#I coloured in the second image because it looked really faint next to the other but used the wrong orange feeling like a whole goose

[sirdwindl]

Trait doodles

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose —  temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

[daisies-and-buttercups]

“Love and War - Chapter III” - Luca Changretta x reader

Summary: You’ve picked a side, and now you have to deal with the aftermath. 

A/N: When I started this fic I had a decent outline what I wanted to happen but my ideas sorta ended with this part. However, I’m loving where this is going and I have some more ideas, so there probably will be a few more chapters 👀  Either way, I want to thank everyone that liked and commented, not only on this fic but in general, it always makes me so happy and it really means a lot 💕

Words: 3.4k

Chapter I Chapter II

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Your house was now used to your incessant walking, the wood singing along as you stood on it over and over, pacing from one room to the other, picking the phone up, sighing, falling on the bed for a short moment before starting the routine all over again. 

By morning you had slept for only a few hours, the ghost of Arthur visiting you in your dreams to blame you for his death, shaking you up until you woke up. The sun was now high, making you jump up to reach the phone. You weren’t backing down, you’d have no more deaths.

The phone rang consistently, bothering Ada enough to make her pick it up, ignoring Tommy’s order against it.  “What?” Her tone was annoyed, but she understood once she heard yours, nervous and desperate. “Ada? Ada! I need to know where they are. I’m not having them kill each other.”  “Oh darling, I… I can’t. Tommy was adamant about not letting you know.” Her tone was now softer, having missed your conversations and feeling the desperation in your voice. “Ada, please. I covered you when you and Freddie-“ “Is this a me-and-Freddie situation?” “What?” “Is he your Freddie?”  Your fingers tapped on the table, looking up at the flowers that had started to wither. You had pressed the nicest ones in a book, but couldn’t bring yourself to throw the rest away and, even if dried out, they still somehow looked good, so you kept them.  Was he your Freddie? He definitely felt like what Ada had described all those years ago, the feelings she described so vividly were now also your own. You hadn’t spent long enough with him to truly know, but you didn’t want him to die before you had the chance to figure it out. “I don’t know, Ada. I think so.”  Her sigh was the only sign, along with your impatient tapping, that time was still flowing.  “The distillery. Tommy left not too long ago, so I’d rush there.”  You groaned and ran to get your shoes, running back to the phone to thank her. “You didn’t hear it from me, you hear me! Not from me!” She repeated over and over, hoping that you wouldn’t be the victim of the day. She really didn’t want to lose a friend. 

The roads were deserted as you ran past the first buildings, spotting the distillery in the distance.  You turned the corner, trying not to run the final meters that separated you from whatever was going on inside, thinking it wise to listen to what was happening before jumping into a situation you might not know how to handle, but stopped dead in your tracks. Someone stood outside the door, taking a few steps, listening, scratching his head and checking his gun. Someone that looked a lot like… “Arthur?”  He turned and faced you, smiling but quickly placing a finger over his lips, letting you know to be quiet. You walked fast again, walking over to him and crashing against his chest, pulling him in a quick hug, but freezing when you realised why he was out here. He wasn’t alone, but the men stayed back, leaving you the space to talk, holding their guns in clear sight nonetheless.  “How are you doing, love?” He whispered. “You’re… you’re meant to be dead.” “Hope it’s not too disappointing to see me still standing, dear” he laughed softly, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I’d suggest leaving now, it ain’t gonna be pretty.” he motioned to the gun, glancing inside while focusing for a moment on the voices that could faintly be heard. You stood still, listening along and hearing Luca speak, then the sound of banging and glass breaking, the clear sound of a fight.  It was the vortex of emotions swirling in your steps that kept you there, trying to make sense of the situation. Your image of Luca had been shifted because of Arthur’s death, only to now find him standing there, armed, ready for a fight. And you knew who the bullets in his barrel were for. “Ah, that’s my cue. See ya, love.”  You weren’t sure if it was the sound of your heartbeat or of your footsteps, but before he had time to react you slipped past him, holding your stare straight ahead of you, the colour of blood painting your thoughts. It was rage, that rage that had never been strong, that always came when you weren’t part of Tommy’s plans. When you had to stay behind. When it was better if you didn’t know. You wasted all your tears on a man that wasn’t dead, not an ounce of regret in anybody’s mind when you walked in. 

The first thing you saw was Tommy’s expression drop when his eyes landed on you, the only person that could’ve complicated this further. Then you saw Luca.  His face wasn’t the same as when you last saw it. Gashes decorated it, his eye was swollen and his lips hung open, showing you the damage dealt in its full glory. It was a gruesome show, only made worse by the stares that you received for being there.  Tommy was holding him up when you walked in, the faint glimmer of surprise passing through his eyes, expecting Arthur to walk in, not you. But to see you walk over  to the bloodied man… maybe that’s what made him truly speechless. When you reached Luca you stopped, looking at his injuries for only a second before hearing Arthur cock his gun.  “Get away from him, sweetheart. I told you to leave.”  You turned slowly, first meeting Thomas’ cold stare and then facing the gun that was pointed at you, crossing your arms in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere, Arthur. Shoot me, I’m not leaving.”  Luca called your name, pulling you weakly away, trying to get you to stand behind him. He wouldn’t have you get killed over his life. But you didn’t move, asserting your position once more in front of the man, planting your feet harshly against the ground.  You saw Arthur’s eyes wander between you and Tommy, unsure as to what to do. You all waited for the next move, the only sound being Luca’s demands for you to leave as he clung to you, trying to get you to leave. “Go.”  Tommy spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes fixed on your hand, the one that gripped on to Luca’s. He couldn’t watch you, so worried for the life of that man. A person he had considered a friend, a helper, family, even, now standing on the enemy’s side.  You had been Luca’s only request. He didn’t care about the rest, but he wanted you to leave with him, if that was what you desired, and he didn’t want anyone trying to stop you. He wanted you, and that made Tommy’s blood boil, but he played his part, knowing full well that he had the upper hand. He knew that there's no leaving, not for you and not for him. There was nothing to go back to either way. Luca was never going to leave alive in Tommy’s eyes, but when you crossed the threshold the illusion shattered. The way you looked at him made it clear that you’d be willing to risk more than your life for the Italian. He’d been a fool, maybe, but there had always been something about your ways. He knew you, cared for you, and underestimated you all at the same time. In his eyes you’d always follow him like a lost puppy, just like Arthur did, but you were strong enough to break from his spell and get away. “Now!” he shouted, walking over to Arthur and ripping his gun out of his hands, aiming it at you, allowing his emotions to leave him, falling back into his new reality. You were an enemy now too, and he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.  A small flinch and the beginning of a tear was all that you allowed him to see before you moved, cringing at the sound of Luca grunting in pain at your movement, trying to pull him up somewhat gently, but not allowing him to see that, no matter where you stood now, this still hurt. 

Feeling your heart beat in your chest, you focused on the gun aimed at you for a moment, stopping at the door to look each one of them in the eyes. Tommy’s gaze didn’t falter, menacing and cold, while Arthur couldn’t look at you, moving away from where you stood, realising the side you chose didn’t match his own.  You had often sat with Arthur, the two of you ignored on many occasions and gave you an extra reason to bond, and he cared deeply for you, but he wouldn’t go against Tommy, not even to look at you to show you that he somehow wasn’t mad, just surprised and disappointed at your choice. 

While you walked out of the door, no man followed you, making it clear that Luca’s men were no longer his, Matteo standing still behind you, not daring to look up and meet Luca’s eyes, clutching his rifle tightly against his chest.   “I should be the hero coming to save you, not vice versa.”  “Yeah, well, maybe next time.” You muttered, struggling to walk while carrying most of his body weight.  You weren’t sure what other damage he had apart from his face, but his limping and laboured breathing suggested that other parts of his body had been wounded too. He pretended to be fine, taking steady steps before falling back onto you with a grunt, whispering a mix of Italian swear words and apologies. 

The moment you crossed the threshold of your house you walked him over to the sofa, finding the phone and calling the doctor before gathering anything useful that you could find, cursing at yourself for not being more organised.  “You could’ve died.” he spoke, his voice coarse as you made your way back to him with the various creams. “You’re a goddamn fool.” You muttered, dabbing his wounds, making him flinch and hiss in pain.  “Gentle, love.” He tried to joke, moving away from you, only to stop when the pain between his ribs got worse.  “I wouldn’t have to be gentle if you weren’t such an idiot.” You answered back, scoffing but softening your touches nonetheless. The doctor was going to be here soon, so you decided to focus on the various cuts, moving as gently as you could, wiping away the blood and removing any piece of glass still stuck in his skin.  “Never do that again.” He spoke seriously now, moving ever so slightly while you took care of him, lifting his hand to wipe some of his blood that had gotten on your cheek.  “Never do what again, save your ass?”  “Stand between me and a gun.” It had been a bold move, trusting your gut, knowing that Arthur wouldn’t shoot at you, even when your brain was cursing at you to get out of the way, but you weren’t sure if that made all the difference. You hadn’t thought about it, you just felt the need to stand in front of him, to shield him, whatever the outcome.  “Then next time be on the right end of it.”  Your movements were stopped by his hand gripping yours, holding the blood-stained rag still, some of the drops dripping down your arms, colouring your skin with faint red lines. “That was my intention and always has been, I can assure you, but in no circumstance I want you to take a bullet for me.” His eyes wandered, looking at you while you took care of him. He couldn’t have hoped for a better sight, yet something about the scene before him tugged at something deep within him. The fear of what he thought he could never achieve being right in front of him, maybe.  “Turns out I am here to clean up your wounds in the end, eh?” you joked, trying to wipe the serious look off his face along with all the blood.  “Y’ won’t want to kiss me anymore, with all these cuts. Too many scars.” “Who said I ever wanted to kiss you in the first place?” It was a harmless joke, proved for good measure by the soft kiss you placed on his lips, the meeting of your tongues enticed by both of your lips curving into a soft smile, the feeling of finally belonging somewhere filling your chest. “You never seemed to mind, dear.”  “I’ll always want to kiss you.” You added, letting the truth run free. He laughed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, gently caressing your face with his fingertips, tracing invisible lines.  “No good came from kissing this old man, sweetheart. You-“ his words were interrupted by the timid knock on the door. He watched as you rose, making your way to the door, welcoming the doctor in and gesturing towards Luca, quickly explaining that you tended his external wounds and needed some help at assessing the internal ones. He looked away, nodding at the annoyance of being interrupted. 

“He’s got a broken rib. It will take him up to two months to fully recover, but in a week or two the pain should lessen. He’s also running a low fever. Everything seems under control, but if it rises you’ll have to monitor his condition.” The small man talked quietly, as if he didn’t want Luca to hear. Timid steps made him grow closer to the exit with each word he spoke, evidently eager to leave. “Thank you, doctor.”  He nodded, turning to walk away, stopping just before the door to glance behind him, looking at Luca, now standing tall behind you. “Is there a problem?” You asked, feeling the tension rise. You knew that Tommy had men all over town, but you didn’t want to believe that the doctor that had been helping you for years might be close to turning on you.  “They told me to deliver a message.”  A message. Through a man, rather than a phone call. Was that too personal for him now? They had no issue telling you about Arthur’s supposed death by phone, but now that he was threatening you, he used someone else’s voice.  “Have they, now?” Luca’s words were raspy, still out of breath from the movement and the pain, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating in the doctor’s eyes.  He was shorter than both of you, a small and round man, and, even with a broken rib and in pain, he knew Luca could easily overpower him if he so wished.  “They… Mr. Shelby said that you’ve got to leave. You’ve got until tomorrow. If you’re not-“ he took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling voice, “if you’re not on the last ship out of here they’d…” he trailed on, not wanting to anger either of you. A quick glance at you and he nodded, rushing out of the door, closing it behind him in a haste, eager to get away. You turned, letting out an exasperated sigh while Luca stood behind you, considering the doctor’s words. He hadn’t looked at you, only at him, which meant that it was very likely that their appreciation for you over the years had counted for something. They wouldn’t kill you.  “I’ll pack my bags.” It wasn’t a question, there was no doubt that you’d follow him. Life with the Shelby’s had been a blessing, some of the best years of your life, but you doubted Tommy would welcome you back, at least not so soon. There was nothing left for you here, not in the land of Thomas Shelby.  “He’s not after you.” he tried to stop you from grabbing the bag, grabbing a hold of your hand as he spoke, holding you in place. You moved to face him, studying his expression. A lot of Luca came from his eyes, using his words to charm and threaten and keeping his secrets hidden deep inside. “But he’s after you.” “You’ve got a life here.”  “I had a life here.” you answered, feeling the electricity of a new start in the air. “If I stayed I’d have to find a job, and not only are most businesses owned by the Blinders, but those that aren’t wouldn’t welcome someone that got away from them on bad terms. They’re feared, and I’d just make whoever wanted me a target. I made a choice, Luca, and you’re not getting rid of me so easily.” you laughed, moving closer to him and caressing his cheek, gently, avoiding the small cuts. “I get to start over.” He smiled at your words, wishing he had your way of seeing things, the simpler ones, his eyes now trained to see the thousands of possibilities and dangers that his way of life offered him so easily, yet ignoring the other possibilities, the ones that weren’t deadly. You complemented each other, lacking what the other was strongest in. And while he looked at you, all he saw was the image of the wife he never could’ve dreamed of having, hoping that one day you’d be just that. He smiled again at the thought, watching you as you walked back to your bed, opening your bag to pack your belongings.  “America?” you asked, choosing the limited clothes you could bring. You could buy more once you arrived there, but you were sentimental and some had to come; the dress you wore on your first day in Small Heath, the one you had on when you saw Ada’s kid for the first time, and the few dresses you wore with Luca. You placed them all neatly, feeling the soft fabric under your hands, picking a few other items to fill the bag. A photograph of you, Polly and Ada, all smiling proud, a pearl necklace that made you feel like you could rule the world, along with a few memories of your years in England. He nodded, still deep in thought. “Will Matteo be joining us later on?” “Matteo’s with the Blinders now.” “Is he?” you smiled at him, knowing that the truth wasn’t that simple, and when he looked at you, you knew you were right. The mafia didn’t work with money, but with honour. It was a different world from Tommy’s, and Matteo wasn’t going to bail on the Changretta family just for some extra money. “There’s only two ships leaving, one tonight and one tomorrow.” He watched you from the mirror, his fingers lightly dragging over his wounds while he was deep in thought. “They’ll know where to find us.” you spoke the implication out loud, giving you the time to think of a solution. “So what if we don’t go to America?” He stood, his eyes closing at the brusk movements, still not used to the level of care he needed to take when he moved, making his way to the small table where a bottle of wine had been discarded the night before, half of its contents still in it, two glasses lined up next to it but only one used.  “My family needs me.” “Yeah, alive.” “The Shelby’s have fucked with the business, I’ve got to fix their deeds.”  “But you can’t fix anything if they kill us tomorrow.” he opened his mouth, ready to protest, but you continued “I’m talking about one extra day, one stop before heading to America.”  The wine was sweet, calming his nerves in the slightest of ways. “What do you suggest?”  “Call your family, fill them in on what they haven’t figured out on their own. Then we pack our things, spend the night in each other's arms and when we wake up, we leave. The ship sets sail tomorrow at 9am.”  “You’ve planned this.” You nodded, looking at the man that stood before you with a pleased smile. You had spent enough time alone with your thoughts to come up with more than one plan, and this one was your favourite. A simple exit. You picked up the papers, the tickets for your journey, that had been abandoned on the desk, handing them to him with a wink.  “Italy. You’ve got family over there too, right? I’m sure you’ll be able to secure us a place to sleep for the night, and if not I guess we’ll just have to sleep under the stars.” You raised your hand dramatically, moving your fingers around an imaginary constellation. “Then we leave for America. One day, a small change in plan, and we’ll have the Shelby’s waiting for us here. Wrong place, wrong time, but not for us. And once we arrive, you’ll have all the time to fix what needs to be fixed. Deal?”  He took a second to think about it, pursing his lips in thought, watching as you waited patiently, switching your weight from one leg to the other. Then he nodded, your hands lifting in victory as you approached him, softly placing your arms on his shoulders.

“We have a deal.” 

[thedeathdeelers]

has anyone written a fic where luke is hyperfixating on guitar hero because “this doesn’t make sense julie??? a guitar is literally attached to my soul how am i not the best at this?? NO” and then spends the next 72 hours hauled up in the studio just playing guitar hero on expert only

——

Julie’s about to fall asleep when she hears a faint popping sound coming from the direction she’s facing, near her window.

“Mmmmfm what?”

“Uh Jules?” She opens one eye to find Reggie and Alex nervously standing by the edge of her bed. Reggie inches closer when he sees her looking at them.

“Do you think you could maybe- uh, talk to Luke? He hasn’t taken any breaks since,” Reggie holds up his hand as he counts down the days. “Sunday. He’s been at it for nearly 4 days straight and we’re worried he’s going to go full Super Mario mode and last time that happened it......it wasn’t pretty.” Both boys recoil at the mental image.

Julie groans as she pushes her covers back, opening her other eye to get a better look at both boys. “Yeah but, he’s a ghost now. Shouldn’t this be different? I mean it’s not like he needs to eat or anything...” Julie trails off as a yawn makes its way out of her.

“We’re not worried about his health more so just...him.” Alex steps forward next to Reggie as he starts articulating with his hands. “He gets really intense about these things and it eats him up inside even if he doesn’t show it, and he just—” Alex’ arms stop moving, letting them flop back to his sides. “Just trust us on this?”

Julie stares at the two boys for a few more seconds before she sits up, groaning all the way.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

Both boys visibly relax at her words, throwing her double thumbs up before they pop out of her room.

Julie reaches out for her glasses on her nightstand, shoving them onto her face as she dangles her legs off her bed in search of her warm slippers. She makes her way towards her door before stopping, pivoting on the spot and walking back towards her bed to grab her favourite blanket. Armed with a bundle of warmth in her arms, she heads out.

As she approaches the studio doors, she starts to see different coloured lights dancing across the high windows, followed by discordant guitar sounds vibrating through the glass.

So Luke hasn’t mastered the art of Guitar Hero yet.

With a sigh, Julie pushes at the large doors, steps in and takes in the sight before her as she leans back agains the door, shutting it behind her.

Luke is sat on his old weathered black couch, facing the old TV they had installed for the boys once Ray had been informed of their existence. With his brows furrowed, lip caught between his teeth and shoulders hunched forward, Julie can safely say she has never seen him this way. His beanie is perched precariously on his head, strands of hair coming out in all directions as if messed with for many, many, hours. The dark circles under his eyes seem to be popping out (ghosts never slept?), and the grim line of his mouth is one Julie hasn’t seen since Trevor.

She takes her time to catalogue every single concerning aspect of this Luke, the worry surging forward while guilt slowly makes its presence known.

“Luke?” She tries, her voice loud enough to carry over the muted sounds of the TV speakers.

Nothing.

“Luke?” she tries again.

Still nothing.

Julie pushes herself off the garage door, slowly walking forward as she weaves her way through the studio armchairs and coffee tables, only stopping once she’s standing right next to Luke, their knees nearly touching.

“Luke?”

The boy in question finally registers her presence, jumping slightly even as his fingers continue to click the buttons away.

“Julie! I- When-” He cuts himself off with his eyes still on the screen, the furrowed brow deepening. The game wasn’t going well.

“Reggie and Alex asked me to check on you. I thought maybe they were being a little extra but....” Julie trails off as she watches Luke bites hard on his lip as he misses a series of button cues.

“Luke?”

“Julie! Yeah, sorry yeah just give me one- Aw crap not again!” Julie turns to stare at the screen, and sees the warning flash across the screen.

“Luke I think maybe you should-”

“I’m so close, I just need to focus.”

Julie’s eyes flick back to Luke, her heart squeezing at the desperate look in his eyes. She had to stop this — or at least get him to take a breather — he looks exhausted. And was that sweat on his forehead? Okay so she seriously needed to stop this.

Decision made, Julie drops her bundle of blanket onto the couch next to Luke, and moves to stand in front of him. Without even blinking, Luke just leans to the side, fingers still busy at work. She shifts closer, knees knocking into his, as she tries to make room on his lap for her to her. She figured he might fight her on it, but Luke seems to be running on autopilot — because all he does is lift his arms, moving the guitar out of the way, as she clumsily settles into his lap, ducking her head under the strap and onto his shoulder. With her legs draped over and onto the other side of the couch, Julie reaches behind her and grabs her blanket and covers her bare legs.

Plucking the beanie off his head and throwing it to the side, Julie’s fingers travel up Luke’s face, cupping his cheeks as her thumbs swipe across the stubbled surface.

“Luke?” She tries once more, her voice soft but firm and full of worry.

At her voice, Luke visibly jumps, his eyes finally detaching from the screen, head swivelling as he stares at her, mouth agape.

“Jules! You- uh..” Luke quickly fiddles with the buttons on the guitar, pressing pause as he hastily pulls the strap over his head. With the guitar finally put away to the side, Julie allows herself a small sigh of relief.

First step.

“I- sorry I didn’t-” he rubs at the back of his head, his expression momentarily confused as he tries to feel for his missing beanie. His expression shifts once more when he realises Julie is sat on his lap, the change in features almost comical. She pushes the wet hair from his forehead out of the way, fingers lingering on his face.

“When- when did you uh,” he waves his arms in her general direction before wrapping them around her waist, pulling her more firmly against his chest. “..get here?”

Julie just burrows her face into his neck as a reply, retracting her hands and wrapping her arms around him. She places a kiss against his pulse point, her lips twitching when she feels him shiver beneath her.

“I think it’s time for the ghost to take a break,” is all she says.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, the background music coming from the paused game the only sound breaking the silence. Julie looks up past Luke’s jaw to find him staring at the screen, biting his lip again.

“I can show you some tricks in the morning if you’d like?” Julie closes her eyes when she sees his eyes dart back to hers. Faking a yawn, she snuggles deeper into him. “I just want to sleep now.”

She waits for him to move her, to say anything, but all she feels is him leaning back against the couch cushions, a small sigh escaping him. The worry eating away at her heart eases slightly, her muscles relaxing.

And as she starts to slowly drift off, the rhythmic movements of Luke’s chest rising and falling lulling her to sleep, Julie swears she hears Luke whisper a quiet “thank you,” right before pressing his lips against the top of her head.

She knows in the morning once she’s out of his arms and they’re free to grab onto the guitar again he’ll be right back at it, but at least now she can be there with him, making sure he’s taking all the necessary breaks.

fin

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

AAA HI IM HERE FOR THE LATE EVENT😙😙 COULD PLS HAVE KAGEYAMA + WITH THE AU WHERE "Everyone is born with a unique number only they and their soulmates have" + ANGST TO FLUFF PLS 🥺🥺 THAK YOU FOR LETTING ME DO THIS LATE I APPRECIATE YOU AND LOVE YOU MWAH HAVE A GOOD DAY DARLING

Okay, so, I sort of went on a wild one with this one. And I hope you like this because ya know, it is definitely angst and there is some fluff, but it was getting so long and it’s already like nearly 2k words i think. lemme check. yeah, 1.7k words. omg. i did love this little story i made so i hope you do skjfhdskjfhsdfsdkf

----

Life, for you, was perfect.

In a world of soulmates, you were one of the lucky few that had actually managed to meet your destined other half. 

You met Fujinaga Souta when you were 8 years old - barely a second year in elementary school - you’d transferred to his school a few weeks into the year, when friend groups had been established and you were left to try and find a place where you could be.

It wasn’t like you were sitting in the seat next to him, and he picked up a pen you’d drop on the ground. It actually wouldn’t be until you were 10 years old that you’d ever talk to him.

Because Fujinaga Souta felt like he was a thousand miles ahead of you, so close yet so out of reach in everything he did. He played volleyball so beautifully, setting with ease and wonder that you couldn’t help but be captivated by him. You had a crush with a boy who didn’t know you existed, and back then it felt okay, because you could always imagine what it felt like to hold hands with him. When his blue eyes found yours, you’d melt, and feel the warm spread to your cheeks before turning away. Black hair that dangled in front of his eyes.

A small group - including him and you - were talking one day, and he started complaining about the way his hair fell in front of his eyes. Being the person you were, you offered a clip to keep it out of his eyes. Being the person he is, he accepted.

It was at that moment he finally paid attention to the numbers that traced along your jaw. 539268. The ones that matched his own perfectly. He almost screamed, pushing your head to the side so he could get a closer look and ensure he wasn’t reading it wrong (you’d complain later in life that this is where your neck problems came from, but you both knew it was from your posture). After he was done pointing and rambling, he pulled down his sock to reveal the numbers on his ankle. 539268.

You almost fainted. It was strange. Your friends exclaimed how lucky you were - because he was a popular boy, loved by so many.

You were 11 when you found out he was your soulmate.

When you told your mother, she immediately set up a celebration; you couldn’t have been more embarrassed, but Souta made it feel like the most normal thing in the world.

Souta was your world. That’s why when he started to get sick, you were by his side as often as you could be. Each day at school would be filled with messages you’d send to him about things you would do when he got out of the hospital.

Only he never got out of the hospital.

On February 16th, 2012, Souta passed away.

Ripped from your arms before you’d gotten a chance to live.

You spent so many months locked away in your room, crying and screaming from the physical pain losing him had caused you. Your only solace was the pile of shirts his mother had let you have because she recognised how painful it was to lose someone who would be the one to know you better than you knew yourself.

The first time you visited his grave made your soul weaker and you could only cry as you clawed at the dirt.

The first day at your high school - which you started months later than most - was like hell. Everyone had heard of you, of the girl who lost her soulmate. They offered empty condolences that you had to pretend made things better.

The first friend you made - a sweet girl named Yachi Hitoka - didn’t pretend she knew what it felt like. In fact, she didn’t even make you talk about Souta at all (for that, you were grateful). She filled up your world with notes and studying, a pleasant distraction from a world outside of your own.

Your friendship with Yachi remained in the classroom, but that was fine by you. She had her own worries and troubles.

A few months in, and you weren’t crying as much anymore. Your heart still yearned for his touch, but you found some love in visiting his grave and telling him about your days, hoping that, by some miracle, he could still hear you.

The first time you see someone that looks so much like him, you’re sure you’re hallucinating that it sends you back into a spiral.

Kageyama Tobio. That was his name. The one you’d silently curse when you saw him in the halls; the one that made you move further away from Yachi when you learnt she’d been tutoring him; the one that looked so much like your soulmate it opened up the tear in your heart.

It wasn’t like you had to interact with him, you didn’t, he wasn’t in your class, wasn’t in your club, you didn’t have anything in common with him. Not until you walked to the vending machine one lunch and stood for too long trying to work out what to get and heard his gruff voice, “can you hurry up?” He grumbled.

You didn’t even take the time to glare over your shoulder before you chose milk, just because it was easier - that, and it was the last carton and something about the blue on it made you think of Souta again. How were you supposed to know that milk just happened to be this boy's favourite drink? You weren’t.

That wasn’t the last run in you would have with Kageyama Tobio - much to your demise - it only got worse through your second and third years, where your visits to Souta’s grave became more filled with anxiety about your future.

It isn’t until one Summer day during your second year that you seem an all too familiar face standing next to Souta’s grave (or the one next to it).

You try your best to ignore Kageyama as you kneel down in front of your soulmate's grave, but his eyes seem to find you immediately. “Do you mind if I talk?” You ask, not looking up at him for fear you might break. He didn’t answer, so you took matters into your own hands.

You talked to Souta about this week. About how you visited his family the day before and how his mom said you were growing to be a lovely young woman. About how you hadn’t cried this week, and you were proud of yourself. You told him that nothing exciting had happened since he was gone, and that the world seemed to lose more colour with each passing day.

You were talking without realising you had someone actually listening.

“Does that help?” He asked without thinking. Maybe he made a mistake, because the light in your eyes seemed to flutter out, but you answered him nonetheless.

“I guess so, although I’m not doing it to help.” You sighed, brushing your fingers over the petals on the flowers placed there by someone. “I’m doing it because I love him, and he deserves to hear this. To talk to me. Ya know?” And he nodded as if he understood - but you knew he didn't.

That was the start of a small arrangement with Kageyama Tobio. Once a week, he’d show up at the graveyard (not just because you were there, but also because that was where his grandfather was buried). You’d both talk to your respective people, and it was nice.

You stopped seeing Kageyama as a wrong version of Souta and started seeing him for himself.

One day, near the end of your third year, you somehow end up arguing with Kageyama. “Yeah, well, you hated me for no reason all throughout my first year.” He bit back at a comment you made and you shoved your hands into your hair gripping the roots (why is the only thing you can think is how your Souta would never act like this).

“I didn’t hate you!” You cried back.

“Then what was it?” He hissed.

You wanted to explode, everything hurt all over again.

“You reminded me of him. Of Souta.” You said, hoping he wouldn’t ask for an explanation.

“But I’m not him, so how?”

That was enough for you to realise that Kageyama had never seen what Souta looked like. He wasn’t aware of the fact that he was the spitting image of your soulmate. So, as you’re rummaging through your bag for a picture you kept on you, you start explaining to him. “Because Souta was sweet, and kind, and considerate, and loving.” You say, and you can tell he’s confused. “And you’re sweet but blind, kind but dense. Not quite as considerate and loving, but you try even when it doesn’t look like you are.” You sigh, ignoring the pang of pain in your heart. “You play volleyball - a setter - and you play it so effortlessly. You remind me of him in every single way without knowing it, but I know it and it hurt me. It still hurts me. Because how am I meant to feel when I look up at you and somehow stopped seeing him and started seeing you?” You ask, though you aren’t really asking him. It’s a general question.

You manage to find the picture and pass it to him. His reaction speaks a thousand words, the way his eyes widen because this boy does look like the spitting image of him and he can see why you were hurt by him.

He explains that he didn’t understand what the big deal about soulmates was until he met you. That the reason he’d never really cared about that was because he was born without a soulmate mark (you traced the numbers on your jaw); he had to be like the many who just had to make their own soulmates, but he’d never even have the option to meet a soulmate. You almost felt ashamed. He told you you didn't need to feel ashamed.

That night, as you sat watching a movie to forget about the argument, you’d experience your first kiss with a boy that wasn’t your soulmate. You didn’t feel any guilt about it. Because you knew Souta would want you to be happy.

You and Kageyama had a rocky friendship; your relationship wasn’t any easier. But you made it work. Because soulmates normally don’t get to meet, but you can make soulmates with enough time and care. And, luckily for you, Kageyama was willing to give all the time in the world to you (as long as you didn't get in the way of volleyball, but you normally didn’t).

----

General Taglist:

@pies-writes-and-more @satan-ruler-of-hells @dekuspet @samkysnks @lucyheartfilias-wife @kaleidoscopekai

If you would like to be added to the taglist, send me a DM or an ask :D

[not-xpr-art]

Art Advice #3 - Drawing tips!

Hi everyone!

As you may know, every week or so I’m writing blog posts with art advice hints and tips for artists of any skill level in the hopes of helping some people out a bit! The tag is here so feel free to check out some of my other posts!

This week’s post is going to be some drawing tips I’ve picked up over the years that could hopefully be useful for beginner artists! 

(this is about 1800 words altogether btw)

Drawings tips!

I’m going to split this post up into little sections which will hopefully make it easier for you to scroll to find certain advice you’re particularly interested in!

Part 1 - How to get started?

I’m a firm believer that anyone can be an artist, regardless of what materials or equipment they have. So when it comes to my advice on what kind of materials I recommend for beginner artists, I’d mainly say ‘whatever you have’. 

But if that’s a bit vague, I’d essentially recommend you have a set of pencils which you can usually get relatively inexpensive online or in craft/art shops which range from 6B all the way to 6H (’B’ being for softer, darker pencils, often good for shading, and ‘H’ for the harder pencil leads which are best for much lighter shading or if you want a really faint sketch. Something important to note about ‘H’ pencils is not to press too hard with them since they’re a lot more likely to leave indents in the paper than ‘B’ pencils! For general sketching I personally use 2B or 3B pencils since they have the perfect balance of soft & hardness in my opinion!) 

Of course, you can just draw with whatever pens or pencils you already have, so definitely don’t feel you have to go out of your way to buy something new or expensive just because your favourite artists use a particular brand of pencil or pen... Of course, often higher quality pens or pencils (especially colouring pencils) will have better pigment payoff than the cheaper alternatives, but as someone who’s been using the same WHSmith pencils they got when they were a child, I definitely think that as long as you have something to draw with, you’re all set to produce masterpieces of your own!

A lot of my art education got us using charcoal for a lot of our drawing practise. It’s not a medium I’m particularly fond of personally, but it is a great way to practise being a lot quicker and expressive with drawing, so definitely if you’re up for the challenge you can try some charcoal stuff! Only piece of advice is that I wouldn’t really recommend those ‘charcoal pencils’ you can buy in some shops, since they mostly just break apart every time you try and sharpen them... Regular charcoal is messy, though, and smudges very easily, so if you are interested in using it I’d say to do a little bit of research before hand! 

(Or feel free to send me an ask if you want any further advice on using it!)

If you’re wanting to get into digital art, I’m planning on making a post discussing my tips for beginners to digital so... keep an eye out for that in the near future lol!

~

Part 2 - Getting over ‘Drawing Anxiety’

Drawing can be a daunting thing, particularly when artists who are already pretty good at it can seemingly produce a perfectly proportioned face out of thin air. But these artists weren’t magically born with this skill, of course, so with practise and some perseverance, I can assure you that you’ll be at that stage one day!

So my first piece of advice here is to be patient with yourself. Don’t expect yourself to be perfect straight away. 

Second piece of advice is to sketch constantly!! I notice a lot of people who haven’t been drawing long are really careful about how they draw, almost like they’re afraid to be rough with the pencil. So I’d really recommend just starting to sketch a lot: be rough, be messy, draw things you can see and things from your imagination! 

Observational drawing is another thing I think is crucial in improving your drawing skills (and I’ll go into more detail with this in a bit), but honestly just sketching things you like is such a great way to help you grow as an artist! And yes this includes drawing anime fanart or drawings of your original characters! 

Below is some comparisons of my attempts at drawing Freema Agyeman from 2013 to 2019... Is the latest version of this perfect? Of course not. But I just want to show what constant practise can achieve!

~

Part 3 - Observational drawing

I honestly think that observational drawing was one of the most important things I learnt in my years of art education. 

Observational drawing can take on many meanings. Perhaps it’s drawing a still life of a fruit bowl, or a life drawing class with a naked dude in front of you, or even drawing from a photo. The point of observational drawing is to improve how you translate the world around you onto a 2D surface, essentially. 

And you don’t need anything fancy to do observational drawing either! Just placing an array of things in front of you and trying to sketch them (try and focus on a mix of textures and surfaces for the objects. So, for example, including a cup along side a woolly hat will help you get a handle on how to create texture with your drawing, and drawing anything with a reflective surface like cutlery is both challenging and interesting to do! Basically just use what you have around you!)

If you’re lucky (or unlucky, depending on how fond you are of seeing naked people lol) enough to have the chance to do life drawing, I would honestly recommend it! Often the final results aren’t great, but it’s a really good way of practising your observational skills! And even if you don’t have the opportunity, just trying to sketch a friend or family member from across a room, for example, is something that can really help you improve! 

Top tip: a teacher once told me that when you’re drawing something like a face, for example, a way to improve how you draw is to see the face not as a ‘face’, but instead as a collections of shapes. Because our brains have a preconceived idea of what a face looks like that we end up drawing what we think we can see rather than what we can actually see! 

There’s a lot of art snobs who believe that drawing from reference images is ‘cheating’ in comparison to life drawing, Of course, this is bs, and I’d say I’ve learnt just as much from using reference photos for the basis of my art as I have from drawing from ‘real life’. For more information about my thoughts on references and how to use them, see This post!

~

Part 4 - Drawing from references: Tracing, Grids and Freehand (which is best?)

Tracing in the world of art is a ... Contentious subject to say the least. And I’m not really interested in getting into the ‘moral’ implications of whether it is ‘cheating’ or not.

Instead I want to focus on the pros of using something like tracing when you’re starting out. I think particularly if you’re trying to improve how you shade things, colour things or how to get better at blending, then I do think that tracing can be a useful tool! Even I used tracing in the very start of my delve into digital art, but soon found that tracing wasn’t really something that was helping me in the long run so moved onto freehand stuff. 

Overall, I think tracing is good as a starting point when you’re still learning about art, and also if you’re not too comfortable with your freehand drawing skills yet. I’d also recommend you mention if you have traced a piece if you share art to social media. Of course, no one is obligated to do this though! 

This is an example of an artwork that I traced (it’s from 2013, hence why it looks... like That lol)

But if you’re someone who perhaps has used tracing in the past and found it doesn’t really work for you, or if you don’t want to start with tracing at all, then a good ‘next step’ I’ve seen other artists get into is using grids. 

Now I have to admit, I’m not the best person to talk about grids since I’ve actually never used them lol... But I know a lot of artists who do, particularly people who do a lot of traditional work, since it makes it a lot easier to translate the reference image to your piece of paper or canvas. 

And in a way I would recommend grids more for people starting out in drawing than tracing, and this is mainly due to the fact grids force you to use a lot more observational drawing skills than tracing! If you’re interested in getting into using grids I’d recommend doing a bit of research yourself! 

The final technique of drawing from references I want to talk about is freehand! Now this is the one I’ve been doing for the majority of my art ‘career’ and honestly is probably the most ‘difficult’ to do of the three techniques. 

But I find freehand drawing particularly rewarding with the ways it can make you reimagine an artwork in ways you never intended! Like what I mentioned in my Reference advice post, I have found that making ‘mistakes’ in freehand drawing can actually lead to more interesting and unique works of art than tracing or grid work could ever do! 

I also think that freehand allows you to create your own characters or concepts in a much more free way. For example, my Spirit of Somerset piece was something I created from a variety of references (I seem to remember I used Isak from SKAM’s mouth as a basis for the girls’ mouth?) and the dragon was based on a real mishmash of references, which is something that I I feel I couldn’t have done if I’d have been using grids or tracing!

With this I’m not trying to say that freehand is the ‘best’ way of drawing, it is just the one that I personally have found to fit me the best, which is the entire point of this post! All of my advice is just pointers I think could be useful for new artists, it is up to you to find which ‘path’ in art suits you best!

And of course, I’ve phrased these techniques as separate purely for the sake of explaining them easier, but the fact of the matter is that you can use a combination of these in your art if you wish! 

If you struggle with drawing the outlines of hands, perhaps use tracing as a way to get a handle of the shape and then maybe use freehand to fill in the colour of them! Use a grid to draw a tree but freehand the leaves and bench below it! 

Remember that your art is your art, and no one can tell you how to draw things! 

~

I think I’ll leave this here for now! But I may do a part two at some point in the future! & my ask box is always open for anyone who wants any specific advice!

I really hope you found this at least moderately helpful, and a massive thank you to everyone for the constant support of these posts and my art!

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Fireworks Event - Shaw

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

This contains important references to Shaw’s Summer Night Date and his Aftertaste ASMR!

Previous section: here

3rd Anniversary Masterlist: here 

Prior to the Carnival, there were questions posed in the Go See You feature which affects which scenario the player sees during the Fireworks Event:

Question 1: If you had to pick, which amusement park attraction do you like the most?

Option A: Something more exhilarating - the Super Splash.

Option B: Attractions like the 4D theatre would be very interesting!

Option C: If it’s with you, the small mine wagons!

-

Question 2: “A perfect day”? Tell me about it.

Option A: You listening to me for the entire day.

Option B: Receiving the present I want most.

--

[ Prologue ]

Although the golden glow of sunset descends quietly, the liveliness of the amusement doesn’t reduce by one bit.

Shaw: It’s almost time to head over. 

MC: What? 

Seeing my puzzled expression, Shaw frowns, then reaches out to flick my forehead.

Shaw: You’ve already forgotten what you said yourself?

[ Option A: Something more exhilarating - the Super Splash. ]

When we arrive at our destination, we happen to make it just in time for the final ride of the “Super Splash” attraction.

Unexpectedly, he remembered the answer I gave to him a few days earlier. A smile involuntarily surfaces on my lips. 

However, when we board the boat, I realise that Shaw isn’t really that excited. 

MC: ...why don’t you look excited at all? Don't you like such exhilarating rides?

Shaw: What’s so exhilarating about getting drenched? If you like it, you can report to me daily. I can help you experience it every day.

MC: There’s no need for that...

While saying this, I open the raincoat in my hands, but see that there’s a very large hole at the top.

MC: Oh no, my raincoat is broken!

At this moment, the staff member has already walked over to us, preparing to press down on the safety bars. 

Shaw: Hold on. 

Shaw signals that he should wait, then smoothly removes his raincoat, covering it over me. 

Shaw: Wear it properly.

MC: But you...

Shaw: There are no ‘but’s. I don’t want to see how silly you’ll look sneezing in front of me later.

Along with the low grunts of the machinery, the boat makes its gradual ascent. Shaw crosses his arms over his chest, seated unperturbedly.

MC: Why don’t you wear my raincoat? It could shield you from some of the water.

Shaw: No need. I’ll get drenched anyway.

Faint light illuminates our faces. The boat has already reached the opening of the cave. I refuse to give in, handing him the raincoat. 

MC: ...you really aren’t going to cover yourself?

Shaw: Nope.

With his words, the boat dives vertically. A sense of weightlessness overcomes me instantly, and the surrounding water floats around us like mist. In the midst of the misty rain, I reach out with both my arms, pulling Shaw tightly to myself. 

Shaw’s eyes widen slightly. As compared to the vertically falling boat, the scene before him seems to leave him even more in shock.

Perhaps he hasn’t even noticed that the corners of his lips have curled upwards, akin to the vague rainbows underneath the misty rain.

After getting off the boat, I look at Shaw excitedly. 

MC: Wasn’t it even more interesting than imagined? You had a great time, didn’t you!

Shaw casts a glance at me, releasing a soft “hmph”.

Shaw: It was all right. But it was pretty sudden...

MC: What? 

Shaw: Nothing much.

Rain gradually patters down, which is a little special for a winter day.

Although I tried my best to cover him earlier, there are still numerous areas where he got drenched.

Water droplets pelt onto Shaw’s fringe, which make his pretty golden coloured eyes all the more bright.

MC: This rain came so abruptly...

Shaw: Forget about it. It’d stop after a while. Where do you plan to go next?

--

[ Option B: Attractions like the 4D theatre would be very interesting! ]

Because of the carnival event, the 4D theatre has also prepared all sorts of movies for visitors to choose from. 

Unexpectedly, he remembered the answer I gave to him a few days earlier. A smile involuntarily surfaces on my lips. 

MC: Shaw, what kind of movie do you want to watch?

Shaw: It’s fine as long as it’s interesting.

MC: What kind of a request is that... mm, what about this comedy?

Shaw: Looks pretty boring. 

MC: A horror film?

Shaw: I’m not afraid.

Shaw suddenly reaches out to the screen with a finger, and points at the name of a film.

Shaw: This one doesn't look bad. 

MC: “Speed” ...have you watched it before?

Shaw: Nope.

Shaw shrugs, as though it’s a natural thing.

Shaw: The name isn’t bad.

Since I don’t have an opinion, we end up selecting the movie which Shaw thinks has a pretty good name.

Perhaps because it’s too hardcore for couples, there aren’t many people in the viewing hall.

The edited film very quickly enters its climax. On the screen, the protagonist is blocked by the antagonist at the intersection. In the next second, a punch heads squarely towards his face--

MC: !

I suddenly feel someone “hitting” my shoulder.

Scanning my surroundings, I don’t see anyone around. As such, I tug at Shaw’s sleeve, speaking softly--

MC: Watch the movie properly.

Shaw: ?

Shaw furrows his brows slightly, lacking understanding.

I ignore him, whipping my head around to continue watching the movie. However, in less than half a minute, someone “hits” me again from the back.

MC: ...

Turning my head, I reach out to whack the person next to me.

MC: [softly] Is it really that fun? Pay attention.

Shaw fixes his eyes on me for a while. Then, he suddenly leans in closer, grabbing my wrist.

The light from the screen illuminates his face. I can sense his unsuppressed gaze, and I feel inexplicably nervous.

MC: ...what is it?

He doesn’t respond, but simply draws even closer, his warm breath falling on my ear--

Shaw: [softly] Are you a fool?

After saying this, he tugs my hand, placing it on the back of the chair. A wave of tremors occur in a second.

He swings the hand he’s holding onto tightly. Even after shooting him an apologetic gaze, he doesn’t loosen his grip.

Shaw: Hmph.

After the movie ends, we stand at the entrance of the theatre. I smile at Shaw, a little embarrassed.

MC: ...hehe, I was wrong for accusing you earlier.

Shaw: Oh? So how do you plan to make up for it?

--

[ Option C: If it’s with you, the small mine wagons! ]

A light breeze blows my hair up. The relatively slow-moving small mine wagons courses along the mountain range, moving into the ore mine shimmering with jewels.

Unexpectedly, he remembered the answer I gave to him a few days earlier. A smile involuntarily surfaces on my lips.

Shaw: You’re smiling so happily. Looks like you’ve finally found an attraction suited for you.

A teasing voice drifts to my ear.

Turning my head, I see that Shaw is leaning against the chair of the small mine wagon, and the entire image looks like a strange fit.

MC: Pfft...

Shaw: What’s so funny?

MC: I thought you’d be vehemently against this.

Shaw: Why?

MC: After all, these types of attractions are really boring to you, aren’t they?

Shaw: It is pretty boring.

Shaw pauses, then he continues.

Shaw: But after getting to know you, we’ve done so many boring things together. Not just this.

The cooling wind lifts his fringe up gently. Although he said that it’s boring, Shaw’s face reveals a relaxed and pure smile.

The mine car gradually climbs to the highest spot. A tender emotion follows suit, bubbling upwards from my heart. Just as I’m about to say something, a shrill cry suddenly comes from behind us.

Visitor: Waaa-----!!!

After a short silence, Shaw and I can’t help but laugh. He leans over, sticking close to my ear.

Shaw: Hey. When you on the U-shaped rollercoaster earlier, did you want to scream like that too?

MC: Of course not!

Shaw: Oh?

Capturing a hint of playfulness in Shaw’s eyes, there’s a stirring in my heart, and I clear my throat--

MC: It was so scary--

Shaw is stunned for a moment. With a laugh, he responds.

Shaw: You’re so lame--

We laugh while looking at each other, feeling an indescribable carefreeness and relaxation. As such, I summon my strength, and scream loudly.

MC: Shaw, you’re even more lame--

I fail to notice that the small mine wagons are currently passing by a ravine. The ravine is open and spacious, and echos are given extra effect.

"Shaw, you’re even more lame--”, "Shaw, you’re even more lame--”, "Shaw, you’re even more lame...”

Shaw: ...

MC: ...

The entire ravine echoes with my voice.

After we get off the small mine wagon, I try to placate Shaw by shooting him a smile.

MC: Sorry, I didn’t think my voice would be so loud...

Shaw looks at me angrily, then bends his finger to tap on my head.

Shaw: In that case, how do you plan to make it up to me?

[ PART TWO PROLOGUE ]

After pondering for a moment, I feel apologetic, taking out a map from my bag, and shooting him a secret smile.

Following the map, I bring Shaw to a veranda.

As the fireworks display is about to begin, visitors have all rushed to the plaza, and this place doesn’t have many people. 

Shaw: Why did you bring me here? 

MC: You don’t really like liveliness, do you? There are few people here, it’s quiet, and it’s a good place to view the fireworks. 

I wave the map in front of him in satisfaction.

MC: I did quite a lot of homework and found this ideal spot. How is it? Do you feel a little touched?

Shaw doesn’t say anything, simply looking at me quietly. After a short pause, his eyebrows suddenly arch upwards.

Shaw: Hey, do you still remember the other question I asked you?

[ Option A: You listening to me for the entire day. ]

After a few seconds of recollection, I nod. 

MC: You were talking about what counts as “a perfect day”, right? Back then, my answer was that I hoped you’d listen to me for the entire day.

Shaw: That’s right. But a day is definitely not possible. I’ll give you thirty seconds to think about it, and you can make me do anything.

I blink, a little dumbfounded. 

Shaw: From now, the countdown will begin--

MC: W-wait! Isn’t this too sudden?

Shaw: I don’t think so. Twenty-five seconds left.

MC: Let me think about it!

Shaw: Rejected. Twenty-three seconds. 

MC: You... I want you to...

Shaw: Twenty seconds. 

MC: ...stop counting!!

While Shaw does the countdown, time passes quickly. By the time he finishes counting, I have yet to decide on what he should do.

In the end, I release a sigh.

MC: ...forget it.

Shaw: Six... hm?

His voice halts.

MC: I think you're pretty good the way you are right now.

I pause, looking at him seriously.

MC: Very infuriating at times, but very straightforward, and very frank. There’s nothing special I want you to do. If I have to say something, it’d be for you to remain the way you are right now. 

Shaw is stunned for a moment. His eyes are fixed on me. After a moment, he suddenly lowers his head and laughs. 

I’m not sure which sentence tickled him, and I look at him with mild confusion.

Shaw: Have I ever told you that you’re really very interesting sometimes? 

MC: ...only sometimes?

Although I’m not sure what he’s thinking about, I can’t help but smile when I see him laughing so heartily.

Gradually, he has his fill of laughter. As he looks at me, his voice brings with it a smile and certainty.

Shaw: I think you’re pretty good the way you are too. I quite like it.

My heart seems to be tugged by something. Shaw looks at me and chuckles softly.

Shaw: I’ll agree to it. The other request you said offhandedly, I’ll agree to it too.

MC: What?

Shaw: Mull over it yourself.

--

[ Option B: Receiving the present I want most. ]

Looking at him, I respond after a moment.

MC: I even thought you forgot about it. 

A few days ago, Shaw asked me what counts as “a perfect day”. Back then, my response as “receiving the present I want most”.

MC: But seeing that you’re empty-handed and didn’t even bring a bag, it looks like you didn’t prepare a present.

Shaw: How did you know I didn’t prepare anything? Not bringing a bag doesn’t mean I came empty-handed.

He whips out his phone from his pocket. Seconds after giving it a few taps, I feel the phone in my bag vibrating.

I tap on the screen, and see that Shaw has sent me a message - he’s shared an album with me. 

MC: “Cherish life, stay away from late nights”...what’s this?

Shaw: An album for insomnia I prepared for you.

Seeing that I'm slightly baffled, a hint of a smile flashes across Shaw’s eyes.

Shaw: Doesn’t everyone want good health? 

MC: ...you’re not wrong. But I think the words “stay away from late nights” don’t carry much persuasive power when they’re from you.

Shaw: Exactly. Don’t stay up late so often. Don’t learn from me. 

Curious, I tap on the album, and discover that its filled with jazz, blues, classics, and all sorts of songs.

MC: So you don’t just listen to rock...

Shaw: What kind of strange misunderstandings do you have about me?

I scroll to the bottom, and notice a few familiar rock songs - I see them often on Shaw’s MP4. 

MC: Pfft, isn’t this an album for insomnia? 

Shaw: Mm. If you really can’t sleep, then you might as well not sleep.

MC: Thank you. I quite like this present.

I nod sincerely, shooting him a smile.

MC: I came across a saying once. “Through a persons’ playlist, you can understand him even more.” In that case, when I finish listening to all the songs in this album, does it mean I’ll have a better understanding of you?

He looks at me, the corners of his lips rising slowly. The night is behind him, as though he’s a part of this present.

Shaw: You could give it a try.

“Bang--” A firework suddenly blooms in the sky, and we look towards the sound.

[ PART TWO ENDING ]

The resplendent fireworks seem to brighten the entire night. In the gorgeous flowing lights, that colour I had chosen is especially outstanding.

[ FIREWORKS ]

-

Shaw: Don’t you think watching the fireworks like this is pretty boring?

MC: In that case, how does one make it more interesting? 

Shaw: You’ve got to add background music.

He takes out an MP4 from his pocket, and a pair of earpieces are suddenly stuffed into my ears.

The world quietens down in an instant, but I can still vaguely hear the fireworks.

Shaw presses the ‘play’ button, and a melody slowly flows into the earpieces--

This is the song I wrote based on his demo the other time. It’s just that the music has become even fuller, and the melody is much more complete. 

This song, which he had originally given up on, has now integrated the styles of two people, leaving a mark belonging to us. 

The night wind brushes my cheeks. A certain corner in the depths of my heart seems to be filled incrementally by this foreign yet familiar melody.

All of a sudden, Shaw moves his lips, as though he’s saying something.

Just as I plan to remove the earpieces to hear him properly, he reaches out to clasp his hands over mine. 

Light from the fireworks descend on his parting and closing lips. The sound waves from the earpieces convey his words to me clearly.

Shaw looks at the girl blinking at him in bewilderment, and he laughs. 

Shaw knows the contents of what he recorded a few days ago, and also knows that right now, she can’t hear his voice. 

He calculates the timing. The sounds coming from the earpieces seem to grab her attention. Rarely nervous, he clears his throat and starts speaking.

Shaw: [in the earpieces] Come to think of it, there are some things I want to tell you. 

Shaw: I know you can’t hear this, but there are still some things I want to tell you. 

Shaw: [in the earpieces] A year has gone by. You’re still so troublesome, and always love going against me. 

Shaw: I’ll admit - in this year, life has become more interesting than before.

Shaw: [in the earpieces] It seems like on these types of days, people say some things symbolically.

Shaw: Although it sounds cliche, since you treat these days seriously, I have to reluctantly say some things.

Shaw: [in the earpieces] I know what you’re anticipating. But I won’t say it.

Shaw: Listen properly. I'm only going to say this once, so cherish it.

A firework explodes in the air. Along with the drum-like beats, his words strike my heart--

Shaw: [in the earpieces] Definitely not. 

Shaw: Happy anniversary. This is just our beginning.

[lu-undy]

Sniper/Spy request #2

Here it is: "Spy draws Sniper and the Aussie finds out."

"Mh…" 

No alarm clock? Oh, yes, it was Saturday. 

He opened his eyes. 

The light outside was faint, turning the sky from blue to pink. It was the early morning and the Aussie rolled on his bed to push away the blanket. It was summer and already warm enough for him. He closed his eyes but after long minutes of waiting, he did not fall back asleep. 

Well, better get up and ready up the laundry or something, before the rest of the base woke up. 

First things first. Clothes. 

Sniper climbed down his bunk bed and grabbed a shirt as well as a pair of trousers. He went to the sink and splashed some water on his face to better wake up.

Now glasses, hat, and let's go to the base. 

The Aussie stepped out of the van and turned to face the base when-

"The hell…?"

There was a silhouette. It was far away, a man sitting on a little boulder. It wasn't the first time that Sniper had seen it. But usually the silhouette disappeared before he thought about acting about it. 

However, that day was a Saturday, the Aussie hadn't anything else in mind but the usual chores. He went back to his van and grabbed his kukri. Whatever lunatic was over there surely couldn't be one of his mercenary colleagues. And the base was in the middle of nowhere, so whoever was there had driven for more miles than was reasonable, making them thus, a lunatic. 

Sniper walked to the silhouette on the boulder and as he got closer, the tension on his body melted away. He recognised the pinstripe pattern on the trousers, he recognised the white shirt and mask. 

"Bonjour, Sniper." The man said in his native tongue, still giving his back to the Aussie.

[Good morning, Sniper]

"What the hell are you doin' here this early? And on yer own?" 

"Capturing the colours." 

"What?" As Sniper got closer to the Frenchman, he saw that he was holding a sketchbook and drawing. "You're drawin'?" 

"Mh-hm."

"With a black pen."

"Very observant, Sniper."

"What colours are you capturin' if you're drawin' in black and white?" 

"Look in front of you." 

Sniper raised his eyes from over Spy's shoulder and looked at the rising sun. The colours were stunning, Spy was right. The hints of orange through the pink early morning was a treat for the eyes. 

"Yeah…" Sniper looked at Spy again. "What the hell are you doin' now?!" The Frenchman had lit a cigarette and was now burning the page of his sketchbook with his lighter. "You lunatic…"

Spy slowly turned to his colleague. 

"Says the man who is investigating a shadow he saw from the confines of the van he calls home at some terribly early hour of the morning?" He cocked an eyebrow and smiled. Sniper rolled his eyes up with a grin. "You are a lunatic too, mon ami."

[My friend]

"Guess I am." Sniper chuckled. 

"Coffee?" Spy took a thermos that was on the ground. 

"Oh, why not." Sniper watched as Spy poured the hot beverage into two cups. "You were waitin' for someone?" He asked as he raised an eyebrow. The presence of the second cup surprised him. 

"Oui." 

"Oh, I can leave you if you want." 

Spy chuckled and sat at the edge of the boulder. 

"Pray take a seat." 

The Aussie obeyed and took the cup that Spy handed him. 

"Thanks, eh." 

"You are welcome."

They both took a sip. 

"I'll drink quickly and I'll be on my way." Sniper said. 

"Oh, are you on a schedule?" 

"No but you said you were waitin' for someone. I don't wanna be the third wheel, eh." Sniper put the cup to his lips.

"You already are." 

… and the coffee nearly sprang out of the Aussie's mouth. He gulped down and turned his head left and right trying to look for the guest that Spy was awaiting. No one was in sight, and the base was far behind them. 

"Where's your mate?" 

"Sitting right next to me." Spy turned his eyes to Sniper's and smiled. 

"Me?" 

"Oui." 

"What?"

"It has been weeks of me waking up this early, especially on the weekends. The season is showing its best colours early. Look at the pink, the rose, the fuscia, the peach, the flamingo and strawberry…" Spy pointed in front of them and his finger trailed in lines, as if he was painting the canvas of the sky itself. "Oh, and from the peach, then it all leans towards more orange tones, doesn't it? Coral, and yet tangerine, maybe even a fiery tiger tint sometimes, ah..."

Sniper looked at his colleague as he went on and on. The colours he was describing made his irises even lighter...

"That's a lot of words to say pink and orange, Spook." 

"Because it is so much more than that. Like anything else, or anyone else."

"Like you?" Sniper asked.

"And you." Spy answered. 

Silence fell just the time for them to take a sip. 

"So you come here early, draw the sky and then burn the page?" 

Spy chuckled and raised his eyes to Sniper.

"Non, I do not. I usually do not draw the sky."

"Oh? What're you doin' here then?" 

"The colours of the sky help my nerves."

Sniper frowned as he changed his position to sit cross legged. He did not really follow his colleague.

"They are warm and soft colours, non?"

"Yeah." 

"Don't you find it soothing? Here, far from the base and the rest of the lunatics that our colleagues are, just you, your thoughts, and the colours that God chooses to display for the day. It brings some peace to me and helps me draw."

"I didn't know you liked drawin'." 

"Neither did I until there was a picture that I could not get out of my mind."

"What is it?" 

Spy took a deep breath. He was sitting at the edge of the boulder, one leg on the other, his varnished Italian shoes dangling off of it. 

"A sight of poetry on a scruffy canvas." 

Sniper chuckled. 

"You make no sense." 

"Oh but I do." Spy insisted. "I do, but only to myself, I guess. Such things are hard to describe if you don't feel them yourself." 

Sniper turned his head and realised that his colleague was staring at him with something painted on his face, an emotion that the Aussie didn't manage to decipher. His eyebrow twitched, but then he blushed as he thought that he himself had just been staring for a few seconds. He looked away into the immense desert. 

"One day, God graced me with this vision." Spy started. "A man, taller than me and his shoulders broader than mine. It was an evening in a crowded place. There was a lot of noise, people's chatter, their laughter, and the room smelt of cheap beer. But I could see only him." Spy paused to take a sip of his coffee. "That man, he was closing his eyes and whispering in the ear of a golden dragon. It breathed a fire that did not burn, a fire that was… enchanting. It was shy, woody threads of air that tied a knot here." Spy put his gloved hand on his chest and sighed. "His eyes were closed and his lips moved with such mastery, such elegance… Even the dragon was melting in his hands, under his agile fingers."

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow. Had Spy drunk something odd, or did he replace his nicotine for something else in his cigarette that morning…? He seemed normal enough, his eyes were clear, no signs of funny cigarettes in his breath. 

"Sniper?" The Frenchman hadn't moved his eyes away from the Aussie.

"Yeah?"

"I fell in love that day." 

The Aussie's body temperature soared as his cheeks burst in crimson. 

"With a guy?" 

"Oui."

"Who's… talkin' to dragons…?"

Spy chuckled.

"It is a metaphor." 

"Ah…" Sniper exhaled, relieved that his colleague wasn't high or drunk, he was just being a bit too poetic for the Aussie. "So you fell in love with someone?"

"Oui." 

"If it's all a metaphor, I guess it was with a woman?"

"Non."

"Oh…" Sniper nodded to himself and looked away. The way that Spy was looking at him was impressive. It was almost as if the Frenchman could read Sniper's thoughts straight through his eyes.

"It happened months ago now, on a Friday evening." Spy went on. "We were celebrating the victories of the day in the common room. Some of us were playing music." 

"Yeah, as always." 

"One of us is the one I described." Sniper's eyebrows jumped. "And since that day, I could not get that image out of my mind. That fool who was playing did not know that a few metres away, the old man that I am was falling in love. With what, you ask? The way his brow furrows when the intensity of the music gets to him, the way he gently rocks his hips along his instrument to better flow on the rhythm, and the way his eyes are always hidden behind a thin, yellow curtain of mystery."

"Woah… Really deep in love you are, eh. And I didn't know you liked blokes." 

"It is a curse." 

"Why?" 

"I can see beauty in a lot of things and in a lot of people, yet my work requires me to see none."

"Hey, you can still see beautiful stuff and say 'it's beautiful'. You're not gonna get shot for that." 

"I guess you are right." 

They took a break from the conversation to finish their coffee. Sniper looked at his colleague who was looking at the horizon and the sky. He didn't know Spy could be that poetic. Maybe that's why he was so secretive, maybe he just didn't want people to know that about him. But then why would he tell Sniper? 

"So you drew that vision you had in your head in your book?" Sniper asked and Spy gave a sad grin. 

"If only I did." He answered. "I have tried. I have filled sketchbook after sketchbook of it. But in the end, it is never good enough and I end up destroying it." 

"You burn all your sketchbooks?" Sniper asked, surprised. 

"I burn the pages, oui. And then I am left with an empty sketchbook." 

"Why d'you do that? I'm sure you're gettin' better at drawing. Practise makes you good, you can't get worse."

Spy sighed. 

"Perhaps you are right. But seeing that person on a sheet of paper tears my very heart apart. When I finish drawing and I look at it, I am tempted."

"To do what?" 

"To keep the picture with me, at any time. But it is too risky, what if someone found it? So instead, I destroy the evidence of  my crime." 

"Hey, quit the drama. You're just in love and can't get the bloke out of your head. Makes sense." 

"I suppose so." Spy answered and raised his eyes to Sniper. "Are you not curious to know who it is?"

"Well, if you wanna tell me, go ahead. If not, it's fine. Feels special enough that you tell me you have feelings, and for a bloke at that."

They exchanged a smile. 

"What about you, Sniper? Is there anyone in that wild heart of yours?" 

"Wild? Heh, maybe." Sniper blushed and averted his eyes. He stared down at the empty coffee cup he was nervously fiddling with. 

"Here." Spy handed him the sketchbook. 

"Why're you givin' me your book?" 

"I am giving you a choice." Spy said. "You can either draw him or her here, or you can have a look at my latest drawing of that special man." 

"So it's either I get to know who you fancy or you get to know who I fancy?"

"Oui, why not?" Spy smiled. "On my end of the bargain, I have nothing to lose."

Sniper raised an eyebrow. 

"I cannot have more with him but short chats, like we are having now, you and me. I sometimes see him and try my best to not stare when all I wish is to take in his charms for as long as I can." 

Sniper smiled. 

"Y'know, you sound really different." 

"I don't believe I do." Spy answered. "I think that you never heard me on such topics before."

"True…"

"So, what do you choose?" Spy put the sketchbook and the pen on the ground, between them both.

"Spook, listen, I-I can't really tell you who I fancy…" Sniper removed his hat and scratched his head. "It's complicated… It's just… I like it when I see him and-"

"Him?" Spy repeated. 

"Y-yeah… Oh, bugger I've said too much already…" Sniper let a hand sink on his face from his brow to his chin. 

"Then have a look at the sketchbook to see who is in my heart." 

"You sure?" 

"I think so." 

"Not gonna regret it?" 

"What could happen, hm?" Spy asked. "The second you will know who it is, he will too and this weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for months will be no more." 

"Why tell me who it is rather than go and see him to tell him straight." 

"Open and see. I think you will have the answer to your question." Spy took his cigarette case out of his inner pocket and lit one. 

"Alright…" Sniper took the sketchbook and put it on his lap. "You really sure?" He looked at Spy. The Frenchman held the cigarette between his fingers and exhaled the smoke elegantly between his parted lips. He nodded.

Sniper took a deep breath and opened the book. Spy hadn't destroyed it yet, it must have been his latest book then. 

"Holy…" 

The Aussie looked at the sketches, page after page. It was the same face drawn from different angles, with different expressions. Spy really had an obsession with that man, it was the only thing drawn there covering all the paper! 

Sniper blushed intensely and as the sweat broke on his brow, his heart started pounding in his chest. 

And as Sniper turned yet another page, he started to understand Spy's metaphor. The man wasn't whispering in a golden dragon's ear, he was playing the saxophone. The dragon wasn't breathing threads of air, it was music, and the thin, yellow curtain of mystery was nothing else but the Aussie's yellow tinted aviators…

Sniper shut the book for an instant and took a deep breath. 

"Now you understand." Spy simply said.

But Sniper was boiling on his seat, on the bare ground. So that was the man Spy had been fancying? For months? How did Sniper not see anything coming? How did he not guess? 

Maybe because Spy wasn't alone playing the game of averting his eyes whenever they got too close to Sniper. Maybe because there was a reason as to why the Aussie needed to close his eyes when he played the saxophone on Friday. Maybe because if he kept his eyes opened, he would stare at the man he was playing for? Maybe the movement of his hips as he played betrayed him?

Sniper grabbed the pen and quickly found an empty page in the sketchbook. Spy's eyebrows jumped but he remained mute and didn't dare ask what was going on. After all, his colleague seemed way too agitated to be able to answer. 

The Aussie scribbled and scratched the paper recklessly. He could sketch too, in his own style. He had learnt from drawing animals, and that skill he had transposed it to humans too.

It took him a few minutes and when he was finally done, he slammed the book shut and put it down between Spy and him. 

"May I?" Spy asked and Sniper nodded, still not making eye contact. The Frenchman put his cigarette between his lips to hold it there, and took the book between his gloved hands. He opened it and turned the pages until the style changed. "Mon Dieu…" He whispered to himself when his eyes fell on the portrait of the man who made Sniper's heart beat. 

There was an atrocious second of agony before Spy shut the book and put it away.

"Do you smoke, Sniper?" 

"Huh? Y-yeah, sometimes…" Sniper's brain was turning faster than a hamster in a wheel trying to understand why Spy would ask that.

"Good." Spy leaned on his colleague and took a deep breath. Sniper was petrified. 

"Why?" 

"This is about the only bad habit I have." Spy answered. "That, and singing when I cook. Some previous partners did not like it." 

"Why're you tellin' me all this?" 

"Because, given the portraits in that sketchbook, it might be a good idea to start knowing each other better."

"Ah, yeah… Ok…" Sniper cleared his throat. "Well uh… I-I don't really know what to say." 

"Then don't say anything."

"Isn't that unfair?" Sniper asked. 

"It is not about fairness." Spy answered. "It is about feeling the best way possible."

"C-can I do somethin'? I feel like-"

"Oui."

"But you don't know what I was goin' to do?"

"If doing that thing makes you feel better, then pray do. I do not wish to know more." Spy answered and closed his eyes as his head rested on Sniper's shoulder.

"Right." Sniper opened his arm and wrapped it around Spy's frame. He let his hand hang in the air next to Spy's hip. It might be too much. Yeah, yeah it was, he shouldn't have been so upfront, he should've -

"Merci." Spy answered.

[Thank you.]

He pulled Sniper's hanging hand to his hip and snuggled closer to him. 

"Spy?" 

"Oui?" 

"Thanks." 

"The pleasure is all mine."

"Nah, really. Thanks." Sniper leaned his head on top of Spy's.

They stayed there, perched on that boulder for long minutes that felt like a flash. The temperature rose slowly in the desert while the air was already very hot between them.

[hanamakkiss]

One Dumb Deed Deserves Another

Iwaizumi Hajime x f!reader

Summary: Five times Iwaizumi and you meet.

Word count: 4k+

A/n: this took so long... but I quite like it! Pretty much just fluff and shenanigans. As u can tell I’m in love with him.

Your first meeting was nothing short of disastrous, Iwaizumi fondly recalls.

His peaceful morning walk through the park to campus was shattered by one very loud, very directed at him shouting.

“HEY! HEY YOU!!! THE GUY IN THE DENIM JACKET!!!! HOLD ON A SEC!” a high-pitched yet commanding voice echoes through the practically empty park, clueing him in that it was probably him you were referring to.

He pauses to look skyward, making a silent prayer for the strength to make it through the day, before turning around. He’s met with a red-faced young woman who was currently struggling to catch up to him.

You stopped a few feet in front of him, hands on your knees, panting, and he waits for you to catch your breath.

“Hi,” you look up, unabashedly grinning, and he finds you have a surprisingly sweet voice when not shouting. He quirks a brow, inquiring.

“Yea so, uh, I'm a photographer," you hold up the camera around your neck, "student, actually, and uh, I just took a photo of you? I mean, I did, cause your back looked really nice with the surrounding trees and sky, especially when you were staring at something, a bird maybe? And with a little colour editing the image would really pop, so the photo turned out really nice," you smiled shyly, looking at the photo in question (presumably).

“O...kay?” he’s not sure how to respond.

“Do you want to see it?” your smile is infectious.

His lips quirk up as he steps closer to you, peering over your arm (it really was a cool photo), “But you’re telling me all this why...?”

“Oh! Right. So, uh, I wanted to know if you would be okay with me using your photo in an assignment? I understand if you want to say no, but that would be such a pity, cause you look so cool here, and if no one else got to see it it would be a tragedy. But it’s up to you really! I could just keep it in my files maybe? If you would allow me!” your face has steadily gotten redder with every word that tumbled out of your mouth, and at the end of your spiel you were looking absolutely mortified, using your camera to hide your face.

“Hey, calm down, it’s fine, you can use it,” he latches on to your shoulders hoping to keep you grounded as you looked on the verge of hyperventilating, “Are you alright?”

“Yea! Yea, I’m fine, I just didn’t expect you to be so,” he tilts his head slightly, brows furrowing, “hot,” you squeaked out.

At your response Iwaizumi's face burns up. He knew people generally found him attractive, but to have it so bluntly said to his face, was not exactly something he was used to. Especially when said with such sincerity.

His hands immediately retract.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess? Uh, I’ll be seeing you then, good luck with your assignment.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Thank you so much! I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes!” you gave him a low bow, nearly slamming into his chest in the process. Standing back up equally as suddenly, you rushed to introduce yourself, face still the shade of ruby.

He can’t help but chuckle, “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he offers.

Opening your mouth, you’re cut off by an alarm that blares from your bag. As you scramble to shut it off, your eyes bulge. “Shit! I’m gonna be late! Sorry! I need to go now!” You shoot him an apologetic smile before sprinting.

“Thank you again! I’ll treat you someday!” he sees you wave from afar.

Iwaizumi is just left in your dust, amused and wondering how would you, considering he never even gave you his number.

Your second meeting was pure coincidence.

He was in line at the campus cafe, when the short person in front sneezed so hard they fell backwards into him.

Oof. His hands reached out instinctively to catch them.

“Hey, you alright?” he peers down into their face-

“I’m so sorry!” they tilt up-

and the two heads collide.

He grunts, rubbing his chin where it hurt. The hood falls off their head.

“It’s you.” he could almost laugh at the comedic timing, of course it’s you.

You look up, hands still covering your forehead, and exclaim excitedly, “Iwaizumi! Fancy seeing you here! How are you?”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, ruffling your (already mussed up) hair, “I’m good, how did your assignment go?”

“It went great! My tutor only had constructive criticism for it. Speaking about that, let me buy you a drink,” you attempt to tame the mess he created, “as thanks,” you grin.

Any refusal on his part was washed away by your insistence, leaving the two of you on the side waiting for your morning brews.

“By the way, is it okay if I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“Ever since that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, shyly, (he tenses, vaguely aware of where this might go) “and I was wondering if you would maybe, you know, if you’re free, would you be willing to” you took a deep breath, “be my model?” your eyes were practically sparkling.

Iwaizumi feels light-headed. It's amazing how every other sentence from you gives me whiplash, he thinks, it must be a skill. He mentally heaves a relieved sigh, happy that he didn’t need to reject another date offer.

His silence causes you to fidget, looking away, “Uh, it’s really okay if you don’t want to, I just thought you would be a good fit for my next project, and you seemed like a nice guy, so I thought it would be worth a shot, and I could always-”

"No, no, I’d be glad to help you out," he finds he prefers you when your eyes have a shine to them, and it’s not like he had too much on his plate at the moment.

The smile you show him is infectious, and he really can’t stop his features from mirroring your own.

You actually remember to exchange numbers this time, promising to text him about the specifics of the photoshoot soon before (once again) rushing off for class.

As he’s walking, iced coffee in hand, he mulls over the fact that he’s entirely comfortable around you, despite barely even knowing you.

Your third meeting was certainly a colourful experience.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

On the mentioned day, Iwaizumi finds himself sighing when Hanamaki ushers a mousy looking you into the gymnasium.

“Found this one outside muttering “Iwaizumi” in a panic,” he gives a good natured laugh, “figured she could use some help.”

“Thank you so much! There’s way too many people here, I thought this was just a practice match…” you trailed off.

Iwaizumi’s nostrils flare, “It is, and it’s all because of a specific bastard,” he jabs a finger in the direction of Oikawa, who was currently surrounded by girls.

You take a quick photo, “And who is he? Seems popular,” you inspect the photo.

“Oh? You’ve never heard of Oikawa Tooru? College superstar?” Hanamaki leans in towards you, smirk in place.

Seeing you shrink back, Iwaizumi instinctively moves closer. Makkis eyebrows lift.

“Oh! I’ve heard that name before! My friends talk about him sometimes! This is my first time seeing him though,” you happily snap another shot, “they’ll like these.”

He watches you review the photos when Matsukawa appears next to Makki, “Who’s this?”

“Oh right, let me introduce you guys,” and he calls over the rest of the team for a round of introductions, ending with Oikawa, who waves at you from across the court before calling everyone to start warm-up.

Throughout the game you stay near the sideline, careful to keep away from the ball’s trajectory (you can’t afford another camera), snapping as many impactful shots as you could. You managed to get a few good shots of everyone, and some satisfactory shots of Iwaizumi.

It comes to a close with him scoring the winning spike and you rush to get every possible second of it. As you watch the team celebrate the point through the lens he suddenly looks straight at you, and flashes you the biggest grin you’ve ever seen him sport.

And it’s like the world goes silent and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. The only saving grace you have is your fingers instinctively pressing the trigger, cementing this moment in time.

You’re shocked out of your reverie by the shutter clicking and you hurriedly smile and flash him a thumbs up, hoping the warmth of your cheeks was unnoticeable from the distance.

As soon as he’s done with the after match meeting he rushes over to you, followed by a couple of teammates who were interested in the photos.

“You alright?”

“More than alright! This was my first time watching volleyball and so close to boot! You were amazing! Spectacular! Especially that last point! I got some good shots of it! Wanna see?”

In your excited rambling you failed to notice the faint pinkness of his face, thrusting your camera towards him.

Soon a little group had gathered around you, jostling to get a better view of the shots you took. Scrolling through one by one each shot was met by rambunctious comments as they marvel at how they match looked through a camera. Nearing the end of your roll, Matsukawa makes a comment.

“Why are so many of these photos of Iwaizumi though?” his eyes hold a teasing glint that looks out of place with his mouth still in a fine line. (You choose to ignore the concealed assumption for the sake of your heart.)

Your mouth forms an O, looking straight at the person in question, “Did you not tell them?”

He avoids your gaze, “I didn’t, only said that you were our photographer for this match,” he scratches his neck.

You let out a mirthful laugh at his embarrassment, eyes twinkling, “To answer, the only reason I’m being your photographer is cause Iwaizumi agreed to be my model for school, and I’m doing it as thanks,”

"If you need a model, wouldn't someone like me be better?" Oikawa flashes you a cheeky smile.

You cock your head, appraising Oikawa. He preens under your stare.

"It wouldn't work for this project,” shaking your head slightly, “you know your own attractiveness, and have made it a part of your identity. On the other hand, Iwaizumi has confidence that solely stems from other aspects of his life, this causes him to radiate a kind of rugged charm that just pulls people to him. Like some kind of reliable pillar, it makes you want to depend on him. That kind of energy was exactly what I was looking for!" you beam.

The boys blink, clearly surprised at your answer. Oikawa is the first to break the silence, laughing.

"Wow, Iwa! I didn't know you had such amazing energy! Wonder if you would share any of that with me someday!" he pats him on the back harder than necessary. Iwaizumis’ face burns as he glares at his best friend, daring him to say another word.

At Iwaizumi's less than stellar response, you start to worry you’ve said something wrong, "Oh, uh, I didn't mean to imply you weren't attractive! In fact I think you're probably one of the most attractive people I know, uh and I didn't mean to call you a pillar! It's just a phrase!" you slap a hand across your mouth, eyes going wide. A pillar? Seriously? God, could this get any worse?

“Let me walk you out,” Iwaizumi grits out as his friends laugh.

Newsflash, it can.

You withdrew into yourself, resigned to just let him push you out. The walk to the gym entrance is silent.

Just as you were about to split, he speaks.

“Sorry...about them,”

You look back, surprised. “Uh…?”

Eloquence.

He gives you an embarrassed smile, “They can be a bit much, but they mean no harm.”

Oh. It still takes you a second to realise that his earlier irritation was not directed at you, and you mentally sigh in relief. “It’s cool, they were nice,” you smile.

“You looked really uncomfortable in there,”

“Ah,” you rub your neck. “I’m just... not the best around big groups,”

“Ah.”

The two of you shift awkwardly.

“I’ll be going now,” you make to leave, “Thanks again,”

“No problem.” He laughs, ”Think you gave me too much praise back there,”

“Nah, just cause you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there,”

The huge smile that accompanied your words causes his heart to skip a beat.

“See you around,” you give a little wave.

“Uh-yea, see ya.”

He watches you walk away, heart threatening to jump right out his chest. Before he can even begin to contemplate what just happened, an all too annoying voice interrupts him.

“You’re into her.”

“Am not.” He huffs toward the brunet.

Oikawa just laughs, “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s into you too.”

“Keep talking and I’ll kick your ass.”

The taller boy skirts away, giggling. He doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi’s cheeks pink.

Your fourth meeting was Iwaizumi’s’ prayers answered.

After the match, the two of you don’t cross paths much, opting instead for online communication.

Due to both of you being terrible texters, the text conversation never goes too in-depth. Mostly keeping to studies, interests and random topics. It’s only when one of you calls the other, that the conversation intensifies, lasting several hours.

After one such call, Oikawa groans from the doorway. Iwaizumi instantly springs up from his bed.

“Why don’t the two of you get together already,” he drags out the last word.

“Why are you in my room.”

“It’s 1am, you’re messing up my beauty sleep.”

“You were eavesdropping,” he squints, tone accusing.

“The walls are thin! It’s hard not to,” Oikawa defends himself, “besides, you laugh like a goddamn horse.”

At Iwaizumi’s glare, he backtracks, hands raised defensively, “I’m kidding! Kidding! Goodnight Iwa,”

“Close the damn door!”

He sighs, finally alone and wonders how is he going to ask you out for a meal. (Just to hang out, definitely not a date)

When you text him again.

Damn, this is as close as he’ll come to believing in higher power.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The next week, he rushes down to the gallery after his evening class. He makes it with half an hour to spare.

Looking around, he quickly spots some familiar portraits and makes his way over. He sees you engaged in conversation, and he likes to think that the way your face lit up upon eye contact has something to do with him.

You cut the conversation and step towards him.

“You made it!”

He lets out a chuckle, “Course I would, sorry I’m late, class got dragged,”

“No, no, glad you’re even here,” you wave your hand flippantly, drawing his eyes to the rest of your body, where you had worn a simple cocktail dress that fit you well.

He takes in a sharp breath, “You look great,” slips out.

“Oh, um, thank you, you don’t look too shabby yourself,” your smile takes on a bashful shade and he looks around at the other patrons, grimacing.

“Bullshit, I didn’t know it was such a formal event, otherwise I would have dressed better,”

Your eyes quickly scanned his outfit, dark wash jeans paired with a white tee and bomber jacket, “You look fine,” leaning in, you stage-whisper, “If you ask me, you look a lot more put together than most of the people I’ve seen today.”

“Earlier on someone even came in piss-drunk,” you laugh.

“No way, midday?”

“Yes! Security had to escort them out, total mess. It was entertaining though,” you gently guide him towards your portion of the exhibition.

5 portraits titled Magnetism hung neatly on a wall. Two of them of him, he notes.

“It’s just a student exhibition, so it’s not much,” you explain, chuckling.

He frowns, “Don’t downplay your skills, you worked hard and got selected right? That counts for something,”

Your face goes slack for a moment before morphing into a soft smile, “Thank you, I do have a bad habit of that.”

He feels a warmth creep up his neck, shitshitshit, that’s not good for my heart, quick-

“So what’s the inspiration behind your portraits?” He shifts his attention towards the exhibition (ie. away from your warm eyes)

This easily distracts you and you go into an excited monologue about your motivations and what you were trying to convey through the atmosphere, lighting and editing. He only manages to keep up with half of it (it has nothing to do with how cute you looked animatedly waving your hands around).

You move on to explain each photo and how they embodied a different aspect of Magnetism that you wanted to convey to the viewer, ending with the photo you took of him the day you met.

“Fun fact: this is my second favourite photo of you,” you grin cheekily.

He plays along, “Why so?”

“Caaaaause it led to us meeting!” Your playful demeanour shoots an arrow straight to his heart.

Now grinning, he continues the banter, “And is the other photo your favourite?”

“Nope! That’s the third, because it shows everyone’s trust in you,”

He’s a little intrigued now, “Then which is the first?”

“Thaaaat’s a secret!” You wink, cheeks flushed.

Andddddd there goes his heart.

He’s forced to come to terms with the fact that his infatuation with you has turned into a full blown, rock to the face, crush. And all in the span of a second.

He flushes, “Well, maybe another day then,” and turns back to the photos.

“None of these people are facing the camera. Why is that,”

“I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that all day!” And you go into another spiel. He realises just how much he enjoys listening to you speak about your passions.

Soon the curator announces the closing of the gallery and the two of you make your way out. You make an offhand remark about still needing to cook. He immediately suggests grabbing a bite together and you are just as quick to agree.

After enjoying a wonderful dinner at a local restaurant, you stop him just as he tries to get away with paying the bill.

“Hey! I’ll pay half, let me see the receipt,” you reach for the check, only to have it pulled out of your grasp.

“Nah, my treat,” he continues to wave the check out of your reach. This goes on for a little while before you cry out in annoyance.

“Oh come on, you don’t have to, this isn’t a date or anything,” and he freezes at your words.

He’s caught off guard by how much he wishes it was, if only the little words would dislodge themselves from his throat and let him ask you out.

With him distracted you lunge for the check and succeed, happily scanning through and making calculations. Once done you hand it back to him and promptly transfer the money.

You leave the restaurant in high spirits while Iwaizumi feels kind of feels defeated. He still offers to walk you back to your dorm, which you agree to after minimal convincing.

The walk back is filled with conversation that flows naturally between the two of you, making up for your horrendous texting game. It’s something he finds he doesn’t mind, as long as he knows you actually like talking to him, he’s fine with waiting hours for a reply.

“So, this is me,” you come to a stop in front of an old building. It’s not far from his apartment, he makes a mental note.

“This is you,” he cringes inwardly.

Thankfully, you just laugh, “Thanks for coming to the exhibition and spending time with me, I really enjoyed that…uh...”

His lips turn up, teasing, “Not-date?”

You flush, “Yea, that not-date,”

Both of you stand in comfortable silence, unwilling to part. He knows how stupid this is, two idiots just skirting around a relationship, but he doesn’t know what he should do. Sometimes he wishes he was a teensy bit more like Oikawa, but the thought is vanquished before it could even begin to take root.

“So,” you break the silence, “see you around?”

He lets out a breath and nods, “Yea, definitely,” and you wave.

He waits until you’re safely in the building before making his way back, sighing way too much for someone in college.

He spends the walk thinking about how much he enjoyed that “not-date”, and hopes soon he could enjoy an actual date with you.

Your fifth meeting was the end of Iwaizumi’s patience.

It’s been weeks since he’d realised his feelings for you. And he knows you feel the same way towards him too. You’re not subtle.

You are, however, extremely oblivious and respectful. Ever since he had mentioned early on in the friendship that he wasn’t looking for anything relationship-wise, you had dutifully dodged every single one of his advances. At this rate, your non-existent relationship was on the road to nowhere.

He’s sick of it, and at his wits end.

He finds Makki and Mattsun lounging in the living room.

“Hey, uh,” both heads turn his way. “I need some advice.”

“Well, my friend,” Makki moves, patting the newly vacated seat next to him, “you’ve come to the right place,”

As the couch dips under him, he takes a moment to register that Yes, he is really doing this, before he launches into detail about his feelings, frustration with the state of things and asks for help.

"Simply put,” Makki interjects, “you want to do the do, want to pound that duck, want to woohoo her-"

"What the fuck is a woohoo," Iwaizumi cuts him off sharply.

Mattsun's jaw drops. Makki gasps in delight, clapping his hands together, "A woohoo is when two sims who love each other very much-"

"Oh my god," he sinks his head into his hands, "you're referencing the sims, to talk about sex."

Oikawa sticks his head through the door, "Who's trying to woohoo who?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP." Iwaizumi screams.

Oikawa dramatically places a hand on his heart and almost looks hurt before realisation dawns. “This is about little miss photographer, isn’t it?” He smirks when Mattsun wiggles his brows suggestively as a response.

Iwaizumi lets out a heavy sigh, resigned, "Yes, it's about her. Also, no," he looks to the strawberry blond, "I don't just want to have sex with her."

"So you do want to bang her," he could feel the smugness emanating from all three of them. The vein on his forehead threatens to pop. He passes a hand over his face, wondering if an aspirin could save him now.

"Just... just help me think of a way to ask her out,"

"Why don't you just ask her straight out? Always works," Oikawa supplied.

Iwa groans, “If I ask her out normally she’ll think its just as friends,”

A pause.

"Also I want it to be special, like a cute story for the future, you know?" he admits. Makki coos.

Silence falls as they brainstorm.

After some time Matsukawa pipes up, "I... might have an idea,"

All heads swivel towards him.

"She's a photographer, right?"

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

"Iwaizumi! Over here!" you excitedly wave him over.

"Thanks for willingly being my model again," you grinned, "somehow that physique of yours seems to get me better critiques. ...Wait a minute, does my tutor have a crush on you?" he sighed when you seriously pondered that thought for a moment.

You give him a brief rundown of your assignment and what you needed him to do. It was rather simple this time as the focus was more on lighting, you just needed him to walk casually and look at the camera every once in a while.

After the first couple of shots you see him reach into his pocket and pull out some sort of... banner? Your brows furrow as you continue snapping shots. Only when he fully unfurls it do you cease movement, letting your camera slip out of your hands entirely.

Thankfully, your camera strap works perfectly and the weight of it dropping against your neck brings you back to life, snapping your mouth shut.

Iwaizumi Hajime stands five feet away from you, holding up a small banner that reads “Please go on an actual date with me.”

“I- You- what….?” Is the best you come up with.

He grins, “It reads, I really like you, please go out with me,”

“You like…?” Seems like you’re full on malfunctioning now, and about to overheat too.

“I like you, have been liking you for a while now,” he rubs his neck nervously, “so, what’s your answer?”

You nod frantically, no longer trusting your mouth. His grin stretches impossibly wide.

You’ve always known you were a bumbling idiot and a mess. But now looking at his laughing face backlit by the setting sun, you can’t help thinking that maybe being an idiot wasn’t all that bad.

The shutter clicks.

This might just be your favourite photo yet.

(Matsukawa is later asked how he knew you would like such a gesture. “Judging from the way you spoke of her, I figured she was into sappy shit, and that you probably was into it too.” He gets headlocked for a full five minutes.)

[lit-in-thy-heart]

For the ask game, the scene in marigolds where they rescue Gwaine from the rock and Merlin summons the fucking massive dragon and Pelleas helps them and Lancelot threatens to haunt him if he double crosses them 🤣🤣🤣 ICONIC

dfghjkl ah yes the scene that would have been lancelot clutching adoption papers had his hands not been full with gwaine 🤣

ngl the merlin shouting in the background was actually partially inspired by six days but obviously in a different context (and that scene is also one that springs to mind for you because i still can't, it legitimately had me in hysterics) but merlin screaming in the background whilst other people are trying to have a conversation is something i love :D

i feel like lance haunting people would just be him appearing when they're on the toilet or something and giving them a withering glare. he's not really the type to follow them around with unholy screams and i think that's very original of him

tysm for the ask!!! 💕💕

(the scene is under the cut)

In all Gwaine’s nightmares, it had been light when he had been about to drown. Clouds had formed a shield around him, preventing any rescue, and he had been helpless as the tide had gradually crept forward like a legion, struggling against bonds that he could see but not untie. This, somehow, was worse. The moonlight ricocheted off the water’s surface and refracted in numerous directions, illuminating patches of the sea that left Gwaine completely at a loss as to the vastness of it. Even though he knew dry land was close, the rock – now at a higher level than his head – obscured his view and, wherever he looked, it was all darkness and glimmering scales where the moonlight dipped its fingers into the sea. Wherever he looked, he was alone.

The cold was digging its nails into him and trying to draw blood but instead injecting fatigue and Gwaine, knowing nothing but the certainty of his fate, closed his eyes once more. He relaxed his muscles as his mouth became submerged in the water, diluted salt trickling into his parted lips, his nose only millimetres from joining it. At least Anselm wouldn’t be able to use him to control Merlin. At least he wouldn’t be able to fail Merlin and Lancelot again. At least it would all be over.

‘Gwaine! Gwaine!’

Apparently hearing the voices of the people you loved in your final moments wasn’t just a comforting myth, because Lancelot’s voice was piercing the rolling fog in Gwaine’s head quite successfully. It was odd that he could also hear Merlin roaring spells in the distance, too, because Gwaine didn’t really associate Merlin with violence. Merlin and his voice belonged to the tentative dawn and amongst the chorus of birds that came with it, belonged with the rustling leaves in a gentle breeze and the jewelled grass, not to the furious fire that could take apart whole armies. Just like Lancelot and his voice belonged to the stark sunset and the whispers of tendrils of clouds, belonged with the constellations that covered the heavens in a thin layer of protective dust and the bleeding colours of day, not to the agonised desperation that could cause the sky itself to fissure.

Still, any last thoughts of them brought Gwaine comfort.

There was a blunt shout from behind but Gwaine didn’t react, wanting nothing more than to sleep. His nose ducked below the surface and everything around him became muffled as his ears were cushioned by the water.

It might have been for minutes or years that Gwaine was suspended there, tethered to the rock, before he was hauled from the water with someone calling his name in a strangled voice between obscene swearing.

An arm was wrapped around Gwaine’s waist to support him as he instinctively tried to inhale and began coughing, his whole body convulsing in the attempt to dispel the water. After the threat had seemingly been combated, his legs gave way but he was caught before he could fall and drawn close to a hammering heart.

Gwaine could feel the next words stir within him, transmitted by the vibrations of his rescuer’s vocal cords, as he drifted to the fringes of consciousness. ‘Merlin! Merlin, I’ve got him!’ Something angular dropped onto the top of Gwaine’s head, movement grating against his scalp. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. We’ve got you, you’re safe.’

‘Lance…’M’sorry…’

Lancelot, feeling Gwaine’s body go limp, rested him against the rock, hand fumbling for a pulse in panic. Glancing towards the shore, he could see that Merlin was gradually advancing, his face contorted with rage in the flashes of it Lancelot could catch as flares embedded themselves in bandits. Lancelot had seen Merlin use magic before, of course, but never so violently; from the moment they had broken from the cell, Merlin had been ruthless in the damage he had dealt. The streaks of fire penetrating the atmosphere provided Lancelot with a little visual aid and, satisfied that Gwaine was still breathing, he used his own body to prop up his partner, hands groping for the shackles.

Merlin was going to kill him for discarding his sling – if the pain in his shoulder didn’t kill him first – but Lancelot gritted his teeth and focused instead on trying to free Gwaine. Which, apparently, was going to be harder than he’d first thought. The waves were slapping against higher and higher points of Lancelot’s back and he pushed one leg between both of Gwaine’s to steady him further. His fingers clawed at the iron uselessly, trying to pull apart the cuffs around Gwaine’s wrists, but it was futile. Frantically, Lancelot turned his gaze back towards the shore and latched onto Merlin’s formidable figure, who was in the middle of throwing back the bandit posted to guard Gwaine, whom Lancelot had darted past in the darkness.

‘They’re chains,’ Lancelot cried out when Merlin was close enough, voice cracking, ‘chains, not rope. I can’t get them off.’

Merlin splashed through the water as quickly as he could, fingers grazing Lancelot’s as he examined the chains. There was an explosion of light as Merlin muttered an incantation and winced, his hand going to his chest. He brushed off the twinge and checked that the tether had been severed, glancing towards Lancelot. ‘We have to get him out of the water and get him warm.’

Lancelot was already in the process of doing so; he had laid Gwaine out on the rock once more and was angling his body to drape Gwaine over his uninjured shoulder.

‘Lance, no, your shoulder—’

‘I’ll be careful,’ Lancelot replied, straightening his posture and hooking his left arm around the backs of Gwaine’s knees. ‘Unless you have a better solution?’

‘I’ll take him.’

‘Over my dead body,’ was the sharp response. ‘You’re not meant to be lifting heavy objects and I’m pretty sure a human body comes under the category of “heavy objects”. Do you still have the cloak?’ Lancelot added as he began to wade back to shore, nervously keeping an eye on the castle’s silhouette.

Following the knight, Merlin untied the cloak from his waist. ‘I can do a drying spell,’ he offered. ‘I don’t know how much it will help, but anything is better than nothing, right?’

With a nod, Lancelot spun around when his boots made contact with dry land and watched Merlin place a hand on Gwaine’s exposed back. His eyes shone and, as they faded, he arranged the cloak over Gwaine’s form. Lancelot trapped the material between his hand and Gwaine’s legs, looking towards the castle again. ‘It’s not going to take them long to figure out where we’ve gone. And Gwaine took more blows than he can probably handle back in the throne room…’

Lancelot broke off before he added to his panic by recalling the images that had shot by only moments before – of Gwaine seemingly lifeless in the water, his slurred speech, his helplessness. This was the second time in just over a fortnight that Lancelot had felt his heart contract with terror at the sight of Gwaine’s lifeless form, but he was no less used to it. Stilling for a moment, Lancelot registered the faint sound of Gwaine breathing and relaxed slightly. They had to get him to Camelot.

Merlin’s hand was resting on his uninjured shoulder. ‘It’s alright. I’ve got an idea. We need to start moving towards the mainland.’

‘It’s not something stupid or dangerous, is it?’

‘Not for us,’ Merlin assured him, giving Lancelot’s shoulder a small squeeze. He kissed him gently before dropping a kiss in the midst of Gwaine’s now-dry hair. ‘We’re going to be okay. Start moving. I’ll catch up.’

Lights – pinpricks of bronze blood against the night sky – were eddying towards them from the direction of the castle. ‘Merlin—’

Merlin pushed his shoulder. ‘I’ll be fine. Go. Get Gwaine to safety.’

Hesitating momentarily, Lancelot started forwards as the lights behind them expanded. With his right arm hanging limply by his side, he contracted the muscles in his left arm to more firmly support Gwaine and glanced over his shoulder. Merlin had turned away and stood with his legs slightly apart, his head tilted towards the sky. The words that emerged from his mouth reached Lancelot clearly, but that didn’t help him decipher their meaning.

'O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!’

Although, picking up on the word ‘drakon’, Lancelot could hazard a guess as to what would be involved. Merlin repeated the phrase, more insistently this time, and the guttural quality to the syllables that stretched over Merlin’s tongue sent Lancelot’s skin erupting into goosebumps.

He turned his mouth towards Gwaine’s motionless body, the faint smile grazing the muscles concealed by the cloak. ‘Gwaine,’ he whispered, ‘you are going to kick yourself later for missing this.’ It might have been his imagination, but Gwaine seemed to shift slightly against him. ‘But don’t worry, my love, I’ll tell you all about it when you’re better.’ He paused before pressing a kiss to the cloak. ‘Rest well, now, my love, it’s all going to be fine, I promise you.’

Raising his head, Lancelot looked back at Merlin, who was still standing stubbornly in the place that he’d been left. He was also still shouting and didn’t notice a figure streak past until they were halfway towards Lancelot. Breaking off his call, Merlin fired a ball of flames at the figure but they swerved to the side and stumbled to a halt beside Lancelot, who had ceased all movement.

Reflexively, Lancelot reached down and removed the knife Gwaine had given him from his boot, biting down on his lip to avoid crying out, and held it out. ‘Don’t come any closer,’ he threatened.

‘Put the knife down, I’m here to help you.’

Still holding the knife, Lancelot squinted at the tangled hair. ‘You’re the one Gwaine had to fight. You were going to kill him.’

‘Anselm would have killed me.’ The bandit let out an impatient noise. ‘Look, I don’t know what batshit thing your friend is doing over there, but whatever it is, it’s only going to hold the others off for so long. And you can’t carry Gwaine by yourself.’

Desperately, Lancelot looked between the bandit and Merlin. Finally, he shoved the knife back in his boot. ‘Fine. But if you hand us over to Anselm, I will haunt you so hard—’

‘I’m not going to hand you over to Anselm. Gwaine told me to get out if I could, so I thought I’d take advantage of the chaos you caused. Give him here.’

With a grunt, Lancelot lowered Gwaine and draped one of his arms over his shoulder, motioning for the bandit to support the other side. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Pelleas.’

Lancelot took a step forward. ‘Right, Pelleas, we’re heading in the direction called as-far-the-fuck-away-from-here-as-possible. Merlin said he’d catch up with us, and I trust him—’

‘Merlin?’

Lancelot silently swore. ‘Did I say Merlin? I meant Will. Will said he’d catch up with us—’

‘Is that a dragon?’

Lifting his head, Lancelot watched as the stars were obscured by a large mass before a creature landed beside Merlin and was unable to conceal a smile. ‘A fucking massive dragon, I think.’

Pelleas frowned at him. ‘There’s a difference?’

‘Oh, yes.’ The smile on Lancelot’s face faded as a strong stream of fire issued from the dragon’s jaw, directed at the bandits approaching Merlin. ‘Thank you for your assistance, but we’ll be able to take it from here. And, if you want my advice, run as far away from here as fast as possible and don’t look back. And breathe a word about Mer—Will to anyone—’

‘I won’t,’ Pelleas hurriedly said. ‘I won’t.’ He ducked out from beneath Gwaine’s arm. ‘If—If Gwaine wakes, tell him I forgive him.’

With that, Pelleas melted into the darkness.

Lancelot tried not to think too hard about the ‘if’. Merlin was running towards them and Lancelot hoisted Gwaine up, their cheeks brushing together. ‘No pressure, my love, but it would be really helpful if you could wake up right about now. I’ve never had to mount a dragon before—’ Lancelot waited for an interjection in the form of a dick joke, but it didn’t come. ‘Well, not a real dragon, because Merlin’s magnificence doesn’t count.’ He paused again. ‘I can’t believe that I’m making dick jokes and you’re too unconscious to make note of it. Anyway, I’ve never had to mount a dragon before, let alone with an unconscious knight relying on me. So, if you could wake up…’

As he moved his ear to Gwaine’s mouth to check that breath was still hitting his cheek, weak words were shaped by the breeze. ‘’S’my method. Humour‘s a d’fense mech’nism.’

Lancelot drew his face away. ‘Yeah, well, you weren’t around to use it.’

‘Right here, ‘n’t I?’ Gwaine struggled to open his eyes: the lids flickered but remained steadfastly closed. ‘Right though. Mer’in does have a dr’gon dick.’

Laughing as tears collected in the corners of his eyes, Lancelot shook his head. ‘I can’t believe all it took was a dick joke to revive you.’ He pressed his lips to Gwaine’s forehead. ‘I fucking love you, you know that? And it’s all going to be okay. We’re going to get you back home and patched up and everything is going to be fine and no harm is ever going to come to you again and—’

‘Lance…’

Whatever Gwaine was about to say, though, was interrupted by Merlin’s arrival as he skidded to a halt in front of them, one hand on his chest with the other holding an orb of light. In the fragmented illumination, the corners of his mouth were twisted in pain and his breathless words were ragged. ‘Kil—Kilgharrah can take us to the woods just outside the citadel,’ he gasped out. ‘And he’s also helpfully offered to torch the place.’

‘Pelleas…’ murmured Gwaine.

Lancelot buried his mouth in Gwaine’s hairline. ‘Pelleas got out, my love, it’s alright. Save your strength.’ Catching the start of Pelleas’s name in Merlin’s tone, Lancelot cut him off softly. ‘Later, Merlin. There will be time then. What do we need to do?’

Sparing a moment to give Gwaine a tearful kiss, whose mouth flickered minutely in response, Merlin turned back towards Kilgharrah. ‘We just need to get on his back. We can—We can sort Gwaine out when we’re settled and secure.’

At the sound of his name, Gwaine finally managed to open his eyes. He was confronted with blazing fires and a very large shape a little way off and, blinking drowsily, he leaned closer into Lancelot. ‘’S’at the fuckin’ massive drag’n?’

‘Perhaps don’t call him that,’ Merlin fondly said, voice just carrying over Lancelot’s reminder of what he had just said to Gwaine. ‘His name is Kilgharrah and he is the last dragon.’

[edsbev]

where was the scene i said and then wrote it 

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

Richie only breathes once he’s staring into the murky water of the quarry.

A very faint, badly rendered image of his face stares back at him. A reflection that ripples and waves – makes him look as wobbly and small as he feels, all his parts coming undone. He can hear their words, the cruel angry snarls from Bower’s mouth. So jagged and sharp his lips are shaped like a cut. He can hear that word, over and over, slicing through the video-game gunshots, the dark, dreaded music of a game over. Tangling itself like barbed wire around Richie’s throat.

Faggot.

Reflection Richie begins to tremble. Real Richie snatches up a rock and hurls it right through his face. The water explodes. The image breaks. Doesn’t want to see the way his breaths escape him in hitching gasps, bottom lip sucked in toward his mouth, like some kind of fucking pussy.

Instead, he sees the boy’s face. Looking back at Richie as he steps away. First a smile, then panic. Then his features cave in and his mouth turns over and he’s disgusted. Disgusted by Richie. Disgusted by this thing inside him that he wants to claw out. Richie hadn’t meant to make things weird. He really hadn’t. He had been so careful, kept his distance, all day. But then their hands had touched and the boy had smiled at him and Richie had thought…he’d wondered…

It wasn’t as though he had a crush on that boy, or anything. Richie didn’t even know his name. But something in Richie had been drawn to him, the curl of his fair hair, the sharpness of his smile, the way he had laughed, when Richie had told a joke, and said, with a snort, fuck off.

He’d reminded Richie of someone else.

The water of the quarry has smoothed back over and Reflection Richie stares up at him once again, a pale, shaken ghost of himself.

Richie hurls another rock through his face and then collapses onto the bank. Sits with his knees bent up, sneakers toeing the edge of the water, sun beating down on the back of his neck.

Fuck, he thinks. “Fuck,” he says, and worms his fingers under his glasses, presses against his squeezed-shut eyes until he sees bursts of colour, flashes of strange shadowed light, behind his eyelids.

Fuck this. Fuck this. He’s going to leave Derry, just you fucking wait. He can’t wait to get out of this shithole. He’ll just up and leave and never look back. And it’s not like the change of place will change him too but maybe it’ll better. To be in a place where no one knows him. He could change his name if he wanted. Could cut off all his hair and grow out a beard and replace his glasses with contacts and maybe cover his body in tattoos. It’d be better.

But, then, of course, that’d mean he’d have to leave –

“Richie?”

Richie can’t see, when he looks up. Because his vision is still swimming with colour and light from pressing down on his eyes, only made worse by the glare of the sun against the water.

But he knows it’s Eddie.

“Hey, man,” Richie says, tries for casual but his broken, watery voice betrays him. He clears his throat, wipes at his damp cheeks, blinks and blinks and blinks until his vision clears. “What – uh. Whatcha doing here?”

Eddie stands only a few feet away, his hair looking tousled and wind-swept, presumably from the ride over. He wears a baby blue Thundercats shirt, half tucked into the fannypack around his waist, and short yellow-and-blue shorts. One of his white tennis socks is hiked higher up his calf than the other. A small frown scrunches up his sun-kissed face – Eddie always tans during the summer – and he studies Richie like he can very much tell that he’s not okay.

Sometimes Eddie is painful to look at.

“I figured someone would be here,” Eddie says, and Richie’s really grateful that Eddie doesn’t prod, though he knows that Eddie’s probably itching to question him.

“Bet you were hoping it would be Bill. Sorry to disappoint, Spaghetti, but you’re stuck with me,” Richie jokes.

Eddie shrugs. “That’s fine,” he says. “Actually I was kinda hoping that I’d find you.”

It’s the last thing Richie would ever had expected him to say. He can’t find a single way to respond.

The rocks of the bank roll and clack together as Eddie makes his way over, Richie’s stomach twists and jolts as Eddie sits down next to him. His hand flails around by his side, blindly picks up a rock and skims it across the surface of the water. To try and distract himself from the fact that Eddie has the side of his sneaker pushed up against his own.

“Richie,” Eddie says, as Richie scrabbles for another rock.

Richie whistles, low, ignoring him. The rock skims over the water. “See that one, Eds? Bounced five times. Bet you can’t beat that.”

Eddie scoffs. “I can,” he says. But he doesn’t reach for a rock. Instead, he knocks his knee against Richie’s. Leaves it there. Golden skin against the stark white of Richie’s leg, all warm and sunbathed. Richie’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. Eddie says, a little firmer, “Richie.”

He’s asking Richie to look at him. So Richie does.

Richie shouldn’t be surprised to find Eddie’s face so close, to find Eddie’s brown eyes staring into his own. There’s a splattering of freckles across the tops of Eddie’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, that you can only see when you’re close to him like this, or if you look hard enough. Richie wishes he could say that this is his first time ever noticing them. But it’s not. He’s noticed those freckles a thousand times.

A smile hooks at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Idiot,” he says, but there’s no bite to it; he calls Richie that the same way Richie calls him ‘Eds’. “You were hoping I’d be here too, weren’t you?”

The answer is no, technically. Richie had run here after being chased from the arcade. Had just run and run and run until he’d shaken Bower’s gang from his back. He hadn’t thought about Eddie as he scrambled down here; he’d just been thinking of finding a safe place.

But the answer is also yes. Because Richie hopes to see Eddie everywhere.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, my good chap,” Richie says, putting on his British guy voice. “I wasn’t hoping to see anyone. Thought I’d just pop down ‘ere and hone in my swimming skills, I did. I figured I’d practise my breast-stroke. All good men must practise that one.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he looks amused. “Ha ha. You do know I’m trying to have a conversation with you, right?”

Those words feel like oddly like a sucker-punch. Richie can’t even think of a joke. He asks, jittery, trying not to go cross-eyed from looking at Eddie’s freckles, “A…about what?”

“About, you know…” Eddie trails off, his cheeks going a little pink. It hurts to look at.

“I don’t know.”

“You know…”

“No, dude, I don’t.”

Eddie coyly ducks his head and looks up at Richie through his lashes. It hurts it hurts it hurts. “About the fact that you like me.”

Fear spikes so sharply through Richie’s heart that for a second he is certain he’s going to die.

“Wha – ” Richie’s throat closes up and he can’t speak. Can’t breathe. “I don’t – ”

In his mind he sees the boy at the arcade, his face screwed up in disgust. In his mind he hears that word. Over and over again.

God, isn’t this impeccable timing. What the fuck brought this on. Eddie looking at him like that, face flushed, a warmth in his eyes, like some sort of fucking daydream. Why is Eddie saying this.

“You do,” Eddie says. “I can see it. The way you look at me is the same way Ben looks at Bev.”

No it’s not. No it’s not, because Richie is so careful he’s nothing like Ben he’s so fucking hyper-aware he doesn’t look at Eddie at all not if he can help it.

Except he does.

He looks at Eddie all the time. He looks and looks and looks. Quick, stolen glances. Long, wanting stares. His gaze is pulled to Eddie like a magnet, he’d just thought Eddie hadn’t noticed.

A little crease forms between Eddie’s brows now, his lips purse in a gaze that is both sympathetic and very thoughtful. “You like me so much,” he says, “don’t you?”

“No, I – ” The words come out like a gasp. “I don’t know what – ”

And, god, Richie remembers the two of them on the hammock in the clubhouse just yesterday, Eddie half on top of him, his head leant back, chatting happily to Mike. Richie had watched him over the top of his comic, until Eddie had looked, suddenly, over at him, like he could feel his stare. And Richie ducked his head, quickly, behind the pages before their eyes could meet, before Eddie could see him looking. 

He thought he’d been fast enough.

“Chill, Richie,” Eddie says, with a small laugh. The words aren’t unkind. If anything, they’re affectionate. The next sentence is much softer, “it’s okay.”

But it’s not. Because they’re sitting here, in the open air. Exposed. The water reflecting onto the rocky cliffs around them, the water reflecting onto the smooth surface of Eddie’s cheek. Because they’re sitting here, and their legs are pressed together, and their faces are so close that Richie is dizzy with it, and they’re both boys, and it’s Eddie.

Because it was supposed to be a secret.

“I’m not going to say anything bad,” Eddie continues, voice still soft.

“N-no. Eddie, you’re…I mean, you’re wrong.” And this whole thing feels wrong. Like he’s warped Reflection Richie, not Real Richie. “What you’re saying isn’t true.”

“So, what, if I kissed you right now you wouldn’t like it?” Eddie asks.

If he – kissed – If Eddie kissed him –  Richie stares at him dumbly. “I…”

“…want to kiss me,” Eddie finishes for him. Richie can’t say anything in response. Maybe he’s frozen. Maybe he’s scared he’ll say yes. “I know. How many times have you thought about it? Sometimes I think you probably think about it a lot. You know, when I see the way you look at me.”

Richie swallows. It’s not something he wants to think about. But it creeps up on him. But it’s there when he closes his eyes. But it’s all he can fucking think about when Eddie laughs or smiles or frowns or does nothing at all. His mouth on Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’s mouth on his.

Eddie scoots even closer to him. “C’mon, Richie,” he says. He’s so fucking close that Richie can feel his breath on face. That Richie’s vision blurs when he tries to look at Eddie all at once, so he alternates, looks at Eddie’s doe brown eyes one by one. Eddie lowers his lashes. His gaze drops to Richie’s lips. Richie’s heart leaps into his throat. “Kiss me.”

It’s like every dream Richie’s ever had.

“Eddie…” he murmurs, uncertain.

“Richie,” Eddie whispers. He leans in, impossibly close. Richie’s whole body is on fire. “Just kiss me.”

So Richie leans in.

And the dream stops there.

Because a high, cold sound makes Richie pause before their mouths meet. Laughter. Eddie is laughing. Because Richie is immediately recoiling, and Richie is immediately so fucking scared.

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, gasping for air like this is the funniest thing he’s ever witnessed. “You thought I was serious.” Richie’s whole body feels like a thousand tiny shards of glass, breaking away. And then Eddie laughter dies, and his eyes pin Richie in place. “Did you really think I’d want to kiss a boy, Richie?”

“Eddie,” Richie starts, desperate. “I’m sorry, I was just – ”

“Did you really think I’d want to kiss a boy like you?”

Richie’s mouth works hopelessly over a word he can’t get out. And then Eddie is dead.

His skin melts right off; rotting pale flesh, cold lifeless eyes. It is Eddie’s corpse, that Richie is looking at. It is a Eddie who died years ago, and clawed his way up from the ground.

A horrified shout rips from Richie’s throat. He thinks he yells, Eddie.

“See what happens when you try to kiss other boys, Richie?” Eddie grins, in a voice that is much too deep be his own. “See what you’ve done?”

“Holy fucking shit,” Richie says, fumbles frantically to his feet. “You’re not real, you’re not fucking real – ”

“I was real enough for you a minute ago,” not-Eddie says. He doesn’t have half his teeth. “When you wanted to shove your tongue down my throat.”

It’s maybe the wrong time to think about this. But a cold dread trickles down Richie’s blood stream as he comes to terms with what this really means.

That wasn’t Eddie. None of that was Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t want him.

Richie snatches up a rock. Zombie Eddie’s face is changing, lips growing redder, forehead growing larger.

Eddie would never want him.

Richie launches the rock straight into Pennywise’s face. But It only laughs.

“I know your secret,” Pennywise sings.

But – and in that dread Richie also feels relief, and disappointment – at least Eddie doesn’t. At least it’s still a secret. And it will stay that way, until the day Richie fucking dies. Because It is right, as much as that sentence makes Richie’s skin crawl; Eddie would never want to kiss a boy, let alone a boy like Richie.

And for the second time that day, Richie swallows down a sense of fear, of panic, of self-loathing, and he runs. Runs and runs and runs until he’s all out of breath. And he doesn’t tell anyone. About any of it. Not the losers, not thoughtful, kind Ben, or strong leader Big Bill. Even when the topic of seeing It comes up, and they all glance at him, waiting for him to chime in, expecting that he’s had the same experience they have.

Richie says nothing.

And this time when his eyes are to drawn to Eddie, as they always are. He doesn’t let himself look.

[4dtk]

Yellow

Pairing: Blind!Jaemin x Florist!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humour (a teeny bit) / Soulmate!AU where you see colours when you meet eyes with your soulmate

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, (might be) inaccurate depictions of corneal blindness although I googled

Word Count: 5k

A/N: This work is fictional and I do not wish for any of the incidents here to happen to the boys in real life. If you are uncomfortable with reading this, please don’t hesitate to scroll past! This is a little longer and different than what I usually write too, so I hope it’s okay! I realise I didn’t really utilise the reader as a florist that much either, so apologies for that! I made a playlist for this fic too, it can be found here.

Jaemin was confused, for himself, for his soulmate, for his parents. He didn’t expect any of it when the blood runs from his head and nose, when he hears the distant wailing of an ambulance and smells the pungent odour of smoke rising from the crashed vehicle.

His eyes felt blocked but weighed light at the same time, like a fluid that’s been spread over his pupils like ointment.

Jaemin’s body lay motionless while the male attempts to peek around the accident, observing the bent metal near his injured leg and the airbag supporting his manager’s limp body.

Was he dead? It was nerve-wrecking, even when he wasn’t the one leaning over the white inflatable object; weirdly, his heart felt heavy when he noticed no movement from the man who took care of him since day one.

The man who checked on Jaemin when he’d fall down from riding the hoverboard too fast or when he pulled a nerve doing the ‘Boom’ choreography—his manager who’s there to tell him to wear his cap tightly over his head before going live with Haechan and Renjun.

It was something he remembered when he felt paramedics lift his body up onto a stretcher, recalling on when they’d laugh about it when the live ended.

Jaemin was told to regulate his breathing in the ambulance, having no choice to hope that his manager is in good hands as he follows the paramedic on duty.

He had no strength to even ask if the other was doing okay, unable to get the sight of blood staining and tainting the airbag, out of his mind.

He doesn’t think much of it, perhaps even enjoying the light feeling in his lungs and the pain in his leg reaching the maximum that his nerves turn numb.

When he hears and feels the rush of the hospital staff, however, Jaemin realises it might be worse than it actually is.

There’s a faint shout of a doctor to a nurse, and he loses all grip on his senses after, succumbing to the metallic, disinfectant smell of the hospital which he hasn’t inhaled since the start of his year-long hiatus.

“Damn, My First and Last sounds so good, hyung!” Jaemin gushes over the FaceTime with Mark, the older offering a small smile and a story that happened when they were filming the music video. It was unfortunate that Jaemin had injured his spine so close to the comeback date, but could anyone blame him for how hard he worked?

Jeno promised to show him the move he was practicing before getting the peculiar feeling in his spine and the youngest ensured that they’ll try the ‘pulling’ move on the floor where they grabbed each other’s feet.

Jaemin could feel their love, even now, as he hears Renjun’s reaction and Jeno’s voice booming over the phone. There’s a fuss over the line before it goes dead, mind drifting off as his head begins to hurt more and the feeling in his leg starts to come back.

With a team of surgeons now preparing for their new patient, Jaemin struggles to hold on to the nurse’s hand, urgency thick in the air until his ears is met with an unfamiliar voice. He lets the doctor talk to him, placing his bets on his deteriorating senses.

The members scramble to grab their things, moments of scurrying and ducking under the other’s arms, passing their manager whatever Jaemin may need in the hospital, showing their natural teamwork even off stage.

All of them pile into the car, tension lingering between the members, no one brave enough to address the elephant in the room as Jisung struggles to hold in his tears. Collectively, they worry about their member on the way to the hospital, supporting each other silently as they always have since debut.

Jeno shoots a quick text to Doyoung, informing him of the situation and the 127 members are rushing, now, as well.

“A few. Only a few of us should go.”

“Why?” Doyoung shoots back at Taeyong. As much as the leader ached to tag along, there was the current pandemic going on. The government encouraged their people to stay home unless necessary, but the youngest couldn’t let his friend suffer alone.

Haechan cuts in with a sharp tone, voice wavering just a little. “I’ll go. Let me go, hyung, please.”

Taeyong gives a shaky nod, head dipping and eyes focusing on the floor as Doyoung and Haechan leave the dorm, but not before dragging Mark who was glued to the floor at the news.

Kun’s concerned texts distract Doyoung from the problem at hand momentarily, though the oldest still grapples with the terrifying scenarios playing in his mind, laying either hand on the two trembling members.

As both groups make their way to the hospital, Jaemin remains unconscious from anaesthesia, not knowing of the panic across NCT as a whole. The chaos everyone felt contrasted with his feeling of peace on the operating table, mind drifting to thoughts of meeting his soulmate.

The thoughts of seeing colour seep into his life as he found the person of his dreams. The background would fade around them as he focused only on them, the wide smile they would don as the emerging colours added to the moment.

Jaemin’s confusion surged to an all time high when he had gained consciousness with a blur to his vision. It was glitched and unusual, the familiar black and white fading in and out.

All he could concentrate on was his soulmate. What were they doing? Did they know he’d been hurt so badly? What if he couldn’t find ‘The One’?

The questions swirled his head with the seconds ticking by, black and white fading to just black for a moment before bouncing back to the greyscale colour palette.

Within the next minute, or what felt like one, Jaemin was in his ward, the members awaiting any news from the doctor. As he makes his way out of the operating room after clean-up, he retracts from the amount of people staring back at him with hopeful eyes.

“I’ll talk to one of you. Ensure safe distancing, boys.” Chenle looks to his hyung, Renjun, who just sighs and rolls his eyes, taking a seat to calm his nerves as Doyoung stepped up to talk to the doctor.

The doctor takes a big gulp before speaking, prompting the oldest’s eyes to snap down to his name tag on his stark white coat.

Dr. Na. What a coincidence he’d have the same surname as Jaemin.

“I’m… afraid the car crash might’ve done a number on his head. There’s-“

The familiar rush of sirens causes the doctor cut his sentence short, though it catches Doyoung by surprise at how loud the sirens appeared to be.

“Mr. Na suffered a blow to the brain which controls his vision. The force of the crash punctured his retina and when theres a tear present, fluid can pass through, spreading between the retina and the eye’s back wall.”

Doyoung is quick to ask a question, but retracts at the hand of the doctor, watching how he removes the skin-tight gloves with caution.

“It’s… lucky that we got him here on time, but because he fell on his right, the retina might have detached faster than we expected; the left, not so much. If the rush to the hospital was a little slower, there might have been more damage to both his eyes.”

The other’s breath stops at this.

The doctor senses the shock residing in Doyoung’s body, escaping through his facial expression in short breaths.

“The other surgeons are getting him into a stable state, currently. I’m in their team and is just here to convey his condition—the main doctor who will take over his case will be the one talking to you later.”

“As lucky as Mr. Na is to have lived, you should let the boy rest for now. When he does wake up, notify one of the nurses. They might have to guide him through words as we are unsure of the state of his vision.”

Doyoung swallows the inquiring questions he had on the tip of his tongue, nodding along to the instructions before seeing the other’s figure disappear into the ward. A nurse emerges from the operating room with something in hand, following the doctor into the ward with the object.

“Jaemin’s in stable condition.” Doyoung mutters quietly, hopefully loud enough for the others to hear since he wasn’t looking forward to the next thing.

“But…?” Haechan stepped forward, seeking answers and clutching onto the other’s arm. Doyoung didn’t seem to mind, even when the squeeze was starting to hurt.

“The doctors are unsure of how his vision will turn out; there’s a possibility he-“ The silence broke when Jisung sinks into Jeno’s side, body shaking with quiet sobs. The older comforts him while Doyoung still struggles to get the next words out.

“What is it, hyung? Say it out, please!” His heart broke, seeing the younger one be like this. Haechan was always cheerful when he was in the dorm, clinging onto Taeil while annoying the hell out of the Doyoung. It was in their nature to bicker, but when he was begging right in front of him for the news of his friend, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Mr. Na is stable. Come in with caution, please.” Doyoung felt selfish as he thanked the interruption, not wanting to be the person to break the news.

The boys enter quietly, not wanting to startle Jaemin, if he was even awake.

They watch the bed Jaemin was on without words, some staring off into space while Doyoung observes the steady breathing of the boy. It was calming to see him at least cleaned of the blood, the images circling the internet plaguing Doyoung’s mind.

He was sure the fans were already informed of the accident. Lost and adrift, Doyoung hopes he can address and reassure them about the incident soon, placing his hopes that Jaemin was well even if he hasn’t woken up.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

“Don’t forget to bring in the roses, we went a week without them and I don’t think I can deal with any more fussy customers.”

Being a florist while you haven’t found your soulmate was hard. You found it especially hard when you needed to arrange flowers for banquets and customers—there were colours you hadn’t learned to see and wondered if they matched each other when you started out on arranging.

You’ve learnt that there can be a handful of colour combinations, thankful for your mother who was patient enough to tell you the colour of each flower you pointed out.

“When do you think I’ll find him? Or her?”

Your mother shrugs as she snipped off the stem of a flower, throwing it away before washing her hands.

“Could be any time soon.” She whispers, inspecting the daisy she had in a hand, the yellow in the middle standing out.

Whilst she could enjoy the colours of the vibrant shop, you were still stumbling over various flowers that looked the same. Without the labels on the boxes, you might’ve had more trouble than you already had.

“You really think so?”

Your mother nods with a smile, handing you the daisy in her hand. “You’ll be asking me about colours very soon, I’m positive.”

There’s a small smile on your face at her answer, walking around the shop to check on the flowers as the crowd had died down.

You first discovered what your mother did for a living when you stumbled down from upstairs with a flu, finding hard to rest when the shop downstairs was so noisy.

It was a day before the fourteenth in February, not understanding why the place was full of schoolgirls (and boys). There were a few other older patrons, who struggled to keep their cool in the disoriented mess of the area.

Your mother handled it like a champ, with your dad occasionally coming out to help. Other than that, he’d stay out back, cleaning the flowers and making sure they look presentable.

The shipments were hours late—usually they would arrive at night the day before, so your parents could take care of the flowers before the shop opened at 9am the next day.

Black and white was something you were used to at seven years old. You assumed the world worked that way, though you don’t miss the way your mother would always ask if there was anything you were curious about.

“Dad? Do you need any help?”

He shoots a small smile, messing up your bed hair even further. “No, it’s okay. Go upstairs and rest, I’m sorry that the shop is so noisy. That’s why you came down, isn’t it?”

You nod your head, peeking around to see your mom scurrying from the cash register to the customers, her feet never resting from the busy crowd outside shooting flowers and colours, left and right.

Asters, Orchids, Bellflowers, Poppies were flowers at the top of your head when your mom asked you about the flowers you knew, but those other words the customers had shouted out still felt unfamiliar on your tongue.

“Ye-llow…?” You mumbled, looking up at your mother one weekend at twelve years old.

“Yeah, just like that. I’ve drawn suns with a yellow crayon. There are bananas and taxis as well. Do you remember sunflowers?”

“The TV show or the flower?”

Your mother grins at that, “the flower.” You nod enthusiastically, cleaning up the papers and stationary you used for your homework.

“Sunflowers are yellow, too.” A large flower comes into view, with pointy petals and a fuzzy middle.

To you, it seemed like a boring painting of black and white, but the way your mom described it made it seem like it was the most beautiful thing (“After roses, of course,” she’d say.)

“Yellow is the colour of warmth and positivity. It can feel like two different things, a comforting hug and… a laugh, perhaps.”

Your head tilted as she continued to explain the colour, giving you an exaggerated shrug when she reached the extremes of her explanation.

“It’s hard to explain colours, hun. I’ll try my best, but the feeling when you experience it for yourself? Wow. I hope you’ll have that feeling in years to come.”

And so, at twenty years old, you were going to, soon, but not in the way you expected it to go.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

“You want me to what?” You ask through the phone, annoyed enough that you’ve already been interrupted from your university project.

It was vexing enough that this person had to call your personal phone, possibly finding it on the website of your mother’s shop.

She claimed that it was only ‘integrity and generosity’ that she put everyone’s numbers since the shop (and the shop’s phone line) was closed on Sundays except for patrons picking up their orders.

“Remember that dark-haired boy who came to collect the flowers from you last weekend?” Racking your brain for any memory of the boy, you struggle to match the description to a face as the person on the the end brushes it off and continues.

Your eyes soften and your features fall, however, when he speaks in a quiet voice.

“Our friend, he’s- he’s in the hospital. The flowers were meant for him… he loves it by the way. He likes the way the flowers feel on his skin, as weird as it sounds.” The male laughs quietly at the memory, getting back to the reason of why he contacted you.

“He wants to meet you.” he says quietly, not knowing what reaction to expect.

“But why?”

“He says he’s annoyed of hearing his member’s voices all day, quote unquote,” he jokes at another memory, “no, but, he wants to meet whoever did the bouquet. He wants to thank you personally, I’m assuming. Not sure why he waited a week to tell me this though…”

“Oh, okay, when?”

“Now?” He says timidly, bracing himself for an incoming argument due to the last minute news.

“He’s not creepy or anything, right?”

“Jaemin? No, definitely not. Just a little loud and outgoing—I’m not sure how he’s doing now considering his- state, though so uhh…”

Jaemin, huh? Why did it sound so familiar yet foreign?

“And- and, the same boy from last week will be picking you up so don’t worry about it.”

“This sounds like straight up kidnapping.” You whisper into the receiver, getting a buzz from your phone right after.

“What did you send me?” You asked cautiously, finger hovering over the chat as the green bar the top of your phone glared back at you, signalling that the call was on speaker.

His voice came through the speaker, reassuring you that it was not a picture of his privates. You gulped anxiously. With the amount stories online, you’d know better than to open a chat from a man who you didn’t know.

You did it anyway out of curiosity.

Cracking an eye open was a relief, seeing that the picture was only a selfie of the dark-haired boy and probably the person on the other end of the line.

“He looks like this! Ring any bells?” He asks just as the door swings open from a customer.

Holding up a hand, you politely ask the newcomer to wait as you squint your eyes at the boy in the picture who supposedly came here to collect the bouquet.

Double takes help, because the person who matched the picture was standing in front of you, separated by the counter.

“Oh… I didn’t think you’d come so soon.”

Another ding! interrupts your surprise, looking back at the chat as the photo loaded.

“Here’s another of Jaemin with the flowers, though his face isn’t in it—he insists he looks bad in the hospital gown which I agree on.”

You can sense the other rolling his eyes, wondering if the conversation was going to end.

“You’re overwhelming the girl, Hyuck, just hang up.” His voice is gentle but stern, putting his hands together in an apology after the other hangs up with an irritated “okay fine!”

“I’m sorry for him, he can be a little annoying at times.”

“I heard that!” The other fires back, though you swore you heard the beep; maybe you heard wrong.

“Donghyuck!”

“Okay, I’m going! Sheesh.”

The boy looks at you with watchful eyes, wondering how’d you react to this whole situation.

“You can’t see colour, yet, can you?” He asks suddenly.

“Wh- are you doubting my arranging skills?”

“Wait! Wait no- I’m just asking… and yes, the flowers might have been a little mismatched- but it was fine! It’s fine—I don’t think Jaemin minds.” He saves himself, two hands outstretched in surrender.

“Why doesn’t he?” You ask curiously, head tilting to the side as you lock up the register.

Your question remains unanswered, however, as his eyes trail from your face to the flowers behind you. He seemed nervous to answer that one question.

Shaking your head, you mutter a ‘never mind’ and head upstairs to grab your things and change into a more presentable outfit.

The ride was smooth, with a small exchange of what to expect at the hospital. You learn that his name is Jeno, making note of the black hair and the little mole beside his right eye, as well as his polite smile which made you feel at ease.

“Jaemin’s sweet, he’ll talk to you like you aren’t a stranger, so you don’t have to worry about being awkward.”

“He’s funny too, always making weird noises and stuff like that. Don’t mention that I’m saying all these though, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laugh at that last part, because you definitely don’t want your friends to know how fondly you speak of them when they’re absent.

When you arrive, however, you can feel your hands becoming clammy and damp, the keychain on your bag having suffered enough from your fidgeting fingers.

He’s someone I don’t know, why is it making me jumpy and jittery?

The antiseptic smell of the hospital did nothing for you, wringing your hands together and hoping it’d calm your heart down.

“She’s here, Jaemin.”

The male on the bed breaks conversation, turning to you and pointed to the flowers on the bedside table excitedly. He’s not exactly facing the door… though.

Oh.

They flow in like a rush of adrenaline, with the feeling of dizziness when you stand up too fast.

They emerge in small spots and then spread out to every inch of the room and although you’re in room with four white walls, your eyes immediately drift to the flowers you arranged for the boy and back to him.

His hair is a bright pink, I think, and his smile is brighter than the sun. His eyes look like the colourless crescent at night and he makes me feel like the colour yellow.

You recall your mom describing yellow as a warm, positive colour, her words ringing true.

Purples and blues on the other boys’ clothing, as well as a bright orange on one’s head. There was a lovely lime green cardigan on Jeno and a red flannel on another boy.

There’s notes forming in your head on the different shades appearing, the imaginary pencil scribbling and scribbling until your hand hurts and the words are messy.

You take baby steps towards the male, and although his eyes aren’t directed at you, you can feel the pull of his heart on yours.

“Hi,” you mumble softly, approaching his bed before noticing the white over his eyes.

The other members make space immediately, stumbling over each other to give their friend his privacy.

“Hey, I’m Jaemin. Not the best time to be meeting your soulmate, huh.” He grins, feeling around for your hand before relaxing as your fingers tighten around his.

“I guess not—I’m (Y/N).” You whisper, the other hand hovering over his cheek, “may I?”

You expect him to ask about what you meant, but instead he just nods his head. Jaemin was a little surprised at the contact, but trusts you either way.

The way Jaemin looks at you breaks your heart, because his eyes are soft and his smile brought down a notch. He looks at you like you’re his whole world although that ability’s been taken away from him.

“There’s minimal colours in my eyes right now. It’s so faded and it’s going to go back to black soon, I think.” Jaemin states sadly, his thumb stroking over your skin gently.

Almost. The ability’s deteriorating right now.

“I don’t deny how I felt when you walked in, though. I think the colours are beautiful, and you are beautiful. You’re fading… too.”

“Is it? Do you want me to tell you about colours, then?” Asking softly, you scoot your chair closer to him as your hands twine with the other’s.

And so, you describe to him the colours of the rainbow and the colours of his friends’ clothing.

The colours of your university project and the colours of the hospital gown on him.

The colours of the mismatched flowers and the colours of how he makes you feel.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

“Babe?” Jaemin calls out softly, feeling the rustle of the sheets and the dip of the bed. He relaxes as always when he feels his hand in yours.

“Hey, Jaem, I’m here.” Whispering wasn’t uncommon between the two of you, exchanging shared stories in the night or laughing about the members in hushed tones.

It prevented the boy from getting too startled, so you always spoke with a quiet tone. Once you knew Jaemin was comfortable, you’d continue in a normal voice.

Sometimes, he’d be louder than you.

“Baby,” Jaemin mumbles softly, curling an arm around your waist as he settles in the crook of your neck, “could you describe the colours for me again?”

He feels the weight of your smile on his faded pink hair, getting comfortable before you start out with the colour he likes the most—Pink.

“Pink’s like being playful at a picnic in the summer and it’s also the colour of your hair! It’s fading, though.” You take the chance to mess it up further, getting a whine and a giggle from the boy.

“It’s also very soft and cotton candy-ish and it’s kinda a compulsory colour if you want to get a nice sunset picture.”

“Pink is really sweet, too, it feels like that bus ride home after meeting your crush while you listen to a playlist.”

Jaemin gives you small kisses as you carry on to red.

“Red’s the popular colour in Valentine’s Day, alongside pink. It’s passionate and fiery and strong; maybe like your desire for strawberry yoghurt.”

The male sits up to glare at wherever he assumed your face was, only coming back down to your embrace when you surrendered with a laugh.

“Your tastebuds are still hella weird though, babe.”

You know he’s rolling his eyes by the way he smiles, simply squeezing your hand in warning of your insults.

“Okay okay! Now’s blue.”

“Blue’s calm and free, like the ocean and the sky, perhaps. I don’t feel sad looking at blue, though it is a mesmerising colour to stare at and get lost in.”

“You’ll feel like everything’s going to be okay when you look at the colour blue, I think.”

“God, I don’t think that’s the case because of Jeno’s hideous blue plaid shirt from before.” Jaemin mumbles into your neck, moving closer to your body, as if it was even possible.

You grin at the insult to his band mate. “Oh. shut up, I think he looked fine in it.” With eyes drifting to the boy below you, you await any word or reaction from him before receiving none, deciding to head on to the next colour.

“Damn, I can’t remember much about orange, though. It’s been so long since I helped out in my mom’s shop. I’ll google.”

“What- no that’s cheating!” Jaemin giggles, smacking your waist repeatedly.

“The colour orange is stimulating and vibrant and it’s associated with sunshine, creativity and health.” You read like you would with an important piece of text while switching off the device. Green.

“Green’s very nature-ish… and refreshing! Oh! And it’s natural too, because it takes up most of the spectrum’s space of the human eye. If pink’s the playful nature at a picnic, then I feel like green would be the opposite, like cherry blossoms against a field, maybe.”

“Green’s also the colour of your fans. So it might bring you a sense of love and warmth as opposed to textbook meanings. I know it does, for me.”

“Because you’re a dedicated Czennie?” Jaemin teases with the same kisses from before. He feels you nod, “of course!”

“Purple’s also an essential colour if you want nice sunset pictures. It just fits with pink. You can still feel calm with purple but theres this urgency about it? Like it’s telling you to get up and travel instead of staying home.”

“That description was lame, wasn’t it?” Sighing, your boyfriend hums into your neck—a neutral response.

“Yellow are taxis and bananas and the colour of my phone at the moment. There’s also corn and suns and sunflowers.”

Yellow is the colour of warmth and positivity. It can feel like two different things, a comforting hug and… a laugh, perhaps.

You smile at the memory in the shop. “Yellow’s kinda like two separate things, for me. It’s like a warm hug and a loud, optimistic laugh.”

“Are you using the same description from the hospital from months ago?” Jaemin grinned for the umpteenth time that night while you replies with a laugh, loving the feel of his wide smile on your neck.

You plant a kiss on his forehead, then, the scented shampoo of his hair lingered in the air like perfume.

“It was my mom’s description! I just happen to agree with it, okay.”

“To be fair, yellow was the last of the colours I’d seen before everything went black. Weren’t you wearing a yellow dress that day?”

There’s a fond smile on your face as you both sink down onto the pillows from your sitting position, giving him a peck on the lips.

“Close. It was a top. Do you wanna see me in a dress that bad?”

“Maybe.” Jaemin beamed, with hopeful and happy eyes.

You keep quiet after that, playing with the hair of your lover’s while your head now takes its place in the crook of his neck.

“I love you.” It’s quiet and tranquil in the room, slow breaths that seem like one.

“I love you too. More than ever, Jaemin.” You remove yourself from his embrace and cup his face in your hands.

“I love you so much, I hope you never forget that.” Whispering the confession, as you always did, made the moment a tad bit sweeter and meaningful.

And while you were happy to see the boy burst out in laughter from the Dreamies’ bickering or the joke you found online, there’s going to be doubts and vulnerability.

While Jaemin’s mind turned inside out with the turmoil of this new obstacle, you were there to make sure he never spirals and falls too deep.

There were and there will be more days when he feels like the world is against him and that he feels so goddamn lost in this world where he’s supposed to see the beauty of colours, where he’s supposed to see you.

You are his rock to hold on to when the world feels a bit dizzy, as are his feet. You’re the sunshine in a dark world where black never leaves his vision.

You’re that comforting hug and boisterous laugh.

You’re his Yellow.

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 8: Into No Man’s Land)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary:

In the past, Fadia and Reyes argued.

In the present, Connor finds a sanctuary from the most unexpected source.

In the past, Connie woke up.

also on ao3

content warning for your typical violence from both games. in short: guns and biotics and people getting wounded.

also, special thanks to @fanndamnedibals for drawing the amazing piece of art for this story. it’s really fucking cool.

---

Before

Fadia was greeted by a punch to her face. Her whole upper body swivelled from the inhuman force, but her lower body planted firmly on the floor still, and with a smooth swing, she stood straight as if the punch never occurred. 

‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ Reyes snarled. ‘Giving plans to Russia and China like that? What happened to me being in charge? What happened to androids being free? What happened -’

Fadia gave the other android a hard shove. ‘What else can I do?’ she yelled. ‘What do you understand about yourself? Do you even know what you’re capable of?’ A shake of her head. ‘Thanks to my father, CyberLife is now producing androids for the military for a price much cheaper than paying non-commissioned officers in the long run, and you think they won’t use it to secure their claim on the Arctic where all of earth’s thirium is? We need someone to keep them in check. China and Russia are the only answer.’

‘And enslaving more of us? More of my people? Pushing the world into war once more?’ the air crackled with static. ‘Have you ever considered anyone else apart from yourself?’

‘Watch your voice box, Reyes,’ Fadia took a step forward, her height letting her loom over the man. ‘You are standing here yelling at me because I care for my brother so cut the bullshit about me not caring. Look what caring did to you -’ indicated her metallic body - ‘to me -’ a wave of her arm - ‘and to the rest of the world. Listen,’ a thin layer of blue appeared between them, ‘just a quick walk around the garden. A farewell. Then I’ll go.’

‘“A farewell”? What is that supposed to mean?’

‘With luck, you won’t see me much for quite a long time. Years. A decade, even. There is something else that I’m… working on.’

‘Leaving a mess your own making behind now?’

‘My father made the mess!’ Fadia lit up. ‘And no, I’m not running away, but there are more important things to deal with right now. It will need my full attention, and I don’t want to leave without giving my brother closure.’ When Reyes’ hand moved towards the gun she knew was hidden underneath his shirt, she sighed. ‘Please. Do you want to see Scott asking where I am every day for the next ten years? Do you want him spending his days worrying about me?’

Reyes was still glaring at her, but at least he was not drawing his weapon. A few seconds of tense silence passed, and with a snap of his arm away from the gun, ‘What do you want to tell him?’ he said as he turned away from his creator, his expression filled with disgust. ‘I can… deliver the message for you.’

Fadia’s lips twitched downwards. ‘Must you?’

‘You wish to protect your brother, don’t you? Don’t you think he’ll be stressed out by your current state?’

‘My current -’

‘Your message,’ Reyes crowded into his creator’s personal space and managed to look imposing despite his height disadvantage, ‘or get the fuck out of here.’

Fadia looked at her first creation down her nose. ‘Tell him that I came to say hello and that it is perfectly normal from that point onwards if he cannot contact me. Tell him it may be years before he sees me again,’ a step back. The door swung open. ‘And it is your fault.’

‘Hold the fuck on -’

A crackle of blue, a flash of dark energy, a faint trail of dissipating tendrils. Sara Fadia Ryder was gone, leaving her creation standing at the door with a hand outreached hopelessly with nothing but thin air in his grasp.

o0o0o

Now

Streets unsafe for androids. Sanctuary at these coordinates. Will deliver supplies to said location as soon as possible. I’m sorry.

The world has become a blur. Hank’s house, receiving the message, decoding the message for Hank, changing into another set of clothes, getting into Hank’s car, and they are off to the docks before they even know what is happening. The androids led by Markus marched. People - androids - were killed. CyberLife is setting up ‘recycling centres’ to recall all androids in the city and around the country with the help of the police and military. They have to act now or they will be trapped by one of the many checkpoints popping up in the streets. Everything, as Hank says, has gone to shit.

Are you going to be fine? Connor texts. I doubt you will be carrying out your orders.

I told my men they have the choice to leave and everything will be on me. If they’re staying, they’re staying on my side. On the android’s side.

And their response?

They’re packing up right now and I’m making sure that nothing will get to them.

How about you?

Meet me there. Hopefully. Vouch for a fleshy human later, can you? I’ll be bringing whatever I can.

Absolutely.

Good.

They arrive at Ferndale after what seems like hours later, Hank stopping a few blocks away from the water in order to not arouse suspicion even though the area is deserted, but Connor’s scans reveal stray patches of evaporated thirium on the floor, which means that injured androids have been here… a few hours ago. 

Hank turns around. ‘Think I should stop here.’ He cocks his head at the area at large. ‘Go on. I won’t leave until you’re out of my sight.’

The image is not comforting enough. ‘Come with us,’ Connor begs. ‘We need you here.’

The human shakes his head. ‘I can’t. Someone has to keep up appearances at the precinct. Besides, Jeff seems to have something to say. I’ll give you an update later when he’s finished yelling at me.’

It makes sense in some ways. Splitting up, gathering information from both ends, and then creating a better plan to save all of them. Simple; at least, it should be. But he also has been with Hank for such a long time - most of his time on earth, really - that it will be strange to be alone with a much slower counterpart of himself in tow. It will be a challenge.

It is also their only chance.

‘I understand,’ he forces out of his voice box, and he opens the door and steps out of the car into the snow before walking around to help Connie get out. What surprises him, however, is that Hank steps out as well and draws Connor into a tight hug.

‘Come back,’ the human says, to me, he doesn’t say, but Connor hears it anyway, and he wraps his arms as much as he can around Hank’s body and squeezes, a silent ‘I will’ that he hopes that his partner understands. ‘I will fight like there is no tomorrow to go back to your side,’ Connor confesses as he catalogues everything there is about Hank, his smell, his proportion, his warmth, because it seems that things are going that way and he wants him to be the last thing he recalls when - when -

‘-nor, look at me.’

Hank’s hand is on his cheek already when Connor looks up. They are so close that Connor can distinguish the shape of each and every single one of the snowflakes in the human’s hair, his brows, his eyelashes, and he can feel every single valley and spur on Hank’s finger that uniquely corresponds to Hank as he brushes his thumb against where Connor’s cheekbone would be had he been human. ‘Most advanced prototype, remember?’ the human says, still holding Connor tight. ‘If there’s someone who can make it out alive, it’s you. I have faith in you.’

‘I -’ you shouldn’t. ‘All I’ve ever done is failing my missions.’

‘To save lives, I know,’ the hand on his cheek moves to the back of his neck. Connor shivers from the warmth. ‘No matter which colour we bleed.’

‘I -’

Thank you. For everything. For making me realise that I’m more than my programming. For being there even though you didn’t understand what was happening.

There is so much he wants to say but can’t due to the sheer amount of information filtering through his processors, but one thing is certain: they all advise him to throw caution to the wind. As if having the exact same thoughts, Hank leans his head forward at the same time, and they meet halfway through in a desperate kiss, a rough press of lips against lips that is all over too soon but conveying enough emotions to each other that they both deflate when they part, the tension in their body suddenly gone now that they are resigned to their fate. 

‘We’ll talk about this,’ Hank warns, but there is no malice in his tone. Come back alive.

Connor has to break their gaze and hook his head on the human’s shoulder or he’ll never get his words out. ‘You stay safe too.’

A large hand on his back, Connor’s thick, season-appropriate attire ridding him of the last human warmth he may get to feel. ‘I will.’

They finally pull apart. A hand that doesn’t belong to Hank brushes Connor’s arm, and that is when he remembers that Connie is here; as if seeing her expectant expression, Hank hugs her as well completely unaware of how close to tears the other android is. Connor moves to hold her hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he tells her, because someone has to be the more responsible one between the two, and they walk away hand in hand together towards the coordinates Louis gave them without a glance backwards.

oOoOo

Jericho. Cargo freighter. Abandoned ship. A sanctuary for deviants old and new, the latter far outnumbering the rest due to Markus’ actions. The bombs on stand by scattered around the place indicate that the freighter is rigged, but no one seems to care; there is a cluster of androids on one side where a holo is recycling the news, another on the other side checking and modding weapons on improvised benches, and another group sitting at a long table working on laptops still in their suitcases. No one seems to have noticed them, which is good considering his previous… reputation as a deviant hunter (even though he didn’t do a very good job at it); he can withstand cold looks and harsh words hauled at him, but Connie is innocent here, and he doesn't want her to suffer any more abuse.

He receives a notification from their intertwined hands that his sister’s internal temperature is falling below recommended levels, so he scans his surroundings, noting the broken grids and - there, a fire contained in a rusted metal barrel surrounded by a sitting area created from stacked-up crates. He spots what seems to be an improvised medical bay where broken androids are being repaired and thought of asking for some thirium for Connie, but from what he can see, the androids under repair are all in much worse shape than his sister, so all he does is giving Connie a quiet reassurance and… waits while he recalls what he just saw. Rupert. The Tracis. Other newly-deviated androids still in their uniform. It’s a miracle that he and Connie don't get spotted.

The drowsiness from the other side of the shallow interface plus the weight on his shoulder indicates that Connie has fallen asleep once more, and with no one to help take care of her, Connor can only sit there and do -

Wait.

His free hand reaches into his pocket and fishes out a coin. It is not the one he is familiar with, but it makes for a good replacement after only a few tries, and soon enough he has it spinning on the tips of his fingers despite the gloves and low temperature and is using it to ignore the dropping thirium level warning from his sister’s HUD. It can be that he is distracted. It can be Connie’s fatigue getting into him. It can be the flickering light from the fire creating shadows that were not there some time ago. It can be that he is in a bubble; to him, nothing else apart from Connie matters.

All he knows when he lets the coin fall onto his palm and looks up is that Markus has been sitting there in front of them for quite a long time. He tenses, knowing that his cover is blown, and he knows that his fate is in the deviant leader’s hands.

‘You deviated,’ the RK200 states. It is not a question.

‘How do you know?’

‘A human contact passed the news to me through an android he rescued and asked us to not view you with suspicion. He goes by the name Lee Aaron, but it is, of course, not his real name. I believe you’ll have the chance to thank him later in person.’

Connor really needs to give Louis a hug. ‘I see.’

Markus indicates Connie with a slight jerk of his head. ‘And this one?’

There is only one answer. ‘My sister.’

The deviant leader raises an eyebrow. ‘Do I even want to know?’

Connor thinks of his creator, the way she kicked them out, the way she doesn't seem to care about their lives, how she seems to be on their side but let them die for the last ten years. ‘Later. It’s a long story.’

Markus studies Connie for a few seconds. ‘It’s still early,’ he says. ‘You can still leave the country by bus before curfew starts. One of our people used to work in the state department, and I can have modified electronic passports delivered to you.’

[Thirium level: 37%] flashes in front of Connor’s HUD. ‘We are under no condition to travel,’ We, more like Connie, but I will not abandon her. ‘The military has set up multiple checkpoints around the city for temperature checks. I doubt it is safe for us to go outside now, but thank you, for offering.’

Jericho’s leader nods in understanding. ‘Is there anything you need? Biocomponents, blue blood, systems checks?’

[Thirium level: 37%]. So why is he hesitating? ‘My sister… her blue blood level is extremely low,’ he admits. ‘It is currently at thirty-seven per cent, far too little for her to function normally.’

Markus looks horrified. ‘rA9, Connor, why didn’t you tell someone when you came?’ he shoots up from his seat as if forgetting that he can remotely send a message to the medics to call for some thirium. ‘I’ll get some for you. Stay here.’

‘You don’t have to -’

‘You’re one of us now,’ a firm hand on Connor’s shoulder prevents him from standing up. ‘We help each other out whenever we can and right now your sister needs it. We’re rationing our supplies, but I think we can spare a bottle. It will last until Lee arrives.’

Connor lets out a breath he doesn’t know he has been holding and puts as much gratitude as he can into his voice as possible when he thanks Markus, but the other RK-series prototype merely waves and places a firm hand on his shoulder, silencing him and, through a shallow interface, telling him to rouse Connie first. He brushes a lock of her hair back into her beanie, and her eyes flutter open in confusion.

We are in Jericho, remember? he reminds her. Markus is getting you some thirium. You will feel better very soon.

Connie sends back a vague affirmative and takes off her beanie with a frown. ‘No hat,’ she mutters as she clumsily shoves the piece of cloth into her pocket. ‘Not anymore.’

Connor can pre-construct all the ways she can lose what little heat she generates. ‘It is to prevent you from losing body heat.’

She shakes her head, her braid falling apart. ‘No hat.’

An overwhelming wave of discomfort washes through him and yes, he would rather sacrifice his body heat to avoid the pain as well, so he lets it be for now and adds [Find a new hat for Connie] into his increasing list of optional tasks that, judging from the constant drone of the news from the floor above, he may or may not be able to finish in the near future. 

Markus returns with half a bottle of thirium and holds it in front of Connie, but all she does is staring at it instead of taking it; from their interface, Connor feels her processor (yes, somehow Ryder stripped all processing units but one from his sister’s body) straining itself to comprehend the other android’s action. ‘It’s for you,’ the deviant leader explains, and it is after an entire minute of processing that Connie slowly reaches out and takes the bottle with both hands. 

‘Thank you,’ she says. Then holds the bottle on her lap without doing anything else.

Connor accepts the link request. Is she alright? Markus asks. She seems… unwell.

Connor partitions part of his focus to the chat and diverts the rest to helping his sister. Sara Ryder modified her after retrieving my - the body, he says as he guides the bottle of thirium to Connie’s lips. Her processing power is incapable of computing large amounts of information. The liquid rolls and slides into Connie’s mouth. I intend to ask our creator about the full extent of the modification once this is over.

You didn’t ask her?

Connor recalls the power he felt radiating from Ryder. We could either leave unharmed or become dust rolling across the floor of her living room. We chose to live.

It is understandable, Markus nods. In reality, Connie seems to understand what the item in her hand is for and finally starts drinking without her brother’s aid. I’ve had… the displeasure of meeting her a few times. My… father - he doesn’t like her much. 

Connor thinks of the entire family, how Alec Ryder tried to flush his knowledge about his powers away, how Sara Ryder modified Connie and left her to suffer. A family trait, he replies, and it makes Markus chuckle. He opens his mouth as if to say something but seems to be distracted by something else. 

‘There are some issues I need to take care of,’ he said in the end. ‘Return the bottle to the med bay if you can.’

He leaves. A drop of thirium escapes Connie’s lips and rolls down her chin, and he wipes it away with the corner of his sleeve while adjusting his reception frequency into that matching the other androids’ channel just to find himself being flooded by information concentrating on ‘a human’, ‘supplies’, and, most disturbingly, ‘illegal weapons’.

He is an ally, Markus’ voice cuts through the chaos, and everything dies down. 

oOoOo

The precinct is still bustling with activity when Louis goes in under Hank’s request and in a bad way: the drizzle of rain before the wind picks up and a storm rolls in. He can tell that people are on edge from either the revolution or even civil war brewing at the horizon or, for those who have decided to stay, worrying about their loved one’s safety. One example is - Detective Gavin Reed, his nameplate reads - who is shouting into his phone with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear if he had been the only one talking. But right now, in the chaos of the office he rarely steps into, Louis can strain his ear and barely make out the details, his heart thumping from the familiar name on the call.

‘Cut that shit, Eli! You can’t tell me what to do!’ Reed yells. ‘You’ve got your duty, I’ve got mine, and right now I’m fucking staying in this motherfucking shithole. You understand me?’ An eye roll, then his eyes snap towards the direction of the entrance where a man who obviously doesn’t work in the force walks in. Everyone assumes that he is one of theirs, though, and he - probably Eli - manages to reach Reed without much resistance.

‘Gav, listen,’ he raises his hands in front of him as Reed pokes the screen of his phone so hard that Louis wouldn’t be surprised had it broken, ‘remember what I’ve told you? About me? Who I work for?’

‘What about -’ Louis can’t see Eli’s expression from this angle, but it must have shut Reed up. ‘Shit.’

‘Quite,’ Eli says drily. Then his voice softens. ‘Please, Gavin, I just want us to get out of this alive. Together.’

He tones out the rest of the conversation and instead focuses on the task at hand. An encrypted diary and a hollow statue. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Hank’s credentials are easy to guess, and he flinches when the evidence locker unfolds to reveal androids strung up like pieces of meat. He focuses on what he wants instead and quickly grabs both items Hank told him that can lead the FBI to Jericho because of course the first thing androids do after gaining sentience is worshipping a god and writing down the address of their secret hideout and -

‘What is a SWAT Captain doing here?’

He turns. Sees Eli standing at the door. Remembers the two empty spaces where the evidence he took should be. A flash of a long-forgotten memory: an interrupted project, a team gone missing, one last goodbye.

I know him.

‘I remember you,’ negotiate first, use force only when necessary. ‘You used to work with my sister. How did you get in here?’

‘Police departments around the world have… questionable security measures compared to the people I am working for,’ Eli - Ilya - Louis doesn’t know anymore - taps his watch. ‘Quite easy to break into, really. Now, what did you take?’

‘All evidence I’ve retrieved are under Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s orders,’ sorry, Hank. ‘You can ask him for confirmation.’

‘No need to be hostile,’ his tone is still condescending, and Louis feels his nerves tingle from both his emotions and the man in front of him. Fuck. Does that mean he’s like him as well? ‘If I were here for you, I would’ve subdued you a long time ago, wouldn’t I?’

Louis is still not convinced. ‘The hell do you want?’

‘I don’t have much time,’ Eli/Ilya takes out a… thing that seems to have materialised from his sleeve. ‘If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you’ll need this later.’

Louis warily approaches the other man. ‘What does it do?’

‘It syncs with your nervous system. More specifically, the biotic nodes - both natural and artificial - in your entire body which are part of your nervous system. An amplifier, as we call it informally. Gives you a boost in a fight. Gets you out of tight places.’

‘How do I know you’re genuine?’

‘Me and your sister drifted apart a few years ago,’ hold on, a few years ago? Does it mean - ‘It doesn’t mean I want to hurt innocent people - android or human. I’d hardly want her to throw a fit after knowing that you died being shot at by the US military.’

But Louis isn’t quite listening anymore. ‘Hold on,’ he says even as he shoves the device into his pocket. ‘Anna is alive?’

‘We have little time left,’ the other man doesn’t seem to have heard his question. ‘It’s a matter of time for the FBI to find where the deviants are hiding. If you want to get to them, better do it quickly. Preferably armed.’

Louis gives Eli/Ilya one last sweep, memorising his features, his measurement, his clothing, everything that he can notice right now so that - ‘We’ll talk later.’

‘Get out alive first.’

He doesn’t allow himself to think as he methodically packs up, drives back home, refills the food and water dispensers for the cats in case he’ll be away for a long time, drives to the safehouse - deserted because not long ago the military just marched through and searched door to door for androids - to retrieve all the supplies he can carry - thirium, printers, guns, and finally brings himself to Jericho where he hopefully won’t get gunned down on his first step into the cargo freighter for being human. He taps into his powers - just in case - and hooks the amplifier over his ear.

He doesn’t know if it’s the energy or the power or just that there are so many androids in Jericho, but he manages to reach the heart of the freighter relatively undetected. Connor and his sister are probably among the clusters of androids downstairs, but first, he needs to have a word with the leader of the deviants.

‘Human.’

He gets surrounded by what must be a dozen androids in less than a second, the LEDs on their temples - for those who keep theirs, that is - spinning yellow while they communicate silently through their channels. He follows their line of sight and there it is, his borderline-illegal, modded-to-hell rifle that he gets away from carrying openly only because he is a SWAT Captain, and he starts regretting his decision to bring it out in the open to deter the military.

The androids in front of him part like Moses splitting the Red Sea in half, Markus emerging with quickened steps and standing in front of him in an instant. Piercing eyes - one blue, one green - scans him from head to toe despite Louis being pretty sure that it’s just for show, and when their eyes meet, he decides to slide the duffel bag containing the printers and thirium down his shoulder and holds it towards the deviant leader with straining arms. ‘I brought supplies,’ he explains, feeling dumb. ‘Scan my bags if you don’t believe me.’ 

Markus’ eyes don’t move but Louis feels him scanning the contents of his luggage anyway. He doesn’t move at all, but then two androids emerge from the crowd to take the bags downstairs. ‘You are expected,’ he says. Then, gesturing the rifle on his back and the other weapons Louis hid underneath his clothes, ‘Not very discreet, aren’t you?’

The other androids file away, their anxious chatter having nothing to do with what he knows will come. ‘It gets the message through without words,’ Louis replies as he fidgets with the strap of his rifle in front of his chest. ‘I’m on a time limit here.’

‘For what?’

‘The FBI is coming. You have about one hour and a half to evacuate.’

And then everything becomes a blur.

oOoOo

FBI. Evacuating Jericho. Blowing up Jericho. Staying in Jericho to defend the last evacuees. People leave in groups of no less than three, taking crates, supplies, and, sometimes, injured companions away from the failing cargo freighter. Some, like Lucy, volunteered to stay despite being recommended to leave first, and some left with the friends they had made during these few eventful days. Holding Connie tight against his side with her hand in his grip and the shallow interface between them the only thing keeping her functional, Connor is torn between sending her away to safety without him, going with her to their next sanctuary, or forcing her to stay with him and face the dangers of potential firefights and massacres. He can tell from her panicked shiver and the way she tugs herself underneath his arm that she does not want to go at all and neither does he, but he doesn’t know if he can live with it if she died because of him.

Someone kneels in front of him, and when his eyes focus, Louis’ face comes into view. ‘Josh is leading the last outbound group. The rest of us are staying in case the FBI came before all of us can go.’

‘So Connie can come with us?’

Louis checks his watch. ‘If you want her to be safe, no,’ he rearranges his limbs so that he is sitting cross-legged on the floor. ‘We’re expecting confrontation very soon, maybe in a few minutes. We need to move now or else we might risk getting her in the crossfire, glowy blue superpowers or no.’

He doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on the floor. Connor watches his sister pout and her eyes water, but to his surprise, she nearly slaps his arm around her shoulders away and stands up on her own. Louis stands up as well, adjusting the rifle on his back by its strap, and leads her away presumably to Markus’ lieutenant. It leaves a large gap in Connor’s mind. 

oOoOo

Louis feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up before the rumble even starts.

‘Hurry,’ he transfers Connor’s sister from his arm to Josh’s. ‘They’re coming.’

‘What?’ the android has the nerve to look confused. ‘But don’t we -’

‘Just go!’ he can feel the full weight of all the shit he’s stowed on his body as he takes a step back, all the spare ammo and the four pistols and the submachine gun he somehow manages to keep underneath his winter clothes. Here’s to hoping that his powers are enough to keep him afloat. ‘We’ll catch up with you.’

He runs, feeling the shift of the small packages of thirium he left for himself in case he is trapped and needs to fight his way through, and it’s about thirty seconds later that he nearly slams into Connor who just turned the corner. ‘They’re coming from all sides,’ he says as he reloads his pistol. ‘Markus is detonating the charge in the hold. We need to find an exit and jump in the river.’

‘And the others?’ Louis knows they shouldn’t be standing there but he needs to know. The implication of jumping into freezing water in winter… surprisingly doesn’t scare him as much as it should. ‘Are they jumping too?’

‘North is leading them. I’m just here to find you.’

He doesn’t exactly have a choice now, does he? ‘Lead the way.’

He pulls his scarf over his nose and runs.

oOoOo

‘Hostiles sighted. Preparing to engage.’

Louis is pulled behind one of those watertight doors before he even registers the movement, and the next thing he knows Connor is dashing out of cover and immediately gets shot. Letting his instincts take over his body, a shield of blue tendrils shoots out of his hand and fixes itself in front of the android before he rushes out while slinging his rifle onto his shoulder and drags him as far as he can away from the soldiers by walking backwards, and as he feels the fabric in his grip twist and bend, he wonders if the soldiers pick up his face with the built-in tech in their helmets. Their facelessness does give Louis an advantage, however, because he feels no qualms about creating a blue sphere of energy in his free hand and lobbing it towards the shield, causing it to explode in a boom of bright blue mist. He also forces himself to not think too much about the horrible screech of rusted metal before the corridor collapses behind him as he drags Connor into another empty room to examine the wound.

‘You alright?’ he asks. The wound on the android’s shoulder doesn’t seem to be bleeding, but he knows it is an illusion created by the many layers Connor is wearing right now; of all he knows, the android can be soaking his innermost shirt. ‘How long until your self-repair kicks in?’

‘A few seconds,’ Connor’s jaw is tight when he uses Louis’ shoulder as leverage to stand up. ‘It will not heal properly until I have sufficient thirium in my systems. We have to go.’

‘Will the water get in?’

‘Not if I give my chassis priority.’ Connor freezes for a blink of an eye, the only indicator that he is scanning his surroundings now that his LED is hidden beneath his beanie. ‘We are safe for now.’

Louis steps outside first this time, his protective barrier tinting his world blue. The corridor smells of static and the unique smell of a mix of his powers and rusted metal, and they don’t run this time, Louis needing to concentrate on always keeping his powers on hand so that he can react as quickly as possible in case they got ambushed again and Connor distracted by both constantly scanning their surroundings and mending the gaping hole on his shoulder. They run into a few stray pairs of soldiers on their way, but nothing cannot be taken care of by sneaking away or catching them unaware with a stasis field. 

He is almost frightened by how easily he accepts his powers as his main source of offence and defence and uses it on people with no regrets.

‘Connor! Lou! You’re alive!’

They round a corner and are greeted by Simon and North. Both of them appear unharmed and North doesn’t look too happy that Louis is there, but one look from Simon is enough to urge all of them to run towards the exit on their deck, hurdling over collapsed walls and doors and leaping over gaps on the floor as quickly and smoothly as they can to get out of the place as soon as possible - and to outrun the footsteps behind them.

North takes the risk to look backwards. ‘Markus!’

Before Louis can turn to greet him, he hears gunshots and a surprised groan from Markus as he turns and discovers the leader of the deviants on the floor with two bleeding wounds on his back. The lights hum and go out, and they are left with the dim, far-away lamps mounted on the soldiers’ rifles as their only source of light. The rumble of helicopters outside seems so close now.

‘Markus!’ comes the panicked cry from Simon, and Louis raises his arm just in time to push him back to let Connor do his job. ‘Stay back,’ Louis says. ‘Let us handle this.’

He lobs a sphere of blue towards the soldier shooting at the two androids as the prototype slings Markus’ arm around his shoulders and starts limping towards the exit, knocking them into the wall with a thrum that resonates in the entire corridor. From the light of their rifles, two more soldiers join their still-standing comrades, and he knows he needs to up his game to be able to fight them all at once; instead of suspending them in stasis fields or using the old-school spheres, he swings his arm upward with his palm to launch an unending chain of explosive tendrils that tears through the soldiers, lifting them off their feet and illuminating the rest of the corridor with blinding blue light. Their position exposed, Louis cuts off the shockwave chain and lets it fizzle and dissipate behind him and runs with the others towards the exit as he shrouds himself in blue to protect himself from the freezing water.

More gunshots and shells hitting the ground. A ‘Run! Quick! Come on!’ from Markus. Louis leaps.

Everything beyond his barrier goes dark.

o0o0o

Before

The remodelling was going well. The new programmes had all taken root in 51’s system, the body modifications were adapting to the original biocomponents and responding to the new system, and her vitals were steady if less satisfactory than what Ryder expected. Whatever. Her task was complete. This stage of her experiment was a success.

Deactivating the skin on her hand, she placed it on the other android’s shoulder and woke her up, 51’s skin rippling and flickering as the sudden increase in power usage. It stayed that way as she blinked her eyes open, and her mouth opened and closed as if she had something to say but couldn’t.

‘RK800, register name: Connie.’

51 - Connie - shivered.

Perfect.

---

the art!

link: https://www.deviantart.com/coakesam/art/DBHAUBB-2021-877769882

[voltagesmutter]

The Buff Butler

Victor - “Can you guys just fuck already?, Don’t cover your mouth… “,“I like hearing you”

Prequel to: He’s not paid enough for this

The bustling sound of the city street filled your ears as you stepped out of the limo, passersby with mountains of Christmas shopping piled high in their arms, the scent of cinnamon lingering in the air. Take a deep breath in, inhaling the spicy goodness, the smell coming from the bakery next door, letting the pleasantly timing of Christmas embody you. Tonight was the night of the big LFG Christmas ball, an event dedicated to the works of LFG, extremely exclusive, a perk for all employees. 

The limo had been sent to the meeting point, you, Anna, Willow and the rest of the team squeezing in, a bottle of champagne flowing between you all. The crimson red dress clung to your body, dipping at your chest with ‘v’ as a slit ran up from the ground to thigh on your left leg, it was simple yet elegant. Your ice-blonde hair thrown up, a curl or two hanging loosely to frame your face. The group made their way into the building, beautifully decorated with christmas lights and decorations, a christmas tree stood tall laced with illuminating lights, the warmth of christmas was filled in the room. 

Your eyes darted across the room, a quick glance to check but alas Victor was not here yet, but he had promised to you he would be there. You mixed and mingled, polite discussions with other colleagues, “So have you done your shopping yet?”, “It’s christmas already, I know it’s gone so fast,”, “Yes, only a few 2 more weeks to go until the christmas break,”. As pleasant as it all was, the conversations seemed tedious, all you wanted to do was talk to the one person who wasn’t here. 

“You look really good when you scrub up,” A familiar voice said from behind you, pulling your attention from the band playing light jazz music.

“I think I can say the same to you,” You smile, turning to Goldman, tapping the champagne flute lightly in your hand. 

“Try not to look so glum, Victor will be here soon,” He teases and you playfully hit his arm, giving him a stern ‘shut up’. You'd been confining in the CEO’s assistance, a close friend to you, about your feelings towards Victor after he opened up to you about his feelings towards Anna. A sacred friendship built up on relationship struggles. 

“My god, Bella, have you seen the santa’s they’ve hire for tonight,” Willow came bundling over to you, her eyes wide with a smile. 

“Don’t you think thats a bit weird Willow? I’m not interested in a jolly fat man in a red suit with a beard,” You laugh, waving your hand at her comment.

“But it’s a half-naked, sexy santa,”. Sorry Victor but your not here right now, so how can I resist not going and ogling at the beautiful specimen handing out free champagne on the other side of the room?

“My god,” You whispered, grabbing Willow's hand as you both squealed like school girls, your eyes fixed on the man. He was shirtless with some red shorts on, a belt hanging loosely over the top, a rack of defined muscles which led into a v-shape leading right down to his…

A round of applause prevented your gaze from going any lower, turning you felt your heart sky-rocket, Victor entering the building that stern poker face plastered on him as usual. You joined in with the applause until you stopped, your heart plummeting as if a rocket was falling from the atmosphere, a beautiful woman on his arm. 

Your brain repeated repeating angrily, ‘Who is she?!’. Angry and jealously ran over you as you watched the beautiful temptress, hating her instantly, all because she was on Victor's arm instead of you. You drown your sorrows in the free drinks, unable to take your eyes off them as they laughed happily, mingling with the other employees. Everyone seemed so happy, so full of Christmas spirit and there you sat alone at the bar, the only thing to keep you company was your drink. 

“Scotch, please, neat,” A cheerful voice came to your sit, sitting next to you on the barstool. The half-naked santa now sat next to you, unfortunately with a shirt on. 

“I didn’t know Santa drank,” You laughed, turning your attention to the strange who smiled at you. 

“Well working for Mr.Li for one night would make anyone drink,” He responded, both of you sharing a light hearted laugh. He introduces himself as Chris, pressing a kiss to your hand. 

“So the whole Santa thing? Is there a reason he had to be shirtless?” You ask, sipping away at your drink, cheeks flushing at the memory of the hunk of muscle beneath the shirt. 

“I work for a… adult company you’d say, a naked butler service,” He takes a card out of his wallet and hands it to you.

“The Buff Butlers?” You laugh.

“Service with a smile,” He winks to you with a hearty chuckle. You spent most of the evening chatting away, talking about your experiences at LFG, the pleasant company distracting you from the man you lusted over with the beautiful woman on his arm. That was until your eyes caught Victors and he was making a b-line straight towards you. Brilliant.

“Mr.Li,” You nod with a light smile, he returns the nod but not the smile. The heart inside you ached as he introduced the young picturesque, who smiled directly at you. The softest faint of Victor's smile made it feel like your heart had been pierced with a dagger. Putting your bravest face, you introduced yourself and Chris.

“So that’s the girl your so smitten with,” She whispered between her smile as she turned to face her cousin.

“Smitten? Don’t be mistaken for such foolery,” Victor shook his head, watching the woman who held his heart in her hand, walk away with another man. 

“Victor please, you’ve barely taken your eyes off the girl this whole night!” She laughed, throwing her head back slightly. 

“Even if I was having feelings for the dummy, she’s clearly pre-occupied,” Victor nodded to the barman, pulling his attention, “Whisky, on the rocks,”.

“That’s because you turn up to your event with a girl on your arm! You could at least tell her we’re family, the poor girl is properly gutted,”.

“Why do you presume she feel’s anything towards me?” He asked with curiosity, swirling the glass in his palm that had been placed seconds ago.

“Because she’s not taken her eyes off you all evening either,” Her voice soft, Victor almost choking on the liquid between his lips, “Could you not see the broken smile she gave you when we went over?”.

“Of course I did, I just assumed it was because we were interrupting their conversation,” He huffed.

“Victor, you could cut the sexual tension between you with a knife, you need someone to put you two in a room together and have someone say Can you guys just fuck already?,”. Victor face a heavy shade of red at his cousin's crude words. Although he couldn’t deny how he felt towards her, there was definitely… strong feelings towards the dummy. 

“Go find her Victor, just go and say hello by yourself and talk to the bloody girl!”. The words of encouragement, he needed to hear. It was strange, Victor Li was the youngest CEO of a company, who never broke a sweat at a challenge or hard work. But when it came to the blonde goddess, her baby blue eyes filled with innocence, the girl who made his heart almost skip a beat every time he saw her; whose soul was a pocketful of sunshine, Victor was a trembling mess. 

He walked down the corridor he had seen the couple leave down, the leather sound of his shoes clicking against the floor. Just as he turned the corner, he heard the heard words that made his heart ache. “Don’t cover your mouth… I like hearing you”. His eyes falling to a heart wrenching scene, pushed against the wall, her fingers buried deep in his hair as he had his gloved hand holding her waist; his lips heavy against hers as she met him back with the same force, a slow sensual kiss, a tongue grazing out to tease the bottom of her lip with a begging for entry. 

He tried to stop time so he could run for the sight but it was too late, her eyes met his and she pulled herself away in at a heart stopping speed, the colour of her dress now resembled on her face. 

“V-Victor!” She managed with heavy embarrassment, unable to comprehend a sentence. 

“I- just… she’s my cousin,” He stammered, blinking a few times to try to clear the image of his head. He then excused himself, saving them both from pure embarrassment. 

“That was quick?”.

“Thank you to your advice, I just walked in to see my top employees playing tonsil tennis with an hired entertainer,” He responded with a deep shade of red on his face, he covered him mouth for a second with his hand to prevent anyone from seeing. He never wanted to hire them stupid shirtless butlers in the first place, he felt it was tacky to the LFG image, but the event committee saw it as light humour. 

“Ouch, am sorry Victor, I just really feel like she likes you,” She tries to console her cousin.

“I thought so too…”.

It had been nearly two weeks since the christmas ball, one of, if not, the most embarrassing night of your life. Seeing Victor with the young woman hurt too much to stand, removing yourself from the situation you felt the hurt inside you build, mixing with the slightly intoxicated state. Turning the corner she felt herself being pressed against the wall, a heavy pair of lips upon hers before pulling away.

“Sorry I just-” He started but she cut him off, her lips meeting his in the responding movement. You was so frustrated, to the point it turned you on, it was clear you would be nothing more to Victor than an employee and needed to get over him. It was working quite well, until the image of Victor filled your mind, the way he would whisper dummy, you could picture him so clearly you swore she could hear his walk in your mind. Only it was the real thing. The slightly gasp and turning of heels, the shocked purple eyes meeting her flung open eyes, Victor. Fucking. Li. 

‘I- just… she’s my cousin’, brilliant Victor, bloody brilliant. Tell me after I throw myself to a stranger out of jealousy over you, no tell me after. If there was any time for you to be striked down, then now was the perfect opportunity. You’d not seen Victor since that night, avoiding him at all costs. But today time had decided you had to face the issue, today was the last day before the christmas break and you had to go give Victor the present you had got him. You had a photo of the two of you from the haunted house you went to together at halloween printed out and framed months ago. You visited the office when you knew he was free, thanks to Goldman sending you his calendar, at first you aimed to go at lunch, then you remembered this is Victor and he doesn’t stop. 

“Enter,” He answered as you knocked on the door, slowly pushing it open as you entered his office.

“Hi,”. A light choke came from the CEO, a light blush on his cheeks as he saw it was you. There was a moment silence before you both said “I” at the same time, Victor gesturing you to continue.

“I did-n’t… nothing happened, between me and… and Chris,” Your voice trailed off in a hurried voice. 

“I wasn’t going to ask,” He replied with a calm voice.

“It just shocked me a little-... seeing you with a woman,”.

“She is of blood relative you know, my cousin,”. 

You took a step forward.

“Yes, I know that now,”.

A following pause.

“I just, next time you bring a date, can you just maybe warn some of us,” Your voice filled with softness, the ting of hurt visible in your eyes and small smile, a twinge at your heart.

The only person I want to ever take of a date is you, he thought, unable to express the words in physical form. 

“Anyway!” She smiled, brushing off the vulnerability in her voice with her usual confidence, “For you, Merry Christmas Victor,”. You placed the present on his desk before turning on your heel and leaving without a word. You heard nothing more of Victor until a few days later, a knock at your apartment door and there lay a bouquet of red roses and a small box. Bringing it inside and opening the perfectly wrapped box, a vintage tea pot you had seen weeks ago went out with Victor, pointing out how much it reminded you of your favourite one from your childhood. It brought a warmness to your heart and a heavy tear to your eye. Picking up your phone you thanked your CEO.

‘Don’t you know it’s bad luck to open presents before Christmas dummy?’ you could hear him scolding you clearly in your head.

‘I’ll do a good dead to make up for it!’.

‘How about coming to Souvenir and trying my new dish?’. A knock at the door interrupts you and you open it to find Victor standing on the other side.

“Dummy, be more careful, don’t just open your door for anyone,”. You cocked an brow to him.

“So just open the door for you…?” You ask and look confused.

“What? No, just, be more careful!” He flustered slightly, “So, Souvenir? It’s a new type of pudding,”.

“Pudding? Ugh fine, twisted my arm, lets go,” You tease, grabbing your keys off the counter and locking the door behind you. 

You enjoyed a few hours alone with him, as he made you a caramel pudding with a hint of ginger to bring a certain tang of spice, a beautiful blend. As you finish, you make a chef's kiss action followed by, ‘my compliments to the chef’. 

“So what’s my price for this,” You tease, crossing your legs, the side of your dangling foot rubbing against his lower calf. 

“Take it as a christmas present,”.

“I can’t! It’s meant to be my good deed, I can not take a free meal,”. Victor looks at you for a minute, before wrapping his arms around your back pulling you into a hug.

“Just don’t let me see you kissing anyone else,” He voice softly whispers in your ear as you freeze on the spot, swearing you hear the faintest of words saying ‘unless it’s me,”. He finally pulls back from his embrace, pressing his forehead against yours, ‘I promise’ falling from your lips as you close your eyes. Neither parting for a minute, before a plate falling in the kitchen pulls you both back, your pulse racing at the speed of a high-tech train. You was unable to get the re-playing motion of your intimacy at that moment out of your head, sending your heart racing each time. It took days to figure out why, tossing and turning at night, hunger being consumed by the motion until finally… The day when his smile was the first thing you thought about in the morning, you knew. 

You knew you loved Victor Li.

[imaginesmai]

Tom Holland - Fawn (6)

Get READY mobsty Tom is here! This is inspired by  Don’t play with fire , @peaceisadirtyword. It’s an amazing Ivar fic, take a look if you have time!

Previous parts  in the general summary. Click here to read the previous parts!

Plot: after knowing the truth about Richard’s implication in Dom’s accident, you feel like breathing some air. Tom is going to try everything in his power to make everything better, but there are problems coming your way.

Warnings: blood, death, guns and violence. Creepy behaviour, not from Richard.

“Y/N I’m so sorry”

“Tom, really, it’s –“

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have told you” he rushed to explain again. “I just – needed to vent, because it has been a really difficult week. And I hadn’t – I’ve missed you. I didn’t want to worry you”

You stopped walking and Tom almost collided with your back. The busy street was as full as any Monday morning, if not even fuller. There were people running up and down, the centre of London buzzing with life. You had still a few chores to do, and after leaving the clothes in the laundry with a two hours program, you had the intention of fulfilling at least half of your task.

But the boy who had been apologizing since he left the laundry with you wasn’t making it any easier, as he was following you until you turned around. When you turned around to look at him, he had the knowing smirk on his lips. He crossed his arms and, even if you knew what he wanted was to apologise, he had a hint of mischief on his eyes.

“I’ve already told you it’s okay” you mimicked his pose. “Just overwhelmed for a second”

“I guess I’ll have to accompany you to make sure you don’t faint, or anything” he shrugged, the blush you had missed so much back.

“Boring tasks won’t overwhelm me” you chuckled. “But feel free to come along, if you don’t have anything thrilling to do”

You turned back and that time Tom walked besides you. Neither were dressed very formal, just a pair of friends that were doing daily chores. You wondered briefly if Richard would see you. His apartment was in the centre of London, and you didn’t really know if he was in there all day or got out. Either way, you were having conflicted feelings about the matter, and were sure that as soon as you closed your house’s door, you would be spiralling in thoughts about how he had lied to you.

Being with Tom seemed like a good solution to you, so you pushed yourself closer to him and excused the movement with the overcrowding streets of London, even if both you and your inner voice knew it wasn’t true.

Tom didn’t notice or didn’t want to, because he just kept walking at your pace.

“Doing chores with you can be a thrilling experience” Tom shrugged. “I can take you to a few places that might match bungee jumping”

“That doesn’t sound very legal, does it?” you teased him, knowing he was probably talking about the black market.

“Sometimes cops are involved, if that’s what you mean” Tom said, and you ignored the image of Richard. “Where are we going?”

“I have to buy some groceries, pick up two blueprints and I wanted to look a new jacket” you listed the things you thought were less embarrassing, because there was no way you were telling him that your next stop would be the pharmacy to buy pads. “Thrilling adventure, uh?”

“Can’t think of a better way to spend my Monday morning”

Besides noticing that Tom looked devilishly handsome and that his eyes had no right to be that beautiful, you noticed that it was the first time you did chores accompanied. Richard always said that doing chores was the worst thing he could think of, and you could count with one hand how many times he had asked you to buy something instead of going with you.

Your first stop was the supermarket. After picking up a cart with the excuse of Tom buying some other things, you took out your list of food you had written at home and showed it to him. It was pretty long, and it took him a while to read it; time you took to shamelessly check him out.

It was easy to forget that Tom was part of a mob, even more when he was out of the club. There you had the constant reminder of the gun on the hem of his trousers, and of his brothers in the VIP zone. On the supermarket, Tom seemed a different person. His hair had grown a little since you had seen him for the first time, not that buzzed but just straight short. He was more relaxed, or at least to you. And not having the pressure of being there because of Richard made you cherish the moment more.

Leaning against the cart and looking at the list with furrowed brows, Tom Holland was more human of what you had ever seen.

“This – what is this?” he pointed with his finger to a word, and the paper crumpled a little. You looked over his shoulder to where he was pointing.

“Uh, that’s carrots”

“No, here you can’t read carrots” he pointed again. “This is just some kind of electrogram with a slight upward tendency at the end”

You snorted a laugh and went back to walking, expecting Tom to follow you. He did, bending over the cart and with the list on his hand.

“I give you that you’re cute, fawn, but your handwriting is demoniac” Tom continued. “If I read all this out loud, no one assures me that a demon isn’t going to appear behind my back”

“You can try, but I’m not saving you if it does”

“Wow, that’s really rude of you” Tom pushed the cart until he was by your side again, and handed you the list. “Please don’t ever send me a letter”

“I can’t even send a message Tom”

It wasn’t your intention to send the hint, but if Tom took it and you got his number, you wouldn’t be the one complaining. You weren’t sure when the morning was over if you would see him again in the night, because Richard had yet to say if he wanted you to go. And if you didn’t have you, you wouldn’t. That didn’t mean you didn’t want to see Tom anymore.

“Yeah, we have to fix that” Tom commented as you stopped by the cereals aisle. “Give me your phone”

“I don’t know if you’re a stalker yet” you gave him a mocking side glance as you bent down to pick a box.

“Only one way to find out”

You took the cereal box out of its place and onto the cart, and gave Tom your unlocked phone. Not wanting him to see anything he shouldn’t see, like Richard’s conversation, you gave him the dialling up directly, and he tapped away. You entertained yourself meanwhile picking up two milk cartoons and leaving them in the cart.

You realized that you were nearly done, and that you didn’t want to leave just yet. But you could extend that much the supermarket and the homey look on Tom, so you decided to pick up the vegetables and leave for the next part.

Tom gave you back your phone and you were surprised to see that it was already locked; meaning he had put himself a contact name. Before you could ask what had it been, Tom was already on his way to pick up the carrots.

-

“You know what, I think it wasn’t that bad” Tom talked through the curtain. “I would erase the part where you unfolded the blueprints in the middle of the streets and they flew away, but I had a good time”

You rolled your eyes but chuckled anyway. You were running low on time before the machine on the laundry shop ended, but you still insisted on looking for your jacket. The green one was going to finally retire, and you needed one for the incoming spring. Tom had proposed several shops in where a piece of cloth costed more than a whole year earnings.

Tom had just given you a pointed glare, because probably for him money wasn’t tight, but you had insisted on going to your favourite shop anyway. It was close to the laundry shop, you didn’t have the constant pressure of finding Richard anymore, and besides it had the same jacket but with a different colour.

The jacket had been already brought, but you had seen a cute blue dress and Tom had seen you see it. Richard had never encouraged you to buy clothes, even less advised you while doing so. But Tom had thrown the dress to your arms and pushed you inside the dresser.

It was a long dress, not fit to go out to a club. With white flowers and a small opening on your right leg, the dress was longer from the back. It was crossed on the chest and with short sleeves. You weren’t sure what to think about it at first, but once you saw it on, you had to say it was beautiful.

You made a few turns and let the dress move around, and a silly smile formed on your face.

“Is it on?” Tom talked again, and you got out of your daydream. “I want to see it”

“Give a second”

Subconsciously, you fixed your hair in the mirror and checked for anything that could be wrong. It would be more than a few seconds, you were sure. You put on your white sneakers, eternally grateful that you had decided to shave your legs on Saturday, and tied them. They matched with the dress, and you couldn’t help making a few silly faces in the mirror.

Finally, you turned around and opened the curtains.

Tom wasn’t looking at you directly, but at somewhere in the shop. He had his eyebrows burrowed and the face you had seen in Dom’s the last time was back. It wasn’t for long, because as soon as he heard the curtain open, he turned around and pretended nothing was wrong. But you had already seen it, and for a moment you feared Jacob or Richard were there. Still gripping the curtain, you took a hesitant step forward and looked to the right.

There weren’t many people there, just the employees and a few people. Two woman, a group of men and some couples. You didn’t see anyone that deserved Tom’s worry, so you went back to your previous position and gave him a hesitant smile. He was already looking at you, with a small smile and a special shine on his eyes.

“What do you think?” you asked, moving your hips a little.

“It’s just – the dress is so you” Tom’s voice sounded a little rough. “It’s perfect, and it looks great on you. You’re… gorgeous, fawn”

“Thank you” you blushed and looked down to your feet.

“Maybe…” Tom raised his arm, and took a step forward. “Can I –“

You nodded and Tom stepped up until you could feel his breath on your face. It wasn’t necessary to be that close, but you didn’t complain. His hand hovered over your face until it raised a little, enough so that he could touch your hair. It fell all over when he took the rubbed band, and you were glad because at least covered your ears.

Tom didn’t stop there, but ducked your hair behind your ear. Tom seemed to be as nervous as you, because his fingers were warm. He left his hand close to your face.

“That’s better” he coughed out.

You should have moved away, because Tom wasn’t your boyfriend and because the laundry machines were probably nearly over. But neither of you attempted to do so. Tom’s hand rested on your cheek, his thumb nearing your mouth. Maybe it was you, but your inner voice was screaming that you were closer every second. Life around the shop seemed to keep going, but for you it stopped.

You knew that Richard would have accepted you sleeping with him if it meant valid information, and you didn’t feel an inch of your body that wanted to tear apart. Tom kept closing in, until your noses touched.

You were about to close your eyes when someone coughing made you both move away.

“Tommy”

You looked to the new voice, in fear some cop would be again ruining your time with Tom. You knew most of the cops in London, because of Richard, and the man who was smiling at you from the entrance of the fitting room wasn’t one.

He was chewing on a toothpick while leaning over the wall, his arms crossed. They were full of black dark hair, that matched the curly ‘dough’ on his head. If you had to rank him in your list of ‘gangster look’, he was on the top. He even had a short beard that looked nasty, and his eyes were exactly what you expected to see when you first met Tom.

The way he had said his name made Tom tense up.

“Didn’t expect you in seeing this kind of place” the man said, and you got the impression that he had a disgusting smell.

You noticed that the shop seemed to have emptied in a second, and the group of men that were looking at some jeans before were now eyeing you slightly. Tom didn’t answer and the man laughed, making his stomach move up and down. You knew there was something you didn’t know going on, and that it would be very beneficial for you to hurry the fuck up out of there.

But you were frozen in the spot. It had been a while since you had felt that way, probably since the first times Richard left you there alone for the first time. You tried to tell yourself that you had Tom, who surely wouldn’t leave you alone, because he had showed to be a much better man than Richard.

Your heart was already beating loud in your ears, and you clenched your hand around the fabric of the dress. It was colder than before.

“Why don’t you change, mh?”

Tom looked at you when he talked, and attempted to look comforting. But you knew that look, because he had given it to you when he had left you at Lisa’s house. His smile was tight and his hand urged you back into the fitting room. Tom’s eyes tried to say that everything was alright, but your mind was already on panicking mood.

He gave you a last smile and closed the curtain. You heard steps and hushed voices, meaning that Tom had walked out of the fitting rooms.

You quickly focused on your task. The dress would likely never be bought or even looked up, but you were decent enough to take off your shoes before taking it off. The laces messed themselves in between your fingers and your vision became blurry. You tugged at them until they finally came off, and you rushed to take off the dress.

It was the most difficult thing you had done in your life, because the cloth got tangled with your arms and you almost fell out on the floor. You collided with the walls and jumped a few times, until your head was free and you could breathe again. You left the dress on the bench and turned around to put on your jeans.

Only to be met by a completely new man who was staring at you in your underwear. In your struggling fit with the dress, you had missed the curtain opening and the man stepping in your personal space.

“Hey”

You only had time to grab the closest item and bring it close to your chest before being dragged out of the room by your forearm. It wasn’t gentle or nice, it was demanding and you were sure you would have bruises that night. You were too busy not planting your face on the ground that you couldn’t even scream, just whine and let a few tears finally roll down.

“Wait – please, I-I need –“ you tried to beg at least for your trousers, because you only had your underwear and a shirt clutched to your chest.

“Shut up, I’m not gonna hurt you Y/N” the guy hissed.

The surprise about him talking with such familiarity, as if you were part of the gang, left you stunned. It gave him the opportunity to drag you farther from the room. You tried to think if Tom had said your name when you were in the shop, but you only remembered him calling you fawn. You had thought it was a stupid nickname before, but it made you feel less guilty; because a fawn wouldn’t be doing to Tom what you were.

Suddenly any possibility of going back to the room to take your clothes vanished because you exited the fitting rooms and stepped into the shop. The rest of the group that had been badly pretending they weren’t with the bearded man were gone, and not even the shop assistants were there.

Everything passed rushing because the guy who was dragging seemed to be in a hurry, and because you were really, really close to bursting into tears. The grip on your arm seemed made of iron, and you kept stumbling with your own naked feet.

In a few seconds the man stopped walking and squeezed you by his side.

“That your girl, Tommy?” the man from before asked.

He had a nasty gash on his forehead and his voice sounded weird because of the heavy flow of his bloody nose, but other than that he still had the smug smirk.

Tom was in front of you, held by three guys while seeming more intimidating than ever. He had the skin rounding his eye red and puffy, and his eyebrow was open too; even if you hadn’t hear anything, it was obvious that there had been a fight between them. Other than that Tom looked fine, but really angry. It reminded you of an angry bull, that when set free would destroy everything in its path.

His eyes couldn’t hold the calm he wanted to attempt a moment before, when he had pushed you in the fitting room. Instead, from the back of his throat came something similar to a growl and he trashed. You weren’t aware of how strong Tom was until he moved and the three guys shook with him. One of them actually received an elbow to the chin, and at the same time you received a slap.

A small scream was all that left your lips as you were barrelling to the ground, which you hit pretty painfully.

“Stay the fuck still” the man who had slapped you threatened, and Tom stopped moving.

“Claudio –“

“That your girl, Tommy?” said Claudio asked again.

You rose to your knees with the shirt still covering your front, the tears running down your cheeks. You were scared, and if Richard came and screamed at you for being a scared fawn, you would take it. Because the police had to come, right?

Tom gritted his teeth but didn’t move. You were hoisted up by your forearm again, to the other man’s side. Claudio hummed and walked until he was in front of you again, confirming your hypothesis about his smell being disgusting. Your cheeks were squeezed between his fingers, painfully, and he shook your head like a rag.

“So this pretty thing isn’t yours?” Claudio raised a brow, and you didn’t dare to let the shirt fall to push him away. “Mh, that’s a shame”

“Then why don’t you fuck off?” Tom snarled, and you received another slap. You cried out that time, but you didn’t fell to the ground.

“Your voice is irritating me, Tommy. And I don’t have –“

Everything happened so fast that you weren’t sure what went first. Claudio was enjoying so much every tear that travelled down your cheek that didn’t hear the grunts, but you did. They were soft and quick, and then two bodies fell to the ground.

That got Claudio’s attention, who seemed to think better and decided that his time there was over. Two of the men that had been holding Tom were on the ground, blood oozing from their throats, and the third one was holding a gun for nothing. It fired and finally Claudio moved, so that you could see Tom.

There was blood, so much blood that it could have been his and you wouldn’t have known. The man pointed the gun to Tom as he was getting up from the floor, but he didn’t have time to shoot again. With a technique that you had only seen in films, Tom took the gun out of his grasp and shot him between the eyes.

The man made some strange spasming, not fully dead for a second until he fell against the wall. If the big stain of blood wasn’t enough, he created a thin line from where he fell down. You were pulled out of your own horror when Claudio pushed you in front of him. Tom was pointing at you, and you weren’t so sure that he wouldn’t shoot you to get to the guy.

Tom himself was a nightmare to look at. There was blood on his face, on his hands and on his clothes, and his eyes were as empty as the day at the club. He didn’t even flatter when you became the target, neither moved the gun.

“If you’re so brave to threaten me” Tom started, and his voice was as plain as paper. There was no hate, no anger or no frustration. Just Tom Holland, the leader of the mafia. “Don’t hide behind her, coward”

There had been a fourth man, the one that had dragged you out of the fitting room, but he was long gone. Claudio seemed to realize that he was alone, with Tom Holland, who had killed three of his men without any help. His options ran low and he did the first thing he thought of; throw you over a cloth rack while he ran.

You tripped with the coats that fell from it stumbled to the ground, as you heard steps running away. The whole thing crashed down and you were covered in clothes, not being able to move. The upper part hit you on the head while your feet got stuck with the lower, and you started to hyperventilate because you couldn’t see a thing.

There was no way to say if what you were hearing were police sirens or your own heartbeat, so you just closed your eyes. For a moment, you thought you were alone. If you had been with Richard, you would surely be, because he would be running behind the man to stop him from running away.

But you didn’t hear any more guns firing, neither more steps rushing by your side. A pair of hands helped you to push the clothes away, and when you were untangled, you were met with Tom’s eyes. You let out the first sob as he said the first apology of the day.

“I’m sorry – I’m so, so sorry”

Tom pushed you against his arms, and you wrapped yourself around him like a koala, staining his sweater with tears. You didn’t care about the blood or about the mess in the store, just pressed your face in the crook of his neck and cried. Tom’s hand shook as it made its way to the back of your head, pressing you farther into him, as if you were going to dissolve.

You were too busy crying on your own to notice Tom’s chocked cry, or how his grip on you was too tight to be just meant to comfort you. You didn’t know how long you were like that; you only know, how weird it was that the guy had known your name.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tom Holland/ Peter Parker taglist:

@delicately-important-trash

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@smilexcaptainx

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@zalladane​

@gypsystuf​ (since you didn’t answer me, I just put you on the general taglist. Let me know if you want to change!)

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Tom Holland Fawn taglist:

@averyfosterthoughts

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@watson-emma​

@ifntelyinspirit​

@himynameis-groot​

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: you can have half 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: hyodo juza/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 3.0k words, 2 images

𝐚𝐧: my first a3! fanfiction

He was in three of your classes. Three, and not once have you gotten the chance to talk to him! Granted, you never took the initiative either but after a few months, you’d think some kind of pair or group activity would pop-up to help you out.

The two of you were even in the class with the highly-acclaimed (by the student body) matchmaker professor, and either you were too subtle with your pining or weren’t interesting enough because not once has she tried to pair you up with him, or anyone for that matter.

Seriously, what does one have to do to get close to Hyodo Juza?

There wasn’t a particular moment you could pinpoint when you fell for Juza, but rather it was an accumulation of things that got you more and more attracted to him.

His cool and tough exterior first caught your attention, from the way he dressed to his purple hair. It didn’t help at all that he was extremely attractive to you.

Then you started noticing more things about him, like how polite he was to the professors, or the tiny smile he wore when he ate the anmitsu from the school canteen, or when that one upperclassman handed him some mochi, or when the photography-club senior gave him a box of pocky.

Juza being a sweets lover? Isn’t this what they call ‘gap moe’? Ahhh, your poor heart.

“That’s it!” You exclaimed to yourself excitedly, sitting up from your bed so quickly your head hurt slightly.

“I’ll give him some sweets as a conversation starter!”

Easier said than done.

“Isn’t it awkward to just give sweets out of nowhere to a guy?” You whined, hiding your face with your arms and laying your head down on the table. Your friends sighed for the nth time within the past hour, patting your head comfortingly as the two of them looked at you incredulously.

“It’s normal to confess feelings through sweets though?”

You jolted your head back up to look at the girl. “And who said I was gonna confess?”

The disbelief on their faces increased tenfold. “You’re not?”

Grimacing at the volume of their voices, you looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. By the history books section, you locked eyes with the librarian who paused putting back returned books to glare at your table, causing you to give an awkward smile in return.

Right, library. Inside voices.

“I wanna become friends with him first, but I’m too much of a wimp to even approach him huhu…” When the two girls don’t respond, you turn to the direction where they were staring straight ahead. A slight heat spread throughout your chest and into the roots of your hair.

“Omg, yankee Barney is here.” Choking on saliva, the speed at which you turned away probably gave you whiplash.

“I was gonna go with Dibo the Delinquent Dragon, but I like yours more.”

The two crackheads were stifling their laughter and looked like they were moments away from bursting out and getting themselves kicked out of the library. “Shut up! Let me wallow in my misery in silence.”

“Oh? Since when did Elmo get so dramatic?” Feeling your face heat-up and redden further, you stood up to leave.

“I’m gonna get strawberry milk from the vending machine, go talk shit without me.” You groaned, only staying long enough to hear them laugh as loud as they could without getting caught.

...

There was only one left, and you were the only one in line. How lucky was that? You waited for the machine to do its thing and drop the milk carton through the chute.

Except it wasn’t doing its thing. Odd. Should you stick your arm in the slot? Shake the machine? Kick or punch the glass? Ask someone for help? All of the above, in that order?

Fate had decided for you.

“You, do you need help?”

Holy holy holy-

Hyodo Juza was behind you! And he was talking to you!

Okay brain, here’s the game plan. Turn around, casually ask him for help, thank him, introduce yourself then continue the conversation from there!

Except you decided to make like the vending machine and malfunction.

“I- uh- yes? Please?”

Fuck, you probably sounded dumb. What kind of first impression is this? That response would probably get you intimacy points close to none. You went outside to cool down but weren’t the heat levels rising again?

He stared at you for a second, before quickly looking away and kicking the machine. Ahh, wasn’t that really cool? He crouched down, sticking his hand through the slot before handing you the carton.

“Strawberry milk…”

It looked like he was glaring for a second, but wasn’t he staring because he actually liked the flavour? He was holding out the drink to you, but you hastily pushed his palm back towards him.

“Thanks! You can keep it since you helped me with, you know. The machine! Okay, see you in class Ju-san!” You spoke quickly, before swiftly fleeing the premises.

Back in the library, you let your head fall down on the wooden surface. “You look like crap, what happened?” Letting out a pitiful whimper, you look up at them with a pout ready on your lips.

“He probably thinks I’m weird now…” The two girls exchanged a look with each other.

“Not that you aren’t, but what you do boi?”

“Ju-san…” He murmured quietly, palming the pink and white milk box in his hand. He sat in the dorm’s living room, wondering what he should do.

Juza’s seen you before in a couple of his classes. You always sat somewhere in the middle beside your friends, taking down notes and asking questions when needed. Other than the fact that you were a hard worker, he didn’t really know anything else about you.

Until the fateful encounter today.

At first, he thought you were scared of him from the way you froze up like a mannequin. Then you turned to him, not looking afraid but definitely a little faint and red-faced. Were you sick?

That didn’t explain how you just rushed off without your drink, and that odd nickname.

Ju-san.

Ju-san.

“Juza? Are you okay?” Flinching a bit, his eyes met with Omi’s concerned amber coloured ones.

“Omi-san, I’m fine…” He replied, doing little to convince Omi who proceeded to sit down next to him.

The strawberry milk was still sitting in the purple-haired boy’s hand.

“Are you not gonna drink that?” The brunet didn’t say it aloud, but both of them knew what he meant, ‘It’s not like you to just save it for later, so something’s up.’

“Someone gave it to me.” If the 4th year student was surprised, he sure didn’t show it. Instead, he gave a smile as if he knew this would happen eventually.

“And then? Why don’t you want to drink it then?” It probably wasn’t cold anymore if he had it since class hours.

“It’s not that… it feels…” Juza trailed off, looking for a word that would describe their chance meeting.

“Weird?” Omi supplied, but he shook his head. No, that wasn’t it.

“Sudden? Confusing?”

“Both of those, I think. Also, Ju-san…”

The brunet’s ears perked up at the nickname, almost believing he misheard it. Was this Ju-chan 2: Electric Boogaloo? Ah, Juza attracts cute people, doesn’t he? Can it be that cute people see through that toughness and see his softer side? It’s certainly true with Juza’s cousin.

“So they called you that, huh. Ju-san because Ju-sa sounds like Juza?”

Said person ignored him, unaware of the pink on his cheeks. Being a good mother senpai, Omi decided to help him out. Since Juza’s been delaying drinking the milk, he probably thought he didn’t deserve a free drink out of nowhere. That was an issue with a quick and easy fix.

“I’ll help you give them something in return on Monday.”

That was enough for Juza, who finally ripped the little plastic packet and poked the straw through the carton hole.

For a lukewarm drink, it tasted particularly good today.

You spent an hour last weekend praying to a couple deities that you could start over your first meeting with Juza. Not only that, but didn’t you end up calling him something weird?

You were walking to class when your friend leaned in closer, voice quiet so only you could hear. “Alert, yankee Barney is approaching. I repeat,”

“Don’t repeat.” You mumbled, not having the nerve to respond further, watching as he slowly neared you.

“Hyodo-san? Did you need something?” His mouth twitched at that, before handing you a purple tupperware.

“For last Friday. You can give the container back tomorrow.” You stared at the purple-haired man in shock, before accepting the gift.

“Thank you, Hyodo-san. I’ll be sure to enjoy it!” He lingered for a moment, waiting to see if you’d say something else, before nodding and walking past you and your friend.

Did that just happen?

You didn’t even realise your friend had stepped away from you until she came back running and shaking you with a magnitude strong enough to make a tree collapse.

“I thought you said he was gonna think you’re weird and shit! The fuck is this then?”

“Wait hoe I’m still shookt, let me check.”

Lifting the lid, the contents inside made your mouth water, and you wouldn’t be eating lunch for another 3 hours! Cookies! The torture of having to wait to consume them. Well, one couldn’t hurt?

Delicious! And the crisp, the size, the texture- all of them were to your liking.

“Hoh— isfh— so goo—“

“Oh look, there’s a note. While you’re greedily eating your heart out, let me read it.” Your friend pointed out, before unsticking it from the plastic lid.

“Juza felt bad for the free strawberry milk, so I helped him prepare something to show his thanks. I hope you enjoy. P.S. Ju-san? That’s cute.”

You almost choked, your friend wildly patting you on the back. “What’s this? A note from his mom or something?”

“Ju-ju-san…” You muttered in embarrassment. So he did pay attention to that! Not only that, but he even told someone about it? Well, that wasn’t your biggest worry right now.

“Isn’t this too much just for one strawberry milk? I have to find a way to repay him back!” Your friend narrowed her eyes at you, before shaking her head.

“Why do I feel like this is gonna be the start of a strange back-and-forth between the two of you?”

The next day, you handed him back the purple tupperware.

“Open it, it’s my favourite from the bakery two streets down.” You told him, doing your best to mask your shyness before walking away.

As soon as you left, Juza opened it to find a slice of red-velvet cheesecake and a disposable fork inside. He’ll eat it for dessert later. As he was about to close the lid, he noticed the cute sticky note designed like a strawberry.

Thank you for the cookies, they were really good! I passed by a bakery last night and thought you’d enjoy this!

You signed it off with your name, and he realised that he never knew it until then.

He said it quietly, testing out how it sounded.

He sighed, staring at the library door which you exited from.

The school canteen had some delicious milk bread, but don’t they sell strawberry shortcake on Wednesdays?

…

Wednesday, you delightfully ate a slice of strawberry shortcake which came with a plain white sticky note with nice calligraphy from Juza.

On Thursday, Tsuzuru found Juza eating dorayaki while reading something on a pastel blue paper.

Friday came, and the usual purple tupperware had two Castella cake slices and a lined paper, clearly ripped from his notebook, folded and taped to the lid.

Juza wondered if it would stop by next week and be handed an empty tupperware, but a surge of courage must have overcome you because Monday came with brownies and a note.

I don’t want you to keep ripping pages from your notebook. Do you have Inste? Discord? If you’re up for it, I can message you there instead. Otherwise, my number is…

He placed the paper with your socials somewhere he wouldn’t lose it.

...

Monday night arrived when you got a text from an unknown number.

This is Juza.

What a simple message, but somehow your heart fluttered. Your phone dinged again when you got a follow notification on Inste. Scrambling to follow him back and check out his posts, you didn’t know whether to laugh or be amazed when you saw that the posts there were purely promotional for MANKAI plays, some of which he wasn’t even in.

You took a screenshot of the image of him with the vest and purple tie and asked about the play.

It may not have been in person, but that marked the longest conversation you’ve had with Juza so far. Somehow the two of you went from talking about acting to food, to hobbies and complaining about teachers and before either of you knew it, it was midnight.

A couple days pass by and its Thursday night when people notice a change in Juza. Particularly, his phone habits.

“He’s not as bad as Itaru, Banri, and Kazunari but…” Tsuzuru trails off, looking at Omi who only seemed amused.

“He’s been spending a lot of time talking to someone is all.” The two of them turned their heads back to the first year as he let out a small laugh.

Three weeks in the food exchange and the two of you began having actual conversations in real life. It started when he handed you the purple tupperware, asking how you were and how your weekend was.

It somehow resulted in the two sitting together during classes, and having lunch together when Omi and Tsuzuru were busy.

You began to wonder who would break the streak.

You were running late. Maybe it was a bad idea to rush an essay worth a good chunk of your grade in the span of 8 hours, but somehow you managed to complete it at 3 am.

Thank god for online submissions. You wouldn’t be able to stand a noisy printer at this hour.

After plugging in your laptop and phone to make sure it would be fully charged before classes start later, you flop onto your bed to take a well-deserved rest.

When you woke up, it was 11 am.

Shit, you just missed a 3-hour lecture. Shit raised to the power of two Juza was in that class. Would he be worried that you weren’t there?

It looks like you’ll be the first to turn in an empty tupperware.

Still, you have a plan B prepared.

...

Juza was worried. When you messaged last night you hadn’t mentioned being sick at all. Had something happened? Sure, he didn’t get to message you that much over the weekend because of increasing practice hours but you’d definitely say something.

Omi and Tsuzuru eyed Juza as discretely as they could. No purple tupperware, no wonder he was upset. It went unsaid, but it clearly stopped being about the surprise desserts every other day and more about the person giving them.

“Ju-san!” An unfamiliar voice reached the former two’s ears, but the latter was clearly well acquainted with it based on his reaction. All three men turned around to see you, smiling and holding out Juza’s favourite food.

It was anmitsu with cream, specifically the one from the campus canteen.

“They wouldn’t let me put it in the tupperware, but will you accept it anyway?”

Did he look like he cared where the anmitsu was placed? Sure, it made him happy that despite skipping a class she still remembered to get him something, even more, his favourite dish, but…

“You didn’t show up to class a while ago.” Juza was frowning. You knew he usually gave off an angry disposition, but this was different.  

“Sorry, I was up ’til 3 am and forgot to turn on any alarms, haha.” He sighed.

“So the goodnight text then was-“

“A lie so you wouldn’t scold me for it, which obviously didn’t work in my favour.”

Having previously failed to notice the two upperclassmen, you turned to greet them, introducing yourself as Juza’s friend. “Sorry to disturb your lunch.”

Omi smiled. He introduced himself, as did Tsuzuru. So this was his troupe mate’s special friend. “Not at all. Have you eaten? You’re welcome to join us.”

Too tired to protest, you thanked him and sat down beside the purple-haired boy. “I just rushed here without eating, actually. Oh, I should probably get my lunch-“ You proceed to stand back up, but a firm hold of your arm from Juza stops you.

“You can have half.” He says, sliding a lunch set with a serving size you didn’t even know the university provided.

“What?”

“You slept through breakfast time, too. We can share.” He insisted, clearly not accepting no for an answer.

You take the unused chopsticks and begin to prod at the side dishes. “Fine, but now I owe you something. Should I get you banana milk from the vending machine?”

Juza looked away for a second, eyes hesitant as he glared at the anmitsu instead of you. When he looked back, he seemed to be filled with resolve.

“Then watch me… Autumn Troupe’s next upcoming play, I mean.”

For a moment you felt heat beginning to encompass your body, but quickly tried to shake it off. Of course Juza meant his acting.

“Obviously I’m watching it. Opening night and closing night, if I can help it.” You insisted. As if you would miss the chance to see him on stage. Sure, your massive crush on him wasn’t gonna go away any time soon, but to be able to see him do something he was extremely passionate about?

“Quick, help me finish lunch already so you can enjoy your anmitsu, Ju-san.”

...

The two of you somehow forgot the presence of Omi and Tsuzuru, both of whom were listening to your conversation intently.

“Then watch me? Seriously, lines like that can be interpreted…”

“I think we’ve become the third and fourth wheel, Tsuzuru.”

want to order again?