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shootybangbang · 3 years

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In which peaches are eaten in more ways than one

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Prompt]: Arthur watches you seductively eat a juicy peach (from @outtricking)

[Ao3 Link]

———

The abandoned manor’s peach orchard is overgrown with tall grass and small white clusters of wild carrot blossoms. Most of its trees stand bare, choked with ivy, the vastness of their skeletons the only testament of their former grandeur. But here and there are straggled survivors, the majority of which have long since been picked clean by other travelers and passing wildlife. The only fruit left is strung up high in the topmost branches, hanging down golden-edged and plump. Ripe enough to make your mouth water.

“I don’t think climbing’s an option,” you say, pressing down on a tree’s lower branches to check its give. “We could get a big stick and try to knock ‘em off, or maybe you could just… uh… y’know… ”

You mime picking up an object and placing it on your shoulders.

Arthur sighs. “You want me to carry you.”

“It’s quicker and easier than anything else.”

“You ain’t paid me to be your horse.”

“That’s true,” you admit. At this point, the number of things you’ve had him do out-of-contract would probably fill a book. A decent person would concede his point and apologize. Instead, you try out a more oblique method. “And I’m probably too heavy for you, anyway.”

He gives you an irritated glance and shakes his head. “You tryin’ to bait me into provin’ you wrong?”

“Figured it was at least worth a shot,” you say, shrugging.

Arthur looks up at the top branches of the fruit tree, then at you, and works out a rough height comparison in his head. He sighs again and kneels down. “Alright then. Get on.”

“What — really?’

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ about this later is all.” He looks back in your direction expectantly. “C’mon. You want them peaches or not?”

You place a tentative hand on his right shoulder, leaning against him for support as you swing one leg over his left. “Then do I just… um… like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that. And now the other — yeah, there we go.”

Arthur steadies you by holding down your knees. He grips you firm but gentle, like a man trying to keep something frail and flighty from slipping between his fingers, and stands up.

The sudden shift in balance is startling. Your hands frantically search for something to hold onto for support, and you end up grabbing at his wrists as you reorient yourself. He stiffens at the contact, but says nothing.

When you’ve straightened your back enough to survey your surroundings from your new vantage point, you take a moment to appreciate the new perspective. “So this is what it’s like to be tall. Bet you run into a lot of spiderwebs.”

Arthur ignores this. “Can you reach ‘em?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You twist off a particularly large peach from a nearby branch and take off your hat to use as a makeshift basket, then swivel your hip to reach towards another that’s just barely within your grasp. “Too bad we’re not close to town”, you say, thinking already of possible desserts. “Sophia told me that over in Georgia they eat peaches with cream and sugar, and…”

For a while, you ruminate dreamily about peach cobblers and preserves, about the luxury of vanilla ice cream melting on latticed peach pie. And all the while Arthur clenches his jaw and tries as hard as he can to concentrate on what you’re saying in an attempt to divert his focus from the weight and warmth of your thighs atop his shoulders.

It’s something that he’ll carry with him for some time, he recognizes with a heavy pang of guilt. Something he’ll almost certainly keep carefully tucked away for later, when he’s alone in his own bedroll.

———

Late afternoon, you help him set up camp along the Kamassa River. After the horses have been watered and the kindling gathered, you both sit sprawled and weary against the ruined hull of an old boat half-sunk in the sand.

Resting his head against the sun bleached boards, Arthur briefly closes his eyes.

Through the woods comes the sound of cicadas, deafening in their multitude, ringing like an omnipresent hum, insistent and rhythmic in its cadence. Like a chant, a soft murmur of chitinous voices. Alongside it, the quick, clear notes of riverwater running through the rocks and the rustle of leaves overhead, the sway of branches arching from the wind in slow, lazy waves that merge overhead like a green sea.

And the distinctive scratch of graphite across paper. He drowsily cracks an eyelid open and angles his gaze downwards.

The battered notebook in your lap looks like it’s seen its fair share of miles. It’s tattered and dog-eared, with smeared ink at its edges. The leather cover is scuffed and stained, and the pages don’t quite sit flat, due to the occasional pressed flowers trapped between them.

He watches you scrawl out what looks like a brief itinerary of the day’s route, listing off landmarks passed along the road and detailing what flora and fauna you’re able to remember. Then little snippets of description that you cross out and rewrite with increasing frustration, disjointed but pretty little phrases littering the margins…

Your pencil stills. “You’re reading over my shoulder.”

“Trying to.” Arthur points to the corner of the page, where you’ve drawn a wobbly line with little stick trees atop it. Under it is a crude half-circle labelled boat. “This supposed to be where we’re at now?”

You bristle. “Yes.”

He gropes for something inoffensive to say, then opts for silence.

“Well, you’re the artist,” you say, offering him your pencil. “You draw it.”

“Sure,” he says, taking both notebook and pencil in hand. He flips to a clean page. “Not like I can do worse.”

Brushing sand off the seat of your pants, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms high and fitting your fingers together like interlocking gears. “I’m gonna go check on the peaches.”

———

The Kamassa runs cold, even in the dog days of summer. Earlier, you’d wrapped the peaches in sackcloth and submerged them in its waters, then ringed them tight with rocks to hold them in place. Now, you cut an inelegant figure as you crouch at the river’s edge and fish one out, cupping it thoughtfully against your palm to check whether it still holds the fading glow of afternoon heat.

You pick out the two biggest peaches in the pile before resecuring the rest, then seat yourself back beside him and proffer one to him.

Arthur shakes his head. He’s in the middle of sketching the sandbar in the middle of the river, drawing the shapes of shrubs and other assorted vegetation out from the blank paper expanse. “Don’t wanna get the page dirty.”

“Make sure you eat one later then,” you tell him. “So you don’t die in a ditch before I can hire you out again.”

He snorts. “Didn’t realize peaches could make a man bulletproof.”

“Ah, well… it’s more of a superstitious thing, really. Like knocking on wood or throwing salt over your shoulder.” A hint of embarrassment creeps into your voice. For a moment you seem almost shy — but then you toss a peach up in the air and catch it again, like a performance of the world’s worst juggling act, and it passes. “You give people peaches for good health and a long life. Considering your line of work, I figure you need all the help you can get.”

“Figure a decent gun’ll do me more good than any peach ever will,” he says wryly. “You eat ‘em both. God knows you need the luck just as much as I do.”

———

The rippled light reflected in the water is only just beginning to tint gold. The horizon edges pale, shifting slow to the soft, warm shades of early evening. But only the faint suggestion of it, a subtle gradation filtering in imperceptibly at the present, but that he knows will flood in all at once with the inevitable trajectory of the sun.

Golden hour, Mason had called it. Goes quick, but it’s worth it. I’ve known some photographers to set up camp and wait all day for just that little window of time.

The landscape itself feels soft and heavy, almost drunk from its own perfect interplay of light and dark. The clarity of day dims to a suggestion of itself, and everything is briefly gilded, momentarily transfigured into something striking and achingly pretty, and you no exception.

A sliver of sunset settles over your skin. A veil of amber, a veil of rose, both colors folding in on themselves like silk. The glint of light that reflects across your irises makes visible the ridged corona circling your pupils, the tiny crenellations and impurities of color. Bright and sharp as cut glass.

He watches you bite into a peach, and its dusk-pink skin breaks beneath your teeth with a wet, crisp noise as you tear through to the soft and yielding flesh beneath. Then you bite down again, and your lips are shiny with nectar now, dripping with it.

A clear rivulet of peach juice runs down your wrist like blood. You raise your arm to your mouth to catch it, then trace it back to its source with your tongue, and he can’t help but wonder at the taste — the sweetness of fruit mixed with the salt of your skin.

“Oh, these are really good,” you say with pleasant surprise. “Sure you don’t want one?”

Arthur tries to suppress the sudden twinge of arousal running through his body by staring very hard at a tree. “I’m sure.”

When he’s finally able to settle himself to a manageable level of sexual frustration, he forces his attention back to sketching. He lays out the wash of sand and silt that lies liminal between woods and water, then the ridge of grass that marks the river’s reach when swollen with rain and spring melt. The twinned, twisted alders on each shore whose roots hold fast to the ground as their boughs reach over the water and towards each other, like doomed lovers. The gaptoothed boat hull half-buried and long abandoned.

By the time he’s finished, both peaches have been reduced to their pits, and the light has begun its transition to a deepening red. A last brief cry of sunlight before it’s stifled by the cold blue of evening.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, when he hands the notebook back over. “If you finally get tired of robbing stagecoaches, you should do this for a living instead.”

He makes a dismissive noise, but there’s a clear look of satisfaction on his face. “You flatterin’ me because you want another favor?”

“No, I’m serious. This is pretty enough to belong in a book.” You touch your fingers to the page with the kind of care he’s only seen you lavish on the things he’s known you to hold very dear: the faded red hair ribbon, the well-thumbed guide to wildflowers, the thin jade pendant you sometimes wear tucked under your shirt… and now this — just an offhand scribble of his of no particular effort.

“I, uh… it’s a real rough sketch.” A flush of embarrassment colors his cheeks, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that for him, compliments are a gift as rare as they are precious. “Next time you hire me out, I’ll sit down and draw you something proper.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and nod. “I’ll hold you to it.”

———

A few hours later, Arthur sits by the fire and tries to measure the exact depth of the idiocy he’s plunged himself into.

You’d gone to bed first, citing exhaustion. And he’d taken the time spent alone to jot down a few thoughts in his journal, attempt a handful of sketches, then inadvertently kindle in himself a desperate, hopeless need for intimacy so intense that, were he truly on his own, he’d not have hesitated to take himself in hand for relief.

It’s a foolish thing to do, encouraging his own infatuation like this. But the images are fresh in his head still and his hand itches to put them to paper, wanting to keep them somewhere beyond the whim of memory.

And so he traces with his pencil the soft, indulgent cast of your eyes as you’d cupped the peach in your hand, bringing it to your mouth with the simple decadence of Eve and her apple: the innocent gesture embodying something intensely sinful. Each bite near tangible in his blood, as though it were his heart in your teeth, its every painful beat an ache of barely suppressed impulse.

Then the drip of nectar down your wrist, the pink flick of your tongue lapping it up with a quick, smooth glide across your skin. Peach juice glistening on your lips like honey. And his own base reinterpretations of it all, distorting reality to innuendo and bringing to the surface things he’s only let himself imagine in the confines of his cot, with the tent flaps drawn tightly shut.

The weight of your thighs on his shoulders comes to mind again, and if he shuts his eyes he can nearly place himself into that oft-used fantasy of his — you, sat on the edge of a hotel bed with him knelt before you, whispering hoarse and breathless praise as he licks into you. Your fingers running through his dark blond hair as you speak to him like a favored pet.

The flat of his tongue running against your clit with slow, careful strokes. Your desperate whimpers as he draws the nub between his lips and sucks, the tremble of your body, the taste of your slick. The sound of his name on your lips, the syllables of it faint and shivery with pleasure.

And afterwards, the sight of you sprawled across the sheets, eyes dreamy and soft as you beckon him towards you. Take out your cock, you’d say. Show me just how much you liked doing that to me.

Arthur closes the notebook and walks down to the river. He dips his hands through its surface, the reflected moonlight there rippling into a bright mosaic of broken glass in his wake, then cups the cold water between his fingers and splashes it over his face.

“Dirty old man,” he mutters to himself. “Oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

When he reaches down to repeat the action, he brushes against sackcloth and automatically pulls the bundle of submerged peaches from the water.

Long life and good health, you’d said. He scoffs at the very notion of it. It’s a foreign concept for someone who’s taken so many lives that he’s all but guaranteed his own to be nasty, brutish and short.

And truth be told, it’s been a long time since he’s even bothered to think about any future for himself outside of the immediate. Not much to look forward to save the small, petty pleasures afforded to him, most of which have been bought with the blood of other men. Not much to work for, save the next big score. The promise of stability — it’s not a luxury afforded to the likes of him. Nor should it be, if a man’s fate really is weighed by his deeds.

He’s made his peace with it by now. Kept his expectations low and steered clear of personal commitments. So it’s really very stupid then, that he’s spent so much time nursing the seeds of his own wretched affection that they’ve already begun to sprout.

More and more these days, he’s caught himself marking down points of interest whenever he’s out wandering. Setting up the skeletons of future excursions in his head. And with each new meeting, the possibility of the next looms in him eager and expectant.

Arthur unwraps a peach from the sackcloth and brings it to his mouth. It’s sweet — sweeter than it has any right to be, growing as it has unattended and abandoned in that red Lemoyne dirt.

The cicada song has quieted to a whisper. Fireflies spiral in arcane patterns over the grass, blinking their silent messages through the dark. Night birds are calling, their sounds strange and strident over the rush of river water.

In the midst of all this, Dutch Van der Linde and all his talk of savage utopia seem further away than ever. More past than present.

He bites into the peach again and closes his eyes, savoring the taste. Long life and good health. Probably no more unfeasible than any other thing he’s had preached to him for the last twenty years. And not an unpleasant prospect, if the days spent are anything like this one.

No, he thinks to himself, pulling another peach from the bundle. Not a bad prospect at all.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #red dead redemption #rdr2 #fic #smut #my work

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 3 years

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And so preparations for the final event begin! Let’s see if these being one on one matches helps me get through them a bit faster when I’m not having to transcribe quite so much action all at once.

[No. 32 - Smile, Prince of Nonsense Land!]

Another character profile to start out with! (I swear I’m gonna have to make a post compiling these once we’ve gotten all of them for class 1a… maybe run a comparison with the end of chapter profiles? Eh shrug.)

I swear, my instincts say that something that that tail should not be as flexible as it is because of its circumference. I know, I know, quirks, freaking magic, don’t think about it, but still. It’s a very straightforward quirk with a surprising amount of utility, and he makes full use of it. Good for him! Now, onto the chapter proper.

Kirishima is pretty hyped for a tournament, thinking about how they’ll be up in ‘that ring he sees on TV every year.’ Mina asks him if it was a tournament last year as well, but Sero’s the one to answer - the format’s always different, but most years involve some kind of head to head competition. (Apparently the year before theirs involved foam sword fighting, and now I’m incredibly disappointed we didn’t get to see that for this sports festival finale… would have been absolutely hilarious.)

Midnight holds up a box of lots, saying that match-ups will be decided by drawing lots. Once that’s done, they’ll move on to the festivities and then the tournament itself. It’s up to each of the sixteen finalists whether or not they participate in the fun, since she figures some of them would rather take a breather and save their strength.

She starts to call for the first place team to draw lots, but Ojiro raises his hand, calling for her attention. He then states that he’d like to drop out, much to the shock of the others. Someone (I think Kirishima?) asks him why, since this is his chance of being noticed by the pros. Ojiro stats that he has no memories of the cavalry battle or anything that happened in it up until the tail end. And it’s probably his quirk that did that.

Ohh, ominous. And Izuku’s really concerned for Ojiro here. Ojiro states that he knows this is a great opportunity, and he knows it seems stupid to throw it away, but this final turnament… everyone else made it with their own strength. But he’s standing here and he doesn’t even know how or why. He just can’t take it.

Hagakure says that he’s thinking about it too hard, and that he can just show what he’s made of in the tournament. Mina agrees, saying that by that logic, she shouldn’t really be here either. Ojiro starts crying, hiding his face in his hand as he shakes, explaining that he’s talking about his pride here. He doesn’t think it’s right. (He also has no idea why the girls are dressed like that. Really, the entire cheerleader gimmick seems a bit… awkward, here.)

Izuku has no idea what to say. But class B’s Nirengeki does - kind of. He admits that he can’t remember anything either, so he wants to withdraw as well. This is a contest of skill, so letting someone who didn’t do anything advance… doesn’t that defeat the whole point of the sports festival? Isn’t it against the rules?

Kirishima starts to tear up, calling the two manly. Up in the booth, Present Mic announces the strange turn of events, while Aizawa wonders what Midnight, as the coordinator, will decide. Midnight’s ruling?

She likes it. The two are allowed to withdraw. Aoyama puts a hand on Ojiro’s shoulder and promises to win it for him.

Midnight tells the kids that replacing the two will be members of team Kendo, who took fifth. Kendo replies that if it’s gonna be like that, then shouldn’t it be team Tetsu instead? Her team was immobilized pretty much the whole time, while team Tetsu were giving it their all to keep what they had until the very end. She then hastens to assure that they aren’t colluding or anything, it just feels right.

Tetsutetsu is in tears by the gesture. After a brief transition, it’s decided that Tetsutetsu and Shiozaki will join the finalists, bringing the number back up to sixteen. And with that, the match-ups can be drawn!

Izuku notes that if he wins his first match, his second’s gonna be against Shouto. Which I feel is very rude of him to just entirely discount the possibility of Sero winning the match. I mean, it’s an honest assessment, but STILL. Rude. Anyways, before his match with Shouto, he still has to face off against Shinsou, who has to be-

And speak of the devil, there’s the guy in question. He wants to know if he’s Midoriya Izuku, which startles Izuku. Izuku recognizes him from the declaration of war two weeks back. He goes to respond, only to be cut off by Ojiro’s tail over his mouth. Shinsou huffs and turns t head away, while Ojiro warns Izuku not to answer him.

We get a few other reactions from some of the other students: Shouto contemplates how his match with Izuku will be sooner than expected, and that he wants Izuku to bring his best before he takes him down. Katsuki wonders out loud who Uraraka is, which startles an eep out of her, possibly for using her actual name. Mei approaches Tenya, chucking as she starts to ask him something. And Present Mic announces that they’re setting aside the tournament for the time being, and getting on with the thrill-a-minute festivities.

There’s a few snapshots of what everyone is up to over the course of the side events: some of the non-finalists racing massive balls (probably rubber?) around the inside perimeter of the stadium, Ojiro talking to a stressed out Izuku, Tokoyami napping in a tree, Tenya drinking five (5) cans of orange juice, Katsuki doing… something, Shouto crouched down resting somewhere outside the stadium, and finally some students searching for items on the cards they were given. Oh, right, and the girls are doing cheerleader stuff, with Hagakure being the most enthusiastic, and Jirou and Momo as the least.

Honestly, with that jump, Hagakure is either buff as heck, or Ochako is lending her a hand.

While all this is happening, Izuku is narrating how some people preferred to psych themselves up, while others tried to relax. Everyone was dealing with it differently. And before they knew it, the time had come.

We come back into the narrative as Cementoss is just finishing up crafting the battle platform from scratch, which is honestly incredibly impressive. I guess his manipulation of cement includes being able to dry it out super fast. And really, with how it looks, he’s just showing off. Especially with those torches, like, those can’t have been made from cement. Were they just put there and the cement set around them? Did he use the cement to manipulate them into place? I have questions, sir.

As I said, showing off just a touch.

Present Mic thanks Cementoss before asking the crowds if they’re ready. He talks about how the students have been through hell to get here, but now it’s time for the one-on-one tournament! They’ll only have themselves to rely on. Even if someone isn’t a hero, that saying holds true! You know it! Spirit, technique, strength, wisdom, and knowledge! Use them all and show us your best!

...They’ll only have themselves to rely on, even applied to non-heroes? Uh, wow. Talk about the underlying 𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓾𝓮𝓼 showing up here. I honestly can’t help but think that Izuku’s issues with heading off alone in the current manga arc has less to do with emulating All Might, and more absorbing all these small asides and comments from all the staff of UA. Which is fucking 𝕪𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤.

Anyways, while Mic’s doing his thing, Izuku is trying to calm himself before his match, only for Toshinori to come up to talk to him. He notes how it took a while, but Izuku’s finally getting the hang of using One For All, and gives Izuku a wonky thumbs up. Izuku is surprised to see his mentor there, but also corrects him - he doesn’t really have a hang of it, he’s still uneasy. He brings up his microwave visualization thing, and how he’s been trying to recall when he launched it at the villain, but it still feels dangerous. As if he could fall apart if he loses focus for a second, and, well, it’s like Toshinori saw. Given the level his body is at, even when Izuku controls it, it only gives a small boost in power.

Toshinoir thinks on it for a bit, before reminding Izuku about that talk about giving it between zero and a hundred. As Izuku is now, heis body’s capable of about five percent. Izuku considers that, thinking that if it’s like that, then he’s just gotten lucky with everything. Toshinori gives him a few thwacks on the head and neck, telling Izuku that that’s because he’s always been trying his hardest, calling him a prince of nonsense. He also chides Izuku, saying he’ll never be a hero looking so mopey.

While Izuku recovers from the assault, Toshinori tells him to listen, before stating that especially when Izuku is feeling worried or scared, that’s when he needs to smile. Izuku’s come this far, so show some bravado, even if it’s fake. To punctuate this, Toshinori swells up into All Might, giving him another thumbs up. And I guess it kind of works as motivation, since Izuku seems less stressed?

Anywho, we finally get into the first match! Present Mic announces the two, with Izuku getting a comment about his making a weird face despite his good performance, and Shinsou getting a comment about not having done anything to stand out yet. The rules are simple - win by knocking out your opponent, immobilizing them, or getting them to say ‘I give up!’ Bring the pain! Recovery Girl’s on standby. And fight dirty if you must! ‘Ethics’ have no meaning here!

...this explains why Shinsou immediately went for such a low blow.

Anywho, Cementoss makes himself a seat to watch from, so as to be prepared to stop the match at any time. Present Mic clarifies that going for the kill is a big no-no and will disqualify you, because a true hero’s fists fly only when in pursuit of villains.

Shinsou starts talking, contemplating the ‘I give up’ option before asking Izuku if he gets it? That this battle’s going to test his strength of will. If you have any kind of vision for your future, there’s no sense in worrying about how you get there. Like that monkey, babbling about his stupid pride.

Wow is Izuku pissed. Present Mic announces the start of the match as Shinsou rhetorically asks what kind of dumbass throws away a chance like this. Izuku rushes forward furiously demanding to know what Shinsou just said - only to stop dead. Shinsou calls it his win, while in the stands, Ojiro is stressing out, tail flailing as he snaps at how he’d warned Izuku about this. Toshinori is waiting at the entrance to the stadium, confused.

Present Mic asks what’s wrong, the battle’s just started, show some spirit! Mere seconds into the match, Izuku is frozen in place?

And we end the chapter on that cliffhanger. What an introduction to Shinsou, and we have more to go in the next… one or two chapters, can’t recall.

Anywho, see y’all next time for spooky quirk shenanigans! Can’t believe our first ghost sighting is about to happen. Fricken love ghosts.

#chapter 32 #readthrough #sports festival arc #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #yagi toshinori #shinsou hitoshi #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #ojiro mashirao #shouda nirengeki #kayama nemuri #Kirishima Eijirou #Sero Hanta #kendo itsuka #tetsutetsu tetsutetsu #cementoss #ofa ghosts my beloved

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corpse--diem · 4 years

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Snick Snack Paddy Whack | Ben & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professorbcampbell & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Erin pays a visit to an old high school acquaintance. Some crushes die hard. So do snicker-snackers. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

Morgan’s classroom was empty when she arrived, save for the few students that lingered after her afternoon lecture. Her things were still at the desk, meaning her undead friend was here somewhere, likely having stepped out for a few minutes. “You don’t know where Professor Beck went, by any chance?” Erin asked one of the girls who was leaving as she lingered in the doorway.

“I think she mentioned something about grabbing some materials from the library?” The student shrugged, nothing but nonplussed in her demeanor.

Perfect. Not that she didn’t want to see her friend but it was just enough time to slip out unnoticed. Erin nodded her thanks and set the tupperware container and note on her desk. She hadn’t planned on staying long regardless but she wasn’t about to use Morgan without at least leaving a brainy treat behind as quiet thanks (even if she didn’t know it). “Can you tell me where Professor Campbell’s classroom is?”

The young woman’s directions led her down a short walk through the campus. It was hard to tell if class was clearing out or just starting by the thin trickle of students moving in and out of the room but Erin’s eyes could only focus on one thing. Ben Campbell. Suddenly, she was fifteen again, knees weak and tongue heavy in her mouth while her brain struggled to catch up around her. This was dumb. Without much more than her job to occupy her these days, her free time was abundant and curiosity (and other things) had led her to this doorway. This was about as far as her planning had gotten her. When she realized she’d been standing in the doorway far too long, watching some of the last few students reluctantly leave themselves, she cleared her throat and slapped on what she prayed was a less awkward smile. “Ben? Ben Campbell? Is that you?”

“Alright, that about wraps it up for today. Excellent discussion, I highly recommend bringing some of the topics we discussed into your essays. Remember, drafts are due in a week and a half. Have a good one.” Ben said with a nod and a smile. A few of his more studious pupils remained and he answered their questions patiently, but as he glanced around the lecture hall, he realized there was an unexpected guest in the back of the room. A woman, somewhat familiar-- he couldn’t quite place her. As he dismissed the last few curious students, he slid his hands into the pockets of his pressed dress pants and smiled, “That I am. And,” As he neared her, Ben realized just why she looked familiar. Erin. Nichols. Of the failed funeral home. They’d been talking recently, after he’d returned from his brief break off social media. “Erin! It’s good to see you. What brings you to campus?” He asked, intrigued.

He remembered her? Erin’s expression perked up, even if she hated that she realized Ben Campbell simply acknowledging her had that effect on her. “It’s good to see you too,” she grinned, taking a few bold steps into the room. When was the last time she’d seen him properly? It was a small town, and on the occasion they inevitably bumped into one another or cast a glance at community gatherings. She became painfully aware she’d never been alone in a room with him until just now. “I was just visiting Morgan--Morgan Beck. She’s a good friend of mine. I was on my way back to work before I remembered you guys taught in the same department.” She cringed internally at herself for the thousandth time. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to pop by and say hi, if you weren’t busy.” She stiffened and glanced around at the emptying lecture hall. “You’re not busy, I hope?”

Pulling his glasses free, Ben listened to her as he tucked them back into the soft case and blinked as though the transition was a bit of a strain on his eyes. But, it was a gesture, just as most of what he did was. He didn’t need glasses, there wasn’t even a prescription on the lenses. It just helped him look the part. And that was what he was doing, after all. Playing the part. At the mention of Morgan Beck, Ben kept his expression neutral, though inside a hint of irritation boiled up. Bitchy fucking Beck. That woman was such a pain. “Ah, yes! Yes, she’s an adjunct with the department, but we’ve interacted at meetings and such. Wonderful woman, excellent teacher from what I’ve heard.” Well suited for all of those budding future writers/baristas, he thought privately. “How did you know I taught for the department, though? I don’t remember mentioning what courses I taught.” He asked, though as he watched the way she seemed to brighten up and look at him, he had a feeling he knew the answer. “Oh no, not at all. This was my last class of the day.”

Erin stared longer than what was probably socially acceptable as Ben made a small show of removing his glasses. Part of her wondered if it was intentional, and another part of her would normally be rolling her eyes, but the part of her brain that had reverted back to 2003 really didn’t care. “Oh yeah, she’s brilliant. Just don’t ask too many questions if you don’t have an hour to spare,” Erin teased lightly, crossing her arms over her chest, eyes flitting anxiously from Ben to different areas of the room. Fuck. She really should have thought this through a little more. She could plot the demise of an evil crime lord but she couldn’t fucking figure out how to talk to Benjamin Campbell. It was quiet for a moment, and she wasn’t sure if it was her anxiety clawing at the walls of her mind or actually scratching, but she moved on without much though. “I just… guessed,” she fumbled for a moment, shrugging nonchalantly. “Morgan said you worked with her so I figured you were all somewhere in the same realm.” She took a long breath and found her feet moving more confidently towards Ben. “Oh, good,” she smiled again, tilting her head. “So that means I can bother you for as long as I’d like now, right?”

Watching the way she looked from him to the room and back to him, Ben couldn’t help but smile. Oh, she must have been one of those girls in high school. He didn’t remember her much, but through a little bit of browsing on Facebook and the town’s messageboard system, he’d been able to pick up on some things. He hadn’t been lying when he mentioned that he had gone to basketball games-- he had, mostly because it had been a good place to build a good rapport with some of his classmates, get them to trust him, that sort of thing. But, he hadn’t remembered her much. She was just another face in the crowd. But, it seemed she had been one of the girls who’d been rather smitten by him and had managed to escape him before graduation. With a laugh, he nodded, “I can understand that. Get me started on Roman architecture and I can do the exact same thing.” He replied, though it pained him to even draw the most minute comparison between himself and Beck. “Well, what a lucky guess for me.” Ben said with a grin as she approached him. “By all means, bother away.” He said as he retrieved his attache case from where it sat by the lectern.

Just as he was about to turn his attention back to Erin, a flicker of motion flashed in the corner of his eye. Ben frowned, his forehead creasing as he stared at a spot in the wall of the lecture hall. He could have sworn that-- “Did you happen to see something over there?” Ben asked, pointing to the spot where he could see something moving inside the wall.

God, with everything in her, Erin prayed she didn’t look nearly as aloof as she felt right now. This trip had probably been a mistake. She should’ve waited around for Morgan to return, chat with her friend over the deviled cow brain eggs she’d made her, and went on her way rather than feed the flame to some schoolgirl crush she had over twenty years ago. She had way too much time on her hands lately, and the shy, excited grin that followed his words did nothing but prove any of that right. “Lucky for the both of us, honestly,” she agreed with a tilt of her head. She’d just rested against the side of a nearby table when his attention perked forward. God damn it. Her eyes eventually moved from the concentrated look on his face to the source of the scratching. She heard it. Saw it too, when the paint cracked along the spot of the wall. “What the--” she started, standing at alert now. “I see that, yeah,” she answered, wondering if this was a sign she should’ve just. Stayed. Home. Despite her better instincts, she was moving towards it, curiosity peaked. The scratching and rustling grew louder and louder. Something--many somethings--were rushing through the wall. The wall groaned and creaked as she timidly approached it, gesturing with a hand for him to follow. “Shit, it sounds like you have a whole herd living here. You might want to call some--” A furry brown spot whizzed by her feet and she yelped, startling backwards with little grace. “Oh fuck no. Nope. This was--I gotta go.”

As Ben continued to stare at the wall with confusion, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was going on here. He prided himself in knowing this university-- this town even-- like the back of his hand. It was his domain, how dare something infringe upon his space. “A herd?” He asked. For a moment, he opened his mouth to correct her. A herd was a term typically used for large, four legged creatures; this was more like a pack or perhaps a mischief. But, before he could, the aforementioned mischief made itself known by hurtling out of a crack in the wall. First one, then another, and another. Until there was suddenly a crumbling, gaping hole in the plaster. “What in the--” Ben said, jumping back with a start. He held his case tightly in his hand and smacked at one of the furry brown animals that skittered towards him. The tiny ratlike thing bounced off the side of his leather bag and hit the wall, though at least a dozen more poured out of the ever-widening gap. “Oh my Lord.” He muttered as he watched his lecture hall begin to fill with a mass of furry, squeaking rodents. “Yes, running-- running seems wise.” He said before stumbling backwards. As he moved, one of the panels in the floor gave way underneath his shoe and Ben let out a loud curse. “What are these things?”

The thunderous sound of what looked like hundreds of tiny, skittering creatures pouring into the lecture hall overwhelmed the room. Erin wanted to say rats but they didn’t fit the typical description. Rats didn’t have horns. They swarmed by her feet, despite how quickly she was trying to get away, and she found out after her high heels cracked underneath her, these things also had strong, quick teeth. Her heels were gnawed to ribbons and she abandoned the shoes completely, grumbling curses in her panic. “Are you okay?” she shouted above the noise, watching him struggle on her way towards the door. The impact of whatever the hell these things were was clear as every wooden thing they touched started to give way. The door to the lecture hall opened. The early, unsuspecting student’s eyes were glued to his phone until one of the rodents dropped from the ceiling, sending him flying back out of the room. Her jaw set tightly as they rushed by her feet, the little pricks of sharp teeth nipping at her ankles. She jumped up onto one of the metal legged tables circling the room, using what was left of her shoe to push the creatures back. It took about one swift, hard smack but they met bloody ends as easily as they came. She looked back at the stairs, the floors completely covered in a mass of moving fur, then at the desks leading back up towards the door. “Looks like we’re climbing,” she glanced back at him, squashing another one as it came towards her, blood squirting out from under her shoe from all sides.

Waving his case back and forth around him, Ben grimaced as blood splattered across the polished leather. He could handle blood on his suit, that wasn’t a problem. But this was Italian leather. Glancing up at Erin, he saw that she was handling herself just as well as he was. Other than the fact she didn’t have her foot stuck halfway through the floor. With a grunt, Ben lashed out with his case, clearing a small patch of floor for him to pull himself up. As he did so, he could feel teeth latching onto his legs, his hands, his arms. “Vermin!” He spat, shaking them off as he hurried towards the door. “Oh, I’m doing just fine.” He said over the chittering, squeaking sounds around them. When his Lord Hrvsht’ooooor rose to the earth, Ben would have to make a note of these particular nuisances. At Erin’s words, he caught her meaning. “So it would seem.” He said before jumping up on top of the desk. Blood and matted fur covered the soles of his shoes as he did his best to climb after her, his arms and legs stinging from the bite marks. “Awful, vile little cretins.” He muttered as they hurried up towards the exit. So close, but so, so far.

Erin probably should have helped him out of the hole but with no shoes and nothing really to protect herself, handsome or not, the guy was one his own. Thankfully he took her cue and followed behind her, and as she used his to steady herself, she internally grumbled about dressing up as she hiked her dress up and leapt from one row of desks to another. Whatever these things were, they weren’t rats. They weren’t anything anyone was going to find in a textbook somewhere in this university. Just another White Crest brand of things that shouldn’t exist but do, huh? As far as she could tell, these things weren’t trying to kill them. Nibbling nuisances for sure but by the sheer amount of them, they’d have been gnawed down to the bone by now if that was the case. She hoped, anyway. But there it was--the exit. The door was cracked open, enough to allow a small trickle of them to slip out and into the hallways, but it had kept them mostly inside. A river of rodents flowed through the aisle between them. The final barrier between them and their way out. She groaned loudly. “Of fucking course.” She glanced down at Ben’s shoes, tattered and bloodstained, grabbing onto his very muscular arm and pulled what was left of her heels back onto her feet. “I’m going to be sending the university a strongly worded letter after this, I hope you know,” she tried to joke but much of the humor in her laugh was pure annoyance. She raised a brow. “We’ll jump on 3?”

Jumping from desk to desk, Ben left a trail of blood and fur behind him as he continued to stomp and smack at the vicious little creatures that seemed to be hell-bent on eating their way through the room. Kicking another out of the way, he watched as the horned rat creature careened through the air and back into the writhing swarm. As he and Erin converged on the last desk, he held still for her to catch hold of his arm. Irritating, honestly, the way she was clinging to him, but he didn’t think there was anything for it. “You know, I’d be happy to sign off on that. Give some credence,” He paused, smacking another rat creature away, “what with being faculty and all.” With a nod, Ben counted, “One, two, three.” With that, he leaped forward and made a mad dash towards the door, pulling Erin along with him.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Erin nodded with a huff. Most of her attention was fixed on what path to take when they hit 3. There wasn’t a good answer there. She’d never seen an infestation like this--there was more horned rodents than carpet visible, and when they leapt, floor and bone alike crunched beneath their feet, blood splashing up at their ankles. But they’d done it--they were spilling out into the hallway and Erin slammed her shoulder up against the door with some effort, the final shrieks of those rat-like creatures meeting their end as the door shut on them. Futile, probably. They had burrowed through walls and floors alike. A door wouldn’t stop them, but it kept some distance between her and them temporarily. She didn’t stop moving, even as her lungs heaved for breath, broken shoes clacking down the empty hallway. A few still scurried by their feet, scaring off unsuspecting students and faculty. Glancing back only to see if Ben was following her, swiping at her arms and legs as if they were still crawling along her skin. “Still in one piece?” she asked, noticing his once polished demeanor was a little more moth-bitten bargain bin chic than before. Not that she had much room to talk. She shook her head, stopping only when they’d put some distance between them and the lecture hall. “What the fuck were those things?”

As soon as they were in the hallway, Ben fumbled with his key and locked the door in a futile effort to keep those things at bay. He knew it wouldn’t help, they’d emerged from the walls, for goodness sake. But it was better than having the plague of furry, ravenous beasts coming after them. Erin was already running down the hallway and he ran to catch up with her, blood squelching under his shoes and his curly hair falling in his face. Tilting his head down a corridor, he replied, “I think so. I wish I could say the same for my case.” He said, looking down at the raggedly bitten corner of his bag. “Are you alright?” He asked, remembering that he should probably pretend to care about her well being. He gave her a once over-- she seemed to be in better shape than him, less bitten if only because she hadn’t gotten stuck in the floor. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He said with a baffled expression on his face. “Have you?” He asked, curious. She’d reacted… rather well, all things considered.

Erin had never seen anything like that exactly, though comparatively, they were practically harmless to the more gruesome things she had gone up against. She probably should have looked more upset or bewildered than what Ben was surely expecting but she was just--pissed. It was no secret that this town or the mysteries of it were getting to her. Not that Ben was privy to any of that information, or deserved any of the anger it brought up. “No,” she shook her head, resting her back against a wall, letting the coolness of the brick calm her frustrations. Deep breaths helped too. “I mean, I’m fine. My shoes? Not so much, but otherwise--no, I’ve never seen a rat look like that before,” she answered and shook her head, shook her head, reaching down to inspect the damage. The heels had been chewed down to nubs. Great. She tossed them into the trash bin beside her once she decided they’d be more of a hindrance on her way to the car than a help. “If you’re good, I’m gonna go shower for about a thousand hours now and pray I didn’t just catch twenty new variations of rabies.” She ran a hand through her hair, pushing off the wall, debating on whether or not to stop by Morgan’s classroom again or just tuck her tail between her legs and run home. She paused for a moment in the hall, that last trickle of hope layered in with maybe a trace of teenage desperation still coursing alongside the adrenaline in her veins. “Raincheck on the whole me bothering you thing? Maybe?” She raised an eyebrow, cringing slightly even as she said it.

There was a strange expression on Erin’s face, one Ben was annoyed that he couldn’t quite read. She hadn’t reacted as poorly as some of the students he’d introduced to the darker side of this world had, and he’d always started off small. No sense in putting their fragile minds before the full might of his Lord when they could barely handle a caged brownie. Erin had reacted in a similar way to him-- attack and then flee when it became clear it was a losing battle. Wiping at a streak of blood that ran down his chin, Ben nodded and watched her toss her shoes away. “Pity about the outfit, it suited you. Before, well,” He gestured to his own ragged suit, the hem of his pants in tatters. “All of that.” With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to set it back in place, but brown locks hung limply against his forehead. “That sounds like an excellent idea, I’d best do the same.” Ben said. At her last words, though, he couldn’t help but smile. So she was still interested in him, hm? Intriguing. He’d love to pick her brain, see just how much she really knew. Pulling out a pen from his pocket, Ben reached for her hand gently and wrote his number on her palm. “Call me sometime. Perhaps over coffee, next time.” He said with a chuckle.

Erin froze in her spot when he came closer. Why was he coming closer? Her face flushed red when he took her hand and for a moment she completely forgot where she was--forgot they’d just run from a stampede of supernatural looking rats, or that she wasn’t even wearing shoes or that her feet and ankles were bleeding all over the university hallways. Something hideously close to a giggle erupted from her as he etched the numbers into her skin. Oh, he was definitely smooth. Her? Not so much. “Coffee, yeah.” She cleared her throat, trying to stop the frantic static waves in her brain from cutting off her ability to speak. “I’ll do that.” She managed those three words with more of a struggle than she’d ever admit. Another giggle-like laugh slipped from her throat and she wanted to stab herself in the eye with that very pen. Damn it. He knew. There was no way he didn’t. She didn’t trust herself with words anymore at this point, instead opting to give a small wave as she backtracked out of the hallway. Gave a quiet yelp and hurried apology as she nearly smacked right into a student on their way to class, before booking it the hell out of there.

#chatzy #chatzy: ben #snick snack paddy whack #wickedswriting

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saymynamewithluv · 4 years

Note

Hiya mom! I was wondering if I could get a Hobi reaction to dating a ftm s/o? Thank you so much in advanced

Hoseok Scenario | Friends to Lovers (Female to Male)

Hey, my son! I hope you don't mind but I changed it to more of a friend to lovers scenario and honestly, I loved how it came out and I hope you do too! I was smiling the whole time I was writing it! It really warmed my heart and I hope it does the same for you!

Word Count: 2.4k

You always knew your whole life that you were different. You knew deep down that you are special. Since birth, you've always been a girl but it was until you got older that you've noticed that wasn't the case. When you started to figure out what was missing, you finally came to the understanding that you were a boy trapped in a girl's body.

It was tough throughout high school, especially during your transition, but your best friend Hoseok was always there when you needed him the most. You had moments when your dysphoria would hit you the most and who was there by your side during those times? That's right, your best friend Hobi. He always stood up for you when someone would tell you that you are a girl when you were truly a boy. To Hobi, it didn't matter what gender you were. In his eyes, you were perfect. Throughout high school, you two have been through thick and thin. Then graduation came and now you’re finally in college.

College was great because you had each other. Over the years you started to develop feelings for your best friend, but you were too scared to confess them because you didn't want to ruin what the two of you had. What you didn't know though was that Hobi had feelings for you too and was waiting for the perfect moment to finally ask you out.

It was when Hobi became a member of BTS that he noticed that he wouldn't be able to be by your side like he used to. It was hard for both of you to be away from each other, but you two made it work. When he came home from tour, he would hang out with you day and night. He soon introduced you to the other members and they basically took you in as a sibling. Hobi told them so much about you and what you two have been through together, especially during your transitioning. The boys were your big supporters and when you had dark moments they all were there by your side to cheer you up; especially Hobi. The boys knew about Hobi's crush on you and they've been encouraging him to ask you out. They even helped him plan out a whole day just for you two and by the end of it, he was going to ask you the big question.

Today was that day. The boys were finally coming back home from their tour. After an hour of waiting, the boys were finally coming out of their plane and to the airport. You were in their car, ready to surprise them. As the boys worked their way through the crowd, they finally got to the car, and to their surprise, there you were. All of them had huge smiles on their faces as they saw you. One by one, as they got into the car, they gave you a big hug. Hobi was the last one to arrive.

"Hobi is in for a treat," Jin said as he settled down in his seat.

"He is definitely going to be surprised." You said with a chuckle.

Finally, Hobi arrived at the car and once he laid eyes on you he couldn’t believe it.

"Y/n!" He yelled, basically jumping into the car and wrapping his arms around you tightly.

"I missed you so much!"

"I missed you too, Hobi! Hey… Hobi do you mind letting me go now? I can't breathe."

"Oh! I'm sorry! I guess I got a little too excited…" He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head.

The whole car ride Hobi told you everything that happened when they were on tour. The other members would chime in here and there. Until finally, you all arrived at their dorm and walked inside. The members went to their rooms to put their stuff up, leaving you and Hobi alone.

"Here, let me help you." You said as you grabbed one of his bags.

"Thank you, y/n!" He said with a smile on his face.

You two walked to his room as you helped him unpack. After unpacking everything and putting it up, you two walked back out into the living room and sat down. The rest of the guys were still in their rooms, probably sleeping since it's been a long flight.

"Thank you for surprising us, y/n. You honestly don't know how happy it made me to see you again." He grabbed your hand and looked into your eyes.

"I've actually been wanting to ask you something… W-would you like to go out together, like a date?"

You looked at him shocked. Going on a date with your best friend who is also your crush. You had to be dreaming, right?

"Oh Hobi… I would like that very much."

The smile on his face grew bigger as he got up and held out his hand.

"Shall we, then?"

"We shall." You grabbed his hand as the two of you walked out of the door and into his car.

A few minutes have passed by and Hobi still hasn't told you where he was taking you. It's still early in the day so who knows what's ahead.

"So… Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise."

"Come on, Hobi. Can't you give me a little hint?"

"Nope, you just have to wait and see, sunshine."

"Fine, if I must." You said with a smile on your face, playfully rolling your eyes at his pet name for you.

You never really knew where the name “sunshine” came from. It was just a nickname he always called you. You didn't mind though. I mean who wouldn't love to be called “sunshine”?

A few more minutes went by as you two are still driving. To pass the time, you grabbed the aux cord and played some music. The first song you put on was "Daechwita." Yoongi really outdid himself with his new album. Ever since it came out you couldn't help but listen to the whole thing on repeat. You and Hobi were both bobbing your head to "Daechwita" to hype yourselves up.

"대취타 대취타 자 울려라 대취타." You both sang along to the whole song but you couldn't keep up with Yoongi's rap, so you let Hobi rap his part while you sang the rest.

As the song came to an end, you finally arrived at your first destination; the store.

"What are we doing at the store?"

"I need to get a few things. Is that okay?"

"Of course, let's go."

As you two got out of the car and started walking up to the store, Hobi grabbed a basket to put his stuff in. You two walked down the snack aisle as Hobi grabbed some snacks and put them inside the basket. You saw that he grabbed some of your favorite snacks as well. "What is this boy up to?" You thought to yourself, trying to think what the surprise was. As the two of you approached the cash register, he grabbed some sodas for the both of you and then paid for everything. After bagging all the snacks, he handed you your drink and you two walked back to the car.

"You're still not going to tell me what the surprise is, are you?"

He just chuckled and said, "You'll have to wait and see, angel."

"Angel", another nickname he would call you. You have to admit, you like it when he calls you that. It just gives you butterflies.

You two get back to the car and start off to your next destination. You couldn't handle the suspense anymore, but luckily the next destination wasn't that far from the store. As you came up, you read the sign that said "Arcade." You love the arcade! You were really excited, basically ready to jump out of your seat and run right in.

"I know you love the arcade a lot.. and we haven't been to one together in a while since I've been on tour so I thought, why not go?"

"Was this a surprise?"

"This is only part of the surprise. You won't know the surprise until the end of the day."

End of the day? Hmmm.. what could it be? You get more and more curious about it, but that feeling soon goes away when you two approach the entrance of the arcade. As you walk in, you see all the games to play and prizes you can win.

"What would you like to do first?" You asked him.

"Hmmm… how about air hockey? I must redeem myself from the last time you beat me."

"Aww, that's cute! You want to try to beat me at my own game. Fine, air hockey it is, but don't cry when you lose." You said with a smirk as you two approach the air hockey table.

"The only one that will be crying is you when I actually win."

"We'll just have to see about that now, won't we?"

"Prepare to eat your words, y/n!"

And with that, Hobi starts the game. He hits the hockey puck as it comes to your side and you hit it hard, making it go into the goal. Hobi looks at you shocked as the puck goes in.

"What was that again, love? Eat my words? I think you already did that for me." You laughed.

"Oh, yeah! Just wait and see. I'll win!"

"You keep telling yourself that, pretty boy."

"Pretty boy, huh? Are you sure you aren't looking at a mirror?"

You couldn't help the blush that came with his words. He saw you blush and smirked, taking the time to hit the puck and make it go in your goal.

"Wait, what?!"

"Aww, is pretty boy shocked that I got a goal?"

"N-no... I'm just distracted, is all."

"Sure you are."

The game went on for a few more minutes as it came down to a tie.

"Okay, whoever wins this round gets to buy the other person food from the concession stand." You said, feeling confident.

"You got yourself a deal."

You started the game as the puck kept going back and forth across the table. What has he been doing on tour? Practicing? You have to admit you are shocked at how good he got at the game. The puck started to come towards you and you took this chance to hit it real hard. It flies across the table as he bounces off his side and it goes into your goal. You stood there frozen, realizing you just lost at your own game.

"Yes!" He threw his arms in the air in victory.

"I won! Now, how about some food? Of course, you're buying."

"Yeah, yeah. A deal is a deal. What do you want?"

"I want a hamburger with sprite."

"Fine, let's go."

You walk up to the concession stand and get his food. You two go sit down as he eats his winning food.

"Mmm... This is so good! You have to have a bite!" He tore a piece of his burger off and fed it to you.

"You're right! It's really good!"

"Right!"

After he was done eating, you two left the arcade to go to your final destination. You played music again and you both sang along to every song. You missed hanging out with him like this. You didn't realize how much you missed him until he wasn't by your side anymore. But all of those feelings went away because you two were finally reunited. You were looking out the window when you felt something grab your hand. You looked down to see it was Hobi, holding it. Your face turned red as you smiled. Hobi took your reaction as a way to proceed and intertwine your fingers together. He smiled, making eye contact with you. You just looked back at him, your face still red.

"What's this about, huh? You never did this before?"

"Trust me, you'll find out when we get to the park. That's why I bought snacks and drinks."

You just nod your head as you feel the butterflies again. But this time it felt different. You knew you had a crush on him but this feeling was different from every crush you had before. Could it be… love? Only your heart knew the true answer.

Finally, after a long time, you two arrived at the park. Hobi parks the car and grabs the bags with snacks and drinks. He comes over to your side of the car and opens the door for you.

"After you, my prince."

"Why thank you, my knight, in shining armor."

Once again, he intertwined your fingers as you two walked down the trail and stopped at a bench by the river. He put the bags down by the bench and sat beside you. You two sat there watching the sunset.

"Wow… look at that sunset. It's so beautiful."

"It really is but… y/n, I need to tell you something."

"Of course, Hobi. What is it?"

He faced you and held both of your hands as he looked into your eyes. Him being this close to you and staring at your eyes, it felt like he was seeing into your soul.

"I- um…" The confidence he had started to fade away the more he looked at you, noticing how handsome you are.

"I've liked you for some time now…"

"I like you too, Hobi. I love having a friend like you."

"I don't mean as a friend…"

"W-what do you mean then..?"

"I'll just straight out say it. Y/n, will you be my boyfriend?"

Your eyes widen at his question. You have been waiting for this moment for so long and it's finally happening.

"Hobi… of course, I'll be your boyfriend!”

And with that his smile, that you always loved, grew bigger at your words. You could literally see him jumping in his seat with excitement.

"You don't know how long I’ve wanted to ask you out." He chuckled as he scratched the back of his head and his face turned red.

"Oh, I can imagine. I've wanted to be with you for as long as I can remember."

With that being said, you took this opportunity to put your hand on his cheek and bring him close as you connected your lips with his in a sweet yet passionate kiss.

What a good ending to a perfect day.

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infiniteshawn · 5 years

Text

Since We’re Alone | 3

a/n: 3.5k words. the calm before the storm. and a whole lot of fluff.

Andrew had hoped to have Phoebe on a flight to Los Angeles within twenty-four hours. This was not the case.

Ideally, Phoebe would have had her Handmaid’s Tale-induced epiphany and replied to Shawn with a simple “I’m in.” Instead, she agreed to continue thinking about it, and if all went well, there was a chance for a possible meeting.

Which she never intended on following through with.

“Yes, I know he’s hot, mom, but it’s just n-“

Phoebe sighed and chewed her lip, interrupted once again by her mother on the other end of the line. She felt as if her own self was the only one with actual morals, as everyone in her life insisted that she bite the bullet and take part in a completely dishonest and misleading attention-cry.

Her boss pointed out that he’s famous.

Her mother pointed out that he’s attractive.

Sophie pointed out that it would make for a fantastic article.

And Shawn himself was on television talking about it. Oh, my god, Phoebe thought to herself.

“I’ll call you back,” she muttered to her mother, unmuting her practically-Jurassic Sony Wega to tune into the interview.

“I’m just really happy right now,” he flashed those damn pearly whites, causing the interviewer to erupt in a giddy blush-fest. Phoebe scoffed.

“With the success of the album and tour coming up, everything seems to be coming together.”

Phoebe cursed herself for leaving the TV on. She forgot Entertainment Tonight—an even worse version of what she did for a living--existed.

“That’s great, Shawn,” the young woman grinned, uncrossing her legs to cross them again, “and I understand that love is in the air for you, too?” she asked, and Phoebe wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a question or a statement. The world seemed to be in this unsure state of limbo about Shawn Mendes’ relationship status, and she felt relieved that she wasn’t completely subjected to this so soon. No one really knew what was going on. Not even Phoebe.

Shawn tossed his head back with a chuckle, “Caught the Grammys, eh? Yeah, my girlfriend’s great.”

Fuck. There goes that, Phoebe thought. He so easily admitted it. A public confession in full confidence was her biggest nightmare. Even though she’d barely scratched the surface, she knew she was in deep.

_________________________

What the fuck she messaged, still refusing Shawn’s offer to just text him. Giving him her number would give him complete access to her any time, and she didn’t need his management on her tail. She hadn’t agreed to anything.

Phoebe hoped she hadn’t worried Shawn with her DM, reminding herself that it was his team forcing him into this mess. As far as she knew, Shawn was pretty innocent.

Sorry she added, and then, ET interview caught me off guard

Shawn was already typing.

@shawnmendes: Can we talk about it?

Phoebe huffed. If she was being honest, she didn’t want to talk about it. But he’d seen the message, and the seconds were ticking, and Phoebe’s stomach dipped when she saw he was typing again.

@shawnmendes: Andrew says you live in Toronto?

Phoebe groaned. She’d read the message, she did live in Toronto, and there was no way she could lie because he was definitely going to find out anyway.

I can call you she sent, willing to surrender her ten digits of freedom in order to avoid what was to come. But Shawn was hot on her heels.

@shawnmendes: No, can’t talk about it over the phone

Phoebe wondered if this was more serious than people were leading on. Maybe his phone was tapped, monitored by the people in charge of him. The thought made her mouth dry.

And then an address popped up. An address that was two blocks away.

@shawnmendes: Red or white?

_________________________

Phoebe chewed her lip in the mirrored elevator, questioning if she was underdressed. An oversized long-sleeve shirt and bottoms that couldn’t be described as anything other than airport pants hung off of her. She looked down at her socked feet inside of her Birkenstocks—definitely underdressed, she concluded.

“10” lit up the LED display and the doors opened, and rather than being greeted by a carpeted beige hallway, the last man she’d locked lips with stood before her. With a massive grin on his face.

“So good to see you!” he smiled, pulling her in for a hug.

Phoebe blinked, regaining feeling in her arms and bringing them up to wrap around his firm torso. Before she could get much of a grip, Shawn was releasing her and walking down the long hallway.

“Thanks for agreeing to come over,” he spoke, looking over his shoulder, “I just figured,” he paused, looking forward again, “we probably shouldn’t be seen until,” another pause. Shawn cursed himself for talking too much, especially before whatever this was had been established.

“Don’t worry,” Phoebe interjected, slowing her short legs as Shawn twisted the doorknob, “I don’t want to be seen either.”

Shawn pushed the door open and motioned for Phoebe to go inside, where she stepped out of the way and waited for him to tell her what to do or where to go. Shawn took note of her manners.

Phoebe was hesitant to look around, feeling as if it wasn’t her space. Afraid to get too close but too curious to hold back, she obliged when Shawn poured her a glass of sauvignon blanc and began showing her around.

“I signed the lease when I was nineteen,” he spoke, pausing to sip his drink. She’d seen the kitchen, admiring the dark cabinets and chocolate marble countertops. It looked nothing like the late-80’s vibe her appliances radiated.

“And since then I’ve just kept renewing it,” he added, stopping where the tile transitioned to hardwood and the kitchen became the living room, “I always thought I’d buy it out, but, I don’t know,” he chewed his lip, twinkling the rightmost keys of the upright piano as he passed, “it’s just never been home. I’m twenty-three. Who knows where I��ll be in five years.”

“Surprised you’re still here at all,” Phoebe spoke, taken aback as Shawn looked down at her with a surprised expression.

“Are you crazy?” he giggled, “I love my job, but you wouldn’t catch me dead living in LA.”

Phoebe nodded. All signs were pointing her to the realization that Shawn didn’t want this either, and the whole thing was being orchestrated by the people managing him. He didn’t want to leave Toronto. Fuck, he hadn’t even looked like he wanted to be at the Grammys.

“And then through there’s just a spare bedroom—the other one’s back there,” he said, pointing back to the kitchen, “and then my room. Bathroom attached, just so you know.”

Phoebe nodded, swirling her wine around in its glass. Shawn had a beautiful home, but she was having a hard time understanding why she was in it. Her hair fell from behind her ear.

“I’m sorry, can we,” Shawn spoke nervously, almost in broken English. He was bouncing around on the balls of his feet, but not in an excited way, “Can we talk about this? Here,” he motioned back toward the living room, adjusting one of the cushions of his stark-white couch for Phoebe to have a seat.

“I know this must be so weird for you,” he started, finding her gaze. She took the opportunity to give him a one-over, too nervous to so obviously check him out before. He was in black jeans and a Henley. She once again felt underdressed. At least he’d forgotten socks.

“We’re already in this mess, though,” he continued, and her gaze fell to his lips, and then his chin, where she noticed that he had a bit of scruff that she’d never seen before, “it’s just, they’re really pushing me to do this,” he spoke lowly, as if he was worried someone would hear him. Phoebe half-expected him to look over his shoulder, “that was a really close call, at the Grammys, and if we just swept it under the rug, they feel like there would be a lot of loose ends.”

Phoebe nodded, still not having added to the conversation.

“Plus, you’ll get some time off work. This is probably good experience for your job. You might see the world or whatever. Who knows? It could be fun,” he grinned, and she smiled back. But it wasn’t convincing.

“Look,” Shawn spoke, voice low again, “my best friend got married last year. He’s got a kid on the way. I just feel like everyone’s, you know, living, and I’m at this standstill where I’m doing the same thing I was doing when I was seventeen,” Phoebe frowned. He avoided eye contact, “it would just be nice having someone around that’s,” he paused, “normal. Not so-LA-it-hurts.”

It broke her heart.

Phoebe sighed, and Shawn looked at her once again. His eyes looked sunken in. Dark circles accented the paleness of the rest of his face, “Okay, I’m in.”

Shawn’s lips parted as he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, “You’re in?”

“For now, yes,” she nodded, stretching her legs out in front of her and wiggling her socked toes, “on the terms that the contract is nice to me.”

Shawn grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The tone was still heavy.

“Play me something,” Phoebe blurted, and Shawn’s eyes widened in response.

“What?”

“Come on, Rockstar,” she grinned, figuring the glass of wine was reaching her brain, “I’m supposed to be dating you, but I’ve never heard you play?”

Shawn grinned and shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Phoebe relaxed her shoulders and leaned a couple inches in his direction, “Please?”

Shawn sighed, but it wasn’t a disappointed one, “Alright.”

He placed his glass on the coffee table and stood from the sofa, retrieving an acoustic guitar from its stand in the corner of the living room, “Do you,” he paused in disbelief that she was making him do this, “have a preference?”

“I was actually a big fan of yours back in second year.”

“Really?” Shawn laughed with his eyebrows raised and a sly grin gracing his lips.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “SM-three days.”

“What’s your favourite?” Shawn asked with the excitement of a puppy.

Phoebe took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe she was admitting this, “Mutual, but it’s kind of upbeat, you can play something els-“ she spoke, but Shawn was smiling and already plucking the strings, and she knew she didn’t need to keep going because of how quickly he interrupted.

“I can do Mutual.”

_________________________

The next morning, Phoebe danced in her kitchen to the sounds of sizzling bacon and “Mutual” by Shawn Mendes.

For the very first time, she was excited about this.

“So you’re really gonna do it?” asked Sophie on their morning commute, navigating through the herds of Toronto-banker-sheep. People moved even more frantically in the winter months.

“No,” Phoebe answered, “I’m going to LA to scope it out. Then,” she emphasized, looking up a few inches to meet Sophie’s denying gaze, “I’ll decide.”

“That you’re gonna do it,” Sophie concluded flatly, sticking her hand out and motioning to an Uber that was driving far too fast.

“If I’m gonna do it,” Phoebe corrected.

They began crossing the street, Phoebe struggling to keep up with the swift movements of Sophie’s long legs.

“You won’t have any issues convincing Margaret,” Sophie sighed as they made a right, forcing Phoebe behind her for a few strides.

Phoebe wondered if what she was sensing was jealousy. She figured she’d worry about that later.

“As much as I wish it were me,” Sophie spoke, and then stopped abruptly upon reaching their building, “I think you should do it.”

Sophie smiled as she swung the door open for Phoebe, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

_________________________

It was a small plane. Andrew had been nice and placed her in business class—probably some sort of a bribe, Phoebe figured—but she wasn’t complaining. There was plenty of room for her not-very-long legs, and the drinks were complementary.

She sat on the aisle, although it didn’t make much difference because there was only one aisle and two seats on each side. The spot beside her remained vacated, and she was hoping to sneakily scoot over once the seatbelt lights went out and the plane was in the air.

Ten minutes to takeoff. Phoebe put her tattered copy of American Gods in her fraying Longchamp and closed her eyes, pressing “play” on a podcast she was sure she wasn’t going to pay attention to.

David Dobrik’s laugh was loud in her headphones when she felt a tap on her shoulder, causing her to quickly tug her earbuds out and clutch her bag a little tighter.

Of course.

The tree of limbs that was Shawn Mendes was stowing his backpack--with his sweatpants-clad thighs in front of her face.

“Make some room,” he spoke with a smile as Phoebe tucked her legs in, allowing him to crawl across her. She hadn’t been expecting this.

Her cheeks were red hot as Shawn made the most noise possible getting settled in, stopping abruptly to ask, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “just didn’t know we were travelling together. I guess you’ve gotta get to LA too,” she gave a tired, tight-lipped smile.

Shawn looked a little discouraged.

“Sorry,” he paused, breathing in, “I guess I should’ve asked you if this was okay, I wasn’t think-“

“We could’ve carpooled,” Phoebe grinned, and Shawn looked as if she’d taken the weight of a train off his shoulders. Shawn smiled with a slight tilt of his head.

“So,” Phoebe spoke, “what are we watchin’?”

“What?”

“Five and a half hours, Mendes,” she replied, “that’s a whole lot of Pheebs.”

They both giggled and began looking for a movie, determined to press “play” at the same time.

_________________________

Phoebe looked around. The lights were out and they were halfway through some alien film that neither of them cared for but were both too polite to object. Her screen had been paused for a while, allowing her to observe the white interior of the aircraft as her mind ran wild.

Shawn’s movie was a few minutes ahead, but he seemed to have caught on because his headphones were out and his right cheek was pressed against the headrest.

“What’s up,” he spoke, and it wasn’t really a question. The awkwardness of not knowing each other unfortunately called on small talk to fill silences.

Phoebe tugged the plastic from her ears, though nothing had been playing. She released a little laugh and spoke, “What am I doing?”

Shawn sighed and straightened his back a little, but kept his head tilted in her direction as he responded, “I don’t want to say anything because I don’t want to push you.”

Phoebe shook her head, “I did it to myself when I kissed you.”

Shawn turned a darker shade of pink and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Phoebe,” Shawn spoke, and she woke up a little. That was the first time she’d heard her name escape his lips. She liked it. “Come on, let’s start small. Tell me about yourself.”

“You want the whole life story?”

“No, I want to discover that stuff on my own. How about,” he paused, searching her dark blue eyes, “what’s your biggest weakness?”

Phoebe squinted a bit in his direction as she wondered if he was taking note of her weak spots for future reference.

But his curious chocolate eyes and boyish grin suggested otherwise.

“I think my greatest weakness is myself,” Phoebe started, “I expect too much because I expect everyone to think like me. I go above and beyond and they don’t, and I wind up disappointed. Every time.

“But it always results in my being used because I’d rather be taken advantage of than abandoned, I guess,” she admitted, and it was merely a whisper.

It didn’t stay so grim for long, though, because Shawn said something and then Phoebe said something, and they were both laughing louder than intended.

It took the gentleman behind them popping his head up and asking, “Do you mind?” to shut them up.

They laughed.

_________________________

Shawn must have drifted off at some point, because Phoebe noticed he was lightly snoring with his head resting between the seat and the wall of the plane.

“Attention passengers,” the pilot came on the PA, “we will be landing in ten minutes. Thank you for flying with Air Canada.”

She smoothed her ponytail, sitting up with determination. Phoebe knew what she wanted. She just had to be stealth.

She leaned toward Shawn’s limp frame, right arm outstretched, trying her best not to disturb him but desperate to see LA illuminated in the pitch black.

Shawn snapped awake, catching Phoebe off guard.

She stumbled, redirecting her hand to his thigh to catch herself, landing with her face just inches from his own. Shawn gulped.

Her gaze fell to his lips.

“Hey there,” they spoke.

“Sorry,” she apologized, pushing off his leg to get herself back into her seat, “I just really wanted to see out the window.”

“Oh!” Shawn quietly exclaimed, seemingly putting the pieces together. Effortlessly, he reached over and slid up the window cover.

It was gorgeous. Clusters of lights winked hello to Phoebe Rose for as far as she could see. If she squinted hard enough, she could just make out where they ended and the Pacific began.

“Don’t fly often?” Shawn asked, eyes on her as she admired her view.

“Rarely,” Phoebe spoke, and Shawn leaned back so she could get a better look. She instinctively responded, leaning forward.

But Shawn could feel her breath on his neck and her hand on his knee and he wasn’t sure if all of this was a blessing or a curse.

He wanted to find out.

The seatbelt light came on. The wheels came out. The plane touched down.

Phoebe grabbed Shawn’s hand.

A few minutes later, Shawn crawled across their seats to retrieve his bag. Phoebe regretted bringing a luggage big enough to check because she didn’t want to be an inconvenience, but then she quickly remembered that without her, Shawn would likely be in deep shit right about now.

Coming back to reality, she watched as he reached above his head, causing his hoodie to ride up and bring his cotton t-shirt with it. He’d developed more fuzz below his belly button since she’d last seen him shirtless—in 2019, on a larger-than-life billboard in Yonge-Dundas Square.

She wanted to touch it.

Then, she wondered what was wrong with her.

And before she knew it, Shawn was pulling her out of her seat and off of the plane toward baggage claim.

“Flight AC753” flashed on the screen above the metal conveyor belt, and Phoebe switched out of Airplane Mode as bags began emerging.

She watched the cell phone provider texts roll in before switching off roaming, and Shawn had located her bag and pulled it from the contraption before she could even tell him which one it was.

The platform for car pickup services looked busy, but before they could fully round the corner, Shawn came to a halt.

“You might want these,” he spoke, retrieving his black Ray Bans from his carry-on. Phoebe looked at him, confused, but listened as he talked, “out the doors is our Uber. I think it’s just a black Malibu. Ask if it’s for “Shawn” and he’ll let you in. I’ll be there in ten.”

Phoebe mentally questioned his methods but did what he said, and once she saw the crowd of fifty-some teenage girls with their iPhones out, she understood.

She had no idea what she had gotten herself into.

______________________________

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splendidlyimperfect · 4 years

Link

Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Gray's trying to recover from Joel's assault, and Sting is there for him and Natsu in every way he can be.

Chapters (21/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Gray Fullbuster & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Additional Tags: modern au, childhood friends, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, child abuse, alcoholism, drug use, recovery

*this chapter runs parallel with chapter twenty-one of how to become a wildfire.

-----

com·fort | \ ˈkəm(p)-fərt. transitive verb : to ease the grief or trouble of

xxi winter age twenty-four

Gray and Natsu end up staying.

“He said he feels safer here,” Natsu explains a few days after the hospital. Him and Sting are sitting on the back porch steps, and Gray’s napping in the guest room with Bella curled up next to him. Kelly just left with her follow-up photographs of Gray’s injuries, and the dull look in his eyes when she’d taken them had been heartbreaking.

“I don’t think he wants to be alone with me,” Natsu says.

Sting’s heart aches at the despondent expression on Natsu’s face. “It’s not you,” he says gently. “I’m sure he knows you would never hurt him, but he’s probably scared of being alone with someone right now. Even if it’s you.”

Continue reading on AO3

“I know,” Natsu says, sighing and rubbing his face. “I’m trying not to take it personally.” Frosche, who has meandered outside, meows and rubs herself against Natsu’s legs. “Is it okay? If we stay?”

“Of course,” Sting says. He tips his head back to look through the window at Rogue, who’s baking cookies. Rogue must feel Sting’s gaze because he looks up, smiling when they make eye contact and blowing Sting a kiss. The he nods meaningfully at Natsu, and Sting looks back at him. He looks exhausted and scared.

“We’re here for you, too,” Sting says.

Natsu looks over at him and frowns.

“This has been hard on you.” Natsu starts to protest but Sting shakes his head. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. Just because it’s worse for him doesn’t mean it’s not awful for you. Seeing someone you love get hurt like that…”

He trails off, thinking of showing up at Uncle Wes’ house, cold and hurting, with Lector in his arms.

“I do,” Natsu says. His voice is quiet as he kicks at a leaf that’s drifted over to them. “Love him, I mean.”

“I know.”

“I feel so fucking stupid.” Natsu drops his head into his hands. “I shouldn’t have left, I should have—why didn’t I try harder? I could have—”

“Could have what? Come here and wandered the streets looking for him? He changed his name, he looks different, and Joel was isolating him on purpose. You did everything you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“It was.” Sting takes Natsu’s hand and squeezes it gently. “You helped him find the courage to leave.”

“He could have died.”

“But he didn’t, because of you.” Frosche meows in agreement as she turns in circles and then settles in a ball on Natsu’s lap. “He’s here, and you’re here,” Sting says, “And we’re all going to be okay.”

When Sting gets home from work at three the next morning, he finds Gray in the kitchen. He’s staring up at the cupboards above the stove, and it takes Sting’s exhausted brain a few minutes to realize that Gray’s looking for a drink.

“We don’t have any alcohol.”

Gray jumps at his voice and Sting reaches out to reassure him, then backs away when Gray flinches. When Sting flips on the kitchen light, Gray’s panicked expression fades quickly, and he’s left looking small and miserable, with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Sting says, keeping his voice light. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just got home. You hungry?”

It’s only once they’re settled on the couch with ice cream and the cats that Sting digs into his pocket and pulls out his sobriety chip. He runs his fingers over the edges for a minute, then nods at Gray and says, “Catch,” before tossing it over.

Frosche attempts to bat at it but Gray nudges her away and runs his fingers over the coin. It’s clear he doesn’t know what it is.

“It’s a sobriety chip,” Sting explains. He tries not to let shame take over at the words. Even after five years of meetings and saying I’m an alcoholic, it’s still hard to admit. Those are strangers. This is something else.

It takes Gray a second to figure out what Sting means, but when he does, he looks up at Sting with wide eyes.

“You...”

Sting nods. “I know it fucking hurts like hell, but I promise drinking will just make it hurt worse.”

Gray stares at the chip, bringing his other hand up to touch the marks on his neck. “I don’t think it can hurt worse,” he says, voice rough.

“You’d be surprised.” Sting leans back against the couch as Lector makes himself comfortable, kneading Sting’s sweatpants. “Ask Natsu about the first time he met me.” Gray raises an eyebrow and Sting feels heat creeping into his cheeks. “I, uh... threw up on his shoes.”

“Really?”

“Mm. I was a wreck.”

Sting tips his head back against the couch and stares up at the ceiling. Sometimes it feels like he’s talking about someone else – a broken, wayward boy who took all the wrong paths. Rogue had asked once if Sting had any pictures of himself as a teenager, and he’d been relieved to say no. He doesn’t want to remember what he looked like when he was so far gone.

Gray makes a soft sound and Sting blinks, realizing he’s gone silent. When he looks over, Gray has Frosche on his lap and he’s petting her carefully, running his finger over her head and giving her a tiny smile when she bumps her nose against his palm. Then he looks back up at Sting with a question on his face.

Sting swallows as the tiny ball of anxiety in his stomach starts to expand. Gray is kind and understanding, but the question is always there in the back of Sting’s mind – who could love me after they know what I’ve done? He exhales, pushing away the fear. Rogue loves him. Natsu loves him. Uncle Wes loves him.

He loves himself.

“None of it helped,” he says quietly. “Drinking, drugs, hurting myself.” He holds out his arms to show Gray the skin that will always carry the marks of his hurt. “I thought that maybe I could hurt myself worse than he hurt me, and that I’d be in control, but... that’s not how it works.”

Gray’s quiet for a second, studying the scars on Sting’s arms and then looking down at his own wrists. There’s nothing there, but the look on Gray’s face tells Sting that he’s thought about it before.

“I feel so stupid,” Gray says after a minute, rolling the sobriety chip between his fingers. “You all tried to help me. Before. And I just—I didn’t listen, and I should have, and now it’s just...” He shakes his head. “There’s this stupid part of me that doesn’t want him to get in trouble, that’s still scared that he’ll get angry at me.”

Sting nods, reaching out and nudging Gray’s foot with his own. “You can be scared and still go on,” he says, remembering Rogue’s words. “I haven’t seen my dad in ten years and I’m still terrified of him.”

“That’s... not very reassuring,” Gray says, and Sting quickly shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t...” He looks up at the ceiling and chews on his lip. “I just meant you’re not stupid. It doesn’t matter how long it took, you left, and even if you hadn’t, you still wouldn’t be stupid.” Sting’s mind drifts to all the times he’d tried – tried to leave, to quit, to grow up, to be better. “I know it’s not that easy.”

Gray is quiet for a minute, looking down at Frosche. “If I hadn’t left, he…” He sighs, shaking his head. “What if I’m never okay?”

Sting’s heart aches at the expression on Gray’s face – he’s seen it so many times in the mirror. The angry desperation is almost a tangible thing, and if Gray wasn’t so skittish right now, Sting might offer to hug him. Instead, he nudges Gray’s foot with his again – I'm here. I know.

“’Okay’ isn’t really a thing,” Sting says gently. “I still...” He pauses, torn between wanting to relate and not wanting to hurt. It’s a fine line, and with Gray the pain is so raw and new. “Does it help, if I tell you this stuff?” he asks. “Or does it make it worse?”

“It helps,” Gray almost whispers, keeping his eyes on Frosche. Sting nods, letting out a soft grunt as Lector stands up and stretches, then clambers up onto Sting’s chest and makes himself comfortable again. He starts to purr when Sting scratches behind his ears.

“I still have nightmares,” Sting says after a minute. The anxiety from earlier is quickly turning into a lump in Sting’s throat that he can’t push down. He tries to hold the tears in because this isn’t about him. It’s about Gray, and Joel, and the marks on Gray’s neck, and Sting knows that, but for a second, all he can hear is his dad.

grow up

stop crying

don't be such a baby

Then he exhales, letting the memories go. He is grown up, and his tears aren’t a weakness. Sting cries for lots of reasons – grief, fear, guilt, joy, empathy – and none of that makes him weak. He knows that he feels more than most people, but that isn’t something that he’s ashamed of anymore. It’s what makes him strong.

“There’s still things that set me off,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Little, stupid things. And suddenly it’s like I’m this... I feel small. Helpless. Trying to figure out what I did wrong so I can make it right, even though nobody’s really angry.” The words run together, spilling out of him like the tears on his cheeks. “And that doesn’t go away, but you get better at living with it. At recognizing when your brain is lying to you. At trusting people. And you can’t do that if you’re drunk or high or hurting yourself.”

Gray makes a quiet, sad sound as Sting wipes the tears from his face. They lapse into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and the only sound in the house is Natsu snoring softly in the guest bedroom down the hall. Gray seems to be processing Sting’s words – Sting can see the tiny changes in his expression as he works through the information. Eventually he sighs, and the only thing left on his face is exhaustion.

“You should sleep,” Sting says gently. He nudges Lector off him and shuffles off the couch, yawning and stretching before reaching out for Gray’s hand. Gray stares at it for a second, then lets Sting help him to his feet. His hands are cold, and Sting squeezes them gently, taking back the chip.

“It’ll get better,” he says, hoping that the words don’t seem empty. “But right now… it’s okay to not be okay.”

Rogue’s still awake when Sting gets upstairs.

“Hey, love,” he says quietly, yawning and setting his phone down on the side table. Frosche, who trailed after Sting up the stairs, hops up onto the bed and meows at him. He scratches behind her ears, then tugs his shirt and sweatpants off and slips under the blankets in just his boxers.

“Did you two eat all the ice cream?” Rogue asks with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow. Sting grunts noncommittally, cuddling up to Rogue and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Is everything okay?”

“As it can be,” Sting says, humming when Rogue starts to comb the tangles out of his hair.

“Gray’s lucky to have you,” Rogue says, kissing Sting’s forehead. “And so’s Natsu.” He runs his finger along Sting’s scar. “How’re you feeling?”

Sting doesn’t answer right away, instead splaying his hand over Rogue’s chest and feeling the soft, steady thump of his heart. Then he tips his head back and gazes at Rogue, giving him a soft smile.

“Safe,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. He can feel Rogue’s lips curve up as he kisses back, running his fingers into Sting’s hair and pulling him close. Sting drifts his hand down across Rogue’s stomach, curling his fingers around Rogue’s hip and tugging him onto his side until they’re facing each other.

“You are safe,” Rogue murmurs between kisses. The moonlight spilling through the window makes his hair look silver and Sting tucks it behind his ear, moving to kiss his cheek, then his neck. Rogue shivers, letting Sting’s hands guide him until he’s straddling Sting’s hips and gazing down at him.

“I know,” Sting says, running his hands up Rogue’s thighs. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Rogue says as he leans down and rubs his nose against Sting’s. Then he kisses the freckles on Sting’s nose and adds, “You’ll always be safe with me.”

#fairy tail #stingue #gratsu #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #angst #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #alcoholism #new chapter #update #my fic

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lightskinrry · 5 years

Text

I can’t remember why I loved you, anyway.

The one where Harry and Y/N broke up two years ago and have to spend a vacation together in the Hamptons except they’re not over each other yet, and they both have new S/O’s

Word Count: 3.4k

TW: angst??? fluff??? honestly I really don’t know

A/N: this was a concept i thought about for days and then i sent it to @emotionally-imbruised and she said ‘write it’ and i did???????? (thank you lovely!!)

and thanks to @belladonna-styles for reading it over! You’re the sweetest, Sierra!!! (i love you)

It has been two years. Two whole years since the two of you decided that it was better to go separate ways. When you thought about it, the truth was that it has been two years since the person you loved most in this whole goddamn world turned into the person you hate the most.

The breakup has been hard. It was like running a mile to never make it. A long run of three years of love, passion, tenderness, dreams and future plans turned to ashes. It all collapsed one night. Actually, it took more time. It started in the run of your second year together, when he would be so busy that the only nights you’d spend with him he’d keep talking about work. When you would feel lonely in his presence and won’t even laugh at his stupid jokes. When he started being suspicious of you coming in late knowing there were nights he wouldn’t come home at all.

The third year of your shared love has just been the same stupid fight over and over again. You missed the simpler times… The times when you would do all the crazy things young people in love do. Giving each other a tattoo – he might have started hating you when he discovered your initials on his left butt cheek on a hungover morning. Singing, naked in the rain in the garden – all the love you’ve made and the terrible cold you’d got after. Crashing stranger’s wedding – the first time was an accident, it was when you met him; that night at your friend’s wedding in Hawaii. He was wearing a white suit – who wears white at a wedding? He did. And he was beautiful in it. That night you two became friends; strangely you had a lot in common; from your favorite bands to which Friends character you hated most – Ross, of course.

That night you two got so drunk that you danced on the kids’ table to the Pina Colada song.

And since then, it was your favorite song. Every time you’d hear it, the two of you would start dancing like that night in Hawaii. And he even mentioned once that it would be the song you two first dance at your wedding.

It was on the last night of November that you packed your bags. You spent the entire month sleeping alone. And he wasn’t even on tour. You couldn’t tell if you trusted him anymore and the gut feeling that he was seeing someone else was torturing you.

Every time he would touch you, it would burn your skin because your brain would only picture his fingertips on somebody else’s skin. He came home that night as if he felt that you would leave. And the storm that ravaged your shared home in that cold night of November was one worthy of those Sunday afternoons’ TV drama.

You told him how you felt –your gut feeling, your frustration, your sadness, how you missed him, how you couldn’t pretend anymore. And his stupid self and his incapability to respond and communicate his feelings just let you go. And that’s when you started hating him.

Probably to cover the hurt of feeling like he just never cared. That, you leaving was not important enough that he would try and better himself and overcome his insecurities. He just let you go. And your stupid brain came up with the answer that he didn’t care because he had someone else this whole time. Maybe he did. But it was better if you never knew.

Two years passed. Your life was back on track quickly. You started dating again, finding joy and doing fun things you used to do with him with other friends. The only thing that reminded you of your time together was that you shared common best friends. Your circle survived the split but it would continuously be hard for them not to see you together.

The resentment you both held for each other made you be mean and cruel to each other and on a common agreement you decided that you would avoid each other. If your shared friends were going for a movie and he was there, you wouldn’t go. But the next outing you’d be there and he would ditch. It worked well for you both. You wouldn’t see each other, hear each other or know about each other and everything would be good.

Your friends always said that it was stupid and that you two needed to grow up because it wasn’t nice being in between the both of you. But you knew it was just better. His face reminded you his –supposed– betrayal and being in the same room as him made you just nauseous.

You’ve been lucky enough that the last time your friends gathered together for a paintball party, he’s the one who went, because next weekend your little crew and yourself would be spending four days in the Hamptons in Jeff’s house.

You definitely needed that trip. You’ve been working like crazy those last weeks and spending some time with your friends was exactly what you needed. And it would be a great time to introduce them to your new girlfriend. She was indeed very new; you’ve only been dating for a month.

You have spent the last year going on unofficial dates with whoever you could find in the damn city just to meet her one night at an art exhibition in Brooklyn. She painted something abstract reminding you strangely of a vulva.

When you invited her for a coffee, you talked for hours, mostly about feminism and LGBTQ+ rights because the both of you were activists. She felt comfortable enough to tell you about her transition and how her gender identity always influenced her art. And you quoted the just stoked her hand tenderly to answer the worry in her eyes when she told you she was transgender. She sighed in relief and raised her hand in the air to call the waiter to bring more drinks!

You started seeing each other frequently enough and called your little encounters ‘dates’, and you knew it was the right time to introduce her to your friends.

***

You arrived late at the house, you were pretty much always late, and it was a personality trait at this point. You left your bags in the foyer and closed the door behind you. You could hear laughing and chats coming from the living room. You looked at Danny, your lovely girlfriend who for once seemed insecure and anxious.

“Hey…” You pressed your hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. They’re cool. I’m sure they’ll like you.”

She took a deep breath and you stroke her cheek with your fingers.

“C’mon, give me a smile, love.” She gave you a tiny smile and kissed your finger. You took off your coat and hers and placed it on the hanger. You grabbed her hand and walked in the living room.

“Your favorite bitch is here!” Your voice resonated in the room. And when you laid eyes on the table where your friends were sitting, you missed a heartbeat.

Harry was sitting there, his fingers intertwined with the beautiful woman sitting next to him. He was laughing out loud but when your voice reached his ears, his smile disappeared. His hair was so short and you remember that when you left him, it was longer than yours. Now it was short and you could see his jawline clench as he looked at you.

“Y/N!” Jeff got up and came towards you. The look on your face clearly read discontent. “Always late, our favorite bitch, huh?”

You looked at him and sighed. “What is he doing here?”

You couldn’t help but be mad and seeing Harry here just threw you off, you even forgot to introduce Danny.

“What is she doing here?” Harry got up and in a moment of coordinated rage, you both gave the darkest look to your friends.

Glenne stood up and laughed nervously. “Surprise!”

“Are you kidding me right now?” You looked over at her and your hissing tone made her scratch her head. Sarah got up.

“We thought it would be a good idea to spend a real vacation all together. We have been torn apart since you two…”

“That’s a prank, right?” You cut Sarah off.

“Look guys. Stop acting like fucking children. We’re not gonna babysit you. You’re both over it, aren’t you?”

Mitch’s words made you realize Danny’s presence and you looked over at her and the confusion on her face made you feel stupid.

“Look, it’s a bad idea….” Harry started talking. You grabbed Danny’s hand again and cut him off.

“It’s a great idea actually. We’re both over it, aren’t we, Harry?” You addressed him with a sneaky smile.

“Anyway. There’s someone I’d like to introduce y’all to.” You raised yours and Danny’s intertwined hands.

Your friends gave you a weird look for a second, certainly because you didn’t mention you were bringing a plus one; you wanted it to be a surprise. And apparently this vacation was going to be, for the least… Surprising.

Jeff, Glenne, Sarah, Mitch, Adam and Emi all smiled kindly to you and your new friend.

“This is Danny. Danny this is the gang.”

You laughed and Danny shook everyone’s hand. Harry’s expression was… Well you couldn’t quite figure it out.

He shook her hand with a smile and welcomed her warmly. He introduced himself and Danny told him she was a big fan, something she didn’t mention to you before, probably because you never brought Harry up in the conversation anyway. He gave you a tease look when your girlfriend mentioned she liked him. It was a bit ironic, wasn’t it?

He introduced the woman he was with. Rosie. Boring name you thought to yourself.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Y/N. If you want my piece of advice; run away now.” You gave Harry a teasing smile before sitting down at the table.

The weekend was going to be long…

***

The first two days were atrocious. You and Harry fought over everything; from where to eat to whether or not the Brexit was going to happen.

Funnily enough you always had similar political views, but you just needed to get your frustration with him on something and his naïve thought over happy ending Brexit pissed you off.

“No, I want to believe it won’t happen. That we are going to be smarter you know. It has been postponed so many times, it might be cancelled as well.”

He always was too optimistic over the most fucked up things.

“It’s going to happen. Get that in your mind. It’s in the process and they refused the second referendum.” Your tone was so dry; it probably stripped him away.

Whether it was political discourse or the most mundane things, he would be a pest about it.

For instance, when he made pancakes for brunch on the third day –god knows his pancakes were always delicious.

You woke up late, per usual and came down to the kitchen to see all your friends sat at the huge wooden table.

“Oh, smells nice!” You looked over the table and saw a huge pile of pancakes.

“Harry made them! His pancakes are delicious!”

Rosie’s voice would irritate you more than Harry’s sometimes. After all, her high pitch and long blonde hair and her soft manners and ugh…

Of course his pancakes were delicious, you would know better than her. You’ve eaten those pancakes every morning for three goddamn years.

You didn’t say a word and grabbed a plate, and right before you took some pancakes, you heard his voice. “You could thank me. I mean you come down late and find brunch ready, so you could at least thank me.”

“God, are you gonna curse them pancakes if I don’t thank you for doing something I never asked you to do?” You sighed as you put down your plate.

He opened his mouth to talk but you cut him off.

“You know what? I won’t risk food poisoning. I’m getting cereal.” You made your way to the shelf and grabbed a bowl. You could tell everybody was uncomfortable and you heard Harry mumbling, “Still a drama queen.”

“A drama queen? Say the guy who threw a tantrum because we decided to eat Italian instead of Chinese?”

Last night you’ve fought over where to eat, his take was Chinese food, yours was Italian food and your argument won over the assembly. Harry acted all fussed and reluctantly came to the restaurant not to speak a word to anybody except Rosie the whole evening.

“Are you kidding me? You were the one who decided to argue!” He got up from his chair. “You’re a pain in the ass, Y/N!”

“Says who? Mister I can’t fucking admit I was wrong? Mister I must have the final say in everything? The guy who can’t form a coherent argument in a discourse? Please! The only pain here is your lack of conversation!”

You looked over at Rosie. “I can tell you’re bored honey, feel free to leave him, he’s really not worth it.”

Harry’s face became all red and he furrowed his eyebrows; as he was about to spat words, Jeff cut him in his track.

“I’m done with your bullshit! You have been the most obnoxious people for the past three days!”

Everybody agreed loudly with Jeff. They were just fed up with the two of you constantly fighting.

Sarah got up and left the kitchen. You felt guilty for making your friends so uncomfortable and annoyed. You hissed at Harry and he rolled his eyes at you.

Sarah came back down. She took two chairs from underneath the table and placed them in the middle of the room, only a few inches from each other and facing each other.

She pointed at you. “Sit.” She pointed to the first chair. She held one hand behind her back. She ordered Harry to sit in front of you. He reluctantly sat on the chair. You didn’t look at him.

“Your hands.” Sarah’s voice was very directive despite her natural tenderness.

“What?” You asked; your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Give me your hand. No questions.”

You gave her your hand and Harry reached out his too. You both were very confused. It’s only when she pulled out the handcuffs from behind her back that you realized what was happening.

“Oh hell no!” You tried to argue but your hand was already cuffed with Harry’s.

“Please. This is not funny, Sarah…” Harry’s voice sounded so desperate, it got a giggle out of you.

“This is not supposed to be funny. This is supposed to be a punishment. I’m done with you two being little pests to each other.”

Mitch sat down, and ate his cut fruit like popcorn, a smile on the corner of his lips. “Well done, baby.” Sarah smiled at him.

“What do you expect us to do?” You looked over at everyone and everybody seemed to be very much okay with the situation. You deserved it.

Glenne spoke up, “You’re going to be nice to each other, and let us have our last day of vacation in peace.”

Adam chortled and sat down next to Mitch, he cleared his throat before talking, “Say something nice to each other.”

“What for?” You snapped and Sarah gave you a dark look.

“Say something nice, Y/N, now.”

Strangely her tone made you want to do as she says…

Dom vibe.You thought to yourself and you gave her a promiscuous look.

“Fine, I’ll say something nice.” You sighed loudly and then took a look at Harry who shared a handcuff with you, slightly reminding you of a similar situation the two of you played in the past.

You thought for a second and came up with something basic. “Your haircut is nice.”

Harry raised his eyebrow at you. “Thanks? You look good today.”

Jeff hissed, “Are you guys serious? Dig deeper.”

“What do you want me to say?” Harry threw his head back in disbelief.

“I can’t even remember why I loved you, anyway.” Your voice was low, it seemed that nobody heard you but you caught Harry’s sight and an odd gloomy look on his face.

“Say something you like about her!” Jeff tilted his head over to me to pressure Harry.

“Fine…” He sighed and crumpled his eyebrows in concentration, trying to come up with something that would be good enough to set us free.

“I like your smile. It’s contagious. It never failed to make me smile.” He looked at you for a second and you felt your heart sank, when was the last time you made him smile?

“Your turn Y/N.”

You thought for a moment and when your eyes met Harry’s, you felt out of breath.

“Your eyes have always been one of my favorite things about you. They’re deep and kind. They’re comforting. And I always felt safe and beautiful in them.”

You realized you shared too much when a smile appeared on Harry’s face. You rolled your eyes at him and sighed.

“Good. Good. Harry?” Jeff played the referee here.

“You have…” He breathed for a moment. “Really pretty lips. They’re soft and… I love the shade of red you wear.”

He couldn’t look at you in the eyes and neither could you. You knew it was a difficult exercise for him, he’s never been really good with spoken words; he was always better at writing them.

The crowd in the room looked at you to let you know it was your turn. Sarah added softly “Less shallow, maybe?” You mocked a laugh at her and turned your head to Harry.

“You’ve always been a great listener. You don’t talk much but you know how to listen, you’re attentive and it’s something I’ve always liked about you.”

Harry let out a giggle. “Thanks.” He took a long gaze at your face.

“You’re very passionate. I mean… When you’re into something, you give your all. That’s why I always loved listening to you because you talk with passion and knowledge. You’re the smartest person I know.”

You fought a smile. He was always good at complimenting, wasn’t he?

“You’re one of the most talented people I know. It’s amazing how much work and love you put in your music. It always baffles me that you’re so lyrically smart. For someone who isn’t too keen on communication, your lyrics always talked to me in a way nobody did.”

He grinned widely but before he could thank you, you added a word.

“Oh, and you have the voice of an angel. When you sing and when you talk. It’s soothing. It sounds familiar… Like home.”

He didn’t say a word for a moment, staring at you with a fond smile.

“Your laugh always made me happy. It’s like a serotonin shot. My favorite thing was…”

He thought for a second, wondering if he should keep going.

“It was when we would kiss and you’d laugh nervously, pulling away because you always thought you were a terrible kisser… I mean you are…”

He laughed before continuing,

“You’re not…”

He looked at you.

“I loved kissing you and feeling you laugh against my lips. It was always my favorite thing.”

You felt your heart beat a million times faster. The more you looked at him, the more you remembered why you were so in love with him.

“I loved it too.” You whispered so that only him could hear you.

You felt his fingertips stroke the back of your hand, and you shivered at his touch, realizing how much you missed it, how much you missed him…

“Okay. Game’s over.” Rosie fake laughed a little bit, getting up and asked Sarah to open the handcuffs.

Sarah understood the discomfort Rosie was facing so she set you free. You got up and kept your eyes focus on the ground. You couldn’t even look at Danny.

Harry breathed loudly. The room was silent; the most uncomfortable silence, actually.

You cleared your throat before speaking up, “How about we spend the day at the lake?”

Adam cheered loudly to release the tension, “Yes!! That’s a great idea!”

Emi supported the idea too and when everybody agreed, you all left the kitchen.

Your eyes met Harry’s for a second and you felt your heart sank again.

You remembered exactly why you loved him. Maybe why you still loved him.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #blurbs #writings #harry styles one shot #harry styles thoughts #harry thoughts #harry talks #harry styles fanfic #fanfiction #ICRWILYA

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zer0pm · 5 years

Text

Diverging Jealousy: Devil Hunters

A/N: The next part of the Diverging Jealousy multific that continues after V’s part. I was considering ending it as I don’t want to drag the story too long, but with how I left V’s part along with all the great feedback, I felt it better to write some scenes that would create a natural transition to the heart-pulling finale. Hope this keeps the hype up. Thanks a bunch to everyone that has been following this. Y’all are the best :)

You: “Wait, Dante. Stop.”

He was about to kiss you and you almost let him, but a nagging feeling tugging at your heart and mind told you to stop and take a step back. So you did, placing a hand against his chest to keep him at bay, allowing you to create some distance. He looks crestfallen at your rejection, but he doesn’t push it.

Dante: “Guessing you’re not feeling me.”

You shake your head.

You: “I don’t know what to feel. This is too sudden and it sure as hell not the right time and place to open up to something like this.”

When you were certain Dante wasn’t going to try to pull a fast one, you lower your hand and your guard.

Dante: “We may not have another chance to talk about this.”

You: “Well, we’re not going to do this in front of V.”

If he was hurt before, Dante certainly was now. Feelings aside, you had a job to do, and you were not going to cause a scene in front of your client. That’s what you convinced yourself anyways. You turn your head to apologize to him about how unprofessional Dante must appear but find him nowhere to be found.

You: “Where did V go?”

Dante: “...Guess he heeded my warning.”

You narrow your eyes at Dante suspiciously.

You: “What warning? You guys have been acting weird all day, you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Dante’s body grows frigid. Him and his big mouth, but there was no point in hiding or lying about it now. He scratches the back of his head, trying to find the best words to put it.

Dante: “I didn’t like the way he acted around you or how you two talked to each other. It got on my nerves. So I told him to watch himself, ‘cause I already had my sights on you longer than he has and wasn’t going to let him just waltz in and-”

You: “Take what’s yours? Like you own me?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing and his eyes widen at your outburst.

Dante: “It isn’t like that!”

You: “Then what is it, Dante? ‘Cause it sounds to me like you two started a competition where I’m the prize and I didn’t even have a say in it! Now V’s fucking gone off to god knows where and we still got an asshole demon king to kill against which we’re going to need all the fucking help we can get!”

Your fists clenched so tightly, your body was shaking, and your head felt like it was about to burst from all the anger building up inside you.

You: “And you two thought it was a good idea to fight over what?! A chance with me!? God, you can be so stupid sometimes!”

That made his heart fall. Did they not have a chance with you? You storm off, sword drawn. You hear Dante calling out to you.

Dante: “Where are you going?!”

You: “To find our client!”

With a swing, you point your sword at Dante, annoyed rage in your eyes.

You: “And don’t think I’m picking any sides. He’s just as dumb as you for letting this rivalry get the better of both of your judgments! You’re going to fucking keep the office and we’re all going to live through this so I can smack both of you upside your thick skulls! Until then, I’m going to make sure that you two get the fuck along so that I can get back to fucking work!”

Dante knows you’re pissed when half of your sentences are filled with expletives. If he wasn’t legitimately scared of you right now, he would have thought your spirited anger was sexy. Empowering even. It was one of the things that made you so damn attractive while working, ‘cause you had nothing but feeling in everything you do. But he has thrown himself on your bad side and knew it was his fault. He scratches the back of his head in frustration.

Dante: “Fuck...”

He didn’t know how long or far he has been walking, trying to actively move to get his mind of over Dante being so close to you. But no matter how hard he tried, even reciting William Blake to calm his nerves, the quake in his heart shook him painfully. It was pathetic really how much it affected him.

Griffon: “Hey, uh...you okay, V?”

V: “Once Urizen is defeated, I will be.”

Griffon: “True, but what about...you know who, Walker, I think is what you call that other devil hunter.”

V: “Little Wanderer.”

Griffon: “There ya go, that’s the pet name.”

He started calling you that not too long after meeting you, a play on your exceptional scouting abilities. It also helped that it was an ode to one of his favorites poems, fueling his attraction to you. V supposes that he’ll have to come up with another nickname, one that would not serve as a symbol of his hopeless affection.

V: “Irrelevant now. Dante has made his claim clear.”

He sighs, stopping in the middle of an open area.

V: “Besides, he has everything to offer. Me...I have nothing to give. I cannot even give myself as I will simply either crumble away or reveal myself to be the monster that brought calamity to this city Wanderer loved so much. I don’t know which of these would be worse to see on that wonderful face, but it not a sight I can bare. It is better this way.”

Griffon: “V...”

Suddenly he feels a presence zoom right towards them. With amazing reflexes, V instinctively ducks, Shadow leaping from his marks to claw at the attacking figure. The familiar nicks the creature, revealing itself before V. A large, lizard-like demon with long, dagger-like claws and glowing red skin. Out of the all the species of demons in the underworld, this was the his least favorite to deal with and with his current state, he would ride victorious still but not before going through a bit of a struggle destroying it. His worst fear is realized when more Chaos demons fade into vision, completely surrounding them. Well, then...

Griffon: “Um... Now would probably be a good time to call in Nightmare.”

Not needing to be told twice, V summons the full force his demonic energy with a snap of his fingers, triggering the call of his most powerful familiar. Like a meteor falling from the sky, Nightmare crashes into the plaza. The Chaos demons were quick to move out of the way, hissing at the rising ink creature. In their venomous daze, V dashed on top of Nightmare, Griffon and Shadow in tow to defend him.

The Chaos horde engages them, V using his connection with his demon companions to guide their every move, taking extra care to make sure they do not attack too far from him. It was difficult as the enemies were too quick, using their superior speed to dodge most of the strikes and lightning attacks. Even Nightmare’s energy blasts and monstrous strength did little against them. One swiftly sneaks behind V, he could not summon Griffon back enough to knock it away and instead was forced to dodge. He barely missed the killing blow as one hellish claw scratched deep on his shoulder. If he didn’t move at all, that would have pierced his heart right through, yet it still hurt like hell, and he was bleeding profusely.

V: “Gahh!”

The reptilian demon stood atop Nightmare with him and moved to slice upward. V had no choice but to roll off of his own familiar to escape, he landed on the ground on top of his bad shoulder and hisses in excruciating agony. Nightmare beside him fades into a pool of black ink before merging back within him, turning his hair and some of the marks on his back to its dark hue.

He looks up to see Griffon and Shadow trying to get to him, but the surrounding Chaos demons kept them at bay with fierce attacks. He sensed that it is taking all their vigor alone to avoid their vicious offense.

V moves to get back up but feels his weakening body give, keeping him to a kneeling position. His dying core forces him to cough, he covers his mouth as if doing so would muffle the sound and steady his breathing but once he removed his hand, he sees nothing but the red proof of his fading life splattered on his palm.

V: “No, not like this... I can’t lose here.”

He thinks back on how this hell came to be. How everything fell to ruin, all because of him and his selfish pursuit of power. Even now, he wished himself to be stronger. But not just to right his wrongs.

But to see you again...

He was mentally himself for his foolish sentimental heart, but he honestly could not complain. On the brink of death and all he can think about is you. If you were to be his last thoughts, then he felt that everything was worth it. And he hoped even now, that and you and Dante would rise victorious, together. V smiles sadly.

V: “I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe.”

Behind him, a shadow approaches, the signal of the end.

V: “That made my lov-”

BOOM!

The demon behind him falls, fading into black ash. V’s look up to seek out the source and sees a familiar face beside him, helping him back on his feet.

V: “Dante-!”

Dante: “Don’t thank me yet, my partner is still going to kill our dumb asses. Until then...”

He was lucky to have found V first, his feet driven by the desire to beat you to him so that he could speak with the tattooed man first. Not to manipulate the situation between you all, he learned that lesson the first time. But to set it right and let things come naturally. If you chose V over him, if you chose between them at all, then he wanted V to give it his all for you. That would be worth it. The white-haired man looks back at the dark-cladded man with a profound determination in his eyes that told the latter that his pride has been casted aside.

Dante: “Help me out here, will ya?”

Understanding what he means, V nods. His cane in hand, he puts himself in his stance, Griffon and Shadow bracing themselves by his side to carry out their next orders. He eyes the demons that have formed around them with a newfound vigor and malice.

V: “Behold the taste of despair.”

Dante laughs, facing his back to V’s, both men making sure they had each other covered.

Dante: “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 40

Typing that title is just bizarre. I never imagined I would ever write 40 chapters of this, and right now I feel like I am nowhere near the end of the story. I’m not even sure how it will end, honestly. This may be what it’s like writing episodes of a Star Trek show....

Special shout out to @baelpenrose for his help in the background on this chapter. I am pants at military knowledge, while he is super knowledgeable in that area and has been a huge help.

I woke up to a low growl in my ear. “I thought we talked about this, Conor,” I groaned as I rolled over. However, instead of six plus feet of overprotective Irishman, I ended up with a mouthful of fur.

Growling, snarling fur. Lyric, I remembered before snapping into a sitting position. The enormous dog was lying on my bed in a very calm but alert position, belied by the absolute promise of pain to whoever she was looking at. Mac sat next to her, nonplussed and blinking slowly. Turning my face to the potential victim, I suppressed another groan. A familiar face and leather jacket stood in the doorway, hands up to show he meant no harm. “Lyric, it’s fine,” I told my canine protector, resting one hand on her back. “Maverick, what in the world are you doing here?”

Keeping his eyes on the dog, he slowly dropped his hands to his sides. “Tyche cancelled our simulator session today, so I thought I would come check on you.”

“You thought you would, or she thought you would?”

A bashful glance at the floor gave him away. “A little bit of both? I asked how you were doing, and she said she wasn’t with you, she was resting. I may have asked if you were up to visitors, and she may have told me to come by whether you were up for it or not? Just to make sure you were okay?”

“That sounds about right,” I sighed as I folded my legs and patted the bed for him to sit down. It was obvious my nap was over, but I didn’t feel like getting out of bed.

Slowly, Maverick made his way over and gingerly sat down to make sure Lyric wouldn’t object to him being closer. When she just glanced at him and put her head down, he got more comfortable and leaned against the wall. “Who’s the old lady? When did you get a dog?”

“The nice lady who let you in is Grandma Kim,” I scowled. “And this is her dog, Lyric. They’re professional companions, like Antione, but more for people who need a little mothering and – may – have some paranoia?” I looked at my lap and scratched the back of my neck. It wasn’t a very comfortable topic.

“So that’s an attack dog?” His eyes got wide as he swung the topic around. My sister and I were always amused talking with Maverick, mostly because he shared our tendency to have several conversations with the same person at the same time. “And I get being good for people with paranoia, but you aren’t paranoid – you have every reason to be scared shitless. Isn’t that what the saying is? ‘It’s not paranoia if they’re actually out to get you’?”

“Attack dog, sidekick to the attack grandma. What did you mean by simulator session?”

“Tyche asked me to teach her how to fly literally everything possible. Not being able to help when the ship was damaged did not make her control freak side happy. She’s not going to make me eat gross food, is she? That’s what grandmas do, isn’t it? Make you eat gross stuff?”

“That’s a stereotype, for one,” I pointed out. “Second, I promised you that you never have to eat anything you don’t like ever again, and I meant it. I don’t care if you live on miso soup and pizza, as long as you are eating. Food, with calories, not just vitamins and black coffee. Also, don’t ever let Tyche hear you talk about her ‘control freak side’. Why didn’t either of you tell me she was training to become a pilot?”

He just shrugged. I waited, staring him down pointedly. Finally, he huffed. “I figured she would tell you. You two are super-close, right? Besides, this is the first time I’ve seen you since you got out of the medical bay, so technically, I told you as soon as I saw you. It was literally the first sentence I used.”

I nodded reluctantly. “Okay, yeah, you did tell me. But you could have sent me a message, you know?”

“She is your sister, not me.”

“Stupid technicality,” I muttered. “Anyway, how’s everything going?”

“She’s really good,” he admitted. “Like everything else about her, it’s kinda scary. Super determined, ridiculous reflexes. She definitely has what it takes to be an incredible pilot.”

“I’m glad she’s doing great at learning to fly, but I meant how are you?”

“Oh,” he jerked a little in surprise. “Why? No one ever asks me that, and then first Tyche, now you.”

My eyebrows popped up at that. “Wait, no one ever just asks how you’re doing?”

He shook his head. “Just, like, doctors and stuff.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.

I shook my head and dropped it into my hands. Deep breaths. Can’t kill the people who made him think this was a normal thing. Nope. They’re probably already dead, and Tyche frowns on necromancy. I raised my head and took a calming breath. “It’s actually normal human behavior, a way of making sure our friends and family are doing well, or a way of inviting them to tell us about any good or bad things that have been going on.”

“But I’m not your family, and we aren’t friends,” he sounded so confused.

Me, too. “We aren’t?” I asked, puzzled. “I thought we were…. I mean, you asked my sister how I was doing and came by to check on me….”

“Well, yeah. You’re nice to me, and something bad happened to you, and Tyche’s nice to me, and it upset her, so I wanted to make sure the people who are nice to me are okay.”

“Maverick?”

“Yeah?”

“That is literally what being a friend is. What you just said. It’s when people are nice to each other and want to help each other, or just want each other to be okay.”

“Oh. Does that mean we are friends?”

I laughed and resisted the urge to hug and/or strangle him. “Yes, it means we are friends.”

“Well, that’s pretty cool!” he grinned.

“So, other than teaching my sister to fly, how have you been doing?”

For the next hour, Maverick filled me in on helping with the sensor repairs, training new pilots – not just my sister, apparently – and new foods he had tried. It turned out that he, Zach, Derek, and Sam frequently got together for moral support with trying foods that had been suggested to them. It was early days, but they had each found a couple of new foods they liked and several foods they knew to avoid. I was asking him to send me a list of the foods they tried and what the verdicts where, when Grandma Kim poked her head in the door.

“I just wanted to grab Lyric and let you know I’m about to be on my way, Miss Reid,” she explained and she called Lyric with a silent gesture. “Were you able to get some rest?”

“I was, thank you. And thank you, Lyric,” I told my nap partner directly, receiving a lolling tongue and doggy grin in return. “She really did help. I’m going to think things over for a couple days, and let you know what I decide.”

“Of course,” she nodded approvingly. “I’ll be out of your way, now. Have a good night, you two.” With a nod at Maverick, she left.

“And you said she’s an attack grandma?” Maverick asked as he watched her go. “How does that even work?”

“She told about some of her training…. I think she was special forces for some government agency at one point. Lots of combat and weapons training. She said very few people on the Ark can land one hit on her, and that no one can do it twice. She was very certain when she said it, too, like it wasn’t a boast, it was just a simple fact.”

“Sounds like a Green Beret or SAS, honestly,” he nodded. “She’s American, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have gotten the training, especially depending on when she was enlisted. If it was after the inception of the Global Parliament, chances are higher that’s the case. It would be easier to tell you if I could see her sparring – different countries have different fighting styles, even once the Parliament was established. Lyric tells me definitely the North American or European Council, though, for sure.”

I shook my head with a smile. It was always interesting to watch someone who was so bad at being people flip gears and remind you that he really is incredibly smart. I really wanted to watch Conor and Maverick interact one day. Preferably soon, and hopefully after being released from my medication schedule so that food could be involved. The prospect was very entertaining. Which reminded me. “Have you ever met Conor?”

“Who?”

That answered that question. “A very close friend of mine and Tyche’s,” I explained. “In fact, if you hang around long enough today, you’ll probably get to meet him. He heads over here after work most nights, stays with me so I can sleep.”

“Your sister said something about that,” he confessed. “She said you haven’t been sleeping well since you came out of your coma. So, when she said you still can’t sleep alone, that’s where this Conor guy comes in?”

“Yeah. It just makes me feel safer,” I shrugged.

“And the dog?”

“Tyche and Antoine recommended I consider Grandma Kim as a companion, to help me transition back to something vaguely resembling normal. I don’t want to keep depending on people as much as I have been lately. I’m already in the process of returning to my position on the Council, and I sent over my approved selections for a new assistant so my sister can focus on her actual job and quit burning the candle at both ends.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. I could tell you like helping people, but Zach was constantly reminding you to eat, so I don’t think you’re very good at taking care of yourself. It’s got to be hard needing to lean on other people when you’re used to being the one momming all over people.”

“That was… surprisingly insightful,” I admitted.

“I have my moments,” he grinned. “Do you think you’ll do it?”

“Maybe?” I tilted my head side to side. “Grandma Kim made a good point about the fact that needing her wouldn’t be a burden to her – it’s literally her job. And it would let me get back on more familiar ground with my friends and family. You only saw part of it.” It was my turn to grin. “We used to have what we called ‘family dinner’ once a week. It was like a sacred time for all of us, but fun and messy at the same time. Tyche and I would take turns making dinner for everyone, we would try new foods. Sometimes it was a bunch of us, sometimes it was just me, my sister, Conor, and – “ I choked mid-ramble. Arantxa. Clearing my throat and fighting back tears and the urge to vomit, I tried to soldier on. “Yeah. Sometimes it was just us.”

Maverick tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed. “You really were close, weren’t you?”

I nodded silently, a lump forming in my throat.

“Dude, that sucks,” he stated emphatically. “I knew what she did was pretty bad – I mean, I saw what she did. It’s hard to deny something like that when it’s right in front of your face. But I didn’t realize that you two were so close other than working together. What kind of monster does that to someone they are so close to?”

I held up a hand to stop him from going any further. He just pushed it back in my lap. “No, you need to hear this, even if I’m a jerk for saying it. When we were on Level One, you barely knew me but you were so nice to me. You didn’t have to be, no one asked you to be, not even me. You could have let me keep on the way I had been for the majority of my life, but then I found out it is literally impossible for you to not care. No one had cared that much about me since I was six. And then, I had to walk in that room and find you beaten beyond recognition, almost dead. I was about to lose the only person who seemed to give a shit about me and see me as more than an appliance – all over again, just like with my parents. And now? Now I find out that you considered her family? If you went so far above and beyond for a guy you barely knew, how much did you do for her? And she still did that? That’s a monster. That’s worse than any boogeyman in the closet or under the bed. That is a living, breathing monster. And that sucks.”

I sniffed as hard as I could and wiped the tears that were rolling down my cheeks. “I really don’t like talking about it,” I whispered. “I just want to forget about it.”

“You told me I didn’t deserve what my aunt did to me, what the military did to me. I’m telling you now, you didn’t deserve what happened. I think you need to hear that, because I don’t know if anyone has told you, or if you believed them.”

“I just want my life back,” I cried. “I want everything back to normal! I want to sleep in my bed like a fucking adult! I want to take a hot shower, instead of having my teeth rattled in the sonic cleanser! I want this big gaping hole in all my stories to go away!!”

“Yeah, I get that. I feel like that sometimes, too. I want to eat foods that other people seem to like. I want to be able to socialize normally. No one should have an aversion to rice, you know? It’s like, the most boring food in existence, but I can’t even look at it. Kind of how you can’t shower. I’ve spent my whole life wanting to just be like everyone else, to stop being the weirdo in the room.”

“Maverick, you’re aren’t a weirdo,” I shook my head.

“Neither are you,” he said pointedly. “I’ve never known you any other way, remember? This is all perfectly normal Sophia behavior from where I’m sitting. And I’m so bad at being normal, how am I supposed to know if you’re not doing it right?”

That got a reluctant giggle out of me. “Let’s just be weird together. You, me, Tyche… Derek, everyone. Except Conor. He’s actually pretty normal.”

“That’s weird enough,” Maverick said in a horrified tone.

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #original fiction #aliens #science fiction #apocalypse #earth is space australia

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mimiplaysgames · 5 years

Text

Transitions ~ In colors like paint

Terraqua Week Day 3: Seasons

Summary: Change hurts. There will be a lot of missteps before Aqua can figure out how to start anew. Where each season makes them realize how much they really need to forgive each other - and themselves. @terraquaweek

Read on AO3

***

Autumn ~ Taking stock of adulthood

Their first days back home are about rest: remembering what laughing feels like, how delicious Aqua’s baking is, how a snore sounds.

What they’ve reaped from months (years) of neglect is a castle full of dust and piles of dirt tucked into corners from the wind blowing in. It’s how autumn gathers a storm of red and yellow, leaving them stacked against windows that need to be aired out like dirty laundry.

The castle is far too big for them, so the west wing is particularly ignored, wood all needing a good wax and cushions that need to be washed. Right now, it’s about figuring out what they have in order to prepare for the new students coming in next year.

Ventus sneezes as he walks past the fifth couch in the third lounge they have seen today (they’ll have to convert a lot of them into bedrooms) when Terra opens the door.

“You won’t believe what I just found,” he says, though he’s directing it mainly towards Aqua.

It’s a short walk around two corners, heading towards the back of the castle, where he leads them through a maze of hallways just to stop at another hallway.

“Remember this?” He points and asks Aqua.

A small painting near the floor, faded from age, depict stick figures of a girl and a boy with a cartoonish mockery of a castle in gold, and a simple sun. Plus two tiny hand prints, one made in gray-blue paint and one in dull-orange.

It’s been at least a good twelve years since she’s ever thought of it.

Aqua sits on her knees and touches the figure - the paint is so dry and crusty that it chips off the shoulder of her character. She’ll have to be gentler next time.

“I still can’t believe the Master never removed it,” she says softly.

“Yeah, he was really mad at us,” Terra says, bending down with her and pressing his hand against the print his child-self left behind. He is so big now that the child’s memory in its entirety is smaller than his palm.

“How old were the two of you when you did this?” Ventus asks, leaning on his knees to inspect the masterpiece.

Aqua and Terra shoot looks at each other, seeking permission to speak first, pondering their minds to see if they have the same answer.

“Six and seven, I think,” Aqua answers, and Terra agrees. “We finger-painted it. That was the first time I was ever grounded.”

“Cute… what are you going to do with it now?”

Desaturated from its original colors, the painting looks like a stain against the towering white wall, which stretches down the hall.

“The responsible thing, I guess,” she says, though her voice hitches in the slightest - something about the thought makes her feel like she’s killing her child, like the Aqua of the past and the Aqua of now are two different people. In a way, she’s betraying someone close to her. “Paint over it, keep it clean for the new students.”

Terra shakes his head, running his palm against the wall surrounding the old paint like he’s measuring it.

“Is that what you actually want?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“I don’t feel right doing it either,” he says. “It’s like, the Terra who left this behind had no idea how his life was going to turn out. All he had were goals and dreams.”

She chuckles - as much as she enjoys watching him smile, she’d have to say he’s at his most beautiful when he’s introspective.

“I feel the same way, if I’m going to be honest.”

“Yeah.” He takes one hard look at the painting. “I want to make amends to my younger self, instead of burying him. Let him be happy. Is that strange?”

“Not at all.” What is strange is how near she is at tears - Terra always has a way of knowing what she needs, even if he doesn’t mean to. Less strange is her need to hold his hand; years of lacking any affection made her realize that what she truly wanted this entire time was for him to touch her.

So she takes his hand, grips it firmly, and so easily he weaves his fingers in hers, like it’s same old, same old.

Terra faces Ven, to include him in. “Why don’t we give it some attention? It looks really sad.”

“There’s paint in the storage unit,” Ventus replies excitedly.

The old paint smells bad but it’s not like they have anything else - it’s not every day these three indulge in a little arts and crafts session. Fingers too big to mimic the traces of children, they use pencil-thin brushes and careful strokes to make the recoat as close to the original: Terra and Aqua on their respective characters and handprints, Ventus on the cartoon sun and castle.

It’s only with Terra’s permission that Ven can add a stick figure of himself and Chirithy.

When they are done, Terra opens a sealed pot of green paint. “Ven, you’ll join in.”

He dips his own hand into orange paint, and plasters it on the wall, right next to his old hand print.

Aqua follows suit with the blue, and it feels like she’s making a new friend.

With the stick end of a paintbrush, Terra points to a place in between. “Yours will go here, Ven.”

Ventus gives him a look, almost like he was about to joke over how seriously Terra is taking this, but decides against it, following orders by dipping his hand into the green paint and adding it to the painting.

“Cheers’ will go right beside yours,” Terra says.

Chirithy chooses purple and on goes its tiny pawprint, like a period to a sentence. One little happy family with a cat-thing.

Honestly, it still looks like a mess in comparison to the stunning white wall, but at least it’s colorful, like a permanent bouquet of flowers in an otherwise cold season that only exists to make it colder.

Winter ~ There are two kinds of death: one of irreversible changes, and one of growth from rot

Winter is for snuggling, for warm hot chocolates, blankets, fireplaces, and stories to make everyone forget that it’s miserable outside.

If only Terra is here to enjoy that. His replies through the Gummiphone are inconsistent and short, like he doesn’t want to be bothered or is too busy to really check. He is most vague when he refers to his whereabouts.

Ventus is doing the favor of waiting for Terra to return, but he’s been planning his own trip for quite some time. It’s not fair to him - but at least he won’t be alone, since Chirithy will go with him.

Aqua supposes that she would like at least a day with her whole family together.

“You sure you have everything?” she asks him.

Ventus smirks but thinks better than giving her a sarcastic answer. “That’s the third time you’ve asked me, but yes.”

She sighs. Snow builds up in the skylights. Where is Terra?

“Excited?” she asks, thinking it best not to dread over things. It’s always how she ruins the moment.

“I am,” he starts, slowly realizing something else like there’s a voice in his head trying to convince him otherwise. “Maybe. Merlin is probably going to have me sitting all day reading books.”

Ventus doesn’t think he’d be a good teacher or has the capability of being a leader, so he wants to seek knowledge instead. And who better to start than by honing his finesse over magic than with the wizard himself?

“Lea and Kairi only had good things to say about his training.”

“That’s only because they’re polite when you’re around,” Ventus smirks.

She sighs. Again. “Terra should be here to say goodbye.”

He nods over to the direction past her. “Why don’t you tell him?”

Whipping over her shoulder, she sees who-else-but strolling up to them, his overcoat gone and without his shoes which means he has entered the castle and didn’t say hi to them first.

Chirithy, who most of the time sits quietly on Ven’s shoulders and is a bit too calculating with which conversations it joins, squeaks to itself. “Something is not right.”

She’ll pretend not to hear that. “Where were you?” Aqua asks Terra.

Ventus clears his throat - an indication that just maybe, the inflection in her voice may sound a tad accusatory. Not the best way to start anything with Terra.

“Around,” is his casual answer, gliding past her and reaching to ruffle Ven’s hair. “I’m glad I made it in time. Needed to say good luck.”

“And now it’s time for me to leave,” Ventus says, fixing his hairdo. “I want to beat the snowstorm at least.”

“You’d only be exposed for a few minutes before you leave the world,” Terra objects.

“Well, someone should have been here earlier.” Ignoring the way Chirithy is pulling at his hair, he takes his only suitcase. “The next time you’ll see me, I’ll wow you with my new skills, and you will all be jealous.”

He gives the two of them one final look before heading out the door. “Play nice, you two.”

Maybe she’s the only one thinking that something’s amiss, what with Terra rubbing his forearms together with a smile on his face as he faces her. “I want to show you something.”

That something is a pile of rags neatly laid out on the floor under the wall with the child’s painting, and brand new buckets of paint.

Terra is excited. “I thought we could make a mural out of this.” His fingers graze the wall, tracing it as he walks down. “We could have a night sky up above, with stars. Under it will be the mountains, and the castle at the very end.” He comes back to their childish project, cupping his hands around it. “We’ll keep this here, protected.”

It’s hard not to burst his bubble. It’s also really hard not to make it sound awful coming out of her mouth. “You left us to buy paint?”

He lays a fist against the white. “Not really. I just needed some time to myself.”

She folds her arms to hug herself. All she really wants is a straight answer, but Terra’s not the type to be pushed. “You were gone for a really long time.”

“I know.” He doesn’t look her in the eye; she will not get her answer tonight. “But we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says, addressing the wall. “We’ll only do it with your permission.”

“My permission?” She scratches her ear. “You already bought the paint.”

“We may need it for other things.” He shrugs. “You’re still keeper of the castle.”

She sighs. It’s nice to see him look forward to something. She’s thought so much about what made him leave in the first place, reliving the days right before again and again in her mind - he was restless a little bit, didn’t sleep much, but none of that is new. Then he left to fight some straggling Heartless in another world, and never came back.

Maybe she’s taking him completely out of context.

“Tell me first why you’re so attached to this idea,” she says.

He taps the wall. “It’s weird, I know I’m back, but it feels like I’m not...

“I wanted a fresh start. Do something the Master would never approve of. A blank slate for us to go off on that has nothing to do with the lives we’ve lived or the hell we’ve been through. I want something just for the both of us. Like, something that tells us we have our lives back together. Does that make sense?”

It does. Getting on the right footing with him isn’t the easiest thing when he’s completely enveloped in giving her attention one day and then completely distant the next. She can’t blame him for that either, she behaves the same way sometimes.

Having trauma is like having some days all to herself; the rest no longer belong to her.

But a few weeks of him gone - when she’s spent years praying that he’d touch her again - is worse torture.

Aqua decides it’s time to let the past die. She wraps her arms around his waist, digs her face into his sweater.

“We’ll start by hugging you?” she replies.

He closes the embrace, holding her firmly like he’s forgotten that he needed the hug too.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice in her hair. “For making you worry.”

She nods. “Can I hug you whenever I want?”

He snorts, bringing her in tighter. “I’d like that.”

“Okay.” She brings herself to look up at him, his genuine smile in full display. “We can do the mural.”

Excitement on Terra’s face is special: it’s subtle, so much so that anyone who doesn’t know him well would probably never guess.

He gives her a gentle squeeze to let her know he’ll let her go, before opening a bucket of blue paint and dipping a wide brush into it. Starting a few inches from the child’s painting, he sweeps upward - the color of a winter sky.

Spring ~ Birth by sleep

Flowers make blossoming look easy. It gradually comes in a matter of days, berry sprouts and flecks of color casually making their acquaintance through the fields. Soon, the Master’s old gardens will have a variety of colors.

Soon, if she takes care of them.

The ease at which she finds gardening isn’t true for anything else in her life that needs growth. Birthing a new life with Terra is slow, arduous, exciting, and truth be told, painful at times - painful when old habits don’t die and he keeps stonewalling her when she presses him too hard.

Nighttime in the spring isn’t like the summer’s - it’s cold.

It was only supposed to be a simple mission, taking out Heartless that threatened a small town. That was it.

Terra storms through the entrance hall, throwing his helmet in a fury as she follows from behind.

“Listen to me,” she calls from behind him, “there’s nothing wrong with what-”

He stops dead in his tracks, whips to face her, holds a finger up like he’s going to jab it in her face, then thinks better of it and crosses his arms, head slung over.

Part of her wants to berate herself for pushing the subject when he’s uncomfortable; the other has lost her patience. How many times is this erratic mood going to continue?

“It wasn’t a big deal,” she says. Wasn’t it?

“How can you say that,” he snaps.

“You were only trying to help-”

“That doesn’t help at all-”

“You didn’t even hurt anybody-”

“I could have!”

It shuts her up, it surprises him. She can count the number of times Terra has ever yelled in his life in one hand, this being included. It’s just not like him. The sound of it throwing itself against the walls still vibrates, and he stares at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have really pressed the issue.”

All Terra does is shake his head, mumbling to himself with his eyes closed. He’s in a ton of pain, and in her desperate need to correct what’s been going on, she really failed at seeing it. She really should have been more sensitive, she really should have…

“This is the reason you disappeared a few months ago, right?” she asks.

It’s the purse in his lips and the sharp inhale that tells her she’s right. “I’m going to bed,” he says.

“Terra, I really am sorry.”

“I heard you, you’re forgiven.” Said like someone who wants to be as far away from her as possible.

“We-” she starts, her hand outstretched because she always, always hugs him goodnight.

He actually stops and turns to face her. Leave it to Terra to be the better person, to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Um…” She hides one hand in her sashes, to let herself fiddle with her fingers without making it obvious. “We can work on the mural tonight, if you want to.”

He licks his lips. “Not tonight.” Defeated and tired are just two words to describe it, turning away like they’ve never made a deal about hugs before.

The castle is still and sleepy when she’s by herself. Ventus is still in his sabbatical, Terra retiring to his room for the rest of… some part of her is scared that he’ll have to take a break too.

When she walks, the echoes of her shoes are heard by nothing, slightly bouncing off the walls before silence takes a bite.

It’s quieter in the western wing. The mural is tedious work, so humongous that Terra, who’s been doing the sky, has to shuffle in between steps of the ladder just to paint vertically, before having to scooch the entire thing over to get to the next surface area. She’s doing the grass, and she splits her time between standing up and being on her knees.

So far, the base colors are done, two flat sections of dark blue and green. What they’d have to do next is the shading, making grass blades and pepper it with stars...

Which would give them ample time to talk about things, if he was here. Painting is the best therapist, giving their hands and half their mind something pleasant to do while allowing them the comfort to talk.

But Terra isn’t here.

No, Terra is in his room, and she hears ruffling when she stands outside his door. She’s sure to knock softly.

He gives her a soft “Hey” when he opens the door, his face wearing regret over what happened earlier. Behind him is an opened suitcase with haphazardly folded clothes.

“You’re leaving again?” she asks and crosses her arms.

“Thinking about it.” He slips his hands into his pockets, clears his throat. He honestly looks like a child accepting that his parents have abandoned him. “I’m just not comfortable with… with knowing what I’m capable of.”

“You don’t think, for even a second that-” She breathes. “That maybe darkness won’t be so bad if you used it right?”

“Used it right?”

“I’ve had it.” She places her hand firmly against her chest, in conviction. So that he sees her, so that he understands. “And it was sad. That’s all I felt, that’s all it was. And I still feel sad sometimes, but I’m not dark.”

“But I don’t want it.” He swings his arm in dismissal. “If I could, I’d punch it in the face for what it did to you.”

Pause. To care this much, and she cares, too. Too much to let him think it’d be a good idea to leave. “It was effective at least.”

“It’s still darkness.”

“Riku wouldn’t even agree with you.” Her breath hitches. When is she going to learn to respect his boundaries? “You have a good heart, Terra. You have all the right intentions, you’re kind and generous and steadfast and the best person I know-”

It’s the way he’s staring at her that makes her stop. She hasn’t realized yet that she’s building tears behind her eyes.

“I won’t leave if you don’t want me to,” he says, a compassionate smile on his face, like he’s so tired of this but he chooses to sympathize with her anyway.

She wants to say Please don’t leave me, beg him to keep this castle alive while Ventus and Chirithy are gone, but that is unbecoming of her.

She could say Please stay, but then how could she be better person if she was still trying to nudge Terra around to her whim?

She could say It’s fine, please go, and it would betray what she really wants, allow Terra to cater to his own needs while she tolerates her pain. Again.

Taking that first step towards him is the hardest, like trying to breathe underwater and feeling the burn, her heart pounding like it’s beating holes into the earth with its bare hands. Starting over has its costs.

Her arms wrap around his neck, and she says, “I love you.”

She doesn’t know what else to say, this being the truest, as bare as the tears falling down her face.

Terra… gasps. Freezes in her touch like he’s unsure of what to do, before hugging her back, so tightly like she’ll just slip if he loosens his grip.

All she hears are trembling sighs like she’s cast a silence spell on him, but she still listens - to the way he rubs her arms, the way his eyes scatter her face, the way he cups her jaw and leans down to kiss her -

Not on her mouth, but on her eyelid, leading down the trail of tears like he’s drinking them, to her jaw before moving on to the other eyelid. It’s loony for sure, but it speaks with his truth: this new, mutable Terra has his heart where it’s always been all these years - with her.

The touch of his lips, it’s better than anything she’s ever daydreamed about in her youth, in the Realm of Darkness. Startling and soft enough to make her stop crying, that every tear coming out now is just a straggler who left too late.

When he’s done, he takes her lips in his, her waist into his arms, her hair into his hands. They both tremble in this embrace, shocked and nervous and excited about the exchange, anew, like this is the first time either of them have been born.

They only stop to take a breath. “Can I stay?” she asks.

He grins into her forehead. “I was going to ask you the same.”

It takes countless more kisses, more silent tears of joy, more back rubs and more breathy laughs in between before they go to his bed and make a new life in between their bodies, for themselves. They end the night with a whispered promise that they’ll continue the mural tomorrow.

Summer ~ To make room for joy

If summer is supposed to be for relaxing, it doesn’t exist inside the castle. It’s crunch time - setting up class schedules, moving new furniture in, making a dormitory out of the western wing.

Perhaps, most personally, it’s time to finally finish it. The tediousness gets easier with time.

Terra stands at the very top of the ladder at the far right side, finishing his last few stars, rounded out like curved Wayfinders, some larger, others like twinkles.

Aqua is below, proudly finished with shading grass and adding trees. She’s touching up the biggest stained-glass window of a depiction of the castle, using a photograph as a reference - it’s very two-dimensional but she’s not a professional.

“I think I’m done,” she announces.

“You’ll find a reason to come back and tweak it,” he says, his face mere inches from the wall as he adds the tiniest bit of stars over the tallest tower.

“But,” he adds, taking one last look over, “I’m definitely done.”

He waddles down the finicky ladder, squeaking with every step. The last stars he added look like dots, scattered and spread over the castle like a blessing.

“Stardust,” she says. “Protecting the castle, that’s so sweet.”

“Really?” He looks up, his grip never leaving the ladder rungs, and shrugs. “Kind of, yeah.”

“What is it supposed to be?”

“I mean, stardust, you’re right.” He lets go. “I think other people would interpret it the same way.”

“I’m serious.”

He chuckles, rubs the back of his neck. “The star is crying.”

She nearly drops her paintbrush. “Why are you thinking about crying?”

A pause first before he crosses his arms, wipes his mouth of nervousness. “There’s not much I remember from… being… Xehanort really.”

That name always makes them tense and they seldom say it. It’s usually you-know-who, or him, or that time.

“I don’t know where he was during that time,” Terra continues, “but it was one of the very few moments that I actually had some consciousness. I heard things, like voices. I don’t know why he was talking to a little girl, but I heard her, so clearly.”

He’s somewhere far away, completely forgetting that he has his hand suspended in the air as he reminisces.

“They were actually talking about hearts, him and this little girl, and she said to him that when a person cries, their tears are their hearts shedding, and they lose a part of themselves the more they do...

“And I always suspected that was what made me so weak, because being in that darkness felt like I was crying for twelve years. I wanted to paint that in to make it okay.”

The thought makes him cry, like he’s finally putting a secret to rest.

She takes his face in her hands, does the same nutty ritual he gave her months ago, starting with a kiss to his eyelid, tracing the tears running down his cheek, to his jaw, then to the other eyelid.

There’s sense in picking up his tears and making them her own.

“It will be our secret interpretation,” she says.

He takes her by the waist, smirking in his last attempt to let go of the baggage. Stares at her for a second too long, like he keeps arguing with himself to say something.

“I love you, too.”

The words leave her speechless - she always chose to feel loved when he held her close every night.

He laughs, his fingers interlacing with each other on her back, so he can’t let her go. “I’m sorry I never said them before.”

She cocks him a half-smile. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…” He shrugs. “I knew this was all real but when you told me that, I honestly started to question if I was in a dream. That I’d wake up and find myself in darkness, like I was experiencing a fantasy I wanted.”

“Terra,” she smacks him on the chest. “That’s depressing.”

“I just didn’t know why.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why you love me.”

She kisses him, long, hard, sweet. “That’s why.”

… It’s like someone has been watching a show and was just waiting for the prime opportunity to interrupt.

“Looks like no one’s been missing us,” Ventus says from behind her, Chirithy along for the ride, getting a front-seat view.

It makes her jump and whip around, nearly melting in Terra’s arms out of embarrassment.

“Ven,” she calls, half-relieved, half-shocked, mostly hot-faced as she picks up speed to give him a well-deserved Welcome Back hug. Terra follows with a rough rustle through the hair, like he’s been dying to do it for months.

“Please be sure,” Chirithy says, “to behave more appropriately in front of the students when they get here.”

Aqua brings her hand to her chest like she just heard something scandalous - Chirithy is way more responsibility than a house cat, almost like having a nagging teacher around that they have to feed and bathe and brush.

“I’m sorry, Cheers, I just didn’t know,” she says, to keep the peace, scratching under its chin like an olive branch.

Terra gives her a look, a smirk that says he’s quite proud of himself. Yes, let’s pretend they haven’t been kissing for months and that no one has seen anything.

“It looks so great!” Ventus says about their handiwork.

“We had a lot of fun,” Terra says, bringing his hands back into his pockets.

Ventus has a huge, ornate book that looks like it has been written 500 years ago in one arm, and he opens it. “I think it’s missing something.”

“You’re not ruining it.”

He waves his arm in dismissal. “I know what I’m doing.”

After reading to himself, he takes a look around, then back down to the page. Then back up. “We’ll need the lights off, please.”

He then prepares himself in front of the mural, re-checking his book and noticing that he can’t read it anymore because it’s too dark.

It would be nice to add Ven into such a precious project, but come on.

“Terra’s right,” Aqua says. “If you ruin it, you’re done for.”

“I get it,” Ventus says. He turns over his shoulder. “Just don’t make out behind me.”

“Get on with it,” Terra says, taking his place next to Aqua.

Ventus sighs, takes a moment.

“You can do it,” Chirithy squeaks, “teach him he is wrong.”

Teach who he is wrong?

Ven conjures a ball of light, grabs it, waves it, and throws, making it burst into a spray of sparks, each landing on one of Terra’s stars, adding bright shine to them and a glitter effect to the stardust.

“Ven, it’s wonderful,” Aqua says, nearly being moved to tears. She stops herself, bringing a finger to her face and looking over at Terra, who is wide-eyed at her and points a finger like he’s telling her to watch.

It’s been a long time since all of them smiled like this.

“HA!” Ventus exclaims, and it makes her jump. He slams the book closed. “This will show him.”

“What is this about?” she asks.

“I’ve been with him for months and he didn’t think I was capable of doing this.” He brings his gummiphone out, to take a picture. “I swore I’d make him eat his words.”

“You’ve shown all of us,” Terra says, nudging Aqua on the arm. “I’m completely jealous.”

“Yes,” Aqua says, shoving him back before accepting an arm around her. “I am, too.”

“It will now shine at night like this forever,” Ven says. He’s proud of himself, and he should be. “Something for the students to look at whenever they want.”

“We’ll have stars indoors when it’s storming out,” Aqua says, leaning her head onto Terra’s.

“The best gift ever.” Terra slips his fingers in between hers, in the dark, where Ven can’t see (but Ven can assume correctly that it’s happening).

In the mountains, summer nights are clear. The perfect shade of blue skies, a balance of cool breezes to scare away the heat, begging for noise and campfires.

Stardust will bless the castle, trees will dance in the wind. In the wish for a future, there’s a halo of white to protect a painting of childish dreams.

#terraqua #terqua #terraquaweek #kh fanfic #aqua #terra #kingdom hearts fanfiction #terraqua week #AHHHHHH this is the only long one #i swear!!!!#my fic

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namjoonchronicles · 6 years

Text

genius lab | yg

↳ pairing yoongi x you

↳ words 4k

↳ author’s note happy birthday to my fellow 93 liner, Yoongi. May we find a clue on what we’re doing in life. But hey, at least your life is better than mine, right? --i personally think that yoongi is very talkative to people he is most comfortable with. so that’s how i depicted him. i’m sick of people saying he’s cold and unaffectionate, it really is all or nothing for yoongi ok.

↳ 3/3 ‘take your wife to work’ fic

↳ genre husband!yoongi, domestic au, fluff

↳ song sleeping at last ‘two’

“Babe, so skydiving right...?” “Yup.” “Which one thrills you most: the fall or the fact that you’re in the sky?”

Yoongi walks around, fastening the cufflinks of his dress shirt while you were tiptoeing against the bathroom sink, your bottom bouncing as you try to get a better look in the mirror.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get there on time, so the initial plan is I fetch you from the mall and then we go straight to wedding hall right?” Yoongi is now switching on the left side of his cuff which he had no trouble fastening. Now he is pacing to the far right of the bedroom, next to the unmade bed to fetch his Gold Rolex.

“That’s the plan…” you swing your head back so your chin could be closer to the mirror when you can see. Unamused with the lack of response thereof, Yoongi marches to the opened bathroom door to see you are now sitting on the bathroom counter, trying to pinch something on your chin.

“What on earth are you doing?” he leans on the door frame. You dangle your head to the side where he is, mulling, “What people with pimples do in the morning, because not everyone is blessed with clear skin…”

For emphasis, you eyed him up and down before resuming your task. Yoongi was about to leave you alone if your answers weren’t that annoying, but it was, so he grabbed you by the chin, making you lean your head on his chest while you struggle to break free of his head lock.

“You will not touch that pimple,” Yoongi hissed while trying to put an anti-bacterial lotion on the said boil. “I want to,” you spat back.

Yoongi lets you go and helped you down from the counter.

“It hurts…” you mewled. “Yeah, it wouldn’t if you didn’t poke it,” Yoongi passed, putting the ointment back.

His black slacks are hugging his bums quite attractively now that you have the time to pay attention to it. He was checking his phone, with one hand on his hip while you put on your black bra and undies before strolling across the room like nothing is wrong.

“I got an update from the event chatroom,” Yoongi pauses and reads the text out loud so you could hear them, he follows you closely outside where the living room was, “Please refrain from bringing outside food as we have food prepared for the performers and early guests in the cafeteria right below the hall. Remember to bring your tags for identification.”

Next, the kitchen. You pour yourself a drink nodding mindlessly, still wearing just bra and undies, “No take out then, shame… I was really craving for some spicy braised chicken,” you swirled the coffee mug around and took a sip, “Maybe we could, a few hours before we leave.”

“No, no, we won’t make it on time if we did,” Yoongi shook his head, eyes glued to his phone. “We won’t, but I will. Me, alone,” you corrected him, leaning against the kitchen counter, gazing lovingly into your mug of black coffee, your go-to morning breakfast. Staggered by your response to have good food without him, he peeled his eyes from his phone almost immediately. “I will not allow such a thing!” he thundered, before his eyes falls to the valleys of your breast, thighs and bare torso, “Where are your clothes?!”

“Took you long enough,” you arched an eyebrow before passing him the very mug you were drinking from. There’s still some liquid in them and Yoongi downed them at once. His eyes follows you down to the living room where the couch was. “I figured that if I’m not going to see my husband all May and the beginning of June, I might as well leave him with some…” you smacked your lips together, resuming, “penetrative memory, so to speak,” you pointed the remote to the television and it played the playlist.

Yoongi froze. He is also blinking rapidly, stammering, “p-p-pene-penetrative memory?” You moved passed his shoulder and glided your hand down the length of his forearm, executing as little pressure as you can so he could barely feel you there, “of what he is missing when he is away…”

He could hear you smile and with a loud smack on his butt coming from your palm, he knows today is going to be slightly difficult to go through and by difficult, he meant hard. And he also knows that you probably had stood there watching it jiggle, because you’re a demon he had gotten married to.

“I was kidding,” you hummed, throwing your head back while getting dressed in an emerald green knee length dress, after you saw blood draining down his face and possibly pooling somewhere else that might delay today’s plan, “You look like you’re about to faint… I’m not going to do that, especially having to go to your studio first, before the mall and then, attending the wedding.”

Bittersweet. He would like the tease, to be honest. And what do you mean by going to his studio first? “You honestly think you can go AWOL without your office calling you to be in your studio at least once, today? They’re calling you right now,” you tipped your eyes to his phone and it vibrated.

Yoongi clenched his eyes shut but after he threw an acid glance at your smiling face.

He threw a throw pillow at you and left the room to be in his home studio. You weren’t very much interested into having musical discussion today, but if Yoongi needs to go then you’ll understand. You’ve had musical discussions all night. To pry a dedicated man is a difficult task, so you have a reminder set on his phone, as: love wifey time. Which go off at least five times a day; a number you both had agreed on, prior to the initiation.

Yoongi left the door gaping open, which led you to sit on the chair he has inside and begin reading a magazine he was featured in. One particular paragraph in that article reads,

How do you balance private life from your professional one?

Yoongi’s responds were, alas, extremely straightforward, no sugar coating whatsoever.

“Very badly. I define private life as home, wife, family, Holly, etc. And I feel like a married life is so much different from how I was still single. I have more commitments now, more people I need to take care of. I still feel like I’m in that transition? I know my wife had been secluding herself in terms of making more space for my work and she sacrifices a lot in order for me to continue doing this (music). If you think that I’m balancing the two flips of my life good, I have to thank my wife for that, truly. She’s my anchor, my rope, my stone.”

He is quite a talker. He is sitting in his chair, swiveling around with the phone on his ear, his veiny hand scratching the back of his neck--the conversation too complex for you to make sense of. His head is bobbing in agreement to what the caller had to say. It must have been one of those expenses thing again. Yoongi is in charge of making decisions to how a track should be and even if he takes literally 5 seconds to decide those; he takes an eternity to decide if you look good in a dress or a blouse. Music is all he is good at. It’s both a curse and a blessing.

“Listen, Jungkook,” he begins, spinning around in his chair so he faces you, “I don’t think we can do this through the phone. I have a packed day today, but I can squeeze some time somewhere before noon, what do you say babe?” Yoongi asked, with a slight drawl.

“Sure,” you shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile. “I’ll see you before noon, Jungkook…” Yoongi ended the call.

You stood up to reveal that your dress weren’t zipped all the way yet. Gathering all your hair to one side, you gave Yoongi your backside and he proceeds to trail kisses up your spine as he zips them up.

“With one look on that dress, I could tell we won’t be at that wedding for long,” he whispers hotly against the shell of your ear. You faced him with a cunning smile, and batted your eyelash at your handsome husband, circling your arm around his neck. “Oh really, says who?” you arched one eyebrow at him, just to tease him further. “Mr. Min Yoongi, Grammy winner,” he clicked his tongue.

The day is sunny, there were not much vehicles around. A very slow Saturday for everyone. Yoongi is driving and you’re on the phone with the bride who is currently panicking.

“Look, when I got married to Yoongi, I, too, wasn’t sure that I was marrying the right guy. He is never home, he is heavily invested on musical equipments instead of home appliances, and he hogs the blanket. And then I got married to him, and he still is never home, buys 25 pianos and hogs the blanket. Truth is darling, marriage aren’t going to change nobody, change is going to happen when the individual allows it…”

Yoongi frowned at the view ahead but 100% listening to everything you said. Which 75% lies and chances are, the bride knows that. You go to great lengths to make people smile, even if it means grilling lies about your husband. They know how responsible he is, that itself didn’t need exhibition although you’re pretty much an exhibitionist yourself.

“Don’t worry, Yoongi is going to be there as your pianist, he pinky promised me. So he is coming. He was reading the event chatroom before he leaves and I honestly want to tell you, hun, everything is fine. All you need to do is breathe, look pretty and put trust in your future hubby. You’ve gone through so much for this to happen, you’re halfway there already…okay? Okay, I’m going to see you in a few more hours, and I don’t want these conversations of thinking you’re not good enough, because that is bullshit. You’re a great wife, I almost married you, if Yoongi didn’t snatch me first,” Yoongi poke your sides and you jolted but still maintaining the smile on your face as you bid farewell on the phone with your friend.

“She is low on sugar and everything is pissing her off,” you exhaled through your nose and Yoongi rubbed your knees with his right palm. You fetched that very hand and entwined your fingers with his. You switched your attention out the car window to see several motorcyclists passing through. “Isn’t it too late to be having wedding jitters?” Yoongi glanced at you once in a while, cruising comfortably through the city with few traffics.

“It is never too late to have wedding jitters… I know where she’s coming from and I’ve been there,” you raised both brows and added a little squeeze on his hand.

“I know weddings are scary… it’s huge, it carries so much weight and responsibilities. It’s two families merging into one, with a lot of expectations and goals to achieve…” Yoongi rambles.

“It’s to trust someone with your whole life, and to devote yourself into a household name, and you fear that you hadn’t been seeing the full layers of your lover, frightened that he might leave one, unrevealed. Marriage is like.. Like skydiving...without parachutes. You leap out of the ass of a moving plane, unsure if you’re going to land safely or not, but you just do it. It’s scary, at least to me, to her… we’re women, we have so many to live up for. And it sucks. That’s where the fear comes.”

You casted your eyes down to your lap, where his hand rested, you begin fiddling on his empty ring finger, playing with it, until he regains dominance over you and clasped them tight under his grasp.

“Some of us turn out lucky. Some, don’t,” you whispered. And he could feel that you were brought down to memory lane of your own unhappy home; the home you were raised in. There’s nothing else he could offer but an affirmation in his full presence. Even if it means, a small kiss on your knuckle.

♪...Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss…♪

Jungkook’s studio has been raided with bags of food. A shrill call of his name pried him away from his computer. You walked in with a huge grin and Jungkook’s eyes turns into crescents.

“Hello you!” you cooed at the bunny as you set the food on his coffee table. Yoongi is following close by, carrying his own fairshare of bags. “I’m going to be right back after I send this off to the staffs,” Yoongi said but you rushed to his side, cutting your conversation with Jungkook short.

“I’ll do that, you help Jungkook,” you gather all the things from him and he held the door open for you. He watches you go down the hall and he reminded, “It’s the hall on the far left, next to the water dispenser…”

You made your way there easily. Most of them are gathering for burgers and you greeted everyone with a big smile.

“Only burgers?” you chimed and they started laughing and exclaiming once they saw what you brought them, “Yoongi wanted to get you food and I’m here to do the delivering… you look so thin since the last time I saw you, what happen, and what did I tell you about skipping meals!” You playfully scolded them. They’re all very young and they dedicate themselves into serving Yoongi and the rest of the producers. They are basically the machines in this company, and therefore, must be credited with their effort.

“Okay, you guys enjoy yourself… I’m going to go now, take care,” you patted one of the staffs shoulder, “Honestly, please...really take care of yourself, I’m worried.”

Using the passkey, you entered Yoongi’s studio with ease. He isn’t so big on cleaning up but hardly anything was out of place. The blankets for when he stays overnight are neatly folded, the bin is halfway filled, the humidifier is working, there’s some new additions in his studio family: new speakers, new keyboards, interesting.

The door beeps open to Yoongi walking in a slow stride.

“Why didn’t you turn the AC on?” he pointed the remote to the AC and took off his black blazer to sit on his chair. “Jungkook forgot that we were heading to a wedding so he asked me why I was dressed up, cheeky dude,” Yoongi commented, while leaning over the back of the PC to turn his PC on. “It wasn’t warm…” you shrugged and sat on his couch, taking off your heels and stretching your legs on his coffee table.

Yoongi promptly sit on the piano bench and uncovered the piano. Then suddenly, he begin dribbling a few note.

“You’re helping Jungkook compose?” you asked, resting your elbow on the arm rest, closer to where Yoongi was, placing your chin on the heel of your palm while you stare at him play. He has a beautiful side profile. It has always been his most charming point. The way his eyes falls to the keys, his cheeks full and round, his lashes make him look like a child. His veiny hands was a complete contrast of that baby face, and the melody he plays--as a veteran pianist; never fails to amaze you in ways you can never imagine.

“He couldn’t find the notes that would fit the beats…” he murmurs.

“So you’re memorising the beats that he made and playing a rhythm that would match, with a piano? By... heart?” you repeated. “Uhum,” he answered short, continue letting his fingers play an intricate piece. Something that sounded familiar from a long time ago, but you know for a fact that is nameless.

“You hadn’t done live composing in front of me since last year…” your tone falls soft and like a whisper. “I’m doing it right now, aren’t I?” Yoongi passed, “Listen, this to me, is your song.”

He started to play a short melody that reminds you of floating. A time passing, of sweet memories and the calming waters. And then he switches to a lower note and play something out of a horror movie, “This is when you’re angry…”

You giggled and shook your head, covering your eyes, “Glad to remind you of a haunted house…” “But mostly, you’re my…” Yoongi begins playing the ‘First Love’ notes of his older work. “I’m your living piano? Is that what I am?” you taunted him, moving from the chair to sit next to him on the bench, idling with a smile playing on your face. He avoided your eyes and smiled to himself and for that little moment, you knew what he meant.

That First Love was the embodiment of your beginning. There’s so many ups and downs before you both got to this point and at the end of the day, the feeling of belonging is beyond soothing. And in the chaotic life of Min Yoongi, lies a calming wave that was you. He was a wanderer in the forest of temptations and you were his salvation.

“I couldn’t possibly conclude how much you meant to me, but I like to think that this voyage that we are on, sails for as long as I live,” Yoongi hummed in thoughts. “I think we got it…” Yoongi shifted his gaze to the computer screen and emails them to Jungkook right away.

Yoongi moves and you stood up, before stumbling to your side. Then you heard a loud ripping sound. Both of you froze. Lowering your gaze to right thigh, you saw the threads come apart to reveal the strings of your black thong.

“Oh my…” Yoongi breathed. “Yoongi!” you screamed.

The deceptive cookie can with the picture of a smiling lady on them is mocking you. You’re laying on your stomach on Yoongi’s lap as he sew the threads back on. “I knew my sewing skills will be put to a good use one day. Never thought it would be today, of all days,” the thread was long enough for him to pull pass his shoulder, he pinched your butt when you wouldn’t stop wiggling. “Stop doing that…” “I can’t! My back hurts, and you’re taking too long… are you sewing or are you staring at my ass?” “How about both. What are you going to do about that?”

You pouted and cupped your chin, darting your attention to the smiling lady on the sewing container Yoongi had. You pinched your eyes at the view of it and let out an exhale.

“...I can’t even ask for the staff’s help even though they are far more experienced because somebody...won’t wear a normal panties…” his voice gradually grows louder. “I can march up to them despite your worries, Yoongi… and it’s a skin tight dress, I had to wear a thong or people will be taking notes on the shape of my butt,” you threw glances over your shoulder at your husband.

He is using his teeth to cut the extra thread unused, “Okay roll over, let me see how it looks.” You paused, and didn’t do what you were told. “What now?”

“You have a bulge…” you darted. “I know, so let me go to the bathroom and relief myself,” Yoongi sighed.

“You were sewing! What inappropriate thoughts were you having?!” you rolled over and he loosens his tie, angrily, “It was your ass wiggling in my face, and the conversations we had…”

You patted his clothed manhood and had him hissing out of frustrations; sexual and non-sexual. Walking backwards to see him, chanting, “dirty toilet, grimey walls and Valak from The Nun… dirty toilet, grimey walls, and Valak from The Nun…”

Sexologists say that thinking of disgusting items, or locations helps tame the boners down. So far it has worked with Yoongi, but today, he was struggling a bit, that you had to be driving to the mall.

“It is going down yet?” you asked. “I’m trying…” he groans when you purposely drive over a road bum in full speed, “It’s hard with your perfume dancing around my nostril.” “Let’s try stressing you out…” you hummed, tapping your cheek with you index finger pulling into a stop by the mall parking entrance, “How many tracks are you supposed to produce this week?”

Yoongi was shifting in his seat, clenching his eyes shut, “...5.”

“How many did you have done?” “Two…”

Really? Really…?

“You got to do better Min Yoongi, you have bills to pay this month,” you drove inside the parking lot, looking for parking. “Stress is going to help my boner down?” Yoongi is talking is harsh rasps now. That’s probably unintended, but now it’s turning you on.

“Well, usually… when you aren’t around and I’m horny beyond explanation, I usually plunge into self-implied depression? And it usually helps. If that’s not readily available, I could throw myself in a workload that wasn’t even real but my girlfriend down there gets fooled so...if it works, it’s not dumb. Look, we can’t fuck right now, because I’m in a hurry to get the door gifts from the mall, and you have to play piano in two hours in front of many many people so I suggest you get it together or I’d have to suck you, and I have a very expensive lipstick on,” you found a parking spot and hurried to unfasten your belt.

You intended a chaste kiss on your husband’s sweaty lips but he was out of it. He keeps moaning against your lips and holding your face in place.

“Honestly Yoongi!” You pulled away and struggle to hook your finger around the car door. “Please hurry…” Yoongi bit his lower lip as you slam the car door shut and sped to the mall entrance from the basement. Yoongi chants, “dirty toilet, grimey walls, and Valak from The Nun. Dirty toilet, grimey walls, and Valak from The Nun. Dirty toilet, grimey walls, and Valak from The Nun...fuck. Even Valak looks hot right now.”

“Yes I came for Mr. and Mrs. Jung? I was told that the extra door gifts are ready?” You chirped and the manager revealed the bags that you need to carry.

“Oh, I can do that,” you hummed to the sight of it. Within minutes, you were heading back down to Yoongi on the phone with somebody, two bags of gifts in your hand. You yank the back door open and shove the two bags of gift in before slamming it shut, so hard, the car rattled.

“Can you drive?” You didn’t care that he was on the phone, he nodded and put on the earpiece so he could continue talking.

It was pretty much empty when you came, but the groom was a little anxious. The door gifts are arranged and you rushed to get Yoongi on the piano where he should be. “You have mini rehearsals…” you hissed, and drag him by the elbow. He didn’t complaint and was completely obedient.

Yoongi went overboard with the music sheet of a simple Wedding March to making a complete Sonata until the emcee told him off. You were holding the bouquet to a frantic bride as she sat on the toilet cover with a long look. Listing her future husband’s antics;

“He picks his nose when we eat…” she sniffed, “It’s absolutely disgusting. How am I going to live like that for the rest of my life…”

You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, itching to get this wedding done and over with. Adulthood is difficult.

But as always, you’re expected to provide unpaid emotional support. Because, that’s what you’re good at. So good, that you considered charging everyone for it. Yoongi would purchase a lifetime subscription. That’s no question. And if he is listening to your thoughts right now, he’d probably want an added benefit as well. You’re good at telling people what they want to hear.

“All I hear is you are making up excuses to call off the wedding when you’ve dreamed of this to happen for so long… humans are not perfect and they come with flaws. And it’s up to you to make the flaws as beautiful as it can be, because as much as it is imperfect, it is yours. He is yours. Simply tell him to stop picking his nose if it bothers you so much, we’re past that zone in this relationship, now, aren’t we?”

Yoongi gradually feel the tension builds as the hall continues to fill up. Some recognise him as the Grammy award winning producer and some don’t. That’s no big deal. It wasn’t his day. It was theirs.

With a simple wave of your hand, Yoongi begins the Wedding March in a beautiful rendition he had composed himself less than hour ago. When you were younger, not yet married, you couldn’t understand why people would cry in weddings. Now that you’re older, and albeit, wiser, you understood how much weight was on the shoulders when such a union happens.

The bride looks stunning, with her hair up in a classic ballerina bun. Her veils giving the right amount of silhouette, just enough to make the invitees curious of how she looks if they hadn’t seen her in a while and holding the tails of her dress behind her, is you. Once she reached the altar, you joined Yoongi on the bench. Her husband took her hand in his, staring into her eyes, brimming with tears.

“We are gathered here today…”

It was a beautiful ceremony. Yoongi stood up before you again, and the event repeats itself; you stumble to the side to keep your stance and ripped your dress open. You clawed Yoongi’s arm with a horrified look, noticing that the people hadn’t fully leave the hall.

Yoongi took off his blazers and covered you from waist down. Both of you are scurrying to the car, the bride saw and although she was quite puzzled, she knew she’ll get an explanation from you later.

“I can’t wait to have that dress ripped off of you…” he grumbled and sped through traffic.

Once you get home, Yoongi tore off the entire dress in two forceful yanks, sending you yelping, face down on the bed.

“All May and beginning of June, you say?” Yoongi whispers hotly in your ear, nuzzling his face in your nape while he fumbles on the metal head of the belt he was wearing. “It’s the thong, isn’t it?” you rolled over to face him. You see his shy smile, and the way he was hiding his face by facing the side.

The post coital glow tonight was something else. You drew random shapes on Yoongi’s palm, talking in murmurs.

“Babe, so skydiving right...?” “Yup.” “Which one thrills you most: the fall or the fact that you’re in the sky?”

Yoongi hums. “The landing; knowing you would be there waiting for me.”

“You should be drinking more water…” he scolds, fiddling with his metal earrings as his jaws hung open to continue typing on the keyboard, fixing his lyrics.

“And give the bacteria an ideal environment to live in? I think not!” you retorted back at him. The response got him stop typing in the middle of a sentence.

The nonsense seep into his mind in an uninterrupted speed, which causes him to push his chair back so he could stand and turned the loudspeaker mode off. He pressed the phone to his ear and gnawed his lower lip as you rambled on how drinking water and eating food would increase nutrition intake in your body and allow the bacterial growth to flourish,

“–which would be the exact opposite of what you want me to do. Which is, getting well…”

Why did I marry her. Why the fuck did I marry her. Yoongi lets out a steady exhale to achieve peak nirvana–more like, attempted to. He grabbed his car key on the side stand and rushed out the door of his studio. “Now you listen to me…”

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speculative-scintillation · 5 years

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Okay listen, this has been sitting in my drafts for months and at this point, I’m probably never going to finish it, so I’m just gonna post it anyway.

I’ve been working on this activity for over a week now. My brain isn't playing ball. My characters aren’t getting along. Everything is a mess, and I’m admitting defeat.

I apologize for the missing (and horrendously overused) dialogue tags, horrible grammar, and unanswered questions.

TW: food, war (mention)

12/12/12 tag game

rules: answer 12 questions in character as an OC, ask 12 questions, & tag 12 people!

I was tagged by @inscrutable-shadow like eons ago and I couldn’t figure out how to approach the game (and if you know my OCs, you might figure out why), so what I’m going to do is not answer all the questions as one OC but bring in the entire cast of a WIP and let whoever has an answer for a given question answer that question and if multiple characters have an answer then they can discuss. So for this run, I’m going with Amarantos and this is probably some time in early Volume 2.

Present in the room we have: Castor, Lionel Haggarty Jr., Roger Dermot, Alex Glaser, Adrienne Ó Conghaile, Powell, Michelle Byron, Clemente “Oz” Osman, Trace Millbrooke, and Dania “Dan” Hendrickson

1. What is your absolute favorite food, and who cooks it for you?

Everyone looks at everyone else. Powell twitches an eyebrow at Castor, who provides in return only a slightly crooked smile. Clearly, Powell has already begun their usual endless commentary on the event over short-field broadcast. Castor will, as usual, ignore most of it. Someone in the hallway might listen in.

Oz laughs to himself “Funnel cake”

“You mean fried air”, Trace jests.

“Hey, I don't know what it is, but even if that was what it was I’ve ate weirder stuff” -Oz

Everyone laughs. There are plenty of odd foods that seem to eternally spring up from newly colonized planets. It’s hard enough taxonomizing most of it, let alone eating it.

“I got one.” Lionel chimes in. “My mom used to make this soup, and I mean from scratch, and she’d make these little star-shaped chicken dumplings, and it was chicken soup except you could actually take it seriously as a meal.”

“Whatever that red popcorn is called.” Byron jumped in

“Taran corn!” Adrienne practically jumped up to announce

“Yeah! That stuff!” -Byron

“I love that stuff!”

“You know the Virtue traveling Theatre.”

“Oh the cinnamon corn!”

“Yess!”

“Ladies please, let’s not derail,” the interviewer pleads and hustles on to the next question

2. If you could change one thing about your body, what would it be?

Lionel looks at Castor, Castor looks at Lionel. They both blink and look back at the interviewer.

“I have too much boobs” Michelle jokes, though it’s only half a joke. Something about them makes her uniform fit oddly, even though they’re body-type tailored.

“And I’m fat.” Oz looks down at himself, and bobs around in his seat, seeming to be amused by his beer belly, which actually never bothered him all that much despite the comment.

3. If you could change one thing about your personality, what would it be?

Castor looks away momentarily. Lionel snorts in amusement and catches the full force of Castor’s cold stare, which he returns with a cocky undertone.

“Fix your collar pin, Haggarty.”

There's some chuckling, mainly from Byron.

“Should we skip this question?” The interviewer askes, picking up immediately on the tension forming.

“For now,” Castor replies, friendly as always.

4. What do you do to get focused?

Castor and Powell return to their private banter, but this time they’ve moved to direct-line to exclude possible hallway eavesdroppers. the room stayed quiet for a moment as people transitioned away from the prior tension and contemplated their answers.

"Set up,” Oz admitted, “Get all the equipment set up for the day and you’re pretty much in the zone by the time it’s all done.”

“Put on some music. Get some mental conditioning going. This music means work.”

“The ship makes you focus.” Lionel said, “No choice.”

Everyone had their own reasons, but they all agreed with that statement.

5. Are you a morning person or a night owl?

“Morning person. My parents drilled it into me.” Lionel responded immediately.

“Who?” Dermot smiled from the corner of the room.

“Do I even know what sleep is?” Trace joked

“Oh, no kidding!” Michelle huffed

6. What could you spend hours doing without noticing?

“Technical journals!” Alex sang.

“Yep,” Castor replied flatly

“Work.” Oz joked

“Lucky bastard,” Adrienne complained. “Nah, movies. Any day.”

“Reading books. Fiction. The less realistic the better.” Michelle (I’ve run out of fucking dialogue tags)

“Here here!” Roger

7. What keeps you awake at night?

“The air pumps.” Michelle, Adrienne, Roger, and Oz all said in unison.

8. What song always lifts your mood?

Roger and Castor exchanged a glance. Roger sighed. Castor looked up at Adrienne who had, fortunately, not made the same connection they had.

[I assume that Byron would be the first to answer, but I haven’t put much thought into this outside of the appearance of a Bastille song in Volume 1, which is what Cas and Roger immediately thought of]

9. If you could live on another planet, which one would you pick (ignoring basic could you survive there stuff)?

[I’m modifying this one to “if you could live anywhere in the inhabited space, planet, ship, or, station, where would it be]

“Fuck borders! Agnes!” Dan yelled, startling everyone since he hadn’t said anything since the interview started

“Ow!” Trace, of all people, yelled back

Oz sighed, “Damn.”

“No point crying over lost territories,” Dermot sighed, “Geneva.”

“Geneva!?” Michelle akes

“I don't know. it was the first place I could think of.”

“What’s that really old Black Diamond inspired Nomad station?” Alex asked. (black diamond made the first interstellar cruise ships. Nomad makes traveling space stations)

“Crysentine” Castor replied.

“Yeah. I mean that’s another thing we don't have anymore, but that would be cool.” -Alex

“What about the Bellenox?” Michelle suggested. (The Bellenox is a station in a city of space stations on the edge of a major passage. The city orbits no planet or star)

“That's a good one,” Oz replied.

“Fine by me,” Roger replied.

10. If you had to give up one skill, which one would you pick?

Castor and Powell look around in equal confusion.

“Nuh-uh” Alex laughs. “Not happening”

“Pass.” -Adrienne

“I don’t know. I have some pretty useless talents. Like they’re fun as a kid but nobody really needs to be able to burp their ABCs or anything.” -Byron

“Is that a skill?” Roger asked.

“It's something,” Dan replied. “It’s true though that not all skills are entirely necessary.”

“I’m pretty skilled at locking myself out of my own office” Oz joked

“That's not a skill” -Adrienne

“Oh, it's a skill.” Trace replied. “Trust me. I don’t know how fate can come up with that many ways to get locked out of a room.”

“Is that why the door is always open?” Castor asked

“Yes, it is.” -Oz replied, with a smile.

11. If you were turned into a computer, would you be a good AI or an evil AI?

*--- Unfortunately, I’m going to have to skip this one because Powell is in the room, and that's not going to end well. I love Powell, but they’re a little bit paranoid. ---*

12. What’s something you’ve always wanted to try?

---

12 Questions I’m asking

What is the most significant (to you) item you’ve collected in your adventures (and why)?

Would you want to live to a ripe old age but have an uneventful peaceful life, or die young knowing that you raised hell?

If you were a gemstone, what gemstone would you choose to be?

Do you have any unusual phobias or fears? If so, what are they?

If you could plan a perfect day, what would you do? Who would you spend that perfect day with?

What's the most embarrassing thing that you ever did?

What does your dream neighborhood look like?

It is more important what someone says or the way that they say it?

What traits do you value most in a friend?

Has anyone ever done something that you can’t forgive (it doesn’t have to be something they did to you)?”

If you had the option to know when and how you died, would you want to know?

Do you think it is more important for a leader to maintain a respectable image or maintain an honest upfront relationship with those they lead?

And for tags, I’m sick and I honestly can’t be bothered, so if you made it this far, consider yourself tagged.

#WIP: Amarantos #writing #food tw #war tw

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edifactory · 4 years

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How Pandemic Isolation is Like Missionary Life

For the first time since we’ve been overseas, friends and family from the US are as desperate as I am to connect online. As I’ve been talking with people in the US, I’ve realized that there are actually a lot of things about the coronavirus isolation that mirror our missionary experience. Here are seven ways the pandemic isolation is like missionary life:

1. Nothing Feels Normal

The first thing we noticed coming overseas (and every time since then) was that nothing had a rhythm to it. When everything is suddenly different there isn’t any pattern to fall back on. As schools and businesses have shut down in the US and families try to homeschool and work from home, so much is changing that there is no “normal” to fall back on. Every day takes intentionality because every day is a new situation, even though it’s the same situation as the day before. We’ve been told it takes about 18 months to fully transition into a new culture. With all the changes within the American home right now, it’s like a new culture! I’m sure no one wants to wait 18 months for life to feel normal again, but give yourself some grace! This kind of change is never easy and doesn’t happen quickly. It’s more likely for you to continue to feel out of joint than it is for you to feel settled. Expecting rhythm to come often leaves us discouraged.

2. Home is the Primary Contact

In moving to a new country, initially those in your home are your primary (or only) source of contact. With the isolation brought on by this pandemic, the only people you can be physically close to are the people that are living under the same roof as you. The American culture isn’t usually this family focused. Americans often find a lot of connection outside of their family unit, but now the rules have changed. Not being able to get out and “go” is very counter-cultural. This isolation is redefining family time, hopefully in positive ways, but it’s hard too. Close quarters with family is different than close quarters with friends. Most of us chose our friends and find them pretty easy to get along with.

Our family is not chosen and often contains personalities that are much better at shaping each other (as iron sharpens iron) than easily complementing each other.

These kinds of situations, however, can press us to be more self-reflective and force us to be more forgiving and gracious. These times can be where we see God at work in the toughest places. If the Gospel isn’t reaching into our own homes, we are missing something. That doesn’t mean we should expect Christ-like behavior in all circumstances. It’s just the opposite, actually. As we rub up against one another, we see places in ourselves where we haven’t been allowing the Gospel seed to grow. Maybe we see our own weaknesses and vulnerabilities in a new light. Maybe we surrender areas of our lives to Christ that we previously felt we were handling just fine on our own. Being forced to make your family your primary source of contact forces you to be either reflective or reactive. If you choose reactive only, you won’t last long. At some point you start saying, “Okay, look. We have to make this work so let’s talk about what needs to change.”

3. Virtual Friends and Family

Thanks to technology, friends and family outside of the home can be “seen” online. This is a mixed blessing. It is so nice to see them, but it also punctuates the separation from them. It reminds you that they are not in your world, not truly accessible, not able to be hugged. It seems ironic, but sometimes seeing people online actually makes you more homesick. We enjoy it while it lasts, but once we hang up reality hits harder than ever. You are alone. They still love you but they are not here. And with the current coronavirus situation, you don’t even really know when you’ll see them again.

4. Learning New Cultural Norms

When you leave your home to get needed supplies, you must adopt new cultural norms. When we moved overseas we had to learn to walk (and drive) on the left instead of the right, something that I always do wrong again when I return to the U.S.! Staying six feet away from everyone else does not feel normal. It feels awkward and it requires constant thought.

The rules have changed and you are forced to change with them. Learning to rewire habits is exhausting!

5. Feeling Isolated

Besides the virtual connection to family and friends, life itself is isolated. When you are confined to your home it’s a lot like being in a new location. How do you decide what needs to be done? How do you balance time on media “connecting” with others to time doing work? How much do you work and how much do you create downtime with your family? How much do you allow your kids to disappear into media? How do you create structure through self-motivation? You’ve always had a list of “to do” items for the house. Are they priorities now or is time with family the priority since everyone feels so out of sorts? How do you balance those things?

Isolation isn’t a vacation for most of us. There are things to do. Figuring out how to handle the precious commodity of time is actually a task.

And trying to help those in our care cope is equally daunting. Children process isolation differently than adults. They don’t have the same concept of time. Juggling your own cares while trying to support others is no easy task.

6. Dining In

A change in country means a change in food. Often your favorite restaurants are nowhere to be found. We don’t have access to any restaurants in our overseas community which means making all of our meals every day. When we are home on furlough, eating out is one of our favorite things to do.

For those of us who haven’t had a lot of experience cooking, this new skill acquisition can create a lot of stress! We make pretty much everything from scratch here. I did not cook that way prior to coming so I had a lot to learn. After we’d been here for a few years, my daughter said to me, “Mom, where did you learn how to make such yummy pizza?” (It tastes different here because I make it all from scratch: the dough, the pizza sauce from fresh tomatoes, seasoning in the sausage, etc.) I answered her, “Here. I learned to make pizza here.” I truly would have no clue how to make pizza if we hadn’t come overseas.

I didn’t have “cooking from scratch” on my bucket list but it’s something life has required.

As you try new recipes during this isolation (maybe even just cooking consistently for the first time) and work with limited ingredients, you may be feeling that you “didn’t sign up for this.”

Losing access to dining at restaurants isn’t just about convenience. Restaurants also represent social connection and certain foods create a lot of comfort. Restaurants are also a part of the normal rhythm of life. Sometimes cooking dinner just feels like one more reminder of how much has changed.

7. Insecurity and Fear

Our missionary journey has always carried a lot of unknowns in the area of security. Life in America is fairly stable. If you lose a job, you probably have unemployment. If you are sick you probably can go to a medical clinic. If you need food, you probably can go to a grocery store. We live in a remote location. Our income is based on the generous giving of supporters and often fluctuates. Our medical services are very limited compared to US standards. Our resources (food and supplies) are shipped in and often delayed. Life is very unpredictable. We often have to do without.

With the shutdown of so many businesses in the U.S., many are without jobs. I’m sure many of us are wondering how the economy will rebound, how unemployment can cover the millions who are without work. We don’t know how long grocery stores will stay open or if the items we need will even be on the shelves. We don’t know that there will be space at the hospital if we need services. Everything is very unsettling in the current situation.

Fear can dig its claws in deep when there are so many unknowns. Security is something we value as Americans. It has been taken from us. But maybe it was never really there to begin with. Maybe we were always vulnerable to this kind of a threat; we just didn’t know it.

Our hope has to be in the goodness and sovereignty of God. He is not surprised by all of this. He is still in control. If any of our fears become realities, it will be because He allowed it. He will be in it with us. We are not alone.

Although there are many ways that missionary life and coronavirus isolation are similar, there is one key way in which they are different: those of you in the U.S. did not choose this experience.

You did not train for it. You did not plan or prepare for it. There is no sense of adventure in it. It was thrust upon you.

Knowing God moved us to our overseas location is a source of comfort. When we face difficult things, we know He is with us in them. The same is true for you. He has moved you to this place. You didn’t have to do anything. In fact, you didn’t even have a choice to make, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is where He has you now. At this time, at this place, you are where He wants you. And He is with you.

The fact that you did not choose this experience, is perhaps what makes it so hard. When you choose to go to a different country you know things will be different. When your own world suddenly changes, loss and grief run deep. You had no time to plan or say good-bye. You simply had to accept reality as it was placed upon you.

So much of our lives are really not in our control. We think we have control, that we make our own destiny, but this pandemic is reminding us just how vulnerable we truly are.

I am praying for those of you in the US, for the sudden changes, for the losses of security and contact with others. I am praying especially for those who are alone in their homes. May God’s presence be real. May God’s people find fellowship (even if only virtually). May we all learn to trust Him more as we see our own vulnerability.

May this be a time of counting what matters most, of reflecting on God’s Sovereignty. God is still in control. The vast majority of us will survive this pandemic. What is it that God will teach us through this? How will we grow closer to Him? Trust Him more? How will we support one another? How is God at work in your own life and in your family? Who in your life needs a virtual touch from you to keep going?

We were made to live in community. I think we all feel that now more than ever.

-Cathy Lindley

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takemedancingmaine · 6 years

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Congrats, It's A...

I paced back and forth with anticipation.

My footfalls were the only sound in the room. I was nervous that something was wrong with how quiet it was in here. The sterile air and the smell of antiseptic were almost overwhelming in the small, white room.

When the door opened again I breathed in deeply, despite the bleach smell, preparing myself for whatever was to come.

“So she doesn’t have a tag and she’s not chipped,” the vet said as he brought her back in with him. His hand absolutely dwarfed her. She was so small. He placed her down on the table gently and she just started wandering in small circles on the metal surface, looking around and studying her surroundings.

“So if you’ll have her,” he continued, “she’s all yours. Otherwise, we can keep her here until she gets adopted.”

I looked down at the tiny fluff of white on the table in front of me. I thought of moment I first heard that little meow, at three o’clock this morning and when my eyes met hers an hour later, I was a goner.

“I'd like to keep her,” I told him. Looking at her now, I was certain.

“That's great news!” He smiled. “Well, she weighs just over two pounds, which is enough for us so that we can start giving her all of her proper vaccinations and we can get her spayed.” He looked at a couple of things on his clipboard.

“Would you be okay to pick her up on Saturday morning? She should be out of the anaesthesia and ready to go around ten.”

“I can do that.” I nodded.

“Perfect.” He scribbled something on the page he was looking at before handing it to me.

“Just take this out to our front desk and they'll give you the bill and all of the other necessary information. If you have any questions my number is on that page, as well as the clinic’s number.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “Would you like to say goodbye?”

I nodded back and then leaned over the table a little bit and scratched behind her ears.

“Hi sweet girl,” I whispered to the kitten in front of me. “I have to go to work and you have to get all your treatment so you grow up big and strong, okay? I'll be back in a few days. I promise.”

I know it's crazy, that I’m probably crazy, but when I was talking to her she was staring at me like she understood me. She gave a tiny little mew and continued to purr as she tried rubbing her face on my hand. I was smitten.

I gave her one more look over my shoulder and turned and walked out of the room. It was silly that I was getting emotional leaving her when I'd only known her five hours but we’d bonded during that time.

I'd rescued her from the rain and the dank area under my front porch at four AM, wrapped her up and taken her to the local animal shelter once they opened, and was now planning to walk to the front desk and properly adopt her.

As I waited at the desk for the office assistant to become available, I texted Louis a million heart emojis for him letting me take an hour or so this morning to deal with it all and then texted Niall that I was now a cat mom, apparently.

Niall: you’ve got yourself a little moggy then?

Ruby: a moggy?

Niall: it's a term for cat

Ruby: well then yes, I've got myself a little moggy

Niall: can't wait to meet her!

It was my turn to step up to the desk. One I did, I filled out all the proper paperwork, paid, and when they asked me for a name for her to put into both their system and the microchip system the only name I could think of was Moggy.

So her name was officially Moggy.

When I'd woken up at three this morning to the sound of meowing I'd thought I was losing my mind. It was pouring rain. There was no way I could hear a cat outside over the sound of the rain.

After an hour of tossing and turning though, unable to fall asleep because of the incessant meowing, I decided that I was not imagining it and that there really was a cat somewhere out there.

So I pulled on my rain boots and raincoat, grabbed a flashlight, and went outside to see if I could figure out the source of the sound. When I saw the tiny white kitten with her dirty fur and grey face, damp and miserable and alone, I coaxed her out from her hiding place under my porch and got her upstairs.

Holding her I was in shock of the fact that this tiny creature was making loud enough sounds to wake me up. Once she was in my arms she quietened up, her meows had softened, gotten smaller… Her purring was loud but gentle.

Upstairs in my apartment, I had washed her off as best I could and wrapped her in warm towels and mentally ran through my options. She looked alone--no brothers or sisters, no mom--and I felt like I couldn't in good conscience leave her outside again on the off chance that she wasn't alone. So I could bring her to the clinic to see if she was chipped or see if they'd take her in to be adopted if she wasn't.

In the span of a few hours though, of both me and her trying to calm down after our middle-of-the-night ordeal in the rain, of me getting dressed and ready to go to the clinic and work, and of the two of us walking the many, many blocks there together because taking her on the train worried me, we had formed a real bond.

When the vet came in and said she wasn't chipped and I could have her, I felt my heart in my throat. I hadn't wanted (or needed) a pet, but looking at her I couldn't say no.

I definitely didn't need a pet. I was stable in my job and my location, but I didn't ever really see myself as the kind of person to have a pet. If I did, I’d always thought it might be a bigger dog that I could run with and would be someone who would make me feel safer.

In less than twenty-four hours though, I'd gained a boyfriend and a cat.

The universe was funny that way.

Once I was done at the clinic with getting everything set up for Moggy, I found myself on the train to work.

Work.

Where Louis was. Where Louis was and where I would have to tell him something. Where my life as I knew it was likely to end. I'm not usually such a coward but something about telling Louis was making me nervous.

So when I stepped into the bakery around nine fifteen and saw Louis at the till I almost felt like I might get a reprieve, but as I slipped past the door into the kitchen I saw him ask Bridgett to take back over. I groaned. I wasn't even going to get a moment to settle in, to calm down and go over my word choice.

“Time d’you call this?” Louis called loudly as I slipped off my jacket and placed it on the back of my desk chair. I stepped back out into the kitchen and began washing my hands at a sink as he peered into an oven through the door, checking in on a bake.

“Well, I'm a mom now,” I looked at him over my shoulder. “I'm still only just getting the hang of it.”

“So you adopted her then?” He spun around and looked at me expectantly.

I nodded. “I did!”

“Oh my god, I'm so excited to be an uncle!” Louis came over and picked me up and hugged me. I laughed and ruffled his hair to get him to put me down.

“When can I meet her?” He asked.

“She’s staying at the clinic for now while they give her all her shots and stuff. I'm picking her up on Saturday morning.” I filled the kettle and clicked it on as Louis took out two mugs and put tea in each one for us.

“So you're saying I get to meet her Saturday?” He asked, his eyes bright.

“That wasn't what I was saying, but I feel like it's the only acceptable answer for you, so sure. You get to meet her Saturday.”

I knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Our friends had deferred to doing something until early next week, Liam with a final showing of the apartment and the rest of the teachers were having some sort of grading pow-wow to catch up. Louis knew neither of us would be busy with any of them this weekend. He knew he could coerce me into inviting him over. He was witty and tricky.

“Sick!” He jumped up on his toes quickly before settling back down. “I can't wait. I'll bring stuff for lunch and we can just watch soccer all afternoon. What's her name?”

“You're going to commandeer my laptop to stream soccer while also commandeering my home to play with my new cat?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“I'm bringing food, woman! Is that not payment enough?”

I laughed at him, shaking my head and running a hand through my hair.

“We can watch some soccer, but we also have to watch Moana.” I gave him a stern look--or tried to at least. I once watched Moana four times in a row with Cleo back in college. Louis knew I didn't joke about when it came to that movie. Neither did Cleo for that matter.

He sucked in air between his teeth. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms Singh.”

I just looked at him.

“Deal.” He was beaming as he picked up the kettle that had just gone off and started pouring the water.

I walked into my office for a moment to turn on my computer--not that I hadn't been trying to answer some emails this morning--and when I came back out Louis was leaning back against the counter top facing me. He’d poured the water from the kettle into our mugs. They were steaming.

“Her name is Moggy by the way.”

“Moggy?”

“Mhm.”

“What the hell kind of name is Moggy?” He asked.

“Well, okay, so that brings me to the second thing I needed to talk to you about.” I tried to sound as casual as I could as I looked down at my mug of tea.

“Go on,” Louis encouraged me. He didn't know what I was about to say, but I could tell he knew it wasn't bad news. He was intrigued about how my cat’s strange name had something to do with anything else.

I knew how I had to do it. I couldn't draw it out. I couldn't, for his sake or mine, make it excruciatingly long and awkward and I couldn't bumble my way through an explanation.

It had to be quick and to the point. I'd rip off the news like a band-aid.

I had to force myself to look at him though, to face my reality.

I took a deep breath and forced the words out.

“I'm dating Niall,” I blurted. “We’re dating.”

I was watching his face closely to gauge his reaction so I saw each emotion and thought as it passed over his features. Louis’ face swiftly transitioned from mild curiosity to confusion and then understanding and excitement and finally--help me--arrogance.

“I. Told. You.” Each word was emphasized.

“I know.”

“I told you!” He repeated, his words becoming boisterous as he looked me over.

“I know.”

“I told you that you two would start... I can't believe you think... I pretty much nailed that timeline. You are... This is… brilliant. It's brilliant!” He was having trouble forming full sentences. It seemed only fragments could make their way past his lips.

“You really think so?” I asked, wringing my hands together.

“Ruby, are you kidding?” His eyes grew large and he began waving his hands around.

“Since the moment I saw the two of you together I've been rooting for the two of you to get together.”

“You're not worried?”

“About what?”

“About what happens if he and I don't work out.” I felt like I was stating the obvious, but when talking to Louis things were never really all that obvious. I should've known better.

“Well, that's not an option.” Louis shrugged. I noted the small bit of flour in his hair and had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. It looked like he was greying at his right temple.

“Louis.” I narrowed my eyes.

“If,” he began and then started again. “If you don't work out, then we will figure it all out together. When the time comes. I'm not picking sides. I'm not losing either of you.”

“Louis-”

“I'm serious,” he said. “As someone who knows the both of you quite well as individuals, I can say this with a fair bit of authority. It's a pretty big if, but if anything bad does go down, we can figure it out. In the meantime, can I be excited for you?”

“I suppose I'll allow it.” I shook my head and tried to hide my smirk. Louis knows me though. He definitely saw it.

“Really, I'm so happy for you both.” Louis opened his arms and I immediately stepped into them.

“Thank you, Louis.” I hugged him back.

“Of course,” he said, rubbing my back.

“So what kind of food are you getting me for Saturday?” I asked.

He laughed and stepped back from the hug.

“Pizza?” He asked.

I pretended to mull it over. “I think that that sounds wonderful.”

“Great!” Louis turned and stepped away from me as a timer went off. “I'll grab a dairy free option and invite Niall along for the afternoon as well.”

“You're going to be so annoying about this, aren't you?”

“I'm texting the group as we speak.” He slipped his phone out of his pocket and threw me a wink over his shoulder.

I groaned and trudged into my office, turning my phone to silent immediately before settling into work.

Niall: I'm here

With a quick glance over my shoulder at Moggy, who was asleep on what was more than likely becoming her favourite chair, I sprinted down the stairs to let him in.

I'd had Niall come early--before Louis--just because. Niall was seeing Louis for the first time since our collective beans had been spilt--by me--on Wednesday and he was just wanting a moment alone with me before the inquisition began.

I opened the front door and was met by that smile that was quickly becoming my favourite. I blushed at the sight of him on my doorstep.

“Hi.”

Niall stepped inside and locked the door behind himself. When we got to the top of the stairs, just before I'd opened my door, he pulled me in for a hug. I gratefully accepted.

I was surrounded by him, my face pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close, his scent doing all sorts of things to me as he rested his cheek against the top of my head. It was when he pulled back, but only slightly, that I felt the shift.

Niall held me close, his arms still around me, with his face just next to my own as he took a deep breath. I could hear the tremor in his breath. I felt my cheeks heat and felt my heart rate speed up.

He brought one hand up to cup my face and then I felt his lips on mine, just for a moment, before he pulled back again.

I couldn't even process what had just happened it had happened so quickly. It was as if his lips on mine had only been a ghost of a feeling. It was almost as if I'd only imagined it happening.

And then it was happening again.

Niall had only pulled back for a moment after that initial contact, and then his mouth crashed against mine.

One of my arms that had been around his waist quickly moved and while one hand pulled him closer to me the other tangled itself into his soft hair as I lost myself in the feel of him against me, his mouth on mine. I felt him doing the same, pulling me closer, as if that was possible, with his hand that was still wrapped around me.

When I was younger, I used to think my foot had to pop when I kissed someone. Thanks a lot, Princess Diaries. Then I'd gone through a phase where I was convinced there had to be a ‘spark’ when I kissed someone. I'd read books about how it felt like a person was on fire when they kissed someone, or that it felt like coming home--whatever that meant.

No boy had ever measured up to those highly unrealistic expectations. I mean, if that happened for anyone else I'm sure it was great. But I'd spent so long trying to find this ideal version of how it should go. When I was in college I'd realised how ridiculous those ideas of mine were.

With Niall it was different.

It felt natural. As if this wasn't the first time we were kissing, but the thousandth. It felt like it was something I could do thousands more times. Kissing Niall felt like so many things at once: excitement, comfort, anticipation, joy… I was so content to just be in that moment with him, to bring one hand up to trace his scruffy jawline as he kissed me senseless.

I felt reality both slipping away and coming into focus, centred on the man in front of me as if Niall was the focal point for clarity and the reason for the loss of it.

We were both breathing hard when we pulled away from each other, Niall resting his forehead against mine. I swallowed hard and felt a smile break out over my face as his blue eyes searched my brown ones.

“Been wantin’ to do that,” he said eventually.

“Been wanting you to do that,” I said back.

His eyes lit up.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” I hummed.

“Well good thing then, darling,” he said as he pulled back from me further, “because that's going to be happening pretty often from now on.”

There was a small smirk on his lips as his eyes held onto mine. I felt like my face was on fire I was so red, but the electric feeling that surged through me in anticipation was not unnoticed by me either.

Also, darling. He’d called me darling. I'd been called babe or baby before, even sexy and honey, but darling… Something about it felt so personal and endearing. I was pretty sure my heart was working overtime to keep me alive between our kiss and his words.

That was how I knew Niall and I had started off our relationship--relationship? we’re just dating--on firm ground: it wasn't just a physical attraction that drew us to each other. Sure, he was handsome and I enjoyed looking at him, but he did things and said things that made me feel comfortable and gave me joy. He was always trying to make me smile or laugh. It was truly wonderful to know he was putting in the effort.

I'd been in purely physical relationships in the past, or ones that had been built on only physical foundations and never did they end well. They were shallow and I always felt like there was something missing from them.

Being here, at this moment with Niall, I realized what it was that was missing in the past. It was an emotional connection. Sure, I’d been with guys I could laugh with in bed, or could count on to swing by and give my car a jump when the battery died, but that wasn’t support in a way that meant something. That was comfortability with someone. There was a difference.

With Niall, there was both comfortability and support, and more. The more had been so little exploring thus far between the two of us, too. I was sure there was, or at least could be, so much to experience.

I decided to ignore his comment about kissing me and turned to open my door. We were still in my hallway.

“Ready to meet Moggy?” I asked him.

“Very,” he said from behind me and then I was opening the door.

Moggy lifted her head when the door opened and when she noticed someone who wasn't me, she gave a frumpled meow and stood up to come to greet us.

“She's precious,” Niall said as he knelt down to her. He extended one hand and she gave him a cursory sniff before meowing and mushing her fluffy head against his palm. He looked up at me and smiled, his dimple popping.

“She really is.” I nodded. “Tea?” I moved toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”

I clicked on the kettle.

“I'm good,” he called out. “Louis is on orders to get me a Kombucha with the pizza and whatever else he's bringing for me.”

I snorted and then immediately thought of my mother. She used to tell me all the time that I'd have a hard time ever finding someone because I snort in response to silly things. She said it wasn't lady-like.

Also, I didn’t know that many people--or any--that willingly drank Kombucha like I did. Niall’s words made me pause for a second before I focused on this bigger picture.

“You don't know what he's getting for you?” I asked.

“I never know what Louis is gonna do,” Niall said.

“That's fair,” I said as I poured the hot water and made my tea. With my mug in hand, I made my way back into the living room where Niall was teasing Moggy with a feather on a string toy I'd gotten for her last night when I went to the pet store in preparation. Apparently, she loved it.

I had spent almost two full hours at the pet store last night after work. I got food and treats and toys. I’d spent far too long trying to choose between everything, searching only for grain-free, healthy options.

The toys had been harder to choose between though. I just chose at random, but all cats have different personalities and I'd not spent time with Moggy, so I had no idea what she would like.

I'd ended up brushing off the help of every employee there, politely, of course. I'd researched a lot and I'd felt capable, I was just indecisive about everything. I spent so much more money than I’d intended to and would be ashamed to admit, but I was a first-time pet-mom and was cautiously optimistic about it all. I wanted to do the right thing, but was aware there were so many outcomes… so I ended up preparing for everything.

My bank account was actually sobbing after my trip to the store last night. I was lucky Friday was payday. I also had to get groceries at some point this weekend. Maybe I should’ve thought about that before I bought two different kinds of food and four different kinds of treats, along with the embarrassing number of toys I’d acquired.

I sat down beside Niall on the floor, and he turned to me. Quicker than I could blink he kissed me again. I felt him smile against my lips. The smirk on his face when he pulled back made me blush.

I felt myself easing under his touch. It was unusual, lovely, but unusual. He was making me feel things I didn't understand. I quite enjoyed these things I didn't understand though. It all felt pretty good.

“I still can't believe you named her Moggy.” Niall looked back down at her, started playing with her again.

“Yeah, neither can Louis,” I groaned. “When he found out you're the reason why she's named Moggy he literally laughed to himself the whole day. Every time I tried to do anything all week he’d literally just look at me and giggle and say her name.”

Thankfully, I did manage to keep him from putting that information into the group chat though. Louis wasn’t happy about it, because he wanted nothing more than to torment me, but he acquiesced for whatever reasons I didn't know. Maybe it was because he wanted that one thing to himself to hold over me, maybe it was because he was the sweetest person I'd ever been lucky enough to be friends with. Whatever the reason, I was in the dark.

“Yeah, he's a little jerk.” Niall smiled.

“He is.” I nodded and watched as he shifted so he was lying down, leaning on one elbow while the other held the end of the toy Moggy was playing with.

“At least you never lived with him.”

“True. Did he drug you to make that happen?”

Niall laughed, his head falling back and the sound echoing around my home. It startled Moggy, but only for a moment before she returned to playing.

“They said she's probably only just three months old, judging by her size and weight,” I spoke up after just watching the two of them together. “She's so little.”

“She is,” he said. “I imagine she's grateful you saved her.”

“I did what anyone would. I mean, I did crawl under my front porch in the rain at four in the morning, but I'm sure anyone would do that.”

My phone started ringing and I jumped. I already knew who it was, so without answering, I made to stand up. Before I could though, Niall grabbed me and pulled me down to him, kissing me quickly before letting me go.

“Told you that would be happening a lot.” He gave me a cheeky smile. I made a face at him but the heat in my cheeks gave me away and then I jumped up and ran down the steps to let Louis in.

“Ohhhhh you're blushing,” Louis chirped as I opened the front door.

“Shut up.” I took the pizza box from him and left him with the drinks and a paper bag.

“Is that any way to greet me?” He asked.

“You are such a-” I cut myself off. “Thank you for the food, Louis.”

“You're very welcome, Ruby.”

“How is it today knowing that you also have tomorrow off?” I asked him as he climbed up the stairs ahead of me.

“Yeah I feel weird, don't I?” I saw him shrug his shoulders. “I don't think it'll really sink in though until I wake up tomorrow without an alarm and I get to just clean or watch movies all day or whatever else. I think it'll hit me when I'm in the middle of not being there,” he said as he opened my door.

We stepped through and Niall looked up at us from his spot on the floor. He was lying down on his back with his hands behind his head and Moggy had crawled onto his chest and was happily chewing a little mouse toy until we interrupted her.

She gave another frumpled meow and got up to inspect Louis. He seemed to pass her test; she sniffed him and then meowed some more, bumping her head against his leg. He had his hands full and couldn't pet her yet, but she seemed okay with that.

“Neil.” Louis nodded to him and then he headed to the kitchen, Moggy hot on his heels as he went.

“Tommo,” Niall called back and stood up. He gave me a smile as he straightened his clothes and together we followed Louis and Moggy into the kitchen to go sort out our food and drink options before Louis took over our screen watching options.

“Here is your disgusting drink.” Louis handed Niall the bottle of Kombucha before taking out a six pack of beer for them to split later on while I poured myself and Louis glasses of water from the filter in my fridge.

“Thank you.” Niall smiled and opened up the paper bag. He paused for a moment before looking up at Louis. “I love you.”

Louis’ laughter echoed around the room while Niall reaches into the bag and pulled out a few fries as I just smiled watching the two of them interacting. Even the nicknames they'd used for each other earlier flew from their lips without conscious thought.

Their friendship was so effortless and even being an outsider to it I felt special witnessing it. Louis got out plates for us all and opened the box of pizza, the disgustingly perfect aroma wafting out into my kitchen and making me seriously question why I don't eat pizza for every meal.

“I knew you were probably craving it at this point, it's been what, a week?” Louis asked.

“It's been longer than that, mate,” Niall said as he proceeded to pull the Nando's containers from the bag. “I haven't been since I left Ireland.”

“Oh shirt, no way,” Louis gasped. “Is that some sort of record for you, then?”

Niall shook his head as he began placing his food on a plate for himself.

“I actually think it might be,” he said after a moment.

“Niall here likes to pretend he eats good food and is culturally diverse in his palate, but truth be told the man could eat Nando’s for every single meal every day of his life and he would never get tired of it,” Louis told me.

“I'd like to argue and say I'm not that bad, but I honestly don't think I can,” Niall laughed at himself. I just shook my head and grabbed two slices and slid them onto my plate as I watched them.

“I've been meaning to tell you that your accent is worse than it was when I met you,” Louis said as he took three slices and stole a few fries from Niall’s plate, which earned him a threatening glare.

The three of us carried our plates into the living room, sitting on the couch with my laptop in the coffee table in front of us.

“I was back home for four years, Tommo.” Niall moved a throw pillow out from behind his back. “It gets worse when I'm around family or just back in Ireland at all. It had watered down after being here so long.”

“So it'll mellow out after a bit is what you're saying?” Louis asked.

“I suppose so.” Niall shrugged and started eating as Louis typed in my password and started looking up the proper sports network to sign in to and start watching soccer.

“He knows your password?” Niall leaned over and asked me. Louis smirked as he continued to navigate the browser he’d pulled up.

“It's my work computer.” I shrugged. “I never changed it from whatever it was when he gave it to me.”

“Ah.” He nodded.

“Derby or Liverpool?”

“Derby,” Niall responded to Louis who clicked the game and started it. We’d only missed the first ten minutes.

Moggy was curled up between my feet on the floor. For the entire afternoon, the four of us just sat around, eating and watching different soccer games, playing with Moggy and withstanding relentless teasing. (That last one only applicable to Niall and me).

There was a moment late in the afternoon in the kitchen when I was cleaning up that Niall snuck up on me. Louis was still watching whichever game it was at the time, Moggy curled up on his lap. I had been wrapping the leftover pizza in tin foil when Niall came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Hi, darlin’,” he whispered. He kissed my neck. I fought back a shiver at his touch, his breath on my neck, and the sound of his voice.

“Hi,” I said back, quietly. “How are you?”

“Right now I'm really pretty great,” he said.

“Wow.” I placed my hands on top of his. “That's wonderful. Anything in particular making you feel that way?”

“Well, I did just eat my favourite fast food and watch four hours of football.” He shrugged. “Plus, there’s this really cute girl that I like, and she's been leaning against my side all afternoon.”

“A girl? Niall Horan has a crush?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice coloured with a sombre tone. “The worst part is I think that she knows it.”

“I wouldn't say that's the worst part,” I told him.

“No?” He asked. “Not even when it drives me nuts trying to think straight around her?”

I blushed and began tracing circles on the back of his right hand with my index finger.

“There are worse things, I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “She could not like you back.”

“So you're saying that she does like me back?”

“I'd say so,” I said. “She did let you kiss her earlier.”

“Speaking of which…” He trailed off, his voice low as he spun me around in his grasp before he brought both hands up to cup my face gently and bring his lips to mine. I smiled against his lips and wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him close.

I'd been with guys a lot taller than me and guys closer to my height, but Niall was the ideal height for me as it turned out. Our bodies aligned perfectly when up against each other like this.

His presence overwhelmed my senses in the best way as he kissed me, his scruff scratching just slightly against me as he did. He pulled back and gave me a smile, his cheeks pink and his eyes bright.

“There's something about you, Ruby,” he said, voice low. “Something about you that draws me in. And I don't know if it's tangible or not, but I crave it. Whatever it is.”

“Most guys would be worried about scaring a girl away by saying something like that to her too quickly.”

“I'm not most guys.”

“I know.”

“I swear to god if you two are making out in there I'm going to throw up all the food I just ate! Just because I support this relationship doesn't mean I want you two doing naughty things with me around!”

When Niall started laughing I couldn't help but join in. I ended up doubled over, clutching my abs with tears in my eyes as Niall giggled next to me, the sound echoing around my apartment, filling it with warmth.

When I got back into the living room I sat down in the middle of the sofa and laid my head on Louis’ shoulder.

“You're such a toad,” I said to him.

He wrapped his arm around me as Niall sat down on my other side and passed Louis a freshly opened beer, keeping one for himself, and handing me a glass of whiskey. It was my favourite glass. I wondered if he’d known it was my favourite after only seeing me use it once, or if it was entirely coincidental that he’d grabbed this particular glass.

He just smiled at me.

“Yeah, but I'm your toad,” Louis said before he settled back against the couch fully and we finished watching the game. After the match finished I’d put on Moana while Louis grabbed us another round of drinks. He’d groaned but gone along with it. After all, he was my best friend.

#Happy Sunday!#I honestly think the coolest part of this chapter this week is that I took that photo #It's from the orange/green line platform at the Roosevelt Station - looking West #I love my city #ALSO WE'RE IN DOUBLE DIGIT CHAPTER NUMBERS #WE'VE COME SO FAR #fic: oth #fic: only ticket home #OTH10 #1dff

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dontshootmespence · 6 years

Text

Through the Pages

Chapter 14

He could picture everything as clear as day.

Eleise sitting in their home reading to him as he honed in to the melodic sound of her voice. He could see them sitting on the beach when the sun set – the pinks and purples and oranges and yellows fading into each other – fingers brushing against each other in the coarseness of the sand. One day she could walk down the aisle toward him – his own personal angel – and he could feel his eyes brim with tears at the thought. They would both work in law enforcement; she would be a force to behold and at the end of the day they would return to their children, hopefully three, and would tuck them in at night with stories of far off worlds that held a whole host of adventures.

Hopefully it wasn’t just the copious quantities of caffeine he’d indulged in this morning and the thudding of his heart was this realization – he wanted it all, but only with her.

How was he supposed to do this?

Nearly 150 years and the Atlantic Ocean sat between them.

What if she couldn’t handle the reality of how they’d met? The thought of her leaving made his stomach drop.

“Hey, Boy Genius!” Penelope exclaimed, walking toward his desk with her own cup of coffee in hand. When she saw the look in his eyes, her smile turned upside down. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “It’s just…I told Eleise that I love her.”

Excitedly, she placed her coffee on the desk and started clapping. “Yes! Congratulations! Your deserve all of the love and more. When can we meet her? When are you getting married? Are you gonna have little genius babies? Who’ll be godmother? Your friendly neighborhood fairy godmother is absolutely up for the challenge, just fyi.”

Questions, questions, so many questions. Very rarely could Reid not handle a bunch of questions at once but this…this just made his brain short circuit. He couldn’t breathe. From the beginning, he knew he’d have to do this eventually, but he put it out of his head. How was he supposed to know that he’d fall head over heels in love in just three short months? “Why the long face?” Garcia prodded. “It’s a happy occasion, right?”

“Yes. I’ll just say that there would be a big change that would need to happen for us to have a future together.”

“Oh, do you want to talk about it? I have a good ear.”

He smiled. “I know you do, but not just yet okay.”

“Only if you’re sure. I’m always here, Boy Wonder.”

Nodding, he watched her walk away and toward her own office, oblivious to the gravity of his situation. Did he move to her and leave everything behind? Could he bring her here? Would she want to come? Would she even believe the insanity enough to see what lay so many years in the future?

He rarely took a day off or went home sick, but as the bile rose in his throat he reconsidered.

-----

“Officer Griffiths.”

Tennyson sat at his desk filing through and filling out paperwork like his life depended on it. For days, he’d drowned in it and he needed a distraction. On top of that he needed to review Eleise’s performance in the field over the past couple of months so he figured he could kill two birds with one stone. Knowing Spencer and himself shared more in common than not, he figured he might be able to get a little nosy and see how his relationship with Eleise was progressing.

“Good morning, Chief Tennyson. You said you wanted to see me?” Even as a member of the force, she still had her fair share of paperwork to file for each case and it started to delve into mind-numbing boredom territory, so she welcomed the distraction.

“Yes, come in. Take a seat.”

Before he could extend his hand to hers, she’d already sat in the chair in front of his desk. They had a great working rapport, but she still had a bit of nervous energy in his presence. Besides Spencer, he was the only man to believe in her abilities from the start and she didn’t want to disappoint him. “I wanted to see how you’re handling things since your transition to Officer.”

Eleise hesitatingly fiddled with the bottom of her bobbie’s uniform shirt. “It has been difficult, but also rewarding.”

“How has it been difficult?”

“While certain officers, like Mr. Kipling, are starting to respect my work in the field, not everyone is as open. It’s frustrating to be fought at every turn because of how I was born.” She wanted to say something a little more forward, like why did what parts she had determine her ability in anything, but decided against it in her boss’s presence. “That being said, I absolutely love working on cases. I think as a woman I bring a viewpoint to the table that would not be there otherwise. When we solve a case, I feel like I’m making a difference. Deep down, I know this is what I’m meant to be doing, but I won’t deny the frustrations I’m encountering.”

Tennyson took in everything Eleise said, making mental notes to speak to the officers he’d noticed giving her a hard time. “I have individual meetings set up with other officers today – ones that will get a stern talking to about their behavior. I’m delighted that you’re enjoying the work however. If I may be forward, have you been enjoying your time with Dr. Reid?”

Blushing, she scratched at the skin on her hands – a tic she tended toward when she was nervous. “He’s wonderful, Chief. I…I always imagined that I would either end up alone or have to settle for someone to help take care of my family. He came out of nowhere, but…I love him.”

“By the way he looks at you, I would say he loves you too. Did you see him on Christmas Day?”

“Yes,” she replied, forgetting where she was. She began walking around the office in dream-like state as she spoke. “He came over to my parent’s house on Christmas night. It gave him a chance to see his friends beforehand and-“

Tennyson sucked in a breath, hoping that Eleise wouldn’t catch on to Spencer’s mistake, but when she spun around she caught his nervous look. Without another word between them, she stopped in her tracks. “His friends would have to be here then, right? Maybe I can meet them.”

He decided to go along with her train of thought. Spencer had slipped up. Easy to do when you’re in love and not thinking. “Possibly.”

“He’s visiting tonight. I’ll have to ask him why he didn’t introduce me to his friends. They’re all he talks about. Do you need anything else, Sir?”

Thankfully, she didn’t seem too concerned with Spencer’s slip up. Although Tennyson had to admit that he felt bad that the young man would need to deal with the reality of his situation with Eleise much more quickly than he had anticipated. “No, I just wanted to make sure that you were handling your new job well and if there was anything I could do to help.”

“Thank you, Sir. I have a few more papers I need to fill out and then I will be going home for the day.”

“Have a pleasant evening, Miss Griffiths. Tell Dr. Reid I said hello.”

As soon as she closed the door, Tennyson wished he had a way to contact Spencer. In his own case, his love had been alone in the world, so leaving one for another was a shock, but not a difficult decision. Spencer and Eleise would undoubtedly face a much more difficult decision.

-----

After work that day, Spencer quickly got dressed and walked through the door, ready to see Eleise, yet nervous that the day he would have to come clean was getting closer and closer.

Alfred welcomed him in and ushered him into the sitting area where Eleise was already waiting. “Mrs. Griffiths and myself are going to leave you to speak alone. We trust you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Spencer’s stomach dropped. He hoped they would feel the same way

“Thank you, Father.”

Small talk wasn’t Spencer’s strong suit, but it was even more difficult when he was sitting on a bombshell. “Oh, Spencer, I wanted to ask you. On Christmas you mentioned seeing your friends before coming here. Were they here? I wanted to meet them.”

He could feel the bile churn in his stomach.

It was now or never.

“Eleise…th-there’s something you need t-to know about me.”

Her face dropped in confusion. “What is it, Spencer?” Could he have been lying to her?

“I’m not from America, at least not in year the 1893.”

“What?” She laughed. He was playing a joke on her probably. “Are from the future or something?”

“Actually yes. I’m from the year 2011.”

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