#i have my own laila but i’ll leave it at that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rrenzwrld · 1 year

Text

lovefool

an original story w original characters and a semi-original plot

it’s in episodes bc i wanna be different and yes characters are black bc i’m black (except one but he 50/50 so we gonna let it slide)

just something i write in the notes when i’m bored and i enjoy reading it (yes i enjoy reading my own stuff when i’m bored it’s okay). and if you wanna know more about the characters, lemme know! (even tho i doubt anyone will see this so i’m just posting this to make myself feel good)

episode 1

chy’anne

“girl you have to come to the game with us tonight,” i rolled my eyes. “please~? my sister will pick us up and drop us off.”

“and why? you know i don’t care about no fuckin football.” never have, never will. what was special about this particular game, i didn’t know until my best friend was happy enough to remind me.

“okay but, you know who plays~” laila sang in my ear. i smiled as i thought about the only reason i would even think to attend a game. andreas andino. that man was fine outta his mind. it’s a shame my crush on him for the past 6 years did me no good. i bet he’s never even thought about talking to me. but in his defense, i’ve never thought about talking to him either. it wasn’t like we were complete strangers. we’ve been going to school together since elementary i just never had the guts to talk to him because he’s always been in that circle and i’m not.

“see? we should go for the one time. just for him.” it wouldn’t be so bad if the only reason was to see him. i didn’t really care about the other stuff.

“i’ll go but i don’t have shit to wear.” laila stood up from my bed and walked to my closet.

“oh, baby. we can fix that.”

once she found something appropriate for me to wear, i took my braids out the bun and put on my glasses for the night.

when we got there, the stands were packed full as if everyone thought they were watching a nfl football game. i heard our team was good, but i didn’t know how good.

“damn this bitch more packed than a mothafucker,” laila commented as we looked around for open seats. when we spotted two of our other friends, nashae and namir up high in the stands. we made our way up and scooted in next to them

“we see you brought the hermit.” namir commented. i rolled my eyes.

“she only here because she wants to see—“

“andino~” the three of them sang like little cupids.

“all of yall can go to hell.” they snickered at my reaction.

“don’t worry, you didn’t miss too much of the show. just starting second quarter.”

“your man been hittin some touchdowns, girl.” nashae squealed.

i sat up to see if i could recognize him out on the field. “what number is he?”

“twenty.” namir smirked. and there i saw him. running the ball with his long light brown hair sticking out the helmet he wore. i didn’t know anything at all about what he was doing, but i could watch him do it all day.

“aw hell.. we lost her.”

“earth to chy’anne.” laila started snapping her fingers in my face.

“huh..” i turned to her.

“i’m going to the concession stand, you want something?” she asked as she stood up and began to walk down.

“y-yeah, but i’m comin with you.” i followed her down the stands and to the concession stand.

after we grabbed some chips and sodas, we sat back down to watch the game. the game lasted about another two hours before it was nearing the end and people were starting to get up to leave to beat traffic.

“we leavin yall?” nashae stood up and asked all of us.

“yeah we can go. you ready to go, chy?” i wasn’t ready to go. i kinda wanted to see if i could talk to andreas before i left but i wasn’t sure if that was possible or not.

“nah she wanna stay and see her man~” nashae smiled as namir stood up with their stuff. we all stood up and we’re at the the bottom of the stands by the gate now.

“well i’m her ride so, bye yall~” nashae and namir said their goodbyes to laila and i before we waited around by the gate for the players to come out. almost everyone had left by this point. after they did their team stuff, andreas actually started to walk over to the gate where we were. he was still in his uniform pants but the only difference was that he took his shirt and helmet off. so he was walking over to us with a white tank top and his uniform pants. but his hair, my god his hair! it was all over the place because of the helmet but it was beautifully brown and bushy, like a lion’s mane and it touched the midsection of his back.

“girl how long we gon be—“

“he comin…over here. he really comin over here.”

“don’t do no stupid shit.” laila quickly whispered to me before he completely faced us from the other side of the gate.

“hey, chy’anne?” oh my fuck, he spoke to me.

“h-hey, andino— i mean, andreas. i’m sorry.” i could hear laila mentally face palm herself behind me.

“you can call me andino, it’s fine. people do it all the time.” he smiled with all his pretty white teeth and his pretty little dimples to match. “anyways, you waiting for someone?”

laila came from behind me. “she was waitin for you, pretty boy.” i guessed this was her version of moving things along because i definitely was not doing the best at that right now.

andreas looked at me with raised brows. “oh? ‘that so?” he looked at me inquisitively with those chocolately brown eyes.

“came to the game just for her andino~” she really did not just do that?

he laughed. “really?” i felt so embarrassed. crawling into a hole and going to sleep or something sounded real good right about now…

“she’ll tell you all about it. listen, chy i’m gonna be in the car when you’re ready. bye~” she left me alone with andreas after doing that, knowing i didn’t really know how to talk to him without tripping over my own tongue.

“andino~” he mocked before laughing again.

“are you mocking me?” he started walking along the gate and i started walking too.

“no, no. i think it’s kinda…” he jumped over to the other side. “kinda cute, actually.”

“really?” he thinks i’m cute?

“yeah. i actually didn’t expect you to come tonight.”

“yeah normally i’m at home but laila wanted me to come so..”

he scoffed. “sure.” everytime i’m near him, i forget how freakishly tall and big he is. the width of one of his arms was the size of my head.

“you, uh, look nice tonight, by the way.” was he really paying attention to me that hard?

“aww really?” i knew he didn’t really care about how i looked and it was just something to talk about.

“yeah, actually. you always look good.” i rolled my eyes. “if you think i’m bullshittin you, i’m not.” must’ve read my mind.

all i could do was hum, i didn’t know how to talk to him beyond this point and i was getting sleepy and it was getting late.

“can i give you my number? unless you already have it..” i took out my phone and looked through it.

“i don’t.”

we exchanged numbers and he ended up walking me to laila’s sister’s car.

“i’ll try to text you tomorrow.”

“why? you need something?” he looked at me like i did something wrong.

“no i just, just wanna talk to you.” he talked to me in that low rasp and i almost fell out right there. i wasn’t used to people texting me if they didn’t want help with work or something.

“o-okay.. goodnight, andino.”

he laughed. “goodnight, chy’anne.” he told me before i got into the car and we drove on.

“you did it again.”

“goddamnnit..” i whispered to myself.

#original content #original stuff #original story #notafanfic #lovefool—rrenzwrld #basically for myself but y’all can read too #love #high school #relationship

12 notes · View notes

thetrishtalgem · 1 year

Text

Whumptober Day 3: "Like crying out in empty roms, with no one there except the moon."

Journal || Solitary Confinement || "Make it stop."

Being back in the Imperial City has awakened more bad memories than Tesi bargained for.

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Tag List: @whumptober-archive

“Tesi, I am warning you. Do NOT do anything with that journal until I tell you to. Do you understand?”

It had been two days since Lys had given her Nyssa Cassian’s research notes. She had made a promise to Lys that she would leave the book alone. It wasn’t like she was curious to read the details of Nyssa’s secret experiments.

Not like you need advice in making innocent people’s lives miserable.

Tesi lifted her head to gaze around the bedroom, allowing some of her ki energy to flow through her. Though there were no others with her in her room, visible or otherwise. She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Self-doubt and guilt were two demons Tesi was very familiar with wrestling with. But ever since the Bar Crawlers had arrived at the Imperial City, she felt as though her intrusive thoughts were becoming unnaturally loud. It helped that she had her friends surrounding her, sometimes.

Almost as if on cue, she heard a knock on her door. She called out, “Come in.”

The door pushed open and she heard the clicking sound of heeled boots against the wooden floor.

“I don’t know how you can tolerate those things for so long, Sylvain,” she said without even looking up.

He laughed. “Damn. Am I really that obvious anywhere I go?”

“You’re predictable,” Tesi answered. “You come by every night.”

“Well, the shoes were definitely a learning curve. Laila had a blast watching me try to figure out how to walk in them. Along with everything else Skye does,” Sylvain said.

Tesi grunted in response. After a moment, she felt the mattress sag next to her.

“Listen. If you want me to stop coming by, then I can try to do that. I’m just…I’m worried about you,” Sylvain spoke quietly.

“You don’t need to be. I’m fine.”

“I know I’m not as good at reading people as you are, but you’re not good at lying either. That’s a load of horse shit, and we both know it.”

Tesi was quiet for a moment. There was a dull ache in her chest. On one hand, it might not be such a bad idea to let the Bar Crawlers help her. To tell them just everything that she was dealing with. It was good to talk about her problems with other people. But on the other hand, that’s why she talked to Sieristoria. It had made her feel better in the moment to get some of her burdens off her chest. And then she had gone looking for Fatima to try and work through what their plan of action would be.

She wouldn’t need a plan if you didn’t put her in danger in the first place.

“It’s just…a lot that I don’t think I’m ready to talk about,” Tesi admitted.

“I get that. When you are ready to talk-,”

“I know. You’re here.” Tesi paused for a moment. “Literally.”

Sylvain laughed at that. “Alright. I can take a hint. I’ll go back to my own room.”

He stood, striding out of the room without saying anything else. Tesi laid backwards on the bed with a heavy sigh as the door shut behind Sylvain. A part of her felt guilty for chasing him out. But there was only so much hovering she could tolerate before she lost her patience. She stared blankly at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything bouncing around in her head.

It felt like they still didn’t have a solid plan of attack against General Cassian, and his ships were due to leave the harbor for Levian City soon. Fatima had come up with an idea to create a naval blockade and seemed confident in her ability to pull it off when the time came. But how were they going to target Cassian himself? Where were they going to imprison him after his defeat? What was the next move after that? What if Fatima decided she didn’t want to stay with the Bar Crawlers after the assault was finished, and she went back to the Grand Archive with stupid Nyssa Cassian and her stupid bath potions and-,

“You really should just do something about her already. It would be so ridiculously easy for someone of your skillset.”

Tesi sat bolt upright in bed. Standing in front of her was a dark-skinned man she was quickly becoming familiar with. The corner of his mouth was pulled up in a coy grin. His dark hair was neatly swept to the side. A deep gash marked his throat exactly where Francois had run his blade clean through. Castor Cassian watched Tesi with a look of bemusement for a moment.

“I mean seriously. Seeing you seethe with rage is fun and all, but…” Castor looked Tesi up and down with a cruel smile, “I want to see what you can really do.”

Tesi’s shoulders tensed. She turned away from the spector and began to rummage through her bag. Castor stepped forward to stay just in the edge of Tesi’s vision.

“You should show someone that journal…” he sang.

Still refusing to look at him, Tesi pulled out a small, porcelain teacup and watched it begin to fill itself with piping hot tea from Araban.

Castor persisted, “Don’t you want to stop her before she adds Fatima to her list of subjects?”

She took a slow sip from her teacup.

“Or are you going to let someone else you care about take the consequences for your actions?”

Tesi’s grip on the teacup tightened. But she refused to turn her head. Refused to acknowledge the taunting spirit beside her. Perhaps if she continued to focus on her breathing and keep a calm state of mind, she could sever the connection.

“Help…p-please!”

The teacup slipped from Tesi’s fingers and tumbled onto the bed. She barely felt the burning hot liquid pour across her legs as a small, whimpering voice called out now. Slowly she turned her head to see another familiar figure. A young human boy, no older than 10, with mousy brown hair and watery green eyes. From underneath the sleep shirt he wore, she watched blood begin to blossom from his chest.

“No…no, please,” she whispered.

Tears ran down the young boy’s face. His hands grasped at the fabric of his shirt, pulling at it desperately. He tried to speak, but all that came out of him was a choking sound.

“Please, stop,” Tesi begged.

“H-help me…” the boy sobbed.

“Make it stop,” Tesi cried.

“Please, I…I don’t want to die…!”

“Make it stop!”

Her fingers raked through her hair and she shut her eyes tightly. But nothing seemed to help cut through the sound of Erik Brand’s cries of anguish. She didn’t even register when the door to her room slowly creaked open, or the quick slam as heeled feet hurried across the room. It wasn’t until Sylvain had his arms wrapped around her that she even realized someone came in.

“Tesi? Wh-what happened?” he asked.

“Make it stop,” she repeated, leaning her body into Sylvain’s. “Please, make it stop.”

She felt his hand begin to rub slowly up and down her back, “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever’s going on, it’s gonna be okay. I’m here for you.”

Tesi didn’t answer him. She instead continued to let herself fall apart.

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #journal #make it stop #fic #oc #dungeons and dragons #dnd #war for rython #wfr

1 note · View note

boredandelusive · 2 years

Text

Before It's Too Late - IX (9).

Little reminder: If you would like to join the taglist, you are more than welcome to comment as such. I've gained a little attention from those who enjoy SAGAU content, but feel obligated to comment and reblog.

CW: Angst, slight cliffhanger

"What was with that look back there, Signora?" Childe asked as both of them stepped off their boats and into the docks of Snezhnaya, knowing they had somewhere specific to go.

"Childe, don't tell me you are such a fool you did not recognize the Creator's ring on the Traveler's finger," Signora glanced at the man, though he scoffed.

"I noticed, but just as I was about to ask her more about it, you made me leave. Even then, I had my own suspicions when Lumine and I fought at the Golden House." He says in annoyance.

"Any sort of suspicions you have about her will be brought up once we confide in the Tsaritsa. Until then, Childe, it would be best to keep your mouth quiet. You may spew out nonsense before you say any truth."

"La Signora, Tartaglia, what brings you to me at this hour?" The Tsaritsa asked as she watched two of her loyal Harbingers walk to her throne.

"We have Morax's gnosis, as per the contract between you both." Signora says and holds it out to the Archon. She took it from the woman, not moving an inch.

"Is that all from you both?" She asked as she observed the object in her hand, then smiled at the gnosis in return.

"Not all, Tsaritsa. The Traveler you've come to despise... we think she might have Creator Sister Laila's ring, the true ring." Hearing those words from Childe's mouth caught her attention, making the woman place the gnosis on the table beside her throne.

"Impossible," she interjects, causing the two to grow confused. "If Laila were here, she would be the first to embrace us once more, just as she had when she created humanity. She would not shroud away from her Archons," the Tsaritsa sounded like she denied the idea of Laila not reuniting with her very creations.

"We thought so, too, for a time. However, when I fought the Traveler at the golden house, she pulled out this weird-looking weapon. It tore through my Foul Legacy Transformation with a singular blast. When I released Osial from under Morax's spears, a singular shot killed him in an instant." Childe continued, making her stand from her throne.

"If that is the case, then I will task you, along with the other Harbingers, to bring her back here. I will know it when I see her," moving away from her throne, she dismissed them both and left the room.

"Laila, when you meet with the Qixing and the Adepti, what are you going to tell them?" Paimon asked as she floated around Lumine mindlessly. "Are you gonna tell them about your sister?"

"I'll have no choice but to. If they allow Faleon to come and bring what I need, then I would not need their help. My sister gets weaker by the second, and if she turns into a witch before she could give her power to me, which insures Teyvat would not fall, then humans die out in months. There is a reason I've also called upon the Acting Grandmaster from Mondstadt." Laila explains as the two leave Liyue Harbor.

"And the plan is to meet them all today?" Lumine asked next, which the creator hummed in response. "I wish you the best of luck." Though the traveler had not forgotten her brother in the mix of this, she knew the fate of Teyvat could help them reunite.

As Laila once again took over Lumine's body, she looked at the sky for a moment. Once she could see the sun setting, she began walking toward the designated meeting place. Seeing as Nantianmen was in the adeptal bode, no one passed through, out of respect. It also meant the statue of the Three were nearby.

Hearing the flapping of wings, Laila sat down at the stone table first before seeing the adepti sit down. "If you would kindly give the Liyue Qixing a moment, they had to bring the Acting Grandmaster with them," she says as a floating tea pot hovered in front of them. "Tea, anyone?"

Watching as Xiao appeared, Laila thought for a moment. "They'll be here in two minutes, and then I will explain everything. I owe you that much," she says and stands up from the seat. Hearing as the adepti stayed quiet, Madame Ping arrived with the three Qixing, Jean included.

"Now that you've all arrived, I will start by explaining what a soul gem is. It is tied to everything, including the reason I left." As she opened her hand, a small crystal formed, something that looked foreign to them all. "This soul gem is inside my ring, and if it gets destroyed, I die."

As she set it on the table, she continued. "However, there is more to this little thing than meets the eye. If you'll notice, a soul gem shines as a sign of purity, that the person who owns it still has hope. If a soul gem grows tainted, a grief seed is the one thing that clears it." Seeing the looks of confusion on their faces, she continued.

"Because of this, I am a magical girl, someone who fights a never-ending battle against witches, creatures of despair. This soul gem is the opposite of a grief seed, which comes from a witch. My sisters and I are magical girls, and before we created Teyvat, we fought side-by-side." She says before calming down enough.

"Your Grace, if it is a difficult topic for you, you don't have to tell us." Ganyu noticed her uneasiness, but she shook her head.

"When the three of us first created Teyvat, we had the intent of creating seven acolytes to sit in the thrones of Celestia. If anything happened to us, these seven would have enough power to deal with witches together. When it came time to choose the Archons, every single god I had created wanted to be an Archon. Not out of power, but because it gives a direct link to us." She continued.

"Almost 1000 years before the Archon War, I suspected something to be wrong with my sister. Each time I asked about her, she denied anything of being wrong. I can't remember the day, but when I checked on her after she made an abnormally large star, she turned into a witch. I had to put an end to her before she could destroy Tevyat. That is the reason I left." Laila says before looking at the adepti.

"If that's the case, why have you returned now, of all times?" Keqing asked skeptically, seeing as though she couldn't quite believe Laila yet.

"Because Mayla is going through the same thing. Her soul gem is tainted enough that if I free her from the preservation chamber she's in, she may very well turn into a witch that could destroy this universe. Mayla created the ground, the crops, the first to show how to harvest. I'm sure within the past few centuries, not as many plants have bloomed as once before. If she does, most cooking ingredients become unusable." It was a lot to say at the moment, so she kept quiet for the moment.

"Your Grace, Mondstadt has an ongoing festival in the Divine's names," Jean points out, which Laila nods in response. "Surely, those have helped a bit with your sister's gem, wouldn't it?" If she heard that her efforts didn't help, and how they were useless, but she shook her head.

"They helped, but only for a short time. Teyvat was once a singular nation, not divided like it is now. If you wanted to help, all the nations would need to hold a festival together. Even then, if that worked, it wouldn't hold for long." it hurt to admit the truth, but if Mayla didn't have long, Teyvat would crumble when she turns into a witch.

"If I may, can I ask what you plan to do next?" Xiao spoke up, though the question left her quiet for a moment.

"I still plan to leave. Truthfully, I grew dissatisfied with this world. Maybe I expected too much, but until I have a reason to continue looking over Teyvat and the others connected, I don't see a reason to stay here." She thought aloud, which the faces of everyone dampened with sadness. "Then again, if my travels through Teyvat proves it has changed since the start of the Archon War, I might change my mind."

"If we were to move the statue to Liyue Harbor," Ningguang starts, which Laila hums.

"Geo and Dendro slimes. Many people underestimate their strength, but though the adepti cannot lift the statues, the slimes can. They were meant to be the original guides of Teyvat, and as such, they will follow you wherever you lead them to," Laila answers before looking at the sky again. "None of you have seen a witch, have you? Not up close."

"I believe it is safe to say we have not," Jean adds next, making the woman hum for a moment.

"Would you like to? By my abilities, I can share memories with anyone I choose to. I should remind you, just in case, that this is a memory. I know it was never fully discussed, the truth behind my sister's death. That day was the reason I left, but it was also the reason the Archon War began."

The world around them was covered in a temporary darkness, followed immediately by the sun above them.

"Carin? Come on, I thought we were supposed to visit the gods again. They should've chosen who the higher gods are by now." Laila says as she sees her sister putting stars into the sky again. "Why do you work on the stars at this hour?"

"Laila... do you honestly think the thousands of gods you've created could choose only 7 to follow us?" Those words weren't something Carin would usually say, though her youngest sister noticed how slow her movements have gotten.

"I don't get it... What's wrong?" Laila asked as she stepped closer to her sister, though she could tell something was wrong. "Sister, is something the matter?"

"Laila, please extend my apologies to Mayla and to the gods who wait for us." As Carin set her soul gem on the table, Laila rushed to the sight of the tainted gem, deflating at the sight.

Using her abilities, Laila conjured a hammer to destroy Carin. Raising her arms, black mist seeped out of the tainted gem. Turning behind her, Laila watched as her sister's body fell to the ground. The sound of crying rang out through Celestia. The growing size of a witch tore through the architecture of the castle as the day grew to night.

Just as the banquet of gods approached the gates, the skies above turned into a cloudy night. The sound of marching soldiers in front of them caught the gods' attention, though further sight proved 2D soldiers marched down the stairs of Celestia. Such a sight could've been considered a march to execution.

The floating stars around the witch formed into red spider lilies, a beautiful march to an execution. But even then, what was beautiful never lasts. Laughter broke the silence as the soldiers around her started attacking the gods. An impenetrable shield protected the gods, though Laila pursued the witch toward Teyvat.

Unrealistic tears fell from the eyes of the witch, as if she cried as her soldiers tried killing the gods, though her efforts were in vain. "In here, quickly," Mayla's voice demanded of the gods, all of them listening without a second thought.

"Sister, please!" Laila called out, though the witch showed no effort to stop. The tears that fell from the witch's eyes burned the bridge behind her, severing the stairs from the floating heaven.

< Previous | Next >

TAG LIST - @atsukawolfcat @lilqi @magica-ren @karmawonders @sheepispink

#self aware genshin au #genshin self aware #genshin self aware au #self aware genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x madoka magica #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact #liyue qixing #liyue adepti #guizhong #sagau #sagau angst

58 notes · View notes

xhanisai · 3 years

Text

AU where the current holders of the miraculous have dreams about the previous holders

- They only dream about the holders before them- not the holders before the previous ones (for example, say Laila is the current holder of the butterfly and the holder before her was Maya. The holder before Maya was Ali. Laila will only dream about Maya whilst Maya have dreamt about Ali).

- The dreams are in the POV of the previous holders; you would only see things that are happening through their eyes and have no control over their bodies. You will also feel the same things the holders are feeling. The dreams are only possible if the predecessor before the current holder has passed away.

- The last holders of the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculouses were Bridgette Zhōu and Felix Gray (The PV predecessors of Marinette and Adrien). They were born in England and fought and died during the end of the second world war in 1945.

- Bridgette went by as Ladybird whilst Felix went by as Black Cat. They were sixteen when they received their miraculouses by Maître Fu.

- So Marinette, ever since gaining the earrings, would dream about Bridgette and the events that unfolded during her time. Adrien would dream about Felix on the other hand.

- At first, both were confused and horrified by this, especially after having to witness the brutal battles and war in first person and not having the power to help the way they want. They wouldn’t dare to mention this to each other in the beginning, unsure on how to approach the subject and completely traumatised too.

- They are quick to mature, especially in their civilian lives. Alya has noted that Marinette often wears a distant, sad look on her face, as if she’s weighed down by the burdens of the world.

- Nino was also quick to realise the tired yet determined gaze that Adrien wore, as if he was burning with the desire to protect everything he treasures as well as grieving for the things he’s lost. Though, the boy is an excellent actor and it’s really hard to see him unless you’re Nino.

- Since Marinette is far too distracted with coming up with plans and connecting dots to find out who le Papillon was, she’s not able to see how deep the changes were within Adrien, mainly focused on protecting her loved ones, especially her Chat Noir.

- Adrien on the other hand keeps a constant close observation on Marinette. She’s one of the few people out there that he really likes and cherishes so seeing her becoming more distant and tired and sad also upsets him.

- He starts to suspect about Ladybug’s civilian identity, especially after Plagg noting that he’s fallen for Marinette and LB for the umpteenth time.

- Marinette is also in love with both Adrien and Chat Noir (though she doesn’t like to admit the latter). She doesn’t make any attempts on romancing because she fears that it would be taken advantage of by le Papillon one way or another.

- Chat Noir is only a little flirty with Ladybug, also held back from the past holders and the current villain from fully attempting to romance her. Adrien is still soft and sweet with Marinette, always making sure she’s relaxed in his presence (Though, strangers can see that the feelings between ladynoir and adrinette are mutual).

- Both Adrien and Marinette love to spoil their kwamis with all the sweets and cheese the little Gods desire. The duo couldn’t fathom the guilt and trauma from their predecessors so how were Tikki and Plagg dealing with all the lives of their past holders?

- The bond between Tikki and Marinette and the bond between Plagg and Adrien is super, super strong.

- What finally causes Ladybug and Chat Noir to snap and communicate with each other regarding the dreams is when they finally dreamt about Bridgette’s and Felix’s last moments. These moments were the most haunting and painful out of them all.

Bridgette laid in a distraught Felix’s arms, a fatal wound in her chest, an ugly crimson growing on her clothes, yet a soft, subtle smile rested on her lips. With all her energy, she mustered up the strength to cup the sobbing boy’s cheek, as if Big Ben wasn’t being bombed to smithereens behind them and as if they weren’t surrounded by walls of deadly fire.

“Please...don’t close your eyes...don’t leave me...you’re going to be okay,” Felix choked, leaning into her touch which only grew terrifyingly colder and colder. He has to save her...he has to!

“D-Don’t cry, my sweet love,” Bridgette attempted to grin further and cooed at her lover, blind to Tikki’s vice grip on her blood stained school uniform and Plagg’s gape of horror. “I...I need you to run, Felix. Please-”

“What!? Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not leaving you! Not now, not ever!” He held her closer to him, tears cascading down his usually stoic face and mind scrambling for a plan. “I’ll save you, like always! And no one will dare to hurt you again-”

“Please...you’re already hurt. Please, live for me...”

“Bridgette...there’s no point in living if you’re not there with me, and that’s final!”

- Unfortunately, the duo met their demise from a direct bomb. Fu and Marianne had no choice but to take the miraculouses off their corpses as they were on the run, no time to mourn for the poor teens.

- Because of this dream, Chat has vowed to protect his Lady, no matter what, to ensure that she never has to go through the same pain as Bridgette (and also so he never has to mourn for another woman he’s loved with his everything).

- Ladybug has also vowed to ensure that they would never get into a situation like that, ever. The last thing she ever wants is for her partner to go through that pain.

- Sometimes, Marinette would find herself clutching her chest, as if she’s been shot, only to realise that they’re phantom pains from Bridgette’s fatal wounds and battle scars. Sometimes, the pain is enough to make her blackout.

- Similarly, this happens to Adrien too. Especially since Black Cat often got hurt during the war when fighting against the opposition.

- Both Marinette and Adrien have seen this happen to each other, not only as civilians but as their hero identities as well. They’re both 100% certain of their suspicions regarding the identities but are yet to address it.

- They get into arguments when Chat keeps on sacrificing himself. Both of them wanting to protect each other so badly, it hurts. The horrors of their predecessors’ lives and failures branded into their souls.

“You are the most important one out of us both! You can bring everything back to normal! Of course it makes sense for me to take that hit for you-”

“We are a team! I can’t do this without you and you know how much I hate seeing you die before my eyes over and over again!”

“But you bring me back every time-”

“That doesn’t stop it from hurting, you stupid cat! How would you feel if the person you love the most kept dying in front of you!?”

- After accidentally blurting out her confession, Ladybug attempts to run away, only for Chat Noir to hold her back by the hand. He then gently hugs her from behind, face hidden on the crook of her neck.

“I do know how it feels, Marinette. I do...” Chat held onto her tighter when she gasped, waiting until she relaxed before he carried on. “Every time I dream about that night, I feel Felix’s pain as his Lady died in his arms. I feel his guilt, his self-hatred, his grief, his heartbreak...everything.”

Lifting his head, Noir turned Ladybug around, his frown deepening from the tears that ran down her cheeks. He then brought his lips to one of her eyes, kissing away the tears with a softness that would rival even a mother’s touch to a new-born’s skin.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way...I love you so much that I can’t bear to see you die, ever,”

- From then on, they come to a compromise that they’d work as hard as possible to keep either of them from dying for each other.

- It’s hard and difficult but now that they have each other in their civilian lives, as well as letting Alya, Nino and Marinette’s parents into the secrets, the burdens eased. Fu allowed them to do this, knowing that the burden is too much for a singular person to handle on their own. Together they all became one excellent support system.

- Thankfully, there are pleasant dreams from Felix’s and Bridgette’s lives as well. Such as: first time meeting, ballroom dancing, walking in the gardens, etc.

175 notes · View notes

coeurdastronaute · 3 years

Text

The Cover Story, Ch. 1

Greetings! This is a preview of my first chapter that I’m posting exclusively on my patreon. If you like it, I hope you follow along as I work on it there. I appreciate your time and thoughts and would love to hear what you think.

Without further ado, or perhaps much ado about thing...

Lucy Madani was not going to cry.

That was a lie. She might cry. She wanted to cry. She was known to cry very easily, but not without reason, and there certainly were more than enough reasons already for her to tear up as she stood on the corner and felt a wave of water from a bus going through a puddle splash her legs and skirt. It was only just after eight in the morning, and she was ready to crawl back into bed, admit defeat graciously, and sleep straight through to tomorrow.

“I can’t talk right now, Baba,” Lucy muttered into her phone as she resumed her quick walk down the street.

“You are mad, and we need to talk.”

“Let me rephrase it. I don’t want to and I also can’t. I’m going to be late for my meeting.”

“Your big interview pitch. I wanted to wish you good luck, but you stormed off.”

“Yes, that is what one tends to do when their father informs them that he is getting engaged,” she fumed, her anger coming over her once again at the thought as she darted across the street, waving her hand at the honking car.

She was an adult, she tried to remind herself. A full, grown adult. An adult-adult who barely had a stable job, had heaps of student loans, and still lived with her widowed father. She didn’t throw tantrums and she wasn’t going to cry about any of it. Today was too important for that, and she was going to nail the pitch and finally move on from puff pieces for teen magazines. She was going to make the jump to serious journalist. She was going to be requested, by name.

Today she was not going to cry.

At least not on purpose.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

Luckily, he knew enough to sound sorry, though it wasn’t enough of a victory for her, only fueling the prickling behind her eyes.

“No, I’m going over Laila’s. I’ll just stay there. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with her.”

“Lucy joon, please talk to me. I know you’re mad-- you have your mother’s temper, but I think we should talk about this.”

“I’m going into my meeting. We’ll talk sometime this week,” she offered, shaking her head. “Just… I have to go.”

She didn’t wait for much of a reply because she knew he was playing low, dragging her mother into it. It only made it worse. Shoes sloshing against the tile of the lobby, she made her way to the elevator and decided firmly, once again, that she was not going to cry.

Her phone chimed with a handful of well wishes and good luck’s from the group chat and she thanked them quickly before trying to find the meeting information from her calendar, head down and lost in her own world as she stepped into the elevator and right into a stranger.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy hurried, looking forward and then following the chest and then long pale neck up a few more inches to an amused smirk and eyes hidden by wayfarer sunglasses.

“Not a problem. I was in the way.”

The stranger ran her hand through a mop of curly copper hair atop her head, faded on the sides and shaggy on top, decidedly better put together than any tiktok boy’s. Her small smile pulled at bow-shaped lips and left dimples on both cheeks, and there were too many freckles to even begin counting. Lucy gulped before moving to the side and slinking to the back corner.

Of course she would get into an elevator with the hottest woman she’d ever seen. Of course she would nearly plow her over in her hurry. Of course she would be sweet and smile like that and have an adorably shaped chin and face. Of course Lucy would do all of that while looking like something the cat dragged in after a bad night.

But luck wasn’t with her today, and she was unable to hide too long, as no one else got on behind her and she heaved the heaviest sigh before looking down at her ruined stockings, spattered with mud and whatever else was festering in that puddle. Her skirt was soaked still and dripping and she was beginning to really feel it sinking into her skin. Phone clutched tightly in her hand, she felt the weight of it all and didn’t know what to do with it.

From under her brow she looked up to study the back of the stranger, their long legs and black jeans, their primly tucked in black t-shirt that stretched slightly across her shoulders, and the softest looking hair in the most beautiful shade of red she’d ever seen.

The elevator ascended approximately three floors before she started crying. Alligator tears slipped down her cheeks before she could do anything to stop them. And then the stranger cleared their throat and quietly turned around to verify what was happening, was actually happening, only making it worse.

But she didn’t say anything, just turned back around, and with the smallest movement stretched an arm forward to hold the elevator between floors, and quickly, Lucy turned herself around and faced the wall. She took a few steadying breaths and wiped her cheeks, mentally preparing to leave everything else behind and focus on the moment-- when she would be selling herself to one of the largest companies of all time to be the writer of the profile of their Director of Creative Design before they went public. She’d prepared. She was ready. Nothing else mattered and she was a goddamn adult.

The stranger, the kind, hot stranger pushed her sunglasses up into the messy curly hair and offered a smaller smile than before, the communal ‘it’ll be okay’ without saying anything. Lucy didn’t register much of it, just stared at the grey-green of her eyes, forgetting all else, and especially that she was a goddamn adult who desperately needed a payday to move out of her father’s place and away from whoever was moving into her mother’s side of the bed.

“I’m not usually,” she began, but bit her tongue because she didn’t want to lie. She was usually like this, just occasionally less muddy. “Thank you.”

“We can stay a few more minutes if you’d like. I don’t really want to go to work today.”

For the first time all day, Lucy smiled genuinely and felt lighter. It was that quick and that easy.

“It’s okay. I’m ready.”

A curt nod led to a stretch again and the elevator started once more. Lucy leaned across and pressed the button for her floor, catching a whiff of a distinctly woodsy smell, like sandalwood perhaps? There was a hit of lavender? Maybe cedar? It was wonderful. She wanted to breathe in more of it, but retreated before she was the girl who cried and sniffed people in the elevator.

The silence was oddly comfortable for a few more seconds until it dinged and she took the step out. The stranger politely held the door and offered one final smile, complete with just one dimple this time.

“Good luck,” she winked before pulling back, hands clasped loosely in front of her before the doors closed forever.

It couldn’t get better than that, Lucy decided, staring at the elevator doors and steadying herself once again. But she was hoping it couldn’t get worse either.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Quinn Sullivan wanted to die.

Not really die, but she might have taken a good coma. Just for like a week maybe. Or six months. Something long enough to beat out this hangover she was sporting, courtesy of her very thoughtful best friend, and if she was lucky, long enough to survive the offering and release of the new game. Maybe a year-long coma? Was that too much to ask for, honestly? Maybe the universe could toss her a bone, just this once, especially after the previous year of her life.

But in lieu of a swift and merciful death and/or coma, she was just going to have to survive the giant hangover that was currently attacking her body. All she needed was a quiet day and an extra large piece of leftover pizza she was certain was waiting in the staff fridge somewhere. Maybe some birthday cake--

And then a five-five wrecking ball of a human barreled into her chest.

The rest of her ride up, Quinn thought about the weird trip it’d been, and if she should have done something different. And then she beat herself up for winking. Who winked? Why did she wink? She’d never done it before. But she earned a smile from a cute girl, and there was a tiny flutter at the base of her rib cage, one she hadn’t noticed in a long, long time. She pressed her fingertips there for the rest of the ride to her floor.

With a groan, she put her sunglasses back on as the elevator dinged to her floor and took a deep breath to prepare for her day, not allowing her brain to trace out an entire life with the cute, crying stranger where they bought peaches at the farmer’s market on Saturday’s and danced in the kitchen. Romance was dead and dreaming was forbidden.

“Aspirin is already on your desk,” Jenny greeted her cheerfully. “With an egg sandwich and some fruit.”

“No leftover pizza?” Quinn didn’t pout, but she might have for that.

“Trust me, this will fix you up much better. I went to a state school, remember, MIT?”

“We partied…” Quinn trailed off as she pushed open the door to her office.

She hadn’t partied, but she was certain people had to have partied. It was college, and though it was many moons ago, she certainly couldn’t remember hangovers feeling like this. Maybe this is what almost thirty felt like. That thought didn’t help with the headache.

“All-night coding sessions don’t count. Eat the food. I’ll hold the wolves at bay as long as I can, but Chris and the Exlust team are adamant you have the meeting today to resolve story issues.”

Quinn tossed back the aspirin before she even sat down. Maybe Jenny was her universal compensation. The shades were already drawn so her normally bright office was much more tolerable. Even the eggs didn’t make her stomach swirl, and she was grateful her assistant learned something useful while studying biomedical engineering..

“I just need like an hour to work something out. I had an idea last night--”

“Before or after the sangria?”

“During. Definitely during, but still. I just need to work through it and then they can tear me to shreds. Can you add to my calendar a warning to never drink again?”

Quinn was fairly certain she’d texted her assistant that at some point in the morning. Probably before the shower, but after the first cup of coffee.

“Gladly,” Jenny smiled softly. “You doing okay? It’s been a while since you tied one on like this.”

“I’m fine. Just celebrating with Darcy. No more sad drinking, I believe was the rule you came up with and I follow all of your rules.”

With a roll of the eyes, files were placed on her desk and her assistant retreated to the ringing phones, which when the door was held open, were actual torture devices to Quinn’s brain.

“Sadie wants your afternoon free. I think it’s another reporter.”

“She’s relentless.”

“Maybe you’re impossible?”

“It’s genetic then,” Quinn sighed, munching on a grape and tugging open a notebook. “One hour, please?”

“I got you, boss.”

“Thanks.”

Never quite sure how Jenny did it, Quinn chose not to ask any questions. But when she asked for an hour, she got it. And despite the headache and laziness in her muscles, the food and aspirin did help so that by the end of her allotted time, she felt like she had captured the breakthrough that appeared to her the night before.

Before she could admire her work though, her team filed in and she was prepared to start her day, finally, even with the nagging idea of a reporter nipping at her thoughts through it all.

Somewhere between her breakfast and lunch, Quinn felt better. She fired off a few texts to see how Darcy was handling it and received only pictures of a half obscured but obviously still in bed face and chuckled to herself. It was a slower day, and she wasn’t about to waste it with a hangover. She should give Jenny a raise, she decided, because the woman could cure hangovers. Maybe submit her for the Nobel for Science.

“Sadie is here,” her assistant buzzed and Quinn lost all forms of motivation.

Her head hit her desk dramatically as the door opened and her sister walked in. Slightly shorter, but older by two years, Sadie was nearly everything Quinn could never manage to be despite her best intentions. She had the MBA from Harvard and the doting husband that came with it, a cute brownstone near White Hill and the park, and her first baby on the way. But even past her resume, Sadie Sullivan-Hawkins was personable and charismatic. She was adored and shrewd, capable of disarming anyone and eviscerating the others. It all came so easy to her, to have people around, to talk and be listened to, to be loved. She was a shark in business, and at the same time warm and put people at ease.

Quinn could barely tie her shoes and Sadie was running a marathon in life.

“Want to talk about it?” Sadie smiled as she took the seat across from Quinn’s desk.

“About what?”

“Why you’re getting drunk with Darcy on a Tuesday?”

“She got the job at Taylor and Vine. We were celebrating.”

“So not about Chloe’s announcement in the Times?”

Quinn played dumb, typing gibberish into her phone because she didn’t want to look at her sister’s kind and caring face. If she looked, then she’d have more feelings, and for the life of her, she just wanted the incessant tinnitus of the break up to disappear completely.

“Nope, I caught that this morning though, so I was in the right physical and mental place to really wallow. I don’t care about her.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“I have these notes to get done for the Shadow Operation team before our meeting with design. I’m fine. My ex can marry whoever she wants-- God knows she didn’t want to marry me. Good luck to the next sap.”

This made her sister chuckle, and Quinn smiled quietly to herself. There was still a bitterness there that she couldn’t get rid of. It was masking potentially the worst hurt imaginable. She preferred the bite of the bitter though. Easier to navigate.

“I have someone I want you to meet with.”

“Oh, fuck off Sadie,” Quinn moaned, knowing full well what was about to happen. “I’m not talking to anyone. You’re the face of this outfit. That’s what you told me.”

“You’ve run off three other reporters. Our public offering is going to underperform if there is no faith in the heart of our company,” she explained, sitting up a little straighter. “And that’s you. I might crunch the numbers and keep the lights on, but you are what people are buying.”

“Then you tell them about me. I don’t even have to be there.”

“If only that were true, my job would be a lot easier.”

At a stalemate, the sisters stared at each other for a few moments before Sadie broke, making a face as she smiled towards her lap, running her hand over the smallest bump barely showing. Quinn shook her head and looked away. Anywhere else was better than the damn disapproving look leveled at her now.

“I don’t know what to say,” Quinn finally muttered. “I don’t want to-- I can’t--”

“Chloe was an idiot. She broke your heart. Now, you barely exist, but I know that you’re still you. And we need this.”

“I can’t. I really can’t. I wish you’d get it.”

It hurt too much all over again. In a weird way, Quinn missed the feeling of the hangover because at least that was a useful ache. The dull throbbing in her chest and bones just felt hollow and haunting.

“We have a meeting with her. I’ve already walked her through the contracts and final edits, as well as shown her around. Please just rip the bandaid off and get it over with. She’s good. I’ve read a few of her pieces and Donna recommended her to me.”

Sadie had their mother’s eyes. It drove Quinn crazy, that she looked like she didn’t belong in her own family. It also meant it felt like her mom was staring at her and reminding her to do her chores. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her head lull to the side.

“I’ll… I’ll try.”

“Yes! I knew it. Thank you. Seriously, Q. It’s going to be great. This is going to--”

“I said I’ll try. I didn’t say I’d do it.”

“It’ll be great,” Sadie ignored the warning, hopping up from her chair and moving to the door to beckon the reporter in. “Come in and meet the genius of the whole outfit.”

Quinn rubbed her face with her hands, digging her fingers into the corners of her eyes under her glasses before steadying herself. She could do it for her sister, she reminded herself, and that stupid niece or nephew she was incubating.

Maybe it would be as simple as ripping off a band-aid. Maybe she could just let a stranger rifle through her entire life and being, except that she wasn’t sure there was anything there anymore. Everything felt like she was going through the motions, and it was terrifying to Quinn to let someone see that she was barely stitched together. How could she explain that there was nothing behind door number one? Let alone number two or number three.

“Quinn, this is Lucy Madani. She’s a freelancer hired by New York Magazine. She did a great piece on the Attorney General last month and her article on the director who went on to win Cannes went viral.”

There was still mud on her skirt, but her stockings had been disbanded, gone forever, but it was unmistakable the stranger from the elevator standing in her office. That felt like an entire lifetime ago, and yet Quinn tried to swallow.

“You have longer hair, in the pictures I found of you online,” Lucy offered, overcoming her surprise much quicker. She stuck out her hand over Quinn’s desk and waited for her to shake it.

She was a reporter. A reporter who cried in the elevator. A reporter Quinn had, if she were being honest, checked out. But foremost, she was a reporter. She wanted to dive into the deepest parts of Quinn’s brain for profit, mutual benefit and all. It sounded dreadful.

The universe did not owe her anything, Quinn remembered, but the perpetual mocking was getting a little over the top.

“Quinn Sullivan,” she shook the hand presented and tried to breathe. Lucy’s hand was warm and felt soft. She wasn’t sure how to let go. “How’s it going?”

Fuck! Her mind blared as she dropped the reporter’s hand and mentally beat herself to a pulp. Who talked like that? And still, she could not answer, winked?

“It’s been a day,” she smiled, nodding to herself as she accepted the seat Quinn offered. “Your sister has sung your praises all morning though. I feel like I could write about your without even meeting you.”

“Great. Let’s do that.”

Sadie laughed but gave Quinn a stern look.

“I’m going to go grab you some passes and copies of the contracts,” Sadie smiled graciously at Lucy before turning to her sister. “Listen to her pitch.”

“Seems it’s been decided,” she muttered to herself before plastering on a smile.

“Don’t have too much fun. I’ll be right back.”

And with that she truly was gone, and Quinn was left in her office with the reporter who had pretty eyes. They felt like syrup-- warm and deep brown, gooey and sticky. Her face was longer, her nose thin and long, her lips full and bitten-- and Quinn snapped herself out of her perusal and felt her chest warm too much. No, the universe didn’t owe her anything, and the punishment for thinking it did was sitting across from her in a muddy skirt and gentle smile.

For just a moment, Quinn held her breath and willed a coma..

66 notes · View notes

elen-aranel · 3 years

Note

Hii! Disco Sarek is making me feel things. I never thought I’d ask for this but could you maybe write a Sarek x reader?

Dear Anon, thank you for the request! I am so sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy. I have set this in the past relative to Discovery, when Sarek is just getting to know humanity. Thanks to @starfleetstgmgr for some really helpful ideas!

Regard

Pairing: Sarek x Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: Moderately frank discussions of human relationships, Diplomacy, gratuitous detail of Paris WC: 4.3k Rating: Teen

You have always watched people.

When you were a child, you watched your classmates as they fought and made up, sometimes finding you had a better memory for who was friends with who than they did.

When you were at college, you watched people go by through the window of your favourite coffee shop. And you messaged your friends, as you sipped your latte in breaks between reading, if you spotted any of their tutors going by looking like they were in a bad mood.

These days, as a Federation Attaché, you watch people negotiate. Sometimes it’s just a formality – the nitty-gritty of signing a treaty. Ambassadors, professionals, everyone on the same page, little details to hammer out. But the more interesting times are when the stakes are higher: people negotiating to protect their way of life. People negotiating who are personally affected. People who care.

This is your first time on a negotiation with the new Vulcan ambassador, Sarek. You’ve worked with Vulcans before, and you generally appreciate their logical approach to a situation. Unlike some other Federation diplomats, they don’t try to make everything about them themselves. But still, Sarek is different, somehow, and you watch him, trying to put your finger on why.

You’re on a Federation colony planet, Omicron Aquila III, trying to negotiate between the two factions of humans that live there. The land is very fertile, and the original colonists grew crops for export. But 10 years in there was a disagreement, and now the humans live in two separate settlements. Everything was fine until last year when a volcano, thought to be extinct, erupted, damaging farmland and water supplies. The colonists from Hebden and Longridge don’t agree on much, but they did agree that they wanted a Vulcan to mediate their issues, because they knew a Vulcan would use logic and come up with a fair solution.

Sarek remains unruffled as Representative Jackson Walker gets increasingly angry about Hebden’s south well. His voice stays deep, slow, and calm as he re-iterates the logic of allowing Longridge to use it, and you realise that unlike the other Vulcans you’ve met, he doesn’t treat humans like they’re inferior because of their emotions, even if he doesn’t seem to understand them. Representative Laila Patel from Longridge sits there with arms crossed, a grim smile on her face. But you’ve been watching her, and you’re pretty sure that when you get to the issue of land borders, she’s going to kick up a fuss.

“I hear your objections, Representative Walker. I think we should take an hour’s recess to consider next steps.” Sarek says, and both humans stand and leave, without so much as a goodbye. You stand, too, gathering up your PADDS.

“Ambassador, may I have a word?”

“Yes of course, Attaché. Please join me.” He leads you through into a corridor, then to a door you haven’t been through yet. You make a point to give him space as he holds the door, letting you take it from him; Vulcans are touch-telepaths and contact is frowned upon. You follow him through into a garden. It’s beautiful, with pink and white roses in bloom, perfuming the air. You think it must have been one of the first things the colonists built because the plants are mature, and you’re touched that in establishing a new home they put beauty at the heart of it.

Sarek leads you toward the middle of the garden, so you can talk and be sure you’re not being overheard.

“What is it you wish to say, Attaché?” He regards you, curious, and you notice his eyes. Stormy, grey-blue – how had you not paid attention to them before? You shake yourself, mentally. Now is not the time.

“Your proposal is fair and logical. But I—I don’t think you will be successful with it. The colonists think they want a logical solution, but they cannot stop their emotions coming into play.”

Sarek raises an eyebrow at you. “What is your evidence for this assertion?”

“The way Representative Walker gets particularly aggressive when you bring up the south well. According to their database his grandfather, John Walker, dug it personally, and for some time at the beginning it was the colony’s only source of drinking water. Representative Walker probably remembers his grandfather telling stories about that time. His family derives status from that well. I think you’ll likely find something similar if you challenge Representative Patel on this land.” You get out your PADD with a map of the colony. “When Hebden split from Longridge, her family grew the first crops here.”

“Yes.” Sarek looks thoughtful. “This does explain the behaviour we have seen, and provide a hypothesis which we may test going forward.” He looks at you again, something in his expression you can’t quite read. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

The bronze plaque reading “John Walker Memorial Well” is being installed as you leave aboard the USS Jemison. Sarek isn’t with you, since he’s returning to Vulcan on his own ship, and you find yourself thinking about him as you review the agreement between the settlements and prepare for your next assignment. He hadn’t been what you had expected, and after your talk in the garden he had checked with you over several other points of negotiation. You had enjoyed watching him work, and you wish you were able to spend more time with him.

And – you couldn’t really let yourself think about it on the planet, but he was attractive. His eyes. His face. His voice. Very attractive. But a Vulcan isn’t going to be interested in a human, you tell yourself. And who knows when you’ll even see him again?

Again is months later. There’s a Federation summit on Earth and almost the entire Federation Diplomatic Corps has descended on Paris. You’re supporting the Zaranite delegation. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone but you feel a little creeped out by their masks; you understand they can’t breathe in an oxygen atmosphere but you don’t really see why they have to cover their eyes, too. The black slits are intimidating and narrow, and you think intimidation must be the point since their field of vision must be constrained. Regardless, you can’t watch them, not in the way you like. You can’t tell how they feel.

You tell yourself, however, that you are a professional, even if you don’t understand them. And even if they aren’t especially influential they still deserve competent support.

But the work isn’t terribly interesting: there’s nothing personal here, no real stakes, just checking language, ensuring the Zaranites have the correct paperwork – well, PADDs – to hand.

Socialising with your friends in the Corps is more fun. You’ve always loved Paris, from the first moment you looked down on it from the Eiffel Tower, and it’s good to catch up with Mark, Kelechi and Evan who joined the service at the same time as you, over good food and wine. But when, at the bottom of one-too-many bottles of Côtes du Rhône, Evan hits on you... you just aren’t interested. He seems a little juvenile, honestly. But you let him down gently.

On the third morning of the summit, though, you are summoned to see Consul Galea.

“So, I’ve had a request for your services,” she says, without preamble, as her aide waves you straight into her office. Her dark eyes are slightly incredulous, you think.

“From who?” At least the Zaranites don’t appear to have complained, which is what you’d been worrying about since receiving her message.

“Ambassador Sarek,” she says, raising her brows. “Apparently you made a good impression on that backwater colony. He finds his current assistant insufficient and would ’value your organisational skills and clear thinking.’”

“Wow, okay,” you say, feeling your skin warm a little. He had made an impression on you, but you had not thought you would have made one on him.

“Naturally I can’t say no to the Vulcan ambassador. You’ll be supporting him for the rest of the summit. I’ll assign someone else to the Zaranites.” She taps a control on her desk. “You’d better get going; Sarek will need you at 09:00. I’ll make sure all the paperwork is waiting for you.”

“Attaché,” Sarek says as you sit by him.

“Ambassador Sarek,” you say, nodding. You’ve had half an hour to get up to speed on his part of the negotiation, and you hadn’t let yourself think about... him. But there he is, with those blue-grey eyes, handsome face, deep voice. But no. This is emphatically not the time.

You don’t have the time, anyway. You would love to know which of your colleagues left Sarek’s paperwork in such a mess so you can have a word about it; just because he’s a Vulcan and logical doesn’t mean he can do both his job and yours at the same time. But you apply yourself and get everything sorted, and by midday you’re on top of it all, and able to properly support the ambassador. There may not be personal stakes to this but Sarek’s part of the negotiation is a lot more interesting.

“Thank you for your assistance today, Attaché,” he says as the session winds up. “I have found your presence to be...” he hesitates. “To be... most helpful.”

“You’re welcome, Ambassador.” You nod and smile, stowing your PADDs in their case. What had he been going to say? He doesn’t give you time to speculate, however.

“I was wondering if you could be of further assistance to me this evening. I have been... struggling... to find appealing sustenance. I am unused to using the synthesiser for an extended period of time, but I am having difficulty finding alternatives in Paris which are compatible with my dietary requirements.”

You nod, understanding. Traditional French food is not known for being vegetarian friendly.

“Of course, Ambassador. May I ask – are you happy to eat non-meat animal products, like eggs and dairy? If the animals’ welfare is assured?”

You take him to a little galetterie that you and Kelechi had happened upon a few years ago, during your second time in Paris together. It’s small, on a back street near the Bastille. The sort of place that locals go rather than tourists. It’s one of your favourites, and you try to go back every time you visit Paris. You enjoy the traditional Breton food, and the atmosphere – it’s friendly, quiet, and unpretentious. And you’re confident they will have plenty of vegetarian options for Sarek, as you sit opposite him at a dark wooden table covered in a crisp white tablecloth.

You both have the galettes – thin savoury pancakes freshly made with buckwheat flour – folded round cheese, eggs, mushrooms in cream and garlic sauce, and vegetables. You enjoy your food, alongside Breton cider served in a delicately painted bowl. You think Sarek relishes his, too, although he drinks the non-alcoholic fresh apple juice instead.

You find his conversation very interesting. He tells you of the planets he’s visited, and some details about Vulcan and its culture. You have to hold yourself back, a little; you don’t want to pry but you can’t resist asking a few questions about him personally. He tells you his father translated Surak’s teachings into English, and you make a mental note to get a copy.

He asks you about your life, too. Nothing overly personal, but he asks about the town you grew up in. What human schools are like. Details about Earth from a human perspective.

It’s later than you expected when you leave the restaurant.

“Thank you. For the meal and the enlightening discourse,” Sarek says as you prepare to part ways.

“Thank you, ambassador. I enjoyed this evening.”

He looks at you, then, something appraising about his glance. You can’t tell what conclusion he has come to, though. He nods. “I will see you tomorrow.”

As a mere attaché your accommodation is out towards the suburbs, and you have time to think on the metro-shuttle back. You had enjoyed yourself, a lot. If you were being honest with yourself, you had a better time than you had with your friends. If Sarek were to hit on you...

But he’s a Vulcan. You know nothing about their relationships, and the first lesson you learn about Vulcans is that those are questions you do not ask. You sigh, staring out the window at Paris rushing by. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this week, anyway. He’ll probably go back to Vulcan, and Consul Galea will have your next assignment ready.

First thing the next morning you send a message to Marin, Consul Galea’s aide, and just after your lunch break he delivers. You hope Sarek doesn’t notice you quickly checking your personal PADD, but he’s busy in conversation with a member of the Tellarite delegation.

“Ambassador,” you say, as you pack away your work. “Have you made plans for dinner this evening?”

“I have not,” he replies, grey-blue eyes looking at you with interest.

“I took the liberty of doing a little research, and I have a personal recommendation for a vegetarian restaurant from an aide who works in Paris full time. Would you like to try it with me?”

“I would. That was very... thoughtful, Attaché.”

The restaurant, near the Place Charles de Gaulle, specialises in North African food, and you enjoy flatbreads with hummus and baba ganoush, tabbouleh, and a vegetarian tagine with harissa and apricots. But better than the food is Sarek’s company, once again.

You wish, as you stand at the end of the Champs-Élysées and look through the Arc de Triomphe at the angular Grande Arche de la Defence almost glowing in the distance, that the summit was going to last longer. But the signing ceremony is tomorrow, followed by the official dinner, which as an attaché you are too junior to attend.

The following day you work as normal, highlighting last minute changes to the treaty’s wording for Sarek to review and uploading his edits as he debates with the Andorian representative. But somehow you get the impression that there is something on the Ambassador’s mind. You think he’s watching you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

You put it out of mind instead, and as the work winds down as preparations begin for the signing ceremony, you think about what you might do this evening. Perhaps go up Montmatre and look down on the city by night.

“That’s the last of them,” you say, as you had a PADD over for Sarek’s signature. The signing ceremony will be old fashioned with pens and paper, mainly for the media, but the actual agreements are signed off digitally.

“Once again I thank you for your support, Attaché. I believe we work efficiently together.” He pauses for a moment, giving you one last appraising look. “I am leading a seminar on human relationships on Vulcan next week, and I would like to ask for your assistance.” You blink at him, surprised, but he continues. “It seems logical to have a human present, and from our time working together I believe you would be a good choice to educate other Vulcans. I have sought permission from Consul Galea. She is willing for you to go, but wanted me to ask you since it is not strictly within the remit of your job.”

“Uh, yes. Having a human there would be logical.” You nod, trying not to sound too eager. “I will... assist.”

The seminar room in the Shirkar Academy is large and airy. There are floor to ceiling windows down one side, looking out over the city of Shi’Kahr, and there are two rows of pale wooden desks curved into a semicircle around a large screen. You can just see the desert in the distance.

Every desk is occupied, and as you watch the assembled Vulcans, you are nervous.

You have done your fair share of talks – to colleagues, and sometimes in negotiations. You could do the one on the Advantages of Federation Membership in your sleep (and according to Kelechi, who had been sharing a room with you the night before the first time you’d had to give it, you actually had). But this is different. You resist the temptation smooth your clothes; you may be nervous but you don’t need everyone to see it.

You had to admit that Sarek has done a good job with the presentation section. He goes through a through a brief history of types of relationships on Earth, including times and societies where women had been treated like property, and relationships and marriages were often treated as a property transaction. He also covers some things even you are not too familiar with, like societies that practice polygyny and polyandry. The audience seems engaged, taking notes.

He spends a little longer than you expect on arranged marriage before handing over to you.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that the Vulcans are aliens who probably don’t have many preconceived notions on the subject so there’s no need to feel awkward, and begin.

“Thank you Ambassador. I’m going to speak to you today on the types of relationship you’re most likely to encounter in the humans you meet, and then open up for questions and discussion.

“These days humans will most often enter into a romantic relationship with one other human at a time. These may be casual, as in the case where the two partners are getting to know one another, or sometimes because they have other things going on in their lives like work or travel which preclude the formation of a more serious relationship. It could also be because they enjoy sex with each other and don’t want anything more...”

You go on to discuss love and long term relationships, marriage, negotiating things like exclusivity and cheating, and a brief discussion of the two parent family as a common basis for child-rearing.

“Finally, it is important to note: not all humans are in or even desire to be in a relationship. Some humans are uninterested in the concept of romance or sex altogether. Others wish to pursue careers or other time-consuming activities and do not feel they could give a relationship proper attention. And some humans would be open to the idea of a relationship, but haven’t found someone they would like to enter into one with.”

You look round the room. You can’t really gauge how things are going; they seem attentive, at least.

“Does anyone have any questions?” You nod at a older Vulcan on the back row who has raised his hand.

“Are there specific ceremonies for humans wishing to undergo marriage?”

You relax. A safe question to start. “At its most basic form marriage is a legal contract, so can be performed by someone with legal standing to do so, the couple wishing to marry and a witness. It can be as simple as signing a document. However, there are a lot of traditions surrounding marriage. A more common ceremony would involve the exchanging of vows, and often rings to be worn as a visible sign that a human is married.”

You go on to cover traditional ceremonies, elopement, wedding clothes...

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes. I note that you do not wear a ring. Are you married?”

“No, I am not.”

He nods, and you gesture to a younger female on the front row.

“I have read about virgins and virginity in human literature, but I do not understand the concept. Can you explain it please?”

Oh gosh. “The most basic definition of a virgin is someone who has not had sexual intercourse. In the past in some societies a woman primarily but sometimes a man too would be expected to be a virgin when they entered into a marriage. This isn’t the case anymore but losing one’s virginity, having sex for the first time, can be... uh... important, to some people. And there may be a perceived stigma around humans who are older than say... mid twenties, who have yet to have sex.”

“Thank you. You said you were unmarried; do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend? Are you a virgin?”

You blink, resisting the temptation to look at Sarek for support. You should have expected this, you think, feeling a little weak.

“There are some questions that it is... inappropriate... to ask humans. Asking whether a human is a virgin is always inappropriate, even for another human, unless you know each other incredibly well. So I will not be answering that, and I would recommend that you don’t ask another human. But no, I do not have a—a partner, at the moment.”

Safer questions follow, on things like how long it’s appropriate to be in a relationship before marriage, and divorce and how that’s accomplished. Questions about how partners are chosen, and even one about love at first sight. Then—

“How would you know if someone is interested in pursuing a relationship with you?”

“You—uh... it’s difficult. Someone might hit on you,” you say, wincing mentally, thinking of Evan. “That is, they may say something to express an interest. But a lot of the signs are physiological, and difficult for us to recognise consciously. Like... someone’s pupils may dilate when they talk to you. Or they may lean in toward you, mirror your actions. They may ask you questions, try to get to know you. Find opportunities to spend more time with you. But it can be difficult.” You shrug. “Sometimes it takes a friend to tell you they think someone is interested in you. But if you want a relationship, and think they may too... sometimes you just have to ask.”

You are relieved when the seminar is over, and gratified when the organiser at the academy makes a point to thank you, both for the presentation and your willingness to answer questions candidly.

Afterward you think Sarek will take you to the Federation Embassy, but instead he steers his desert flyer out of the city. Part of you wants to ask where you’re going, but you trust him, so you enjoy the ride as the city gives way farmland, and forest. You skirt the edge of forest and desert for a while, then Sarek turns the flyer through the trees and stops in an open area.

Your eyes widen as you exit the speeder; you have always heard of Vulcan as a desert planet, but in front of you is a large body of water, waves gently lapping on a sandy shore. You turn to Sarek.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, and you think you see satisfaction in his expression.

“This is Lake Yuron. This part of the shore is quiet and I frequently come here when I wish to meditate. I... appreciate the calm.”

He walks toward the water and you follow. You stand together, watching the waves as they go in and out. The water looks different, somehow, to lakes on Earth, as it reflects the more orange tint of the Vulcan sky.

After a while, Sarek speaks. “Today during the the seminar, you described some of the ways one can tell if a human is interested in pursuing a romantic relationship. I have observed you over the past few days, and I believe you have displayed many of these signs.” He turns to you, stormy eyes reflecting the lake water.

“Are you interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me?”

You look down at the sand, and swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. But you have to be honest with him. “I am. I find you fascinating. I enjoy your company. And you... are very attractive.” But there’s just no way he can reciprocate, you think. “I’m sorry if I have made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention.” You look back up, hoping he can see the apology in your eyes.

“Although I am an adherent of logic, of Surak’s teachings, it would be... inaccurate to say that I do not experience emotion. I control and suppress the emotions that I feel, and generally that is... satisfying, to me.” He takes a step toward you, closing the gap between you both. He’s close enough to touch.

“I find you... compelling. I lack the proper language to express emotions, but… perhaps I can show you?”

You nod, mutely. You know about mind melds, even though you’ve never seen one performed, much less participated. Your eyes track his hand as he reaches up to touch your face.

“My mind to your mind. My thoughts... to your thoughts.”

The touch of his mind is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you gasp slightly at the extra dimension that opens up for you, in a direction you couldn’t even have imagined. But you feel safe; you can feel that he is keeping you from being overwhelmed. And then you for a few moments you see yourself as he sees you. Feel an echo of what he feels, even as you share what you feel for him.

As he breaks the connection the only thing you can do is bring a hand up to his face, and kiss him. It’s gentle, almost hesitating at first, but it feels so right as you press together, as the kiss deepens.

You have always watched people; you have never really thought about people watching you. You know they will, though, as you ride back to Shi’kahr: the human partner of the Vulcan ambassador. You won’t be putting on a show, but you find, as you think it over, Sarek at your side, that you don’t mind.

#sarek #sarek x reader #ambassador sarek #s’chn t’gai sarek #Star Trek Discovery #writings of the girl from outer space #regard #ask #request #nonny #fanfic #fanfiction #star trek fanfiction #sarek/reader #sarek x you

47 notes · View notes

akindofmagictoo · 3 years

Text

manuscript search tag game

I have been tagged by @diphthongsfordays!

my words are magic, map, march, mark, malice

magic (Dragonsong)

Isi nodded as best she could while lying down, and returned her attention to Robin and SB. “So the key doesn’t make it easier to bring down, or anything like that.”

“Nope,” said SB in a sarcastically cheerful tone. “We are assuming that we want to bring it down, though, right?”

“You say that like there’s much choice,” said Robin. “You want to leave all those dragons to suffer for thousands more years?”

“I don’t particularly feel like finding out my magical limits the hard way, no.”

map (Hurricane) (this is indeed otherwise known as “I forgot they weren’t on the Hurricane and decided to make it Marisa’s fault instead”)

Marisa put in, “There’s a ton of maps in that chest we stole last month. I still haven’t gone through them all. If there’s one of England—” She slapped her forehead. “I keep forgetting we’re not on the Hurricane. Grimmur better keep his grubby little hands off my maps.”

Tempest let out a half laugh. “See what other maps the Firebird has aboard her. If you find one of England, tell us.”

march (Hurricane)

They passed through the courtyard, which contained little of interest, and through heavy main doors that slammed behind her with a resounding thud. Her breath caught. Anvindr gave an order to Laila that Aella didn’t quite catch. Laila took her arm and steered her left, then marched her through what felt like an endless maze of corridors. Even if she wanted to, she’d never find her way out of here alone. With every step the darkness grew and the passages seemed to shrink. Aella shivered.

Laila opened a door to reveal a tiny, almost empty room, and shoved Aella in. She tried to stop the door closing, but she had barely any strength to do it, and Laila easily shoved it closed. Aella tumbled to the floor, sending a sharp jab of pain through her whipping wounds. A key turned in the lock and Laila began to walk away.

mark (Dragonsong) (there was another banger of a quote that I had the option to use here but I might save it. keep some of my cards close to my chest at least lol)

“They don’t teach very much compassion nowadays,” said Isi quietly. She turned to face him, resting her hands in her lap.

Jasper gestured at the red band around one of her wrists, a marking from the prison chains. She’d all but forgotten those. She’d had other things to worry about. He said, “Seems they want us to be puppets nowadays. And if you don’t dance the right way on your own, they put strings on you.”

Isi nodded. A chill ran down her back. That was eerily right. For four years she’d danced the dance they wanted her to, done everything she was told.

malice (Hurricane)

Sequoia collapsed into her bunk. “That’s the first and last time I ever go as lookout in a place like that.” Some of the women murmured agreement and Sequoia continued, “Next time, I’ll make Aella do it.”

The crew fell immediately silent, every creak of swinging hammocks suddenly deafeningly loud.

“She’d probably enjoy it,” said Victoire.

“She enjoys many dangerous things,” said Aria. The way she said ‘dangerous’ sounded more like ‘stupid’, but the statement lacked any real malice.

The silence, where Aella should have made an annoyed retort, filled the room.

a nice mix of WIPs! I will tag @zmlorenz @sleepyowlwrites @ashen-crest @pepperdee @inkovert and anyone else who wishes to play! your words are spell, past, spring, pain

#tag game #manuscript search tag #wip dragonsong #dragonsong excerpt #wip hurricane #hurricane excerpt

7 notes · View notes

jemej3m · 4 years

Note

Right but what if in married to the enemy non of them recognize Neil and just think of him as Andrews husband which leads to increasingly comedic Dramatic Irony(TM) scenes like Neil would be stopping by to drop something and some perp is like “hey isn’t that nath-“ *cue Andrew ‘accidentally’ shoving him* like idk I know you’re done with that fic but I just read it and I can’t stop thinking about how funny that would be

bruh

stop bringing things back from the dead yall

(FINALLY some WRITING and not just asks - im so sorry ive been starving you all)

“Andrew!” Detective Jeremy Knox bounced on the balls of his feet. “I’m so thrilled to have you here. Kevin Day has spoken...” his smile nearly slipped. “Highly! Of you.”

“Here’s the file,” Andrew grunted, dropping the thick yellow slip onto the detective’s desk. “You need to get rid of them before they settle in. Once they’ve grown roots you’ll never get rid of them till they decide to move again.”

“I know,” Jeremy said, voice slightly hushed. “We’ll bring justice to your Baltimore victims. This won’t be swept under the rug.”

Andrew just stared at the file. He’d worked on that ring for three years now, but they’d upped and vanished. When they’d reappeared in Captain Rhenmann’ s New York precinct, Kevin had booted him up there to get a resolution.

It also, coincidently, was the exact week Neil was due up in New York to finalise his ‘retirement’. Andrew may or may not have arranged for him to be in New York for Neil’s support whilst he finally wriggled out of the Moriyama’s grasp.

Finally, after a decade and a half together, Neil would be free. Baltimore would no longer require a Butcher to instil terror. Neil had worked hard to free their city from Ichirou Moriyama’s grasp, buying both himself and his jurisdiction out of internment.

And once Neil was free, they could finally bring down the Moriyamas. Together.

Andrew wasn’t in a rush. Slow and steady always won the race: he would bring down the criminal empire that had trapped his husband for so long and marred his skin and mind with memories of terror and injustice. And he would enjoy it.

“Would you like to have lunch with us?” Knox gestured to the two women, standing close enough to eavesdrop but pretending they weren’t. They were married, Andrew guessed. It was pretty obvious. “We were just about to head out. There’s a hidden bodega near the the station with pastrami that’s to die for.”

Andrew checked his phone. No messages from Neil, as of yet. He’d text when he was on his way back to the hotel, and there was no use in Andrew hanging around and anxious awaiting his arrival. He’d convince himself that the Moriyamas had finally put a bullet through Neil’s forehead and go rampaging.

“Fine,” he grunted, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

Detective Sunshine just beamed.

“Day mentioned you were married,” Alvarez said, swallowing a mouthful of sub. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Andrew arched his eyebrow, unimpressed. She rolled her eyes.

“You’ve got him as your home screen. It’s not hard to guess. You out at your precinct?” Andrew nodded. “Yeah, so are we.”

“If we didn’t have Captain Rhenmann, I’m sure it’d be a lot more stressful.” Laila added, rubbing her wife’s shoulder. “He speaks very highly of your captain, you know. I think they worked together with the old NYPD commissioner. Kayleigh Day.”

Yes, Kevin’s mother. The one who was murdered twenty years ago. A riveting case. Still unsolved. Neil was pretty sure it was his father who’d been assigned to her removal. Not that Andrew would ever discuss this aloud.

“I heard she was one hell of a woman,” Knox added. “If her son’s anything to go off, I can see why.”

“Stop gushing about Kevin,” Alvarez chided.

“Don’t worry,” Andrew grunted. “Kevin’s undoubtedly worse.”

The three of them laughed. They ate in companionable silence, Knox and Alvarez occasionally jostling each other or gossiping about names Andrew didn’t know. It was nearing 2 o’clock in the afternoon when the detective’s phone buzzed: he leaned over, checked who it was from and immediately scrambled to pick it up.

Knox squinted at the message and shot the three of them an apologetic look. “My bad. I’ve gotta make a call. I’ll meet y’all back at the station?”

He left without an answer, phone raised to his ear.

“He’s a parole officer for a very specific case,” Alvarez explained. Laila was frowning. “A difficult one, at that.”

“Seems a little more involved than a parole officer usually is,” Andrew noted.

“Yes, well,” Laila huffed. “Jeremy likes to care.”

Andrew got a text of his own. Coming back now.

He bid the women goodbye with a salute and bought a sandwich for Neil: he was unlikely to have already fed himself, too stressed and paranoid to bother thinking about food. He always came back from New York weak and underfed.

When Andrew arrived back to their hotel room, Neil was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His shirt was untucked and tie loosened, but he hadn’t even bothered to take his shoes off or put away the briefcase of paperwork and knives.

Andrew put the food aside for later and sat by his husband, toeing off his shoes so he could cross his legs on the bed.

When Neil didn’t talk, he leaned over and turned on the television. A random afternoon sitcom filled the room with white noise, bringing Neil out of his glacial stare. Finally, his eyes flit over to Andrew, aware but still hollow.

Andrew reached out to undo Neil’s cuffs but waited for him to deposit his wrist in Andrew’s palm. He got to work, unbuttoning the sleeves, pulling off the tie and throwing the shoes over to the door. The dress shirt was wriggled off, leaving him in just a white undershirt, and draped across the chair to be steam-ironed in the morning. Neil wormed out of his slacks, too, letting Andrew fold them and put them away.

Andrew made him a cup of decaf instant coffee and brought out the sandwich. Neil looked at both of them balefully but sat up anyway, getting through the whole coffee and only half the sandwich.

Andrew waited, sitting behind him. When he was finished he laid back down, putting his head in Andrew’s lap.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Andrew just hummed, combing his fingers through Neil’s hair.

The end of the week came quickly. Andrew worked the case with Knox and eventually decided that the case would be in good hands. Every evening he’d come back to find Neil just as exhausted and spaced out and hold him together with soft hands and silent reassurance. Neil soldiered on.

Andrew didn’t know what he was negotiating, why it was taking so long or whether or not this would actually work. All he could hope for was that Neil would be a free man by the end of the week and that they could go home without worrying he’d be called back or killed.

Andrew got his answer on Friday evening. He bid the affectionately named ‘Dyke Detectives’ and their captain goodbye, knowing Knox had briefly left the building for an errand and assuming that they’d pass on his thanks.

He exited the front doors of the precinct and nearly stumbled into his husband, standing in jeans and a hoodie with a blinding grin. Andrew never forgot how gorgeous Neil was, but the ease of his posture and the genuine smile had something go soft inside his chest.

He ignored all the beat cops standing around the doors and pressed a kiss to Neil’s smile, which only had him smile more.

“It’s done,” Neil murmured, holding Andrew’s wrist. “I’m free. We’re free.’’

“Took you long enough.”

Neil shrugged. “Had to barter for Allison, too. I know Renee wants to make it official.”

“Only a decade later,” Andrew agreed. Of course Neil hadn’t been fighting tooth and nail for himself: he’d do anything for those he loved.

“Holy shit,” came an unfamiliar voice. They both turned around, spotting a willowing man standing next to Detective Knox. His pale complexion had turned translucent, all the blood draining out of his cheeks. Neil’s eyes flashed with recognition. “Nathaniel—?”

“It’s Neil,” Neil said, still smiling. “Hello, Jean. Good to see you were cleared. Did they find Riko’s actual killer?”

The man did not look any less uncomfortable. “They ruled it a suicide.”

“Ah, shame. Maybe some more evidence will come to light, later.” He offered his hand to Andrew. “Shall we?”

It would be a long drive to Baltimore but at the other end was home, two cats and freedom.

Andrew, older, wiser, calmer, happier, took Neil’s hand.

“We shall.”

#mobster/cop au #butcher!neil #cop!andrew #aftg #andreil #neil josten #andrew minyard #jeremy knox #sara alvarez #jean moreau #laila dermott #hey look i killed riko again #cw: suicide mention #cw: human trafficking mention #cw: homicide mention #cw: andrew being too good of a husband #tfc #ik its not funny but it worked super well so like #ur welcome? i guess

218 notes · View notes

sakuramoonlightblossom · 3 years

Text

Okay, since so many of you liked and commented on my last headcanon about Ana, here is another one that has been forming since the winter finale (and after watching the spring premiere last night, I’m leaning toward this one being real):

May’s bully from high school (I believe her name is Laila) is Nia’s birth mother. During the episode, May said that Laila transferred out of their school three years before. Many people assumed it was because of everything that happened after Athena arrested her. But it was actually because Laila found out she was 2 months pregnant soon after the arrest and her boyfriend (and the baby’s father) refused to have anything to do with her or the baby and even threatened to tell everyone at school that she slept around if she told people he was the father. Knowing that her reputation at school was now ruined for good, Laila begged her parents to let her go to school online and they agree, but only after she promises to attend parenting classes and get a job after the baby is born since is adamant about keeping it.

6 1/2 months later, Laila gives birth to a baby girl and names her Nia and for the next year, Laila juggles the exhausting schedule of school, working as a waitress, and taking care of her baby. Then, when Nia is 18 months old, she, Laila, and Laila’s parents were returning home from lunch to celebrate Mother’s Day when a car running a red light slams into their car. Nia is fine except for a few scraps and Laila’s collarbone, arm, and ankle are broken, but Laila’s mother dies at the scene while her father dies a few hours later at the hospital.

After the accident, she and Nia move in with Laila’s godmother, who tells Laila that as long as she keeps up with school and keeps working, she and Nia can live with her until Laila can save up for her own place. However, Laila’s godmother often travels for her job and fails to notice Laila’s life starting to fall apart. Aside from grieving the loss of her parents, Laila starts developing an addiction to the pain medication the doctor gave her after the surgery to fix her broken collarbone. When she the doctor cuts her off, she starts buying pills off the street, using the money her godmother leaves for biweekly groceries trips or some of the money from her waitress job, which is supposed to go towards baby supplies for Nia (her parents left her an inheritance, but stated in their will that Laila would get half of it when she turns 18 and graduates high school or GED, and the other half at 30, but only if she gets some form of college degree). This continues for 6 months until one day when Laila tries to buy some pills from a new dealer, only to discover he was an undercover officer. She tries to run back to her car, only to immediately be stopped by two more officers. As Laila is being arrested and read her rights, one of the officers looks inside her car and finds a screaming and sobbing 2 year old Nia, wearing nothing but a pair of pull-up training pants.

Thanks to a lawyer who was a friend of her father and the fact that this was her first offense, Laila avoids jail time for the time being, but is ordered by the judge to attend rehab for the next ninety days and submit to random drug test for a year. She is also told that if she leaves or is kicked out of rehab before the ninety days are over, she will spend the remaining time she has in jail and she will spend 60 days in jail for each failed drug test. Laila begs the judge to allow her godmother to take care of Nia while she was in rehab, but since her godmother isn’t a blood relative, the judge denies her request and orders Nia into the custody of CPS. Before she takes Nia away, the social worker (Diedra) tells Laila that if she can prove that she can stay clean six months post rehab and prove she can provide for Nia, they will look into starting the reunification process.

Nia’s first and only set of foster parents have been Hen and Karen Wilson.

I’ll stop it right here because I have a fic idea that I’m working on that’s based off this headcanon and I don’t want to give too much away (though if anyone wants to write a fic based on this headcanon or the one I wrote about Ana, feel free to do so, all I ask is that you give me credit for the headcanon). I’ll probably post it after the season finale since I want to see what the show does with the storyline first and I want to try and get it as close to canon as possible.

So I’m probably WAY off like I was with the Ana headcanon, but what do you all think?

#9 1 1 on fox #911 show #henren #hen wilson #karen wilson #nia wilson #911 headcanons

17 notes · View notes

xlady-saya · 4 years

Photo

Hello! I don’t really use this account a whole lot but I wanted to go ahead and make a pinned post, which I’ll hopefully remember to update frequently lol. Anyways, here’s a collection of the fics I’ve written for aftg, andreil, and others so far ^^

progress comes in small steps series [complete]

and we’re just starting to get it [Rated T, 11.1k]

Neil is nothing and everything all at once, the entire universe for Andrew, however small of a universe that is. Even Aaron is starting to see it, though the pieces still don't line up.

And Andrew is trying to convince Aaron that he's never jealous? Yeah right. You don't spend your entire life being denied, being hurt, going through foster care with nothing to call your own only to be okay with someone else trying to take the one bright piece of life you call yours.

Or, Aaron is done with Andrew's shit and makes it his job to prove his brother wrong.

there’s always more to learn [Rated T, 12.3k]

The subject of Katelyn and Neil hasn't felt like dangerous territory in a long time, but Aaron feels the bomb countdown already coming to an end before Bee even opens her mouth.

"Well, the two of them are so alike," Bee goes on, oblivious to the tension leaking into the space. Her smile is pleasant, teasing. "It just goes to show how you and Andrew have similar tastes despite being so different."

The world freezes on its axis.

Andrew inhales a little too loudly the same time Aaron chokes on his spit. "W-What?"

trust is a slow process [Rated T, 7.3k]

If Katelyn had been stealthier, she could've escaped the crowded dance floor without Andrew seeing her.

But of course, she's no Neil.

Or: Katelyn and Andrew spend some unwanted quality time together, and Katelyn sees things for what they are.

someday there won’t be scowls [Rated T, 8.1k]

Neil finds that even with his mind's best efforts to hang onto the wounds of the past, his opinion of Aaron just isn't what it used to be. He can thank Andrew and Katelyn for a lot of it, but his own observations certainly help.

When he sees Aaron like this, the mix of worry and adoration on his face as he thinks of Katelyn, Neil can't help but feel too exposed himself.

It's a start.

I want this touch to be familiar [Rated E, 38.1k]

Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.

Going all the way with Neil. It's not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil's hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he's forced to acknowledge how much he's allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.

But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.

if magic exists, you’re the closest thing [Rated T, 16.2k]

The concept of love is not one Andrew understands.

For a long time, it escaped him. It's always fuzzy, always distorted. He'd given up on it long ago, so why is he still chasing answers?

Whatever the reason, he's content to blame Jean Moreau for a lot of things, Katelyn too.

It's their fault he's here, at the happiest place on earth.

this red is for you [Rated T, 10.8k]

Katelyn never considered herself capable of doling out violence.

It has always been a far away thought, dampened by college courses and late night dates with her boyfriend. She lives a stereotypical life, despite everything she's been through with Aaron. Aside from her growing connection with the notoriously troublesome Foxes, nothing much about her life has changed.

Even then, she's learning she's still able to surprise herself. When Katelyn witnesses Neil defending Andrew, her own protective rage rears its head, ready to be explored.

And maybe that's a good thing.

an unconventional crossing [Rated T, 8.1k]

Aaron likes to believe he and Andrew have a lot more practice navigating their conversations now. And he’s right, mostly. But sometimes, challenges arise at the strangest times, and especially when their significant others are concerned.

In which Andrew and Aaron run into each other at the grocery store, and choose not to part ways.

the roads I traveled with you [Rated T, 35.5k]

When his brother gets engaged, Aaron doesn't expect it to send his head spinning as much as it does. Marriage has always felt like a dream, or a nightmare, one he never thought either of them would be able to achieve.

In that moment, Aaron remembers what he's always known, what keeps his head above water. He wants to be with Katelyn forever. That's never been a question. But marriage hadn't been brought up. For so long it was this abstract concept, a fantasy. He'd always reasoned with himself that it would happen, rationally of course it would, but now...

Now Andrew has made the idea a reality, and Aaron has to confront his own wants for his future.

one shots/multichapters

I’ve had a love of my own [Rated T, ongoing]

Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

slurred [Rated M, 1.6k]

They're not the type of people to give up control, but with each other they're willing to bend the rules.

growing pains [Rated T, 10.6k]

Stuart knows it’s perfectly normal for teenagers to have crushes. That’s why he’s not surprised in the slightest when Neil starts acting strange; lighter, happier. However, what he doesn’t expect is for the crush to leak into his everyday life—or literally take up residence in his house. Or: five times Stuart knew Neil was hiding a nighttime guest, and one time he actually met him.

your hands are mine to hold [Rated E, 6.7k]

It has taken a long time for Thea to accept a lot of aspects of their past. Her eyes track the fear in Kevin's eyes, emboldened by how his own resolve wears it away year by year. She'll never take that sight for granted.

It's hard to ignore the weights on both of them, with their lives so eaten up by the Exy world and memories of the Nest, but one thing has always remained consistent.

Thea trusts Kevin Day with her everything, and she'll never hesitate to follow him into battle.

better than a night light [Rated T, 7.3k]

Neil hasn’t had the chance to examine the feeling of fear in a long time. He’s all too familiar with it though; from the nightmares, to the memories of a cold basement floor, he knows the feeling like the back of his hand.

But this fear is new, loaded with ridiculousness and a complete lack of reason. It’s nothing more than pixels on a screen, far away theories that can’t hurt him like his past can.

Maybe that’s why he’s beginning to not mind it as much. It doesn’t hurt that Andrew is also there to hold him through it.

Playtime [Rated E, 6.7k]

There was a time when Andrew might've questioned being so into this.

Not anymore.

take what you want [Rated E, 5.4k]

Laila has come a long way from her freshman year, past all the worries and pressure to behave a certain way. She never thought she’d realize it here, lounging poolside with her girlfriend.

The urge to seduce Alvarez is just too good to let go.

a product of absence [Rated T, 7.8k]

It’s funny, Andrew thinks, that this would be seen as a curse in any other situation. Two people, thrown apart by time and circumstances, desperately searching for one another.

But Andrew has never doubted Neil’s return. He’s not running, he’s not worried. It’s perhaps the only waiting game that’s been worth it, that he understands, because this bond with Neil has only ever made sense to him.

In another life, Neil made this much clear: they would always find each other in the end.

here I am, there you go again [Rated T, 17.5k]

There's many things about the past Neil chooses to leave behind, and most of the time it's for the best. For some reason though, his brain can't help but cling to the last memories of him.

"My Ex." Neil bites his tongue at the word, because it never feels right. At this point, so many years later, that man is no one. A stranger. He shouldn't presume to know him anymore than his ex should presume to know Neil.

If he remembers Neil at all.

But Neil should know better than anyone that the past always has a way of catching up to him, and this time, he's not as willing to run as he might've initially thought.

losing battle [Rated M, 3.4k]

It's always been Nicky's dream to be closer with his cousins. However, when he opens Andrew's mail to find more than he bargained for, he finds himself regretting the wish. Unfortunately, no matter how much Andrew's warmed up to him in the last few years, Nicky's pretty sure he'll die (literally) if Andrew finds out.

Nicky's mission begins.

temper, temper [Rated T, 3.7k]

"You paid for the deluxe package," Neil says as he scrolls through his payment history to find his client's invoice. His system is simple:

Basic Package: Fuck you. A general statement of displeasure and a brief description of the wrongdoing.

Intermediate Package: Fuck you, with passion. Everything in the basic package, but with additional insults. Customizable for an extra fee.

Deluxe Package: Fuck you to hell. Everything from the first two packages, for an extended period of time, and with extra viciousness.

And it looks like Andrew Minyard is the unlucky soul today.

a new contract [Rated T, 7.2k]

Neil’s request is simple on its face, but infinitely complicated given his history.

“Convince your team to sign me.”

And this was Andrew’s deal: If Neil can prove that he’s serious, that he can build a new life for himself so that he doesn’t end up crawling back to Riko, Andrew will convince his coach to recommend him for recruitment in the fall.

Yes, it was meant to be black and white…

But Andrew should’ve known better. Nothing ever is.

What a Rush [Rated E, 1.6k]

It's always Andrew's goal to stretch Neil's pleasure to its limits, and he's barely begun to scratch the surface.

locked together [Rated E, 8.3k]

Andrew licks his lips and tugs on the tail of the beast inside him, righting it so it can point him in the direction of what he's searching for. Neil looks good on top of him, panting and giddy, and it's rare that Andrew doesn't want to flip them over and make Neil fall apart.

But...every once in a while...

Well, he's relaxed today. He wants to listen, he wants orders, he wants to be controlled so long as the control comes from Neil.

do you like scary movies? [Rated T, 22.5k]

To say Andrew has never seen the benefit in the make-believe would be a lie. However, he finds less and less use for it as he grows older. He especially fails to see the benefits of anything from the horror genre; he’s made plenty of his own mistakes, has seen more than enough to terrify him in his life. He doesn’t need to rely on jump scares and idiotic protagonists.

But when he meets Neil, self-proclaimed horror archivist, he finds that maybe he never gave the genre the credit it was due, and he ends up thanking the dull movies eventually…

They lead him to Neil, the realest thing he’s ever known.

#aftg #andreil #my fics #my writing #all for the game #kateaaron #kevthea #other pairings

69 notes · View notes

markonasurface · 4 years

Text

20/50 - “It’s 8:30, I have a hangover and you’re annoying me.”

Fandom: All for the Game/The Foxhole Court Characters/pairings: Jean, Jeremy/jerejean Summary: Jean and Jeremy tag along on the Foxes’ spring break trip. A/N: This has taken me too long to finish. I think I started it two years ago. I almost forgot to use the quote prompt.

Warnings: implied past abuse

“Kevin invited you to the Foxes’ spring break trip?” Jean asked, eyebrows high.

Jeremy barely glanced up from the text he was studying. “Mm.”

“Are you going?” Jean pressed.

“Are you?” Jeremy snapped.

Jean flinched and Jeremy’s mouth dropped open. “I’m sorry.” He finally put his studying materials down and turned to face Jean. “I didn’t mean to snap. I just - last semester, you know?”

“Yes,” Jean said, even though he didn’t. He felt the heat in his cheeks and internally cursed himself for not being able to control his reactions. Riko used to love to make him flinch. It was at one point worth the beatings for not giving him the satisfactory.

“So, are you going?” Jeremy asked, back to his normal self if a bit exhausted.

He bit the inside of his cheek and stayed completely still. It was hard being around Kevin but it might be nice. Kevin did whatever Riko told him to do but Kevin wasn’t cruel. He had learned from his therapist that he didn’t miss Evermore; he missed the familiarity of it. Kevin could give him a bit of what he thought to be normalcy.

“Jean?” Jeremy said quietly, patiently.

Jean looked up to meet his eyes. “I - yes.”

“You’ll have to give Kevin my regards,” Jeremy said and turned back to his text.

“You aren’t going?” Jean didn’t know if he was relieved.

“I should really study,” Jeremy sighed.

Their bedroom door opened and Jean jumped.

“Y’all left your door unlocked.” Laila fell onto Jeremy’s bed. “And you’re going to spend your last spring break studying? Come on, Jer.”

“Fuck off, Laila,” he said.

She nudged his chair with her foot. “I bet those Foxes get fucking crazy. I wish I’d been invited.”

“Take my invitation.”

Laila took a loud breath. “Mama Alvarez would have a cow if we bailed on her family trip.”

“If you don’t come they’ll probably stick me in a room with Hemmick,” Jean said.

“You could use the brea-eak,” she sang. “Also, see if they’ve picked up any new moves for finals.”

“Laila.”

She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “I’m kidding. Go. Have fun. Or you’ll burn yourself out and have to come back in the fall.”

Day 1

“An island? Seriously?” Thea stood with her arms crossed over her chest.

Kevin shrugged.

“I thought we were just flying somewhere tropical,” Jeremy added.

“Why are you all looking at me?” Allison demanded. “Neil’s the one who paid for this trip.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Neil said. “I recently came into some money.”

Jeremy sighed. “Right. N.B.D. I just rented an island.”

“Follow me.” A man in khakis and a polo shirt motioned for them. He had introduced himself as Frank as they boarded the small plane that brought them to their rented island.

It was a short walk through some trees and a large house came into view. There were gasps and one of the freshmen from the team said, “No fucking way.”

“Dude, how much did this cost?” Matt asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Neil said, leading the way through the gate.

They walked past the pool and its fountains, up some stairs and through double doors. As they all stood in the foyer, Frank smiled and said, “Right. Everything’s stocked. I’ll be back at the end of the week. If you need anything, call the number on the refrigerator.”

Neil handed the man a cash tip and thanked him.

Allison looked around at everyone. “There are ten rooms. Neil gets first pick, losers.”

“You mean Andrew,” Jack mocked.

It was quiet for a moment then at once everyone raced to find a room. Jean looked at Jeremy and said, “They’re fucking crazy.”

Jeremy laughed as they heard Dan yell, “I’m your damn captain!”

They followed the shouting and as they turned a corner Jeremy ran into Renee. They both apologized, looking like literal sunshine and Jean bit his lip.

“They’re the guests.” Allison was staring down one of her teammates. “They get the room next to ours.”

Jeremy realized she was talking about them and opened his mouth. Renee shook her head, a warning in her eyes. Someone stomped by and Allison grinned.

“Welcome to the third nicest - who am I kidding? - the fourth nicest room on this island!” She gestured grandly. “And that’s saying something.”

Nicky popped his head in. “Fifth nicest. Andrew and Neil gave up the first nicest so they have the second nicest, Dan and Matt have the third nicest, and you have the fourth nicest.”

Before Allison could demand to know who got the glass room on top if it wasn’t Dan and Matt, Nicky ran off.

Jeremy looked as if he suddenly remembered something. “Did you two wanna share? I can room with Nicky or whoever.”

Allison cackled. She left the room.

“We’re not -” Jean started.

“We were never dating,” Renee said.

Jeremy’s eyes were wide. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed and uh, forget I said anything.”

Renee smiled kindly and backed out of the room. Jeremy looked at Jean who was staring at the one bed in the middle of the room.

“I can still room with Nicky if you’re not comfortable sharing,” he said.

Jean swallowed. “It’s fine.” He managed a small smile and said, “We share every other day of the year.”

After they unpacked, everyone seemed to congregate by the pool. Nicky and Andrew were situated behind the bar and Neil was perched on top, but everyone else was already swimming.

Jean glanced around nervously. Since joining the Trojans, he’d become a lot more self-conscious about the state of his body.

“You can leave your shirt on.” The voice startled him and he looked up at Neil, then glanced to see if Jeremy had heard as well. Then he realized Neil was speaking in his native tongue. “But nobody cares.”

Andrew spoke. “Ignore the freshmen. They’re idiots.”

“Where’s Kevin?” Jeremy asked, coming to sit at the bar.

“Fucking Thea,” a girl said, joining them. “I saw her take his shirt off but then they moved away from the glass.”

Aaron grabbed a tray of drinks from Nicky and sneered, “Do you have to be such a perve, Sheena?”

She stuck her tongue out at him, snagging a drink and flicking her wet hair at him.

“Like, Andrew said,” Nicky stated. “The freshmen are idiots.”

He mimicked Sheena’s face, nose scrunched and eyes narrowed, then asked, “What can I make for you?”

“Something that’ll make me forget I have my last midterm when we get back,” Jeremy grimaced. “Who gives a midterm after spring break?”

“I got just the drink for you.”

The sound of the blender going again cut off conversation. Sheena left to play chicken with her friends and Renee called Jean over.

“Don’t break anything!” Dan called from where she was laying out with Allison and Renee as Jean joined them.

“Here you go.” Nicky handed him a glass.

Jeremy held the drink up and studied it. “Are those silver stars?”

“Edible silver stars.”

Aaron came back with a tray in one hand and a girl’s hand in the other and said, “Nicky has to make everything gay.”

The girl hit his arm lightly with the back of her hand. She looked at Jeremy and held out a hand. “Katelyn.”

“Jeremy,” Jeremy said and shook.

“I made you both the same,” Nicky said, handing two more glasses over the bar.

“On three?” Katelyn suggested. “One. Two. Three.”

Everyone who had a drink took a large sip and more than one of them sputtered. “What the fuck is this?” Aaron gasped. “Did you just add ice and stars?”

Nicky shrugged. “Make your own damn drinks if you don’t like it.” He hopped over the bar and ran for the pool.

“You’re drinking this?” Aaron asked in disbelief and Jeremy turned to see Neil gulping it down.

After one large sip, Jeremy was already starting to feel warm. He took another sip, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. When he opened them he saw Renee running her hand down Jean’s bare back. How many times had Jeremy wanted to do the same?

He shook his head. He was such a lightweight. He’d never been one to party hard but he knew how to hold his liquor. The last year he’d spent more time studying and less and less time drinking and his tolerance was down. Clearly.

Day 2

By the second night, Jeremy was starting to realize the Foxes weren’t so different from any other college sports team if you took away the tragic backstories. Yeah, Jeremy would stick out if they all sat around and compared histories but - surprise, surprise - there wasn’t much talk about that.

Allison banned any talk of Exy and if she ever saw Neil and Kevin together she’d cock a brow and put her hands on her hips. Kevin would flip her off and she’d leave with a, “Fuck you. There are rules for a reason.”

It was making him miss his own team - the way they all fit together even when they shouldn’t.

Jean was there, but if anything he was part of the Kevin/Thea/Jean Former Ravens group or the Kevin-Neil-Jean-I-Was-Abused-By-Riko-Moriyama-and-Marked-For-His-Perfect-Court group.

He was different from a year ago when he’d first joined the Trojans but he still had his rough edges and hangups. And Jeremy saw it all.

Whether someone tapped his arm lightly without warning, or when he was flinching awake from a nightmare, Jeremy was there, trying to think of a way to calm Jean down without overstepping.

Jeremy had promised Laila he’d enjoy his spring break and be involved in all the fun things the Foxes did. Jeremy didn’t break promises. That’s why it was two in the morning and he was just starting to work on a study guide problem he’d left at five AM yesterday morning.

He groaned. Shots before homework wasn’t working for him.

“Jer,” Jean said, voice hoarse. “Come to bed.”

In his sluggish alcohol influenced state of mind, he almost thought Jean was asking him to come to his bed. His face flushed as he thought, What if Jean could read my mind and saw that?

He cleared his throat. “Soon. I’ll go to bed soon. I just need to finish at least three problems first.” Who was he kidding? He’d be lucky if he finished one.

“Okay,” Jean breathed, turning over and promptly falling back to sleep.

That was something that had surprised Jeremy. The way Jean could just sleep. He had expected his distrust to keep him awake at night. He guessed when you were tortured and worked to the bone, you had to take the sleep where you could get it.

Jean looked so cozy and peaceful, Jeremy wanted to be cozy and peaceful. He made the mistake of putting his head down on the desk.

He bolted awake when tentative fingers touched his arm.

Day 3

Jean flinched and Jeremy took a deep breath. “Sorry, sorry.”

“The others are going for a hike,” Jean said quietly though he offered a smile. “Apparently there’s a waterfall. Do you want to come?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeremy responded, yawning and stretching. When he looked back at Jean, Jean quickly averted his eyes.

“They’re meeting by the pool.”

Jean hurried out, closing the door behind him.

Jeremy stretched as he stood. There was a crick in his neck that was making him regret last night’s choices.

He picked up a shirt off the floor and sniffed it. What did it matter? They were gonna get sweaty on their hike. He tried to shove away the thought of what would Jean think and changed into the shirt.

“Jer-bear!” Nicky greeted him as he stepped outside.

He squinted at the sun. It was only eight in the morning but it was already too hot. Jeremy couldn’t wait to get to the waterfall.

As they approached the start of the trail, two figures raced down the hill toward them. Thea pushed Kevin and Kevin shouted, “Hey!”

The two of them passed the sign indicating which way to go around roughly the same time and immediately Jean said, “Thea.”

“No one asked,” Kevin said, panting, but he didn’t look upset. “Besides, she cheated.”

“Prove it,” Thea said, hands behind her head as she gulped air.

“Rematch.”

Nicky said, “Neil would beat you both.”

“With those little legs?” Thea looked skeptical.

“Show ‘em, Neil.”

Neil shook his head. “I don’t feel like it.” He paused and looked at Andrew. “I don’t run anymore.”

The way he said it gave the words weight and Jeremy felt like he was missing something. Neil and Andrew’s teammates groaned and Andrew looked unimpressed.

“That was really sweet, Neil,” Matt said.

Neil winked at Matt and Andrew muttered something that had him grinning widely.

“If we’re done with the cheesefest ...” Allison stomped past everyone.

The waterfall was breathtaking. Jeremy couldn’t believe something could be so untouched by man.

“What took you guys so long?” Thea called as she dunked Neil under the water.

Despite what he’d said about not running anymore, Neil couldn’t resist Thea’s challenge and they’d run ahead of the group with Kevin.

As some of the others dived in, Jeremy’s eyes searched for Jean. He was leaning down so Renee could rub some sunscreen on his face. Jeremy tried to stuff down the jealousy bubbling in his chest.

This wasn’t him. He didn’t get jealous. Certainly not of one the nicest humans to ever exist touching his teammate who clearly didn’t mind. He was about to turn away when Jean pulled his shirt over his head.

And how could he have such negative feelings when Jean was so obviously enjoying his spring break? After the first day, Jean didn’t even hesitate in stripping down and letting the others see him shirtless. As his roommate, of course Jeremy had seen him without a shirt, but it had been months before his first reaction wasn’t to cover up his scars. In the locker rooms, he always changed as quickly as possible and usually with his locker open.

Here, with people who had trauma, too, and who didn’t bat an eye when Jean took his shirt off, he was able to stop thinking about it. It made Jeremy sad that he wasn’t able to give Jean that around their team.

Jean turned around and Jeremy tried to pretend he hadn’t been staring. When he stood in front of him, he asked, “You okay, Jer?”

Jeremy swallowed once. He felt his cheeks get hot but hoped his sunburn hid his blush. “Yeah, just, um, enjoying the view.” He inwardly groaned. Jean had seen him staring at him. He scratched his cheek.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Jean said. He clearly meant the trees and the water. Jeremy was both relieved and disappointed. “See you down there?”

“Yeah.”

Day 4

Jeremy put on his noise canceling headphones and opened his textbook. He had to get this reading done. He wouldn’t allow any more distractions until he finished.

Not even a sleepy looking Jean poking his head into their shared room.

He removed his headphones and gave him a questioning look.

“We’re putting on a movie. Wanna join?”

Jeremy sighed. “Can’t. I should have finished this chapter two days ago.” Jean bit his lip, then he closed the door. “What are you -?” He sat on the bed.

“I don’t really like movies that much.”

It was a lie. Jeremy knew it was a lie, but he wasn’t going to argue. He remembered the look of confusion on his face the first time he heard Jeremy ask what movie the rest of the team would like to watch. He gave Jean a small smile before putting his headphones back on.

An hour later, Jeremy was lying beside Jean, who was dozing, his head on an open book. His head lolled to the side and pressed into Jeremy’s arm.

Jeremy froze and tried to keep his breathing even.

His eyes followed the line of Jean’s jaw. He liked this side of Jean’s face best. It wasn’t tattooed and it had less scars. He still liked the other side of Jean’s face - he liked his whole face - it was just easier to not think about the circumstances that brought him to his team when he could only see the right half of Jean’s face.

Day 6

“No studying tonight!” Allison yelled.

“But -”

“Jean told us you study every night after we go to bed,” she said. “It’s your last night. Enjoy it!”

Jeremy shot a look over to Jean at the bar who - was smiling? He shrugged at Jeremy before tipping back a shot.

Allison had made a list and passed it around to anyone who wasn’t a freshman. Any time one of the freshmen said or did something on her list, the others had to do a shot.

From the looks of things, Nicky, Dan, and Matt had gotten an early start on the game. Allison whispered, “Don’t worry if you can’t remember who’s who. Just drink when the rest of us do.”

Jeremy looked around at the team, then into the pool with its night lights on and glowing balls floating on the surface.

Renee came over and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure no one drowns.”

When one of the freshmen girls made a pervy remark about Kevin, Nicky handed out shots. When one of the boys copped a feel off the girl and she pretended to be offended, he handed out two shots to every person. When a couple of the freshmen started making out, he got three shots - one for the act and two for the couple.

Things and time started to blur and Jeremy had no idea how much time had passed. They’d all eventually moved into the large house to get warm. Kevin and Thea had disappeared a while ago as had Aaron, Katelyn, and a few of the freshmen. Now Neil and Andrew were heading upstairs.

The music was loud, the lights looked brighter, and Jean was laughing. It almost made Jeremy smile, but then he realized he was laughing at something Renee had said. He wrapped an arm around her and leaned down so she could whisper something in his ear.

Jeremy left.

It was too difficult to watch and he didn’t want to say or do anything to embarrass himself. Allison grabbed his arm in the hallway and said, “You better not be going off to study!”

“No!” he shouted back. “I just need to lie down for a bit.”

Once he made it to his room and shut the door, it seemed uncomfortably quiet. He flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

Jeremy was generally a positive person, but as he lay there, thoughts of Jean and Renee swirled around his mind. They said they weren’t dating. They said they’d never dated, but the whole week it was almost like they were a couple. They went everywhere together and partnered for every game.

He fell asleep, his mind seeped in jealousy and booze.

He woke up when Jean stumbled into the room, holding something in his hand. He vaguely registered music still pounding in the hallway.

“Hey, sorry,” Jean tried to whisper. “Everyone is asleep.”

“Okay?” Jeremy said.

“Renee made cookies.” He offered out his hand.

Jeremy might have sneered. “Of course she did. She’s amazing. She’s an amazing person. She’s an amazing goalie. I bet she’s an amazing girlfriend.” He was still drunk. It probably hadn’t been that long since he fell asleep.

Jean looked confused and timid. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Jeremy muttered, suddenly aware of how he must’ve come across.

“Are you jealous of Renee?” he asked, lips quirking.

Jeremy sighed and fell back on his pillows. “What? No ...” He looked over at Jean. “Okay, fine.”

Jean stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed, looking over his shoulder at Jeremy. “Why?”

“Nothing,” he murmured, cheeks feeling hot.

“I’ve not been a good friend,” Jean said. “You’re just so friendly and easy going that I didn’t think you wanted me hanging around the whole week. And I figured Kevin would be taking up at least half your time.”

“That’s not - I mean -” Jeremy was at a loss for words.

“Then what is it?”

He threw an arm over his face, struggling to get a word out.

“You guys are so close,” he finally said. “I guess I just want to be - close with you.”

“We’re roommates,” Jean said. “We are close. There’s no one I trust more.”

Jeremy sat up. “No, I’m gay.”

He shrugged. “Okay ... I figured -”

“I have these ... feelings ... for you ...” He knew his expression was pained and sad but he couldn’t help it. He had probably just ruined things between them.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Jean asked as Jeremy’s head lowered and he shrugged. “I think I have ... feelings for you, too.”

Jeremy’s mouth fell open. “Really?”

Jean shrugged again, feeling self-conscious. “Yes. It’s why I’ve been hanging out with Renee so much this week - to get her advice about you.”

“I really want to kiss you,” he said in a rush. “I mean, if that’s okay.”

Jean held his breath, then nodded. Jeremy moved closer. Jean blurted, “I just - um, I need to set clear boundaries and I need you to respect them.”

“Of course,” Jeremy breathed. He watched as he bit his lip, looking like there was more he wanted to say. “Hey, it’s okay. You can set all the boundaries you need.”

Jean took a shaky breath. “I need you to take things slow,” he said, voice quiet. “I need you to be patient and not get mad if I can’t do - if I can’t -”

“Hey, Jean, you don’t need to do anything, alright?” Jeremy said. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me.” He reached out to take Jean’s hand but Jean flinched.

“I’m sorry, I -”

Jeremy held up his hand this time and slowly moved to grab Jean’s hand so he had time to move away if he wanted to.

“I’ve never - I don’t mean to flinch. It’s not you.” He lay down next to Jeremy and stared at the ceiling. Their arms were pressed together from their shoulders to their fingertips and after a minute, it started to feel comfortable. “I’ve talked about you in therapy because I wasn’t sure about what my feelings meant.”

He took long pauses between sentences but Jeremy didn’t dare to interject.

“Nothing that ever happened in my life ever was consensual.” Hard swallow. “Until you and the Trojans. I don’t know if I’m gay, honestly. I’m still figuring things out. Feeling anything confuses me. You’re the only person who offers something to me and lets me choose to accept it.”

“You noticed?” Jeremy was shocked.

“Of course I noticed. I was confused - at first - but it’s become everything to me. If this is too complicated I understand ... but I hope - I don’t know.” He sighed, frustrated with himself and everything leading up to this point that was making him unable to trust his own feelings.

Jeremy bit his lip. “I’m here. You’re worth the wait, Jean. I want to be the one you can figure things out with.”

Jean sat up. “What if - what if I’m wrong about this?” His voice was breathy and when Jeremy met his eyes, they were wet.

“Then we’ll stop and we’ll continue being friends.”

“I don’t even know if I can try.” Every fear seemed to be coming to the front of his mind. “What if I’m wasting your time?”

Jeremy sat up. “I don’t care. Can I hold your hand again?” Jean nodded. “If after everything, you decide you’re not gay, or you’re not into me, it will all be fine. I could never hold it against you. I care about you and nothing will ever stop me from caring about you.”

Jean’s gaze on his face was intense but Jeremy tried to keep an open expression. He meant what he said and he needed Jean to know that everything would be okay.

“Can I kiss you?”

Jeremy felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. “Please.”

Day 7

As they sat on the boat that would take them back to the mainland Jeremy couldn’t help the smile on his face. Jean was next to him, arm pressed right against his.

He looked behind him to where Neil and Andrew sat, space between them but hands linked on the seat. Andrew was looking off in the distance.

Jeremy opened his mouth to ask Neil a question when Andrew’s head snapped in his direction. “It’s 8:30, I have a hangover and you’re annoying me.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“That smile on your face is making my hangover worse.”

Jean turned around. “Get used to it.”

1 Kevin/Thea 2 Neil/Andrew 3 Dan/Matt 4 Allison/Renee 5 Jean/Jeremy 6 Aaron/Katelyn 7 2 freshmen 8 2 freshmen 9 2 freshmen 10 Nicky

#aftg #aftg fic #tfc #tfc fic #jerejean #background andreil #background kevinxthea

42 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 4 years

Text

Merry & Bright, Chapter 9

Written for @k-itsmaywriting, who won third place in my 500 follower raffle...two years ago. Listen guys, I have had some REALLY GOOD REASONS for not finishing those yet. Just don’t check.

The thing about being a foster is: everything sucks.

Not that good things don’t happen-- if there’s one thing the system taught him, it’s that life is an endless roller coaster of ups and downs, and you really learn to love the straightaways-- but the scale changes. Other kids would get cars for their birthday, or they’d get to study abroad a semester, but Obi--

Obi had the bedroom catty-corner to bathroom.

For a kid who hadn’t been in a house with less than five kids and more than one full bath for close to a decade, the location had been choice. Prime real estate. The number of mornings he’d lain in wait, never moving from the warm cocoon of his covers until Toddy’s lumbering shuffle scuffled down at the end of the hall, just to dash across and snipe the first shower-- that would be all of them.

But tonight-- god, tonight--

Obi braces his hand against the wall, watching water whirl down the drain. It’s the safest place to look; once glance up and he’ll be contending with the mirror. Not that the mirror is the problem, oh no. It’s what’s in it that’ll make him crack his head on the tile.

His room is catty-corner to the bathroom, which means the second he looks up he sees her.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Doc’s passed out on every bed he’s slept in since he’s known her. There were entire weeks he wasn’t sure she even knew she had her own room in the frat; if they tallied up the nights she spent in her bed versus the ones she spent in his, he suspects his doubts would not be unfounded.

This shouldn’t be any different. It’s just one more place he’s slept, and one more that she’s shared. It’s just Doc, wearing only one of her too-large conference T-shirts, sprawled out on his bed.

And he saw parts of her. Parts he doesn’t usually see. A bare back, a hint of more thigh, the briefest, barest glimpse of a curve of a breast--

He scrubs a hand down his face, stubble rasping against his palm. It shouldn’t be different but it is-- he might be used to her wearing shorts and a tee and baring a mile of leg at home, but seeing it against the unrelenting black of his high school comforter is something else entirely. Like something right out of his weirdest wet dream.

And this isn’t a natural occurrence; an unplanned side effect of her being the size of the Energizer Buddy with a battery life half as long. This is planned. They are choosing to be in bed together. Because he’s too much of a fuck up to have a real girlfriend to bring home, and Doc’s too nice to ruin it for him.

Obi pulls himself upright, dropping his toothbrush back into its holder. He made this bed, and now it’s time to lay in it. Literally.

Doc doesn’t look up when he pads back into the room. Doesn’t jump when he shuts the door behind him. Doesn’t say anything as he wends around the bed, trying to adjust his angle of approach. Just stares up at the ceiling, jaw clenched, brow furrowed.

He flicks off the light, and it’s not until the mattress dips beneath him that he hears her sigh. Not a nice, oh Obi let’s cuddle sigh, but a I’m pissed you haven’t put my clues together, Blue.

“Something wrong?” he ventures, not even bothering to cover himself. If she’s going to kick him out of bed, he’s not going to waste time getting cozy first.

Doc huffs, rolling to face him. “I thought we talked about this.”

He launches himself upright, swinging his legs off the bed. “You’re right. I’ll go find Gayle. I’m sure she can scrounge up another--”

“No!” Her fingers band around his bicep, gentling guiding him back down. She squiggles closer when he’s settled, knees poking into his thigh. “I didn’t mean any of, um, this. I meant with Ryuu.”

He stares at her, blank.

“You know what it’s like when you don’t feel the same as everyone else.” Her hand unlatches, palm running soothingly over his arm. “We don’t know what he likes yet.”

He thinks about the poor kid, about the number for cute skater girls-- and skater boys-- who have bounced right off the impenetrable shell of his hyperfocus. “He probably doesn’t even know what he likes yet.”

“Exactly.” Her knees knock against him, excited. “And we need to leave space for whatever he finds. We need to do better for him than what was done for us.”

He hums, stilling her hand with his. “We are, Doc.”

“Then you shouldn’t tease him about girls when--”

“Doc.” He has to bite his cheek not to laugh. “I know this isn’t really what you’re used to when it comes to the high school experience but--” he can’t help himself, he grins-- “he was not talking about a girl very loudly.”

Her chin drops, right against his arm. “Oh. Oh. Are you--?”

“Please,” he drawls, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I’m a connoisseur of not talking about girls and boys. And that...that was not talking about a girl.”

“Huh.” Her head rolls back along his arm, hair tickling his elbow. “Who do you think it is?”

“Oh, now who’s not giving him space?” He squeezes her close, playful. “What happened to waiting until he was ready to talk to us?”

“I’m not asking him.” Her nose nuzzles into his side. “I’m asking you.”

Obi presses a had to his chest, affronted. “You’re asking me to betray a confidence? I’m shocked, utterly shocked.”

“No, I didn’t mean--”

He squeezes her again, letting her words fizzle out before he says, “I’d tell you if I knew, Doc, but I don’t. We’ll just have to pump Kirito for all the juicy goss when we get back.”

“No, no, we don’t need to do that,” she says. “I’ll just text Shidan--”

“Oh, come on,” Obi laughs. “Aren’t you the one who always thinks information is better given than taken or whatever?”

Doc whines, squirming against him in a way that makes him think less about Ryuu’s situation and more about his own. “I just want to know if she’s nice or if she’ll hurt his feelings, or--”

He holds up his hand, stoppering up the flood of anxiety. “Leave it. A boy his age needs some secrets.”

Her eyes shine up at him in the dark, and feels rather than sees her lips cant against his shoulder. “Oh? And what sort of secrets do you have at fifteen?”

Obi stiffens. Not just a quick flinch; oh no, he’s got to full on embarrass himself with a full-body tetanus, teeth gritting down with a clack.

I was fourteen and it was more than kissing.

Doc’s head jolts up, eyes wide. “Oh! Obi, I’m so-- I didn’t even think--”

“It’s fine,” he lies. “I don’t think Ryuu will have any of those.”

He’s made sure he hasn’t. There wasn’t any Orphan Club to look out for him when he was a kid, but Obi will be damned if Ryuu goes through any of the stuff he had to. Sure, he’s not a foster, and yeah, his parents are technically alive, even if they communicate with him solely through his bank balance but still-- that’s not parenting. If he can’t count the number of times they’ve called Shidan to make sure he isn’t some child-murdering pedophile, it’s because it’s impossible to count lower than zero.

Silence stretches over them, thick and itchy as wool blanket. This is the worst part of having a tragic childhood. Sure, all the shit that happened to him as a kid was, well, shitty, but it’s in the past, something he can stuff in his mental closet-- even if that psych in Wistal frowned when he mentioned it-- and forget about until it surfaces uncontrollably at the worst fucking time. But this, this--

It’s worse. Having people who love him and respect him suddenly pull away like he’s made of glass, like he’ll break if they so much as breathe on him-- it sucks. Whoever wrote fear is the mind killer never had a sucky enough childhood to cause an awkward silence, and it showed.

Obi nearly jumps out of his skin when an arm slaps across him, followed by at least half of Doc’s body weight. A leg hooks around his, tugging her flush against his side.

“I know.” The words are muffled by his chest. “He has us.”

The quiet takes on a different texture now. It’s not the sound of not knowing what to say, but of nothing more needing saying; the subtle satisfaction of knowing and being know in return. It’s comfortable, warm, like the way her body relaxes into his, the safest space he’s ever known.

Obi’s nearly asleep when she tenses, when she asks, “What happened to Shannon?”

It was a mistake to leave her alone with Kelly Ann. His mind is a steel trap, but the timeline of his sexual history was what Yuzuri would deem a hot mess. Most of it wasn’t performed fully sober either. But Kelly Ann...

Kelly Ann never forgets a single fuck up. Probably takes them out and shines them every once and a while with a smile on her face.

His brain races through his list of high school flings but comes up short. “Shannon?”

“Her picture is up on the mantle,” she murmurs softly, almost shy. “Laila said she was an-- an angel.”

His heart plummets into his stomach. File this under ‘things he should have explained before they left.’ “Oh, Shannon.”

It’s an effort to lie still, to just breathe. “She’s Bob and Gayle’s daughter.”

“I got that.” Doc nuzzles her head into his shoulder, kneading at his pecs like they’re particularly stubborn pillows. “She died.”

His breath sighs out of him. “Yeah, a long time ago. Before either of us were born.”

That’s not enough information, not to survive Christmas, but he can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t his story to tell. He’s a few years and a heap of paperwork short on being enough of one of them to talk about it. Still, short of just telling Doc to ask around, he’s the only one who can.

“She had...I don’t know, some lung disease.” He’d shrug his shoulders if she wasn’t using them as a pillow. He settles for squeezing her instead, enjoying the steady tap of her heart against his ribs. “No one really talks about it, but I guess it was long and slow. She was a teenager when she died.”

Doc lays silent for a long moment. “There wasn’t anything...?”

“It was the eighties,” he explains, “and from what I’ve picked up, the life expectancy today isn’t much brighter. Like...twenties or something.”

“Gosh, that’s...awful.” Her nails scrape over his chest, tucking into her palm. “But she was their-- there weren’t any, um....?

“She was born with it.” He can’t imagine that, knowing from the start there was nothing to do but wait, that you’d have only a handful of years before they’d be gone. “They said it’d be a miracle if she lived to see twenty. Gayle gave up her job to take care of her, you know, doing the medical stuff she needed to stay alive. They just...wanted as much time with her as they could get, and any other kid born into that, well...”

“It wouldn’t be fair,” she says, pained. “How could you explain to another child that you weren’t playing favorites, but that their sister was going to--” she shakes her head, and something wet settles on his skin-- “I get it.”

He wishes there was an easy way to make things better, a way to wrap this whole awkward shit sundae up with a bow or whatever, but...there isn’t. There’s no heartwarming but she’s the reason they saved me, because he up and bolted before they could. He’s got a big fucker of a scar across his chest to prove that all their goodness never changed him, at least not enough to matter.

“What about Lori?” Doc asks, because tonight’s the night for picking at scabs, it seems. “Laila called her an angel too.”

“That was their first foster.” He only barely knows this story, told to him by Kelly Ann almost a decade ago in the hushest of tones, and only to inform him how bad he fucked up. “She was Shannon’s roommate I guess, toward the, um...end. Mom died of some cancer and she became a ward of the state, and Bob and Gayle...”

“Did what they did best,” she offers, so sincere it hurts.

“Yeah.” His throat aches. “That.”

Her fingers slip between his. He thinks she might say something, might ask for more history he hardly knows and doesn’t own, but instead she squeezes his hand, stilling against him, breath easing into a lull.

“Goodnight, Obi,” she murmurs, sleep thick in her voice.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Goodnight.”

It’s not the first time Shirayuki’s awoken with a shiver, a warm breath tickling her neck and something far lower poking into her back. But it is the first time since-- since that night, and what had seemed so innocent, just a healthy reaction to sleep and proximity to a warm body, feels very different now.

His mouth lays slack against her skin, breath puffing hotly across the sensitive hairs of her nape. The heat there is only rivaled by the one trembling beneath the palm on her belly, a slow roil that sets her blood to a tantalizing simmer. They hadn’t fallen asleep like this-- she’s been so careful to arrange herself so she’d do little move than roll into the levee of his chest-- but somehow she’s the little spoon again, and, by the feel of it, someone’s ready to fork.

He grunts, hips shifting and hand tucking her close. What had been a mere hint through dress slacks in a hallway is now-- haah-- a full investigation against her back. And it’s, ah, definitely not a small one. Many, many lines of inquiry.

Shirayuki groans, burying her face in the pillow. It’s her. She’s the one ready to fork. And Obi’s just--

“I hope we’re all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning.” Gayle sweeps into the room, ruthlessly flicking on the light. “Got a whole lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in.”

Obi jolts, the whole length of his erection pressing hard against her ass, she-- she yelps. Just a little.

“Five more minutes,” he groans, hand flexing against her stomach, fingers brushing down to where her T-shirt has ridden up and--

And he stills, like he’s been caught snatching snickerdoodles off the tray.

“None of that business, mister.” Gayle bustles in, pulling on one of his shades until it snaps up, perfectly hung in the window. “If I let you alone now, all I’ll get is the same trouble when I come back.”

“R-really.” He’s definitely more awake, but his voice cracks. “Just-- a minute. I’ll, um, get right up.”

He wriggles behind her, like he can’t decide whether it’s safer to edge away or hide in her, and she realizes-- he’s hard. He’s hard, and his mom is right there, squinting down at him like she’s trying to pick the lock on his diary.

Shirayuki reaches back, palm resting on his hip, and he stills. “Don’t worry, Gayle,” she chirps brightly, “I know how to get him up.”

Gayle turns to her, eyes wide, and Obi’s forehead bonks into her shoulder. “Oh, honey,” she says, grin lighting up her face. “I just bet you do.”

Obi honks like a dying goose into her shoulder blade. “She didn’t mean--”

“Breakfast should be up in fifteen minutes.” Gayle approaches the hall with a buoyant step. “I won’t send up a search party if you’re late.”

With a wink, she shuts the door firmly. Obi flops onto his back with a groan.

“What?” She blinks. “Do you really need five more minutes?”

His head rolls toward her, eyes fixed on her with a sullen glare. “You know how to get me up, huh?”

“Wh--oh,” she yelps, clapping her hands over her mouth. “I didn’t-- you don’t think she--?”

“Oh, she definitely did.” He rolls over, face-first into his pillow.

Shirayuki blinks. “Aren’t you going to get up?”

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs, hugging his pillow tight. “If she thinks we’re having the world’s best good morning, I have at least twenty minutes to spare.”

“Come on now, keep up,” Gayle chides, hounding their heels into Harris Teeter the way corgis do to toddlers. “We’ve got a late start--” she eyes them both with an expression that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but smug-- “but I think we can still come out on top.”

“It’s six am,” Shirayuki murmurs, leaning into Obi. “Does she know it’s six am?”

“Oh, she definitely does,” he confirms with the tiredest dog-eyed look he can muster this early. “We’re running on Christmas Time.”

Her jaw hangs slack, turning into a yawn. “Christmas time?”

“We need to make cookies,” Gayle informs her, abandoning the carriage for a deep dive into the sprinkle section.

“Oh.” Shirayuki stares after her, lost. “I didn’t realize this was serious.”

“Cookies are very serious business,” Obi confirms, heaving a sigh as Gayle holds two frosting tins up to the light. “I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling. She’s just going to make her own. Here--” he reaches in front of her, hooking his hand around the flashy red handle-- “let me grab the buggy--”

“The what?”

He blinks, eyes as clear as amber. “The cart?”

“That’s not what you said,” she insists. “You said-- what did you call it--?”

“Same difference.”

“It is not.”

“It’s a regional thing.” He shrugs, shoulders hovering up around his ears. He’s not an blusher, but she could swear she sees some pink lingering at the tips of his ears. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wouldn’t,” she informs him primly. “Except we’ve been going to the store for years now, and I’ve never heard you say that word in your life--”

An unbelievable amount of sprinkles clatters into the cart. “Well,” Gayle says, mouth wide. “That should be enough for the cookies.”

Obi frowns, picking up a thirty ounce jar of nonpareils. “Enough for an army of them.”

Shirayuki grins, poking him until he squeaks. “So just about enough to fill one of your stomachs.”

“Hey.” He presses a hand to his chest, lifting his chin regally. “It would be at least one and a half.”

Gayle huffs out a laugh. “You two are going to make such cute kids. Look at you, just flirting right in the middle of Baking Needs.”

Shirayuki flushes red hot, hem to hairline. “No! We’re not--”

“C’mon then.” Gayle turns on her heel, heading to the back of the store. “We’ll have to get enough for dinner too. Gonna need it after all that cookie making.”

Shirayuki glances down into the cart. “There’s more people coming, right?” she murmurs, only just holding back a helpless whine. “We’re not just making...all of these ourselves.”

“Don’t worry, Doc.” He slings an arm around her shoulders, side pressing warmly into hers. “I’ll help you.”

“Mm,” she hums, dubious. “Eat them, maybe.”

“There won’t be none of that,” Gayle calls back, inspecting a package of ground beef. “Bob need your help downstairs.”

“Aw, no,” Obi groans, shoulders slumping. “Not--”

“You bet your buttons, mister.” She drops a pair of four-pounders right into the cart. “It’s time to put up the Christmas Village.”

18 notes · View notes

bayoubashsims · 4 years

Text

Naturally

Naturally is a short story about the life of a Dutch-American woman who settled in Indonesia during the early days of its independence, the legacy she carried across the ocean, and the legacy she built in her new homeland. The story reflects on the most poignant events in her long and candid life; from the circumstances that made her birth possible, her childhood in the tumultuous early twentieth century, her new life in a new nation, to the troubles of her offspring, the return to her birthplace, and her dying days. These vignettes of Eleanor Mangkoedimedjo’s life serve as a testament that much of what we are we owe to those who came before us (whether good or bad), particularly our mothers and the mothers before them, and understanding our past often means understanding our future.

Name: Eleanor Mirabelle Mangkoedimedjo Maiden Name: Schuyler Other name(s): Laila Mulyati Place and Date of Birth: Batavia, New York, August 11, 1928 Parents: Lucas T. Schuyler (Adam Sutansyah) and Ana L. Schuyler (née Lahaije); Rosminah Sutansyah Grandparents: Pieter Lahaije and Johanna Lahaije (née van der Maas); Thomas E. Schuyler and Eleanor C. Schuyler (née Thompson) Sibling(s): Coralea Schuyler and Miriam van de Plaas Spouse(s): R. Prabowo H.L. Mangkoedimedjo Children: Matilda E. Willem and Philomena K. Develsbourne

Prologue

Maastricht, the Netherlands 1932

Gerrit Beuling was a tall, thin man with a long swan’s neck and a protruding Adam’s apple. His long, auburn hair went to his shoulders, and was combed back. He trudged along the brick road in that humid summer with a wooden case under his right arm, and he carried with him a manner of expectation.

He stopped when he came to a narrow alley with a stone staircase that led to a wooden door to its left. He cautiously made his way through, up and in, passing by one grimy corridor after another. He arrived half panting at a room at the end of the corridor, covered with faded ruby-colored floral wallpaper and adorned with fine furniture. He placed his case down and took off his coat. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and took a deep breath.

“I don’t understand why you’re wearing a coat like that in such a hot day.” Said Madame Lahaije. She was perched upon a crimson chaise-lounge by the window in a severely outdated, purple buttoned up dress that seemed to betray her own words to the young painter.

“For presentation, of course. And I put a lot of my things inside my coat pockets.”

Madame Lahaije sneered. “A gentleman never puts things inside his pocket. Unless it’s money, of course.”

“Are you ready, Madame?” He asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Do you think this dress is fine?” She asked, adjusting the stiff collar of her dress.

“It’s beautiful. But what a dress to wear in such a weather.” He answered. He was happy with the ironic echo.

“For presentation.” She replied, reassuringly. “Let us adjourn to the other room, shall we?”

She rose up slowly from her seat and walked to the other room as if Gerrit wasn’t even behind her. The other room was a brightly lit, white-paneled alcove at the side of the building that faces the garden, and beyond the horizon lies the countryside. She then proceeded to sit upon a blue, velveteen chair and pointed Gerrit where to sit. Gerrit opened his case, and laid out a set of watercolor paint on a table next to a wooden easel. He placed a canvas upon it and looked at his subject.

“Am I good enough?” She asked. “Of course.”

Madame Lahaije looked at the boy sitting across her.

‘So young’, she said to herself.

She carefully combed a few strands of loose hair from her teased grey crown and adjusted her collar.

There were a few minutes of silence.

“Eh-hem.” The lady cleared her throat to break the awkwardness. “Getting impatient are we, Madame?” Asked Gerrit. “No. I understand this will not be fast work.” “Are you sure you’re comfortable in that dress?” Her eyebrows went up and her eyes squinted. “Would you rather I take it off?” Gerrit bit his lips. “My apologies.”

“You know,” she uttered, her face building up to a slight smile “the last time a man said that to me was my husband, asking me about my wedding dress on our wedding day over 50 years ago. We didn’t have a conventional wedding, you know. My family had disowned me for running off with a man twenty years my senior, and he didn’t have any family left, so it was a few friends and the servants. I remember the dress was white and was very tight. I hated being in it but I looked good in it. Pieter said to me 'Johanna, are you sure you’re comfortable in that dress?’, because he heard me gasping whilst my bridesmaids were closing up my corset. He must’ve thought I was choking or something. It was a humid day, much like this.”

Gerrit’s eyes didn’t turn from the canvas. “You must’ve looked beautiful.” “It was a hundred years ago.” “Oh, I don’t know. You’re still beautiful now.” Madame Lahaije was not one to take compliments or responded to them, but enjoyed them altogether.

“Don’t you have a girl, Gerrit? How old are you now, 27?” “28 this October. And no. I don’t have that much interest in courting girls.” “Do you like the boys, then?” She asked mockingly. Gerrit made no response.

“My daughter must be around your age now. I wonder if she’s married.”

“Don’t you keep in touch with her?”

“She hates me so. She lives in America. Ran away 5 years ago.”

“Why does she hate you?”

“Ah, who knows, schaadt. Us mothers do what instincts tell us to. At the end of the day, it’s still a stab in the dark to assume whether or not our children like us. At one point, they will hate you.”

She continued. “I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but she was an accident. I didn’t plan on having kids with Pieter, but then we did. And not long after she was born, he died, which is when I started the business. I made deals with a few men in some places. I took in homeless girls and groomed them. Of course, I am no Saint for turning them into prostitutes. But at least it provided food at the table for them and a roof over their heads and mine, ja?”

“I suppose.”

There was more silence. Madame Lahaije scratched her right eyebrow half-unsure, wondering if the painter will find it annoying that she’s moving around, but there was no response from him. She looked as stiff as a sculpture, like a purple tulip turned upside down, frozen in winter. She was in her mid-seventies then but retained the outline she had in her youth—a dark and well-pronounced outline that emphasized her bones and her heavily-lidded eyes. In her youth, she was a great beauty, though she never thought of herself that way.

Eventually she asked Gerrit ‘normal’ questions—of the weather, of recent happenings in town, and of the interesting stories that happened in her brothel, for instance, the girls who became pregnant would be sent to the abortionist, and those who choose to have the baby will be sent away. She also told him of men who trespassed the boundaries in treating the girls and how often she had to march into the bedrooms and pull them out by any of their parts and kicking them out to the streets. Gerrit nodded and gave some short responses. Madame Lahaije simply went on and on. It was just the way she talked.

“But I do miss Ana sometimes, you know.” Madame Lahaije uttered, wilting a bit. She was talking about the bad economy a few seconds ago. “How can I help it? She came out of my mangy twat and she’s the only family I have.”

“Such are the ties in blood.” Gerrit said.

Madame Lahaije turned back to concrete. “I was turned away by my own mother, left at the backdoor of an orphanage like a grocery delivery.” She said coldly. “The family that took me in, the van der Maas bunch, was more than kind. But I rebelled. I ran away with the painter and never saw them again. I was disowned. So what? I’ve been disowned the minute I crawled out of my mother. I couldn’t stand being locked up in the house.”

“But,” She added. “thanks to the education that they provided, I turned into the woman I am today. I am no idiot like the tarts I employ, who can strut but everything they hear on the right come out of their left. I keep a close eye on my accounts and I know of a great deal about literature, economy, and politics. So I am grateful, I suppose. If I weren’t a lady I’d have gone to war.”

Gerrit smiled.

“My adopted father was a timber businessman. The mother did nothing but groom her daughters, which included me, into fine ladies every single day from the minute she wakes. The brother was, oh, a handsome gentleman. He followed in his father’s footsteps. He died, however, a good six years before I fled. Of cholera.”

Her head was straight and poised, with her eyebrows way up on her forehead. “He was my first love.” She uttered, and continued. “Mother van der Maas was a strict woman, unlike her husband, who was very much at ease. She was the only sort of mother I ever had, and I was 9 when they adopted me. My need for a mother had rotted years before I met her. Such a shame, no? Nevertheless, I pleased her need for a daughter. Her real daughters, Maria and Nelia, were skittish little things. Very fragile. And so Mother van der Maas took a preference for me. Can’t imagine how she felt when I left them. Mustn’t be like what I felt when Ana left. I remember, I caught Ana leaving with a suitcase in one hand, down by the foyer. I say to her, ‘Must be so easy to leave all this behind’. Well, I thought it, but I did not say it. I simply acted as…a figure of authority, if you must, to this young girl, whom I knew I will never see again or hear from again. She said nothing and left hurriedly. ��

There was a silence for a few moments.

"Ah, well.” She shrugged. “I guess I was never meant to be a mother.”

Gerrit smiled.

There was a silence for a few moments.

Gerrit suddenly rose up. “I think that’s enough for today. I’ll continue again tomorrow.”

Madame Lahaije was somehow a bit surprised at this but felt settled. “Fine.”

He draped a white cloth over the canvas and packed his things into the case.

“Same time tomorrow, then?” “Yes.” Answered Gerrit.

Gerrit approached Madame Lahaije, and gave her his hand. Not for a handshake, but for a kiss on her hand. She let him. The kiss was swift, and almost felt like a knife.

“Thank you, Gerrit.”

Gerrit smiled and walked away.

There, in the silence, Madame Lahaije looked out from the window, to the meadow just beyond the house a few miles away.

“What are you thinking?”

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

The Past

Batavia, New York - Bandung, the Dutch East Indies 1924-1945

The best thing she did was pretending that she wasn’t hurt.

Eleanor had always been a woman with such pride and stubbornness; even when she was a little girl, her mother Ana would chide her for sassing back. Her poor old mother didn’t want to be harsh on her, because her own mother was draconic to her. Ana had three children, but Eleanor, the youngest, stopped becoming her child and became her daughter when she was just six.

Oh, how Eleanor reminded her so much of her own mother. Even when Eleanor was named after her paternal grandmother, her temperament was quite similar to her maternal grandmother, a proprietress of a Maastricht brothel that Ana had abandoned out of spite at the turn of the century.

Before we go to Eleanor, we must learn of the stock that she came from; Ana was born Ana Louisa Lahaije to Pieter Lahaije and Johanna Lahaije (née van der Maas)

Just twenty-one years old back then in 1924, Ana sailed for six days from Hoek van Holland to the shores of America on a migrant ship. As far as she was concerned, she never had a mother, only a cold, leering phantom that she used to see at the other end of a dinner table. It was the prostitutes that worked in her brothel that became Ana’s mothers: Fleurtje was a great cook, Trienke taught her how to sew, Lotte gave great advice, and Madeleine sang songs with her. Johanna Lahaije only did three things for her throughout her life: she gave birth to Ana, she criticized her, and she let her leave. Johanna had caught her leaving with a suitcase at dawn and said nothing. She stood atop the staircase with her claws on the balustrade and she stood by as her daughter, like a deer caught in headlights, fled for the so-called Land of Opportunities. Of course, it was easy to assume that Johanna never loved her. Who knows, right? People tell you ‘I love you’ in different ways.

She had settled in New York and was married into a rather affluent Boer family, the Schuylers. She had married their youngest child, Lucas Schuyler. Her in-laws were the personification of Great White Hunters, who were ‘adventurers’, so to speak, along with their business ventures that took them around the world, while Lucas helped his mother at home and studied architecture in Cornell. Ana became a seamstress and found clientele in the sprawling metropolis, and gave birth to three daughters: Coralea, Miriam, and Eleanor. The Great Depression struck and though they did not suffer too much, the marriage between Lucas and Ana had cracked beyond repair from arguments regarding money to the spoiling of the children.

Lucas, envious of his father and brother’s adventures, decided to leave for the Dutch East Indies, having heard of the nation’s struggles for independence from the colonials that Lucas descended from. Ana refused to go, of course, since she did not drag herself all the way from Europe just to sail to some godforsaken land at the edge of the world. Much to her chagrin, Eleanor went along with her father. She enjoyed hearing the tales she used to hear about her grandfather and uncle, and she wanted to be an adventurer herself. They said goodbye and little Nortje was none the wiser. To the end of her days, she had always been her father’s child.

Eleanor was so proud of herself and her father. She had heard about the Emerald of the Equator from her father, a land so rich and green—filled with opportunities much heartier than the selfish aspirations of America—and thought of her future and the nation’s. One would think that a New York gal would be used to the urban ways, but even her days on her grandparents’ farm was nothing compared to the years she spent in this new land, and she fit right in with all the things other ‘expatriates’ couldn’t stand. They changed their names, too, and their religion. They settled in Bandung and became Muslims, thus Lucas and Eleanor Schuyler became Adam Sutansyah and Laila Mulyati. Mama Ana was not there to reprimand her for sassing, but instead it was Ibu Rosminah, a Sundanese lady so delicate and earthly one would think she was a fairy of the forests. When wartime came and the whites fled, Laila’s family stayed in support of the nation’s independence. The family did not approve of this. She didn’t care. Laila Mulyati did not care.

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

Bandung and Kuningan, Indonesia 1945

Laila met her husband, Raden Bei Prabowo Mangkoedimedjo, in Bandung. Bowo was a neighbor’s pen pal and of gentry birth, and he was instantly head over heels with the dark-eyed Laila, as if a personification of the girl in Panon Hideung herself. They married just as Indonesia gained independence and had twin girls in the following year. Laila was just eighteen when she had babies and it was not easy. Motherhood was something foreign to her and she had to learn it by herself. As nice as Ibu Ros was to her, her volatile relationship with her biological mother was enough to leave her incapacitated when it came to motherhood (mothering, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether). Still, she tried her best. She really did.

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

Kuningan, Indonesia - Boca Raton, Florida 1975

Philomena had graduated from college. Her twin sister Matilda did not stick with her as planned and decided to settle and breed with her high school sweetheart. Philomena did not have the patience to be an egg-brooding hen. She had expressed to her friends that she wanted to leave as soon as possible, especially from her Moes’ smothering. She had chosen to study Sociology at the University of Indonesia and stayed at a boarding house there. That never stopped her mother from dropping in from time to time all the way from Kuningan. She allowed Moes to smother as she pleased because she wouldn’t have to use her own money to buy food when she’s visiting, but it is quite exhausting to allow yourself to be smothered for years and years. Moes overheard this exchange (being the devil incarnate) and the next morning, she told Philomena she is to stay with her Aunt Coralea in Florida for a year.

Philomena was stunned, of course, and before she knew it she was in her aunt’s little condo in Boca Raton. The stay did not prove futile, as she became engaged to Southern aristocracy in the two years she was there. They had two wedding ceremonies; one in the US and one in Indonesia. Moes had a dance class to teach (she taught traditional dancing to the young ladies of Paterosari), so she did not see Philomena off on her day of departure. She hugged Moes goodbye at the door and left. Philomena was none the wiser.

Would you feel hurt telling your child goodbye as she became your daughter?

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

Batavia, New York 1988

Ana’s three daughters came back to New York. Ana had experienced a series of illnesses and was bedridden, so of course they had to settle the estate. When their father left for Indonesia, their paternal grandparents ‘adopted’ their mother and left her the land. The land had been divided and sold throughout the years, and by that time, it was just a small but beautiful piece of land that had been the last home of Ana Schuyler. Her daughters were no longer little girls then. Coralea never married and became a landlady in Florida, so she knew the details of the estate business better than her sisters. Miriam knew next to nothing, having jumped from relationship to relationship and marriage to marriage, hoping that she’d at least get some of her mother’s jewels. Her husbands had always been Dutch men, and Ana refused to visit her in the Netherlands.

And then there’s Laila. She had grown so much from that little girl she saw leaving on a ship with a flowery hat. Still Ana chided her for her sassing even when Laila had two children and four grandchildren by that time, but the years had mellowed them to the point of the interaction becoming in jest. In Laila’s eyes, Ana saw herself, and for the first time, Ana understood her.

She came home as Eleanor. She thought it was the least she could do. She had such pride, that woman.

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

Kuningan, Indonesia 2012

Matilda had died then, of emphysema and lung cancer. Her husband Hugo had disappeared years ago with no explanations, which sent her spiraling to instability. They had four children, and even their children were affected by Matilda’s thunderous descent. She had manic depression, apparently, and Moes remembered she saw the patterns in her own family—the aggression, the moodiness, the pitfalls of depression. It was harder for her to see her daughter suffering than to see her dying, though both practically ripped her apart. Still, she did not show it. Everyone was amazed at her strength.

By the time she was a widow, she had been many things and seen many things. She was involved with revolutionary women’s groups in the past and had joined efforts with other women to fight for the women’s cause in her town—and she understood her privilege as a descendant of colonials. In wartime, she volunteered as a nurse and eventually became one of the most senior members of the Indonesian Red Cross. She hinted, at one time, that she was a spy for the Indonesian rebels, and she defended her medical station from the Dutch with guns blazing. Of course, nobody ever found out if those things were true, but it made interesting conversation in her dance and exercise classes, knitting classes, and bird watching group.

Philomena had buried a husband and divorced two husbands by that time, and she had nothing left to stay on. She had been married long enough to her archeologist first husband to see the world. She had performed in nightclubs, cabarets, and theatres from Las Vegas to Paris. She had discovered a type of lizard in Brazil that was named after her, she had lived through the frigid winds of Siberia eating only dried food, and she even visited the elephant matriarch that killed her Grandfather Thomas in Tanzania. She had a trunk full of pictures, two trunks of knick-knacks, and a lifetime of memories to bring home when she decided to move back to the little town of Paterosari in Kuningan.

For forty years or so, she never stepped foot into her home country. Moes never allowed her, you see. It was always ‘I’ll come over to Atlanta to see you’ or anywhere else Philomena was staying in the US. Philomena never understood why. She never really understood why she was sent off to live with Aunt Lea back then and why, for forty years or so, she was not allowed to return home. As far as she was concerned, she wasn’t a communist connection forbidden to enter Indonesia because of the New Order’s restrictions (though her mother was probably closer to that), so why isn’t she allowed to come home?

It was 2012, and as she walked through the front garden of her house in Kuningan, laden with ferns and devil’s ivy, she decided that this was her last stop. It was as if she had always been there all this time. It was as if she were there just yesterday. Moes greeted her as any mother would, and soon began her readjustment from her worldly past life to her current, more provincial condition. Could it be that Moes was afraid that if her daughter returned home, she would never want to leave again? That she would stick by her dear old mother just to please her? That she would give up her exciting life in the great world beyond for the guilt she felt over leaving Moes?

Philomena never knew, not even when Moes died many years later. She did believe, strongly, that all this time she had been on the longest leash. She and her sister Matilda were her mother’s first and only children. As much as she struggled with motherhood, Moes was fiercely devoted to her children. A lot of this was lost in translation, Philomena supposed, which is why she wanted to leave. Perhaps Moes felt that she did not want Philomena to stick by for her sake. She did not want Philomena staying with her while dreaming of another life, while wondering what could be or what could have been.

Perhaps Moes loved her too much for that, so she allowed herself to be ripped apart for her flesh and blood to be happy. She did live that life, so she did not wonder about what could be or what could have been because she had been, and now it’s over. Philomena thought of how unlucky it is that children cannot choose their parents and how most of the time, it is parents that choose to have children. In retrospect, she was quite thankful.

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

The Future

She would remember, as she lay dying many years later, that she had many names. Eleanor, Nor, Nortje, Laila, Ibu Mangkoedimedjo, Oma, and Moes. All her life she had been known by these different names, and different people called her these different names in different situations. She had learned the pain of having dragged one’s ass from one place to another and the cognitive dissonance of having several names. She was no stranger to ambiguity and ambivalence. She reassured herself, in the silence of her cold bedroom, that it was never anyone’s fault. The broken hearts, the damaged consequences, and the wounded egos—all of them are inevitable in any sort of relationship.

The children were born into this world and they were never theirs to keep. Soon they will build dream after dream, and some dreams are ruined by their parents, parents that they did not choose. Is it their fault? Of course. As adults, they are obliged to be responsible for their actions. Anyone who says otherwise is a goddamn idiot. But then again, there are many ways to say ‘I love you’, and a lot of these things could easily be lost in translation. Does it matter, then, whose fault it was at that point?

At some point, the little eggs must leave the nest, and at that point, they were no longer eggs. What restrains someone from running towards their loved ones who are about to depart as they wave from an airport gate, a train station, behind the fence of an ivy-laced garden, or a wooden door? What difference would that make? Would that keep them at your side for another day? For what purpose?

It is rather difficult to think how hard it was for one to uproot oneself to another place, only for your offspring to come back to the place that was left behind. After all that hard work? What difference would it make?

Well, at one point, one must’ve breathed a sigh that could not be helped. As the world turns and turns you long for it to stop, for you to sit comfortably in your chair without the hours robbing you of your loved ones. You ask whether or not generation upon generation of guilt, of pain, of hurt, of joy, of laughter, and of love was worth all that trouble all your life.

At least she had lived her life then, and most importantly, at least she had come home.

#paterosari #indonesia #dutch east indies #indo belanda #words

8 notes · View notes