightly as she could manage, and Ralph picked her up like a tennis ball, taking a moment to judge the distance. Make-It shook with giddy, unsteady anxiety in his palm. This idea was so wonderfully terrible. If she splatted into the wall, maybe she would be out of commission long enough to justify not going to face Felix.

She thought to herself how remarkable it was, the lengths that she would go just to avoid an uncomfortable conversation.  

Swirling his wrist around, winding up, Ralph threw her so hard, she felt as if she had fully-powered rocket shoes on. And hardly a second after she left his hand, she slammed with a horrible crash into the wall, back first, upside-down, completely spread-eagled. Ralph was right; it was the farthest thing from a tickle, and she felt the fibers of her code fire up and die down. By the time she had regenerated, flashing numbly, she was still stuck in the brick.  

“I told you!” Ralph called up to her.

She returned to tangibility and felt the vicious lightning zip through her code. Clenching her teeth against the searing pain, her eyes watering, she had to admit that being broken was a lot less painful than burning to death.  

Returning to normal, her pain fading and being replaced with a beautifully relieving unfeeling state, she sighed shakily and called back to him, “I’m okay.”  

She let her legs fall down and caught on with her fingers in the Make-It shaped indent in the brick. Her head spun slightly, and she was just shaken enough to justify not coming to see Felix. With an unsteady sigh of relief, she began to plan her route down, but nearly dropped when she heard her cousin’s voice.  

“Ralph?! What was that?” He leaned out of the open window, prompting Make-It to flatten herself slowly against the brick. “The arcade isn’t open yet!”

“I know,” he huge man called back, folding his arms. “Look to your right, Felix.”

She swore under her breath.

Felix gasped with every bit of his being. “Mavy!! Are you alright?!”

“Sour candy,” she muttered.  

“…What?”

“Fine,” she grinned sheepishly.  

“Did Ralph throw you up here?!”

“Yeah, but, uh, it’s fine. Don’t get mad at him for it, please.”

Felix looked horribly conflicted, stomping his feet slightly and huffing. “Well, alright, but c’mere!” He reached out to grab her hand, helping her in through the window. She stood guiltily, rubbing her back as he leaned out to fix the broken bricks left behind. When he turned around, her joints cracked with the force of his hug.

“Oh my land, Mavy, I’ve been so worried about you! I’m sorry about how things went yesterday, I really am. I’m sorry about everything I said. I didn’t mean it that way, but that doesn’t make it any better. I’m so sorry, and oh dear Mavy, I’m just so glad you’re home.”

Make-It bit her lip. “Yeah—”

“Was everything okay last night? I know you stayed with Turbo; I came looking for you, and I wanted to talk to you, but he wouldn’t let me come in… I’m sorry, Mavy, I should have tried harder…”

“I was fine, cuz,” she grunted under the pressure of his arms. “I just needed the night to myself.”

“With Turbo?”

“…Yes.”

He pushed her out to arm’s length, all-too-genuine concern flooding from his features. “So, did you two make-up? How did that go?”

“Had a couple drinks,” she shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “All is… uh, well, if not forgiven, then… Uh, he’s not pissed at me, I think..?”

“But…” he held onto her shoulders tighter, “why wasn’t he letting you leave?”

Her heart ignited in a spark of indignant anger. “He wasn’t keeping me prisoner, cuz. I could have left if I wanted to.”

“But… Forgive me, Mavy, but why would you want to stay with… Well, Turbo? When you could be here?”

She grew increasingly uncomfortable. “I don’t know, it’s just, well, it’s nice to have a friend, I guess. You know, one that’s not…” she winced against herself, hoping desperately that she would not hurt his feelings somehow, “not related to me, you know?”

“Oh,” he nodded briefly, “no, I understand, Mavy. I’m glad you’re making friends, I really am.” He grinned, and, somehow, she felt a little insulted. “It’s just that, well, I almost never see Turbo being chummy with anybody… Other than his fans, but I’m not sure if that counts, considering they’re… well…”

“Brainless. I know.”

“How did you manage to make friends with such a bristly fellow?”

She licked her lips, contemplating, not entirely sure what the answer was to that question. “Alcohol.”

Felix blinked. “Alcohol?”

“…Yeah, I got him drunk and when he woke up, we were friends.”

“…Is that really what happened?”

“More or less, actually,” she shrugged. Intimate details were not something she wanted to share with her cousin.

He shook his head incredulously. “So… everything was okay last night, spending the night with him?”

“Yes,” she almost snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. Felix flinched a bit, and she felt like she had been punched in the gut.  

“Alright,” he raised his hands slightly, trying to calm her down. “I just had to make sure. Otherwise, I’d, well, I’d have to go give him a good talkin’ to.” He nodded firmly, and she supressed a snort.  

He carried on, “But… Mavy, about yesterday, in the basement…” he put his hands together, his gaze lowered humbly. “I am really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

She stared at the sickeningly clean yellow wall. “Yeah. I’m sorry for overreacting.”

“No,” he shook his head, “I think you reacted just the right amount, considering what I said… And, well, I want to talk with you about it—” Make-It shuddered, “—and help you feel better about yourself. Because, Mavy, you don’t deserve to feel like a pest. You’re a really uppity gal with a completely unique sense of humor, not a burden.”

His words clawed at her heart painfully, and she felt her teeth bearing down on her bottom lip. She felt like she was being peeled, and the outside air was so very, very cold.  

“Mavy… do you want to tell me about how you’ve been feeling?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound surfaced. She simply fought back her tears, because if there was anybody she did not want to cry in front of, it was her cousin. Shaking her head slightly, she crossed the room to sit gently on the couch. He followed her and settled in beside her, carefully resting his arm around her shoulders.  

She jumped at the sound of her own voice. “I don’t know who or what I am,” she confessed slowly and quietly. “I never know what I’m supposed to do or feel. God, I literally feel like a baby. Just… augh. I don’t know how to handle anything.”

“Well, sure you do, Mavy,” he squeezed her softly. “You’re not a baby, you’re just about as old as I am! You’ve got years of wisdom and intelligence behind you.”

“No,” she hissed at herself, still at war with her tears, “No, I don’t. All I have to go on is barely a week’s worth of sitting around in my basement making things.”

“What do you mean..?”

He could not be serious. There was no way he could not know. “Don’t you understand why we’re here? We’re characters in a video game. We are not actual people with real lives that start and end like they’re supposed to.”

“Oh, I know that. I knew that the second we were plugged in. That was actually my very first thought.”

“…It was?”

He nodded briefly. “The first thing I remember thinking was, ‘I am a good guy, and this is my game.’ After that, I started remembering my programming, what I was supposed to do with this,” he lifted his hammer slightly, “my backstory, and who I was.”

Make-It’s gaze slowly fell. “That’s… not how it was for me. I remembered my backstory before my programming… I… I guess when they made me, they didn’t even bother putting my code in the right order…”

“What? No, of course they did. Everything about you and your code is perfectly healthy.”

She peered at him sidelong. “Since when are you an expert on code?”

“I’m not,” he laughed slightly, “I’m most definitely not. But I can tell there’s nothing wrong with you, Mavy, and there never has been.”

“Look, when I came into being, I had such little significance to the gameplay that I actually had to be TOLD that I was a character. I have such little gameplay programming that my backstory outweighs it, so of course I’d remember that first. If I had so little to do with the game, why did they bother writing such an intricate backstory for me? Why did they have to put that kind of revelation on me?”

Felix paused, delving into his thoughts. “I don’t know, Mavy. I don’t know what they had or have planned for you.”

“That’s what I hate,” she breathed, and she felt the moisture finally creep into her eyes. “I hate not knowing. I don’t know anything. I never know if what I’m doing is right. It really is like I was born little over a week ago.”

“No, it’s not. You still have all those years behind you.”

“No, I DON’T!” She shouldered out from him, pushing herself across the couch, trying not to look at him and find out what kind of horribly emotional expression he was making. “None of that is real! I never had any uptight, suppressive parents, and I never had an awesome, kooky old great-grandma, and there was never a monochromatic town or any of that! Those memories are manufactured, none of them are real, none of them mean ANYTHING! And the worst part is that for the first little bit of my existence, I actually thought that they did. They meant something to me. I remembered it all and I—I was proud of it, most of it – and then everything that I thought was real was a lie. So I was not afraid, I was ready to have a new start, to make something out of that desolate basement that I was thrown into by the programmers. And now, I realize that I have NO IDEA how to start! I have nothing to go off of… nothing! I just… I feel like a stupid fish flopping around on a deck—no, in a desert, as far away from any thought of water as possible. I don’t know where to go, I don’t know who to be. All I have to go off is this lousy code in my head that’s so simple, so limited, that it doesn’t even help at all!”

Felix was silent for quite a while as she stared at the floor, trying to disappear, gnawing at her lips and blinking out tear drops. “In my backstory, I… I did things right. I had fun. I was clever and crafty. But now… I can’t remember how to be who I supposedly was. I feel like… I was handed this life and briefly told who I’m supposed to be, and… just dropped off to face it all alone and try not to die along the way.”

She glanced over at his leg, not ready to see his face. “It’s stupid,” she whispered. “It’s really, really stupid. But I feel like I’m doing a terrible job figuring myself out.”

“Mavy,” Felix began, scooting over to her and putting his arm around her shoulders again, despite her trying to flinch away. “I know that none of it actually happened. But… well… I don’t think that our backstories are there to be an actual past. It’s true that we started a week ago. And those years may not be real, they may not have really happened, but they’re still ours. We all have our own story. And I think that, just maybe, we’ve got them to help us.”

She swallowed. “How?”

“Well… to give us something to learn from, of course. If we were plugged in and didn’t have our backstories, well, we really would be like babies. We wouldn’t be able to do anything, because we would have nothing, no sort of knowledge. And the memories are fake, Mavy, sure. But the knowledge, and the lessons, those are real. And if we ignore our backstories… How are we going to keep those lessons?”

Make-It kept staring at the tediously groomed shag carpet. She had no idea how to feel about what she was hearing. Trying to bring back memories of her supposed past was something she had avoided for the entirety of her existence, ever since she realized they were mere programming.  

Felix continued, “Don’t you remember when we met, Mavy? What we first said to each other?”

She tried desperately to suppress her laughter, but it came out in a painful snort. “I wouldn’t call that conversation exactly inspirational…”

He sighed ruefully, smiling, still. “Don’t you remember, though? I said ‘Hey there, little Mavy. I’m your cousin, Felix.’ And you said…?”

It was completely impossible for her to hold back a smile, and keeping the laughter out of her voice was just as futile. “I said—” she chortled, covering her face with one of her hands, “I said ‘Why do your buttons line up with your nipples?’”

Felix laughed outright, shaking his head, and Make-It was practically wheezing, she was laughing so hard. He continued, “I knew, right then, that you were really something else.”

She cackled, leaning back into the couch and letting her head fall back, still holding her hands to her face. “Oh sweet midi…” she shook her head incredulously, “I must have been, like, seven years old, and that’s the first thing I noticed..!”

“And do you remember the first little adventure in the woods that you took me out on? Remember the frog?”

She spluttered. “The one I put in your pants?”

“Yup, that one.”

She could hardly believe how hard she was laughing, after a second ago being so forlorn. It was just too hilarious; she could not help herself. She leaned against the arm of the couch, holding her sides, burying her face against her knees.  

“And how you’d take me across wide, rocky streams, steep hills, up trees, and I would be so unsure? And I’d hesitate, and sometimes I’d be scared? Don’t you remember what you used to tell me, then?”

Her laughter slowly ceased as she recalled. Yes, she remembered.

“We can make it, cuz. We can make it.”

She could see him nodding from the corner of her eye. “You always knew we would be fine. Even in the worst situations. And of course, you must remember what I started calling you after you had told me that so many times.”

Her eyes widened a bit, her heart twisting over the fact that she had even once forgotten.  

“Make-It Mavy,” she breathed.  

“Yeah,” he said gently, finding his grip around her shoulders again. “Make-It Mavy. That’s how you got your title. It wasn’t because of this.” He tapped the bucket on her hip. “And boy, did you live up to that name. There was no situation that you could not make beautiful and happy. Nothing ever held you down or shut you up. You always made it.”

She stared at her hands in her lap, wringing them around each other, squeezing the tips of her gloves. With a heavy gulp, she decided to brave a glance at his face. Her heart flickered nervously as she saw how soft, sincere, and reassuring his eyes were. It made her so uncomfortable, but she put in all her effort to not look away while he continued.

“That’s who I believe you are, Mavy. You’re Make-It Mavis, because you can take anything, no matter how dismal or plain or what have you, and make it into something more. That’s what you’ve always done. And I know that you can still do it, if you just remember , if you don’t try to fight your wonderful story.”

Something inside of her broke. Some manner of barrier ruptured, and she found herself crying again, but happier than she had been in a very long time. Her arms crushed Felix against her so tightly that he squeaked and squirmed for a moment before hugging her back just as firmly. Her emotions came flooding out exactly the way that they always had in Felix, the way that made her so uncomfortable. Feeling it happen to herself felt so wrong, so foreign, but so genuinely needed.  

“Thank you so much,” she muttered into his shoulder, rocking from side to side. “God, I thought I was broken.”

Her cousin chuckled briefly and shrugged in her embrace. “I can fix it.”

She only held him tighter, unsure of whether she was laughing or sobbing, but deeming either one appropriate. Pushing him back and wiping her eyes, bashful and embarrassed, still feeling so oddly vulnerable, she remembered something from several days prior.  

“Hey, uh…” she tried to find the words that would not sound completely stupid. “Could we, uh, maybe… Take a look at that photo album you tried to show me before?”

Felix’s face lit up brighter than Game Central Station. Before he could answer, however, a voice echoed through the console.

“ATTENTION. THE ARCADE IS NOW OPEN.”

“Uh oh,” they said in unison, looking at each other. Felix hopped up involuntarily, walking robotically towards the door. Make-It stood, grasping at any thought she could find before he was gone.

“Okay, if not now, then, uh, maybe when the arcade closes? Can I just meet you back up here?”

He grinned and bounced cheerily. “You most certainly can!”

She smiled in earnest, heading for the window and climbing halfway out. “I look forward to it.”

[godsavemefrombts]

Coalescing of Genii

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Professor!Namjoon x Professor!Reader

Words: 4048

A/N: I finally finished it… If it sucks, please do tell me. If you enjoy it, please tell me.

It had been a busy day for Namjoon. He had just landed in Taiwan but he couldn’t relax just yet. As he was driven to his hotel in a spacious car, he found himself looking over his notes again to make sure he knew what he was going to talk about next morning. It was a philosophy lecture and if he wasn’t going to be convincing enough about it, a lot of questions would arise. And he knew he didn’t like answering questions as much as he liked asking them. So he made sure to go over his notes thoroughly, his pencil twirling around his long fingers as he concentrated on his speech. He scribbled down notes on the margin of the paper, he didn’t know if he could revamp the whole speech but he could try and remember not to mess up.

It was his first time giving a lecture internationally. He was invited by the organisation holding the seminar and every little cost he might have was being paid for by them, including accommodation, travel fare, his food, any sightseeing, all of it. He knew it was too good of an offer to pass up, especially since there were supposed to be scholars from all over the world who were dropping by for this one seminar. Along with his invitation had come a credit card and its details which meant he was given the clearance to use it as he wanted which also influenced his affirmative response to the invitation.

Though he was excited to give a lecture outside his country, Namjoon was also worried that in that room of scholars and students, he would be very alone and very alienated. Sure, they might have all congregated to speak about a single topic but it still didn’t help him when he thought about all the nationalities listed in his next letter from the organisers. He wasn’t exactly exposed to the western world (he was far east Asian, he had reason to be nervous) and his job and his inclination to read and get lost in fantastical worlds also prevented him from travelling a lot. So he had to rely on himself and hope that this lecture of his would go smoothly and his time at the seminar wouldn’t be all that boring. Which was a funny thought since as soon as someone spoke anything in relation to philosophy, he was taken in. Especially more so when they discussed different schools of thoughts.

Smiling at his thoughts, he looked up from his paper to see, his car was entering the compound of the hotel. Shutting his file close, he put it back in his bag, preparing to get off his ride. When the door was opened by the chauffeur, he stepped out while thanking him, his bag in his grip. He saw that the chauffer had already taken his luggage out of the trunk. Thanking him again, Namjoon dismissed the man before ascending the stairs with his bag in one hand and his other suitcase in his other. Checking in at the hotel, he soon found himself on the way to the floor on which his room was assigned.

He was too busy unlocking his door to see the familiar face which exited the room a little down the hallway, crossing him on their way to the elevator. As soon as his door opened, he sighed in relief, dragging his luggage behind him as he entered the room. He put the suitcase in a corner and immediately went on to pulling out his files and pouring over them while also fact checking on his laptop. He couldn’t re-read his speech enough but after a few hours, the day having sunken well into the night, he decided his brain was a saturated sponge and couldn’t absorb much more. If he was going to mess up tomorrow, he would but he couldn’t take more of his own speech. And so he closed his files and tidied himself up before going downstairs for dinner.

He browsed through the food at the buffet, taking his time to decide what he wanted but by the time he was done, he realised he had taken a bit of everything starting from salads to dips to starters to main course. He had left the dessert for later but he wondered if he could even eat as much as he had piled on his plate. He found his answer when his stomach growled rudely. He quickly made his way to an empty table, his back facing the entrance as he started on his last meal of the day which also happened to be the only proper meal of his day.

He was midway through his salad when he saw a plate being put in the spot opposite and a person sliding in to sit in the seat opposite him. Quickly swallowing what was left in his mouth he looked up with a suspicious frown, only for it to dissipate when he saw a familiar face. It was his first international seminar and it had to be fate for them to meet like this constantly at every single seminar Namjoon attended. He didn’t know if the face opposite him went to only the seminars he attended, coincidentally or if there more he wasn’t around for.

“Hi,” she simply stated, her breath leaving her in a rush, a smile playing on her lips as she picked a piece of carrot up with her fork. “Yeah… hi…” Namjoon replied, his face mimicking hers with his own smile, a dimple appearing on his cheek. “Fancy seeing you here, huh?” she continued rhetorically before focusing on her food. This was it. Namjoon never understood how he could continue a conversation with her when it was this colloquial. They have talked before for hours on end outside seminar halls, about whichever topic they had discussed in the hall only to find each other and converse some more about it.

Namjoon had what one could call a “crush” on his colleague. They were both professors, he in Seoul, her in Busan. They often went to each other’s cities for seminars, or a new city altogether and apparently, now even to other countries. Not that Namjoon minded, he thought as he stole a glance in her direction. Whenever they had met up, they had always gone on trips or walks together just on a whim. Just for a change of pace from their seminars. But now, they were at a different country and the seminar was tomorrow. He had never met y/n before his seminar and now he wasn’t sure how to act around her since they didn’t have many topics to talk about and wow was he already overthinking?

“Are you speaking tomorrow?” y/n asked as she stopped eating to sip on her glass of…wine, Namjoon guessed.

“I am,” Namjoon responded, glad that he didn’t have to strike up a conversation himself. “Oh great! I’m speaking day after. Do you wanna go around Taipei after tomorrow’s session ends? I’ve already looked up great places.” y/n was shooting words at him at her usual pace and he couldn’t help but smile lightly. “I was worried I would feel alone tomorrow at the seminar. I’m glad you’re here,” Namjoon said, his expression soft as he rested his chin in his palm. “So you’re coming with me. It’s decided. You need a little something to let loose after your speech as usual, right?” she winked and Namjoon fought the blush turning back to the plate in front of him.

Namjoon was glad to notice, y/n hadn’t pushed the matter further and had gone back to her meal as well. “Is this your first international…seminar?” Namjoon asked timidly, his eyes flitting between y/n and his plate. “Hmm… To be honest, no. It’s not my first. But I’m guessing with how much you’re fidgeting, it’s your first.” It was a statement. She was so sure of it. It was hot pretty commendable. She wasn’t wrong either. “It is my first…” Namjoon admitted quietly. “Well, you know… If it helps, people here will appreciate you just for coming to speak on that stage. Also, they are much easier to sway than everyone back home. People here are open-minded and as soon as you present a good enough argument, they will eat it right out of your hands.” Y/n spoke confidently, playfully biting her lip, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Thanks…” Namjoon said after a few seconds, frowning as he tried to discern the taste of his gratin. “I want them to appreciate my outlook, not my outward appearance and background.” Namjoon finished, his voice a bit firmer as he put forth his true thoughts. “That’s impressive.” Is all y/n gave in return, making Namjoon blink in surprise for a bit before he finally relaxed his stance again. They quietly continued with their meals, Namjoon regretting ever saying anything because of the awkward air that now surrounded them. “But honestly, I don’t think you need to be scared. You’re smart, and you make strong, sound arguments. You’ll be completely fine Namjoon. I used to honestly prefer our seminars back home because I think those are much more intense. But now that you’re here, this should be interesting too. Anyway, you’ll realise that here, everyone is much more casual.” Smart? Is all Namjoon thought after she spoke but he looked up soon at her to respond, “Thank you y/n, I am truly honoured that you think that way.”

His chopsticks were halfway to his mouth when he heard her laugh, a melodic chime as cliché as that sounded. “You’re so formal Namjoon, it’s so cute.” She said before chuckling again, turning back to her food. Namjoon smiled and went back to his food, he knew he had a blush on his cheeks but he wasn’t bothered to fight it, he was tired and y/n seemed to like him when he was bashful so why not. He might have liked her for a long time but that didn’t mean she liked him back. He had never met a woman so zealous as she was. She was passionate about her subject, as much of an avid reader as he was (if not more) and she always held her own. Nobody could argue with her and win and it was something Namjoon highly respected because she was always polite, proper and always argued with sound arguments which could almost be called flawless. Was he smitten? He didn’t know but he knew all his worries seemed irrelevant and his heart fluttered, as described by all the romance novels, when he was with her and he treasured those times.

They then somehow miraculously conversed with each other, no topic off the table for them. But it was when y/n brought up the topic of ideal type when Namjoon felt his insides turn slightly unpleasantly. “Uh… Ideal type? I don’t think… I’ve never given it much thought but… it would be nice if they respected me and my thoughts? And respected that my life might be different from theirs but it’s still valid? I think that’s it.” Namjoon said, nodding. “Interesting. No qualities? Like, they should know how to cook, or you know, be a good listener or anything?” y/n prodded, a slight smile on her face. Namjoon shook his head, “Everything else that comes with them is just a bonus. I think if I like a person, I like them, I don’t need any particular reason to like them.” He missed the faltering of her smile and the slight pink tinge but maybe it was the dim lighting of the hall that made him miss it.

“Well, it’s getting late. I’m done with my dinner. I’ll be heading back up to my room. I stay two rooms down the hall from yours by the way,” Y/n said as she put away her cutlery and got ready to stand. “Two rooms… How do you know where I’m staying?” Namjoon asked puzzled. “You were too busy when you were unlocking your door to see who was around you, Namjoon,” y/n said in an amused tone. “But… Wow you’re right. I’m done too, let’s go.” Namjoon chuckled and put away his own cutlery and stood up, walking two steps behind y/n as she led the way to the elevator. “I really don’t understand why elevator music ends up being so boring and,” Namjoon was interrupted by a yawn before he could finish, “awkward.”

“That’s for the psychology students, Namjoon. But it’s clearly time for you to sleep. Goodnight,” y/n said as they walked down the hallway, crossing three doors to reach Namjoon’s door while she had to walk a while longer to reach her own. “Goodnight y/n, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Namjoon said as he put his card in. “Yeah, at breakfast,” y/n agreed as she reached her own door, entering soon after Namjoon had closed his door. She was excited to listen to Namjoon tomorrow. She had always enjoyed his viewpoint though it was so drastically different from hers.

Though she didn’t agree with his thoughts all the time, she had often been swayed almost to the point of agreeing with him till she saw her arguments and remembered that her school of thought was completely different and that no she didn’t completely agree with him. But it made her respect him a lot more than the other people who came and gave lectures that were half-hearted. That’s also what made her seek him out after a session at one of their seminars and they had been meeting everywhere since then which y/n couldn’t say she didn’t enjoy, especially when her time with him was spent so innocently.

It was no surprise then that y/n found herself in front of Namjoon’s door at 7 in the morning, knocking on it, hoping for an answer. When the door opened and Namjoon’s face appeared with his hair barely brushed, the grogginess sticking to his face, she just gave her radiant smile in return. Namjoon was blinking slowly as if his reflexes had slowed down considerably but soon he opened the door wider, allowing y/n to walk through. “Did you just wake up?” y/n asked as she sat on a chair provided in his room. “Uhh no, I just washed myself,” Namjoon said slowly, before yawning widely. “Then should we head downstairs for breakfast?” y/n asked as she lazily scrolled through her phone.

“Yeah, let’s go. I need my morning cup of coffee anyways,” Namjoon said, nodding. If there was one way his sleepiness could be chased away, it had to be coffee. He had his presentation in about 2 hours and 15 minutes and he wanted to go through his 20-minute-long speech at least once before that, just to make sure he knew what he was saying and to make sure he felt confident enough to not peek at his notes every now and then. He usually practised in front of the mirror but he would have to practise in front of the window instead which overlooked the beautiful skyline of Taipei.

Y/n got up from her seat when she heard Namjoon mention his agreement. By the way he was fidgeting so uncomfortably, she wondered if he was that nervous for his speech. She could relate at some level. When she was first asked to speak at an international seminar, she was scared but Namjoon’s first seminar outside of Korea also was the first one he would speak at, the pressure he was feeling couldn’t be trivial enough to be crossed out. But she found herself hoping that even if a bit, some of his nervousness was thanks to her unannounced visit to his room early in the morning.

They headed downstairs soon after, Namjoon two steps behind as he had to close the door behind him. However when they reached the elevator, they had somehow matched their paces to arrive at the same time. Whether it was Namjoon’s groggy answering or y/n’s ability of not running out of topics, somehow their elevator ride was just an echo of laughter and chuckles, and they both wished the ride had been longer, the space between them minimal without being inappropriate, the privacy intact. But they had no problems conversing easily as they bit into their toast, discussing many topics, philosophical, political and social over their cups of coffee.

It was only when they were parting again that Namjoon became jittery again. “Are you sure I’ll be fine?” he asked y/n awkwardly after having grabbed onto her arm to stop her from walking away out of earshot. “You’ll be fine Namjoon, maybe even better than most people waiting to speak. And I’m speaking from experience. So take it or leave it, I will definitely enjoy your speech and cheer you on. Not as just your colleague and compatriot but also as your fan, if you will.” Y/n reassured him, patting his arm. Namjoon could only hope she wasn’t lying because his heart was soaring just beating faster than normal after hearing her say that. He felt ready now so he pulled away and thanked her, watching her disappear into her room first before going into his own.

Barely a measly hour and half had passed before Namjoon found himself leaving the hotel with y/n, both dressed in formals, both equipped with stationeries enough to last them the day and a bit. Hailing a taxi, they started journey to the seminar hall which was in the local university. Y/n pursed her lips, holding in the laugh that was bubbling in her after seeing Namjoon nervously bounce his knee. Instead she put her hand on his knee which immediately ceased the motion, his head turning to look at her and mumble a quiet “sorry”. “I’m looking forward to your speech, professor,” Y/n simply said with a sincere smile.

Sitting up straighter, Namjoon realised he felt better now that someone seemed to trust in him and his abilities. When they reached the venue and went through the initial procedures commonplace for a seminar, he could feel the adrenaline start to rush through him. He had been waiting for an opportunity like this for years and now that he had it, he was going to make sure he wouldn’t mess it up. On entering the seminar hall, he realised how relaxed the environment was, many attendees hadn’t even worn strictly formals like him. He headed straight to the front, where his seat was for the day. He passed by y/n on his way and her smile was enough to smooth away the lumps of nervousness in his aura, now exuding a confident and relaxed aura instead.

When it was his turn to give a speech, he marched up the stairs to the stage confidently, thanking the presenter before delivering his speech. He was glad he had practised, because otherwise he might have messed up. The sheer number of people in the room was crazy. There were clearly some students too and that made him more passionate about his speech, trying to be as argumentatively sound as he could while also being engaging. He found his eyes land on y/n more than once during his speech, his rapid heartbeat finding comfort in the familiar face and her encouraging smile.

The rest of the seminar went by in a flash. He remembered a few people had come up to congratulate him but that was all he could remember as he walked towards the exit. They were done for the day and Namjoon could finally breathe freely. Y/n tugged on his jacket sleeve as soon as he made to the doorway. It was almost funny how many times the two had conversed at doorways to the seminar halls. “Time for letting loose,” she reminded him, barely giving him any time to react before she was pulling him towards the exit of the campus.

‘Letting loose?’ Namjoon thought. 3 hours after their session for the day had finished, they finished going around the spots y/n had been aiming for. Well, the fact Namjoon didn’t want to include in his thoughts was that they had been stuck in a bookstore for as long as a quarter shy of an hour because of his indecisiveness when it came to books. But now as they entered a quiet bar, choosing to sit at a booth hidden away in a corner, he was not sure if he was enjoying being pulled around by y/n. “Don’t you have your speech tomorrow?” Namjoon asked y/n finally when they had finished ordering their drinks. “Yeah, but I’m pretty confident. Plus it’s been a while since we drank together.” Y/n said, clearly brushing off his concern for her performance the next day.

“You’re really something, y/n… It was partially thanks to you that I could deliver my speech as well as I could.” Namjoon admitted, smiling at her as their drinks were set in front of them. “You delivered your speech really well, Namjoon, don’t thank me for it. You only have yourself to credit or blame.” Y/n pointed out before knocking back her two shots of whiskey one by one. “But I almost found myself falling for absurdism. I will agree that it’s beautifully presented but-” “but you don’t swing that way,” Namjoon finished for her, laughing.

They were having normal conversation after that, chatting about the other speakers just like they did back home. But they were also drinking strongly. “Also, from here on out, excuse my ramblings because although they might be honest, they’re also fuelled by liquid courage, also called alcohol,” Namjoon warned because he knew he wasn’t the best at holding back his thoughts when he was under the influence of alcohol. “It’s okay, let me start with that then. I’m scared for tomorrow but I’m also sure I’ll do well because you’ll be watching.” Y/n sounded so smug, Namjoon was stunned. He took a deep breath before continuing, “Okay, I’ll be your personal cheerleader tomorrow.” Y/n laughed heartily at that, “You already are, without knowing, Namjoon.” Namjoon was shocked now. “Me? You think so?” He thought he heard his voice squeak but he couldn’t be sure. “Yeah, probably because I really like you.” Y/n admitted. Namjoon hadn’t noticed the shot glasses increase to 8 but he guessed these were her raw, honest thoughts so he decided to take his chance.

“I… really like you too.” Namjoon admitted

“Really? Cause I have like a huuuuuge crush on you,” y/n gleefully added, her cheeks red due to the alcohol.

“I… I do too.” Namjoon said and called the waiter to pay for their tabs.

Despite y/n’s protests, he took them back to the hotel, making y/n go and take a bath before they met again for dinner like the night before. They both sat and ate the dinner in silence but somehow with all the awkwardness that seemed to surround them, there also seemed to be a cosier undertone which could only be noticed if you saw the two glance at each other secretly, a small smile playing on their lips every time they did. Nobody could take away these innocent pleasures of theirs but the tension seemed to build up between them as they finished up and headed up in the elevator. Unlike earlier, the small space seemed to be uncomfortable because their hands seemed to be itching to touch the other.

Namjoon finally succeeded in that when he grabbed her arm again, turning her around to tell her hopefully the last thing that night. “I might be an absurdist but you are the beauty that makes the journey of life worthwhile for me,” Namjoon said, his eyes wide, focused on y/n unwaveringly. “If the journey of life had a destination, unlike Camus’ argument, mine would be you,” y/n responded, turning and stepping closer to him, leaning up to press a light kiss to his lips. She didn’t expect him to kiss back, his arm snaking around her waist to hold her waist as he returned her passion with his own, burning brighter. As she brought her hands up to rest against his neck, she hoped the night would last much longer than just this kiss in the hallway.

[ellanainthetardis]

I hadn’t written anything for 4x01 yet and… Well. Smut happened. Thanks to @akachankami for the beta! [FF] or [AO3]

Echoes

“Your room, ambassador.”

Echo spits the words, the poisonous venom so thick in her voice that Marcus takes a step in front of Abby without thinking twice about it. The young woman doesn’t like them and she might have forged a bond with Bellamy somehow but it definitely doesn’t extend to him or Abby. Maybe she’s angry to have been demoted from War Chief to glorified baby-sitter or maybe it is just the fact that her advices to have them killed went ignored…

Marcus isn’t sure.

And he doesn’t quite care.

In time, he would have to try and change her mind but that could wait.

“Chancellor.” Abby corrects, easily stepping aside to stand next to him. Her voice is soft and hard at the same time, in that particular way of hers he has always marveled at. She stares straight at the blond warrior without flinching. “Not ambassador.”

They haven’t really discussed the Chancellor issue yet although he supposes there isn’t a lot more to talk about. Abby doesn’t want the job – or rather would prefer for him to have it – and there is no way they are tempting fate by bringing Jaha into this. Pike is dead, power falls back on the Council… They don’t have a Council anymore… He is a little confused about what the Charter would have to say about that but he figures the lines are blurry enough that they can call it and not being challenged.

Not that any of that really matters anymore.

Except it does, doesn’t it? Because their people still need someone to guide them.

“He bears the mark of the Thirteenth Clan.” Echo states, her eyes shifting to his arm. The burn scar is covered by his sleeve but his other hand presses on it, unconsciously confirming her claim.

“Ambassador is fine in Polis.” he says, to cut the conversation short. He doesn’t particularly want to debate on titles and honorifics, first because he doesn’t really care and, second, because he really wants some peace and quiet.

“Chancellor.” Echo repeats carefully anyway, ignoring him. “Is that your word for commander?”

“In a way.” Abby offers tersely.

“But Wanheda is in charge now.” the warrior retorts with a small disapproving frown. “What sort of commanders leave their second in charge to be ambassadors?”

The sort who knows he won’t be commander long, Marcus thinks.

“The good ones.” Abby replies, defensive.

It seems to amuse Echo more than it convinces her. She turns to Marcus, face set in stone, her gaze evaluating. “Yu don badan kru.”

You have loyal people.

“Em praiz yu?” he asks. Does that surprise you?

He supposes Azgeda isn’t that used to showing loyalty to their authority figures. It is a large clan, possibly the largest, and everyone can’t be happy with their monarchs. He knows Echo was loyal to her queen,  maybe less to her king, but he thinks it’s the exception rather than the rule.

And, as if to confirm that impression, she dismisses the question by waving an impatient hand in Abby’s direction. “I will take you to your room.”

“Thank you but we don’t need two rooms.” she answers.

Marcus’ head turns so fast he feels something snap in his neck, not certain he heard her right. In the split second it takes him to find her gaze, he thinks maybe she wants to stay with him in case things go south – and he can’t fault her for that – but any thought of possible escape plans and damage control flies out the window when he meets her eyes.

This has nothing to do with things possibly going south with the Grounders.

There’s no question on her face. She’s not asking him, she’s telling him.

“I see.” Echo says and he thinks they revealed more than maybe is wise. “We provided clothes for you to borrow until the servants can wash yours. If you need anything, King Roan wants you to feel free to ask.”

He breathes a little easier when the girl finally leaves the room although the moment the doors are shut behind her he feels trapped. He turns toward Abby who has picked up something from the table in what he figures to be the living-room part of the room. It takes him a few minutes to realize it’s a leather bound notebook full of sketches.

He’s pretty sure this was Clarke’s room before it was theirs. The room Lexa intended for Skaikru’s ambassador.

Abby looks tired, worried and vulnerable.

“She will be alright.” he offers and, when she looks up at him, he nods to the notebook in her hands. “She’s your daughter, Abby. Through and through.”

He intends it as a compliment but the smile that graces her lips is wistful. “That’s what worries me. I always thought she had taken after Jake but…” She stops and shrugs, her hand absentmindedly coiling around the ring she carries on a chain. His eyes follow the move and there is suddenly an odd tension in the room, as if they just summoned a ghost. She clears her throat and lets go of the ring to study him. “How are you? And don’t say fine.”

If he has to list everything that hurts, he thinks they will still be standing there the next morning. He steps closer to her instead and, when he is within reach, he brushes the tips of his fingers against the bruises around her neck.

He doesn’t need to ask what happened. He knows what happened. If anyone knew something in the COL, everyone knew. He knows what ALIE made her do, what Clarke didn’t sacrifice.

Maybe that’s in part why he put her in charge while he decided to stay behind, because leadership is paved with sacrifices he doesn’t want, can’t, make anymore. He feels guilty about leaving that weight with her but he knows Bellamy will be there to ground her, just like Abby used to do for him.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side as his touch become a bit firmer. He’s probing more than he’s touching now, making sure she’s fine.

“I would do it again.” he whispers quietly. He knows where her mind is gone. He doesn’t need a key or ALIE to know her thoughts. She’s blaming herself and he can’t let her go there because, if they go there, they will never climb out. “I don’t regret it.”

She searches his eyes for a moment and smiles, tension leaving her shoulders. She cups his cheek and pulls him down a little… He meets her lips without a moment of hesitation. When she deepens the kiss, his mind flashes back to his arrival in Polis, to that room and the things ALIE asked her to do to convince him, to seduce him… It makes him mad that the AI manipulated them that way, exploited something that is still so new and fragile… So precious to him…

“Marcus?” she asks against his mouth, uncertain.

He kisses her harder in reassurance, forgetting all about restrain or any half-cooked thought of maybe taking it slow. All that’s left is the adrenaline backlash of a near-death experience. His and hers alike.

Her fingers find his hair, tangle in it to better take control of the kiss… He gives her that much, slipping one of his hands under her shirt, the other one moving from the small of her back to…

The bandage catches on her belt and he breaks the kiss with a hiss. Cradling his wrist in his other hand is instinctive, his jaw clenches as he waits for the pain to pass but it won’t go away. He has been ignoring it for hours and now it’s back with a vengeance.

“Let me see.” she orders. There is no room for argument and no hope of distracting her now, she has her doctor stance. She ushers him toward the couch and fetches her medical bag. At the face she makes when she opens it, he knows they’re not as well stocked as she would have liked. She shots him an amused look while she washes her hands in a bronze bowl by the bed. “I hope you didn’t tear my stitches.”

The bed they will have to share unless he offers to be a gentleman and take the couch.

He doesn’t let himself think about the bed yet.

He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t fit on the couch anyway.

“I tried my best not to, does that count for something?” He flashes her a sheepish smile.

He knows that he popped out at least one of them but he doesn’t offer the information. The emergency stitches she put before they left the tower were done in a hurry, not her finest work but good enough to hold.

He lets her unwrap the bandages on his right hand, automatically flexing his fingers once it comes loose.

“Was it too tight?” she frowns, her fingers ghosting over the marks the gauze left on his skin. They shy away from the angry red wound and the black threads crisscrossing over it. “I don’t like the look of this one.” She finds an antiseptic balm in the bag and starts smearing it over his inner wrist. It smells strongly of wild herbs and it reminds him of the meadow not too far from Arkadia. At his questioning look, she smiles a little. “It’s one of Nyko’s remedies.” Her fingers linger even after there is no more balm to apply. “Marcus…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” he promises.

“We focus on what comes next?” she asks, maybe a bit bitterly. There’s always something coming next and no time to come to terms with what is happening around them. It sometimes feels like it’s been that way since Jake’s death.

“We have to.” he reminds her, brushing her hair back with his free hand. She takes a deep breath and nods once. She grabs more bandages, compresses, and medical tape and proceeds to wrap half his arm in them. “Do you think there’s enough?” he jokes at some point.

He gets an aggravated look in answer.

“I know you.” she simply states.

And maybe he doesn’t have the best track record with not undoing her handiwork.

He’s about to call her out on it – because he’s seen her refuse Jackson’s help earlier – when there’s a knock on the door. They exchange a look, suddenly tense.

“Come in.” he calls. Nothing happens and, after a second, he corrects himself. “Minop.”

The door is opened a crack and in slips a skittish young girl who gives a small bow.

“Yu sad op washin sok, bandrona?” she asks.

The words aren’t entirely familiar, aside for the ambassador one, and it takes him a moment to realize what she’s asking him.

“Do you want a bath?” he defers to Abby. Her whole face lights up at the prospect and he doesn’t even need a vocal answer. He can’t help but chuckle a little at her eagerness, although he supposes it would be good to get rid of all that grime. “Sha. Chof.”

The girl bows again and disappears, leaving the door open. She comes back before Abby is done wrapping his wrist up though, followed by more servants carrying buckets of hot water. He watches them while she takes care of his left hand, making sure to look suitably chastised when she lectures him about the stitch he has indeed popped out at some point today. He’s not a fan of needles so it gives him as good an excuse as any not to look as she redoes everything.

It’s only when the servants start lighting candles that he realizes the sun is setting. It’s later than he thought. He wonders if the kids made it back to Arkadia already or if they’re camping somewhere. He hopes they’re alright.

The girl from earlier keeps throwing them curious looks. She’s young but there’s no doubt she’s in charge. She commands the others, instructing them to place candles here and there, to make sure they have everything they would need…

Abby is starting to wrap his wrist in an impressive bandage when the girl wanders closer, her head bowed in deference. “Beda ai lid in dina, bandrona?”

Should I bring in dinner, ambassador?

His stomach rumbles in answer. He can’t remember the last time he ate and he’s pretty sure the same goes for Abby. Food hasn’t been one of ALIE’s priorities.

“Sha. Mochof.” he accepts with a smile.

“Chit ste yu… tagon?” Abby asks before the girl can scurry away again.

Her Trigedasleng is still hesitant but Marcus can’t help but smile with pride. She’s having a difficult time learning and usually sticks to simple sentences. Like asking someone their name.

“Dalys, Skaiheda.” the servant offers.

“I’m not…” Abby frowns and then winces as she struggles to piece off a sentence. “Ai laik nou Skaiheda noumou.” I’m not Skaikru’s leader anymore. She glances at him and he confirms she got it right with a nod so she soldiers on. “Ai laik fisa.” I am a healer. She makes a face and shakes her head. “Can you ask her if I can take a look at her hand?”

He blinks, surprised by the request, before realizing that the girl has been keeping her right hand closed in a fist. He translates and Dalys offers her hand with obvious reluctance, probably only complying because he asked her too.

There isn’t a soul in Polis that haven’t suffered because of the COL. The burn on the girl’s hand looks bad but not as bad as other things he saw in the streets earlier. He leaves Abby to treat it, wandering around the room. The servants are done with the candles and the bath but the water is smoking and there’s no putting a toe in there without ending up boiled.

He gravitates back to the couch and the table when the food has been brought. It’s nothing outlandish, cold meat and some fruits… It looks so tempting to him but he forces himself to wait until Abby is done and sends the servant girl on her way before filling two plates. They start eating well before the door swings shut once more and they’re left alone.

They’re both too starved to talk. They swallow down the food as if they haven’t been used to being on ration all their lives and he really can’t remember the last time he ate. Before Polis? Before capturing Pike? Before…

It’s a little embarrassing how clean the plates are when they finally put them down.

They share a small awkward smile and Abby stands up to go check the still steaming tub. He can’t really see her from the couch, the ‘bathroom’ area is tucked away in a corner near the bed. His fingers drum on the armrest and he wonders if she will take it personally if he takes a nap while she washes up because…

His train of thoughts die when she comes back in his line of sight, jacket and shirt gone. She’s only wearing a black tank top over her pants now and not only it doesn’t cover much but it is very obvious she has no bra underneath. She found a hairbrush somewhere and she’s trying to untangle her hair.

“Are you staying over there?” she asks, her lips quirked up. It’s almost a challenge and he has never been good at ignoring her challenges.

He doesn’t quite know what they’re doing. If they’re going there tonight, if it’s clever, if it’s too soon… Those are all valid questions he should be asking, they have only kissed twice after all if they don’t count the ALIE act. He simply follows her lead instead. Like most of the time.  

He pushes himself to his feet, something that is more difficult than it ought to be because he feels like he has just climbed up a giant tower with his bare hands – and oh wait… – and joins her in the other part of the room. The mood is entirely different here, it’s cozier. The candles make it… intimate. And the steam rising from the tub…

He swallows hard. He should be too tired to entertain any wicked thoughts but the thoughts are here all the same. They can’t not be here when she’s toeing off her boots and unbuckling her belt as if it’s something they do every day – and he finds he desperately wants them to do that every day.

He watches her pants flop around her ankles in a daze. He watches her foot step out of them and kicking them to the side where, he realizes, her jacket and shirt lay in a heap. And then he watches her foot come closer to him. Only then does he let his eyes roam up her shins, up her thighs… They stop briefly on the simple black cotton panties she has on and up they go again, lingering on the stretch of skin between the band of her underwear and the hem of her tank top… He studies the shape of her belly button as if it holds the answers to all the questions in the universe… His gaze has made it all the way to the nipples visibly peaking under the fabric when she pushes his jacket off his shoulders.

She’s gentle when she slips it off his forearms and he looks up, seized with anger and dread when he spots just how bad the bruising around her throat looks like. He leans in when she tosses his jacket with the rest of her clothes, brushing a soft kiss against the abused skin, careful not to put too much pressure on it. Her hand immediately shoots to cradle the back of his head and he doesn’t know what arouses him more: the quiet sound his beard makes as it rasps against her flesh or her small gasp that can’t be mistaken for anything but pleasure.

He lets his mouth trail down the curve of her neck to her shoulder.

His shirt is bundled in her fist halfway to his side and he returns the favor by pushing hers up her back. He feels the scars under his palms and it makes him falter briefly. He lets out a slow breath against his skin, unable to accept what would have happened if…

“What comes next.” she reminds him and he nods slowly. He knows. He knows but… “What comes next shouldn’t be so terrible…” she jokes and he chuckles.

Just like that, the bad memories fade and he gets back to exploring her skin with his mouth, his hand spread flat between her shoulder blades. It makes her shirt inch up and he’s fascinated with the amount of flesh it reveals. He entertains the thought of dropping to his knees, of nuzzling her stomach, of trying and venturing where the shirt is temptingly bundled under her breasts…

She forces his shirt off before he can act on it and, suddenly, she’s right there, in his space, hands and mouth roaming on his chest. He wraps his arms around her, hugging her close. Her caresses become less purposeful and she rests her cheek against his shoulder, her palm still running up and down his arm slowly.

It’s like the eye of the storm.

He’s pretty sure she can feel him against her stomach. It’s half the reason why he calmed things down, because he wants her to be sure, to be…

She drops a kiss on his skin and sneaks her hands between them. He doesn’t know if it’s the adrenaline but the sound of his belt being unbuckled seems unnaturally loud. She pops the button open and the zipper down and nudges his trousers down before planting a kiss on his lips and walking away.

It’s cold without her body pressed close to his and he doesn’t like it.

He wants to ask what’s in her mind but the question dies on his tongue when she passes her tank top over her head and flicks it in the vague direction of the heap of dirty clothes. He can only watch. He can only watch as the panties follow the same path. He can only watch as she carefully places the chain with her ring on the table by the bed and as she reaches for the cloth in the washing basin. He can only watch as she runs it over her neck and down her arms, scraping at the dried blood, the soot and the grime.

The bathtub is still steaming but it should have been alright to step in now.

He doesn’t tell her.

He can’t, not when the sight is so riveting.

The moment she runs the cloth over her breast, he knows they just passed the point of no return.

He’s painfully constricted in his underwear so he crouches down to unlace his boots, never taking his eyes off her. He wants to follow the cloth’s path with his mouth. He does a quick job of getting naked, particularly when her hand disappears between her legs.

He’s right behind her in a flash, his hand covering hers, rubbing the cloth just where… Her head falls back on his shoulder, her breath catching in her throat. He could get addicted to those sounds very quickly, he decides, letting his other hand run over her ribcage and all the way to her breast.

“Marcus…” she whispers when he circles her nipple.

He’s frustrated by the barrier of cloth between his fingers and her so he tries to nudge it away but she seems to come back to herself and turns around in his arms.

“Abby.” It’s almost a whine but he doesn’t care. He wants her. He needs her. There would be time for games later, time for…

“Soon.” she promises. She runs the cloth on his neck, on his shoulders and down his arms. She’s trying her best to be efficient, he can tell, but she can’t stop herself from touching any more than he can. She’s bent on cleaning them up and a part of him understands why, they smell and taste like blood and death, but it’s not the part who’s in control right now. His brain isn’t doing the thinking right at this moment.

He doesn’t stand still while she washes him, his palms roam on her back, on her ass… They’re relentless in their exploration and his fingers clench against her flesh when she brings the cloth to his inner thigh, when she playfully wraps it around his length and…

“Abby.” he growls. He’s throbbing already and he doesn’t think he will last long if she plays that game. It’s not her hand he wants.

He kisses her because it’s the only logical thing to do, the only thing he can do. The bed is right there but they end up against the wall instead. He snatches the cloth from her hand while she’s distracted by his mouth and tosses it away. They’re clean enough, he decides. It might have been better to wait after the bath but he can’t quite care.

He bends the knees a little, still kissing her, and runs his palms under her thighs. He doesn’t give her a warning before lifting her up. Pain flares in his wrists and he groans but he doesn’t let a small thing like that deter him. Her hand wraps around him again, tortures him with bliss… He bows his head to let his lips run on her collarbone, to her breasts…

He pins her against the wall with his hips to free one of his hands, to bring it between their bodies… The second he touches her she drops her forehead on his shoulder, short of breath. It soon turns to panting as they find a rhythm to their strokes…

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore and he takes his hand away. She lifts her head from his shoulder, he brushes her hair back, drawing her in for another kiss… He doesn’t need to tell her what he wants. He puts his hand back under her thighs to better support her as she guides him inside her…

He’s careful at first, too painfully aware of exactly how long it must have been for her. But the sounds she makes with every new inch delights him too much and he can’t really control the buckling of his hips. Her fingers dig in the back of his neck when he buries himself in her.

He wants to ask if she’s alright but the growl that escapes her throat is almost feral.

“Move.” she commands and then soothes her harness with a mind-blowing kiss. “Please…”

He doesn’t really need more than that to grant her request. He thinks he’s drunk on the little noises she makes when she gets close but it’s nothing to what he feels when she actually climaxes with his name on her lips.

That’s his undoing.

He reaches his release with a cry of her name.

For a moment, they bathe in the afterglow and everything is perfect, calm, peaceful. Then he starts coming back into his body and he can’t quite help a wince. She must glimpse it because she immediately unhooks her legs and places her feet down.

“Do I have to stitch you up again?” she chuckles.

“Entirely worth it.” he shrugs with a smile.

He flexes his wrists a few times until she grabs his hands and turns them palms up. She studies the bandages attentively but when no stain of blood shows up she trails her fingers to his elbows and steps into the space between his arms, looking up at him with a smile, eyes twinkling in mischief.

“We are doing it again.” she declares.

“As you know, I never argue with my doctor.” he lies, which warrants him a small playful whack on the shoulder. He embraces her, resting his chin on the side of her head. “I love you.”

He doesn’t let himself think about it or make it a big thing. Compared to everything they’ve been through… It’s not scary to say and it’s not scary to think.

It’s easy even.

The easiest thing he has ever done.

The smile that immediately stretches her lips is bright if a little wistful. He knows what she’s thinking about. Six months. Six months isn’t long enough. Six months is…

“We will have to make the most of it.” he shrugs before she can say anything.

Her face softens, probably because of this gift of his to always know what she’s worrying about. She cups his cheek, her thumb tracing random paths in his beard.

“I love you.” she confesses, just as easily as he had. As if they have been saying it for years instead of for the first time. The kiss is gentler than the others they’ve shared today but it soon turns heated again. “Bath.” she mumbles against his mouth, carefully guiding him backward.

He lets out a disappointed groan but he knows she’s right so he doesn’t fight her on it. He’s the first to step in the bathtub and the warm water wrapping around his calves in an immediate relief to his aching muscles. He sinks in the bath with a content sigh.

“Keep your arms out.” she warns. “I made the bandages as waterproof as I could but I don’t want the wounds to get wet.”

He obediently rests his arms on either side of the tub and spreads his legs as wide as he can to make space for her. “Get in.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She settles between his legs, her back against his chest, with a blissful sigh of her own.

It’s frustrating, not being able to wrap his arms around her as she snuggles against him, or not being able to help her wash her hair – something he will definitely do at some point, he decides – but the safe bubble they’re in compensates for it.

He drifts off while she rinses the shampoo off her hair and only wakes up way later, when there are only a handful of candles left burning and the water is cold around them. Abby is curled up against his chest and he can’t help a smile even as he nudges her awake.

He can get used to this.

Even if it’s only for six months…

It makes it all worth it.

[literallyjcstrash]

Regarding lyrics to JCS… (part 5 of many)

Hello again, gdelgiproducer here! I’m back with more lyrics from JCS, covering both the changes to the show over the years and also doing a little extended analysis. I wanna start this particular entry off by thanking literallyjcstrash for giving me a platform, especially when I’m using it to do what I very easily could have done at my own blog jcs-study, which is now basically on a respirator like many projects that I lose my initial enthusiasm for. (Honestly thinking of asking them to consider a merger where I port some of my posts from there over here. Not kidding.) They fired up my years-long but frequently comatose enthusiasm for the show and got me thinking about it again, which is always great – coming back to an old love with fresh perspective isn’t something one can do very often (outside of Hollywood movies), so I’m glad I can do it here.

Today, we glance at what I feel is one of the most important songs in JCS, which is mildly ironic considering it only appeared in the 1973 film version and has rarely appeared in stage versions of the show since (usually in Europe). I speak, of course, of “Then We Are Decided." Believe it or not, this song sharply divides fans of the show. A certain amount of people like it; a fairly equal amount of people don’t care for it at all. Even Tim Rice sort of slides past its existence when writing about the film in his autobiography, saying merely that ”… Andrew and I did expand one of the High Priests’ scenes in a futile bid to quash further anti-Semitism charges at the pass.“

It’s not like that didn’t need attention. For those who don’t know JCS very well, Caiaphas and Annas, the Jewish High Priests, come off as sort of the only one-note figures in the original album and stage versions. Their motivation is basically hand-waved and sounds like typical "baddie” bullshit, they sing the same musical themes throughout the show (they do; check literally every song the priests appear in, every single melodic motif they perform is tied in some way to “This Jesus Must Die”), and they smack of the old Christ-killer stereotype. How much of that is due to ingrained anti-Semitism in the story thanks to the original Gospel texts is up to the viewer (or listener) to decide. Tim and Andrew certainly didn’t set out to tell an anti-Semitic story, I totally buy it when they say that, but the conventions of musical theater unfortunately wind up placing the portrayal of the “villains” squarely in the old-fashioned, all-too-familiar “Passion Play” territory.

I mean, look at the treatment other characters get compared to Caiaphas and Annas. Everyone looks at JCS as “the piece which humanizes Jesus and Judas,” but it really doesn’t stop there. In reality, the piece offers the chance to any who might take it to humanize the story in its entirety. Pilate was a person, with conflicts and reservations; Mary was a person with desires, both emotional and sexual; Peter was a person, with regrets and hope. Tim Rice takes these cardboard cut-outs from the Bible and infuses them with psychological motivation, with flesh and blood, with life. He puts the stakes back in the story… except where Caiaphas and Annas are concerned.

(Okay, and Herod, but he only has, like, one song to establish himself in, and while he shouldn’t be played as broadly comic as he has been, in my opinion, he’s basically just comic relief to break some of the tension in Act Two – more about that when we get to him. Anyway, getting sidetracked…)

And that’s part of why I like “Then We Are Decided,” personally. It breaks up the monotony of the priests’ material a bit, and Caiaphas and Annas’ specific motivations are particularized in a way that they aren’t elsewhere in the show. Yes, for the purposes of the story they are (technically) the antagonist, but it is far more interesting to watch human beings struggle with a decision than it is to watch comic book villains verbalize what their purpose is. The audience should be frightened not by their appearance, costumes, characterization, or the pathos surrounding them; it should be the fact that they are able to come to the conclusion that this man (Jesus) is such a threat to their power, and that they prize their power so much, that they decide the only course of action is his death. This decision, and the zeal with which they pursue their goal, should be what is frightening, not the priests themselves. Caiaphas, Annas, and the other priests were real human beings, too; let them be three-dimensional figures!

(Now seems an important moment to note this: I find it most interesting that, at least in my estimation, Caiaphas and Annas seem to generate the most head-canon in the JCS Tumblr fandom of any secondary character in the show, and I think it’s partly because their motivations and background are among the least explored of anyone’s in the show – again, aside from Herod, and maybe Simon or Peter.)

Anyway, time to give you some motivations and background before we dive into the lyrics (which have never changed all that substantially, same as “What’s the Buzz,” but then I still love an excuse to talk about the show):

Caiaphas, as High Priest, was the chief religious authority in the land, with important responsibilities including controlling the Temple treasury, managing the Temple police and other personnel, performing religious rituals, and serving as president of the Sanhedrin (sort of the Jewish Supreme Court, which ruled on both religious [always] and civil [where Rome granted them jurisdiction] matters). Unlike other Temple priests, Caiaphas lived in Jerusalem’s Upper City, a wealthy section inhabited by the city’s powers-that-be.

The Bible suggests Caiaphas was closely advised by Annas, the older former High Priest, who served as a sort of high priest emeritus to his younger son-in-law. Yes, Caiaphas was married to Annas’ daughter, which incidentally is probably how Caiaphas got the gig. (That doesn’t mean you should stop writing slash fic; hell, adds a whole creepy new layer if you ask me.)

The priests had to toe a fine line between serving as the spiritual leaders of their people and cooperating with Roman authority. This left them respected for their positions, but despised by some for actions the priests had to take, or in some cases actions that they thought the priests took.

So, with that context, let us set the scene for “Then We Are Decided.” It’s after hours, or they wouldn’t be able to snag a minute alone to converse about this matter, between the faithful asking for prayers and blessings, fellow priests bothering them with office politics, the sacrifices, preparation for the upcoming Passover festival, whatever shit Rome is ladling into their tureen that day, etc. So this is the only moment available – and this is key – for Caiaphas to seek Annas’ advice on a most pressing matter: a Galilean rabble-rouser growing in popularity. Annas’ first instinct is to be hands-off, but Caiaphas feels the need for more direct action.

Why is that key? Well, for some reason, it feels like the 1973 film stages it the opposite way, with Annas pressing Caiaphas’ buttons to push him toward the decision (seriously, take a gander at some of Kurt Yaghjian’s facial expressions, especially on “He’s a craze” – dude would have killed it in a Seventies version of Bates Motel), but the lyrics strongly suggest that Caiaphas is trying to convince Annas to back up his position, not being pushed into a firmer stance by a weasel-voiced toady. With the added historical context above, it’s not hard to read “Decided” the way it was likely intended to be performed.

And now, the lyrics!

CAIAPHAS We’ve been sitting on the fence for far too long…

ANNAS Why let him upset us? Caiaphas – let him be All those imbeciles will see He really doesn’t matter

CAIAPHAS Jesus is important We’ve let him go his way before And while he starts a major war We theorize and chatter

ANNAS He’s just another Scripture-thumping hack from Galilee

CAIAPHAS The difference is they call him king – the difference frightens me What about the Romans When they see King Jesus crowned? Do you think they’ll stand around Cheering and applauding? What about our people If they see we’ve lost our nerve? Don’t you think that they deserve Something more rewarding?

ANNAS They’ve got what they want – they think so anyway If he’s what they want why take their toy away? He’s a craze

CAIAPHAS Put yourself in my place I can hardly stand aside Cannot let my hands be tied I am law and order What about our priesthood? Don’t you see that we could fall? If we are to last at all We cannot be divided

ANNAS Then say so to the council But don’t rely on subtlety Frighten them or they won’t see

CAIAPHAS Then we are decided?

ANNAS Then we are decided.

See how that works? Now to get to some more opinion on the song, and its place in the show!

There are two reasons “Then We Are Decided” is rarely included in the stage show. The first is that, at least in America, the copyright for the song belongs to the film studio, and it’s not part and parcel of the stage production, like later changes (including “Could We Start Again Please”) were. To use it in a stage production would need a separate negotiation/fee, and productions in the U.S. that have slipped the song into the show in the past without getting rights (such as a production in the Eighties by the Candlewood Playhouse) have been legally censured by the licensing agency. 

(Part of me wonders if that’s going to change in the near future. Andrew Lloyd Webber recently started his own licensing agency in the U.S., The Musical Company, which has taken over the licensing for all of his shows and his song catalogue in the States. The thing I’ve noticed about productions in the States vs. Europe including “Then We Are Decided” is that it happens way more often in Europe than over here, and I’ve theorized that this may be the case because Webber’s Really Useful Group handles everything in-house overseas with regard to publishing of individual songs and licensing said songs, whereas in America the rights situation has always been more complicated, needing to go to Universal to beg for permission separately from the rights one would hire from an agency like R&H, which handled JCS until recently. Thanks to Webber’s new licensing set-up, “Then We Are Decided” and the rights to JCS are under the same roof in North America for the first time. It would certainly make getting the permissions easier since one only has to go to one shop. Time will tell if my theory is correct and it was just a matter of lining up all the ducks in the same row, metaphorically speaking. Again, tangent, sorry, moving on…)

The second, and less explored owing to its rarity, reason is that its position in the film simply does not work on stage. On film, one is able to cut away from “Strange Thing, Mystifying” (“they only need a small excuse / to put us all away”) and increase the tension by showing the authorities are already thinking of dealing with the problem (e.g., Judas’ foreboding is not unfounded). On stage, however, interrupting the scene that incorporates “What’s The Buzz,” “Strange Thing, Mystifying,” and “Everything’s Alright” with “Then We Are Decided” ruins the arc of the scene — an uninterrupted rising dramatic line of tension, if you will.

A few of the productions that have used it over the years have tried to solve this problem by slotting it in after “Everything’s Alright” instead of before it, sticking it right before “This Jesus Must Die.” On paper, it makes sense – Caiaphas trying to convince Annas to back his position before the big council meeting, and then both of them making the pitch to the council. But in execution, put so close together, it only belabors the point of “the priests feel they must deal harshly with Jesus, and here’s why”; you hear two songs right in a row discussing basically the same plot point, with one of them being only slightly more personal (or interesting, for that matter) than the other. That’s called, in any style of writing, “beating a dead horse." An audience may or may not be as intelligent as we challenge them to be, but no audience likes feeling like the creative team believes they’re stupid enough that they have to be bludgeoned to death with story.

A friend and fellow JCS fan (who now works in reality TV – as they say on The Flintstones, "It’s a living!”) once came up with a novel suggestion: use “Then We Are Decided” as a prologue before the Overture. Right at the top of the show, you’ve got the priests, you establish their problem, they make the fateful decision, and we go right into the show knowing this man’s days are numbered and wondering what that’s about, with some foreboding sounding rock music to boot. Done right, I think it would be an interesting touch.

I then discovered that great minds must think alike, because a friend named Greg alerted me to the fact that director Ken Gargaro has been doing it this way for roughly 25 years with Pittsburgh Musical Theatre’s annual production of JCS. Precedent established, I feel way more confident putting forward this proposal, and I’ve even come up with how to make the musical transition seamless: instead of repeating the guitar intro to “Decided” at the end after Annas’ last line (which comes with a nice little helping of “Poor old Judas…” from – I believe – brass and lower woodwinds dumped over it on the film soundtrack that isn’t there in the movie), you cut the instrumental coda and go right into the Overture, likely accompanied by a bit of staging for dramatic effect to signal the transition into the show proper.

Just picture it…

Anyway, enough reverie. Coming soon: “Everything’s Alright”!

[kikoqueenofrats]

@toastraccoon New sticks, new sticks, new sticks, new sticks, new sti-

The week following Cels treatment was quite rough for the duo; Mari was still stubbornly refusing to sleep and Cel was too scared of losing their only friend to push it any further. Though the worry was definitely still there, Cel not being able to sleep properly because of it.

When Cel had fully recovered, the duo decided it was time to leave the hotel and continue on their journey to find Cels game/home.

Mari placed the key to their room onto the desk where they had received it in the first place, pushing it forward before looking at the stick running the desk.

"Thank you for the hospitality, we'll be leaving now" Mari nodded before turning on their heels and heading towards the exit.

Cel waved the receptionist off politely before quietly following Mari out, a hesitant look on his face.

Traveling through the hotel's exit portal the duo quickly arrived at a seemingly abandoned desktop.

Mari looked around just to be sure the coast was clear before clapping their hands together and turning towards Cel, who had just finished locking the door behind them.

"Alright! Show me your best fighting stance!" Mari ordered, their face looking firmer than usual.

Cel stared at Mari in surprised confusion, not expecting them to kick the training off so soon. He quickly shook it away however and did as he was told.

Mari proceeded to look Cel over, squinting at him dramatically.

Cel swallowed nervously, following Maris' movement with his eyes.

After fully circling Cel once Mari stopped, staring Cel down for a few moments.

"This is a good start..." Mari muttered, still eyeing Cel. Cel blushed slightly, both at the complement and at the prolonged eye contact.

"...let's see how it holds up against this" Mari threw a punch at Cel which he instinctively tried to dodge.

"Ouf!" Cel gasped as Maris fist caught his side. The momentum of the fist threw Cels balance so he quickly fell to the floor.

"That wasn't what I was expecting you to do" Mari chuckled looking kind of stunned. Cel looked back up at Mari sheepishly.

"But that was a decent dodge" Mari smiled, reaching out their hand, Cel smiled back and took it, allowing Mari to pull him onto his feet.

"Alright let's try this again, I'm trying to find out how well you can take a punch head on" Mari explained and Cels hesitant look turned into one of fear.

"I'm gonna go easy on you though don't worry" Mari smiled "I'll give you one of my weakest ones" Cel nodded slowly at that, going back into his original stance.

Mari pulled back, looking like they were about to punch when it looked like they had remembered something.

"Oh and feel free to block the punch with your arms, I'd rather not hit that face of yours" Mari smiled slightly for a few seconds before their face went back to its neutral expression.

Cel spluttered slightly, his face going red as his mind completely misinterpreted what Mari had meant.

Cel was about to shake the thought off when Maris fist made direct contact with Cels face.

Mari stared at Cel in shock as he fell onto the floor again with a loud thud.

"Ah, sorry about that" Mari gasped, reaching out their hand to help Cel onto his feet once again.

Cel groaned, rubbing his face as pain began spreading across his nose. "If that was Maris' weakest punch then I'm worried for the person they use their strongest punch on..." Cel thought to himself as he allowed Mari to pull him onto his feet.

"Nah, don't be...I was the on-"

"H...Hello?"

They both froze at that, slowly turning towards the voice to spot a small pink stick looking at them in fear.

"Hi?" Cel smiled waving at the small stick, a nervous look on his face.

The pink stick tensed up even more at that, before quickly turning on their heels and running into a nearby folder.

Cel backed away slightly at that, beginning to eye the computer wearily, as if he was expecting something to jump out at them. "Maybe we should leave," he muttered, looking up at Mari.

"They might be in trouble though!" Mari retorted, glancing at Cel for a few moments before their eyes went back to the folder.

A dark green stick poked their head out of the folder before Cel could reply and yelled at the duo.

"HEY! What do you thi-" Their eyes widened in recognition as their eyes landed on Cel.

Cel returned their look, his face pailing as time went on.

"S...Sean?" Cel muttered tears beginning to fill his eyes.

Sean continued to stare, slowly making his way out of the folder and towards Cel; as they were doing so another Green stick made their way out of the folder as well.

Their face changed from a look of confusion to one of shock and recognition as their eyes also landed on Cel.

Cel let out a sob of relief as his eyes met the other green stick and he only just managed to choke out their name before slowly making his way over.

"Vill..."

Mari slowly followed Cel over, very confused but also very concerned. Cel looked very close to breaking down completely after all.

As the two groups met in the middle Cel suddenly collapsed onto his knees. Mari quickly knelt down next to him, rubbing his back as Cel sobbed out apology after apology over and over again.

Vill and Sean looked down at Cel in concern, they knew why Cel was reacting like this, but they weren't expecting it to be this bad.

Their concerned faces deepened even more at Cels next few words.

"I...I thought...I thought I got you both killed..."

Both of the Green sticks were down on the floor and trying to pull the still sobbing Cel into their arms within the next few seconds.

"Flowershop" Sean gasped softly, wrapping his arms around both Vill and Cel and pulling them both into a protective hug.

"No, no, you had no choice flowershop!" Vill exclaimed tightly wrapping his arms around Cel.

Mari staired on in shock, having just had their friend pulled away from them. Though they didn't say anything, leaving the two sticks to help Cel calm down.

Cel seemed to know them anyway so they should be fine...

"No...no, you don't understand, you...you guys were my friends...I...I should've sided with you!" Cel sobbed trying to wriggle out of the hug as much as he could. Though he didn't get far as the duo held onto him tightly.

"Yeah, you should've" Sean stated, causing Vill to give him a sharp look of disapproval.

"But you're here now, you also seem to regret what you did, so we're good, okay?" Sean continued giving Vill a look of his own.

Vill huffed, looking away rather crest fallen for a few moments before looking back at Cel.

"Yeah...we're good" Vill muttered softly, gently headbutting Cel. Cel chuckled shakely, returning the headbutt. He nodded slowly, still smiling as the last of his tears rolled down his cheeks.

They remained like that for a while and probably would've stayed for longer if it hadn't been for the small pink stick that was slowly making their way out of the folder.

"Uhm...Papa...Dad? Do you know these sticks?" Pink quietly asked, causing everyone to look in her direction.

"Uh...yeah sweetie, this is an old friend of ours, Flo" "actually, I go by a different name now...flowershop has always been a..sort of title to me..." Cel muttered nervously, not looking the two sticks in the eye.

"You remember...I...didn't really think I deserved a name...but...I guess that changed after...I met them" Cel quickly glanced at Mari before looking back up at the two green sticks, not noticing the blush slowly making its way across his cheeks.

Vill and Sean nodded, Vill looking extremely excited and Sean smiling gratefully at Mari.

"Wait you have a name! What is it?" Vill beamed, Cel chuckled in response to Vills enthusiasm before answering his question.

"It's Cerulean...Cel for short" Cel smiled; Vill began flapping his arms in excitement as the others looked on in amusement.

"Well, Rose" Sean turned to look at the small pink stick now hiding behind Vill.

"This is an old friend of mine, Cel '' Sean gestured towards the blue stick still kneeling in front of him.

Rose peeked out from behind Vill, gave Cel a small wave, before slowly lowering themselves back into their hiding place.

"She's a little shy around unfamiliar sticks, but once she gets to know you and your..." Sean eyed Mari for a few moments "friend?" He looked back at Cel. Cel nodded, suddenly looking rather sheepish "She'll warm right up to you" Sean finished, not looking entirely convinced but also not wanting to pry.

Realising he was yet to introduce Vill and Sean to Mari, Cel gave Mari a somewhat apologetic look.

"Mhm, uhm, yeah this is my friend Maroon, Mari for short" Cel gestured towards Mari and they waved, the trio waved back before Sean shuffled forward and stuck out his hand.

"Thanks for looking after our buddy Mari" he smiled as Mari took his hand and shook it.

"No pro-" Mari gasped as Sean pulled Mari into a hug.

"Really, Cels mental state probably wasn't the best when he first came out of his game, it seems like you've helped him a lot...though if I find out you've messed with him in any way then I'll kill you...got it?" Sean's voice suddenly went very harsh and Mari couldn't help but tense up at it.

"This guy really must care about his friend to threaten someone he doesn't entirely know..." Mari thought, relaxing a bit.

"Yeah, I got it" Mari replied coolly, pulling out of the hug.

"Glad we're on the same page" Sean smiled, giving Mari a hefty pat on the shoulder before shuffling back to Vills side.

The atmosphere surrounding the group of sticks became tense as Vill gave Sean a slightly annoyed look, as if he could tell what Sean had just done; Whilst Cel began looking between Sean and Mari nervously, wondering what would happen next.

"Hey, do you want to see my shiny rock collection?" Rose piped up completely decimating the tense atmosphere as a result.

Mari and Cel looked at the small Pink stick in shock and Rose began to shrink back a bit. Cel quickly shook the feeling off and smiled "I'd love to!"

Rose perked right back up at that, quickly jumping to her feet, she walked over to Cel and grabbed his hand.

Cel chuckled slightly at the shy girl's sudden enthusiasm and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and roughly led towards the folder.

The other sticks quickly followed, trying to initiate small talk in an attempt to chase away the remaining tense feeling in the air.