#i just don’t want to get in trouble for doing the induction at home if it turns out they want me on campus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunshineandaisies · 3 years

Text

What’s in the Box, Peter?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Words: ~1.7k

Warnings: fluff, mentions of pregnancy

Note: Happy Mother’s Day to all the baby mommas, the fur mommas, the plant mommas, and all the momma’s in between!

Ever since you started dating Peter during your freshman year of college, you always spent Mother’s Day with him and May.

Of course, you always had the customary FaceTime call with your own mother but with the prices of plane tickets constantly increasing, going home to spend the day with your family just wasn’t possible when all your money went towards rent and school expenses.

So spending the day with Peter and May became tradition, and quite frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

May Parker had practically inducted you into the family after only a few months of dating her nephew, and she was the very definition of what you thought motherhood was all about. She was understanding whenever Peter found himself in trouble - whether it be as Peter Parker or his masked superhero alter ego - and she was always willing to lend an ear whenever you or Peter needed to rant about something (even if it was about each other). She worried about Peter - of course she did - but she let him have his space to make his own mistakes and learn from them.

She may not have been Peter’s actual mother, but damn did that woman deserve the best Mother’s Day that you and Peter could muster.

You’d stayed at May’s apartment the night before rather than at yours and Peter’s apartment on the other side of the city to save yourself the commute in the morning, and you were infinitely glad that you’d done so. An extra hour of sleep was definitely worth you and Peter squeezing into the small bed in his old bedroom.

Peter still woke up early, though.

He always did, unable to really sleep in the days leading up to Mother’s Day. He grew restless and quiet, and you didn’t need to ask to know why.

He pressed his lips to your cheek before he left for his visit to his mother’s grave that morning, his jacket tugged on to protect himself from the early morning chill and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He whispered a promise of coffee when he returned, and your appreciation for him doubled in an instant.

By the time he returned, you were busy making pancakes and humming along to the song on the radio while May tittered around the kitchen despite your insistence that she let you take care of making breakfast.

It was her day, after all.

“Good morning,” Peter greeted, pressing a styrofoam cup into your hand. He pressed his lips to your temple before greeting May with a hug and wishing her a happy Mother’s Day. He set a small, wrapped box down on the counter, making you cock your head in curiosity.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the box in question with the spatula. You were sure that you had already gotten May a Mother’s Day gift. In fact, you had wrapped her gift yourself the night before. Had you forgotten something?

“Just a Mother’s Day gift,” he replied vaguely, a smile curling his lips. “You’ll see after breakfast.”

Your gaze kept flitting back to that mysterious little box as you finished stacking pancakes onto a large plate, as you filled three glasses of juice and set the table, and as you and Peter caught May up on all of things that you had accomplished over the course of the last semester. You were just barely managing to contain your curiosity enough to actively keep up the conversation and not be rude, and Peter wasn’t helping any.

The way that he seemed extra fidgety and the way that his gaze kept flitting to you more than usual while he talked to May about his plans once you were both finally done with grad school had you wondering if you did something wrong or even worse- if he was planning something that you didn’t know about.

Oh, God. Was he going to propose?

Outwardly, you were smiling brightly and nodding in agreement to what Peter was saying about your plans for the summer, but inwardly, you were panicking.

You loved Peter, you really did, and you’d be happy to marry him. Just not now. You’d had the discussion about marriage over a year ago, knowing that you both wanted it at some point, but you and he had both agreed that marriage was off the table until you were both done with school. You both had at least one year of grad school left, and that was only if you - ever the academic - decided to not continue your education with further certification. A proposal was at least a year away, so long as Peter adhered to the agreement you had made nearly two years ago.

You cleared the table with lightning speed once everyone had finished with their breakfast, wanting nothing more than to know what Peter was hiding. You retrieved May’s gift from Peter’s bedroom and placed it in front of her while Peter held onto the small mystery box, his fingers flexing and unflexing nervously.

Jesus Christ, you were about to implode from impatience and anxiety and-

“This is so cute!” May exclaimed, holding up the small succulent in a pot shaped like a dinosaur. “Did you find this at that shop on 47th?”

“I think so?” Peter looked to you for confirmation, but you only shrugged in response. “Y/N picked out most of the stuff in there. She has a better eye for things than I do.”

“Peter did pick out the wine, though,” you pointed out, nodding towards the fancy bottle of white wine that had cost more than your electrical bill last month. “I will, however, take credit for the plant and the memory foam slippers.”

You shared a small smile with Peter as May looked over her gifts happily. “This is so sweet. Thank you.” She leaned across the table and pulled your both into as tight a hug as she could manage with a table in the way.

“Happy Mother’s Day, May,” Peter told her, and the few happy tears she swiftly brushed away with her thumbs didn’t escape your attention.

“Happy Mother’s Day, May,” you repeated, feeling so incredibly grateful to have May in your life. “You literally deserve the best Mother’s Day for putting up with this guy for most of his life.” You gently nudged Peter in the side with your elbow as you teased, chuckling as he rolled his eyes at you while struggling to fight back an amused smile.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, and it only made you and May laugh harder. “You both love me.”

And suddenly your laughter died as your attention was dragged back to that mysterious little box, now pushed in front of you by Peter. “What’s this?”

“It’s for you,” he answered as if it wasn’t already blatantly obvious.

“I get that, but why?” You observed the small gift nervously. “It’s Mother’s Day, Pete, and I’m very much not a mother. Not unless you count being a plant mother. You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“What?” His face twisted in confusion, brows knit together and lips slightly parted. “You don’t know? I thought you knew.”

What the hell? Your brows knit together as you looked from Peter to May, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Know what? I think I would know if I was a mom, Peter.” You let out a breath and started to pull at the wrapping paper. “I mean, thank you for the gift, but this was really unneces-” Your words died on the tip of your tongue as you saw what was tucked neatly into the small box.

You lifted the mug from the box, staring at the words written across the front in pretty pink script.

‘Happy (Expectant) Mother’s Day’

You blinked, too confused to speak.

“I thought you said she knew,” you heard May whisper to Peter.

“I thought she did!” your boyfriend whispered in return. “I thought she was waiting for today to tell me!”

You finally snapped out of your trance, placing the mug down on the table and turning to Peter. “Can you please explain what’s happening?”

After a beat of silence, he answered, “You’re pregnant.”

You snorted in disbelief. “I think I’d know if I was pregnant, Peter.” You took a second to mentally count the days, and your heart began to beat erratically once you realized you had been so busy with final papers and projects to remember when your last period had been. Well, shit.

“You are,” he said confidently. He draped an arm around the back of your chair before taking your hand in his. “Some nights, when it’s really quiet, I can hear the baby’s heartbeat. Scared the hell out of me when I first heard it.” Instinctively, your hands dropped to your stomach, cradling it tenderly. Leave it to your boyfriend to find out you were pregnant before you did thanks to his hyper-senses. “I thought you knew and you were planning to tell me today, you know, because it’s Mother’s Day.” He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously, his gaze flitting to May before he met your eyes again. “I, uh, realize now that you didn’t know.”

“We’re gonna have a baby?” He nodded, lips curling into a smile. “I’m gonna be a mom?” Another nod. “I thought you were gonna propose! I was so nervous!”

“I mean, I can still do that if you want,” he offered, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

“No!” you exclaimed. “I think one big life change is enough for today.”

You shared a soft, sweet kiss with Peter before turning your attention back to the mug on the table. Your fingers curled around it, holding it gently in your hands as you stared at the words again and a smile tugged at your lips.

A gentle hand on yours called your attention away from the mug and to May. The older woman was smiling widely at you and her nephew, i she’d tears glittering in her eyes. “Happy Mother’s Day, Y/N.”

457 notes · View notes

titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part V

[ previous ] Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x Reader, Zeke Jaeger x Reader wc: ~ 8.8k Warnings: pining, testosterone, Zeke being a dick (who woulda thought), subtle manipulation (both on Zeke’s part that goes unchecked and accidentally on Mike’s part) A/N: Well, we’re gettin’ there. We’re truckin’ along. I’m sorry for the last chapter. And, I’m sorry for this one. But, I do still hope you enjoy it. I think we’re at the halfway mark here.

Mike gets a text from you at nine PM three days before he’s supposed to go back to campus. It’s just a few words, a question that makes his heart drop to his stomach because you’ve never asked it before.

Can we talk for a sec?

He waits for a few minutes, tries to get rid of the panicked feeling rising in his chest, but he can’t get it to go away entirely, so he just bites the bullet and calls you.

“Heyyy,” you greet. Mike can already tell a difference in your tone. Something is definitely going on.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I just, uh…” He hears you suck on your front teeth, a nervous habit he’s well versed in now, then you tell him, “I just wanted to give you a heads up before you get back here.”

Mike swallows. “Heads up about what?”

Are you leaving? Did you fail your summer classes despite all his help? Did you get into some kind of accident?

You let out a long breath that Mike wishes he could feel on his skin. He wishes he could see your expression, wishes he could hold your face in his hands and tell you that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. Seems like he’s always wishing for things.

“Um, I—uh… I’m kind of seeing someone.”

The floor falls out from beneath him, and Mike drops with it, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He grits his teeth, trying to breathe normally—in through the nose, out through the mouth. This is about the last thing he expected you to confess.

It’s apparently taking too long for him to gather himself, because you say his name, “Miche?” and he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I’m here. It’s, uh, fine,” he lies. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” You sound worried, as you should because while Mike isn’t mad, he’s extremely disappointed, probably the most he’s ever been.

Taking a page out of your book, he tries to play it cool, act like he doesn’t care. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you—...” Met your mom? Learned your secrets? Tried to tell you that he loved you? All valid responses, but you just dismiss it with a quiet, “Nevermind.”

Mike hums, lets the line go silent for a while, then musters the courage to question, “Do I know him?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“What do you mean ‘you think so’?”

“I mean he’s mentioned you, so I figure you’ve had at least a few conversations.” You’re getting that sassy tone, the one that signals you want to drop the subject, but you can’t this time. You’ve already warned Mike that you’re off the god damn market. You might as well tell him who exactly he’s gonna see you holding hands and sucking face with. It’s the merciful thing to do.

“It’s not one of the Pike guys, is it?”

“No, no,” you laugh and it makes Mike want to scream because he doesn’t find this amusing at all, and it only gets worse when you finally answer, “It’s Zeke Jaeger.”

Mike nearly hangs up then and there, but he somehow fights the urge. He does hold his phone away from his ear, though, stares up at his ceiling for a few seconds and stretches his arm out, then brings the device back. “Cool. He’s a… Talented dude.”

“Yeah, but I mean, I’m not exactly starstruck or anything. Not after hangin’ out with you all of last year.”

Mike rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out of his skull. “You don’t have to make this about me, ba—...” He catches himself before finishing the pet name. He can’t do that anymore. He can’t call you what he wants to. He can’t flirt or smooth hair out of your face. He can’t pick you up and hold you against the walls of the house. He can’t show you how much he cares for you.

“I know. I just feel kinda bad,” you mumble.

“You shouldn’t. It’s cool.” His flat tone is anything but cool, and you can probably tell, but there’s not much Mike can do about that.

You’re pouting when you question, “You’ll still be my friend?” Mike can see the expression without actually seeing it, the doe eyed look you’d be giving him if he were in front of you right now. He can also imagine looping his arms around you and smiling crookedly and kissing your forehead, and fuck, he feels broken.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Shouldn’t even be a question.”

“Good.”

You lapse into another silence, just breathing and waiting for the other to break. It’s you who does. You clear your throat and state one more time, “I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks.”

“See you in a few days.”

“Yeah,” Mike is barely listening at this point, just looks at the poster on the wall and lets it fall out of focus. “See ya’.”

You don’t hang up immediately, like you’re waiting for him to say something else, but Mike saves you the trouble and presses the ‘end’ button on his phone then tosses it on his pillow and falls back onto the mattress.

He just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand any of it. You’ve gone an entire year denying him, keeping yourself closed off and never once bringing up the possibility of actually being together. After all the time spent together, after all the date parties, all the sex, staying at each others’ houses. He feels like he knows you better than anyone else probably does. You let him in. You let yourself be vulnerable in front of him. You acted like you trusted him.

So, why isn’t he your first choice? As soon as you realized you were ready to make a fucking commitment to someone, why wasn’t it him?

Mike doubts he’ll ever get the closure. He’ll just have to cope with seeing you around campus with Zeke god damn Jaeger, have to pretend like everything is fine, like you haven’t ripped his heart out of his fucking chest.

Unbearable. It’s going to be absolutely unbearable.

Moving somewhere new always blows. It takes so much energy that Mike doesn’t have, yet here he is, hauling bags and boxes up to his new apartment unit. Honestly, he would almost prefer to stay in the frat house instead of having to make all the trips up and down these god damn concrete stairs, but at least now he’ll finally be away from all the parties. That will definitely come in handy this year considering he’s not gonna want to go to a single fucking one of them.

Once all of his belongings are stacked in his fairly small living room, Mike glances around his new haven, already thinking about how empty it feels without all the guys milling about and dicking around. He doubts he’ll miss the constant noise, but it’s still something that will take some getting used to.

What he will miss is seeing you all the time, waking up in his old room to see you still fast asleep on his pillows, sitting in the main room with the others, heckling them as they play various games. He’s been focusing on the small things for the last couple of days, the things he never took the time to really enjoy. It feels like he didn’t stare long enough or laugh hard enough when he had the chance, and now he doesn’t know when his next opportunity to do either of those with you will be.

Mike scrubs a hand down his face, scratches the hair he’s let grow out a little too much, then slowly begins to unpack his things. He’s being melodramatic, he knows, but he can’t help it. He can either let himself feel sad, or he can let the unbridled fucking rage take over, and out of the two, he prefers the former.

Mike’s class schedule gets pinned to the wall in his bedroom. His laptop gets set up. Textbooks are tossed into a corner. He really doesn’t care to do much more than that, but he figures he should make the place at least a little presentable. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find someone to entertain.

The thought makes him a little sick to his stomach, but it’s a sensation he’s slowly getting used to as more time passes.

Mike knows he needs to pull himself together, needs to put on a brave face. Pretty soon all the frats will be dealing with the dirty rushers, all the kids who weren’t able or didn’t think to suck up to the brothers during the spring. Then there’s inductions and hazing… Fuck, fall semesters are so tedious even without living in the house. He’s never been a huge fan of it all, but he’s had this image to uphold since he became a pledge.

Now, Mike isn’t so sure he can keep that image in place.

He stays locked away for as long as he possibly can, but eventually there’s a knock on his front door—Erwin who shoots Mike a broad grin and wriggles his ridiculous eyebrows. “You ready, bro? Got a place all your own with no one to bother you—”

“You’re bothering me.”

“Can do whatever you want,” Erwin powers on, completely unfazed. “Bring back whoever you want, no pesky frat boys to get in your way ‘cause fuck those guys, right?” He goes to grab Mike’s shoulders while laughing at his own joke, but Mike swats him away.

It makes Erwin scoff, and then he’s pushing past Mike to get into his new home, looking around for just a second and breathing out a little, “Eesh,” before turning back and giving Mike a look of condescension. “Don’t tell me this bad mood is because of your little toy finding someone else.”

“Okay, firstly, fuck off,” Mike squints at him. “And, secondly, how do you already know about that?”

Erwin examines his manicured nails, buffs them on his shirt and tells Mike, “Saw her and Jaeger walking out of the bookstore earlier. They looked pretty cozy. Pretty giddy, too, all smiles and—”

“Shut. The fuck up.”

The other man snorts. “Calm down, dude. I’m sure you can get her back or whatever you’re trying to do. Zeke’s an assole. Won’t take her long to figure it out.”

“We’ll see.”

This time Mike lets Erwin clap a hand on his shoulder before he walks out but not without suggesting, “You really should brighten things up a little in here. Hang some fairy lights or something. Girls love fairy lights.”

Mike rolls his eyes, not bothering to remind his friend that he only started unpacking half an hour ago, then physically shoves Erwin out of his apartment.

So, you’re already walking around campus flaunting your new little fling, he thinks. Perfect. He’s really looking forward to seeing that everywhere.

Mike eventually has to go by the PKA house for a meeting. Some of the members are already discussing plans for rush week and parties. Should they have lists or just keep them open and direct everyone to the yard? Are they gonna stick to their regular forms of hazing or should they change things up this year? Did anyone stick out from spring? Mike doesn’t pay much attention, just scrolls through his phone skimming through the same three social media apps over and over. He reads through the text thread he shares with you, the one he’s never deleted, and thumbs all the way up to a few months ago just to see if anything had been different back then, if he had said or done something wrong.

But, he’s gone through it a dozen times already, and he never finds anything. Maybe you just grew while he was away, experienced some kind of self-actualization that prepared you for an actual relationship.

Or, maybe Zeke just has something that Mike doesn’t.

Mike runs into you on the second day of classes. Thankfully, you’re alone, and as soon as you catch sight of him, you grin widely and launch yourself at him. It comes as a surprise, your full weight hitting him square in the chest when you jump, and he has to catch you like you’re an excited child.

It’s too close. You’re too close. Body against his as you slide down to your actual height and rest your head on his chest.

“I missed you, Zacharias.”

He wants to lift you up again, lock your thighs around his waist and kiss you like he used to. Instead, Mike pats the top of your head and gently untangles you from himself. He makes sure to smile when you look up at him, and he’s glad you aren’t pouting or frowning, your expression soft when he tells you, “Yeah, I missed you too.”

He asks how your summer classes went. You ask what his course load is like this semester. It’s just small talk, and Mike hates it.

“How’re your parents?” You question like you’re interested, but he can’t imagine you actually are.

“They’re good,” he shrugs. “Dad got a promotion at work a few weeks ago. Mom is doing the same shit she always does.” Like, making his favorite meals to heal his poor little broken heart. Mike hadn’t even told her about the conversation he’d had with you, and yet, as soon as he came out of his room the following morning, she just knew.

“Glad to hear it,” you nod. “Hey, do you wanna grab lunch or something? My next class isn’t til two, so I’m tryin’ to kill some time.”

“Actually, I told Erwin I’d meet him,” Mike lies through his teeth. He’ll be using excuses like that for as long as he can. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool,” you wave him off. “I’ll just grab Hitch or—”

“There you are.” Mike stiffens at the vaguely familiar voice ringing out from behind him, hand flexing by his side as the school’s golden boy walks right past him and to you. “I was looking all over for you.”

“Well, here I am,” you laugh, but Mike notes how forced it sounds. It’s a laugh that stems from nerves, he thinks. But why? Is it because Mike is here? Are you afraid of how he’ll act? Or, is it that you’re still in the phase of this “relationship” with Zeke that you’re still anxious around him?

The other man doesn’t even acknowledge Mike for a full twenty seconds. He heavily considers just walking away without a word, but the blond does eventually turn around to look at him and shows a smile that Mike would describe as slimy but you would probably call charming.

“Zacharias,” Zeke greets and holds out a hand. “It’s been a minute.”

Mike doesn’t like the way he says his last name. He only likes the way his friends say it. How you say it. Even if it started off as a way to keep your distance, he grew fond of it. Not as fond as his given name, of course, but hearing those four syllables from your mouth, always laced with attitude, never fails to make him smile.

“Yeah, it has,” Mike agrees, clasping hands with him.

He immediately feels Zeke stick his index finger out over his wrist, an attempt of taking control of the shake. Mike has seen it too many times to count, the petty attempt to flip hands so that one man’s is on top of the other. It’s a terrible way to flaunt one’s masculinity or power, and it’s never worked on Mike.

His hand is quite a bit larger than most people’s, after all. It’s definitely larger than Zeke’s, so when he tries to turn it, Mike doesn’t have a problem keeping his wrist straight.

The blond has to look up at him, actually tilt his head back because Mike has a good five inches on him, and after a couple more seconds, Zeke gives up on the pathetic display of dominance. That doesn’t stop Mike from squeezing his palm just a little too hard, though, just enough to see the muscles in Zeke’s jaw twitch.

When he lets go he chances a glance at you, finding you rubbing your temples. You mumble something Mike can’t hear, probably about men being stupid because there’s no way that little show escaped your notice.

Zeke steps over to you once again and asks the same question you had asked Mike—”You wanna get lunch, babe?”

Hearing him calling you that causes Mike’s blood to bubble in his veins, blistering from the inside out. It’s time for him to leave.

“Yeah, sure,” you nod. Eyes flicking back to Mike, you force another smile and tell him, “See you around.”

The two of you walk off, and Mike watches for just a little too long as Zeke laces his fingers with yours. Once you’re both a safe distance away, the fucker looks back at Mike from over his shoulder and smirks at him.

Mike has long legs. He could easily catch up to you and punch Zeke square in the jaw, make his head snap to the side so that he drops to the ground.

But, what would you think of that? There’s no way you’d be happy with him, and if there’s one thing that would be worse than Mike having to see you parade around with someone who isn’t him, it would be you ignoring him completely.

The first couple of weeks are honestly a blur. Too much is happening for Mike to focus on. The only thing that seems real to him is the ache in his chest. It distracts him day in and day out, through the late rushers and all the sucking up, through the first couple of parties, bid day and the first rounds of hazing. It’s just always there.

He is notably quieter when in the house, and it seems like everyone knows why. While Erwin pokes fun at him for his moodiness, Nile takes a more adult approach and simply asks how he’s doing, if he needs anything, going as far as offering, “You need me to punch that dude in the throat? Plant drugs in his bag? I’m pretty sure Gelgar has coke on his person at all times.”

He’s a good guy. Mike is glad he got voted in as PKA President this year despite Erwin giving him a run for his money. Nile is just personable enough to bring members in and have a good time at events, and just controlling enough to make sure things in the house are taken care of. Plus, Erwin doesn’t seem too broken up about getting Vice instead.

It’s a relief when lacrosse starts back up, finally gives him a way to get some of his frustration out. The other teams have never been luckier to be wearing helmets otherwise Mike would have broken several noses within the first game alone.

The season has some overlap with baseball, games scheduled on the same day, sometimes at the same time. Mike keeps himself from looking into the stands to try to find you, scared that you’ll be there or scared that you won’t be, he isn’t sure.

And, of course, Zeke’s face is plastered everywhere after he pitches a perfect fucking game. Mike wants to be angry, wants to spit on the flyers and punch every computer that’s displaying the college’s home screen, but if he’s being honest with himself, he knows that if it were anyone else, Mike would be impressed. Pitching a perfect game is pretty fucking cool, and the school is lucky to have a player as talented as Zeke, but god, what Mike wouldn’t do to just curbstomp him.

Your name still lights up on his phone fairly often to ask how games went or how his classes are going. You’ve asked for help with homework on one occasion and lunch on another, but after Mike lies about only being able to walk you through the material over the phone and shoots you down for lunch, you seem to get the picture.

He doesn’t want it to be awkward between you, but he doesn’t know how to act now. His entire relationship with you started off as a drunken fuck, and it’s been mostly physical since then. How is he supposed to be able to spend time with you without touching you? Even the semester you refused to hook up with him, there were still times when you were both actively fighting the temptation. Mike can remember seeing it in your eyes all the time, probably just as often as you’d see it in his. You’d sit with a leg pressed against his, fall asleep on his arm every once in a while, and he wants that back now, but there’s no way the two of you can do that anymore. He doesn’t possess the same self-control.

Over the weekend, you end up cracking and trying again, asking for help with studying for a quiz, and Mike has to contemplate it for at least fifteen minutes before he gives in.

Coffee shop on 7th? you text him, and Mike chuckles to himself. The only places you’ve ever studied together is at the library or in his room, and while he could only get as far as a hand between your legs in the school building, he would usually end up in bed with you whenever going over something behind closed doors.

It makes sense that you want to go to a busier place, more eyes to watch you. It’s irritating, but he understands.

Mike grabs one of his own textbooks from the previous year, the one he actually bought so that he could highlight and take notes in the margins, then makes his way to the little cafe.

He’s been to this particular shop many times before, with you as well as the girls who came before—the ones that never mattered. Mike easily spots you at a little table by the window, your own book and several papers spread out around you. When you see him, you grin then hurry to clear a space for him, organizing what Mike recognizes as reading guides.

“Hey, stranger," you greet.

Mike nods, eyes landing on the green hoodie you’re wearing, the one that covers too much of you, that spills over the tops of your legging clad thighs and hides your little hands. It’s his, but it’s always looked better on you. The fact that you still wear it makes Mike’s heart swell a tiny bit as he takes his seat. The sun is hitting you just right and making your face glow, making your eyes twinkle, and he doesn’t know if he can do this.

“So, what d’you need help with?” He prompts before he can make up his mind to turn right back around.

You slide one of the guides over to him and point out several circled questions. The blanks are filled in, but you ask him, “Why?” dramatically. “None of that makes sense to me.”

Mike laughs through his nose and glances at the page your textbook is flipped to so he can open his own.

“Why’d you keep your book from last year?”

He glances up before turning it to show the highlighted lines, the starred passages, the little annotations for better understanding.

“One, because I worked hard on making it better, and two,” he feels his mouth curl up, the teasing coming naturally when he tells you, “I figured you’d probably benefit from it.”

You squint at him, scrunching your nose up, and Mike takes a mental snapshot to tuck away.

“Rude,” you utter.

He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. “I think ‘thank you’ is the term you’re looking for.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just explain this to me if you’re so smart.”

“You know I’m smart.”

Mike doesn’t understand where the casual back-and-forth is coming from. Is it easy because he's done it so many times before? Words tumble from his mouth before they actually cross his mind, and he’s both grateful (it’s better than the awkward small talk he thought he’d have to make) and worried. If he’s speaking without actually thinking things through, what else might he do before his brain catches up? Will he smooth hair out of your eyes? Will he brush his hand over yours? Will he stare at your lips for too long? All of those are habits he hasn’t managed to break yet, but he will break if he accidentally offends you by crossing any of these lines.

He sits with his hands tucked between his legs, only moving to flip a page or point something out with his pinky finger. He's reading upside down, and you're leaning over the tabe, staring at the book then staring at him. Mike tries to look through you instead of at you, but it's hard as you let out a little oh! when something clicks or pouting when it doesn't.

"I still don't get it."

So, Mike finds different ways of explaining things because he knows this information very well now. It's still pretty fresh in his brain, and he may or may not have reviewed some of it when he saw how many of your classes matched up with his.

"Okay, I feel a lot better," you sigh once Mike has gone through every page.

Mike is more or less sitting on his hands at this point, gritting his teeth behind the grin plastered on his face because this is the part where he asks if you wanna go back to the house. This is the part where you wind down together, watching dumb TV shows or pawing at each other, rolling in his bed and laughing and moaning. That's what's supposed to happen.

"Alright, well, if that's it, I should get going," Mike tries, stretching his arms out and nearly smacking the person sitting behind him right in the head.

You snort, cover your mouth, and look away. It's what you always do. You can't look at him when you start laughing or you'll just laugh harder and harder, and while Mike adores it, the general public usually does not.

But, then Mike is snickering because he can feel the stranger trying to burn holes in the back of his skull, has to bite his fist to keep himself quiet, and when you chance a glance and see, you slam your head down on the table, whole body shaking with giggles.

It's always the little things that get you. On one of the walks with Scout over Spring Break, Mike had tripped over a stick on the trail. He managed to catch himself, but Jesus Christ, you didn't stop laughing for ten minutes.

"God fucking—" he's starting to lose it too as he stands and gathers your supplies from the table, tucking them all under one arm then using his other to pull you out of your seat. "We have to leave before they make us."

You hide your face in your hands, trusting Mike to guide you by the shoulders, and once you're both outside, you belly laugh until you wave your arms and gasp, "I can't—I can't breathe—I can't breathe!" Your voice is all high pitched and hysterical, and all Mike can do is bring you to his chest so that you can let your giggles die off in the privacy of his t-shirt.

He can feel your breath through the material as you calm down, eventually looking up and wiping tears from your eyes as you continue to grin.

Mike tilts his face down to stare at you, aware that all of his affections are shining right through his eyes, but he doesn't care because you don't seem to.

“You’re a fucking dork,” he hums, has a fully conscious thought of touching your face—no accident, no impulse, a complete, coherent, thought, so he does it. He just does it. Palm over your cheek, thumb gently tracing to wipe away another tear from your little fit.

You let out a long exhale, close your eyes and hum, then reach up to cover Mike's hand with yours.

Your fingers lock into the spaces between his, and you hold on for a few seconds before letting your hand fall, taking his with it. And, just like that, all the good feelings that had grown inside of him over the course of the study session disappear.

"Miche," you sigh, still holding onto two of his fingers.

He smiles in a way that makes you frown, then mumbles, "Yeah, I know."

After handing your supplies back, Mike kisses you on the top of the head before you can stop him, then turns and starts walking toward the street his apartment is on.

"Why are you always wearing that hoodie?"

You look up from your laptop just as Zeke steps out of his room freshly showered and shirtless. It's a sight that should probably make your mouth water, but instead it's gone dry at his question.

"Oh, uh, I don't really know," you bullshit. "It's just big and comfortable, I guess."

Zeke uses the towel around his neck to dry his hair a little better, questions, "Well, whose is it?" while his face is slightly obscured.

If you pause, he'll probably be suspicious. If you answer, he will also be suspicious. And, you can't really blame him. People know you on campus as Mike Zacharias' friend or girlfriend or plaything or whatever. You assume Zeke having to walk around with that hanging over his head is pretty annoying.

"Oh, wait," he starts before you can answer. Squinting without his glasses, he grumbles, "That's one of the lacrosse hoodies, isn't it?"

You look down at the cracked logo and try not to smile at it. "Yeah. It's one of Mike's old ones."

"Right." He pads over to you and takes your laptop from your legs despite your protests of being in the middle of an online assignment, setting it on the coffee table behind him. Then, using one arm to brace himself on the back of the couch, Zeke holds himself above you and takes your chin between two fingers so that he can tilt your face and kiss you.

It makes you melt. It always does. Your heart beats like a drum in your chest for about two seconds before it relaxes into a subtle thrumming, a white noise that drowns out everything else.

You straighten your back in an attempt to get closer, but Zeke pulls away ever so slightly, makes you chase after his lips and you do. You do because you want more, want him.

It's been weeks now and the farthest you've gotten with him, the farthest he's let you get with him, was the series of harsh kisses he'd ladened you with up against his front door a few days ago. He'd pushed your shirt up and shoved a knee between your legs, giving you something to grind against, but it never progressed to anything more.

You don't understand. It's not like he's never had sex. You've heard girls talk about him on campus, how he'd been seeing so-and-so for a couple months in freshman year, fucked some other chick at a party, etc., etc.

Then you'd met his actual ex the other day, one he dated officially for a semester last year before breaking things off. Her name is Rhi. She's very pretty. And, she had pulled Zeke into a full blown conversation without looking at you once. The way she batted her eyes and smiled at him, twisting her hair and shoving at him playfully—Oh yeah. She's definitely seen him naked.

You didn't say anything about it for a while, just stewed in silence until Zeke finally sighed and asked, "What would you like to know?"

He'd given you the vague outline—met her in class, studied together, decided to date, left her to focus on baseball. That excuse hit a little too close to home, but you'd let it roll off your shoulders.

The point is Zeke has fucked other girls, but he won't fuck you, and you need to know why because you're starting to get desperate. It's not a good look. It's one you never wanted to wear, but the way he stares at you and the way he talks to you, always pointing out your strengths, encouraging you, complimenting you is intoxicating.

When Zeke's eyes are on you, it’s like you're the most important person in the room. He has some ability to make you feel that way, to make everyone feel that way you realized one night after a game. People flock to him. They want to listen to what he has to say. They want to agree with him where he can see.

It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't met him, but the best way you can describe it (a way only a few people will understand) is that he has a twenty for charisma. He's talented and smart and engaging, can convince anyone of anything the same way he's convinced you that he wants you.

Hand slipping behind your arching back, Zeke presses you against him for just a moment, then drops onto the couch next to you only to tug you on top of him.

You're already breathing too heavily, clutching his face in both your hands as you grind your hips against his. He squeezes your ass, smirking against your mouth when you whimper, then moves his hands to push both the hoodie and your shirt off.

You lift your arms, letting Zeke strip you as your mind grows hazy. He mutters more to himself than to you, a low, "Get this shit off," then carelessly tosses your clothes over the armrest.

Fingers climb up your ribs, almost tickling, making you squirm in his lap. You can feel that he's getting hard, thank god. This just might be the night, please fucking let it be.

You've never been a big fan of terms like ‘blue-balls’ or ‘blue-bean’, never even thought it existed, and it really doesn't; it's just a form of manipulation, of guilting your partner into sex, and you know this because you've had an entire rant about it prepared since high school, but right now, in this particular moment, you're aching. Your insides ache. Your clit aches. You just want—

Zeke pinches one of your nipples hard enough to clear your head for a second, causes you to cry out and pull back. He lets go, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches you and flicks over the sore bud with a fingertip.

"Zeke," you breathe, body trembling.

"What is it, baby?" He coos.

"I—"

He snakes a hand between the two of you, ridding you of any and all thoughts as he rubs over your covered pussy. You're almost positive that if he keeps doing it, you'll start to leak through your leggings, right into his hand.

Panting, an old track plays in the back of your head, a deep voice, breathy and promising, gonna fuck you dry tonight.

You lean forward to kiss Zeke again, letting him suck and bite hard enough to make the frown on your face look natural, like he put it there.

Flames are licking up and down your legs, then your arms, but even though it's Zeke's lap you're sitting in and Zeke's tongue in your mouth and Zeke's fingers massaging your pussy, it's suddenly Mike you're thinking about, and well… That can't be good.

You tangle your hands in Zeke's hair, the different texture bringing you back to reality. His thick beard is scratching against your face. His bare torso is wiry with muscle and pressed to yours. He moves his hand and raises his hips to meet yours, a groan catching in his throat. It looks like he's finally losing his composure, cheeks flushed, eyes are foggy. When you break away, he licks away the string of spit holding you together, tongue running over his lip seductively.

"Can we—" you start, but Zeke speaks at the same time.

"It's getting late."

Blinking at him, you find yourself experiencing too many emotions to actually identify a single one. You feel your eyebrows knit together, but it’s more from your confusion than it is your frustration.

But, you don’t want to be frustrated. You don’t want to be or look upset about not getting sex. That would make you a terrible person, and you’re not about to make him feel bad for not being ready to take that step with you. You’ve been on the receiving end of that, and it doesn’t feel good.

The amount of times you’ve had to masturbate in the last few weeks is a little fucking ridiculous, though.

Nodding mostly to yourself to get your thoughts back in line, you slide off of Zeke to stand up. Your hand is trembling when you reach for your clothes, heat still coursing through you, but you manage to gently grab them from the couch rather than snatch them.

Shirt and hoodie back in place, you gather your things, feeling Zeke’s gaze on you the entire time. You don’t say anything, just nibble on your bottom lip as you run over all the events that took place over the night, what you possibly did wrong, what turned him off or just failed to turn him on in the first place.

After slipping everything back into your bag, Zeke finally gets to his feet and takes it from you, walking with you outside to your car.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he tells you, the picture of calm and collected while your body remains buzzing.

“Okay, yeah.”

He puts your stuff in the front passenger seat, shuts the door, and gives you a sweet little peck that you wish lasted longer.

Zeke says good night, begins walking back to the building, but stops and calls to you right before you shrink into the car.

Even from this distance, you can tell he’s looking you dead in the eye, face suddenly very serious when he tells you, “You can go ahead and stop wearing that hoodie.”

* For the first time since the semester started, lacrosse and baseball games do not overlap one another, and you're able to spend the warm afternoon in the stands, cheering on the friends you made over the last year.

The home team is dominating, Mike and Erwin are too fucking quick for their opponents to get in the way of. The way the ball just flies back and forth between them, like a game of keep-away, shows just how on-the-same-page they are. The other guys are good too, doing a spectacular job of staying one leg ahead, defending their star players and assisting in the offensive effort.

The last goal is made by Mike who launches the ball from the center of the field right into the goal, and both the crowd and the teams lose their fucking minds.

You're up on your feet screaming and clapping, voice breaking as your shrill cry tears your throat. You know you're being drowned out by everyone around you, but as Mike gets lauded for being the god he is—putting up with backslaps and hugs and a headlock from Erwin—he still manages to find you in the second row, grinning in that crooked way you love so much.

You don't know exactly when that started happening, probably sometime after Spring break. Or, maybe it was there since the beginning, just laying dormant at the back of your head so that you could focus on denying him.

It doesn't really matter now since you're actually with someone. That someone isn't around right now, but he's in your thoughts as your chest fills with affection and pride for your friend.

Erwin is shouting about another open party, and your mind is made up to not attend because Zeke wouldn't appreciate it, but then Mike is suddenly lifting himself onto the raised, concrete stands and pointing at you, and before you know it, you're hopping down the next bleacher without a care for the fans who have to lean out of the way.

He's incredibly sweaty as you wrap your arms around his neck, but you don't mind. You were so convinced he would be mad at you or try to avoid you.

You're very aware that you had hurt him by getting with Zeke, and while he had been pretty guarded for the first few weeks, he's opened up some since that day in the coffee shop, when you'd nearly giggled yourself to death. You hadn't expected that to be what cracked his walls, especially considering how that visit had ended, but you're glad that it did.

"Haven't seen you cheering for me in a while," Mike laughs next to your ear.

He's dizzy with adrenaline, swaying back and forth as he squeezes you, and you tell him, "If you make us fall, I will beat you up, I swear."

"Okay," he says in a stupid voice of obvious disbelief, "Whatever you say."

You've been texting more, going over homework together, though you haven't needed his help in-person since he had switched books with you that day. It had been so smooth and subtle, you didn't realize until you opened it to study the following day, immediately noticing all the notes and highlights.

It had made you cry like a little bitch in the middle of your dorm, and you called Mike to thank him without bothering to hide your tears and hiccups.

"Come to the party tonight," he demands, but it's so soft, like he's still giving you a chance to say no.

The crowd is still yelling, so you have to keep speaking into each other's ears, and you ask, "Why? All the Pike parties are sticky and gross."

"'Cause we haven't gotten drunk together in a while," Mike states in the form of a whine.

You snort, feeling his hair dripping onto your shoulder. You should probably be disgusted, but it's not the first time you've gotten sweaty with him, and it's definitely not the worst bodily fluid he's made a mess on you with.

"You know what happens when we get drunk together," you remind him with a smile he can't see. "Can't do that anymore."

"I promise I'll behave."

That's not the problem. You don't know if you can behave. You've been wound up for over a month now, and it is driving you insane. No matter how many times you get off alone in your room at night, you still ache as if you're being edged.

So, getting fucked up with someone you know for a fact can fuck you stupid… probably not the best idea.

"Miche," you protest, drawing his name out.

"Just think about it."

He leaves you with that, hopping down and walking away with his arms in the air as everyone surrounding you cheers for him until he disappears. You just stand there amidst the noise, shirt now wet as you contemplate the pros and cons of going to another PKA party.

As always, Zeke asks what your plans are for the night, but for the first time since you met him, you lie. * King's Cup and Rage Cage and Beer Pong galore. Party-goers are pooling onto the lawn, and you're just waiting for campus police to show because of the chaos, but you're not necessarily scared of it. So you go to jail for a couple days. Worse things could happen.

Currently, you and Mike are sitting on the sidewalk nursing beers and giggling at the new pledges who keep running around the house in less and less clothes.

"Honestly, this isn't that bad," Mike tells you. "Erwin suggested we make them all watch snuff together."

You give him an incredulous look as you raise the glass bottle to your mouth. "Erwin is a god damn psychopath, what the fuck."

"We had to do it and didn't turn out too bad."

"And, just like that, I'm scared of you."

Mike laughs before sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling as a brawny blond speeds past in nothing but boxers—Reiner, you think his name is.

There are only a few new guys who stick out to you—that one, a long-faced kid named Jean, freckle boy Marco, and, naturally, Zeke's younger brother, Eren. He sorta skeeves you out, so you've been doing your best to stay out of his sight despite never formally meeting him before.

"Kid's kind of a prick, a little too cocky. Always talking about how he's related to Zeke, or should I say your lo-ver," Mike chuckles, sounding amused, but he still downs the rest of his beer afterward.

You let out a little growl, just drunk enough to be too honest, and grumble, "Not my lover. Also, I would never use that term. So cringey."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's weird and dramat—"

"No," Mike cuts you off, "What do you mean about him not being that?"

You fall back on the concrete, bumping the back of your head a little too hard and scrunching your face up.

"We haven't had sex. The dude just will not fuck me for some reason."

"Are you serious?"

You glance at Mike and find his eyes wide in alarm.

"As a heart attack. I have never been so frustrated in my entire life."

You probably shouldn't be talking about this with him, one, because you assume it's like twisting a knife right in Mike's gut and two, because the more you drink, the less self-control you have.

He grunts then tosses his bottle into the yard for some poor pledge to slip on.

"His loss."

"Whatever. I'm sure he'll come around eventually," you sigh then sit back up. "And, until then, I guess I'm practicing celibacy or some shit."

Mike laughs hard at that, and it makes you smack him on the arm. "Yeah, good luck with that."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying," he raises his hands. "You're, like, the neediest person I know."

"Excuse the fuck outta me?"

"In the bedroom, dummy. Obviously not all the time."

This is not at all where you wanted this conversation to go. The more you think about it, the more you feel that ache, the more you want to quell it.

"We should change the subject."

Mike looks at you, flipping hair out of his eyes and smiling like the cocky frat boy he pretends to be.

"Why? Gettin' all worked up."

"You are literally the worst."

You stand and finish your drink, throwing it a few feet away from Mike's as you tell him, "I need to get a little more fucked up if I'm gonna deal with your ass all night."

"Uh huh."

He follows you back inside, but while you make your way into the kitchen, Mike stops to talk with Erwin about one thing or another. It means he has to entertain the masses, talk about the game, and you post up against a wall to watch him.

You should leave. Mike is looking a little too attractive in his stupid fucking pastel polo, and you're supposed to meet Zeke for lunch tomorrow anyway. Zeke, your boyfriend.

Or, well, he hasn't said it explicitly, but you hold hands in public and ignore other people, just make it obvious that both of you aren't interested in anyone else.

Except when Mike sidles up to you with foggy eyes and a smirk he hasn't worn around you in a long time, you groan at the thought that you are interested in someone else. Even if it's just one night, god, you need it so bad. And, you know Mike can give it to you. Exactly the way you want it.

It's Zeke's fault, really. You know he knows how desperate you're getting. If he'd just explain why he doesn't want to have sex, you could deal with it much better than you are now, but he continues to leave you in the dark. It makes you think you're doing something wrong.

Then, there's the problem of feeling like the shittiest person alive every time you get frustrated. You've spent nights trying to rationalize it, but it's hard to think straight when you're so, undeniably horny.

"Don't look at me like that," you tell Mike with a scoff.

"Why not?"

"'Cause you said you'd behave tonight."

He cocks his head to the side and makes a face. "Did I? That doesn't sound like something I'd say to you."

"Oh my god, you're impossible. And, drunk."

"I'm not really that drunk," he waves you off. "It takes more than a few beers to get me fucked up, remember? Downfall of being this large."

Jesus, he really is rubbing it in your face now. Wide with muscle and so fucking tall. Not to mention his—

"I really cannot do this, Miche," you try again, gritting your teeth when his pupils dilate. "Zeke would be so pissed."

"So? Come on, just one more time. I didn't know the last time would be the last time."

You hadn't either. You don't know what you would have done differently had you known—maybe just taken the time to appreciate his incredible body more—but it doesn't matter now.

You try to sound firm and irritated when you snap, "You know you're being kinda manipulative, right?"

Mike tilts his head back as if you just shoved it, blinks a couple times, then swears out loud. "Oh, fuck." He takes a step away, eyes clear for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sorry. I didn't even—"

"It's fine," you wave. "I just wanted you to know. I'm drunk and you're hot, and I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke."

"Yeah, I get it. Fuck. If you, like, wanna leave, I won't stop you. It was a joke, and then it wasn’t a joke and—That was a shit thing to do."

"Little bit, but you get a pass this time," you laugh through your nose. "Just don't go pulling that bullshit on some unsuspecting freshman or anything."

He runs a hand through his hair, red with embarrassment, and you think to yourself, Mike is a good guy. One of the best. You don't know of many who would take that kind of criticism to heart—how many would feel genuinely guilty. It is college, and every girl knows the trend of fratty sports players getting off scot-free after being charged with sexual assault. Given his status at the school, Mike could definitely do something like that and get away with it.

But, he would never.

You push him gently to show you aren't mad, tell him, "I still wanna hang out with you. We don't get to as much as we used to."

Mike's small smile looks relieved as he takes a deep breath. "This isn't exactly the best place to just chill, but—"

"I haven't seen your new apartment yet."

You regret it as soon as it comes out of your mouth, your little tune changing ridiculously quickly, but you can't deny that you're curious. He's still your best friend, and you want to know what he's done with his new place. Is it bland like his old room in the house, or did he let his real personality show through?

"You sure?" He questions.

"Yeah. We can just, like, play video games or something."

"Are you sure?"

He must feel terrible. You can relate.

"If you don't want me over, just say so," you snort.

"No, no, of course I do. I just don't want you to feel weird about being alone or anything."

"Nah, like you said, you're not really drunk. I'll sober up with water. We'll be fine."

You don't know if you're trying to convince him or yourself. Without the presence of alcohol, you should be able to keep it together, and the distraction of Zelda or Mario will surely help.

"Okay, yeah," Mike nods. "Let's go then."

You don't even bother finishing your drink, just set it on a countertop and follow him out to his Wrangler. It's been a while since you've ridden in it. It's been a while since you've ridden him, your brain helpfully supplies, and as you pull up to the unfamiliar apartment complex, you once again begin to think that this was a bad idea.

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #snk x reader

187 notes · View notes

starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Dove

Pairing | Roman Sionis x reader

Summary | there is another little birdie that Roman spends his time with, one that coos away from the spotlight and remains hidden. She is his dove, the love that he refrains from sharing with anyone, a prisoner that does not realised that she is locked in a cage.

Warnings | mentions of violence, can be perceived as imprisonment of reader or not if you want, difficulty with getting pregnant, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Canary walked into the apartment of the boss, nervous to begin her first day at being Roman Sionis’ driver. Initially, the woman hadn’t been sure what to expect of the living space above the club, she suspected that it would be in a similar

She hadn’t asked for a promotion, the woman was content with bellowing her voice in stage, singing like a bird. But now, as a consequence for protecting the Harley Quinn, she was now a driver, a replacement for the one that no longer had the ability to move a vehicle from place to place.

Sionis’ home if it could be called that, was above the club, perched as a nest so that the man behind it all could see everything that occurred around. The windows, large and perfect for viewing out of, were great scopes out into the bustling city, to which the Black Mask brought some fear out into.

He was a killer, that was known. A torturer, a face that Gotham feared. It was merely circumstance for how Dinah ended up working for him in the first place. It was not at all what she had been aiming for, the singing gig was as far as she had assumed she would get, but now, she was starting a new and more personal job for the same scheming man.

But it appeared that she was not the only dame in Gotham that was given the request to walk into the home of Roman Sionis, for a lavished and well clothed woman stood, staring like a songbird out towards the outside world. Her eyes were cast down, surely watching the commotion that riled the streets on a daily basis.

“Ah, there you are.” The voice belonging to Roman Sionis abruptly made Dinah inwardly jump, though she didn’t allow the surprise to dictate to her body. Instead, she turned around to face the mobster, adjoined by Victor that followed after hun, an shrewd smile ragged on his face. “My new driver, are you ready for your first day.”

“Singing was kinda my thing but -“ she watched his expression fade to one folded with creases and instead plastered on a smile, quickly changing the direction of her sentence, “yes, I am. I’m not the worst driver, though, it was a shame of what happened to the last one, concerning the fault of Harley Quinn.”

Sionis rolled his eyes at the mention of the jester like woman, making a noise of disgust, before adding details to Canary’s perception. “He deserved it, that man was bound to get into trouble somewhen, the only difference is that he kept his face. He had a frequent thirst to make my dove uncomfortable, isn’t that right my lovely?”

The woman faced away from the window, glancing convincingly towards the man that had just spoken to her. Not saying a word, she nodded, feeling all the eyes except her own that were present within the premises of the room were on her. It wasn’t much different to normal, but it was a vow she had taken, she did not speak to anyone besides Roman.

Doves mated for life, and within their relationship, she insisted that she treat him the same, which was where the nickname that she had so idly been called had originated from. She was loyal to this man, who was powerful and wealthy all on his own, and that proved alone that she needed nothing more than him to be the centre of the world.

“Hi, I’m Dinah.” She attempted to greet herself, but all that she earned from the spoilt woman was a blank stare, as though she were processing the woman. “Is she okay?” Her question was directed towards either or out of the men, and assumed, it was one of them whom responded instead of her.

“Y/n.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his own, and inside, her stomach crawled as she looked up into his stern gaze. To her relief, he turned back to Dinah, after dismissing her of the title of a white bird, and striking an induction of anxiety within her gut. “She doesn’t speak to anyone, it is difficult for her to trust anyone, let alone exchange worlds with them. Is that not right dove?”

Biting her lip, to reduce the sounds of whimpers that were threatening to spill from her mouth, she stiffly nodded her head, causing a grin to smother the man’s face. “Today, Canary, you will be taking me and y/n to the clinic, we have an important appointment to attend to, is that not right my lovely girl?”

Again she nodded, feeling a pit of happiness swell in the space of her womb. She could feel her dreams moving closer to the reality that she silently lived in, the things that she greatly wanted within her reach.

“I’ll go and start the car.” Dinah announced, wanting nothing more to leave the room. The atmosphere had not at all been uncomfortable in the slightest, but it was strange to see the extraordinary owner of the club that she had worked up appear so domesticated. Though, she thought y/n to be anything but, it was as though she were scared to allow any truths to mumble from her dormant tongue.

She was sure that no one in the entire city had seen the woman out in the open and free. It would not be a surprise if she were imprisoned in that apartment, though it was confusing, for it did not seem like she wanted to leave. Instead, it appeared as though she was scared of anyone else that was not Roman.

Usually, people usually feared him, knowing full well of what he was capable of. Though, instead, y/n was comfortable in his presence, which was one strange thing out of many. Dinah was extracted from her thoughts as the back doors suspended open, the happy couple entering the vehicle, and adjusting their seat belts. “Which clinic?” She asked, glancing back in the rear view mirror at the pair.

Roman had his gloved hands trailing up the thighs of his dove, as though they were sleek platforms of ice, and his fingers were dancing upon the frozen surface. “The one around south, a few miles before that place that sells the terrible artwork.” His taste in everything gave have her an initial and well acquainted idea with what place that he was on about, and thus she started the vehicle.

The strong woman remained in silence, copying y/n’s frequent behaviour as she drove, noticing her small gestures towards the elder man. Her nose rubbed around his collar, directly breathing in the fog of his aftershave, which Dinah could smell already from the distance of the front seat. Though, it appeared sweet as the pair brushed specks of stray hairs out of the others eyes, and padded down their blazers.

Finally, the driver stopped, watching as the pair abandoned the vehicle, and went inside of the small corporative building, hand in hand. Roman’s grip was much tougher than her own, squeezing all human feeling out of her palm, half dragging her inside. Both seemed to appear eager for what lay inside, though, Dinah did not share their enthusiasm.

She had no idea of how long they would be within the clinic, and thus, she had to wait for their return before she could steer and leave. Absentmindedly, she picked the skin around her nails as she waited for Roman and y/n to come back out to the car, the wait feeling like forever as she put on the radio, bobbing her head subtly the tune that she often heard on nights out.

The driver was fast to snap her head up as she heads footsteps, and they belonged to her cruising passengers, that seemed rather deflated. Their once relaxed and worry free mood was nowhere in sight, and instead, when opening the door for y/n and climbing in afterwards, he slammed the expensive door, crossing his arms in thought.

“Is everything okay boss?” She warily asked, feeling as his eyes sent daggers towards her once she used her voice. He released a prominent scoff, shaking his head disappointedly at her enquiry. Roman repeated her question to himself, arrogantly laughing at it.

“No it’s fucking not! I don’t ask for anything, I do what I am supposed to, and the world cannot even let my dove bare my child!” He sulked in his seat, pouting profusely out the window as he once again took in the truth behind his words.

Dinah knew better than to speak, and instead left Roman and his endless rant uninterrupted. Though, as she adjusted the rear view mirror, she caught a glimpse of y/n, smirking quite pleased with the state that her lover had gotten into. It slightly scared Canary, finding the situation that she was mulling over to be silent but deadly.

So far, it was all quite clear. She did not want to carry the child of the business man, and the results that she had received were anything but a curse. She liked to think of them more as a godsend and a blessing.

#roman sionis x reader #roman sionis x you #roman sionis imagine #imagines #imagine #xreader #dc imagines #birds of prey x reader #roman x reader #Roman Sionis one shot #roman sionis fluff #Roman Sionis angst #roman sionis fanfiction #Roman Sionis fic #ewan mcgregor x reader #Ewan x reader #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor fanfiction

248 notes · View notes

immortalcoelacanth · 4 years

Text

Between the Walls, Chapter 1: Roommates (Dream SMP fic)

I've noticed there's an unfortunate lack in Borrower AU content, and as that shit is my jam I'm putting forth the content I wish to see into the fandom XD

To quote my friend, "I do not control the hyperfixation"

Word count: 4497

Summary: At first retirement had sounded like an excellent idea. Make a house far away from everyone else, get some peace and quiet, no longer concern himself with the total garbage that was the local government. Nice things, relaxing things.…

But then the scratching in the walls started happening.

Techno groaned as he flopped backwards into his chair, tired eyes staring into the glowing fireplace as he relaxed after his busy day. A day full of building, repairing the damage dealt by the creeper population, and…

A day spent trying to find any signs of his thief.

You see, Techno had assumed that retirement would be an excellent way to unwind from the massive amount of blood that had been shed after L’Manberg went up in smoke, as well as the aggravation he felt towards his sweet, innocent cows being slaughtered and his bunker being raided.

Raided and dismantled thanks to Phil stealing his bookshelves and in turn chunks of the wall.

It was scuffed, horribly scuffed, and left him with one option.

Relocation.

That, combined with the wanted posters Quackity had hung up demanding his capture and subsequent execution after what he had done. Honestly, talk about the biggest character arc for Quackity, going from fearing him to taking an active role in trying to end his life.

Too bad for him that Technoblade never dies.

But still, having to constantly deal with being attacked while no longer having a truly safe and secure base was troublesome, so he had sought out to make a new home far from L’Manberg and all other communities.

The isolation did not scare him, on the contrary he liked having a space all to his own with no worries about socialization or someone bothering him. Besides, Phil could always visit him if he wanted some company.

Fortunately, constructing his new home had taken relatively little time once he had found the best spot for it, and with some help from Phil, moving all the important resources and equally important fixtures of his home had taken even less time.

All in all, Techno had managed to acquire a new sanctuary away from all the plotting and scheming, although he had a feeling someone would try to mess with him at some point, and he had plenty of space to make a brand new vault. He had achieved peace and quiet, and was even in the process of planning on making a turtle farm. Surely all these positive developments would mean he was happy, right?

Well, he would be if it weren’t for the fact that there was a thief rummaging through his home.

It started with small things, like his chests becoming less and less organized over time. Yes, there were moments where he simply chucked whatever useless items were in his inventory into the nearest empty chest, but he would never clutter up chests containing important items, like potions and enchanted books.

So, finding several misplaced items as well as random blocks of dirt and stone, practically pebbles given their size, while also finding certain resources such as wood and leather missing was the first sign of something strange going on.

The next was the odd noises that seemed to come from the walls of his home. Faint scratches that would be inaudible to anyone but himself due to his heightened hearing. It reminded of a rat infestation, and he unconsciously shuddered.

Not due to fear or discomfort, but the sheer amount of work it would take to get rid of a pest infestation. At that point he might as well take his house apart and build elsewhere.

However, despite his suspicions and hypothesis, there was practically no evidence to support. There were, thankfully, no signs of rat activity, or activity from any other pests. No scratches, bite marks, signs of wood decaying, or anything like that. Other than the noise and the strangely messy organization of his chests, there was no sign of the thief.

And he had looked.

Intensely, as best he could. Logic and inductive reasoning had led him to this conclusion. There was a thief, so there had to be signs of this thief somewhere. A lack of footprints meant they must use pearls to get around. The fact that his rarer resources had not been stolen, his potions of strength and enchanted books, meant that his thief was either unconcerned with stealing things of value from him and just wanted to mess with him, or they were a cocky idiot.

… So it was either Ranboo or-

His ears perked up, cutting off his train of thought as he glanced over at the nearby wall. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and out of his chair before striding over to the wall, cape swishing about behind him.

He pressed the side of his head against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. It was here! It had to be! There was something hidden in this very wall. The source of his annoyance, his thief.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Techno readied his axe, and swung it down-

xxxxxxxxxx

There are times where Tommy can’t stop himself from looking in the nearest reflective surface and asking how he managed to fuck things up this bad. It was painful to recall the steps that had led him to this outcome, the signs obvious but he had been too stupid and ignorant to pay them any mind.

Causing trouble was in his blood, something the local borrower community had reluctantly accepted over the years, helped by how eager he was to throw himself into dangerous situations. Something that should have been concerning to the adults who watched them, taught them how to borrow, how to gather items and even hunt in order to survive, but he had learned that lesson at a very, very young age.

The lesson that no one would step in to help him if he was in danger. That he was on his own and had to prove his worth in order to stay, constantly putting his life on the line for the slightest crumb of respect.

To hear someone say that he had done a good job, to be thanked for his hard work instead of always being brushed off and ignored.

Of course, his friendship with Tubbo helped to soothe that constant within him, dulling the sting of rejection while reminding him that there was one person who truly cared about him. One person who would always be there for him, would lift him up when he was down, and jump into any situation to protect him.

Orphans had to stick together, after all.

And it was a good thing they did end up working together as the duo balanced each other out perfectly. Tommy was far more outgoing and blunt, hotheaded being the best word to describe him. He was willing to do whatever he needed, always ready to speak up when he thought there was bullshit going on, and spoke his mind freely.

It was an ironic honesty, a trait that one assumed would help to attract friends but only aided in driving them away.

Meanwhile, Tubbo was much softer in some ways. Much more reserved than Tommy, he was more of a thinker and planner. Nowhere near as comfortable with spontaneous action as his friend, but he had the knowledge and skills to reign in those impulsive actions before things got dangerous.

They were the best of friends, pals to the very end.

Even though they would never see each other again.

And it was all his fault.

Tommy had ruined everything.

The plan had been simple, easy. All he wanted to do was mess up Mrs. Brigsburry’s house. Just a tiny touch of crime and freaking the old bat out.

She deserved so much worse because of that day. The pot that had been thrown at Tubbo and how much blood Tommy had seen running down the side of his face. The bitch’s shrieks and curses as she insulted them over and over again.

Swearing they both should have died with their parents-

How was he supposed to know he accidentally left one of her rags near the lit stove, the fire within causing the piece of fabric to ignite and in turn allowing the flames to spread to the rest of the house.

It was a good thing she lived on the edge of Borrowton, the fires thankfully only burning her home to the ground.

No one wanted to live near an asshole like her.

Tommy, who had been feeling proud of himself, quickly experienced true regret and fear once the meeting started. Shouts, demands, and insults had flown through the air, many of the people he had grown up with insisting that he be tossed out for what he had done, exiled from the only home he had ever known.

It had been terrifying to see how quickly everyone had turned against him, how they refused to give him the chance to defend himself or even explain why he had done what he did. Not even Tubbo had been able to protect him from the crowd’s wrath, his attempts at standing in front of Tommy and blocking him from sight thwarted when one of the adults grabbed his arm and dragged him elsewhere.

He would never be able to forget the haunting sight of Tubbo reaching for him, tears pouring from his eyes as he screamed his name over and over. It was the last time he had seen his friend, too.

And yet, this was not the worst part of his punishment.

He had been given an hour, one measly hour, to pack up everything he had ever owned before being forcefully exiled from Borrowton. The realization of what was happening had slammed into him all at once, leaving Tommy trembling and unable to move.

He was going to lose everything he had ever known, everything he had worked so hard to build, Tubbo-

He was going to lose his Tubbo.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

No amount of begging or pleading had stopped the adults who dragged him to his shoddy, shared home. He had groveled on his hands and knees, promising to change, to do better, to do whatever they wanted if they just let him stay.

Don’t take my Tubbo away. Don’t take him away. I need him, I need him-

Smack!

The harsh sting of his cheek and the painful sensation of his neck snapping back from the force of the slap was enough to snap Tommy out of his trance. He blinked and looked around, feeling all the more disconnected from reality as he noticed the two bags that had been placed beside him.

One for food, and one for clothes and tools.

… He was really getting exiled, wasn’t he?

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this.” The adult beside him grumbled, dragging the stunned teen up to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

“Front gate. Now. And if I find you causing more trouble, you’ll be leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back.” The man sneered.

For a moment that spark of anger rose up in him, rage flowing through his veins and making his fists clench while he ground his teeth together. The urge to lash out, both physically and verbally, was strong, and yet…

As quickly as those feelings emerged, they faded, and Tommy was left feeling hollow and drained. What was the point in fighting back if all he did was get himself into more trouble. It was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds, he would be exiled no matter what, and if he did lash out-

Tubbo screaming his name as he was dragged away, snot and tears flowing down his face. Thrashing and struggling in a futile attempt to reach him.

… The risk, the damage he could do to his friend, was far greater than the satisfaction of breaking the man’s knobby nose. So, with extreme reluctance, Tommy left the house and made his way towards the front gate. The streets were surprisingly empty, he had expected to see a mob of people cheering while watching him leave, maybe even get the occasional bit of dirt thrown his way.

Treated like the trash they thought he was.

His send off lacked all formality. Only the usual guards of the gate were present, and even then they paid him no mind. He was simply shoved towards another borrower, a lady this time who, based on the immense amount of foliage covering her clothes, spent most of her life out in the wild.

God, how would he ever survive out there. Between the wild animals, the shitty weather, and the mobs that would wander the lands when darkness fell, he was doomed.

He had only ever known how to survive in his community, where you could barter for goods and depend on someone to help you. Now he wouldn’t have any of that. There would be no shelter, no safety in numbers-

No Tubbo.

Numb, Tommy was shoved towards the woman and quietly took note of the presence of the animal he could not see before. It was a fox, quite large compared to him and the other borrowers, and domesticated since it wasn’t ripping anyone apart.

… Or maybe it was just waiting until he got outside, then it would rip him to shreds. Wouldn’t want any blood splatters staining the inside of the gate.

He was so absolutely, royally fucked.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving.” The woman barked, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the fox with little care for his comfort and the fact that she was adding more bruises to his arm. Tommy hissed in pain and rubbed the aching spot while glaring at her.

Everyone in this place was a fucking asshole.

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out. I’m moving.” Tommy grumbled as, after a moment of hesitance, buried his hands in the animal’s warm fur and climbed up its side. A moment later, the woman jumped up to join him, taking a seat near the fox’s shoulders while Tommy struggled to pull his bags up as well.

Finally, once his meager supplies had joined him, it was time for them to set off. He had nearly been thrown off as the fox stood up, and when the animal sprinted out of the hidden tunnel and into the fading sunlight-

Well, it was a good thing he managed to grab hold of his bags before they were knocked off. He shuddered in the sudden, stinging breeze, and did his best to hunker down into the warm fur below him. He had no idea where they were going, no clue what far away biome he would be abandoned in, and quietly decided to not think about it further. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying.

… Even if he had been ever since they first left the front gate.

He quickly rubbed at his face, trying to dry the lingering tears so there were less signs as to his degenerating mental state, and instead decided that it would be best to strike up a conversation, something that would help to distract him from what was going on.

Tubbo, Tubbo. He missed Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo again-

“Name’s Tommy!” He called out. “What’s yours?”

Silence was his answer.

“... Well fuck you too then.”

Much like the start of their journey, the rest of the trip was silent as the fox ran through various biomes, fields, and forests. On multiple occasions they stopped, the woman gathering some sort of herb every single time.

… Perhaps she was making drugs.

Tommy snorted to himself at the joke, mood lifting just the slightest bit before plummeting back to bedrock. God, he was tired. His body ached from sitting still for so long, as well as the general discomfort from the fox nimbly jumping from cliff to cliff, ducking around trees, and just being an agile shitbag. It was annoying and he hated it.

… Hated the fact that he was getting further and further away from his friend. Hated the fact that the fox could cover far more distance than he could ever hope of traversing on his own, and that the odds of him managing to reunite with Tubbo at some point were growing slimmer with every block they crossed.

Eventually they reached the coldest biome Tommy had experienced yet, ponds covered by ice and snow layering the ground. The snow seemed to muffle their surroundings, the only sounds coming from the snow crunching under the fox’s paws and the animal’s panting as it started to feel the strain of their journey.

And yet, for as desolate as this tundra seemed to be, Tommy spotted something in the distance. A structure that was definitely man made and appeared to be well taken care of, which meant there was someone living there.

Someone he could mooch off of and boost his chance at surviving his exile.

It had been a stroke of pure luck that he had managed to convince the borrower escorting him to change their route, practically begging her to take him to the lit house that was just barely visible through the snow.

The sounds of Tommy sniffling and sobbing since the start of their journey had probably helped to wear down her resolve to take him to wherever he was originally supposed to go.

In the end, she had agreed and directed the fox towards the house. It was interesting to see her previous confidence of navigating the cold tundra diminish the closer they got to their destination, as though she was unsettled by the house.

Strange, but then again she probably thought the same of him and how much of an idiot he was for getting kicked out of somewhere perfectly safe.

Safe aside from the prying eyes, the cruel words and harsh hands. His salvation was Tubbo and their whispered promises. They would leave one day, set out into the world and make their own home.

The moment they arrived at their destination, the woman wasted no time in metaphorically, and literally, kicking him off the fox. He dropped into the freezing snow, landing face first, and pushing himself up seconds later to cough out the chilly substance that had invaded his mouth.

The memory of Tubbo laughing as his snowball hit Tommy in the face, the other teen turning to the side and yelling about how “cold as shit” it was.

“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for once.” Tubbo teased as Tommy, snow still stuck to parts of his face, flipped him off.

“Fuck you.”

Tubbo’s laughter rang out around them, and the teen kept laughing until his face was red and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

… Damn, it was cold.

Trembling, he stood up just in time to dodge the bags that had been carelessly thrown his way, getting a concussion from one of his tools would definitely be a death sentence in this situation, and he promptly flipped the woman off.

“Oi! Watch where you’re throwing that shit!” He shouted before crouching down to inspect his supplies, quietly relieved that nothing seemed to have been damaged. “Fucking bitch...”

She just rolled her eyes in response to his insults and looked unimpressed as he grumbled, huffed, and got himself organized. No words were exchanged between the duo, no goodbyes or wishes for good luck, just the howling of the winds while the borrower made his way to his new home.

As Tommy had trudged through the too tall snow, he had been oblivious to the way the woman stared at the house, eyes wide with some sort of emotion. Was it fear? Not quite, it was more a combination of dread mixed with reverence, emotions fueled by her knowledge of the being who resided in this place. A whispered phrase floated through the air, much too quiet for him to have heard. It was a simple sentence that made her stance and understanding of the situation clear.

“Blood for the Blood God.”

Then she fled, leaving Tommy alone to deal with whatever fate he had stumbled into by breaking into the house.

And what a house it was.

All pretty and neatly designed, complete with various floors and tons of storage, and even some decorative flowers outside the windows, which meant Tommy had many things to rummage through. The roaring fireplace was an added bonus since the cold was one of the things he had been the most worried about.

Knowing those assholes, they had probably planned to abandon him somewhere in the tundra, leaving him alone and freezing in the cold…

Honestly, all things considered, this was a good place to settle down in. He had basically everything he needed, as well as access to some rarer resources too. It was ideal, practically perfect given how easy it would be to create small, unnoticeable entrances into each chest for him to use to snag items, but there was one downside to his new home.

His roommate.

He was tall, far taller than anyone Tommy had ever seen before, and he looked… weird. Like one of those pig monsters he had heard stories about back in Borrowton. Monsters from hell that craved gold and bloodshed. With his pig-like features, including a set of tusks that poked up from his lower jaw, he was a perfect match for those nightmarish beasts.

… But, they weren’t in hell, and this man seemed to be far less gold and bloodshed obsessed than the stories had said, even with the various scars the borrower had seen littering his body.

It was weird, he was weird, and the weirdness had only increased the more time Tommy spent in the house. Despite his regal attire, consisting of a flowing cape and golden crown, it was obvious that the pig-man was no prince or nobility. Plus there were those shitty reading glasses Tommy had seen him wearing once, stuck together with taping and looking like they were on the verge of breaking again. He was the strangest combination of loud-yet-awkward behaviour, something that the borrower actually related to quite a bit. His roommate was not “normal” and acted how he wanted, whenever he wanted, with little regard to how “improper”, “violent”, or “rude” he was.

Like Tommy…

He found it comforting to know that there was someone else more like him out there, someone else who was unlike everyone in Borrowton, someone else who would know what it felt like to be treated as an outcast, like he did not belong there or anywhere. Stuck in this new place, he did not feel as alone as he originally expected.

He did not consider the possible problems this could cause in the future, of course. Tommy had never the best at planning ahead since that had been Tubbo’s specialty-

But, the positives ended there as he realized that trying to survive in this relatively small, isolated house was going to be far more of a challenge then he had originally anticipated, with his roommate presenting the greatest obstacle to his success. Breaking in had been easy, actually situating himself and building a decent base within the walls of the house was downright impossible in these circumstances. At most he had managed to dig out a shitty hole close to the fireplace where he stashed all his stolen goods.

And even if he wanted to leave, it was impossible thanks to all the snow and how bloody cold this damn biome was!

So, here Tommy was, having essentially trapped himself with some creepy pig guy who owned too many weapons for comfort and was decked out like he was about to fight the whole damn world. Sure, his house was pretty nice, there was tons of food for him to steal and snack on, and the resources were plenty, but he would have rather had anyone else as a roommate in this situation.

At least this guy was in retirement, or whatever that meant.

He let out an annoyed sigh, arms dropping as he allowed his axe to rest against the wooden floor of the passage he had been carving out. While most of the house was made out of concrete, Tommy had focused on carving passages through the wooden supports in order to have a network of tunnels he could easily move around in without being spotted. All in all, it was a good plan, even if it was a massive pain in the ass to make.

It was like every time he started making a tunnel, no matter what time of the day it was, that piggy dipshit would show up and start stalking the walls, looking for him!

… Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make boar-face all suspicious by messing with his chests, but Tommy needed the resources! And it was pretty funny hearing the surprised sounds the man would make echo through the house.

His trouble making nature might have been the cause for his exile, along with some other bullshit, but that did not mean he would try to suppress it, even if it would be better for him in the long run. That was like asking to stop breathing. It was just a part of him that could only be controlled and never truly stopped.

… He missed Tubbo. He missed him so much and the ache in his chest still had not faded, and he felt all hollow and empty, without purpose-

Unfortunately for the borrower, the world refused to give him a break as he spiraled, his negative emotions distracting him and preventing him from paying attention to his surroundings.

Like the footsteps that were slowly getting closer to his location.

Without warning, the wall beside him cracked and split open, and Tommy let out a terrified shriek. He jumped backwards, dropping his axe in the process as light spilled into the carved out passage.

The now exposed passage.

A passage that had been cracked open by a certain pig man who had clearly been awake instead of asleep like he had assumed. Brilliant red eyes met terrified blue, and Tommy swallowed nervously.

Of course, of fucking course! As if the world didn’t hate him enough as is! Now he had to deal with that pig shithead who’d been tormenting him for days with his stupidly good hearing, preventing him from making any progress in creating his new home.

And of course the second he tried to make a tunnel this bastard just had to appear and ruin everything!

On the plus side, he had not actually done anything yet, although Tommy was certain things would turn south soon based on the axe the man was holding. So, he would live for now, and his shocked state allowed the borrower to make the first move.

“How do,” Tommy greeted, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “You ugly motherfucker.”

If he was going down, he would go down swinging.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Technoblade, holding up a cup containing Tommy: So I found this, anyone wanna trade a book of mending for him- Tommy: *feral screaming intensifies*

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #borrower au #dsmp tommy #dsmp techno #dsmp tubbo #mild angst #tw mentions of abuse #borrower!tommy #the lads are orphans #the start of found family #dream smp borrower au #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc fic

164 notes · View notes

wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Text

A Little Trouble || Alec Volturi x Reader||

A request for: @tiger-khans-blog

Words: 4225

Warnings: None!

Summary: Alec’s mate is...not what he expected. Between hair dye, brownie mix and kitchen fires they’ve started their very own reign of terror in Volterra, but Alec’s learned that sometimes a little trouble can be a good thing...

When Aro had first seen Sulpicia, she had been selling seaglass on the shore of Greece, the sunlight reflecting off of dark streaks of hair and dark eyes so enthralling he’d been ensnared ever since. He’d brought almost a whole bag of the pretty, frosted glass and spent hours crafting the pieces into a beautiful necklace Sulpicia had done everything in her power to preserve until the centuries just made it to fragile to keep wearing. She had been smitten the moment she met the man willing to craft her a courting gift that looked every inch as precious as the pearls the wealthier women in town wore.

When Caius had first met Athenodora, she had been fire and brimstone in the shape of a woman towering over those who would oppress her. He had been immediately enraptured by the feisty blonde tearing off the arm of a man who had clearly wronged her in some way, the dark crimson of her eyes drawing him in and not letting go. She had easily taken care of the two Romanian lapdogs tracking him to, and as he watched her pale face shine in the flames Caius had known in that moment there would never be another woman for him. They were both such romantic stories and Alec had been inducted into this life hearing them, seeing the way Chelsea and Afton had fallen head over heels almost instantly and Marcus had fallen into despair with Didyme’s death. He knew the importance of the mate bond, knew it was something to be treasured, that his mate should be protected and loved by him at all times no matter the cost.

Imagine his surprise when the first time he met you, you swore at him for being in your way.

Modern women were nothing like the women he had been surrounded by growing up, or even the women in the guard. The old-world ideals of the demure and chaste woman were something the world had outgrown and here you were now, causing trouble wherever you went, the consequences be damned. If it wasn’t your mouth getting you in trouble it was your actions. He still shuddered when he recalled the first time he had presented you to the Masters. He couldn’t just leave you where he’d found you after all; you were his mate and so many things happened to vulnerable humans – and that was without the added complication that you were the mate of a witch twin. You had fought hard despite your obvious disadvantage until Alec had stripped your senses and taken you from your home city.

Aro had insisted on reading your thoughts, intrigued as to who could be compatible with his most powerful Guard. His stare had been intense and his skin ice-cold and, well, these people had just kidnapped you after all so nobody should have really been surprised when you tried to shove him away from you.

“What the hell is wrong with you all! You think you can just kidnap me and do whatever you want with me? You can take your huge ass forehead and shove it man, stop trying to touch me, Dome of Creepiness!”

Caius’s indignation had him pushing to his feet so fast his hair had swung about his shoulders as he spoke down to you, while Marcus only watched with the faintest wisp of a smile on his face.

“Insolent human! You are beneath-“

“I ain’t beneath nobody King Blondie Sparkles! You look like you’re in a damn Loreal commercial or something and you? Don’t even start me on the gloomy dude! This is some kangaroo court stuff right here!” You’d cried out. Felix and Demetri had been very obviously amused by you but Alec had just about died all over again, the embarrassment and astonishment too much for him. The whole room had been stunned into silence until Jane dropped you for your insubordination. His embarrassment had dissolved to sheer horror in moments and for the first time in his life he’d actually snarled at his sister. You’d been a handful when he met you and you’d continued to be one ever since. He could vividly recall your first month with them, where’d you’d endlessly pranked and shouted at them in an effort to be so annoying they’d simply let you go.

Jane had been your first victim, since she had naturally been predisposed to disliking you given your association with her twin. Every little thing you did irked her so it was really no surprise that the simplest of things had been what set her off on your second week in the castle. Anywhere that the Masters and the Guard were not was a refuge for you, and it just so happened that more often than not, the gardens were your chosen spot. Jane had taken to tending a small corner of the garden decades before you’d ever arrived and it was coming to the time of year where she stripped out and replanted it, but that was her job, not yours. Finding you knee deep in mud, her soil strewn everywhere and the bulbs that flowered every year scattered along the path while you tried your best to bury Felix’s journal had set her on a warpath she’d been on for months after the incident. Alec had barely saved you from her and had only ended up covering himself in dirt in the process.

Demetri’s hair had been the first real casualty, in Alec’s opinion. He’d been out for the day looking for trouble of his own, spending his down time how he pleased, and as was his tradition he took a nice, long hot shower when he got home. He had had no idea you replaced his leave in conditioner with bleach and to say he was furious to find the natural colour of his hair gone and the strands drying and brittle was an understatement. He’d screamed so loud the Guard had come running thinking he was in danger, only to find him holding a handful of his own, unnaturally blonde hair in hand and wearing absolutely nothing to cover his modesty. He had worn a hood for three weeks before the venom managed to leach the bleach out and return his hair to its natural luster and volume. It took him three months to consider accepting your apology.

Then you’d set the kitchen on fire.

It had genuinely been an accident on this one occasion, and Felix had been keeping an eye on you so was able to prove it. You had really just been trying to cook yourself some lunch, your usual mischievous mood dampened by three months of captivity in the castle and absolutely no progress in earning your freedom. When the sleeve of your shirt had caught fire on the hob it was perfectly understandable you had panicked…it was just unfortunate that your panic had carried you straight into the tablecloth, oven mits and tea towels, setting small fires everywhere that didn’t mix all that well with the natural wooden countertops. Aro was furious he had had to call the fire brigade and have so many humans in their home. It had drawn more attention to the Castle than there had been in almost two centuries.

“Your irresponsibility could have cost lives far more valuable than your own. Do you understand how reckless you have been? This petulant sulking will no longer be tolerated and you will-“

“Whatever.” You had muttered. Aro’s mouth had snapped closed, Caius’s eyes bugging.

“I beg your pardon?” his voice was soft, unthreatening. Alec knew that meant trouble. You kept your head bowed, your fists clenched at your sides, and he caught the slightest twinge of salt in the air. The truth was, Alec had been keeping an eye on you from a distance, waiting to see if you calmed. You had been given an extended period to see if your wilder tendencies could be calmed before you were changed – no one wanted to deal with a wild newborn after all. Instead, he’d watch your flame flicker and dim, your cheeky spark dying slowly as the darkness of Volterra enveloped it. He hated it. You were supposed to be loud and mischievous, a hurricane in human form; he wondered how he had ever handled the quiet before you came into his life because he couldn’t stand it now it had returned. Your energy was just drained from you and Alec didn’t want this, not for you, not when you were clearly miserable.

“Master. It was an accident.” Felix’s voice had surprised him, but the giant had stepped forward calmly to give him his hand and show him everything that had led up to the dreadful accident. Aro was quiet for a moment, his expression changing drastically.

“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked finally. Your glare had been venomous when you looked up at him then but Alec had decided enough was enough. In many ways he still looked back on that as a defining moment in your relationship, because Alec had done exactly what mates were supposed to do in that moment and stepped in to protect you. His concern had put the Masters off of punishing you as he ushered you from the room and into his. He’d ran you a bath so you could clean the soot from your body, and whilst you languished in his tub he had sat leaning back against the closed door, asking you the first things that came to mind. By the end of the night, as you lay fast asleep on his sofa, he knew all of your favourite things and all your worst fears, but more importantly he knew how to talk to you. It was easier after that, to engage you in conversations that didn’t end in a screaming match, and it had taken him a little under a month to fall completely in love with everything you were.

What you were was a complete menace, of course.

Felix had become your partner in crime and your pranks continued to extend across the castle, your cheeky spark returning once Alec had professed how much he missed it. In the span of three weeks Caius’s hair had turned neon green, the Guard’s robes became tie-dyed with shapes cut out of them, Marcus had had his hair braided quite nicely but Aro’s hair had had multi-coloured streaks woven into it and he’d been forced to wear it that way for a trial…Alec had no idea how you and Felix managed any of this but it had become very clear that you weren’t going to change your ways, much to the Master’s chagrin.

“Why exactly are we doing this?” Demetri sounded exasperated and Alec shot him an annoyed look.

“Y/N has never been given flowers, but Heidi insisted that humans liked receiving flowers and I would like to make it clear that my intentions towards Y/N are romantic.” Alec repeated for the umpteenth time. Demetri sighed quietly and Alec diligently ignored whatever it was he muttered under his breath while they observed the flowers at the stall in the square. There were blooms of every colour, size and shape, with equally as pretty ribbons and papers to wrap them in. It was almost too much choice almost. He knew your favourite colour of course, but he’d never asked about your favourite flowers because you just hadn’t seemed like a flower’s kind of person.

“How about a mixture of these?” Demetri suggested, his fingertips ever so gently lifting the stems of flowers from the tubs of water keeping them fresh as he picked out his samples. Alec tilted his head, quietly watching him work for a moment until he had two large headed blooms and some smaller sprigs of blossoms.

“The small ones look out of place with the bigger flowers.” He frowned. Demetri shook his head.

“Not when arranged in a full bouquet. Besides, the meaning is impressive. These are salvia and the red ones in particular mean forever mine. This yellow one is hibiscus, it symbolizes delicate beauty, and these purple ones are morning glory’s, representing affection. Placed in a whole bouquet you are promising your delicate beauty your affections forever.” He concluded. Alec stared at him in shock.

“You speak the language of flowers?” he questioned. Demetri’s eyes rolled as he handed his stems to the stall owner with a few quick instructions in Italian.

“My lovers do not line up at my door purely for the scintillating conversation, Alec.” His tone told Alec he needed to drop that particular conversation, and since the tracker was doing him a favour Alec let it slide this time. Wrapped in some pretty polka dot paper with a white satin bow wrapped around the stems, he held his bouquet with a small smile, please with how it turned out. He couldn’t wait to give it you, see your face when you realised someone had decided to do something nice for you. It was his first real romantic gesture towards you and he hoped you wouldn’t turn him down.

“Do you think we should have gotten the card?” he fretted. Demetri raised an eyebrow.

“Why go to all of this effort Alec?” he fired back, brows furrowed, “They’ve done nothing but cause trouble since they arrived. How could you possibly find it in yourself to expend the effort to reach out to someone so….so…”

“Demetri. I dare you to finish that sentence,” Alec said coldly, his eyes focused on the tracker in a steely glare. Demetri didn’t cower at much, but the witch twins were enough to make even the strongest men fall to their knees in fright. “Just tell me where my mate is.” Demetri was quiet for a moment as he put his gift to full use, and then he twisted and began to walk away, leaving Alec to follow him silence. Alec understood why so many of them had turned away from his mate, you had hardly made life easy for any of them after all with all your mischief, but Alec saw the reason you behaved as you did where nobody else took the time to. Your most harmless pranks (like dropping a water balloon full of hair gel on Caius who was stuck trying to get his hair to go flat for four days straight) were done for fun, a product of your immaturity and youth, but the big ones were usually reactions to things. You had done your very best to piss them off simply because you were scared of the monumental change you were having to adjust to, not to hurt anyone. You didn’t have a malicious bone in your body, he was sure.

His nose twitched as Demetri led him in the directions of the kitchen, something bitterly sweet invading his senses. What was that? He couldn’t place the scent at all though he did pick up on the lingering smell of gas, indicating the oven was on. Was his mate cooking perhaps? But what was she cooking that was so bitter?

“Ah!” the short, sharp yell had Alec moving at lightning speed towards the kitchen door. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that bang was, what sort of trouble you were getting into now, but come hell or high water Alec was going to save you from whatever hair-brained scheme you –

“Ghost!” Demetri screamed, his pitch so high Alec cringed slightly. It was enough to make him panic, as his eyes raked over the figure before them, a mixture of denim and dark brown that was bordering on black, the white of its eyes screaming at him through the dark sludge. For the briefest moment, Demetri’s own panic had skewed Alec’s perception enough that he didn’t see anything for what it really was. No, no Alec saw the brown sludge as burnt flesh, thick and solidifying and sliding slowly off of the bones of the creature before him. He saw exactly what he should have become all those years ago. A tortured, melted creature. It was enough to make even the fierce witch twin scream, and the flowers Demetri had helped him pick so carefully went flying upward out of his hands so he could use them at a moments notice.

It wasn’t until Jane shook his arm that he snapped out of it somewhat.

“Alec what is wrong with you!”

“Jane! I saw – it’s a – a – what?” he stammered.

“It’s a ghost Jane, tell me you do not see it!” Demetri snapped. Jane groaned, her expression exasperated as her arms folded.

“It’s not a ghost you fools! It’s Y/N,” she huffed, turning her cold gaze to his mate next, “And they’ve made a complete mess.” You had the decency to look embarrassed at least. Alec took another look at the ‘ghost’, sighing slightly as he realised his sister was right. The brown sludge was not burnt flesh after all, more…more…some sort of chocolate mix perhaps? Your lower lip came out in a pout and you looked so unbearably sad Alec couldn’t help but come closer to you, tempted to hug you but also not wanting to get your mess on his clothes.

“Y/N? What on earth happened to you?” he questioned. You whined pitifully at him.

“Jane taught me to make brownies with this recipe she knows and so I tried to do them myself, but the oven is too high up and I lost my grip on the tray and now I have a sore head and no brownies.” You had never looked more upset than you did in that moment and Alec blinked in surprise because…since when did his sister spend time with you? Jane huffed quietly behind him as he sighed and gently wiped some chocolate from her chin before it could drip to the floor.

“Oh dear. How about you get yourself cleaned up and I will clean up in here?” he suggested. You lowered your head.

“I didn’t mean it this time Alec, I swear, I just wanted brownies. I didn’t mean to scare your or Demetri.” Your voice was so small, it shattered his heart. You may have been a troublemaker at heart but you were also a bit of a guilty soul, and he knew you felt genuinely bad when you truly upset someone. You’d been trying to subtly make it up to Demetri for months now but the tracker was having none of it.

“I know sweet thing. All is forgiven.” He promised. He watched you trudge from the kitchen, leaving a trail of brownie mix behind you. Demetri was nowhere to be seen though Jane remained standing near the doorway, staring apathetically at the mess on the floor.

“It isn’t your mess to clean.” She pointed out.

“Nor is it a mess she made deliberately. Chocolate will be much harder to get out clothes than a wooden floor; though, as the recipes creator surely you’d know?” the subtle invitation to tell him and the smirk on his face was enough to make Jane scowl at him.

“Maybe Y/N isn’t so bad…but she cannot bake.” She sniffed, turning on her heel to leave the mess to him. Alec chuckled slightly as she left, pleased in the knowledge his sister was clearly trying to get along with his mate now. She had sworn off of you beforehand, so this was an improvement. It didn’t take him long to run a bucket of hot water, scooping up the large globs of chocolate mix before mopping the floor. He’d definitely have to change his shirt today but he had done it in half the time it would have taken you to clean up, and by the time he wondered to your room to find you you hadn’t even left the shower yet. To his surprise, when he poked his head around the door, his nose caught the smell of fresh flowers, because sitting proudly on your desk was the bouquet he and Demetri had bought for you. His brow furrowed, he didn’t remember giving you those, in fact they’d completely skipped his mind.

He decided to read whilst you showered, determined to speak to you after you were done and confess his feelings for you, but he got so absorbed in the pages it wasn’t until his door creaked that he realised you were clean and dry once more. In fact, almost immediately after his door creaked the sound of your feet thudding against the floorboards hit his ears, and Alec’s hands quickly dropped the book in favour of catching you as you all but dived over the arm of the sofa with a grin to reach him. With his strength he easily held you about a foot up from his lap, slowly lowering you down with raised eyebrows.

“Still trying to fly?” he guessed. You nodded.

“You betcha! One day I’ll manage it, you’ll see. If I have to have a gift it’ll be the coolest one, I’ll be the worlds first flying vampire.” You boasted with a smirk that told Alec you knew it wouldn’t happen anytime soon, if ever, as you sat up on your knees beside him. It was yet another thing Alec loved about you, just how refreshing your perspective on life was. You never took anything too seriously whereas his life had been focused around first, surviving, and second, gaining the reputation that ensured nobody dared mess with him or his sister again. He had had little time for games and tricks and fun but you…you were young and free, living the life he had missed out on, a life he could live vicariously through you.

“You know one day you will fall face first.” He said with a chuckle. You shook your head.

“No I won’t, you’ll always be there to catch me.” You sounded so confident and Alec couldn’t help but smile at you.

“Oh, will I?” he teased. You nodded your head.

“Yeah you will, because red salvia means forever mine, right?” your eyes were a little guarded still, a light pink coating your cheeks. Alec’s brow furrowed, his back straightening.

“You know what the flowers mean?” he asked. Your blush darkened, head slowly nodding.

“Demetri speaks flower…actually, Google Maps said quite a few things, actually.” You admitted. Alec felt his stomach curl tight, the anxiety settling in his gut like a ball and making him feel as close to nauseous as a vampire could get. He turned his body to face you, studying your expression carefully. You didn’t seem like you were setting him up for any bad news at least, your expression wasn’t twisted, you just looked…shy. It was a new and rather bizarre look on you since his loud and cheeky little mouthed mate was never shy. Demetri hadn’t been too harsh then.

“Such as?” he prompted. You took a breath, fingers twisting in your lap.

“Such as he’s never heard me apologise and mean it before apparently – which is a lie but we moved past that – and…and you don’t want to give up on me, because you think I’m okay as I am.” You murmured, not quite able to meet his gaze now. Alec felt his stomach flutter, those proverbial butterflies kicking up a storm as he reached for your hand.

“I think you’re more than okay.” He said softly. Your hand twitched as his fingers brushed your own, but you didn’t pull away and instead let him intertwine your hands with a small smile.

“Even if I’m loud? And annoying? And immature? And-“ You were cut off by Alec’s finger against your lips, his eyes rolling.

“Demetri’s personal opinion of you is something I could care less about. I like the noise and the pranks and when you are unapologetically yourself, Y/N. Maybe you do get yourself into a lot of trouble from time to time but you’re having fun with your life, you are living as you wish, you live freely and that is something I envy.” He admitted. Your eyes widened slightly.

“You envy me? But…you’re so powerful!” you exclaimed. His eyes rolled.

“Power isn’t everything Y/N.I know your life changed in ways you didn’t expect, that you weren’t really happy with it either, and I can never really make up for just taking you away from your home like that but I would like to try.” Alec squeezed your hand lightly, his eyes pleading for that one little chance he knew he didn’t deserve but so desperately wanted. You bit your lip, clearly thinking through your options. You hadn’t really been made to feel welcome during your stay, but if one person had consistently treated you like another human being instead of an out of control child it was Alec. It helped he was pretty handsome to, and for whatever reason, he liked everything about you that put others off.

“How?” you asked finally, head tilting. Alec smiled slightly.

“Humans go on dates when they meet their mates, don’t they? Perhaps we can start with that. I’ll take you to this bakery not far from the square and get you all the brownies you desire.” He proposed. You couldn’t quite fight the smile breaking out on your face.

“Deal.”

Alec came to the startling conclusion that sometimes, a little trouble is a good thing.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #volturi #volturi imagine #alec volturi #demetri volturi #jane volturi #felix volturi #aro volturi #x reader #twilight x reader #alec volturi x reader #he is a sweetheart deep down #he burns for you #sorry #bad pun

277 notes · View notes

collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

Something New - Pope Heyward

Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could do an Outerbanks imagine where the reader is dating John B, but he breaks up with her because he thinks he loves Sarah. After that, the reader likes runs to Pope, JJ, and kiara for comfort and starts to like either pope or jj. As the reader gets closer with Pope or jj John B starts to get jealous and wants her back but it may be too late. Thank you so much!

A/N: I did this for Pope because he doesn’t get enough love.

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

“That’s the trouble with having the same friends.” Pope mentioned, sitting beside you in the hammock. He leaned all the way back so you had to turn to look at him, his presence a welcome distraction from John B and Sarah flirting over by the Twinkie.

“What’s the trouble?”

“You can’t exactly avoid them.” Pope replied, “I mean you could but you’d have to avoid us too.”

“Well John B isn’t worth avoiding you.” You said, glancing back over to your ex. Kiara was talking to Sarah and John B had his arms around her shoulders, a move you were all too familiar with.

“Hey, Kie was talking about that kook movie night, it’s just her, me, and JJ. Would you wanna go?” Pope asked, “I could pick you up?”

Truth be told, from the moment John B had introduced you to the group and you’d been inducted into their clique Pope had known that he liked you as more than a friend. You were with John B though and the two of you always seemed pretty serious. Pope had never had the opportunity to make a move before and now that you weren’t dating anymore he couldn’t help wanting to put himself out there. He knew he didn’t have a lot in common with John B but he also knew that out of everyone the two of you got along the best, that you were always texting him outside of the groupchat, hanging out with just him, so maybe it wasn’t a stretch to think that you could like him too.

“Yeah, that’d be really cool actually. I would love that.” You replied.

The day after Chapel Hill John B had shown up at your house and broken up with you. He told you he kissed Sarah Cameron and it just felt right and he didn’t know how to explain it but everything made sense with her. He told you he was sorry but he didn’t know if he’d ever really loved you.

After he left you’d called Pope and asked him to come over while you sat on the floor in your bedroom just trying to piece together everything that happened.

“He said, I don’t know if I ever loved you.” You had said, head swimming with his words, “what am I supposed to do with that?”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t drag you into this, he’s your best friend.” You had apologised once you stopped crying, laying back on your carpet and looking up at Pope.

“You’re my friend too. There isn’t any this person over that person crap. We’re all friends.” Pope replied. “And don’t stop hanging out with us okay?”

“John B asked if I would still help with the gold.” You replied.

If there had ever been a time in Pope’s life when he felt particularly inclined to violence it was in that moment. Hearing you tell him that John B had asked for your help after basically telling you the last year was nothing to him.

“He’s a dick.”

“He’s just...”

“Being a dick,” Pope said, “don’t make excuses for him. He was an asshole to expect that of you.”

“I would never ditch you guys,” you replied, sitting back up.

“Yeah and he knows that and is manipulating you into feeling guilty if you don’t help.” Pope replied, “I’m sorry but that really pisses me off like, he’s messing with your feelings and he knows it.”

You moved over closer to Pope, leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder, “I don’t wanna talk about John B anymore.”

John B a ways off from the keg, half listening to what Sarah was saying as he watched you sitting on a branch with Pope. You were turned in toward him knees touching his. John B couldn’t tell what Pope was saying but his hands were moving and you were laughing, leaning into him. When your hand landed on his arm, John B’s hand tightened around his cup.

“What’s up with them?” He asked, looking back at Kiara as she came over to grab a beer.

“What?” Kiara followed John B’s gaze and so did Sarah, suddenly cut off from her retelling of a story from the past week. “Oh...they’re cute, right?”

“Are they dating? They are cute.” Sarah said, watching Pope scoot a little closer to you as someone else joined the two of you. He put his arm around you and you leaned into his side, a hand resting on his knee.

“For a few weeks now.” Kiara replied, watching John B a lot closer than Sarah was. His eyes narrowed as he watched you laugh at something Pope said before kissing his cheek.

When he got up and walked over to the keg, your cup in his hand, John B headed that way too. You didn’t notice, pulled back into the conversation you were having but Kiara noticed, following your ex-boyfriend. She recognized the look on John B’s face, because she knew it from all the times he would get peeved when guys would hedge in on you at parties, only this time he had no reason for the look.

Things between you and Pope had changed after the movie night with Kiara and JJ. He’d picked you up and taken you home and somewhere in all of that Pope had stopped being a friend and become something else. Both of you had agreed not to say anything to anyone because of the gold search and your history with John B, though Kiara had worked it out over the fews weeks that passed.

“You know you’re just a rebound.” John B commented as Pope filled up your cup.

Pope frowned, brow furrowing but he didn’t say anything as he stood there. He knew that John B would act territorial when he found out the two of you were dating. In John B’s mind, even though he had broken up with you for Sarah, he still technically had you. You were still there helping find the gold, still hanging around, still talking to him as if you were friends. It was easy for him to think to himself that you were still there, just like you had been for the past year.

“She doesn’t like you.” John B continued.

“John B, what the hell?” Kiara cut in, looking between the two boys.

“I’m just being honest with him,” John B said, “she doesn’t care about you. She knows we’re-”

“What are you?” Pope said, turning his attention to his best friend, “besides a douche? Man, you can tell yourself whatever you want but the truth is she doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” John B said, stepping closer to Pope.

“Are you kidding me right now? You’re being such a dick.” Kiara cut in, glaring at John B. Her raised voice caught both your attention and Sarah’s. You had been heading over anyway and you quickened your pace when you heard Kiara.

“No, you’re right, my bad. I don’t know anything about what a dick you were to her.” Pope said.

“Pope,” you grabbed his arm as you came up beside him, “let’s just go.”

“You should go. When she’s done with you she’ll just move on to someone else, she doesn’t care about you-” John B started to say.

“Shut up man.” Pope shouted.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked, looking around for some sort of explanation.

“John B didn’t tell you?” Pope asked, “he never mentioned how he was dating her before you or how he told her that he never loved her and it meant nothing!”

“Pope, please...” you pulled on his arm.

“God, you’re pathetic.” John B said, “you’ll believe anything she says just cause you’re-”

“Shut the fuck up JB!” You snapped, “Look I’m sorry I wasted a year on you but it’s over. You ended it. And I’m with Pope. And he’s not a rebound, so fuck you.” As you turned to go you pulled on Pope’s arm again, leading him away as Kiara began to admonish your ex-boyfriend.

When you and Pope were far enough down the beach you stopped, pressing your hands against your face and trying to relax your entire body. You wanted to scream and bitch about John B but you also never wanted to speak to him or about him again.

“You okay?” Pope asked, hands over your wrists and pulling your hands down so that he could see your face. You opened your eyes to look at him and smiled just slightly.

“I’m okay. I’m great, I just need to...leave.” You replied honestly. You sighed, “this isn’t a rebound, Pope.”

“I know.” He nodded. He pulled you closer, kissing you, “I know.”

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife @freckled-and-daydreaming @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @howdyherron @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @tragicmisfits @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @ssprayberrythings @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @jjsthumbring @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @louisolos @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @finecelle @vitaminekabc @tiredfeels @g4bster @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @pensysto @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @lavenderxraindrops @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @thelonewolfdies @hvitost @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon

300 notes · View notes

vexfulfolly · 4 years

Text

The Fondest Memories

hi @cosmicpines I was your gifter for @codesecretsanta!!! I hope you enjoy!

It seemed like a great idea, bringing Aelita into the real world and enrolling her at their school. It wasn’t like they didn’t have time to plan things out— to make sure her transition was as smooth as possible— because they had plenty of time to do so. Whether or not that time was spent agonizing over details that were practically meaningless until confronted later. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there was their daily motto for almost an entire year.

So they weren’t exactly thinking it all the way through when they created Aelita’s new identity. At a glance, it was watertight. No one would dare to look too deep into anyone associated with the de la Robbias. Looking at Odd’s records was an absolute mess, so why even bother with Aelita’s?

It was a quick way to get her in the door and out of deep scrutiny, but that in and of itself presented problems. Like right now. It was a month before winter break and each warrior’s family was making plans to bring their children home for the holidays. Except Aelita.

As it stood, there were only two viable options; someone had to take Aelita home with them (which would be the markedly tougher option), or someone would have to stay behind with her. Despite being somewhat acclimated to Earth, she was still wobbling on fawn-like legs during social situations. Or most situations, granted she was unsupervised.

Which was what brought everyone together on a crisp afternoon in early November, piled into Jérémie’s room and in deep discussion.

“I hate to say it, but I can’t stay,” Jérémie sighed. “My parents have already booked a flight for me. They thought having a tropical Christmas would be a good idea for some reason.”

To add insult to injury, he sounded truly apologetic.

“I’ll be around the corner, but granted I don’t stay at the dorms anyway, my parents definitely won’t take well to me “sneaking off” during family time,” Yumi grimaced, making sure her displeasure over the last few words was clear.

If the rest of the conversation went as positively as this first two minutes had, they were all screwed. The only two people that remained were Odd and Ulrich— the two people most likely to want to stay at Kadic through the break.

Odd snorted. “My parents won’t even notice if I’m here or there, but they did book train tickets. If I never showed, they wouldn’t care. So, what say you, good buddy? Am I staying behind or have you already worked it out?”

Every eye fell on Ulrich in anticipation.

“I’m staying,” he said simply.

He was met with several sighs of relief, and one disappointed Odd. “You’re really gonna make me go?” He pouted, though it sounded more like a demand.

“Yeah, otherwise Jim will get suspicious of too many of us staying behind. Besides, you’ll be able to let Kiwi play in the snow without worrying about getting caught.”

The resulting whine from the blonde was a cross between exasperation and resignation, and Ulrich had never heard a sound so sweet. Aelita decided she’d make presence known at that point, carefully patting the blonde on the back as he grumbled. “Well, what do you even do over a break? Especially the winter one?” She asked.

Ulrich shrugged. “Winter stuff.”

The topic was dropped.

The first day of the winter break was reserved exclusively for seeing the gang off. Most kids were heading home, though a teeny-tiny minority stayed behind. Ulrich and Aelita were now a part of that minority.

By the time everyone had left the school, and the halls no longer buzzed with sound, dinner was ending and it was almost curfew. Aelita and Ulrich had spaghetti and meatballs together— much to Odd’s vocal displeasure when he saw it on that evening’s menu— and parted once they reached the dorms.

“What will we be doing tomorrow?” Aelita asked.

Ever the over-communicator, Ulrich glanced out the window at the blanket of snow that never seemed to stop growing. “I’ll introduce you to normal winter stuff. Dress warm, we’ll be outside,” he said before waving. “Good night.”

The next morning found Ulrich walking Aelita through the woods. They wound through thickets and tall snow banks, truly getting to experience what winter had to offer. It was a quiet walk (though, at this point, it was more of a hike than a walk). As they approached the tree line, Aelita’s emerald eyes caught sight of the factory from between the bare trunks.

“The factory?” She blinked, like it was the last place she’d expect to see. “Why are we here?”

“We’re not here for the factory,” Ulrich started. The duo broke through the edge of the forest and basked in the midday sun. It was then that Aelita noticed that the water that acted like a moat was frozen.

“We’re here for the lake.”

Suffice to say, without ice skates, music, and other skaters, the duo were nothing but inelegant. Ulrich taught Aelita how to slide about on the ice, how to skid into something resembling a stop, and getting her to glide backwards. Eventually their ice skating devolved into races around the factory, and to hockey— which they played with two tree branches and a pine cone.

By the time they started heading back to the school, the sky was dimming. Aelita’s cheeks were cherry red and her breath was coming in short puffs of exhaustion, but the grin on her lips was the most genuine thing. Ulrich even found his own lips tilting upward at the sound of her elated laughter.

“Oh, that was wonderful, Ulrich!” She beamed, bouncing to and fro through the snow banks. “Can we do this again tomorrow?”

He fought off a chuckle. “Sure. I can show you the other stuff later.”

Though her curiosity was piqued, she didn’t inquire further about the “other stuff”. Ulrich was coming to realize that she liked surprises.

Aelita hummed happily the entire walk back to Kadic. The thought made Ulrich warm. When they stumbled back indoors, the fiery sensation of needles on bare skin told the duo they’d been out a bit too long. The back of Ulrich’s thighs were on fire, and Aelita’s fingers cried out in pain.

She was wincing and nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot when Ulrich pulled her out of her head.

“There’s only one cure to freezer burn,” he started leading her to the cafeteria, though dinner wasn’t going to be served for hours. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to make it.”

When they made it into the cafeteria, Ulrich made straight for the kitchen doors, which gave Aelita pause. Students weren’t allowed in the kitchen on a good day— what made Ulrich think trying to get in there over winter break would be a better idea? Even then, one of the lunch ladies was probably in there starting on dinner. They’d be caught in no time, so what was Ulrich planning?

“You coming, Princess?”

Aelita had been so deep in thought that she’d completely stopped walking, and was staring intently at Ulrich’s relaxed form.

“Are you sure that—“

“We’ll be fine. Trust me.”

With Ulrich acting as cocksure and confident as Odd, Aelita could do nothing more than follow behind him and hope for the best. The moment the door swished shut behind her, Ulrich was greeting Glenda with a nod before heading to the opposite side of the kitchen. He flitted in and out of cupboards and pantry doors before placing a shallow pot on the stove.

He was still gathering things here and there when Aelita asked, “Why aren’t we getting in trouble?”

Ulrich placed two mugs side by side on the counter. “Odd and I have had our fair share of early mornings and late evenings. Glenda’s always the first one in and the last to leave. Let’s just say, she’s fine with us being here so long as the other students don’t know and we pick up after ourselves.”

Aelita didn’t know why she was so surprised by that fact. Of course, every warrior had their fair share of trauma from Xana. If Odd and Ulrich suffered from nightmares or insomnia, Aelita was no one to judge. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she watched as Ulrich melted a good amount of chocolate in the pot before mixing in some milk. He stirred it lightly for a few minutes more before splitting the contents of the pan between the two mugs. He added a tad extra milk to each one before passing the pinkette a plastic spoon.

Ulrich tilted his mug in her direction, as if to toast. “To winter break?” He asked.

“To winter break,” she replied.

Their cups clinked together, and the second day of winter break came to a close.

“Since when did you know how to cook?” Aelita asked later that evening. “I didn’t take you as one to— not to offend— be knowledgeable about it.”

Ulrich chuckled lightly. “I’m a terrible cook, I just know how to make hot chocolate. My mother taught me when I was younger. Every year we’d play hockey in brook behind the house, and when we came back we’d make hot chocolate to warm us up.”

Ulrich hasn’t said that many words directly to Aelita for almost as long as they’ve known each other.

Aelita smiles tentatively. “That’s… really nice.”

Ulrich hums warmly before waving good night to the girl. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early,” he says.

And Aelita can’t stymie the excited laugh that bubbles up from within. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

Even as they walk their separate ways, Aelita likes to think she sees a ghost of a smile on his lips in the reflection on the windows.

By the time winter break is over, Aelita has been officially inducted into the exclusive group of students given kitchen rights. Four days after starting classes once again, Aelita finds herself standing in the kitchen at half past the witching hour, wondering why her world weary body brought her here. When Glenda sees the girl half asleep in her cup of cocoa, she simply gives the girl a nudge and pushes her out. “Wait! I didn’t get to do the dishes!” She tries to argue.

“Get some sleep before classes start, and I might forgive ‘ya,” Glenda tuts, and Aelita knows that the lunch lady has won this round.

When Aelita curls up in her bed, anxieties and nightmares long forgotten, she takes in the lingering scene of hot chocolate in the air and thinks about Ulrich and the week of shrieking laughter and restrained joy they shared.

Aelita sleeps through the first three classes and shuffles down for lunch looking like death warmed over, but Glenda serves her the best part of the lasagna with a knowing look, and the young girl dines with her friends.

She feels more like a living, breathing human at that moment than during any other.

To her, the most human emotion isn’t rage or something as simple as love, she thinks it’s the gleeful innocence of playing in the snow on a cold day, and the creature comfort that is fuzzy socks and diamond snow.

She no longer feels in binary and thinks in CSS.

The girl that is Aelita Stones is born on a cloudy day in December, and she is utterly grateful to the boy who pushed her into the wild and wonderful world she now resides in (even if he pushed her into a snowbank to do it).

#code secret santa 2020 #code ss20 #codesecretsanta #Aelita Stones #aelita hopper #aelita schaeffer #ulrich stern #Code Lyoko

44 notes · View notes

fallenfurther · 4 years

Text

A break in the clouds - Part 3

It’s Gordon’s turn with Scott’s son. Other chapters: Scott, Virgil

*******

Gordon

His nephew's hug weakened the walls holding Gordon together. It had hurt having to put the images of the lost to the side so he could concentrate on the living, the ones he could save. He had plastered on a smile, made jokes when distraction was needed, held the broken crying child close as he turned his back on the mother he couldn't save. Gordon squeezed his nephew tighter, knowing it would cause a complaint from the boy, but he needed that closeness. The warmth from that little body was comfort alone.

It didn't take long for the boy to start wriggling. Giving his nephew one last squeeze, Gordon loosened his grip, so his hands ended up on the boy's shoulders. Their eyes locked just before Gordon bent his knees and tilted his nephew back, so he was upside down. The boy's hair dangled freely as his back rested against Gordon's thighs. A squeal of delight filled the changing room.

"I'd rather he didn't throw up, Gordon."

Gordon left Scott's son hanging as he glanced up at his towel-wrapped brother. The small smile on Scott's face deepened the dimple facing Gordon.

"Like I'd make that happen."

With one smooth motion, Gordon pulled the red-faced boy back up the right way. The grin that shone back highlighted his nephew's own dimples.

"How about we head upstairs and see the fishes?"

"Fishies!"

A small hand shot into the air with an energy none of the adults had. Scott shook his head as he crossed the room to sit next to Virgil. Gordon knew they needed some time. A few minutes to talk through what they'd seen, to allow each of them someone to open up to. Virgil and Gordon often shared words on the way home, it was the benefit of flying in Thunderbird Two, however today they had both sat in silence. Each trying to process their own traumas. Virgil could share things with Scott that he couldn't with anyone else.

"Be good you two."

"We're always good, aren't we?"

His nephew had slipped down his body so he could stand on his own feet. Gordon's shorts were clenched in the boy's fist as his nephew watched his father. There was no smile on his face, obviously starting to pick up on the atmosphere of the room. Those blue eyes met his, a hint of confusion flickering across them.

"No."

A cheeky grin crossed that small face as Gordon feigned surprise.

"What?! Don't say that with your Dad in the room! Come on, let's go before you get me into trouble."

There was a giggle from the boy as he started towards the door. Gordon strode after him leisurely. Little hands reached up and grasped the handle, but the heavy door stayed closed despite the boy putting all his effort into it. Carefully, Gordon pulled the handle, leaving space for his nephew to move around and out. The boy didn't run off, instead he waited with hand outstretched. Gordon took it, glad that Scott had set rules in place, and they walked towards the elevator. His nephew knew it was a privilege to see the Thunderbirds and misbehaving down in the depths of the island resulted in the strictest punishment.

These rules didn't apply in the villa and the moment the elevator doors opened Gordon's hand was released. Off he went as fast as his little legs could carry him until he got to the end of the corridor where he stopped. Glancing back with the biggest grin, which slowly shrank when he realised Gordon hadn't moved. Gordon grinned then gave chase. Blue eyes widened and an excited shriek resounded off the walls as the boy ran off again. Gordon rounded the corner. Natural light flooded in from the glass ceiling above as he slowed his pace.

The boy was right below the fish tank, reaching up on tiptoes, fingers barely touching the glass. Stepping up behind his nephew, Gordon wrapped his arms around the boy and lifted him up to the glass. It was second nature now, to twist the small body so it was balanced on his hip.

"Fishies!"

The fish in the tank weren't real, they couldn't be as the tank was part of his secret elevator so plummeted with him. The fish were a new addition though, courtesy of Brains. The engineer had started adding robotic fish after he'd walked past Scott trying to explain to an upset toddler that there were none in there. Now there were eleven fish and two crabs, which had a hidden induction charger, so they never stopped moving.

A small hand rested against the glass, just to the side of the palm sensor Gordon used to activate the elevator. Not that his nephew could activate it, but Gordon had thought of taking him down there before. He could deactivate the arms so it wouldn't suit him up, and they didn't have to plunge into Thunderbird Four's pool. However, Scott would skin him for sure and Gordon didn't want to lose out on any uncle time.

"Nemo!"

A finger pointed to the small clownfish which had just swum up from behind a pink coral.

"Hello Nemo!"

Gordon could see the excitement in the reflection of his nephew's face. Of course, Gordon had shown the boy as many ocean related movies as possible, including the classics like Finding Nemo and The Little Mermaid. They would probably all settle down later to watch a film as a family. An almost complete family. Gordon had no idea if his nephew had asked Scott why he had a great grandma but no Grandma. Gordon didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. The boy just accepted that this was his family, and it was complete. There was no one missing for him.

"Look. Flounder and Dory friends!"

Indeed, the little versions of the famous fish had just avoided each other and started swimming side by side, as if they were friends. Gordon shifted his nephew higher so he could get a better view. The fish parted company and continued to dart around the artificial coral reef, just as they did out in the real ocean. Small hands continued to cover the glass in fingerprints as they searched out all the creatures that they knew were in there. A tear escaped from Gordon's eye. He blinked it away, only for another to replace it. Maybe it was Gordon's silence that made the boy twist his head to him, or maybe he felt the tears that were hitting his t-shirt. Those blue eyes were sad.

"Those tears?"

Gordon nodded, fearing his voice would crack if he spoke. Again, his nephew threw his arms around the Gordon's neck and the tears came faster. So many families were missing people today, and there were probably those still unsure if their missing relative was in the hospital or among the dead. He may have been young, but he still had memories from that time, still remembered what it was like to lose someone. He knew what it was like to grow up with an empty seat at the table and a parent sized hole. A sob rocked his body. He hoped his nephew would never feel that pain.

After a few minutes, Scott's son leant back in his arms and placed his small hands against Gordon's cheeks. Soft fingers tried to wipe away his tears.

"All sad?"

"Yes, buddy. Everyone's sad today."

A lost look came over the boy, like he didn't know what to do. Gordon took a deep breath to steady himself.

"It's okay to be sad sometimes."

The boy nodded his head, still thinking about something. He turned to the fish tank and pointed.

"You miss Singway?"

"Sting-ray."

"Singway."

Gordon gave up, knowing the boy would eventually learn to say it right.

"Sometimes, but I'm happier here, where I can pilot Thunderbird Four."

A hand is waved at the tank, where Stingray dipped as it turned around a coral.

"No Four."

This brought a small smile to Gordon's face.

"That tank doesn't need Thunderbird Four. Not when the real one is hidden beneath it."

Gordon whispered the secret in the boy's ear knowing it would tickle him and cause him to giggle. It didn't matter that his face was cover in tears, Gordon wanted the boy to be happy. Footsteps came from behind him making Gordon turn.

"Grammie!"

"How about you come help me in the kitchen, young man?"

Gordon released his nephew, who ran over and hugged Grandma's legs. Her hand stroked his brown locks as she placed her other hand on his shoulder. She guided him into a hug.

"You'd better go join your brothers on the couch ready for debrief."

"Yes, Grandma."

Gordon turned, wiping his face on his arm as he went. He knew his brothers would know he'd been crying, but he was sure more tears would be shed later anyway. As much as they all tried to be strong, sometimes it was better to cry during the debrief, as they said what has to be said.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #grandma tracy #scott's son #baby tracy #fishies #crying #hugs #singway

15 notes · View notes

feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twenty: practice what you preach

Sam awoke to the feeling of Alex's little body nestled up right next to her. At some point, over the course of the night, she inched closer to him and he had put his arm around her once again. She slid her foot back towards that edge of the bed only feel to it was icy cold from the nightfall. Indeed, the entire house was cold from the night and the induction of the Bay Area fog outside.

Even with the daybreak, the Bay Area was still dark and cold from the dead of winter. She cuddled closer to him like they did in the back seat of the car: the sole difference was that a full inch of rain had fallen all over San Francisco overnight rather than something over a foot of snow. But she shivered regardless of the covers over her body.

There was a loud clank at the front of the house, followed by a pair of soft voices.

Alex groaned in his throat at the sound and Sam opened her eyes. His face remained right before her own: the tip of that aquiline nose about an inch from her cheekbone. Those sharp eyebrows as smooth as stone, and that skin as pale and smooth as the very snows that chased them away from Lake Tahoe. Even though he lay flat on his back, he had rolled his head over the top of the pillow and thus that little tuft of gray hung right above her eyes. For a moment there, upon her opening her eyes, she swore that he was a small boy once again, especially given they were in his old bedroom and they lay underneath all of those old posters from when he was a kid and in high school.

A part of her wanted to stroke his face, just to feel that smooth delicate skin and really find out if it was that smooth and soft as it looked. But she decided not to as he stirred a bit and rolled his head back a bit so she could only see the side of his face. She kept her eye on his chin and the delicate tight skin underneath; followed by the curvature of his lips, and then she fixated on his prominent nose and his high features, as stark and aged as stone in spite of his youth.

Young and old at the same time.

She nibbled on her bottom lip as he fetched up a sigh and held still right there next to her. She had kept her hand on something soft. It wasn't his hipbone.

“Alex!” Arlene called from the front of the house. “Alex! Samantha!”

Sam dared not move her hand lest he wake up to it instead of his mother's voice.

“Hey, kids!” Jerry followed up. Alex stirred again but he never awoke. Sam kept her lips pursed together, and she wondered if a certain small movement of her hand would do anything more for him.

“Breakfast is ready!” Arlene called out once again.

Once she had said that, Sam could feel the hunger within her as it gnawed away at the inside of her stomach. She wanted to move her hand but then again Alex still hadn't moved a single muscle. She held onto something soft and warm and she had no clue if it was actually his body or something else.

“Alexander Nathan Skolnick!” Arlene spat.

And he popped his eyes open at that, and he stared straight up above to the ceiling. Sam never moved a muscle.

“Is that your hand,” he asked her in a flat tone of voice.

“I don't even know where my hand is,” she confessed.

“Are you guys awake?” Arlene followed up.

“Yes, Ma!” Alex shouted which in turn made Sam grimace a bit. “Sorry,” he told her in a low voice. “Anyways, that better be your hand.”

“It's on your body, I know that much.”

He rolled his head over the top of the pillow again, that time with squinted eyes.

“Ma?” Arlene laughed.

“Ma and Pa,” Jerry called out, which in turn made Alex roll his eyes, but Sam giggled at them. She moved her hand and she realized that she had grabbed a handful of blanket, much to their confusion.

“What the hell was on me, then?” Alex asked her as she rolled out of bed.

“My arm, maybe?”

“Could be. But I could've sworn that it was your hand, though.” He followed her out of bed and, even though she put her jeans back on, he kept his shirt off as he walked with her into the front of the house, much to Arlene's shock as she brought over the plates of fresh matzo and sausage patties.

“Alex! What're ya doin'? Put your shirt on!”

“He feels better without a shirt, Mrs. Skolnick,” Sam told her as she took her seat next to Jerry at the kitchen table.

“I'm getting cold just looking at him, though,” Arlene insisted as she handed Sam a cup of coffee. “How do you like your coffee, by the way?”

“A little bit of cream,” she replied.

“Always start out with cream.” She shook her head with a smile but then she looked on at Alex with a slight sneer on her face.

“It's fine, Mom, I promise,” Alex pointed out as he ran his hands down his forearms. His pale skin seemed to glow under the kitchen lights as if made entirely of snow; once she took her spot across from him, he hunched his shoulders a bit. Indeed, it was rather cold in the house and the heater seemed to have a bit of trouble in picking up from underneath the metallic vent on the floor next to Jerry. His jet black hair flowed over his shoulders like little tentacles; his nipples tightened and goose pimples crossed over the skin on his waist. He was cold but Sam was sure that he wanted to be without a shirt, much like she wanted to be without a bra until they went out again.

“Alex—baby—go put a shirt on,” Arlene encouraged him.

“Go brush your hair, too, son,” Jerry told him, and Alex let out a sigh and then he stood up and ducked out of the kitchen.

“I also promised my mom I'd call her when I got here,” Sam said once he left.

“Oh, yes, definitely do that!” Arlene told her. “Phone's right over there over the stove, bubbeleh.”

Sam rounded the table and she stepped over to the little black telephone there on the wall next to the stove. She dialed her mother's number and she held the receiver to her ear. One ring, two rings—

“Hello, hello?” Esmé answered in a broken voice.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh! Sam! Thank heaven! I was just starting to get worried about you and Alex because you hadn't called me.”

“We got snowed in up at Tahoe the night before last,” she explained, “like we got to Carson City and then I took him up to the southern edge of the lake and it started snowing. It was nighttime by then, too, so we just buttoned up for the night and waited for the snow to stop. When it did, we went up to Incline Village for breakfast and now we're at his parents' house in Berkeley. Spent the night here last night.”

“Oh, good! Thank heaven. What matters is you kids are safe and both are in one piece. Also, I got a letter from Joey believe it or not. Just last night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he brought it over to me, like he must've seen me from across the room—we were in the grocery store in Long Beach.”

“Greg brought it to you,” she said aloud.

“Yeah—and Joey said he's going to meet you down at the harbor when you get down here again, whenever that may be.”

“I dunno, to be honest with you, Mom, because I have no idea what Alex and his parents are going to do.”

“Oh, no, wait, it says he's going to meet you there later today.”

“Today?”

“Yeah. No idea what time exactly, but he did say the day after New Year's, though.”

Sam fetched up a sigh. On one hand, she wanted Joey to have at least called her about it. But then again, he didn't know where she had gone off to and he didn't know where Alex and his parents lived there in Berkeley, either.

She bode her mother farewell for the time being, and she returned to Jerry and Arlene there at the table.

“My mom told me that I have a little something waiting for me down in Long Beach,” she told them, “which means I have to be down there today.”

“Aw, you're leaving us, bubbeleh?” Arlene looked hurt by that.

“I'm afraid so. And what does that mean, too?”

“What, 'bubbeleh'?”

“'Little doll', right?” Alex joined in from behind them; Sam thought about Belinda and if she and Marla had gone back home at that moment.

“Yeah! I used to call him that when he was little, because he was just this little doll of a little boy.”

Alex took his seat right next to Sam, now wrapped up in a long black shirt with a white square on his chest: it looked as though he had attempted to brush his hair but he never went further than his bangs, which started to grow out rather long: the bottoms brushed upon that sharp brow to where the longest tips began to obscure his eyes and make them appear even deeper than before.

“Have you heard of Run DMC?” he asked her as he gestured to his chest.

“I have now,” she told him.

“Oh, man! You've got so much to learn, Samantha.”

“So much to learn and so much to give, too,” Jerry followed up to that.

“Give it all to our boy over here,” Arlene chimed in with a hearty little chuckle.

“Oy vey,” Alex muttered as he took another bite of fresh matzo ball.

Sam stayed there and relished her cup of coffee and her spot at the table between Jerry and Alex. But she knew that she would have to pick up her things again and head on over to the airport, and by Alex's direction no less.

By around ten o'clock in the morning, and a few holes had broken through on the fog bank over the Bay Area, Alex changed back into a fresh pair of jeans and Sam had put her bra back on, albeit in the bathroom. Even from the other side of the house, she caught the sound of Alex's voice in the kitchen. Even with his parents, he still stood out like a sore thumb and he had the big booming voice to boot on top of it. Indeed, even when he stood next to his band mates, he seemed to dwarf them, especially Chuck who loomed up close to his height.

But then she thought about Joey and the fact that he had confessed to her even through a drunken stupor.

She wondered what he had in store for her as she headed out of the bathroom and made her way back to Alex's room for her purse, and then she walked back up the hall, towards the front foyer for her shoes and her jacket. Alex glanced over at her.

“Oh, there she is,” he said in a low voice, and he turned to front door for the same things as well. He took his seat next to her there on that little velvet bench and they laced up together. He put on his jacket and he reached into his pocket for the car keys.

“Come back any time, bubbeleh,” Arlene told her, and she put her arms around her.

“I'm sure I will!” Sam declared with a big bold laugh.

“Be safe and give your mother a hug for us,” Jerry added as he embraced her as well.

“I shall, Mr. Skolnick,” she promised; he put his arm around Alex at the same time.

“Li'l group hug!” he chuckled. “I'll be back.”

“You behave,” Arlene advised him in a low voice, and he made a soft little whimper at that.

Alex led Sam back outside to the car and that time, he climbed in behind the wheel.

“I really do like your parents, Alex,” she told him once they got rolling.

“I just—I feel like they were putting me on the spot the whole time,” he confessed.

“In your defense, they kinda were,” she said, “like especially when we were in the back room and you were showing me that riff, and you couldn't finish it.”

“Yeah, and I don't like being interrupted, either,” he added.

“I still like them, though. I like your dad, especially. I mean, he told me to come to him for anything school related. I like that.”

“Thank you for that,” he told her. “When I was growing up, a lot of people didn't, because they're New Yorkers and they're scary smart collegiate professors and everybody thought their raising my brother and me like that screwed us up.”

“Hey, at least they aren't from a strict religion,” she pointed out, which in turn made him chuckle.

“No, they aren't! I'd rather they be fully educated anyways.” He paused for a moment as they pulled up to a stoplight.

“By the way, are you thinking of continuing on with school? 'Cause—it looks like you didn't finish.”

“I didn't, no.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't really know, if I'm honest with you, Alex.”

The light turned green and they fell back into silence all the way over to the airport, all for the next flight out to Los Angeles. A quick one way ticket and the two of them walked together to the gate, both of them as silent as ever. It would be another minute before the gate opened and thus Sam turned to him and the gentle look on his face, the most gentle she had seen him.

He put his arms around her and held her close to his slender body. Still very soft from the two nights together.

“Give your mom a hug for me,” he told her in a hushed voice.

“Gladly,” she vowed to him. More people congregated behind them in anticipation of the flight.

“Also,” he added, “um—look for our last name in your mom's mailbox around the—middle of the month, give or take.”

“Oh?”

He showed her a shy, small smile in response to that. Sam stood still before him, slightly befuddled, but then she realized what he was telling her.

“I'll be on the lookout,” she promised him, and she wondered what it was exactly that Joey had in store for her.

“You better get going,” he encouraged her in a low voice, and she turned her attention to the gate behind her. Everyone behind them proceeded to board the plane.

“February, you said?” she asked him.

“Right on the first! Please join us.”

“I'll see you soon,” she told him.

“You, too,” he said. “Safe travels.” For a second, she swore that he winked at her. But then she picked up her things and headed over to the gate, and she boarded the plane with everyone else. She peered over her shoulder at the sight of him there with his hands tucked in his jeans pockets and the somber look on his face. The tuft of gray hair stood high over the right side of his brow like a little icicle. Those eyes locked onto her one last time before she turned away and headed down the terminal corridor; she then boarded onto the plane in silence.

And that whole entire time she never came across her father anywhere in the Bay Area: yet another thing she had to address to her mother once she was back down south.

She took that flight headed for Los Angeles once more, and soon thereafter she would board the boat down to Santa Catalina Island. She was bound to return to New York at one point regardless of anything else simply to visit Joey in upstate and to lay on her couch once again.

Over the course of that ninety minute flight, she thought about Alex's behavior over the course of their entire trip. It all worked out so perfectly with them even when she intended on nothing more than to improvise on it all. That was it right there: her first window into Alex and her confirmation on what Louie had said to her on the ride down the California coast. He had shown a new side to him, but she swore that she had a long way to go with him.

Add to this, she had a long way to go with Joey as well. She gazed out the window to the snow covered mountain tops down below: on the other side was the vast stretch of desert that seemed to go on out East for eternity. She and Alex had rode up that desert together all alone: on the other side of the plane, even though she couldn't see it from her seat, the Coastal Range and the coastline itself loomed down below the plane.

An hour later, and she landed just outside of Long Beach, where Joey himself awaited her there outside of the gate. His brown eyes appeared a bit lazier than usual but he showed her that familiar lopsided grin once she rounded the corner.

She hurried up to him with her arms wide open.

They embraced each other and he planted his lips onto hers.

“God, I missed you,” he confessed to her.

“Where's Krista?” she asked him in a near whisper.

“She went back home to Kansas City. I think she got the message.” He flashed her a wink at that.

And with nothing more to add, he led her out of the airport and back over to the docks for the next large boat over to Catalina. It was a cold, blustery day there in Long Beach, such that he lingered closer to her as they awaited their ride: the gray waters out before them chopped and shortened up with the cold winter winds around them.

She could feel his fingers right on the seat of her pants, and she showed him a mischievous smile as a result.

Indeed, once they boarded the boat, he kept one hand on her knee the whole twenty two miles. At one point, he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, and she playfully slapped the back of his hand at the feeling. He showed her another lopsided grin at that.

Within time, the harbor outside of Avalon emerged in their view: all the usual little boats and yachts around the place had docked up for the New Year and also for the storm that had passed through. Esmé awaited them at the far end of the dock, wrapped up in a little sweater and with her cat eye glasses perched upon the bridge of her nose all the while.

“There are my babies,” she declared once they came within earshot; she embraced Sam so tight that she swore that she would cut off her circulation. Joey let Sam take the front seat and they drove back to the house.

Once they had made their way inside, Esmé continued on back to her bedroom for something, but that left Sam and Joey some time alone together.

“Alone at last,” he said as she guided him into her bedroom. She nudged the door shut, but she left it ajar a bit by a sliver the width of her pink nail.

“So how was your road trip?” he asked her once he peeled off his jacket, followed by his shirt. He tossed both on the chair in the corner of the room, and then he lunged for the bed.

“Exciting and quite the adventure,” she told him as she took off her jacket and her shirt. She unhooked her bra and left it on the floor next to her feet.

“An adventure like what we're about to have?” he asked her in a husky voice; she climbed up next to him but she never moved any closer to him. There had to be something here, something more just to get her going.

“Joey, we're in my bed,” she whispered to him.

“So? Let's get it on, Sam I am. I should tell you—State of Euphoria went gold.”

“Oh—Oh, Joey. Mister Lead Singer.”

She set one hand on the side of her and then she lowered herself down on top of him, and she placed her lips onto his dark ones. As smooth and silken as molten chocolate still: he tasted like peppermint and she knew that he had brushed his teeth just prior to her landing. A little tip of his tongue onto her own and she wondered where they would go from there. She had already put her lips onto his length when in England, but there was something more here. Something a little more homely.

“Sam?” Esmé called from the front of the house, which in turn brought the two of them to a complete standstill.

“Yes?” Sam replied back to her.

“Could you come in here for a second?”

She fetched up a sigh and she climbed off of Joey. With a bit of haste, she put her bra and her shirt back on over her body, and she headed into the kitchen to see what was the matter. Esmé struggled to remove the cork from a brand new bottle of sparkling cider, and thus Sam decided to help her. Though it was dry, she hoped that Joey wouldn't smell it from the next room, but at that point, her mother had poured her a glass of that cider and offered her a slice of pie with her lunch.

She thought of Alex all the while and since she knew that she hadn't eaten since that morning, she took the glass and the pie and took her seat there at the bar. Soon, Joey joined them and he, too, received a plate of pie and some cider himself.

“My little girl's actually going to be twenty four in a few days time,” Esmé remarked with a wistful tone to her voice.

The same age as Cliff, and just like with Cliff, she, too, hadn't been touched between the legs herself either. All the little glances and glimpses from Joey made her wonder if they would go any further than that over the course of the next few weeks.

But they never did: given the extent of Anthrax's tour, Joey returned back home to New York the next morning after he had spent the night with them. Much like Alex, he took to the comfy couch overnight, and Sam and Esmé saw him off on the next flight out to Anthrax's next stop in Houston.

Sam's twenty fourth birthday in the middle of the month came with the next round of winter's rain as it lasted the full week, from Martin Luther King, Jr. Day all the way to that weekend when the country watched the inauguration of Bush. The whole entire time she watched it on the little television in the guest room, she thought of Alex and the package that he and his parents had sent her: a black fedora with a white ribbon around the base of the crown and a little black and red feather on one side. Alongside it was a handmade card from them, pieced together with colorful cardstock and some ribbon. On the inside, in neat penmanship and bright red sparkling ink, it read:

“Happy birthday, Samantha! Love, Jerry, Arlene, and Alex.”

She smiled at their names as she placed the hat upon her head, and she wondered if Joey was willing to give her something for her day as well, especially if Alex's words about gifts were anything to go by.

Indeed, she wore that hat on the flight back up to San Francisco on the first, much to the pleasure of the flight agents all around the airport and even a couple of the stewardesses on the plane. Alex awaited her at the gate, albeit with a grin on his face.

“Had a feeling that hat'd be a good fit for you,” he told her once she gave him a hello hug.

“You picked this out?” she asked him.

“Nah, my mom did. She was like, 'I haven't even met her yet and yet I feel this hat would fit her wonderfully!' and then you met her and after you left, she was like 'yes, definitely send that hat to her, baby.'” She chuckled at that. “Anyways, come with me.”

Alex led her out of the airport into the cold San Francisco Bay fog outside, and ultimately to his car. They drove over to that studio that he had shown her on New Year's Day, and they were greeted by an excited Louie wrapped up in a leather jacket right there on the front doorstep.

“Also, I should tell you that I finally figured it out!” Alex proclaimed with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” He unbuckled his seat belt, but he didn't climb out as of yet. “Literally right after you left, my dad was playing a record from a man named Al Di Meola and I heard it from my room, and it was like a lightning bolt. I ran across the hall and I started playing it on this guitar and then I was like 'yes!' So I called up Eric and showed it to him and he was like 'right on! Let's go with that!'”

They climbed out together and Louie hurried over to her with his arms wide open.

“I feel like I haven't seen you in a million years,” he declared right into her ear.

“It's only been a few weeks, Lou,” she told him.

But then he led the two of them into the studio, with that lush shag carpet on the floor and the bright high ceiling overhead. To the right stood the actual sound room itself, where Greg and Eric had already walked into with their guitars in hand. They rounded the corner only to find Chuck speaking with a familiar bob of black hair in the desk chair before him.

“Hey, Zelda!” Sam greeted her.

“Hey, hey! I was wonderin' when you'd get here!” Zelda clambered to her feet and threw her arms around Sam. “Happy belated birthday, by the way. Eric reminded me.”

“Thank you so much! And happy belated to Louie Louie over here, too.”

“Ha!” Louie belted out as he took off his jacket and hung it on the hook next to them; right underneath his jacket was a miniature fridge.

“The girls and I have a gift for ya, too,” Zelda continued, “but it's not like this hat or anything these boys have given you. We're making another album and I already have the perfect name for it, too.”

“What's that?”

“Captain Shelley's Gallery. After you and your artistry.”

“Oh, Zelda!” Sam threw her arms around her once more.

“And we got a gift for you, too,” Chuck joined in, “I'm sure Alex gave you a hint to it on the way over, too.”

“He did!” Sam declared.

“You girls are standing in for Mr. Producer right now,” Alex himself said as he raised a finger. He took off his jacket and he strode into the sound room as if he owned it himself. Sam and Zelda watched him walk over to his guitar, propped up on a metallic stand; he picked it up and slung it over his shoulder, and waved his black hair about a bit. That tuft of gray was obvious at that point.

Louie took his seat behind the drum kit and Chuck lingered over to the side.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Zelda announced through the microphone, “unleash hell.”

Eric and Alex both started it out with a big grinding introduction.

Louie's kick drum pounded through the wall right before her. Sam looked over at Zelda, who in turn flashed her a grin and nodded at her.

That riff, that groovy riff; it coaxed a shake from her hips a bit. In junction with Louie's drum beats, which felt akin to the hammer of a black smith, and it only added to the feeling. Zelda nodded her head along with it.

Sam thought about the night on Anthrax's tour wherein Alex had covered that Soundgarden song. His leads here wandered around and spiraled tightly into coils like that song straight out of Seattle.

Eric and Greg twinned one another: the latter of which played his bass such that it resembled to thunder. And then Chuck's vocals seared through that microphone's head.

Almost four years of straight touring and making music had made these boys tight and on point each and every time the next time over.

It had that hooky chorus, “so practice what you preach!” a phrase which Sam knew she would cling to for a thousand years.

He repeated it and Alex, Eric, and Greg both joined in on back up.

“Groovy, hard, and fast, and it gets stuck in your head, too!” Zelda exclaimed.

“Yeah, it does,” Sam said, “and I almost wanna like dance to it, too.”

At one point, Alex took a step forward with his little red guitar pressed to his body and he proceeded on his solo. Sam and Zelda watched him in complete awe as it felt as though he painted his first real masterpiece upon the proverbial canvas. Even through the sound proof door, he was able to make the floor shake with his bending of those strings.

This was not the hole in the wall and this was not the first time Sam watched Anthrax.

This was beyond that.

Eric gave his inky black hair a toss back as he joined in with Alex again for a few more seconds. Louie tapped on the kick drum a bit and Alex improvised along with him.

“He's—He's unreal,” Sam said to Zelda.

“Who, Alex?”

“Yeah. Well, Louie is, too, but Alex is from somewhere else.”

“He's a true artist,” Zelda said, “kind of like how you are.”

Sam stayed silent at that. She didn't really believe that was on the level of true artistry as of yet, but she knew it still resided within her. She knew that her own masterpiece, her own “Practice What You Preach”, stayed within her for the time being.

They jammed out some more songs, all the way to the end of the afternoon, to which Chuck sang himself hoarse and Louie had finally broken out a sweat. Chuck himself walked over to the door and unlocked it for them, and Sam and Zelda met up with him there.

“Oh my god!” he yelped in a broken voice.

“Dude, that first song is going to be huge,” Sam told him.

“Dude! Don't call me 'dude'. Anyways, I think you're gonna be right, li'l Sammich.” He turned to Zelda. “Care for a drink?”

“Please!” Zelda doubled back to the hooks on the wall and the miniature fridge on the floor there. She took out a pair of beer bottles, one for herself and one for Chuck; once she handed the one to him, she turned to Sam.

“Care for one?”

“Let's share one,” Sam told her, which made the boys laugh out loud. Chuck doubled back into the room and opened the bottle.

“Drink up, Alejandro,” he commanded.

“Chuck—Chuck, no.”

“C'mon, a little sip of beer won't kill ya,” he coaxed him. Sam bowed into the doorway there and she watched Alex take a whiff from the bottle's mouth first before he took a sip. He shrugged his shoulders and handed it back to Chuck himself.

“Not bad,” he confessed, “rather have a glass.” The phone on the control panel rang right then and Zelda bowed away to answer it.

“You guys really are like Metallica's honor student kid brothers,” Sam told them with a little laugh, which in turn brought a laugh out of Chuck.

“Metallica's honor student kid brothers,” Louie echoed that, and he laughed himself.

“And I guess Anthrax showed up right behind us to put the 'kick me' sign on our backs,” Alex cracked with a gesture to his own back.

“Then Megadeth came to talk us into the ground during debate class,” Greg added.

“And Slayer showed up, just to give the five of us all a swift kick in the ass!” Chuck rounded out and the six of them laughed out loud at that.

Zelda cleared her throat right behind her.

“Hey—Hey, Miss Frankenstein!” she said right into Sam's ear, which in turn brought more laughter. “Your little monster is on the other end.”

Even though she had nothing to drink right then, she was already feeling giddy. Zelda handed her the phone, the receiver of which she brought over from the body itself. Sam lingered there in the doorway with it up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Sam?” She recognized that upstate accent.

“Oh, hi, Joey!” She smiled at the sound of his voice.

“Sam—Sam—you're—you're not gonna believe this,” he could hardly speak. The tremble in his voice made her stop right in her tracks. Indeed, he almost sounded sick.

“What happened?” she asked him, slightly concerned.

He fetched up a sigh, albeit one that shuddered a bit. He gasped and whimpered the lightest of whimpers and she wondered what was going on with him. Louie said something and Greg burst out laughing right then; thus, she cupped a hand over her ear so she could hear him.

“Joey,” she started in a low voice, “—what happened?”

He sighed again.

“I got fired,” he said in a small voice.

“What,” she stammered, “what! What the—fuck, what do you mean you got fired?”

Someone shushed the people in the rest of the room, and the room fell silent behind her.

“I got fired,” he repeated, and he brought his voice to a near whisper. “I just got off the phone with Charlie. He said—they all got into a meeting together and just decided to rid of me. If it's any fairness to him, though, I—I could tell he had a hard time doing it.”

She brought a hand to her mouth to keep herself from crying herself or from vomiting. He gasped again and she could tell that he was crying.

“Oh,” she breathed into the mouthpiece, “oh my god, Joey, I'm so sorry.”

“I'm just,” he stammered, “—I'm just—gonna—go to sleep now.”

“Oh my god, Joey. Sit tight, I'll be right there.” She hurried back to the sound board to the phone's body.

“Sam?” he stopped her in a broken voice.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” he declared.

“I love you, too.” She hung up right there, and she closed her eyes and let out a low whistle, and then she returned to the room, and Zelda and Testament, all of whom looked on at her, stunned.

“What happened?” Chuck asked her, concerned.

“Joey got fired,” she told him in a soft voice, and Alex gaped at her. Chuck raised his eyebrows at that, flabbergasted.

“What,” Louie flatly said.

“When did this happen?” Eric asked her.

“I guess just now? He said he just got off the phone with Charlie—which tells me he's home now—and they all had a meeting without him, and they decided to get rid of him.” Sam paused for a moment. “He also said that Charlie had a hard time telling him about it, too.”

Alex and Chuck looked on at one another with stunned looks on their faces.

“What the fuck,” was all Zelda could say.

“They were doing good, too!” Eric declared.

“They were doing excellent,” Sam continued. “Last month, he told me State of Euphoria went gold.”

“Already?” Alex raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. So it just—that doesn't make any sense. And I promised him I'd be right there with him, which means I have to—I have to fly home to New York.”

“Well, it's five o'clock—we're done for the day,” Greg told her as he clutched his bass by the neck, “we'll take you to the airport.”

“I'll come with you,” Alex told her.

“Yeah, me, too,” Chuck added.

“No, guys, that's not necessary,” Sam told them off.

“Samantha, your boyfriend just got fired,” Alex pointed out, “he's going to need all the support he can get.”

“What he said,” Chuck added.

“I'll come, too,” Zelda joined in, “I'm going back home after this, anyways.”

Sam nodded her head and, once they had closed up shop for the day, Eric and Greg drove them all back to the airport. She had no idea as to what to say to Joey once they were back in upstate. But she knew that she would have a little talk with Scott and Charlie at some point.

Eric and Greg walked them throughout the airport and all the way to where the next red eye would take her, Chuck, Alex, and Zelda over to Syracuse.

“Are you guys going to be alright?” she asked them.

“Oh, yeah,” Eric assured her as he put his arms around her.

“I'll call you when we get there,” she promised him.

“Aw, thank you so much for that.” And he gave her another hug for that.

She would have to give all the hugs in the world from that point onward for Joey.

2 notes · View notes

tiramisiyu · 4 years

Text

【未定事件簿】Tears of Themis: Main Story 6-13 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 6 – Tiger’s Accomplice Ghost (Parts 1, 2): 6-1 / 6-3 / 6-5 / 6-7 / 6-9 / 6-11 / 6-13 / 6-15 ♦️ ♦️ 6-16 / 6-18 / 6-20 / 6-22 / 6-24 / 6-26 / 6-27 / 6-28 / 6-29

Fu Qiao’s House

Tuesday night 8:00PM, we arrived at Fu Qiao’s house. Fu Qiao and Zhou Nan co-rented a place, so it sounded like they were somewhat richer than other university students, but the area of the place they lived in was actually very small.

MC: This house is just about 30 square meters, right.

On the left of the entrance was the washroom, and on the right, there was a very simple kitchen. There was a washing machine right under the induction stove. Deeper inside, there was a bed and book table. You could see everything in one look – the room was small enough that there wasn’t space for excess seating.

Fu Qiao: More or less. Rent in the middle of the city is expensive, and we can’t afford any larger.

Zuo Ran: Campus housing has cheap rent. You and Zhou Nan were both students, so why not rent a place there?

Fu Qiao: Nannan… didn’t go to school often. She spent more time going to the bar.

Fu Qiao: The transit here is convenient. You can take the subway to directly get to the bar or school.

MC: How many transit lines do you have to take to get from here to Xunye?

Fu Qiao: You take Line 7 to Changzhou Station, then switch to Line 3 to Jinyang Street to get there.

Zuo Ran: Isn’t it alright to take Line 7 straight to the bar? Having to switch rides must be troublesome.

Fu Qiao: Xunye Bar is on the other side of the road. If you get off the stop on the bar’s street, you’ll have to walk quite a distance over. Taking Jinyang Street is relatively closer.

Fu Qiao: From C exit, Xunye is a few steps east.

>Fu Qiao is lying!

MC: (Fu Qiao is lying. If he never knew where Xunye was, then how could he be so familiar with switching rides on the subway to get there!)

I pretended to casually shoot Zuo Ran a glance, and our eyes met. It was obvious that we were thinking the same thing.

MC: After Zhou Nan’s accident, you didn’t move back to live around on campus? You can save on costs like this.

Fu Qiao: No. I’m already in my fourth year of university, and I’m mostly focusing on internships and looking for work, so I don’t really go back to school.

Fu Qiao: Plus, we rented this place early on – we rented in first year. Rent was cheap back then, and it hasn’t risen these past few years.

Fu Qiao: It’s now really hard to find a place nearby at this price, so I didn’t back out of renting this place for future work convenience.

MC: That’s true. Real estate prices have grown fast in these past few years.

Fu Qiao: Ah, look at me, I forgot that I don’t have extra chairs at home, letting you two stand while talking.

Fu Qiao: In the past when Nannan and I were at home, it would always be one person sitting on the bed while the other sat on the chair. If we placed more around, they wouldn’t see any use.

Fu Qiao: Please wait for a bit, I’ll go borrow some from a neighbour.

Zuo Ran: Thank you for your trouble.

As Fu Qiao was gone, Zuo Ran and I could take this opportunity to observe if there were any clues in Fu Qiao’s house.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, have you noticed where things aren’t quite right in this house?

Zuo Ran: Mm, there are several places.

>Select: Closet

MC: Lawyer Zuo, look at that transparent closet.

The doors of the closet in Fu Qiao’s place were transparent – it could be considered as a sort of simplistic, industrial style.

MC: It seems like it’s all male clothing in there. I don’t see any female clothing in there at all.

Zuo Ran: There are few clothes hung in there – it’s clear that there’s still lots of space.

Zuo Ran: But we can’t exclude the possibility that Fu Qiao placed Zhou Nan’s items in a box to keep them.

Zuo Ran: Look at the bottom shelf – there are storage boxes.

MC: But based on my experience in putting away clothes, storage boxes typically contain clothes for other seasons.

MC: The weather’s not cold these days, and the clothes Fu Qiao hung are all unlayered clothes…

MC: Thick clothes like down clothing are probably inside the storage boxes.

Zuo Ran: If we consider that, there are only two storage boxes, so there isn’t space to put Zhou Nan’s clothes.

Zuo Ran: Because even if they were compressed, with the addition of winter bed linings, he would only be able to stuff it inside the closet.

MC: The topmost shelf of the closet is also empty…

MC: Is it possible that Fu Qiao threw away Zhou Nan’s clothes?

MC: But didn’t Zhao Fei say that they were all left for Fu Qiao as mementos? Since they’re mementos, why would he throw them?

This was very contradictory – I had somewhat of a hard time figuring it out.

Zuo Ran: We’ll indirectly ask him later.

>Select: Closet (2)

MC: This kind of simplistic, industrial-style closet seems to be really popular these days – it’s fashionable.

Zuo Ran: I favour wooden furniture more – they have more of a sense of reality, and they look stable.

Zuo Ran: What about you?

MC: For me…

MC: Seems like there’s nothing I prefer in particular – fashionable or retro, I’m fine with it all.

Zuo Ran: Is that so… I understand.

>Select: Bookshelf

Zuo Ran: “Basic Applications of Chemistry”, “Calculus”…

Zuo Ran: They should be Fu Qiao’s books.

MC: There isn’t a single book on photography, and there aren’t any pictures in the room like at Zhao Fei’s house…

MC: Even if Zhou Nan didn’t like studying, didn’t go to classes, and didn’t get teaching materials, she should still have photography equipment.

MC: She even went to a bar to work for photography, so she probably truly liked it.

Zuo Ran: There also isn’t any photography equipment in anywhere visible…

Zuo Ran: Photography equipment are expensive items, and they must have been things that Zhou Nan valued, so where could they be kept…?

>Select: Bookshelf (2)

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you have a lot of collected books in your house, right – are they all law-related books?

Zuo Ran: Half of the second floor at my house is a movies and music room, and half is book room – the books I’ve collected could be considered to be many.

Zuo Ran: Aside from law, there are also movies, philosophy, science fiction, and some original German books.

MC: If there’s a chance, could I borrow some to read?

Zuo Ran: Of course. You’re welcome anytime.

>Select: Dresser

MC: A guy’s dresser sure is simple…

Zuo Ran: Will a lady have many things on her dresser?

Zuo Ran: Things like skincare products and jewelry?

MC: That’s right! Aside from the skincare products everyone knows about, I’ve even got several kinds of combs.

MC: Such as hairbrushes, toothed combs, round brushes, bristle brushes, et cetera…

Zuo Ran: Is it to deal with different hairstyles?

MC: Of course.

MC: But the toughest part of every day is seeing all the hair that I’ll never be able to fully clear off from the combs…

Just as I’d spoken, I heard Zuo Ran laugh quietly.

MC: If I already got the high-level lawyer qualification, I probably wouldn’t be troubled by this.

Zuo Ran: No, you’ve misunderstood, I didn’t intend to laugh at you.

Zuo Ran: I just feel like you… are very lively like this.

MC: Eh?

Zuo Ran: I don’t see you like this often.

MC: …

Zuo Ran: I’ve learned it from you now. When I go home, I’ll research the different types of combs – usually, I really don’t use this many.

MC: But, Lawyer Zuo, what are you studying up on this for…

Smiling, Zuo Ran shook his head without replying to me.

>Select: Dresser (2)

Zuo Ran: Most of the things on the dresser are things that males use. There is no indication that a woman lived here.

MC: (Where did Fu Qiao store Zhou Nan’s things?)

>Select: Bed

Zuo Ran: There is only one pillow on the bed, and the bedsheets are also the dark-coloured style preferred by men…

MC: Yeah. Typically, though the fabrics on often get washed, it’s rare for them to be thrown away, unless if they’re damaged.

MC: For the blankets, quilts, and so on that I’ve bought, I’ll use them for several years.

MC: This is even more so for pillows – I’m reluctant to switch them out after getting used to them…

MC: But Fu Qiao… though it’s a two-person bed, it’s obvious that only one person used the fabrics on the bed.

MC: And it’s the kind that guys prefer…

Zuo Ran: After Zhou Nan’s death, he threw all the things they originally had, and changed to a new set.

Zuo Ran: We can’t exclude this possibility.

MC: Anyway, if it were me, I probably wouldn’t buy fabrics of this style.

MC: Looking at Fu Qiao’s house furnishings, it looks just like he’s completely erased all the indications of Zhou Nan living here.

Zuo Ran: Someone who loved deeply, who couldn’t retain in time the indications of his partner’s life after she passed…

Zuo Ran: He must be hiding something if he’s cleared everything out so cleanly.

Fu Qiao was taking a bit of a long time borrowing chairs, so Zuo Ran and I waited for quite a while before he came back.

Fu Qiao: My apologies, the neighbours around all get off work late, so most of them aren’t home.

MC: No need to worry, we were the ones to trouble you.

Fu Qiao: You can’t say that…

Fu Qiao: After Nannan passed, very few people still thought of her. Thank you for worrying and running around for her.

Zuo Ran: We were also entrusted to this by someone.

Fu Qiao: Uh, was it Nannan’s big brother? I’ve seen him a few times, though we’re not very familiar.

Fu Qiao: As for Nannan’s mother… she’s already emigrated to another country with her new family. After Nannan died, she only gave a call.

MC: …

Fu Qiao: You two said before that Nannan was murdered, so you mean… she didn’t use illegal drugs herself?

Zuo Ran: Yes, we suspect that Zhou Nan was deliberately murdered, so we wanted to get an understanding of the situation from you.

Zuo Ran: You should be the person who is the most familiar with her in this world.

Fu Qiao: How could that be… how could she have been murdered…

MC: Mr. Fu, do you mean that it’s not possible for someone to have murdered Zhou Nan?

Fu Qiao: Though Nannan worked as a bar waitress, which is kind of… you know, but she probably never started a feud with anyone.

>He didn’t approve of Zhou Nan!

MC: (With Fu Qiao’s tone, it’s clear that he doesn’t approve of bar waitressing!)

Fu Qiao: Ugh, I don’t know where to start, so ask as you please.

INTERROGATION START

Relations with Zhou Nan

MC: Mr. Fu, we just saw you burn the paper cranes – the relationship between you and Zhou Nan must have been excellent.

Fu Qiao: Mhmm, Nannan was my first love, as well as the only person I’ve ever liked up to now.

Fu Qiao: If not for Nannan’s incident, I had already prepared to marry her after graduating from fourth year, which would be next year.

Zuo Ran: Mr. Fu, I presume you aren’t a native to Stellis City and did not attend the same school as Zhou Nan. How did you two meet?

Fu Qiao: I’m not a Stellis City citizen – my family lives outside of the city.

Fu Qiao: I don’t really like to interact with people in real life. Instead, I chat with friends online more.

Fu Qiao: Nannan and I met online. I first liked the scenic pictures she took, then got to know her.

MC: Scenic pictures? Were they posted on social media?

Fu Qiao: Yes. We were both in high school back then, and there was lots of pressure to study, so I liked to look at her pictures to relive pressure.

Fu Qiao: During then, I vaguely felt like I liked Nannan, and I wrote in the Gaokao* that I aspired to go to Stellis City.

Fu Qiao: After we met offline when first year started, we officially started dating.

Zuo Ran: Looks like Zhou Nan’s photography skills are excellent.

Fu Qiao: Mhmm. To me, the pictures she took were the most beautiful.

TL Note:

*Gaokao are China’s standardized tests for university admissions.

Locations of Zhou Nan’s Works

MC: Have you still kept Zhou Nan’s works?

MC: I don’t seem to see any in your house.

Fu Qiao: About this…

Fu Qiao: I… I burned all the photos…

MC: Burned them? Why?

Fu Qiao: Missing someone after seeing related things will only make me sadder.

Fu Qiao: Not just her works – I either donated all her things or burned them.

Fu Qiao: I feel like I won’t be able to walk free all my life if I leave those things at home.

Talisman

MC: If I may be so bold, is the thing on your neck… an talisman?

MC: If you keep it so close on you, was it something left by Zhou Nan?

Fu Qiao: Ah, this…

Fu Qiao: This is an talisman, but it wasn’t left by Nannan. It’s a symbol of peace that I prayed for at Yunxia Temple.

Zuo Ran: Could you take it out for a look? I’m just purely curious.

Zuo Ran: I’ve always wanted to go to Yunxia Temple to pray for one, but work is too busy, and I never have time.

Fu Qiao clutched at his collar, looking somewhat agitated.

Fu Qiao: Sorry, the master said that it’s best to not show it to anyone aside from family – otherwise, it won’t work.

Zuo Ran: I’m sorry, I acted impolitely.

The moment Fu Qiao put down his hand, I noticed that the bottom of his index finger seemed to be a bit thinner than the upper part…

MC: (Is this… the mark left by a ring?)

MC: (If one wears a ring for a long time without taking it off, day or night, then it’ll leave this kind of mark.)

MC: (A lot of people who wear wedding rings are like this.)

MC: (Ring…)

Bar Waitressing

Zuo Ran: A hobby like photography is very costly – after all, the equipment is very expensive.

Zuo Ran: Was Zhou Nan’s financial situation alright? Did she have any financial conflicts with anyone?

Fu Qiao: Nannan’s costs were indeed large, but she was a girl that strove for self-improvement and always relied on herself to work for money. She never took on any loans.

Fu Qiao: If she didn’t have to deal with these costs, she wouldn’t have worked as a bar waitress.

MC: Mr. Fu… you must not have been willing for Zhou Nan to be a bar waitress?

Fu Qiao: Of course I wasn’t willing. This job is both tough and dangerous. Aside from drinking every day and damaging her body, those guests…

As he spoke, Fu Qiao clenched his fist.

Fu Qiao: Those guests became handsy with her quite a few times.

Fu Qiao: Though Nannan wouldn’t stay out for the night, but…

Zuo Ran: When did you find out that Zhou Nan was a bar waitress?

Zuo Ran: You considered Zhou Nan’s convenience of transit when you first rented the house, so she must have worked as a bar waitress for a while.

Fu Qiao: At the beginning, I only knew that she worked in the north area. I didn’t know she was a bar waitress.

Fu Qiao: After, she told me that she worked at Xunye, and only said that she was a singer.

Fu Qiao: Nannan’s singing was very good.

Fu Qiao never directly answered the question “When did he find out about Zhou Nan being a bar waitress”. But based on how Fu Qiao described this job, he didn’t seem like he only knew of Zhou Nan bar waitressing after her death – instead, it was like he went to get an understanding of it beforehand.

He didn’t tell the truth, and Zuo Ran and I didn’t persist in these questions, to avoid raising his alert accidentally.

Interpersonal Relationships

MC: Theoretically, if Zhou Nan was murdered by someone, can you think of any suspects?

Fu Qiao: Uh… as of now, I can’t come up with anything.

Fu Qiao: Aside from exams at the end of term, Nannan very rarely went to school. Most of her friends were ones she knew from the bar.

Fu Qiao: If I really had to say, I think that the bar guests are more probable.

Fu Qiao: Those people weren’t good people to begin with, and they could have gotten in contact with illegal drugs.

Zuo Ran: But what reason would they have to murder Zhou Nan?

Fu Qiao: Maybe it was love-related jealousy?

Fu Qiao: They’re too far away from my life, so I don’t really know much about it.

Proof He Wasn’t on the Scene

MC: What were you doing on the night of Zhou Nan’s incident?

To avoid making this question seem too offensive, I added a question to it.

MC: When did the police contact you about Zhou Nan’s incident?

Fu Qiao: That night, I was doing experiments at school. Because I was very tired, I headed straight home after the experiment finished.

Fu Qiao: When the police contacted me, it was early morning. I was asleep, and didn’t get to pick up.

Fu Qiao: I only knew of Nannan’s incident after waking at 8AM and looking at my phone.

MC: Didn’t you say that Zhou Nan has never stayed out for the night? Didn’t you get in touch with her when she didn’t get back at night?

Fu Qiao: …

A flash of panic passed over Fu Qiao’s face, and he recovered his calm very quickly.

Fu Qiao: She had keys. If she got back late, she would open the door herself.

Fu Qiao: I originally thought that she would return at 2-3-o’clock – this was also a frequent occurrence.

MC: Is that so…

MC: Did you usually pick her up after she got off work?

Partners will typically do this, right?

Fu Qiao: I’ve brought it up before, but it’s too far to go back and forth. As a non-local, I’m not familiar with the north area, and the public safety there is bad, so Nannan didn’t let me go.

Fu Qiao: She said that she had a friend that lived near us. If she couldn’t make it to the last train, then she’d come back with her friend.

MC: If so… you’ve never gone to Xunye Bar?

Fu Qiao: I’ve never gone. I’ve also only heard Nannan casually bring up Xunye’s address.

Chen Hanzhang

MC: Mr. Fu, do you know this person?

I handed Chen Hanzhang’s photo to Fu Qiao. He just hastily swept his gaze over it.

Fu Qiao: I don’t know her. Who is she?

Zuo Ran: She’s called Chen Hanzhang. She went to Xunye that night, and she is also suspected of illegal drug trafficking.

Fu Qiao: Do you suspect that it was her who killed Nannan?

Zuo Ran: We only suspect her. We have no evidence, and we also can’t find a motive for her to kill Zhou Nan.

Fu Qiao: She doesn’t look like a good person, but I’ve never met her.

Fu Qiao kept his head lowered the whole time he was speaking, and he never looked at Chen Hanzhang’s photo again.

Zuo Ran: …

Drug History

MC: Do you know about how Zhou Nan has history with drugs?

Fu Qiao: Mhmm, I know about it. But it was very slight, and she went on withdrawal a long time ago.

Zuo Ran: After this matter, didn’t you try to convince Zhou Nan to change jobs?

Fu Qiao: I did… but her income would decrease if she changed jobs, and she wouldn’t be able to make enough.

Fu Qiao: It was me that was useless – I couldn’t help her split the responsibility…

INTERROGATION END

After flipping through the analysis record I made before, it seemed like we’d basically asked Fu Qiao all that we needed to ask.

MC: Mr. Fu, we’ve troubled you today…

MC: Eh? Mr. Fu, you grow out your nails? I believe that it’s rare for guys to grow out their nails.

Both of Fu Qiao’s pinky nails had been grown out. The other fingers all had their nails cut neatly.

Fu Qiao: Oh, for convenience.

Fu Qiao: Either for experiments or for daily life, there are always places to use one’s nails.

Fu Qiao: It’s not quite the same as when women grow out their nails.

MC: That’s true.

Fu Qiao: That… if there are new developments about Nannan’s cause of death, could you let me know?

MC: Sure. Then we’ll bid farewell.

#tears of themis translations #tears of themis #未定事件簿 #weiding shijian bu #zuo ran #tot translation

9 notes · View notes

jimmigmalingan · 3 years

Text

Her Name Is Not “baby”, It’s JANET.

It’s not “Miss Jackson if you’re nasty” either, although just as iconic.

What better way to celebrate Women’s Month than to get to know a great embodiment of a strong and powerful woman. In fact, so strong and so powerful that my instinctive reaction when I first saw the invite to her journalism class was “Oh no.”

That was the G-Rated version of it actually. Nevertheless, same message.

I barely even knew who she was or what her teaching style was going to be like. Her G-suite display picture just exuded “Oh no” energy. I mean that as a compliment.

I went straight to my friend from elementary school who shifted to Communication a year earlier than I did. I said “Do you have any tea on her?” The first thing he told me was that she had very high standards.

I like that, actually.

Back when I was in high school, which seems like very long time despite only having been a whopping three years, those were the types of teachers that I would consider my favorite ones. Ma’am Rachel from my English class, and Ma’am Elma from my Research and Biology class. Both of which actually went on to be school heads in different schools after we graduated.

I’m just here thinking to myself “God, I would’ve been excelling at her class if it isn’t for this stupid pandemic.” I clearly am not. We will get to that soon.

When we had the chance to organize an interview as a class, it invigorated me a tad bit. This is the closest I can get to having human interaction in an academic sense, but it was also my chance to have an idea or two of who ‘Janet Tibaldo’ was. Is she going to be the bane of my existence for the next four or so years or is she going to be alongside the people who I consider to be my “heroes”?

To my surprise, she’s very, well... human.

From what I’ve gathered in both of the interviews, our class’ and the other, she is a woman of strength. She is a passionate educator, a dedicated mother, and most of all, a woman of faith and devotion. In both of the interviews, she often emphasizes the importance of the “vertical relationship” in her life, and how it can have a positive effect in one’s horizontal relationships.

I do appreciate those remarks from her quite a bit, despite me having a rockier and more complex relationship with God as a queer person. I never considered myself an atheist. I do believe in God, and I believe that I am loved by God, despite knowing that people out there will try to convince me otherwise.

How could he possibly hate me when I pray to him too and he answers them just the same? It makes absolutely no sense to me.

When she said that you can fix your horizontal relationships once your vertical relationship is stable, it did strike a cord just as much as it struck a verve in me. I am trying to. It took me a while, but nevertheless I’m glad that I am here.

She often described herself as “strict”, both as a parent and an educator. It often surprises me how much bombardment my friend from elementary experiences from her subjects. The way he describes it to me sounds a bit like torture. I always took his words about her with a grain of salt. I will probably never believe him until I experience it first hand. He did say I was lucky that I shifted during online classes because she is a bit more lenient, otherwise I would’ve been dead meat.

If she was the monster that she’s painted out to be, I do understand why. It’s not like I don’t have a maternal figure or two in my life with eerily similar approaches. Like I said, she is a bit more human than what one would expect. She talked about her sleepless nights to dedicate herself onto her work, how she takes it upon herself when things go wrong, and how she said she hopes for a better and more empathetic world when I asked about her hopes for the future. To me she sounds like a person who stands her ground and knows exactly what she wants, even if it gets the best of her at times.

With that, she shared a peek of her younger days, how she spent her childhood during the Martial Law era, how newscasters on TV sparked her interest in the field of Communication, how in her college days they made do with the resources they had back then, emphasizing how lucky we are to have the technology we have now, how she was an activist back in the day. It painted a picture in my mind. Ahhh. No wonder.

There has always been ‘fire’ inside of her. A fire that lead her to be an educator today, despite having left the path of being a media practitioner.

I did think about it a couple of times. If being a visual artist doesn’t work out for me, maybe I’ll just teach. To me, it looks fun. She did say that she never thought in a million years that she would end up becoming a teacher because she thought it looked boring. According to her, lot of her family members ended up becoming teachers and she never wanted to be one of them. Maybe there’s some ugly parts of it that I don’t get to see, but it seems like a much more stable career path than visual arts, especially in a country like this.

Just from the interviews alone, you can tell that she has so much wisdom to offer in this field. That makes me all the more excited to meet her in person. If anything, there’s your proof right there that God is out there writing poetic justice for people. Maybe it was God’s way of saying “I have something better in mind for you, you just have to trust me.”

Another standout from the interviews was when she told all of us as a piece of advice that we should grab opportunities as they come. Oftentimes, the biggest regrets you have in life aren’t the things you did but the things you didn’t do. I have to admit, the main reason why this music video is taking too long to make is because of self doubt and insecurity. She’s right. I should toughen up a bit, shouldn’t I? Not only that, but there’s a lot of competitions that I found interesting in the facebook group that I just allowed to pass me by. I don’t want to blame my years in Architecture for it, because it did cause me some good. It’s just that I knew what I was running away from after years of feeling like I will never amount to anything.

I knew that. If anything I was way bolder when I left high school, only for Architecture to beat me down. It does take someone like her to remind me of who I was then.

When I was going through my depressive episode late last year, ultimately leading me to shift to Communication, I found myself seeking refuge in the music of Janet Jackson. As a matter of fact, I shared her music to the same friend I mentioned earlier, and now he’s a fan too. We’d often joke about which Janet we were talking about in the conversation.

On one hand, we have Janet the popstar, who despite being blacklisted by Bush’s racist and misogynistic America, kept on going. She kept performing and making music for as recent as 2018, and now she’s inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. On the other, we have Janet the teacher, who keeps holding on to her faith despite all of the trials and challenges that came her way all these years.

What’s it about Janets being fiery passionate women anyway?

That actually leads me to my next point of interest.

What moved me the most about both of the interviews was her openness about her struggles with mental health, and how she refers students to seek help as well back when classes were physical. I don’t think conversations like these were possible back in the day, especially when I was a child. Apparently I didn’t have ADHD I was just an idiot, and people like me get punished for their idiocy. That was my upbringing, and it’s so refreshing to know that kids nowadays are lucky to have a ‘zeitgeist’ like this.

I was brought up for the longest time in the idea that if you show any signs of vulnerability, you are weak. It took some time for me to ‘rewire’ my brain and undo all of that...

because that is blatantly false.

If anything, for me, it further solidified how strong she was. It takes so much strength to admit that you’re human. It takes so much courage to tell yourself that you probably need help because you struggle in this aspect of your life. It is so easy to pretend that you can take everything like a champ and you don’t need anyone to help you.

The easy route was to say “I’m fine” or “I’m doing good” when asked a simple question “How are you?”, the hard route is to ask yourself that same question “How am I?” and be honest and introspective about it.

She did just that. She took the hard route.

She said she was having trouble sleeping and that she had to consult a mental heath expert for that recently, and that this pandemic made it particularly hard for her to juggle work and home matters.

I don’t think she will ever understand how a simple statement like that inspires someone like me, because what I got from that was ‘if somebody as strong and as passionate as her bleeds the same way that I do, I too can be strong like her.’

I just booked my appointment to my therapist yesterday. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. It’s nice to know that I’m not alone in this, despite going there for feeling alone. Ironic, isn’t it? I feel like I’m running out of friends, and it’s starting to feel like paralysis, really.

After the interview ended, and I finished watching the interview from the other block, I couldn’t grasp the idea of this woman being taken as a monster, because the only words I could think of in association to her thus far is ‘uplifting’ and ‘inspiring’, in the same way that Ma’am Rachel was one of the people who inspired me to be a a cartoonist and Ma’am Elma inspired me to be a competitive dancer.

I had to give up three years worth of friendships to start back from scratch and to be here. I was actually so unsure if it was even worth the sacrifice, but Ma’am Janet Tibaldo, out of all people, showed me something to look forward to in this field. Based on what I’ve gathered from her, I’m up for a good time.

3 notes · View notes