#but usually everyone else can’t see the rest of the dots or puzzle pieces so it looks like I jumped from a to z

[tarvastries]

(one of) my toxic trait(s) is saying “side note” before making a comment that’s completely out of left field and usually derails the whole conversation

[babbushka]

Sinbound (1/8)

Daniel Jones x Reader 

5k; Content warnings: Spoilers for The Report. Mentions of torture/violence, but nothing explicit. 

Tumblr Masterlist // Also Available on AO3

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

Two years. That’s how long it’s been, up to this moment.

Two years in this basement, surrounded by concrete walls and the faces of ghosts staring into his very soul. It’s haunting, being down here, Dan thinks. Walking empty halls in the middle of the night, the way that sounds echo and come from all directions at once, everywhere and nowhere.

He walks the halls now, something sour sitting in the pit of his stomach, something close to panic, he thinks. He’s not going to let it turn into anything real, he doesn’t have the time for that.

It feels like he doesn’t have the time for anything, anything except for this report.

He’s the last to leave the office, the last to leave the building, just as he is every night. Usually he’d stay later, but as he scans his badge to open the door that leads to the lobby of this dark cinder block building, his eyes struggle to focus. He must look particularly rough, because as he does scan himself out, the good-natured security guard gives him a pointed look.

“Do you ever sleep, Dan?” The security guard asks, and despite the exhaustion in Dan’s bones, he manages a friendly smile.

“I used to, it got in the way of work.” He jokes, earning a smile back.

“Anything in that bag contain the real names of CIA officers, assets, or partners, or any information that would be in violation of the agreement between the Central Intelligence Agency and the United States Senate?” The security guard rattles off the protocol, a memorized passage that both he and Dan know by heart at this point.

“Have a good night, Jay.” Dan doesn’t answer the question, he doesn’t have to, he doesn’t need to.

Instead, with some kind parting words from Jay as permission to leave, he walks out through the door and into dark damp streets of the real world, a world which has passed him by, two years shot in the blink of an eye.

Dan sits in his car and sighs, for a minute or two, or twenty. He rubs the back of his hand against his eyes, blinks a couple of times. He’s been debating getting a pair of glasses, the new kind that block out the blue light from screens – god knows he could use that. He’s more tired than usual, and with good reason, he sighs. He looks at himself in the rearview mirror, sees the bags under his eyes.

“You wouldn’t look good with glasses.” He shakes his head at himself, dismissing the thought.

He sits in his car and folds his arms over the steering wheel, rests his head down on top of them and wills himself not to scream. He thinks back over the events of the day, of the last couple hours, thinks about how he’s going to have to go through this alone now. In retrospect, he should have known this was coming. He just had hoped…well. He had only hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, wouldn’t be right when they were finally starting to connect dots, piece together the puzzle, wouldn’t be right when they were only just beginning.

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

Dan noticed April gently approaching him, her arms crossed over her chest. He glanced at the clock, realized he’d been reading this document for nearly three hours, picking it apart, studying it. He’s glad for April’s audience, and he didn’t waste much time launching into what he’d just learned, knowing that she would be just as interested in it as him.

“Did you know that the CIA testified in 1978 before Congress on the subject of – of ‘coercive physical interrogation techniques’ in Latin America? And how they concluded that they were proven to be ineffective – that the prisoners would lie just to make it stop?” Dan scoffed, frustrated, shaking his head.

April had shifted in her spot a little then, had cleared her throat, but Dan wasn’t entirely paying attention, not even when she tried to interject with,

“Dan, there’s something I have to say – ”

“But before they did it in Latin America they did it in Vietnam! It didn’t work then and it isn’t working now and – ”

“Dan, Dan I’m leaving.” April had said, with such finality that it shut Dan up. She had held her ground, her arms crossed over her chest, in that dark cold basement, and told him, “The study, I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry. I got a job offer and I’ll be packing up once the Thanksgiving break finishes.”

Dan held his breath, wondered if this were another one of his nightmares. He’d been having them more and more recently, but this was never one of the plot points.

He blinked, stared at her and then at his computer, watched as the screen flickered for a moment, as if it too were uncomfortable, stressed.

“Thanksgiving.” Dan had replied (and in his car, Dan wants to kick himself for making such a point of himself, for proving their point because he had stupidly said), “That’s – okay well that still gives us a couple months and – ”

“It’s November, Dan. Thanksgiving’s next week.” Julian had gently reminded him.

“…Right.” He was deflated, embarrassed, and faced with the reality that maybe he was losing his grip on reality. He can’t look at her, at April. The screen flickered, and he sighed. “Right I – I…Right. Okay.”

“I’m sorry, I am, it’s just that…well you said it yourself, the CIA knew decades ago that this shit didn’t work. They knew and they’ve known the whole time that their program is ineffective now but who is listening to us? Who is waiting for us to come out with all of this?” April tried to explain, even though she didn’t really need to. Her voice was soft and gentle as she placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to talk some sense into him, “We’ve been down here for two years, Dan, the three of us in this basement, typing up thousands and thousands of pages. No one is waiting for us.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? That was the cold hard truth that Dan refused to accept. Every day, Monday through Friday and weekends, he’d been there. They’d all been there, working and working and working until their eyes grew sore, until their backs went stiff and their wrists ached, scrounging together as much information as possible – while under impossible restraints.

No cooperation from the CIA.

No cooperation from the DOJ.

Three people in a basement, trying their best to bring justice to an unjust situation, and being vilified for it.

Dan sighs, both in his memory of the exchange, and in his car.

“I understand. I do.” He said, because he did. He didn’t like it, he wouldn’t accept it, but he understood it. That was enough for April, enough for Julian, enough for them when Dan nodded and sighed once again, glancing at the calendar. “Thanksgiving.”

“I’m sorry.” April had said again, before going back to her desk.

Dan locked eyes with one of the mugshots on the wall, and he thinks that it’s not him that April should be apologizing to.

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

He starts the car, smacks a palm against his cheeks lightly to shake himself out of this funk. He’s just tired, he knows. He’s tired and it’s been a long day, that’s all. The dashboard lights up and he’s relieved to see it’s not that late, not really. It’s only eleven, he’s stayed later before. Washington D.C. is never not busy, but Dan finds that later in the evening like this, on a weekday no less, there’s always a little less traffic, for which he’s appreciative.

His stomach is appreciative too, it growls and growls the entire drive home, so much so that Dan makes a pit stop at a Chinese takeout place, lured in by the idea of fresh eggrolls and beef lo mein.

The neon sign blazes brightly in the night sky. Something about the world when it’s just finished raining makes everything more rich, more vibrant, Dan thinks. Maybe it’s got something to do with the way that the water on the ground reflects the colors. Maybe he’s just being sentimental, he doesn’t know.

“Mr. Jones! You’re here early.” Cindy, the young woman behind the counter greets him when Dan walks through the door.

“They let me out for good behavior.” His joke falls flat, just a little. Still, she looks at him with a fond smile and shakes her head, before ringing up his usual.

He’s been coming here at least once a week every week ever since this thing started. He never really meant to fall into the habit of relying on takeout, but when one works fifteen-eighteen hour days every day, the prospect of cooking and cleaning up your own kitchen quickly grows less than ideal.

Dan watches her for a while, as he hands over his credit card. He thinks about how she always smiles at him, and wonders if she smiles at everyone else too, or if that’s something just for him. He shakes his head slightly, chastising himself. Of course it’s not just for him, they’ve not spoken beyond the typical small talk while he sits around and waits for his order. She never initiates conversation past that of the weather, and why should she? She’s busy, Dan thinks, busy with the restaurant, with her life.

He tries not to let the thought depress him, the thought that maybe if it weren’t for this report, he could be out busy living his life too. Tries not to think about how he could be married by now, have kids by now. He tries not to think about the girlfriend he used to have, before all of this, tries not to think about how she left him because well, really, he had left her first. He wasn’t a very good partner, he knows – how could he have been? Holed up in that basement, unable to talk about anything he did.

Cindy hands him the neatly packaged bundle of his dinner, and he thanks her for it. She doesn’t know that he goes back to his apartment and eats by himself in the dark every night, but then again, she doesn’t have to. She gives him another one of her smiles as he offers a little wave goodbye, and he’s walking to the parking lot, the interaction and the thoughts behind him.

It’s worth it, he thinks, as he walks back to his car. One day, one day soon, Dan knows it’ll all be worth it.

Climbing into his car, Dan notices something.

Or maybe, he thinks he notices something.

There’s a car in the parking lot that wasn’t there before, was it? He doesn’t remember anyone getting out, no one came into the restaurant while he was there, and no one had left when he showed up. It’s black, with windows so tinted that he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to look in even on a bright sunny day. Something about that churns his stomach some more.

“You need to eat and sleep.” Dan shakes the paranoia out of his head, it wouldn’t do to dwell, not right now, not after he’s poured a fresh new batch of images of torture behind his eyelids, dancing in front of his vision whenever he seems to blink. Wouldn’t do to dwell on the thought that maybe he’s being followed.

He keeps an eye on the car though, as he pulls out of the parking lot. It doesn’t move, and he releases the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, as he turns some corners and goes down some back roads, ends up in front of the building he calls home.

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

It’s not that he can’t afford a house, because he can. He makes a significant amount of money, being a Senate staffer at his level. He could afford something nice in a nice neighborhood, green lawn and driveway out front, maybe an inground pool out back for the summer time. He can afford it, he just doesn’t see the point in it, not right now, not with the report.

The apartment though, isn’t bad -- it’s not! It’s a very nice, luxury apartment, with a doorman and a parking garage and everything.

“How’s it going Edgar?” Dan asks, as he passes said doorman, a young chipper guy who Dan wouldn’t have expected to have such a mature name.

Maybe if he and Edgar were friends, he’d call him Eddie. Dan’s not so sure what other nicknames there are for something old fashioned like that. Maybe if they were friends, he’d tell Dan.

“Not too bad Mr. Jones, yourself?” Edgar doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s practically hiding the takeout behind his briefcase, and Dan appreciates it immensely.

“Not too bad.” He echoes with a smile, before stepping into the safety and security of the lobby and making his way over to the elevators, his polished shoes clacking on polished tile as he gives a warm, “Stay dry out there.”

The elevator is empty, thankfully. He leans against the mirror wall and sighs deeply, groans just because he can. He lives on the eighth floor of the building, which gives him about ten seconds of peace, before the doors open again. He likes his apartment building, likes the doorman and the elevator. He likes how each floor has its own little display when he exits the elevator, decorated for whatever holiday is up next.

The lobby’s display probably should have clued Dan in to the fact that it was already November, but he can’t really be blamed for not noticing. He notices now though, and he can’t deny that he’s impressed. There’s a large wicker cornucopia on the antique wooden credenza which sits flush against the wall opposite of the elevator.

In the cornucopia are fake fruits and vegetables in a beautiful array of autumnal colors, reds oranges yellows and plum. He reaches out to pick up one of the faux squashes, impressed by the weight of it. He’d been halfway expecting cheap styrofoam, but these were more solid than that. Idly Dan realizes that he must have completely skipped over Halloween, and something about that puts a bit of a pep in his step.

He leaves the lobby and turns around the corner, goes down the hall until he’s faced with his front door. He’s lucky that there aren’t too many apartments on this floor, his neighbors are down a ways on either side. He likes the privacy, not that he uses it much. Putting his key in the lock and pushing the door open, he can’t really remember a time where he spent an entire day lounging in his living room.

Which is a shame, Dan thinks, because just as he does every time he comes home, he finds that he really does like this place. It’s bright, inviting. Not clean or sterile, nothing overly modern or minimalist, but he has enough dark and gloom at work, he doesn’t need that here, not in his one-bedroom apartment. The walls are a light grey color, the kitchen and living room accented with blue and cool tones. He likes blue, Dan does.

All his appliances are stainless steel, to go along with the color palette, and he likes that too. He thinks it makes him feel more like an adult, like a real person. And he is, isn’t he? Daniel Jones, Senate Staffer. That’s a real person name and a real person job, isn’t it?

Why does it all feel like a sham?

“Eat, and sleep.” He mutters to himself as he steps out of his shoes and puts them neatly in the closet by the door.

He rests his briefcase down on the kitchen counter, brings the takeout over to the rectangular dining table. He didn’t know what he was thinking, buying this dinner table. Maybe he thought he’d have guests over, women over. Now it just feels empty, a table too big for just one person.

Still, it gives him enough room to spread out, which is nice. He keeps the table set all the time, the way they do in old television sitcoms and in movies. He loves movies, and he puts one on now. Nothing high action or stressful, no he’s not got the emotional or mental bandwidth for that these days. Instead, he scrolls through his OnDemand and lets something from the ‘30s dance across the screen in black and white, while he eats his dinner.

Dan tips the takeout onto the plate in front of him – one of the things he refuses to do is eat straight out of the container. Something about that feels like crossing a line into some kind of downward spiral. He can wash one dish, one fork and knife, one glass. He can do that, he has the time for that.

He’s not got time for much, but he’s got the time for that.

Dan eyes his briefcase, thinks about what Jay had said. He’d never taken anything from work before, and he didn’t plan on taking anything from work anytime soon. No, everything in his briefcase was allowed to be there, what was in his apartment was allowed to be there.

“It’s for the best anyway,” Dan says to himself, as the music from the movie swells and flows, a beautiful tap number numbing his mind from the repeated images that are so keen to flash. “Imagine if you brought that shit home more than you already do.”

He scoffs at the idea, at smuggling something out of the basement, out of the building. What would he even do with it? Where would he even put it? No, he thinks, everything that’s important will stay in the office where it’s the safest. The CIA isn’t allowed inside that room, that’s part of the agreement that they made.

“Good thing too, they wouldn’t be too fucking thrilled to read the documents I’m reading.” He’s stopped caring about talking to himself a long time ago, and now that April and Julian will be leaving him, he figures he’ll need the good company, or else he may really go insane.

He sighs, sighs at the knowledge that they’re leaving.

Two years they’d been together, the three of them. Dan’s only a little upset – he’s more scared. Scared of having to go down this rabbit hole alone. Scared of wasting himself away in the basement, surrounded by the ghosts of men who were put through conditions so inhumane that it wakes Dan in the middle of the night, throat hoarse, screaming and raw. What’s worse is he’s scared that they’re right, that no one will care.

But Dan cares. Dianne cares. It’s enough to know that Dianne’s got his back, that’s enough.

Still, they’d gotten a lot accomplished in those two years.

It had started of course, with the tapes.

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

“What tapes?” Dan had asked, a confused frown on his face.

Dan had been in the middle of a meeting when Marcy, Chief of Staff to Senator Dianne Feinstein, had called him out for a moment or two, a folded newspaper in her hands. Dan recognized it, the New York Times, and it was opened to a ground-breaking story of coverups and espionage. He stood in Dianne’s office and scanned over the small print of the story, growing more and more confused with each word he read.

“Evidently, the CIA destroyed tapes of interrogations, interrogations that had been conducted on al-Qaeda detainees.” Marcy said, but nothing rang a bell for Dan.

“Does – did the Intel Committee know that there even were tapes?” He had to ask, wondering if he was simply out of the loop, or if this was about to become something much larger than it already was.

When Dianne shook her head and clasped her hands together behind her desk, when she pressed her lips into a thin line of frustration of her own, Dan knew that it was the latter.

“No, this New York Times story is the first we’ve heard of it. I want you to find out what was on those tapes and why they were destroyed. We’d like you to lead an investigation, Dan.” She spoke clearly, always had, Dianne did. Dan appreciated that, appreciated her candidacy.

It didn’t lessen his confusion, however.

“But if the tapes were destroyed then how do I – ” He started, handing Marcy back the newspaper with a thankful nod.

“Written records. The CIA says they have written records of what was on the tapes, thousands of pages. I want you to find out what it is they actually have, and read every word of it. I want to know what else they’re hiding.” Dianne instructed, and the weight of the task was enough to make Dan stand up a little straighter.

The concept of going through a thousand pages of written records of interrogations had, at the time, seemed like the most intimidating and overwhelming undertaking Dan would have gone through in his life. Oh, if only he had known what he was getting himself into, if only he had had a shred of a clue.

“Yes, Senator.” He agreed anyway, knowing the stress this was bound to bring.

And stressful it had been, but he had done it. He had found horribly disturbing materials indicative of the conditions in the CIA Detention and Interrogation program. He had read those thousands of pages, and he had relayed them to Dianne, and in the end, despite it all, the findings had remained classified.

But through the tapes, the door to the greater EIT Program report had been opened.

Dan of course was the immediate first choice to lead the investigation, considering he already had the security clearances as a result of working on the tapes case. And he had been happy to do it, happy to push forward – the tapes might remain classified, but if he could expose these conditions, if he could bring this to light, then that wouldn’t be in vain.

None of the suffering and illegal practices would have happened in vain.

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

It hadn’t been easy in the beginning, dealing with the CIA. Although, Dan huffs out a little laugh to himself as he watches the movie, when was dealing with the CIA ever easy? From the very first day they’d proven themselves to be smug bastards who held themselves above the law, the very thing Dan was trying to convict them of.

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

The first day he was given a very brief tour of the office, an off-site in Virginia where he would have to commute. It wasn’t a long drive, part Dan already knew that the drive would feel ten times longer after a grueling day of uncovering whatever bullshit the CIA was trying to hide.

He had been met by a middle-aged man named Sean Murphy, who had brought him inside. They had shaken hands, and Sean wasted very little time, in that way that CIA agents tended to do. They were brusque, the lot of them, Dan thought. He wasn’t particularly a fan, but whether that was because he was with the FBI for four years, or because he’d never had a good interaction with a CIA agent, was still to be seen.

“The room we’ve designated for you is SCIF; no phone reception, no photos, you know the drill.” Sean had led him down down down dark stairwells and corridors, deeper and deeper into the belly of the building.

Part of Dan wondered if they’d given him such a shitty space out of spite. It seems like something they would do, make the investigation as passive-aggressively frustrating as possible.

“Yes and per the requirements, the room is completely off limits to everyone aside from Committee personnel?” Dan kept his tone light, despite the literal darkness they were descending into. He was relieved to hear Sean’s hum of agreement.

“Absolutely. No one inside without your permission.” The Agent nodded, arriving finally at the door.

It’s metal, windowless, and locked with a combination pad. There’s a small placard which read: United States Senage Intelligence Committee Staff Only. By Order of the Director of Central Intelligence.

Sean pointed to the sign, as if to appease Dan, and Dan only nodded in response. Sean punched in the code on the combination pad, and opened the door for Dan to bare witness to this cell of a room that he was to spend the next foreseeable future working out of.

It was a spotless room, grey from floor to ceiling. Cold and sterile, no windows, no other doors, just six desks and six computer monitors.

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

Somewhere in the present, Dan grimaces at how he once had five other people working with him on this shitshow. How he had had two other Democrats and three Republicans, an attempt for bi-partisan facts. And now it was just him, all alone.

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

“Computers?” Dan had asked, running his hand over the top of one of them. He was glad to see that at least the space was clean – no dust swiped off when he traced his fingers lightly.

“All right here at your disposal. You get your own dedicated server just for you. We’ll be updating the database as we go, the files will be loaded onto the server as we collect them from across the Agency.” Sean had crossed his arms over his chest, and Dan nodded, understandable.

“Perfect, we’ll want all relevant documents as soon as possible, get this thing underway.” He put his hands on his hips, if Sean wanted to psyche him out with body language, Dan would show that he wasn’t to be trifled with, at least in this small way.

“Well, you know that could take some time, we have to vet it first.” Sean shrugged, “There’s a lot to go through and – ”

“Vet? No, Director Panetta agreed to give us everything pertaining to the program. Everything.” Dan interrupted him immediately, brows furrowed. “Why – who would be vetting it?”

There was simply no way that Dan could run a thorough investigation if materials were being withheld from the Committee, and if the CIA were the only ones allowed to vet CIA documents due to the sensitive nature of their material, then Dan could only imagine what they would withhold. The displeasure must have been clear as day across Dan’s face, because Sean only shrugged again.

“Listen Mr. Jones, we understand your situation, but it’s a big Agency. We have to make sure you don’t get anything you’re not supposed to.” He tried to explain, and Dan bit his tongue, instead turning to survey the room once again.

“There’s no printer.” He noticed aloud, “No paper?”

Sean had almost laughed at him for that, and still to this day, that makes Dan uneasy.

“No documents are allowed to leave the room without CIA approval. As I’m sure you can understand, Mr. Jones, paper has a way of getting people in trouble at our place.” Sean had said in a hushed voice, a conspiratorial voice, a voice that made Dan want to grit his teeth.

“And I’m sure that you can understand, Mr. Murphy, paper is how we keep track of laws, at ours.” Dan had replied seriously.

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

He should have known then, that they weren’t going to play nicely.

Two years, and they’d only been getting more and more difficult.

Dan finishes up his dinner relatively quickly, sleep dragging in his bones. He’d been up at the office bright and early at eight o’clock in the morning and he was now nearing on midnight. Bringing his dishes to the kitchen, he quickly but efficiently washes them and sets them on the drying rack near the sink, never bothering to use the dishwasher. He doesn’t need to, when he’s the only one here.

He goes straight to the bathroom, turns the shower on as hot as it will go. The hamper was only about half full – or was it half empty? – so he knows he can hold off doing laundry for another day or two at least, as he dumps his clothes from the day into the little heap.

Naked, Dan stands in front of the mirror and looks at himself, really looks at himself. He’s attractive, he thinks, in that way that he hopes so, anyway. He maintains his workout routine, which is probably a good idea, considering how much time he spends just sitting around and eating takeout. Maybe he’ll go for a run tomorrow. He thinks he deserves a day off, it’s not like he’s got to show up and report to anyone other than Dianne, but she isn’t expecting an update until after the holiday weekend anyway.

“Run tomorrow,” Dan tells himself in the mirror, lifts his arms and flexes his muscles just to check himself out, make sure that he knows what he looks like, makes sure he’s real, a real person. Steam from the shower begins to curl along the glass, and Dan knows it’s hot enough for him to get in and scrub the day away. “Shower, sleep, and then run tomorrow.”

He makes sure there’s a nice clean towel nearby, and sighs out a breath of relief as he steps under the scalding spray. He lathers up his shampoo and breathes breathes breathes in the calming scent of bergamot and sandalwood, pretends he’s down by the beach somewhere instead of here alone in his apartment. He’s too tired to jerk off, which feels a little sad but not sad enough to bother Dan too much.

He’ll indulge himself tomorrow, he decides as he rinses the suds away. Tomorrow will be a better day than this one, it has to be. He’ll make it so.

After washing his body and applying his conditioner, he steps out of the shower and wraps himself up, pads across the little hall to his bedroom. He slips into warm pajamas and is about to pull back the covers of his neatly made bed, when he notices a piece of paper resting in the tray of his printer/fax machine.

Dan frowns, how long had that been there?

He hesitantly, very hesitantly, approaches the fax machine. It’s a blank piece of paper, nothing on it – aft first glance. Dan thinks he catches a flash of something, maybe its his eyes playing tricks on him, he doesn’t know. But he turns on the lamp near his printer and holds the piece of paper up and his blood runs cold when he reads:

 56 Signers of the Declaration of Independence Memorial

Constitution Gardens, Washington, DC 20245

Sunday 11:30:00 AM

Destroy this.

 He doesn’t know what compels him, but he rushes to the window. He doesn’t open it, doesn’t do anything so foolish as that, but he peels back the curtain just enough to see it, to see that black car with its tinted windows, driving away.

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

Tagging some pals! If you’d like to be added or taken off this taglist, please just let me know! @clumsycopy @whiskey-bumblebee​ @umbrielchip000​ @supremehaunter​ @kyloawaken​ @candycanes19​ @thegreenmatt​ @ladygrey03​ @zimmerxman​ @niniita-ah @autumnlovesadam​ @solotriplets​ @steeevienicks​ @aweirdlookingtree​​ @heldcaptivebychaos​​  ​ @formerly-anonhamster​​ @lookinsidemyhead​​ ​ @adamsnacc-kler​​  ​ @magikevalynn​​ @tinyplanet-explorers​​ @chelsjnov​​ @romancedeldiablo​ @helloimindelaware​​  ​ @peterisparker​​  @goodboybensolo​​  @the-marvelatic​​ @miasera​​ @emily-strange​​ @proxyfoxy​​ @disaster-rose​​ @hazydespair​​ @yosoymuyloca​​​ @1-800-choke-that-snoke​​​ @ktellmeastory​​​ @anongirl007​​ ​​ @okk–maaan​ @flapjacques​​​ @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @schopenhauerdeathsquad​ @nekonaomitard​ @feminine-machinegun​ @carloswilliamcarlos​ @contesa-lui-alucard​ 

[writer-akihiko]

Chapter 1 - Meeting Him [QuartetNight Ver.]

Chapter 2  →

Camus Cryszard

As a student of Saotome Music High, everyone is mostly expected to either categorise themselves in common stereotypes. You, however, were not one of those people.

The moment you entered the school and had to pick a course; your heart had already decided. You had a passion for music, but not for playing or composing, rather, conducting.

You were quite well-known in Saotome, after all you were the first female in the history of Saotome's conducting course. Due to this, you had developed an instinct to try harder and be more ambitious.

As a project to pitch to the principal to include you in Saotome's premier concert for scouters, you had to come up with a new arrangement.

Carrying your composing files, you enter your practice hall where your usual orchestra group waited for you to arrive. To your surprise, there was a person lecturing them.

The tall man had his locks in a low ponytail. As you stepped in, the orchestra looked at you. Noticing that they weren't paying attention to him anymore, the man looked at you as well.

"Another late member?" He harshly said.

You were taken aback, but smoothly replied. "I'm their conductor. I wasn't informed that anyone else would be observing today."

The faces of your orchestra members were relieved from whatever scolding this man gave them. "Please do tell what you were lecturing my orchestra about," You said to the man, arranging your pieces on your desk.

"I was simply asking your party here why they feel that the practice halls can also be for horseplay and loitering," he crosses his arms, giving you a blaming look.

You sighed. "Fukuda, did everyone finish their tasks before I got here?"

The orchestra leader nodded immediately, then silently sitting down as you and the odd long-haired man have your showdown.

You turn to the man. "Great. I don't see why they cannot relax if they finish their tasks, Mr..."

"Camus. However I believe that there is no time to relax when your proposal is soon, LN-san."

"If this misunderstanding is cleared up, you can sit near the desk and begin your observation Mr Camus," You prepare yourself at the podium.

"Very well LN."

The two of you glared at each other the whole practice as the orchestra awkwardly play the whole time.

Ai Mikaze

You had a meeting with Ai Mikaze, a popular idol of the group Quartet Night. You were going to talk to him about the new ending track for the new season of the anime you were starring in.

You were a popular voice actress with a boyish wild attitude despite some of the cutesy roles you took on. Your fans still loved you anyway, to which you are extremely grateful for. Most of your roles consist of characters from shounen animes, but you still had some other roles in fictional idol games and shoujo animes.

The song that was meant for the ending track was about the character you voiced as, the main protagonist. You had to get Ai Mikaze to understand the personality of your character and honour it through the ending. The first episode is going to be released in two weeks’ time, meaning you had no time to waste. You walked into the studio and asked for the number of the recording room. You pushed the door open and found the famous Ai Mikaze standing there, looking at what seems to be a script.

"Hey there, name's LN YN. Nice to meet you Mikaze-kun!" You enthusiastically chirped.

He didn't reply and just stared at you.

"Umm..."

"Are you sure you are LN-san?" He said.

"Yes, I am..." You answered, quite confused. "Anyway, let's get on with the script!"

Deciding to forget about that awkward situation, you took a seat.

"What do you think about your character?" He asked you, taking a seat as well.

"What?"

"What do you think about your character?"

"I heard you the first time..." You corrected. He started to look puzzled. "Well I think with the new arc going on she's going to have to face her past. That's in the song, right?"

He handed me a piece of paper. It was the lyrics pre-written. "What?! This doesn't sound like her at all! How could they disgrace my precious child like this?"

Ai continued to stare at you with wide eyes. "Um, sorry Ai. There must be a mistake in the song here. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sorry for wasting your time."

"We could fix it together," He insisted.

"Huh?"

You two spent the rest of the week fixing the song together. It was later re-approved by the audio director who thanked both of you for doing so.

He's a little odd, you thought. He's still nice though.

Reiji Kotobuki

You were a paramedic in training. You were quite studious and serious most of the time, even outside of your job. Your senior today was hired for the rehearsal concert of the popular idol group, Quartet Night.

You and your senior were watching from the side lines. The group was practicing the choreography to Poison Kiss. You didn't know the members much, but their songs often came on the radio.

Crash!

One of the idols fell to the floor. Your senior decided that you should examine the guy as he observes you. You nodded, grabbing your kit and running to the fallen idol.

The idol was panting, clutching his ankle. You asked his bandmate, a silver haired man. "Can you get him to sit on a chair?" He nodded, seating his friend down.

You scrambled to take off his shoe and his sock. You took out one of the ice packs and supported his foot. Quickly compressing the ice, the male groaned and winced.

You looked up at the male. "Sir, you'll be fine. After this I will wrap your ankle and continue to compress. May I ask what your name is?"

He stared at you, in a daze. He looked like a puppy, almost rivalling your own puppy back at your apartment.

"Sir?"

"Umm... Kotobuki Reiji."

"Ok. Now listen here Kotobuki-san, I'm going to begin wrapping..."

You continued to talk; however Reiji did not listen. He was too busy staring at you and your beauty to pay attention.

When you looked at him... your e/c eyes caught him off guard. There was so much emotion in them... concern, worry, calmness... It was enchanting.

No wait, it didn't even start from there. When he was in pain, the sight of you running towards him made his heart race. To see someone as gorgeous as you race to him... it was like a movie when the princess leaps into the arms of her lover.

"KOTOBUKI-SAN!"

"AH YES PRINCESS!" Reiji yelled.

"Huh?"

Reiji turned redder than Otoya's hair. "U-Uh continue please Miss Paramedic."

"As I was saying, I don't think you can dance tonight. You can still sing though. I'm sorry Kotobuki-san." You apologised sincerely. You felt bad for him, as he was an idol after all.

"Don't be sorry to me Miss Prin- I mean, Paramedic," Reiji replied. "On another note, what's your name? I feel awkward calling you Miss Princ- Paramedic."

"LN YN," You said. "I must leave now. Your bandmates must want to talk to you, and I need to let you rest. Get well soon."

"Thank you," Reiji said as you walked back to your senior. "Miss Princess..." He whispered.

Ranmaru Kurosaki

[This starts when you were children]

"YN-chan!"

Your best friend Ranmaru called to you. You waddled your way to him in your polka dot f/c bathing suit. Ranmaru was rich kid that moved into the fancy villa for the holiday. When your father was delivering fish to the villa, you followed him and met Ranmaru. You two became quick friends.

Today you two were playing on the seaside.

"YN-chan..."

"Yea Mawu-chan?" You say, as you gather water with your pail.

"My mommy says that we're going to leave soon. I have to go back to school as well," He says, pouting as he grips his swim trunks.

"You can visit next howiday right Mawu-chan?" You said, hopeful.

"But... I WANT YN-CHAN WITH ME!" He cried. He grabbed your hand and brought you to his mother.

"What is it Ranmaru dear?" She said, looking at the adorable couple. Secretly, YN's mother and her ship you two.

"Mama! I don't wanna leave!" Ranmaru cries.

"Eh? Ranmaru, we already talkedー"

"NO!! NOT WITHOUT YN-CHAN!" He held onto you tighter, as to prove his point.

His mother didn't know what to do. Ranmaru continued to throw a tantrum.

"I DON'T WANNA! I WANNA GO WITH YN-CHAN! I DON'T, I DON'T!"

"Ranmaru! YN has to stay here. She has her whole family here. We can't take her with us..." His mother comforted him.

"It's okay!" You cried out. "Becawse Mawu-chan is gonna visit me evewy howiday!"

As the day ended, both of your fathers had force you two apart (or more like Ranmaru from you) and you said farewell.

On the day of Ranmaru's departure, you two were on the sand on the beach you two met.

Ranmaru was already crying to you, telling you about stupid adults that cannot bring you.

"Mawu-chan!"

"Huh?"

You gave him a shell bracelet. "Mawu-chan... I know that you're sad. I'm sad twoo. But my granny says that if I give you this shell bracelet then you'll never forget me. I made it with granny. See, I have one too!"

You showed him the bracelet and they were indeed matching. "Like Mawu, I'm gonna follow you somedway! Because Mawu's name means follow right? Meaning I have to follow you one dway!"

Ranmaru held the bracelet in his hand. "Y-YN-CHANNN!!"

The two of you cried together.

"I'll mwiss you," you yelled, as you waved at the limo and a wailing Ranmaru at the window.

Fast forward to today's time period, you were a popular athlete, a surfer to be exact. You were at one of the beaches for your nationals competition. Today was your relaxing day, but that definitely won't stop you from surfing.

Unbeknownst to you, Quartet Night was having a photoshoot on the exact same beach you were at. Ranmaru Kurosaki, your childhood friend, was complaining to their manager.

"C'mon! I'm already done! Why should I wait for Ai? He's not even facing the waves!"

"Fine Kurosaki-kun. You can go ahead and surf. I'll be watching."

"Woo-hoo!"

"How impudent," Camus remarked.

Coincidentally, you were also about to catch the waves. Ranmaru rode the wave first, and you caught up to him.

This guy is really good, you thought. As a challenge for yourself, you tried to catch up to him. You decided to try the risky route and overtake him from above. You glimpsed back and the male was shocked at what skill you had. You smirked at him and went ahead. You noticed the male try to catch up to you but failed however, until the wave was nearing an end.

You decided to surf and jump it from the top. The male followed suit, and the wipeout occurred.

"You're not too bad," you commented to the male, who just resurfaced. You were about to sit on your board and heave yourself until the male gasped.

He was staring at your bracelet. The one you gave Mawu a long time ago.

"Oh this? It’s a bracelet I gave a friend a... long... time..."

You stopped when the male across from you lifted up a necklace that had the same shells in the identical order to yours. That's when it hit you.

"MAWU?!"

"YN?!"

Ranmaru swam to you and lifted you up. "YN-chan! I can't believe it's you!" He puts you on your board. "This is so surreal..."

"I know. What are you up to here? Don't tell me you're a part of the surfing contest," You said.

"No, I'm here for a photoshoot," he said truthfully.

"You're with Quartet Night?" You said, shocked. "You didn't look like Mawu at all, y'know, because of the eyes."

"It's an aesthetic. But you? Are you a part of that contest?" You nodded. 

"Professional surfer... Wow."

"Wow yourself Mr. Idol," You laughed.

"H-Hey! Don't tease me like that! Also don't call me Mawu! It's Ranmaru!"

"Then call me YN, Ranmaru. I missed you y'know?"

"Me too YN." He said smiling.

"LN!" Your manager screamed.

"KUROSAKI!" His manager screamed.

"That's my manager..." You two said in unison to each other.

"See you around, Ranmaru," you said, swimming to shore.

"You too, YN."

Chapter 2  →

[mertronus]

Secret Mission - Chapter 8 (Epilogue)

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read and gave feedback on my first fic, I appreciate you all so much and now truly know the power of commenting on others fics when I read them. (I tended to usually leave a review but now more than ever I definitely will! Your reviews really lit up my little heart!)

Here's the conclusion, tie up some loose ends...and let's not forget, Hermione had a secret of her own didn't she?

****

"So," Hermione said softly, "Harry tracked down the two witnesses who heard McLaggen?" She was lying in Ron's childhood bed with him, his orange Chudley Canons blanket draped haphazardly over their glistening bare bodies as she listened to him recount the events of the morning. They were entwined in an intimate post-coital embraced as her delicate, ink-stained fingers toyed wit his long, calloused fingers lazily - almost as if they were conducting a slow, mesmerizing dance in mid-air. Ron's return followed immediately by the wedding, reception and basically spending the entire day celebrating the newlyweds with family meant they did not get a moment alone until they retired to Ron's bedroom after the festivities were over.

But, they did save the actual catching up for after Hermione properly welcomed Ron home, and he showed her just how much he missed her. In the afterglow came the questions and explanations.

"Yup," Ron said enthusiastically. "I don't know how he did it, but he found them and brought them into the Ministry to speak to Robards and a member of the Wizengamot. They told them everything they heard McLaggen saying, including the way he was talking about you."

"I can't believe he said those foul things," Hermione said in disgust, clutching the blanket to her chest as if the vile man was in the room at that very moment. "It feels...violating, the way he was looking at me. So to hear what he said?" She shuddered and Ron pulled her close, kissing her temple.

"I know love," he said, his voice low. "But he can't come anywhere near you. And he won't if he knows what's good for him." Hermione leaned into her husband, grateful for the way he made her feel safe. Ron kept his arms around her as he continued recounting the events of the morning. "And the great thing is, the witch from the Wizengamot agreed that he was out of line. She seemed like a right prude witch, probably even a bit of a - what'd you call it? Feminist?" Hermione nodded. "Yeah, so she was as offended as if McLaggen said them to her! She told Robards that it was her opinion that I acted accordingly - as any doting husband should act in defense of his wife - and that I should be released immediately. Her words exactly," he chuckled. "Robards still wrote me up, as a warning, but no further action will be taken."

"Oh Ron that's wonderful!"

"I know, isn't it? It also helped that the witnesses both stated that I did not actually use my wand on McLaggen, like the bloody tosser claims I did, and that they did not see me have one drink the entire time I was in the Leaky. Harry always pulls through for me." He smiled. "We always pull through for each other, really."

"Harry is amazing. Ginny too. Your entire family." She smiled and propped herself up on her elbow hovering over him slightly. "I'm so in love with your family Ron. I've barely been with them for 24 hours and yet...I can't explain it. I feel like this is home. More so than my own home has ever felt. I love my parents, but being here...I can't explain it."

Ron raised his hand to rest on her cheek, his thumb running lightly along the corner of her lip. "You don't have to explain, I get it. And I'm so happy you feel that way." He looked at her for a moment then remembered another important piece of information that was lost in the shuffle of the day. He sat up and rested against the headboard and grinned. "Guess what else?"

Hermione sat up and faced him, holding the blanket over her chest. "What?"

"We don't have to head back to France after all."

"Oh?"

"The team from Belgium came through. They captured the last three wizards who were on the run last night. Robards will be sending word tomorrow for us all to come in for a briefing on Monday, but he got word while he was with me so I was first to know." He smiled, then looked at Hermione and frowned. "Unless...you have to go back to France, don't you?" Ron realized they never actually discussed Hermione's plans after the mission. Where she would work and what it would mean for them. He felt a knot growing in his stomach.

"Well," she started, suddenly enraptured with a loose thread in his blanket, "I actually wanted to talk to you about...staying in London."

"Really?" Ron's heart raced happily, the knot disappearing immediately.

"Yes, really. I was speaking with your brother Percy earlier today, and he mentioned quite a few openings in a couple of departments that peeked my interest at the British Ministry. He already said that between you, Harry, him and Arthur and probably even Robards and Ledwig, I could get any position I set my eye on at the Ministry. I already have the connections on top of my education and experience -"

"And your brilliance," Ron added with a smile.

Hermione blushed and rolled her eyes playfully at the compliment. "Yes, well...anyway...I had already spoke to my boss in Paris about the possibility that I may stay here. I've been helping with research from afar, and may have to travel to Paris soon to tie up a few things, but as my only real task these last few months was the mission with your team," she shrugged and looked back up at Ron, "I can pretty much make a clean break."

"So...you'll stay here - WE'LL stay here - and you'll work in the British Ministry?"

"That's my hope?" She smiled but then her face got serious. "But as an Auror MAC, you may have more extended missions, won't you?"

Ron nodded slowly. "But, I was talking to Robards about that today, and he said we can discuss if I want to remain with the Auror MACS or make a switch. If I stay with the MACs though, and do have to leave, at least knowing that you'll be here, surrounded by my family...I'll hate to leave you but I'll feel better about it."

"Just don't go falling in love with an intern helping the team in Bulgaria or something," she joked. Ron pulled her into him, pressing her body flush against his own.

"I could never," he whispered, dotting her cheek and jaw with light kisses. "You are it for me Hermione Granger-Weasley."

"Good, because I quite like you too."

They settled back into the pillows holding each other close, then Ron cleared his throat. "So, we have some work to do Mrs. Weasley."

"What's that Auror Weasley?"

"Well, I figure step 1 is we'll need to find a home. I don't fancy shagging my wife for much longer in my childhood bedroom."

"A home? Like...a house?"

"Well, yeah. We could just get a flat in London, but that might hinder step two."

"And what is step two?"

"Step two is to put a baby in you," he growled into her neck while spreading his large hand over her bare stomach.

Hermione bit her lip and grinned, then she shook her head. "Oh Ronald. You did it again."

"Did what again?" he asked pushing up on his elbow over her with a concerned look. "What did I do?"

"You skipped step one...and went right for step two." Ron stared at her puzzled, then chuckled when he remembered that his plans were not for Ginny and Harry to know about their marriage first, but second.

Suddenly he sat all the way up, thinking about what Hermione just said. "I did wh-what now?"

Hermione sat up too, and took his hand and placed it back on her belly. "Step two...you've already done." Ron's wide eyes darted between her stomach and her own deep brown eyes. "I was feeling poorly a bit this week, so I went to St. Mungo's yesterday to confirm. I'm pregnant Ron," she whispered the last sentence.

"Y-you're...I'm gonna...we're...really?!" Hermione nodded smiling. Ron pulled Hermione onto his lap and peppered her entire face with kisses. "Oh Mione!...This is...so amazing...Merlin!...I love you...so much...so fucking much!" He continued planting kisses all over her cheeks and jaw and neck in between his professions of love as Hermione giggled in his arms. He lay her down tenderly then moved the orange blanket from over her. He touched her smooth stomach lightly and tried to imagine how it would look as the months went by, growing rounder right in front of him. He leaned in and kissed her stomach reverently. "I love you too, little one." He looked back up at Hermione and saw the tears in her eyes. "Oh love," he whispered as he straightened out to lay next to her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply.

"I love you too Ron. So much. You insufferable prat," she teased.

"You love me because I'm an insufferable prat or in spite of?"

Hermione's laugh filled the room. "Hard to say!" She said through chuckles.

"Merlin, I love your laugh," Ron breathed out.

"Good thing you're relatively funny then!" Ron rolled his eyes and tickled her, delighted to hear the sound of her laugh once again reverberate around the room.

****

A/N: All the secrets are out! Yay! This was a really fun fic to write...so much so that I already have a few one-shot ideas that will be based on this AU so keep an eye out on FFN/AO3! I think we need to see more of Ron and Hermione's growing love in France, don't you? Or maybe I'll write the "before" story...hmmmm... We'll see! Now that I've "popped my cherry" and shared my first fic (and received so much love!) there's definitely more to come! I'm working on a massive one right now that I'll start to get out to you all shortly, and another completed fic I'm sitting on. So, until next time...Mertronus OUT 3

[rebelliouslala]

Oddity in the Universe (Renjun soulmate au, college au, Mark Lee best friend, fluff! ~8.8k words -some language-)

pls feel free to give me feedback!! thank u and I hope u enjoy :))

Your parents always told you about the cute stories they had when they met their soulmates. How your dad met Uncle Eric before your mom, with a string tied on his left thumb at a college party. Your mom met her soulmate, and she saw color for the first time. You never met him though, but he was amazing. At least that’s what Mom said. Life couldn’t get better. You were taught as a child all kinds of connections one could have to their soulmate; that you had someone to spend the rest of your life with. The thought of it of course drove you mad. Someone to love? Someone to laugh with? Someone to be happy with? The thought of a real soulmate was strong and true. Your best friend, Connie has a tattoo of their first words on it. As a child you would make fun of it.

“Haha, it’s ‘fuck you!’” You tease, poking at it with a finger. “W-Well. . .” Connie would start, but her tongue would twist. She never had the comeback ready for you. Your little brother, Simon has a silver necklace, half of a heart. Once you hid it, and he freaked the hell out, begging your dad what happened to his “Soul Heart” necklace. In middle school, you asked your teachers more about soulmates. After all, it’s such an interesting topic, just to even have in your world. You mainly asked your history teachers, they knew the most about soulmates besides your parents.

“What’s your hint?” They would ask, expecting some sort of trinket, or power to reveal itself. “I was wondering if you would know,” you would ask shyly. No answer. Even the doctors couldn’t pin it down. No tattoos. No words. Nothing. Most of your days you heard new reports on new soulmate connections, so you had hope. But with each year, each new way, you felt more hopeless. How long would it take for them to find you and make you happy?

Lee Mark, your best friend since you were four, well his soul connection is unique. If you touched his bare skin, he bruised, so he was waiting for his soulmate to touch him and not be hurt. You often give him bruises on his butt, and he would jump back and cuss you out. He still would let you hug him, especially on the days where you felt like crying and screaming at the universe for an answer. Even when you wanted to date, or try to see who it was, they had their own connection. Everyone was waiting for their own soulmate. “And it’s like. . .” You sigh, exhaling out, holding Mark even closer. He only let out a quiet hiss, but he stayed still, letting you bruise him. “No one wants me. I’m just waiting, and no one knows.” Mark shrugs and plays with your hair. “The universe will figure it out for you. Maybe it’s new?”

“That’s what everyone says,” you mutter, and you feel your tears prick as you hold him with a loosened grip, knowing you’re hurting him. Just as much as the universe is hurting you.

“Do you think I’ll ever find them?”

Mark holds your face and sighs, “Don’t worry. The universe will make you happy. No one in the history of Earth has never had a soulmate. Well, except God but you know.” You laugh gently and you wipe your own tears.

“Do you realize that you’re so lucky? My soul connection is through pain. You. . .all you have to do is search. We’re going to college soon. You’ll find them there, we will even fly around the world if we have to.” You hug him again, and he hugs back.

“Promise?”

“Pinky. Now get up, your mom is making me some ice cream.” You laugh and follow your best friend off the roof, and back into your bedroom window. You pause however, and look at the stars above. This night is so pretty. The stars glimmer just like the butterflies in your own stomach. You close them, and open them just in time for a shooting star.

“I-I wish. . .” You mutter quietly, holding your hands tight. “I wish I could meet them. . .Please.” You jump off the roof with a quiet, but almost relieved sigh after your quiet prayer, and the stars twinkle even brighter after.

“BRING ME BACK A STUFFED ANIMAL!” Your little brother, Simon hugs you tightly.

“Maybe, if you’re good for Mom and Dad. I’ll see you during Christmas okay? I’ll call Santa too to see if you’re good.” Your mom hugs you tightly, smiling and sniffling as she wears mismatched colored clothes. “Good luck on your journey.”

You laugh and you hug her tighter, “It’s college.”

“It’s where you’ll meet your soulmate, Y/N! I know it, now go with Mark, he’ll protect you.” Your cheeks flush, mainly from embarrassment. Anyone who even hung out with Mark for a second knew he couldn’t even save himself. Because that was Connie’s job. But not only for that reason did you get fidgety. It was because your mother could be right.

“I can do it myself. I love you Mom, and I’ll see you.” Mark honks, mouthing at you to hurry your ass up. You roll your eyes, and quickly kiss your mom and brother goodbye before running to Mark’s car. Connie giggles softly and looks at Mark, as he revs the engine. “Finally, bye Mrs. L/N!” You roll your eyes, “Drive.”

Mark pulls out of your driveway, moving out of the street, then out of the neighborhood, where the small red house fades into a small dot. You gulp the feeling down, holding yourself.

“So what’s Korea like?” Connie looks at the book she purchased, a Korean translation book. Mark shrugs, and scratches his head, “I mean, it’s cool. Just follow my lead.”

He turns on the radio as Connie leans back in her chair, “We have kind of different rules. Like respecting elders, uh. . .” He scrunches his nose up in thought before shrugging again. “That’s all I can remember, but I also know the language better than any of you guys. . .so just lemme be your tour guide.” Connie nods and she looks back at you, “Whatever, Lee.” It’s a strange distance from the window to your family saying goodbye. It felt too long, too real to say goodbye. You hold your hands again closely, looking down.

“Y/N!”

You turn and you’re already at the airport. You felt lightheaded just at the short passage of time, looking around. The drive from your small town in Canada to the airport in Toronto made you almost dizzy. “You alright?” Mark holds your shoulder. You nod slowly, blinking. The three of you all wait in your airport gate after a half an hour of just waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting in line. Your thumb is on your right hand, circling the back of it. The sunset outside is beautiful, and you lean back, watching it, admiring it. The sky mixes, slow like time, into the colors you once wore as a child. Orange, pink, yellow, a light red. How it easily slips from one spot to another, fading into the other like a puzzle piece. It is pure perfection made by the universe.

“It’s so pretty,” you murmur, your body instinctively moving to the windows. Just watching how the sun hid behind the far off hills, where your little town was. You feel your heart begin to ache. Before any tears, or any regretting thoughts could come into your mind, your friends grab you. “Y/N they just called us!” Connie pulls you back to the gate. Mark whispers in your ear, and you could hear the pout in his voice, even when you can’t see him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, let’s just go,” you exhale, and you grab your black suitcase, when someone else grabs your hand on top of yours. The birthmark on their right hand, a dull gray color, pops into a new color. The sunset pink, just like outside the windows, the pretty sky. Their pinky brushes on the same birthmark on your right hand as well. The colors change as well, into a bright but relaxing tree leaf green, vibrating into a pretty dark green. The feeling in your stomach drops. There's a chill down your spine and your cheeks flush. Your whole body explodes with warmth like a hug. You freeze, your breath stuck in your own throat. It’s impossible. A new connection? But your whole body bounces back in excitement, and you step back in surprise and you meet the eyes of the person.

His eyes are a dark honey color, it’s almost enriching how sweet they look at you. Everything else on his face is hidden by a black face mask. Your fingers feel heavy, aching to just push the mask down so you see the rest of his face. There’s a quiet silence around you, and you can barely think. That feeling lingers in your body, every atom inside you. He created that. That feeling. The ripple in your skin. The fireworks in your heart. The explosion in your mind. The shaking of your stomach. It’s so loud, but it feels so right. His hand is soft, and warm. Canada is usually cold this time of year, but how he made you feel safe, like you’re on a vacation island, bathing in a warm summer sun. You reach out for him again, after for what felt like days. Both of you touch each other’s hands, and close your eyes. The feeling makes you laugh quietly, and tears form in your eyes. It’s him. Your soulmate, the person you spend the rest of your life with. Would you marry him? Date him? Or just laugh and spend every night cuddling? You didn’t care honestly. Anything sounded good, sounded like a dream come true.

He finally speaks. His eyes are open and he looks down at you. You didn’t even note how he is the perfect height for you to hug and kiss his chin. If he wanted that, of course. You open your mouth and murmur, “I-I don’t. . .uh. . .I don’t speak that language.” Another young man behind your soulmate grabs him, whispering in his ear. The man sighs, speaking back to him. The sweet look in his eyes dissipates, and you look down uncomfortably. The feeling fades. As much as you want to continue this, this feeling of just home. Of acceptance, you forgot where you are. He’s traveling, probably not even to the same place you are. You’re going to college. The universe had only wanted you to feel this for a moment, you assume. He hands you a piece of paper. It’s folded in half, in near perfection. Before you can even open it, he whispers something in your ear. He gives you a wave, going off to his airplane gate shouting something in his language. But you understood. Somehow you did. “I’ll see you soon, my love.”

According to the piece of paper, his name is Huang Renjun. It has his number, written quick and fast. There’s a small bit at the bottom, a green heart. “So. . .Renjun huh?” Mark says, punching your side. “He’s your soulmate~,” Connie claps her hands, smiling to herself as she puts her luggage above her, people behind her grumbling. “What is he like? Did you guys say anything?”

“They were staring. Fucking cowards.” Mark laughs at you. “I thought you guys would at least exchange names. Pleasantries. Your soulmate story SUCKS so far, Y/N.” You’re already sitting down, not listening to your friend’s remarks. Huang Renjun. He’s perfect, as far as you know. But what did you know? All you know is that feeling when he touches your birthmark. The thought passes through, that maybe he feels the same way. That feeling, that sweet touch to the heart, like hot chocolate down your throat on a cold winter evening- or to contrast, a nice refreshing, cold event, drink on a hot, late summer noon. All you really know is how he makes you feel. You hug your own body as Mark moves to the window seat, and you smack his ass. “What the hell—? Hey! Now it’s going to hurt!”

“That’s what you get for calling my soulmate and I stupid,” you sigh, and he sits down. “I never said you guys are stupid, I mean like you guys never know said anything.” You shrug and purse your lips quietly. “I kind of wanted to kiss him.”

“PREMARITAL KISSING? Y/N WHAT WOULD YOUR PARENTS THINK?” Connie gasps as she sits between you two. Some people shush Connie, and she flips them off. “Well, isn’t there a myth about like, connection signs? If it’s platonic or romantic?” Mark gasps and his face twists to that dumb smile. “Dude~, gimme your hand!” Connie and Mark lean over your hand. “It’s the color from the sunset!” Connie whispers to herself. “Oh no,” Mark frowns. “This could mean it just shows what he saw, Con,” She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. It could just mean that’s the first thing he saw, AND felt. What did his hand change into, Y/N?” You give a soft shrug. “Green. Like a bright one. And he did talk to me, he called me ‘love.’” Your friends give you a look, smiling devilishly. “No,” you groan, turning around, your back facing them. “Yes~,” Mark sings as he pokes you. “Your soulmate and you are going to have soulmate babies~,” You cover your face, shaking it. “I-I probably won’t ever see him again. And those are just myths. Let’s go to sleep, I’ll try to text him once we get off the plane.”

“But I wanna—!” Mark whines, and you hit his hair like a feather floating down. “Sleep!” You command, and your friends grumble, as Connie snuggles up near you, and Mark leans on the window. You barely notice how nice your dream was when you wake up in the morning. You gag out, starting to choke out a napkin, drowned in your drool. Connie is up, reading a book and yawning to herself. “Morning, sleepyhead.” Mark is wearing an eye mask and ear plugs, and you frown, rubbing your eyes as you mumble quietly, “He never wears those. . .”

“Yeah well you were repeating your soulmate’s name a lot last night. I put a napkin in your mouth to shut your ass up.” You rub your eyes more, shrugging it off. “I-I’m going to sleep more.”

“We have two more hours on this stupid airplane and then it’s college.” Connie says to herself. “Please don’t wake up Mark.” You roll your eyes, turning over and falling back asleep. The dream this time is blurry, his eyes covered by blonde pieces of hair. You didn’t even notice how his hair looked when you first saw him. What is he wearing? What was his outfit? Why can’t you hear his voice? You sit up immediately at the voice of Mark groaning loudly. “Y/N. GET. YOUR. ASS. UP. WE. LANDED.” After scrambling your large suitcase down and your small yellow backpack, you run out of the gate. You text your parents that you’ve arrived in Korea. Before you can make a new contact for your newly founded soulmate, you move through the crowds and lines again. Mark is in front of you and Connie, spitting out enough Korean to pass you all to where you can pick up the rest of your luggage. You groan, your legs knocking together the second you fall on the seats at the baggage area, finishing with a quiet breath of relief. It had been an hour and a half of trying to pass through immigration and customs, but luckily Mark and other attendants had helped you. You rub your eyes softly, and yawn. How you wish and yearn for your soulmate, or even your stupid little brother to hug you. This whole process of moving to Korea still stresses you out. It had been a year of applying of Korean colleges, applying to live in Korea, working long hours to pay for this. But now you’re here. Just a little more and you would be sleeping in your dorm. Connie rubs your back, and Mark grabs all of your luggage, grunting as a few of Connie’s makeup bags fall out of his hands. “Can you guys hail down a taxi to the college? It should take a whistle or so.”

You wave Connie off, mumbling that you got it covered, letting her hold your things as you walk outside to where all of the taxis are, and where drivers pick up others. It’s like an endless field of yellow cabbies, large black vans with the thunder and bass of people talking. You wave down a cab after what feels like days of just passing through people to get near the street. The cab drives off with a customer already inside. The next cab takes the person behind you. After a few minutes of failure, you flag down an empty cab. A sigh of relief pours out, and you stretch happily. You just wanted to get into a bed and nap all of this bullshit off. A large black taxi pulls up, and a man in a black face mask gets in. You frown, trying to talk to the man, falling on deaf ears. The driver turns back and speaks to the man. You nod your head in thanks to the driver. The man, after a second of grumbling, gets out. He quietly scoffs, pushing his blonde hair back as he looks at you, but you both freeze. It’s only for a scene, it’s only for a second. But the feeling before rushes back like a flood, and that dumb smile appears on your face.

“Renjun?!” He nods, laughing to himself as you smile to yourself as well, chuckling. You wrap your arms around his waist the moment you both lean in, hugging tightly. Your hands clasp together, locking him in. His arms around the middle of your back, stroking lightly with his thumb, you laugh softly to mask your teary eyes. Your heart melts just at how warm he is, how he is just at how nice he felt. Just at how comfortable this truly is. Fate didn’t let you two apart, and you held him closer. He’s here. Your soulmate and you are here together, a small tear creeps down your face. Years of hope, of praying, of wishing for love and companionship is here, in your very arms. You didn’t want to let go. Renjun chuckles to himself, and he gently strokes your hair. His voice is so soothing as he speaks in Korean; You pout to yourself, opening your mouth to say quietly that you can't understand again.

But you stay quiet. The words flow through your mind slower now. You hold him closer with each word, a smile spreading on your face. “. . .it must’ve been a long flight. You look so pretty today—well, this morning. Heh, how long was it to get through customs?” You look in his eyes, your smile growing wider. “I-I can understand you!” Your feet start to bounce on their own, and your teeth show as you laugh. Renjun looks down at you, confusion dancing in his eyes. “What?”

“I didn’t know what you were saying!” He pauses, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“You were speaking Korean at the gate, I didn’t understand; what you were saying.” Renjun snickers, his eyes glowing before he starts to laugh, “Wait—, you don’t know Korean?” You pout gently, “No,”

“And you’re here? In Korea? Aww,” Renjun chuckles, his hand on your cheek. “You have to learn how to learn multiple languages, like me!” You roll your eyes, trying to stifle your laughter. He really is perfect. But maybe not that perfect. With a smirk, you touch his birthmark. He gives a small shriek, his eyes fluttering. You laugh at his reaction, going only closer to him. “Ah, I kind of hate it when you do that.” Renjun grumbles. “Why? I love it. I’ve always wanted to know my soulmate connection.” You say, letting his hands go between your arms and holding you close, like a teddy bear. “Mm, I never really,” Renjun hesitates, his chin on your shoulder, leaning down to reach it. “I never really cared for soulmates. But—,”

“Y/N L/N SWEAR ON THE UNIVERSE GET YOUR ASS HERE!” Connie yells at you, holding four of your bags. Shit. You look behind you, not even thinking as you kiss Renjun’s face mask, where his cheek is. “I’m sorry, I have to go; can we go on a date near Incheon Uni? I’ll be around there, text me!” You run back, and Renjun is frozen, his eyes wide like saucers. Not even thinking twice you grab yourself bags, stuffing them into the truck. “Were you making out with him?” Mark grumbles, sitting in the back seat. “No,” you get in, looking back at Renjun, who waves hysterically, some other men standing next to him. “Fuck! Dammit Mark,” Connie gives him some money and she gets in, with the taxi driving away. Your entire body wants to burst. You want to run back to him. But you wave back, giggling quietly. You immediately get out your phone as Mark talks to the driver. “So~?” Connie nudges you. You type Renjun a text message of the nearest cafe near your college, for a “soul-date.” You look up, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear, “Huh?”

“Oh my god what did you say?” Connie gasps, taking the phone away from you. You whine as you try to reach over, Mark shushing you both. “Shut the hell up or I’ll have this driver turn his ass around!” Connie scoffs as she changes your text, “What in the hell is a ‘soul-date,’ Y/N?” She mutters. “It’s a date. . .but for soulmates. . .” You say to yourself. “Jesus Christ don’t say that.” Mark sits back, rubbing his temples. You cross your arms, “But come on! He’s my soulmate! Who cares?” Mark leans over and gasps. “You invited him to our college? What if he’s like 30?”

“He looks kind of young.”

“You’ve only seen his fucking eyeballs, Y/N.” Connie laughs.

You grab your phone back, looking down at it and holding it close, “I’ll just send it, and we’ll see what happens.” You read over your text, “Hey Renjun, this is Y/N, as you probably know. I have a location for a soul-date :), interested?” You shrug, not even trying or wanting to overthink it, pressing send. Mark takes your phone away and puts it in the back of the taxi, where your luggage is. “Hey—!” You lean back, pouting and cursing his name. “Relax. We’ll get it. Now, look around you. I told you we were going to find your soulmate, and you did.” Mark pinches your nose with care, his fingertips only applying little pressure. Connie points to the pretty, shining sea. The high, late morning sun paints it a dazzling bright blue. The driver, at request of Mark, plays the radio, and it blasts a new Korean girl group song. Connie gasps and starts to dance and sing along, incorrectly pronouncing the words. Mark yells at her, smacking her head and helping her pronounce it. You go along, trying to learn with Connie. “Jesus no—Connie that’s how you saw it. You’re saying it like urine.”

“I DON’T KNOW KOREAN!” She screams back.

“BUT YOU CAN READ IT?” Mark yells back. You giggle, looking back and forth between them. “SHUT UP Y/N!” Connie yells at you both, making you only laugh louder. The driver turns up the volume, as you start to pronounce the words, trying to rap with the next verse. Mark laughs at you, rapping along with ease, flipping you all off. Connie leans forward to bend his finger back, sticking her tongue out. After a good ten minutes of you trying to learn, Connie cussing out Mark and him trying to shake her off, you arrive at Incheon University. The entire campus is split in half by the pretty, but small parks in the middle, and you can still see the ocean next to the campus. Near the left of you was a tall and dark tower that looked like an hourglass. Your heart sinks just realizing about the responsibilities you have to go through. Learning more Korean, figuring out a schedule, classes, studying. You touch your birthmark, sitting up. You have your soulmate on your side. No matter what, he’ll be there, even in spirit. From your hand outward, it sends chills and you widen your eyes. The feeling repeats twice, and you smile to yourself. Renjun really is perfect. The driver pulls up to the dorm rooms, as Mark instructs him. Mark pays him, speaks to him, ending with a chuckle and a gracious thank you. Connie gets out, and you get out with a nod to the driver, and you grab your bags and luggage.

“Oh shit, my phone!” You realize and grab it.

“A soul-date? Whatever you say, love, how about tonight?” Renjun texted back, and your stomach does a couple of cartwheels. With a soft squeal, you close your eyes and bounce. Dragging your things inside your dorm was a pain. Mark helped you as much as he could, starting off with a couple of boxes, but Connie and you -luckily you both are roommates- had everything handled. Your black, sleek desk the university offered is covered in drawings you made, and some art supplies in the drawers. The mirror is pictures of Mark, Connie, your family, your dumb brother, which hangs besides your bed. The bed is pushed close to the back wall, meaning one wrong turn over and you could fall off, but you could also charge your phone easily. The closet is now hung with hoodies and jackets, shoes at the bottom of the closet, along with a box of your most treasured items in life. You lay on your freshly made bed, finally finished in the evening.

“Fuck~!” You groan. “Shut up and go text your soulmate. I’m looking on SoulConnects to see if anyone has the other half of my tattoo.” You quickly lean over, towards the wall, on your charging phone. Picking it up, you see Renjun has texted you twice.

4 hours ago.

“SHIT!” You scream and sit up, unplugging your phone and reading his messages.

“So, we’re meeting up tonight, right?” A half an hour later he texted you again. “What time, love?” Your fingers smash the keyboard as you curse at yourself. Why in the everloving hell would you do this? You’re in college! This is going to prepare you for your whole life! Shaking your head, almost like a dog shaking off disturbing water on its body, you text back, “Sorry! I just moved into my apartment—,” You pause. Should you lie? He’s your soulmate. Your eyes close as you breathe to calm yourself down. “Sorry, I just moved into my dorm. You can name the time, and I’ll meet you at that coffee shop?” Sent. You get up, going to your closet, looking at it. You sigh, looking through outfits. You’ve seen your soulmate in only leggings and hoodies. Sure that’s a chill, laidback outfit, but you scratch your arm in worry. Your hand hovers over a shirt, eyeing another skirt. He’s your soulmate. He wouldn’t care if you wore weird socks to your wedding— “Hey.” You scream, hiding in the small empty corner in your closet. Connie chews on chips, looking around. “You looked weird just standing there. What’s going on?” You stand back up, patting down the bits of dust bunnies. “Oh, I-I uh, Renjun and I just planned our date.” She continues to crunch, and looks around, before meeting your eyes. “Don’t wear the skirt, it’s overkill. A cute top and jeans, hair in a high ponytail.”

“How did you—?” You start to ask, widening your eyes. “Because I was behind you when you were thinking, like an idiot. Wear a warm jacket, a jean jacket will do.”

“Not a Canadian suit,” you groan. “Hey, it’s a good outfit!” Connie shoots back, going back to her side of the dorm, “Tell me when you’re leaving so I can distract Mark.” Your phone buzzes, and you grab your phone just in time for Renjun’s message. “A half an hour, I’m near there already, but I’ll give you time to walk over from the dorms.” Your fingers start to type back before a new message pops up. “Or I can pick you up?” Your heart skips a beat, your face flushing. How could he do this so easily? It’s almost effortless. “Sounds great, I’m at 323. See you.”

“See you soon, my love.”

The nickname, that little name of affection makes your heart flutter. Immediately you grab a dark pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Your finger hesitates over the jean jacket. He already knows you’re Canadian. You grab your favorite black puffy jacket, putting it on along with your other clothes. “SO?!” Connie yells at you, scrolling on her phone. You close the closet door, yelling at her back, “IT’S A DATE!”

“Thank God,” you hear your friend mumble to herself. After a good minute, you walk out of your closet, with the new outfit on. Connie walks around you, inspecting your outfit. “Hmm. What kind of bra?” You wrap your arms over your chest. “What?!”

“I don’t know. Is it lace or a pick up?”

“Jesus— get out, I’m going to do my hair.” You grumble, pushing past your best friend, red painted on your cheeks. You grab your own hair into one hand, drawing your hair up into it with the other hand. Connie sits on her bed, watching you, trailing her tattoo gently as she hums. “You look nice, wear some nice white shoes. It would go along perfectly.” You roll your eyes, but look at the white shoes. You hate it when she’s right. Putting them on, you go to your small bathroom you both share, standing back from the sink and looking at your whole body. “YOU LOOK GREAT, SWEETIE!” Connie yells, back to scrolling on her phone. “THANK YOU!” You giggle to yourself, and there’s a knock on the door. Damn, time did fly by. You run out to open the door, but Connie is already there. His voice sends chills down your spine. He’s here. “Hello, does uh, Y/N live here?” You giggle quietly at him mispronouncing your name. “I don’t uh, speak that.” Connie says quietly, for the first time in a while, she herself is speechless. You peek out, a stray hair falling over your eye. Renjun stands there, brushing his hair back in anxiety, and his eyes slowly trace the room, before he meets yours. His mouth curls up, and he gives a little wave. “Hey, beautiful.”

You and Renjun walk down the stairs to go outside, the sun ready to set. The end of his nose is flat but the structure is pointed out. You note to yourself, if this relationship pushes to romantic levels or affectionate levels, to kiss it as much as you can. His lips are perfectly thin, and his skin is clear. It’s so relaxing to see his whole face, besides it being hidden. Renjun hums to himself happily, softly bopping his head with a smile. You can’t shake off that awkward feeling. You want to say something, besides the weather. All of those questions you wanted to ask earlier just disappeared. Why? You should be jazzed—, no. So happy that he’s here.

“What’s your major here?” He asks, looking at you. You look up at him to respond, before your foot misses a step, and gravity decides to mess you up. Renjun easily grabs your arm with kindness, stepping down the two steps to flat ground, and catching you. Renjun laughs softly to your shaken state, he helps you stand back up. “Glad to know you’re clumsy,” You thank him quietly, your cheeks pink before you shake your head with confusion. “Wait what?” Renjun smiles at you, his eyes moving away at the last word, “So I can continue to catch my clumsy soulmate.” Both of you continue to walk, and you’re speechless. Did he just fucking use a pick up line on you? Your cheeks heat up and you continue to look down. Today is just a whirl of emotions, and it’s all because of him. “I, uh, I’m majoring in Art.” You say finally, going to open the door to outside, but he opens it for you, smiling at you. “Art? That’s amazing! What do you draw?” You shrug, going through the threshold, clearing your throat. Why were you so nervous? So anxious? “Uh, I mean. . .” trying to take a deep breath, he looks at you, frowning gently as he slowly touches your hand. “What’s wrong?” He says gently, his voice as sweet as cotton candy. You close your eyes, and just his touch, his fingertips on the back of your hand, relieves you. You slowly hold his hand back, and let out that breath you’ve been holding, “Mmm, I’m nervous. I’ve always wanted a soulmate. I just feel like I don’t know you well.” Renjun looks at the sky, the sun going down, and the sky turns into a beautiful painting. “Well, it’s okay, I would love to see your art, and I can show you my own, too.” You shake your head, as you both walk, and you grip his hand a little tighter, “I mean, like your favorite stuff. The basics.”

“Is this 21 questions?” He laughs, and he lets you hold onto one of his fingers. You both slow your pace, and he thinks, looking at the sky with a smile, “I’m 19 years old, almost 20. I was born in Jilin, China. I know English, Korean and Chinese. I’m majoring in Vocals, since I sing. I love hot pot—,”

“What’s your favorite color?” You burst out finally. He pauses, his eyes going to you. Renjun touches your hand, your birthmark. You cling onto him, the feeling of an explosion rippling your entire body system. Closing your eyes, you hear his voice, and you already know he’s smiling, “Mm. . .that.” You open your eyes, and look down. It’s the color of the sunset; not this one though, but that mixture of pink and yellow at the airport. When you first met him. When you first made contact. Your heart skips a beat, and you look up, shyly and slowly. “I don’t have a favorite color,” Renjun says, his hand on your cheek gently. His breath is soft, his eyes looking directly in yours. Your own breath collapses, and it’s shaky, trying to match his own as yours and his face are so close together, that only one of you would only need to lean forward to kiss. “But I do know, those colors of the sunset when I first saw you, is my favorite, ever.”

The next few minutes are silent. You’re speechless. That had to be the most romantic thing you’ve ever encountered. You’re falling so quickly and it’s only been a day since you’ve known this man. What the hell are you doing? This is the most perfect man, flirting with you. AND -Connie’s own voice gets in your head,- HE’S YOUR SOULMATE. By the time you both arrive at the cafe, you have gathered all of your courage. All of your love that you’ve been waiting to use, all of your confidence. You’re going to flirt back. You stand up straighter, trying to gain posture, and breathe. You push your hair back, before frowning and just letting it down instead. You lean on one side of your body, trying to use open language. The cafe is painted a nice rustic brown, the wooden floors creaking as you both wait in line. The cafe is filled with a lot of couples, making you even more confident. All you have to look is at him and the floor. Renjun holds your hand, looking up at the board, vines traced around it, he continues to hum to himself. “So, what would you like?” You clear your throat, “Oh, well is there any boba, d-dear?” What the fuck. You close your eyes and take another quick breath. “Yeah, matcha, taro, rose tea, some nice coffee brews—,” he starts, holding you close. You lay your head on his shoulder, holding his hand closer to your side, and you say in an innocent yet teasing tone, “That sounds so sweet, almost as sweet as you~,” He pauses, and you watch his cheeks begin to turn pink. Was it steady done? Would you already have won? Renjun grumbles, “Trying to best me at my own game, Y/N?” He looks at the menu, his mouth turning into an unreadable expression. You roll on your heels and toes, going back and forth, shrugging. “I mean, depends.” Just a little more; hopefully. Renjun leans down, to your ear, and lightly presses on it, kissing it gently. You gasp quietly, holding his hand even tighter. “Then let’s play, love.”

You sip your boba, kicking your feet in the air. You sit at the windows on a high bar, watching the sun set, and the cafe is dispersing. It’s only you, Renjun and a few other workers. Your confidence has definitely boosted. “What’s your schedule?” He asks, sipping his own tea. “Dunno yet,” you say, leaning on his shoulder, watching the sky get darker. “Okay, so tomorrow you’re free. I only have one class, since most of the professors are off on vacation. Sleep in, I’ll pick you up and we can have another date.”

“And then we can play the game again?” You ask, feeling smaller just saying it. But you liked it, because Renjun wouldn’t mind. “Yeah, and whoever loses, buys the other person dinner. Of their choice!” He smiles wide and leans in, you hold your breath. You can see every detail of his face, the small scars on his cheek, his small freckle under his jaw, how even his features are. He looks like a god. “Does that sound good, my love?” Your breath gets stuck again in your throat, and you choke out quietly, “Yep,” Renjun pulls away with a laugh, leaving you a flustered mess, painted a light strawberry pink. “Wow, I guess I’ll win easily then, huh?” You pout, rubbing your arm and looking away. The thought of him flirting and being affectionate makes your heart pound. You wonder if he can hear it. Or if he can tell you’ve already fallen. His hand goes for yours, slowly you both embrace each other’s fingers. He hums sweetly, looking at you, “If I lose, what’s your favorite food?” You look at him, and give a gentle shrug, still blushing from his act, “Well, I don’t know, Canada doesn’t have a lot of perfect meals. Hmm, are there any spaghetti places around here?” Renjun looks confused for a moment, before nodding, “Oh, yeah, pasta! Tons in Seoul, we can go there.” Agreeing with a nod, you sip the last of your boba, sighing happily. “So tomorrow, what time should I go over?”

“No no, I’ll pick you up.” Renjun smiles at you, taking your plastic boba cup, then his cup. “I got everything covered.”

“Then how will I have a chance to win?” You get off the chair, crossing your arms.

“You will have plenty, I promise. Just be yourself,” he stands up and tosses the trash away, then gives his cup to the baristas, leaving a tip. You get up, and he walks back. Your heart flutters just seeing how natural he looks. How he is naturally great, you hold yourself closer just thinking about it. How is he, of all people your soulmate? He holds your hand, taking it carefully out of your body. He kisses it softly, and he holds your cheek. You slowly look up at him, and again that warmth overcomes you, the thoughts washing away with you closing your eyes. Time seems to slow, and it’s just him and you. He smiles at you, kissing your nose softly. You and he walk slowly to the dorms, your eyes drooping softly. His hand is in yours, and your head on his shoulder, holding his arm close to your body. He felt so warm; You didn’t even think about the time difference. You sway from side to side to side to side.

“Jump.” Renjun suddenly says. Your head finally picks up, and you jump, your left foot and then your right. Awkwardly he catches both of your legs, letting your right leg go around his waist, and the other following. “There you go, sleep.” He kisses your hair softly. Your face heats up, but you didn’t care, turning your head to his chest and starting to close your eyes finally. “Renjun. . .” You say, yawning. “Yes?” He says in a low tone, going inside the dorm building. “I’m so glad I met you; you’re the best soulmate ever,” His chest moves up and down and he pretends to gag, “Aw, that pick up line won’t work on me, love.”

“I mean it!” you whine sleepily, “you’re the perfect soulmate, and I. . .” Your eyes flutter open and you mumble yourself to sleep. The next morning you sleep in, in your own bed. It’s already 9:30 in the morning, when you wake up with messy hair and the same clothes you wore last night. Connie is sitting in front of you, her arms crossed. “Fuck you.”

“Hmm?” You groan, still trying to fight yourself awake, “Huh?”

“Mark and I were trying to find you all night, and you were FUCKING HERE!”

“Ew you guys tried to follow Renjun—,” you gasp and sit up. “Renjun! What happened?”

“I’M HERE TO ASK YOU THAT, Y/N!” Connie groans, standing back up. “Plus if he was going to do anything Mark was going to fuck him up for you.” You shake your head, sitting up when you notice a yellow hoodie at the edge of your bed. It’s the same one Renjun wore last night. You shiver from the open window, and hesitantly put it on. The hoodie smells just like him, but you turn your nose away. Was that weird to just wear it? “Y/N. Tell. Me. Everything.” Connie says finally. You tell her the game you both are playing, and what you both did. “Then you weren’t out long. You fell asleep in his arms? Holy shit, was that your plan?”

“No! It’s just, because of the time zones, Connie.” You stretch and go to your closet, “I’m going to get ready to go out again, tell Mark to not go after us. Because Renjun and I will still play the game.”

“Weird ass soulmate flex but okay. Well, I’ll just be here,” Connie sighs, and you hear a knock on the door. You open it, to see a pink faced Renjun, with flowers the same colors as his cheeks in hand. Of course. Renjun bows, and he lets out quiet breaths. “I. . .ran all the way here. . .from my class so please. . .take these and let’s go.” He grumbles. You laugh, and help him stand back up, “How handsome. But that won’t work. I’m going to get dressed again. Wait here.” Renjun says, in a deep voice this time, “Of course milady, I shall wait for you here.” You roll your eyes, going inside your closet, a light tint on your cheeks. The game has begun, and you haven’t even planned an outfit yet.

It’s a calming, cloudy morning, the sun trying to push its way to shine on everything. Renjun and you walk side by side, towards the bus stop at the edge of the campus, his new hoodie on you. Everything is silent. But your mind races. Nothing huge but you still can’t stop thinking. Stop worrying about something. Did he really pick you up and let you sleep in his arms? Or was it a dream? Sure he’s your soulmate, and all of that shit. But he didn’t need to do that. Did he do it for the game? Your grip on your arm gets tighter and your gaze on your feet blurs as you zone out. Yes it was kind, but he could’ve been just flirting. Your heart wrenches, confused about the whole situation itself.

He stops walking and turns to you. “I’m hungry.” Your stomach grumbles in response. Renjun laughs and you pout cutely, “Let’s get pancakes! You’ll look so cute with some food in your mouth~!” You lean up, gently pinching his cheek. You can feel how soft his skin is -the passing thought making you wonder what his skin routine is- and kissing it. “Ah!” He lets out a small gasp after that, and he strokes your hair, “Fine. Let’s go for it. I’ll show you my favorite place,” Holding onto his arm, you and he walk, as you compliment him, “The sun is trying to find you today, they know you’re the angel they lost.”

“Did you look that up?”

“No shut up.” You say quickly, and he laughs, holding your arm. Like an ice cube on a hot day, you melt from the warmth, so you pout and rub his birthmark. Renjun winces, but he continues to walk, grumbling, “Stop,”

“Why? Catching feelings~?” You tease him by rubbing his birthmark some more, giggling at your abuse of power. Renjun clears his throat, “You haven’t even mentioned my new hair,” You did notice, but you were saving that pick up line for later. His hairstyle was pushed back, and the blonde washed out. Instead of a cute puppy like blonde, fluffy and easy to play with, it’s now a sky grey silver, slicked and styled back out of his eyes. Your eyes travel down the rest of his outfit. He looks like a model compared to your simple outfit. A pale white, thick turtleneck and black jeans, a large light brown coat on top. Renjun pulls you close to his body before you run into a stranger, “Look where you’re going, baby. I know you’re being distracted by my new look, but you need to focus on your beautiful self.” One point to him. That line was good, but you need to focus. You need to win. He helps you on the bus and you follow him, when there’s only one seat. “Sit down,” Renjun leads you gently, before you shake your head. “Please, I’ll be fine. You’re such a gentleman, you need to rest.” You pull yourself in behind of him, and gently nudge him to sit. Renjun furrows his eyebrows, and you have to hold yourself back from the cute face he makes, “No, Y/N—,”

“Please~?” You say, fluttering your eyelashes. “Being cute won’t work on me, Y/N.” Renjun sits down. You stand over him, laughing, “Yes it will. Why haven’t you left me then?”

“Because you’re you, that’s what makes me stay with you.” Fuck. You’re mute, another point won by him. You need to make him blush. Make him feel flustered as much as he does to you. After a few stops, you and he get off, and walk to a small cafe. The sun finally pushed through, and the clouds are fading to only large chunks, revealing a light blue sky. You hold his arm, playing with his fingers gently, smiling to yourself. “Looks like the sky found it’s angel they lost.” His arm tenses and you hum happily from the point you won, “Have you ever tried chicken and waffles?” Renjun wrinkles his nose, but he pauses and shakes his head. “Is that American?”

“Yeah, it’s super good. One day we should go, maybe back in Canada.”

“I was only there to visit a friend,” Renjun opens the door inside, and you thank him with a kiss on a cheek. Another point for you. The entire cafe is painted a grass green, having a cute look to it, with childishly painted frogs on the walls. Wooden tables are on the right. It’s obvious only couples went here, and the meals were made specially for two. Piano music plays overhead, a nice lofi beat behind it. You feel relaxed already. “Really? What do you like most about Canada?” Renjun pulls a chair for you, letting you sit down first, and then he sits down, “Well, the fact that Canada makes such good looking people like you.” How did you even let him get away with this.

“How sweet for you to take me here, Renjun,” taking his hand you rub his birthmark gently. The color change turns from the grey, to a sudden fire like red, and Renjun pouts. You found his weak spot, and another point to tie with him. A waiter comes to you both, placing down a menu. Renjun talks to the waiter, and you zone out, looking at the decor around you. All you can really hear is the order for pancakes, and something fluffy. The waiter leaves, and comes back with some green tea. You smile and look at Renjun, your body relaxing at the calm environment.

“How are soulmates taught in Korea?” Renjun sips on his tea, and shrugs, scratching the back of his hand as his eyes divert down. “I went to school in China, but even there we don’t really want to believe in it. I was always sort of hesitant to learn or know who my soulmate is. Whether they be romantic, friendly, I was pretty happy when I learned the different types, and wasn’t predicted with one. Maybe I didn’t have a connection, that’s okay.” His voice broke at the last word, and you felt your heart was too. You gulp, and look down too, nodding, “Why didn’t you want one?”

“I was afraid. . .that my own soulmate wouldn’t like me. That I wouldn’t like them. That my parents would disapprove. That I don’t deserve one, really.” You grab his hand, and you hold it to your heart, frowning. “You do. You deserve a soulmate. I’ve been looking for mine for my whole life, and you’re here now. You’ve treated me so kindly, like I matter to you. I’ve been so anxious moving to a new country, but once I met you, that all washed away. You do all kinds of sweet things for me. This whole cafe is cute. You picked me up at my own dorm, treated me out, gave me compliments, let me sleep, and you dropped me off at my own dorm. It’s me, who doesn’t deserve you, Renjun.” He looks up, and you both stare for a few moments.

“You win.” Renjun‘s lips barely move, but you hear those words. “What?” You say, lowering his hand. “I can’t beat that. You win the game. What do you want for dinner?” You wanted to get up and leave. Did he just really think you said that for the game? Your heart wants to explode. From anger, from frustration.

But you simply shake your head. “I don’t want that. I-I don’t know if you feel the same way, but, I love you. You’re literally perfect, and I’m thankful we met.” Renjun stares at you, and he slowly looks down. He gets up from his seat and bows, a sneaky smile on his face. “May I have this dance?” You hesitate. Was this still part of his game? You roll your eyes to yourself and take his hand.

Well fuck it. He’s your soulmate either way, and you and he were bound for life. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and his hands planted perfectly on your waist, you both sway, and you lay your head on his shoulder. “Remember,” he sings softly, in your ear, and chills run down your body, and you hold him closer. Everything feels right. He hasn’t responded to your confession, but that thought is far off your mind. His arms around you, the music leading you both, his own warmth; The feeling of him being here with you.

“I’ll be with you, always,” he sings with the music quietly, his hand playing with your hair. He gives soft kisses from your head, down to your own chin, he hovers over your lips. You nod, and he leans in, as you both finally kiss, pulling each other closer every second. You felt everything, his feelings, the new rush of contentment, his body on yours, the way he smiles against the kiss, your giggles, his touch, your small bounce to reach his lips continuously. Your souls connect. You both pull away, his forehead on the top of your head, small tears coming out of his eyes.

“Thank you, so much Y/N.”

“No problem, love.” God, that name rolled off your tongue with such ease, and you held him closer, kissing his nose and his lips after. “I love you,” he whispers, as you both sway away, laughing at the feeling, mirroring each other. “My love,” he sings, the cafe echoing his voice from corner to corner. The rest of the morning is you dancing with Renjun, singing together, kissing each other, touching each other closely, and letting your worries wash away as the sun rises high, shining proudly with no cloud in sight.

[foxtophat]

(still trying to figure out how i link these but whatever)

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!! i decided to just sit down and hammer out the last edits for this lil one-shot so i could get it out today!

i’m gonna be real with you: the only reason i wrote this fic is because i couldn’t get the idea out of my head.  you weren’t supposed to see mercyverse for another month, honestly!!! but it’s been cold as fuck here and it’s made me fantasize about classic bed-sharing tropes, and so here we are!

this is a bit of a slice of life, to sort of give an idea of how day-to-day these guys all interact, especially now that carmina doesn’t have to pretend john doesn’t exist.  plus, i’m starting to see how the caches might be involved in the overarching plot???? awesome!!!

as usual, the full text is below the cut for my friends who don’t wanna leave tumblr.  i hope you enjoy -- feel free to leave a comment, i loooove hearing from readers. likes and reblogs are also great! kudos are fantastic! adding to the hit counter is just fine by me!!! anything you do to show support for fanfic is a good thing imo.  i hope y’all have a happy wintereenmas or whatever and i will see you guys in 2021 with more mercyverse :)

The best thing Nick can say about the blizzard currently sweeping the county is that he could see that it was coming. They'd gotten almost a foot of snow the night before, which gets him worried about getting snowed in, and as the day progresses, the sky grows an ominous gray that Nick recognizes from a lifetime of living in the area. He knows that they probably only have a few hours left before they're going to want to get inside and avoid the worst a winter storm has to offer.

Nick and John spend the entire morning hauling wood into the house, while Kim does her best to clean out the broken chimney and ensure they won't die of smoke inhalation. They also pull in some pre-made stock that Kim had left in the freezer after it had gotten cold enough to use, as well as a few smaller pieces for miscellaneous projects. But with the storm rolling in overhead, they don't have long; they end up leaving a lot of things for later as the wind whips up around them and turns the snow sideways.

By two in the afternoon, they've closed the doors to officially bunker down for the rest of the blizzard. They have enough wood to last them three days, plus their military rations and plenty of coffee, so Nick isn't particularly concerned about their safety. The only thing he's really got to contend with is boredom, which is easier to stave off in the first few hours of captivity than it is later in the evening.

For the most part, Nick passes the time by sharpening their knives, cleaning their guns, and checking the radio every hour for any emergencies. The blizzard ensures that not many people are on, but at least he gets to check in with Jerome and make sure that Grace is safely in her bunker. It's unlikely they'll get in contact with the trailer park until after the worst passes, but that just means Nick's gonna worry about those jackasses all night.

Kim is probably the only one comfortable with the downtime, making the most of things as she chews on the radio's instructions. When the technical jargon gets to be too much, she switches to entertaining Carmina, who gets bored quick when her only job is to keep the fire going. The easiest distraction comes from card games; the deck they'd had in the bunker had shrunk to only 32 cards, but now that they've got a full deck to work with, Carmina is eager to relearn and master games like Go Fish and Old Maid. Nick doubts Jacob planned to be entertaining kids with his survival gear, but it's not like the guy's gonna complain.

Carmina isn't the only one that Jacob is keeping busy beyond the grave. Ever since they found that cache of his, John has been borderline obsessed with figuring out what the point of it could be. He'll go all day without mentioning the puzzle plaguing him, but any available downtime has him staring at the map and its coordinates. Nick and Kim have both been keeping an eye on it, just in case it turns into something worse than his usual tunnel-vision, but so far it hasn't gotten out of hand. If anything, John seems more aware and alert now that he has something to focus on, and now Nick can even pretend he's a normal guy for conversations at a time before being reminded otherwise.

Of course, the blizzard's making it impossible to find alternate distractions. John does spend part of the afternoon in his room, but eventually, he can't help but come downstairs to mull over the map. There's only one problem with that — they've hung the map up in the radio room, so there's about ten minutes every hour where Nick has no choice but to sit in John's presence. It probably wouldn't bother him so much if there was somewhere else either of them could be, but they're stuck for the foreseeable future. John's looming is just going to be part of Nick's life until the storm passes.

In the interest of keeping the peace, Nick reluctantly tries to have the same level of interest in the random dots that John shows. His attention, however, is distracted by the penciled-in changes that he, Kim and John have all been making to the landscape. The river's wider in some places now, and there are doodles of trees in spaces that were once open fields. A few X's mark places where bridges have collapsed, and Kim's circled anywhere they've made radio contact with. Their notations have scattered across the valley, and have even spread over to the river region thanks to Hurk and his raider gang, but they still don't know anything about the mountains, or even the spaces that are supposedly occupied by bow-wielding religious nutjobs. It's going to be a while before any of them get the nerve to go poking that particular hornet's nest.

John has his little notebook open, but he's not writing anything down. Nick's not sure what he would even put down, since they haven't gotten any more leads since early autumn, but he's always got the thing tucked in a pocket nowadays. Maybe Nick should be mad he outright stole that resource from the rest of them, but — well, come on. He can't yell at the man for taking up journaling, not without flying in the face of every therapist Nick had pretended not to listen to. It's just... well, what the hell is there for him to write down?

"Are you staring for any particular reason?" John asks, because of course he does.

"That's rich, coming from the guy lurking over my shoulder all day." Nick flips off the static-ridden radio frequency, leaning back in his chair so that he can get a better look at the map push-pinned to the wall. "I hear if you look at it just right, you can see a sailboat."

John's clearly not much of a Kevin Smith fan, because he only sighs heavily at Nick's flat joke. "If you have something better for me to be doing, I'm all ears," he says, revealing to Nick at last just how bored he really is. Weirdly enough, being in the same boat as John is somehow reassuring.

"Okay, fine. At least tell me what you're staring at, so I know what to fake interest in."

Even though it's mostly a joke, it lands softly enough that John doesn't take offense. Stuffing the notebook in his back pocket, he shakes his head, gesturing at the map. Getting John to explain himself is usually like pulling teeth, but right now he seems relieved to have someone to bounce his thoughts off of. It's a long way away from the guy Nick remembers saving, enough so that it almost catches his full interest.

"It's nothing in particular, really. I've already spent hours staring at this thing, but I'm... still looking for a pattern, I guess. Jacob was paranoid and secretive, but if there's a hidden code buried in these coordinates, it's beyond me to see it. And the snow was already keeping us from traveling too far — now with this blizzard, we're likely stuck with no new information until spring ..."

John sighs, rubbing his forehead as the pretense finally abandons him. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do until then."

That's certainly a feeling that Nick can relate to. Nick is less of a workaholic than John might be, but that doesn't mean he won't go stir-crazy without his own set of chores. Hell, that's why he's been hanging around the radio in between games of cards with the girls and cleaning whatever he can get his hands on. It must suck extra for John; the guy's been spinning his tires in the dirt for years, probably, and being this close to having a purpose beyond doing whatever chores Nick sets him to must be irritating.

Nick props one leg up against the wall, tapping his boot against the wood as he ponders the dots scattered around the map. There are a few still in the valley, but there's no driving until they thaw out. The points in the mountains are probably inaccessible to anybody, and who knows when they'll get to investigate the old vet center or find the Wolf's Den. There are a couple points nearer the trailer park, though, and not for the first time Nick tries to measure the distance from Hurk to the various red dots. There's one near the lumber mill, and one near where that godawful statue was, and of course one right smack dab in the middle of the original Peggy compound.

Nick can't imagine his truck making it all the way there and back, not without more information about the roads. Hurk might not have the same trouble. "I could send the trailer park a couple coordinates," he points out. "They might get to search before us, and it could cut the work in half."

Despite John's scowl, he only sounds tired as he replies, "I've considered it, but I don't trust them. Then again, I hardly trust myself, so who knows."

"I guess you're shit outta luck, then," Nick says. John takes obvious offense at Nick brushing him off, but hey, what else is Nick supposed to do? "God's giving you a freebie with this blizzard. Maybe you should try catching up on your sleep, or something."

"And ruin the precarious schedule I'm keeping?"

"Jesus, then go read a book! Just — you know, quit hovering over me all day. Don't you know how to entertain yourself?"

John seems unphased by Nick's half-hearted outburst. "This is how I entertain myself. Maps, resources, legal documents — that's probably the only decent outlet I've ever had." He stares at Nick's boot, unwilling to meet his eyes. "At least, it's the only one healthy enough to keep."

That is probably a safe bet, Nick realizes, quickly trying to backpedal away from the open scab that is John's history. "Uh, well, what about before the cult?"

John surprises them both with a brief laugh. "If I could source some coke, then yes, I would be entertained."

"Jesus, John."

"I'm not known for my healthy self-care habits," John points out, a little too smug to be truly self-deprecating. At least he seems to understand what Nick had been getting at originally, deferring with a vague hand-wave. "Is my loitering in the kitchen going to be too smothering for you, too, or is that okay?"

Nick rolls his eyes, flipping the radio back on to scan the channels once again. "It's fine, whatever. Just as long as you've got something better to entertain yourself than snaking the whiskey Jacob left."

"I'm more of a gin guy," John admits.

"Of course you are."

It's still a relief, though, knowing they aren't keeping an alcoholic too near his fix. On top of that, John's relaxed disregard for his past vices settles nerves Nick hadn't even realized were rattled. Sure, there's probably a whole other box of American Psycho- esque worms waiting to be opened up from John's time before Eden's Gate, but at least he seems to have comfortably packed that part of his life away for now. Unlike talking about the cult, John has no trouble dropping the conversation, just as casually as he'd brought it up. He retreats into the kitchen to mull over whatever he's written down already, leaving behind no traumatic story or sad-eyed stare — just the casual admission that he would really like to do some drugs.

Weirdly enough, that is probably the most respectable thing about John to date.

Nick spends another fifteen minutes checking the radio, scanning the channels he knows people use most. He winds up with nothing to show for it — either the storm is making radio communication impossible, or everybody else has given up on their radios. It's only after he's cleared the range twice that he flips the radio off and escapes back to Kim and Carmina, leaving John in the kitchen with a broad, somehow-sarcastic gesture towards the now unoccupied radio nook.

Carmina ropes Nick into a game of Go Fish, which Kim seems keen on losing. Nick isn't surprised — Carmina is a wily player, which is to say that she tries to bluff her way through hands with all the grace of a sledgehammer. Kim's not as willing to put up with cheating as Nick is, but neither of them are capable of even pretending to believe Carmina's poker face. It's going to be a problem one day, but Nick isn't exactly ready to teach his daughter how to lie to his face.

Well, that is until she and Nick are on their third round of Go Fish, and Nick has had to pretend not to see through all of Carmina's gambits.

He asks her if she has any threes, and she scrunches her nose up as she glances meaningfully at her cards. "Go fish," she says, making Nick regret not having Kim sit right behind their daughter as a referee.

"Fine," he grumbles, "If you say so."

Kim blinks skeptically at the pants she's fixing, but she doesn't offer Nick any out. If it weren't for his clumsy hands, maybe he could use darning socks and patching shirts as an excuse to quit playing, but as it stands, the only thing he has other than getting trounced is staring at the map with John. And since he already tried that and found it to be mildly aggravating at best...

"You know, this would be more fun with more people," Nick says, desperately glancing at Kim.

Kim, of course, gives him no quarter. "Why don't you ask John," she suggests rhetorically.

"John," Carmina calls out, "Do you wanna play Go Fish?"

Nick opens his mouth to chastise Carmina, but he realizes there's nothing to discipline her for. Especially not when John flippantly replies, "I think your father's looking to play with fewer cheaters, not more."

"I'm not cheating!" Carmina exclaims, not-so-surreptitiously pressing her cards into her lap to ensure nobody's looking at them. Between that and her guiltily furrowed brow, there's no hiding it. Her poker face needs a lot of work.

"Go Fish isn't even worth cheating at," Nick sighs, gesturing for her cards. "If that's the way you wanna play, at least do it the right way. Here, gimme your cards — John, come over here so I can teach my daughter how to lie to your face."

As if playing a game of cards with John wasn't enough to excite Carmina, she's doubly over the moon when he tells her the rules. After all, a ten-year-old girl is the prime demographic for the game Bullshit, especially when she's given carte blanche to shout cuss words at her dad. On top of that, it seems like bluffing really is half of the fun for his daughter — which is a little intimidating, sure, but at least he knows she's smart enough to understand the utility of lying.

John is... unenthusiastic, to say the least, but that only makes the prospect of humiliating him that much better. A few weeks ago, Nick would've thought John was too fragile to be messed with, but now there's a bounce in his step that will make taking him down easier. He's got to do something to remind himself that this nearly-tolerable man is usually a miserable sonofabitch.

Unfortunately, John has a fantastic poker face. Nick figured that from the get-go, but it's still daunting to play against a bored, uninterested party. That's probably why Carmina avoids John in favor of hounding Nick, calling out "bullshit!" with delightful glee whenever she thinks Nick has dropped the wrong face card or played a nine instead of a King. On the one hand, Nick appreciates that he can read her as well as she can, but on the other hand, he'd really like a chance to beat John. So far, he's the only one who's called John out, and all he has to show for it is the extra six cards in his hand.

Although Kim is on standby for this round, she keeps flashing Nick amused grins whenever Carmina calls bullshit. Nick almost hopes John can hold it together to be mundane for two entire rounds of cards because he wouldn't stand a chance against Kim.

Case in point, John lays down two cards that are meant to be threes, and Kim clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Carmina frowns up at her mom, who only shrugs and suggests, "I would call him out, if I were you."

John's neutral frown doesn't change. "Last I checked, you weren't playing," he says.

Kim only shrugs in response. Nick furrows his brow at Kim while Carmina squints suspiciously from the discard pile to John and then back again. Of course, encouraging a ten-year-old to swear is always going to win out, and so Carmina wrinkles her nose and calls John out with a slightly uncertain, "Okay, bullshit."

Without so much as a grimace of defeat, John lets Carmina flip his played cards — one three, and one dirty, rotten, lying, bullshit seven .

"That's what I thought," Kim says, flippantly triumphant. "Guess you're not as hard to read as you thought."

Nick sure can't tell what John's thinking as he lifts one shoulder noncommittally. "I stand corrected."

"Wait," Nick asks, "What gave it away?"

"I'm not helping you too , Nick," Kim laughs. "That wouldn't be fair."

"It's not exactly fair to help Carmina," John points out. Nick bets he's just as interested in what tell Kim noticed, although he manages to be less obvious about it. At least he can't crack Kim's smug smile any better than Nick, which is some small compensation.

Nick manages to win this hand, if only because his play strategy involves lying as little as possible. That seems to work against Carmina no problem, but Nick suspects John threw the game out of personal disinterest. If it weren't for the howling winds whistling through the roof and second story, John would probably excuse himself from another hand by retreating upstairs, but as it is he manages to sit through one more round of cards, this time with Kim joining in.

Carmina's poker-face doesn't improve by leaps and bounds, exactly, but she manages to fool Nick into picking up a fat stack of cards, so that's something. Too bad he'd been trying to teach her to lie to John , not her parents. Well — at least she's a nice enough kid to only do it for fun. He hopes, anyway.

Kim makes John's loss look more organic, at least, and she doesn't rub it in too badly when she wins. It's extra kind of her considering Nick is the one who called her last play bullshit, leaving him to rot in miserable third place after both his girls. Well, fine . At least Carmina seemed to have fun, even if Nick is now sitting with nearly half a deck in his hands. If the blizzard keeps up for too long, they might have to graduate to poker.

Before they can play any more card games, though, they take time out for dinner. It's almost normal, sitting around the fireplace with their military rations and some hot broth — if they were eating Marie Calendar pot-pies and watching Christmas movies, Nick would even be able to ignore John's presence sticking out like a sore thumb.

The next best thing to watching movies is talking about them, which has become something of a tradition between the Ryes. It all started in the bunker, where Kim and Nick ran out of normal Christmas stories and began taking turns narrating whatever holiday movies they could remember. They've run through all the memorable Rankin & Bass flicks, as well as a couple more contemporary ones, so they're starting to reach for their personal favorites or the very bottom of the barrel plots.

Nick intends to be paying Jingle All the Way a tribute tonight, but as soon as he mentions that the Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle is one of his favorites, he's interrupted by John snorting derisively.

"Let me guess," Nick snaps, "You're one of those jackasses who pretends Die Hard is a legitimate Christmas movie just so he doesn't have to watch good, family-friendly content."

"It is a legitimate Christmas movie," John responds, just petulantly enough to tell Nick he hit the nail on the head.

"Look, Kim and I have already had this discussion — just because it takes place during Christmas doesn't make it a Christmas movie . Set dressing alone isn't enough!"

John raises his eyes towards the ceiling, which is as subtle as his eyerolls can get. "Whatever you say, Nick."

"What's Die Hard about?" Carmina asks, excitedly guessing, "Does Santa get to shoot people in it?"

"That would be a good Christmas movie," Nick replies. "No, it's just about some guy who has to fight bad guys in a building."

"During Christmas," Kim points out.

"Okay, fine during Christmas. But nobody's dressed up like Santa, nobody sings any carols, and there sure as hell isn't any Christmas magic that saves the day, so it doesn't count!"

"So what does happen?" Carmina asks.

Damn it — Nick should have known that talking about an action flick would immediately disinterest her towards any sloppy story about consumerism. She doesn't even know what a mall is — but she knows how to shoot a handgun, and now that Nick's thinking about it, she might need to use the duct-tape shoulder holster trick one day. It would be pretty bad-ass if she knew how, anyway.

"Okay, fine, I'll do it real quick. I don't remember all the parts, so Kim, you gotta help."

Real quick turns out to take almost as much time as the movie itself had. Kim interjects whenever Nick forgets a plot point, but at least he remembers the core conflict. Sort of, anyway — by the time he's done recounting John McClane's tale, John looks visibly dissatisfied, and Kim has a "well, sort of" expression on her face that implies he didn't quite nail the execution. Well, who cares what they think? All that matters is that Carmina is entertained, and of course she is. After all, narrated or not, it's still Die Hard . Just so long as she doesn't ask about the sequels, they should be okay.

The wind is still whipping overhead, and Nick can see nothing beyond the windows. There's no telling how late it's gotten. Although his internal clock insists it can't have been that long since sundown, Carmina has been yawning for a while now, and the fire's gone down again. It looks like sleeping through the storm is the only pastime left for Nick to try.

Carmina takes over stoking the fire for the final time before bed, while Kim makes her way upstairs to gather as much of their bedding as she can carry. John follows reluctantly behind, clearly unhappy with the prospect of facing his own cold room, but Nick figures he can deal for five damn minutes. For his part, Nick busies himself checking the radio one last time, just in case there's an emergency. He doesn't know what they'd be able to do if there was one, but that doesn't stop him from checking anyway.

With the radio situated just under the stairs, it's easy to listen in to Kim stomping around in the room above, desperate to keep her temperature up. Nick had put off too many attic repairs before this winter — he's going to have to make up for that in spring, when he and John can worm their way into the rafters and ensure that their next winter won't turn the bedrooms into a cold wasteland. Of course, even if they did patch up the gaps in the floorboards and do their best to insulate the attic, not much can beat a genuine fire in the middle of a snowstorm.

Nick isn't even paying attention to the radio, so he flips it off and trusts that everyone can keep themselves safe for another night. He hears the whump of fabric as Kim tosses their two biggest, least moldy blankets down for Carmina to start with, and the creak of footsteps on the landing overhead. Kim's voice isn't raised, but it carries down to Nick clear as a bell.

"John, you'll freeze if you stay up here," she says. "Get your stuff and come downstairs."

"It's not that cold," John says, attempting to deflect from one weak excuse with another. "I doubt Nick approved that suggestion."

Well, not technically, no, but Nick had sort of assumed they were already all on the same page. What does John think Nick's gonna do, force him to freeze upstairs so he can hog the fireplace all to himself?

Kim doesn't give the excuses a chance to breathe, replying with parental exasperation. "He and I both agree it's too cold to sleep upstairs." Nick can hear the teasing plain as day when she adds, "Just don't be weird about it."

Sure enough, suggesting John might be making things awkward is enough to get him to shut up and follow orders. Nick briefly longs for the days when John would mutely nod and do as told without any additional goading, but only for a second. Even that is long enough retrospection to remind Nick of how creepy and genuinely alarming it had been. Sure, John might get argumentative or exasperated now, but at least there's an actual person to communicate with. Nick might want to kick his ass more now than before, but he absolutely hated dealing with the hollow-eyed monster John had been.

Besides, it's way more satisfying being a dick to him now that he actually gets offended.

Despite John's furrowed-brow glares, Nick doesn't comment whatsoever on him trailing downstairs after Kim, clutching two actual blankets and a tarp that's weather-worn enough to pass muster. He stands and waits for someone to point him in the right direction as Kim and Carmina do their best to bundle together a soft place on the floor, but Nick studiously ignores him until he makes a decision himself. John takes a spot close to the fireplace, off to the right of where the girls are setting up. It's still plenty removed enough, so that nobody will get the wrong idea and think John is supposed to be welcome down here. Nick wonders who he's trying to convince, but there are so many damn demons in the man's head, it's anybody's guess.

With the fire roaring for the last time that night, all the blankets arranged and everybody looking exhausted despite not doing anything all day, Nick finally gets to crawl into bed and put this whole goddamn blizzard behind him. Hopefully, the weather has the common sense to clear up tomorrow — for now, it's time to shut out the cold entirely.

He must be tired. Nick barely stays conscious as Kim and Carmina climb under the blankets, the cool air rapidly warming as they begin to shift around and get comfortable. He rouses a few times at first as Carmina kicks his leg and Kim bumps into him, but eventually, he finds himself dozing in the silence of a quiet house. Far above them, the wind is whipping through the attic, but from down here, it sounds like a generic white-noise machine; coupled with the crackling fire, Nick is lulled to sleep by the sounds of peaceful normalcy.

Who knows how long it is before Nick finds himself conscious again. Even then, he only wakes enough to hear the dying fire popping by his feet. Maybe he should stoke it. But that would mean moving, and Nick is weighted down on either side beneath warm blankets, so that's a hard no. He tries first to roll towards Kim and Carmina, ready to curl into a ball and conserve even more heat, but his right arm is stuck. It takes a few bleary-eyed blinks to realize what's pinned him down, but he's barely coherent enough to make sense of it.

Sometime in the night, John must've migrated from the no-man's-land he'd made for himself towards the Rye's pile of blankets. Unsurprising, really — but more than a little awkward, given how he's pressed into Nick's side, pinning Nick's arm in place. Worse yet, half of his blankets have been absorbed into the mess that Nick's been using to keep warm, which is going to make extracting himself tricky if not impossible.

While he tries to figure out how to avoid making this mortifying situation worse, Nick watches John for any signs of consciousness. The guy usually sleeps light, but Nick watches his breathing for a solid minute and doesn't catch anything. Either his poker-face is just that good, or John is actually asleep. Deeply, peacefully asleep. Nick had assumed that was impossible.

If Nick were a better person, he'd probably be thankful to see it. Glad to know that John's insomnia might finally be coming to an end. But Nick is mostly just an exhausted, anxious mess, and now he's just wondering how to get out of the situation he's found himself in.

John shifts, and like a guilty ten-year-old, Nick immediately closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. If he's lucky, John will roll away of his own volition, or at least move enough to let Nick roll over himself. If only he'd decided to sleep on Kim's side — she wouldn't have the same trouble Nick has. She'd just kick him away and be done with it.

Slowly, John moves away from Nick. The relief is short-lived as John pulls back the covers enough to send a cold chill down Nick's side; it's a split-second decision that John immediately regrets, hissing under his breath and letting the blankets fall back into place as he recoils from the freezing temperatures.

Nick can't help his quiet huff of amusement — which is enough to break the illusion that he'd been asleep in the first place. He could probably still fake it, but if he does, John will definitely try to move his blankets, and that is going to be a much bigger problem than tolerating John in his personal space.

"Quit squirming so much," Nick mutters. "Gonna let in the cold."

John is silent and tense beside him, but he does stop squirming. It's like lying near a tense bar of iron. After a brief struggle to figure out what to say, John's embarrassment catches in his voice as he apologizes. "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I — must have been tired."

Nick sighs. "Just don't crush my arm again."

Even though John moves as though Nick threatened him, he stops short of retreating from the blankets entirely. Nick can only imagine how cold it must be — every breath of his that makes it above the blanket-line comes with a faint puff of visible air. No matter how humiliating it might be to cuddle up to Nick, it doesn't seem like John had much of a choice in the matter.

Before John can decide to try escaping again, Nick repeats, "Whatever you do, don't let in the cold."

In for a penny, Nick decides, worming deeper into the makeshift bed so that John can have more room. Rolling over is the easiest way to avoid the mortifying process of finding a comfortable sleeping arrangement. Eventually, they wind up back-to-back; Nick normally wouldn't be able to stand John touching him, but the additional body-heat does a lot to soothe Nick's reservations. Who knew all he needed to tolerate John's physical presence would be cold weather and exhaustion?

The Deputy, probably, which only makes Nick grin in tired relief. At least they would be glad to know that Nick's grown as a person. They'd probably be glad to learn he's finally gotten on-board with not murdering the Seeds in cold blood — even if it took an apocalypse to get there. If they could see the shit he's gotten himself into now, they'd probably...

He sighs. It must be a heavier sound than he imagined, because John whispers, "What?"

"Nothing," Nick says immediately, as default an answer as John's yeses are. But that's not fair, he doesn't think, because they never let John get away with his obvious deflections. As late as it is, it's easy to blame his guilt on his exhaustion. "Just thinking about Rook," he admits.

"Oh."

John is clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but he doesn't react when Nick continues sleepily, "They'd get a kick outta this, is all."

John hums. It's a quiet noise, but Nick can feel it vibrate through John's shirt. If there are two people Nick hates bringing Rook up around, it's Sharky and John. Sure, Sharky's crush was the one that was reciprocated, but Dep had always treated John's flat-footed overtures like creepy compliments instead of outright threats. They'd probably figured John's crush was superficial, whereas Sharky's had been more real than probably anything else Nick had seen the poor sap go through. John's infatuation had been about power, control, and Joseph goddamn Seed. Still, Nick can't help but wonder just how much of it might've been real to John at the time.

"They had a bad sense of humor," John finally responds, quietly enough that Nick almost misses the hurt.

"Terrible," Nick agrees.

When John sighs, Nick recognizes it as a sign of defeat. Whatever he's debating with himself, he's clearly lost. Although he doesn't speak up again, Nick isn't sure he's gone back to sleep. He sure hopes he didn't just instill another restless night in the guy, but that's John's burden to bear. Maybe he can use it to finally find some common ground with Sharky.

Nick isn't even sure that he can fall back asleep, but that doesn't seem to matter. Before he knows it, he's being woken up once more — this time by a glance of sunlight coming in through the upper part of the windows. It's just enough light to wake him, but he spends an exhausted minute staring at the wall over Kim's shoulder as he debates whether or not he's really committing this time. He's going to need to use the bathroom sooner or later — and just thinking that is enough to tell Nick that he's not getting back to sleep again.

John's back is still facing Nick, and Kim rolls away as soon as Nick starts to squirm, which leaves his path to escape much more open than it was a few hours ago. He manages to pull himself free without waking anyone else, but as soon as he does, John worms into the warm spot left behind. Nick should probably be upset, but mostly he just needs to pee. He can kick John out of his spot after he takes care of himself.

Nick leaves the rest of them to sleep as he tiptoes across the living room to the front door. Unfortunately, the door only wedges open an inch before it hits a wall of snow. Unwilling to wake anyone else up with catastrophic noise, Nick heads upstairs, going for the broken window in John's room. It's freezing up here, cold enough to keep meat until spring, and Nick pulls his flannel closer as he crosses the room, trying not to take too much stock of his surroundings. He doesn't care about the tallies John used to carve in the wall by his bed, and he definitely doesn't care to snoop through the pile of clothes that John's been growing in the corner. What he does care about is how easy it is to crawl out onto the roof from the window — after all, this isn't the first time Nick's been snowed in, and he's made escaping his childhood home an art-form.

There's a good three and a half feet of snow on the ground below, blocking any exit from the first floor. At least the gray sky above is calm, and the weather seems to have calmed down some. They'll have to prepare for another couple of inches before the week's out, but Nick bets the worst of it is over. Now he can think about breakfast — more specifically, coffee — and debate the best way to clear the doorways. They need a path out to the hangar, although they can wait another day or two before they'll need to press the matter. Nick's still convinced there's a set of tire chains hiding away in there, but it's not like the roads will be in any condition to drive on for a while yet...

Nick spends so much time thinking about what he's got to do, he forgets to consider how willing the rest of the house will be to pitch in. The top-of-the-snow sunlight isn't enough heat to make up for the lack of a fire, and getting Kim out from under the blankets is gonna be like pulling teeth until he does something about it. Worse yet, John's rolled into the spot Nick had occupied — not exactly sprawled out, or anything, but the guy is irritatingly close to Kim's sleeping back. If he decided to roll one more time, he'd probably end up smacking his face into her shoulder.

Nick considers throwing a fit on principle, but honestly, that's too much work. It's much easier to sulk, glowering at the bed he's definitely not getting back into before getting some logs to stack in the fire. He drops them noisily by John's feet, although he makes every effort not to accidentally pull a Misery on the guy.

The sound of hollow wood clattering on the ground is enough to stir John, who wakes with a sharp inhale, and cause Carmina to groan and turn away from the noise. Kim has probably been awake for a while now, but it won't make a lick of difference until the fire's on.

He turns away to toss the logs semi-haphazardly into the fireplace, then remembers the kindling and turns to get it. John has propped himself on his elbows, but his half-waking confusion causes him to overlook Nick entirely as he stares around the room. Seeing Kim and Carmina asleep next to him is initially met with confusion. He barely seems to recognize the shapes bundled in the blankets, but when he does he recoils in shock. All the nasty comments Nick had thought up take an abrupt backseat as he stops to marvel at the physical repulsion John shows. He's not sure if he should be offended or not. Probably not, but this apocalypse has got Nick wired all wrong.

"She's not gonna bite," Nick says. John whips his attention back to Nick the moment he raises his voice, only for Nick to realize that looming over the guy with a thick block of wood in hand might send the wrong message.

Sure enough, John catches sight of him, jerking back with a startled hiss. " Jesus !"

"Shit, sorry." Nick turns and drops the log, wincing at the noise that he'd moments ago been deliberately making. "Well, judging from that reaction, looks like this isn't the first time a man's caught you in bed with his wife."

John's withering glare is enough to lift Nick's mood right up. He turns his attention back to starting the fire, listening as John slowly shifts his way free of the blankets. Part of him wants to make a few more jokes at John's expense, but that can wait until John's coherent enough to be snide in return.

Nick gets the fire going and turns to follow John, who's made his way into the kitchen to peer out the window. "Completely snowed in," Nick tells him as he gets the instant coffee and the beat-up kettle. "But it looks like the worst of it's over."

"Seems to be," John agrees, adding, "We forgot the shovels in the truck. It's going to be difficult digging them out now."

"Not a lot of other options, unless you wanna stay inside until the big thaw. Don't worry, I'm sure Carmina will be excited to help us dig."

John hums in assent, although his mind seems to be somewhere else. Nick can't help but notice that John's pensive states seem damned near reasonable nowadays. He has plenty to think about, and he seems to be keeping one foot in the here-and-now. He's aware enough of his surroundings that he stops Nick before he can leave John to it.

He tries to stare Nick down, but he can't quite manage it. "Thank you for not..."

John gestures vaguely as the rest of the sentence fails to generate. Nick could probably wait it out, but he's just as embarrassed as John apparently is, and he would rather move past the whole thing.

"Don't worry about it," Nick says. "Just don't get too comfortable cuddling up to me."

Rolling his eyes doesn't hide John's faint smile, but he turns away before Nick can see if it lasts. "That won't be a problem, trust me."

Nick is surprised that he does, even for something as small and inconsequential as a joke. "Grab the mugs when you're done looking for Santa," he says, turning back for the warmth of the fire. A few months ago, Nick might've resented how eroded the line has become between John and his own family, but it's honestly too much work to keep up. At a certain point, they're just going to have to include John in their daily routines — Nick just hadn't expected that point to be made by sharing blankets during a blizzard.

Well, there's one good thing about that, Nick supposes — it means that somewhere up there, the Deputy is watching over them. After all, there's no way in hell random chance has the same shitty sense of humor as Rook had.

[alexeishostakoff]

u thought i was done with that marvel it au? fool. i will never be done.

meet the losers club: sharon, natasha, maria, nakia, pepper, helen, & sam

sam’s best friend riley went missing. he won’t say he’s dead, refuses to say he’s dead, just keeps looking for him even when it’s been months and everyone else shoots him pitying glances that make him want to scream but he can’t so he balls his hands into fists and keeps his head down

maria just moved into town. she’s quiet, reserved, spends too much time at the library, probably. really, she just wants to stay out of the house, it’s not like she has friends to talk to, and derry’s history is actually pretty fascinating. fucked up, but what about this place isn’t? she’s always liked true crime

nakia’s homeschooled. she’s okay with it, but it’s a little lonely, if she’s being honest - the other kids mostly ignore her. except for t’challa, but he’s different, his dad works with her dad, he has to like her. she’s learned how to pull a trigger without throwing up, but that doesn’t mean she’s not lying when she tells her dad she likes the work

helen’s fine! she’s fine! her inhaler is broken and that hecking jerk down the street shoved her into the mud and she can’t get the dirt out from under her nails but it is Fine!! she’d become a doctor one day if she weren’t so nervous about getting sick. she reads scientific textbooks for fun and is sharon’s kinder half, honestly

sharon refuses to act like she gives a shit about what anyone thinks. loud, blunt, bi, terrified of coming out, perpetually with scraped knees and bandaids over her knuckles, she might not be as brave as she acts, not that she’d admit it. once iconically responded to being called trashmouth by yelling ‘suck my dick’ and then stitching it onto the back of her favorite denim jacket

pepper’s the Good Kid. she always earns straight as and doesn’t get her skirt covered in dirt *cough*sharon*cough*. she’s 100% done all the time and rolls her eyes a lot. she’s very loyal and dedicated, she’s known sharon since forever, and she usually offers the more rational response to situations. can be overly cautious

natasha cuts her hair short and sticks to herself, is snarky and fierce and rebellious and kind. she’s only ever really kissed one guy, but that doesn’t stop everyone from saying otherwise. she’s given more than one black eye to someone who talked shit. her father terrifies her, but she never says a word, and sometimes she thinks about how to get rid of him permanently

sam’s never told a soul but sometimes he goes out at night armed with a pocketknife and a flashlight and sheer determination and tries to find riley. he hasn’t yet worked up the nerve to go into the sewers alone but he’s getting there

nat saw him one night when it was raining and didn’t bother to ask what he was doing, just grabbed her boots and raincoat and jumped from puddle to puddle and they didn’t talk but sam found it strangely comforting and when they went their separate ways she gave him her lucky golden lighter that she stole from the dollar store on third street

sharon's...not really good with feelings. she mostly tells jokes to hide it when she's hurting or scared and she's so good at it but when she was twelve her father died and she wasn't sure that she could keep it all in and she went into the woods and cried a little and wondered where she'd end up if she just wandered off and saw where it took her

nakia found her on her way home halfway through the day and noticed her tear stained face before she could hide it and offered her half of her lunch and well. sharon wasn't going to say no to a pbj sandwich and someone to talk to

pepper was failing biology first quarter freshman year and she started to get really anxious before every test and she and helen had never been super close but that didn't stop helen from helping her study and staying up late the night before the test to work with her

no one talks to maria because she’s the new kid but it’s not like natasha has any popularity to lose so on the last day of school she helps maria pick up her fallen papers and jokes a little with her about new kid on the block

this was NOT well thought out plot wise but whatever!! whatever

all of them see the clown - see things that haunt their nightmares but who are they going to tell?

nakia brings it up with her father, who brushes her off with mutters about superstition and derry being cursed.

helen starts to say something, then thinks better of it, because sharon would only laugh at her, anyways.

and sharon isn’t allowed to be scared so when she sees a clown outside of her house she doesn’t say a fucking word.

maria gets chased out of the library by a dark shadow that was hiding in the stacks, and when she tries to tell the librarian she only stares at her.

pepper sees a woman that leaves her shaking with fear and tries to rationalize it, to calm herself down, but that doesn’t do anything to stop the nightmares.

natasha knows better than to talk to her father, and sam, well - sam still haunts the street at night, even when he thinks he hears someone following him.

maria gets beat up by rumlow and his gang of assholes, and when sharon, helen, sam, and pepper pull her, bleeding, out of the brush, and take her back into town, natasha steals them medical supplies and a pack of cigarettes she shares with sharon. suddenly, reluctantly, natasha and maria are part of their little gang, too.

maybe maria more so than natasha, because pepper and helen light right up around her and sharon grumbles a little bit less, but natasha - natasha has sam, and he’s nice to her, and maria very well might be in love with her, so even if sharon whines sometimes, she’s okay with it.

sam keeps looking for riley, and maybe it becomes a little bit of a game, with the rest of them, and adventure to have, running around derry, but he’s just glad for the company, because riley is alive, he knows he is, but if he isn’t and he finds him somewhere - no. no, he’s alive. has to be.

kids keep going missing. more posters go up, covering up the old ones that cover up the old ones, and they all forget their names.

maria has a binder full of questions and the walls of her room are filled with newspaper clippings. it looks like a madman’s house. she doesn’t tell her friends.

sam becomes convinced that riley is in the sewers - that’s where pepper and helen draw the line.

that’s where they meet nakia, too.

nakia, who’s running from rumlow, skidding down the bank of the river, and then the rest of them are running, too, stopping only to gather rocks and hurl them back at the neighborhood bullies, grinning, cheering when they run away.

none of them know nakia’s name, but in that moment, she’s family, too. and she stays that way. no backing out, she’s stuck with them. she shares more than a few tired looks with pepper.

another boy goes missing. not many notice. not many care.

natasha’s bathroom is covered in blood, her hands are covered in blood, and she can’t make it go away, it’s all it’s fault and she can’t make it go away. she scrubs her hands red and raw under the tap but it doesn’t do a thing, until she calls the others and, while pepper and helen clean and sharon distracts the neighbors, sam and maria sit with her and wipe the blood from her face, calm her down - they stay, steady and comforting and she’s never been more grateful in her life.

she tells them about the clown, and maria connects the dots, takes them to her room and her research and waits for mockery that never comes, helps them put together the pieces of the puzzle that is the history of this tiny, hellish town.

when they go to sam’s garage to look at maps of derry, old photos maria snuck out of the library, the clown himself appears, and helen runs shrieking into sharon’s arms, pepper and nakia holding hands tightly in the dark, and natasha and sam stand in front of them all while maria scrambles for the door, the daylight spilling into the room while they all run, screaming, onto the street.

sam’s mother tells him to take down his makeshift diagram of the sewers of derry, tells him riley’s gone, he’s never coming back and sam clenches his jaw and wants to cry but complies anyways.

 they’re scared. god, they’re all so scared - it’s summer, for fuck’s sake, they’re kids, they should be having fun, not - not hunting some fucking demon clown that’s been murdering children for years!

but they know where it lives.

they know where it lives, so helen and sharon and sam go inside the old, terrifying house, pepper and nakia and natasha and maria keeping watch, and it separates them. it separates them.

it shows sharon her own missing poster, her own missing poster, because she’s a girl who likes girls in a small town and, god, they all know what happens to freaks like that, don’t they? they all know, they do, they do.

helen runs and falls through the floor and her arm breaks and sharon’s running after her and - sam is paralyzed, staring into riley’s eyes, but it isn’t really riley, it isn’t, it’s the clown, and pepper and nakia and maria rush in and they’re all going to die -  natasha stabs it in the head with a pipe, and they live to see another day.

once they get out of the house, things start to split. to splinter. to get bad, and then worse.

it turns out, sam and natasha are the only ones who really want to stay, to fight the dragons and go on the great adventures.

helen’s mom appears, hauls her away, yelling about how she’ll never be allowed around “this lot” again, and sharon watches her go, slightly - heartbroken? is she heartbroken? well. helen’s her best friend. it must be because of that.

and then sam says something about them regrouping, coming back to fight another day, and pepper just shakes her head while sharon turns, incredulous and aching and turning her pain into anger like she always does.

she says some things she knows she’ll regret, things about riley and , and sam punches her square in the jaw.

she leaves, seething, and so does pepper, tired.

nakia and maria are more hesitant, but then nakia makes her excuses and goes, and maria lingers a few moments longer, apologizing before she bikes away.

sam and natasha end up where they began: on a street. silent. alone.

eventually, natasha leaves, too, and it stays like that for weeks, weeks, sam returning to his midnight wanderings and the rest of them to their usual lives.

(pepper has her bat mitzvah and tells a room full of scandalized grown ups that being an adult is about no longer giving a shit - sharon jumps to her feet and applauds, but she’s the only one.)

and then one night natasha’s father is home, drunk and angry, and he comes after her, and natasha slams his head into the sink and he - he doesn’t get up. doesn’t move. she’s terrified, and there’s no one else around, and when it comes for her, she can’t fight back. she can’t fight back. not anymore.

the others have never really thought of themselves as the hero types, but she’s their friend. she’s their friend, they’re always going to come for her.

pepper and sharon jailbreak helen from her house, and sharon takes a red sharpie and turns the ‘loser’ on helen’s cast to ‘lover,’ presses a kiss to her cheek and walks away like it’s nothing. pepper rolls her eyes while helen turns bright red, and then it’s her turn to blush when nakia shows up and gives her a grin so bright it’s blinding.

the six of them - sam, pepper, sharon, nakia, helen, and maria - walk into the house once again. they’re determined to have seven walk out.

seven do walk out.

(nakia kills rumlow without flinching, pepper almost dies while screaming, you’re not my real friends, you’re not my friends, you let it get me, helen falls in the disgusting sewer water and almost has a panic attack, sharon loses her last shred of self control and takes a swing at its head with a baseball bat, maria learns her love is not enough to save anybody, natasha almost never comes back down to the ground, sam clutches riley’s bloody, torn up jacket and lets himself sob for the very first time)

seven do walk out, and they will have to live with what that cost him.

at least, they think they will have to live with what that cost them.

they defeat the clown, for now, and they stand in a circle, all of them, hands clasped tightly together and bleeding, making an oath to come back in twenty-seven years if that clown dares show its face again.

pepper and nakia walk away first, nakia with a hand around pepper’s waist while pepper leans her head on nakia’s shoulder.

then it’s sharon and helen, helen laughing at some joke sharon made, sharon draping her signature coat around the smaller girl.

maria, sam, and natasha remain, watching each other too close, waiting to see who makes a move, and towards who.

sam inches towards natasha, and maria droops, starts to leave, and then natasha’s hand is on her shoulder, and after she kisses sam, she kisses maria, too, and that’s - okay. more than okay. it’s really good.

they still forget.

sharon carves ‘s + h’ on the kissing bridge.

they still forget.

[restlessmaknae]

rainy season

Who wouldn’t want to stay inside while it’s raining outside when their boyfriend is the one and only Bobby?

♦ Pairing: boyfriend!Bobby x girlfriend!reader/you

♦ Genre: fluff, fluff, fluff (+comedy)

♦ Words: 1.6k

♦ Season Series with soft bf!iKON: Yunhyeong // Donghyuk // Chanwoo // Bobby // Hanbin // Jinhwan // Junhoe

♦ Dedicated to: the one and only @lily-blue who was my beta and the reason I decided to double-bias (now I’m triple-biased ^^) ❤️

♦ A/N: You can also check out iKONICShelves which is a brand new iKON network for writers and readers in the iKON fanfic community (all platforms!).

Sunday Morning was being played on the radio while you were making pancakes for breakfast. You were humming along the song, a satisfied smile painting your mellow lips as you flipped yet another fizzing pancake.

You knew the chocolate-cinnamon flavoured sweet treat was Bobby’s favourite even though at first it was a mere attempt on your part. You saw this recipe while you were flipping through a food magazine one day and the unusual pancake immediately caught your attention. You decided to try it out yourself, and as a huge foodie Bobby was, he had to be the first one to taste the outcome. You vividly remember how content he was and how many hugs he gave you for such a delicious breakfast, so ever since then, whenever you were in the mood to make pancakes (or your boyfriend asked for it), you went with Bobby’s favourite.

This time was no different. You were pretty sure that the sight of his favourite breakfast would totally make Bobby’s day, that’s why you opted for the chocolate-cinnamon pancakes this morning.

As soon as you gently placed the finished pancake on a plate, a hand reached for it and the pancake was immediately gone.

“Hey!” You exclaimed frantically. “Be careful! It’s still hot!” You reprimanded your boyfriend who couldn’t care less about your warning. Even though you could still see the sleepiness in his eyes (not to mention the way his hair looked like a bird nest), he was already very energetic. If he was this mischievous early in the morning, you knew he would be up to no good during the rest of the day.

“It’s okay, babe,” Bobby grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with tiny little dots of playfulness. “I can take it. I’m also hot,” he added rather shamelessly, earning an eyeroll from you. Nonetheless, no matter how hard you tried to remain stern, you soon burst into laughter.

You couldn’t deny that being Bobby’s girlfriend was anything but plain. He was the definition of uniqueness, warmth and unpredictability. You could never really be prepared for what he was up to, sometimes he was being cheesy, sometimes he was being dirty-minded as hell. Sometimes he didn’t remember that you’d told him to change the lightbulbs, yet sometimes he took out the rubbish without you saying anything. Though there were two dates he would always keep in mind: your anniversary and your birthday. He would purposefully not let you fall asleep the night before your birthday, so he could be the first one to wish you happy birthday. Not to mention the anniversary dates. Boy sure knew how to surprise you each and every time.

He may have looked quite intimidating at first (small wonder you didn’t dare to approach him even if he was one of the most frequent customers at the café you worked), yet he was a real softie inside. He still carried around the Winnie the Pooh plushie he was given when he was younger, he could play the guitar, drums and the piano, yet he would never shove any of his musicality down your throat unless you wanted him to (you never protested though), he always complimented you no matter how badly you did something or how inedible your meals were, and he never once failed to make you smile when you were under the weather. He was a particularly good listener and always had a useful piece of advice to share, yet he would never let you leave him hanging when he saw that something was bothering you.

His cheeky side was also one of the endless things you loved about him (and the list just kept going), thus you couldn’t be mad at him when he stole the first pancake and tried to make up for it with childish excuses.

“Sit down, and I’ll bring the fresh ones to the table,” you suggested as you poured some of the pancake mix into the pan.

“How about I watch you from here instead and steal every pancake you make?” Bobby reciprocated rather brassily, making you go on full-blush mode in a second.

“Yah, Kim Jiwon!”

“What?” he raised a challenging eyebrow in question while he closed the gap between the two of you. He was grinning so widely, you could see his bunny smile showing which was one of the seven wonders in the world (in your opinion). He may not have been the definition of beauty, yet he was sure attractive and adorable as hell. “You can’t resist me?” he asked as he reached for your waist and brought you closer to him.

You could see the fire burning in his orbs, the heat already creeping up your neck. Bobby didn’t usually fancy skinship, but when he did, he was as touchy as no one else you’d ever met. Just another example of his duality.

“You are such a tease,” you huffed, pouting at the boy.

“You’re lucky it’s raining,” he pointed at the window which was tainted by tiny little raindrops. Yet, the calming sound of the rain was just another background music to your cozy scene, and you couldn’t mind it. “You have to spend the whole day inside with me, the biggest tease in the world,” he smirked as he let go of you, not wanting the pancake to get burnt (or you to get too embarrassed).

Either way, you were thankful that he took some steps back because you weren’t sure you could stand on your feet as steadily as you wanted if he kept on invading your personal space.

“So what do you want to do now that we are stuck inside?” Bobby inquired genuinely curiously as he took a seat beside a table. You turned back to the pan, taking care of the next few pancakes while you were pondering.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe we could watch a movie?”

“Didn’t you say you want to watch an animated movie?” Bobby recalled the last time you two were watching movies and it was an angst Japanese one with one of the main characters dying at the end. Right then and there, you told him that you want to watch something cheerful and lighter next time, an animated movie seeming like the perfect choice.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nodded, letting a sweet smile accompany your words. You knew your boyfriend remembered such trivial things, yet it warmed your heart every time you experienced his attentiveness first-hand.

“How about Hercules? Or maybe Mulan?” the boy was sure quick to come up with suggestions, but it came as no surprise since he was the bigger animation fan out of the two of you. You usually enjoyed light-hearted romances or comedies more. However, being Bobby’s girlfriend came with many advantages and one was becoming a fan of such movies for children. You couldn’t mind though; as long as you two watched it together, it could be anything. (Okay, maybe not anything, but you all get it.)

“Which one is better?” You turned around after you finished with another pancake and waited for the next one to become golden brown and crispy. The boy looked like he was in deep thoughts as if you had asked him the “which one was sooner? The egg or the chicken?” question and not his preference regarding Mulan and Hercules.

“I’d say Mulan. Just because Mushu is a legend,” he announced with wild gestures, prompting you to shot a confused glare at him. Wait? Should you have known who Mushu was? Had he mentioned anything about some sushu-mushu?

When Bobby caught your rather puzzled expression, his eyes became twice as wide as before.

“What? You don’t know who Mushu is?” he exclaimed as if you had told him that you don’t know who the current president of South Korea was. He even rose from his seat, his utter bewilderment showing in every single one of his moves. “Then, we are watching Mulan today. The first and the second movie as well. Period,” he announced hastily and finally sat down again.

You let out a carefree laughter as you watched his little play, your heart melting at his childish pout. He went on rambling how ground-breaking Mulan was, especially when he was young, you paying your full attention to him. No matter what he talked about, you adored listening to him because he could be so enthusiastic and immersed; you didn’t have to look at him twice, you could immediately see when he was engrossed into something that meant a lot to him.

Of course, Bobby’s choice was the perfect choice for that rainy day when neither of you felt like leaving the flat. Instead, you were watching the movies on Bobby’s laptop while both of you were on the couch, you snuggled up to his chest, resting your face just above his heart, getting lost in the cacophony of his heartbeat. He was gently caressing your cheeks, then he went on playing with your hair, and he also started drawing invisible lines on your back while you were watching the second movie. He was like a child while he watched one of his favourite movies of all time, gasping at the right scenes (even though he stated that he had watched Mulan at least 50 times already), pretending to despise the confession scenes and getting all emotional when everyone thought that the main guy character died.

Needless to say, Bobby was a piece of art himself, so despite all your efforts to focus on Mulan only, your eyes always found their way back to your boyfriend’s face just like stars always find their way back home.

After all, Bobby was your home now.

[women-inthe-sequel]

Memories (Lily/James)

For Petals (@petalsandfishes), in honor of her birthday! Here’s to another year of Taylor Swift references, Jily AUs, and being a dolphin princess.

AO3

--

Sometimes, she remembers a jigsaw puzzle castle and rolling grounds. There’s a smooth lake and ceiling that looks like the sky. In an instant, things repair themselves with little pieces flying together again and food appears on long tables. There are crackling fires and squishy armchairs that fit two people, if they’re willing to be very close.

Other times, she remembers a little flat with too many football jerseys on one side of the closet. Rooms light up with the flick of a switch and small flames on the stove top help to boil water for dinner. There’s a couch in the middle of the living room, where it’s always more fun to sit on someone’s lap rather than on the other side.

Now, she thinks she can only remember the feel of starchy sheets against her skin. The air smells like disinfectant or other mysterious fumes. Soft voices murmur somewhere around her, but she can’t figure out what any of them are saying.

Occasionally, it feels like she could sit up or even just open her eyes. Her brain convinces her that it’s as easy as that until the moment she tries. When she determinedly gathers her strength and is about to move, everything goes fuzzy on the edges again. Thoughts are too heavy.

She mentally falls back, wondering if anyone notices her attempt at movement.

--

The sun shined off the dark surface of the lake. Pockets of teenagers dotted the edge of the water and the coveted spots in comfortable shade. Luckily, summer storms held off for a few more hours while students casually enjoyed the time outside.

The lazy, post-exam feeling was tangible in the air. It made everyone more relaxed than they were only days ago. With no tests or essays in front of them until the next term, they all had some free time to just be together.

A boy with wild hair stood in shallow water near the edge, arms wrapped around the smaller frame of a girl with bright red locks.

“You said you’d rather go out with the squid, Evans! I’m just introducing you!”

The small group on the nearby grass called out a variety of responses, ranging from teasing to annoyance to offers of assistance.

“Come on, Evans, you can do better than that!”

“Throw her in, Prongs!”

“Snog already!”

The girl - herself, she realizes a moment too late - giggled and struggled playfully against his hold.

He made another move to dunk them underneath the surface. Quickly, she sidestepped and attempted to wriggle out of his grasp. A renewed grip on her waist made her laugh loudly. His fingers tickled her sides and caused her to splash, covering them in scattered droplets.

Finally, she wriggled away enough to push him back into the water. He grabbed her wrist at the last second and pulled her down with him. Surprised, she lost her balance and ended up on top of him. Fortunately, the sand was soft and the water was low enough that he only had to prop himself up on his elbow.

In that moment, the reality of the next day’s train ride and the weeks away felt real and imminent.

Unhurried, she brushed back his wet hair and straightened his glasses. Fingers lingered on his jawline for a few seconds. He traced the smattering of freckles across her nose with his eyes before meeting hers. When their eyes met, he threw her a familiar grin, as if laying in the water with her on top of him was something he fully expected.

Though her voice got low and serious, her eyes still sparkled. “You’ll write, yeah?” she asked, softly enough that no one else could hear.

“Of course,” he answered sincerely.

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. His hand moved from her wrist to her waist, holding her more surely. He smelled like grass and sunshine, and she closed her eyes to memorize it. She felt him relax beneath her and sigh.

Before either of them could move, a torrent of water came from the sky. Coughing, they untangled their legs and tried to recover their breath.

A boy with flint eyes and rolled sleeves stood above them, wand in hand. “Cool down, lovebirds,” he taunted, though a good-natured smile threatened to show itself by the corner of his mouth, “There are firsties around.”

-

She wasn’t in one of her better moods, but she was trying her best to not whine too much. Of course, her sister would barely give her notice of her arrival, and, of course, she had to scramble to perform so her older sibling didn’t have even more of a reason to think she couldn’t function normally.

Unbelievable, she thought, although she should have seen it coming. Her sister was quiet for too long. She could already hear the echoes of past complaints and potential future ones repeating in her head. Comments about their flat, gripes about the trip, and snide remarks about everything in between. Her sister obviously took great pleasure in going out of her way to make her life miserable.

As soon as she got off the phone, after hearing the news of their impending visitors, she practically jumped into the car. Every second staring at the phone for a second closer to her sister and her fiancé walking through the door.

With an easy smile, he appeared in the front seat beside her. “You know, Evans, I said you didn’t have to face her alone anymore.”

Another time, she might have found it the right amount of charming, but now there was no time to lose. Determinedly, she commanded, “Let’s go.”

He knew it was serious, since he drove to the grocery store as fast as the pedal and (most) traffic laws would allow. If nothing else, they would have a dinner that could leave no one unimpressed.

She was filled with some kind of dread when she walked in past the automatic door and retrieved a cart. He trailed diligently after her, surveying the hasty list she scribbled during the ride. Nudging her shoulder gently, he directed her toward the right sections and kept her on track.

As she agonized over which cut of steak to buy, it became more and more difficult to tune out the shoes scuffing on the floor next to her. Her sister always brought out the worst in her, and she could already feel the pressure balloon in her chest trying to burst.

Mouth drawn, she looked over, ready to snap.

His whole body was moving to the song she didn’t realize was playing until his shuffling and silent karaoke brought her attention to it. His hips swayed and hands reacted in time with shake, shake, shake. Looking directly at her, he made a heart with his hands and demonstrated the break, break, break.

Instead of a sharp retort, a laugh bubbled out of her.

Whatever her sister had to say about her degree or job or boyfriend didn’t matter. This person cared about her happiness. Dancing in the back of the store was more important than impressing someone who would never admit it, even if it did happen.

Without hesitation, she turned away from the refrigerator and joined in with the lip sync to never miss a beat and be lightning on her feet.

-

She feels something - someone, she corrects herself tiredly - squeeze her hand.

There’s no pattern to it. The pressure of someone’s hand against hers is usually there. She swears that she can hear the steady rhythm of someone breathing beside her. Alert, like they’re paying attention to everything. The cadence that comes with sleep. The occasional outtake of breath that means they’re tired or frustrated or impatient.

She doesn’t know how, but she’s sure that someone is there, even when she’s not sure that she is.

But, sometimes, that other presence will hold more tightly, just for a second. A brush of something against her forehead. A soothing movement against her hair and cheek. It’s a series of small comforts, but she craves them. She doesn’t remember wanting anything else as much. Except wanting to see whoever it is, maybe.

She wants to let them know she can feel it. She wants them to know that just the fact that someone is there makes things a little easier. Unfortunately, thinking too hard or opening her eyes feels like an impossible task. Everything is heavy.

“Lily...”

That’s a sound she hears often enough, one of the only ones that consistently forms into something resembling a word. Close to her ear, whispered above her somewhere, said in a long breath, or after a catch in the throat. She doesn’t know what it means, but it fills her chest with warmth. It sounds like snuggling under a blanket in front of the fire and picking marshmallows out of her hot chocolate. It’s so dark, but that voice is a pinprick of light, floating in front of her.

She manages to squeeze back.

-

They both leaned against the wall, practically lounging in place. It was a routine watch, nothing exciting. Someone was there because they were instructed to be, and they offered to take the assignment, even if no one really expected anything out of the ordinary to happen.

“Alright, Evans?”

The check in broke her out of her thoughts. She twirled her wand absently, looking over at the person next to her. Tilting her chin up, she seemed to consider him for a moment. “Potter, are you planning to make an honest woman out of me?”

Ducking his head, he ran a hand through his hair and grinned. The usual look of confidence was there, but she could see the suggestion of shyness that managed to always bring her closer to him. She shifted in place, her arm resting against his. “I might be,” he answered with a noncommittal shrug.

Without permission, her heart contracted affectionately. She moved onto her toes, ready to distract him temporarily from the mission at hand. He looked up to meet her eyes, and his fingers caught the edge of her sleeve. With a soft smile, she moved forward.

Until she heard it. The unmistakable crackle of a curse flying through the air.

Instantly, she whipped around, wand drawn.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. One hand darted to his arm, holding him back. She froze and refused to move. After a few long moments of silence, her shoulders hurt from the tension of holding the same position. Not intending to be caught off guard, her fingers tightened around her wand. In a fit of bravery, she dared to look around the corner.

A reactionary shield on her part kept the curse from hitting its mark. She flicked her wrist, causing the enemy’s light to ricochete into the night. The number of calls from the other side communicated quickly that they were outnumbered.

Letting go of his arm but keeping him in her periphery, she launched a hex of her own. Instinct took over. She just hoped hers would do the part of keeping her alive long enough to get out of there. She heard him make a sound a few feet away from her, and her gaze immediately went to find him.

In a flash of color she didn’t have time to recognize, everything went dark.

-

The music on the radio played quietly, giving them steady background noise whenever the conversation halted. It’s never uncomfortable, though. Just the silence of two people who are fine with talking or allowing the moment to sit. The piano of the last track on the album gave a good soundtrack to her wandering thoughts.

She tapped the button by her side to open the window slightly, letting the wind stream through her loose hair. His eyes were intent on the road while hers drifted out of the window to catch the passing scenes. Between them, his fingers laced with hers, resting over the gear shift.

Without realizing it, she ran her thumb over the inside of the band on her finger. It was still new, and she was not quite used to wearing it yet. The feeling of the metal against her fingerprint gave her a mild thrill. When looking over at him, her smile caught his attention. He glanced away from the road and flashed her a trademark grin of his own, as if he knew what she was thinking about at that moment.

Nothing felt rushed or urgent, not even in retrospect. There was no reason to worry or try to fit everything in at once, because it was a day like any other. An errand, a trip to the movies, a highway drive to nowhere to get their minds off anything weighing on them. A million other places they could go. Anything feels possible.

“So, Sirius is going on and on, and we can’t manage to calm him down long enough to find out what it’s actually about,” he explained, in the middle of a story. She loved hearing him talk about random things in their shared life, little moments that only meant anything because they knew every person involved.

She laughed, clearly picturing the way her friend’s voice speeds up when he doesn’t feel like he has time to say everything. She could picture another friend’s frustrated expression at failing to figure out what’s happening and the barely contained chuckles of the person sitting next to her at the whole situation.

Without warning, there was a crash. The sound of a thousand things breaking at the same time. The song cutting abruptly. Familiar scenery replaced with impenetrable blackness. Pain shooting through every part of her that she can feel. The jerk of his hand being torn from hers.

-

Breath enters her lungs suddenly, making her gasp.

She struggles for a moment, trying to deal with the flood of information from her senses. A floral scent from somewhere beside her. The sour taste in her mouth from forgetting her brush her teeth before going to sleep. A dull ache across her forehead. Bursts of moving color behind her eyelids.

After a period of the same flat things over and over again, it’s overwhelming.

Visions all knock at once on the door of her memory, demanding to be heard over the others. She doesn’t know which ones are true and which ones her mind made up to fill in the gaps. The din in her head is so loud that she wonders if anyone else can hear it.

She needs help to wade through it all. Maybe now, when everything feels more real than it has in a long time, she has the energy to do what she has been trying to do all this time.

With so little effort that she wonders how it possibly took her this long, she opens her eyes. Quickly, they dart around to find her constant companion. His posture marks him as clearly at attention and on the edge of his seat. His expression is open, displaying the conflicting feelings of elation, worry, hope, and fear.

Amidst the whirlwind in her brain, she’s found her calm. She manages a smile. Something in his face breaks suddenly, in a good way, prompting him to dip closer to her. Nothing can stop him and only him from taking over all of her senses.

“Lily,” he says, as if the name contains the answers to everything he’ll ever ask.

He practically glows. The comforting smell of him surrounds her. She wants to reach out and touch him, taste him, remember him. The hand in hers does the job of proving that he’s real, but she wants every part of him desperately.

Everything is turned upside down and shattered, but she knows one thing for certain.

In all of the memories, his eyes are the same.

[airlock]

it’s everyone’s favorite hour of the night folks! disjointed incoherent venting AM on airlock dot tungle dot con

so, I guess I’ve been pretty neglectful about mentioning it to people, but I got back in uni last month and have a new course rolling. exciting stuff on paper and all, but I get the creeping feeling that a lot of the things that weren’t working on my last semester of psych -- y’know, many of which led to my decision of dropping it to begin with? -- are starting to repeat itself

same as last time, waking my nocturnal ass on a tight morning schedule proves impossible to sustain for any meaningful stretch of time; I might get the hang of it for one or two days and then bam, something innocuous happens, or nothing happens at all, and in any case I lose sleep and the cycle of sleep deprivation begins anew. and then I’m doing the whole old song and dance where I’m sleeping through times of the day when I’m supposed to be doing something else (such as the crucial matter of being in class) and, regardless of how much rest I get, feeling knockout exhausted at all times but the ones I’m supposed to be sleeping through.

as a consequence of this or not, doing even the bare minimum for the course proves difficult-to-impossible, even as the subject matter also happens to be one of my Special Interests (TM). paying attention to class is rougher than it even usually already is with my focus issues, I can’t seem to retain anything or figure out how I’m actually supposed to be learning, my notes get spotty to the point of uselessness... and also, out of class, keeping up with the assigned reading is impossible, not just because taking time out and reading is difficult but also because procuring the reading material in this disorganized hell uni was enough of a perennial executive dysfunction inducing task when my peers were more helpful.

I’m also not even making progress on other things I want to do. it seems as if the days are just passing me by lately and it’s hard to believe it’s nearly the 20th of this month and I’m that far behind of my reading queue and my writing projects and just absolutely anything really.

the cycle of sleep deprivation itself is probably a huge cause of all this but I’m not sure if I can really just boil it down to that. on the one hand, my last semester in psych was also the first to require me to check in early in the morning everyday, which is a sin that this current course brings on right from the first semester, and maybe it’s that specific issue that I find perfectly impossible to adapt to. or maybe there’s something more. maybe, somewhere along the impossible semesters I keep running into, I lost my will to put any effort into academics, and it’s already too little too late into Senior Year Sydrome for me to get anything further done even though I have nothing to show for all the years I’ve already put down. maybe there’s just no hope of me ever keeping up with even the relatively simple demands of an university lifestyle, let alone a life of my own. maybe there’s just no in-between between this zero-productivity format and taking on unsustainable stress levels to push through.

or maybe it’s just roughly this impossible on everyone else too and I’m just the only one who can’t figure out how to roll over and live in late capitalism hell

whatever it is, I’m struggling and failing yet again and I’m so sick and tired of it I want to explode

PS: I suppose there’s a piece of the hell puzzle that I forgot to address earlier -- see, my mother also had the brillant idea of getting huge house reforms goign right as I was starting the course; we got the entire floor replaced and didn’t just like, crash at someone else’s place or whatever. this was, for several weeks, also completely throwing off any efforts of mine at getting organized. but I also figured that, when it was over, I’d be able to get things back into lockstep. well, normalcy has been in place since last Friday or so -- maybe it’ll take longer for it to really settle in, or maybe the damage is done in an unfortunately lasting fashion, or maybe that just wasn’t the problem at all.

[bunnielyse-blog1]

Sneak a Peek CHAPTER 5

Sneak a Peek: Sometimes you have to break the rules

*Author’s note* *Waves arms* I’m here! I’m here!

Sorry it’s been so long since I updated!  This is my longest chapter yet (just at 10 pages!) so I hope you don’t mind the wait!

I hope you enjoy!

Xoxo, Bunnie

Chapter 5

The way Adrien had been scoping his fellow classmates was almost comical.  He was sure he looked crazy and paranoid.  

That morning before classes he loitered in the locker room and carefully watched his classmates file in, meet up with their friends, and head to their respective classes. He took careful note of every girl that came in.  He watched not only his classmates, but girls from other classes and grades as well. So far he had counted nearly fifty girls that were all wearing those simple pink ballet flats by Gabriel.  

This wasn’t going to be easy.

Sure, he knew he could analyze their hairstyle, eye color, or body type, but if his own Miraculous transformation altered his appearance, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that hers would be changed in some way too.  He didn’t want to take any chances by eliminating girls he thought may not fit simply because they didn’t look the part.  Furthermore, a new beauty crazy had taken hold of Parisian teenagers, inspired by Ladybug herself.  It wasn’t unusual to find someone sporting a pigtail hairstyle or wearing red and black polka dot leggings.  Some even went so far as to wear blue contact lenses.  

Similarly, a new health craze called Miraculously Fit had swept the city, helping people to stay healthy through sports like martial arts and gymnastics. Adrien found this to be especially vexing.  Now, most teenagers would openly flaunt their “moves”, which were exact copies of moves him and Ladybug had used against villains.

Instead of finding a girl who should have stood out from everyone else, he was finding hundreds of facsimiles.

Even now, as he sat against a courtyard wall with Nino, Alya, and Marinette during their free period, he watched as a couple of younger students practiced their martial arts, all flaunting the latest in Ladybug fashion.  They were loud and distracting as they laughed and posed for selfies, mimicking his Lady.

He contemplated other methods in which to distinguish copycats from the real Ladybug. If he couldn’t rely on looks, physique, or talent then he’d have to take a deeper look into what made Ladybug, Ladybug.

She was kind, funny, quick on her feet, dedicated, fearless, unrelenting, and full of determination.  She never gave up and she always spoke her mind.  Most of all, she was forgiving.  At times, Adrien had found himself angry or disappointed in the people who had been akumatized, but not her.  She put herself on their level and comforted them when they were confused and most needed it.

She was selfless.

She was perfect.

‘Where am I going to find someone like that?’ he thought, perplexed. 

“I know!”

Adrien was shocked out of his thoughts by Alya’s loud squeal.  He looked at his friends, instinctively sculpting his mouth into a smile to try and hide that he hadn’t been paying attention.

“I cannot believe that Jagged Stone is creating his own clothing line!” Alya continued.  Her phone was in her hand and her fingers flew over the screen as she browsed through the online store, shoving her phone into Nino and Marinette’s faces whenever she found a particularly exciting item.

“Oh,” Adrien said thoughtfully. “I remember hearing about this awhile ago.  My father’s company tried to make a contract with Jagged to design the clothing, but Jagged turned him down.”

Marinette looked surprised. “Oh really?  But Gabriel Fashion is one of the biggest companies in Paris!”

Adrien shrugged and flashed a small smile. “I don’t know the details,” he said unenthusiastically. “Jagged probably didn’t want to get caught up with someone as uptight as my father.”

“I don’t blame him!” Nino said loudly, balling his hands into fists. “No offense, dude, but your dad has a huge stick up his a-”

“Anyway!” Alya interrupted.  Nino and Adrien laughed.  “Aren’t you excited, Marinette?”

“Y-yeah!” Marinette mumbled, a bit flustered. “It’s way cool, I just wish I could afford it.”

Alya lifted a hand as if to brush Marinette’s comments out of the air. “What about when you work at the bakery?”

Marinette laughed, “It’s not a big deal.  I’ll just make my own Jagged Stone clothes.  It won’t be that hard; he’s all about edginess, spikes, rips-”

Nino’s eyes widened, “Really, Marinette?  You make it sound like creating clothing from scratch is easy.”

Alya hugged her friend with pride.  “Are you kidding, Nino?  Everything Marinette wears is something she made!  Right, girl?”

Marinette giggled and rubbed her arm in embarrased pride. “Yeah, totally.  All my parent’s money goes into the bakery, so instead of buying clothes, I just make them.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows in surprise.  He knew Marinette designed fashion and had made a few pieces in the past, but he thought it was just a hobby.  He had no idea that she was an actual, experienced, seamstress.

Without warning, he realized he felt some disappointment.  He knew that his Lady had been wearing Gabriel ballet flats; the butterfly insignia had been unmistakable through the pool of whipped cream. If Marinette wore clothing only she made, then it just further proved that his initial belief that she was Ladybug was wrong.

‘I don’t get it,’ he thought.

He had never looked at Marinette in the same way he looked at Ladybug, so why did he feel disappointment course through him?  Was he disappointed that Marinette couldn’t be her?  Was it just because he had been close to finding out her identity? Was it because she had potentially been by his side all along?  

Or was it something more; was he wrong about his feelings?  In the last few weeks since he mistakenly assumed she was Ladybug, Marinette had crept into his thoughts.  Even though he had crumpled up that theory and thrown it in the proverbial trash, thoughts of his raven-haired friend ensnared his brain.  She had certainly entered his thoughts, but had she snuck into his heart?

“What about your shoes?” he asked suddenly.

Marinette’s head swiveled quickly to look at him. “W-what?” she asked timidly.

He saw his father’s logo on her shoes. “Aren’t your shoes Gabriel brand?  They have the butterfly.”

“O-oh!” Marinette said with a nervous laugh.  “Y-yeah!  I really love your dad. Father! I love your father! I mean! I love Gabriel. The brand!”

“What she means is,” Alya interrupted. “Those shoes are her pride and joy.  That’s why she wears them all the time.”

‘In other words, she didn’t make those…’

“R-right!” Marinette shouted.  She took a deep breath, as if recognizing that her voice had gone up a decibel. “I really look up to Gabriel as a fashion designer and so my parents got me these shoes for my birthday when I entered collège.”

“Y’know,” Alya said thoughtfully, looking at Marinette’s shoes.  “Yours do look different than the ones I’ve seen.  Were they special edition or something?”

Adrien followed her gaze and noticed that tiny rhinestones adorned the toe and heel of each shoe.  He squinted in thought, trying to remember if his Lady’s had the same details, but the whipped cream must have covered such delicate designs.

He realized he still had his eyes trained on her shoes and hurriedly looked up, directly into Marinette’s curious blue ones.  He was mildly embarrassed to see that she had caught him staring.

“Yeah,” he added to cover his discomfort. “I don’t recall seeing any designs with these stones.”

Marinette quickly shook her head and smiled. “No, I put these on myself!”

“Really?” Nino asked in surprise, his mouth full of cheeseburger. “All of those? That had to have taken forever!”

“No, not really!” Marinette smiled. “Even though they’re Gabriel brand, I felt like I still needed to make them my own, you know?  So my mom and I glued them on with fabric glue.”

Alya and Nino continued to eat their lunch and talk about the Jagged Stone clothing line. They each suggested that Marinette should create something for them, to which she eagerly agreed.

“Can you put some rhinestones on mine too?” Alya asked excitedly.  She was already flipping through her phone for some edgy fashion inspiration.

Adrien couldn’t help but notice how Marinette’s face lit up and felt the unmistakable tingling of his heartstrings; a sensation that he only ever felt around Ladybug.  

Maybe his feelings had begun to change.

“Sure!” she said enthusiastically. “But I’ll have to find a new type of glue to use.” She ran her fingers along the stones on her shoes. “Some of mine have fallen off, so I want to make sure yours stay on.”

Alya squealed again, hugging her friend. “Girl, I am so excited!  You’re the best!”

Adrien smiled at his friends, his eyes hovering on Marinette a little longer than usual.  Nino was a welcome distraction from his malstrom of thoughts - now even more confused than before - as they discussed Jagged Stone’s clothing and plans for the weekend.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind to Adrien, thanks to his muddled thoughts of Marinette and Ladybug. He couldn’t get his friend out of his mind.  As if a seed had been planted and was taking root, he began connecting what he knew about Marinette and what he knew about his Lady. The puzzle pieces were fitting together to form a bigger picture of who his Lady might really be and his imagination was running wild.  

He imagined himself as Chat Noir fighting alongside Ladybug.  

Then he was Chat Noir flying high across the city with Marinette in his arms.  

Him and Marinette sunbathing on a beach in the south.

Sipping coffee together.

Cuddling next to a fire.

Saving their city.

Smiling.

Laughing.

“It has to be her, Plagg.” Adrien said quietly as he watched the sun begin to set.

Plagg twitched his whiskers, “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, but smirked at his friend in semi-annoyance.  “Don’t you know how to say anything else?”

“Can’t you do anything else besides roll your eyes?” Plagg shot back with a smug flick of his tail.

Adrien grimaced inwardly when he realized he was about to roll his eyes.  “Touché.”

“Well, Lover Boy,” Plagg teased as he floated over to Adrien and leaned against the window pane.  “Do you want to go clear your mind, or what?”

“You read my mind,” he smiled. “Plagg, claws out!”

Soon they were flying through the air and Chat’s smile grew into a huge, toothy grin as the wind pleasantly whipped his hair off his forehead.

He ran across rooftops and vaulted from building to building.  He enjoyed hearing gasps from the Parisians as he passed and waved when they held up their phones for a quick picture.

The sun was nearly set as he settled onto a sloping rooftop near Marinette’s balcony.

He hadn’t planned on visiting her when he first set out, but the words, ‘What if…’ buzzed around his consciousness like an annoying fly.

What if…

He was right?

What if…

He talked to her as Chat Noir?            Would she act differently?                        Would she give herself away?

What if…

There was was an Akuma attack tonight?            He could watch her as she heard the news.                        He would see her Kwami.                                    He would see her transformation.

‘What if…’

Those thoughts were still fluttering around his subconscious as he debated whether or not to make the jump to her balcony.

His mind was made up for him, however, when he heard Alya’s familiar shrill float up from the open balcony door.  Chat vaulted onto one of the patisserie’s many chimneys - careful to land silently - so as to listen to their conversation with ease.

“Girl!” Alya gasped. “He asked you what?  How long have you even been talking to him?”

Chat’s ears perked up even further. ‘Him? Him who?’

Marinette giggled and Chat recognized that she sounded a little uncomfortable. “Since the music festival.”

There was a long whistle - ‘Probably from Alya,’ he thought - followed by a short silence.

“How’d he even get your number?” Alya asked.

“I think Juleka gave it to him.”

Silence again.

“Oh stop, Alya!” Marinette sounded annoyed, a tone Chat had rarely heard from her, except when she spoke with Chloe.

“What?” Alya asked defensively.

“I just think you’re getting a little too protective.”

“Bu-”

“I mean, thank you for caring and making sure I’m okay-”

“Girl-”

“But you don’t have to be my caretaker either.”

Marinette had said everything in a rush and let out a long sigh after she finished. Chat assumed she had been holding that in for a while.  It must have taken a lot of courage for her to say that to her friend.  He smiled slightly at the thought.

Alya sighed and Chat could imagine she was her rubbing her eyes. “Marinette, I know you don’t need me to fight your battles.  But do you even really know this guy?  I mean, he’s like what, three years older than us?  Isn’t that a little weird?”

“Two years,” Marinette corrected.

‘Two years?’ Chat thought, his jealousy growing.  That practically made this guy an adult.  What’s an adult doing chatting up a teenager?

“It’s not weird,” Marinette added. “He’s still in school.  And he’s a nice guy!  It’s not like he’s some weirdo off the street.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Alya acquiesced.  “I mean, if he’s Juleka’s brother, he can’t be that bad.”

“Thank you!” Marinette said happily.

‘Luka?’ Chat thought back to that day on Juleka’s boat and the music festival.  Since the festival, him and Luka had met up occasionally to play keyboard and guitar.  Luka was a talented musician and Adrien found that it was easy to keep up with him as they improvised songs.  

What was he doing talking to Marinette?

“Hey!” Marinette said suddenly. “I thought you were all for me chasing after Luka?”

Her friend scoffed. “I’m all for you chasing after someone else!”

Chat’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Someone else?’

Marinette’s accompanying sigh was full of frustration and unhappiness. “That’ll never happen.”

“Adrien’s blind, Marinette.”

Chat shot up at full attention.  He had to physically slap a hand to his mouth to muffle the yelp that escaped his lips.

“You’ll have to make the first move on him, girl,” she continued.

Marinette squealed in embarrassment. “I can’t!” she whined.

Alya was speaking in between her laughter, but it sounded like another language to Chat’s shocked mind.  Until Marinette began speaking again and his heart felt like it was on a rollercoaster.

“No, Alya,” she said soberly. “I can’t. I’m trying to move on.”

“I don’t believe you!” Alya said sarcastically. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been in love with that boy.”

‘In love…?’ Chat’s heart was beating out of his chest.  Marinette loves him?  Was that why she was always so ditsy and flustered around him?  It wasn’t because he was a celebrity?  It was because she had a crush on him?  

He had been wrong about her this entire time and he felt terrible.  He was so used to being gawked at and asked for autographs and selfies from equally flustered and ditsy fans, that he had immediately placed her in the “crazed fan” category.

But she had never asked for his autograph.

All of their selfies were with their friends and not for fansites.

He felt a large weight rest in his gut as the guilt settled in.  He had always put her at arm’s length all because he had jumped to conclusions and had the wrong impression of her.  He had never given her a chance to get to know her outside of class or social gatherings.  He lamented his distance from her as realization hit him that she truly cared about him as a friend.  She was always kind to him, even giving him her unique lucky bracelet.  She was always encouraging in his pursuits, like the music video.  She was funny and quick witted and he admired how often she would jump in to defend a classmate against Chloe.

He just wished she was comfortable around him, crush or no crush.  He had begun to appreciate her true personality, but was quickly disappointed when she shied away from him.

He just wanted her to treat him like she treated Alya.

To talk to him and joke with him.

In his recent memory, the only time Marinette talked to him without fumbling over her words was when he visited her as Chat Noir.  He considered for a minute that maybe he should continue to visit her in his disguise, but he quickly shook the thought out of his head.

‘No,’ he thought. ‘If I want to get the real Marinette, I need to be the real Adrien.’

Sitting on the rooftop, the warm breeze tickling the hair at the nape of his neck, Chat finally accepted his feelings for Marinette.  They didn’t measure up to his feelings toward Ladybug, but he couldn’t ignore the warm feeling in his heart either.  He didn’t necessarily reciprocate her feelings of love, but he couldn’t deny the crush he was forming for her.

A small smile began to grow on his lips as he made up his mind to get to know the real Marinette.  He was determined to make her comfortable around him, enough so that her Adrien-induced stutter would stop and they could speak freely.  He found that he wanted to know more about her.

He hadn’t noticed that the girl’s voices had faded and was jolted back to reality when he heard the bakery’s front door open and close.  He carefully crawled along the roof so he could peek down to the street below.  Alya and Marinette were standing just beyond the entrance to her home, saying their goodbyes.

“Marinette, I know Adrien’s a sensitive topic and I’m sorry I brought it up.”  Alya hugged her friend and Marinette nodded in understanding.  “I think a date with Luka sounds great.  How about we all go.  Like a double date!”

Marinette clapped her hands together and jumped a little. “That’s a great idea! Are you sure?  I mean, would Nino mind?”

Alya waved her off. “Not at all!  It’ll be fun. Granted, he’ll probably be just as confused as me that you’re getting over Adrien-”

‘Getting… over?’

“But he likes Luka, musician to musician.  So it’ll be fun!”

Marinette smiled and hugged her friend again.  “Thanks so much!  You’re the best!”

The two friends separated and Chat heard Alya call out, “Keep me posted!” before she disappeared around the corner and Marinette made her way back inside.

Chat sat in mild shock.  It seemed too ironic that the moment he realized his feelings for her, the moment he decided to gain the courage to possibly date her, she was over him and dating someone else.

First Ladybug turns him down on the roof and now Marinette decides he’s not worth chasing after.

He couldn’t win.

‘What does Luka have that I don’t have?’ he thought in frustration.  But his own argument was quickly snuffed when he remembered that he could only blame himself.  She had been smitten with him for over two years, but his disregard for her feelings had pushed her away.

Feeling dejected and full of self-loathing, along with a large dose of Luka-aimed jealousy, Chat stood to his full height and vaulted into the night and away from bakery’s aroma.

To be continued…

*Endnote*

Ah!! I hope you liked it!!!

I was going to continue this chapter, but I think it just makes more sense to continue into a new chapter.

Adrinette & MariChat was SO CLOSE!!!!!!  (I ship MariChat hard, btw) >.>

Anyway, I really mixed up my writing style in this chapter, but I hope you guys liked it. I felt like Adrien’s thoughts were so all over the place and jumping from one thing to another that I began writing his thoughts in an unstructured/structured/poetic form.  Sort of like how I think all of our thoughts are stream of consciousness; one thought comes from another thought that comes from another thought and so on.

What do you think?

Next up:

Possibly the last chapter!  Plagg continues to not-so-helpfully help Adrien find Ladybug’s true identity. Amidst the confusion of teenage love and moonlighting as one of Paris’s superheros, Adrien is brought back to reality when someone from his past resurfaces

Bunnie’s Reviewer, Follower, and Subscription Shoutouts:

Fanfiction: LycoRogue, marauderluverz, Tiger Priestess, Demi clayton (guest), Weebo23, StarryNight101, Edelisle, DANIELA123, jon4576, archer71, KassandraConK, digifreak15, xXtomboysRuleXx, LustLets, WhiteTigerMisty, ReiGriffins, littledoe1369, Narakat57, onetkdgirl, darkroxas92, Zlotowlosa, Joe12321, BeccaArenas, Jake Day-Rea, Coed-Mor Draig, & TinyFox2

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Xoxo, Bunnie

P.S. I’m on Fanfiction, Ao3, & Tumblr! (same username: BunniElyse)

[welcometophu]

Not Your Love Song: Chapter 17

Marked Book 2: Not Your Love Song

Chapter 17

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The Parkinson Hills Cemetery in Valiant is old. Magic trickles down Rory’s spine as soon as they pass through the gates, and Dax’s jaw sets tightly. Alex calls his name, but Dax raises a hand and she goes silent. Near the gate, the graves are newer, the headstones shiny and tall. Rory can see statues rising near the back, along with the twisted overhanging branches of long-planted trees. He thinks he spots at least one mausoleum set into a hill.

Cars dot the roads that thread between the sites, but Dax drives through the newer sites and into the older area. He goes down a hill at the back, and Rory spots Darrik’s car just past a gate that leads into a separated off segment of the cemetery. Dax pulls in behind Darrik, then leans against the steering wheel, head slumped forward, breathing slowly.

“Let’s get out,” Alex says. She glances at Cass, then pushes past her.

“You go, I’ve got this.” Cass waits until they’re all out before she takes over the front seat, leaning with one hand on Dax’s shoulder. She brushes the backs of her fingers against Dax’s cheek, whispers something Rory can’t hear.

He backs away; it’s too quiet and intimate.

He almost walks into Alex, catching the tail end of her conversation with Kit. “You don’t have to stop being everything you were just so you can be who you are now,” she says earnestly. Rory stops himself from bumping into them, rocks back on his feet as if he can catch her when Alex steps his way.

“Sorry, I’m intruding.”

“No, it’s okay.” Alex tilts her head, frowning. “I don’t have a message for you. Which is weird because I think I have one for everyone I’ve seen so far today except for maybe whoever we’re here to—” Her eyes go wide, posture deflating. “Oh. You,” she says.

Rory turns to see Darrik standing there, his hands in the pockets of his beaten up leather bomber jacket, one eyebrow arched as he looks at Alex. “Miss Katsoulis,” he says.

“Mr. Malone,” Alex replies. She glances from Rory to Kit and back to Darrik. “In retrospect, maybe I should have asked Dax a few more details about this outing, rather than just going along on instinct. On the other hand, I really did need to be here.” She snaps her mouth closed, and it looks like she’s biting her tongue, trying to hold words in.

Rory slips past her, trying not to flinch when it involves touching her shoulders to make space for himself. Darrik holds out one hand, and Rory tangles their fingers together, letting himself be pulled into a hug. Rory holds on tight, presses his cheek against Darrik’s head; he can feel when Darrik exhales slowly.

“You okay?” Rory asks when he pulls back. “We sprang this on you last minute. But with Dax having the van, it seemed like a good time to try this again.”

“No,” Darrik answers plainly.

“I told you it’s okay if you—” Alex cuts herself off abruptly, clapping both hands over her mouth. “I’m going to go see if Dax needs help.” The words are muffled and tight.

Darrik shifts his position, his arm across Rory’s back. He’s warm and solid, and Rory has a feeling that it’s more for Darrik’s comfort than his own. He’s happy to do that, and lays his own arm across Darrik’s shoulders, holding on.

Kit clears his throat.

Rory motions for him to come over. “This is my friend Kit that I was telling you about. And the guy on crutches is Shane. And of course, that’s Dax, who talks to ghosts.”

Dax comes around the other side of the van, Cass and Shane trailing behind. “What happened with Alex? She’s sitting on Noah’s grave having a conversation like she’s the one who can talk to ghosts. And I’m pretty sure that Noah’s still not here.”

“That’s good, right?” Darrik asks.

Dax coughs, scratches at the back of his head. “As far as I know that’s good, yes. But we wanted to make absolutely sure he’s not here, too, so Shane, Kit, and Rory have some ideas for ways to try to augment my Talent. Most ghosts love to reach out and touch me. Noah’s not doing that, which should mean that he’s already gone on and doesn’t have any unfinished business.

Darrik’s shoulders slump. He twists, looking to where Alex sits cross-legged on the grave, talking animatedly with her hands moving. “On the first day of class this year, Alex walked into my freshman AP World class and said it’s okay if you don’t ever get over him, you’re not supposed to. Then she took her seat with her friends, and class went on like nothing happened. Noah was still alive then.”

“She’s part oracle, and she’s having a hell of a day.” Dax closes his eyes, exhales slowly. “I worry about her on days like this. I mean, it gets infuriating sometimes, because she’s just blurting things out, and sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad. Sometimes they hurt people, because they’re not ready to hear it. But she has to deal with all of it, too.”

“She’s smart,” Darrik says. “I don’t usually have a problem with her in my classes, aside from a few cryptic comments.”

“What else has she said?” Rory asks. He’s curious, wondering if anyone’s ever started a notebook of what Alex says to who, and what kind of picture could be built like a puzzle from those statements.

“It’s latent,” Darrik replies. “Just that, nothing else. I’m not even sure she was talking to me. It was last Wednesday, when she put her report in the basket, and she just kept walking afterward to her desk.” He shrugs, and Rory moves a step closer to him. “Why don’t we just get this done?”

Kit holds up a hand. “Hang on, I’ve got something for this.” He ducks back into the van, digs through his bag and emerges with a piece of sketch paper. The drawing isn’t anything more than pencil, but it’s enough to make Darrik inhale sharply when Kit passes it over.

There is one figure on the page, black cloaked with the hood thrown back. Darrik touches the face. “Noah.”

“I went combing through newspapers because I wanted to create a focal point, and I thought I’d use the base Tarot imagery I was raised with, but try to incorporate something personal for Noah as well.” Kit points to where the image carries a keyboard under one arm, the cable trailing behind him. He walks a path of ones and zeroes, leading into darkness. “It’s Death, which sounds bad, but it really means change. Because death is the ultimate change. But if we’re looking for Noah’s ghost, that’s a different kind of change. I just thought….” He trails off, shrugs.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Shane says.

Darrik still stands there, the picture in his hand, staring down at it.

Rory leans into him. “Hey,” he whispers.

“I’m not okay,” Darrik whispers back. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re mourning. Not being okay is part of it.” Rory’s not sure what to do. There’s probably something he should say or do, rather than just being here and holding on. He can’t imagine losing someone that important, and doesn’t even want to try. “Do you still want us to make the attempt today, or should we put it off?”

Several slow breaths, quiet and even. The only sound is Alex’s muttered chatter in the background, and Dax’s footsteps as he shuffles his feet.

“Yes,” Darrik decides. “I want to move forward, and you’re doing this to help Lorraine. And your friends.”

“Exactly.” Dax carefully takes the image from Darrik’s hand, smoothes out the few wrinkles. “Darrik, why don’t you find somewhere comfortable to sit with Alex and Cass to watch, and we’ll try to get started.”

Shane convinces Alex to move, and she ends up with Cass and Darrik sitting under a nearby apple tree. Most of the graves here are older, but Noah’s is obviously new. There is a similar headstone to the left, carved with Adam Steinberg, and dates that make Rory think it might be Noah’s father. He can’t read the rest of the writing on the stone, all in Hebrew.

“Are we going to be going against his faith?” Rory asks. The gates set this section apart, separate from the rest. “This is the Jewish Cemetery within Parkinson Hills, right?”

Darrik nods. “The Jewish Community Center is right over there. They purchased space almost two centuries ago, ensured that this part of the cemetery would remain for them.” He points past the hill and through the trees to where a low building lies, surrounded by parking lot. “And I don’t know. Noah was—he was reform. He loved his rabbi—they spent a lot of time talking, especially after we started dating. Long conversations about magic and God. I should go talk to him, but I just haven’t been able to convince myself to.”

“Did you ever talk about death?” Dax asks. “I mean, are we being disrespectful?”

Darrik shakes his head. “We weren’t old enough to. I mean, we still thought we were immortal. Noah definitely did. But magic—magic was okay. And I think that as long as we’re not trying to bring him back, or make him a god, or otherwise screw with his passing, it’ll be okay.”

Religion and magic have a cautious intersection, one that Rory knows very little about. He’s aware of the Catholic view of magic; his grandmother does her best to stay within the church and still accept her heritage. But it’s something that changes, day to day.

“Eventually we should talk to his rabbi,” Shane muses. “If he’s local.”

“Noah was local. He grew up with Lorraine and Jonathan right here in Valiant,” Darrik says.

Dax turns at that, frowning. “Wait. Lorraine had an older sister, right? Crystal? I remember her. We dated for like two weeks my sophomore year of high school—her freshman year. I didn’t even put all that together.”

“I don’t remember them,” Alex says quietly.

“How’s your history paper coming?” Darrik asks, and Alex squeaks.

“Good. It’s good. So good.”

She’s lying, and Rory wants to snicker at the way Alex has her hands clasped in her lap, her head tilted up as she tries to look innocent.

“I’m just editing the final draft,” Alex says. Rory’s still pretty sure she’s lying.

“It’s due Monday.”

“Oh my God, shut up, I know.” Alex claps her hand over her mouth. “That was rude. Sorry, Mr. Malone. I’ll have it done, I swear. I just. Dax’ll drop me off at home after this.”

Darrik arches both eyebrows, and Alex squeaks again.

When Rory meets his eyes, Darrik’s smiling broadly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. That look makes Rory’s heart thump, warming him from the inside out, better than a hug.

It is really weird watching Darrik in teacher mode and finding it adorable. Really, really weird.

“Rory, you stand over here.” Dax grips his wrist, pulling him into position. They’re arranged around the grave, with Kit kneeling right in front of the stone, the picture propped against it. Dax stands behind him, and Rory is at the rear left corner of the fresh patch of grass, while Shane stands awkwardly at the other rear corner. “Usually this is easy. If they’re here, they want to talk to me. I don’t normally do any kind of ritual to call ghosts to me. I have plenty of them chasing me as it is.” He casts his eyes sideways, and Rory wonders if there’s one right there, waiting for him.

Kit lays out a metal bowl of clear water on the ground in front of the stone, then lights candles. It is absolutely traditional ritual, but without any of the tradition behind it. Kit simply lights one to either side, then one floating in the water and sits back on his heels. He inhales, staying focused on the hand drawn Tarot card in front of him.

There’s a rising warmth around them, a soft breeze through the trees.

“Noah,” Dax calls out.

Shane reaches for Rory’s hand, and Rory grips him tightly. He breathes through the instinct to let his innate talent win through and does his best to bring power out, to feed it into the air around them.

“Noah, if you’re here, I’d like to talk to you. Help you,” Dax calls. He spins on his heel, takes a step back. “Shit.”

“What’s that mean?” Rory asks. He doesn’t see what Dax does, but he does see Dax’s hands come up, the way he pushes forward abruptly, stalking through the cemetery.

“Shit means that Noah’s still not here, but that much magic is attracting attention. Shut down the ritual,” Dax orders.

Alex jumps forward, crouches next to Kit, helping him douse the candles. One catches the corner of the picture, and the bottom corner burns away before Kit drops it in the bowl of water.

The warmth fades, leaving Rory shivering in the cold February air. He doesn’t object at all when Darrik wraps his arms around him from the back, pressing in close.

“I’m just going to go—” Dax motions into the other half of the cemetery, past the gate that they drove through on the way in. When Shane waves him away, Dax breaks into a jog.

“They love him,” Alex murmurs. “He’s going to be exhausted. Don’t make it worse on him tonight, Cass. Take care of him.”

“I will,” Cass agrees.

“That didn’t go as planned,” Shane says, a resigned note in his voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t help you.”

Rory gives him a look as Darrik’s arms go tight around his center. “Why?”

“Sometimes things go strange around me,” Shane admits. “But usually not anything relating to other people. Just things that affect me, personally.”

Kit straightens up, the bowl in his arms, empty of water and filled with candles instead. Alex has the picture, and she holds it out to Darrik, who unwinds from Rory to take it carefully.

Rory switches their position, wrapping around Darrik from the back to hold on to him while Darrik stares down at Noah’s face.

“It could be that we went against faith,” Kit says quietly. “Which is my fault. I didn’t realize he was Jewish, and don’t they refuse to have images of the dead on their stones? Which means using Noah’s image as part of the focus may have backfired.”

“Or he could just not be here.” Alex is watching where Dax is having an earnest conversation just past the edge of the Jewish section of the cemetery, his hands moving expressively. “We should probably get out of here as soon as Dax is able.”

She glances back at Darrik, walks over to him and touches his arm. “I’m sorry it didn’t go better, Mr. Malone. Don’t forget what I told you about latency, too. It’ll probably be important eventually.” She shrugs and walks past them, heading for the van. The door slides open, then closed again.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” Darrik says quietly.

“That’s okay,” Cass tells him. “No one ever really does. It’s just Alex.” She squares her shoulders, reaches up and undoes her ponytail, quickly fixing it all over again, smoothing her hair. “I’m going to go get Dax and make sure he’s okay. You guys get into the cars. We’re going home.”

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[roxannarambles]

heath/legault drabble - flowers

They had left the ground covered in blood. Blood spilled from allies, from enemies, and from former friends they were now forced to turn against. The bodies of the fallen were scattered, twisted and broken in the dirt.

Bern once meant home to him. After this, he doubted it ever could again.

After the battle, there was no time to even pause. They were hunted people in the middle of a hostile land, and so they marched; exhausted, battered, bruised and bloodied. The injured were treated on the road as best as they were able. They did not even stop to take meals, instead opting for a few stolen gulps of water from a canteen.

Seeking to avoid all major towns and pass through undetected, their journey took them over wide, uncultivated fields in the Bern lowlands that bordered some of the smaller villages. The soil was acidic and dry, but great swaths of hardy, low-growing shrubs absolutely coated the landscape. The shrubs were dotted with hundreds of tiny little lavender flowers, which turned the fields a hazy purple, the air hanging thick with a sweet, gentle scent.

Legault gazed out across it all in a bit of a daze, thinking it seemed incredibly jarring and bizarre to be surrounded by such pleasantness after the sort of day they'd had. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see the fields of dust and death, but when he opened his eyes-- just the peaceful lull of spring and all these flowers.

Heaths, his mind supplied. They were walking through Bern's heathlands. Legault glanced to his left, at the stony-faced wyvern rider some paces behind him that was leading his mount by its reins.

For a moment, Legault considered slowing his pace to let the man catch up and then making some comment to him about his namesake, but he decided against it. The wyvern rider looked as though he was worn down to the very quick. Legault hadn't been the only one today who was forced to turn weapons on former colleagues and friends.

He felt a pang of empathy, wishing he could do more. To let him know that in the very least, he understood that sort of pain. But every time he had reached out to Heath, the man had only drawn back. He doubted that would change now. So Legault turned his sights back to the purple fields, simply giving a small sigh.

It was a mercy when they finally stopped for the day. Even though they'd planned to continue marching in a few short hours, any sort of rest was met with open arms.

Legault spent the time pushing through the crowd around their supply caravans, accepting the rations that were doled out and eating stale bread and chipped beef. It wasn't enjoyable by any stretch of the imagination, but his neglected body was still grateful for the nourishment. He felt a lot better afterward, eventually heading away from the noisy group around the supply wagons and wandering sort of aimlessly past the few tents that had been put up. They were still in the middle of the heathlands, and sometimes a drunken bumblebee would bump past his face, on an urgent mission of pollination.

On the outer edges of their makeshift camp, he spotted Heath, back propped against a support beam for one of the tents, arms crossed and tucked tight about himself. He was dozing in the shade the tent cast, his face relaxed and finally free from the harsh strain it had been under all day.

Legault couldn't help but obey the compulsion to draw closer, and soon he was standing over the man, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, a little errant green strand of hair fluttering slightly under his breath. He just looked so different this way. It wasn't just that he finally looked peaceful for a change; Legault could notice the very soft creases around his mouth and eyes that denoted smile lines.

Heath was a man who smiled frequently, once. Laughed, even. Legault wondered what that had been like.

He suddenly realized how heavy his limbs felt. The weight of the day was catching up to him, and watching Heath dozing in the shade was making him feel tired himself.

He knew the man would be irritated if he woke and found him there, but Legault plunked down on the ground in the shade beside Heath anyway. Absent-mindedly, his fingers fiddled with a sprig of flowers from one of the nearby bushes. He gazed off into nothingness for a while in contemplation, before eventually bringing his focus back to the little flowers in his hand. He glanced to Heath and smiled a little at a silly, random notion.

Because Legault became so absorbed in his new activity for quite some time, almost slipping into a meditative state, he was startled when a voice eventually interrupted him.

"Legault? Come on, you're just sitting there?"

He glanced up-- it was the Ostian spy, Matthew, dragging along a crate far too large for someone of his strength. The man let the crate sink down and he frowned, adding,

"What . . . what are you doing?"

Legault shrugged a little, admiring his own handiwork. He pulled another piece off of the nearby bush and plucked another tiny heath blossom off, carefully sticking it into Heath's hair. It joined the many others, the wyvern rider's hair filled with dozens of the little purple flowers at that point.

"Decorating the cranky wyvern man?"

Matthew didn't look too amused.

"Uh-huh. So why am I working my butt off like some chump while you're just picking daisies?"

"They're not daisies, Matthew. And you'd have to tell me that."

His new companion sat down heavily on the crate he'd been dragging.

"Good question. I guess it's break time."

"There you go."

Legault picked another flower and nestled it into one of Heath's white locks of hair, then repeated the procedure. Matthew watched for about a minute before speaking again.

"Seriously, though, don't you have anything better to do? We leave in just a little while."

"Shh. You're going to wake him."

"Oh, Matthew, there you are! Hector's been looking for you."

Matthew looked on in horror as Serra approached, her pigtails bouncing as she bounded up.

"What? I've been gone for like two minutes. This isn't fair. I want a break."

"Hi, Legault! Don't complain to me, Matthew. I'm just the messenger. I wouldn't even need to run around all about looking for you if you were doing your job."

Matthew glared.

"Oh, I'm sorry, who's the one dragging around crates full of anvils? Yeah, that would be me!"

Legault winced at their volume.

"You guys--"

It was already too late, though; Heath stirred in his sleep and blinked awake, looking in a foggy confusion at the people gathered around him. Everyone was silent a moment and Heath frowned.

"What . . . why is everyone looking at me."

Serra giggled.

"Looking very nice, Heath."

Matthew hopped to his feet.

"Uhh, we were just leaving. Serra, help me with this."

"What?! These hands are for healing, not lifting!!"

Matthew waved at her.

"These hands aren't for lifting either! Just get one corner, ok?"

Serra made a sound of disgust, but she bent and gave a half-hearted attempt at grabbing a corner of the crate.

"I can't believe you're making a lady lift, Matthew!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a horrible person. You're not even lifting anything. Put your back into it."

The pair made for a terribly noisy and slow exit, half-dragging, half-carrying the crate away, Serra complaining bitterly all the while. For a little while, Legault and Heath just watched them go; at some point, Heath stretched against the tent pole he was propped against. He spoke in a voice still a little roughed with sleep.

"So why are you still here?"

Legault smiled languidly at him, not put off by the man's usual acerbic nature.

"I ask myself that every day."

Heath grunted, looking annoyed, but before he could say anything else rude, he was interrupted by a yawn. It sort of deflated the effectiveness of the scowl he then aimed at Legault.

His sleep-tousled hair being completely filled with little purple flowers removed a lot of the scowl's effectiveness too, of course. Legault smirked.

"Now, there's no need to be cross with me. I tried to get them to be quiet, you know. I know the value of letting a fellow sleep."

Heath seemed to process this and his irritated look softened just a little. He rubbed his face and mumbled tiredly,

"Do you know how long until we move again?"

One of the tiny flowers was jarred loose from Heath's motion and it drifted gently down in front of him to the ground. He blinked at it. Legault answered,

"About an hour, I believe. I could wake you when it's time, if you'd like."

Heath shook his head.

"No, I won't be--"

He paused as a tiny shower of flowers went flying from his hair. Puzzled, he reached up and brushed at his head.

"Aw, wait, you're going to ruin it!"

Heath brushed more of the flowers out and glanced to Legault, confused.

"Ruin what? What did you do to me?"

"At least-- here, admire it a little before you destroy it, hmm?"

He took the shield resting on the ground that Heath normally wore at his side, flipped it over to its underside, and handed it to Heath.

Heath peered at his reflection in the metal and said shrilly,

"Legault! Wh-why?!"

Legault opened his mouth to answer the man glaring at him, but then he just sighed. He smiled a little, though his eyes were melancholy. After a contemplative moment, he finally answered.

"You just looked so content. I wished it could last, I suppose."

The wyvern rider continued to look at him, but all of his irritation seemed to slowly bleed out. Legault watched the man's eyes, which seemed to glaze over in thought. He couldn't tell what he was thinking, quite honestly. Virtually everything about Heath was still a mystery to him.

Then the man's hand shot out and grabbed Legault's wrist. Legault winced, automatically twisting his wrist and preparing to pull him off, but stopped short when he saw Heath wasn't snarling angrily.

He was just . . . staring at him. His expression was unreadable.

Legault swallowed, staring back, confused.

Then Heath tugged Legault's wrist, gently, pulling him closer. It wasn't by much-- a few inches at most-- but it felt much, much closer. A dizzy little charge looped up Legault's spine. He was so preoccupied with Heath's eyes that it took him a moment to notice the man had used his other hand to pluck a little sprig of flowers from the bushes they were sitting upon.

Heath slowly reached over and tucked the sprig lightly behind Legault's ear.

Then he released Legault's wrist and leaned back against the tent support beam, crossing his arms and settling in again as if ready to return to his napping.

"You're one weird guy," the man murmured, looking sidelong at him. A gentle smile played at the corners of his lips.

Legault honestly took a moment to process what had just happened.

Then he smiled, this time not a sad smile; rather, a silly little thing that started out small and spread into a wide, dumb grin that lit his entire face.

Heath slipped his eyes back shut and chuckled quietly.

It was a lovely sound.

[ren-akimiya]

Stalker Metamorphosis

I walked into my office with a crime investigation folder in my arms. After a long chase, we finally put that psychopath behind bars. However, despite knowing that she can get sentenced for her entire life, or put in an asylum, she didn't resist much. Or maybe not at all. She simply put everything in her hands down on the floor as we pointed guns at her. And those eyes... just staring into the abyss of nothingness. It was rather creepy. I have seen similar eyes on victims of homicide. Shock and extreme trauma cause it most of the time. It felt like... she was a completely different person from what we were expecting. She had a diary with her. I know it is rude for one to read a complete stranger's diary, however, I am really interested in what can be in it. Wacos like her usually write interesting and creepy shit, and I always loved horror as a genre in almost everything. Games, movies, books... let the genre be horror, and I always gave it a try. The chills running down my spine, before a good scare or when an eerie music began to play in the background, brought a sense of euphoria as well. Sometimes an effective jumpscare filled my mind with ecstasy as well however it always felt cheap on the long term. Guilty pleasure what I call it. Maybe I sound creepy, but tell you what, I am a genuine and cool guy. Sometimes a little bit too passive.

I put down the folder on the closer end of the desk and jumped into my chair. The diary was inside my pocket, ever since the arrest so I did not need to take it away from the evidence safe. There is a smaller chance I get discovered this way. Holding back evidences can put me into every kind of trouble however curiosity got the better of me. I guess there is no turning back at this point. My fingers slip under the cover and with a steady motion towards myself, I opened it on the first page. As expected, nothing was on the first page. Why the hell did I even open on it. Turning on the next page revealed what I was looking for. The handwriting was pretty and organized. It was odd from a sort of artist as far as I know. Or maybe I am just generalizing.

Entry 1:

Dear Diary,

I’m happy I’m starting you.

Well, my psychiatrist suggested writing a diary so that I clear up my mind from all the things happened to me. I am not entirely sure though what he was referring to...

He was asking questions about what was the last thing I remember before I fell into a coma. I had a really hard time answering them. Until my CT scan doesn't come back to him I am restricted of using anything electronic since it can worsen the possible damages in my brain. Better safe than sorry I guess. However, he recommended me to write a diary or some sort to clean my head from the cloud that blocks my thoughts and help me remember certain scenes. I have no idea why he wants me to do that. Did I see a wanted criminal or something that bad happened they need to catch someone? I think it is better for me to pull myself out from the case entirely. I don't want any other trouble in my life I already have. Speaking of problems, ever since I got back to my senses I can't shake this odd feeling off of me that someone or something is watching me from behind. I also happen to catch glimpses of it on my horizon but never too close to identify it...

Sound and feels pretty unnerving if you ask me knowing someone is watching me maybe going to do something to me… I just hope nothing happens and I am just imagining things.

Oh well, this all that I wanted to write down for this day. Wow writing my thoughts down to you is pretty fun as well. I might develop a habit out of this. I feel so old school right now...oh well I hope I write down on you soon.

From, Naomi

I put the diary down on the wooden table, under the light of my desk lamp then crossing my fingers in front of my head and resting it. Thoughts rush through every synapse of my brain, piecing together the unnecessary info and the already known facts about the caught girl. No motive or possible explanation in this entry…

Reaching down under the paper again, I turned the page to reveal the next entry in the strange diary

Entry 2:

Dear Diary,

Finally, back at school. I was worried that I would fall behind my studies and fail, after working so hard for getting mom and dad’s approval to get in this college. I cannot let my hopes and dreams shatter just because of this little coma. I know they can’t make huge exceptions like letting me pass all the test. I would not want it either. I would just pull more unnecessary attention on me. I don’t want that…. I don’t want to be noticed anymore...Please just leave me alone...Not anymore...I think I uncovered the secret that lying that certain night’s shadows...

It looks like the entry ends here. The part with the dots appears to be less organized and more like scribbles. The psychology book about handwriting would say that the person who wrote this was in fear. The strokes of the pen suggest that the writer’s hand was shaking while writing. I bit down on my finger, ripping of a small fragment of my skin chewing them into softer dusty matter then swallowed it. A really bad habit of mine. I start doing this thing when I feel excited or I am bored. Few of my colleagues who I am friends with said that I should try dropping this childish habit, since they and science says that removing your skin causes bacteria to invade your body. Are they thinking that I am some kind of idiot? I am fully aware of that fact. I just can’t help it…

Shaking my head, I turn a few more pages only running through the lines with my eyes. Nothing really interesting except this shadow figure that entry 7 describes. I stopped scrolling to put on under my metaphoric magnifying glass.

Entry 7:

The shadow person is getting more and closer with each passing day. This goddamn faceless figure. I think it resembles a huge figure. Mostly humanoid in shape however it keeps on warping and warping sometimes. And not just that but I think I began hallucinating even weirder shit. Sometimes when I turn on a corner, everyone disappears from this city. It becomes abandoned. I roam the empty streets for a while, begging to find someone with me without any luck whatsoever. When I snap back to reality I am usually at the same spot where this hallucination started. Yes, I classify them as hallucination since I see them clearly but no one else does. I never move from my original spot either. What else could it be? Exactly, nothing else, other than a hallucination.

I heard about killings taking place in the city more and more frequently. Coincidentally, my hallucinations became more common and longer. What if...these two things are linked somehow…

The entry ends here. The author noticeably became more frustrated than ever. Organized writing and structure were thrown out of the window at this point. Her fear emitted from her writings, like a sinister miasma choking me. Chills ran down on my spine while reading the entry. This is what I was waiting for. Excitement. From the very moment I first averted my gaze at her broken facial expression and empty emerald green eyes I knew I was in for some exciting events.

My pupils filled most of my eyes, pushing out my iris to the outer rim of the inner ring and every single hair on my arms stood on their edge. I could not wait even a millisecond and turned to the final page. The entry was this:

Entry 13:

Dear Diary,

I was really glad to start you so I could talk about this dark secret with you. Dark secret... sounds pretty cliché if you ask me. I am finally putting together the pieces of the puzzle. The meaning behind this hallucination, the Shadow Being and the genocides occurring across the city. Meaning? What the fuck am I even trying to say. There is no meaning to anything what am I doing. I don’t even know why am I hallucinating. Maybe I am just simply going nuts. These medications that the doctor gave to me have no goddamn use.

I hear him telling things to me. I don’t know what, but I am certain that he is talking to me in a strange language. I can’t even think it is human language… He is getting closer to me. One night I woke up to him staring at me, just a couple inches away from my face but when I blinked, he was gone in an instant. Why am I referring to that thing as a “he”? It is something beyond human knowledge. A malevolent beast that wants nothing else just to take people away and murdering them in unspeakable ways. Or maybe this is just all in my head…

Never mind... Nothing matters anymore. Whatever that thing is, imaginary or real, I am giving myself up to it. I am tired of running…

Thank you, my dear Diary. You were a wonderful companion throughout this journey.

I closed the small journal and put it back on my table. Averting my gaze at the case folder on the very edge of my desk, I pulled it under the yellow light of the desk lamp. The newly gained information fit right into the missing spots of the case’s jigsaw puzzle. Though the case was solved as soon as we caught the poor thing in the forest. She made a shelter there to keep herself from hurting more people. Her final acts are worthy of acknowledgment, as Naomi, however, it will not erase the fact that she killed people.

I let out a long sigh then got back up from the comfortable hold of the leather chair and I left my office with the journal in the pocket of my coat. The rain was pouring from the sky so for the distance between the door of the building and my car, I opened my umbrella. If I am correct, she must be in jail still. I don’t remember the chief talking about transferring her to an asylum or prison. Starting the engine, I drove down in the dim lit road towards the district’s police station. The words from the diary formed images in my head, flashing into my mind like lightning. For some reason, I felt myself more and more agitated with each passing street light as the distance between me and the complicated serial killer lessened. Pain stung into my stomach like a tiny blade and my arms became shaky again. I have not felt like this ever since my first case. Adrenaline rushed through my veins and my heavy feet pushed down on the gas pedal ever so slightly. The engine roared up and the mechanical beast that I was sitting in almost muting the popping sound that the rain gave as each drop landed on the windshield. The adrenaline rush got the better of me until another traffic light put me to a halt by changing to red. It was strange that only the final light gave me a red signal. All other were green or just changed to green like some strange coincidence. And only the final one stopped me, for the better. I would have been sent to the afterlife by the coming truck with a frontal collision. most likely sending my body flying across the windshield or the breaking glass piercing through my skull.

As the light switched to green I took the final turn to the police station. It was technically closed by this time of the day, however, there were always a few officers who were on nightshift to look out for the ones locked up and to answer possible calls. Rushing inside the station from the rain, the officers looked at me dumbfounded.

I asked where can I find the girl that we took in a couple of hours ago. They looked at each other, dumbfounded by my request then one sighed and took me to the cells in the room that opened from the very back of the building. I told him that I would want some alone time with her, to that he widened his gaze then shrugged, leaving the room. I venture forward to the only cell that held someone captive. There she was, sitting by the wall, looking downwards at the floor, or at her feet. Her hair, a brown and semi-short mess. The body was still covered in dirt and her clothes were tattered and torn. When she heard my steps getting louder she raised her head up from between her knees and looked into my eyes. The same soulless eyes I have seen when we caught her. Her huge pupils, trying to focus onto mine, as her emerald iris was only visible on the very outer rim of the central ring. It was like she was in some sort of trance.

Sighing, I pulled the journal out from my pocket and giving it a push, I slid it to her. To this it looked like, life went back into her. Reaching out to it with shaky hands, she lifted it up and held it close to her chest. A gentle smile curved onto my face then took a few steps backward.

“So you have read it. But why?” she asked, in an extremely low tone. It was like she was whispering. My answer was presented to her with a sigh.

“No particular reason. I thought that a psycho’s diary would hold many horrors, waiting to be uncovered. And it looks like I was right.”

She responded with an “Oh,” then looked back down on the floor.

“But why did you bring the diary back to me? It makes no sense…” she said. And that struck me. I had no answer to this question. Possible answers raced through my mind like cars, however, neither of them would have done any good. I was wondering if I would be able to chat with the other one inside her. The so-called Shadow Person, however, it was a fact that bringing her out would only do harm to her. I already broke a few unwritten regulations of mine with bringing the diary back to her. It was time for me to leave, so I left her with the question, hanging unanswered.

On the way back home, in my rear-view mirror, I noticed something. I adjusted it a little bit to gain a better sight on it. Something that I should not be able to see. It looked like a hole anomaly in space, warping and changing into... into a humanoid shape.

[numinous00]

RAWA answers questions!!

This is an “in-cavern” (but not in-character) interview with RAWA 2.0 from a couple of years ago (oct 2015) that I just stumbled across. I’d never seen it before so thought I’d post it here in case anyone else missed it too. It’s mostly D’ni language stuff. Quite interesting.

Click the link - http://mystonline.com/forums/viewtopic.php?f=66&t=28054&start=15 or the “read more”

(Max): So in short, what was the inspiration or the basis for the D'ni language? Can you tell a bit about the origins of it? I suppose it's very Non-English, but does it for instance have any Arabic, Hindi, Japanese or some Asian influences? Or any correlation to other common languages and speech patterns? RAWA: Hmm... I realize that most will not understand this, but it is very difficult for me to be OOC as 'RAWA v2.0' here rather than IC 'Dr. Watson' when I'm literally 'In the Cavern'. It just feels so wrong. Having said that, it is an interesting story that I don't think has been told before, so we might as well go for it. Just don't tell Dr. Watson or the other DRC members. RAWA: I have always loved languages of all kinds. Just the idea that (somewhat) arbitrary combinations of sounds, and/or symbols could be imbued with 'meaning' is cool. A secret 'code' that groups of people more or less try to adhere to, to imperfectly share information with each other. What I say is not necessarily what you hear, even if we supposedly speak the same language. This is why I joke about taking things literally. Everything I hear, I try to 'hear' as many different interpretations as possible, and pick the most literal to respond to, even if I know they meant one of the other possible interpretations. It drives people nuts. A very simple example: My son: 'Can I have a soda?' Me: 'I believe you are 'able' to, but you are not 'allowed' to.' This comes from years of typing up email responses and having to go through every single word over and over, knowing y'all were going to dissect every syllable. BTW - Don't dissect this, please. It won't stand up to it. I got used to trying to guess what would be misinterpreted and trying to be very specific to address those reactions before they happened. I was not always successful, but I did always do my best to try to be clear, even if the answer was basically, 'I can't tell you that, yet.' Back to the language story. In sixth grade, I had the chance to take just a little bit of German during our lunch breaks. The idea that not just words changed from language to language, but entire modes of thinking fascinated me. Then in high school, I took two years of Spanish. A whole 'nother mindset. New grammar concepts. I don't remember many of the specifics, but the basic concept stuck with me. The rules are pretty arbitrary and could theoretically be just about anything. The important thing is that everyone agrees to abide by them and use them the same way, or no meaning can be conveyed from person to person. What I say is not what you hear if we do not agree on how the 'code' should be encoded/decoded. Some of this is unavoidable, because we bring our own experiences to the conversation. When I say the word "watermelon", my concept of "watermelon" is slightly different than your concept of "watermelon". When I say "watermelon", I remember eating waaaay too much watermelon when I was very young and getting sick from it. I could not eat watermelon again for years, and I still do not really eat it. If you never had a negative experience with watermelon, you probably do not have any of those connotations connected to it. Back to languages, sorry for the bunny trail. My next "languages" were from Tolkien. Wow. Clearly he had waaaay too much time on his hands. Amazing. Inspriring. Then came Hebrew. All just basic stuff, no formal classes, just bits and pieces I was picking up. After that was Tenctonese from a movie called Alien Nation (Mandy Patinkin, 1988). Their language in the movie was very complicated with clicks and pops and they had a script that looked like an EKG heartbeat with dots and wavy lines. I tried to figure out if they did all the work to make it real, or if they just faked it with randomness. Turns out it was pretty detailed. Cool. Then the TV series Alien Nation came out. Still good, but the language in the TV show was a simpler version. Knowing how long it takes to translate, and how hard it is to get actors to say "gibberish" in the first place, I certainly understood. The TV show's version of the language was easy to figure out. Standard English word order for the grammar. Many words were simply anagrams of their English counterparts. I recorded every episode on VHS tape, and watched it back. Keeping track of the subtitles. Learning new words. "Tagdot tay monga su. To tay mish uray." = "Tagdot (a character name) is among us. It is his time." (This is 25 year-old memory. I believe I am remembering it correctly, but I may have messed it up a little.) The point was - they got an "A" for effort from me - that it wasn't just random. When I started at Cyan, Myst's other languages were gibberish. See Achenar's recordings to the Channelwood natives. That was all recorded before I was hired. When it came time for Riven, I asked if I could take a stab at it. It might not be perfect. It might not be pretty. But it wouldn't just be random. I could at least do something like the TV version of Alien Nation did. I had no idea what I was getting into. I was always a good student. I was a pro at English grammar. "linking verbs: have, has, had, do, does, did, am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been", "Types of sentences: declarative, interrogative, imperative, exclamatory", "Pronouns: nominative, possessive, objective", "who/whom?" "11 rules for the comma" No problem. I had a great English teacher, Miss Gaupp. She's 84 now, and still teaches English! Her father lived to be 105. so she might teach a whole 'nother generation! D'ni was mostly based on Hebrew as far as the alphabet structure works. Hebrew uses a dot on some of the letters to change some consonants from a fricative like "v" to a stop like "b". Tongue and lips are in the same basic position, the dot just tells you if you completely stop the air or not. For vowels, Hebrew usually uses an extra letter a yud (y) to make a dipthong. I simplified it a little and used the same dot that is used for consonants, only when it's on a vowel, it becomes a dipthong, usually sliding from the original sound to an "ee" sound. The language using suffixes and prefixes to show number, subject, etc. are concepts I remembered from Hebrew and Spanish. Small words attach together (agglutenative) "And, the, etc." attach to the words they modify. Hebrew and German do this. The number system and alphabet evolved together - this is from Hebrew. The combination of base 5 and base 25 came from the idea: what if I use my right hand to count like tick marks and my left hand to keep track of how many sets of tick marks I have. Their coordinate system (polar coordinates) came from Rand first. I am starting a website where I plan to start releasing more and more information about D'ni. Stuff that has not been released before. It's an ambitious project. It sounds good on paper, but in my current state I am coming up with ideas much, much more quickly than I can ever hope to execute them. My To-Do list gets exponentially longer. We're going to need a lot more "back burners" on our proverbial stove. And once i'm back to work full-time on Obduction, these new projects are definitely going to take a hit. (Zeke): Could you give us a little more background on the bahro (something we dont know about them) and where the bahro concept came from? RAWA: Sorry, Zeke. I still hold too much hope that we will be able to reveal that in a game or novel to just spill it now. RAWA v2.0 may be chattier than RAWA v1.0 was, but I still would rather you experience these things for yourself than simply be told them. (Zeke): Why is Myst island closed off to the public did you plan to have Myst island released to the public at some point? RAWA: In Uru, I expect? Yes, like everything else when Uru was initially designed - we were leaving ourselves a great deal of freedom for future expansion. (Zeke): Where are the D'ni bathrooms? Did they have ages that they went to for the bathroom? RAWA: My long-running, standard answer for that is: "That's why we don't allow you to swim in Myst..." (Zeke): Why was the jump feature so important in this game? RAWA: When you plan a game that is meant to evolve and change and grow over time, you want as many options on the table as possible. As many arrows in your quiver, tools in your belt, spices in your cupboard, [insert your analogy here] as you can get. Especially when it comes to puzzle creation. You wan the flexibility to make completely new kinds of puzzles than were made anywhere in the game before. Don't get me started on the original plans for the pods (Negilahn). Picking things up with your hands, for example. Kicking the traps into place in Eder Kemo. That was never meant to be the final interface. But it worked as a stop-gap until grabbing/ holding/pushing could be implemented at a later time. Then Uru was canceled before it began, and all those grand plans sit unfulfilled. (Acorn1): We know from a recent interview with David Wingrove that a draft of the Book of Marrim exists. But we also know it's been on the back burner for years. You've told us not to give up on it. Is there anything you can tell us about what would need to happen to that draft in order to ready it for publication? RAWA: It's on my bucket list. It won't be great if I write it, but there are several critical bits in it that have to be told, and told right. The rest of the "filler" story, I don't care quite so much about. The outline we worked on with David was good and all, but <shrug>. (Mister Magic): Are there any updates in the pipeline that you can let us know a bit about? RAWA: Which pipeline? MOULa? I'm out of that loop, sorry. Obduction? We are hard at work. I have been in the office several times, briefly. Much to my wife's frustration. On Thursday, Ryan Warzecha literally asked me one question that I had to think about. It completely drained me, and I had to stop to recharge. My RAWA v2.0 joke about the upgrade is more accurate than you probably think. As soon as I try to engage my brain in any meaningful way, I immediately, literally feel myself slow down. The clock starts ticking, and my energy is quickly dissipated. The more of my brain I try to use at once, the faster the energy is gone. So the joke now is that they get to ask me one question per day, and that's it. (Tai'lahr): I greatly enjoyed the YouTube video of you singing, RAWA, so my question is: Is there any chance you could be convinced to submit a song or two to be played during the weekly Uru Karaoke event? RAWA: You're too kind. It's awful. I was too tired to play well or sing well. The lyrics drive me crazy when they "pop" a word down to the next line as they expand. But it did its job - proves I have all the pieces to make -something- work. Now it just needs some love and time. RAWA: More stuff will be placed on my YouTube channel. I've already recorded the next one, I'm just working on the graphics and lyrics. Once that next one's up, I'll go back to redo As a Deer. That was mainly for my aunt. it's her favorite song that i play (cskid13): Can we call the content that is currently being created by the Intangibles "canon?" So, in other words, will their version of Kahlo be the "real" Kahlo, etc.? (cskid13) RAWA: Our philosophy has not changed. What happens in the Cavern happens in the Cavern. We just roll with the punches and try to weave everything into the story as best we can. We certainly didn't plan for any of the Cavern closings, but they are part of the story now. If y'all make Kahlo, it will be some version of Kahlo. If the DRC ever gets funding to come back, they might find an "older" Book that links to another version of Kahlo, just like your Yeesha book does. (maggie696): this brings our prepared questions to an end. We have only one last request - that you would visit us more often RAWA: Hope springs eternal that we eventually have to officially "burn that bridge while we're crossing it" (tm).

[shoumikmuhammed]

EYE

I.

There was a moment’s shuddering, a moment of eyes going wide, the face going taut, and then still. Hers have always been an impassive  child-like face, innocent yet expressionless, and probably only came alive when he couldn’t see it, in pitch black darkness, under the sheets with the moisture of his tongue trudging slowly and cautiously across her. He had always wondered, basking in her gasps, if her eyes were as lifeless as they always were, as inscrutable and impenetrable as a polished hardwood floor. He held her face close, still in shock, and traced his fingers over her perfect features. He never got used to her face, her gaze, her wall-like demeanour. It always unnerved him that in his discomfort, at her indifference, lay her pleasure.  Moreover, the ringing laughter in his ears had not stopped.

Her name was Poushi. He met her one dark mid-winter. A mere week after he lost his mother. He met her on a new year’s night among a pack of thrill seekers on a sugar rush, punch drunk and playfully frolicking in a hallucinatory chemical induced Garden of delights. He had been an atheist for about 10 days, and he was still hesitating and letting their tipsy little rebellion soak into him drop by drop, shot by shot. He struggled with his first joint, he coughed, and retched. He struggled to take the smoke into his belly the way he was advised. He popped every last pill he was offered.  He took a swing at whatever wall he thought was holding back with a battering ram if not a hammer and a chisel. Caution was a luxury he had lost his taste for.

There was a faint buzzing in his ears. As the numbness slowly came, his phone went off playing “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” intro. Used to be a favourite of his father, his mother always told him. He laughed a little, he cried a little at that thought. He had never seen his father. Mother told him he was happy elsehwhere, in a man made garden on the top of the clouds in the arms of a hundred something concubines with wings. She probably hoped that would keep him praying five times a day, and Lord knows he did, hoping she gets better in her decade long battle with cancer. She never did. She just took a very slow, painful exit, leaving him alone on the stage. Alone, confused, and scared for the very first time of his life, before his fears gave in to purposelessness.

It was a call from his girlfriend Protima. Her every call was a pang of guilt. She kept on calling him every hour, day or night, rain or shine. He’d ignore most of her calls, with his legitimate excuse being need for some space. Yet she called regardless because she knew what in his every moment alone he was doing to himself.  She was more worried about him that he was. He had given up on himself, but she was holding on. He resented it. He hated himself for resenting it. He hated how anything and everything about the world felt like tentacles growing in the depths of his lungs, constricting air passages. In one such moment, he found God. Or at least that’s how it felt.

“Imagine we are Two dimensional” said a cool female voice from somewhere in the head beside his as he lay, paralyzed on the carpet, numb and nauseated, palpitating, panicking while “Knocking On Heaven’s Door” rang and rang on, and he watched odd shapes swirling around the spinning fan on the ceiling, spirals orbiting  it like galaxies around a center. “Imagine if some sad motherfucker felt it would be funny to drop a tennis ball into our midst. What would we see? Us, sorry little two dimensional dip shits.”

He was too numb to even utter a gasp as the shapes in the ceiling seemed to zone in and our of there, rising like bodies from a grave, from mere sketch to full fledged shapes, lights dancing as the spirals became loose slinkies, playful and yet maddening to watch as their ends flew closer and closer to the center , towards the edges of the wings of the spinning fan, becoming faster, becoming too strainfully fast for his eyes to follow, yet he could feel the loose threads on the ends of those spirals, the weight of the ultra cosmic matter reacting adversely to being in the wrong place, in the wrong time. In the wrong reality.

“A dot is how it begins.  A blip.” She went on. “Then an ever widening diameter, a surface,  an incomprehensible edge that grows wider and wider till it shrinks, and goes back to being a dot, as it sinks past us.”

The threads were fasts, slowly undone near the edges, sliding in faster and faster, the spirals spinning towards a center, like a Universe collapsing in on itself, sending ripples, pink one second, then a bright blinding yellow, with a molten tinge of orange, then red, then purple then blue.  The waves crashed gently on to the people, the children of the night who were blissfully oblivious, as they laughed, cajoled, binge ate, drank, made merry, and gave heads. He felt a discarded packet of Durex hit him in the face, flicked by a careless, lustful someone nearby. He ushered all his might so he could turn his head and have the packet fall off, so he could watch the collision, the Big Crunch. It was like watching a glass ball shatter, explode, bang! Into a dazzling light.

“What if..” the girl beside him droned on “Divine intervention is simply an event like the tennis ball? We just can’t see miracles. We can’t see God, we can’t see shit. Stuff just happen around us, phasing in sinking out. This just ain’t fair!”

It ended in elation. A strange, overwhelming sense of relief. A feeling of soft fabric on a bony, cancer eaten shoulder of a loved one, tear friendly and ever welcoming. It was a feeling of blissful affection that washed over him. He had never cried in front of everyone, even while he took his mother’s body with his very hands into the depths of her grave. He didn’t shed a drop, while everyone around him uncomfortable waiting to. And now here he was, sobbing, sobbing and sobbing and almost choking in a room full of intoxicated strangers.

As he slowly came to his senses, the face of the girl beside him was on top of his.

“Saw Him too, didn’t you?” her eyes were shards of ice. “I think He likes you.”

II.

His name was Protik.

“I love how our names fit.” Said Protima all of a sudden, while she rested her head on his life, watching a movie on her laptop. She had this habit of saying things out of the blue. More often than not, things she had said a thousand times before.

Protik never understood why. To her she was always this jigsaw piece that seemed to complete her life, but he never understood how or what value he added there. Or what value she added to his puzzle, aside from being a doting, rebuking moral compass he frankly no longer needed. He shrugged off that thought. It’s just a phase. He told himself. His growing disdain of her, his awareness of her extra pounds, his awareness of the missing excitement he once felt around her. The thought was a screaming cancer patient that he tried to strangle with a pillow that read, But she loves me.

He thought of that every time he went back to the place he liked to call the place where he saw God. Back to that mysterious girl named Poushi, who always carried drugs in unsearchable places. He thought about Protima, about her cool, controlled beauty, her sophisticated, morally upright (given the cultural context) view of the world, her dedication to her family, her rigid set of rules that upheld social values instilled into her. In a nutshell, her refusal to let him fuck her.

He felt a light slap as Protima pulled him back out of his reverie. “A Penny for your thoughts?” She asked.

How do you tell someone that their presence in your life gets cumbersome at times? How do you point someone towards their extra pounds? How do you tell someone you hate the taste of breakfast in their mouths? How do you tell someone you hate yourself to the end of the world for feeling so damned ungrateful towards someone who goes out of their way to make your life better, and you sit back thinking of their very own effort as some kind of a price they pay for a claim on you.

“Ah, nothing.” He muttered. It’s just a phase. Those four words were his mantra now. Those four words where his mantra while he let himself slowly get comfy in the arms of someone else. It’s not cheating, I’m just meeting a basic fucking need. He’d angrily think to himself while Poushi went limp, like dead weight, watching him hungrily pounce on her, explore her, and violate her. She’d just  lay on her back, and stare at swirling shapes in the darkness (rule number forty two, lights stay off!).  After they were done, usually within minutes, they’d sit back for a while. Both would know that Protik was quietly waiting for her to get him what he really needs.

It had been a week now and they had been meeting every evening, either at a friend’s place, or a cheap hotel . There had been no coming back, since Protik’s brush with divinity. He never even asked what it was. He didn’t really care anymore. Reality had ceased to interest him. All that mattered anymore in his life was the few minutes of sheer joy, of crippling exhileration that reduced him to tears every time. He heard her, moving around in the darkness, heating a spoonful of solvent with her lighter, he heard the fizz of the dissolving solute.

He thought about how she had explained to him about things slipping in from one dimension to a different one, 3D to 2D. The more he thought about it, the less it all felt delusional, less like chemicals messing with him. What if we always had the image of God in our heads all wrong? What if you don’t “see” him with your eyes, but feel his presence even with eyes closed? That should explain the overwhelming  flood of emotions that ran amok in him. To think God was somewhere traipsing along the covalent bonds between the molecule, just a “devil in the detail”, he thought and chuckled. He was aware that reason was corroding fast, but he let the lapse of logic wash over him over the days. Maybe this was all he needed, just a little bit of help to really see Him.

“I never see you taking this.” He had said.

“My eye’s all open now.” Said Poushi. “I don’t need help seeing Him like I used to.”

She slipped back into bed with him, with a filled syringe. He inhaled, awaiting the prick, and asked her, “does it feel the same every time? why can’t I feel him anymore?”

“Have you been sleeping right?”  Protima asked him.

The answer was no. Something had been keeping him up the last three days.

III.

It had been weeks. Protik had forgotten what the face of God feels like. What it felt like to have a presence make him go numb from exhileration, and happiness. He had forgotten what it felt like to be in his mother’s arms. But every time he had Poushi inject him with a shot of what she called “The Pilgrim’s Chariot”, he’d no longer feel the bliss the way he felt the first few times.

It all stopped the day he caved, and the very first time he let go of himself and cheat on Protima. Poushi’s fingers slowly walked over him, and traced paths, slowly blurring lines with slow burning desire, and pent up rage that a subtle curl on her lips seemed to enticingly call out to, to smother and incinerate it to a wisp. He merely stared back, took his time to consider, and let his composure corrode, not for the first time. It was no different from every time he sat next to his dying mother, who wailed and sobbed in pain every night. And he fought the urge to end her pain with her soaked pillow underneath her.

He’d thought of a million of ways to justify it, the way we all do, the way life keeps forcing us to eat our own words and ideals time and time again. And we take the bait, move on with our lives, and call it growing up.

Today, a full month after he’d last seen God, after numerous failed attempts to try and do so, Poushi lay limp. Being choked was one of her favourites and it took Protik weeks of practice to do it safe, by carefully identifying vein laden pressure points on her neck in the dark.  He had spent hours practicing it on hmself, hoping to stop breathing one evening by accident. Willing, praying that his very hands fuck up, and catch him off guard on their own accord. Praying, for a sleight of fingers, and here he was in bed with a prayer answered wrong.

He shuddered, and felt his stomach grow cold and heavy. It hurt him to move, as he sobbed and placed his head on her chest, keeping his ears pricked for traces of noise, or movement of air in her chest cavity. He heard nothing. Just ringing laugher. A cold cruel ringing laughter that shook the walls and kicked dust off bookshelves. He felt the bed shake, and a piece of crockery shatter. He closed his eyes and clung to Poushi’s limp frame. There was nothing in the world he longed for more than to switch places with her.

He heard his phone ring. “Knocking on Heaven’s Door”. It was Protima. The only person to ever call him. He quickly wiped his tears and answered. His mind raced. He had to tell her what he had done. He would turn himself in. Maybe that’d be the only way he could just remove himself from her life, and stop being her beast of burden. A piece of luggage that never returned her the love she deserved. He was a cheat, and now a murderer. She could do without him.

“Somebody has to do something about that clingy girlfriend of yours.” He heard a familiar silky voice whisper to him in the dark. Followed by a  laugh. A cold, cruel, ringing laugh.