#and living according to joy...friendship..two hands clasped together. love.

[free-pancakes]

A Fire in the Shadows

LeviHan - Avatar the Last Airbender AU fic

Characters: Levi, Hange, Erwin, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit, Kenny, Zeke, Sasha, Jean, Armin, Kuchel, Porco, Pieck

Summary: Levi, the nephew of a fire nation captain, stumbles upon a ragtag group of 5 known as the Scouts, formidably known for foiling the plans of local fire nation control, living in the forests a few miles north of Ba Sing Se.

Chapter 5: Interconnected Chapter 4: The Fire from the Shadows Chapter 3: Bonds  Chapter 2: Trust  Chapter 1: The Scouts

(crossposted to ao3)

CH 5: Interconnected

A 10 year-old Hange sat by the edge of the river running right outside her home, listening to the happy quacks of little turtle ducks swimming by. She smiled as she molded the fire in her palm into a small ball of flame, tossing and kicking it back and forth to herself. Erwin walked quietly towards the river, and stared at Hange from afar. He couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized at the finesse of her movements—she was a natural, more adept than even the adult firebenders he knew, at just 10 years old. She was just a kid, but she was skilled beyond her years. He was so proud of her, but admittedly, a little jealous. He looked down at his hands, sad that he wasn’t gifted with the ability to bend an element. He lowered them and shook his head—despite this, the pride he had for his best friend far outweighed any sadness he felt being a non-bender. He’d always stand by her side.

“Hange, I got the stuff you asked for.” He pulled off his backpack and shook its contents onto the grass—a metal funnel, metal clamps, and wax adhesives. Hange’s eyes glowed with fiery excitement as she squealed with joy. “These are perfect!” She gathered the supplies and ran towards the house. “Come on Erwin, race you back to my room!” She sprinted ahead, and Erwin laughed as he ran to catch up with her.

Hange ran into her home, tracking dirt all over the wooden floorboards. “Hange dear, come on, I just mopped the floor!”

She disappeared into her room and yelled, “Sorry, Mom! I got a super-top-secret-urgent project to work on!”

Before she could ask Hange to come back and clean up her mess, she turned around to find Erwin already sweeping up the dirt.

“Oh Erwin, you’re so sweet, you don’t need to do that!” She gently took the broom out of his hand and ruffled his hair. “Go join Hange, don’t worry about it,” she said softly.

“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Zoe,” he politely nodded his head and walked into Hange’s room, closing the door gently behind him. He looked down to find Hange busy producing a tiny fire at the tip of her index finger, welding the metal to the rest of her contraption. Erwin knew better than to talk to her while she was engrossed in conjuring up her newest invention, so he put his backpack down on the floor and sat neatly across from her. He stared up at the wall, at the same picture frames he always looked at whenever he waited for Hange to finish her latest project. The picture was that of a man who resembled Hange’s father, his arm around a young Avatar Roku and a few other people, all of them smiling together.

According to Hange, the bespectacled man in the painting was her great grandfather, a good friend of Roku. Beneath this was a picture of Erwin’s grandparents arm-in-arm with Hange’s grandparents and all of their friends. The picture below that was one from a few years before either Hange or he was born, showing his and Hange’s parents laughing together, and in the center, a beautiful woman with long, black hair and the most gentle eyes. Generations… lifetimes of the most powerful firebenders, yet the most kind people were displayed there before him, and it was almost crazy to think that he and Hange, along with their new friends, Mike and Nanaba, were probably next in line to join that wall—a wall displaying both genuine friendship and deep loyalty to the peaceful and harmonious land the fire nation once was. Erwin smiled as he remembered his father’s words to him one night not too long ago—“Friendships really do transcend lifetimes.”

“Success!” Hange held the contraption in her hand, a mess of metal tubes swirling into a metal funnel at the end. Before he could ask what it was, Hange was dragging him by the hand and climbing out the one window in her room. “Hurry up ya slowpoke! Before my mom or Moblit hears us!”

They ran towards the small barn marking the halfway point between their houses. Hange walked along the edges of the barn to a spot in the dirt marked with a small scarf of hers. “Here! Help me dig, Erwin!” They used their hands to scoop piles of dirt out, deep enough to fit the end of the funnel under and inside the barn.

“Ok! Can you stay right here and listen to me through the pipe? Tell me how clear the sound is.” Hange ran around the corner and into the barn, and began to speak and whisper, alternating between the two. Erwin’s eyes widened in shock at the clarity—even Hange’s whispers were audible through the pipe. “How did she even manage to do this?” he thought to himself. Now they could listen clearly to their parents’ secret meetings, and he was quite excited with their new tool.

“From the look on your face, I take it that the acoustics are perfect, no?” Hange smiled deviously, and Erwin returned it. The two friends happily bumped fists. “Now we can hear about their next mission without taking turns pressing our ears against the wall!”

Ever since she and Erwin stumbled upon a meeting about a year ago, their minds became hyper-fixated on discovering their parents' work and uncovering the secrets behind it all. Since they were probably the two most dangerously curious kids of all the fire nation, it was only natural that they’d figure it all out eventually. They had spent the past year trying to listen to the group meetings in the barn, and learned all about their missions. Ridden with curiosity, the two eventually found years of hidden documents containing information on their families, kept in boxes under faulty floorboards of their homes.

When Avatar Roku mysteriously died nearly 100 years ago, his group of friends awaited their friend’s reincarnation as a child from one of the air temples. But after the fire nation attacks on the airbender monks, they feared the worst. The world began to tip out of balance, and when no avatar seemed to appear in the earth kingdom, they wondered whether the avatar was gone for good. But among Roku’s friends, hope was not lost—they passed down their stories from generation to generation, and as the fire nation grew in power, the Zoe family was the face of those defending from the inside, attempting to do what they could to restore balance. They became the crux of movement within the shadows of the fire nation, thwarting plans of conquering villages and cities of the world, keeping as many citizens and innocent people safe from fire nation soldiers’ violence. Their numbers have dwindled over the years from fighting for their cause, and most of them eventually moved into the earth kingdom colonies to help out the villages more closely, though a few stayed behind in the fire nation to continue retrieving intel from the inside and kept correspondence with any information gleaned.

Hange was quite keen on listening for more every week, confident in her desire to follow in her family’s footsteps. As much as Erwin shared Hange’s excitement, part of him was deeply concerned about Hange’s safety. Out of the families that moved out into the earth kingdom colonies, she was the only firebender in their generation, and he was afraid that she’d have to take on too much responsibility and carry the brunt of the work in order to live up to their families’ names. But they were only kids, right? He waved away his own worries—it’s not like they’d have to join in on this right away. Their parents didn’t even know that we found out about all of this yet.

-------- When the sun just began to set, the two friends snuck their way back to the barn under the calm, orange glow of the sky. They crouched down at the spot where they lodged Hange’s invention through the ground and listened in—but to their disappointment, the adults were simply chatting and enjoying each other’s company. “Booooring,” Hange sighed. “Maybe we should just call it a night, huh Erwin?” As Erwin readied himself to walk Hange home, he overheard the quiet closing of a door and a new voice sound through the pipe. They locked eyes and quickly threw themselves down to press their ears close and listen.

“Kuchel!” Hange’s mother exclaimed, and they heard the soft sound of sniffles and happy cries of the reunion.

“KUCHEL??” Hange exclaimed loudly.

“Who’s Kuchel?”

“My mom’s friend! Her best friend!” Hange clasped her hands together and jumped around in excitement. “Oh I’ve always wanted to meet her, she sounds so nice and—“

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Hange and Erwin spun around to see Hange’s dad staring at the two of them and eyeing their little listening device. “Eavesdropping now, are we? You might have made something where you can hear us loud and clear, but did you consider the possibility that we could hear YOU loud and clear from the other side?” Erwin and Hange nervously laughed at his words—they really did forget to consider that. He bent down to look at Hange’s creation and his facade of playing “bad cop” parent melted away quite quickly, and he turned to his daughter and chuckled. “So how did you make it?” As the two Zoe’s babbled on about the intricacies of Hange’s ideas, Erwin continued to listen into the barn.

“Oh yes, Kenny’s alright, as annoying as ever, telling me we should give up on all this and that my son and I should just move out here with all of you. But how else would we get more intel without me on the inside?”

“But you can move in with us! We can adjust. Our plans can change! Kenny’s right, it’s probably safer for you to stay here. On top of that, I’m sure your son would love to meet Erwin and Hange,” Hange’s mother answered.

“I’m sure he would. He’s very quiet and doesn’t really have any friends. But I have no doubt they’ll all meet someday.” She smiled at the thought of Levi making new friends, but her smile slowly transitioned into a concerned frown. “It might have to wait a year or two, though. I don’t know if I trust Zeke anymore...”

“Well what do you mean by that? Hasn’t Zeke proved himself to us?” Erwin’s father asked.

“I’ve seen him spend some more time with Ozai recently. I can’t put a finger on it... but I think something in him has changed. I think we may be able to trust him for now, but we’ll have to see.”

The doors of the barn slammed open, revealing Hange’s father holding Hange in one arm and Erwin in the other. “I think we found our culprits!”

Mike and Nanaba’s parents burst into laughter, while Hange’s mother and Erwin’s father darted looks of deep disapproval at their children.

Hange’s dad playfully threw the two down into the pile of hay that the horses were working on, who seemed to neigh at them in disapproval. Hange and Erwin lost themselves in a fit of giggles that simply lightened up the room from the bleak conversation about Zeke. The rest of them began to catch up again and reminisce about the “good old days” while Erwin and Hange pet and fed the horses.

A few hours later, Kuchel made her way over to them, and the two suddenly felt shy, falling quiet.

Erwin’s eyes widened in recognition as she sat close to them. “You’re the beautiful lady in the picture,” Erwin accidentally whispered loud enough for Kuchel to hear.

Kuchel laughed, “You’re Erwin, right? You’re the spitting image of your father, and from what I hear, the only person smart and strong enough to keep this one under control right?” she said as she looked over to Hange.

“What, me?” Hange questioned. “Yes, you! Come here, dear,” she waved Hange towards her and gently pulled her glasses off, and wiped them clean with her sleeve, and carefully pushed them back onto Hange’s face. “And you’re the infamous, reckless Hange Zoe, correct?” She laughed, and Hange was simply mesmerized by her kind soul and the loving twinkle in her eyes.

After warming up to each other, Hange soon begged for stories from Kuchel about how all their parents became friends and both she and Erwin eagerly listened. The three of them talked for what felt like hours, until Erwin and Hange could barely keep their eyes open, their sheer curiosity and interest in Kuchel the only thing keeping them awake enough to listen.

“So that’s the sign of you all being undercover firebenders right?” Hange asked sleepily as she pointed to the little charm peeking out from pocket of her skirt. Kuchel was startled by her question, and sighed in defeat. “Well, neither of you should know anything about this until you’re old enough, but it was silly of me to think that you two wouldn’t figure that out by now being the nosy little kids you are,” she said with a small laugh. She pulled out the charm to show them. “When the time is right, we’ll all pass them down to you. It might not be as significant now—it was once used to prove that you were one to be trusted, but now that there’s not too many of us left...” Erwin noticed the hint of sadness that showed in her eyes.

“Well, it‘s still important, something to remember who you are and where you came from. Whenever you look at it, I hope it brings you peace and reminds you that it’s our responsibility to bring back stability and light to our nation, no matter how dark it may become. But who knows, it still might be important in recognizing who is a friend or foe someday. Whoever holds one is someone you can trust—I can promise you both that.”

Hange asked, “Kuchel, will we ever get to meet your son?”

“I have no doubt you will,” she said with a smile. “Hopefully soon. I think you both would be really good influences on him.” With a yawn, Hange asked one more question.

“What’s his name?”

But before they could hear Kuchel’s answer, both of them were fast asleep. Kuchel smiled lovingly at the two. She gently pulled off Hange’s glasses, pocketed them before picking her up. She chuckled at the sound of her snores as Hange’s face leaned against her chest— “Just like her mother,” she thought and suppressed full-on laughter. She then whispered quietly into Hange ear, hoping it would somehow register in her heart, despite her being asleep. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Hange. And.... I can’t wait for you meet Levi someday. Don’t let his little scowl fool you—he has a good heart.” Kuchel beckoned Hange’s mother over to pick up Erwin. “Come on, let’s go put these two to bed.”

-------- Levi could not believe Erwin’s story. But... there was no denying the description of his own mother.

He remembered the day before his mother died, and her words that morning echoed in his mind, “Levi, did you know that some friendships are strong enough to transcend lifetimes?” He wondered if that applied here—an explanation as to why his bond with Hange ran so deep, and why he felt like he’d known Erwin, Moblit, Mike, and Nanaba for much longer than he actually did.

They had been interconnected this whole time. As much as it frustrated him that knowing this would have made their meeting 3 years ago much easier, he felt a wave of happiness fall over him, and he was absolutely overwhelmed from head to toe.

“So, you’re Kuchel’s son.” Erwin remembered her kind eyes and gentle voice, and began to laugh.

“Oi, what the hell are you laughing on about?”

Erwin continued to laugh and started to wipe tears from his eyes. “I was just thinking about how you’re just...well let’s just say I never thought Kuchel’s son would turn out to be such a small, angry man.” He laughed, along with Nanaba and Mike. Levi grumbled but couldn’t help but let out a tiny smile.

After their laughter died down, Levi let the information sink in a little along with the situation at hand. “I didn’t know you met her...” he sighed. It seems there was a lot he didn’t know, and he wished he could turn back time and ask his mother everything.

Mike asked, “What did happen to your mom anyway? I know you said she was gone but...”

“She died after she saved a child from a house fire. My uncle and I were gone training for a weekend. I was only 12 at the time,” Levi said as he stared down at the ground.

“Since you and Hange are the same age... that must mean she died around the same Zeke betrayed everyone and had fire nation soldiers kill our parents,” Nanaba said quietly.

Each of them held their parents’ charms tightly in their hands. All was silent except for the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze and the crackle of logs from their campfire. Dusk quickly fell upon them, the glow of the moon peeking through the light cloud cover.

Erwin’s eyes softened as he looked at Levi. “Well, we got some work to do, don’t we? Hange and Moblit are in trouble—I can only imagine what Zeke wants to do with them.”

Levi looked up at Erwin, noticing a minuscule flicker of worry in his eyes. “My bet... is using an Agni Kai versus Hange as public display to destroy anymore hopes of internal rebellion.”

The other three furrowed their eyebrows at this, gritting their teeth in anger.

“And... killing the last firebending Zoe would be the ultimate symbol of crushing any hope that may be left.”

Levi stood up and looked out into the horizon, in the direction Zeke and Kenny escaped the night before. He had a good idea of where they might be, but the exact coordinates of that base was kept hidden from everyone except for high ranking officials. However, knowing Hange, he had utmost confidence that she marked a way for them to find her. They'd just have to figure that out—and soon.

Levi balled his hands into tight fists and fierce determination flickered in his eyes.

“Well, we’re not gonna let her face Zeke alone, are we?” he whispered, not taking his eyes off the horizon.

--------

As Hange’s screams grew silent, Armin breathed a sad sigh of relief—either they stopped torturing her or she finally just passed out from the pain. Either way, she at least had some respite. He looked at the thick wooden bars of their cell, cross hatched like a solid net, trapping them inside. He could only assume that at least one guard was standing watch outside the metal door about 8 feet away from their cell—the only exit point in the room. How in the world were they supposed to get out of this mess? And more importantly, why were they targeting Hange? Where were the rest of the Scouts, anyway?

He turned back towards Moblit, “Hey so... what happened? How did you get captured?”

Moblit used his sleeves to wipe at his tears, revealing his swollen eyes, filled with a terrifying swirl of anger and hopelessness. “They ambushed us, Zeke and Kenny. They set everything on fire and we didn’t stand a chance—and they told us...” He looked down, tangling his fingers in his hair anxiously, like he was trying to pry the memories out from his mind.

“Told you what?”

“That Levi led them to us, and...that he was a firebender and... that he’s Kenny’s nephew.”

Sasha and Armin’s jaws dropped at the news, and Jean looked away, as he knew Levi’s secret. He wrestled with the possibility that he might have made a mistake in trusting him. “No... there’s no way I made the wrong call,” he thought.

“I’m not sure if I believe it, though. Hange was very adamant that we should trust Levi.” Happy memories of his relationship with Levi came rushing relentlessly into his head. “No, I don’t think we should stop trusting Levi.” He paused. “After that, the next thing I knew, I woke up restrained on the komodo rhino, and then saw all of you.”

“Moblit, why did they only take you, and no one else?” Sasha asked.

“Well Hange and Levi were in Ba Sing Se that night. And I think they were just using me as bait.”

“But why not any of the others, why just you?” Armin asked. “It doesn’t make any sense. Couldn’t they have just taken Erwin since he leads the Scouts?”

Moblit sighed. “I guess I better just fess up and explain everything, right? All of this would be easier if we were just on the same page.”

He fished a small, metal keychain from his pocket, a fire nation emblem etched into it, matching the one stitched into the red tapestry behind him. He held it up for them to see.

--------

A dull pain ached against the left side of Hange’s face, the skin around her eye throbbing alongside her steady heartbeat. She felt a warm hand pressing a dressing over her left eye, and saw strands of black hair hanging over her. She blinked her right eye, confused as to why she wasn’t still in the barn back home, laying in the hay next to Erwin and Kuchel.

“K-Kuchel?” Hange croaked.

She was answered with a soft whisper, “No, I’m sorry, I’m not Kuchel. My name is Pieck.”

“Oh…” Hange sighed, wishing she could return to dreamland, back to her old, yet comforting memories.

A harsh, gruff voice sounded from the dark corner of the room, “Kuchel’s been long gone, dearie.” From the shadows, Kenny stepped out into the light next to Pieck. “My dumb sister died saving some stupid kid a long time ago.” He peered down at Hange and scoffed. “Didn’t think she’d go that way, to be honest. I thought she’d at least have gone doing the pathetic work your parents and her other friends got into.”

“…Sister?”

“Yeah, my dumb old sister. What, the genius Hange Zoe hadn’t figure it out yet?”

“Sister… then… you’re Levi’s uncle??”

He let out a chilling laugh and began clapping—pathetic applause at her realization. Kenny stepped closer and bent down, staring right into Hange’s face. “Zeke told Porco to do much worse than what he ended up doing to you. You’re lucky I happened to walk in and stop him—what kind of self-respecting uncle would let his wonderful nephew’s girlfriend suffer right in front of him?”

Hange felt her brain short-circuit at his comment. “Oh I know how my nephew works, I saw how he looked at you after your cute little group took down that fire nation camp in the forest. All of you trying to be like your parents—their work was pathetic and so are you.”

Hange tried to make sense of everything and it was difficult to concentrate against the throbbing pain in her eye, but she quickly focused on the situation at hand—no need to show him weakness at anything he decided to say to her. She wasn't sure if she could trust him, though his tone seemed genuine underneath the rough exterior. She laughed to herself--she knew how to read and communicate with Ackermans.

“Their work wasn’t stupid, you pathetic old man,” Hange retorted.

Kenny laughed. “I told my sister not to get into that business. World’s gone to shit anyway, why not just live for yourself at this point?”

Hange began seething at this response. The only reason why she didn’t burst out flames at Kenny was because she was completely disoriented to her surroundings. Sadly, she figured she’d kiss her left-sided vision goodbye. Plus, she didn’t want to injure the girl next to her, as she was clearly very kind, tending to enemy’s wounds. “Maybe if you actually joined your sister back then, you could have helped them!”

“Well maybe if they all just gave that up, none of them wouldn’t have died and left you all as orphans. Have you ever thought of that?”

She stared back at him and spat as she spoke, “Well if you’re arrogant ass is ‘living for himself’ then why the hell do you care about that, and why would you decide to lay your loyalty to Zeke?” Kenny stepped away to make sure no one was within hearing range in the corridor. He walked quickly back towards Hange and leaned down close to her face.

“Listen here, little girl. My loyalty is to no one but myself. Zeke is simply offering the best deal I’ve gotten over last few years—we’re protected among his crew, plus the money’s good. And don’t get all disrespectful now, you’re lucky I didn’t let Porco take out that other eye of yours!”

“Or maybe you did it to keep Levi safe too, you DO care about him don’t you?” Hange teased.

Kenny scowled and grumbled at her comment—Hange stifled laughter as she now knew where Levi got it from.

“You’re delusional, Zoe. You’re just like your parents.” He turned around and slammed the door behind him—the metal reverberating around the walls of the room, the force causing her sensitive eye to throb again. Hange winced in pain.

Pieck held a cold compress to Hange’s face, and she sighed in relief. “Thank you,” Hange breathed out.

“Of course.”

Hange looked curiously at Pieck—“So, why are you helping me, anyway?”

Pieck answered softly, “Hange, I know what Zeke wants to do with you. But I don’t want him to go through with it.”

Hange held back the fear in her heart. She abandoned her curiosity at Zeke's plans with herself for a second--she needed to clear up other information with Pieck first.

“Why?”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids, and… I think he’s truly lost himself. This isn’t him, and it hasn’t been him in a long time. A lot has happened, Hange, and I think you’re just unfortunately stuck in the midst of it." She peeked out the doorway for any listening ears, and sat back down, whispering to Hange.

"There are guards everywhere though, and I can’t just let you out, plus your friends are still trapped somewhere in the building, and I don’t know exactly where. All I know, is that we have a decent amount of time before Zeke returns. In the meantime, rest.”

Hange breathed a sigh of relief—she was ridiculously lucky, she thought. Her mind scrambled to put together all the information she’s gathered and started on mustering up a plan to get everyone out of here safely. But one thing was really bothering her—was being friends with Zeke enough for this girl to help her, a Zoe, a target of the fire nation? There had to be something else--could it be?

“Pieck, can I ask you one more thing?”

She nodded, inviting her to continue.

Hange nodded back, “Is there any more reason why you’re trying to help me?”

Pieck smiled—Hange was just as sharp as the rumors told. She reached into her pocket and held out a luck charm, identical to everyone else’s, the fire nation emblem shining brightly back at Hange. Hange closed her eye and laughed, feeling nothing but hope and happiness. She wondered if Levi felt the same way at this same moment--after all the events of the past few hours, she thought it'd be quite likely that Levi, Erwin, Nanaba, and Mike were likely revealing their charms to each other right around now. It was about time.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Put Together (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Street Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Moving in together is a pretty big milestone which goes accompanied by a fun shopping trip to IKEA, wandering through the showrooms to gain inspiration for the shared home.

Putting things together, however, proves to be very difficult for a kangaroo and a koala.

Masterlist

Everything has a bright and dark side for all in the world contains positivity and its counterpart. Such is the way of existence, although the shadow side might not be realized until later when trying to put together the furniture bought for the brand new shared studio in a redeveloped part of the town, the community trying to save face by improving neglected neighbourhoods just enough in the hopes of attracting young people to thus let it flourish at their hands. A successful endeavour, since many couples in the prime of their lives have taken up residence in the harbour district with refurbished warehouses decorated with approved graffiti, some works even by the hand of the Australian boyfriend of a mere though steady nine months.

The trip to IKEA was a lot of fun, singing along to songs playing on the voluminous radio on the top of lungs while waiting in a terrible rush hour because more minds had the idea of visiting the massive home depot on a dreary day. It was the sole way to keep the simmering irritation thanks to standing endlessly frozen among honking cars to a bare minimum, fingers entwined while getting lost in the melodies.

The briefly picked up on looks of adoration as interior showrooms were scoured for inspiration were heart-melting, Chris noting down all the chosen pieces of furniture on the small slip of paper with the cheap company pencil regardless of the fact the decisions were basically made without leaving many choices to the blonde boy. When remarking upon the continuous silent agreement, only occasionally providing some input on colour choice, the youth commented that building a home together is all that really mattered to him. Moreover, there was confidence in knowing better how to embody both personalities in the interior than he himself would have been able to do. Henceforth, howbeit with this somewhat uncomfortably in mind, the would-be massive shopping trip cracked on.

Alongside pure affection, there was also a dominant sense of pride in deep earthly eyes that seeped through in attitude, proud to have made it to this milestone, this achievement that was solely a dream for both on lonely days wherein the concept of love was practically unknown aside from family bonds and friendships formed at school. A satisfied innocent smile could not be erased from roseate lips throughout the entire venture, broadening to a wide bubbly smile when testing couches by launching ourselves onto them or spinning around in desk chairs together, seated on the personified koala’s lap and holding on for dear life to the characteristic raven black leather jacket, in search of the perfect one for the planned small home office.

Withal, every sort of happiness comes at a cost, this being that the ecstatic joy has malformed into frustrating confusion now that cardboard boxes retrieved from the immense storehouse litter the bare oaken floor of the empty echoing studio and the time has come to put the furniture together with, at times questionable, manuals. Missing screws or seemingly misplaced pre-created holes form only two of the multitude of sources for agitation, Chris’s brightness gradually becoming darker as the time passes and solely the round coarse night-toned metal coffee table, a few wall shelves, the stone grey couch - this one in particular with a lot of cursing and fuming in resilience after almost ripping the papers with step-by-step instructions - and a single bookshelf awaiting its three neighbours have been established in three hours time.

The cap that was bought on the first trip abroad as a couple, Scotland as its destination, is thrown to the side with a low resigning sigh after reading the supposedly easy to understand guide to the second one of the collection of bookshelves, a bright alabaster cabinet with glass doors. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How is it possible that one door fits perfectly and the other doesn’t?’

‘Did you put the clasps parallel to the others?’  ‘Yes, I did. Look,’ by means of illustration, the inside of the display is shown, pointing at the metal hinges in the designated places which are, indeed, parallel to those opposite, ‘I placed them where you said.’

The position of those already in the correct place was discovered after giving the advice of perhaps reading the text on the paper the correct way instead of upside down and yet vocal directions still had to be given to reach the current part of the building process. Not to say Chris is not the most skilled person when it comes to IKEA furniture or any furniture for that matter, but the flashback of the battle with the first bookcase makes it so that a slight scepticism has come to colour attitude in the predicament caused by this, apparently, problematic one.

‘Let me give it a spin, maybe I’ll be able to insert it. You might break the glass if you try to ram it in like this.’ The former four attempts at placing the door where it should go according to the guide went dramatically wrong, every carefully made endeavour to take on the task instead cut off by assuring snarky remarks. Any gently given direction of slightly altering the angle of insertion was dismissed with a coldly sharp comment about perfectly being able to handle it, so that, too, did not help in regards to any sort of progress.

Howbeit very reluctant, a chance is given with pouted lips and mocha eyes glaring at the last piece of the puzzle. ‘Good luck. I swear, if you manage to- oh.’

As predicted, all that was needed to do was manipulating the insert angle of the door a tad, the discovery leading to an indignant huff accompanied by a check-up whether the seemingly impossible mission has truly been accomplished. Which it obviously is, judging by the golden locks hanging in self-deprecating shame and sarcastic inwardly directed speech. ‘Are you serious?’

A pat on the shoulder makes the street artist raise his head at a broad smug smile on a beloved face, finding satisfaction in being better in doing something which is generally associated with men. ‘I told you how to do it, didn’t I? If only you’d listened.’

‘Oh, come on, Y/N. I still managed to put the couch together on my own because you weren’t a lot of help with that.’ An accusing index finger points to the ashen fabric sofa set against the far east wall, above which has yet to be hung the collection of empty sleek lacquered black frames for displaying Chris’s drawings specially made for decorating the house.

‘I was looking for the missing screws!’ Palms rise into the air in dramatic defence, gaze unbelieving of the argument. ‘How was I supposed to know the rest was just a matter of inserting one part into the other?’

‘Sure, koala.’ The devious smile faded from one visage is replicated on the other, evidently not backing out of the witty battle until a triumph is had, hands firmly placed on the hips, thus pressing the fabric of the loose shadow-toned shirt covered in wood snippets and dust tightly over a well-trained chest. ‘But who also put together the coffee table?’

A denying shake of the head as raised digits lower again to be tucked into the pockets of the skinny jeans also affected by decorating the shared home, followed by an incredulous laugh at the attempted clever response proving superiority. ‘That was simply a matter of getting it out of the box, kangaroo boy.’

‘Oi, it also required some putting together.’ Pure uncensored defied belief seeps through in the voice of the street artist, unhappy with being unmasked by such an easy task that does not count in the overall grander picture.  

‘You only had to place the tabletop on its foundation, so that doesn’t count. Furthermore, who installed the shelves on the wall because someone could not handle the drill properly and almost drilled through the places for the attachments?’

Stark white teeth distractingly bite down on the bottom lip, Chris turning away to hide the shame of the almost accident whereby a woman’s touch formed the apparent saviour of a ruined interior before daringly locking gazes. ‘If the coffee table does not count as furnishing than that doesn’t as well. And it’s not my fault the wood is so thin, it’s easy to completely run it through if there’s barely any depth or thickness to it.’

‘No, it isn’t. You’re just clumsy, but you don’t want to admit it.’

An eyebrow is arrogantly cocked at the defiant street artist, who copies the attitude with the intention to counterattack with a sarcastic comment that shall continue the bickering until a clear victor appears. ‘Me? Clumsy? Who almost dropped the boxes with candle holders for the bedroom yesterday?’

Well, for what has to function as a bedroom since it is nothing more than a simple oaken bed frame with drawers and two matching night tables made of the same material, located in the space next to the little balcony looking out over the old harbour. Again, it was established with the necessary cursing and risk of a shredded manual, the help continuously searching the massive cardboard box for the needed parts sometimes wrapped in bubble wrap while trying to keep the kangaroo boy’s temper under control. As it would seem, the platinum blonde boyfriend is better at popping bubbles than reading and following the instructions given by IKEA.

‘That wasn’t because I’m clumsy, but because you scared the living daylights out of me by suddenly appearing and trying to wrestle me to the ground.’ As a means of giving extra strength to the point, a stern finger points from an offended face to the scene of the past accident, speaking with a higher tone now that sensitive nerves truly are on edge with triggering memories.

Yesterday, it had seemed like a genius prank to jump out of the bathroom while bringing in the newly acquired fragile candle holders that had the Aussie frantically search the massive lower floor of the home depot only to find the mysteriously disappeared girl again in the candle section, judging which holder would go with what candle and colour while also keeping the outlay of the planned interior in mind. Thus, the notion of caution while bringing in the unloaded boxes with frames and accessories that had temporarily formed a fort in the cool hallway of the apartment building was entirely nullified, even though the culprit put a special emphasis on this beforehand when it was him carrying the vases for the bouquets of fake flowers. A scattering of violet reflecting glass almost formed the consequence of the affectionately meant yet aggravating instead gesture, the youth barely able to save face by rapidly steadying a toppling stance and breakable decoration.

Household chores are up to the artist for the coming month as a punishment.

‘Alright, fair point. But still, you especially wanted the crystal ones while you know I can attack at any time.’ A foreboding playful stance is taken up, the bickering entirely forgotten as crossed arms unravel to spread wide while the back arches in the anticipation of pouncing on the targeted prey in front with a mischievous grin.

The step backwards does nothing to escape the fate already set in motion, the wiggle of dark eyebrows promising there is no escape from the love about to be shown. Regardless of the urge to attempt to find a way out, it is difficult to suppress the amusement as the predatory stance changes to resemble a kangaroo which results in a chuckled warning. ‘Chris, don’t.’

‘I’m gonna catch you~.’ A provocative hop forward with an adorable high-pitched giggle, bleached locks obscuring the sparkling mocha stare.

‘No, you won’t.’ Another step backwards on the bare oaken floor, answering the threat with a voice truly bordering on pure innocent laughter. ‘Catch me if you can.’

What ensues is a weirdly human kangaroo madly chasing his offender who has fully joined in the grinning, cutely though relentlessly continuing the chase after her until she is driven into the kitchen corner and picked up with ease by strong veiny arms in a twirling fashion.

When feet touch the ground again, they linger a few centimetres from the ones which pursued them a mere second ago, cheek contently resting on the onyx fabric displaying the effect of furnishing, listening to the steady heartbeat of the cheekily smiling beloved. ‘You’re an idiot, Chris Bang.’

‘Could say the same for you, koala.’ A kiss on the crown of the head results in a glance upward into warm adoring chocolate irises, which, in turn, leads to another gentle meeting but this time between mouths with a tenderness that erases some of the devilish attitudes in both individuals. The embrace tightens, ensuring the instincts always triggered in each other’s presence there is nothing but a safe haven, a home for two people to grow in.

Though wanting to remain in the moment for as long as possible, much remains to be done and has to be for the day might still be young yet demands action, knowing the cardboard mess is unbearable to live in. Moreover, the break from daily obligations has a deadline that would rather not be extended due to a delay in settling into the new studio together. Henceforth, breathless lips laboriously pull away as a big palm comes to cup the cheek while a desperate urgency begs for a deeper connection. ‘Let’s take a break and then crack on with the other bookshelves and the dining room. Would be nice to not eat dinner on the floor for once.’

For a second, Chris is clearly at a loss for words and composure, still leaning forward with puzzlement plastered across the lost expression. Nonetheless, it is soon replaced with an amiable relief at getting a repose from putting together incomprehensible installations, consenting to the plan with a pleased hum.

The happiness of the pause with peach ice teas and fruit salad does not linger long because next up are the other bookshelves so that the living room is at least somewhat done, needing only a few fake though lush green plants, Chan’s framed works on the bare walls and a few other homely accessories alongside filled shelves to finish it off officially.

It only takes five minutes for a ripped manual.

[lafiametta]

Now we wake with our memory

@kiev4am sent in this Jopson/Little prompt: “Everyone lives, Admiralty party, Edward sees Thomas in full lieutenant’s dress regalia for the first time.  Very shamelessly yanked from a tiny detail in one of my own fics which I knew I could never do full justice to :)”

No shame should be involved – it’s a wonderful story! All of it was great, but I especially loved Jopson and Little’s cameos and, truth be told, had already imagined what their private conversation might have entailed, which made me very excited about responding to this prompt! (The title, again, is borrowed from Rilke, who somehow seems to inspire all my Jopson/Little feelings!) 

Edward had never liked parties.

There were always too many people, too much noise, voices carrying from far corners of overstuffed rooms, mixing with laughter and music into a barely controlled sort of pandemonium that made the stock around his collar feel as if it had been wound far too tightly. Nor, were he truly honest, did he ever really know what to do once he was there. Other men seemed to possess this gift; he watched them move with ease between conversations like the most sociable of bees, greeting one acquaintance with a clasp on the back, another with a wide smile and a warm and genial eye. In comparison, he felt stiff and far too taciturn, always keeping to the periphery, partially from necessity and partially by choice. Even as a younger man, this had been the case: he could recall attending many a village assembly where he spent half the evening with his back against the painted wallpaper, a cup of punch turning warm in his hand. 

Perhaps that was why he had taken so easily to the sea. It seemed so very large, its limitless expanse promising a kind of freedom that could be found nowhere else. There was noise, to be sure – the ships’ bells, the churn of the waves, the voices of men calling to each other like birds from along the deck and their positions in the rigging – but it had a purpose, an order, an underlying rhythm that could be predicted.

For a moment he calculated – and not for the first time that evening – exactly how many days it would be before he was once again standing underneath a full set of sails. 

Still, he shouldn’t have minded this particular party so much, as it was being given partly in his honor, and in honor of all of the other men who had returned home from the expedition. Naturally, the nation had mourned the loss of Sir John – Edward had heard that the queen herself had donned a black armband for a full week following the news – but the successful rescue of the remaining crew had been cause for some celebration, least of all by the Lords of the Admiralty, who with good reason had feared the worst. 

They were all in high spirits now, circling around the officers of Erebus and Terror, resplendent in their dress uniforms that had been dusted off for just such an occasion. Edward attempted to mingle, at one point finding himself drawn into conversation with Sir William Parry, who seemed fixated on the precise location where the two ships had been abandoned in the ice, until he was finally able to make his excuses and retreat into the refuge of his own company. He meandered through the reception rooms, occasionally crossing paths with one of the other expedition officers. They shared some passing words – news of their family, or their future plans – and he was mostly appreciative of the fact that so little needed to pass between them, for what did they not know of each other that hadn’t already been learned in all those years they spent marooned within the ice or else hauling dying men across the length of an unforgiving shore? They were brothers now, a kinship marked by the weight of memory and a slightly haunted look about the eyes. A few he had not seen since they had parted ways upon their return, and it warmed him to see what a difference those short months had made. Bruises had faded, hollowed-out cheeks had filled in, and they had begun to resemble those men he had met when they had first set sail a lifetime ago.

From across the room, he caught a glimpse of Le Vesconte, whose full head of dark silver hair only seemed to offer him an air of greater distinction, although Edward remembered the night it turned that color, all at once, following the death of one of Terror’s men and the realization within the camp of the terrible choice left to them if they all wished to survive the rest of their journey. 

Next to a carved marble fireplace he saw Captains Crozier and Fitzjames, both in conversation with a dark-haired lieutenant Edward didn’t recognize, at least not with his back turned. The captains, he knew, had taken up residence together in Mayfair, the bond they had forged during the expedition flourishing into dearest friendship upon their return. There was gossip, of course; tongues wagged that the two men were more than simply friends, for why else would they live as they did, so flagrantly? Edward ignored such prattle and, perhaps more to the point, found he did not care. If the two of them had managed to find happiness in each other amid such pain and sacrifice, then he would wish them well and be glad of it. 

On the wall just next to him hung a massive seascape depicting the Battle of Lissa and the sinking of the Favorite; amid the billowing clouds and the rough, white-capped waves, he could just make out the French sailors bobbing above the water, clearly hoping to make it to shore before they were dashed onto the rocky coast. One day, he assumed, the Admiralty would commission a dramatic rendering of the Arctic expedition, hang it high upon the wall to be viewed with all the rest, and he truly hoped he would not live long enough to have to look at it. 

“Commander.”

He was still becoming accustomed to his new rank, so he did not immediately turn and acknowledge the person who had addressed him. Even so, there was something in the voice, a soft familiarity that tugged at his mind in a way he could not quite piece together.

Edward Little was not a man easily shocked. But what he saw when he swiveled his gaze was enough to still him entirely, his eyes opening wider as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing. 

The face of the man that stood before him was achingly familiar, one he had had occasion to look upon every day – often several times a day – over the course of many years. If pressed, he might have admitted that he knew it better than he knew his own. And in the months since he had last seen it, he had sometimes found himself trying to recall it, attempting as best he could to reconstruct the exact color of those pale blue eyes, the precise curve of that cheek as it rounded with an expression of unexpected joy. 

Yet it was not the face alone that had drawn his thoughts into sudden disarray. For where Edward would have expected to see the unadorned suit of a steward, he was met with something far more resplendent. The pewter buttons on his coat had given way to the glint of polished brass, that golden color echoing around the cuffs and the high collar, the accentuated narrow waist, along the shoulders in a pair of stiff and gleaming epaulettes. Hands were gloved in spotless white, black boots brought to a mirror shine. His dark hair was sleekly parted along one side, not a strand of it out of place, and he looked every inch the officer, as if he had been born to it. But perhaps Edward should have expected nothing less from Thomas Jopson, whose estimable qualities would always far outshine the magnificence of a dress uniform.  

Quite of their own accord, Edward’s lips curled upward into a modest smile.

“Lieutenant,” he replied, as he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Jopson’s cheeks pinkened slightly in response, and Edward could feel his own heart begin to quicken with warmth and memory. 

He quickly cleared his throat. “I heard the Admiralty had approved your promotion. I must say it suits you.”

The compliment was enough to bring a small smile to Jopson’s lips. 

“I’m not sure how you manage so much finery,” he said, glancing down at the embellishments of his dress coat as he ran his gloved hands along the gilded embroidery. “I feel as if I must have forgotten something vital.”

“You’ll soon grow accustomed to it,” Edward offered, having no better advice for the new lieutenant. But as he spoke, his mind was filled with all the many things he wished to say, words he should have uttered long ago, without knowing quite how to say them. 

They stood in silence, and without the distraction of words, it was difficult for him not to think back to all the tender intimacies they had once shared, the stolen moments they had pocketed and hoarded up like thieves, seizing every chance they could to be together regardless of the ever-present risk of discovery. Just looking at the color on Jopson’s cheeks was enough to spark a host of memories, each occasion springing vividly to life. A space as small and crowded as that of Terror had required them to be careful, forcing them to seek out all manner of places for their assignations. And those encounters, so often, were regrettably brief – in the middle of a watch change, following the conclusion of a command meeting, in the tiny hour just before sunrise – and only seemed to ignite their hunger rather than assuage it. It was a passion that had threatened to consume them both, and at times it felt as if it had, drawing Edward so far from thoughts of his duties that he had come to resemble a man possessed. But how could he be blamed, when any man might reasonably have lost himself in the deep pools of those sea-colored eyes? 

Eventually, though, passion had given way to contention and they began to quarrel, about minor matters at first, and then larger ones. It had all been over nothing – he could see that now – the bitter words they aimed at each other merely a mask for the deeper, unspoken fears that plagued them both. Each morning had seemed to bring a new threat to their survival, whether through cold or fire or the unpredictable attacks of the creature. Yet rather than seeking greater comfort from each other, they had turned their torment outward, day by day weakening a bond he had once thought unassailable. Towards the end they had almost ceased to use words at all, the tent they shared a cold and inhospitable place, so perhaps it should not have surprised him that the final break, when at last it came, was over an idea he had not dared voice to anyone, save Le Vesconte. 

It had been a craven notion – given the benefit of time, he now understood how wrong he had been – and to compound the error, he had continued to defend it to Jopson after the officers’ meeting, in the privacy of their tent. Those were the last words they had spoken, until this moment, for Jopson had gathered his few belongings and left silently, keeping to the captain’s tent until the day they were finally rescued. 

But to see him now, dressed as he was, the light of life shining in his gaze, it was more than Edward could have ever imagined. And yet the pleasure could not be separated from the attendant pain, for he knew the hurt that he had caused, and above all he knew he could not bear to part ways again without at least acknowledging the magnitude of his fault.

He had to find the words, as difficult as that might be.

“Lieutenant,” he began, only to pause, the formal address immediately leaving an unnatural taste on his tongue. He glanced down, pursing his lips together as he attempted once more to speak. “Thomas, I... I am sorry for the way we parted company. If nothing else, I wish for you to know that I regret entirely the position I took, the cause of our quarrel.” 

He could remember each word, each accusation, but most of all he remembered the look in Jopson’s eyes, a mixture of anger and brittle disappointment, and how it had seemed to pierce his heart in ways he had not thought possible. For it was only in that moment that he had understood: Jopson opposed leaving the sick men behind not merely on principle, as any moral man would, but because he also feared the worst for himself. And when Edward had foolishly pressed his case, all Jopson had been able to hear were the cowardly justifications of a man who might abandon his lover as easily as he advocated leaving behind the ones who lay dying in their tents. 

“Had the captain followed my suggestion,” he continued, his breath turning heavy in his throat, “so many men – a few here tonight – would not have returned—”

Jopson shook his head. “The burden you were under was immense. Anyone might have—”

“No,” Edward replied firmly. “You did not. And thankfully the captain did not. You were right. I should have trusted your judgment.”

Jopson nodded, but did not reply. Edward understood; in truth, he did not deserve any more than that, and he knew he should count himself fortunate that Jopson saw fit to speak to him at all. After all that had passed, perhaps the only thing finally left to them was politeness and pleasantries, and still he would accept it gladly, if given the choice.

“So,” he asked, “how have you found life as an officer?”

Jopson shrugged. “Much like that of a steward, in all honesty. I’ve not yet received a commission and I remain on half-pay.” He raised a dark eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling with mirth. “If the situation continues, I may be hard-pressed to afford the polish for these buttons.”

A small laugh escaped Edward’s lips. “You’ll manage, I’m sure. You were always resourceful.”

“And yourself?” Jopson inquired. “Have you been granted a commission?”

Edward nodded. “I’m to serve on the Thetis. She sails from Plymouth in two months’ time.”

He had been pleased to get the commission. The captain, upon their meeting, had seemed able and competent, and there was a large part of him that wished more than anything to start entirely anew, to leave behind Terror and all that had happened in that place, far away in an unimaginable part of the world. But as he gazed once more at Jopson, he was struck with the realization that there might still be some pieces of the expedition worth holding onto.  

“I wish you the best of luck, then,” Jopson offered. 

His face began to grow round with a genuine smile of pleasure, a pair of perfectly matched dimples curling into the pink expanse of his cheeks. Edward remembered that smile – he had seen it often enough during those moments of passion they had shared together – and he resisted the overwhelming and familiar urge to reach a gloved hand up to Jopson’s jaw and pull him closer for a kiss. But there was also something in the warmth of the other man’s gaze that make him think – hope – that there might somehow be more for them than just a lifetime of polite exchanges at Admiralty functions. 

That tiny sliver of hope was perhaps the only explanation for the thought that began to form in his head, one that he felt the need to give voice to before the impulse entirely disappeared. 

“The ship’s captain has tasked me with filling the complement of junior officers,” he said. “As circumstances would have it, I am still in need of a lieutenant and I would be pleased to recommend you to the position, were you interested.”

“You wish me to serve as your lieutenant?” Jopson asked, a touch of disbelief in his voice.

Edward nodded, doing his best to maintain an outward expression of calm, even as his heart was beginning to thrum in a most agitated fashion within his chest, a sensation so profound that he was certain Jopson could hear it from where he stood. 

“We need good men, honorable men. And I know no better man than the one that stands before me.”