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phykios · 3 years

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honesty and promise me, part 5 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Annabeth is making her periodic pilgrimage to the gynecologist when she gets Leo's call. It's very fitting--two uncomfortable and invasive things for the price of one. She answers her phone, ignoring the doctor's chastising frown. Surely she can place her new IUD while Annabeth deals with whatever Leo wants.

"What are you doing on the 18th?" he asks, about the only type of hello she ever gets from Leo.

The two of them never really grew out of pretending not to like each other, after they had gotten over their initial dislike. When he and Piper first got to Miss Minerva's, more or less straight out of juvie after Piper's dad made a lot of calls and called in a lot of favors, she and Leo had really hated each other. They used to fight over everything, from Piper's attention to the position of captain of the Mathletes team. And also, over Leo hating a rich white girl on principle, which, in retrospect, is totally fair. But then, by a weird twist of fate, they wound up in Boston together.

If Annabeth had to choose between hanging out with her creepy, Norse mythology-obsessed uncle and hanging out with Leo, she'd pick Leo every time. They had gone through a lot together, things both big and small.

"Of August?" she asks.

"Please be still, Ms. Chase," says her doctor. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

"Duh."

Wracking her thoughts she can't think of any prior commitments she might have had. Maybe there's a concert that day, but if she can't remember, it probably wasn't that important anyway. "Not much."

"Good, because we have plans."

She frowns. "Piper didn't mention any--"

"No, you and I have plans. I'll see you in Philly, yeah?"

Philadelphia? Ew. "Why Philly?"

"Our Smarter House thing won an award."

"No shit?"

"Eta Industries Award. The gala is on the 18th. You're my plus one."

She sucks in air through her teeth, readjusting her hips as unobtrusively as possible. Eta Industries was… a very big deal. "Isn't that, like, an engineering specific award? Maybe you should accept it by yourself." She'd be better off staying out of the limelight for this one, she thinks, even as some part of her longs once again for recognition.

Something electric whirs in the background, tinny and buzzing. "I'll see you on the 18th, then," says Leo, not having heard a word she said. "Also, you've been summoned to the castle."

"Leo--" she jumps as the gyno touches something she really shouldn't have.

"No arguments, she's expecting you today at two. Adios!" He clicks off.

"Okay, Ms. Chase," says the doctor, a little too chipper for Annabeth's taste. "You should be all set."

Annabeth leaves the doctor's office with her brand new IUD, a handful of medical literature which immediately gets tossed in the trash, and a sinking feeling in her gut as she gets on a train to Brooklyn, headed to Piper's place for another annoying and unnecessary fashion show. It's not that she doesn't enjoy being Piper's model--it's a position she's held since their time at Miss Minerva's, and it's never really a hardship to be told how gorgeous she is--but Piper has a way of just... getting information out of her that she doesn’t always want to share.

Stopping off early, Annabeth gives herself a moment to walk down the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, to settle her nerves and indulge herself a bit. That skyline gets her every time.

Turning down Pierrepont Street, she is once again struck by just how quiet the city can be. Manhattan is loud, rude, in-your-face, almost an entirely different world from the stately, deafeningly silent Brooklyn. For Annabeth, who is incapable of falling asleep without city horns blaring, it wigs her out a little.

She barely has time to ring the doorbell on Piper's dad's place before the girl herself wrenches it open, grabbing Annabeth's hand and yanking her inside. "You're late!" she trills, suffering what Annabeth can only assume is the onset of a caffeine overdose.

"I thought I had until two."

"That was before I had the best idea."

The brownstone is a mess, as per usual, reams of fabric tossed over every available surface, enough dressforms strewn about to make it look like Piper is hosting a party exclusively populated by headless zombies, adorned with a warehouse's worth of half-finished dresses and jackets. Based on the loud fabrics and structured angles, it looks like Piper is in the middle of a Klimt-ian phase of inspiration. Annabeth eyes a bright gold gown with a huge, extended collar, embroidered with silver eyes, the raw edges trailing the floor. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

"First of all," Piper releases her arm as they enter her kitchen-turned-photo studio, gingerly stepping over a box of assorted beads, "even though it would look amazing on you, that dress is for an actual paying client. Second of all--" she snatches up a dressform from its position behind the camera, setting it down in front of her with a flourish. "This is my idea."

Annabeth was right--Piper is definitely on a Klimt-ian kick.

Pulled straight from her art history classes, the dress looks like a two dimensional painting come to life, a stunning skirt like a column of liquid silver descending onto the black mat, pleats like fluted columns precisely draped over the dressform's hips… and not much else. Annabeth points. “Is that it?”

Piper makes a face. "I have a bodice, promise. Now go take that shit off."

Annabeth looks down at her repurposed The Police shirt, fished out of a thrift store bin some months ago, shirt collar cut and sides resewn to bring the waistline in. "I like this shirt."

"Oh, I like the shirt plenty," she agrees. "But you could stand to wear a nicer pair of jeans."

She does have a point there--her jeans are clinging to life at this point, the knees and hems all but obliterated, strings of fabric valiantly attempting to hold their original shape. "Fine. Be right back."

When she emerges from the bathroom a minute later in just her bra and panties, Piper has laid out another bolt of fabric in that same color, silver with a blue shift beneath the studio lights. Piper, bent over with a strip of measuring tape, looks up at her, then squints. "So who is he?"

Annabeth starts. "Excuse me?"

"The guy you've been seeing."

How... the fuck does Piper always know these things? "I don't know what you're talking about."

She flicks her eyes down to Annabeth's thigh, Annabeth following her gaze to the remnants of the bruise that Percy had left there with his mouth two days ago. Dammit.

Piper tsks, a smile distorting the sound. "Naughty, naughty, Annabeth."

"How do you know it wasn't from a girl?" she asks, petulant.

"Because if it had been a girl, you wouldn't be nearly so defensive."

Shit. "We've been friends way too long," Annabeth grumbles.

"That we have," says Piper. "And out of respect for our friendship, I will refrain from grilling you about him until you are more comfortable sharing."

"So, for a few hours?"

She shrugs. "More or less."

"I suppose you want me to thank you for holding back."

"Don't thank me yet," she grins, wide and toothy. "I've been cooped up here working on my collection for three days, and I am dying to talk to someone."

Annabeth sighs, but obediently raises her arms, making room as Piper crouches down to pin the skirt on her. "Okay, you got me. I'm seeing this guy."

"Seeing or seeing-seeing?"

"Just seeing," she clarifies. "It's pretty casual."

"Can't be that casual if you're telling me about it," Piper points out.

Fuck. This is why she never tells Piper about her hookups. "You're the one who asked."

"Another business bro, I assume?"

"He's--" Piper swats at her as she automatically sucks her stomach in, their long held code for "stay put." "He's a dancer."

She hums, arranging pleats over Annabeth's knees. "Like on Broadway?"

"Ballet."

Piper glances up at her, eyes sparkling. “Un danseur! Ooh la la,” she trills. “What’s his name?”

“I can just leave,” Annabeth says, distinctly not thinking about how Percy will occasionally slip into French whenever he stubs his toe.

“Okay, okay, no more boy talk.” Piper moves in front of her, adjusting the fabric about her waist. “Tell me about the thing you just won with Leo.”

“I had honestly forgotten about it,” she says, lying a little, pulling her arms forward. “You remember his master’s thesis?”

“The shmart kishen thing, right?” Piper asks around the tape measure in her mouth.

Leo, the prodigal boy that he is, had spent his last year of school dedicated to a singular problem faced by people around the world: the sudden, out of control kitchen fire. Using very complicated electronics and engineering that Annabeth does not understand, he devised a handful of mechanisms to sense, contain, and ultimately douse random fires as soon as they popped up. Annabeth came on as his design partner after he had graduated and had gotten some funding to conceptualize an entire safe house.

“Well, it just won an Eta Industries award.”

Her head snaps up, hands freezing in their tracks. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Congrats.”

“Thanks,” she shrugs as Piper gets up to grab some more fabric. “I mean, it was mostly Leo’s doing. I just made sure he didn’t leave any stray pipes around.”

Holding out her arms again, Piper slides them through the sleeves of a heavy, corset-like piece, structured and straight and very forgiving on Annabeth’s lack of curves. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” she says. “I’m sure your skills as a guinea pig were very valuable.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Annabeth asks, she who has literally burnt pasta while it was submerged in water.

“You’re just lucky my dad was out of town that weekend. Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the awards ceremony?”

She shoots her friend a strange look. “I thought I was wearing this?” she gestures to the unfinished silver gown currently making her feel like an absolute goddess.

Piper makes a face. “What do I look like, the fucking Flash? This isn’t going to be ready for another thirty hours, at least. I’ve got decals to add, Swarovskis to bead, not to mention all the hand-stitching on the neckline because for whatever reason my machine has decided to hate me this week.”

“Okay, well,” says Annabeth, appropriately cowed, “then I guess I’ll wear the black one you gave me.”

“2019 fall/winter?”

Annabeth nods.

“Styling?”

“Luke gave me this really nice scarf for my birthday.”

Throwing her head back, she groans.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re so boring,” she moans, pulling Annabeth’s hair out of the way. “Let me guess, you’re going to pair it with the black shrug and opaque nude tights.”

“Well… yeah, I was.”

“Exactly! Boring.” Coming back around, she pushes Annabeth lightly into the light, before taking her place behind the camera. “You could do so much with that dress and you choose to make it boring. Why not some fishnets? Or a big statement necklace?”

Annabeth waits after a few shutter clicks to answer. “Because I doubt that the people at Eta Industries are going to be big fans of my tattoos.”

“That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” Piper says. “Your tattoos and piercings are gorgeous and you would look absolutely rocking with them. Knock all the old farts right off their feet. Turn.”

Obediently, Annabeth rotates, letting Piper snap off as many pictures as she likes. “This isn’t a Vogue event, Pipes,” she says, rolling her eyes where her friend can’t see them. “Punk isn’t exactly accepted practice yet.”

“Punk was the Met Gala theme almost a decade ago, babe. It has filtered down from Vogue. It's practically cerulean now. Side.”

Annabeth turns again, keeping her eyes straight. Side-eye would ruin the shot, no matter how much she wants to give it.

“I will never understand why you both refuse to wear halfway decent jeans and then refuse to go guns out in my dresses that demand it. I can almost guarantee you that Leo will show up in those stupid suspenders with grease on his face. And you’ll have to get him to leave his tool belt in the car.”

“Then it’s probably for the best that I have a modicum of professionalism, huh?”

Piper leans out from behind the camera, glaring. “At the very least,” she hedges, “will you let me set you up with some shoes?”

“I don’t know…”

“You are not allowed to wear those horrid Manolo pumps you wear everywhere. And your nude Louboutins won’t look right with the black.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Piper’s grin is evil, and the way she scampers out of the room means she’s got something she’d been trying to force on Annabeth for a long time.

Five minutes later, Annabeth is presented with a set of black strappy sandals, its edges detailed in a gold zipper, with safety pin pull to match. She frowns. “Are you sure? They look kind of… hardcore for something like this.”

“They’re Versace,” Piper says. “I was not lying about punk’s democratization.”

Well. They are pretty cool.

“It’s either this or the McQueen boots. They have studs.”

Annabeth sighs, holding out her hand. Piper squeals, bouncing a little, wrapping her in a brief, but exuberant hug, kissing her cheek with a loud, wet, smack. “You’re the best!”

“I haven’t even done anything.”

“I am saving up favors to cash in. Now,” she releases Annabeth, retreating behind the camera. “If you’ve got some time, can I borrow your head? I’m working on a helmet and all my mannequins are busy.”

***

“Hey,” Percy begins. It is so late at night, the dawn is on the edge of breaking, and they are both exhausted from some particularly good sex. Which is saying something, because all their sex is particularly good. “You doing anything on the 18th?”

“Yeah,” She says, distractedly, snuggling down into his bed. The fact that she’s also snuggling into him is just a coincidence.

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Was going to invite you to a thing if you weren’t.” She nods her head against his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms, thinking absolutely nothing about it.

She continues to think nothing of it on the train to Philadelphia on the 18th, half-asleep and listening to Paramore to pass the time, blasting Misery Business on repeat as she changes in her hotel room.

The Eta Industries event is pretty much exactly what she expected: a lot of old rich white people milling about, sipping champagne and verbally circle jerking each other, the insipid strains of classical music spilling out of the ballroom as Annabeth steps up to claim her name tag. “Name?” asks the young, college-aged girl, skimming her printed guest list over the rim of her glasses.

“Annabeth Chase.”

She runs a long fingernail over the assorted collection of name tags, before settling on the correct one, handing it to Annabeth, her star tattoo on the inside of her wrist free and open to anyone who would care to look. “Here you are, Ms. Chase,” she says, smiling. “Have a wonderful night!”

Automatically, Annabeth goes to pin it on Luke’s scarf, before she remembers that something is already occupying that place--Percy’s Acropolis pin. She had taken to keeping it in her pocket these days, something of a good luck charm, and thought that it might… she doesn’t know, maybe send a subconscious signal to Percy that she’s thinking of him. Even though there is, quite literally, no way he could know, she hopes that maybe he can sense it, and that maybe he’s thinking about her, too.

Ugh. She snatches up a flute of champagne from a wandering waiter, eager to get that thought out of her head, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table. It’s there that Leo finds her, not five minutes later, munching on some chocolate covered strawberries.

“And here I thought you might ditch me entirely,” he says, even as he bumps her shoulder. True to form, he is absolutely, 100% dressed in those stupid suspenders, a smudge of grease behind his ear.

“You’ve got a…” Annabeth trails off, motioning behind her own ear.

“Huh? Oh!” He snatches up a napkin, rubbing discreetly. “Thanks.”

She squints. Something about him is distinctly different. “Are you taller?”

Kicking out a foot, he wiggles it, triumphant. “Platform shoes.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, if they're good enough for Robert Downey Jr., then they’re good enough for me. After all, I am Ir--”

She groans, good-natured, taking another gulp of champagne. “If you quote Marvel in your speech, I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me, Your Highness, they’ll give me the award either way.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Valdez?” The same college girl from before sidles up to them, clipboard clutched in her hand. “They’re about to start.”

He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Excellent. You coming?”

“I…” She casts her gaze to the makeshift stage they’ve constructed, eyeing the bright “Eta Industries” placard, the sharp angles shiny and alluring, the siren-song of recognition.

This is a big deal. There are photographers in the audience. In the write-ups and reviews, she would be listed as a co-winner of the award, a co-designer of the world’s safest house, a thought so happy she practically starts flying.

“I think I should stay out of the limelight for this one, Leo,” she says, politely. “This is your moment. I don’t want to ruin it.”

He frowns. “You sure?”

Were it not for the fact that people were watching, Annabeth would have leapt up onto that stage without a second thought, snatching up the trophy like she had just won the Oscar, holding it up like the goddamn Olympic torch. “What, you want a white woman stealing your glory?” she says instead, arching a brow.

“You get a pass this one time,” he quips, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Whatever social grace she has left crumbles. She’s denied it enough--she wants to be up there. “Oh, fine. Since you insist,” she says, following clipboard-girl to the stage.

There’s a quick burst of feedback, then an elderly gentleman at the podium begins speaking into the mic. “Excuse me--sorry about that. Yes, yes, thank you all for coming tonight to the annual Eta Industries awards presentation ceremony. It is always such a pleasure to come together with our hard-working and generous board members and shareholders to honor the best and brightest upcoming talent in engineering.”

Internally, she rolls her eyes. Rich people.

“It is my pleasure, however, to introduce the young man who is the recipient of this year’s Millennium Prize for innovation and safety. One of MIT’s youngest and most decorated graduates, he was a recipient of the Mead Prize for Students, the Friedman Young Engineer Award, and the Collingwood Prize, among several others. His master’s thesis, ‘Towards the Design and Implementation of Autonomous Safety Measures in Commercial Kitchens,’ formed the basis of the project which we recognize tonight, the so-called ‘SmartSafe House,’ reflects the pioneering spirit and outstanding creative vision of not only Eta Industries, but also the field of engineering as a whole. Please join me in congratulating this year’s Millennium Prize recipient, Leo Valdez.”

From the sidelines, she claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd as her friend takes the stage, shakes hands with the Vice President of Eta Industries, and accepts the award, a blue, blocky triangle which almost seems to glow in the light of the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr. Helms. This is--this is a really big honor.”

She can see him shaking a bit, taking a quick drink from his water glass. Public speaking was never really his strong suit.

“As--as a lot of you probably know, this project is very near and dear to my heart. Growing up in Houston with my mother, a car mechanic, I was eight years old when her beloved shop went up in flames, like that.” He snaps his fingers, his other hand pressed to the podium where no one can see, joints white with pressure. Annabeth is proud of him--he hasn’t been able to speak this candidly about it in years. She knows firsthand how much his mother’s near-death haunts him still. “Thankfully, we were able to rebuild, and my mother went on to bigger and better things--including a shop with cleaner vents. But I can definitely pinpoint that moment as the day I knew I wanted to make the world a safer place, for my mom, if not for everyone else.”

She remembers, so clearly, that snowy night in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. The power had gone out, and Leo had made them an illicit campfire out of their trash bin and Annabeth’s failed English exam. Cold and miserable and with dying phones, they passed the time instead telling scary stories and funny memories, until the conversation had gotten suddenly, intensely real.

“But I would be remiss,” he goes on, cheerful, “if I didn’t acknowledge my friend and collaborator, without whose work I wouldn’t be here today: Annabeth Chase,” he waves to his side, indicating her. The whole crowd, as one, turns their gazes on her. She straightens up, imperceptibly, hoping she doesn’t look too haughty or anything. “I’ve never been very good with people. My mama says I’m just like my dad that way. Give me a car, or a computer, or pages of multiplication tables, and I’m golden. But people?” He blows out a breath, and the crowd chuckles, naturally. “Now, if it had been left up to me, the SmartSafe House would have been a top of the line, cutting-edge metal box, efficient to a fault, but completely unlivable. Thank God I had Annabeth on my team to remind me what the project was really about: a home that families could feel safe in, so that what happened to me and my mom might never happen to anyone else.” He hoists his award above his head, leaning into the mic. “Ma, este es para ti. Thank you all.”

Stepping down from the stage, they reenter the crowd, ready to receive adoration. In another life, she might have been embarrassed by such praise. Here and now, however, she takes each handshake and word of congratulations like a starving man in a desert who just came across an oasis, hungry and greedy.

Hey, it’s her night, too.

After what feels like a whole-ass sixty minutes of shaking old people's hands and polite nodding, though, she is in desperate need of a break. Escaping the throng of mingling bodies, she darts into a dark corner of the ballroom, leaning against the back of a rounded stone column, just barely out of sight of the party.

Rubbing her hands over her face, she sighs, just short of a scream. Blowing out all her air, she lets the faint music and fake laughs melt into each other, becoming white noise, a blank canvas, empty of concrete thoughts and feelings.

Then, her ear picks up a strand of conversation.

“...announcing tomorrow that the CEO of Pallas Inc. is choosing a successor,” a woman says, the sneer in her voice almost visible. “About time.”

“I thought she already picked a successor,” says the woman’s conversation partner, a man with the kind of cookie-cutter cadence that she heard every time she took a business major to bed. “Pallas is a family business, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t heard?” Annabeth can almost picture it, the furtive glance around the room, the woman placing her hand on her partner’s arm, leaning in to share a juicy secret. “Supposedly she was grooming her daughter for the role, before she went in for rehab.”

“Rehab? Really?”

“What else could it be?” says the woman. “She’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and her mother refuses to talk about her. Let’s be honest, if she were dead, she would have raised a bigger stink about it.”

Annabeth closes her eyes, sucking air in through her teeth. That… wasn’t totally untrue.

But the woman doesn’t stop. “It’s always the same story,” she scoffs. “You throw countless hours of schooling and millions of dollars into girls like her, and what do they do? Turn around and blow it all on drugs and partying. Honestly, she should be grateful her mother is even bothering with her rehab at all. Hasn’t she wasted enough of the family’s money already?”

Blood roars in her ears, drowning out the fancy party. Sharp points dig into her palm, pinpricks of pain, before she realizes that they’re her own fingernails.

The lady has got it all wrong. Her mom couldn’t even be bothered with that.

Luke’s scarf, the shrug, it’s choking her, suffocating and constricting. Percy’s pin feels heavy on her chest.

Blinders on, she would have sprinted for the exit were it not for the Piper’s stupid Versace heels, reduced instead to a teetering, tottering wreck, like a baby colt running from a predator. The night is hot and humid, heavy with the threat of rain, and Annabeth can barely breathe, dark spots in her eyes, until she ducks into a nearby Target, the frigid blast of air a welcome distraction.

Almost in a daze, she watches herself pick up a few things--clippers, an electric razor, beef jerky, a blue Gatorade she considers for a moment before putting it back, choosing a lemonade instead--practically throwing them at the poor cashier who begins checking her out, mechanically. He doesn’t spare her a single glance for her odd assortment of items. He doesn’t even look at her at all.

The walk to her hotel room disappears in the blink of an eye. Blink--she breezes past the check-in counter, slipping into the empty elevator. Blink--she kicks off her heels in her room, nearly hitting the wall mirror, leaving a scuff mark on the white plaster. Blink--she’s down to her underwear and tights in the bathroom, shaving the right side of her curls clean off. She’d gotten them professionally done for the night, perfect spirals held together by expensive products. And now she wants them gone.

She pauses and breathes too hard, looking at herself in the mirror. Her mother didn’t like that she was blonde. Maybe because of dumb blonde stereotypes, maybe just because it reminded Athena too much of her failed romance with Annabeth’s dad. And that thought stays her hand from getting rid of the rest of them.

That, and maybe the idea of Percy, of some broke dancer, tangling his fingers in it as they lie together.

Fuck her mother, and the fucking stories she tells.

She likes it. She likes her blonde hair and her fresh undercut.

She can get Thalia to touch this up later, maybe. Now, though, she needs this.

It doesn’t look perfect. The left side of hair is too long, her gold laurel earrings too fancy for a homegrown haircut like this, her makeup too pristine. Shoving her hand under the running water, she rubs at her eyes, mascara and eyeliner smearing until they’ve reached something much more respectable for the failure that she really is.

She misses her industrial. And her eyebrow rings. And the tongue piercing. But this will have to do for now.

Breathing heavily, eyes hot, she doesn’t register her phone blinking, signaling an unread text message.

It’s from Thalia. surprised you weren’t at kelp heads bday party, it reads. was pretty boring. Kno he missed you

#backstory backstory backstoryyyyyyy #my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #ballet au

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

for monster march, ghost + indruck + nsfw?

Here you go! I borrowed some ideas we’ve tossed around on the Discord

A sketchbook, new pens, a Hershey bar, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. A small but lively fire. And a new, huge, fuzzy sleeping bag waiting for him in the tent.

Not a bad camping set up for a city-boy art goth (as Barclay likes to call him).

Indrid sticks another marshmallow on the fork, roasting it until it’s deep brown, the smell of burning sugar curling through the air and settling in his hair. He’s never liked Graham Crackers, so he jams a square of chocolate into the molten center of the marshmallow and shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

Kepler is small. Barclay hadn’t been kidding about that. He’d also been right that one of the two tattoo shops in town was willing to hire Indrid after looking through photos of his work and confirming he completed his apprenticeship.

He’s been living in the Eastwoods campground in the Monongahela National Forest while he apartment hunts, and the tattoos he’s done so far netted him enough cash to buy his luxurious new sleeping bag. He might be waiting on a place for some time, so he may as well camp in style.

Three “s’mores” later, the moon is up and the night is chilly enough that he wants his sweatshirt. Ducking into the tent, he can’t find it on his pillow, where he swears he left it this morning. Maybe he accidentally buried it getting dressed.

A splashhiss interrupts his rummaging. Scrambling from the tent, he discovers his fire is now a pile of soaked ashes and logs being angrily stirred by a thick piece of kindling.

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

A man in a ranger uniform appears, the stick falling through his hand as he gives Indrid a disapproving stare.

“Look here, I know you’re new here, maybe to campin entirely. But you can’t just leave a fire burnin when you go to bed.” He doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s a disappointed big brother scolding his sibling.

“I wasn’t-”

“And all this” he gestures to the food on the table, “has gotta go in the bear box. Black bears are real good foragers and we don’t want ‘em comin’ into camp and gettin to comfy around humans.”

“Of course, but-”

“You didn’t take any food into the tent, right? Wouldn’t want somethin to decide to join you ‘cause it smelled a snack.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “I am aware of all of these rules, and plan to follow them. Once I actually go to bed instead of ducking into the tent for my sweater. But since my evening appears to be over…” he grabs the marshmallows, roasting fork, and chocolate, carries them to the bear box, and slams it closed.

When he whirls back around, the ghost is still there, chagrined.

“Uh, sorry. I kinda jumpy about people leavin fires alone.” In the lantern light, his smile is as charming as his drawl. His stocky, bearish shape and unassumingly handsome face command Indrid’s focus, which is why his revelation comes so quickly.

“You...there’s a statue of you at the visitor center. Which makes you, ah, damn it what was the name-”

“Duck. Duck Newton. They put my legal name on there, even though Juno tried to stop ‘em. But my name’s Duck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Duck. I’m Indrid.”

“Nice to meet you too. Uh, sorry for ruinin your campfire, looks like you were havin a nice time.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m grateful there’s someone haunting the campsites to keep them in order.”

“You’re takin me bein’ a ghost surprisingly well.”

“I’ve always been interested in strange things, to the point that I earned the nickname ‘mothman’ in high school.”

“Huh” Duck watches him a moment, then shrugs, “well, guess I better be goin’. Have a nice night, mothman.”

With that, he’s gone.

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

“Hello again.” Indrid says as the campfire smoke curls around a human form, “Doing your rounds?”

“More or less. I like my job, and ain’t about to give it up just because I beefed it and turned into a ghost.” A creak as Duck joins him on the picnic bench. When he materializes, he floats slightly above the worn wood, watching Indrid draw.

“That’s incredible, it’s so realistic it’s like you pressed the leaves into the pages instead of colored them.”

“Thank you.” adds depth to the leaf, “you know, I looked at the statue again today. It hardly does you justice.”

From this close, he can see a blush spread up semi-opaque cheeks. Then he starts fading.

“Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was aiming for a benign compliment, not to make you uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, just surprised me. Not many folks wanna flirt with a dead guy.”

“I’m more interested in what the ‘dead guy’ wants.” Indrid smiles, hoping to convey he would submit to spectral touches as readily as he’d keep talking.

Duck floats closer, “Kinda curious about your other drawin’s.”

Indrid turns the sketchbook back to the beginning, “they’re half portfolio and half travelogue. Here” he holds up a fade, detached piece of paper, covered by an Morpho Butterfly that looks ready to fly away, “this is the first tattoo I ever designed.”

“Damn. Guessin’ that means you did this one” he touches the Rosy Maple Moth on Indrid’s forearm (or tries to). It’s chilly, but not in the way Indrid feared. More like taking a cool shower on a sweltering day.

“I did. Here, it gave me an idea for my first series of flash tattoos…”

They go over the illustrations page by page. Slowly, Indrid weaves in questions to Duck who, instead of recoiling from discussion of his mortal life, tells him rambling stories about the woods and which places serve the best food in town.

The conversation doesn’t end until the fire goes out on it’s own, Duck standing automatically, grabbing a water bottle, swearing, and then disappearing so he can pick the bottle up.

“Do you think that’s part of why you’re still here? Some unfinished business having to do with the woods?”

“Nah.” The water bottle thunks back on the table as Duck reappears, “I tried to live a normal life, improve the world the way I knew how, make some kind of difference to this town. Then I had to go play the goddamn hero.”

“I would say saving two dozen people from a forest fire makes a considerable difference in the world.”

A sad huff of a laugh, “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just...I meant to do somethin’ with my life, not my death, even if it was a small somethin’, and the closest thing I got to unfinished business is a model ship.”

“I...what?”

“It was four-masted and everything! I had Leo order it in special and everything and then I never, I never got to-” He tilts his head up, sniffs once, “never mind. I better let you get to sleep.”

By the time Indrid calls “goodnight,” the ghost is gone.

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

“Please tell me you’re gettin a place soon so you stop eatin everythin outta a can?” Leo bags the last of groceries.

“No such luck. Ah well, there are worse things than canned soup and Pop-Tarts.”

“At least let Barclay feed you, half the point of havin a friend who can cook is to let ‘em do it for you. You need stamps or anything?”

“N-” A box behind the counter catches his eye. It’s at an odd angle, as if whoever put it there is hoping no one will see it. Indrid can just make out an illustration of a four-masted ship.

“Is that for sale?”

Leo looks where he’s pointing, and for a moment something in his gruff affability wavers. Then he nods, “Yeah, suppose it is.”

“Can you ring it up for me?” Indrid nearly bounces on his toes when Leo sets the box on the counter and confirms his hunch.

The older man sets a gentle hand on the cardboard, sliding it across to Indrid, “Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s yours.”

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

“Duck?” Indrid turns in a circle by the picnic table, “Duck, I have something for you!”

He saw the ranger briefly last night, but he didn’t hang around. Gingerly, he sets the box on the table, tearing off a piece of sketch paper to write a note in case the ghost stops by while he’s asleep.

“Holy fuck.” Duck floats across the table from him, “‘Drid, where did, how did--why?”

“Leo still had it. As for why I, ah, it seemed like you still wanted it. If you can douse a fire and over my camp stove, I figure you can build a model ship.”

Duck disappears and Indrid’s heart sinks; that must have been too much. Then he’s squished in an invisible, wonderful bear hug.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

From then on, Duck spends every night at his campsite, building the ship while Indrid draws, reads, or talks with him. The model lives in the safest corner of the tent during the day.

“I mean, I’m up durin the day too, but I scared a few folks on accident and I don’t want people avoid the forest because of me.”

Indrid also learns that Duck is stuck within a certain radius of where he died, and that his attempts to talk with Juno when she was in his part of the woods only lead to his friend thinking she was hallucinating and Duck feeling miserable for three solid days. Indrid offers to act as messenger and invite Duck’s friends (many of whom have, by chance and by proximity to Barclay, become his friends) to the campsite to see him. The ranger is quiet for some time after that offer.

“Not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet. I, it ain’t even been a year, ‘Drid. I think a lot of ‘em are still hurtin. And, and maybe this is selfish but...I ain’t ready to deal with them findin’ out I aint fully gone. It’d be so much all at once.”

Indrid doesn’t bring it up again. More than once, when Aubrey tells a story about Duck only for her eyes to sadden halfway through, or when he sees Juno looking at Duck’s statue a little too long, he struggles to keep his promise.

A cold front blows into town and, since he’s still in the tent, he pops into Kepler Thrift N Find in search of an extra sweatshirt. Tucked in between one reading “Ranchos” and one with a picture of Garfield is a soft, well-loved hoodie with “Monongahela National Forest” on the front. He buys it and wears it home, the fact it’s loose in the arms making it even easier to tuck in his hands when he gets cold.

He stops by the visitor center out of habit, checking out the new plush wild animals. There are also hints of Duck here and there; his name on displays, his face in group photos. As he contemplates a small, squishy black bear, he notices Juno looking at him more than usual.

“Hello again” he sets the bear on the counter.

“Howdy. This all?

“Yes, please. Are you alright? You look, ah, tired.”

“Yep. Or, uh, just noticed that sweatshirt. It was one that got made special for staff a few years ago.”

Indrid fidgets with the cat-bitten drawstring, “It was Duck’s, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. He put that patch on the sleeve. Guess it startled me to see it on someone else.”

“I understand.”

“Knew him since we were kids. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. Still don’t feel right, bein’ here without him.”

Indrid pushes the bear towards her and she pets it.

“What was he like?”

In the empty visitor center, Juno tells him. In her stories are echos of every conversation he’s ever had with anyone who knew Duck. When it’s time to close up, she asks if she can hug him, and thanks him for listening to her.

“Guess you weren’t kiddin about wanting to sleep with a bear” Duck teases as Indrid sets his new purchase inside the tent. Indrid whaps at him, arm going through his torso. The ranger floats nearby as Indrid heats up ravioli and opens a can of Mountain Dew. Indrid tells him about the conversation with Juno.

“Huh, guess that is my old one. Glad someone is gettin some use outta it. And it looks good on you.”

Indrid sets down his bowl, “We talked a lot, Duck. And it made me think about what you said to me one of the night after we met. You said you wanted a chance to make the world, the town, a little better. Everyone I’ve talked to, and I mean every one, has a story about you. How you helped them, how Kepler is worse off with you gone. You did so much, even with your time cut short. I, I wanted you to know that.”

The ghost looks away, “I wasn’t done tryin to help.”

“You still aren’t. You do what you can to keep the forest and the visitors safe. And you, you’ve made my life immeasurably better Duck. Seeing you is the best part of my day and I think I’m falling--ah, that is, you’re not done making a difference.”

Duck hasn’t moved since Indrid started talking about his feelings. When Indrid tries to meet his eyes, he disappears. Hurried, he reaches out to offer a reassuring touch and gets only air.

“Duck?”

Nothing, even after he calls his name three more times.

He slumps onto the bench, “well, fuck me I guess.”

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

This is a terrible idea. But it’s his last, and therefore his best.

Indrid even asked Barclay’s boyfriend, Joseph, if anything in his impressive library of the paranormal advised the reader on dealing with upset ghosts. A few did, always from the perspective of trying to get the specter to go away. They said nothing about what to do if your upset ghost was missing, leaving an ache in your heart you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Instead, after a week of silence, Indrid changes tactics: if he can’t coax Duck back, maybe he can annoy him into appearing.

Tonight, he finishes dinner and cleans his dishes, puts the bulk of the food in the bear box, and then tears open a bag of chips, scattering them across the table. He eats one, then leaves the open bag laying amongst the potato shards.

Next, he dumps his remaining water on the fire, which takes it down to embers but does not extinguish it. When none of that gets a reaction, he decides to narrate.

“Hmm, that should be fine, it’s not that dry and I don’t think sparks can go over the edge.”

“Should I leave these juice pouches out? Yes, I think I should, in case I get thirsty at night. Maybe I’ll take one into the tent, just to be safe.”

He already feels silly and like no one is listening, and so he escalates.

“I know I shouldn’t leave food out for the wildlife, but since there’s no handsome, ghostly ranger here to punish me for my transgressions, I am just going to leave some nuts out for the raccoons. I like raccoons. They deserve nice things. Hell, how about I just leave them a whole buffet since no one is stopping me!”

All he gets in reply are the few bugs awake this early in the spring and the crack of brush as a small mammal runs away from the weird bipedal thing yelling at his camp fire. He doesn’t leave out food for the raccoons; he climbs into his tent in a huff. What a bad idea, to think this of all things would bring Duck back to him. He’s being childish and bratty and selfish; Duck doesn’t deserve that, no more than he owes Indrid his company.

He changes into his pajamas pants and sleep shirt, intending to go back out to make the site safe and tidy. Except.

Except something just opened the bear box. The chip bag crinkles and the fire hisses out a minute later. He should be running outside to apologize, but his mind has simultaneously registered the full darkness of the night , the possibility that Duck is not the only paranormal thing in these woods, and the fact the nearest other campers are on the other side of the campground, meaning he is very, very alone.

The zipper on the tent moves, the flap falling open so his lantern shines on nothing but April air.

“Duck? Please say that’s you.”

A low chuckle, “It’s me, ‘Drid.” The fly zips shut, “mighty peeved about that trick you pulled.”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I missed you, but that was a bad way to communicate that.” He can’t see him, and the lantern only picks up the odd shift of sleeping bag or tent floor, so Indrid’s eyes’ dart about trying to pinpoint him.

“Oh, you communicated plenty, sugar. Like what you want a certain, uh, ghostly ranger to do to you.”

“Oh god” he winces, “please, forget I said that, it’s humiliating.”

“Not all that surprisin, truth be told. I mean, you and I flirted now and then. And you told me enough about yourself for me to suspect that you’re a kinky little weirdo who’s dyin to get fucked by a ghost.”

“I, I feel I should point out that I only want to fuck one ghost. You. I want to fuck you and that means fucking a ghoOOOst.” He gasps as cold lips press into his neck.

“I can make that happen, darlin, all you gotta do is say it. You were a pain in the neck earlier, so now I expect you to be real polite and use your words.” Duck’s voice has never been like this before, rough and possessive yet still, under all of it, the same warmth draws Indrid in like a flame.

“I want you, Duck.”

A bite to his ear, strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind him, “Want me to do what?”

“Fuck me” this is like every wet dream he had as a teenager, the supernatural being coming for a fellow outsider.

That gets him a tender kiss on the cheek, “That’s better. Though, if I’m rememberin correctly, word you used was punish.”

Indrid yelps as Duck turns and shoves him to lay across his lap, kicks his legs out in surprise when his waistband slides down to his upper thighs.

“Yesss” he wiggles his ass as Duck palms it, “yes, Duck, pleaseAHgod” the first strike stings, and Duck doesn’t let him recover before delivering five more, three to each side. His cock perks up at the pain. Stranger still, because Duck is invisible, all Indrid has to do is tilt his head to watch it harden and twitch with each slap.

Twenty strikes later Duck pauses, hand rubbing soothing, cool circles on the burning skin, “Learned your lesson?”

“Mmhmm.” Indrid presses an awkward kiss to Duck’s knee.

“Glad to hear it.” Duck hauls him up onto his knees, slides a hand under his shirt and up his chest, “I’m rarin’ to feel more of you--holy fuck”

“AH!” Indrid arches as Duck toys with his left nipple piercing, his other hand quickly finding the right.

“God, fuck, you’re fuckin hot, if I were alive I woulda taken you home first time I saw you.” Messy kisses cover his neck as Duck tugs the piercings.

“Gaahnnyes, that’s, that’s very flattering.”

“Ain’t flattery, sugar, it’s the truth. Never could turn down some skinny punk with piercin’s and messy hair, not when I was a teen burnout hidin in the woods and sure as hell not now.” He moves Indrid onto his back, rucking up his shirt as his legs twist in his half-down pants. The ranger cups his face, and Indrid is positive he’s meeting his eyes, “tell me what you want sugar, tell me so I can treat you right.”

“Marks, I want marks anywhere you’ll give them.”

A growl from above him, then lips smashing into his, drinking him in before continuing down his throat, biting and sucking hard enough that he cries out every time. Duck pauses, teasing his nipples with his tongue as he rakes his nails up his sides. He sits up and for a horrible moment Indrid loses him. Then with glee he watches five red marks drag down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips and discovering just how closer Duck’s clothed cock is to his own. The contact only feeds the rangers eagerness, and Indrid is tosses and turns as he sucks, bites, and scratches, laying claim to the illustrated expanse of his body.

“More, please, god that all feels so good.”

“Don’t worry darlin, still got plenty of you to mark up, but we’re gonna do somethin else while I do.” He eases Indrid onto his stomach, slaps his ass fondly, “don’t go nowhere.”

Indrid’s duffel bag unzips, clothes and pens moved aside until a bottle of lube hovers in the air. The tube compresses and drips coat the rough outline of fingers. When the two digits press into him he sighs, eyes closing as he melts under Ducks watchful eyes.

“That’s it ‘Drid, relax for me. Got well over a year of horny to work out, so this cute ass needs to be ready to take it.”

Indrid pushes his hips back in reply, taking as far as the fingers will go and whimpering excitedly when he presses in the tip of the third. Duck works that one more carefully, kissing Indrid’s face and shoulders as he whispers about how good he is, how much he’s wanted this.

“I want it too so for, for goodness sake please fuck me soon or I’ll leave my entire cooler out for the bears.”

“Only one bear in this campsite tonight darlin.” Duck laves his tongue down the base of his spine, bites down hard on his ass. Indrid’s still moaning from the pain when his cock pushes in.

“Fuuuckme that’s good. Shoulda snuck into your tent sooner, sugar, made you a fuckin cocksleeve you feel so fuckin good.”

“Ohgod” is all Indrid, voice muffled by the sleeping bag he’s biting, manages before Duck adjusts them so Indrid is on his knees. The ranger isn’t gentle, pounds into him like he’s nothing but a warm hole and chuckles whenever Indrid moans.

“H-handprints, Duck, want hand prints GAHyesyesyes” he struggles to move in time with the ghost as the air fills with ear-splitting slaps. He’s so close, the pain and the sensation of phantom fingers claiming his body making his body beg for release. When he slides a hand down to jerk himself off, the arm twists up and stays trapped against his back.

“You wanna cum, you know what to do.”

He blinks away the ecstatic tears, words raw in his throat, “Please let me cum, Duck. I want to, need to cum while you fuck me pleaseplease-” he cuts off into whine as the ghost works his cock hard, all the while jamming into him hard enough that the smooth fabric of the sleeping bag burns his knees. When he cums it’s with a weak cry of Duck’s name, which is swallowed up by hungry lips as Duck kisses him over and over, repeating Indrid’s name like an incantation as he pumps his hips and cums, pulling out as he does so it splatters on the reddened patches of his ass.

A final kiss to the top of his head, and then there’s no contact between them and the zipper is moving.

“Oh no you don’t” Indrid scrambles, sweaty and exhausted, between the tent fly and the invisible man somewhere in front of him, “for goodness sake, Duck, I thought you liked me enough to at least let me fall asleep before you ran.”

The ranger finally appears, hair a mess and cheeks noticeably pink, “‘Drid, all that was amazing, but it’s all I can give you. I, I can’t...you said you were fallin for me and I can’t give you that.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why not?”

“Because I’m a fuckin ghost, ‘Drid! You deserve to be with a livin’ fella, you deserve someone who can be a real part of your life.”

He crosses his arms, “Duck, you are a real part of my life. Honestly, what part of all the nights we spent together, all the ways we take care of each other, all of this” he points at the rumpled sleeping bag, “suggests otherwise?”

The ghost doesn’t speak, simply hugs himself (or tries to).

“If this is too much, if I’m offering something you do not want, then please tell me. But if this is you thinking that some paranormal quirks keep you from being a worthy partner for me, kindly think again.”

Duck disappears and Indrid is gearing up to try and tackle a supernatural entity when a familiar face buries itself in the crook of his neck. The ghost clings to him, and Indrid clings right back.

“You really wanna give it a go?”

“More than anything.”

Duck lifts his head so their cheeks rest together, “Then fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

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

Indrid finishes hooking up his lightly used Winnebago, AKA his solution to the lack of available apartments. He’s in a different section of Eastwoods, but he’s happy with his new spot. He opens one of his few boxes, gently lifts the completed model ship into a place of honor, and waits, humming happily, for an unseen hand to knock on his door.

#indruck #monster march #indrid cold/duck newton #reader request #ghost au

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artisqueer · 4 years

Photo

RetroBangBoy AU - OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE

Word Count: 1.1k

Pairings: Taehyung x reader

“Aaand—safe!” The dust settles and the crowd cheers for the player rising up from the second base, smirking. It was an easy home run, but Kim Taehyung didn’t come for easy. He came to play.

You watch him from the bleachers, awestruck with each effortless stride he takes toward third base, teasing and dodging opponents who attempt to stand in his way. Hoseok is up to bat. He swings, precisely hitting the ball and curving it up and out of sight into the sky. Not unlike all the suitors that ever laid bare their hearts to him.

Taehyung and Hoseok both strut their way through the bases until they reach home plate. The audience swoons and the remaining team rushes the diamond to celebrate their win. Pride is swelling in your chest too. Even though you’ve had many friendly encounters with your next-door neighbor, seeing him flocked by crowds in public makes you feel like complete strangers.

“CAN I GET A HOT DOG? HEY, HEY YOU. BIGHEAD BLOCKING THE VIEW!” You’re pulled from your pleasant haze. “Yeah sorry. That’ll be 25 cents.” The guy tosses a coin into the vendor tray strapped to your stomach. Does Taehyung also think my head is disproportionately colossal? you wonder.

By the time you’ve finished cleaning up at the concession stand, it’s 6:45 pm. Friday paychecks are the best and you’re excited about the weekend. Eager to get home, you take a shortcut through the campus. The hallways are empty but the lights are still on in some areas, probably for the night shift janitor.

As you pass the Fine Arts hall, you hear soft jazz music echoing from one of the classrooms. You stop in your tracks. The vibe is familiar. You follow the sound to a large workshop and poke your head inside. “Hello?”

A pair of big brown eyes appear from the top of a large table easel. “Hey, Sweetcheeks!”

“Tae, what are you doing in here?”

His eyes crinkle into smiles and he gestures for you to join him.

You’ve seen many sides to Taehyung, but never like this. His hair is slicked back exposing his prominent brows and forehead. He must have had a shower recently. He’s absent from his baseball uniform. A cigarette hangs from his lips.

You sit on the empty stool beside him. He turns his body back to the canvas, studying his work. You study his side profile before speaking. “Won’t you get in trouble for smoking?”

He chuckles, “I don’t light it, Sweetcheeks. It’s just for the look.”

He motions toward the canvas. “Will you give me your opinion?”

You reluctantly look away from the art that is Taehyung and turn to his creation. A wild horse grazing in tall grass beside a river, cumulus clouds lining the unfinished blue sky above it.

“Wow, Taehyung! Your painting…it’s—" You are speechless. Can he be so talented?

He gets shy all of a sudden. Cig bobbing up and down in his mouth as his fidgets with his paint-speckled fingers. “You can be honest, I know I need improvement.”

“No, Tae. This is so beautiful. Really.” You look at him, this time overflowing with pride. He is the real masterpiece.

He looks back at you, serious. Devilishly handsome. His hair is beginning to dry and a stray strand hangs over his brow. Head empty. You lift a hand to sweep it back before stopping yourself. “Sorry.”

His serious face turns amused again at your flushed reaction. He removes the smoke from his lips and closes the space between you. You brace yourself for a kiss. Instead, he goes around to your right ear. He whispers, “I’d like to ask your permission for something…” His hot breath against your cold ear sends chills up your sides. “…may I paint you?”

What should you say? Paint me, please.

You nod, giving him consent.

A week had passed since your evening still life session with Taehyung. You hadn’t seen him at your apartment or campus. It was unusual. To be honest, you were starting to get a bad feeling.

Did he play a cruel joke on you? You were overthinking and getting doubts about everything. Everything about your life made sense. He was way out of your league.

Each evening, you would take the shortcut through campus, holding your breath to listen for the soft jazz music.

Each evening, the halls were silent.

It was Monday already. The weekend had wasted away, distracting yourself with your friends.

What’s wrong? they had asked. Nothing, you had answered them.

You wanted to ask them for advice. But doing that meant exposing yourself as a fool. Not hearing from Taehyung for almost two weeks was beginning to confirm your worst fear.

“…please turn to page 30 in your texts. Beauvoir is criticizing patriarchal oppression by drawing on the “myth of the Woman”….to illustrate the weaponization of economic power to explain how inferior groups are fundamentally dependent on the gender and racial hierarchies forged by western patriarchy. She argues that today, in the 1950s, our definitions of love, gender roles, and femininity are social constru—”

“Excuse me, Professor. Sorry to interrupt, there’s a delivery for one of your students.”

The lecture hall erupts in murmurs as the office clerk brings the flat package and flowers up to your desk.

“Um, who is this from?” You take the package from the clerk.

“Don’t know, you probably have a secret admirer.” He lays the bouquet of purple and white wildflowers on your desk and leaves.

Your friends jab at your side to open the big package. You don’t want to make more noise in class, so you tear the paper quietly. The professor has continued lecturing, meanwhile, the whole class is breaking their necks to see what it is.

You lean down over the gift, obscuring the view from your nosy peers. A collective grunt ensues. You’ve removed enough paper at this point so you can make out what it is. You blink twice.

“Whoa, did you draw that?” Another friend elbows them. “Dumbass, how could they make that if it was just delivered?”

A smile grows on your face as you bubble with tears. Your eyes drift over the soft brush-strokes, blending, and colors. Your every mole captured. Light bouncing off your every curve. How Kim Taehyung sees you. Bare and beautiful.

You spot a small note inside the bouquet that reads:

Sorry I took so long, Sweetcheeks. I appreciate art. KTH.

To be continued...

149 notes · View notes

rokutouxei · 4 years

Text

in a way that would make you proud

bungou stray dogs dazai osamu (& oda sakunosuke) | T | 2913 | [ao3]

warnings: post-canon, alcohol, dazai-typical suicide references, implied/referenced self-harm, oda is still dead, also everything is in lowercase. spoilers for dark era / 黒の時代.

notes: this was supposed to be for dazai’s birthday, but i started it way too late. i didn’t want to rush it, so i took a week to write it and now it’s just a long angsty love letter from me to him (in a way.) + first bsd fic so i wanted to make a good impression LOL

summary:

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 23. hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15. everyday he would wake up wondering (hoping? believing?) that he’d be dead the next day. he never really does. alternatively: june 19th, every year, just feels like a long, long night.

(midnight.)

dazai doesn’t celebrate his birthdays, at least in his head. it’s just another likely-humid day in the country’s short rainy season. every birthday is just another reminder, no, a testament to a year of failed attempts to take his own life. it’s miserable at the worst. today, it’s just numb. he doesn’t even wake up feeling any different.

but he doesn’t let that train of thought stop everyone around him for celebrating for him.

dazai considers, for the first few minutes after waking up, skipping work altogether. it’s not going to be surprising, or anything new from him, really. and an earful from kunikida is just going to be cheap fun for the next day. but as dawn slowly gave way to the sun, he figured dealing with the pleasantries (as in, the “surprise” party that had stopped being a surprise a week ago) and sitting in his office chair would make him feel a little more put-together, at least more than just lying in his futon with his new roommate, a growing stack of empty cans of ready-to-eat crab.

dazai sighs, shuffles out of his bed, hearing the imaginary shackles that bind him there clink around.

(one o’clock am)

besides, the members of the armed detective agency think of themselves a small family at best, and for families, birthdays are special. (dazai hums this to himself on his way to work, like it’s a fact he’s learned, not a lived experience.) he’s spent the past two years carving himself a spot in this mismatched little group, and even if his space feels just as impermanent as anything he’s ever wanted, it’s still a place. he isn’t going to lose all that hard work over a random day.

budget is tight this quarter, but when he gets to the office, he’s welcomed with, salad, karaage… and even crab! there’s no alcohol because kunikida is too strait-laced for that and he insists there’s still work to be done. dazai whines and makes complaints, as everyone expects him to.

most of his colleagues have small gifts for him, like an orange from kenji, a candy from ranpo (quickly taken back), his favorite bandages from yosano… nothing really spectacular. kunikida gets him nothing, but the wordless glance they share with each other says otherwise.

atsushi feels indebted to his mentor, so he splurges to get him something nice: a scarf. which is hilarious, to say the least, considering it’s basically summer, but since scarves are off-season they are cheaper, and that’s the only way atsushi can afford something as stunning and high-quality as this—a nice thick cotton one in a deep blue shade. he passes the credit to kyouka for choosing which to get and for wrapping it nicely.

dazai’s eyes flicker with something for a moment before it’s gone. he thanks them with as much heart as he can muster, then does his usual dramatics. asks if the scarf is sturdy enough to hang himself with.

atsushi begs him please don’t and dazai feels something squeeze in his heart.

after the feast, the rest of the day goes as it usually does: dazai smiles and makes jokes and laughs and drives kunikida batshit insane. it’s just a normal day at the armed detective agency office.

just not for dazai.

(two o’clock am)

a work day is still a work day, though, and there’s no getting away from kunikida even on “personal holidays.” there are reports to be written and things to be followed up. dazai isn’t being efficient about it, but he still does his share—at least enough so that it’s even a bit fair for his begrudging partner, who is always gentler to him on this particular day.

an extra serving of patience—that’s what kunikida always gives him on his birthday. and even on this year, dazai’s quick to claim it; two hours before the work day officially ends, he’s already packing up to leave.

not that kunikida’s screaming will really stop him, but it feels a little better when dazai can afford to leave a little early with permission.

atsushi’s a little surprised no one stops dazai from leaving, but he asks no more questions when kyouka shushes him. kunikida only tsks when dazai is out of the building.

(three o’clock am)

out of the office and back into the rush of the city, dazai’s feet bring him to a beeline to that place, like on autopilot. he’s humming all the way there but his brain’s only echoing a sort of static. that is, until the imagery of sitting next to empty seats begins to burrow into the haze of his mind—and it hurts. numbness is okay, but pain? it hurts the same way squeezing into old shoes that no longer fit you does.

and dazai hates it.

so he steels himself, says, no one’s there anymore, insists, there is nothing to come back to.

even if he knows he will find himself there again one day. he always, inevitably does.

but not today. that’s not where he feels safe enough to break.

this time, dazai’s a little more purposeful, a little more awake.

he drops by a liquor store to get whiskey. just goes up the aisle and picks up the first one he finds. it’s not like he’ll remember what it tastes, anyway. the cashier doesn’t make small talk. dazai smiles at them anyway.

he contemplates buying flowers, but he feels a pang of pain at gifting something that’ll die before he does.

and so he begins the long, slow walk to the seaside.

(yesterday, today, and tomorrow)

yokohama is too familiar to him now. he’s lived here too long.

every street bears his secrets. every crosswalk has a memory.

every inch of the city has a weight.

when he was still learning to maneuver the ins and outs of the city, a little boy barely filling in the hollow of his new uniform, there was darkness everywhere. everywhere he entered, everywhere he left. dazai was sure the darkness would quickly consume him.

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 22.

hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15.

every day he wakes up wondering (hoping? believing?) if he’d be dead the next day.

today, he’s 23.

odasaku died at 23.

dazai should have died at 15.

or better yet, it should have been him who died at the hands of mimic.

he’s sure.

(four o’clock am)

even if odasaku had acted of his own accord, he was still given a mafia’s burial. the details, of course, were hushed: it didn’t matter that mori had orchestrated the entire deal with gide. what mattered is that odasaku’s death had led to the granting of their prized business permit.

a piece of paper in a stupid black envelope.

in the months between the port mafia and the armed detective agency, dazai struggled to find a way to put into words what the experience left in him. it was like it was him who was shot clean through the chest. he was walking down the path the end of odasaku’s life had pointed him towards, but then what? at what cost? to what end?

his friend’s death left no trace of him, his private files burnt, the ones still useful to the mafia kept in confidential locations. (dazai knows where everything is.) to the outside world, all that was left of the man named oda sakunosuke was a headstone, on a rather beautiful gravesite on a fancy cemetery overlooking the sea.

it was dazai who overlooked all these tiny details, even while on the run, in hiding.

honor the dead, they said.

he figured it was the least he could do.

dazai always felt like he could offer too little to the only man who ever really knew him.

so now he offers it all, stumbling along the unfinished path of a dead man, even if he didn’t know where was he going with it.

“ya, odasaku.”

(ten minutes past four)

not much of anyone comes to visit this grave, really. ango, maybe, dazai bitterly thinks, but he’s gladly never had the chance to see the man here. (he hopes he never gets to.)

because this is the only place dazai truly feels quiet.

he doesn’t really stop thinking. he doesn’t know how to. there’s always too many things to consider, so much going on, and even when his brain lets go of the tangible, of the here and now, there are other things for thoughts to latch on to, like old wounds that suddenly seem fresh if dazai closes his eyes hard enough, or the phantom sensation of a noose, or the sudden realization that he’s drowning, just not in water.

dazai’s long mastered the art of keeping his forever-rushing thoughts in neat compartments. he doesn’t usually lose track of his spirals, except when he’s here.

here he counts down, 18, goodbye, 17, 16, 15, hello, he is young again, he isn’t wounded in the places that hurt when he’s alone, he is meeting odasaku for the first time. (he’s walking down the port mafia headquarters and he sees him, and something deep within him, six years away from the future, shouts: don’t! spare him! meeting you is a death sentence!)

and then he is meeting him for the last time.

like freshly pumped from a weakened heart, stuttering, begging to live, the spurting red blood is still warm. it sends those in dazai’s veins boiling. there is no rationalizing here—no amount of reason brings the dead back.

he knows that.

but dazai breathes easier when the lines are less muddled, and he can point the criminal to the judge and sentence them to death.

it was mori ougai, sir.

it was gide, sir.

it was me, sir.

it was him—it was oda sakunosuke’s fault, sir.

(it was him who pulled me out of the dark, sir. who forced me to deal with the mess we made, sir. who told me i belonged here, sir.

i don’t want to be here, sir.)

it is only here where dazai’s mask really breaks.

shatters cleanly in half, then falls down with a thump on sacred ground.

(twenty minutes past four)

dazai rests his back against the headstone, staring out at the ocean, the sunset dyeing yokohama bay a lovely vermillion. the tendrils of loneliness cling to his limbs like they’ve sprouted out of the ground, when really it’s from deep inside his heart.

only here does dazai really feel seen: his transparency only to a man buried six feet under.

dazai’s given up on it, now. it doesn’t matter that people don’t “get” him, as long as he’s able to do what he has to do. this is a luxury is long past him, now that he’s slipped into someone else’s unfulfilled dream. he’s trying to be what odasaku would have wanted himself to be.

if there’s one thing, one thing he would ask for, it’s faith: and with his subordinates’ faith comes success—and that’s all he needs.

just bargaining chips he’s collecting under his pillow as he says, “look, odasaku, i’m doing good, look, cruel god, this duty’s given my life meaning, forgive me, forgive him.”

meaning?

no, there is no meaning here, no metaphor, no hope.

just a gaping void.

(four thirty am)

the sun slips under the bay and the sky is a beautiful lavender-violet; the sea breeze makes him chill. rainclouds have begun to crawl over the horizon, hiding the moon.

dazai feels old. too old. he feels too old for someone in a body that’s only twenty-three. he never expected this body to last as long as it has. he was ready to retire at ages much younger than this. his hands crave death with the same vigor his mind races to write strategies for situations where he survives. now, he lives in a world he never expected or planned to be a part of.

he wonders if odasaku felt this exhausted when he was at this age.

all dazai does here is think. until the thoughts stop.

the cap of the whiskey bottle is screwed on tight but when it opens, the smell takes him back to bar lupin so fast that his head spins. dazai takes a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

and he was right. he can’t taste it.

only blood. the blood in his hands, the way it stained his bandages, odasaku’s dead weight, the red pooling on the floor. dazai only tastes blood in his mouth.

blood’s always been the only thing that’s filled him.

and he hated it. felt it thrumming underneath his wrist, his jugular, blood that said try as you might, you insolent mortal, you can’t die, that so many times he’s tried to wring himself dry of it.

he never does.

because if he loses his blood what else would be left in him?

odasaku once told him that the emptiness inside of him will never be filled, not by anything that he’ll ever find in this world. and odasaku was right—dazai knew. dazai knew long before he was told. no amount of money, no amount of power, no amount of whatever will get him out of the edge of the cliff he was dangling on.

for a moment, dazai wonders if odasaku knew and was so sure of it because odasaku was aware he was taking it away with him.

whatever “it” was.

(the sun begins to paint the sky violet)

dazai remembers an afternoon a million years ago when the hollow in his heart didn’t have the shape of oda sakunosuke’s hands. ozaki kouyou was teaching two jittery fifteen-year-olds about literature.

well, just one, but dazai’s really only there because he wanted to mess with chuuya, and kouyou spotted him first.

with not a single year of formal education on chuuya’s back, kouyou’s work with him was nearly tenfold. she was tasked not only to refine his abilities (he’s good, but he can be better, a touch of elegance will not hurt), but also teach him other valuable skills.

being part of the organization, after all, was not just about violence and murder.

dazai knew that. chuuya was yet to learn it.

arithmetic and history and science—the redhead had tutors for that. but literature, kouyou had taken into her hands.

it’s not the text itself, or the language and vocabulary, she said, what we’re honing here is critical thinking, and the bits of philosophical thought to be picked up that’ll shape you into a brilliant mafioso in the future. pretty words, dazai thought. she sipped tea while chuuya read. she tapped his back with a fan when his posture broke and he began to slouch.

chuuya read the books religiously, without complaint (at least not in front of kouyou). dazai never really understood all this. he let his mind wander. why didn’t she just let the boy read war strategy books—the kind mori made him devour? oh, but chuuya wasn’t really a strategist, and well, he’s obedient, that’s why he’s a dog—

the silence of the afternoon was broken by chuuya getting up to ask about a phrase he didn’t understand. kouyou smiled in a way that left dazai unsettled. and somehow, that afternoon was burned into dazai’s memory like it was something he mustn’t forget.

the phrase was 無我夢中.

to be totally absorbed in something, you lose yourself in it.

that is, dazai’s long known what he’s doing, he just doesn’t want to admit it.

(the sky is a weak light blue, giving way to an inevitable morning)

the whiskey bottle is empty now. dazai shifts to stuff it into his little paper bag of gifts when his fingers graze the soft cotton of his new scarf, deep blue.

save the weak, protect the orphans, he was told.

he pulls the scarf out and clutches it in his hands.

feels its weight. imagines rope.

please don’t, atsushi said earlier.

and dazai is trying, and trying, and trying, and—

is it enough?

is he enough?

will he be enough?

“odasaku,” dazai says, hums it under his breath like the wind will take it, bring it where he needs it to go, “would i have made you proud?”

(dawn)

fat droplets begin to pour out of the dark clouds. there are no stars out. yokohama glimmers under the thin sheen of rain.

nearby, a child hurriedly grasps his father’s free hand as he digs into his bag for an umbrella, and the little boy goes, “papa, the sky is crying!”

and maybe the sky is. maybe the man sitting behind the gravestone is.

but there are two sure things about rain:

one, that it washes away any and all things if you let it.

two, that it will always, somehow, at some point, stop.

(morning’s just beginning)

dazai gets up on his feet, with just a little sway from all the alcohol. but the night’s still young, and there are better stuff to drink than whiskey out of a bottle. he looks back at the grave with eyes promising he’ll be back soon, a little better, a little wiser than he is, and then off he goes, into the city he far-too-well knows.

maybe he can bother someone into treating him to some good, expensive, old-fashioned wine.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #文豪ストレイドッグス #文スト #um hi i dont know the tags #also look at me projecting onto dazai going PARKOUR at every sad statement #fic #i've been in otome game hell for a bit so i haven't written anything not x reader in a while so #THIS WAS FUN #also i forgot to add! 無我夢中 is mugamuchuu. :)

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framing-visualculture · 4 years

Video

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Garden by Meiting Song

Hello everyone, welcome to Framing Visual Culture. I am Yi Jing Fly. Today’s guest is Meiting Song, a graphic design and motion graphics artist based in New York and Beijing. Her works exude the fun and exciting energy of early 2000s Asian pop culture and embraces girlishness in their character designs and color palettes. She is currently finishing her final semester at School of Visual Arts (SVA) in NYC.

Meiting talks about how she developed a simple aesthetic for her digital designs through the process of silkscreen printing, finding the relationship between colors blocks. She also shares her influences looking back on the nostalgia of 90s and y2k aesthetic shared between her Asian friends, where the common language of communication is English but the visual language of shared pop cultural knowledge transcends words. Meiting ponders why no one aspires to design the branding of feminine hygiene products, and hopes to one day work on such a project herself, where she gets to design a fun and lovable brand image for such a ubiquitous and important product.

I saw that one of your illustration has been translated to a t-shirt design on Animal Crossing?

Haha, yes. In the beginning I tried to make a pixel art design in Adobe Illustrator, but there is some difficulty as the squared corners become rounded in the game drawing tool. It’s hard to come up with original designs as I have to do a lot of drafts, so what I do more now is to turn clothes already available in stores or others’ designs into digital versions in the game. There are also many accounts (like Nook Street Market) dedicated to making designer fashion and luxury items into Animal Crossing outfits. It also feels great when I can wear a luxury brand I really really like without spending any real money!

What is the situation like for young artists and art students now in NYC with Covid-19? Do you feel less affected since most of your works are digital?

For students in the digital art department it’s pretty much the same, we are used to working remotely on our laptops. But I’m taking a risograph course this semester and I can’t access the studios to work on my prints.

The grad show is also affected, as we usually have a huge event at SVA where we get to present our works to industry experts and network with them. I would say our career prospects are definitely jeopardized.

I especially love the animation series and gifs you’ve been working on lately. They remind me of Chinese paper-cut animation enlivened with simple Internet aesthetic. Can you tell us more about how you developed this aesthetic over time?

When I first started out doing graphic design in college I was making a lot of minimal and clichéd designs. We were all inspired by Apple’s aesthetic, but the minimal things I made in the beginning were more unfinished, and I realized I can’t keep doing that.

For the whole of last year I took silkscreen printing classes, and that was where I really challenged myself to think about the relationship between color blocks and each layer I’m making; eventually I learnt the skill of simplifying a very complicated thing. A lot of people like to make complex prints with silkscreen, but that’s not meaningful for me personally. At the time I also looked at a lot of art involving color blocks, and Taiwanese graphic designer Wang Zhihong’s works especially inspired me.

There are strong elements of 90s and Y2K Asian pop-culture in your works, are they from your own nostalgic references?

When I was little I didn’t pay particular attention to the pop-culture I was consuming. It was actually after growing up and meeting many Asian people from other parts of Asia that I noticed these things more. In fact, my inspiration comes more from other people’s sense of nostalgia. For me I watched a lot of Card Captor Sakura, Crayon Shin-Chan, Doraemon, and Hannah Montana. Hannah Montana was actually my fashion icon as a kid. Now I am searching for the songs that were super popular in my childhood, like Jay Chou’s songs, and trying to recall the streets and scenes where I heard them. It brings me a lot of joy doing that.

Another interesting thing I found is that, with my Asian friends, even though we communicate in English, we actually know the celebrity or show we’re talking about, we just don’t know the name in the other language. Communicating this shared cultural experience in English and reaching that moment of connection beyond language is really great!

Fashion and art are very interrelated. Oftentimes we find artists expressing themselves in both their art and fashion, and the aesthetics of both are usually aligned. What kind of clothes are you into right now, and how do they reflect or inspire your creative process?

Right now I’m really into the clothes by designer Rui Zhou (a recent Parsons MFA graduate). I especially like the sinuous lines in her garments, the flow of the curves, as I like round edges. The pearl/ bead element that holds the delicate knitwear together is my favorite part, it almost looks like an exclamation mark! I probably wouldn’t wear the whole look directly over my body, but it’d nice to just wear a piece of the ensemble as an accessory. There are also a lot of singers and celebrities in America that are wearing her clothes in their MVs or photoshoots. I find it interesting that what is indie or non-mainstream is the mainstream in New York.

Ruizhou SS19

I do think that she is one of the designers creating entirely original designs and pushing the boundaries of fashion. You recently did a collab with clothing brand Unif and photographer Monimogi, can you tell us the concept behind that collab?

It began with Moni following me on Instagram, and she liked the Sunrise Mart zine that I made and wanted to collab on something similar for Unif. Sunrise Mart had more of a Shōwa era advertorial aesthetic, with the nostalgic design elements stemming from that time, but for the Unif zine I wanted to make something with a Y2K aesthetic.

A page from Sunrise Mart

A page from Unif zine

I wanted to make something very “Tai” (corny Taiwanese subcultural style), hence the blings and saturated colors, and the use of Traditional Chinese chracters. They are quite characteristic of early 2000s teenage girls magazines as well. In those magazines you will often find horoscope readings or personality quizzes, and I incorporated that into the Unif zine, by making a quiz for “finding your perfect shoes.” I previously made a quiz for finding out what type of drink you are in Sunrise Mart and my friends told me it was pretty accurate lol.

I also made a series of stickers to go with the zine, adding many elements that I have designed on my own. I also slid in a picture of a glass dildo with a heart shape on the top, and I thought no one would find out since its quite inconspicuous, but Unif side found out immediately and exposed me. But they kept it anyway because they thought it was funny. They’re pretty chill about things.

It took quite a while to make this, from the photoshoot in February to layout design of the zine in March. The Covid-19 situation was worsening at this time, and I had to focus my mind on making this really cute and fun zine when in reality I was being super anxious.

#framing visual culture #meiting song #mad.lizzard #artist interview #chinese culture #asian #graphic design #graphic art #motion graphics #unif #fashion #nostalgic #y2k #showa #90s

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

Text

Running Home | 01: The Setting Off

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Smut (eventually), Friends to Lovers

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: A journey consists of three essential parts, even the one proposed by an estranged childhood suddenly showing up at the door after years of absence. Although, perhaps begging to embark on an adventure is better befitting of the situation.

After all, the two travellers might find the destination they could not find themselves at the end of the road, inherently constantly running in circles.

Not anymore.

It is time to go home.

The Setting Off / The Road / The Destination

Masterlist

Promises are an odd concept, binding individuals by means of a few words uttering an oath to fulfill a type of wish. The desires range from simple favours like getting a red bean paste bun when getting the messages to the vows spoken beneath the wedding wreath to thus stay together forevermore. Nonetheless, not every oath can be held since Circumstance has the power to nullify the uttered commitment, driving people apart thanks to obligations or sending part of the pair somewhere in the vast world.

Apparently to only later return when years have passed without contact, still dreaming about the same ambition that was first uttered during art class in a spur of the moment, having noticed curious familiar eyes watching long slender fingers create designs to embed in ink on the skin in a self-made establishment one day. Recognizing the talent displayed by the intricate yet minimalistic style, using solely black and shading if applicable, this declaration has been supported even after the separation following the graduation from junior high and up to the current times does the secret wish to proudly bear a unique tattoo created by Chan remain.

Withal, unfortunately, there has not been an opportunity to research online whether the boy with locks like pure chocolate has managed to achieve the goals set for himself a few years ago at all. Even if the aspiration has been accomplished, it has likely been done so in the place that was never mentioned before simply vanishing one day. The omitted detail would not have been excused by other children seeing their best friend leave, but in this particular case, the situation is different as it maintains the oath of never inflicting hurt, emotional or otherwise. Telling would have enhanced the pain inflicted by showing.

And this guarding vow has been kept up to the second a loud buzz resonates in the fairly large apartment that can be rented thanks to the loathsome job as an editor for a large-scale project: a music company turning the story of one of their groups into a manga. Indeed, sparkling warm irises set above an adorable big nose have never failed to protect the girl who used to laugh off the jokingly made assumptions of having a crush on them with just as much humour as when accusing the talented artist vice versa. Who found safety is merely being near, who saw the neighbour as nothing more than a friend to always be there for, who never found a satisfactory person to fill the gap left behind be it romantically or friendly.

Who was planned to live together with in a place of our own making, swearing to run after dreams side by side.

A faithless oath disregarded entirely during teenage years for the young artist would not return to erase the absence.

Bare feet pad the afromosia floor to the intercom beside the front door, a curious finger pushing the button in wonder of who could come calling yet praying it is not a colleague tasked with bringing in additional scripts for the next chapter release. Freelancing is unrelenting, requiring a twenty-four-seven availability, but it was explicitly stated last week that today would be taken off. Henceforth, anticipating the worst case scenario, the call from below is answered suspectingly. ‘Hello?’

An unexpected voice freezes nerves, gaze darting around the empty home as if finding a hidden camera tucked away in a corner for, surely, the greeting cannot belong to the adult version of the hopeful very much baby-faced old neighbour. ‘Y/N, it’s been a while. I don’t think you’d remember me, but I was the little dude constantly sticking to your side.’

‘Chan?’ The gasped name sounds foreign in the hush between four fairly luxurious walls, the shared history slipping into the present by awakening the spry engraved memories of playing in the park and drinking bright yellow lemonade on the porch. Sandalwood mixed with pink orchids transforms into sunshine brightly illuminating childish laughter flowing over in teenagers discussing seemingly important issues which in hindsight were futile worries and topics.

‘Hey, you recall!’ A triumphant cheer sounds on the other side, the joyful outcry evoking a nostalgic sense since it has remained to sound the same as in days gone by filled with a multitude of matches in all sorts of manner and supporting one another before and after tests, doubting whether a good grade was waiting on the horizon. Fair, the timbre has changed, but the bubbly laugh undeniably belongs to Chris Bang.

‘How did you find me?’ Despite the wonderful occasion, it is also quite miraculous the current residence has been found without any clue directly from the renter of the property nor having put it online somewhere other than on online shopping sites.

A brief second of awkward silence passes, the astonishingly returned childhood friend taking a moment to contemplate a proper answer, mumbling incoherently while figuring it out. Nevertheless, after a few seconds, a soft-spoken confession immediately triggers an uncensored grin. ‘I called your parents, requesting to speak to you. They said you moved out, so I asked them where it is you live now. They gave me the address, I typed it into the navigation and thus ended up here at your door. Sorry I’m late... by a few years.’

Voice lowers to a whisper yet continues to be loud enough to be audible through the intercom, a lump in the throat constricting erasing the Cheshire Cat grin, begging the man waiting on the street below to not vanish again nor feel unrighteously guilty over a past deed. ‘Don’t apologize, you did what you had to for a reason.’

‘I thought it would be easier- easier if- if I- you know... didn’t say... anything.’

Everything pertaining to the life under the roof appears to float further and further towards the surface as a still shocked by events girl sinks into the deep, suddenly realizing how much this current existence is loathed. How much has been missed in terms of simple happiness, merely by hearing Chan speak after so many years.

How many days have been lost to working the supposed dream job of being self-employed, never having been one for a steady job.

How much two teenagers were willing to take on the world to give it their inked brand.

How much worse the homesickness has become.

A buzzing melancholic laugh enhances the tightness in the chest, teeth biting down on the lower lip burdened by the sad tone flowing over in the continuation of the conversation, listening with a quivering chin as a curled finger rests against lips to seal a breathless speechless mouth. ‘It has been a few years, too long to still really know each other. But, regardless, can you let me in? I- There’s something I want to ask and I’d rather not do it this way.’

‘Of course. I’ll open-’ a deep sigh restores composure in part, a single fragment healing the crumpled fingers holding the surprising contact intact, ‘I’ll open the door.’

Stinging tears are blinked away as best as possible, the drops created from a conflicting battle between elation over being together again in a few minutes and guilt over having reduced Chris to the state of feeling as if being at fault while the opposite is true, trying to ignore the nagging sense that the circumstances could have been different had contact been maintained.

Notwithstanding, no thread was thrown out to be caught and be woven into a patchwork of reconnection, thus leaving the beginning which would simultaneously be the end unfinished.

Being busy tends to make one forgetful, after all.

We were busy.

Chasing dreams.

We forgot.

Bare freshly showered feet pad back and forth in a directionless manner as time slows down in the wait for the reuniting knock on the door. The jaw is steadfastly clenched, although it does relax a tad when looking at the clock ticking underneath the television hanging on the brownstone-accented wall, which lets the seconds pass too slowly. Digits slip out of the pockets of jeans when arms crave to be crossed, holding onto upper arms clad in a thin alabaster sweater firmly while wondering whether the childhood friend would be recognizable at all.

Time transforms.

At last, regardless of the couple of minutes which have actually passed, the faint echo of running filters in from the hallway of the building despite the supposedly soundproof aspects of the edifice and comes to a halt abruptly in front of the entrance to the medium-sized apartment. The pacing halts directly and replaced by sprinting in the direction of the hallway, opening up to a pale slender finger hanging midway in the air to ring the bell.

Brows furrow at first when initially solely seeing a calmly rising and falling loose oversized dusk-toned shirt but soon eyes squint at the astonished face gazing down when shifting focus upward, both individuals clearly confused by the unexpected howbeit natural physical change resulting from growing up. The sole characteristics that give away it is indeed Christopher Bang who has been let it are the adorable big nose and brown cat’s eye scapolite irises lighting up in amusement, slightly parted full roseate lips with a prominent Cupid’s bow curving into a tender smile. ‘Hey, Y/N.’

‘I distinctly remember you and I not differing that much in height and I’m pretty certain you were a lot less buff. What did you eat, man?’ The teenager with short jet black hair at the graduation ceremony was skinny and had a round baby face. However, all of the former appearances have been made undone as ink has been replaced by platinum and features have become more prominent at the hand of puberty accompanied by weight loss and development of muscles, supported by hours upon hours at the gym.

‘Not anything that varies from what we used to eat back in the day.’ The rendered useless hand falls to the side, a tad fidgety in its strange double-edged hesitance to reach out despite knowing it would be too bold to try.

Smile developing into a grander genuinely entertained version of itself, the same smile as often shown in the past, broad shoulders shrug off the reference to meals worthy of being called a mukbang. The often multiple course was either prepared by a parent, Chan himself or together when a pretty decent cooking skill was acquired by both individuals - learning from the neighbour by observing and him pitching in when needed at testing personal abilities.

However, that was the case at moments when the needed effort was actually put into preparing the food. Otherwise, it would be ready-to-go food bought at the convenience store nearby school or simply ordered and delivered.

Regardless, whatever it was that brought the dishes to the table, it has never affected the voracious appetite of the swimming champion and that suspicion arises again, howbeit in a joking manner to ease the awkward tension of the reunion after the radio silence. ‘Oh, so you still shovel everything in that’s presented to you?’

‘If it’s good, yeah. It’s a waste to just leave it be.’

The dimmed chuckling at the reminiscence and unchanged sentiments gradually dies down, arms crossing themselves again while leaning in the open doorway, enjoying the cool breeze of the air conditioning keeping out the summer heat pestering the city. Although grateful for the fading homesickness thanks to Chan’s presence, it is for a reason the blonde guy is standing in this very spot after years of no contact. ‘Why are you here, Chan?’

A curiously satisfied hum escapes the once aspiring tattoo artist who promised a small town girl to move to a metropolitan together and open a tattoo shop at the mention of the nickname, a dark plead casting a hopeful gloss over deep dark brown eyes contradicting the tune. Matte twilight leather Timberlands briefly pull focus away to the ground, doubt about what wants to be said obvious in the suddenly shy demeanour, before fully shifting attention to its original point to ask something without giving any context and thus leaving the request ambiguous. ‘Would you do it?’

Head tilted to the side, the intention behind the phrase is attempted to be deduced from the downcast long lashes of puppy eyes while at the same time offering comfort to the digits peeking out from the wide long sleeves, which have cramped themselves into fists clutching the night-shaded fabric. ‘Do what?’

No negotiation is possible from the tone in which the exchange is shockingly continued, turning what is inherently a proposal almost into a certainty.

‘Run away with me.’

#Kpopwonderlandtag #Stray Kids #Stray Kids x Reader #Stray Kids fanfiction #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chris Bang #SKZ

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rkevent · 5 years

Photo

It all starts with a drone shot of Seoul Arts High School, followed by the School of Performing Arts, and then Hanlim Multi Art High School. Unlike the previews seasons, these were the locations where the first round of auditions took place for the fifth season of the Mnet Global Auditions. Different news articles appear on top of the images talking about how this season is expected to be the biggest of them all and with a new format that’ll bring bag some highlights from the previews seasons as well. It’s right after that they show what appears to be an infinity of people confirming their presence inside the three different schools. Flashes of hopefuls auditioning go by the screen — singers, dancers, rappers — but it’s sped up, and when you can’t distinguish their faces any longer, the screen turns black.

There is color again when a new building is revealed. It is, actually, the old building home of the preview auditions, the CJ&M Building. The difference is that it is empty now with the lack of hopefuls standing right outside the door. Next is the image of an empty meeting room, and the public could already make their correct assumptions of who would be walking inside.

One by one, the CEOs of the Big 5 entertainment companies make their way inside the room. The image freezes when they walk inside so that they can be properly introduced with their name written below them in a pretty font. They’re Hyun Bin, who is in charge of Nova, So Jisub, who is in charge of Royal, Katie Lee, who is in charge of KT, Tiger JK, who is in charge of TRC, and Baek Jiyoung, who is in charge of Sphere. Each of them has their own seat at the table, and once the exciting song playing in the background fades away, the people are able to listen to the silence in the room.

“It’s a new season already.” Tiger JK comments, rotating his chair so he can look at all of the other CEOs. “That’s right.” Katie Lee replies with one of her sly smiles. “How many auditions will we have to watch today?” It’s Baek Jiyoung who asks, but all five of them are paying attention. One of the staff members notifies them there will be 100 contestants for them to get to know, and while some of them aren’t too obvious, the CEOs don’t appear too happy with this information. “Let’s get it over with then.” Hyun Bin hits the end of his pen against the table so that its end will pop off and then opens the file they were given.

Just as quickly, the scenes from the auditions return until they’re back to the schools, observing who will be the first one to appear. “Yo!” An excited man exclaims. It’s LEE HOHYEON giving the camera a grin. “My name is Lee Hohyeon,” as he spoke, he tapped the tag with his name on it. “It’s right here in case you forget it.” So Jisub slight shakes his head. “Did he just say ‘Yo’? Is this really how we’ll start this?” Followed by him, it’s KIM SEUNGMIN, who appears imitating different animals, including a pig, a cow, and a horse. “Oh my god, sorry, that was so embarrassing. I’ll just move onto the yo-yo.” While the boy prepares for his yo-yo tricks, Hyun Bin laughs a bit. “Does that mean the yo-yo isn’t supposed to be embarrassing?”

This is followed by a brief cut of their main skill performances, the first a rapper, and the second a singer. The CEOs who had commented before simply nod their head. They show a dancer next, LEE CHAERYEONG, who dances fiercely to her chosen song. After she’s done, the girl opens a smile. “She’s good,” Jiyoung says and the others nod in agreement. “Hello, I’m CHOI YOONA. I’m going to be performing a song I wrote.” So Jisub settles back on his chair. “She does look like a singer, doesn’t she?” Except, the girl starts to rap. Tiger JK chuckles in his seat. “I like her.” Hyun Bin looks at him for confirmation. “Do you?” And the other nods while his eyes keep focused on the screen.

“Hello, my name is JEON HEEJIN. Thank you for seeing me today.” She’s a singer, and her tone is clear. Katie Lee can’t hold herself but to exclaim. “The girls really are better this season, aren’t they?” A few other short clips are shown of HWANG YEJI, JO YURI, and ZHOU JIEQIONG. It’s the time to show a few of the more impressive boys. KIM HYOJIN is the selected singer between them, filling the small meeting room with his voice and the emotional song. PARK WOOJIN goes strong with his dance routine, showing a bit of a flip in the mood of the room. When his performance is cut, they show SEO CHANGBIN who raps along to his chosen song. “He modified the lyrics.” Hyun Bin points out, which then cuts to So Jisub saying something to Katie Lee. “Don’t you think the boys are doing pretty well, too?” The woman shakes her head slightly. “No.” And so the man nods without wanting to push on. “Okay.”

Some other shorter clips are aired as well of CHWE HANSOL, TAKADA KENTA, and YOON JEONGHAN. They let go of the interesting performances back to the parts that could make people question their decisions. “Why would he do that?” Baek Jiyoung asks while KANG HYUNGGU is showing putting a piece of lemon inside his mouth. The boy chews it apparently without a bother, but anyone who attempted such thing before would remember their regret. A cute girl appears on the screen saying something in japanese as her special skill. “Isn’t she japanese?” Tiger JK questions it, looking down at the file with KATO KOKORO’s name on it. “Why would speaking in your mother language be a special skill?”

There are a few more cuts of people’s chosen skills. KIM SEUNGHUN says he can kick the jegi 30 times without dropping it as it shows on his form, but after two kicks the object falls on the floor followed by the boy, who falls along with an accidental leg split. “Tada!” YANG JEONGIN exclaims as he reveals his hands had tiny clothes in them and then proceeds to dance but only with his fingers. KIM YEWON pulls a pack of tarot cards from inside her sleeve and then takes out the first card. “The Hanged Man.” She says and when they show the CEOs once again, they appear to be at a loss.

What follows is RYU HWAYOUNG and LEE NAKYUNG, both playing the piano. KIM WOOJIN, LEE JENO, and HUANG GUANHENG decide to go with a guitar. When SHIN YUNA appears, Hyun Bin widens his eyes slightly with the change of pace. “It’s not just a guitar now. It’s also electric.”

“Is this the last one?” Baek Jiyoung asks and one of the staff members confirms it. All of the CEOs exclaim at the same time. After 99 hopefuls, it was finally time to bring this meeting to an end. “Please show us a good one.” Katie Lee requests and so a boy appears on the screen. “Good morning!” He says with a peppy voice. When the song starts playing, he looks up with a grin. During the choreography, the boy shoots a heart at the camera. The lyrics are fitting for a show like this, and when he sings ‘hey you, hey you, hey pick me’, Katie Lee turns to Jiyoung to ask for his name. “It’s LEE SUWOONG.” When the song ends, he kisses his fingers and throws out a final heart.

The staff members are the one who starts clapping in commemoration of the end of this recording. Slowly, the CEOs get the energy to clap as well. “But they don’t even know what’ll happen, right?” Jisub asks and Tiger JK nods in return before speaking. “We don’t even know what’ll happen.” And the start of his laughter is cut because while this is done, the episode still has a lot to show.

So the screen shows something else now. It’s a brand new set, prepared for this special season. Words announce that from all the people who signed up, only 100 will be able to take on this stage today, but not all of them will leave as MGA contestants. The seating is divided with 50 on each side of the stage, and as the hopefuls arrive, they start to choose where to seat. Some come and sit together, while others are taking on this new adventure by themselves.

One of the contestants is shown in his interview, one of the new features of the show. He tilts his head, mouthing a big and silent ‘woah’. “Am I really here?” It’s KIM SEUNGHUN who speaks, and they split the screen into two to compare his true expression when walking inside and his attempt at imitating it. “That’s what I asked myself.” It’s a girl next, MIYAWAKI SAKURA. “I just remember this feeling of delirium. It’s definitely exciting to be here.” The editing team makes sure to show her entering in the set as well to show off how people were impressed by it. Except for one person, it seems. “Ah, isn’t it a bit much?” JO YURI asks, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

Two boys are shown walking in together, KIM YUGYEOM and KANG HYUNGGU. They part ways when they get to the stage, though, one heading to the right side and the other to the left. “We agreed to sit on the right side of the stage.” Hyunggu, the one who went to the right, says during his interview. “When I sat down he was nowhere to be found?” When Yugyeom realizes his mistakes, the boy runs over to the place he had agreed to go. “It was so dumb.”

The camera then shows more people arriving. This time, those who had watched the show before may recognize some of them. JANG MOONBOK, SOHN YOUNGJAE, and WANG JACKSON are shown as examples of previews contestants who were the show another shot. “I don’t really understand what all these previous contestants are doing here.” It’s only a voice-over for the time being before they show you a girl you’ve probably never seen before. “I think… there are other people who could be using this opportunity, you know?” LEE NAKYUNG shares her piece of mind before the scene shakes and changes.

It shows KANG DANIEL walking inside, this time together with four other men. When the scene changes again, it’s to a previous setting. “I’m Kang Daniel. SNU student, former MGA contestant, and much more.” He smiles to the camera back on the first round of auditions. “What brought you back to the MGAs?” They ask him. “Can I say unfinished business?” The boy laughs. “Last time, it was just me and Sungwoon, but this year we’re bringing along some friends: the rest of our band, Empty Enigma.” The editing team shows scenes of the boy in the previews season, followed by the intense sound of what people usually associate with a metal band.

“We all performed under stage names and didn’t tell a soul who the people behind the band were. We still haven’t, really, until now. This is our grand reveal. This is our grand reveal. Surprise!” He throws his hands up for a moment. The one who appears next is the one in the same situation as him. “My major is crop science and biotechnology.” HA SUNGWOON says the words with easy and it doesn’t take too long for it to be compared to his speech from the previous season which was weirdly close to what the said. “What bring you back to the show?” They ask him as well. “I was eliminated?” He replies and tries to hold back a laugh. The screen continues split, and when the past shows his height being crossed out from 170cm to 167, this year he decided to go with 167.5cm instead.

The five men are sat down now all next to each other on their chairs. TAKADA KENTA, the one sitting in the middle, is the one to speak. “Oh my god, it’s Joohyun!” The camera zooms in on another previews contestant, BAE JOOHYUN. Kenta places a hand over his chest. “Ah, I’m starstruck!” And the editing team makes sure to place two arrows over the heads of the people sitting beside him, the two previous MGA contestants just like the girl herself. Unlike the other two, it’s already her third time on the show. She takes a seat close to them.

While the people keep arriving, Joohyun leans forward to talk to Daniel. “It’s going to be MGA8 by the time this is over.” He laughs. “MGA10. You gonna be on that one too?” And she pushes him. As it seems, previous contestants are not where the line stops. The next person to arrive is none other than CHOI MINHO, previously known as ROMEO, the ex-member of Sphere’s latest boy group, CONVEX. Scenes of their debut music video appear on the screen, followed by the news of the member’s departure. While rumors said it was because of a dating scandal, the official news only said it was due to personal reasons.

The camera shows some of the other people’s surprised expressions as he walks in, but, during his interview, the man doesn’t appear to be too worried or too serious. “I gotta say it feels a lot different from the last time I was doing this.” For those who forgot, and for those who didn’t watch, they show a few scenes of the man on the second season. “I gotta ask though… with all these chairs… any chance of playing musical chairs later?”

Finally, all of the hopefuls have arrived, and it’s time for the only 5 remaining seats to be taken. Instead, we return to the initial room, the small one with five people in it. “But they don’t even know what’ll happen, right?” So Jisub asks, except now Katie Lee who speaks right after. “So they don’t know we’ll be the judges?”

There’s an exciting song playing and, slowly, one by one the CEOs make their way onto their seats, the 100 hopefuls cheering for their entrance. The camera zooms in on KIM MYUNGSOO who has his jaw dropped, followed by NAM JOOHYUK who sports a similar expression. “I thought I was nervous before they walked in?” CHONG TINGYAN comments during her interview. “It got so much more intense! I noticed Hyun Bin-ssi looked really handsome.”

It’s CHOI YEWON who’s on the screen now. “Can I say my heart stopped? They were all so impressive, especially Hyun Bin oppa. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.” Suddenly, it’s a relay of compliments. “Hyun Bin is as handsome as ever? How is that even possible?” HWANG YEJI says before it changes to someone else. “Hyun Bin is so handsome!” It’s KIM SEUNGHUN, the male representative in this Hyun Bin fan club. “This is not nice to say, but I hope they never film me next to him.” The popular CEO is shown seated, hearts floating around his head after all this show of affection.

The crowd is calmed again, and the camera focuses on Katie Lee this time, the one sitting in the center of the five. “Welcome, all, to the first episode of the Mnet Global Audition Season 5.” She pauses briefly for applause before continuing. “You’ll each have the chance to perform once on the stage in order to impress us, the judges, and secure your spot on the show. I wish you the best of luck and let us start.”

A girl makes her way to the center of the stage. She’s about to become the first performance to be aired on this season. “Hello, lovely CEOs,” she greets. “I’m JO YURI, and I’m… very excited to get to perform in front of all of you today. I hope you enjoy.” Heavy drums and brass come through the sound system, starting off the season with a big impact. It’s a song straight from a musical, declaring that anything the people were going to show after her, she could do better. She holds a long note and the CEOs look content. As one of the examples shown before between the talented girls of the season, Yuri puts what she’s worth to be judged.

“Hello, I’m SHIN RYUJIN. I will dance and rap for you today.” It’s another girl next, and if the song she’s chosen isn’t known to most, it is most certainly known by one of the judges. Choosing one of Tiger JK’s songs to perform in front of him is risky, but it’s not like she could have known. She’s followed by LEE JAEYOON, who shows off his vocals, followed by KIM WOOJIN, who sings and plays his electric guitar at the same time. MYOUI MINA also chooses to sing, as well as CHOU TZUYU.

JUNG EUNJI makes her way to the stage. “I did debut, but it didn’t go well.” She says during her first interview and lets out a laugh. “You probably haven’t even heard of the group’s name, it was so bad. We never made it to music shows. I thought it was over after that, but a friend convinced me to give it another shot. So here I am.” She shrugs, and suddenly we’ve returned to the stage. Now, she only keeps her head down for a moment before her chin raises high, a powerful walk to kickstart her powerful performance.

It’s a tough act to follow, and the next performances pass by quickly. There’s HUANG GUANHENG, KIM SEOKJIN, and the tarot card reader, KIM YEWON. Soon, comes LEE CHAERYEONG, one of the people the CEOs had their eye on previously. She dances excitedly to one of the more complex girl group songs. There isn’t too much time for the performance to get boring because, out of nowhere, the song changes into a new one by a boy group, giving her a new and intense concept.

“Hello!” A new hopeful wiggles her fingers in a greeting smile youthful and bright. “My name is HEO YOORIM.” Baek Jiyoung turns to the man beside her, Tiger JK, to comment something while the girl gets ready. “She’s tall, isn’t she?” And the other can’t help but agree. Written on her profile is 174cm, the tallest girl in the competition. She performs a mashup of two powerful songs, showing what she got. YOON JEONGHAN takes on the stage next. He chose a powerful ballad, and while it contrasts with the other performances so far, it’s a good change of pace between some of the kids who tried to appear cool.

Next is a man who introduces himself as KANG YEOSANG. “I prepared a song written about a good friend of mine. Thank you.” He starts by singing the emotional song done by himself, but, once the first few verses are over, he shows that he can rap as well. There’s a serious expression on his face when he’s done which quickly shifts into a grin a few seconds later. The rest of the contestants clap, and the camera zooms on KIM SIHYEON while she wipes her eyes and cheers for the boy she had been sitting beside.

A few other performances go by. “Why does it feel like the last five people couldn’t do anything right?” Hyun Bin asks while there’s a collage of dancers tripping and singer forgetting their lyrics or missing a note. There’s a tired look on the CEO faces, as anyone should be feeling having to sit there for so long. “Please, send us some help.” Baek Jiyoung exclaims just in time for the next performance.

“Hello! I’m SONG YUQI,” she says with a smile. “I hope I can make you smile today!” And she does so. Her song choice is an old american hip hop hit but it’s exactly what was needed to bring the mood back up. If that wasn’t enough, the one who comes next will certainly cheer you up. CHOI YEWON decided to prepare a cheer routine for her performance. While she does her neat gestures and tricks, the lyrics are dedicated to her dream company, Nova. “Who’s gonna make Yewon a star? Nova!” It’s enough to make the CEO of the company grin. A small flashback reminds the public of Yewon being one of the people who complimented Hyun Bin at the start of the show, so she should be happy with such achievement.

It’s a boy’s turn now, his name announced once, but after no response, they say it again. “WATANABE HARUTO.” Someone raises a hand from the seats, exclaiming “Ah, over here.” The screen takes you back in time to when people are still arriving at their seats and the camera pays attention to the boy when he says “I can do it” in japanese. He leans forward, doing something to his feet, but the camera isn’t able to capture it until it’s his time to perform. The boy struggles to get down the stairs because he’s wearing skates on his feet. “This is one of my old routines.” When the song starts to play, he shows impressive skills as he controls the skates almost perfectly. It’s truly not until he’s done that things go downhill.

Haruto kept bowing and waving while he returned to his seat, but the boy wasn’t nearly paying enough attention to where he was going. So, the boy falls off the stage, and all the eyes on the move in his direction to see what’s going on. “Is he ok?!” JANG MOONBOK asks from his seat before the screen shows some other people laughing at the situation, such as KIM SEOKJIN and LEE HOHYEON. “Didn’t he fall on his first audition, too?” So Jisub points out and it was true. The editing team makes sure to show the public as the boy trips simply by walking before. “I’m okay!” He says in the present, and successfully makes his way to his seat.

This leads to a new montage, highlighting some of the trips and other situations of the day. They show IM YOONA as she falls on her way to the stage instead of after she was done. HA SUNGWOON appears to struggle as he takes a keyboard he brought from home all the way to his chosen seat. It’s CHOI YENA who wins the prize, however. She does trip, but once her arms are moving forward to catch herself, the girl turns it into a somersault and lands safely on the stage. “Good day, y’all! My name is Choi Yena and I’m here to entertain!” The girl came prepared with a dance routine, all while she sang along to the English lyrics. It’s a toll on her voice at some points, but her role there was to entertain.

KIM HYOJIN walks over to the center of the stage, this time without anyone falling. “Ah, hello, I’m 21 years old Kim Hyojin,” and he holds up two fingers on one hand and one finger on the other with a soft smile. He appears next seated so he can play more properly play the guitar and his girl group song mixed with the american song lives up to the expectations. Who comes next is JEON HEEJIN who, just like Hyojin, had been used as an example before. “I’ll be singing for you today. I hope you enjoy.” She chooses to play the guitar as well, singing along to a sweet song.

A few more performances pass by briefly, including the ones by LEE KIKWANG, KIM SEUNGMIN, LEE JENO, and LEE COCO. One of the people who were already shown comes next, KIM SIHYEON. “Hi, do you see me? I’m Sia Kim!” She tries to make a play in words. “Hopefully today, I’ll be able to show you something different than what you’ve seen of me.” The chosen song is strong and energetic, and the girl sings in confidently. “I wanted to show a different part of myself,” Sihyeon says during her interview. “I hope the CEOs can see that.” LEE SEOYEON appears after, singing a song herself. She puts a lot of effort in her singing, and overall delivers a solid performance.

Coming next, it’s a foreigner with a cute appearance. “MIYAWAKI SAKURA. From Australia!” She says excitedly. While she starts her song by singing, the girl surprising delivers the rap portion which is most of it. She takes a bow when she’s down and waves at the CEOs and other contestants before leaving. It’s a good wake-up call not to judge a book by its cover, something they had already done before. “Hello, I’m CHOI YOONA.” Says the, now, known rapper. “The piece I’m going to perform for you today is a little something I wrote and produced. I hope you enjoy.” The lyrics are what is expected for a show like this, and the beat keeps you moving while you listen to it. “Thank you, again.” The girl says before leaving, her role there asserted.

The one who stands on stage now is another rapper, this time one you’ve actually seen before. “Hello, I am JANG MOONBOK! I hope I’ll leave a better impression on everyone this year.” The scene changes back to the first round of auditions during the boy’s interview. “It was very embarrassing to be eliminated when I was. I want to showcase how much I have improved since then.” He performs a song made by himself, moving across the stage as he does so. SOHN YOUNGJAE goes next, nodding to each CEO before introducing himself. He shows off a dance performance, trying to renew the image of him

“Hi, I’m KANG DANIEL.” Says the next contestant with a smile. “You may remember me. If not, hopefully, you will from now on,” and he leans away from the mic to adjust it, quickly returning once he realizes something. “For good reasons, I hope.” He laughs before introducing his original song. Daniel plays his guitar while he sings meaningful lyrics. The performance order goes on with the rest of the band, this time showing the other famous member. “Hello, my name is HA SUNGWOON. I didn’t think we would meet again so soon.” The same keyboard he had struggled to bring is assembled in front of him, and the boy uses it to assist his performance.

There are three others to still truly reveal themselves. They show TAKADA KENTA first, and as most aspiring dancers think like, he chooses to perform a Jun song. HWANG MINHYUN is the fourth, singing and dancing to a popular song, and even sparing some time to shoot a heart at the female judges. It’s the fifth one that may ring a new bell from the showcased hopefuls at the start. “Hello, I’m PARK WOOJIN,” he bows. “Please enjoy my performance.” He gets to not only show off his dancing skills but that he can sing as well. They clap as he leaves, completing the band pack.

Some more hopefuls get their brief spotlight such as RYU HWAYOUNG, KATO KOKORO, and CHONG TINGYAN, followed by KIM HYUNJUNG, YANG JEONGIN, and MOON TAEIL. A girl takes the center stage, a coat covering the outfit she’s wearing below it. “Hello! My name is LEE NAKYUNG! Thank you for having me here.” She bows down to the judges and before she signalizes that she’s ready, she takes off her coat, throwing it to the side. Beneath it is a red sequin dress, one that matches the theme of her song. She dances energetically throughout the song, sings along to the lyrics and only stopping for the dance break. The ending pose is the same as the start and the girl needs to shamely walk over to pick up her coat before returning to her seat.

“Hello, I’m KIM YUGYEOM.” The next performer introduces himself. He’s a dancer and shows an exciting and upbeat routine. His friend goes next, KANG HYUNGGU, and he’s a dancer as well. It’s a different vibe, but still exciting and upbeat following his chosen popular song. After him comes SHIN YUNA, this time with something rather unique. “I’ll be performing ‘Baby Shark’. Are you ready to be dazzled?” And that is exactly what she does, albeit a trap remix of the original children song. She’s a dancer like the two before her, and, after she’s done, Hyunggu appears again during his interview. “Can I be frank?” He starts. “I wouldn’t say it was terrible, but I hated it. And… it was terrible.” It’s the girl’s turn now, about to receive the news of the comment. “So we got a quote from your cousin, Kang Hyunggu, and he said that he hated your performance.” Yuna automatically looks annoyed. “Hyunggu oppa said that? He says that I was terrible. He should recheck his prescription because his performance wasn’t all that either.”

DO KYUNGSOO takes over the stage now, violin in hand. “I hope you enjoy the song.” The first portion of the song is played on the instrument, and then, for the rest, he settles his violin aside and sings to the lyrics of the song. “Thank you,” he said after his performance was finished. “For being my audience.” Then, with another bow, he leaves the stage. Another few performances pass by starring BANG CHAN, LEE JINKYUNG, and HAN JISUNG. The next one up is a girl, the one most commonly known on the show.

It’s BAE JOOHYUN, who uses her bass like she did the previous season to perform her song of choice. If she’s the one known, then the one who comes next could be considered a celebrity and, well, once he was. “I’m gonna bring you with me on a journey I took a few years ago. Since we’re gonna dive right into my personal life, I’m gonna make myself at home.” CHOI MINHO opens an antique chest, clothes spilling off of it. He moves along to the song, simple things that go along with the song. After he’s done, the man sits in front of the camera for his interview. “I just wanna let the people know it’s a song about my past. I promise I’m not lonely anymore.” He laughs.

“I’m LEE SUWOONG.” The boy greets, both of his hands clasping at the microphone. “It’s the ‘ei ei’ kid.” Tiger JK makes sure to comment while the boy bows to the judges. At first, his performance appears normal, but in only a few second his chosen song turns into a trot version of itself, gaining a few surprised looks from the audience as well as some more grins from the CEOs. “Hope everyone enjoyed it!” He says excitedly before leaving the stage. “He’s something else.” Baek Jiyoung comments as he leaves.

PARK JINYOUNG goes next. He chooses to perform a song originally performed by a girl, but he still makes it work. He’s not the only one to do so. JUNG HOSEOK decides to go with the debut song Royal’s latest girl group instead of a soloist. On the opposite side of the same coin, YU SUA decides to perform a song by a boy group. NA JAEMIN introduces himself before his performance, a cover of one of the many hit songs by Brave Girls, but rearrange on his own style.

Next, YOO TAEYANG appears, introducing himself briefly. “Hello, my name is Yoo Taeyang and I’ll dance for you today.” It’s about the third Bruno Mars song so far, but it never seems to be enough. “Hi I’m KIM SEUNGHUN and I’ll be singing a song I rearranged for you today, so please watch me well.” It’s one of the songs originally sung by Raehwan, and since the boy decided to only sing for his performance, he managed to show his skills well.

A man takes on the stage, KIM MYUNGSOO, and he chooses to use his guitar for the performance, tapping the instrument on the off-beats to create a steady rhythm. “Hello, I’m SEO CHANGBIN from Seoul. Usually… hm… I seem like a quiet person,” he pauses for a moment. “But if you open your ears wide I think you’ll be able to see past that.” Unlike the image he described, the boy puts on a good performance with an exciting song as his choice to rap.

PARK JUNHEE chooses a recent american song, charming people with his voice. “It’s true. I’m a sucker for you.” He ends his performance with a wink at the judges and a grunt can be captured from Katie Lee’s microphone. SON HYEJOO chooses to introduce herself in korean before doing it again in japanese, explaining that she was born in the foreign country. It doesn’t take too long for her bubbly personality to disappear and a new, stronger image taking over her as the young girl shows that her strongest skill is rapping. KIM MINKYUNG goes next, and this time the girl keeps up with the image. She puts on a tiara with little LED lights spelling ‘princess’ on her head.

“I’m NAM JOOHYUK, born in London and raised from around this neighborhood.” The man introduces himself with charm, and his song choice is a nice one to listen after all the ups and downs from the day. I'm CHWE HANSOL’s turn next. “The song I’ve prepared is a song that I wrote and composed. Please listen to it kindly.” It goes along well with the previous song, and people at home can enjoy it as it deserves. The next person to be called receives a couple of widened eyes. The boy, WONG YUKHEI, had decided to attend his audition with a crop top and fishnets that could be seen up to his waist above the ripped pants he was wearing.

The starting position is laying down on the floor. “Is this supposed to be a sexy performance?” Hyun Bin asks and the man beside him, So Jisub, replies to him as soon as the song starts. “Ah, I think it is.” The original song performed by the famous now-soloist makes everyone look at the boy performing, sirens playing across the set. Next up is a girl, KIM JUNGEUN, who dances with an attitude to the american song. At some point in the choreography, she lets her hair out of its bun which adds some next-level effect.

Leaning closer to the end of the episode, one of the last girls is ZHOU JIEQIONG. “I prepared something today that’s hopefully a little different, so hopefully you’ll like.” She had chosen to show a ballet performance, and most probably believe that would be the sole idea of her performance, but before long the girl starts to change into different styles, kicking her pointe shoes out of the way. By the time she’s done, more than one person was impressed. “Hey man, I’m Jooyong,” KIM JOOYONG starts casually, hand raising up to match his greeting. “I… want to take you on this musical journey.” It’s a smooth smashup that allows the man to keep up with his image as well as show off his skills.

WANG JACKSON decides to use his guitar for his performance, playing along to a pop song except with an acoustic version. LEE HOHYEON decides to go with the original song as it is, dancing to one of the more recent songs of the year. To finish it all off, there’s HWANG YEJI, one of the dancers mentioned previously. “Thank you for your time,” she says kindly before the start of her performance. It’s a song you wouldn’t normally expect from such a cute girl like her, but she has a charisma to herself that leaves some impressed.

There is text on the screen that notifies the public that, indeed, that was the last of them. The camera pans over some of the hopefuls faces to show the sight of nervousness before Tiger JK takes the microphone for the next announcement and exactly the one they were all dreading. “This may be only the first episode of the show, but we notified all of you that after the performances were done, there would be an elimination.” Some decide to shift in their seat, but the CEO doesn’t change much his expression.

“There are 100 total people here who performed today in hopes of continuing their journey on this season of the Mnet Global Auditions. Right now, it’ll be the first time we’ll reveal exactly how many of you will move on.” The man takes another break so that the heavy air may become even heavier, and whoever was nervous could possibly start feeling dizzy by now. “From the 100 constants here, only 50 of you will move on to the rest of the competition.”

There’s a loud reaction from the people in front of him and Tiger JK settles down his microphone so that So Jisub may proceed. “We’ll reveal who will be continuing on the show right now.”

To see all the of this season’s contestants, click here!

The man announces each name in alphabetical order, so if your letter had already passed, you’d know you didn’t make it. Instead of having to hear the CEO say each of the names one by one, the show was edited so that an edit of all the confirmed contestant appeared on the screen while So Jisub’s voice was used as a voice-over, explaining what would be the first real challenge of the season.

And now, let’s see what’s in store for our second episode!

After the tiring first episode, the first challenge in store for the contestants will be one that’ll be sure to only leave those worthy of their spots in the competition. All 50 of them will be divided into three groups and fight in a battle of skill between singers, dancers, and rappers. They’ll each have a limit of 2 minutes to display a performance of their choice involving only their main skill. The groups were divided by what contestants wrote in their form, but this is the time to change if they’d like to.

Eliminations will be made appropriately. There are more singers than dancers, and more dancers than rappers, meaning eliminations will be balanced to fit this ratio. If a contestant believes they may have a better chance at a skill differently to the one they listed, they may ask to change categories. IC, they would have needed to make their decision until before they left the set for the recording of the first episode, but OOC you may have until midnight of tomorrow, June 30th, to submit your change request to rkevent. In case you’d like to stay in the same category, you do not need to notify us.

All contestants are supposed to make their own way to the recording studio prepared specially for this episode. The set will be the same as before and will look something close to this. On each side, 25 chairs will be prepared for the contestants to sit on and watch each other’s performances. Just because most eyes will be on the performance doesn’t mean no one will be paying attention to you. A set of cameras will have their lenses ready to capture any sort of interesting reaction from those watching (beware of the evil editing) while a couple more will allow different angles of the main performance to be captured.

Sitting on the higher ground, much more comfortable chairs are lined in front of the stage — five in total. This is where the CEOs of each big company will be sitting to make sure only the most captivating contestants will continue their journey to make this the best season yet.

The start couldn’t have been more exciting. Welcome, everyone, to the MGA Season 5!

Tune in next Saturday, the 6th, for our second episode!

MGA Season 5 episode two preview: From 100 to 50, the contestants must now prove they have the skill to make it to the end. They’ll be judged based solely on their main skill, and those who do not make it to the CEOs expectations will be eliminated from the show! Did your favorite make it through the first episode? Who will make it until the end? Keep watching to find out!

[ None of the performances were aired in their entirety. Cuts from the show itself were uploaded to Mnet's Official Youtube Channel, but the full performances cannot be found else. ]

If you made it this far, either if you were eliminated on this episode or you’re continuing on this journey, you may add +3 POINTS IN A PERFORMANCE SKILL to your points tally. Make sure to link back to this post for verification.

Contestants have until midnight EST at the end of Friday, the 5th, to post their 200+ words solos about the skills challenge in front of the CEOs. Please tag all related posts with #rkmga5 and #rkmga5skill. They’ll have two minutes to perform their chosen skill to capture the attention of the CEOs (as long as it doesn’t break any laws). Good luck!

After the last performance is done, the CEOs will leave to discuss their thoughts privately. While this happens, the contestants will be taken one by one into a small room to be interviewed on their thoughts of the current state of things. They will be asked a variety of questions and some may be included in the list found below! Feel free to come up with your own questions if you think they can be fitting.

What did you think of the results last week?

Who do you think is the best under each skill?

How do you think you did?

Were there any performances you liked?

Were there any performances you didn’t like?

What did you think of ___’s performance?

Is there anyone you are certain will move onto the next phase of the MGAs?

Is there anyone you are certain will be eliminated today?

Once they’re done, they’ll be taken back to their seat to wait, or may go to the bathroom if needed.

You may write an extra 200+ words solo about your muse’s interview, as explained above, to also be posted until midnight EST at the end of Friday, the 5th. For doing so, you may earn +2 CHARISMA OR CREATIVITY POINTS and these can be added to your points tally as soon as it is posted. Please tag all related posts with #rkmga5 and #rkmga5skill. Please link this post as verification.

#rkmga5 #rkmga5callback

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raccoonwritings · 5 years

Text

A Drink Away from Honesty (Ch. 4)

Childhood Friends AU (angst with a happy ending, be warned)

Lucas is an oversharing drunk, Eliott is both desperate and dramatic, and everyone is trying to just keep everything straight.

Or alternatively, Lucas and Eliott were childhood best friends until a storm tears them apart and brings them back together.

(Title from “Don’t Miss Me?” by Marianas Trench)

Chapter 4: Frivolous

Lucas (16) and Eliott (18)

Lundi 08:15

His biology homework is unfinished, but it doesn’t concern him all that much. Minimalism. It’s an art form. Plus, if he’s sneaky enough he could leech off of Imane’s assignment. She’s very aware of the shit he tries to pull though, so he better be careful.

The boys are standing in the corner of the courtyard, right by the front door, which Lucas makes a beeline towards. Even though he’s spent the weekend ignoring their messages, he knows what excuses he can use to get them to move from the topic quickly. He hates lying to the boys, but he doesn’t exactly feel like bringing up the fact that Eliott is back and barreling into his life again, and that he isn’t completely opposed to it.

“She’s totally into you! No, I swear!” Arthur reassures Basile, as Lucas joins the group. He’s probably talking about Daphne. He’s always talking about Daphne, the poor girl. Yann notices Lucas and greets him with a handshake, causing Arthur and Basile to do the same.

“Hey man, how was Friday? We didn’t see you after left with that girl!” Arthur asks enthusiastically.

“Yeah, she was HOT!” Basile exclaims and Lucas already want’s out of this conversation. After Eliott left the bathroom, Chloe continued her assault on his face, of which he was not a huge fan, and was abruptly interrupted by someone who burst in to let them both know that the police had arrived because of a noise complaint. Lucas was out. He wasn’t about to get caught with the weed in his back pocket, so he ditched Chloe and bolted out the window. Luckily, the weed was still in his pocket when he got home. Who knows what would’ve happened if he’d lost it.

“It was good,” he mentions offhandedly, hoping that will be the end of the conversation. Yann steps in and pulls the conversation away from Lucas. What would he do without him?

“This girl I met at the party, she’s totally into me. I think I’m going to ask her out on Friday, see where it goes.” He seems excited and Lucas is happy for him, despite the small twinge of jealousy he feels run rampant through his chest. He’s not fully over the crush he had on his best friend last year, which was only made worse when they got drunk together before the beginning of the term, when Lucas spilled his guts. Well, most of his guts. He hadn’t yet had the courage to divulge his feelings for Yann yet, but that’s alright. He’ll get around to it eventually.

Arthur interrupts Yann’s gushing to inform the group of some very important information. “Did you guys here about the third year transfer? Apparently, he was at the party and all the girls were fawning over him.” Who transfers in the middle of the school year? Lucas had a lot of questions, none that important, apparently, because Basile interrupted with his usual concerns.

“Do you think he could give me some tips? He hasn’t even been here that long and the girls are already all over him?” Basile is actually that desperate.

“You’d need more than tips to help you get laid, man. He’d look at you and think that you’re a lost cause,” Yann quips back, causing Lucas to laugh. Between the two of them, they could cause some serious damage to Basile’s ego.

“Maybe just try not to be so creepy with girls. They may start to like you more,” Lucas offers as the only piece of advice he has on girls. “That’s if any of them would actually like you in the first place.”

Their conversation is interrupted as soon as they reach the locker. “Hi!” Lucas turns to find Chloe standing right of him and the boys. The knot in his stomach returns and he swallows thickly.

“Well, alright man, we have to go study for a test,” Arthur interjects.

“What test?” Basile questions, ogling Chloe, who’s unperceptive due to Lucas’ presence.

“The BAC? At the end of the year? Just come on!” Arthur nearly drags Basile with him and Yann, leaving Chloe and Lucas alone. Wonderful. He knows that Arthur was trying to be supportive and that he wouldn’t have done that if he knew Lucas had no real interest in her, but alas. Arthur hasn’t a clue.

“Hi,” Lucas starts a little uncomfortably. Smooth, Lucas, smooth.

“How are you?” She asks a little too giddy.

“I’m okay, how ar-“ He doesn’t get to finish before she interrupts.

“I was wondering, if you’d want to do something with me on Wednesday? Maybe we could go see a movie or do something?” She was hopping a little on her feet, indicating to Lucas that she was nervous. Shit, he had to think of something real fast to get out of this.

“You know I’d like to, but I already have plans wit-” He doesn’t get to finish this sentence either, and as much as he frustrated by how much he’s being interrupted today, he’s even more angry when he sees who interrupted him.

“Me.” There staring down at them was Eliott. Eliott with his messy raccoon hair and his light eyes and his smile that makes Lucas’ heart melt every time he sees it no matter how hard he wishes he could remain unaffected. Eliott was here, in his school, where he shouldn’t be. He should have graduated last year, in a different school, somewhere else, without Lucas. He wasn’t mad about it, wouldn’t have been mad about it if Eliott had decided he was worth keeping.

“Oh! Hi! We met at the party on Friday, I’m Chloe!” She extends her hand for a handshake to which Eliott shakes reluctantly.

“Hello, nice to meet you, I’m Eliott. Lucas’ best friend.”

Lucas’ head shot up. ‘Best friend?’ Excuse him? He didn’t actually just say that, except Lucas was pretty damn sure he heard those words leave Eliott’s mouth. The fucking audacity.

“Well, maybe we could all do something together then!” Chloe continues. This girl doesn’t know when to give up.

“Actually, it’s only for the two of us, but maybe next time,” Eliott says, with the biggest fake smile plastered on his face. Lucas could tell Eliott didn’t like her, and honestly, he couldn’t blame him. She was a bit annoying.

“Well, I’ll send you my number on Facebook and we can set something up,” she smiles genuinely and then leaves to make her way to her classes. Lucas breathes one, singular sigh of relief. Now, he only had one problem left to deal. One excruciatingly attractive problem. One excruciatingly attractive problem that he was absolutely not in any place to deal with.

He turns to face Eliott, looking up at him for the second time in over a year. “What are you doing here?” He asks through his teeth, because he’s both angry and wants to know why his former friend had followed him to his school.

“I go to school here now. Isn’t it great? We’ll have time to catch up and I can even sit with you and your friends at lunch. Yann, Basile, and Arthur, right?” He meets Lucas’ eyes and gives him a timid smile. Lucas knows he’s being genuine, but he wants absolutely nothing to do with this. That’s when he realizes, that the new third year transfer Arthur was talking about is him.

Lucas’ curiosity is starting to take over, because fuck, none of this makes any sense. “But, wait, why are you still in school? Shouldn’t you hav-” he is getting interrupted far too many times today.

“Frivolous, dear Lucas, frivolous,” Eliott says, ruffling his hair. Lucas’s eyes go wide – he knows what that hair ruffle means and he hates it. He wants Eliott to disappear, to go back where he used to be, far away from him and everything he destroyed.

He looks up at Eliott and purses his lips, daring him to do what he knows he won’t do. “Why are you here, Eliott?”

Eliott crowds into his personal space and moves his face close to Lucas’. Lucas can smell his cologne, can breathe him in. He’s trying not to get distracted, but Eliott’s lips are so close to his, it’s driving him insane. He almost forgets that he’s in public. “You’ll have to find out on Wednesday, when you come to my apartment and have a drink with me,” he says, running his hand through Lucas’ hair one more time, stepping away, and leaving Lucas standing in the hallway like a fool. Eliott always did make him feel like a fool anyway.

Lucas stares after him for a handful of seconds before snapping himself out of his stupor and opens his locker. A piece of paper shoots it way out and lands on the floor after a long descent. He doesn’t have to open it to know what it contains.

Inside, on the left, is a picture of a raccoon looking sad as he watches a hedgehog make his way down the hallway. The hedgehog’s quills are standing up as he trudges along with his head looking down. On the right is a drawing of a raccoon and a hedgehog smiling at each other, the raccoon holding flowers and the hedgehog surrounded by hearts. Underneath this picture, ‘If Eliott #3 hadn’t ruined it’ is written in cursive. Lucas’s heart melts and breaks, and he can’t decipher what game Eliott is trying to play. He didn’t care about him anymore, that much was painfully clear, so why was he doing this? Why was he trying to insert himself back into Lucas’ life again? Taking a deep breath, Lucas closes his locker, crumbles the drawing, and throws it in the garbage on his way to class.

Once he sits down, he pulls out his phone.

To: Yann

He’s back

Lucas (8) and Eliott (10)

Lundi 17:34

“Do you have a valentine yet?” Eliott asks warmly as they walk down towards his house. Valentines Day was rapidly approaching and Lucas wasn’t a huge fan of the day itself. He doesn’t enjoy the idea of having to pick someone to be his valentine. He didn’t really like anyone in his class that much, especially not any of the girls. He hates that people keep asking him about it. The only person he really likes is Eliott.

“No, I don’t want one,” Lucas answers honestly. Eliott is trying to balance on concrete curb while directing his attention towards his friend.

“Why not? There must be someone you like!” Eliott all but shouts. “Come on, you can’t tell me there’s no one you want to be your Valentine.”

Lucas shakes his head. Girls are gross.

“What about Maxine? You’re always talking about her!” Eliott asks, trying to get any information from Lucas that he can.

“I only talked about her because she was my project partner last week!” Lucas wanted to change the subject or at least get the attention off of himself. “What about you? Do you have a valentine?” Lucas asks curiously.

Eliott shrugs. “I was thinking about asking a girl in my class to be my valentine. She’s cool, I like her glasses,” he says with a small smile. Lucas looks at him and feels funny. He doesn’t like this topic anymore, but Eliott keeps talking. “Yeah, I think I’m going to leave her a drawing to ask her if she wants to be my valentine.” Lucas scrunches his nose.

“That’s lame! You gotta buy her candy!” Lucas explains for Eliott’s own good. Girls like candy way more than drawings.

“You’re just saying that because you like candy! “ Eliott is laughing now. “I want to leave her a drawing. I think she’ll like it! Plus, it’s better than one of those dumb already written valentines that my mom bought.” Eliott convinces himself and Lucas suddenly feels a little sad.

“Can we not talk about this anymore?” Lucas asks, eyes glued to the ground. Eliott hops down next to his friend because he knows something is wrong.

“Hey, what’s bothering you?” Eliott is concerned. He always is, that’s one of the things Lucas likes most about his friend.

“I don’t know, I guess I just don’t want a valentine, but if you’re going to have one maybe I should to?” He looks up, needing reassurance.

“Hey, Lulu, it’s okay not to have a valentine. No one says you have to, and you certainly should do it just because I am.” Eliott rubs Lucas’ shoulder gently, giving him the comfort he needs.

“Okay.” Lucas looks back at the ground.

“You know what! I’ll be your valentine!” Eliott exclaims, as if he’s just figured out the solution to world hunger. This idea makes Lucas panic for some reason.

“No, no, no! That’s okay!” He frantically shouts, trying to persuade Eliott from his idea. Eliott frowns.

“What? You don’t want to be my valentine?” Lucas has made him sad now and he can’t bare that thought.

“Of course, I do! It’s just, you can’t be my valentine, you’re a boy,” Lucas explains. They could only have girl valentines.

“Why does it matter if I’m a boy? If I want to be your valentine, the only thing that matters is if you want to be my valentine, right?” Eliott looks nervous now. Almost as if he thought that Lucas didn’t want to be his valentine. They were best friends, they could be valentines too, right?

“I guess, yeah. Okay, you can be my valentine…if you want,” Lucas offers nervously. He’s playing with his hands, trying to distract himself when Eliott pulls them apart and grasps one of them in his own.

“Okay valentine!” He says happily, swinging their conjoined hands.

Not long after, on Valentines Day, Lucas is digging through his bag for a crumpled-up worksheet when he discovers a small folded piece of lined paper smushed into the top of his backpack.

He opens it up and sees a poorly drawn picture of two people holding hands and smiling. The picture has a caption: “Valentine, I owe you candy!”

Lucas smiles, knowing exactly who it’s from. Maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad after all.

#elu #elu fic #lucas x eliott #lucas lallemant #skam france #skam fr #skamfr #eliott demaury

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dianaagron · 5 years

Text

untitled unfinished doctors au

fandom: digimon pairing: mimi/taichi word count: 5k of glorious basically unrevised drafts summary: digimonless au where everyone is a doctor and they’re in their 30s cause that’s fun warnings: it has sex in it because apparently other than finishing stuff i’m also unable to not write mature bits in them additional: but it’s been sitting in my computer for years and it’s so long so i might as well share what i have cause at least this way i won’t feel like i completely wasted 5k of writing you know

hello friends i’m alive and sad so i thought why not make everyone else sad as well with this piece i started writing like three summers ago and never finished because i’m unable to write a chaptered story and my mind has an attention span of 12 days after which my creativity just goes blank. happy new year tho!

Looking out of the only window in the small room she shares with one other fellow neurosurgeon of the National Center for Global Health and Medicine Hospital, Tachikawa Mimi sees a clear blue sky painted with just enough fluffy clouds to make her feel lighter after pulling her third all nighter of the week.

The desk calendar is still telling her that it’s July, and if it wasn’t for her mobile phone lighting up on its own and showing her the date, she would’ve still believed that sunny, summer day belonged to the previous month. As it turns out, it wasn’t just her phone coming to life on its own, but as distracted as she was (between the lack of sleep and the clouds) she hadn’t noticed someone was calling her.

“Is there an emergency?” She asks, a little worried, phone propped between her ear and her left shoulder to be able to get the white coat she’d left resting on the small couch on the opposite side of the room.

“No, I was just checking if you were still here.” The deep voice coming from her phone explains. She grabs the coat, and fiddles with it until she finds the badge (she almost curses when she spots it in between the two cushions of the couch).

“Yeah, I’m in the office.” She replies, with her half-whiny tone she’s sure he’s grown accustomed to by now.

“I can see that.”

Mimi’s hand flies to her chest, the sudden noise of his voice behind her startling her and making her drop her phone to the floor. This time she curses out loud, not bothering to turn to him until she checks that the phone is still intact (thank god her mother sent her that pink rubber case last month); when she does, he’s scratching the back of his head, waiting for her acknowledgement.

“Sorry.” He tries, an apologetic smile masking what she knows is complete, utter fear of an outburst. It’s funny, because she is the fellow, and not him. She thinks she might as well just spare him for today, so she turns around, making her long hair flow in the air and meeting his eyes with a bright smile, surprising him.

“Did you know it’s August?” She absentmindedly asks him while wearing the white coat at last.

“How long has it been since you last slept in your bed?” His tone is worried, but she’s already walked past him and out of the door of the studio, and she doesn’t look back to check how his dark brows are furrowed and his arms crossed against his chest. She knows all that, and she also knows he’s going to follow her out on the corridor and down on the first floor, up until they reach the cafeteria.

“I can tell the head supervisor a word, you know.” He doesn’t ask, and she only mumbles a “mmh” in response.

Grabbing two trays from the stack, she keeps one for herself and shoves - a little too hard, and on purpose - the other to him.

“You should really get something other than coffee.” He tries again and this time as they wait for the order she has already placed. She turns around to face him, honey irises staring into a pair of grey ones, completely blank.

“Jyou,” she starts, voice so promising that his brows shoot up in amazement, “don’t dad me.”

Jyou’s facial expression falls in what Mimi has taken a habit of calling the ‘staring into the void mode’, which is one of the three common reactions she gets when they talk (she keeps track).

“Then you might as well just refer to me as Doctor Kido if you don’t want me to be considerate of you.”

He’s pouting, and she giggles. That’s the Jyou she knows, the Jyou she’s known for more than half of her life. Mimi grabs the coffee, now waiting for her on the counter, and the chamomile, placing both of them on her own tray and moving fast to the self service area with sugar and spices. Soy milk, two shakes of sugar and many of cinnamon after, Mimi meets her attending supervisor at the table on the far left, the one near the window. It’s their favorite, and she can’t remember ever having sat on another table.

“You know,” she starts, mixing her coffee before closing the cup with the plastic lid, “you should step up your game a little. That chamomile isn’t going to bring the chicks to your yard.”

He frowns, and she stares at him until he feels the urge to fix his glasses on the crook of his nose. That’s how she knows she’s won, again.

“Who even puts cinnamon in their coffee?” He pouts, again, and even if he didn’t intend the retort to come out as a question she answers him nonetheless, which she knows is a way to annoy him and make him wish he had just kept his mouth shut, for once.

“It’s perfectly normal, you know? You wouldn’t have the option of getting coffee with cinnamon syrup if people didn’t like it, and what can you do if the cafeteria of the place where you’re employed doesn’t include flavors? You add powdered cinnamon, that’s what you do.” Mimi takes a sip of her drink, savoring it with her eyes closed even after she puts the cup down on the table again. When she opens her eyes, Jyou is holding his cheeks with his hands, stretching the skin of his face downwards in the Jyou Kido certified basic reaction number two: The Scream, a painting by Norwegian expressionist Edvard Munch (yes, art was her favorite subject back in the day, that decade and a half ago, more or less). “Besides, you’re glad you have me as your fellow. The whole hospital knows I’m the prettiest one.”

Jyou breathes out loudly, and then grimaces before gulping down his chamomile as if he was gulping down his sorrows.

Jyou’s sitting on the metal bench just a couple of feet away from Mimi’s open locker where she’s hanging the white coat, now replaced by the blue scrubs. She walks to him, sitting next to him and mimicking his hand movements, thoroughly massaging the insides of her palms, not bothering to turn to him.

“Sora asked me if we want to get some drinks later. They’re meeting at The Island at eleven.”

“Who’s them?” Mimi wonders out loud, curious. The three of them - herself, Jyou and Sora, who had been one of Jyou’s best friend since med school - usually tried to meet at least once a week at the cocktail bar not far from NCGM, a cute place popular among the doctors of their hospital. Yes, there had been times when other friends tagged along, but that “they” wasn’t so easy to figure out, given the number of mutual colleagues the three of them shared.

Jyou shrugs, unable to give her an actual answer.

“I have no idea. It’ll probably be just us and her colleague in cardio - you know, that one whom you said looked like a lizard. She said you can tell Koushiro and Miyako about it, if you want.”

Typical Sora, Mimi thinks, always trying to look out for others. She makes the mental note of sending a text in the group chat she shares with her ex classmates, and then she stands up, holding out a hand for Jyou to grab, helping him to sit up and walk to the operating room.

As it turns out, it wasn’t the lizard colleague Sora brought to the little gathering, but a much younger guy none of them had ever met. The young man, messy blonde hair half hidden by a baseball cap worn backwards, is sitting next to Sora, laughing fondly when Mimi and Jyou, with Miyako and Koushiro, sit down at the table they had reserved.

“You’ve made it!” Is Sora’s delighted comment as Mimi plops down on the chair across from her, feeling the weight of the accumulated tiredness of a week of all-nighters and naps on the uncomfortable couch of her studio finally down on her shoulders. She lets her head rest on the wooden table, arms left hanging down and swinging.

“I’m exhausted.” She lets out as her last dying breath.

Miyako hops down on the spot to her left, stretching her arm to reach Mimi’s hair, moving a wavy lock away from the eyes of her friend to check if she had fallen asleep as soon as she’d hit the wooden surface.

“Hi exhausted -” the voice belonging to the young man speaks up, and the beginning of the joke is all it takes for Mimi to come to life again, raise her head as well as her hand, surfacing from behind the table, to shoot a dangerous look to the newcomer and try to stop him before he can say “ - I’m Takeru.”

Takeru smiles, his eyes curving into two cute half moons, and Mimi’s head falls back to the table with a loud noise.

“Damn.” Miyako comments, arms crossing over her chest and eyes checking out Takeru, looking clueless there right next to Sora. “I didn’t think anyone else under their forties would ever dare to pull a dad joke.” She grabs one of the open beer bottles in the center of the table and lifts it up in Takeru’s direction. “Impressing. I’ve only ever seen Taichi look cool with a dad joke up until now.”

The younger one raises his brows, visibly pleased by the unexpected compliment coming from Miyako. “Why, thank you.” He replies, lifting his own glass to exchange the unspoken toast between the two of them.

“Yagami tells dad jokes?” Jyou asks, a little incredulous. Miyako nods while still sipping down her beer.

“Mmmh. Pretty often. Turns out the patients like it. Makes him look goofy.”

Mimi opens an eye, sneaking a look at her friend explaining. “Who’s Yagami?” She asks weakly, but curious nonetheless, still half lost in the conversation. She tries to sit up, feeling her head hurt as soon as she comes to an almost standing position with her back, so much she has to hold her forehead with her hand to put some pressure on it and relieve the momentary pain.

“Yagami from Trauma and Emergency.” It’s Jyou who replies her, but Miyako who specifies. “I’m his fellow.”

“Aaaah.” Mimi finally understands, turning to face Sora right across the table. “The hot one.”

Sora nods, a finger pointing in her direction in a sign of understanding. They had seen him in the cafeteria a couple of times, or walking through the corridors to get to the Trauma and Emergency Center, and she remembers Mimi’s open remarks about the width of his biceps.

“Is he single?” Mimi asks, now turning to Miyako. On the other side of the purple haired girl, Koushiro shakes his head incredulous. “Really.”

Mimi shoots him a look, showing him a grimace. “Yes, really.”

MIyako shrugs, holding out her hands on each side of her as to push back her two friends.

“How would I know? I’m his fellow, not his trustee.”

Mimi nudges her waist, glancing maliciously at her. “You call him Taichi.”

Miyako scoots left, getting out of Mimi’s reach only to find Koushiro, on that side, already showing her a mischievous grin that mirrors the one of his best friend, and he’s ready to attack. “Does Taichi let all the fellows call him that?” And again, Mimi, “Does Taichi like it when you call him that?” And Miyako has to slam down her now empty beer bottle on the table, so hard that Jyou is already halfway through the panicking mode as he foresees the bottle being broken into hundreds of tiny little pieces of glass, scattered everywhere in the bar, resulting in a lifelong ban from The Island impending on them. And Jyou doesn’t want that.

The glass of the bottle doesn’t crack, but the noise is loud enough to make the group - and the entire place - go silent for a couple of slow, embarrassing seconds. Sora mutters an “Incredibly sorry”, or something along those lines, and it’s Miyako the first one to break the ice again, wanting to have the last word.

“I’m his fellow.” She starts, talking fast with her lips drawn into a thin line, eyes moving quickly from Mimi on her right to Koushiro on her left to not give them the opportunity to stop her once more. “I’m well past the crush stage, believe me, after you see his eating habits during break everyone would be past it.” Miyako stares in front of her lost in her thoughts, before turning one last time to Mimi, and looking a great deal more calm, to add: “Besides, he’s more of your type.”

Mimi just stares at her.

“My type?” She asks, unsure.

It’s Koushiro the one to answer her, butting in the conversation he was not long before a part of. “You know, buff.”

“Hunky.” Sora continues.

“Remember the body builder?” Jyou adds turning from Sora to Miyako and Koushiro. Koushiro points at him, his eyes going wide. Then, he oppresses a snort only because of the look Mimi flashes him.

“How do you all even know my type?” Mimi demands, an octave higher. Miyako shrugs back, clearly not impressed by how offended her friend is pretending to be.

“We all know each other’s type. It’s, like, basic knowledge. Jyou’s type is the down-to-earth woman that can take care of him (here, Jyou grimaces, turning away the bottle he’s holding in a defeated manner), Sora wants the family oriented and -”

Miyako’s explanation is cut short by Takeru, who’s now fixing the hair free from his cap, turning to Sora as fast as a lightning bolt and putting a hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly to turn her attention to him.

“You like family oriented guys?” He asks her directly.

Sora starts with a “Well…”, but it’s Mimi who replies, confirming Miyako’s statement. “She does.”

Takeru’s eyes widen together with his smile, and the rest of the table is left wondering how exactly can Sora’s taste in men bring so much joy to a guy much younger than her as Takeru.

“Do you want me to introduce you to my brother? I’ve been trying to hook him up with someone for years but he just doesn’t want to hear it.”

Takeru’s smile is expectant, and Sora has to blink a couple of times before coming to the conclusion that one of the residents in cardiology that she’s in charge of just offered her a possible date. But Mimi is faster than her again, and before Sora can remember how to make her vocal cords work again, she’s already asking the important question to Takeru.

“Who’s your brother? Do you have a picture of him?”

Takeru nods, taking out his phone from the pocket of the jeans he’s wearing.

“Do you know Doctor Ishida? He works at the hospital as well.” He lets out casually while unlocking the phone.

Sora’s eyes widen as she turns to Mimi, and at the same time Miyako’s hand flies to Mimi’s shoulder, shaking her with force. The reply to Takeru’s answer comes in unison from the three women, taking the clueless resident by surprise.

“The god?”

Takeru looks up from his phone, startled.

“Doctor Ishida from oncology?” Jyou comes to their aid, and Takeru nods. Then Koushiro wonders: “Ishida is family oriented? I’d never tell.”

“Is that what he goes by now?” He chuckles. “I know, he gives off that vampire vibe sometimes. But he’s actually nice.”

“One of the few associates with some logic.” Jyou comments.

“So,” Takeru turns to Sora again, showing her the lit screen of his phone, “do you want his number?”

Nightshifts can be quite endearing, if you ask her. Sure, she’d rather be home snuggling her favorite pillow as she lies down on her own, oh-so-comfortable bed (or, as a variation, as she is being laid down on her own, oh-so-comfortable bed), but night duty is not too terrible when the hospital offers those Oscar-worthy performances.

Like this couple who’s yelling at each other as they wait in the hall, the man laying on the stretcher and the woman beside him hitting him repeatedly with her purse, and the first aid doctors pleading her to stop just as many times as she releases her frustration at - as Mimi had guessed he was - her husband. On the other side of the man, another woman is standing, her own hands stroking her arms crossed over the chest; everything about her screams “uncomfortable”, and the sight does nothing but fuel the entertainment of the row of employees behind the front acceptation desk.

“What’s going on?”

A male doctor approaches the bunch, but Mimi doesn’t turn to check who it is, afraid she’ll miss a turn of events from the show unfolding before her eyes. She does answer him nonetheless, though, as everybody else seems too interested in what’s happening to reply.

“Are you asking for the medical report or the facts?”

“Whatever’s more fun.” Replies the doctor. Mimi grins, and she notices with the corner of her eyes the secretary who had been standing next to her making space for the doctor, and the latter bending his back and resting his elbows on the desk to enjoy the show more comfortably.

“Dude broke his weenie during an encounter with his girlfriend. They had to call his wife. He’ll probably need two operations if she keeps hitting him like that.” Mimi explains, trying to stay cool as she reveals what the party had gathered up until then.

“Her bag seems heavy.” A resident behind her adds, and she thoughtfully nods.

“Ouch. That’s harsh.” The doctor comments.

“I mean, it’s understandable.” Mimi points out, her shoulders raising and then dropping again. She feels the man beside her turn his head to her, but she keeps her gaze fixed on the wife who’s now yelling something along the lines of “I would too if I were twenty! It’s you who should’ve kept it in your pants!”.

“Been cheated on?” He asks Mimi.

“I was the other woman.” She admits easily, without putting too much weight on it.

“Impressive.” He replies. When Mimi turns her head to the right where he’s placed next to her, her eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise.

There are three things she notices, in the following order. First, his face is relaxed, and he’s offering a smile different from those ones she’s used to get whenever the news of her having been the lover of a taken man slips out (God, if she’s so over those). Second, he’s closer to her than she’d expected; he’s still laying his forearms on the surface of the desk, hands collected, but his head is tilted to her side not far from her, and Mimi quickly wonders about how tall he can be, if even bent down he’s still at her eye level. Third, and most importantly, she realizes who exactly he is.

“Wanna go get coffee?”

And just like that, at 1:05 am of a heated August night Taichi Yagami is offering a way out of her night shift, and in all honesty Mimi is not really sure she can say yes, but that doesn’t stop her from turning around and leading the way to the cafeteria on the other side of the building (when she gets home, in the morning, she tells herself that everyone was gathered at the front desk anyway, so it wasn’t like they’d notice her missing).

As it turns out, Yagami Taichi of the Trauma and Emergency Center ("aspiring head of the department") had been an associate at NCGM for a couple of years already, though he was not much older than Mimi, with only a two years difference. Mimi had lightly bowed when he had properly introduced himself, reminding herself that he was an actual surgeon, and she was still a fellow, and as unused to good custom as she was, the image of Jyou scolding her had been too clear in her mind to skip formalities. But then Doctor Yagami had waved his hand so hurriedly to stop her from bending further that she had to go for the good, old, western way, offering her hand and waiting for him to squeeze it.

"I have a feeling we're a little past the formal stage, with you telling me about your past choices and all that." His comment had earned an earnest chuckle from her, and he had payed it back with a smirk of his own before adding an "I'm not judging" as he had turned to get the two coffees they had ordered.

"Didn't think you would." She had answered.

Mimi had observed him ask for their drinks in a charming way, different from how she'd seen other men flirt with employees in bars. He had been offering a bright smile with his requests, and it felt like his voice was genuinely interested when he had asked how it was going or said the usual thank you after getting the coffees. And there she was now, sitting next to him on one of the benches in the backyard just out of the cafeteria, sipping her cinnamon flavored coffee at past 1am with a doctor of a higher rank that up until that morning she had been labelling as "the hot one".

She had found talking to Doctor Yagami as easy as conversing with every other of her old time friends, and there, under the stars of that heated night, as he was telling her about how this one time a fifteen year old patient had developed this huge crush on him during the time she had spent in the hospital recovering, Mimi had thought that that patient was pretty relatable.

Yagami Taichi was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. With his tanned skin and longish hair pulled back in a casual way, now that Mimi had the opportunity to watch him from a close perspective he was handsome in a particular way, with his kind brown eyes and dimples showing whenever he laughed. But, above everything else, it had been his straightforwardness and openness to attract Mimi closer to him as they had been sipping their respective coffees, how he’d casually touched her shoulder after a joke, or how his leg had moved to graze hers as he had asked for a question about her hair she doesn’t really remember now.

And there she is, asking herself how long she'll be able to last sitting there like that - their knees casually touching as he keeps a strand of her hair between his fingers - before this all becomes uncomfortable. But then, she's surprised to realize that instead of uneasiness, she's feeling that sudden rush of excitement through her body, starting from the spot where his warm leg is touching hers, to the tips of her fingers.

And maybe he's thinking the same, because when their eyes meet he lets her hair go only to bring his hand to her cheek, sliding down until he's cupping her neck and his thumb is moving cautiously over her earlobe, causing her breathing to become more irregular, and her eyes to lower on his lips.

The thought of how inappropriate this whole thing is doesn’t even cross her mind as he brings her face closer to his own, and she's actually the one to dive in and close the distance between them to find out his lips are soft, and just right, and when he parts them his tongue is sweet and warm and she can taste the coffee they had been sipping until only minutes before.

He does something with his tongue that makes her want more and then she's grabbing his white coat with both of her hands to bring his whole body closer, because his mouth is not enough anymore. He complies, and she feels his right hand tightening its grip on the back of her neck, and the other one traveling over her leg and up, up, up, until she feels pressure right where she really needs him.

"Where's your office?" She breathes between one kiss and the next, and it takes her all she’s got to do so and not let the urge of laying down on that bench get the best of her.

"Trauma and Emergency is too crowded at night." He barely manages to give her a coherent answer, and Mimi is quick to reply: "Neurosurgery isn't."

His lips are on hers again just as soon as she turns around after locking the door of her office behind her, and then he's pinning her between himself and the door, her small body covered by his slightly bent one. She swings one leg around his hips to give him the clue, and readily he takes it and picks her up only to stumble through a desk and a pile of boxes before making it to the couch.

"Do you have condoms?" She asks him when she's sitting on top of him, one shoulder of her white coat together with the one of her dress down her arm showing her bare skin, and she sees him fixing her naked spot and squeezing her bottom before trying to reply.

"I really didn't think I'd be doing this at work." It comes out with a somewhat apologetic tone, but Mimi is more concentrated on the way he's looking at her, his eyes burning and fingers sliding to her front to deepen into her. She moans, half biting her bottom lip, letting her head fall and rest on his shoulder, hiding her face on the crook of his neck and kissing him in that spot as he lightly bites the skin of her shoulder.

"I should have a couple in my purse." She manages to say with some difficulty, distracted by how he in thrusting inside her with his fingers. And, unable to part from her, he lifts himself and her from the couch to reach for the bag sitting on the desk on the other side of the room.

He lays her on the desk, moving the stack of papers and other objects his mind is not quick enough to recognize on the side, and he starts kissing her cheek and her ear, traveling down to her neck. With the hand that is not holding the hair on the back of his head, she blindly looks for the condoms in the inside pocket of her purse.

Then there is not enough to time to do things properly, to get rid of their clothing or to move back on the couch to be more comfortable. All she feels is anticipation and electricity running through her veins, and she only registers him kneeling down to bother with removing her underwear only with his teeth before he sinks himself inside her, and she clings to him with all her body.

The last week of August brings with itself a slightly cooler wind, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity Mimi is able to leave the windows open in each room she stops by. With the end of the month comes the end of some of the doctors’ vacations, and the pace at the hospital seems to slowly go back to its normal state. She spends her days between the hospital, The Island and - finally - her flat, staying by Jyou for the most time, catching up with Sora during those breaks they share, dropping by the Laboratory to check if Koushiro is feeding himself properly, and making sure she doesn’t visit Miyako during her work hours.

Not that she’s ever wondered around the Trauma and Emergency Center that often, ever. She and Miyako had made the pact of trying to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible during work hours ever since her younger friend had started her fellowship, and the reason behind it had been quite simple: they were both very talkative people, and being good friends as they were it wasn’t hard to find ways to waste time. In addition to that, they also used to share an apartment up until Miyako had moved back with one of her sisters the previous fall, when her other sister had gotten married and moved out.

Miyako leaving the flat had been quite disrupting back then. Mimi remembers a time when she’d needed her friend’s presence after a date turned particularly wrong, and found emptiness in what used to be her room. Granted - she still had Koushiro with her, and as her best friend he had been there for her during all those so called emergencies when Miyako couldn’t teleport herself from one side of town to the other, but Mimi had come to the conclusion, one day, than more than Miyako’s mere presence, she missed the flat dynamic that there had been for many years between herself, Koushiro and Miyako.

And now, roughly one year later, Miyako’s room is still free, and Mimi and Koushiro still reject an average of 1.5 flatmate applications a week because even though they have no intention of letting anyone other than their former flatmate in, they still keep the notice of a room up for rent out. Which doesn’t make sense, as Mimi’s heard so many times form Jyou, but that didn’t mind. She’d found her safe haven in that shared apartment with Koushiro, and while she had always been the right girl for an adventure, now she was at a time in her life that asked for stability, calm, and a sense of belonging.

(All of which she doesn’t have, or at least she doesn’t feel so, as if she’s hanging in there even if there aren’t storms around her. She feels like she’s still, and everything else moves around her, and in everything, she doesn’t feel the need of taking action. She simply doesn’t feel.)

“So I’ve heard —“

There’s a look of pure horror in Mimi’s eyes when she looks up from the tray full of empty dishes of what had been her lunch to find Takeru’s beaming eyes. In a split second, she wonders just how fast gossip can travel between the walls of that stupid hospital, also trying to figure out a way to disagree and change topics almost immediately.

“— that you’re trying to find a new housemate.”

A sigh leaves Mimi’s rosy lips and it’s then that she takes in the scene unfolding before her eyes: Takeru - in contrary to what she believed - isn’t alone. There’s another guy right next to him, propped on the chair in front of her as he’s trying to climb it in a funny sort of way. His hair’s so spiky she wonders if that’s a way he likes to style it or that’s just the way it is - much like Koushiro, that no matter how many products she decides to try on him, his hair won’t flatten.

“Trying is a big word.” She simply comments, resolving into pouring herself the last drops of soda there’s left in the can into the empty glass.

#digimon #michi #mimi tachikawa #taichi yagami #digisafe #what even are the tags the kids use these days lmao #it's actually quite amusing seeing just how much i've outgrown this place #but at the same time i wish i was as creative as i was a couple of years ago #oh well #clara writes #and is retreating into her cave in 3... 2... 1

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jaeminlore · 6 years

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Vulcan and Venus | Jeno

summary: somehow, love blooms out of the ashes words: 7.7k+ category: royalty!au, fluff, sad for a bit, mostly word building and less romance :/ a/n: this is for @jenology, who has a birthday today!! happy birthday love!!

Focis certainly felt like a world of it's own. After a volcanic eruption, Prince Adrien salvaged the land the best he could and built his own kingdom up and away from the large mountain that threatened Focis. Focis was a city built upon ashes, the very heart of the world's hearth, but Prince Adrien believed that treating the land kindly — respecting it — would please the god Vulcan and protect the village that still lay oh so close to the volcano's base. And so far, it had worked. The volcano had yet to erupt again, and the land of Focis had a budding business in forging.

You happened to be an interning blacksmith. After completing trade school and learning the main functions of the hammer and anvil, you were given a shop. Though hidden away in the depths of Focis, where the air smelled of sulfur; where there was always a hazy gray fog in the air. It wasn't ideal, but you knew for a fact this is where all the best blacksmiths started out. It was well known throughout Focis that no blacksmith was true unless he had a bit of smoke in his lungs.

Now Prince Adrien was old, and his son was almost old enough to take his throne as the new reigning prince of Focis. He'd be looking for a personal smith to stay with him from his eighteenth birthday and on, and you hoped to be the one to do it. You just had to get the prince's attention.

The problem was that you didn't even know his name. He was called the Phoenix Prince, and while you supposed he answered to it, you also figured that couldn't be his actual name. Besides, even if it was, it wasn't like you could just ask around for a boy named Phoenix. It would sound pathetic: Hello, if you see the prince could you please tell him to come to my little rundown shop that smells like rotten eggs and molten metal, I would really appreciate it!

No, your best bet was making it to the annual Vulcan Festival to present your best pieces. In just two months, you'd be in the middle of the square, watching as your fellow villagers performed dances and showed off their pieces for the prince. Prince Adrien would dedicate his favorite pieces and performances to Vulcan, and the Phoenix Prince would choose the man or woman he wanted crafting his royal sword and armor.

You'd be welcomed onto the royal staff — the prince's personal staff — and be set for life. Of course it was anyone's dream, but for you it would be the biggest honor and compliment on your craft. And while you were just a novice, the thought of somehow impressing the prince brought a thread of joy that helped you sleep better at night.

That is, until Jeno started working with you.

Jeno was some kind of mystery. He had simply appeared one day with the deed to half of your shop. You didn't know why your landlord would offer your already cramped space to someone else. You just knew that Jeno is the complete opposite from you, and he messed with your aura.

If you were following Vulcan, god of the volcano and metal crafting, he was following Venus, goddess of love and beauty. You didn't think of this because he was lovely or beautiful, but because he was a crafter of lovely and beautiful things.

He was a glassblower. With each day of him crafting his side of the shop, the more tense you felt. A blacksmith with their hammer around glass objects felt too much like a bull in a china shop.

While everything he made was crafted with elegance and care, your pieces were crafted by a heavy hand and an even heavier hammer.

You didn't think it would be such a problem if he respected personal space rules. But no, he crafted far too many things to fit in his half of the shop, and most days you found small glass-blown kittens perched precariously on the shelves your unfinished projects hung from.

Jeno had a thing about sharing space. You had a thing about wanting space. Because your anvil and forge didn't take up more than a small corner of the shop, and any weapons and armor you made and mended were either hung up or given back to their owners, your craft didn't take up much room.

Jeno's craft did. Jeno took up the entire shop with his elaborate sculptures and small figurines. He had to let them cool as well, which was hard to do beside two forges. Often times he'd take them home to cool and bring them straight back.

That's what drives you crazy. Jeno could easily leave his pieces at home and bring them in after he runs out. He could stop making them faster than people are buying them. He could keep his dumb sculptures away from your swords and daggers.

But he didn't. The soft-spoken boy didn't really talk to you much either. He always pretended not to hear you when you chided him for getting in your space. He just worked quietly and leaves.

While his need for space irked you, the true rivalry hid behind the fact that Jeno kept talking about the Vulcan Festival. He kept mentioning how he'd present his craft.

You weren't sure who was going to tell him the festival rules: each shop could only have one representative.

So, it would be you or Jeno, despite the fact that you both had different crafts. Only one could attend as a representative, and you were positive that you would fight for that position or die trying. Jeno's glass sculptures were nothing against your well-crafted weapons and armor.

Maybe, if you had time, you'd even smith a crown for the prince.

No matter what happened, you would be the representative for your shop, and Jeno could kiss his glass blowing dreams goodbye for all you cared.

✱

You weren't supposed to live at the shop. Under law, no one was supposed to live that close to the volcano for health reasons. But your family lived in another kingdom, one closer to fresh air and the sea. This meant that you had nowhere to go when the smoky haze got too heavy, or the air got too hot.

There were mornings when you woke up in a coughing fit, lungs filled with soot and ash. Usually, after a bit of water and a stroll around the square, you were well enough to be back in the shop, accepting orders from fellow villagers.

It took Jeno two months to notice it, and three weeks to bring it up. "You know, you should spend a few nights in the square at my home. I don't want you getting sick."

It was one of the first things he ever said to you, and one of the most considerate things anyone had ever said to you. Part of you wanted to jump at the chance of breathing in clean air as you slept.

Another part of you hoped that in one month, you'd be sleeping with the castle staff. "No thanks, Jeno. By this time next month, I'll be the prince's head blacksmith."

Jeno rose his eyebrows, looking more surprised at your goal than your declination. "Oh. You're attending the festival? As a representative?"

"I am," you smarted, placing your hands on your hips. "So don't even think about presenting before the prince."

For a moment, you were sure you had scared Jeno into agreeing. After all, you could be scary, with your wild eyes, messy hair, sooty face, and determined attitude. Against the delicate and soft Jeno, you were sure you had the advantage.

However, you were wrong. "Well now you've got me thinking about it. I bet Prince Adrien would love my art, wouldn't he? Especially if I made something for his son, the Phoenix Prince?"

It was most you'd heard him speak, and none of it sat well with you. Even worse than your dusty lungs, this felt like a punch in the gut. This was a genuine threat. A Hey, I'm going to actively try to destroy your dream.

It made you upset. "What would your dumb glass even do? Vulcan wouldn't appreciate an offering like that."

Jeno looked solemn for a moment. "I don't make them for Vulcan."

"I suppose you make them for Venus, then? Or Jupiter? Ugh, you would give offerings to Jupiter. But of course you would do it wrong. You need flint stones for offerings to Jupiter, you know."

One side of Jeno's mouth quirked up, amused. "I don't know, because I don't give offerings. You know, it's not your business to assume things about someone you barely know. Some would say it's quite rude."

You rolled your eyes. "I would say that I am allowed to challenge anyone who gets in the way of my dream."

"I bet you aren't so big and tough," Jeno seemed so calm and collected. It was as if everything you said rolled directly off of his back and settled into a puddle on the floor. A puddle that you were undoubtedly slipping into. But you were persistent, and Jeno had made you mad.

"I'll prove it to you," you said. "You'll be left in the dust and I'll be working under the Phoenix Prince himself."

"Prince Adrien doesn't pick arrogant children to be a part of his son's royal team, you know."

"I'm neither arrogant or a child," you assured the boy, who seemed far too proud to have gotten you so riled up. "I'm protecting what is rightfully mine."

"Hm. Territorial too," Jeno smirked and turned back to his station. "That's another negative trait."

"Curse you."

Jeno only laughed, and that alone made your blood boil.

✱

"Why is there a pomegranate on my anvil?" It was a simple question, perhaps packed with a bit more spite than you meant it to. Still, it was your anvil, and Jeno knew that.

"Don't touch it," is all he said. No "Oh, let me move that over to my space so you can get to work", no "I bought that for you to apologize for my lack of character yesterday. Truly it is you who deserves to represent before the prince."

Just "Don't touch it."

So you didn't touch it. But your hammer touched it, and as the blood red fruit dripped down the hard steel, you felt a small inch of accomplishment.

Jeno sighed from behind you. In his gloved hands, he held a small glass-blown pomegranate. With a pair of steel tongs, he pulled at the bud of the fruit to shape it better. "I hope you know that I spent my lunch money on that, and I was going to eat it once I finished sculpting it."

For a moment, you felt bad. Then, "Just have half of my lunch, and don't leave your stuff on my mine again."

So the two of you shared lunch. You had to go out and buy it fresh every day, mostly because things like grapes didn't really sit well with the smoky atmosphere.

Jeno popped a grape into his mouth and then used his free hands to paint the finishing touches on his pomegranate. "You know, this back and forth is really confusing me. I didn't know that talking to you would start a feud between us."

"It's not a feud," you assured him. "After all, you're a decent person, albeit quiet. Once the festival is over, I bet we could part as good friends. As long as I represent the shop."

Jeno pushed his dark red sleeves further up his elbows and shook his head. His mop of black hair followed just a second behind. "You're stupid, you know."

"I'm passionate."

"You're immature."

"I'm determined."

"You rely on the royal family to fund your life when you could easily take help from me, a friend you know."

"I'm—" You fell silent. "Well, that's different and you know it. I can't be a village blacksmith. I'm made for better things. Bigger things."

Jeno shook his head and stood up, handing the small cluster of grapes back to you. "I'm heading home early. I think all of this ash has gone straight to your head."

✱

Within your shop, there was a storefront, perfect for displays and transactions. Your already-made weapons hung high upon the walls, while blueprints of weapons you could also make were racked below. Jeno's glass pieces took up the entire front room. From small characters to large replicas of rose bushes, there was definitely a chance of something braking.

And every day, without fail, something broke. Whether a child walked in, or an adult who had too much wine, or simply a clumsy teen, characters would fall, and glass would shatter into every direction.

It made you upset, having seen how long it took Jeno to make them. After seeing how low he priced the pieces in the first place. After watching him refuse to let anyone pay for the damage they've inflicted. Jeno was different than you. Jeno smiled, and offered the child a free character to keep her from crying. Jeno guided the drunken woman out of the store and into the arms of her family. Jeno told the teen a joke about how much he hated that piece anyway, and made sure they left unworried.

It was admirable, but gods it was frustrating to see Jeno's face once the customer left. It was hard to see his face crumple into sheer disappointment as he swept up the glass shards. But he never complained.

While you would follow the basic procedure of you break it, you but it, Jeno managed to make up his own rule: you break it, I'll give you an extra one for free.

So that's why you stole Jeno's replica of a cat. The minuscule gray and white cat had meant a lot to the boy. You knew because it took him one day alone to sculpt a pretty pink bow around it's neck. The entire week he made it, the two of you didn't fight once, because he was too busy telling you about the cat he used to own. He told you how excited he was to display it.

Maybe you should've left it out. After all, Jeno wanted people to see it. But then again, you weren't sure you could bare to see his face if that precious cat fell to the floor. After watching Jeno craft it for a week, even you felt a personal connection to the dumb figurine. There was no way you were going to let anyone harm it.

But Jeno was like Venus, and you were still like Vulcan, who was by far the most clumsy of the gods. And, like an erupting volcano, you managed to stomp all over Jeno's beautiful creation. You managed to ruin everything.

And it wasn't even your fault, really. You had placed it on your shelf and got back to work. But the vibrations of the hammer must've shaken it to the edge, and you were too invested in your task to hear it fall and break into a hundred little pieces.

The only thing that alerted you that something was wrong was Jeno's voice, distraught in a way you hadn't heard before, "What did you do?"

"What?" When you turned around and saw the mess, your heart stopped. "I put it on the shelf to it wouldn't get broken by careless customers. I thought you'd take it home at the end of the day..."

Your head felt light and warm and your hands felt shaky as you awaited Jeno's reply. "Please, Jeno, I know how hard you worked on it. I didn't want it to get messed up. It was my fault, because of the hammer, but I didn't mean it. I promise, Jeno."

For the first time, Jeno didn't look serene or calm. His dark eyebrows furrowed and his heart-shaped lips twisted into something like sadness. Something maybe close to disappointment. "I'm just sad. I understand it's not your fault. But you understand that I'm trusting your words, because anyone else would agree that this seems suspicious."

"Jeno, I swear on Vulcan himself, I wanted to keep it safe."

"Okay," Jeno said, though his eyes avoided your desperate gaze. "I believe you."

✱

It took Jeno another week to complete the cat again, and a second week to mold it into a field. You watched during your break as he added a small blue butterfly, connecting it to the cat's paw to look as if it were a small chase.

Jeno was meticulous and patient with his work. You'd never seen someone so focused before. In fact, it made you feel threatened, because your crown prototype was looking bulky and ugly.

It made sense that Jeno would remind you so much of Venus. He could craft anything into living beauty, while your pieces were looking uglier as the days went by. Truthfully, you wondered if you should learn how to make things less bulky. You wondered what a more delicate style would look like around such an army as Forcis'.

"Hey, if you were the prince—"

Jeno popped his head up, and you noticed that he had a small fleck of soot on his chin. "Huh?"

"If you were the prince," you repeated, "what kind of crown would you prefer?"

After the whole cat incident, you tried to not challenge the boy so much. Sure, you were still going to absolutely dominate as a representative, but that fight could come later. For now, you would show Jeno that you could be nice if you wanted to. You could prove it to him that you were truly just passionate about what you did.

Maybe asking him for help would show him that.

"What about a circlet?" Jeno said. He had already gone back to his piece, now pulling the hot glass upwards into a sort of hill shape. But he was listening to you, so you kept going.

"Do you think a circlet would fit his face?" You asked. "I've never seen it."

Jeno shrugged. "Most say he has a kind face. Maybe it would look nice."

You were beginning to think Jeno really did worship Venus. You'd never known anyone in the land of Forcis to be so fascinated with the minimalist things in life. He found the beauty and delicateness in a kingdom of fire and brimstone, ashes and soot. He was truly one of a kind, and the sudden realization made your toes curl in your sandals.

Maybe Jeno deserved to be a representative. Because, honestly, there would be tons of blacksmiths representing, and as much as you would hate to admit it, the chances of Prince Adrien choosing you were slim to none. In fact, at this point, with your impatient attitude and inability to design anything new for the prince, you felt like giving up.

So you sat and watched Jeno blow glass. It was, of course, a beautiful thing to watch. The way he somehow knew how to twist blend two different shades of brown so that whatever mountain he was crafting could look like a legitimate mountain. It wasn't just a flat mountain either, it was made out of swirls and coils of glass. Everything about the sculpture looked light and happy. It looked peaceful and serene.

Then Jeno blew red and orange glass into the mountain. Like spurts of lava and ash, he coiled strips of red until it seemed like the volcano was screaming the very fires of the underworld out of it's core. It startled you: the drastic change. The way one cat turned into a sculpture of broken innocence and impending doom.

"Why did you make that?"

"It's for my father," Jeno said, simply but firmly, as if that was all he wished to say on the matter.

"I miss the way it used to look," you said, mostly because you couldn't help it.

Surprisingly, Jeno met your eyes with a smile that seemed void of emotion. "Me too."

✱

The Vulcan Festival arrived, and Jeno suddenly disappeared the day of.

You hadn't been prepared for it at all. While you forged your first circlet, he worked endlessly on the most minuscule details of his sculpture. The two of you bantered back and forth, with little to no bite behind your motives anymore.

At this point, you weren't fighting that much to become a representative of your shop. To be honest, you had been thinking of giving up on the prince altogether and setting up a booth in the square to make money and advertise your shop.

Maybe then you could live in the square, away from the ashes that harmed your lungs. Maybe you could escape before anything became permanent. Because truly, that's what terrified you the most: becoming sick while still young.

So on the first morning of the festival, you decided to let Jeno present his sculpture. After all, he had worked harder on it that you had worked on your circlet.

You thought Jeno deserved it far more than you did, even just for being a better person than you.

But then he wasn't there. And even when you waited around a tinkered for two hours, he didn't show up.

His sculpture was set upon the table, finished and ready to be presented before the two princes. And yet, the artist was no where to be found.

Maybe Jeno had rubbed off on you. Maybe, after all this time, you needed just a bit more of Venus' influence. Just a little more delicateness. Just a bit more consideration for others. Just a little less carelessness.

So in a not-so-split decision, you set your circlet down and pick up the sculpture.

✱

The Vulcan Festival was in full swing, so you took a path behind the booths to avoid getting bumped or jostled. You were not going to break his pieces again. You were going to prove to Jeno that his pieces were important enough to be showcased to the prince and his son. Today, two princes would see his works. Not a child, not a drunken adult, not a clumsy teen. True royalty would see his talent, and for some reason that felt more important than your weapons being recognized.

Maybe there was enough of Vulcan's influence in the world. Maybe Forcis needed more of Venus.

You signed up under your shop's name, and gave artist's credit to Jeno. You could represent, but he would get the praise.

The presentation was set up in a coliseum, with nobles and royals seated in the high seats. Your couldn't see inside yet, but from the sound of the crowd's hushed chatter, you could be certain the audience wasn't too impressed so far.

As you waited to be called, you wondered if this was a stupid decision. Maybe Jeno left for a reason. Maybe he didn't want anyone to see his pieces — at least, no royals. Maybe this would just be another one of your bull-in-a-china-shop moments.

But maybe, just maybe, this would all be worth it, and for once you'd be doing something for someone else. You'd be helping a friend.

When someone — presumably Prince Adrien — called Jeno's name, you almost missed it.

You were too busy wondering if now would be the time to start praying to Vulcan. Maybe he could help you keep from breaking this precious art piece. Or maybe he'd remember how many nights you cursed at his volcano, and perhaps he'd tip the piece on purpose.

You didn't have time to think further once you enter the sandy arena. The audience's ooh's and ahh's drew a sort of satisfaction through your veins. You wished Jeno was here to hear it.

You set the piece down on the pedestal and finally looked up to face your princes. Only you stopped short, because one of the prince's was Jeno. And he looked shocked. Upset, almost.

And suddenly there was this tidal wave in your chest. Disappointment bubbled through your chest, and it's like you now knew what Vulcan's punishment was for cursing his volcano. It was being lied to. It was bragging openly about your mediocre craft in front of the prince himself.

It was just like a bull in a china shop, and you were the last left to know. Now, it felt like looking back at all the shattered pieces and realizing just what a mess you've made. It was realizing that you really were in over your head. And the prince knew it. The Phoenix Prince knew it because the Phoenix Prince was Jeno.

Your tongue felt like sandpaper. Rough and thick, and unable to utter a word without scratching at you throat — at your conscious.

So you bowed to each prince, picked up Jeno's display, and left.

✱

Jeno was already at the shop when you came in. He was back at his volcano piece, and it occurred to you that he hadn't finished it.

It occurred to you that maybe Jeno had kept his identity a secret for a reason. Maybe Jeno wanted to perfect his art away from the kingdom.

Maybe you ruined everything.

"I'm sorry," you both blurted it at the same time, and somehow that made your nerves fizzle out.

Maybe you just overthought things.

Jeno turned back to his mold, and you noticed now the small flowers he had added. And, in the corner, it looked as if he was adding a pair of legs. Perhaps he would add a person. "I'm sort of glad you brought it so that my dad could see it," Jeno said suddenly.

"You aren't mad at me?"

"No," Jeno said. His eyes were still trained on his mold. "I mean, it's not like he didn't know I was doing this. He's the one who gave me permission in the first place. Although, he's never really cared for my art, or my beliefs, and I made this mold out of spite after one of our arguments. You crashing the cat didn't bother me nearly as much as the fight I had with my father earlier that day. I think after that I just built off of it. Until this was created."

You felt prickled by curiosity, as well as this weird middle ground between pity and confusion. "What do you argue about?"

"My mom," Jeno said. His voice caught suspiciously in his throat l as he continued, and you felt your heart lurch in pain at the sight of his distress. "She died in the eruption when I was a baby, you know. The main reason my father kept Focis' main village so close to the mountain was to try and please Vulcan. I think he sometimes thinks that if he pleases Vulcan enough, Mother will just reappear, out of the ashes. And I know she won't, but it doesn't stop him from crafting his entire life around that hope."

Jeno let out a sigh. Some part of you wanted to give him a hug. But the other part of you felt like that would interrupt his thoughts, and you longed to hear the rest of his story.

"It's just... the volcano doesn't have a large range. If we could just move the village out of range, then it could be safer for everyone. I always worry about the volcano erupting again. Every night I think about how deviating it would be to wake up in a city of ashes. And ever since I met you I've thought about just how close you are to the mountain, and how much you cough, even if you don't realize it. Every day I see your skin get grayer and I can't help but think that—" his voice cracked at the last moment, and your feet moved on their own, towards him — "that you're becoming part of the ashes too."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him bury his face into your shoulder. You suddenly felt self-conscious, because Jeno was a delicate prince and you were nothing but a sweaty blacksmith. But Jeno's arms were tight around your warm waist, and your shoulder kept getting wetter with each second, and in that moment it occurred to you that maybe Jeno needed you more than you originally thought.

✱

It took a few weeks before things felt normal again. Of course, the fact that Jeno was a prince would always be somewhere in the back of your head. But then he made too many figurines and set them on your side of the shop, and you felt things shift back to normal.

You found yourself thinking about him a lot more. Specifically, how his role as the Phoenix Prince would play out as his birthday drew nearer. You assumed nothing would change politically, as Jeno couldn't truly change laws until Prince Adrien gave up his title in full. But when you thought about the shop, and your rivalry-slash-friendship with Jeno, the more you hated to think of a day spent without him.

Because Jeno was annoying, with the way he set his figurines around your armor and weapons. But he was your friend, and thinking back, he must've known all along that he wasn't going to be representing the shop in the festival. Yet he was there, pushing you to do your best through insults and jests.

Maybe you worked better from his constant teasing. The need to be better than him perhaps turned you into a better-than-decent blacksmith.

Now things felt more mellow, and you weren't sure why, but something felt off.

Perhaps it was the shift in Jeno's personality: the revealing more of what happened to his mother. It wasn't all that surprising: you knew the late princess had died from the eruption. Still, hearing someone so close to her talk about how it affects him every day, made you wish you could do something about it.

The volcano in Focis was small. So small, that the square (where the royals resided) was well away from any damage, save for a bit of heat and maybe some stray smoke. The true terror lay in the small cluster of shops just at the foot of the mountain. Jeno was right, you did cough often, but that was because the eruption had left gaping holes in the mountains walls, and it was easy for ash and smoke to seep out of the cracks, making its way to unsuspecting villagers' lungs.

You didn't want to die from a lung disease, though you always figured that's how you would go. It wasn't easy to live away from the volcano. If so, you would've packed up a long time ago. But the economy in Focis just wasn't like it used to be, and there were too many blacksmiths to compete with. Spending what little money you got on rent and food was all you could do to stay alive.

After working with you for months, Jeno knew that.

And all of this information made you wonder, what was the prince going to do about it?

✱

You fell sick only a week later. It startled Jeno; the way you collapsed onto the floor, heaving in what oxygen you could.

The smoke was especially heavy today, as it was every once in awhile. You casually told Jeno — through coughing fits — that you figured it had something to do with the tides and the moon.

Jeno thought it was foreshadowing.

Perhaps it was, because there you lay in a guest bedroom of the palace, accepting whatever strange medicine the physician would feed you. He told you that your lungs where in danger, and you should pray to Vulcan now that he wouldn't claim them wholly.

You ignored him and closed your eyes, hoping it to be a big enough hint for the physician to leave.

When you opened them again, it was because a wooden bowl was being pressed to your lips. The feeling startled you, but upon seeing that Jeno was the one on the other side, you relaxed and took a small sip of what tasted like maple syrup.

"It's fenugreek," Jeno said, watching your eyebrows furrow at the taste. "It helps the lungs."

"How bad is it?"

"Oh, we don't know," Jeno said. "It's not like we can see through your body. But, judging by your breathing patterns and your dizziness, our physician says you might've caught pneumonia. With how dirty the air is down by the shop, he's surprised you made it this long."

You sat up. Your chest felt almost folded, like you had curled within yourself. And taking a deep breath felt like forcing air around a hundred small hurdles. Shakily, you exhaled. "I'm sorry you had to bring me here. I'm assuming this is the palace?"

"Yeah," Jeno wasn't looking around the room. Instead, his eyes were glued to your face still, perhaps from worry. "I thought this would be your best chance."

"Are you gonna kick me out once I'm better?" You nudged his body with your lower leg and giggled.

"Actually" — Jeno's eyes somehow seemed to get brighter as he spoke — "I was hoping you'd stay and be a part of my royal entourage."

"No way," you squealed in ecstasy.

"Yes way, so get better soon." Jeno took the bowl and set in on the nightstand. Then, he leant down and gave you a mischievous look, "After all, if you get worse we'll have to ship you off to Rome."

You crinkled your nose. "I don't like Rome. I like it here."

"Oh?" Jeno smiled. His face was close to yours, but not close enough to let you breathe on him. "But Rome has coliseums."

"So does Focis."

"Yeah... built to copy of Rome."

The gaiety of Jeno's expression made your heart stir for a moment. You were positive the new feeling wasn't the pneumonia, because this one gave you the urge to reach out and touch Jeno's face.

And that would be weird.

"Prince Jeno, why on earth are you in my quarantined room?" The physician waddled back into the room, looking angry at the younger male.

Jeno sent you a wink and gave your leg a quick pat. "And that's my cue to go!"

✱

"Have I ever told you why they call me the Phoenix Prince?" Jeno lay beside you on your bed, a silk cloth over his nose and mouth to protect him from any sickness. He refused to leave you alone for more than a few hours, always returning to keep you company.

"Everyone knows it," you said, voice raspy and barely there. "It's not exactly a happy tale."

"I suppose not," Jeno whispered, lifted one ankle to fit over the other.

Above you both, the ceiling was made of glass. It expanded across the entire room to showcase the midnight sky. Stars twinkled brightly, almost illuminating what would otherwise be a pitch black room. And in the far corner, you could see the Big Dipper in it's muted glory. The scene made you feel, in some sense, romantic.

The only thing to make it more romantic would be if you could breathe properly, which was not a choice on this particular night.

You turned your head to the right, just in time to see Jeno fiddling with the stone necklace around his neck. "In that moment, it felt very surreal, you know? I was only three, and I doubt many people remember life at three years old. I don't, except that exact moment when my mother was buried in stone. I remember the heat, and the magma that splattered everywhere — this was back when the palace was right beside the volcano — and I just remember knowing that I was gonna die. I don't even think I knew what death was at that age, but I definitely knew something bad would happen to me."

Jeno sighed shakily, "I must've fainted or something, because my only other memory is this extreme pain in my side, and then everything was black until I woke up miles away with my father sobbing above me."

"Didn't you get burnt?" Your eyes unconsciously trailed towards Jeno's side, where a thin shirt covered his skin.

Sensing your gaze, he pulled his shirt up. "The building I hid in caught fire. They saved me just in time."

You gasped and reached out slowly, thinking for some reason that his skin would still be hot to the touch, just like the night he got the wound. But once you're fingertips brushed the elevated skin — pink and rough in comparison to his smooth, olive-toned stomach — you could feel that it was only warm, and that was from the summer night itself. "I'm sorry. It must've hurt. Physically and emotionally, you know?"

Jeno grabbed your hand suddenly and linked his fingers with yours. One calm exhale left his lips before he spoke again. "It was definitely rough. My dad brought in a soothsayer to help me with the night terrors. Of course she told me that it was my mother trying to connect with me from the afterlife. She was the same one who convinced my father that Vulcan would send my mother back if he offered sacrifices, so I never really trusted her judgement."

You used your free hand to trace the lines and dips of his scar. "Your father is killing us, his people, for a pipe dream."

"I know. I know exactly what he's doing and there's nothing I can do about it. That dumb volcano is going to erupt again, and Focis will cease to exist. And my mother won't return, no matter what my father believes; no matter how many innocent lives he thinks he's letting Vulcan take."

Jeno truly was an essence of Venus. It was the thought that lulled you to sleep that night, after Jeno left to his own slumber. His elegant manner of speech, despite the harsh words being said made you think of how proud the goddess must be, looking down on him.

Because Jeno was everything rational, and beautifully so.

And you? You were falling in love with him.

✱

By the time you were allowed back in a forge, it was the castle's own private forge, and you were given a list of weapons and armor to mend for Jeno.

After seeing all the weird dents and dips in his armor, you wondered what exactly it was that Jeno got up to in his spare time. After all, up until now you'd only ever saw him for a few hours in the shop. He must've had an entirely separate life away from the shop.

After many night just lying next to each other, stargazing and discussing foreign affairs, you felt as if you've known Jeno your whole life. At this point, it would be hard to go on without his presence, should Vulcan ever curse you with something so horrific.

You ached to be close to Jeno. Just being around him set a small fire in your belly that flowed through your veins like molten lava. Though he had a world without you, you were beginning to see an entirely new world in him.

Perhaps Jeno liked you back, and just as much. However, with your avid need to be better than him and your constant insults, you wouldn't be surprised if Jeno revealed that he wasn't too fond of you after all.

And though it would break your heart, you knew deep down that you would understand.

For after all, someone as beautiful as Venus would never fall for someone as rough as Vulcan.

✱

"You're back!" Jeno said in surprise. He quickly turned his back towards you, hiding whatever project he was working on. He was working with glass again, pulling a beautiful pink color into something you couldn't make out.

The funny thing was that he has his own little glassblowing forge right in the palace courtyard. This one wasn't filled with sulfur or smoke, but with clean air and lavender incense. Dry flowers hung from the ceiling, as well as beautiful bouquets that were not yet dried completely.

Jeno casually mentioned that they were bouquets given to him by the people, and he wished to keep them around.

"But why," you said, reaching up to touch a white rose, "would you work near the volcano if you have a safer option here?"

Jeno's shoulders tensed, but before you could apologize and retract your statement, he spoke. "My father isn't the only one who believes in offerings."

"You... You lied earlier! That's why you craft so many figurines and don't sell them? You're offering them to Vulcan?"

Jeno ran a gloved hand through his hair. "My father wants to sacrifice people to get my mother back. He prays that the volcano will erupt for that very reason. If I can bite back and create beauty from the ashes, than surely Vulcan will hear my prayers too. After all, he is married to the goddess of love and beauty. It would be crazy to think that Venus herself isn't listening in on our prayers to her husband, just to be sure that everything is running smoothly."

It hit you in the chest, nearly bubbling up your throat and out like a choke of happy tears. All this time you compared Vulcan to Venus, and how the two were so obviously different that their dynamics would never work. And yet all this time you had forgotten that they were married and in love, for Venus had looked past the rough exterior of Vulcan.

Jeno hadn't forgotten at all. Jeno had used the information to his advantage to save his people. Jeno truly was the Phoenix Prince, beautiful and risen from the ashes. He could protect Focis — you had no doubt. Not now; not ever again.

✱

Your lungs still bothered you from time to time, but spending afternoons in the palace garden under the sunshine seemed to heal you far more than the physician ever did.

Jeno made you agree to drop smithing until your lungs were clear. He secretly hoped you'd quit altogether, and you secretly knew that, but there was a big piece of your heart that still belonged to the fire, and you didn't think it would be quenched any time soon.

As the days passed, your heart still reached out for Jeno and your mind filed in secret every word he spoke to you, in case you wished to think about him in your spare time. These days he was busier, with Prince Adrien stepping down and allowing Jeno to be crowned an official prince by title and not just by blood, there were many duties to be taken up.

Jeno had his hands full with his first project: moving the city away from the volcano. It would be tough, as he would have to make deals with other kingdoms and build almost entirely from scratch, but he couldn't help but think it was worth it to let the children breathe clean air again.

He was in the middle of speaking with contractors now in the hopes of moving the entire village miles away on the other side of the palace, out of range from the smog and sulfur that normally plagued the air.

To say you were proud of him for taking on such a task would be an understatement, for the amount of love and pride you felt for Jeno could barely be hidden anymore in its extreme quantity. Though it was selfish of you to want Jeno to stop being so busy, you couldn't help but wish that he would just sneak up to your room some nights like old times, if just to hold your hand and point out the stars.

When Jeno finally did have free time, he sent for you and asked that you would meet him in the garden.

Upon seeing him in his clean white tunic, partly covered by a ruby red toga, your heart beat just irregularly enough to remind you how much you loved him. The golden laurel wreath that sat comfortably in his dark hair made him look all the more regal and perfect in your eyes.

"Why are you dressed so formally?" Part of you felt very undressed, considering you were still only wearing your nightshirt tucked into a pair of cotton pants. But Jeno didn't mind. He never did.

"Because I have a proposition for you," Jeno said.

Though you wanted to feel nervous, his smile and crescent-shaped eyes put you at ease from the moment you stepped foot into the garden 'til now, when he grabbed your hand and linked his fingers with yours. "I made this for you."

He pulled a small flower out from behind his back. The clear, glass stem molding into dark green leaves and pale pink petals caused your heartbeat to speed up. You could see the small air bubbles where he hadn't quite smoothed out all of the glass, and the sight was so obviously Jeno that it caused a small giggle to pour through your lips. "I love you so much."

You heard a gasp leave his mouth just before it's muffled by your lips. He tasted just like he felt, soft and honey-like in ways that seemed so hard to describe because all it made you want to do was curl your toes into your sandals and ask for more.

Jeno's fingers threaded through your hair and cupped your jaw, finding a stronghold there to press further against you. His lips opened and close around yours. Your mind began to fog, from the low sounds that came from his mouth and the heat that rushed to his cheeks after such an incident. The whole experience had your mind reeling for more and less, but mostly just this — the feeling of Jeno in the palm of your hands.

No one else got to feel the way you did, or be treated the way Jeno treated you.

For this was a treaty between two lovers, much like a god and goddess in love, and for a moment you don't think you've ever believed in something more.

#jeno fluff #jeno au #jeno scenarios #nct fluff #nct au #nct scenarios #destwrites

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paigenotblank · 5 years

Text

The Age of the Wolf (7/9)

Rating: Mature overall, this chapter is teen

Pairing: Eighth Doctor x Rose Tyler; Eleventh x Rose; Ten x Rose

Written for @doctorroseprompts and Eight x Rose August. Prompt: Dimension hopping!Rose meets Eight / What if Rose was with Eight or met Eight during the Time War? 50th Anniversary Re-Write/Fix-It

Read it on Tumblr: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

AO3 TSP

The Doctor set aside his copy of Advanced Quantum Mechanics, removed his glasses, and rubbed at his temples. He was having trouble concentrating, a feeling of unease had been plaguing him for hours.

For a moment he was surprised and disoriented by the silence around him. It was eerie, like the calm before a storm. Dread sat like lead in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to think of the last time he felt a storm sitting on the horizon, back when he’d lost…

He jumped to his feet and paced in front of the time rotor. I’m forgetting something important. What is it? He tugged on his hair in a move more reminiscent of his tenth self and stopped abruptly. Maybe he should jump ahead so he didn’t have to wait any longer. But it had been too long since he’d last seen Clara. He needed a distraction right now and an adventure with a dear friend sounded like just the thing to do it.

He looked at his watch and was startled to realize school was almost out. But...I...I never lose track of time.

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and leaned up against the door with his arms crossed. He watched as students at the Coal Hill Secondary School began pouring out of the doors, eager to meet up with friends or to get to jobs or just go home and watch telly.

A small smile pulled at his lips as he remembered another young girl who had gone to this very school so, so long ago. He could remember her clutching a stack of books to her chest and dancing to the pop music of the era as she made her way back to TARDIS. She’d chatter to him about her day and the silly ideas that were prevalent among the humans of that time. She’d say, ‘Grandfather, can you believe that they treat the fourth dimension as if it’s a joke and they’ve never even heard of the fifth dimension! Why it’s just so primitive. Oh, but I do love it here!’

Thoughts of Susan were not as painful as they once were, now only causing a small twinge in the regions of his hearts. He wasn’t sure if that was better or not.

He let out a sigh and felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hello, Doctor.”

Shaking aside his maudlin thoughts, he grinned brightly. “Clara!” The Doctor opened the door for her to proceed him inside. “Fancy a trip to ancient Mesopotamia followed by future Mars?”

“Will there be cocktails?”

“On the Moon.”

Clara pretended to think it over. “The Moon'll do.”

Both of them burst out laughing. Clara removed her coat and tossed it over the railing before turning back to the Doctor.

He gave her a big hug. “How's the new job? Teach anything good?”

Laughly, she pulled away from their embrace. “No. Learn anything?”

He shook his head. “Not a thing.”

The TARDIS jerked and alarms began to ring.

Clara grabbed hold of the console. “What's happening?”

“What? We're taking off, but...the engines aren't going.”

The Doctor ran down the ramp and pulled open the front door. He swayed and leaned back inside when he saw that the TARDIS was being flown over East London toward the city center. With a grimace, he reached out the door and pulled open the phone cubby. Shaking his head, he dialed his U.N.I.T. contact.

“Hello? Kate Stewart’s phone.”

“I want to talk to Kate, right now.”

“Erm, hold on.”

The Doctor stood tapping his foot to the sound of wind, running, and gasping breaths.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. Ma’am!”

There was a murmured conversation, before a familiar voice came through. “Doctor, hello. We found the TARDIS near a junkyard. I’m having it brought in.”

“No kidding.”

“Where are you?”

The Doctor held up the phone so that the sound of the helicopter was unmistakable.

“Oh, my god! Oh, Doctor! I’m so sorry. We had no idea you were still in there.”

“Next time, will it kill you to knock?”

The helicopter changed direction and the Doctor tumbled out the door dropping the phone. He managed to grab hold of the threshold just in time.

“Doctor!” Clara ran over to help him.

The Doctor dangled from the TARDIS at it flew over the cityscape toward the Tower of London. When the TARDIS was close enough to the ground, he hopped down and approached Kate Stewart.

“Doctor, as Chief Scientific Officer, may I extend the official apologies of U.N.I.T.”

“Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, a word to the wise, as I'm sure your father would have told you, I don't like being picked up.”

Clara walked up behind him. “That probably sounded better in his head. And besides, I know for a fact-”

The Doctor glared at Clara and she left that thought unfinished.

“I'm acting on instructions direct from the throne. Sealed orders from her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the First. Her credentials are inside.” The Doctor was about to break the seal on the missive, when Kate stopped him. “No.” She pointed to the National Gallery. “Inside.”

The Doctor nodded and as he passed Kate’s assistant did a double take. The young woman was dressed in a lab coat, but it was her striped scarf that caught his attention. It was reminiscent of the one he’d fancied in his fourth body. “Are you the one who answered the phone earlier?”

The young woman flushed and looked as if she’d forgotten how to breathe. After the moment stretched to become almost uncomfortable, she nodded.

“Nice to meet you...do you have a name?”

Her eyes widened and she peeped, “Yes.”

“Good, I’ve always wanted to meet someone called ‘Yes.’”

“No.”

“No?”

She looked bemused. “Name’s Osgood, sir.”

“Oh...Brilliant! Nice scarf.”

Osgood took a wheezing breath. As Kate passed she reminded her, “Inhaler.”

The Doctor and Clara walked into the National Gallery followed by Kate and Osgood. “So Elizabeth the First? You knew her?”

“Hmmm? May have met her a time or two.”

“A time or two? And she’s sending you love letters? Does-”

The Doctor’s ears turned red. “Oi, ’s not a love letter!”

They arrived at a covered painting, and Kate nodded for it to be revealed. “Elizabeth's credentials, Doctor.“

When the sheet fell away, Clara gasped. “But, how is it doing that? How is that possible?”

The Doctor’s face fell and he whispered, “No More.”

“That's the title.”

The Doctor sighed. “I know the title.”

“Also known as, ‘Gallifrey Falls.’”

The Doctor spun to confront Kate. “This painting doesn't belong here, not in this time or place.”

Clara moved closer to the painting. “Obviously.” She reached out as if to touch it. “An oil painting in 3D?”

“It’s Time Lord art. Bigger on the inside. A slice of real time, frozen...It's the fall of Arcadia, Gallifrey's second city.”

Clara spun toward the Doctor. “What? Seriously?”

The Doctor was lost to his memories for a moment. Clara approached him and touched his arm. “You okay?”

“He was there.”

“Who was?”

“Me. The other me. The one I don't talk about.”

Clara tilted her head. “I don't understand.”

“I've had many faces, many lives. You know that. But there's one life I've tried very hard to not think about. The Doctor who fought in the Time War. Only, now I can’t quite... I think...it all feels hazy.” The Doctor walked closer to the painting and sighed. “The last day of the Time War. The war to end all wars between my people and the Daleks. That was the day he did it. The day I did it. The day he killed them all and silenced the universe.” The Doctor turned angrily to Kate. “Why today? I’ve had this...this...feeling all day. And some of my memories are fuzzy. I remember or I’m almost remembering. Why bring me that message today?”

“It came with written instructions in which Elizabeth told us when to deliver it and where to find the painting and its significance. I believe it’s better explained in the letter.”

The Doctor had done his best to lock away the memories of the War, if only to be able to sleep on occasion. But now he couldn’t shake that persistent feeling of forgetting something important. Something about today, something about his past. What is it? What does it have to do with Queen Elizabeth I and why this painting?

Clara brought him back to himself with her question to Kate. “But the Time War's over. Why bring us here to look at a painting?”

“The painting only serves as Elizabeth's credentials, proof that the letter is from her. It's not why you're here.”

The Doctor turned the letter over a few times before breaking the seal and unfolding the message. Dearest Doctor, I hope the painting known as “Gallifrey Falls” will serve as proof that it is your queen, Elizabeth, who writes to you now. You will recall that you pledged yourself to the safety of my kingdom. In this capacity, I have appointed you as curator of the Under Gallery, where deadly danger to England is locked away. Should any disturbance occur within its walls, it is my wish that you be summoned. Godspeed.

The Doctor folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. “What happened?”

“Easier to show you.”

Kate and Osgood led the Doctor and Clara to the entrance of the Under Gallery. Clara looked up to see a painting of Queen Elizabeth the First and a stoic Doctor in his Tenth form. She smirked and was about to comment on the ruffled collar when she noticed his face. The words died on her tongue at the tension on his face. He caught her looking and forced a big smile.

The Doctor, resplendent in pinstripes, was laid out next to a young Queen Elizabeth on a pile of cushions with a feast spread around them. He popped a grape in his mouth and then fed one to her.

“Tell me, Doctor, why I'm wasting my time on you. I have wars to plan.”

“You have a picnic to eat.”

“You could help me.”

“I am helping.” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows before biting into a crisp apple.

“Not the picnic. You have a stomach for war.” She caressed his cheek. “These eyes have seen conflict, it's as clear as day.”

The Doctor sighed. “Oh, you’ve no idea.” He then jumped up in a swirl of excitement. “Up on your feet. Up, up.”

The Queen was taken aback. “How dare you? I’m the Queen of England.”

“I'm not English.” The Doctor fell to one knee. “Elizabeth, will you marry me?”

“Oh, my dear sweet love. Of course I will.”

“Ah, gotcha!”

“My love?”

“The real Elizabeth would never have accepted my marriage proposal. But then the real Elizabeth isn't a shape-shifting alien from outer space. And…” The Doctor holds up a cobbled together machine that made a chiming noise. “...ding.”

“What's that?”

The Doctor looked at her as if she’d dribbled on her bodice. “It's a machine that goes ‘ding.’ Made it myself. Lights up in the presence of shape-shifter DNA. Oooh. Also it can microwave frozen dinners from up to twenty feet and download comics from the future. I never know when to stop.”

“My love, I do not understand.”

“I'm not your love, and yes you do. You're a Zygon.”

“A Zygon?”

“Oh, stop it. It's over. A Zygon, yes. Big red rubbery thing covered in suckers. Think the real Queen of England would just decide to share her throne with any old handsome bloke in a tight suit, just ‘cos he's got amazing hair and a nice horse?” The Doctor looked over his shoulder at the horse. “Oh.”

Standing where the horse had been just moments ago was a Zygon.

He held out his hand to the Queen. “It was the horse. I'm going to be King. Run!”

“What's happening?”

“We're being attacked by a shape-shifting alien from outer space, formerly disguised as my horse.”

The Doctor led her into an old ruin.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna need a new horse. Quick, I'll hold it off. You run. Your people need you.”

“And I need you alive for our wedding day.” Elizabeth kissed him before running off.

The Doctor ruffled his hair. “Oh, good work, Doctor. Nice one. The Virgin Queen? So much for history. You’ve really stepped in it this time.”

The Doctor took off in another direction following the dinging of his Zygon finder. At the sound of a feminine scream, the Doctor turned and ran into a small clearing.

“Elizabeth!”

The Queen was laying on the ground and the Doctor helped her stand. Another Elizabeth walked into the clearing.

“Step away from her, Doctor. That's not me. That's the creature.”

“How is that possible? She's me. Doctor, she's me!”

The Doctor pointed his machine at both women as they bickered. He slapped the side of it, before shaking it.

“It's not working.”

“One might surmise that the creature would learn quickly to protect itself from any simple means of detection.”

“Clearly you understand the creature better than I. But then, you have the advantage.”

Just when the Doctor was ready to throttle both women, history be damned, a swirling portal appeared above him.

“Back, both of you. Now! That's a time fissure. A tear in the fabric of reality.”

Kate walked through the hidden doorway behind the painting of Elizabeth and the Doctor into an antechamber. “Welcome to the Under Gallery. This is where the Royal Family keeps all art deemed too dangerous for public consumption.”

The Doctor paused and scooped up a handful of sand from the floor. “Stone dust.”

Kate tilted her head. “Is it important?”

“In twelve hundred years I've never stepped in anything that wasn't.” The Doctor spun to face Osgood. “ Oi! Are you sciency?”

“Oh, erm, well, erm, yes.”

“Good. I want this stone dust analyzed. And I want a report in triplicate, with lots of graphs and diagrams and complicated sums on my desk, tomorrow morning, ASAP, pronto…” He turned to Kate. “Do I have a desk?”

Kate shook her head. “No.”

The Doctor turned back to Osgood. “And I want a desk.”

“Get a team. Analyze the stone dust,” Kate instructed before she continued on toward the larger gallery.

The Doctor and Clara followed behind, and the Doctor noticed a fez in a display case. He looked around and slid the fez out, popping it on his head.

Clara rolled her eyes. “Someday, you could just walk past a fez.”

“Never gonna happen.”

They entered a long, open room lined with Gallifreyan 3D art along the wall. Glass covered much of the floor.

Kate gestured to the debris. “This is why we called you in.”

“Interesting.”

Clara leaned down to inspect the floor. “The broken glass?”

“No, where it's broken from. Look at the shatter pattern. The glass on all these paintings has been broken from the inside.”

“As you can see, all the paintings are landscapes. No figures of any kind.”

Clara walked back over to the others. “So?”

“There used to be.” Kate handed them a tablet with photos of the original paintings on it.

Clara looked up in surprise. “Something's got out the paintings?”

“Lots of somethings. Dangerous somethings.”

“This whole place has been searched. There's nothing here that shouldn't be, and nothing's got out.”

A swirling of air began to coalesce above them.

“Oh, no, not now.”

“Doctor, what is it?”

“Not now. I'm busy.”

“Is it to do with the paintings?”

“No, no. This is different. I remember this. Almost remember.” He removed the fez from his head and looked from it to the time fissure. “Oh! Of course. This is where I come in.”

He threw the fez into the vortex before running and leaping into it himself. “Geronimo!”

“Doctor!” Clara moved to follow the Doctor.

Kate held her back. “Wait.”

The Doctor in pinstripes stood between the two versions of Elizabeth and the time fissure, his arms wide in a protective gesture. “Anything could happen.”

All three watched as a fez fell from the swirling vortex.

He tugged his ear. “For instance...a fez.” The Doctor picked up the fez and placed it on his head, just as the other Doctor came crashing down.

“Oof.”

“Who is this man?” One of the Elizabeths asked the Doctor.

He watched the other man curiously. “That's just what I was wondering.”

The older Doctor inspected his younger self. “Oh, that is skinny. That is proper skinny. I've never seen it from the outside. It's like a special effect. Oi!” He knocked the fez from his counterpart’s head. “Ha! Matchstick man.”

The younger Doctor looked like he’d been forced to eat a pear, realization coloring his features. “Oh, you're not…”

Both men took out their respective sonic screwdrivers and compared them. The older Doctor’s was bigger with add-ons missing from the previous model.

The younger Doctor asked with a lift of his eyebrow, “Compensating?”

“For what?”

“Regeneration. It's a lottery.”

The older Doctor narrowed his eyes and huffed. “Oh, he's cool. Isn't he cool? I'm the Doctor and I'm all cool. Oops, I'm wearing sandshoes.”

The younger Doctor hissed at his older self, “What are you doing here? I'm busy.”

“Oh, busy? I see. Is that what we're calling it, eh? Eh?” The older Doctor leaned down, picked up the fez, and put it on his head. With a flourish, he spun around and bowed to the two Elizabeths. “Hello, ladies.”

“Don't start.”

“You should talk.”

“One of them is a Zygon.”

“Eww…” The older Doctor put up his hands. “I'm not judging you. Who am I kidding? Yes, I am.”

Another time fissure appeared. Both Doctors reached into their pockets and put on their respective glasses.

The older Doctor glanced over his shoulder. “Your Majesties. Probably a good time to run.”

Both women asked simultaneously, “But what about the creature?”

The younger Doctor instructed, “Elizabeth, whichever one of you is the real one, turn and run in the opposite direction to the other one.”

“Of course, my love.”

The other Elizabeth said, “Stay alive, my love. I am not done with you yet,” before kissing him and running off.

“Thanks. Lovely.”

“I understand. Live for me, my darling. We shall be together again.” Then the remaining Elizabeth kissed him and ran off in the other direction.

The Doctor wiped his mouth and nervously met his counterpart’s eyes. “Well, won't that be nice?”

“One of those was a Zygon.”

“Yeah.”

“Big red rubbery thing covered in suckers.”

“Yeah. And a surprisingly good kisser.”

“Venom sacs in the tongue.”

“Yeah, I'm getting the point, thank you.”

“Nice.”

From the time fissure, the Doctors heard Clara calling out, “Doctor, is that you?”

“Ah, hello, Clara. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, it's me. We can hear you. Where are you?”

The older Doctor looked to his younger self. “Where are we?”

“England, 1562.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Myself.”

“Can you come back through?”

“Physical passage may not be possible in both directions. It’s...Ah! Hang on.” The Doctor removed the fez from his head and threw it into the whirling eddy. “Fez incoming!”

After a pause, Clara asked, “Was something supposed to happen?”

The younger Doctor scratched the back of his neck. “If not there, where did it go?”

The Doctor and Rose entered an empty barn that had been a part of his childhood homestead. He put the sack down and gingerly removed a box with exposed gears and brass inlay. He turned it over in his hands a few times. “How...how do you work? Hmmm. Why is there never a big, red button?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You and your big, red buttons.”

Both froze when they heard a rustling at the door. The Doctor made his way over and peeked outside. “Hello? Is somebody there?” Shaking his head, he closed the door. “It was nothing.”

A wolf’s howl could be heard in the distance. “Did you hear that? It sounded like a wolf.”

“Couldn’t have been. There are no wolves on Gallifrey.”

“But did you hear that?”

He whooshed out a breath and nodded. “Yeah.”

Rose walked over to the innocuous looking box, and crouched down in front of it. She reached out to examine it.

“Don't touch it!”

She pulled her hand back. “Why not?”

“Because it's the most dangerous weapon in the universe, and we don’t know how it works.”

“You touched it an’ it was fine.” Rose reached for it once again and the moment she placed her hand on it, the box began to emit a noise, like gears shifting into place, and her eyes began to glow gold.

“It's activating. Watch out.”

He knelt and tried to take the box from her hands, but when he touched it, it burned him.

“Ow!” He shook his hand.

“What's wrong?” Rose asked with a tilt of her head.

“The interface is hot.”

“Well, I do my best. Still after a century of marriage it’s nice to hear.”

The Doctor was only half paying attention while he continued to inspect the device. “There's definitely a power source inside…” He suddenly turned to Rose. “Wait, did you just say you're the interface?”

Her eyes faded back to amber. “Bad Wolf. When I touched it, it got inside my head. I can hear it talking to me. I...I know how to use it.”

The Doctor ran one hand over his face and he sat back on his heels.

Rose laid a hand on his thigh. “What’s wrong?”

“It...it just hit me that this is happening...not in the future or as a theoretical option, but right now.”

Rose took his hand and was hit with a telepathic onslaught of the Doctor’s emotions. His shields only failed like that when he was close to his breaking point. She did her best to send back waves of calm and love.

He pulled back from her touch. “How can you love me? Knowing that I’d kill them all, Daleks and Time Lords alike?” He looked at his hands as if they were already covered in blood.

“I’ve seen what you’ve seen. The suffering. Every moment in time and space is burning. It must end, and there’s only one way.”

“But when you first met me, you were innocent to all that.”

“I’ve always seen you. Not what you were forced to do, but who you are...the brave man who had to make the impossible choice. The man who saved the universe at the biggest personal cost to himself.”

“I don’t know how I’m expected to survive this.”

Rose opened her mouth to answer, but then tilted her head as if listening. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I...oh, god. It’s your punishment.” Her eyes glowed and her voice took on an ethereal quality, “Nothing is without consequence, Time Lord. If you do this, if you kill them all, then that is the consequence. You live. You carry the burden of being the last of your kind, of carrying on, of remembering…” Rose dropped the box and sagged as she returned to herself. She crawled over to where the Doctor sat staring at the ground and embraced him. “I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m a monster for even considering this.”

Rose picked up the box and closed her eyes. A time fissure rippled open above them.

“Rose! What are you doing?”

“I’m opening a window on your future, to the man today will make of you. The choice is still yours.”

A fez dropped out of the portal and rolled to a stop at Rose’s feet.

“Er, okay, I wasn’t expecting that.”

The Doctor looked at the swirling gateway. “Ready?”

She slipped the box into her pocket and nodded.

Rassilon walked past two Time Lords, both of whom had their hands covering their faces, to address the rest of the Council. “The vote is taken. Only two went against, and as a monument to their shame, the dissenters will stand like the Weeping Angels of old. The vanguard stands prepared, as the children of Gallifrey return to the universe. To Earth.”

Rassilon raised his staff and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

As the Doctor and Rose jump through the time fissure into the Doctor’s future, Gallifrey was pulled across the universe.

The pinstriped Doctor gestured between himself and his older self. “Okay, you used to be me, you've done all this before. What happens next?”

“I don't remember.”

“How can you forget this?”

“Hey, hang on. It's not my fault. You're obviously not paying enough attention...Oh! Try reversing the polarity!”

Both Doctors pulled out their sonics and pointed them at the time fissure.

The older Doctor scratched his head. “It's not working.”

“We're both reversing the polarity.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“There's two of us. I'm reversing it, you're reversing it back again. We're confusing the polarity.”

As they argued, their predecessor walked out from the the whirling portal. “Anyone lose a fez?”

“You! How can you be here? More to the point, why are you here?”

“Hello. I'm looking for the Doctor.”

The pinstriped Doctor mumbled, “Well, you've certainly come to the right place.”

“Good. Who are you boys? Oh, of course. Are you both companions?” The wartime Doctor smiled fondly. “Rose and her pretty boys...”

“Rose?” The pinstriped Doctor’s jaw dropped.

“...They seem to get younger all the time.”

“Oi!”

The oldest Doctor turned to the man at his side. “Well, he’s not wrong.” He gestured between the three of them.

“You too?” The pinstriped wearing Doctor gaped at the bowtie wearing Doctor. “How can you even joke about that?”

“Right.” The youngest Doctor interrupted the squabble before they could really get into it. “Could you point me in the general direction of the Doctor?”

Both of the older Doctors pulled out their sonic screwdrivers. The youngest Doctor looked from one to the other. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Really.”

“You’re me? Both of you?”

“Yep.”

“Even that one?” The Doctor pointed to the one in the bowtie.

The Doctor in question replied with an affronted squeak, “Yes!”

“You're my future selves?”

Both other men yelled, “Yes!”

The younger Doctor scanned the glade. “Then where’s Rose?”

“That’s the second time…How do you know Rose?”

The bowtie wearing Doctor narrowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t know Rose.”

The Doctor shifted to the side, and Rose hesitantly walked out of the time fissure. She walked up to the Doctor she’d spent the last century with and gripped his hand. She waved at the others. “Hello.”

The Doctor in pinstripes dropped his sonic and stared wide-eyed at her. The wartime Doctor glanced worriedly back and forth between his wife and his future self. “Looks like you've seen a ghost.”

Rose bit her lip until she noticed the oldest Doctor, the one she’d yet to meet, smiling warmly at her. His eyes dropped to her ring finger and she could see his curiosity was piqued, but his demeanor was that of easy affection. That more than anything had her releasing the pent up breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

As nonchalantly as possible, she slipped her wedding band from her finger and tucked it into a pocket. The oldest Doctor smirked, causing her to blush, but the pinstriped Doctor hadn’t seemed to notice. He was staring at her as if he wasn’t quite sure she was real, eyes wide, freckles stark on his pale face, and swaying like a stiff wind could knock him over.

She gave him a small smile and he swallowed hard. She couldn’t bear to see him hurting, and her eyes slid over to the oldest of the Doctors.

Good Lord, there’s three of ‘em! As if he knew what she was thinking, the bowtie wearing Doctor grinned widely, eyes crinkling, which sent a swoop through her belly. She squeezed her Doctor’s hand and braced herself in preparation of properly introducing herself to this unknown Doctor, when several horsemen rode into the clearing.

Bentham, a nobleman and the apparent leader of the troop of men, dismounted from his horse. “Encircle them,” he ordered his men. “Which of you is the Doctor? The Queen of England is bewitched. I would have the Doctor's head.”

The youngest Doctor blew out a breath. “Well, this has all the makings of your lucky day.”

Bentham noticed the time fissure and moved closer to the quartet. “What is that?”

The pinstriped wearing Doctor picked his sonic off the ground and moved with the other two to step between the nobleman and Rose. The oldest Doctor raised his sonic as well.

“What are you pointing them for? They're screwdrivers! What are you going to do, assemble a cabinet at them?”

Bentham raised his voice and asked again, “That thing, what witchcraft is it?”

The oldest Doctor tucked his sonic into his breast pocket and stepped forward. “Ah, yes. Now that you mention it, that is witchcraft. Yes, yes, yes. Witchy witchcraft. Hello? Hello in there. Excuse me. Hello! Am I talking to the wicked witch of the well?”

A feminine voice could be heard coming from the swirling vortex. “He means you.”

“Why am I the witch?”

“Clara? Hello? Clara, hi, hello. Hello. Would you mind telling these prattling mortals to get themselves begone?”

They could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “What he said.”

“Yes, tiny bit more color.”

“Right. Prattling mortals, off you pop, or I'll turn you all into frogs.”

“Oooh, frogs. Nice. You heard her.”

“Doctor, what's going on?”

“It's a timey-wimey thing.”

The youngest Doctor looked at Rose. “Timey what? Timey-wimey?”

The pinstriped Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. “I've no idea where he picks that stuff up.”

Rose, knew that tell, and pressed her lips together to stop the laugh that wanted to bubble forth. She fluttered her lashes at him and asked, “Oh, really?”

Before he could reply, and with a dramatic swirl of skirts, Queen Elizabeth entered the clearing sending all the soldiers to their knees. She looked at the standing foursome. “You don't seem to be kneeling. How tremendously brave of you.”

Rose’s pinstriped Doctor asked, “Which one are you? What happened to the other one?”

“Indisposed. Long live the Queen.”

The soldiers chanted, “Long live the Queen!”

“Arrest these four. Take them to the Tower.”

“That is not the Queen of England, that's an alien duplicate.”

The oldest Doctor bumped Rose’s shoulder. “And you can take it from him, ‘cos he's really checked.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Venom sacs in the tongue.”

The pinstriped Doctor saw the hurt on Rose’s face. “Seriously, stop it. Rose, I...”

Rose shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “Don’t.”

The oldest Doctor turned to Rose. “I’m sorry, I forgot how much-”

“Stop it! Both of you. I don’t want to talk about it.” She made her way back to the youngest Doctor and rested her head on his shoulder. He glanced in surprise at the other two trying to figure out what had just happened.

The oldest Doctor ran his hands through his hair and walked over to the Queen. “Hang on. The Tower? Did you say the Tower?” She nodded. “Ah, yes, brilliant. Love the Tower. Breakfast at eight, please. Will there be Wi-Fi?”

The youngest Doctor glared. “Are you capable of speaking without flapping your hands about?”

“Yes. No. I demand to be incarcerated in the Tower immediately with my co-conspirators Sandshoes, Velvet, and....” His voice softened, “Rose.”

“Velvet? I haven’t worn velvet in ages!”

“They're not sandshoes.”

The youngest Doctor looked down at the other man’s feet. “Yes, they are.”

“Silence! The Tower is not to be taken lightly. Very few emerge again.”

The Master stood in a room full of men identical to himself and hit his head. “We listen. All of us, across the world, just listen.” All of them stopped what they were doing and listened. “Concentrate. Find the signal. There! The sound is tangible. Someone could only have designed this. But who?”

A Master copy turns to the original. “The sound. It's coming from above.”

“It's coming from the sky!” The Master looks out a nearby window and sees a star falling to Earth. “There! Find it. Get out there and find it!”

“Yes, sir.”

Kate smiled at Clara. “Dear God, that man's clever. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“My office, otherwise known as the Tower of London.”

In a field, two Land Rovers pulled up to a smoldering crater. A uniformed Master copy slid to the bottom and found the diamond previously taken from Rassilon’s staff. The soldier pressed a button on him com-link and said, “It's a diamond, sir. Oh, the most impossible diamond. You won't believe this. It’s a White Point Star.”

The pinstriped Doctor was sitting on a silent space ship with Donna’s grandfather, Wilf, and two green spiked Vinvocci. There was a heaviness in the air around the four of them. Suddenly a radio crackled to life and the Master’s voice blared out, “A star fell from the sky. Don't you want to know where from? Because now it makes sense, Doctor. The whole of my life. My destiny. The star was a diamond. And the diamond is a White Point Star. And I have worked all night to sanctify that gift. Now the star is mine. I can increase the signal and use it as a lifeline. Do you get it now? Do you see? Keep watching, Doctor. This should be spectacular. Over and out.”

An eerie quiet fell over the room, while the Doctor sat thinking. Wilf was the first to break the silence. “What's he on about? What's he doing? Doctor, what does that mean?”

The Doctor jumped up from his seat and began examining the controls of the ship. “A White Point Star is only found on one planet. Gallifrey. Which means it's the Time Lords. The Time Lords are returning.”

“Well, I mean, that's good, isn't it? I mean, that's your people...But I thought...you said your people were dead. Past tense.”

The Doctor pulled out his sonic and began mending frayed wires. “Inside the Time War. And the whole War was Time Locked. Like, sealed inside a bubble. It's not a bubble but just think of a bubble. Nothing can get in or get out of the Time Lock. Don't you see? Nothing can get in or get out, except something that was already there.”

Wilf looked confused, but then his eyes lit with a thought. “The signal. From since he was a kid.”

The Doctor nodded and moved onto another part of the control panel. “If they can follow the signal, they can escape before they die. And who knows what will try to follow.”

“But you’ll still have your people back. I've heard you talk about them like they're wonderful.”

“That's how I choose to remember them, the Time Lords of old. But then they went to war. An endless war, and it changed them right to the core. You've seen my enemies, Wilf. The Time Lords are more dangerous than any of them.” The Doctor flipped a large switch and powered up the ship. “England. Naismith Mansion. Allons-y.”

The Master stood in a large atrium, arms outstretched. “We have contact. They are coming. Closer! And closer! And closer!”

A bright white light filled the space, and when it dimmed the Lord President, his Chancellery Guards, and the two dissenters, faces covered, stood before the Master.

The sound of shattering of glass was the only precursor to the Doctor falling through the glass ceiling into the space between the Master and the other Time Lords. Cut up and bleeding, he held an old revolver in his hand.

Rassilon smirking took two steps toward the struggling Doctor. “My Lord Doctor. My Lord Master. We are gathered for the end.”

The Doctor pushed to his knees. “Listen to me. You can't…”

“It is a fitting paradox that our salvation comes at the hands of our most infamous child.”

The Doctor shook his head. “Oh, he's not saving you. Don't you realise what he's doing?”

The Master glared at the Doctor. “Hey, no, hey! That's mine. Hush. Look around you. I've transplanted myself into every single human being. But who wants a mongrel little species like them, because now I can transplant myself into every single Time Lord. Oh, yes, Mister President, sir, standing there all noble and resplendent and decrepit. Think how much better you're going to look as me.”

Rassilon raised the fist wearing his metal gauntlet. It pulsed blue with energy. All the Master copies around the room began to shake their heads.

“No, no, don't. No, no, stop it! No, no, no, don't!”

When all the humans had regained their original forms, Rassilon addressed them. “On your knees, mankind.”

All of the people look confused and scared, but soon dropped to their knees.

“No, that's fine, that's good, because you said, ‘salvation.’ I still saved you. Don't forget that.”

Rassilon raised his staff. “The approach begins.”

“Approach of what?”

The Doctor looked in disgust at the Master. “Something is returning. Don't you ever listen? That was the prophecy. Not someone, something.”

“What is it?”

“They're not just bringing back the species. It's Gallifrey. Right here, right now.”

A large, orange planet pulsed into existence alongside the Earth, blocking out the sun and darkening the streets.

The Master turned to Rassilon. “But, I did this. I get the credit. I'm on your side.”

#eight x rose #eleven x rose #ten x rose #50th re-write/fix it #queen elizabeth #clara oswald #kate lethbridge-stewart #petronella osgood #zygons #the master (simm)#rassilon

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parkkate · 7 years

Text

Secret Sessions

@harrypotterandtheintrovertedteen sent me a prompt 😊

can you do a fic where harry is looking on the maurauders map and sees draco in a place in the castle he has never been before so when draco leaves he goes to check it out and finds that draco is painting portraits of harry?

ALSO the amazing @saffie-art (who is not only talented but soooo sweet and nice! 💙) allowed me to use this stunning and perfect drawing as inspiration for one of the portraits. I mean just LOOK AT IT! 😍

Okay, so... fair warning - it turned into 2.4k. Whoops! If you prefer to read it on ao3 - click here. I’m gonna stop babbling now. 😉

“Harry, are you even listening to me? Harry? HARRY!”

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry looked into Hermione’s brown eyes, the usual warmth replaced by annoyance and concern.

“Can you stop looking at that map for one second and just listen to me? You haven’t been paying attention in today’s classes either.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry mumbled distractedly, turning his attention back to the map.

“I think you’re falling behind, Harry. Exams are only a few months away.”

“Give him some space, Hermione,” Ron groaned. “We are working hard, you know. It’s not that easy, picking up where we left off before we went to hunt down the horcruxes.”

“I am aware,” Hermione said in a disapproving tone. “I was there, remember?”

She gave Harry another concerned look but he didn’t notice. His gaze was still fixed on the Marauder’s Map, on the little dot labeled ‘Draco Malfoy’. He was pacing the length of the Slytherin common room.

It wasn’t like Harry suspected him of doing something illegal or anything like that. He was just… curious. He had been surprised to see Malfoy return to Hogwarts after the war. Harry had assumed Malfoy had gone to France with his parents. But seeing as Lucius und Narcissa were under house arrest, it probably wouldn’t have been much fun for him there.

As Harry watched Malfoy’s little dot continue its pacing he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. The warmth of the fireplace was soothing but it also made him tired.

“Guys, I think I’m going to-” Harry stopped dead. Malfoy’s dot was suddenly hurrying out of the Slytherin common room. Where was he going? And at this hour? “I think… I’m going to go for a walk,” Harry said slowly.

“What? Harry!”

But Harry was already at the portrait hole, leaving Hermione’s protests behind him.

“Lumos,” he whispered, holding the tip of his wand to the map. He frowned as he saw Malfoy heading for the kitchens. Was he just out for a late night snack? Apparently not.

Harry’s eyes widened as he realised Malfoy wasn’t going to the kitchens but was suddenly standing in the middle of the Hufflepuff common room. What in Merlin’s name was he doing there? Harry got only more confused when more dots appeared, forming some sort of circle. He recognized a few of the names, like Hannah Abbott, Padma Patil and… Neville? Luna?

What was going on? Was this some sort of secret society? Like the DA? Were they performing some kind of ritual? Harry had to find out. He sped away from Gryffindor Tower until he finally arrived in the nook on the right hand side of the kitchen corridor.

As Harry looked at the large barrels, concealing the Hufflepuff common room, he realised he had no idea how to get in. He had heard rumors that a password wasn’t required. Should he just knock? Well, it was worth a try.

As soon as his knuckles made contact with one of the barrels, Harry knew this wasn’t going to work. He waited another moment but nothing happened. Except something did. Harry gasped as a cold splash of water hit him from above, drenching him from head to foot. Only, it wasn’t water. Harry coughed violently as the stench penetrated his nostrils.

“Ugh, vinegar,” Harry moaned. Scrunching up his nose at the awful smell, he trotted back towards his own common room. But he wouldn’t admit defeat so easily. He would find out what Malfoy and the other’s were doing, no matter what.

As it turned out, this unlikely group met up every night, at exactly the same time, in the Hufflepuff common room. After monitoring their dots for about a week, Harry knew exactly when Neville would leave Gryffindor Tower to sneak off to his secret meeting. So one night, Harry waited for him, outside the portrait hole.

“What are you doing out of bed so late, dear?” the Fat Lady asked, scrutinising him.

“Oh, I’m just waiting for someone.”

At exactly this moment, the portrait swung open.

“Aha,” Harry yelled triumphantly.

“Harry,” Neville breathed, boggling slightly.

“Where are you going, Neville?” Harry asked, stretching his lips into an innocent smile.

“Oh, I, um… I’m just meeting Luna.” Harry could see how nervous Neville was.

“Well, then you won’t mind if I accompany you, would you?” Harry said cheerfully.

“Um…”

“Alright, let’s go then. Lead the way.”

Neville looked very uncomfortable as he and Harry, as Harry knew, made their way to the Hufflepuff common room. In front of the large still life, that lead into the kitchen, stood Luna, eyeing it with a faint smile on her face.

“Hi Neville. Oh, hello, Harry.” Her smile widened. “Have you decided to join us?”

Harry returned the smile, his heartbeat quickening.

“I have,” he said nonchalant. He ignored the way Neville was gaping at him and followed Luna to the barrels. He watched her closely as she started tapping one of the barrels; two taps, pause, three taps. Harry suspected it was some sort of code.

“Did you bring your own brush or do you want to borrow one of mine?” Luna asked, her eyes shining brightly.

“My own what?”

Momentarily distracted by Luna’s question, Harry spotted the white-blond hair and Slytherin robes he had been itching to see, much later than he’d usually have. His heartbeat quickened yet again as he approached Malfoy, who was sitting on a wooden stool and seemed to be in deep concentration.

“Hey guys, look who decided to join us,” Luna announced happily, skipping to another wooden stool. There were a few more, arranged in a circle, just as Harry had seen the dots on his map; and in front of each stool stood a painter’s easel.

Harry frowned. This was not what he had expected. At all.

“Potter,” Malfoy suddenly spluttered. “What are you doing here?”

Harry’s eyes wandered over to the Slytherin, who looked panic-stricken.

“I err… felt the sudden urge to paint?”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

“But you can’t paint.”

“You don’t know that,” Harry said defensively, knowing better than anyone that Malfoy was right. He looked around the room, full of unfinished paintings, while a few had been hung on the walls. There were so many different ones. Some were abstract, a mixture of different colours; some showed places around Hogwarts, like the Forbidden Forest.

Harry paused in front of the most cheerful painting in the room. It showed a gigantic field of daisies.

“This is yours, isn’t it?” he said, turning to Luna.

“How did you know?” she asked, beaming at him.

“Just a hunch,” he snickered, eyeing the strange bumblebee-like creatures hovering above the daisies. What caught Harry’s eye next was a very dark painting; it had all kinds of green and black mixed together and there were dangerously glimmering eyes staring back at him. It was a snake. The snake.

“That’s mine,” Neville said as he stepped up beside Harry. He sounded proud but still insecure at the same time.

“Wow, Neville. I had no idea you could paint like this,” Harry muttered in awe.

“Yeah, me neither,” Neville said, looking down at his shoes.

“So you’ve all been coming here to paint every night?” Harry asked, studying the rest of the art. Neville nodded.

“At first we were just talking, you know, about the things we… couldn’t forget.” He peered at his own painting and shuddered. “And somehow it turned into this.” He gestured around the room, a fond smile on his face. Harry followed the movement of his hand until his eyes landed upon a smaller painting, sitting over the fireplace. His eyes widened involuntarily, his mind not fully comprehending what he was seeing.

Slowly, he walked over to it to examine it more closely. His mouth fell open as he stared into green eyes behind rimmed glasses. It was almost like looking into a mirror, although Harry had never given himself such an emphatic look.

The longer he looked at it, the more uncomfortable he felt. It was so weird looking at himself like that and thinking that he looked… beautiful. It seemed too self-centered but there was no other word he could think of to describe this painting. Whoever had done it, had captured Harry perfectly. Even the mole on the back of his neck, which he thought nobody had ever noticed.

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

Harry whirled around, startled. Luna chuckled as she patted his back.

“I think you look very dashing in this painting,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Although I do prefer it when you smile.”

Harry felt the corners of his mouth twitch and gave into the warm feeling coursing through him. He draped an arm around Luna’s shoulders and placed a quick kiss on the top of her head.

“This really is something else,” Harry muttered, gazing at the painting again. “Whose is it?”

“Oh, aren’t you going to guess? I have a feeling you already know whose it is.” Luna sounded very sure of herself. Then again, she always did. Harry did have an inkling; but it couldn’t be. He slowly turned around, searching the room for grey eyes that were probably fixed on him, glowering.

“Hey, where’s Malfoy?” Harry asked, letting go of Luna.

“See? I knew you would guess correctly,” Luna smiled. Harry nodded once, before hurrying out of the common room. He saw dark robes disappear behind a corner at the end of the corridor.

“Malfoy!” Harry started running, his mind still whirling. “Malfoy, wait up!”

When Harry turned the corner, he found that Malfoy had stopped, his hands balled into fists.

“I’m not particularly in the mood to be yelled at, Potter,” he muttered darkly. Harry blinked.

“Why would I yell at you?”

Malfoy turned around, his face red, his mouth set into a sneer.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he whispered menacingly. “This wasn’t some… gesture.” He spat the last word in disgust. “This isn’t some homage to the Boy Who Lived. I’m not one of your little fans.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not.

“I am well aware that you aren’t,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And I get what you’re saying, I’m just… I’m just wondering… why did you paint me?”

Harry watched him intently as Malfoy clenched his jaw and averted his eyes.

“That is none of your business.”

“Excuse me,” Harry exclaimed. “You painted me. You painted me! I think I’m allowed to ask why.”

Malfoy let out a humorless laugh and brought a hand to his forehead.

“I just… I couldn’t forget your eyes.” Malfoy was talking so quietly, Harry unconsciously stepped closer. He startled when Malfoy suddenly looked up again. “The way you were looking at me after the trial…” He made a strangled sound at the back of his throat. “I still have no idea what possessed you to testify in favour of me. You had no obligation to do that.” He looked away again, his voice sounding anguished. “We both know your testimony is the only thing that kept me and my family from going to Azkaban. I was so dumbstruck when they told me I was free to go.” He paused, letting out a deep sigh and leaned against the wall. “I was planning on thanking you,” he said with another humorless laugh. “But then… you were looking at me.”

Harry stood stock-still as he listened to Malfoy’s uneven breathing.

“I was looking at you,” he echoed stupidly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Well, you weren’t just looking at me. It was the way you were looking at me.”

A tiny part in Harry’s mind whispered to him that Malfoy painting him because he had looked at him was a little odd. But as everything Malfoy had just told him sank in, the voice in his head died down rather quickly.

“I’m not sure I completely understand,” Harry said truthfully. “Was I scaring you or-”

“You weren’t scaring me,” Malfoy growled. “It was just… My mind went completely blank when you looked at me. Like that.”

Harry reasoned that could mean a lot of things. But, maybe, it meant that this painting had been some kind of homage to him after all. A more personal one.

Weighing his options, he decided it was time to stop playing games and just go after what he wanted. Stepping closer to Malfoy, he mimicked his pose and leaned against the wall.

“You know, instead of going to the Hufflepuff common room tomorrow, maybe we could go down to the lake and you could… paint me there?” Harry didn’t look at Malfoy as he waited for his answer, but he could practically hear his mouth falling open.

“What?”

“Or somewhere else, you know.”

“You want to pose for a portrait? You actually want to- Why in Salazar’s name would you want to do that?”

“Why not?” Harry glanced sideways and saw that Malfoy’s face was twisted in confusion. Harry let out a dramatic sigh and let his head fall back. “Are you really not getting what I am proposing here?” He heard Malfoy snort.

“Why would you want to spend any time with me?”

“Well, I saved you from a trip to Azkaban. Might as well take advantage of it,” he said, meeting Malfoy’s gaze again. The Slytherin still didn’t look convinced.

“Right. Because you only saved me from Azkaban for purely selfish reasons.”

“Maybe,” Harry said without missing a beat. Tentatively, he moved his hand sideways until his fingers brushed Malfoy’s. The blond immediately looked down, obviously dumbstruck. “I think I’d like it if we spent some time together,” Harry murmured, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. He curled his fingers around Malfoy’s hand, hoping the other boy wouldn’t notice how clammy his palm was getting.

“I’m not sure what’s gotten into you all of a sudden,” Malfoy said, knitting his eyebrows together. “I already have enough portraits of you. I don’t need to make-”

“Wait a second, portraits? As in there’s more than the one I saw?”

Malfoy clamped his mouth shut, looking horrified.

“Oh my God, show me,” Harry almost shouted, gripping Malfoy’s hand tighter and promptly dragging him back down the corridor they came from. “If they’re as good as the one I saw…” A little smile played across Harry’s face.

“Then what?” Malfoy asked, sounding irritated. Harry smirked.

“Maybe I could be persuaded to pose naked for you one day.”

“Potter!”

Harry’s laugh echoed off the walls, as he caught a stumbling Malfoy in his arms, not intending to ever let him go again.

This is where I got all the stuff about the Hufflepuff common room from btw 😉

#harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #drarry squad #writing #ficlet #ron weasley #hermione granger #neville longbottom #luna lovegood #painting #portraits #thanks again to @saffie-art #i could stare at that drawing for hours tbh!#its just so beautiful #wow #and thank you @harrypotterandtheintrovertedteen for the prompt #i had so much fun writing this #:) :)

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seth-kate · 7 years

Note

Jaime x Sansa + 🎨 Have fun!

1984

It is with great difficulty that Jaime attends art classes on a Saturday morning- that blasted brother of his signing him up and making him go because it’d be good for him and something new to try. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jaime that the art classes are run by a trained therapist or that the description for the classes outlined how people with extreme stress disorders or anxiety could benefit from the calming nature of painting or sculpting.

Jaime notices, and he sees how each and every person who comes by the art studio on a Saturday morning has some sort of issue. There’s Gregor- the hulking giant who mutters to himself by the pottery corner and who has to count to twenty over and over to calm the anger issues he has. Then there’s Theon, who rocks back and forth while he talks to people and fidgets with the sleeves of his jumper.

Then of course there’s Jaime, who’d rather keep his story to himself and not let anyone close enough to find out. He’ll attend the ten lessons, and be done with it. Perhaps that’d make Tyrion back off a little, and maybe he wouldn’t try and push the idea of counselling on Jaime so much. He’d been doing so well. He had actually managed to get up in the mornings and smile without the strain of falsehood behind it; but just as quick as he had gotten it all back together it had fallen apart again.

It had started with the nightmares- the creeping terrors threatening to swallow him and stop his heart. He saw the fields of dying men, heard their screams and thrashed and shouted until he woke himself up. The war had ended in ‘75, but now almost ten years later the horror of his memories still hadn’t left him.

It’s freezing inside his pickup and he finds a shaking hand reaching for the box of Camels that are hidden behind the overplayed Queen tapes that are stashed in the glove box. He had never smoked before the war, only taking up the habit when he and Bronn were huddled in a damp trench in some shell of a Vietnam town. During the war the taste of tobacco came as a welcome distraction from the usual taste of blood and fear that rested on his lips.

Jaime’s hand shakes even more as he brings the cigarette to his open lips and his eyes close when he takes a long drag-the bitter taste of the tobacco leaf makes his tongue dry and his throat scratchy but his hand stops trembling.

The cigarette is beginning to dim at the end when he sees her; the flicker of red hair catching his eye.

Her name is a sin that tingles on his lips- the soft tremor of it aching to be said. Sansa. Sansa Stark. But he does not utter it aloud, only ever whispers it in the deepest parts of his mind. He’s old enough to be her father, he can tell that by looking at the rosy tint to her cheeks and the innocent way in which she smiles at him. She is young, and Jaime is worn and war beaten, and old.

His tremor returns, and the stale butt of the cigarette partners with the lips he wishes to place on her body. He takes a drag and his nostrils burn along with his throat, but it is a welcome distraction from the beauty that now makes her way into the studio.

Jaime would be lying if he said he didn’t attend the lessons purely for her alone, but it is the truth- his truth that he finds berates him during long nights where he has nothing but her face to think of. He doesn’t know her story- doesn’t know why she attends the art therapy class or why there are times when she escapes within herself and does not speak. She had started the classes late; walking into the room with shaking hands and a meek smile and had taken up the station beside Jaime. It’s where she stays now each class, and they have settled into a comfortable routine of easy conversation- always staying away from the topic of why each of them need therapy.

He sighs heavily and runs two trembling hands through the mess of blonde hair on his head; mentally preparing himself for the three hours he has to spend here. For what feels like the hundredth time he curses his brother for signing him up- Tyrion’s name always followed by an ensemble of swear words. He hates that he needs therapy of any sort, but the fact he has to work through his past in the form of painting and sculpting is what irritates him most. He used to paint all the time, but now it’s just another thing that’s tainted by his issues.

The studio isn’t really a studio at all; just a small room in the town hall that is used for ballet on Monday and children’s martial arts on Wednesday. It’s rearranged purposefully each Saturday to accommodate the ten or so therapy clients that attend these ridiculous lessons. Like always the art easels are spread around the room and the smell of clay and acrylic paint clings heavy in the air.

Jaime sees her then; like a splash of red and blue on a canvas as she stands tucked away in the corner like she normally is. She’s always a vision- Sansa Stark- and he swallows thickly as she fingers her long heavy hair and sweeps it over one shoulder. She wears a blue sundress that is spattered with tiny white daisies and he can’t help the twitching smile that suddenly covers his face- she is eternally gentle and beautiful. So so beautiful.

“Hey” he coughs deeply- not missing how she jumps slightly more than the normal person would. Her eyes are wide and blue as they look into his, but a lovely softness colors her face as she takes him in. The panic ebbs from her eyes as they cast themselves downwards; the frame of long black lashes casting shadows on her freckled cheeks.

“Hi, Jaime” his name sounds like a chorus of angels singing when she says it. His smile only gets wider. It’s odd how he has smiled more in the last two minutes with her than he has in the past week. Perhaps the bubbling happiness he feels when he’s with her is why he finds these lessons that much more bearable.

“I guess we’re early, huh?” he tells her, shrugging off his denim jacket. He doesn’t miss how her eyes go straight to his tanned forearms that are visible, and he aches to roll down his shirt sleeves. He’s covered in scars from war, and one ugly thick one stretches from his elbow to his wrist. But he’s seen the one’s on the tops of her thighs so he doesn’t flinch- he’ll bear his scars to her without complaint.

“That or no one is showing up” she tries an attempt to joke, but the effort is feeble. Her hands tremble as they fiddle with the paint brushes before her.

“I won’t complain if it’s just you and I” his voice is soft and his words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Her eyes the color of calm seas jump straight to his, and if it is possible for her to blush even more she does, the rosy pink expanding all the way to her hairline. Her bottom lip tremors with unsaid words, and he knows she wants to say something back but can not. She flinches then when the door opens abruptly and the hulking shadow of Gregor emerges in the room. He greets them with a gruff hello and makes his way to his station at the back- his presence ruining any further conversation between them.

Sansa is looking away from him when he looks back at her; her nervous hands twirling her hair around its fingers like an elementary schoolgirl but the electricity that always stays between them is more alight than ever. The lesson drags on like always, and their eccentric therapist spews on about the importance of creative expression in times of great sadness and hopelessness, but all Jaime focuses on is the young girl beside him and thinks of the many ways in which to start a conversation again.

Todays key word is calm- and each have to paint something that makes them calm. Jaime thinks of the sea then, and how he used to watch the tide come in when he was younger. Happier times- simpler times without pain and grief and the aching haul of battle. But when he starts painting the rushing waves along the shore he can not help but think of Sansa’s eyes. It does not make him calm then, but makes him ache for something he can not have.

She is unattainable and too young, and he does not know what story lies behind her. Perhaps thinking of her will only do him more harm than good, but when she is standing this close to him he can’t help but think of anything other than her.

Her presence steadies him for some reason; his heart no longer so heavy when he is with her. Perhaps he should paint her instead of the sea, he thinks, then scoffs at himself for his love struck stupidity.

The lesson ends then and leaves him with an unfinished painting and a mind that now needs more therapy than he did at the start. The rest file out of the studio then in a murmur of conversation- each of them more scarred than the next, and Jaime can not help but look after them with a sorry heart.

“I wouldn’t complain either, you know” he hears from beside him; the voice so quiet and gentle and he turns around to see Sansa standing there with those eyes of blue ocean staring into his wild green ones.

“About what?” he asks her softly, furrowing his brow at her and he does not miss how her cheeks turn crimson. But there is an unfamiliar bravery in her eyes that sparks and makes his stomach flip with a newfound nervousness.

“If it was just you and I” she tells him as she takes a step closer to him- those pink lips moving together tantalizingly despite the fact her hands tremble “I wouldn’t complain at all”

“See you next week, Jaime” Sansa adds as she leaves him- an odd blanket of coldness swallowing him as she walks away, and he can not help but watch her go.

“See you next week, Sansa” he whispers but she is already gone through the door in a whirl of red curls and daisies. His heart pounds deafeningly against his chest as he replays her words around in his head, and for the first time in years he feels his heart no longer weighs so heavy.

#jaime x sansa #jaimsa #jaimsa fanfiction #i'm sorry #this is so shit but i tried

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