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maplecornia · 3 years

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chapter 15

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.04K

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: these next few chapters i really like, they're a LOT of connection time between tae and yen. plus idk why but since a majority of this chapter happens in the rain it just makes it ten times SPOICIER

They leave you behind.

As you watch them go, you can't help but be reminded of that which you have lost. The sight of their hand linked together shocks you with a pain deep in your heart. Ignoring the lump turning in your throat, you bat away your memories, and try to rise and wave goodbye.

Keyword….TRIED.

“Oh, no you don't,” Taehyung says as he pushes on your shoulders, sitting you back down.

You plump down on the wall, tilting your head up to glare at him. He meets it with a look of his own, before slowly bringing the ice up to his face, and grinning almost manically. You roll your eyes, leaning back, and he chuckles, positioning himself on the ground with the ice.

“So, what were you telling those kids anyway?”

You sigh, taking out your sketchbook once more as he tries his hardest to open the bag. You only need one pencil at the moment to finish the drawing, so as you bring it out, you smother your smile at his struggle, resisting the urge to mutter karma underneath your breath.

“Nothing much….just a story they asked me to tell.” You explain, not wanting to draw attention to your drawing or have him looking at it any closer than he has to. There’s something about him looking into it, about him seeing what you can see that scares you.

“Are you okay?” His voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you blink, looking up at him, and finding his eyes mere inches from yours. His hand rests on your knee as he pushes himself up to meet your gaze, his long dark eyelashes fluttering as he blinks. As you slowly nod, he pulls away, chuckling. “For a moment there, I thought I lost you. Where did you go?”

“Nowhere. I was just...spacing out I guess.” You say, shrugging it off, and resuming your preparation. You twirl your pencil in your hand, smirking as Tae finally opens the bag, the contents inside spraying out in an explosion. He lets out a surprised splutter, and you release a small laugh before turning away and starting your lazy task of filling in the last minute details of your work.

He brings some of the ice out of the massive bag and places it inside one of the many plastic Ziploc bags he had hidden in his backpack. Why he has Ziploc bags in there, you don't know, but who are you to judge when you have “emergency towels” in yours? Once he closes the bag, he turns to your foot, which you have delicately placed over your right leg to rest it. He reaches for it, but hesitates, looking up at you.

“Ummm...may I? That is to say, is it okay if I….ummm…” he asks a bit uncomfortably, and you raise your eyebrow at him over your sketchbook, smirking a bit just to tease him. He doesn't move, his hand held in an awkward hovering position over your foot, and you try to resist the urge to laugh at the uncomfortable look on his face.

“I suppose. That is if you don't mind the stink.” You remark, and he wrinkles his nose at you. You chuckle as he turns away, preparing to pull off your shoe.

He zips down your wedge and pulls it off of your foot, gently. Almost as if you were Cinderella. As he pulls off your shoe, setting it beside the rest of the ice, he makes a big show of how “stinky” it is, pinching his nose. You laugh, hitting him on his arm, and he laughs too, flinching away.

“I’m just joking! I'm just joking!!!” he cries, laughing before you end your attacks, giving him the stink eye. It's pretty futile, considering you can't stop the grin from spreading on your face.

As he works, examining your leg, his hands explore the space between your calf and your foot. With a soft touch, they tenderly search for any sign of swelling, anything that might indicate a trip to a hospital, or something worse than a mere bruise.

As they touch the space between your tights and your foot, where the material breaks and his soft fingers brush over your bare skin, a shudder passes through you. Your heart accelerates, and you can feel it as your face flushes beet red. Immediately, you hide behind your sketchbook, clenching your eyes tightly shut. You try to tell yourself to ignore it, that they are just fingers, just the touch of someone who's trying to help you out.

However, the fact that they are his fingers, the fact that it is his touch, refuses to be ignored. Finding your breath has come short, you glance at him, hoping that he hasn't noticed. Thankfully, at the moment, he is too distracted by his inspection.

Eyebrows furrowing in concentration, he decides to pull off your sock to get a better look, this time not even asking your permission. As he does, you hiss in pain, his fingers passing over a tender spot on your ankle. He immediately stops moving his hands, flinching off you as he looks up.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks softly and you shake your head, pulling back a bit and swallowing hard. Now you're worried, you didn't think it would be this bad.

“Can I…?” he inquires, gesturing back to your leg, where his hand rests carefully underneath your ankle. You nod mutely, swallowing hard, as you set your drawing aside and position yourself securely on the bench. You brace yourself for the next time he touches you, pulling the sock completely off and setting it inside your wedge beside him.

This time when you feel the sting of pain, you merely wince, sucking in a small intake of breath. He looks up at you, as though asking if you're okay, and you shake him away. He nods before inspecting your ankle. As he angles your foot to the side, your eyes widen at the sight of your ankle.

Curse that damn suitcase.

When you fell, you felt your ankle twist beneath you because of the suitcase behind you, but you didn't imagine it would have this much of an impact.

The entirety of your outside ankle is discolored, a mixture of blues, purples, and dark greens to show you that it is a bruise. It's begun to swell, turning into an ugly injury, one that you can't possibly walk on. When you tried to walk earlier, you only made it worse, making it swell and discolor; hardly giving it any time to heal. Your tight shoe put only more pressure on it, which didn't help matters.

“Taehyung….”

“I told you.” His voice is soft, but you can hear the frustration behind it. The anger which makes his words sting, which makes you wince. As he looks up at you, you can see the irritation clear on his face. Accusing you, forcing you to admit that you were wrong.

“Why didn't you listen to me? Now….” he breaks off, shaking his head as he swallows hard and picks up the Ziploc bag of ice. You stay silent, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to apologize for your pride.

Taehyung carefully wraps your leg in the ice, bringing out the athletic tape he keeps in his backpack. Truth be told, he had almost forgotten that he had it with him. He silently thanks Jungkook for convincing him to carry athletic tape with him. Who knew that he would have to use it to treat an injury that a stupid girl refused to treat herself?

Watching you do this to yourself...

It's almost as though he were watching Jungkook tire himself out to reach perfection.

As though he were watching Jimin starve himself, or work himself to exhaustion because he never believes himself to be enough.

As though he were witnessing JHope sacrifice his happiness just so that everyone else can be happy.

As though he were watching Namjoon and Suga work so tirelessly to produce their music, just to make it as perfect as they believe it should be. Sometimes sleeping at the studio, or staying awake through the night.

It’s even worse when he sees Jin in you.

When he sees how you give everything up. How you give yourself up just because you’re trying to hold everyone else together. Just because you’re trying to hold yourself together. Just so that you won’t break. You feel as though your pain is nothing, as though you are nothing compared to everyone else and that to fix yourself, you have to save others.

Tae sees that in Jin every day.

All because he wants their happiness over his.

Tae hates that.

It's almost as if, watching you, he were watching his friends waste away just so that they can succeed in a life that won't last forever.

It angers him, that he can't protect them from a pain that isn't so easily cured.

Now...he's feeling the same anger towards you.

You regard Taehyung with wary eyes, watch as he secures the Ziploc bag around your ankle with athletic tape. Something he had randomly in the simple black backpack which rests on his shoulders. He has to make at least two more bags of ice before your entire ankle is covered, the ice offering a sweet relief from the pain you were experiencing before.

You have to refrain from letting out a deep sigh of relief as it immediately begins to erase the pain, but you manage, biting your bottom lip softly. He nods in satisfaction as he finishes, letting your leg rest gently back on the ground. As he finishes, his eyes rise to yours.

“I'm sorry.” You whisper, and he looks away, as though reminded of why he was mad at you. His hands release your leg and he gathers all the materials he used to help you out, starting to put them away. You continue, trying to explain yourself, as though that will somehow make things better. “I guess I didn't want to trouble you, I didn't mean--”

“Why?” His question is soft, but immediately cuts you off.

“What do you mean?” you ask him, as he puts away his supplies and scoffs.

“Why was it such a problem?” he asks as he raises his eyes to yours. Despite the hat, you can see how his eyes pierce into yours. How they tear down every wall you have ever built and shock you deep into your core. When you don't answer him, he continues, tying the large bag of ice once more, and leaning it against the park bench.

“Why did it matter if I wanted to help you? It was my choice, my issue. So why did you try so hard to walk away?” as he picks up your shoe and offers it to you, he rises as well, holding it to you. Slowly, you take it, placing it on top of your satchel. There’s no way you're going to fit that around your ankle now.

You sigh before answering, almost unsure of what to say.

How to answer.

You’ve always been like this. Never accepting help, wanting to do things on your own….it's just how you are. It wouldn't change just because you meet someone slightly more famous than everyone else out there, that's just not how it works.

At least, not for you.

“I didn't feel like I should burden you.” You murmur.

As you say the words, he can't help but stare at you, all of his frustration fading away. He can't help but feel surprised at the answer.

“You're not a burden,” he says softly, drawing your eyes to meet him. He smiles kindly at you. “I wasn't obligated to help you, I wanted to. So don't worry, you aren't a burden.”

Lost in the moment, neither one of you looks away.

So lost in him, you almost don't hear the thunder before the first lightning bolt strikes the sky.

You both break away at the sound, staring up at the sky.

The rain starts as a mere trickle of sprinkles but soon grows into a roar of harsh, pounding droplets of tears from the sky within a few seconds. You flinch away from it, immediately dropping your head and shielding your eyes from the rain. Taehyung does the same, flipping up his hoodie over his hat, as though he needed more protection.

People are running from the rain, heading for cover. There are shrieks everywhere as the downpour begins, and surprised bystanders try their best to hide from it.

You take it all in with wide, dazed eyes, but honestly, you can’t feel anything.

Maybe you should be panicking, maybe you should start moving, trying to find some kind of shelter, but you just sit there. Your eyes glazing over, the rain around you reflecting your hopelessness, your despair, your pain. It all combines into a cold numbing feeling that resounds through your body, makes you go still, makes you retreat into the flaming chaos of your mind.

Taehyung starts saying something as he turns from you, surveying the rest of the crowd.

You try to hear him, you do, but as your eyes wander over to the bench beside you, they are lost, in the roar that starts to grow in your ears. Your heart immediately drops to your stomach in disappointment and panic, as you see it.

Your sketchbook, open and bare, on the bench next to you.

It lies there, vulnerable, as the raindrops desperately soak up the page.

Frantically, you snatch your sketchbook off from the bench beside you.

Biting your bottom lip, you hide it in your massive coat which still hangs around your shoulders, trying your hardest to dry it off in frantic fear. You try to ignore the lump turning in your throat, try to ignore the burning behind your eyes.

Was it all for nothing?

You swallow hard, holding your sketchbook safe to your chest, your coat protecting you so far from the rain which has fallen. You would have stayed there through the whole storm, wallowing in self-pity, if not for Taehyung.

As the rain pelts down, the storm growing fiercer by the minute, he literally has to take you by the arm, and shake you before you awake and finally register what he's saying.

“Did you hear me?!” he shouts, his hand tight and cold around yours. It's drenched, and his hat is dripping as he leans in front of you, shouting words you barely register. It's only then that you hear the deafening roar of the storm, the faint screams, and shrieks around you, and his panicked voice. It’s only then that you feel the cold, the water running off of your body, the shivers coursing throughout. It’s only then that you awake from the thoughts consuming your mind.

Looking up at him, you allow yourself to be a bit amazed.

He woke you up.

“Come on! We have to go!” He shouts as he tries to pull you up. His slick grip tightens around your hand, as his urgency grows. Pulling on your arm, he tries to drag you along with him as he walks away, but you stop him.

You tug back, your hand slipping out of his. Pausing, he turns to you, confused. Raising your eyebrow, you mutely gesture down to your ankle, at the melting ice pack and makeshift compress he made for you.

His eyes darken with understanding as he moves back beside you.

Placing your arms around yourself and holding yourself in a tight embrace, you shiver in silence. You have gotten used to the rhythm of the droplets which fall on your head, drenching you from head to toe, and plastering your hair to your face and the back of your neck. They uncomfortably roll down your skin leaving behind small paths of rivers on your skin as though branding you with its mark.

You carefully slide your sketchbook into your satchel, closing it up tightly along with the rest of your art supplies. You stare at it, swallowing hard as you try to ignore the tears which threaten to spill on your already wet face. The trees' dense leaves have succumbed to the weight of the rain, and no longer offer much shelter for you, but as of this moment, you could care less. Smiling slightly, you bow your head, already resigned to waiting here through the rain.

As you clutch your coat tighter around your body, it takes you a moment, but soon you realize that the steady drum of the rain is no longer playing on your head.

Confused, you lift your bowed head and find Taehyung before you.

He stares down at you, those hazelnut eyes regarding you with guarded pain. Inches away from you, his hands are extended so that they rest on the tree trunk directly behind you. You share the same breath, the same heat, the same protection. He has provided a haven, a place where you can be safe from the storm around the two of you.

You meet his steady gaze with one of your own, a bit surprised.

“We have to go.” He whispers, his lips looking more glossy than ever amidst the humidity and the rain dripping off of his face. You swallow hard, forcing your eyes away from them and meeting his eyes, desperately trying to ignore how the rainwater has made his face shine in a very distracting way.

“I know that you can't exactly walk right now, but I’ll carry you.” He offers, pushing himself off of the tree trunk, and holding his hand out to you. You don't take his hand right away, regarding him with wary eyes. Tae grows impatient and bites his bottom lip with anticipation as the wind starts to blow harder, the storm growing worse by the minute.

“What are you waiting for?!” he shouts over the deafening gusts.

You hope your hesitation isn't too obvious, but Taehyung notices.

Of course, he notices.

If Jungkook were here, would things be different? Would you trust him to take you to safety?

He’s always felt as though he weren't good enough. Not for ARMY, not for his hyungs, not for his family, and now…

Not for you.

“What about your backpack?!” You call out to him from your perch on the bench, trying to distract from the real reason and bring up a new problem. A bit confused, he looks at his back as though he had forgotten it was there. He ponders the question for a moment before shrugging it off his shoulders and holding it out to you.

“You could carry it instead!” He responds, and you slowly take it, securing it around your shoulders. When you're finished, he looks at you expectantly. “Are you ready?!”

“Are you sure?! Wouldn't it be better to wait for the bus to come back?!” You cry out over the start of the storm. Taehyung, drenched already from standing in the rain for too long, rolls his eyes almost before taking you forcibly by the hands and lifting you off the bench.

Not expecting the action, you jump to your feet. Your foot failing you once again, you fall into his waiting arms, your hands resting securely on his chest. Shaking your head slightly, you raise your eyes to his and falter. The fact that he’s so close to you, that he’s holding you, causes your heart to soar with unimaginable emotion so much so that it's near impossible to pull away. His arms are secure around your waist, hands pressing against your back as you lean on him.

His eyes stare profusely into your own as you gaze at him, searching his deep pools of color. You're able to see the tiny raindrops which have caught onto his thick eyelashes, the smooth angle of his cheekbone, the defined muscle of his jawline.

You're lucky your hands are clinging to his chest because if they weren't, you might've gotten too close for comfort.

On the other hand...perhaps you're already too close.

You avoid his eyes, biting your lip furiously, as you command yourself to hold back. Now is not the time or place for your imagination to run wild.

His hands respond to your touch, wrapping themselves around yours as though instructing you to keep them securely on his chest. As though refusing to let you fall.

Breathing heavily, you look up at him at the touch, your wide, hesitant eyes searching his.

“Trust me.” He says, close enough now that he doesn't have to shout, recreating a space for the two of you to exist in. “I promise you won't fall, so trust me, please.”

When he looks at you that way, beautiful hazelnut eyes staring deep into your soul, it's hard for you to say no. You nod, mutely, and he smiles. After a moment, he slowly releases his hold on your waist, wrapping his hand around yours and directing it to rest on his back as he kneels on the wet, dirty concrete sidewalk, his back broadening as his muscles stretch to fit the position. Gathering your emotions, you hesitate, wondering if this is a wise idea, but Taehyung cuts through your thoughts.

“Just hop on! Act like it's a piggyback ride!” he instructs from the ground, causing you to smirk before you raise your coat over your head and prepare to climb on.

“Isn't that exactly what it is?!” you bring to his attention.

He smirks, unable to prevent the soft laugh from escaping his body. Letting out a soft sigh, you prepare to board him, as though he were a train, analyzing the best way to get on. You secure your injured foot first, and he wraps his firm arm around it, making sure that it's safe from the rain. Your other foot comes next, and you wrap it carefully around his waist, in the little bent position like most piggyback rides. With the other leg, you pull your entire body weight on him, wrapping your hands around his chest, right where his collarbone meets his pectorals.

As your entire body rests on him now, he is acutely aware of it. He tries his hardest not to blush, reminding himself that this was his idea, that he was the one who pushed for this. He tries to ignore the fact that when your hand accidentally slides up a bit and grazes his throat, he can't help the shudder that passes through his body as he immediately looks to the floor. He swallows hard, his eyes burning a hole in the ground as you pull your coat over the both of you, offering a sort of canopy or umbrella against the rain.

Once you've finished, you position yourself so that you're secure on his back, your face resting in the crook between his neck and shoulder. An action which he certainly feels as his heart seems to drop to the bottom of his chest at a million miles an hour. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before turning to face you as best as he can. You pull back your face a bit as well so that you can get a clearer view.

“You ready?” he asks you, half teasing, an inquiry which makes you smile.

“Are you?” you ask in turn, and he looks away, laughing a bit before rising to his feet with surprising swiftness. You almost fall with how fast he stands, and you have to scramble to secure your hold around his neck. He laughs hysterically at your reaction, and you have to fight to keep your smile at bay before you smack him on his shoulder. You can feel him laugh beneath you. It's a warm sound, something that resounds throughout his entire body.

“Don't do that!” You demand, pouting almost before his laughter subsides. He glances at you once more over his shoulder, smirking at your pouty expression.

“I thought you said you were ready.” He challenges, raising his eyebrow, and you roll your eyes at him, lifting your head off of his shoulder.

“Correction. I said, ‘are you?’ Technically I never answered your question.” You retort and he chuckles, nodding as he turns his head to the road before the both of you.

“Is that so?” he asks and you nod. Finding it more comfortable to rest your head on his shoulder, you lean forward, your hands sliding down his chest with the movement. He falters at the touch and tries to drown out the incessant pounding of his heart with his voice. A futile effort, but an understandable one.

“Well, now's the time. Here, I'll ask again.” You roll your eyes at his condescending tone.

“Are you ready now?”

You wait a bit before answering his question, if only just to get on his nerves a bit. Overdramatically, you raise your hand to your chin, pondering the question and making a sort of humming sound as though you're thinking hard about it. He notices the sarcastic notion and scoffs. You pause for too long, however, and he grows tired of waiting.

After a moment, he raises his eyes to the warm canopy of your coat that you have offered, and pretends to drop you once more. Leaving you to cling to his neck frantically and him dying in a fit of laughter. You hit his head in retaliation this time, and he ducks, unable to stop his laughter. You can't help but laugh as well. When you gain your composure, you raise yourself a bit, by placing your hands on his slick head and pointing forward.

“Onward!” you cry. Taehyung chuckles to himself from underneath you, trying his hardest to gain his composure but failing miserably. “Go to Narnia!”

When you tap his head slightly as though they were the reins of a horse, his laughter fades and he smirks at you over his shoulder. At that look, you automatically wish you hadn’t said anything at all.

“Oh no.” You groan before he turns back to the road, and breaks off into a run down the street. You let out a startled laugh, barely managing to secure your hold around his neck before he’s speeding off into the distance. As he runs, you cling onto him for dear life, smiling with content as you rest against the crook between his neck and his shoulder.

A small space, yet you fit perfectly.

As though it were made just for you.

You hold tighter to him, and close your eyes, trying to convince yourself that this isn't a dream; that this is all real. That you are this close to Taehyung and it's not just something you made up in your mind.

You try so very hard, but when you open your eyes when you see his grin…

You are shocked all over again.

Once more, you find it hard to believe.

In an impossible situation, is it okay to believe that it's not all in your head?

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: so when i was reviewing them, i was like omg, i did NOT realize how many intimate scenes i put in there so ;-;

chapter 16 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

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Who Are You Really?

Just who is Yin Spirit?

Anyway finally made a Spirit fic

Cover Here

Ao3 link

Chapter 1: Escape

Spirit has been scared for a long, long time.

Not for forever, because there used to be good times. Good times were the days spent scampering through the forest and eating anything they could off of bushes and trees, finding out what was good and not while hiding from the predators that could never catch them. Good times were days following Mom around the Inn, helping mix up medicines and salves and watching as she fixed wounds and illnesses as if they were mere inconveniences rather than life threatening. Good times were scritches behind their ears, nights curled up on a branch or in a soft bed next to someone who cared, where there was nothing to cause nightmares yet.

But the good times are behind them.

They have been for a long, long time.

But Spirit won’t let that get them down! They’ve been around for...well, they lost count of the years a while back, because Mom was the one who kept count and they didn’t feel like asking. They wonder if they’re timeless, if they just keep going because no one has told them to stop.

They’ve told themself to stop plenty of times, but it never sticks.

But they have a day job! Sure, it doesn’t pay anything, but going around and helping spirits move on is something they think their Mom would be proud of. One of their eyes, the one their mom helped fix, can spot spirits without any trouble and that makes the job easier.

It’s the one on the left side of their face. The lonely one.

They’re good with their blades and they can fight off the occasional mean spirit if they happen to pop in. They’ve been busier, too, since they can’t rely on mortals to fend for themselves in smaller cases anymore.

Mortals wouldn’t know what to do, because the types of mortals who knew how to fend off spirits, who knew the sigils and magic necessary for self-protection, those died off long ago. Peacetime breeds lack of preparation; those traditions and that vigilance was lost to time. A lack of consistent danger leads to laziness.

Spirit isn’t lazy. There’s always danger.

The job is a bit lonely, though. Spirit doesn’t interact with humans without a disguise, because monkey demons seem to cause more of a stir than others. Spirit thinks Monkey King is the reason behind it, but then again, Monkey King has been missing for a while. And everyone blames Monkey King for everything. Demons and Gods alike hate him. Spirit’s pretty sure the name Sun Wukong is banned from being said in the heavenly palace, even.

They duck behind a building and through a secret passageway a few miles out from the nearest city.

They do have a second job, after all.

Bull clones greet them, red eyes glancing over them before moving out of the way so Spirit can enter. They pass through the very, very lavish halls of the building, down towards the basement.

Or, well, down towards the workshop.

They can tell Red Son is up in a tizzy, because things get hotter and hotter the deeper they go in. That usually means that Red Son is upset. He’s been upset more often lately.

Spirit tries not to think about how it’s probably because Princess Iron Fan has become someone who no longer reminds them of their Mom; rather, she’s more like their other parent.

“Hi Red!” they greet, and Red Son really is in a mood, because he scowls at the nickname.

He’s hunched over his desk, hair wild. It flickers, whipping around like actual flames rather than the controlled shapes Red Son prides himself in styling, and Red Son’s hands burn the metal tools he holds. When he flips up his welding mask, there are bags under his eyes, his pupils burning with exhaustion.

Spirit winces at the sight.

“I am Red Son! Address me as such!” he shouts.

Spirit flinches back a little. Sometimes Red Son’s shouting is easy to handle and other times they want to curl into a ball until the storm passes. This is more of the latter.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters, and they mean it. “I keep forgetting. You used to be Red Boy, you know? I get them mixed up, so saying Red makes sure I’m right no matter what!”

Red Son glances over at them and softens. It’s a secret, but Red Son has always been a little soft. Soft isn’t what a Princess Iron Fan needs, though, so Red Son has put his heart on the shelf, so to speak.

It’s admirable. Spirit knows that as a kid, you have to do a lot to keep your parents happy, or else you won’t be good enough anymore and you’ll have to go. They hadn’t told Red Son that when they’d met, but they’re glad Red Son learned before anything too drastic happened. Princess Iron Fan hadn’t seemed like that type of parent when Spirit had first met her, but ever since Demon Bull King was sealed away…

Spirit sees less of Princess Iron Fan every time they visit. It’s likely for the best.

“You may call me Red in private. Not in public. Or around mother,” Red Son acquiesces.

Spirit smiles, warm.

“Thanks Red.” They reach into their pocket, pulling out a mechanical piece. “And here! That part you wanted!”

Red Son snatches it from their hands, and they jerk back at the violent motion, a shot of fear jolting up their spine.

“About time!” he snarls, but there’s no heat to it. Spirit knows Red Son enough to know when the anger is more performative, though they’re still a little wary regardless.

“It took a bit to find, you know. I was as fast with it as I could be, you know that,” Spirit assures. They take their favors very seriously, after all. If they fulfilled it in a less than perfect fashion, it might not count, and if it didn’t count then that would mean that they could get hurt.

“Yes,” Red Son mutters. “Adequate work.”

“That brings you up to…” Spirit pulls out their nifty favor book, flipping through the pages until they spot Red Son’s name. “Ten favors!” They tally it down.

Ten favors means Spirit can mess up ten times and not get hurt. Ten favors means ten degrees of safety, ten layers of protection. It’s another blanket of relief.

Red Son doesn’t deign that with a reply, setting the part onto the workbench and turning it around. He measures it out.

“This is more than enough material,” he mutters, glancing over at Spirit questioningly.

Spirit rubs the back of their neck, sheepish.

“Yeah, I know you said a specific size, but finding flame resistant, rust resistance, magically reinforced metal in a specific size isn’t easy! But, I got this lazer thing,” Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls it out. “It’s tuned to the specific enchantment so you can use it to cut the metal! And you can keep the extra material!” They hand it over to Red Son.

Red Son rolls the device around in his hand, before glancing up at Spirit, seemingly unimpressed.

“I thought it was nifty…” Spirit mutters. They would have thought Red Son would like to have extra material. He’s always got another invention on the backburner, so more stuff is better, right? And they brought him a new laser cutter thing! What’s wrong with that?

Then again, Red Son has been a bit more particular about perfection as of late, so that could be the issue.

Spirit chews on the inside of their cheek and tries to not take it personally. Why bother, when fighting back will lead to nothing but regret and pain? They’re not strong, and they know that. If they were strong, they’d still have four eyes and a mom. So it’s easier to let it slide off their back than make a fuss.

Even if it does hurt a little. But that’s fine.

“I suppose it’ll do.” Red Son slides down his welding mask and starts cutting the metal down to size.

Spirit watches, rocking back and forth on their feet, because watching Red Son work is always fun. They used to watch their mom work, whenever there was a patient, and she’d always ask them to grab this herb or that gauze. From start to end, Spirit would see their mom fix up any health issue with practiced, simple movements. Always graceful and soft.

In contrast Red Son is very animated, when he’s in the zone, with sharp, harsh motions and dangerous flames that have them stepping back a few times. Still, Spirit has been getting a lot of parts for whatever it is Red Son is making, so it almost feels the same. It’s a wonderful feeling, to be able to help in the creation of something, whether it be a healed patient or...

“What’s all this stuff for?” they ask, because now that they think about it, they were never told.

Red Son freezes, and Spirit takes that reaction as reason for why they weren’t told. They take another step back, out of the immediate blast zone (last time they checked, Red Son’s explosive temper had a thirty foot radius, with the most dangerous flames being within ten feet of the explosion) and tries not to make a mistake that could cost them. They have their favors, but those only got so far, and they only have ten! They can’t lose them.

“If-if it’s okay to ask,” Spirit fumbles, fidgeting. Their tail curls around their leg, an anxious habit. “I was just curious on how you’re gonna use all this stuff I’ve been bringing.”

Red Son doesn’t turn, but his posture does loosen ever so slightly. “...Mother wouldn’t want me to tell you,” he does seem a bit apologetic at the refusal.

Spirit gets it. Princess Iron Fan knows them. Spirit doesn’t betray, but they’ll do anything for a favor. And if someone wants information they already have, why wouldn’t they give it away?

“Can I know what you’re making? You don’t have to tell me how you’re using it, I’m just curious.” They kind of like eavesdropping. Sometimes, when they finish a job around mortals, they’ll lurk around to pick up the town gossip. Mortals have a lot to talk about, since they don’t have mortal peril to contend with.

“It’s for a gauntlet,” Red Son admits. “A glove so powerful that the wearing could lift anything with it!”

His hair flickers wildly in excitement, voice rising in pitch and volume as he continues.

Spirit “oooo”’s in appreciation, clapping their hands.

“Sounds exciting!” They have a few guesses of what said gauntlet could be used for, but no one tells them to think for a favor, so they keep those thoughts to themself. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. That stuff burns!”

Red Son does not laugh at their joke. To be fair, they’ve said it about a hundred times in the past thousand years. Red Son does smile, for a moment, before turning back to his work.

“See you, Red!” They get a wave as they leave, which means they’ve improved Red’s mood a little.

If Red Son is in a good mood, he’ll actually say goodbye, but a wave is far better than when he just ignores their departure.

They head up the stairs and then down the hall toward the way they came in, and nearly run into Princess Iron Fan in their haste to leave. Their vision is a little lopsided, one side of their face having one eye and the other having two, so they can miss things if they aren’t paying attention. It helps if they close one eye to even things out.

“S-Sorry ma’am!” They quickly bow, standing up straight a moment later.

They usually try to hunch over when they’re around others, since their height can be seen as an intimidation tactic or even a sign of disrespect, for those with big egos, but Princess Iron Fan could never be intimidated by them and to insinuate such would be the real insult. After all, Princess Iron Fan is the wife to the Demon Bull King. Clearly, size means little to her.

“Spirit,” Princess Iron Fan’s voice is colder than it has ever been, and Spirit shivers. “I see you have delivered your latest favor.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spirit nods with a small, what they hope is respectful, smile. “Do you have any other favors you need me to do?”

The Demon Bull Family has been Spirit’s greatest...well, ally is a bit strong, but Spirit likes them a lot, out of those that typically call for favors. While Princess Iron Fan has gotten less maternal over the years, she’s never outright mean to Spirit, and they take what they can get.

“No, we’re fine,” Princess Iron Fan waves a hand, before her gaze turns sharp.

Spirit feels their breath catch in their throat and they clasp their hands tight behind their back. Their tail goes ramrod straight, the tip brushing the floor.

“I’ll ask you once more,” she starts. “Align yourself with the Demon Bull Clan. You will have our protection and will be at our disposal.”

Spirit bites back a sigh, because Princess Iron Fan has asked them a few times to join, and they do appreciate the offer, really, but it just is...too much. Maybe they would have considered the offer more when Princess Iron Fan was nicer, but Spirit has seen the expectations she’s put on Red Son and they don’t have it in them to disappoint another parent.

They don’t know what she’d do, if Spirit failed her, but they know it would hurt.

“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t align myself with clans. I’m a free Spirit, so to speak,” they bite back a giggle at the pun.

Princess Iron Fan’s eyes flicker yellow and Spirit wonders if they’re going to have to run, but then she sighs.

“Very well then. Stay out of town for the next few months. For...your own safety. If things go according to plan, then…” Spirit nearly jumps back at the feral smile that graces Princess Iron Fan’s face. “Things are going to get messy around here.”

Spirit takes a shaky breath, and nods.

“Yes ma’am. Farewell.” They bow, and then run off.

Jeez. This is exactly why they keep away from all this stuff. The Demon Bull Family is scary, and Spirit just wants to dole out favors in peace.

They don’t have any favors in mind on the backburner, and no one has called for them, so they head to the nearest town outside of the one Princess Iron Fan has told them to leave, and decide to clean up the local spirit activity there.

The next few months are relatively uneventful, if only because there’s no new favors for them to spend their time on. Sometimes there are dry spells. They once went two years without a favor, and boy, was that a boring couple of years!

It gets really lonely, some days. They’ll play as a human for a while, intermingling with the mortals who have no clue what spirits haunt them.

Spirits don’t have to be people, they just have to be things that were alive. A dead relationship is just as haunting as a person. Dead hopes, dead wishes, dead family ties, dead lives you’ve left behind—all weights that cling to auras.

Spirit knows they have plenty themselves. They’ve lost a lot. It sticks around.

Being around humans is hard nowadays, though. They used to hang out around humans a lot. Helping their Mom out in the Inn with patients acclimated them to seeing humans of all shapes and sizes, but then they had to run. And they never stopped.

Staying around humans brings an itchy feeling that feels too much like grief. They don’t like remembering how things used to be, because that only ever hurts. So, when they get too entrenched in the past, they pull away, hide in the forests around the towns.

But they don’t fit in with the wild either. Far too used to civilization, they can never find a place to stay. So they wander.

No one can not notice the carnage that happens. Spirit recognizes Demon Bull King’s aura from miles away, and as the surrounding areas evacuate, Spirit heads towards the danger to investigate.

Normally they’d run away, but whenever they were around Demon Bull King, he seemed nice. Fluffy and kind and ever worried and furious about his son’s imprisonment, demanding Spirit send word to Red and come back with an update on the boy’s condition.

Usually, Spirit wouldn’t try to go toe to toe with the Guanyin, but Princess Iron Fan was inconsolable and Demon Bull King had nearly begged.

So they snuck in to give Red Son, then Red Boy, a letter, and Red Son had them send one back. It was an arrangement made simple, Spirit the messenger. They wonder if the Guanyin knew the whole time and was just letting them sneak around, but regardless, they gained a rapport with the family.

And then Demon Bull King was sealed away, and Princess Iron Fan was despondent. Nothing Spirit said could get her to stop crying, and when they’d relayed the news to Red Son he’d begged on his knees for them to sneak him out, so he could help his mother grieve and move on.

That favor was a hard one to decide on. Again, risking the ire of the Guanyin was not something Spirit was interested in. They knew what the Guanyin could do—she managed to reign in Sun Wukong and she could keep Red Son imprisoned. What would she be able to do to them, a monkey with less than a quarter of the power she’d dealt with before?

But Red Son pleaded, and Spirit caved.

Their history with the family makes it hard to be worried about their safety around Demon Bull King returns, but that doesn’t stop Spirit from worrying about Demon Bull King himself. Being imprisoned for so long is likely unpleasant, and who knows what happened to him underneath the mountain? How has it changed him? It’s not like something like that doesn’t hurt.

They could do without the violence, but Spirit doesn’t try to judge other people’s decisions. If they were locked up for a while, unable to see their family, they might be upset too.

But Spirit doesn’t really get angry, on the regular. Anger doesn’t do anyone good. People getting angry at them has only been bad for Spirit, so the idea of them letting that same anger fester in them so that they hurt someone is ludicrous. And what would their anger accomplish, anyway?

There’s enough pain in the world. Spirit doesn’t feel like adding to it.

They sneak around the levelled town, watching Demon Bull King raze the ground, wondering if there are any mortals hurt. Spirit catches a glimpse of a few spirits wisping around in the rubble, a moment later. They’re of all ages, some even children, and the sight makes them wince. None of this is right, mortals shouldn’t be getting hurt like this.

What did they even do, to deserve the ire of the Demon Bull King? Anything? Or is this all meaningless rage, directed at someone weaker, someone who can’t fight back?

A hand, reaching down towards them, grasping them by the neck and pulling them up, up, up. They kick their legs but their feet touch nothing, and the spoon comes in closer, and it digs, down, down, down—

Spirit takes a breath. There’s no point in letting the past cling.

They would say something, maybe say hello and distract Demon Bull king from adding the to death toll, but that would just get them killed. And Spirit has never been the one to step in and save someone. They’ve never been a hero, not when it counts.

Demon Bull King looks neither fluffy nor kind. It seems that, just like with Princess Iron Fan, time has hardened whatever fluffiness he had. It was as if the mountain had pressure cooked the lid on his temper, letting the anger boil over into the carnage below. And while the rage may have been….justifiable, almost, it still makes Spirit turn tail and run to the memory of stomping feet and angered roars that never were stopped by their mom’s pleads.

They duck away just as a newcomer arrives, weilding a very identifiable staff. Spirit doesn’t catch who the newcomer is, exactly, but it has to be Monkey King, right? Who else could wield the staff?

They scamper off to the sounds of a battle they don’t want to be in the middle of, passing by Red Son on the ground. The sight makes them slow their escape, stopping to kneel besides him for a brief moment. He groans, hardly conscious, and they place a bottle of healing balm in one of his jacket pockets for later, before they finally make it out of the battle range.

They don’t see how the fight ends, but they know Demon Bull King certainly didn’t win.

Town reconstruction is pretty quick. They haven’t caught up on all the different technological advancements mortals have managed in a thousand years, but last they checked this sort of damage would have taken years to fix, not just a month.

Mortals are pretty crafty in this day and age. Spirit doesn’t exactly interact with all the new technology because it all seems to change so fast. They interact with humans every once in a while, maybe a week at a time every few months, but they watch from the sidelines more often than not. They’ve been called a wallflower before and it seems fitting. They like watching the world pass by, and every time they think about joining the parade, the procession is moving too fast for them to feel safe jumping in.

It’s after a few days of scaling the rooftops of the newly rebuilt town, finding the lost spirits, and helping them fade into the underworld, that they get a summons. Being the wanderer they are, most clans who know of them give them a token of sorts, one that they can use to notify Spirit when said clan is in need of their assistance. They keep them on hand, hidden in their pocket.

Sometimes they’ll jump around to hear the different tokens clack against each other. It’s a fun sound.

They pull out their keychain of many, many tokens, and find the glowing one.

Ah. The Demon Bull Family.

Spirit considers ignoring it, but that would likely not end well, considering Demon Bull King’s newly-demonstrated-and-somehow-worse-than-before temper. So, they sigh, and press the glowing red eyes of the bull token, letting the pull of the call teleport them to where they need to be.

They appear beneath the looming figure of the Demon Bull King, and they quickly bow, before looking up with an anxious smile.

“Hello, sir,” they greet with a tiny wave. “It’s nice to see you again! I was pretty sad when I heard you were sealed away, so it’s nice that you’re out.”

They bite their lip, hard, to stop themselves from saying anything else.

Princess Iron Fan is sitting on Demon Bull King’s shoulder, and Red Son is at Demon Bull King’s feet, looking...uncomfortable. Spirit glances at him and smiles. Red Son remains stoic, silent, and upset.

It makes them wonder, because they remember Demon Bull King being able to tell if Red Son was in a bad mood just by how he wrote in his letters, always sure to tell Spirit to bring an extra something or other if the latest letter had revealed Red Son’s dour mood. How Demon Bull King can look at Red Son now and ignore the clear signs of sadness that are written in the red lines beneath Red Son’s eyes, the rage that comes from hurt that paints the tight set of Red Son’s shoulders, the frustration that reads in Red Son’s clenched fists, Spirit doesn’t understand. He sees it, right?

Maybe that’s just the eventuality of parents. The good ones die, or they stop pretending.

Spirit was hoping that Red Son would look happier after his father returned, instead of scared. They’d hoped things in the family would have gotten better, with Princess Iron Fan being happier and maybe kinder with her husband back at her side. But, well….being under a mountain and spat back out into the world thousands of years after is probably quite the culture shock.

Spirit worries. Red Son only has two eyes. Losing one won’t be as easy as it was for them, starting with four. If it comes to that, of course.

“Spirit,” Demon Bull King’s voice rumbles, far darker than it used to be.

It always had a baritone timber, but now everything is said with an undercurrent of a growl, as if he’s angry before anyone has even done anything.

It reminds Spirit of their father way too much. But that’s...fine.

“We have another favor to ask of you,” Princess Iron Fan continues for her husband. “We want you to steal Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit opens their mouth to say yes, of course, as they always do, but then the words sink in, and everything comes to a screeching halt.

“What?” Is what comes out of their mouth, incredulous and terrified. “No-I can’t-how could I even lift it? Isn’t it a million pounds? I thought only Monkey King could wield it!” Their tail wraps so tightly around their leg that it hurts, as they tremble in place and refuse to look Princess Iron Fan nor Demon Bull King in the eye.

Red Son’s face shifts from neutral displeasure to panic, at Spirit’s refusal, before he steps forward.

“The gauntlet you brought materials for will fit you fine,” He holds it out, even as Spirit recoils. “It gives the wearer the ability to lift Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit scrambles to argue back, again, because they can’t do this, is everyone here crazy? Sun Wukong isn’t someone they can sneak around, or talk around, or use a favor around. He’s a being that has gone up against the Gods, fought them head on, and won. The only person who could beat him was the Buddha himself, and the Buddha could only seal him away. Spirit isn’t strong, they’re just crafty and careful, and neither of those things matter when going against the Monkey King. Even if they managed to grab the staff, Monkey King would catch them before they took two steps away from him.

They’re so dead. Their hands clutch at their face as they try to control their panicked breathing. They blink a few times to focus and swing their arms out towards the Demon Bull family as everything bursts out of them.

“I-I can’t fight the Monkey King, though! He beat you, the Demon Bull King! I couldn’t even-how could I—” They’re rambling, half terrified they’re going to be killed for saying anything in dissent to the request, but far more paralyzed by the idea of fighting the Monkey King of all people.

Monkey King has not met them and owes them nothing, which is worse than if he hated them and owed them something. They don’t know what he’d do to them, if they met, but they know that they like being alive.

And fighting Sun Wukong is a good way of making yourself not alive.

“The Monkey King has chosen a successor. A mortal boy,” Princess Iron Fan explains. “He’ll be far less skilled, and far easier to overpower.”

Spirit bites back the argument that if that were the case, Demon Bull King would have won when he returned. Clearly, they’re being used as a pawn, and they don’t mind that usually, because it doesn’t always lead to them being put in the line of fire. And hey, pawns are pretty useful, right? They like being useful. But—

“How old is he?” They have to ask. It’s important.

“A mortal,” Princess Iron Fan says. “He could be no older than Red Son, in mortal years.”

Red Son is younger than they are. Red Son is a kid.

“No.” Their voice is sharp.

Red Son takes a step back, unused to the tone. Even Princess Iron Fan goes still.

Spirit doesn’t have a lot of lines in the sand. They’ll do just about anything for just about anyone. Just about, though, and they refuse to falter on this.

Ten years old and curled on the ground, clutching their face as their father roared, feeling the emptiness in their skull because he took it, he took it and it hurts—

“I don’t fight kids,” they say. “I don’t. The successor has to be a kid, right? Smaller than Red Son, and Red Son isn’t all adult, right?”

“I am an adult!” Red Son shrieks in outrage, but Spirit has tripped too far into terror to stop talking.

“I’ve been told the mortal brain doesn’t develop until one is twenty five, and Red Son isn’t at that age, right? Not with the way demons like us age, anyway. So, I can’t! I have a rule,” they shrug a little helplessly.

Oh god what are you doing you’re going to get killed shut up stop talking stop stop stop—

“And besides, you think I can beat someone who can go toe to toe with the Demon Bull Family?” they laugh, a little hysterical and shaky.

Spirit glances up and regret it, because Demon Bull King’s face is dark with rage. Red Son keeps staring at them like they’re already dead, and Princess Iron Fan’s eyes glow. They feel very, very small here, shoulders hunched up as they manage something that could be described as a smile if you didn’t know what a smile was.

Useless, Useless. If you keep messing up, maybe you’ll finally have a normal number of eyes, and wouldn’t that be funny?

“H-hey-I’m not a miracle worker! But I can give you some information, anyway. There are a lot of powerful artifacts you could use, I know where they are!” Spirit offers, voice shaking.

They fidget, staring up and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On them, or in their favor, either way. They can run anytime. They wouldn’t get far, they know, but they have to try in that situation, don’t they?

Demon Bull King’s eyes glow, a snarl on his face that curls up his lip to reveal sharp teeth the size of Spirit’s arm. Spirit trembles, and watches as Princess Iron Fan considers them, eyes glowing as well, before she pats a hand against Demon Bull King’s head and whispers something into his ear.

Spirit expects an axe a moment later, but instead—

“An acceptable proposal,” Princess Iron Fan says, finally.

Spirit manages to stay upright, so relieved they might just pass out. They won’t be dying today, probably. That’s good! Cool. Nice.

They’re mad at you. Can’t you feel it? You have to run, before they can catch you. Remember what happened last time? You can’t expect this to turn out well. Keep on guard.

They tug on their sleeves, shuffling their feet. Cool.

“So, to start, I would suggest the Jade Dragon blade,” they start, without prompting. “It’s in the manor outside of town. It’s an ancient blade passed down from the Dragon of the West Sea! Very powerful.”

They continue to prattle on about any and all artifacts they can think of that would be useful, from the blade all the way up to the weird blue power source locked up in a tomb that no one touches for some reason.

Spirit had gone to check it out, once, but looking at it made their eye, the lonely one without its pair, hurt. So they left it alone.

They talk for about an hour before they’re relieved, and they nearly trip over themselves in their haste to get out of there. They run in one direction until their legs burn, and curl into a ball on the ground, trying to breathe.

They said no. To Demon Bull King. They can’t just do that, they don’t have that type of power! That whole fiasco had to have shaved a favor or two of protection off of their tally. They’ll have to edit that in their book, when their hands stop shaking enough to be able to write.

It’s fine. It’s fine! They handled it, like they always do.

They’re going to come after you and take your eyes. They don’t even need a spoon. Demon Bull King’s claw will work just fine, it’s large enough. Or maybe they’ll use one of Red Son’s inventions, to make it more painful.

Spirit fights the urge to scream and buries their face in their knees. Deep breaths.

It takes them a few hours to calm down and they meticulously erase two tallies from Demon Bull King’s count. There’s still five left, they still have room for error, it’s fine. Sure, the sight makes their stomach churn and they hate to erase, but they have to. It’s better to know where you stand than to pretend, no matter how scary the truth is.

Satisfied, they tuck the book away and lay back, staring up at the stars.

They should really check out the town, though. The idea that Sun Wukong of all people has a successor is near ludicrous, but Princess Iron Fan probably wouldn’t lie to them. Either way, checking it out is imperative, especially since such a newcomer means a possible new client!

If Monkey King has a successor, maybe Spirit can be of assistance, can offer a favor. Just like with how a favor for Red puts them in the good graces with his parents, the same may be able to be said for Monkey King and his successor. And if that’s the case, then they’ll stop at nothing to make it so.

Maybe, if they plan this right, Spirit can finally be safe from everyone.

They have to try, right?

#kitkat1003 #Yin Spirit #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #monkie kid oc

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one-leaf-grimoire · 3 years

Text

“triad”

Chapter 9: the long night

Lisa realizes that she is GAYY for Adeline and then they talk about time <3

Ao3 link

I eat alone in my office now. It’s nice, with fresh evening air lazily blowing in through the many open windows above me. It was basically ground zero for the recent fight, and was completely destroyed afterwards. Luckily though it was an easy fix with Chrono Anastasis, a spell I acquired when I was possessed by that elf.

It’s a phenomenon experienced by many of the Knights who were possessed; their bodies remembered the feeling of Elvish mana, and it amplified their own magic. Spells we couldn’t use before, feats we could have only hoped to accomplish… it was all a reality now.

And it came at the best time, too.

I lazily extend my hand again, towards one of the vases of wilted flowers sitting on my desk. After the news of Julius’s death went public, we got an influx of gifts, symbols of condolences, small comforts during grief. “Chrono Anastasis-” I whisper. The flowers start to glow blue, and slowly but surely start to in water from the air around them.

A lot of people were hurt during the Elf attack. People even died…. But I’m doing everything in my power to fix the Kingdom in its wake. I think, in the long run, this will be a good thing…

The flowers bloom once again, beautiful white lilies that suggest emotions that I can’t bring myself to feel.

Because of the elves, many of our knights are better equipped to fight a devil. Better equipped to protect those they hurt. So in the end, it evens out, right?

Well, almost.

Because, there’s one elf I won’t forgive. One wound I will never forget. He walks free now, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I want to put the whole thing behind me, and I keep reminding myself that it wasn’t his fault.

But… still…

I can remember how it felt. I was miles away, a world away, and I still felt the sword pierce Julius’s heart. He died here, in terrible pain, and his blood still stains Patri’s hands.

Is that something I’m willing to forgive?

“Hello~! I had a feeling you’d be in here.”

I nearly jump in surprise as someone speaks. “Oh! Adeline, it’s you…” I relax, still a little spooked. Dang, I didn’t even hear her come in…

She smiles brightly and gives me a lazy wave. “Did you forget about our appointment?”

“A-Appointment?” I blink slowly, genuinely drawing a blank.

“Remember? Yesterday, you agreed to let me help you meditate!”

“...oh!” I quickly stand up, smoothing down my skirt. “I totally forget, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine! You have so much to think about, after all-” Adeline assures me, looking a bit taken aback by how harried I look. The truth is, little things keep on slipping by me because of all the other problems I have to deal with, and this is just another one of those little things. “We can reschedule if you want?”

“No! No way! We’re doing this.” I give her a pleasant smile before motioning for her to follow me. “Come on, there’s a place that might help me relax. Can we do this outside?”

If things were different, I may have suggested that we go down into the garden, where the small patch of greenery would ground me back down in my roots; in nature. Growing up, I spent almost all my time out in the woods, soaking up as much mana as I could. Even if I couldn’t use my magic very well back then, I have no doubt that those days ended up helping me in the end.

However, we can’t go down there. I’m not ready to be… so close to the grave right now.

So, I lead Adeline to a small balcony, just a few halls down from my office. “Will this be alright?”

Adeline nods quickly, running to the railing to look over the city. “Wow… what a view!” She turns back to look at me, grinning. “You get to see this view every day, I’m so jealous~”

“Well, there’s nothing stopping you from seeing it every day, too,” I remind her, glad to see that she enjoyed it. “So…” I clear my throat. “How should we start.”

“Oh, right! Sit down.”

We sit down on the ground, across from each other on the stone. I don’t know why, but this whole thing is making me a bit nervous. But I need to do it, if I’m going to be able to reach deeper into the Simulcian subconscious and drag out the memories I need. Was my pain really that bad? So bad that the others couldn’t stand it-

“Breathe.”

My thoughts immediately clear as Adeline’s voice pierces them. I look at her face, and realize that she’s completely changed. There’s not a trace of a smile on her lips, and her eyes hold a seriousness that I’ve never seen before. It occurs to me that meditation must be something special to her; almost sacred. Something to get her through the horrors she has undoubtedly experienced; through long days and nights as one of Augustus’s handmaidens.

She’s….

So strong…

I want… to be as strong as she is.

Please… Adeline… pull me out…

“Focus on breathing in and out. Feel each breath as it leaves you, then pull it back in.”

I give her a little nod before letting my eyes flicker closed. I do what she says, drawing my breath in and out just as she said.

“Don’t think of anything but your breathing. Don’t think about anything.”

Nothing.

Nothingness.

I try my hardest to envision nothing.

Would nothing be… death?

No…

I breathe in. I breathe out.

Nothing… is life.

Because, there’s nothing here for me. Not Adeline, not this balcony, not this kingdom…

Only my breath.

But oh… how I want it to stop.

There’s only one thing keeping me alive… the breath I draw in every day, and the baby I carry inside me.

Neither of those things is enough… I don’t think it’ll ever be enough.

“Hey, open your eyes.”

A hand grabs mine, and I jolt awake. Adeline looks at me with concern, her golden eyes matching the sunset perfectly. Her worry deepens. “You’re crying a little…”

“Huh? Oh-” I reach up and wipe my eyes quickly, erasing the evidence. “Sorry… I let my mind wander.” I sigh and bury my head in my hands. “It’s hard to focus… I’m so stressed out.”

“Ah, that’s forgivable! Don’t worry! And we can take a break.” Adeline gives me a kind smile. “You’re not alone… most people fail at meditation their first time, and it seems like you’re no different despite being the Wizard King!”

The comment is a little bold, but I find myself laughing a little at it. “Wow… Adeline,” I bite my lip to stifle another chuckle. “You really are one of those people who just says everything that’s on their mind.”

Her eyes widen at my words, and she immediately looks mortified. “OH! Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come off as rude-”

“No, you’re okay! It’s good to have someone who will tell me the honest truth,” I assure her, drawing my knees up so I can rest my chin on them. “I like people like you… I think…”

For some reason, any tension I felt between us is gone, replaced with something… comfortable. Comfortable enough for me to ask a question that’s been on my mind.

“Adeline… when we first met, you were about to say something about my eyes. What was it?” I glance over to see that she’s looking a bit tense. “It’s okay if it was something negative… I have thick skin! Don’t worry, I kind of hate them too.” I shrug a little at her surprise. “They make people uncomfortable… and they make me feel like I’m… not…”

Human.

“I- I like them.”

Adeline’s voice wafts over to me softly, like a warm summer breeze.

“When I first saw them… I thought your eyes were…”

I look back over to see her staring at me. She’s not smiling, she’s not grimacing, she’s just…

Admiring me.

“... stunning.”

…

“Adeline…”

I open my mouth to respond, but my words choke and pile up in my throat. What am I even supposed to say to that? And, is she trying to imply something here?

Adeline smiles to herself, satisfied, and sits back down, crossing her legs. “They remind me of two black holes,” she continues.

...black holes…

“They’re deep… and dark…

“So deep and dark… so beautiful and-”

“Beautiful and mysterious.”

A-Adeline…

Her gaze doesn’t leave my face, and her expression becomes serious again. The way she looks at someone special to her, someone sacred-

“I can’t help-”

Please….

Soothing tones of a voice, deep within my memory, blending together with the present.

“But want nothing more-”

Stop… no more…

“Than to be…”

His mouth curled into a smile.

Her mouth curls into a smile.

“Consumed by you.”

“Adeline-”

I say her name before she can finish her sentence. She blinks three times, as if drawing herself out of a trace, before closing her mouth, her unspoken words still hanging in the air. “...yes?”

…

I-

I can’t-

Something draws me to her, and I know it’s for all the wrong reasons. Adeline is soft, she’s warm, she’s happy, and when I’m around her, I can’t help but feel happy, too.

But the reason I like her so much… is because, for some reason… I’m desperate to see Julius in someone else.

But… maybe…

I want to reach out and take her hand, to thank her for such a high compliment. I want to tell her how her own eyes shine like gold; like honey; a sweet taste that I forgot long ago. She’s a summer day, she’s a warm pillow I want to bury myself in.

But… I’ve already ruined it.

She deserves the whole world… but I’ll never be able to be good enough for her.

“... so… you like astronomy?”

“...huh?”

“Oh… I thought…. Because of all the black hole stuff-”

“Oh! Yes, I love it!” Adeline snaps out of it and balls up her fists excitedly. I relax a little, realizing only now that I’ve had my jaw clenched the entire time.

That was close…. I’m not ready to be faced with this kind of thing.

Not yet, at least.

“I never got to formally study it, but I’ve read so many books! And sometimes, I sneak away to the observatory,” she explains, pulling out her Grimoire. It’s gold, like her eyes, embossed with spirals and planetary designs. “My magic is tied to the stars… I use them to see flashes of the future. Most of my spells only let me see a single moment or sensation, but this one-”

She flips it open to a specific page.

“Celestial Precognition: Atlas of Time.”

She starts to glow gold with her mana, and she closes her eyes. I watch, stunned, as the magic washes off of her and onto me like a calming aura. Her smile fades into just a small curve, and it seems like she’s in her element.

“With this spell… I get to see the universe from the perspective of any planet.”

She tilts her head up towards the heavens, as if she were adjusting her view of something I can’t see.

“I usually do the earth… but sometimes I select a different one, one that’s far, far away. You see… light takes time to travel, even through the vacuum of space. So, by the time our light reaches that planet, it’ll see us differently…”

“Huh…” I look up towards the sky. “But that way, you’d only see our past, right?”

Adeline shakes her head. “No! Because, well- even I’m not sure how it works… but I see us as we will be. I think…” She sighs and shakes her head, but doesn’t open her eyes. “I’m not sure it works, either… first of all, I can’t see anything specific. I can see the outline of the earth, but nothing that’s happening on it. However… there’s a point where it stops working.” Finally, her eyes open, and the mana fades. “If I go far enough ahead… everything disappears. The sun, the moon, the earth… the entire universe, gone. All there is…” Her lips curl into a smile before looking back into my eyes. “Oblivion.”

“Oblivion…” I repeat, just a whisper upon my lips. The word is familiar, yet so alien… something I never want to experience, even though it lays just beneath my feet.

“It makes me think… about the universe. About time... “ I look back over at her as she speaks. “Time is such a weird thing… it gets bent and twisted, by mass and gravity, yet it holds the universe together… and you… you command it.” Adeline cocks her head a little. “You must be blessed… both you and Julius have that gift.”

… a gift.

I look back over the balcony as the sun starts to disappear. The stars are poking out of the inky blackness to the east now.

No… Julius’s magic was a gift. But me… I stole this power. I stole his magic, I stole a shard of his soul… and now, I’m paying the price. This pain…

“Hey! I was wondering!” Adeline suddenly perks up, grabbing my attention again. “Your time magic… can you actually time travel with it?”

“Huh?” I raise an eyebrow at the question. “Time travel… like, going to the future and stuff?”

“And back to the past! I read about all these theories, and I figured you might be someone to ask, since you have time magic and all! Well?” Adeline looks at me expectantly. “Have you ever tried?!”

“I…” I look down at my hand, flexing my palm once. “Well… basically, Time magic allows me to steal time from other people. Just little bits at a time… or a lot, if I want to kill them.”

I clench my fist.

“Then, I can use that store to speed up time, slow it down… stop it entirely, or rewind it. But-” I relax my hand and let it drop back onto my knee. “It only applies to objects… attacks, weapons, or people. Not to… ‘time’ itself.” A sigh leaves my lips at the thought. “I guess, even though I have great power over the present, I can’t change anything important.”

“Ah, I see.” Adeline deflates a bit but still looks interested. “Well, I just thought it would be neat… I wish I could time travel!” She giggles. “There’s a thing or two in my life I would like to change… but that doesn’t matter. I’m happy with the way things are now.”

The way things are now… I wish I could be happy with them, too. My gaze drops back to my limp hand. All this power… and I wasn’t able to stop the worst thing from happening. Will I even be able to protect the Kingdom against Megicula?

It’s scary, not knowing what’s going to happen. And if I can’t clear my head and sink deeper into the memories of the past, I won’t be able to prepare the Magic Knights for what promises to be a terrible fight.

“I wish that too, Adeline…”

“Although, it’s probably easier to go to the future than the past-” she keeps talking, clearly excited to share this bit of knowledge. The longer she talks, the harder it becomes to hide my little smile. She’s cute when she’s passionate about something. “In the books I read, the experts say that it can probably be done by something very fast moving around a massive object… gravity warps time, you see, it slows it down. So, if you were orbiting a giant planet with a lot of gravity, for lets say, two days, when you returned here, years could have passed!”

“That sounds a bit ridiculous-” I stifle a giggle. “I mean, no one can go into space, right?”

“Right! It’s all just theoretical, of course.” Adeline looks up at the stars as she continues. “It would be fun, though, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know… the future is a bit scary. What if I miss something important while I’m gone?” I glance over at her, trying not to stare too obviously. “So, it’s harder to go to the past? You can’t just do the gravity thing the other way around?”

“Nope!” Adeline shakes her head. “At least, no one has any solid theories on how it would be possible. I guess time is like a river, always flowing forward. To paddle backwards is a lot harder than to force yourself ahead.” I nod along, kind of understanding what she was implying. Now that the sun is gone, the stress of work today starts to weigh on my limbs, begging me to lay down and close my eyes. I don’t need to sleep… but the baby needs me to.

“And anyway… maybe it’s best if we don’t go back in time.”

Adeline’s voice starts to seem farther and farther away.

“I mean, that would be going against fate, right? And possibly every law in the universe…”

“The laws of the universe?” I blink my eyes slowly. “Who has the right to set those?”

“I don’t know…” Adeline draws her knees up to her chin, her eyes glinting in the last gold of the day. “But… it makes sense to me. If you traveled to the past, you could accidentally prevent yourself from being born. Even the presence of a time traveler could ruin everything.”

“Ruin?”

Time travel… god… if only…

“A single beat of a butterfly’s wings, out of place, could destroy a universe.”

And suddenly, it’s the middle of the night. I blink my eyes open, a little surprised that I dozed off so quickly. “Hmm? Adeline-”

I realize that I’m still sitting up, despite having been asleep, and the reason for this is that Adeline and I were leaned up against each other, my head on her shoulder. We were balanced so perfectly, so still, that we would not be disturbed in our sleep.

I… that was so close…

But…

I liked it…

With a little smile, I lay my head back on her shoulder and close my eyes, letting myself sink back into a comfortable sleep.

Next time! Chapter 10: the nightmare. Maybe there's a way to relive the past after all...

#triad #fic #black clover #oc: lisa #oc: adeline #afsjklfsd I love this #adeline lowkey got GAME

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nyroom · 4 years

Text

The Ghosts of Childhood - Chapter 2

The Pines family adapts to this new change with mixed results.

[AO3 Link] [Part 1]

All things considered, Stan took the news remarkably well.

“So you’re sayin’ something came around and turned me into a kid?” He had echoed, scrunching up his face in thought for a moment. “Eh. I guess it could be worse.”

To be fair, Ford had kept it simple and brief. There was no sense in telling Stan the reason he had gone out in the first place, just as there’d be no sense in explaining every shred of bitterness that had built up over the years. Stan was old, went out, and then wasn’t anymore. Anyone could understand.

“And we’re your great-niece and nephew!” Mabel piped up, grabbing her brother in a side hug. “Your favourite great-niece and nephew, by the way.”

Ford almost corrected her that they were their only great-niece and nephew (unless there were more descendants of Shermy? Ford would need to investigate that once he was settled), but bit his tongue. For once, it wasn’t the time to play perfectionist.

“Great-niece and nephew, eh?” Stan tapped his chin, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So that makes me the boss of you!”

“Well, you’re younger than us right now.” Dipper corrected, straightening out his clothes from his sister’s hug/chokehold. From what Ford could tell, Mabel didn’t do her hugs by half measures.

Stan ignored this point, nodding to himself. “I’m the boss of people… Cool!”

“Let’s not forget who the older twin is here, technically and literally.” Ford cut in next, shooting his brother a stern look. “So I’m the one in charge right now.”

That made Stan deflate a little, crossing his arms and huffing defiantly. “Only by fifteen minutes!” He shot back, but kept it at that. For as stubborn as Stan was, that was certainly remarkable. Maybe now that they were farther apart in age, he would finally listen to Ford.

Ha.

The annoyance passed quickly, Stan’s face brightening with realization. “So if Sixer’s an old man, then I’m an old man too, right?” He immediately rounded on Ford, leaning forward excitedly. “Did we fix the Stan O’War and go treasure hunting?”

Ford’s mouth shut with an audible clack. He had already told himself he wasn’t going to bring up the years of bitterness, but how was he supposed to answer that question without lying? ‘For unspecific reasons, we actually haven’t spoken in 40 years.’ That would never work.

He may be upset with Stanley right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to crush this child’s innocent naivety.

“You run a business!” Mabel volunteered, saving Ford from having to answer. He wondered if she did that intentionally or not. “And you do have some employees, so you’re basically still a boss anyways!”

Stan’s eyes widened with wonder, childhood dream momentarily forgotten. “No foolin’? Wow! I bet Pa was real proud of me!”

And here Ford thought it was impossible for this to get worse.

The excitement in Stan’s expression crumbled a little at his audience’s stony faces, uncertainty creeping back into his features. He looked right at Ford, searching. “...He was proud of me, right? Stanford?”

The scene was so heart-wrenchingly familiar that, for a second, Ford wasn’t an old man with the threat of the world on his shoulders. He was a child, just like Stan, standing in a cave, hiding in a theme park attraction. His twin was so open and vulnerable, looking at Ford like he had all the answers in the world, pleading to tell him he was wrong.

‘Do you really think I’m a bad kid?’

‘It just sometimes feels like Pa hates me.’

‘Do you know what it’s like being the stupid twin?’

‘I wish just once Pa would look at me the way he looks at you. Like he actually likes me.’

Truth be told, Ford had spent so long trying to bury Stan in his memories that he had forgotten all about his twin’s insecurities. His stomach twisted at the reminder. How long ago had those memories happened for Stan? How long had he felt like that in general? Probably longer than you’d care to admit.

Ford hadn’t wanted to lie to Stan if he could help it. Lies had never been Ford’s strong suit, not like they were Stan’s. Lies were liabilities, a misstep waiting to happen. They were messy and risky and something Ford would rather avoid altogether. Yet looking into Stan’s eyes, he knew he had no choice.

“Not just proud, Stanley. He was impressed.” He said, and his voice didn’t even shake. “You really beat him at his own game.”

If at all possible, Stan looked even more starstruck than before. He looked back in the direction of the Gift Shop, blinking hard. Ford didn’t need to see his brother’s eyes to know they were damp.

It’s just a white lie. He told himself when Stan turned back to him with a thousand-watt smile. There’s no harm in a white lie or two. When Stan is back to his proper age, he’ll understand.

After that, the questions came at Ford rapid-fire. Really, he should have expected as much.

“So did we really go treasure hunting after all?”

“Yes.”

“Did we find lots of treasure and get all the girls?”

“Yes.”

“Did I open the business before or after we went sailing?”

“After.”

“Where’s all the treasure now?”

“Hidden away to protect it from pirates.”

“What about the Stan O’War?”

“In a museum. We are world-famous adventurers, after all.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the younger twins exchanging a grimace and pretended he didn’t notice. The children just didn’t understand. It was easier to do things this way. If Stan knew the harsh reality their lives had taken, he may not be so quick to trust Ford and allow him to reverse whatever had done this to him in the first place. Stan didn’t have the emotional capability to handle the truth. This was for his own good.

He also pretended that the giddy smile Stan wore didn’t warm something within him, buried after so many years.

Just because Stan is this way right now doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him. I’m still justified to feel angry with him. When he’s his proper age, we’re going to have a very long discussion.

“I told you it’d happen!” Stan proudly declared, reaching across the table to affectionately punch Ford in the arm. Ford pointedly ignored the memory of the last time Stan had punched him 30 years ago.

Before Stan could launch into more questions, Dipper awkwardly cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, Great Uncle Ford? Do you think we could have some dinner?”

Right, Ford should have realized. Stan had left around midday and, apparently, hadn’t been back until just now. The children must be starving. That realization was followed by another, more daunting one: Ford would have to cook for them.

Ford hadn’t cooked for anyone since he lived with Fiddleford, and even then that had been sparingly. Fiddleford had dubbed him a “fire hazard” when he accidentally added vinegar instead of pasta sauce; a clear overreaction. It wasn’t like he had done it intentionally, he had just been sleep-deprived! It could happen to anyone!

“Of course, Dipper.” He responded, spite burgeoning him with confidence. He could cook just fine, thank you very much, Fiddleford. “You’re actually in luck, I was in the middle of cooking for myself when you all arrived. It shouldn’t be too much to whip up a bit extra.”

If he could survive the multiverse for 30 years, he could handle cooking for 3 children. It was just cooking more, after all. It wasn’t rocket science. What could go wrong?

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

Evidently, a lot could go wrong.

As it turned out, leaving food unattended in this house was a bad idea. Apparently, a pig - Mabel’s pet Waddles, Ford learned later - had taken the opportunity to indulge in the unguarded delicacies and left nothing to salvage when Ford returned. Never one to accept a setback, he had merely taken it as a sign that he needed to make something a bit more extravagant than plain old eggs for a family dinner.

After liberally covering the kitchen in food matter, utensils, and soot from a spontaneous fire, the family had made the decision to give the kitchen a much-needed break. This was what had lead to them piling into Greasy’s Diner, tucked into a booth near the end of the restaurant. Mabel tried to assure him that Stan had done much, much worse in the beginning. Ford got the impression she was just saying that to make him feel better.

Truth be told, the idea of being in town set Ford’s teeth on edge. While the Rift may be contained, it was in no way safe. Until Bill was defeated once and for all, he would never stop trying to get it. This made every citizen not only a target, but a suspect as well. They couldn’t afford to trust anyone.

Ford had almost turned the idea down when it was suggested, but a look at the kitchen reminded him that he wouldn’t be able to provide the proper meal growing children needed. Instead, he settled on lecturing them at length about keeping on guard, making sure to keep it specific enough to dissuade questions and vague enough not to keep Bill’s name out of their mouths. Worryingly, the children barely seemed fazed.

Now, sitting in the diner as the group looked over the menu, Ford was struck with another troubling realization. While people were going to address him by his actual name, they were still going to think he was his brother. With Stanley right there, he couldn’t very well correct them, either. Not only that, but he’d need to think of a good excuse for why “Mr. Pines” suddenly had another child.

Frustration surged through him at the thought and he found himself remembering the resentment he felt earlier today. Damnit Stanley, why do you need to make everything so hard?

Before Ford could entertain that thought further, he caught sight of an older woman in waitressing attire approaching their table. She had a lazy eye, but the eye that remained open was a perfectly boring hazel. Not Bill. Ford could relax a little.

“Stan!” She greeted, smiling brightly at him. “Did you get dressed up just for me?”

Ford looked down at his clothes and inwardly cursed. If he had had the forethought, he would have taken the time to dress like Stan to compl-- wait a second.

As he finished processing the woman’s words, he felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Of all the people in Stan’s life that Ford could have met first, why did it have to be someone he had been or was currently romantically involved with? He could barely woo his own partners when he bothered with romance, let alone his estranged twin’s.

Luckily (or unluckily, in hindsight) for Ford, the woman soon shifted her attention to Stan and brightened even more. “And who’s this cutiepie?” Damnit, Ford hadn’t thought up a decent cover story for the town yet.

“My name’s Stanley!” Stan chirped, puffing out his chest at the compliment. He had always been more receptive to people’s praise, soaking it up like a sponge while Ford shied away from it. Ford supposed it was natural, considering how they were raised.

“He’s our younger brother who just got back from a trip to New Jersey!” Dipper cut in quickly, drawing the attention of four sets of confused eyes. He seemed to quail a little under the scrutiny, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uhh… Our parents decided to just send him here too.”

There was a moment of silence, but only for a moment before Stan answered confidently, “Sure am! I can’t let my big siblings hog all the fun of camping up here.” Ford had forgotten how honed his brother’s lying was, even at such a young age. He hadn’t even stuttered.

The waitress laughed and, thankfully, took their orders without pressing the issue further. Once she was gone, he smiled gratefully at Dipper. “Nice thinking, Dipper. Great work.”

The boy flushed at the praise, eyes darting down to the menu as the hand rubbing his neck increased in pace. “Oh, uh! It was nothing… I just figured we probably should keep this under wraps until we get Stan back to normal.”

Stan nodded his agreement, much more cooperative than Ford thought he’d be. “Makes sense to me, but won’t people wonder where I am? I mean, if I’m a world-famous adventurer and successful business guy an’ all…”

Right then. It would probably be best to get their stories straight before anyone else happened by. Though Ford wasn’t much good at this lying business, he knew the logic behind it. If they were all in agreement, that lessened the chances of conflicting lies, which lessened the chance of confrontation. Confrontation was certainly not something Ford’s skittish heart needed right now.

“Simple: you’re an adventurer. Though the lull of running a business was a nice reprieve, the calls of the sea were not so easy to dismiss. You set out in search of wonder and new exhibits for your business, ready to fight any who opposed you.”

Ford expected Stan’s eyes to light up at the very idea. It played into his dream quite handily, harkening back to days spent weaving tales on the beach. He even pitched his voice dramatically for the effect. Instead, Ford was met with a stormy expression, Stan’s lips pressed into a thin line. Ford didn’t understand.

“An adventure without you sounds like a pretty dumb adventure,” Stan grumbled, picking at the edge of his menu. He refused to meet Ford’s eyes. “Are people really gonna buy that?”

Of course. Sailing away hadn’t just been Stan’s dream, it had been Ford’s once as well. Wherever we go, we go together. He swallowed uncomfortably.

“Well, of course they will.” Ford reasoned, wracking his brain for a believable lie. “One of us needed to stay back and keep running the Mystery Shack. No good business can just close down, you know.”

Stan’s scowl deepened, unconvinced and stubborn as ever. Ford found himself sighing in response. “It’s just a lie, Stanley. It doesn’t need to be realistic.”

“If anyone can make something unbelievable believable, it’s you Grunkle Stan.” Mabel pointed out, smiling. “And this time, it’s for a good cause!”

Stan’s expression wavered at that. “I guess so. And it’s not like it’s gonna last forever…” He nodded to himself, tension easing. “It can’t be any harder than that time I convinced Mr. Carter that I ate roasted seagull for lunch every day. The look on his face was priceless!”

The air at the table lightened some as Stan began to re-tell tales from their youth. Another forgotten aspect of his brother’s personality came to surface as he watched him, gesturing and speaking with the flair of a showman. Truly, Stan had a knack for public speaking. Ford wondered what else he had forcibly repressed about his brother.

He might have been able to make something of himself if he wasn’t so insistent on suffocating me. A dark voice murmured in his mind. Ford dismissed it, forcing himself to focus on the present. There would be time to stew in bitter thoughts later.

Though the children were listening with rapt attention, they were not content to play captive audiences for long. As their food arrived and the group dug in, they repaid Stan with stories of their own from their summer in Gravity Falls. It didn’t escape Ford that plenty of their tales centred around anomalies that he had recorded in his journal, nor did he miss the side glances Dipper cast his way anytime one was brought up.

He thought back to the first time he had opened his third journal upon his return, flipping through the carefully scrawled blue words. The twins - Dipper mostly, judging on the writing - had certainly been busy this summer. The solutions they posited seemed so obvious when spelled out, how hadn’t he thought of it?

Stan had been firm in keeping Ford away from the children for their own safety. At first, he could see the logic behind that assertion. While Gravity Falls was a wonderfully weird place, it was also dangerous to those who were unprepared. Yet the more Ford read the journal, the more capable the children became in his eyes. Hearing the stories firsthand merely solidified the notion in his mind. Stan was just being overprotective.

If they were going to turn Stan back to his proper age, then he was going to need to work with the children, deal be damned. If he happened to get closer to and bond with them along the way, then that was just a logical and inescapable outcome. Stan couldn’t fault him for that, not when it was for his own good.

Besides, these children were his family too. Stan had no right to hold them hostage from him.

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

The past few hours had been such a whirlwind, Stanley was having trouble processing. To start the day on the beach and finish it in a small town smack dab in the middle of a forest? It didn’t feel real. More than once, Stan would dig his fingernails into his arm when he felt like no one was paying attention, just to see if he was dreaming after all. No luck.

Don’t get him wrong, he was interested in this new life he seemed to have made for himself! His great-niece and nephew seemed really nice (even if it was weird to think that kids around his age were actually younger than him?), and the fact he was a businessman now was an unexpected delight. But it just wasn’t the same without Ford here by his side to experience it with him.

Ford may be around, but he wasn’t really around. He was older and wiser and sure, he was still the same old Pointdexter, but it just wasn’t the same. Experiencing this sudden environment shift on his own, after doing everything with his twin before, was a change Stan wasn’t ready to face. Beneath the bravado and excitement, Stan couldn’t stop himself from feeling terribly anxious.

Riding in the backseat of an admittedly neat looking car (“It’s your car, Grunkle Stan!”), wedged between unfamiliar family, Stan could feel those anxieties creeping back up to the forefront once more. He had been to the woods before on a school trip, but never at night. The trees looming through the windows looked dark and foreboding without the sun, like they could swallow you up and no one would hear from you again. He had to resist the urge to shrink back into Dipper’s side.

Ugh, what kind of wimp was he? Pa would likely scold him if he knew. ‘Belt up, boy. A Pines man doesn’t hide from danger.’ Of course, that thought just made him homesick. What he wouldn’t give to tuck himself into Ma’s arms right about now.

But Pa was right. He was a Pines man, and a Pines man didn’t hide. He pointedly squashed down his fears and, instead, asked about the pig Mabel had called Waddles. The girl lit up with a dazzling smile and spoke at length about how wonderful he was, showing him picture after picture that she had saved in the pockets of her sweater. Dipper assured him this was only a fraction of the pictures she had, the rest having found a home in her scrapbook. Stan believed him.

Maybe Stan didn’t have Ford here to face this unknown situation with, but Dipper and Mabel made good company. Though he wouldn’t trade Ford for the world, it was nice to have other people to call friends for once. He closed his eyes as he listened to the two talk, allowing himself to be soothed by their voices.

If they and Ford weren’t afraid right now, then he had no reason to be either.

He hadn’t realized he had dozed off until he heard the sounds of car doors opening. He opened his eyes, blinking blearily and scrambling to get out of the car. Looks like they were back at the Mystery Shack (his business, wasn’t that so neat?). Man, how long had he been out? Hopefully, the others hadn’t noticed.

As they made their way into the house - coming in through a different door this time, though Stan guessed that wasn’t really important - Ford clapped his hands together. “Alright then, Stanley. Let’s get you situated and off to bed.”

Darn. He must have noticed.

“What? But it’s only -” Stan paused, looking over at the clock on the wall “- 8! It’s not even close to bedtime, and I’m not even tired!”

Ford shot him a stern look, looking much more like Pa than Ford. Stan felt himself instinctually straighten. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, I believe that you aren’t tired. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been through quite an ordeal, mentally and physically. Your body and mind need time to recharge. You don’t want to get sick, do you?”

As usual, Ford was making a good point. That didn’t stop Stan from crossing his arms and scuffing the floor with his shoe, most assuredly not pouting. Stan didn’t pout. Pouting was for babies.

Apparently satisfied with Stan’s silence, Ford turned his attention to the other two. “While I’m attending to that, do you two mind fetching me my remaining two journals? They should be down in the lab.”

Dipper’s eyes widened at Ford’s request, looking like a kid on Christmas. Were Ford’s nerd scribbles really that interesting? “O-Okay!” He stammered out before turning on his heel, racing out of the room. Mabel was hot on his heels, calling after him to slow down and wait for her.

Stan watched the two until they disappeared down the hall. “Journals, huh? Isn’t that kinda like a diary?” He asked, turning to where Ford was standing. Keyword: was. Turns out, his brother was already halfway up the stairs. Looks like he had decided to take a leaf out of Dipper’s book. Stan frowned at that and hastened to follow.

Ford stayed quiet as they journeyed through the house, scarcely seeming to notice that Stan was following at all. He looked lost in thought, which Stan supposed wasn’t all that out of place. Ford was usually thinking about something, and sometimes he’d get so lost in that big brain of his that he stopped noticing his surroundings. Usually, that only happened when he was faced with a really hard problem.

Maybe Stan’s situation was hard too? It seemed hard to Stan, but Stan was never all that bright to begin with. For Ford’s sake, he stayed quiet too.

Eventually, the pair stopped outside a door. Luckily, Ford seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had been in. “Ah, yes, here we are,” He said, opening the door and gesturing inside. “This is your room. You can sleep here while I work on getting you back to normal.”

The first thing that Stan noticed was that it was dark. Maybe it was just because the lights were off, but the dark felt different somehow; suffocating, almost. The curtains on the window were drawn tight, preventing any moonlight from brightening the room. The light that did spill in from the hallway illuminated the dusty air and the general state of disarray the room was in.

If Stan had to describe it, it seemed sad. Was this really the room he slept in as an adult?

Ford continued talking, sounding way too casual after revealing such a dim place. “Now I doubt you have any children clothes here, but I don’t anticipate Dipper having an issue with you borrowing some of his. If everything goes well, I should have you back to normal in a few days, so it won’t be an issue for long. The children sleep in the attic and I’ll be sleeping in the room down the hall, so we won’t be far if you need anyth--”

“Wait.” Stan cut in, realization dawning. No wonder there’s only one bed. “You’re not sleeping with me?”

He turned to look straight up at Ford, watching as his brother’s eyes immediately looked off to the side. He had that sad look on his face again, a look that Stan was starting to realize showed up quite frequently now. It made him wonder if he was the one causing that look.

“No, Stanley.” He eventually said, reaching up to push his glasses further up his face. It was a nervous habit, one Stan could easily recognize. “We haven’t slept in the same room for a very long time. Adults need their own space.”

Stan wanted to argue that. Ma and Pa shared a room - heck, they shared a bed! - why couldn’t he and Ford? Yet taking another look at his brother, Stan once again remembered that this Ford wasn’t really his. This Ford was basically a stranger to him, and Stan hated it. Sharing a room would probably just make the strangeness even more apparent.

It was Stan’s turn to avoid eye contact, staring into the room instead. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ford’s features softening a little. Soon enough, the familiar six-fingered weight was settling on Stan’s shoulder. The fingers were bigger and rougher now, but the gesture was still the same. It felt like Ford was drawing out the tension through touch alone.

“I know it’s new and frightening, but I promise you’ll get used to it.” He said, stooping down so he was level with Stan. His lips twitched up into a slight smile. “As I said, I’m not far away, okay? If something happens, you can still come to me. Just because we don’t share a room anymore doesn’t mean I won’t be there for you.”

Of course, what was he thinking? Ford might be old and strange right now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still his brother. He really shouldn’t be expecting so little of him. Just because he was sleeping here alone didn’t mean Ford didn’t have his back.

It’s just temporary. The room is weird but you can do this. You’ve taken on worse.

Stan took a breath and let the weight on his shoulder strengthen him. It was hard to feel afraid when he had someone at his side and a slow, shy smile spread across his face. He turned to face his twin, holding up his hand in mutual solidarity. No matter how many years separated them now, surely this was universal. This couldn’t be tainted by the strangeness.

“High-six?”

Instead of immediately raising his hand and completing the gesture, Ford just stared blankly at it. One moment passed, then another, and Stan’s smile began to flicker. Ford had that look in his eye again, that sad, far-away look. Stan decided he hated it more than he hated the room.

Subconscious now, Stan lowered his hand. Maybe he had been wrong after all. Stan couldn’t imagine it; in what reality could he achieve his dream while everything he shared with his brother was suddenly different? Was it just inevitable?

“I-I’m sorry, Stanley.” Ford finally stammered, removing his hand from his shoulder to card anxiously through his hair. “It’s been… A trying day for me, too. I hope you can understand.”

Stanley didn’t, not entirely.

Maybe… Things were just different because Ford had lost someone, too. Maybe he felt this same strangeness in reverse, looking for the adult version of his missing half. Stan didn’t really know how he’d feel in Ford’s shoes, so it seemed probable to him.

Either way, he put on a smile and reached over to put a hand on Ford’s shoulder too. His hand was much smaller and probably lacked the same satisfying, grounding weight to it, but he hoped it helped anyways. “Course I do, Pointdexter,” He lied. “But it’s okay. We can be here for each other, just like always.”

Ford inhaled softly at the touch, but didn’t immediately move away. Stan took that as a good sign and remained there, allowing the silence to stretch for as long as Ford needed it.

The moment passed soon after and Ford straightened once more, letting Stan’s hand fall away. Stan understood; Pines men didn’t just sit there and whimper. If you had time to cry, you had time to fight. That was what Pa had always said.

Feeling lighter, Stan dutifully crawled into the too-big bed without any further complaint. For the time being, he didn’t even notice the heaviness. Now that he was really laying down, the exhaustion that he had been fighting since the diner was returning with a vengeance. He had just enough energy to turn onto his side, looking at where Ford stood in the doorway.

“G’night, Ford.” He murmured, eyes already closing.

Whatever Ford’s response was, if there was any at all, fell on deaf ears. Stan was fast asleep before he knew what hit him.

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

Far away from the odd little family, in a dimension nothing like theirs, a being contemplates the scene he has just witnessed. The little display was disgustingly saccharine, almost making him sick to his proverbial stomach.

Still, the advantage that had just been handed to him was well worth enduring that little sob fest. He leans away from his handy eavesdropping orb, hands clasped at his back.

“And here I thought my conquest was going to be difficult.” He thought aloud, unable to stop himself from cackling. After enduring those embarrassing defeats at the hands of those meddlesome twins, this break was exactly what he was looking for.

It was time to exploit that six-fingered freak’s kryptonite: Stanley Pines.

#nyroom writes #gravity falls #stanford pines #stan pines #ford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #bill chipher #one and a half stans #what's that? a second chapter? pinch me #we'll see if i can keep this steam going and finish something for once #the ghosts of childhood

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illyrianwingspans · 4 years

Text

Do Not Go Gentle: Don’t Know Who I Am

Link to song

Synopsis: An intro to Feyre’s life in the city of Prythian. Check it out on Ao3 here.

Chapter One: Don’t Know Who I Am

One Year Later

I wiped my hands against my apron as the orders kept tumbling through. Though it was still early in the morning, the coffee shop was packed, and would stay packed until morning rush hour subsided and everyone got their caffeine fix. Then the lunch rush would come right back around and I’ll want to curl into a ball behind the counter and yell at people to leave. This is how most shifts went, usually. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love my job.

Nobody wants to make coffee for a living. It’s not some life-long dream that a kid would aspire to. At least, I haven’t encountered anybody in a kindergarten class vehemently wishing to master the art of barista-ism when they grow up. Because making coffee for people is a shitty, shitty job. In some ways, I’m just a glorified drug dealer dispensing everyone’s morning fix.

But it makes the time go by. And it keeps me near Tamlin.

Not long after we moved in together, I wanted to get a job. Though Tamlin had profusely refused anytime I mentioned working, I kept pushing because I couldn’t stay in the house all day. Though I may have given up on schooling, I refused to become a stay at home trophy wife making crockpot dinners and resorting to ‘wine nights with the girls’ as a weekly ritual (because really, that’s just a fancy term for alcoholism to drown out the mind numbing loneliness that would indefinitely plague me). I couldn’t. I needed to stay busy and I needed to stay working, not only to make money, but to feel like I’d earned my place here.

Defining ‘here’ was always the issue. I didn’t know what ‘here’ was.

Here was in our spacious three bedroom apartment in downtown Prythian. Here was designer clothes and weekend galas and two hundred dollar steak dinners. Here was dating Spring Corporation’s newly adorned CEO, Tamlin Ivy, and living the upper 10% life.

Here was…comfortable. Easy. But also completely, awfully wrong.

I’d made no effort to be here, and everyone knew it. Hell, I knew, and nearly saw it written in the mirror’s condensation every morning after my shower. What I’d done, what’d happened… that shouldn’t have lead me to where I was today. No, that should have lead me down, down to the place I really deserved.

Nonetheless, I liked it here. I loved Tamlin and I wanted a future with him, ‘here’ being good or not.

“That’ll be six fifty,” I said hours later as the pale skin man pulled out his credit card in the empty shop. He’d said his order so quietly I had him repeat it twice, and tried to keep my face as neutral as I could when he’d said only a few decibels louder, “Large caramel frappucino, extra pump of hazelnut and double whip.”

He even brought his own cup to hide the monstrosity of an order from his colleagues. I never minded the complicated orders, though. They spiced up the routine.

As the blender sounded off in the shop, and pale frappucino dude moved off to the pickup side of the counter, I turned towards the order station armed with my usual garb. “Good morning, what can I get you today?”

Only instead of blearily listening to another business exec’s daily dose, I paused where I stood as my eyes settled upon the customer behind the counter.

I blinked, as before me stood the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

I hated saying that—mostly due to my current relationship status—but it was undeniable that the man before me was science’s only known example of perfect genetic combination. With his jet black hair, terra-cotta colouring, strong jawline and eyes so blue they hovered on—on amethyst—I was trying to hide the creeping blush crawling up my neck. Every ounce of him oozed grace and swagger and confidence, from his immaculately fitting suit to his subtle but enticing cologne, and though those things were incredibly sexy—they could also be vile.

And he must’ve seen it, too, because he shot me an easy smirk that’s definitely gotten him laid before. “Good morning, darling. How are you?”

The endearment, the smirk and the swagger, though, are what made me stop short. There were two kinds of beautiful people in this world: the ones who knew they were beautiful, and the ones who didn’t. This guy so obviously fell in the former category, and lucky for him, it was the type of person I tended to not get along with.

Instead of pushing it, though, I merely asked again, “What can I get you?”

Again, that feline smirk. He knew I was avoiding him. “You can get me an answer to my question.”

“I’m fine,” I ground out. “Would you like a coffee or would you like to piss me off?”

The words came out before I could stop them, and for a second I held my breath. I never, ever was rude to customers. Well, at least, I tried not to be, because there was one thing about the placement of Hum’s Coffee: it was on the ground floor of Spring Corp and nearby all of Prythian’s other biggest industries. This meant that the clientele was nearly exclusively office people, high ranking business execs and other prestigious titles—people I really shouldn’t piss off. But there was something about this guy that seemed to set me off today.

Thankfully, the only other person in the shop was frappucino dude, and he was far enough away that the blender faded out the conversation between us.

Except the man before me did not balk. He did not scowl. No, he wasn’t offended at all by my rather aggressive comment. In fact, he… he smiled. A fuller, genuine smile that showed off his white, straight teeth.

“Why not both?” Was what he said, and I fought against the grin that crept to my lips. Instead of answering him, I turned away to get frappucino dude’s frappucino, who was seeming more impatient by the second. Not forgetting his double whip, I handed over the man’s metal mug and he quickly screwed the top on, mumbled a thank you and sped away. Which left me turn begrudgingly to Mc Dreamy who waited patiently behind the counter, a look of feigned innocence on his face.

For the third, and what I decided was my last time, I asked, “What can I get you?”

“Large Americano with almond milk,” he said without thought, as though it rolled off his tongue every day. “And a smile, darling. Dazzling eyes and all.”

My fist clenched at my side while the other punched the order into the computer. Though I didn’t usually asked, my curiosity bit at me and urged the question from my lips. “Name?”

This guy must’ve been a Brad or Chad or Brent. He had that Frat-Boy-Daddy’s-Money look to him.

His perfectly tweezed brow arched in surprise. “Rhysand.”

My head angled to the side, mirroring his shock. Though I guess I shouldn’t really be, because Prythian was full of odd, unique names. Including my own.

“Four ten,” I growled, and he handed over a ten dollar bill. I quickly handed his change back to him and he merely put it in the tip bucket. Though I would’ve normally said thank you and showed my genuine appreciation—nobody tipped baristas anymore—I only turned and dispensed the espresso beans into the group head, thankful that my back was to him and he couldn’t read the seething hateful expression on my face.

Once I put the almond milk away and secured the lid, I grabbed the sharpie out of my apron and scribbled across the top. I usually didn’t take names because of this step, but I figured my shaky block letters didn’t look too embarrassing. And, with the fakest, widest smile I could muster, I slid the coffee across the counter to Rhysand, who merely grinned at me.

Until he looked down to his coffee and read the name I’d spelled out with a shaky hand: PRICK.

Rhysand’s eyes met mine and they blazed with a challenge, shock and… something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Lust? Attraction?

“Have a wonderful day, darling,” he said, and began to walk away, until he stop mid-stride and turned on his heel. “I didn’t quite catch your name, though. No tag.”

I crossed my arms. I didn’t wear my name tag because I didn’t want people knowing who I was or searching me up online when they had no business to, like Tamlin mentioned. And it served me well today, because I replied, “Be more polite, next time, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Next time? Is that a date?”

That blush came back once more. How could he? “What? No—”

“I just wanted coffee, but I’m open to anything you suggest, darling,” he smirked once more as he pushed the door open.

I glared at him and said, “In your dreams, prick.”

“Yes, you will be there tonight, darling.” With one last wink, he was gone.

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Then, I laughed.

A chest-opening, heart-lightening laugh, something I hadn’t done in a long, long while. Thank God the shop was closed, because people definitely would’ve thought I was hysterical as I clutched the counter and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“Medium hot chocolate please, extra whip and chocolate sprinkles.”

“Sir, we’re closed—” I said over my shoulder, but turned when I saw the blonde hair and easy smile. My face, ready to be stern and scowling at whoever saw our closing hours and decided to walk in anyway, melted into a smile as Tamlin leaned onto the counter with a lazy grin on his face.

“Hi,” I said, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m almost done. Just have to lock up.”

“Take your time,” he said “I ordered us Chinese for supper.”

I resisted the urge to wrinkle my nose. American Chinese food was his favourite, and I tolerated it because I knew he liked it. I didn’t say anything though as I fished the key from the back room and locked the cash box and the front door, the bell sounding out its final ring as night swept across the city leaving streetlights and headlights to illuminate the dark. Tamlin’s elbow hooked into mine as we made our way down the sidewalk to the parking garage where his Beemer stood in the reserved parking spot.

The echo of the doors closing bounced off the wall of the parking garage and I settled back into the leather seat, sighing as the muscles in my neck finally unclenched after standing all day.

“Long day?” Tamlin murmured. He reached over the console and grabbed my hand. I hummed when his thumb brushed along the skin of my palm.

“Yeah,” I said, “asshole customers.” It was my usual excuse, but today it was pointed at one person in particular. Someone whose smirk was burned onto the inside of my eyelids by sheer arrogance.

“Mh,” he grunted in agreement. “Had a few assholes today as well. Seems as though I’ll be dealing with some miscreants for the next little while until the deal finally blows over.”

The thing about Tamlin’s business is that he kept things very vague. I knew he managed real estate and invested in other startup companies, but he always seemed to keep what he did private. Not that I wanted to hear about all the legal jargon and property wars, but it would’ve been nice to be involved in some of it. Only when I’d initially asked him about it, he’d just smiled and said, “Feyre, it bores me to tears most of the time. I don’t want to put you through that.”

True, I’d never had a knack for business, but it did interest me. I was in the arts program and wanted to get a minor in business, but my college days did not last long enough for me to actually learn anything of value.

Our routine was nearly clockwork. Park the car in the garage, go to the entrance to the private elevator and ride up to the fifty ninth floor where our penthouse waited. It was weird to call it ours, because I’d never paid a cent towards it, but it was our home. Either he’d cook or Alis made something before she left for the night or we’d both give up and just order in, which happened most nights. As it did tonight with the Uber-Eats person waiting at the entrance to the elevator. The smell of chicken fried rice wafted through the small space as we rode up floor by floor, curdling my stomach with each increment of elevation.

The elevator opened up to the apartment, and the grandeur of it never failed to make me feel like I’d gotten off on the wrong floor. With the floor to ceiling windows, ambient cool lights and modern decor, I felt like I was walking into an overpriced hotel. Like the furniture was for show, not for living.

Tamlin didn’t echo the feelings, even when I’d voice them to him. He only laughed at how ‘quirky’ I was. I reminded myself that he’d grown up in spaces like this his entire life. This wasn’t the South Side anymore where we’d shared a two bedroom with four people.

No, I’d escaped that life. I’d burned away the moment I left that hospital, and I’d never looked back.

We settled in front of the TV and I curled into Tamlin’s warmth, savouring the feel of his arm around me and the smell of his skin, like rosemary and fresh rain. The food tasted ashen in my mouth but I downed it with a glass of water. Tamlin looked into the container and back up at me. “You not hungry?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hated Chinese food, so I opted for a half truth. “Not really. I’ll take it to work tomorrow.”

He nodded and his eyes waded back to the TV. “Don’t forget, we’ve got that gala tomorrow night.”

I sighed. “Do we really have to go?”

“Yes,” he chuckled into my hair and set his empty container onto the coffee table before us, “I’m kind of hosting it, so it would be appropriate if I made an appearance.”

“You mean Ianthe and Lucien are hosting it.” I deadpanned.

“Well, yes but—” Tamlin stumbled over his words until he saw the smirk on my face, then smiled. “Look, I don’t like these things either but they’re part of the job description. Plus, with everything happening with Night Industries, it’ll be a chance to get them off our scent.”

“You have a scent?” My brows furrowed. “Who are the Night Industries?”

He waved me off. “Doesn’t matter. But,” he hedged, his eyes dimming, “I talked to Ianthe. About what you’re wearing.”

The breath squeezed from my lungs. We didn’t talk about this. Not in the open; not in casual conversation.

“She made sure to get something longer this time. It should be—”

“As long as it covers them, I’m fine,” I muttered—more like bit out. I couldn’t meet his eyes. He shifted next to me, like the proximity between us was no longer a comfortable, familiar thing.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmured, and he pulled me closer to him. Despite the reluctance blossoming in me, I settled into him again and we found bliss in the mindless activity of staring at an information box.

After a while, though, my thoughts reverted back to the conversation and got caught on the words. Covers it, covers it, something longer to cover it—

Cover up the fact that I was crazy. Cover up the fact that I was off the deep end and everyone knew it, cover up the fact that I evidently did not belong amongst them, cover up the fact that I was a fraud and a liar and a murderer and that I didn’t deserve any of this, that I should be gone like the rest of them—

“You okay?” Tamlin asked from the kitchen. I hadn’t even realized he’d left the couch. I hadn’t noticed the absence of his warmth.

The entire space was open and I could see him standing behind the marble counter that could probably pay for many years’ worth of food for my family and I in the past.

I swallowed hard. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He didn’t answer as I pushed myself off the couch and padded away down to the narrow hall branching to the rooms and our offices. As I passed Tamlin’s office, I sighed, knowing he’d probably be holed in there for the rest of the night. Then I passed my office.

Office was a loose term. There was a desk somewhere in there beneath the newsprint and old bedsheets and paint cans. Art studio was the better fitting name, but seeing as though I no longer used it, maybe museum was the best way to describe it. Museum of the life I’d left behind.

I left my things in our bedroom and pulled my robe from the back of the door as I settled into the washroom and began to strip.

Looking at myself in the mirror was a draining thing.

Which was why I ignored it and slumped my clothes in the corner before stepping into the boiling stream of water. It burnt my skin red and splotchy but I didn’t care as I rubbed a day’s worth of sweat and grime off of me.

And when I got to my scar covered thighs, I paused. Then scrubbed them furiously anyways.

Like that could ever make it go away. Soap and exfoliation didn’t erase fuck up.

Nonetheless I scrubbed and scrubbed until my thighs were raw, and when the water turned cold I slumped onto the shower floor and closed my eyes as the stream fell onto my shoulders. It was the only time where I felt like I had some sort of hold on myself; when the world wasn’t just a blur, and the silence could reign.

“Feyre?” A voice called. “Is everything alright?”

My eyes opened and I sighed, staring at the water collecting on the tiles. The silence never reigned long before interruption. “Be out in a minute.” I called.

The water still dripped from my body when I stepped out into the dim hall and Tamlin stood there, arms crossed, eyes snaking up my body like he owned every inch of it. There was that familiar hunger in his gaze. The one I let devour me. The one I wore when I wanted to devour him.

His lips found my skin before either of us could say anything, and before I knew it the towel was off of me and we were stumbling towards the bed.

Chills trembled across my skin as his mouth came down on me, and I let out undignified sounds when he plunged his full length within me. Thrust by thrust, the aches went away, the pain fled, the silence was broken—the void took a step back and waited patiently as I got my fill. As my thoughts left my mind, and as my mind left this body, if only for a few passionate, glorious minutes of pleasure.

Tamlin rolled off of me after I’d screamed out my climax. I stared up at the ceiling, catching my breath, counting the flickers of light protruding in from the window’s diluted city glow. His weight shifted next to me, and I felt his lips press a kiss to my shoulder before he got off the bed, pulled his pants on and left the room, presumably to resume work in his study.

I didn’t even have the energy to get up and dry my hair. I only curled further into the sheets and made sure my alarm was on before letting my eyes fall closed, and sit back as the void, along with the thoughts, creeped back in.

“I’ve got to head straight to the gallery after work so I’ll get somebody to pick you up, alright?”

My fingers fumbled as I neared the ends of my hair I was trying to braid. I lost them and shook out the rest of my hair before starting again. “I can just catch a ride with someone. Or walk, it’s honestly not that far.”

Tamlin waved the thought away. “Don’t worry about it, besides I wouldn’t want you to scuff up your dress. I’ll text you the information.”

I licked my lips and nodded once. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and I gave him a grin before we parted ways at our usual location of divide on the ground level of Spring Corporation. He headed for the executive elevator while I headed to Hum’s. The world still slept at five thirty in the morning, but they’d be awake soon and demanding their morning prescription before I knew it.

The day passed in a blur of whirring machines, bills and change and grounds. Sweat beaded on my brow and my feet ached, but I carried on despite the exhaustion wearing on my bones. The fog in my mind seemed to thin out when the rush came in and consumed my focus and attention. But when the lulls came, and I was sweeping around the few tables, my mind wandered. Far. My hands were rope-burnt from trying to reel it back in.

But I did. Because tonight was important for Tamlin, and I couldn’t break down. There was no room for error when your life was centred on appearances. Everything was always good and perfect and lovely, even if it wasn’t.

A familiar face appeared at the door, and I smiled as Lucien’s golden red hair gleaned in the sunlight. He reciprocated the smile as he revealed what he’d been holding behind his back: a hanger supporting what must’ve been a lush gown concealed by black material.

“Is it hideous?” Were the first words out of my mouth. Lucien laughed as I took the hanger from his hands across the counter and set it in the back with the rest of my things. We had a running joke between us about the dresses Ianthe had put me in before that made me look no less than an exotic bird. Some were gorgeous, though, and I loved putting on the lavish materials—but most of the time, they felt like a waste.

“You look gorgeous in anything,” was all he replied with his usual dripping sarcasm. I rolled my eyes and began whipping up his usual: chai latte with oat milk and extra cinnamon on top.

“So what’s this one for tonight?” I wondered aloud. “New partner? Company morale? Charity dinner?”

At the mention of this, Lucien’s face turned neutral, his stance uneasy. One thing about Lucien that I picked up quickly was that you could always read how he felt by his stance. And now, I could tell he was lying, or hiding something, as he did often when discussing company business.

“Something like that,” was all he vaguely answered. In the past, I may have interrogated him until his ears bled, as he put it, but I let it go. Another charity ball wasn’t going to kill me. My feet and knees, maybe, from wearing the heels Tamlin loved, but not the entirety of me.

Over the whirring of the milk steamer, I called, “I don’t get why we have these anyways. He sneaks off half of the time to discuss with people and leaves me with the rest of the sharks.”

“Firstly, we’re under a lot of pressure right now with our competitors. People are trying to snoop where they don’t belong. And before you ask, you know I can’t tell you anything.” I sighed. The one golden rule Tamlin and I kept in our relationship: work stays at work. “And secondly, they are not sharks, Feyre.”

“They damn well might be,” I countered. I removed both tea bags from the piping water and poured the warm milk into it, the spicy scent caressing my senses. “They’re all numbers and business and exponential growth. What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Ianthe will be there,” Lucien supplied, licking his lips as I sprinkled copious amounts of cinnamon atop the foam of his drink. “And Bron and Hart.”

“They have eleven brain cells combined, if that.”

Lucien shot me a pointed look as I slid the drink across the counter to him. “That’s six more than you’ve got, Fey.”

I bit back a grin as I shoved his shoulder from across the counter. “Get out of here.”

“I’ll see you tonight. Clean yourself up a little.”

I didn’t have time to bite back a retort before the door closed behind him. Clean yourself up, I scoffed. I had my makeup kit in my bag. And I showered last night. I looked fine.

Probably not as dashing or pristine as Ianthe will, but my hair’s clean. And I smelled good. That right there was the height of my presentability.

The clock ticked closer and closer to five, the end of my shift. There usually wasn’t many people past five, seeing as though Hum’s wasn’t much of a student-oriented establishment. The last hour was always the longest, watching as every second brought me closer to the gala. My stomach felt like it was crawling. I hated these events.

The door opened along with the chiming bell, and my head snapped up from my phone to see an all-too familiar face already set in a smirk. Only this time, his suit was immaculate, even more so than yesterday’s, and his hair was parted differently, gelled back with little dangling strands around his face that brought out he midnight blue of his eyes.

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to face this prick again, but damn was he so good to look at.

“I should put your picture up on the board with the rest of the banned customers.” I said as I turned to the espresso machine. I hated that I remembered his order. His eyes even showed surprised as I pulled out the almond milk and boiling water for his Americano.

“Wouldn’t you love to stare at me all day long?” He mused. “They better keep that board near the front so you don’t hide back there all day looking at me. Maybe tape it right here to the cash register.”

“Prick,” I murmured under my breath. I didn’t want to meet his eyes, and I didn’t want to seem like I had any interest in what he did whatsoever, but I couldn’t help myself. “Why the expensive suit today? Hot date?”

“All of my suits are expensive. And unless there was a date and time written on the bottom of my cup yesterday, I don’t recall you asking me out.”

My cheeks heated. “Oh, screw you.”

“You wish.”

My cheeks were probably the colour of traffic lights as I poured the almond milk into his coffee. “Four ten.” I ground out.

“Where’s that dazzling smile today, darling? Really, you must give me your manager’s contact information. I demand better service than this.”

“I’ll read it out to you: 514-829-suck my dick.”

Rhysand stood before me, a startled look on his face, like he couldn’t believe the words I’d just said.

I couldn’t believe the words I’d just said. This man was rich. Probably high, high up in the corporate rank. A phone call from him to anybody’s boss would definitely get them fired.

But he let out a startled laugh. A full, rich laugh that only made me swallow hard.

And bite back a smile.

“Four ten,” I said once again, and he only handed over yet another ten dollar bill. He didn’t even acknowledge my hand when I gave him his change and I begrudgingly put it in the jar.

But he didn’t leave. No, he stood there in front of me sipping his coffee like this was a normal, casual thing we did.

“You make a killer coffee, darling. Really.”

“It’s just an americano,” I scoffed. I turned and began wiping down the espresso machine and milk steamer. But really I was hiding the blush on my cheeks. God, look at me. Gawking over a stranger because they complemented me. An annoying stranger at that. One that knew exactly how to get under my skin.

“Don’t you have better things to do with your time than flirt with baristas?” I threw over my shoulder. He still wouldn’t leave, despite the silence between us.

“Yes of course I do, but flirting with you is by far the most enjoyable.”

My eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know my name.”

“You could easily fix that by just telling me.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Darling, I just don’t think it’s fair. You know my name. All the mystery is demystified. You’ve got the upper hand. Help me out a bit, here.” He shot me a pout and those brooding eyes, but I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I pointed to the clock.

“We’re officially closed, and I don’t have to put up with you anymore.”

He only smirked and began walking away from the counter with that same graceful swagger. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning bright and early, darling.”

“There’ll be a restraining order by then!” I called back.

The door swung shut with the chiming of the bell, and I sighed.

I told myself the smile on my face wasn’t because of him. But I was never really a good liar.

The gown wasn’t hideous. Hideous was too strong a word.

I was just grateful, though, that my scars stayed out of view. Last time, things got…ugly.

Nonetheless, it sure as hell wasn’t my style. I sighed as I walked up the avenue, chiffon balled tightly in my fists, and tried to calm my nerves as I saw the pillars to the Prythian art gallery crawl into view. The lights they’d set up made the entire white-marble building seem like a dream. The gala tonight was for company morale, a sort of way for all of them to clap themselves on the back for the hard work they’d done. I’d lost count of how many I’d attended since I’d known Tamlin.

Usually I could nose my way out of them. When I was in school, before the accident, it was easier to use that out and have a night to myself in the apartment. Now that I was only working at Hum’s, I didn’t have any excuse anymore.

Every step ached in the heels. This was going to be a long night.

The bouncers didn’t even need to ask for name as I walked in the main front doors. The lobby was teeming with people I didn’t know, most likely all of them employees or people from business circles. Faces swam in and out of view, and I felt like I’d seen many of them before, but without Tamlin at my side I had no reason or courage to approach them.

He could’ve been anywhere. I had no idea where to even start looking.

The dinner was at seven, so I supposed I had a few hours to kill. I glanced over my shoulder for a moment then weaved my way to the back of the room where the museum branched off into different wings. Tamlin did pick the best venues, I had to concede. Always something for me to distract myself with.

This month’s exhibition was Paris’s post-impressionism era in the 1900s. Arguably my favourite period in art, the museum was lucky enough to snag some lesser-known Van Gogh and Monet. There was one piece, an early morning sunrise flecked with pinks and oranges that caught my eye. I stood before it, staring at the brushstrokes and blending of colours and hues, amazed. My fingers itched. I wanted to memorize the colours to memory in hopes that I could ever possibly recreate such a piece.

Before I realized it, I looked down at my fingertips and took a step back from the piece. I wanted to paint. It was a sensation I hadn’t felt in so long.

It’d been months since I’d painted. Tamlin wanted me to keep painting, said it would be good for me, but that studio haunted me. I couldn’t go back. There was nothing left for me in there.

One thought of trying to mix the red and white had me exiting the the showroom. Tears burned behind my eyes, and the last thing I needed right now was to make a scene at Tamlin’s party.

After a while of meandering, drinking alone and making several trips to the washroom to check my half-assed hair and makeup, Tam’s blonde hair came into view and it was seven o’clock.

His arm slid around me, too tight, and the easy grin on his face didn’t reach his eyes. “Where’ve you been? You’re late.”

“I’m late? Where have you been?” I retorted lowly. “I’ve been here looking for you for hours.”

“Have you been talking to people?”

I remained silent. The round tables were amply decorated with flush, exotic flowers that probably cost my yearly salary. Everything was gold-trimmed, pastel and proper, the usual colours of Tamlin’s personal assistant’s palette.

Tamlin ground out, “You can at least try, Feyre. For me.”

“I have been for the past year.” I snapped.

It was all we had time to say to each other before somebody came to shake Tamlin’s hand and bellow some inside stock-trading joke I didn’t understand before bursting into laughter. They followed us until we reached our table, right near the front of the room before the stage. Lucien and Ianthe were already seated, the former looking pale and tense.

He shook his head when I shot him a questioning look. When it came to Ianthe, Lucien was always tense.

The night passed by dreadfully. Making conversation was painful. Ianthe and Tamlin had plenty to talk about, though, with the drama in their elite circles that I didn’t care enough to be a part of. I’m sure most of the people here tonight were kind and interesting and wonderful people, but there was still that innate part of me that clung to the belief that most businesspeople were sucked dry of their souls.

I looked to my boyfriend. Most being the operative term. Not all.

Tamlin, though, began to grow tense. His head kept bouncing to the back of the room to a set of doors. His leg was bouncing beside me. It was so bad I had to put my hand on his thigh to calm him down. He put his hand on top of mine and shot me a grateful look, and I kissed him on the cheek. I knew he hated these things too.

Lucien looked to Tamlin. “Have your friends showed up yet?”

Tamlin shook his head. “Any minute.”

“What friends?” I wondered. I knew most of Tamlin’s friends and business partners. They were all neatly classified under the rich white guy identification part of my memory.

He shook his head, though. “You haven’t met them. You don’t want to meet them. They’re not necessarily good friends.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you in trouble? Is something wrong?” Nervousness bloomed in my stomach. We couldn’t repeat last time. We really, really couldn’t repeat everything that happened last time.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured in my ear. I sighed but leaned into his warmth anyways. Then suddenly he was up, and I scrambled to stay seated without falling out of my chair from the abrupt loss of contact.

“I’ll be right back.” He declared before storming off to the set of doors off to the east wing of the gallery. There were three sets of feet. My stomach grumbled. Everything about this was off.

I looked down to my plate and couldn’t finish it. Too rich. Too buttery. Everything, it was all closing in: the people, the finery, the utter lack decency…it was like being completely and truly alone in a room full of people. At a table filled with friends.

Lucien laid a hand on my shoulder. “Fey? Are you okay?”

“I need some air,” I muttered, before stalking out to the gallery’s main lobby. I stared at the map before throwing myself into the twisting hallways, and cursing myself for wearing high heels as I climbed stair after stair. But finally, I found myself on the gallery’s rooftop, looking out over the water of the Sidra and wishing I was anywhere but here.

Only I wasn’t alone.

I nearly flinched when I saw who it was leaning across the building’s cement lipped edge. The city lights made his face seem older. Deep-set. Like life had dealt him yet another shit hand and he was wondering whether to go all in or just fold.

I mean, I was near the point of folding. I really, really was.

Especially since I thought I was going to finally get some damned peace, yet now I had to face this prick. For the second time today.

“Stalking me, darling?”

“Could say the same for you, creep,” I called across the landing. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Apparently in the mere hours we’d been apart, life had taken a wrong turn for him. Probably didn’t happen too often judging by the look on his face.

“All dressed up. Tell me, what are you doing here darling? You look like a minnow in a sea of sharks.”

I scoffed. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you going to keep answering my questions with questions?”

“Are you going to keep asking me questions I don’t want to answer?”

Rhysand’s gaze held mine. We were only feet apart, but it was like a current ran between us. My mouth, puckered in a frown, only ignited the ever-lasting amusement in his eyes. That same electric, tension-filled feeling I felt in the coffee shop, like I didn’t know whether to throttle him or run my hands across his chest.

I blinked. I couldn’t believe I’d just thought of that. I brushed it away, telling myself just because I wasn’t ordering didn’t mean I couldn’t look at the menu.

Admitting defeat, my stare broke from his. Instead, I took position leaned against the cement railing, and marvelled at the city, the sea of lights and beauty before us.

Before I knew it, Rhysand was beside me, the arm of his expensive suit nearly brushing mine. The warmth nearly leeched from his toned body. I wanted to press myself into him as the breeze flew over us, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m not gonna lie, darling, I’ve had a shit day.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know. But I’m going to talk anyway. Because I need someone completely objective to discuss with.”

The silence stretched on with my muteness. Half of me wanted to listen, half of me wanted to walk away before I was in too far over my head.

“You know when everything feels like it’s stacked up against you? Like nothing more could possibly go wrong, and then you turn around and it does?” He sighed. “I blink and days go by. I have no idea how I get here; half of the time I have no idea how I even get out of bed. It’s like I’ve made my way here to the top, I’ve got everything I could imagine.” The rush of the city cars filled in the quiet between us as he paused for a moment. “But I’m still fucking empty inside.”

I told myself it was the breeze that sent the shiver down my spine. Not the aching feeling I had as he said those words, as he described everything I’d been feeling over the past year of my life.

Then Rhysand chuckled. “By the Cauldron. I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy.” His breath fogged as he laughed again. “Guess I’ve got to find myself a new coffee shop.”

“No,” I replied instantly. His eyes flicked to mine, the surprise only presenting itself with the gentle up-flick of his eyebrows. “No. I know how you feel. I get it.” I cleared my throat. “It’s either completely normal to feel this way, or we’re both anomalies.”

“Honestly, I hope it’s the latter. I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like those people milling around downstairs. But here I am, fraternizing among them like we’re old friends.”

I shrugged. “Whatever keeps the roof over your head and food on the table.” I knew too many days with food on the table to deny that the money we had was extremely comforting.

He grinned, but it was sad. Morose. “That’s one way to put it.”

More silence ensued, but it wasn’t awkward. It was…peaceful. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out on Tamlin and I’s balcony at home just to watch the world spin and move and whirl around me. Most definitely because I couldn’t trust myself on a balcony anymore. My mind was a thing of its own; moving in toxic ways the rest of me balked at.

“How long have you been a barista?” Rhysand wondered softly.

“A year,” I supplied, “can’t go back to sugary drinks now, though. Not after all the shit I see going into them.”

He chuckled, and I asked, “How long have you been empty on the inside?”

This time, the smile was full and bright, and it did reach his eyes. Rhysand said, “My entire life, darling. My entire damned life.”

“Well—”

The sound of metal screeching interrupted me, and a breathless voice called, “Feyre?”

I whipped around to see Lucien there, hand on his knee hunched over, trying to catch his breath. My heels echoed across the rooftop as I jogged towards him without toppling over. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing here?” He sneered. “Why are you speaking with him?”

I wrinkled my nose and turned back to Rhysand. “You know him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lucien said, but threw a look Rhysand’s way nonetheless. A look about as unfriendly as they go. “We need you downstairs, Fey. Let’s go.” And with that Lucien began pounding down the stairs.

But I looked back at Rhysand. He only waved lazily my way, and called, “Until next time, Feyre darling.”

I bit back my smile as I in turn began thundering down the stairs. Prick.

It appeared as though the banquet went smoothly considering the near empty glasses—being quickly refilled—and the laughter-filled, red-tinted faces that beamed as Tamlin took the stage. Under the lights, his golden hair looked smooth and gleaming where it fell naturally down to his ears, and his tuxedo highlighted his muscled body in all the perfect places. His face was flushed as well, and I knew we’d have to call an Uber tonight by the looks of it. I’d never learned how to drive—never needed to with public transportation and Tamlin—which meant me driving home was out of the question. Better to put Tamlin at the wheel despite the state he was in than to even attempt letting me near the driver’s seat.

“As you all know, tonight is a celebration of the success of this company, of which you’ve all contributed immensely to, thanks to your handwork and dedication to our mission.” Applause erupted, and Tamlin’s smile brought my own grin to my face. To see the pride in his face…I knew despite all the complaints and exhaustion, he still liked what he did.

“Spring Corporations has never seen better days, and for that, you all have my utmost gratitude and admiration.” More applause, to which Tamlin patiently waited to pass before adding, “but tonight is more than just our corporate success.”

My eyebrows raised in surprise. What else could Tamlin have to announce?

“Personally, things have been hectic. It’s been a good, prosperous year, but that doesn’t come without life’s ups and downs.” His eyes wandered through the crowd, until they finally befell me, and his eyes sparkled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my boyfriend so content. “Life has thrown a lot of ups and downs at me, and I wouldn’t have been able to handle them without my girlfriend.”

My heart was pounding in my chest. Oh Gods. I had no idea where he was going with this.

Scratch that, I knew exactly where he was going with this, and it made me nearly sick to my stomach.

“Feyre Archeron,” he said, “you are the true one and only love of my life. There’s nobody, no one else on this earth that brings me joy and understands me like you do.”

Tamlin took the microphone, and murmurs began spreading across the crowd as he wandered down the steps right before our table, right before me.

I wasn’t breathing.

Tamlin got down on one knee, and joyful gasps echoed through the room. With one hand, he fished a dark velvet box from his inner suit pocket, and cracked it open to present the largest emerald stone I’d ever seen, set onto a golden band. So typically Tamlin that I grinned.

“Feyre,” he murmured into the mic, his golden eyes brimming with silver as we stared at each other, “will you marry me?”

Fear paralyzed my body, yet I still choked out, “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes.”

The microphone screeched but I didn’t care as I leaned down and pressed my mouth to his, sealing our lifetime together, with a little voice in my head echoing, There’s no going back now.

#dngg #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #sjm #feyre #rhys #feysand #feyrhys #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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asweetlovemessage-blog · 4 years

Text

a sweet and romantic love message | TAM RELAX

bacsiykhoa.com

- My Blog 8-10 phút

”

==>> A Sweet Love Message.

When it comes to Southern romance, it's no secret that choosing the right words is important. Crafting the perfect romantic message and expressing how much you care about someone may be difficult, but it can also be incredibly rewarding. If you need a dash of inspiration, explore these short love messages and quotes about love for a little help with telling your beloved just how much you care!

==>> a sweet and romantic love message.

==>> a sweet good night love message.

==>> a sweet i love you message.

How To Stop Procrastinating – 5 Tips For Overcoming Procrastination by Quincy Seale 7-9 phút

Some of the links in this post may be affiliate links. If make a purchase through these links, we receive a commission at no extra cost to you. Please see our disclosure for more info.

Do you want to know how to stop procrastinating? Well, for starters, you can stop reading this article right now and get back to work.procrastination

But since that’s probably not going to happen, let’s take a closer look at some strategies for overcoming procrastination. There is no single “best way” to overcome procrastination

Personally, I’ve come to embrace my procrastinating nature to a certain degree. When my to-do list gets too long, I simply start a new one. And you know what? Most of the time, the tasks I thought I had to do turned out to be not so important after all.

Sometimes, procrastination can be a sign that what we’re working on the wrong thing. It can also be a sign that maybe we need to step back, take a deep breath, and recharge before tackling the task again tomorrow.

Of course, sometimes procrastination is a product of laziness. If you have an exam to study for, a paper to write, if you have a presentation to make, or a boss/client to appease, then the work will have to get done, whether you start today or put it off until tomorrow. Only Do Work You’re Really Passionate About

Maybe you don’t have a procrastination problem as much as you have a work problem. If you find yourself procrastinating day in and day out, week after week, month after month, year after year, maybe you’re not doing what you’re meant to do. Maybe its time to get a new job, switch careers, or drop out of school and pursue your passion.

Of course, there’s also a good chance you’re faced with a painful, unpleasant task and you simply need to power through to get to where you want to be in life. If that’s the case, then read on (or better yet, stop reading now and go do what you need to do).

If there’s work you need to get done, here are some effective ways you can try overcoming procrastination: 1. The First 30 Minutes Of The Day Is Always For Work

Does this sound familiar: you start the work day/study session by telling yourself you’re “just going to check email/facebook/twitter/reddit for 5 minutes, then I’m going to get to work”. Before you know it, 5 minutes has dragged into 2 hours, and 2 hours has dragged into 4 hours, and you realize you’ve spent half your day sucked into a never-ending loop of checking email, social media, youtube, and your favorite viral news sites?

The first 30 minutes of your day/work day/study session should be spent doing work. If you need to check email or your social news sites, do it once you’ve established a good work groove and you’ll find it much easier to shut it off. Or better yet, block distractions out completely until you’re done.

Having trouble jumping into those first 30 minutes? Tell yourself that you’re just going to get 10 minutes of work done and if its just too painful, you’ll give yourself a break. That first 10 minutes is usually all you need to start getting focused. 2. Become More Self Aware

Procrastination usually comes in two forms. There’s:

Difficulty in starting a task Getting distracted while working on a task

They both follow a similar pattern of self rationalization.

You tell yourself “I really need to get started on this.” You feel stressed. You feel an urge to do something else, so you tell yourself “I’ll get started soon, but I can afford another 5 minutes doing this one other thing.”

Giving yourself this little reprieve relieves the stress temporarily and reinforces the neural pathways associated with procrastination, making it just a bit easier to fall victim to procrastination again, 5 minutes later.

Try this next time you find yourself facing this never-ending cycle. Next time you’re about to start a task and you feel a voice in your head telling you to “check your email, it might be important!”, or “I wonder if anyone commented on my Facebook status”, resist the urge. Tell yourself you’ll just resist it this one time.

You’ll find that the urge does pass once you acknowledge it for what it is – a sudden impulse driven by your reptilian brain. 3. Block Out Distractions

Did you know that willpower is a limited resource that can be depleted like any other form of energy? Much like going on a morning jog tires you out for your evening work out, the more energy you spend resisting temptation, the less energy you’ll have for resisting temptation later on. This has been confirmed by real studies.

What does this mean for someone trying to get rid of procrastination? It means that just knowing that Facebook or Reddit is one click away can make it more likely that you’ll get distracted and start procrastinating. While you might be able to resist the temptation during the first half of your work day, as you expend energy focusing, you’ll become more and more likely to give into temptation and start procrastinating.

To avoid this, use software like Rescuetime, StayFocusd or Freedom to block distracting websites, or block the internet out altogether. Not having to deal with the temptation of constant distractions will not only make it less likely that you’ll succumb to momentary temptation, but it will actually give you more energy to focus on your work and avoid procrastinating when you’re tired. 4. Embrace Imperfection

One of the reasons we procrastinate is to avoid having to make tough decisions and deal with a difficult task. If you’re trying to write the perfect paper, coming up with the perfect thesis can be so intimidating that you don’t even want to get started.

Instead of always aiming for perfection, start intimidating projects by just getting started. Can’t come up with a perfect first line for your essay? Just start writing anything that comes to mind on the topic. Can’t think of a topic? Just start writing down anything vaguely related to the subject matter.

The same can be applied to studying. Is the thought of reading that thick textbook too intimidating? Just start by reading the table of contents, or the first page. Too tired to take notes or really process the concepts? Just skim through what you need to get through and come back tomorrow to re-examine the material when you’re refreshed. Getting something done is better than doing nothing, and once you get started, you’ll often find you have more energy than you thought you did. 5. Make Yourself A Date

Human beings can be strange – if we’re meeting a friend, we’ll set a fixed time to do so, and we show up. Most of us would never make an appointment with a friend and simply avoid showing up for no reason. Yet when it comes to important tasks like going to the gym, or getting another chapter written for your novel, we’ll just set vague goals and feel perfectly comfortable pushing back our self-imposed deadlines.

Start scheduling your important tasks and showing up every time, no matter what. You wouldn’t bail on a meeting with a friend just because you feel a little tired, would you? So why do you do it with the gym? If you want to go to the gym 3 times a week, instead of just telling yourself you’ll go 3 times this wekk, pick 3 days and 3 times that you’re going to show up, and don’t miss those appointments no matter what. Here’s One Last Tip

Stop reading articles about how to overcome procrastination and just get to work! ”

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Undone, Chapter 17 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 17 of UNDONE, our slow burn Bitney lesbian AU. Here’s a link to the previous chapters.

Summary: After the burn comes the ashes. (AKA I’m so sorry...)

Thank you so much to the best and most patient betas! @jillybean2314 @sheofthethrone @kitschypixel @theartificialdane

TW: This story deals with themes of emotional abuse, and since that can be subtle, we’re going to keep a general TW on all of the chapters, even when it seems like it doesn’t apply.

***

Courtney’s not sure what she expects on Monday morning, but the sight of Bianca sitting calmly at her sewing machine in the wardrobe trailer is not it.

“Oh. Hey,” she says softly, letting the door fall shut behind her.

“Hey.” Bianca doesn’t look up.

“You’re here...”

Bianca sighs tiredly. “Yeah, where else would I be?”

Courtney swallows. She’d been torturing herself for the last 24 hours, trying to figure out what went wrong, where she’d fucked up. They were drinking all day; maybe Bianca was less with it than she’d appeared? The thought of her feeling used, or taken advantage of, or...worse. Courtney can barely breathe, but she tries valiantly to keep things light.

“Well, I dunno, I thought maybe you skipped town,” Courtney forces out a gentle chuckle. “I mean, I woke up, and you were-”

“Can we please not talk about this here?” Bianca snaps.

Courtney closes her mouth. “Sorry.”

Bianca nods, tossing her a dress from the rack. “Here.”

“Don’t you need to-”

“It’s already been altered. Jamie can take your picture.” Bianca goes back to the sewing machine, and Courtney backs away, her only thought a frantic concern about how to fix this, how to get back to what they were before.

***

Courtney spends all night tossing and turning, wracked with guilt and shame, mind racing. She finally manages to fall asleep as the sun is coming up, and it’s almost noon when Adore flings open Courtney’s bedroom door, hopping up onto her bed.

“Hey bitch! Thanks for letting me crash. We missed you at Roosterfish last night.”

“Mmm…”

“You’re being lazy today; you never sleep in.”

Courtney groans, covering her face with a pillow. “I know, I missed SoulCycle. Don’t remind me.”

“Ha! You fat fuck.” Adore climbs under the covers, wrapping her arms around Courtney’s waist. “What’s your call time?”

“Five,” Courtney yawns.

“Mine’s three. Wanna drive together? You’ll be way early but you can just go to wardrobe and flirt with your girlfriend.”

Courtney casts her eyes upwards at the ceiling, where her fan rotates slowly. “Umm...I don’t know if that’s such a great idea…”

“Why not?”

“Well...I may have done something...sort of stupid…”

Adore’s eyes glitter mischievously, thirsty for gossip. “What did you do?”

“So...you know how Bianca invited me to that party on Saturday?”

“Yeah?”

“Well...I may have had kind of a lot to drink. And…”

“Spill it, whore.”

“I went home with them.” Courtney bites her lip.

“Home with…‘them’? Like…” It takes Adore a minute to catch on to what Courtney is telling her, but when she does, her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open in shock and delight. “You WHAT?!”

“Yeah…” Courtney looks up at Adore with a sheepish expression, not wanting to elaborate too much.

“Wait a second…” Adore shakes her head. “What…actually happened? You’re gonna have to spell it out for me because I’m a little bit...in shock.”

“Ummm...well…”

Adore grasps her by the arm. “Did you have sex with her?”

Courtney nods.

“Like actual sex? Ate her pussy, made her come...”

“Yes, Adore, but-”

“Did she reciprocate?!”

“Yeah,” Courtney says softly, hugging her pillow.

“...And? Omigod, this is fucking amazing. I cannot believe you’ve been holding out on telling me! Fuck. How was it?”

“I...what can I say, Adore? She’s...she’s perfect, and amazing, and even better than I ever imagined, and...have you ever just wanted to be near someone, all the time? Because...you simply need to breathe the same oxygen as them?”

Adore furrows her brow. “No.”

“Yeah, me neither, until now. I don’t know what to do. And now I think I fucked it all up. I think she hates me.” Courtney bites her lip, eyes glazing over with tears.

“No one could hate you. It’s one of your most annoying qualities.”

Courtney covers her face with her hands, curling up against Adore’s body, leaning a head on her shoulder. “She won’t even look at me. And I keep thinking, like...what did I do wrong? It seemed like she wanted to...but now, I don’t know, I’m...” Courtney choked back a sob. “I just wish she’d talk to me.”

Adore bites her lip, feeling a little guilty. She’d been so excited to learn all the lascivious details that she hadn’t picked up on Courtney’s very obvious misery. She put a hand on her shoulder, trying to strike a softer tone.

“She’s probably just confused. You know?”

“Right,” Courtney says, voice muffled.

After a moment, Adore clears her throat and asks, “So...what about the husband? What was he doing? Was he just like...watching?”

“No. He was very much...involved.” Courtney sniffles.

Adore grimaces. “So...I mean did he...um…”

Courtney lifts her head, eyes red and watery. “I hate him, Adore. He’s like, awful.”

“You hate the husband of the woman you’re in love with? That’s shocking,” Adore teases gently, brushing some hair off Courtney’s forehead.

Courtney scrunches up her face and hits her friend with a pillow.

“You don’t understand, he’s the worst. He doesn’t deserve her. I...why is she with him?” Courtney looks away.

“Did you, um...do anything with him?” Adore asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I had to. Because I knew, that it was the only way. And I would suffer through him a thousand times if it meant I could be with her once.” Courtney’s breath hitches, and Adore reaches for her, swallowing down her own uneasiness about the situation.

“Baby...come here…”

Courtney allows Adore to pull her into an embrace, fights the embarrassment and shame that she really should have known better.

“Thanks,” is all she can manage to say.

“Anytime.”

***

It’s Thursday, after another three days of Bianca icing her out, before Courtney gathers up the nerve to confront her. She waits until the initial rush is over, until Jamie and their new PA are both away on runs, before entering the trailer.

In keeping with her behavior all week, Bianca barely looks up.

“Can we please just talk about this?” Courtney asks, tired already, before the conversation has even started.

“Talk about what?” Bianca asks dismissively, threading a needle.

Courtney’s done with the games. The bullshit. She’s done.

“We had sex.”

Bianca narrows her blue eyes. “A little louder, don’t think they heard you in the Production Office.”

“Bianca, we need-”

“No. I’m sorry, but this is not something I want to talk about, and I told you that, and now you’re-”

“But I-”

“End of discussion,” she said firmly.

Courtney swallows. “I just, please...one thing.” Her green eyes are full of tears.

Bianca steels herself. “Fine. What?”

“I c-care about you. I don’t want to lose our friendship-”

“Well maybe you should have thought about that before you fucked my husband!”

Courtney stares at her for a second, blinking, color draining from her face, fingers going numb. This isn’t what she’s prepared for, but now, suddenly, she feels like a complete moron.

“That...is a fair point,” she says softly. It’s all she can think to say.

Bianca looks down. It’s not a fair point, and she knows it. But how is she supposed to explain, the way her heart shattered, seeing Jared touch her? How her escape, the one bright spot in her life, the one place she was safe from him, is now destroyed? And she knows that it’s Jared’s fault - that he did it intentionally and maliciously. She knows that, even if she was too fucked up to realize it until too late.

What happened between her and Courtney - her body pulsing with desire from her soft, gentle touch, the sparks that overtook her every time they kissed, the gush of wetness between her thighs the first time Courtney’s hot mouth pressed against her neck, how perfectly right it felt to finally touch her, taste her...the next day, those memories were distant, dulled by pain and loss.

What she does remember, every time she closes her eyes, is the victorious look on Jared’s face as he thrusted into her. The way his hands pawed at her. And the sick grin on his face when Bianca tried to look away, how he grabbed her by the hair and forced her to watch.

And somehow, she can’t help but blame Courtney too. Because Courtney went along with it willingly. She was an accomplice to the betrayal. So Bianca stares at her with as much indifference as she can muster.

Courtney’s mind spins in 100 different directions. What else can she say, to make Bianca understand, without putting her own emotional garbage into it? Because that, she knows, now more than ever, wouldn’t be right.

“For the record, I’m not...interested in your husband. I didn’t even know that you were upset about that; if I did…” Courtney stops, takes a breath, tries another tactic. “I guess I...I thought maybe you were just feeling weird about the gay stuff. That maybe you-”

“The gay stuff?”

“Yeah, I mean...it’s...normal, to feel, I don’t know, confused. I know that my first time with a woman, I-”

“Oh my god, stop.” Bianca shakes her head. It’s clear to her, for the first time, exactly how she’s going to really twist the knife, assuring that this little affair is over before it begins. She tells herself that it’s for Courtney’s own good. I’m poison. I’ll ruin her eventually. Better now than later. She steps closer to her, slowly says, “You think you’re my first?”

Courtney’s heart beats faster. “I thought...that…”

“What, that you were special? So irresistible that even straight women can’t keep their pants on around you?” Bianca narrows her eyes, forcing out a cruel laugh. “I’ve known I was bi since I was 13. Grow up.”

Courtney’s mouth opens, then closes. Bianca can tell from her eyes that this sucker-punch to the gut is exactly what she needed to deliver. Exactly what she needed to say to destroy any hope left between them. Courtney swallows and begins to back up.

I’m poison. Poison, Bianca repeats, convincing herself that this was a justified act of mercy. Better she knows now.

***

Initially, all Courtney feels is numb. She sits, dazed, in the holding area, waiting for her turn in the hair and makeup trailer, unable to focus her eyes or her mind.

Maybe it isn’t real. Maybe it’s just a nightmare. Her typical fantasies, out of control and twisted into something horrible.

It isn’t until later, sitting on set, that she begins to trust the reality of her own body. She can feel the hard bench against her thighs. Hear the chatter from the crew. And that’s when it all hits her. Bianca doesn’t want her. Which, in a way, she’d been prepared for. Nothing Bianca had ever said or did made Courtney think that she’d leave her husband. The part that kills her, that makes her feel like the rug has just been yanked out from under her feet, is how she seems to be so willing to toss their friendship out the window.

What, that you were special?

She did. Carelessly, stupidly, allow herself to believe that she was special. That what they had was special. That Bianca cared about her for reasons besides a quick fuck. That she wasn’t just a temporary distraction from her shitty husband. That this was different.

The truth is, Courtney could have handled romantic rejection. It would have stung, but she’d have licked her wounds and gotten over it. But she’s not sure how she’s going to cope with losing a friendship that’s become the center of her life. A friendship that she convinced herself was far deeper than any relationship she’s ever had. That she thought was based in mutual respect, in joy, in love.

She realizes, a bit shamefully, that she can’t even remember the last time she got through the day without talking to her, before this awful week.

Courtney gulps. She needs a distraction, and stat.

Adore walks towards her, about to give a typical greeting, but Courtney jumps in before she can get a word out, grasping her hand.

“Let’s go out tonight!”

Adore tilts her head. Courtney’s green eyes are bit too bright, and it immediately causes her concern.

“Are you okay?”

Courtney casts her eyes up to the ceiling for a moment of exasperation before leveling her gaze at Adore again.

“I’m fine, I want to go out. I want to dance; I want to drink. Are you in...or not?”

“Uh...yeah, sure. Always.”

Courtney smiles brilliantly, clapping her hands.

“Yay! I knew you’d come through…” Courtney kisses Adore on the cheek and swats her on the ass as she walks away.

***

“Lessss go home, babyyy…” Courtney slurs, arms around Adore’s neck. At this point, she’s fully lost count of how much alcohol she’s consumed, which is probably for the best. All she knows is that she’s anxious to lie down, but even more anxious for some human contact.

“Whatever you want, boo…” Adore, who’s gone drink for drink with her, seems less hammered, wrapping an arm securely around her waist and guiding her towards the door.

The walk home is annoyingly sobering, cool breeze from the ocean waking her up, and by the time they get inside, she’s starting to remember why she spent the night drinking like this in the first place, so she drags Adore, laughing, down the hall, pushing her quickly onto the bed.

“Take off your clothes.”

“I don’t remember this being on the formal agenda for tonight,” Adore teases, and Courtney lets out a frustrated scoff. “I mean, I’m always down, you know that...but what’s your girlfriend gonna say?”

“Shut up, and take off your clothes.”

Adore laughs and starts to remove her pants, shaking her head.

“So bossy...”

So what if she’s being aggressive and a bit messy? Rolling around on the bed with Adore fulfils something that she needs right now. To be kissed. To be touched. By someone who actually gives a shit about her.

And Courtney knows it’s wrong, she does, but with her eyes closed, the feel of those plush lips allow her to immediately descend into a vivid fantasy, a whimper escaping her as it all comes to life. Bianca’s lips against hers, Bianca’s ass filling her hands, skin smooth and warm...

Moments later, though, she’s snapped out of it by the sound of Adore’s voice.

“Easy, tiger,” Adore murmurs against her, giggling. “We’ll get there, slow your roll.”

Courtney opens her eyes, pulls her face back a little.

“Adore, I’m trying to...can you...not talk?”

Adore looks at her, realization dawning in her eyes as she lets out a dry chuckle, nodding.

“Oh, I get what we're doing here, okay..."

Courtney bites her lip, lungs filled with burning shame.

“Adore, I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s cool. It’s totally cool. Just...close your eyes, baby.”

The horrible feeling of being this raw and vulnerable is eased slightly by the need Courtney feels to play along. To let Adore indulge this little fantasy. So her eyes fall closed once again, as she lets Adore roll her onto her back.

Kisses, soft and tender, along her jaw. Hands undressing her slowly, caressing her skin. Every touch is gentle, and Courtney wants to scream. Because it’s not working, it’s not real, it’s not what she’s actually looking for.

“Stop.”

Adore lifts her head.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Courtney sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Adore slides off her body.

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry for dragging you into my bullshit. I probably should have just fucked a stranger tonight,” Courtney admits.

“You wanna go back to the bar? Still a few hours before closing,” Adore suggests, and Courtney laughs, curling against her.

“You’re the best friend in the world, you know that?”

“I do.” Adore kisses the top of her head and wraps the comforter around them both.

***

No one says anything, when Bianca sits down for lunch. No one makes a comment about how unusual it is for Bianca to join her department, and the art girls, when Courtney is sitting just a few tables over.

But Bianca knows what they’re thinking. Can see the subtle, slightly raised eyebrows from her colleagues, who have by now just accepted that she only sits with them when Courtney’s not on set.

She quickly stuffs a dinner roll into her mouth, just in case anyone decides to ask a question that she’s not inclined to answer.

“Hey, Bianca,” Sarah ventures, and Bianca is quite happy that her mouth is full as she turns her head. “Jamie said that you made that silver gown Farrah was wearing yesterday.”

Bianca nods, relieved that the conversation is only about work.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” Sarah adds with a smile.

“I know, right?” Beth cuts in warmly, putting an arm around her. “I’m so proud.”

Suddenly, Bianca’s stomach clenches. Nosy questions about Courtney might even be easier to handle than this benign look on their faces. Is she imagining it? Or are they actually being patronizing?

“Thanks,” Bianca says gruffly, looking back down at her plate, wishing she were anywhere but here.

***

Courtney’s feet pound on the sand, adrenaline pumping through her veins. The more she sweats, the clearer her head becomes. She’d spent the last two days in state of shock and denial, mourning the loss of her friendship with Bianca like some kind of lovesick puppy. Now, for the first time, she’s coming to terms with the reality of the situation.

What, that you were special?

So irresistible that even straight women can’t keep their pants on around you?

I’ve known I was bi since I was 13.

Grow up.

At first, Bianca’s sneering dismissal had blindsided her. She knows that Bianca can be tough, but she’s never seen her deliberately hurt someone. Did Courtney really not matter to her at all? Was she really just some trick, easily cast aside?

But then, the more she thought about it, the more she realized how full of crap Bianca was.

Above all else, Courtney considers herself a realist. Does she sometimes see things through a blithely carefree lens? Sure. But she’s not a starry-eyed optimist who ignores the truth. She knows that the feelings between her and Bianca were real. There is no way that an entire year of laughter and tears, connection and vulnerability, was all in her head. There’s no way to ignore all the heated touches, the meaningful looks, the embraces that always went on too long. And there’s especially no way to deny what had transpired between them last weekend.

Courtney’s had a lot of casual sex in her life. But she’s also been in love. And the way Bianca kissed her? The way she held onto her, the way she touched her - that wasn’t casual, and it wasn’t just physical, either.

So the question is, why? Is Bianca so desperate to deny her feelings - feelings that she knows for a fact that Courtney returns - that she’s willing to do whatever it takes to hurt Courtney, push her away? Is she so terrified of what happened between them that she needs to sever any hope of a relationship, even the friendship that’s sustained them both for as long as they’ve known each other?

It appears so.

And fuck her.

There will be no wallowing in misery. No more pining and yearning and wishing that things were different.

When Courtney finally reaches her house, she’s gasping for air, face red and flushed, hair sticking to her forehead. She nearly collapses on the steps, grabbing onto the banister for support, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Enough of this shit. She needs to move on with her life, and fast.

***

Bianca arrives home to find Jared on the couch, glass of wine in hand. Some forensic crime drama plays on the TV, which he appears to be ignoring, looking up from his phone with a big smile.

“Hey! Glad you’re finally home. I’m starving,” he says.

“I ordered Thai. It should be here soon.”

Jared makes a face, and she sighs tiredly.

“You like Thai,” she reminds him, turning on her heel and walking into the bedroom. She kicks off her shoes and quickly changes from her work clothes into yoga pants and an old, soft t-shirt. She’s gathering her hair into a bun when Jared appears in the doorway, leaning on the frame and scrutinizing her closely.

She doesn’t look back at him, simply continues to wind her hair around and around, securing it with a clip.

“What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?” Bianca asks blandly, walking to the door and attempting to push past him.

He stops her, a hand on her waist.

“I’m fucking serious.”

“I’m fine.” Bianca squirms away and pads into the kitchen, pulling out plates and silverware to set the table.

Jared walks up behind her. His voice is low as he growls, “Turn around.”

It’s not a request. Bianca turns slowly, heart pounding. He takes her face in his hand, eyes hard. Her breathing is shallow as she waits for him to speak again, a lump rising in her throat.

“Don’t you know how much I love you?” he asks.

“Yes.” Tears begin to slip down her cheeks and he tightens his grip on her, making her inhale sharply.

“You are everything to me. Do you know that?”

Bianca nods, now openly crying, as he wraps her into a hug.

“Good.”

***

Courtney’s always had a tendency to fall fast and hard for people. Lovers, friends, people in line at the grocery store - it is easy for her to open up, and easy for her to become utterly smitten with people over the course of a single conversation.

The flip side, of course, is that she sometimes loses interest when the next person catches her eye. Which means that a lot of her relationships have burned hot and fast, and then fizzled just as quickly.

Save for a core group, people seem to drift in and out of her life as the wind blows, and that’s okay with her. She appreciates the moments as they come. And there’s nothing she likes better than reconnecting with someone months or years after the last time they spoke, remembering everything wonderful about them and even better, finding out something new.

So she’s never cut anyone off. Because you never know where someone’s life will take them, what might bring them back into your orbit. What they’ve learned along the way.

Today, she’s making an exception. She doesn’t feel good about it, but blocking Bianca on social media seems like the only way to definitely say that it’s over. Her hands shake a little bit, and she shrugs off her anxiety, feeling silly. People unfollow and block each other all the time. Her friends use “block” to mean “I disagree with one thing you said.” There’s no reason this needs to be so hard.

When it’s done, she puts her phone on the table, face down. There. Done. Finito.

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #courtney act #bitney #adore delano #oc #lesbian au #slow burn #after the fire #angst #fluff #undone #stephanie #veronica #tw emotional abuse #concrit welcome

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sophtopus · 6 years

Text

Okay many people have not read Toby’s Long Tweet about Delta Rune

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sqn3p9 See that URL? It’s the official link. Here is the full transcript copy pasted from the Tweet. I won’t put it under readmore because people tend to scroll past that. Past the break line is Toby’s own words. Deltarune is it’s own world. It’s NOT related to Undertale. This is exactly what he said in point 1 of his post. It’s also something he had worked for 7 years (earliest file was 2012). This game was more difficult to make compared to Undertale. Toby also doesn’t know when he’ll ever finish Deltatune. That’s why he released this demo to share with us. I cannot stress how important it is to be patient with the artist/author and let them do whatever they want. If Toby wants to create something new, LET HIM! Trust the Dog that he’ll make something interesting! Repeat TLDR: Deltarune is NOT Undertale!!! No matter how many similarities they have, they are NOT the same. Insisting that it’s the same will just rob you of enjoyment. It’s all in the first question. Scroll down for the rest of the transcript.

Here are my thoughts on Ch 1 of Deltarune. This should answer some questions.

It's October 4th. The DEMO (first chapter) of my game is supposed to come out on Halloween. Actually it was done a little while ago but I'm waiting for the translation to be finished. I feel like I should address what I think people will think before the game comes out. Of course, if I'm all wrong about this, then I just wasted my time, but... QUESTIONS I PREDICT PEOPLE HAVE 1. "Is this a sequel? What's going on?? I'm scared..." Please don't worry too much about that. Actually, I'm worried if people worry too much about "what it is," they might not be able to properly enjoy it... (laugh) I will say that basically, what you're seeing here is not the world of UNDERTALE. UNDERTALE's world and ending are the same as however you left them. If everyone was happy in your ending, the people in the UNDERTALE world will still be happy. So, please don't worry about those characters, and that world. It will remain untouched. To rephrase that, DELTARUNE's world is a different one. With different characters, that have lived different lives. A whole new story will happen... I don't know what you call this kind of game. It's just a game you can play after you complete UNDERTALE, if you want to. That's all. 2. "I have questions I want to ask about the story..." There's a lot of questions I'd like to answer, too. That's why I have to make the game. Please wait until then. 3. "When will the next chapter come out?" This is a difficult question. When I made the demo of UNDERTALE, I made it to prove to myself that it was possible to make a whole game alone (with some help with the art). Because I was able to make it in a few months, I felt that I had proved that it was possible. However, making the demo of DELTARUNE... took a few years. So, given the length of the rest of the game, and how long I'd be willing to spend on a project (7 years maximum) I think the answer is that it's actually impossible to make this game. Lots of things make this game harder to make than the last time. - The graphics are much more complicated and don't play to my strengths (black and white battle graphics were easy...) - The battle system is much more complicated due to multiple characters (I'll write about this later) - The overworld and other sections are more complicated due to multiple characters - Having multiple main characters is much harder to write especially introducing everyone properly in chapter 1 - The entire town had to be created correctly on the first try to set up properly for the rest of the game And further things outside of those: - Trouble starting tasks/concentrating and general difficulty paying attention - Travelling / other responsibilities like translation/ports - Self-doubt / burnout regarding the creation of the game Essentially it's not possible to make this game as one person (and Temmie). However, it MIGHT be possible to create the game if I'm able to make a team. So I'm going to try making a team. Because I really want to make this. But I may not be able to succeed because I have no experience successfully directing a team and I have no idea who I'm going to work with. Since I haven't started assembling the team yet I have absolutely no estimation of its completion. It could take up to 999 years depending on the efficiency level. By the way, I currently plan to release all of the chapters at once after we complete them. I'm not sure how long that will take. You'll buy all of the chapters at once as one purchase. That'll be the only option. I'm not doing pre-orders because I don't like those. It just seems like the best way not to burn anybody. Price is unknown. It depends on how long the game is, and how much it costs to make... I don't know anything about what consoles, etc. it'll come out for because by the time it comes out we might be on Playstation 14 or something. So... in short, I have no idea. 4. "Is this the game's final design? Will you change anything?" It's possible I could change things. This is basically a demo. I might even change this first chapter before release depending on how development goes. This is really an excuse to talk about the parts I think had issues. THE BATTLE SYSTEM: I think the battle system could be explained better. I had a super duper long explanation of things here but really it boils down to: 1. UT's system is incompatible with multiple party members but I wanted to do it anyway because it's cool 2. I'd like to make it so for pacifist players, characters won't have to "defend" so much Oh. The people who tested the game thought that the TP system and animations were cool so it's not all bad. By the way, did you notice that getting close to bullets makes enemy attacks end faster? It doesn't work for every attack, but... EVERYTHING ELSE: I thought everything else was OK. Actually some parts were kind of lazy, like finding the key pieces, but oh well. The UI had some things that could be changed too. When making a game, there's so much to do you have to draw the line somewhere. That's why I need other people to help me (laugh) Oh, and I have no plans to add more content to the first chapter. 5. "Will there be multiple endings?" No. No matter what you do the ending will be the same. (Honestly most games are like that, but for some reason it feels really oppressive to say here...) I think that's part of the reason why the ACT / FIGHT system feels so vestigial in this one. Oh... I'm just talking about the battle system again... 6. "I found some kind of bug, will you fix it?" Hopefully an e-mail for that exists on the website by now. Or, it would be better if you could tweet it with #deltarunebug . That would really help us and make our lives easier because tweets are easier to ignore than e-mails 7. "Can I be on the team?" I'll ask you first!!! (Total silence) 8. "What's the progress on the rest of the game so far?" 0%!!! Nothing!!! I've done nothing!!! I mean, I've done some songs and written the whole story, but... Since no programming or final art has been done, it's best to just think of it at 0%. 9. "Will you do a Kickstarter?" I still haven't finished that damn Alarm Clock, are you kidding me? There's no way I'm doing a Kickstarter this time. 10. "The game doesn't work" / "I don't like the game" / "Will there be a version for (platform)?" Because it's a free download I'm surrounded by a forcefield that destroys all complaints and platform requests. There might be more platforms for the DEMO but I don't want to make any promises. (At the very least it'd be nice to do something for the people who bought the game on console.) By the way at the time of writing I haven't even rendered a Mac version whatsoever at all. I hope I can release it... (laugh) 11. "Can I buy the soundtrack for Chapter 1?" Yes! You can buy it at [ http://tobyfox.bandcamp.com ] And other forms of distribution will be in the works too. I'm writing this in the past so I don't know what I just said. 12. "Any closing remarks?" (No one asks this, but...) Thanks for playing my game. I hope you liked it. For the past 3 years I've been waking up in the middle of the night unable to go back to sleep because I've been thinking about the scenes that happen in the game. Even though so many details are still hazy, I really want to show you the things I've been thinking about. That's really my only reason for making this game. If I don't show you what I'm thinking, I'll lose my mind. (It was actually a totally selfish motivation...) By the way, I was really worried at first about making this. The expectations for my next work would be really high, so high that I knew that no matter what I did, I felt like people would be underwhelmed. If you played "UNDERTALE," I don't think I can make anything that makes you feel "that way" again. However, it's possible I can make something else. It's just something simple but maybe you'll like it. See you in ?? years... OK? Don't forget.

#deltarune #delta rune #tobyfox #undertale #twitter #deltarune spoilers #spoilers

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not-just-any-fangirl · 6 years

Text

Days Of Summer CH 8

A/N; Hey y’all! Ready for some fun dumb summer camp au? Cus we are!! Go shout some love at @hannah-nobody and feel free to drop by my inbox with song ideas/recs! I maaaaaaaaaaay have have Waving Through A Window on repeat for the last lmao whoops

Here’s the updated playlist!

Summer has arrived, and with it the start of the two month long music camp; Fairy Tail! Full of new songs, friends, and adventures, the campers learn things they never knew about themselves and one another. And just how easy it is to sneak booze and a full sized karaoke machine out into the middle of the woods.

Camp Rock!AU

Pairing: Nalu, Gajevy, Gruvia, others mentioned; Fairy Tail

Words: 4956

Rating: T

Parts: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Warm Blood

And I can not control it

The way you're making me feel

And you have got me going

Spinning in circles 'round your warm blood

For the first time since arriving at camp, Natsu didn’t feel like a bundle of butterflies were trying to escape his gut. He was still pretty sure his friends were only being nice out of pity, but at least he was confident in the fact that they didn’t hate him. Well, Gray might still but Natsu was fine with that, seeing as the feeling was mutual.

Okay, so Natsu didn’t hate him, but Gray sure as fuck pissed him off.

“For the last time, it’d be way worse to have a monster live under the bed than to run across a monster in the woods.”

Natsu turned on his heel, walking backwards so he could more properly shout at Gray’s stupid opinions. “Honestly, a monster that lives under your bed could kill you at anytime! Just grab your ankle and bam! Monster late night snack.”

“If you can’t successfully run from something in the woods that’s your own fault for going out there.” Levy added, arm linked with Cana’s. “What are you going to do if it’s in your house? Move?”

Cana balked at Levy, clearly affronted by her side. “I can’t believe my bed mate could be so blind.”

“We don’t have to be bedmates, you know,” Cana waved off her wry comment, nose in the air as she continued to speak.

“Who said the monster under your bed is mean? Maybe they just want to be nice and dry. Now, a monster in the woods is a mean son of a bitch who wants to skin you and suck the marrow from your bones.”

“This is blatant mothman erasure and I will not stand for it.” Loke gasped, holding his phone to his chest, pausing in his texting to perform the dramatic action.

“We get it, you’re gay,” Cana rolled her eyes, sharing a cheeky grin with Juvia who at least had the courtesy to cover her snort with her hand. Natsu and Gray shared their own snigger at Loke’s offended gasp, hands placed on his hips while he lectured Cana.

“Firstly, a proper love of cryptids is LGBTQ culture, not just gay culture, and secondly,” Loke cocked an eyebrow, dragging his hand along his body as though he were showing off a trophy, “I’m bi, I don’t deny anyone the opportunity to get a piece of this.”

“I wish you would,” Gajeel grunted, face relaxed as he glared at innocent leaves caught in the light breeze along the path. Natsu threw his head back, howling. The rest of the group followed suit, Loke’s sputters drowned out by their raucous laughter.

“Juvia is deeply saddened to betray Gray, but she must agree with Natsu and Levy. How are we sure the wooded monster is the unkind one? Juvia would much rather face a beast in the wild than where she is supposed to be safe.” Juvia shuddered, arms wrapped around herself. Natsu couldn’t understand how she was even close to cold, long jeans and long sleeved black shirt with an ankle length fur-lined vest both confusing him and making him sweat just by looking at her.

“Juvia!” Gray gasped. Natsu blinked, chortling at his betrayed expression and Juvia’s following plea of forgiveness. Gajeel slung his arm over Juvia's shoulders, rolling his eyes at her squeak. Natsu grinned as he watched his cousin, the beast of a teenager looking as though he’d rather shove someone through a plane glass window before hugging them, when in actuality if you gave him a kitten he’d kill for you. Natsu would know. Lily is what made Gajeel give Juvia the spare bedroom all those years ago.

“I hope I get paired with someone cute,” Loke sighed. Natsu rolled his eyes at his friend’s comment, turning back to face the front and kicking a stray pebble.

“We know,” he groaned, falling back into the group between Levy and Gray. “You want someone to run away with into the night and live your rockstar dream. It’s all you’ve been talkin’ ‘bout since breakfast!”

Loke snorted, making a face at Natsu before turning back to his phone.

“I just hope I don’t get paired with someone I hate,” Gray said flatly. Natsu pulled down an eyelid at Gray’s pointed look, sneering at the pale boy’s middle finger in return.

“Feeling’s mutual, dickhead.”

“Oh be civil, you two twats,” Cana glared over Levy’s head, eerily reminding Natsu of Erza for a second. “Besides, despite as tight lipped as Mr. Only-Drummers-Are-Emo-Enough-For-Me has been about his second talent, I can guarantee you all it won’t be guitar. Boy has two left thumbs.”

“Oi, I'mma lefty.” Gajeel grunted, easily ignored by the group as they neared the surrounding crowd that swarmed the announcement board.

From his pretty average 5”7’ standpoint, Natsu couldn’t see over the heads of the crowd, but Gajeel most definitely could, and he had stopped dead in his tracks.

“What’s up metalhead?” Natsu turned back to ask.

“The photo.”

“What?”

“The application form photo. I didn’t think anyone else would see it.”

Natsu frowned, remembering taking his own photo. The form had said to include a photo of yourself that accurately describes you, but still showed your face. His own was just a photo of him standing against a white wall. It was pretty much the same as a passport photo, except he wasn’t looking at the camera.

“What’s wrong with your application photo?” Levy asked, leaving the group behind to say with Natsu and Gajeel.

Gajeel avoided looking at her. Instead, his eyes slid to Natsu, cringing as he revealed precisely what was wrong with it.

“The suit.”

Natsu’s chest swelled with joy.

“You fucking idiot.”

He ran towards the crowd, ignoring Gajeel’s groans of shame behind him. He pushed Gray out of the way- the other boy landing on his backside with a very satisfying thud- and shoved through the rest of the mass of bodies, desperate to get to the board and see his cousin’s embarrassment on show for all to see.

Once at the front, Natsu’s eyes went straight to the photo of his cousin. It wasn’t hard to miss. It was awful. Not only was Gajeel wearing the hideous white suit purchased for him by his father, but he also wore sunglasses and a fucking fedora. An honest-to-god white brimmed m’lady fedora. Natsu let out a howl of laughter, not caring about the people around him looking at him strangely. It wasn’t until after he’d gotten over his cousins wide-legged, rock signs in the air like he just didn’t care stance, that he realized that Gajeel has been paired with none other than Levy.

Oh ho ho, Gajeel was going to love that.

Natsu’s eyes slid over the rest of the announcement sheet, snorting over Gray’s own heavily eye-linered photo. The snort turned into a laugh when he noticed the moron was paired with Juvia.

It wasn’t until his eyes reached the bottom of the list that he found his own partner. His eyes fixed on her photo, all his laughter dying out.

Fuck.

Sitting next to his own photo was a candid of Lucy, smiling and reaching for the camera, obviously just discovering she was being photographed and unable to hide her laughter even as she reached for the person. Her eyes danced, clear and bright, her hair swirling around her as if the breeze had known just when to blow to make her golden hair catch the afternoon sun. She was so pretty. She was so good.

She was breathtaking.

Natsu’s fingers itched to grab his guitar and a notepad and find a little nook with a bean bag and an amp so he could lose himself in the music. The crowd milled and brushed against him, their own excited chatter swelling as they looked at their assigned partners.

“Juvia is so happy!”

“Aw fuck.”

Natsu turned at the familiar voices, Juvia latched onto Gray’s arm and swooning, Gray trying to lean away as respectfully as he could and looking as comfortable as Natsu would feel in a tutu and pointe shoes. And he’d know, considering all the things Juvia had managed to trick Natsu into when Gajeel absolutely refused. Two boys Natsu didn’t know were wailing beside them, Levy trying her best to console them with an apologetic smile.

“Levy why,” the dark haired one wailed. The ginger one was hugging her, kids around them casting the trio a wary look before pushing by, and Levy increasingly getting flustered by all the attention.

Natsu was saved from having to abandon the melody playing in the back of his head by Cana appearing from the ether and pushing herself between Levy and the taller boy, her arm slung carelessly over Levy’s shoulder and her grin lazy and purposefully relaxed.

“Now, now boys,” she cooed, “there’s enough of our little Levy to share. You’ll still have down time to steal her away from Gajeel to your hearts’ content.”

Natsu didn’t laugh. He was too busy wondering if Lucy had seen the announcement yet. What did she think? Had she asked to be switched yet? Natsu didn’t know if they were even allowed to do that, but he figured if there’d be an exemption it would be for Lucy to not have to deal with him for hours on end everyday.

“Natsu shouldn’t worry,” Juvia said from behind him, her hand comforting on his shoulder. “Juvia knows how silly that is to say, and she may have only known Lucy for a few days, but Juvia knows that Lucy enjoys spending time with her friends, and Natsu, Lucy has already decided you are her friend. Even if you doubt Juvia and the other’s thoughts on being more, please do not doubt your friendship with Bunny Girl.”

“That’s going to be a thing now, isn’t it?”

Natsu stiffened at the voice behind him, light and sweet and bouncy like a giggle was just begging to break free. Natsu had made her giggle at breakfast. A fuck ton. Or maybe she had just been laughing at him.

“Lucy!” Juvia exclaimed happily before a sudden shyness was stealing her voice pushing her to put Natsu between her and Lucy. Natsu cocked his head in confusion as he looked at his cousin’s best friend, seeing as how once Juvia had decided some one was her friend she lived up to her talent in musical theatre and the drama of the stage, as Juvia liked to put it. Natsu called it batshit crazy. He looked over his shoulder, avoiding Lucy’s warm grin as he realized who she was standing arm in arm with. Juvia cast him a kind smile before slipping away, murmuring to herself about finding her beloved once more.

“Yo, Mira. What’re you doing with Luce, shouldn’t ya be rounding up all the brats for a rave or something?” Natsu asked, relaxing at the familiar face.

“Natsu, you know Laxus and his friends are older than you.” Mira Jane smiled at him, a mix of fond and exasperated that was one of her more honest expressions. Natsu knew how hard being the face of the camp was on her, and how she fell back into the persona if she wasn’t careful. “Besides, do you really think Ever would risk getting sweat in her hair at a rave?”

Natsu barked out a laugh, picturing the stuck up brunette screaming at a crowd of uncaring people. He wasn’t as close with Ever, Bickslow, and Freed as Mira was, her main connection being her friendship with Laxus while Natsu was closer with Mira’s little sister, Lisanna.

His joy at picturing Ever’s disgust melted away as he thought of his friend. Natsu hadn’t seen her in a year or two, not since she had been accepted into Edolas’ advanced medical program, her dream of being a vet snowballing with her talent in school and easy to love personality propelling her two years ahead so she had already graduated and was on her first year of university. He knew he’d only have held her back, but he missed his best friend so much it hurt sometimes. Natsu had never opened up to someone like he had with her, and there were days that a certain feeling nagging in his gut told him he had annoyed her so much that she decided to throw herself into her education and run to a new continent.

Just like how Lucy would probably run away after a week of being forced to work with him.

“So,” Natsu said, forcing a grin and his thoughts away from Lisanna and how much fun she was having without him around, “You decide Lucy’ll be your new protégée?”

Mira gave him a knowing grin that reminded Natsu far too much of her earlier years in the She Devils, pulling Lucy closer to her side and speaking sweetly. “Of course! Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Natsu, and Erza has been keeping me updated on all the happenings of the campers.”

“Snitch,” Natsu hissed under his breath. Mira continued speaking as if she hadn’t heard anything at all.

“So you’ll be seeing me much more often, can’t let all you babies have all the fun you know.” Natsu cringed, tucking into his scarf to hide his frown. Mira was speaking in the same sweet voice, but Natsu could hear her words for what they really were; a threat. If there was something Mira loved more than her music it was meddling in people’s lives, particularly in the affairs of the heart. Which meant Natsu didn’t even want to imagine the horrific and scarring things that might happen if she decided to ‘help’ Natsu woo Lucy, which would not only be a futile effort but might actually ruin Lucy’s time at camp, which was the absolute worst thing Natsu could imagine. “And you know how much I love helping out new talent, especially one with as much raw potential as Lucy.”

“You think I have talent?” Lucy awed. Mira giggled and nodded, either unaware of Lucy’s adoration or simply used to it. Natsu felt a pang as he watched Lucy make heart eyes at Mira. She would definitely have preferred to have the silver haired girl as her partner. That would make her entire time at camp, let alone week.

Natsu jolted when Lucy turned to look at him, still giddy off of Mira’s praise as she smiled at him.

“So have you seen the names for who’s being partnered?” she asked.

“Erm,” Natsu replied, tucking deeper into his scarf.

“You think your partner will be that bad?” Lucy asked sympathetically. She gave him a reassuring smile, Natsu losing himself in how pretty her eyes were and the way the noon sun lit them up. “Whoever they are, they won’t be as hopeless with the guitar as I am, I can guarantee you that much.”

Natsu smiled awkwardly before turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd, both to stop himself from saying something stupid like ‘The only hopeless you are is hopelessly cute’ or other dumb shit, and to save himself from having to see the disappointment on Lucy’s face when she found out he was her partner.

Lucy blinked in shock as she watched Natsu’s back. She turned to Mira Jane, worrying her lower lip.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Mira Jane patted her arm before leading her to the board, shaking her head ruefully and making the silver hair framing her face bounce. It was so pretty and shiney. Lucy would have to ask her her shower routine to get it so soft and healthy.

“Natsu is just a little shy sometimes. He’ll get a thought in his head and honestly, it’s easier to convince Erza of something than Natsu.” Mira Jane gave her another smile, kind but a little strained. “He’s best friends with my little sister, Lisanna, have been since they were children, but I still can’t read him. It's quite annoying.”

Lucy laughed awkwardly, unsure of how Mira Jane’s sweet tone lined up with her words. “I don’t think I’ve seen her at camp.” Lucy said, diverting the topic away from a certain pink haired boy who had given Lucy the cold shoulder. Just after they had agreed to be friends. “What talent does she focus on?”

“Oh, no no no. Lisanna is in Edolas for her veterinary degree. She skipped the last two grades and got accepted early. You should hear Elfman go on about how proud he is of our genius sister. ” Mira Jane grinned, easily maneuvering through the crowd until they stood in front of the board, only a few feet from where they had been talking with Natsu. Lucy half heartedly scanned the pictures in front of her, looking for herself. So Natsu’s best friend was a genius going to school in a different country to save animal lives. Okay. Not like he had high standards for who he hung out with then. Of course, he seemed to be as thick as thieves with Gajeel, so maybe Lucy wasn’t too out of her depth. She frowned, feeling a headache growing behind her eyes. Hard to read indeed.

“Oh,” Lucy breathed, finally finding her own picture. Right beside Natsu’s.

They were partners.

“Do you think he’s upset?” Lucy asked Mira Jane, tearing her gaze away from the candid photo Natsu had submitted that looked like it belonged on a magazine or album cover.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you’re thinking of,” Mira Jane soothed. “Natsu’s always been a little nervous of what people think of him, and from what I understand, your opinion is ranked very high on that list. You just need to give him time to get used to the idea that you wouldn’t actually prefer to die than spend an hour or two with him, and then it will be smooth sailing for you too.”

Lucy felt her cheeks heat as Mira Jane spoke, looking at the ground and tightening her arm on the one Mira Jane had looped through. She didn’t know why, but the thought of Natsu caring that much about what she thought made her both nervous and a little happy. Which was ridiculous. Because Lucy was here to learn music theory and how to improve herself as a musician, not to find a summer love.

But oh, Lucy didn’t think it would be all that bad to have Natsu come and sweep her off her feet. Especially if he were shirtless again...

Lucy squeaked as she tore herself from her thoughts. She ignored Mira Jane’s curious look, and distracted herself by waving to where Juvia stood with Cana and Loke and a shorter girl with long blue pigtails and a nervous look in her eye.

“C’mon, Lucy, why don’t you introduce me to your friends!” Mira suggested. Lucy blinked at her, already being pulled forward by a giggling and excited Mira Jane before she had the chance to form any words. Thoughts of maybe-shirtless Natsu’s drifted away as Lucy went back to aweing over how she was linked arms with her idol, and about to introduce her to Lucy’s friends. God, if Loke tried to hit on her Lucy would throw his damn phone in the lake. See how much he’d call her his sunshine then.

If there was one thing Gray was thankful for, it was the privacy of his cabin. And noise cancelling headphones. But he had left those in the jacket he had accidentally stripped out of at Lucy’s cabin, so he was stuck simply ignoring his two mentally imploding bunkmates as he dealt with his own, actual, catastrophe.

He couldn’t believe there was no one else at camp who played the violin. What was worse, was he couldn’t believe he had actually been stupid enough to put down violin as his second talent. He should have put costume design like Loke, or bullshitted and put piano like Cana. But no, he had decided to be a complete dumbass and be open and vulnerable and honest.

And now. Now Gray was going to have to dance.

“I’m so fucked.”

“You’re fucked?” Natsu squeaked, pausing in his spot where he had been pacing for the last three minutes. “I’m paired with Lucy and she’s going to hate me? What if I can’t teach her how to play guitar? What if she can’t teach me how to sing? I’m going to make a fucking fool out myself, holy shit.”

“Yeah, you are,” Gray said flatly. He had more important things to do than coddle Natsu right now. Like planning how to fake his death, which frankly would be easier than turning down Juvia. He hadn’t known the girl very long, but he already had an inkling that she was even more stubborn than Cana. It didn’t help that every time she looked at him it was with adoration. His friends might call him emotionless, but even he couldn’t crush her so flatly. Also, saying no to people he didn’t hate made him break out in hives.

A pair of flying pillows pulled him from his thoughts, both nailing him in the face.

“Oi!”

“Don’t be a dick, Strawberry’s got enough issues without ya agreeing with the voice in his head.” Gajeel grunted, going back to petting Lily obsessively.

“I don’t have a voice in my head,” Natsu scowled. He resumed pacing, sending Gray a middle finger at his disgruntled noise. Gray watched Natsu walk, changing his step mid stride as Happy wound around his ankles, eager for the muffin Natsu had shoved in his pocket at breakfast that the moron had forgotten about. “And I’m not the only one hiding in here. Juvia was searching for ya high and low when I was heading back.”

“Fleeing from Bunny Girl,” Gajeel interjected, still glaring at the wall under Gray’s bunk and above Loke’s. Gray was seriously considering the idea that Gajeel was trying to burn down the cabin with his mind. Natsu ignored his cousin, turning on his heel and pacing back towards the door.

“You don’t have to worry about screwin’ up in front of her like we all know you will, you could sneeze in her face and she’d still basically worship you,” Natsu scoffed. Happy meowed, tiring with his chase and batting at Natsu’s ankle. He slowed, allowing Happy to crawl up his leg and his body so he could perch on his human’s shoulder.

Gray groaned, claiming all three of what were now his pillows, burying his face in them. Maybe if he was lucky he’d suffocate and this conversation would end.

“Is she like this with everyone she meets?” he asked, not really caring if Gajeel or Natsu heard him.

“Nope,” Gajeel said flatly, shattering all of Gray’s hopes.

“Whyyy,” he complained, smothering his whine into his pillows. Great. He was going to act like a dipshit in front of a girl who had an apparently massive and unique crush on him. He didn’t know why that thought bothered him, but it did, which meant Gray was not looking forward to these next three weeks.

“Trust us when we say we have no fuckin’ idea what she sees in you, dude,” Natsu said, helpful as always.

“Go jack off to your fantasies of Lucy telling you she hates you,” Gray snapped.

“Why, you wanna listen in or something, you pervert?” Natsu snarled back. Gray threw Gajeel’s pillow at him, cursing to himself when he almost hit Natsu’s dumb cat. Fucking cheater had an adorable built in shield that stopped Gray from maiming him. Natsu sneered at him, lips twitching between a frown and a smile at their fighting. Why were his friends so weird.

Shit.

Natsu wasn’t his friend and he definitely didn’t think that. He was getting cabin-fever was all. Or the stress of mentally preparing himself to do a musical number from Cats was getting to him. Yeah, that made more sense.

Gray looked back at Gajeel.

“Why the fuck are you so catatonic?”

“Shove it,” Gajeel grunted. Lily sat in his arms, not minding the heavy pets his human was using on him, obviously used to being Gajeel’s comfort in times of stress. What the giant had to be stressed about that Gajeel couldn’t punch into submittance was beyond him, but Gray wasn’t about to risk being said punching bag.

“Nah, pervert here has a point,” Natsu agreed, crossing his arms over his chest. Happy chirped in agreement, a strange ‘aye’ sound that made Gray think he’d choked on a kernel of food as a kitten and had done some damage that Natsu was too oblivious to notice. “What’s your issue? Levy seems nice enough to wait at least three sessions before laughing at your horrible singing.”

“How the fuck am I gonna teach her how to play guitar?” Gajeel asked, more like he was talking to himself than answering Natsu’s question. “She’s the same fucking size as it!”

Gray wondered if Gajeel knew how often he said ‘fuck’.

“I’m more worried about how she’s going to teach you how to sing,” Gray said instead of answering his question.

Natsu held up his hand for a high five from Gray.

Gray threw Natsu’s pillow back at him, hitting him in the face. Happy meowed angrily as his perch was disturbed, jumping from a sputtering Natsu. Gray blinked in surprise as the cat was suddenly on his bunk, having scaled the bed. He curled on Gray’s shins, purring as the fluffball pinned Gray to his bed.

“Oi!” Natsu spat, glowering up at Gray. He ignored how the yellow was still noticeable on Natsu’s jaw, and the following twinge in his gut, scowling at Natsu before a smug grin broke out and he began to pet Happy. “Don’t steal my cat!”

“He chose me. Blame Fluffy here.” He mocked. Gajeel remained impassive as he pet his own cat and muttered to himself about breakable girls and guitar scales. Natsu sneered at him, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets as he stopped pacing the room, finally.

“His name’s Happy and ya know it!”

Gray snorted, looking back at the cat curled into a tight ball on him. He didn’t know that many cats, and as he scratched behind an ear and pulled deeper purrs he wondered if they were all clingy like Happy seemed to be. Then his mind drifted to other cute, clingy, blue creatures and he flopped back into the bed with a groan. How the fuck was he going to deal with Juvia? What if he was weak to her wide eyes? Would he snap at her and make her cry? God, he hated when girls cried. What the fuck was he supposed to do with his hands? What if she tried to touch him while they danced? Gray didn’t do casual touching.

“Do you really think Lucy will hate me?”

Gray whipped his head back at Natsu, the dumbass having lowered his gaze and worrying his lip after asking his question. He pulled on the edge of his beanie, dragging the dark gray fabric down so no part of his hair escaped it. Gray scowled as he thought about how it looked like Natsu was trying to hide in the damn fabric.

“Of course not,” he spat, huffing as he looked away from Natsu while sitting up. Because he didn’t want to look at him. Not because he looked like a fucking puppy with hopeful and wide eyes as he gave his full attention to Gray. His hair might be natural but Gray was adamant that he wore coloured contacts. “I don’t know why but she’s decided she likes you, and once Lucy has decided you're her friend literally nothing you could do can change that. Trust me.”

“She’s not just being nice and pitying me?” Natsu asked, hope gone from his expression as he looked over Gray warily.

“Oh definitely,” Gray yawned. He scratched under Happy’s chin, smiling to himself at the loud purrs he pulled from the odd coloured cat. He sensed Natsu’s mood drop, his smile slipping from his face slightly. “But that’s just because I can’t fathom a reason as to why I’d hang out with you outside of being bunkmates, and in case you haven’t noticed, Lucy’s a bit better at not being a horrible person to other people than I am. Actually likes most people too, that freak.” Gray snorted. Happy rolled into his back and batted at Gray’s hand, both offering his white tummy for belly rubs and threatening Gray’s wrist. He decided it was worth it and rubbed the softness of Happy’s stomach.

“Okay,” Natsu said. Gray looked away from Happy, quickly turning back to the cat when he saw Natsu’s small smile. It was a little shy, a little soft. It was sickening.

Happy meowed once before slinking away from Gray and abandoning him. He curled onto Gajeel’s lap next to Lily and Gray couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

“Juvia means well,” Natsu called suddenly. “She can be a bit crazy, and weird, but nothing she ever does is fake or half hearted. You don’t have to worry about what she thinks of ya, Numbnuts.”

That wasn't what he was freaking out about, but Gray nodded anyway, appreciating Natsu’s attempt. “Ok, no need to worry.”

“But are you sure Lucy doesn’t hate me.”

Gray groaned, loudly and trying to convey all of his annoyance through a single sound.

“Oi,” Gajeel called. Gray looked at him, ignoring Natsu’s resumed pacing and wringing of Gajeel’s pillow in his hands. “You hurt Juvia and I’ll kill you.”

Gray let his head fall back into his pillow. He really fucking should have put ‘more drums’ as his second talent.

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jbankai89 · 6 years

Text

Never Let Me Go [19/37]

A/N: The Thai word/phrase is supposed to say ‘amazing' but it may be slightly off, because I do not speak Thai (alas, only English and French XD) and had to trust a translation website. If anyone notices a mistake there, please let me know so I can fix it! :) Next update will be December 5th.

Chapter Eighteen – Chance Meeting

Yuri could not tell who was squeezing the other's hand more firmly—himself, or Minami. The younger omega's complexion had paled at the sound of the knock upon the door, and he shifted closer to Yuri immediately. For once, he did not feel annoyed by Minami's tendency towards cuddling—he welcomed the closeness, and felt deeply comforted by it.

Voices sounded from the hall, three familiar ones intermingled with one new one, which Yuri presumed to be this new alpha, Phichit.

“Têe nâa má-hàt-sà-jan jai, this is so nice, Mr Otabek!” chirped the unfamiliar voice, and Yuri felt Minami tense next to him.

“Please, just Otabek,” Otabek replied politely, and the stranger began to speak in Japanese, to which they heard Yuuri respond, and Minami giggled.

“What are they saying?” Yuri whispered, and Minami smiled again, his entire form relaxing a little as Yuuri and the stranger continued to speak.

“They're poking fun at Otabek and Viktor,” Minami murmured softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “They say they look as relaxed as a street food vendors with no rice.”

Yuri chuckled a little, and he, too, felt himself begin to relax as the group migrated into the parlour where they still sat. Otabek and Viktor did indeed look very tense, but in contrast, Yuuri looked happier than Yuri could recall ever seeing him before.

Of course, some of it could have been the fact that Yuuri was beginning to approach his due date, and at nearly twenty-five weeks, he had gained the distinctive pregnancy waddle, but he was so wrapped up in talking with his friend and holding onto Viktor that he hardly seemed to notice. They jumped back and forth between Thai and Japanese so quickly that even if Yuri did speak either of those languages he doubt he would have been able to follow.

“Oh, Yuuri, you're getting so big,” the stranger said, switching to Russian, ensuring that everyone present could understand him. “It's like you swallowed a planet!”

“Three planets,” Yuuri replied with a small groan as Viktor helped him to sit down. He turned his gaze to his alpha and offered one of his hands a small squeeze in thanks. “I can't wait to meet them though. I mean, I'm nervous, but I'm starting to get excited, too.”

“You've always been good at caring for people,” the stranger said with a warm, cheery smile. “I know you'll be an amazing mom.”

Yuuri's face flushed pink, and he smiled bashfully down at his lap. The alpha turned to Yuri and Minami, his warm smile never wavering as he gazed at them.

“And you two must be Yuuri's friends!” he said cheerfully, “I'm Phichit Chulanont. I'm an alpha, but I promise, I don't mean to be.”

Yuri and Minami exchanged a bewildered look as Phichit laughed, but upon seeing their expressions, he elaborated.

“In Thailand, alphas get treated like criminals a lot,” he explained. “There was such an outcry from the omegas for something to be done about them being assaulted, and the government went overboard. You even look at an omega in a funny way, and they will arrest you. When I found out I was alpha, I was so upset, because that meant that me and Yuuri couldn't stay in touch. But at the same time, I understand it, I'd rather live in a place with tough laws where everyone feels safe instead of a place that hurts a third of its people, you know?”

“The laws are a bit ironic,” Yuuri added with a small smile, “considering your country's reputation in the West.”

“I don't make the rules!” Phichit cried out, “but I'm just glad I'm here now...well, sort of. It's so cold here, Yuuri, I have no idea how you stand it!” he visibly shivered, and Yuuri laughed. “You should all come visit me in Bangkok, I'll show you around and get you all the best street food until you feel like you'll burst. And the best part? No snow.”

Yuuri and Phichit continued to jabber back and forth excitedly, most of the conversation consisting of Phichit telling Yuuri where he'd take him and Viktor if they came to see him. When one of the house servants brought out a tray of appetizers, Phichit seemed to remember that Yuri and Minami were there, and he smiled kindly at them. Neither omega missed how Phichit's eyes seemed to fix on Minami, and immediately the omega shifted closer to Yuri. Phichit's smile fell.

“Oh, hey, are you all right?” he asked, and looked back to Yuuri, before returning his gaze to Minami. “Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!” he said all this very fast, and he looked genuinely distressed by Minami's uneasiness. “Your name's Minami, right? Please, tell me what I did wrong so I won't do it again. If I made you uncomfortable, I really didn't mean to.”

“I'm sorry,” Minami said shyly, now pressed so hard into Yuri's side that he half-expected them to fuse together at that point. “Um...bad experience with an alpha.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Phichit said, and it sounded like he meant it too. “I can't even imagine doing bad stuff to you, you're just so adorable, if you'd let me, I'd wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe always.” Phichit stopped suddenly, and his cheeks tinged red. Yuri had a feeling he hadn't meant to say all that.

Minami's face coloured similarly to Phichit's, and seemed incapable of meeting his eye as he turned to Otabek, who was standing nearby, the Omega's eyes wide with confusion and fright.

“Um, Otabek?” Minami asked in a small voice, “can I have an apple?”

Otabek inclined his head once in understanding, and held out an arm to Minami. Yuri did his best to stomp down on his jealousy as Minami jumped up and rushed over to him as Otabek said, “come on, I'll get you one...” and led the omega from the room, a protective arm coiled around his shoulders.

“I came on too strong, didn't I?” Phichit asked sadly as he watched Minami go, and his cheery smile dimmed to a sad frown.

“Minami's had a rough time of it,” Yuuri said with a small frown of his own, “it wasn't your fault. He probably just jumped to the conclusion that you want him, and the belief that you'd be just like his former alpha...he wasn't nice.”

“In normal human language, Yuuri means that his ex-alpha was an abusive shithead,” Yuri filled in sourly. “He's really nervous around alphas he doesn't know because of that, and so if you're really interested and you really care about him, you should probably back off for a while.”

“I'm sorry,” Phichit said again. “I didn't mean to scare him.”

“I better go see if he's all right,” Yuri replied with a small sigh, and pushed himself to his feet. Phichit looked even more distraught at this statement, and Yuri shook his head a little. What a weird alpha.

Yuri padded out of the parlour, and almost immediately crashed into Otabek. His breath caught, and he felt a flush begin to creep up his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I just...Minami...”

“He's all right, just a little shaken,” Otabek said, and looked as awkward as Yuri felt. It appeared to be overlaid with his usual attempt at nonchalance, though for once Otabek did not mask his feeling as well as he usually did. “He's up in his room if you want to see him.”

“Erm, thanks,” Yuri replied uneasily, and bit his lip. He felt a familiar tingle rush through him, the same one he'd felt before when he'd kissed Otabek of his own volition.

Yuri leant forward a little, and tensed when he realized what he was about to do, and rushed off before he could give in to temptation.

I wonder what it's like to not be surrounded by weird mixed signals constantly... Yuri thought sourly as he walked, and by the time he'd made it up to Minami's room, he'd burnt off most of his frustration, and thus was unlikely to make Minami more uneasy with a bad mood.

The door was ajar, and Yuri peered in to see Minami sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand curled around a narrow mug of green tea. His eyes were red and puffy as though he'd been crying, but at the moment, he seemed to be relatively dry-eyed. Yuri knocked once, and the younger omega's gaze snapped up, but he relaxed when he saw who it was. He nodded once, indicating that Yuri could come in.

“I just wanted to see how you were,” Yuri explained as he stepped inside and sat down next to Minami. “Phichit said he was sorry about a hundred times after Otabek escorted you out, and it looked like he meant it.” He paused, shifting uncomfortably when Minami shuffled a little closer to him, and while doing his best to mask his own discomfort, he wrapped a lazy arm around Minami and offered him a squeeze. Immediately, the distressed omega seemed to relax. “You seem totally comfortable around Otabek, why is what Phichit said so scary to you?”

“I don't know him,” Minami explained, “he's a stranger, and I'd known him for barely ten minutes and he says...that...” Minami shivered. “After—af—after Seung-Gil...” Minami's voice caught, and he rubbed roughly at his eyes, but it seemed as though he was unable to continue.

Yuri gently pried the cup of tea from Minami's shaking hands before he accidentally dropped it, and set it aside. He had no idea what he could say that might make Minami feel better—he was a complete mess, with his red eyes and runny nose, and he seemed to be struggling to keep himself from crying, although not managing it very well.

“Minami,” Yuri said gently, “it's—it's okay to cry...”

“No,” Minami interjected between sniffles, “I—I have to be strong. If I cry, he's winning. I can't let him win...I want to be strong...like you.”

“Me?” Yuri sputtered, his eyes widening a little in surprise.

“Yeah,” Minami replied with a small nod, and rubbed at his nose with his sleeve again. He shuffled close to Yuri again, linking his arms around the older omega's waist, and cuddled close with a content, catlike smile on his face. “You're so tough. You put up with everything that life throws at you, and you just keep on fighting, you never let this life we live define you, or change you. I wish I could be strong like that.”

Yuri reached up to pet his hair awkwardly, and Minami smiled. The sight of it made Yuri want to weep. How was it possible for someone who's experienced so many horrible things to smile?

Yuri rocked him like a child, and rubbed his back, not trusting himself to speak. He'd never seen himself as strong, not how Minami seemed to, at any rate. He'd always viewed himself as a survivor by sheer stubbornness, but never strong.

When Minami had completely exhausted himself, Yuri had come to no conclusions to how he felt about Minami's proclamation that he wanted to be like him. Whatever that meant.

Carefully, he untangled himself from Minami, and tucked the omega in like he was a child. Yuri sat down on the edge of the bed, reluctant to leave him alone, and stroked the golden locks of his hair gently.

I can't exactly blame Phichit for saying that, Yuri thought as he watched the omega sleep. Something about Minami just makes you want to protect him...

The scent of a nearby alpha suddenly permeated the air, but it did not unnerve Yuri as it usually would, for he could tell that it was Otabek, and likely he was just coming to check on Minami. With a small sigh, Yuri stood up and headed for the door where Otabek was waiting, the alpha rocking on his heels with a faint look of uncertainty and concern in his eyes.

“How is he?” Otabek asked when Yuri stepped out and shut the door softly. Otabek reached for Yuri, as though he wanted to take his hand, but froze as though he suddenly realized what he was doing, and dropped his arm.

Yuri tried to mirror Otabek's nonchalance, and hid his disappointment behind a neutral mask.

“A little freaked out,” Yuri answered belatedly after an awkward pause. “He was really upset out by what Phichit said...did you and Viktor set that up? Because if you did—”

“—we didn't,” Otabek interrupted with a frown. “Neither of us knew he would say that, and I swear I had no idea he'd come on to Minami like that. Viktor said he'd heard Yuuri mention Minami to Phichit, but not as a setup sort of thing, because he brought you up too, it was him describing his friends to Phichit, no more.”

“He's just so...so damaged,” Yuri said, and almost unconsciously shifted closer to Otabek. The alpha's arm fell to Yuri's back immediately, and Yuri marvelled at how his entire body seemed to relax at the casual touch. “I think Phichit might do more harm than good if he pushes.”

“He knows that,” Otabek murmured softly. “Now, at any rate. He feels really guilty for scaring Minami, that wasn't his intention, and he kept apologizing at least half a dozen times after you left to check on him.”

“Figures Yuuri would be friends with someone as apologetic as himself...” Yuri muttered, and Otabek chuckled softly. A hand lifted from his waist to cradle his cheek, and Yuri leant into the touch with a tiny sigh.

“Yuri?” Otabek asked in the same soft tone, and Yuri lifted his gaze to Otabek.

“Hmm?”

“What exactly are we doing?” His voice dropped to a lower, huskier sound. He was closer than before, and his face carried a now-familiar mingled expression of confusion and uncertainty.

“I—I don't know,” Yuri replied nervously as he lifted his hands to twine them through the front of Otabek's shirt. “I wish I could work out why I feel so comfortable when you hold me like this...I used to hate it.”

“I want to say, 'maybe we should postpone your trip and explore this' but I can't do that. It's not good for either of us,” Otabek said, but even as he did so, he tugged Yuri flush against his chest. Yuri shivered with delight at the feeling of the hard body pressed into his, and pressed himself up against Otabek firmly, not unlike how Minami always snuggled with him.

“Why would it be not good?” Yuri asked, “what if I never feel like this again?”

“You need time away,” Otabek replied, and with a look on his face like he was trying to lift a sixteen-ton weight with his pinkie, he pulled back from Yuri, but kept one arm at his back as he led him away to Yuri's bedroom down the hall.

Upon reaching the room, Otabek guided Yuri over to the settee and sat down. When Yuri joined him he tried to make the fact that he'd sat down rather close to Otabek as nonchalant as possible, but something in the look Otabek gave him told Yuri that he didn't buy it. Instead, he continued his train of thought as though they had never been interrupted.

“You need time to spread your wings and be you, whoever that might be,” Otabek said gently, but firmly. “You've spent the last two years of your life either running—God knows how you even fed yourself during that time—or subjugated by an Omega House, and then by me. It would not be fair for me to beg you to stay, and that is why I suggested you leave. There are internet and phone connections that go both ways, and we can stay in touch if you like, but I do not expect it—or deserve it. If you choose later to come back, we can explore going further with this relationship, but I do not wish to live your life for you. I only want you if you want me. Does that make sense?”

“But I do want you,” Yuri said emphatically, and froze almost immediately. Otabek raised his eyebrows in clear disbelief, and Yuri felt his face grow warm with embarrassment.

“That makes a switch from barely a handful of months ago—a big switch,” Otabek said as he reached out to brush a few strands of hair from Yuri's eyes. “That's why I want you to leave, even if it's temporary. I want you to be sure, and I don't want you to stay because, like Minami, you might carry some sort of misplaced gratitude for me for saving your life. I don't want to keep you—not like I used to. I want to be part of your life, Yuri, not own it.”

“I...” Yuri paused and bit his lip. “I wish I knew what to say to that,” he said, and bowed his head a little. “It's hard, and it's confusing, because even when you first took me, you were always weirdly comforting...but scary at the same time. I don't know if you meant it, the scary part, I mean, but it's just...I don't know what's right and what's wrong anymore. When Minami first started crushing on you I got so...so jealous, and I...all I think about is you. I don't even know if it's right, or if it's healthy, or what. I'm just really scared that I've gone and broken myself—”

Two fingers brushed over Yuri's lips, silencing him. Yuri blinked as he looked up at Otabek, who had adopted a stern, serious look.

“You are not broken, Yuri,” he said firmly. “And if you were, it would be my fault that that happened, not yours. I was the one who treated you so badly, and you were always the strong one, who fought against my attempts every step of the way. Do not blame yourself for my terrible behaviour, please.”

The vocalization of please wavered, and Yuri's gaze snapped up to his eyes. Yuri's lips parted in surprise, his own eyes widening a little as he tried to absorb what he was seeing.

Otabek was on the verge of tears.

Without allowing himself to overthink the action, Yuri closed the distance between them, and kissed Otabek gently.

Otabek's hands fell immediately to Yuri's chest, resting lightly against him, and Yuri could feel the muscle flexing in indecision of whether or not Otabek wished to stop him. In the end, his longing for Yuri won, and his hands slipped further down to rest at Yuri's waist. He drew the omega closer as he kissed him back, and Yuri let out a tiny moan as he shifted closer to his alpha.

“I don't want to be imprisoned, or stripped of rights that I know I deserve,” Yuri murmured, then kissed Otabek again. “But I don't want to lose this either. I just wish I knew what the right thing to do was.”

“I will wait for you, Yuri,” Otabek murmured, and kissed him again. “But you need to go. You need to know who you are without me hovering over you. Like I said, I have no expectations; I do not feel as though you owe me anything. If you decide that what we are sharing at this moment is some sort of misplaced gratitude for my saving your life, and you truly do not wish to pursue this, do not feel guilty—I will accept it. I refuse to do anything that might hurt you again.”

Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek's neck and clung to him, wishing that he knew what to do. No answers came to him, and he let out a soft, despondent sigh.

He didn’t know what to do.

A/N: If you like my work, please consider throwing a few bucks into my Digital Tip Jar. I am a starving artist, and I like not actually starving to death :P you can also support me on Patreon, where I am posting all things related to my upcoming cookbook. Simply Vegan

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preciousrichard-blog · 7 years

Text

Second Thoughts, Second Chances (Sniper/Spy)

Chapter 9: Dim Light

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9419246/chapters/23015601

Rating: Teen+

Chapter Summary: It’ll probably go badly. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or what Spy sees in him. Sniper knocks on a hotel door, and chooses not to run anymore.

This was it, everything the sniper had been nervously avoiding for the last two months was happening tonight. He was either going to really enjoy this evening, or really, really regret it. He concentrated hard into a foggy mirror, pulling the blade of a straight razor down the bottom of his sideburns. He carefully neatened the edges with a practiced hand, stripping away the shaving foam on his face. He’d considered once or twice that he could always busy himself as a barber if he tired of this whole assassin thing, he had the steady fingers for it. He rinsed off what white remained on his face in the sink and looked hard at himself as he rubbed aftershave into his skin. His hair was still wet; he’d taken a shower just moments before and scrubbed parts of his body he’d never washed so thoroughly in all his years. He ran fixative through his hair, taming the front and back into place as usual. None of the ritualism was any different than what he always did and yet he still felt he was making a big deal of things. He wanted to punch his reflection right in the nose for looking so worried.

Once back in his van, he pulled out a thin closet door tucked away in the corner to reveal a tall lonely mirror covered by random articles of hanging clothing. He thought he looked fine in a plain shirt, but unrest nagged at his insides to change into something different, something flattering. He’d stared himself down in at least four different types of similar outfits, growing increasingly frustrated that everything he owned looked the same. His every attempt at looking attractive was proving unsuccessful.

Why am I doing this? He thought, frowning at himself standing in socks and an undershirt. He saw Spy in his mind. Because I like him. No use lyin’ to yourself, you like him. Possibly a lot. He looked over his physique under the fluorescent lighting and sighed, I gotta try.

He rummaged deeper into the shallow closet, finding a jacket and tie he’d worn only once to the interview for his current occupation. He hummed interestedly when he tried them on, picking at the details and looking almost satisfied with what he saw.

He cleared his throat. “G’day…” He said out loud, timidly, “You look nice…” He frowned, no, that sounded dumb. He straightened and put on his best grin, “Evenin’ Spy… I must say you look… Eugh.” He grimaced at the words coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t like he’d arrive with flowers and chocolate; he wasn’t trying to woo the guy. He turned left in the mirror and hummed thoughtfully, then right, and then away, aggressively stripping everything off. That’s it, he hissed, I ain’t goin’.

He went anyway. He settled on his best shirt tucked into a pair of slacks, and left his sunglasses and hat behind. He drove under the street lamps of a much larger city than the one RED had moved from. The roads became highways and the city center had far too many stoplights. He couldn’t really focus; he was never good at planning under pressure and his mind reeled with expectations. He imagined walking into the hotel room to find himself surrounded by burning candles and Spy splayed naked on the bed, beckoning him. He couldn’t decide if that would be bad. The man never gave Sniper any hints about what kind of role he wanted the marksman to play, or maybe he had and the sniper was just too oblivious to catch them. Whatever Spy wanted from him, he’d have to settle for the Aussie’s blatant inexperience with men. He worried his lip at the thought of being disappointing, and worried it harder at the thought of being disappointed. He could fantasize all he wanted but he still wouldn’t know what the real Spy was like in bed, or whether bedding men was his thing at all. Apprehensive as he was, he couldn’t run anymore, he couldn’t take anymore shame in being afraid. He swallowed down his thoughts and drowned them out with the radio, pushing a spearmint candy past his teeth at a stoplight.

To his relief he found the white three-story hotel fairly easily and walked past the check-in without any badgering. He took the lift to the third floor and found himself outside of a white door with a shiny metal plaque engraved with the number 104. He heard himself swallow, expecting to have his clothes stripped away the second he crossed the threshold into the room. He physically shook off his tension and knocked as confidently as he could. The spy’s familiar, albeit muffled voice curtly instructed him to come in.

Shockingly, Spy was sitting fully dressed in an armchair with his ankle crossed over his knee. He was smoking and reading a newspaper. A rocks glass sat on the desk beside him, but the contents looked untouched. He raised his eyes to Sniper when the door opened, and flashed a lazy, devilish smile as the marksman shut the door and stood stalk still across the room.

“Welcome.�� Spy smirked, looking back down to presumably finish the article he’d been reading, “Do make yourself at home.”

Sniper wasn’t sure what to make of the atmosphere, or how to feel, but he did know he really needed to stop sweating. He stepped further inside hesitantly, scanning the décor. The room was spacious with one large bed, chairs, a table, a couch, and an armoire. Across from Spy he spotted the bathroom through an open door, and funnily enough, two unlit candles on either side of the bed. He was positive this had to be the nicest room they had available.

“This looks pricey.” Sniper mused, trying to break the ice as he awkwardly sat down on the edge of the bed. “Knowin’ you, it would be.”

“I spare no expense on matters of importance.” Spy said, attention fixed on the print of the paper.

“I’m important am I?” Sniper laughed breathily, trying to make light of his predicament.

“Yes.” Spy returned seriously, eyes never leaving his paper. The bold response made Sniper shiver.

Sniper forced a smile, “You look uh…” He felt his cheeks heat up, “Nice…” He grit his teeth realizing how he sounded, Bloody fucking stupid.

Spy folded the newspaper with a rustle and put it by the glass beside him. “I should hope so, I make it my business to look nice.” He eyed the sniper sitting rigidly on the bed, looking as though he wasn’t even listening. “You don’t have to sit so far away Sniper, I don’t bite.” He stood from the armchair and held his cigarette loosely in his fingers, “Unless of course you would like me to.”

Sniper didn’t need to think about what that meant. The velvet with which it was said sent heat through his whole body. “Look, er… We both know why we’re here yeah? Let’s just get it over with.”

“Try to contain your excitement.” Spy frowned sarcastically, “I can tell you’re simply overjoyed to be here.”

Sniper’s face got hot; his choice of words always seemed to come off the wrong way. “It- I mean ain’t it normal to be-?”

“Nervous?”

Sniper flushed pink, he was exposed. “Yeah.”

He heard Spy sigh, and when he looked over to him, the Frenchman had stripped his blue jacket and was approaching in a vest and shirt. “Sniper, why did you come here?” He asked, stopping in front of the bed.

Sniper craned his head to meet his gaze. “Well you asked me to didn’t you?”

“Is that all?”

“What?”

“Is that the only reason you’re here? Because I wanted you to be?” He looked impassive inhaling the tobacco in his grasp.

“I…” Sniper didn’t know how to respond, “We’re a thing ain’t we? Ain’t I obligated?”

“No.” Spy said flatly. “You aren’t. I don’t own you, remember?”

Sniper pressed his lips together, he was right, they’d agreed to those freedoms from the start. He fidgeted under that steel gaze. “I guess then… I’m here ‘cause I wanna be.”

“Do you truly want to be here?”

“I do, but…”

“But?”

Sniper winced; he couldn’t just say he was both excited and afraid. “It’s just… New.” Spy cocked a brow at that and Sniper felt inclined to continue, “It wasn’t all that long ago that we were just mates. Now yer gonna- we’re gonna-” He froze at the sinking of the mattress as Spy took a seat next to him and began pulling off his gloves. Sniper propped his heels up on the bed frame and sighed. “Just, why me?”

Spy shook his head, and looked across the room at something Sniper could not see. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching memories play back before him. “Why you?” He repeated.

“Yeah… I’m not your type am I? What makes me so special?”

Spy braced himself on an arm and leaned back, “Type hm? May I tell you a story?”

“…I don’t see why not.”

“Years ago, I was a lusty scoundrel of a young man.” Spy noticed the way Sniper’s mouth twitched knowingly, so he sighed. “I slept around with more women than I can remember. Men as well, although they were scarce.” He looked down at the gloves in his lap as if searching for words. “Eventually I grew up. I sought companionship. Sex alone would never fill the emptiness I felt.” Sniper listened, and rolled his thumb into his palm thoughtfully at the words. “I’ve worked in espionage for a long time mon ami. I’ve killed more men than I care to admit.” Spy’s tone became grave, and Sniper could only nod when Spy looked at him with a firm glance. “Women love with grace and abandon. But they demand a man who will settle down. They expect you to become a father, raise children, forget who you were. More than once I’ve been asked to give up my life’s work for these… Sentiments.” He looked down, “That is something I simply cannot do.”

Sniper squeezed his hands together, and tried to ignore the insinuation that Spy could be disappointed in his lack of feminine grace or abandon. He remembered instead, that he too was no stranger to the pressure of family. He begrudgingly pushed away the times his parents asked him when he’d bring home a nice girl. He then fought the memories of the girls he attempted to date in secondary school only to break up out of guilt when he inevitably felt nothing for them.

“So you stick with men?” Sniper asked quietly.

“I turned to men in my field of expertise. I found many of them quite open minded.” Spy continued, “But men of our professions, they are cold. We have to be if we take our work seriously non?” He took a long drag as something hard crossed his features. “Distant. All of them. Empty promises and meaningless words that amounted to nothing of value. I was, how you say, a quick fuck.” Sniper winced at the phrase. “I had accepted that I could not have my cake and eat it as well. So of course, I simply gave up on romance. That was years ago.” His voice tapered off, the hint of his accent under every syllable. He then turned so sharply to the sniper that it made the Aussie jump. “Then you. You came along and I hated you.” He said, and Sniper frowned, a bit annoyed despite the truth of it. “You were barely human to me. Repulsive, uncouth, aggressive-”

“I get it.” Sniper scowled.

Spy cleared his throat, “Yes well, that was before. Then one day I caught you making a phone call at some dirty old telephone booth in the badlands. I snuck out to listen, for blackmailing purposes of course.”

One corner of Sniper’s mouth curled down in a disapproving sneer. “Of course.”

Spy ignored it, “But the more I listened, the more I realized you were quite the well mannered and thoughtful man.” His tone was gradually growing brighter, and Sniper leaned in just a bit, “Every week I would find you there, calling your mother and father. I was drawn to it somehow, amazed that the disgusting wild-man I despised could sound so polite- so affectionate and articulate despite your… Grimy, Australian surface. Ever since then I hadn’t known what to make of you. I prided myself in knowing everything about my enemies and yet, your true nature eluded me. You turned out to be more unpredictable than I gave you credit for. You were more than a mere mercenary.”

Sniper swallowed hard, he hadn’t noticed when his heart began to hammer the way it now did. “You eavesdropped on my private calls.”

“And for that I apologize. Truly.” Spy returned, leaning in closer to the other. “But I will never be sorry for what I found.” He looked up into the sniper’s blue eyes, swallowed now by black.

“And what would that be?” Sniper asked gently, his subtle annoyance dissipating.

“I found precisely the companionship I’d been searching for. I found that I wanted you.” Spy answered breathily, “I’ve never met someone like you.”

Sniper’s lips parted to speak, and Spy watched them with a dark eyed hunger. But the taller man turned away instead, rubbing his hands into his face and groaning. It shocked the spy who wondered if he’d said too much, pushed too hard, or worst of all, lost his trust. He hadn’t meant to suffocate him. He’d done everything in his power to give the man his space for so long. Sniper was a bit like an abandoned stray, running from contact, withdrawing from intimacy, despite being acquainted with them deep down. Spy had known this early on, known to be straightforward and accommodating. Oh the patience it took could only be rivaled by the patience of a worn and solitary sniper.

“You’re too much.” Sniper mumbled, and Spy felt a wave of worry that he’d come on too strong.

“I don’t mean to smother you.” Spy reassured him sadly.

“No- you bloody git. You’re more than I know what to do with!” He exclaimed, letting his fingers drag down his face and chin. Spy started, but steadied when Sniper turned to him with an almost desperate expression. “You, the untouchable ritzy wanka with all the right words! You always know what yer bloody doin’. Yer bleedin’ gracious n’ snotty n’ proper. You could have anyone ya wanted couldn’t ya?” He ranted, “And you come along when I don’t expect nothin’ n’ ya pick me, the last bloody fella I’d expect ya to…” He breathed, “What’s a bloke like me supposed to do?” The speech went quiet at the feel of skin against his cheek.

Spy graced his cheek with ungloved hand, feeling out the warmth radiating from it. “I’ve told you before. Do whatever feels right.” He reminded softly.

“What is it ya want?” Sniper furrowed, looking increasingly frustrated.

Spy turned on the bed, his knee dipping into the sheets as he pushed his arms over Sniper’s shoulders and around his neck. “I want everything you have to give.”

So Sniper kissed him. And Spy kissed back. And all the frustration, affection and greedy desires of their confessions were articulated in a slow dance of hot tongues, hands, and moving hips. They fell back into the bed, Spy poised on all fours over the marksman’s body. They were panting, starving for nearness.

“Wait.” Sniper croaked.

Spy’s face drained of all emotion at once, and he could feel his right eye twitch as he looked down at the marksman. There was a deafening silence between them, and neither moved save for the rise and fall of their chests. Sniper’s eyes briefly widened when the atmosphere dawned on him.

“The neighbors.” He corrected. “Won’t the neighbors hear us?”

Spy couldn’t have felt more relieved if he tried; all of the tension in his shoulders from the fright of being denied ebbed away. He didn’t know what he would have done if he’d been rejected yet again after getting this far. He looked down at the sniper in an offended fashion, and the marksman looked up at him with a hot and awkward face.

“Give me some credit.” Spy scoffed as he lowered his body closer to the other’s, “I’ve booked both of the neighboring rooms as well.”

“You’re mental!” Sniper gasped, “How much did all this cost?”

Spy frowned at the lack of reciprocation he was getting for pressing closer, looking annoyed that expense of all things was on Sniper’s mind. “First you claim I waste money on useless things.” He huffed, rising back up to perch high over the sniper’s body, “Now I invest in something that benefits us both and still you are not satisfied.”

Sniper squirmed, the man had a point. “That’s an awful lot of trouble for something keeping quiet would solve.”

“Sniper, if you are being quiet then I am not doing my job.” Spy smirked, watching the sniper’s eyes turn to saucers at the Frenchman’s innuendo.

Sniper’s heart was racing, he felt frozen in place. “The lights.” He rasped lamely after a beat, stalling just for a second more.

Spy blinked at him, “Off?”

Sniper shrugged, feeling even fussier than he made the spy out to be. “Is’at… Alright?”

Spy couldn’t hold back his smile. He was getting better acquainted with the Aussie’s latent self-consciousness since he began delving into his personal space, so he understood. It wouldn’t bother him at all if the man needed a bit of darkness to feel comfortable, it was almost innocent. He sighed and pecked at the crease in the marksman’s brow. “Bien sûr.” He hummed before slipping from the bedside.

Sniper squinted at the response, whatever it meant it looked as though he’d get his wish. He eyed the Spy’s curvaceous backside as he sauntered across the room, and it sent a rippling of want through his body. His attraction to the masked assassin certainly hadn’t wavered with time, quite the contrary. Spy pinched the light switch between his fingers, and turned to look the sniper in the eyes and smirk before flipping it. Sniper shuffled to the edge of the bed in the pitch blackness; maybe it was a bit too dark. He could only just barely make out the spy’s silhouette in the little bit of white light that filtered through the drawn curtains. He could vaguely see the Frenchman’s movement, and heard the rustle of fabric as he seemed to be stripping away more clothing on approach.

The spy could sense the delicious shudder in Sniper’s breath and chuckled fluidly. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the engraved silver lighter that had more or less started all of this, months ago in the snow. He clicked it to life and lit the wick of the closest candle, the orange glow colored them warmly in the deep blue of night. Sniper was looking up at him expectantly, sitting on the bedside and fiddling with his fingers. The Aussie bit into his lip when he peered at the vest and tie behind the spy on the floor. That type of wanton indifference about his wardrobe seemed so voraciously unlike him. This was a Spy he’d yet to meet.

“Better, mon loulou?” Spy cooed happily as he leaned down to unbutton the marksman’s shirt.

Sniper’s breath hitched, this was it. There was nothing left to do but roll with whatever happened next. But something seemed off, or missing, or perhaps more accurately, unsaid. He processed the words that spilled affectionately from Spy’s lips, and locked eyes with the man until the spy’s movements stilled.

“Ben.” Sniper whispered.

Spy’s eyes looked over his face in confusion, a hint of panic unfolding beneath them, “What?”

“My name. It’s Ben.” He repeated, trying his best not to break his stare or let his voice falter. “Bennett, actually. But, y’know…” He glanced away, damn, “Ben’s fine.”

Spy released his grip on the buttons of the man’s half undone shirt, leaving the bit of hair on his chest just barely exposed. He stared down at the skin showing under the unbuttoned clothing and the feeling of dread set in. Even with the delight of this new development, he was crippled with the fear that Sniper would demand his invaluable name, more personal to him than his own physical body. As much as he cherished that charming, wonderful, wild man, he could never bring himself to so casually share something that dangerous to them both. He felt cold run through his blood, but the concerned hum of Sniper’s voice snapped him out of it.

He looked up, “You… Don’t expect me to…?” Spy asked soberly, quietly, eyes pleading for a “no” lest the sensitive topic spoil the entire night.

“Oh...! Nah- no, no.” Sniper floundered awkwardly, making sense of Spy’s reaction. “No worries, really, I get it... The whole spy, identity thing.” He scratched his neck, “I didn’t mean to put ya on the spot. I just- I reckon I just wanted ya to know, before we, got on with it.”

A sharp sigh punctuated the spy’s relief. It then manifested in frantic touch as he firmly eased the man backward, forcing him to scoot to the center of the bed while he climbed up on his knees to straddle him. “Bennett.” He said enthusiastically, the wisp of his accent and urgency making it sound worlds different than when Sniper said it. Spy couldn’t have been happier to erase the passing panic from his mind with the sound of the gunman’s private, personal name.

“Er, yep.” Sniper laughed breathily to Spy’s slow and easy grin. He felt the weight of his presence swallow him up. “Ben’s fine.”

“Not Bennett?” Spy asked as he let his hips sink down to rest atop Sniper’s pelvis.

Sniper squirmed, heat rising rapidly from his lower half up into his neck and face. “N-Nah… That’s too proper in’nit?”

“I quite like it.” Spy whispered, dipping down to lightly kiss the Aussie’s pensive lips.

Sniper’s eyes grew hazy, and it was getting difficult to think. “Call me what ya want…” He slurred between the quiet puckered sounds of eager kisses, every nerve in his body jittering with energy.

“Repulsive Bushman?” Spy teased, trailing kisses along his jaw and feeling out the terrain of Sniper’s upper body with his palms and fingers.

Sniper huffed at him unconvincingly while his shirt was being pulled away, “Filthy Spook.” He shot back, a smirk defying the tone.

“Hm, humor me.” Spy hummed against his neck, “Tell me, what is it you like about moi?” He felt Sniper’s hands latch on to his arms and squeeze.

Of course, Sniper should have expected the man got off to flattery, it was almost comically appropriate. “You… got real nice eyes?” The sniper grinned sheepishly, craning his neck to allow better access for the teeth that pleasantly scraped his jugular.

“Tell me more…”

“Fer a bloke whose job it is to kill me, yer awful sweet on me.” Sniper snorted.

Spy laughed gently against his skin, “Oh? Go on…” He allowed the sniper space to turn his head and rub his cheek into the fabric of the blue mask. The spy nearly purred into the chaste gesture.

“I like what ya do with yer hands.” Sniper rumbled, letting his own hands find the buttons to Spy’s shirt and begin working them free.

“Ha!” Spy guffawed, “I assure you, I am only warming up.”

Sniper chuckled, his heart was filling so quickly he couldn’t stand it. Buried under the anticipation and excitement was a spilling sea of affection in his chest. Spy too was practically submerging in the waves of enchantment and all-consuming desire. Every delicious fidget he pulled from the marksman drove him further down his bare chest, kissing feverishly into the hot flesh and nuzzling at dark hairs that ran down the middle.

“Fair warning-” Sniper panted, his arm coming to rest across his forehead as he let Spy proceed as he liked. “I’m no expert at this.”

Spy looked up at him from kissing sweetly at his navel and gave a knowing smirk. “If I was the first man you’ve kissed, I expect I’m the first man you’ve slept with.” He said, and Sniper felt immediately that his face was burning red. The marksman was grateful the lights were out when the spy pawed lower with his hands, provoking his lower body to stir. “And by this reaction it’s safe to assume you like it.”

“Oh piss off.” The sniper sputtered, covering his eyes, and Spy chuckled back.

That night wasn’t at all what Sniper expected. In fact, it was far better than he had ever imagined. Spy led him with all of the gentleness of a silver screen lover, and pushed for nothing more than what the sniper was certain with doing. It was simplistic, and adventurous, and while Sniper experienced blinding highs he’d never been able to grasp before, Spy felt more certain that he was right where he’d always belonged. The vacant rooms beside them would never divulge the secret sounds of passion and beautifully strained words of adoration and admittance. No one but they would hear the feverish coaxing and whispered names they uttered. And at last, when the quieted air would cool their dampened skin deep into the night, they found a rest in each other’s arms they never expected to want so desperately. Sniper, drained and pliant, curled into a comfortable spot against the rise and fall of Spy’s chest, nosing at the dark fuzz there coyly. Spy held him close as he settled, reclining into the pillows with a tired sigh.

“Hm, tell me mon beau,” Spy groaned happily as his muscles found a relaxing position, “Do you feel as good as you look?”

Sniper snorted, rolling his eyes and nudging his face into taut skin, “What d’you think?”

“I did ask.”

Sniper grunted, every instinct in him told him not to admit how intensely he’d enjoyed everything about that night. He didn’t want to provoke a man already so smug and well-aware of his talents, but Spy did love praise, and Sniper was a pretty honest man. “Bloody… Grand. Absolutely grand. Happy?” He muttered.

“Mh, very.” Spy smiled, looking up at the white ceiling.

“And you…?” Sniper hesitated, “Ya sure I did alright?” He tensed worriedly at the slow undulations of amusement coming to life in the Frenchman’s ribs.

“You gave me exactly what I wanted, Sniper. I couldn’t be happier.” He replied earnestly, joyously, shifting to leave a kiss atop the other’s head. “Fantastique.”

Sniper huffed, but the squeeze of Spy’s arm around him and the strong drum of the man’s heart eased his tension. It was affection, it was truth. It satisfied the Aussie’s self certainty to hear. He thought himself pretty skilled to have successfully pleased a man as demanding as the spy. Perhaps he had some sort of untapped natural talent. It was vain, but he did feel silly all the same, acknowledging that he’d been guided and taught. He felt as though he was glowing, and he thought to himself that it was nice to trust like this, and feel like this. For once he really understood why the rest of the world eternally chased these things.

To Spy, the night had been a leap, and a breach of the barrier that had kept him from the side of his sniper he wanted most. He had it now, thanks in part to his brilliant planning and eagerness to please of course. Nothing in his mind could compare to the complete and utter gratification of having his ideal in his arms. Just the thought of it made his heart swell, made his arm draw the man closer, made him that much more excited to do more, see more, have more. He realized he was smiling, and glanced down to peek at the sniper, finding him with heavy eyelids, staring thoughtfully at the light filtering through the curtains.

“Won’t you get some rest, Bennett?” Spy cooed, running his hand along Sniper’s bare back and through his hair.

“Might…” Sniper drawled, “But oi, don’t go blabberin’ that name anywhere at work, you hear me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Spy grinned.

Sniper looked up at him for a beat. “…No whisperin’ it either.”

“Oh come now.”

“Spy.” Sniper chided.

“No one would hear it.”

“Spy.”

“Bennett.” Spy cooed.

“It’s Ben.”

“Ben.”

“Spy I mean it.” Sniper frowned.

“Oh, fine.”

“Have you got yer fingers crossed?”

“Must you ruin all my fun?” Spy exclaimed, waving his free arm exhaustedly.

“Are you…” He snickered, “Are you kidding? Dooley, you’re too much.” He was grinning now, he knew Spy was persistent but this was almost adorable.

“I think I am just enough.” Spy huffed.

“You’re positively insufferable.” Sniper shook his head, lifting himself on his arms to hover face to face with the man, locking eyes before he briefly slipped their lips together.

“And you are absolutely intolerable, beau.” Spy added with his certain cockiness.

“Gee, thanks darl’.” Sniper rolled his eyes, but eased into the pressure on his lips and the tongue brushing his own when the Frenchman kissed him again.

“But of course.”

“Just curious…” Sniper said innocently, moving to rest his head into the pillows beside the man. “You thinkin’ of tellin’ me your name someday?”

Spy turned to him, a flickering of honesty in his eyes, “I will say that I genuinely hope to.”

“And the mask?”

“The day I give you my name will be the day I remove it.”

“Fair enough.” Sniper sighed, letting Spy pull the covers higher over their bodies and rest his hand on the marksman’s waist. He mumbled a content sound; this bed was the softest he’d slept on in a long time.

“Monsieur Bennett I’m beginning to think you’re rather fond of me.” Spy grinned, a serious note to his jest as he edged their bodies closer.

Sniper looked at him with a blank expression. “You’re alright.”

Then Spy’s palm was playfully pushing his face and Sniper’s beaming laughter pulled the others lips into a crooked grin. A grunt, squawk and exchange of wisecracks later, they’d laughed themselves into a quiet stupor, and Spy was the first of the pair to fall asleep. Sniper’s thoughts however kept him awake long enough to see the spy turn unconsciously, exposing his vulnerable spine to the man who was in all respects meant to be his enemy. Tentatively and carefully so as not to wake the other, Sniper eased up close to that pale and unguarded back. Snaking his arm around his sleeping body, he let skin settle warmly against skin. He held him then, closely, like the lover he wanted to be, and like the lover Spy deserved that night.

He kissed the nape of his neck, but had to hold his breath and try his hardest not to shake with laughter when he heard a drowsy, ridiculous, and surprisingly enchanting snort in return.

#tf2 #sniperspy #sniper/spy #down undercover #fanfiction #fresh chapter 9 here get it while it's hot

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therearemonstersinthedark · 5 years

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She’s my Ride Home

Chapter 1: Strike a Match, Pour Gasoline

An Avengers: Engame Fanwork

Pairings: Tony Stark & Nebula (friendship)

Genre: Adventure, general

Word Count: 1.8k

Rating: K+

Links: Fanfiction.net || Ao3

Summary: Nebula thinks she gets it; how her sister came to love a Terran. Those 22 days spent drifting hopelessly through space on a broken ship may have been the best memories she'd ever had.

Author’s Notes: Decided to finally post this here now that I’m caught up on my posted chapters of Luciferous. Title is from ‘She’s my Ride Home’ by Blue October.

Chapter 1: Strike a Match, Pour Gasoline

After all but herself and the wounded Terran crumbled away, the remains of Titan fell into the familiar silence of a battlefield after Thanos had conquered it. For some time she feared her father would return for her. She kept casting glances over her shoulder as she moved through the wreckage, seeking the whereabouts of her sister's ship, half-expecting to find him standing atop the rubble somewhere, here to take her to the fabled garden he had promised so often when she was a child, or to finish her off once and for all.

A tiny part of her wished he would come and take her away, and her sister would be there waiting in the garden. Together, they would turn against the Titan, finally bring his twisted rein to the bloody end it deserved and then they would vanish together, free at long long last. If he truely had the stones, and it was more than evident that he did, then it should be a simple matter to bring her back from whatever fate she had suffered on Vorimir, right? And it seemed just the kind of unfair thing he would do- they could never be free of him, not even through death. Nebula still did not know how Gamora had met her ultimate end. Perhaps she had turned on their father when they discovered the stone, one final desperate attempt to stop him, and he had slain her there.

It was hard to imagine such a thing. In his eyes, Gamora could do no wrong. It was likely, Nebula would never know how her sister spent her final moments. She could only hope it had been swift.

Nebula wished her sister had just let her die on Sanctuary, and let Thanos's dreams die with her. She could have accepted death, gladly and gratefully, to snatch that finally victory from him.

The ship proved to be in one piece when she found it, but the damage it had taken was extensive, and the power cells were nearly destroyed. Freeing it from the rubble took hours, even with the greatly reduced gravity.

When she had the ship freed she returned to check on the remaining Terran, a bag of supplies slung over her shoulder. He had hardly moved since his companions had vanished. When she had last seen him he had still been curled in on himself, holding his bloody hands against his face as he stared with empty shock at the piles of dust around him. At some point he must have grown too exhausted to do even that, because on her arrival he was laying back, one hand pressed against the wound on his side and his eyes shut closed.

For a moment she thought he might be dead after all, survived the culling only to succumb to his wounds shortly after. It may have been a mercy if he had, but as she drew near he stirred and groaned and opened his reddened eyes to blink up at her.

"Did you find it?" he asked blearily.

"Yes." She kicked aside some rubble to clear a space beside him and sat down. "It's in no condition to fly."

"Yeah," the man sighed while Nebula rummaged around her bag, pulling out a bottle of water which she handed over. "I feel the same."

He took a long sip and immediately choked. Nebula snatched the bottle back so he wouldn't spill their very limited supplies while he rolled over on his good side, hacking and coughing. Once his coughs had trailed away into weak, heaving breaths, she handed it back.

"There's a possibility it can be fixed. Maybe."

"Okay," he rasped out, rolling onto his back with an obvious grimace of pain. "How far are we from the nearest gas station?"

The assassin tipped her head and regarded him strangely as she tried to glean the meaning to his babbling. "Without a jump point, we are at least a hundred cycles from the nearest inhabitable planet or outpost." Longer still for anything useful, but she did not add that part.

"And this ship of yours, I don't suppose getting it 'jump worthy' again is much of an option?" he asked, but he stared up at the sky with blank eyes, obviously knowing the answer already.

"Not a chance." She returned to rummaging around in her bag, removing several packs of bandages, antiseptic wipes, and a handheld machine that assisted in stitching flesh back together. All standard medical gear, if somewhat outdated.

The Terran watched her spread out her supplies with the casual disinterest of someone who wasn't sure if they wanted to survive their injuries or not. It was a look and a notion she knew very well.

"You're more useful alive than dead," she told him, echoing the words her father had told her so many times when she wished for death, but he stubbornly refused to release her life from his possession.

The Terran screwed up his face in pain as she scrubbed the dirt and rust and other nasty things from his wound, cleaning the dried blood away and causing it to bleed again, sluggish and oozing.

"I don't seem to be much use either way," he ground out between clenched teeth.

She ignored his words and splashed his wound with some of their precious water before unraveling the first roll of bandages.

The Terran had succumbed to his exhaustion and fallen asleep before she even finished securing the wrap. She left him there to rest and returned to the ship to see what she could do. He must not have been out for long, however, as he made an appearance a short time later. Wordlessly, he limped his way over to where she kneeled over the remains of the gas-lines, re-working the tubes and repairing the countless cracks and holes. There, he settled down next to her and the sound of his labored breathing kept the pace as they worked in tandem.

-x-

There was no day and night cycle on Titan anymore. The remains of the planet drifted on without spinning, so Nebula measured imaginary cycles with an internalized clock that had been worked into her systems so long ago she could hardly remember a time without it.

By what would have been the midnight portion of the cycle, the Terran had developed a sheen of sickly sweat and Nebula sent him away before he made a mistake on the repairs that could cost them dearly. She found him later, not resting at all, but back where he had battled the Titan, crawling among the wreckage.

"You don't listen to orders well, do you?" she asked as she caught up to him. He was on his knees, sweeping together a pile of dust.

"Nope." His sarcastically happy answer may have had more power if his voice wasn't so tight with pain.

She took a seat on a nearby hunk of what may have once been a building and watched him work. "That was done with the power of the Infinity Stones. You can't bring them back."

"Well you're just a basket of inspiration, aren't you?" He finished scraping together every scrap of dust he could reach and sat back to stare at the pathetic mound of dirt before him. By Nebula's estimation, it may have comprised a quarter of a disassembled person at best, and was hopelessly mixed up with the planet's paler natural dust. "I'm not trying to bring them back," he sighed. "It just doesn't feel right, leaving them here like this."

"Was that your son?"

The question clearly caught the Terran off-guard and he stuttered a few times before answering. "Who? What? No. No, what would make you think that?"

"You held him as he died," she murmured thoughtfully. "He sought you out in his final moments. You seemed close." In her time under Thanos, she had watched many families die.

This earned her a strange look from the Terran, and he glanced around the rubble as though trying to figure out where she had been watching him from. "You noticed all of that? With a moon dropped on you?"

"I am an assassin. Noticing things is how I survive."

"Oh," apparently satisfied with that answer, he dragged a bag out from somewhere behind himself and carefully swept the pile of dust and dirt inside of it. "I have a friend like you, you know, back on Earth."

"There is no one like me."

-x-

By what would have been nearly morning, they doused the gathered ashes with engine fuel which had leaked from the ship, too filthy to be salvaged into anything useful, and lit them on fire.

"My name is Tony by the way," the Terran said, sitting on the ramp of the ship with his arms draped over his knees as he stared into the flames from underneath heavy lids.

"Nebula," she answered from where she leaned against the landing gear nearby, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The smoke from the ashes billowed up in lazy clumps, and the acidic smell of chemicals stung her nose.

"Oh. That's a nice name. It suits you."

Nebula wasn't sure what to say to that. He was probably half-delirious with fever and exhaustion anyways.

The fire burned its self out, dirt reduced to ash. Nebula didn't see much of a difference, and returned to repairing the ship while Tony stared at the embers.

Mid-morning came and went before they had scrapped together enough of a working engine to get the ship turned on again.

Nebula wasn't even sure, as she helped Tony hobble his way to the co-pilot's chair, that the batteries would hold long enough to get them out of the atmosphere. The compromised gravity may have been the only reason they succeeded, instead of plummeting back down.

"Wake me when we stop for snacks," Tony muttered as his reddened eyes slid shut. She left him to sleep fitfully in his chair and did what she could to keep the engines running while she ransacked the ship again for any sign of antibiotics.

End Ch 1

#Avengers #endgame #Iron man #Tony stark #Nebula #Benatar #22 days #lost in space #friendship #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #chapter 1 #Tony & Nebula #She's my Ride Home #smrh

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sallysklar · 5 years

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Curmudgucation: After the Education Wars: The Best and Worst of Reform

Andrea Gabor is a business journalist by trade, and it's our great good fortune that she followed the thread of business-style reform into the world of education. Her recent book, After the Education Wars: How Smart Schools Upend the Business of Reform, is an invaluable addition to the literature of ed reform -- not the faux reform that has been foisted on us for the past decades, but actual improvement of schools and education. With a journalist's keen eye for detail and gift for story-telling, Gabor delivers compact, fair and gripping tales of education reform in four cities, showing both what worked and what didn't. The book combines thorough research with sharp insight and-- well, there are plenty of books about ed reform that are "interesting if you're into that sort of thing." Gabor's book is just plain interesting and hugely readable. If you're afraid this review is too long to read, let me cut to the chase-- read this book.

Gabor is a fan of W. Edwards Deming, the American engineer who helped Japan create their post-war industrial boom but who was long ignored in this country. The story she finds in business-driven ed reform is the story of businessmen who keep learning and applying the wrong lessons, and whose distrust of educators combine with their arrogance about their own expertise result in repeated versions of the same mistakes. They keep returning to a topdown, hierarchal, siloed organization driven with carrot-and-stick incentives "about as successful," says Gabor, "as a Ford Pinto or a Deep Water Horizon drilling operation." But the debates about industrial management in this country were largely won by the Taylorites, who put their faith in sort-of-scientific data and a view of workers as rats in a Skinner box. The Deming systems approach, valuing an atmosphere of trust and empowerment.

This may all seem very esoteric, but it shakes out in some important ways. To oversimplify-- a Taylorite approach says that individuals mess up the system, and you make the system better by rooting out the "bad" individuals, while a Deming approach says that problem individuals are signs of flaws in your system. You can see the Taylorite approach manifest in the long-standing reformer emphasis on finding bad teachers and firing them as a ay to fix schools. My favorite Deming observation is about deadwood in an organization. Deming asked if it was dead when you hired it or did you hire a live tree and then kill it? Either way, it's your system (and management) are to blame.

Gabor uses five big chapters to tell the stories of four big systems; each story is fascinating and instructive in its own way.

New York

I will confess that the ins and outs of NYC schools have always been mysterious to me. So much history, so many players, and so many mistakes. Gabor takes the wayback machine all the way to the 1970s, then picks up the rise of a progressive movement in the city and its connection to the small schools movement, including schools within schools and charters. Gabor brings the various players to life, from Lillian Weber to Deborah Meier to Tony Alvarado-- a growing network of education rebels practicing "creative noncompliance." Gabor doesn't erase anybody's failures or shortcomings; this is a story of human beings doing what they think is right, their strengths also sometimes their weaknesses.

Gabor tells the stories of Central Park East and the Julia Richman complex (the schools that inspired Bill Gates, but from which he took all the wrong lessons). And then she tells the story of how Mayor Bloomberg and Joel Klein brought the new brand of corporate ed reform to NYC and the havoc that "disruption" wrought, leading to the "charter school boom and the test score arms race." Again, Gabor balances a huge number of vivid characters and wonky policy ideas rendered in clear strokes. (As a side note, reading this I was once again struck by just how many reformsters got their start working for Klein). By focusing on specific stories, like the rise and fall off Global Tech, she shows how the various reform policies played out.

And while Gabor is fair, she's also pretty blunt. Here she is writing about the impact of federal reform on the state:

Behind Race to the Top was a well-worn set of assumptions that competition, in the form of charter schools and the Common Core would lift all pedagogical boats; that punitive teacher evaluations-- extra funding in exchange for teacher evaluations linked to test scores-- would motivate lazy and recalcitrant teachers to finally do their jobs; that all you need was a good teacher in every classroom and the detrimental effects of poverty, neglect, and social dysfunction could be significantly, if not entirely mitigated. ... However, New York State's alacrity in adopting both the Common Core and faux-Common Core tests stands out for its sheer hubris and wrong-headedness.

New York City ends up being the story of how federal, state and local politics managed to mostly overwhelm actual effective reform going on in the city. Fortunately, it's not the only story Gabor has to tell.

Brockton, Massachussetts

Brockton was the state's largest high school, and its poorest. That part it at ground zero for Massachussetts' remarkable Education Reform Act of 1993. This story takes us back to a time before "reform" meant "market-based opportunity for corporate profit" and explains why we hear so often about how Massachussetts had strong schools and better standards than the Common Core.

Gabor gives several reasons that Mass reform worked. First, it grew from string broad-based leadership and support which in turn produced a clear vision of what reform should look like. Second, it had clear goals and a system for achieving them-- a system that was collaborative and transparent. Third, the whole business was born of a "deliberate, often messy, and deeply democratic process." Everyone was par of it and "the reforms were not rushed, nor were they imposed from above." (Also, as a side note, charter schools were "virtually irrelevant.")

Gabor tells the striking (and probably not well enough known) story of how the state crafted a true education reform, including all the messy parts, and sadly, how that reform eventually collided with federally-imposed corporate reform. I'm not sure anything highlights the hollow hypocrisy of No Child Left Behind, Common Core, or Race to the Top than how the feds dealt with a state that had already achieved most of what the reformsters claimed they wanted, and how those reformsters tried to hammer their way into the state anyway.

Leander, Texas

You've probably never heard of Leander, Texas, but you need to. The school district is an absolute model (or "proof of concept," if you prefer corporate reformster-speak) for the Deming continuous improvement doctrine of Trust and Collaboration (and driving fear out of the system). The grown-huge district has an impressive commitment to both qualities, with a firm vision of maintaining student excitement about learning. Imagine a district with entire "Culture Days" devoted simply to maintaining and building a sense of positive mission and shared commitment.

Here in this chapter is How They Did It, Why They Did It, and how well it has worked. I won't say much more than to say that I've heard district leaders speak, and my initial reaction was "Yeah, sure" and a half hour later I had arrived at "I'd like to work there."

This chapter, more than anything I've read, answers the eternal reformer question, "Well, if you don't like our ideas, what do you want to do instead." This. I want to do this. A systems approach that drives out fear and thrives on trust and collaboration while centering on students not just as learners, but as human beings. Let's do this.

New Orleans

There's no denying that pre-Katrina New Orleans schools. A city steeped in racism and corruption (read Empire of Sin for a picture of its amazing history), it had a school system to match. But post-Katrina NOLA is a perfect example of the reformster technique of offering fake solutions to real problems. This has been a pattern over and over-- a heavy emphasis on the problems that need to be solved, with no real discussion or honest evaluation of the proposed "solutions" and certainly no consideration for possible alternative solutions.

The local charter establishment had presented the takeover of the city's schools as a binary choice-- the mismanagement and corruption of the old OPSDB of the pre-Katrina years or the shiny, efficient, technocratic charter schools run by mostly white out-of-towners and funded by white, mostly out-of-town money and muscle.

With that, a silencing of the poor, black residents of the city. The stories of Morris Jeff, MLK, and John McDonough schools show just how hard black residents and neighborhoods had to fight to be heard at all (and how often they fought had and were still ignored). New Orleans continues to be an example of reform at its most nakedly anti-democratic, of a top-down approach that tells the little people to shut up and sit down because their betters know what's best for them, and they probably aren't capable of self-determination anyway. Watch for a repeat performance in Puerto Rico.

Conclusion

Gabor wraps up by talking about "how schools -- and society -- benefit from real democracy." It's an appropriate discussion because, as many have noticed, reformsterism is part of a larger pattern of erasing democracy so that the right people, rich people, privileged people, can run things without being interrupted by all those little people and votes and such foolishness.

I have a ton of things underlined in this chapter - I'll just share a few of them.

K-12 education in the twenty-first century cannot be framed as a battle between preparing young people for a competitive global marketplace, on the one hand, versus a democratic society, on the other. That's a false dichotomy; schools must do both.

But instead of scouring the world for the best educational practices, America embraced testing and the disruptions of the market. For business-minded Americans, tests have all the benefits of an easy-to-digest profit-and-loss statement. When scores go up, education is deemed to be improving; when scores go down, schools are labeled failures. But like quarterly earnings reports, tests have a nasty habit of distorting and manipulating production in order to generate the desired numbers.

...from Bloomberg's New York to New Orleans, the elites who control the education-reform agenda have absorbed a deep distrust of democratic decision making both at the school-board level and in schools themselves.

Gabor shows throughout that while the official ed reform of those elites has been controlling the agenda and grabbing the power, all along, quiet revolutions have produced real reform in a variety of settings, and reformsters have not only failed to learn from those educator-driven democratically-fueled reforms, but they have actively opposed them. Gabor last out her lessons to be learned:

Key ingredients for meaningful reform include local decision making (including teacher voice), equitably funding, strong leadership, a clear and widely supported strategy, and accountability with flexibility.

Schools and school governance must model democratic decision making.

The best schools need protection from "giant vampire squid bureaucracies."

Democratic involvement will be affected by trends in the country at large.

Charter schools should get back to the old notion of teacher-led innovation and away from public school substitution.

Accountability needs to be radically rethought.

Wrapping up.

This is a book you really, really ought to read. It masterfully balances the big picture, the small picture, and the ideas behind them. It shows how schools and school systems can be improved by folks who are actual educators, and it shows how the rising tide of "reform" has actually interfered with real reform. And it's written in as the kind of engaging history that good journalists do best. You should read this book.

elaine January 9, 2019

Source

Curmudgucation

Curmudgucation: After the Education Wars: The Best and Worst of Reform published first on https://buyessayscheapservice.tumblr.com/

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theshmaylor · 7 years

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I meant to do real things this evening, but instead I spent 3 hours making a Tegan and Sara primer. Soooo enjoy if you want

Okay so Analise010 asked for a Tegan and Sara primer, but I didn't find any I liked, so I had to make my own. And then well...it became a lot. SORRY FOR THE EXCESSIVE LENGTH. But also I'm lazy and didn't include photos, that was a step too much effort.

The Basics Tegan and Sara are a band. It feels weird to call them a band when it's just the two of them (plus whoever's in their backing band at the time), but wikipedia calls them an "indie pop singing duo" and that's worse, so let's go with 'a band'. They are both lesbians. No, they're not dating. They're identical twins. Their faces are incredibly similar so I don't know why I even have to say that, but a surprising number of people think they're dating, so. For a while it was very easy to tell them apart, but then Tegan took out her labret piercing, and their hair for the Love You to Death tour is more similar than it's been in years. But I think Tegan cut her hair sometime in the past few weeks, so hopefully it's simpler again. Sara has a narrower face than Tegan. You can also use their tattoos to tell them apart, but honestly we'll be here all day if I continue at this level of detail. When they're preforming, Tegan always stands on the left side of the stage and Sara on the right (from the perspective of the audience). Both of them write songs, sing, and play instruments. Generally, they don't create together. They each write their own songs and then work together to polish and edit them. Whichever sister wrote the song is the one who sings lead vocals on it. They have EIGHT albums. So many! And as far as anyone knows, they're planning on making even more music. We're gonna do this shit chronologically. 1. Under Feet Like Ours (1999) Listen, maybe don't start here. There are some gems to be found, but they were babies (only 19 years old!), and it shows. Plus, about half the songs also appear on their second album, so you won't be missing a lot. It was initially released with the band name "Sara and Tegan" until they decided it sounded better the other way, changed it, and haven't looked back since. My fav tracks Clever Meals This is Everything 2. This Business of Art (2000) Again, about half the tracks come from Under Feet Like Ours and it was only released a year later, so it feels a little young too. But by picking the best bits of their previous album and adding in new material, it definitely feels like a step up. My fav tracks My Number Not With You Hype 3. If It Was You (2002) This is where we start to get a little less folky. More pop-y, more electronic, and definitely more upbeat. More love and breakup songs, less undirectional teenage angst. My fav tracks Living Room - This is a Tegan and Sara CLASSIC. If they play it at a show, it's usually in the encore, and the entire room ERUPTS when it starts. Underwater I Hear Noises Terrible Storm 4. So Jealous (2004) This is kind of the beginning of their mainstream success. A lot more critical attention and some radio play for their singles. The first time I ever heard of Tegan and Sara was between this album and the next. I was in high school and fell for them hard, and honestly they've been my favorite band ever since. My fav tracks I Was Walking With a Ghost - The White Stripes covered it, which honestly probably contributed to T+S's popularity a lot, but I think that fucking cover is awful Where Does the Good Go Speak Slow Fix You Up

5. The Con (2007) This is it. This is the album. This is the one that cemented their success and brought in many of their lifelong fans. And it's the reason I'm even writing this fucking thing in the first place. Today they announced The Con X - a tenth anniversary tour where they'll be playing an acoustic arrangement of all songs in album order, and I've been excitedly swooning about it all day, which is why Analise asked for a primer.

My fav tracks The Con Hop a Plane + Soil, Soil - two tracks that appear in that order on the album and you have to listen to them in a row. The mood change is just everything and so perfect. I'm probably in the minority for putting Soil, Soil on my favorites list though, so do what you want with that... Burn Your Life Down Nineteen - listen, this probably isn't the best track ever, but it's so satisfying to wail along with. Great stuff at live performances Back In Your Head Dark Come Soon

(I know it's a lot, but count yourself lucky that I didn't just list the whole album)

6. Sainthood (2009) Getting even more electronic here! This was probably their most experimental album I think. It's also the first time they co-wrote a song, "Paperback Head". That's not one of my favorite songs, but I'm glad they tried out something new.

My fav tracks Hell Alligator - which I mostly just love because Sara says it was inspired by Rihanna, which makes no sense to me when you listen to the song The Ocean Sentimental Tune Someday - for this one, I'm just gonna leave you with a quote the Autostraddle review, which imprinted on me very early after I first listened to it and now it's all I can think about every time I hear the song: "At first listen, this track may sound like an anthem a garage band might be inclined to write, one of those “fuck you, world! we’re gonna be famous one day!” tracks – but IT’S NOT, and that’s partly why it’s so great. This isn’t about how the world has wronged Tegan. It makes me think of a 17-year old Tegan getting over a first relationship and putting on a false bravado to prove she’s going to become something, like she’s trying to convince herself rather than anyone else."

7. Heartthrob (2013) This is where people started throwing around the word 'sellout'. Which, in general, as a concept can just fuck off entirely. Yes, I think they were trying to reach for more mainstream success, but why is that a bad thing? More success = more chances to hear them live and a better likelihood of getting even more music. Plus, there seems to be this idea that musicians at the start of their careers have the most artistic freedom and are the most 'real', and after that they're doing what the record label wants. But that doesn't make any goddamn sense. Do you think 19 year old Tegan and Sara had any clue how to navigate the music industry and ensure that their artistic vision got out there? No. They've said in multiple interviews that they're originally piano players who were basically forced into the indie folk acoustic guitar thing. This album brings those keyboards to the forefront and they don't have to pick up guitars at all if they don't want to. Plus, no matter the change in sound, the lyrics are pure Tegan and Sara. That's never going to change.

My fav tracks Closer - the music video is an amazing giant queer sleepover party and everyone should watch it I'm Not Your Hero Drove Me Wild How Come You Don't Want Me I Couldn't Be Your Friend

8. Love You To Death (2016) It's just over a year old and they're currently touring in support of it. This is the album where (in addition to their songs about romantic relationships) they have some distance from some of the rough patches they've had as sisters over the years and can finally write music about that. White Knuckles and 100x are both songs inspired by those times. Plus, they made a video for every single song on the album.

My fav tracks Boyfriend - their queerest song to date, don't let the name fool you U-turn - oh god I love this song but the music video is terrible. Okay so it's not a terrible video in and of itself, but I don't like it at all for this particular song Dying to Know Stop Desire Hang on to the Night

Misc

Yay! You made it to the end of my babbling about each album, so do you know what that means? MORE BABBLING ABOUT OTHER THINGS. I'll try to keep it short though (mostly because I'm lazy and want to eat dinner soon)

- When they recorded The Con, they also filmed the entire thing and turned that into a movie with a 'chapter' (about 10 mins each) for each track. It is DELIGHTFUL and a great entry point for getting a feel for their personalities and learning more about them beyond just liking the music. A wonderful person has collected the chapters here and here

- Banter! A super important part of Appreciating Tegan and Sara is their concert banter. They talk more during shows than any other band I know of and a lot of it is fucking hysterical. It also feels like their way of setting boundaries, you know? They share so much and talk about things from their past very freely, which stops people from poking into their current personal lives more than they might otherwise. Maybe at some point I will make a curated list of my favorites, but see above re: lazy etc. For now, just search youtube for Tegan and Sara best banters. You'll find plenty.

- Live screw-ups. There is always one song that Tegan can not remember the words to or play all the way through. As soon as she figures it out, it'll happen to another song (Admittedly, this is happening less lately as they play more festivals and want to look good in front of randos who don't know much about them). Which leads to plenty of fabulous footage of Tegan fucking up a song and swearing. Sara also fucks up occasionally, but less often. Sometimes they power through, sometimes they restart, and sometimes they have the audience sing it. And I can't explain why it's so adorable and precious but it just IS. Again, not gonna link to vids, but the song "Northshore" has some of the best because it's so fast.

And now I'm done typing for real this time :)

#tegan and sara #fan primer

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sallysklar · 5 years

Text

Curmudgucation: After the Education Wars: The Best and Worst of Reform

Gabor uses five big chapters to tell the stories of four big systems; each story is fascinating and instructive in its own way.

New York

And while Gabor is fair, she's also pretty blunt. Here she is writing about the impact of federal reform on the state:

Brockton, Massachussetts

Leander, Texas

New Orleans

Conclusion

I have a ton of things underlined in this chapter - I'll just share a few of them.

Schools and school governance must model democratic decision making.

The best schools need protection from "giant vampire squid bureaucracies."

Democratic involvement will be affected by trends in the country at large.

Charter schools should get back to the old notion of teacher-led innovation and away from public school substitution.

Accountability needs to be radically rethought.

Wrapping up.

elaine January 9, 2019

Source

Curmudgucation

Curmudgucation: After the Education Wars: The Best and Worst of Reform published first on https://buyessayscheapservice.tumblr.com/

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