#i may have accidentally stolen the box of the person in front of me at checkout

[umilily]

strawberrry milk post relevant again bc i accidentally came into possession of 1.5kg strawberries

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Misread Details: Robert

CW: Dehumanizing language, BBU blanket warning, serial killer/death talk, descriptions of death/abduction/murder, blood, whumper death, some real vague implied noncon references, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Dark Discovery in Robert Weber’s Basement: Box Boy Killer, Part 3

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

3 days ago

After Part One, where we learned about the mysterious, but possibly entirely natural, death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, and Part Two, where we saw Henry “Brute” Hanlon’s double life lead to his untimely gruesome murder, you see the single thread that connects these two men who otherwise never met, interacted, or even shared a single person in common… a nameless Box Boy, present at the death of Nanda even if he isn’t responsible for it, and the proven killer of Brute.

It’s my theory that this Box Boy may have accidentally killed his legal owner, Nanda, and then picked up a taste for the act and moved on to taking shelter with those he turns into his victims.

With Brute, he simply didn’t know the man had a wife and children and entire other life, and may have assumed no one would come looking for him or recognize his death. With our third individual, Robert Weber, it seems like our Box Boy Serial Killer got in over his head.

I give you… the Accidental Vigilante death of Robert Weber.

You decide if our unknown killer is simply the unluckiest guy in the world or a killer who even now may be somewhere living with - and earning the trust of - his next victim.

-

One bright and sunny day in the quaint, old-fashioned California town of Rancher’s Rest, Robert Weber was late for work.

Weber worked in a vehicle repair business owned by lifelong “RR” resident Randy Niles, who had known Weber since his childhood and had been his boss since Weber was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school.

Niles, who is now nearly seventy-five and still spends his days in the shop with an Australian Shepherd named Cody and a blind pit bull named Sue keeping him company everywhere he goes, stated that Weber had no living family he knew of beyond his sister in Vermont, and he was just about the closest thing Weber had to a relative just from having known him so long.

“He didn’t have too much to do with his sister,” Randy said in an interview with Unsolved Mysteries. (You can see the interview on the new Netflix reboot of the show! It’s a really good episode, definitely recommend. It’s how I got into this case in the first place.) “Or nobody, really. Just us at work, the guys at the bar, that kinda thing. He was quiet, kept to himself really. You’d never just strike up a chat around town or anything. But he got on just fine with the boys here in the shop. He was a bit of an egghead, too, always going on about this thing or that he’d seen on the news. Little… odd. Little bit off, you might say. But really, who isn’t? In any case, you know, I’d known him since he was a little boy, so he was just Bobby Weber to me.”

Then, of course, one day Robert Weber didn’t show up to work. Randy Niles immediately felt that something was very wrong.

“When nine, nine-thirty came and went and he wasn’t there,” Niles said, “I knew someone needed to go check on him. Bobby showed up for work right on time or ten minutes early, rain or shine, for twenty years. My first thought was maybe he’d had an accident at home, or some kind of, you know, health thing. Almost never called in sick, took one vacation a year, that kinda thing. So I drove right on over there. This would’ve been, oh, probably ten or ten-fifteen when I got to the house. Had my dogs with me, and they never did like Bobby much, but as soon as I opened my door and got out of my truck they just lost their damn minds. Barking, growling, Cody’s hackles were up like you wouldn’t believe. I know it sounds damn crazy, but I’m sure those dogs could smell that evil had been done in that house.”

On camera, Niles goes quiet, here, his gaze slipping away from the interviewer as he scratches at the side of his nose. When he looks back, the hint of good humor that seems to be an eternal part of his expression is gone.

“I didn’t know what Bobby had been up to all this time. None of us knew. I’ve known Bobby Weber his whole life, and I… I had no idea.”

Randy Niles was unable to convince his two dogs to exit the truck, and eventually rolled down the windows to give them some air and a way out if they chose (he is insistent on this point in the Unsolved Mysteries episode - “don’t you dare say I left my dogs locked up in a truck on a sunny day, I sure didn’t - Cody even knows how to pull a door handle if it’s the right kind”) and got out to knock on Robert Weber’s front door.

No one answered.

Niles knocked again. Still no response.

The front door was locked, but Niles was able to locate an unlocked back door into the garage, where he found Weber’s car neatly parked and nothing out of place. However, once he used an interior door in the garage to enter Weber’s home, what he found was so shocking he still struggles to describe it today.

“The, uh. The first thing I saw,” Niles says in the Unsolved Mysteries episode, wiping at his mouth with a handkerchief, “was a cage. Big old cage in the living room. Like a kennel for a big dog, Great Dane or something, except… except, you know, kennels’re usually mostly wire, not that heavy. You can fold ‘em up, put ‘em away. This was… geez. This was pure metal. Bunch of blankets all piled at the bottom, too. Here’s the-... you know, my mind just didn’t want to even make the thought, but I just, I looked at it and-”

In the episode, Niles has to take another moment, here. His eyes grow wet, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “People cage. Bobby had a damn man-sized cage in his living room. That’s when my stomach just fell out. Even then, though, I couldn’t-... I just thought, oh, well, what people get up to in their own homes is their business. But still, I just. I just decided, find Bobby, figure the rest out later. So I kept walking around looking for him.”

Randy Niles continued to call out, hoping to hear Weber’s response, but received none… at first. The radio in the kitchen was playing a local public radio station (“Bobby always hated the country western and classic rock we played at work, he was a big news man, big into classical, jazz, you know.”)

Niles noticed, he says, that the cage next to the couch had a wooden top, as though it were meant to act as a side table, and on that table was a small woven basket. Inside the basket appeared to be several State IDs and Driver’s licenses. Niles took note of this but his first assumption was maybe that Robert Weber had stolen some IDs or something.

Which was technically true, just… not quite the way he thought.

The kitchen, hallway, and all three bedrooms were equally empty of life. Every room was clean, everything neatly in place. Empty bottles of Jameson whiskey, Weber’s favorite brand, were lined up like décor along the mantel, and one half-full bottle was next to two clean, empty glasses on the kitchen table.

Even the beds were perfectly made.

The only thing missing was any sign of Robert Weber himself.

The question of Weber’s whereabouts was answered when Randy Niles heard a sound coming from the open door to Weber’s unfinished dirt basement.

“Like a ghost,” Niles said in his interview. “Just this low moaning sound. Hardly even thought of it as human, you know. But I just-... I called out, ‘Bobby? That you?’ and the moaning got a little louder, like whoever it was was tryin’ to answer. I could still hear my girls in the truck just going nuts, probably worried about me knowing what they maybe could smell even out there. I figured… I figured I’d best call the cops and get them out here. Seemed like a plan. So I picked up my phone and dialed, and then I headed down those basement steps.”

What Randy Niles discovered in Robert Weber’s basement was a dying man, battered and stabbed eight times, lying in a half-dug grave.

Robert Weber had been beaten with the very shovel that had done the digging. The shovel lay off to the side, caked in dirt and blood. Police would find some of Robert Weber’s hair on it, too. Then, the individual who had beaten him had gone back upstairs - blood smears were found on the railing to the stairs - and taken a kitchen knife out of the knife block on the countertop. A bloody fingerprint was found on the side of the knife block. They had then returned to the basement where Weber was stabbed, almost entirely through the stomach and chest, twenty-six times, until the cheap knife simply broke from the force.

Randy Niles admitted in his interview that he became very ill at this time. “From the shock,” He elaborated. “I haven’t been able to smell much since I was in a car wreck when I was young, so I didn’t smell what-... what my girls prob’ly smelled from outside, and what the cops smelled. To me, it was just… just a little off, is all. It was the sight of it that got to me, not the smell. The sight of the-... the hand.”

Behind Robert Weber’s body, the hand of another person was sticking up out of the loose dirt, as though someone was trying to dig their way out.

“I remember… I remember her nail polish was pink. That’s when I got sick, actually, was when I saw that hand with the painted nails. That’s when it just hit me all at once what Bobby had done.”

Randy Niles went back up the stairs and waited for the cops to arrive. Rancher’s Rest is a small town where everybody knows just about everybody else, and Niles was on a first-name basis with every single police officer he spoke to that day and in the days after. He would learn alongside the investigation that Robert Weber was not simply the quiet, intellectual car mechanic he had always seemed.

Instead, Robert Weber was a serial killer whose potential final victim had managed a miraculous, deadly escape.

Robert Weber never answered a single question about his own murder - he never fully regained consciousness and died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. His injuries were simply too severe. His autopsy showed that the cause of death was a stab wound that went deep into his chest and that he was first stabbed only after the beating with the shovel had taken place. Like Brute, most of his stab wounds were applied post-mortem in a rage rather than as part of the killing itself.

Medical examiners also found scratches on Weber’s face and arms, indicating that he had attempted to defend himself - or someone else had attempted to defend themself from him.

So why was Robert Weber killed, and why was there already a body in his basement? Investigators would piece together the story over the following days and weeks from a crime scene that only seemed to become darker and more baffling as time went on.

Excavating the basement was originally thought to be something that would be brief, but after the first body was removed, another one was found beneath it. Then another off to the side of that. And another, although this was simply bones.

Every time the forensics team thought they’d found the last human bone, they dug a little deeper or in a new spot and found more.

Eventually, the remains of twenty-two individuals would be removed from the basement of Robert Weber’s home, not including Weber himself. The oldest located victim was identified as Melinda Traxson, an Iowa woman reported missing by her family after she ran away in March of 1996… more than two decades before Robert Weber didn’t come to work one day.

Investigators are still working to match up every body with a missing persons’ case. For nearly all of them, the cause of death could not be easily ascertained due to the deterioration of the remains, but some showed signs of skull fractures. Identified individuals so far include:

Melinda Traxson, 19, from Iowa, ran away from home in 1996.

Billie Mortimer, 21, disappeared from a day out with friends at Lake Tahoe one year later in the summer of 1997. Her friends went to get lunch from the car after a swim and when they returned, she was gone.

Matthew Ranger, 22, went missing during a road trip to Yellowstone National Park in 1997 (only five months after Billie). His car was found abandoned by the side of the road with a flat tire.

Karl Janssen, 24, a tourist from the Netherlands who was also visiting Yellowstone, disappeared a month after Matthew. Last seen by an employee of the park who witnessed him speaking with another young man and getting into the man’s car. The employee said that the two seemed to be friendly with one another and did not seem like strangers.

Hannah Pointer, 26. She was reported missing in 1999 by her mother after failing to return home from work in Reno, Nevada. This disappearance occurred more than a year after Karl Janssen’s. Investigators would later discover that during this time period, Robert Weber dated a young woman from his hometown and he may not have wanted to risk her finding out what he was doing.

Isaac Jackson, 26, a Rancher’s Rest resident who disappeared after going out to a local bar to see his friend’s band play in 2000. His car was found submerged in a small pond two years later. This is the first time Weber apparently killed anyone close to home. He was actually briefly suspected in Jackson’s death, as he was the last person noted to see Jackson alive, but was cleared of suspicion at the time.

Dustin Swill, 21, who was driving from Colorado to California to visit his sister who had moved to Berras to work for WRU in 2001. He was last seen in a gas station near Yellowstone, where employees noted he spoke to a man who was smoking outside, who gave him a cigarette. When Swill left, employees saw the man put out his cigarette and leave shortly after. They did not find this unusual or noteworthy at the time.

Maria Vargas, 25, a Rancher’s Rest resident who was reported missing in 2002. Her family is intensely private and have shared few details about her, but it is known that her boyfriend at the time suspected Weber, who had attempted to convince her to leave the boyfriend for him and had apparently threatened her. He remained a suspect but there was never enough evidence to charge him.

Jennifer Striker, 28, from who never arrived for an appointment with a realtor in 2011. The long pause between Maria Vargas’s murder and Jennifer’s appeared to be due to Weber keeping a man named Finn Schneider within his home for more than a year after abducting him, as well as Weber serving five years in prison for a violent assault on a man he believed had sold him a defective vehicle. (Schneider was no longer in the home before the assault and prison time.)

Riley Nievelt, 25, was staying at the Big Meadow Campground with six friends during a weeklong vacation in 2012. She vanished while on a trip to purchase supplies. Her cell phone was found on the ground in the parking lot of the Food Lion in Rancher’s Rest, a short and easy drive away. At this time, with multiple individuals vanishing after being seen in Rancher’s Rest or being residents of the town, police begin to suspect and start hunting for a possible serial killer.

Alexander Peterson, 29, was a long-haul driver who vanished while working. He was last seen at a rest stop in 2014 on the California/Nevada state line, and would likely have passed right through Rancher’s Rest on his journey. He was reported missing by his ex-wife in South Dakota when he did not return as scheduled for a custodial visit.

The most recent victim, and owner of the hand that Randy Niles saw sticking up out of the dirt, was Yolanda Pierce, 26. She was a Rancher’s Rest resident with a troubled relationship with her husband, who had stormed out after an argument and was never seen again. She is believed to have died the same day as Robert Weber.

More remains exist but have not yet been identified. If you or anyone you know has a friend or family member who went missing during this time period in or near Rancher’s Rest, Yellowstone National Park, or Death Valley, it may be worth looking into, as those appear to be Robert Weber’s “hunting grounds”.

Disappearances in Yellowstone and Death Valley almost always matched up with Robert taking one of his rare weeklong vacations from work.

When investigators located three large diaries hidden inside a locked box in Weber’s closet, the first two fully filled up and the third nearly two-thirds finished, they found an exhaustively detailed record of Robert Weber’s crimes.

In these records, they discovered Weber’s first three victims were killed within 24 hours of abduction, with the rest being kept alive for longer and longer time periods. It is believed all of them met their end in Robert Weber’s basement.

Diary entries included records of two victims who were not a part of the bodies buried in Weber’s basement, both of whom may still be alive:

Finn Schneider, 19, a German tourist who disappeared in 2003 during a visit to Death Valley. Until Weber’s journals were found, it was believed he had perished in the park and had simply never been found. Robert Weber also visited Death Valley during this time. No one linked the two together. Evidence found in Weber’s home after his death, including the aforementioned diary entries and photographs, shows that Schneider was alive in Weber’s home for nearly sixteen months. It is believed Weber purchased the “human cage” that Randy Niles noticed around this time. The last diary entry that mentions Schneider states that he was “traded” on June 16th, 2005, to an individual only referred to as “Mouse.” What Weber received in exchange is unclear, but he was seen driving a new, custom-painted truck around this time, which he said he bought “from a personal ad” when asked by Niles about it. Schneider has never been found. However, his mother did receive a phone call in 2013 from an individual she believes to be her son, telling her that “Finn” was okay and to stop looking for him.

Our Box Boy, 334235, purchased by Nathaniel Benson years prior, whose whereabouts had been unknown since he murdered Brute Hanlon. Weber believed the Box Boy to be in his early twenties, according to his diary entries, and mentioned that he had picked the Boxie up hitchhiking and had intended to kill him before seeing the barcode on the inside of his left wrist and changing his mind. His diary suggests the Box Boy remained in his possession for roughly a fourteen months prior to Weber’s murder. Police have not released the details of what the Boxie was subjected to during this time, stating only that it is not the public’s interest for this information to be known, and they would like to locate the missing Boxie and interview him about certain details.

Four murders occurred during the time the Boxie was kept by Robert Weber. Weber noted that “the dog helped” with either murder or burial, suggesting that he may have worked as Weber’s accomplice in his terrible crimes.

Is it possible that they bonded over a shared urge to kill? Did the Boxie start a captive and become a companion?

Weber’s diary contained other disturbing facts, as well:

Weber also noted three failed abduction attempts in detail, in 1998, 2004, and 2017. In each he described with incredible precision of memory the appearances and descriptions of each person he failed to capture. He also appeared to do intensive research using their license plates and other information to find out where they lived and who they were. The names of these individuals have been kept quiet for privacy reasons.

Other failed abductions were noted, about one per year, without much detail. Or at least not enough for police officers to know who they were. Nearly all these failures were in one of three locations: Yellowstone National Park, Stanislaus National Forest and nearby campgrounds, and in or near Death Valley.

The last entry in Robert Weber’s diary was penned the day of his death.

NOTE: Weber referred to the Boxie as “the dog” in nearly all his journal entries. His last entry went:

May 6th, 20XX: The dog is pissed about something again. He’s always pissed about something. I think the thing in the basement probably kept him up all night with her caterwauling. He never gets used to the noises they make. God knows I can’t sleep either, at least not well. I’ll handle her tonight, have a drink with the dog after, see if that shuts up his nonsense for a while. Note: missed NPR interview with Senator Carlotta Grant on new leg. about the bb prohibition act. Find that on website later.

Found in Weber’s home, in boxes under his bed, were a series of restraints made of leather, high-quality items that appear to be custom-ordered to specific measurements. These included “gloves” intended to keep someone from being able to claw or scratch in their own defense, five sets of cuffs, a body harness, a leather half-face-mask that police referred to as a “muzzle”, several gags, some of which were deemed to be “designed to cause injury to the inside of the mouth”, and “other assorted items for use in torture and torment”.

You can find some leaked police docs online that go into more detail, but suffice to say they pretty much match the kinds of “toys” found in Nathaniel Benson and Brute Hanlon’s homes, too. And apparently, if you really know where to look, you can find some blurry low-quality photos Weber took, too.

While the items are a bit salacious, they aren’t entirely uncommon in consensual relationships, too, so it’s really not clear if they’re evidence of the Boxie being held against his will or not.

The investigation of the crime scene suggests that at some point after writing his final diary entry, Robert Weber made himself a pizza, which he ate half of and put the rest away in the fridge. His shaving cream and razor were found out on his sink, and Weber’s body was clean-shaven, suggesting he shaved shortly before his death.

He then watched three episodes of Law & Order: SVU. We know this because he texted during this time with his only living relative, the sister in Vermont. Little is known about Weber’s family and childhood, beyond his sister’s recounting of a quiet, strained home life with an overbearing mother and her mention that Robert endured several head injuries as a child and adolescent, including one that hospitalized him for days.

After he finished watching TV, Weber entered the basement and murdered Yolanda Pierce. It is believed he took the Box Boy downstairs with him, either as accomplice or witness. At some point while he was disposing of Yolanda Pierce’s remains, the Boxie became enraged for one reason or another, beat him with a shovel, got the kitchen knife from upstairs and stabbed him to death, and then left the house.

A neighbor remembers hearing odd noises around 3:30 AM and looking out their window to see a shadowy figure walking quickly down the road, but they weren’t able to see well enough to say whether or not the individual matches the description and WRU-provided photos of the Boxie. It does seem reasonable, though, to assume that the neighbor witnessed the Boxie fleeing the scene of the crime.

The Box Boy has never been seen again.

Police are pretty mum about the active investigation into the Box Boy’s whereabouts. I was able to get ahold of one source closely related to a member of the investigative team who said that there’s just not a lot of urgency. “Weber killed nearly two dozen people, just that we know of,” The source said. “The cops are a little bit ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ about the situation. Unless the Boxie comes back to RR, they’re just inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.”

The sense of “let it be someone else’s problem” would be understandable… if this Box Boy weren’t responsible for one other direct murder, possibly two.

Police believe the Boxie has not left California, and is likely to be continuing to survive by engaging in prostitution or perhaps panhandling or some other hidden way of making money. Unconfirmed sightings have been located in three cities in central California, but all of these are unverified and should be taken with a grain of salt.

It’s also possible he hooked up with a pet liberation movement group, in which case he may be hiding out in a safehouse, protected from the consequences of his actions by the pet lib movement’s understandable insistence on total secrecy and anonymity for the Boxies they take in.

If he’s an innocent victim of circumstance, that’s fair.

If he’s a burgeoning serial killer with three victims under his belt and a taste for inflicting terrible violence on those who take him in… well… anyone who gives him shelter may be next.

Is our Boxie a purposeful killer or just supremely, almost incomprehensibly unlucky? Will he kill again? Was he Robert Weber’s accomplice or his victim?

Will he strike again?

Should there be an audit of WRU’s psychological testing on potential sign-ups to see if, perhaps, a Box Boy-wannabe with an urge to kill slipped through the cracks?

What do you think?

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Returning from Afar Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 远归之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

[ This date was released in CN on 28 Sep 2020 ]

This is the 29th day of Gavin’s mission, and also the day he said he’d return. 

As agreed, I’m in Gavin’s house to water Little Spiky. Since I’m already here, I also tidy up the place, which hasn’t been habited for a month.

MC: Mm, its rootstocks are healthy, the colour is lush and green, and it’s growing well. Now to put it under the sun.

I carry it to the window carefully, letting it soak in sunlight.

My line of sight lingers on the wind chimes hanging near the window. I reach out to pull at the crystal piece. 

The bright and limpid crystal suddenly sends my consciousness back to the week before Gavin departed for the mission. 

[ flashback ]

The afternoon wind blows the curtains upwards, brushing across the crystal shoes glittering on the floor.

If one were to ignore the slight scratch at the back, this would have been a perfect souvenir.

I squat on the floor, one hand holding the “main culprit” - the broom, and another hand gripping my phone, giving the manufacturer a call while feeling upset. 

MC: Hello? I’m the person in charge of [MC’s Company Name]. We held an activity and ordered crystal shoes from your company. Do you still remember that? 

Person in charge: Miss MC, right? I remember, I remember. Do you want to collaborate with us for another event? 

MC: Ah, actually, one of the crystal shoes has a scratch on its back. I wanted to ask if it’s possible to fix it? 

Person in charge: Hmm... Because of the way it was designed, that batch of crystal shoes were specially handled, so traditional restoration works won’t be effective. But since you’re a regular client of our company, we can send you a pair based on the address you gave us. 

MC: ...no need for the trouble. Since it can't be restored, it’s fine. Thank you.

I hang up, a little disappointed. 

In the midst of cleaning up, I had accidentally scratched the crystal shoes Gavin gave me the other time. 

[Note] MC is referring to Gavin’s 2 Become 1 Date, which is available in EN.

Although the damage is slight, it’s not something I can just ignore.

While sighing, I store the crystal shoes back into the box, and place it in the cabinet. 

At this moment, a low knocking sound resounds from the door.

When I open it, I see that the person standing at the door is Gavin.

Light and shadows are cast on his profile, illuminating his sharp and soft eyes.

Gavin: What are you busy with? 

He walks in while speaking. Without him noticing, I prod the the box containing the crystal shoes further into the shoe cabinet. 

MC: I was doing a cleanup, but it’s almost done. 

Gavin responds with a “Mm”. He seems to hesitate, then walks over and takes my hand in his, his thumb rubbing it gently.

Gavin: I have a mission in a few days. It’s of a high level, so you might not be able to contact me for a while.

I freeze for a moment, subconsciously recalling how Eli had previously detailed the dangers of Gavin’s missions.

MC: ...is the level of danger very high as well?

Gavin: Mm, it’s a little dangerous. Which is why I have to go. 

He pauses, then continues. 

Gavin: You don’t need to worry. Before the 30th of next month, I’ll definitely be back.

He speaks confidently. Suppressing the worry in my heart, I give him a smile.  

MC: All right. I’ll take care of Little Spiky. And will wait for you to come back.

[ end of flashback ]

The wind chime clangs, its melody light-hearted and lively. However, I can’t help but sigh. 

For some reason, the second day after Gavin left, I discovered that the crystal shoes in the cabinet had disappeared.

I searched the house, but couldn’t find a trace of them. In the end, my guess was that a thief had stolen them.

Even after pondering over it a hundred times, I remain puzzled about the thief’s motives, and couldn’t fathom how a thief could have broken in. To be safe, I ended up changing the lock. 

MC: When Gavin returns, should I tell him about this...

All of a sudden, the wind outside grows stronger, causing a magazine on the table to flip open with a rustle. 

MC: What’s this? 

I walk over, holding up the magazine. I flip through it randomly, and wind up on a page which has been folded. 

It features a custom-made jewellery shop.

The vibrant front cover is incompatible with the cold colours of Gavin’s house. On the page, the eye-catching font forms the shop’s name - “Cang Xing”.

[Note] 苍星 (“cang xing”) directly translates to “dark green star”.

MC: Isn’t this the private studio which opened recently?

In a program not too long ago, I got to know about this shop. Although its prices are hefty, and the workmanship takes quite a long time, it has a very good reputation. 

I find myself getting confused.

MC: Is Gavin interested in this shop too...

The phone suddenly rings.

Designer: Hello. Is this Miss MC? I’m a designer from Cang Xing. Previously, a customer ordered a gift for you. May I know if you have time to drop by and have a look today?

MC: A gift? 

My eyes flit to the magazine in my hands, a vague guess surfacing in my heart. 

MC: All right, I’ll head over now. 

-

Pushing open the doors to the studio, it’s as though I’ve stepped into another world. 

Soft white muslin can be seen everywhere. Jewellery of various colours can be seen on the ivory tables, brilliant like stars in the dark night. 

The table near the entrance has visitors’ book. The designer doesn’t seem to be around, so I instinctively pick up a pen and flip it open, planning to write my name down.

After signing my name and preparing to shut the book, I suddenly see familiar handwriting. 

On the upper section of this page, amongst a mix of illegible and serious font, there’s a handsome and light-hearted one. 

It’s Gavin’s.

The date that he filled in was the third day before he left for the mission.

??: May I know if you’re Miss MC? 

A staff dressed in working attire walks towards me.  

MC: Mm, I’m MC. 

??: Nice to meet you, I’m the designer who talked to you over the phone earlier. Please follow me. 

I follow the designer’s directions and walk towards a reception area at the side. 

Several pink jasmines are scattered on the table of the reception area. At the side, there’s a long white silk ribbon, looking as though it’s been tied halfway.

MC: Is there an event happening in the store today? 

Designer: No, there isn’t. These were leftover flowers from an earlier event. I just thought to use them to decorate the shop. I didn’t expect you to reach so quickly, so I was only halfway done with the decorations. 

The designer explains in embarrassment. 

MC: I see. Oh yes, you mentioned a custom-made gift in the call...

The designer casts a glance towards the door, her expression turning apologetic.

Designer: Well... I have to wait for the customer who ordered it to arrive before I can tell you. I’m really sorry about that. 

I nod my head pensively. Looking at the unfinished decorations, I break the silence. 

MC: Since I have to wait, why don’t I help you with the decorations? 

Designer: How could I ask that of you!

MC: It’s fine. Is this meant to be hung on the wall? 

While speaking, I pick up the jasmine flowers on the floor, and hand it to the designer. 

After that, we stand on the stools, hanging the jasmine flowers on the wall. The white muslin sways gently next to us.

At this moment, the door is suddenly pulled open. What follows is the sound of specially made boots. The footsteps are slightly hurried, and they pause not too far off. 

Gavin: Sorry, I arrived slightly later than scheduled. 

I lift my head abruptly, turning around and wanting to hop off the stool. But my coat gets stuck on a hook, which has jasmine flowers hanging on it. 

MC: !

Along with the sound of fabric ripping, a pulling force tugs me backwards, and there’s empty space beneath my feet.

MC: Gavin--

In a moment of desperation, the word slips my mouth.

A gust of wind blows up the white muslin. Accompanied by a calm laugh, a strong pair of arms wrap around my waist. 

Gavin: [laughs] Don't worry, I won’t let you fall. 

Gavin catches me steadily. In the narrow and small world created by the soft, drifting muslin, he carries me and spins in half a circle. 

My torn coat is on the floor. Slightly embarrassed, I clasp a hand over the strap which has fallen off my shoulder.

Gavin sets me down. His gaze falls on my body lightly. Then, he hurriedly averts his line of sight. 

Gavin: [coughs] ...

The temperature in the room suddenly rises. Face flushed, I frantically search for the coat.

MC: ...where’s the coat?

Gavin: Over here.

He picks up the coat and hands it to me, his eyes averted to the side, his ears tinged a slight red. I take the coat, but discover that it’s basically unwearable since the snag is too serious.

In the next second, a warm piece of clothing is draped over me. The texture feels slightly hard, and I can even still feel the cold insignia.

MC: ?

I lift my head to see that Gavin has taken off his uniform, revealing his white shirt underneath.

Gavin: Put mine on first.

He pulls the uniform more snugly around my body. His warm fingertips accidentally brush my collarbone, causing me to shiver.

Face flushed, I lower my head. But I catch sight of a ripped button on Gavin’s shirt. 

MC: What happened? Are you hurt? Are there any other places? Let me see...

Anxious, I’m just about to pry apart his shirt to check if there are any injuries on his body. 

Gavin: ...

Gavin: I’m fine. 

Gavin grips my hand to stop me, his cheeks slightly red. 

The designer had left without us realising it, leaving the private space to us. 

The surroundings are delicate and tranquil. Only the person before me carries with him a windy and frosty aura, his eyes lowered as he watches me quietly. 

[Note] Interestingly, the word used to describe Gavin’s aura, 风霜 (“feng shuang”) also has a figurative meaning to describe someone who has experienced hardships in life :’)

MC: Let me have a look then. Only after I’ve verified it with my own eyes, I’ll believe that you’re not lying to me. 

I act in a fit of pique, angry and not understanding why he would still hide his injuries from me.

Gavin looks resigned. After a moment, his long and slender fingers touch his lapel, slowly removing one button.

His defined muscles come into view, revealing a lean figure. 

My hand gently brushes a wound on his shoulder blade which has already formed a scab, and my nose suddenly feels sour. 

Gavin: It’s just a small wound, and it has already healed.

His gaze follows my hands and rests on the wound, then he pauses. 

After being silent for a while, I lower my head, mildly aggrieved, and speak. 

MC: Did you rush over from afar? Actually, you could have taken your time to come back. You didn’t have to... be afraid that I’d worry, and be so anxious. 

I hold onto Gavin’s hand. He hasn’t removed his gloves, and the touch feels as cold as ice, bringing with it a chill.

Gavin: It wasn’t far. 

He tries removing his gloves before holding me again. But I don’t release him, and I tighten my grip.

Gavin pauses. Then, his fingers curl slightly, encasing my hand in his. 

Gavin: The mission was completed earlier, so I came back. 

A smile dyes Gavin’s eyes. Then, he pinches my palm.

Gavin: Let’s not talk about these things first. The gift I prepared for you - want to know what it is?

Looking at the mildly expectant expression on his face, I can’t help but store away my sour emotions, and snort with laughter.  

MC: I do want to know. So could Officer Gavin tell me what it is?

Gavin: You’ll know soon. 

-

MC: I didn’t think there would be a small showroom at the back of the private studio...

After pushing open the door inside the studio, what enters my vision is a glass showroom. 

The outer side of the showroom is constructed using glass, allowing sunlight to stream in, illuminating bouquets of pink jasmine flowers that have been strung up.

Gavin: This is a small glass showroom originally used by the owner to allow customers to hold mock weddings. 

Gavin guides me to the centre of the showroom, brushing past the flower bouquets.

Gavin: But today, I’ve temporarily borrowed it. 

A gust of wind causes the fine gauze draped over the showcase in the middle to fall, revealing a pair of crystal shoes surrounded by flowers. 

The shoe now has a small gem embedded in the place which was scratched - brilliant, bright and sparkling. 

MC: ...this is? What is it doing here?!

Gavin: When I went to your house the other day, I saw that you placed them on the shoe cabinet. 

I’m a little dumbfounded. 

MC: I thought I hid it in the box...

Gavin can’t help but laugh. 

Gavin: Mm, you did hide it in the box. But your reaction was too obvious. In the span of a meal, you glanced at that area around ten times. So before I left, I took a look. 

This causes me to feel perplexed. 

MC: So you were the one who secretly took the shoes away. I thought I lost them, and was depressed for so long. I also thought a thief stole them, and even changed the lock.

I mumble softly, but my eyes sneakily linger on that pair of fully restored crystal shoes. 

The unease from the scratched souvenir vanishes bit by bit, turning into a sweetened state of mind. 

Gavin: I searched for many places, but only this shop’s owner said he could use precious stones to try restoring the damaged area. 

Gavin: The date of the completed restoration could have been earlier, but I wanted to give them to you personally. 

Gavin: Which is why I asked the shop to give you call today. 

Gavin: [coughs] Even though it looks different from how it was before...

I interrupt him softly. 

MC: But I like it very much. 

Gavin stops, looking at me seriously with lowered eyes. 

Gavin: I did this because I didn’t want you to be unhappy over the damaged crystal shoes. 

Gavin: As long as you like it, that’s all that matters. 

His words land on my heart, rippling across it. 

Slightly flushed, my peripheral vision rests on the gem, which is reflecting specks of light. 

MC: Oh yes, what’s with this gem? 

Gavin: While I was on a mission, I passed by a shop and saw this gem through the window.

Gavin releases an unnatural cough.

Gavin: At that time, I was about to return to help you with the amusement park wedding photoshoot. I thought it would be of use, so I bought it. 

Gavin: But after that, I didn’t have a chance to give it to you.

He seems to think about something, and laughs lightly. 

Gavin: I kept thinking about when would be an appropriate time to give it to you. 

Gavin: It just so happened that the shape of the gem needed by the owner tallied with this. 

Gavin: So it was used. 

He fixes his eyes on me, affectionate and gentle. 

Sunlight parts the layers of clouds, casting a warm shade. It’s as though I can clearly hear the sound of my own heart beating. 

The sound gradually grows louder, becoming more urgent, wanting to burrow its way out of my chest and tell the person in front of me how I feel right now. 

MC: Although what I’m about to say may come across as being overly polite to you, I still have to say it. 

MC: Gavin, thank you.

Thank you for silently watching over my mood. Thank you for always returning to my side no matter where you go.

The white muslin drifts to and fro. My heart stirs, and I gently touch the muslin in front of me. Sunlight streams in.

My fingertips brush the soft white muslin, tracing the word “Gavin” on it. 

I turn my head to the side, blinking at Gavin a little playfully.

MC: This word - apart from it being your name, it also has another meaning.

 MC: It’s “courage”.

Gavin’s eyes pause on my face, as though he’s slightly shocked. But it quickly morphs into a smile which harbours starlight.

His smile leaves me in a daze. I turn back, pretending to be unaffected as I begin speaking softly. 

MC: Gavin, you are my courage. 

MC: You are the courage I have when I face life’s large and small twists and turns. 

MC: Next time, I’ll become a person who is stronger in heart, and won’t be dejected over such a trivial matter. 

MC: I’ll also work hard to become your courage and strength - to protect you from harm each time you go on missions. 

MC: Or... to sustain fewer injuries. 

I wave a fist towards Gavin as a display of my determination. The sunlight sifting in through the muslin is like a gentle filter, descending on Gavin slowly.

Having to part from each other and having gloomy moods are inevitable. But there’s one person who will ultimately make his way over to me, smoothening out all the anguish, leaving only happiness behind.

He will cross the mountains and rivers, walk across the clouds and the moon, to meet me at the brink of dawn. 

Gavin: [laughs] I got it. 

He turns his head, mimicking my earlier actions, lifting his hand to trace something on the white muslin.

MC: This is...

I try to decipher what he wrote, but can’t tell what it is. Confused, I look at Gavin. 

He puts his hand down, lifting his eyes to stare at me quietly. 

Gavin: Protecting each other. 

His voice is loud and clear, reminiscent of a galloping breeze in autumn, crashing into my heart. 

Gavin: You are already my strength. 

Gavin: So I will keep protecting you, and everything you like. 

The numerous times of parting, the numerous mornings and evenings spent alone, now leave a sweet aftertaste.

MC: Gavin, I’m really happy now. 

MC: So happy that I feel as though the entire world is before me at this moment, and within reach. 

Seeing my smile, Gavin lifts the white muslin between us, reaching out to bring me into his arms.

The coat draped over my shoulders slides off. The white muslin is akin to a gentle mist, gracefully drifting mid-air, then falling onto the both of us. 

Gavin holds my hand, encircling me in his arms. 

MC: Gavin...

The close and warm contact causes my face to heat up. I can’t help but call his name. 

But he isn’t in a hurry to respond. Instead, he lifts a hand, taking a strand of my hair into his palm, his gaze lingering on my face. 

Gavin: Now, I’m the only person in your entire world. 

The delicate fragrance of pink jasmine slowly permeates the air. The temperature from our laced fingers is scalding. I tilt my head upwards, giving Gavin’s chin a careful peck.

MC: In that case, could I bribe my entire world to let me have this moment for a while longer?

In the next second, I feel warmth around my waist, and Gavin wraps me in his arms tightly. 

He lowers his head slightly, his fringe brushing my eyelashes. I can feel his steady, composed breaths. 

Gavin: No matter how long it is, you can.

-

Phone call: here

-

🍒 Cheri’s elegant thoughts 🍒

HE PURCHASED A RING OKAY

NO ONE JUST BUYS A RANDOM GEMSTONE

HE HAD A RING ALL THIS TIME

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[johnkrrasinski]

Dear Lover... ❥

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 5,689 

Warning: pure fluff. pure feelings. a little bit of angst but with a happy ending 😌

Summary: you dance with bucky barnes in the obscurity of your room as you recalled the first time you met and how three years later you ended up tangled in each other’s arms. (based on the song “lover” by taylor swift) 

a/n: this one’s a love letter to the love of my life aka bucky barnes. it took me awhile to find the will to write about him because i truly wanna write something that gives him justice, because this man deserves nothing but happiness and love. hope you like it. please leave a like & comment. 

It was a quiet Thursday evening, precisely at 8.35 PM. The rain outside of the Avengers tower was pouring, splatters of misty droplets bedewed the window glass. Through the lens of your shared room, transpierced the lights of the bustling city of New York. The city that never sleeps, as one would say. You could hear the sound of honking cars and sirens going off somewhere and it truly eased your mind.

You loved New York. You were born and raised in this vivacious city. Though your parents took the chance to move to Manhattan and fought to survive the exorbitant living cost, they managed. They taught you to fight hard and work tenaciously if you wanted to make it. The city was all you knew your entire life. But most importantly, you loved the man you were sharing this bedroom with more.

You had been dating Bucky Barnes, aka the former Winter Soldier, aka the White Wolf, for three summers now. Your first encounter with him wasn’t exactly the most romantic “how I met your mother” kind of story.

You were in the kitchen, late night, trying to make yourself a nice hot chocolate to cool down your nerves. Moving into the Avengers Tower had truly wearied you. Of course, you were aware that you weren’t supposed to be since there were literally a super soldier, a former Pararescueman, a man with a highly advanced iron suit, two highly trained assassins, a powerful witch, a (part-time) green beast, and an actual living human android helping you with your belongings. You couldn’t have asked for better movers.

But the adaptation of change still drained some of your energy. Maybe more mentally than physically, but whatever, you just needed a nice, sweet warm drink before you can finally sleep in your fresh, new, never used before bed. It was nearing four am and everyone had returned to their private quarters, except you.

You walked into the kitchen leisurely in nothing but your Bambi pyjamas, as you reached for the kitchen cabinet to search for a jar of instant hot chocolate. “Make yourself at home,” Tony said earlier as he was giving you a quick tour around the tower. The tower was so spacious and palatial, it was easy to get lost. “We’ve got everything here; food, snacks, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, ice creams and more… But don’t eat the half-eaten fried egg chicken on the fridge, though. That one belongs to Clint and he wouldn’t hesitate in shooting an arrow through your skull if you stole it.”

You poured the hot water into the glass and then you were ready to drink it up. You were so pleased by the taste of hot chocolate streaming through your tongue, you didn’t hear the faint sounds of footsteps approaching. Bucky had just returned from a solo mission to Brussels and he hadn’t had the chance to properly introduce himself to you. He had only heard about you through Fury and Tony’s narrative when they informed the team that they were going to have a new addition to the team.

Steve had texted him a picture of her earlier, picking up her boxes to her new bedroom… She looked lovely. She was only wearing a simple white shirt with high-waisted, ripped blue jeans to complete the casual look but, she didn’t have to try hard to catch his eye. He couldn’t wait to go back to the tower and talk to her. He crossed his finger hoping that he wouldn’t mess it up or embarrassingly stutter his own name whilst shaking her hand.

Bucky soundlessly walked towards you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, trying not to startle you but you weren’t expecting anyone to be awake, and you didn’t know that Bucky was supposed to return today. Your brain had been so occupied with moving in, that you forgot there was one member of the team missing because he was on a solo mission and that he was supposed to return in the early morning.

So you accidentally dropped your glass, spilling your little taste of heaven all over the counter, as you turned around and punched him on the face. You shrieked as soon as you felt a palm touching your shoulder, thinking it might’ve been a ghost or worse, an intruder. For a second there, you nearly forgot that you weren’t living all by yourself in a tiny apartment anymore. You were in the most highly secured building in New York, surrounded by vigilant superheroes that had fought bigger guys than a callow thief or more lethal than supernatural forces.

Bucky’s hand immediately went to his face, as he shrieked in pain. He absolutely didn’t expect a punch from you, considering he meant well. He slightly backed away on his feet, clutching the nose that had bled due to the robust force. You soon realized that he was Bucky Barnes, the Avenger that had just gone back from a solo mission Steve told you about, and you had just realized that you punched… The Winter Soldier. Oh my God. Your guilt rushes through your gut and you immediately covered your mouth with your hand in panic.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still awake, I’m so sorry.” You reached out to his hand, trying to see the damage that you did.

“No, it’s okay, doll. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that, I’m sorry.” He wiped the blood that leaked out his nose.

“No, no, no, it wasn’t your fault at all, I shouldn’t have reacted like that… Please, let me help you with that.”

“I got it doll, really. It’s nothing.”

“I insist. Please, otherwise I’d feel really bad.”

You moved to the couch in the common room, as you began patching him up. You both finally introduced yourselves properly this time, and you talked for about an hour until the sun was starting to rise. When you realized how late it had gotten and how exhausted Bucky must’ve been, only then, you returned to your individual bedrooms. And thus, a friendship was born. The beginning of something eternal and profound.

The next morning, things changed. Bucky would act differently around you whenever the team was around. Or anyone, at all, was around. Bucky would often avoid your eyes and act awkwardly around you. You didn’t see the man that you had a warm conversation with at 4 in the morning on that first day anymore. You felt like talking to a stranger that you had to walk on eggshells with. When Steve asked Bucky whether he had met you or not during breakfast, Bucky with his head down simply responded, “yeah… We’ve met.” That elicited a furrowed brows from you.

Steve later counselled you about it, “don’t worry. He’s like that with everyone. It’s not easy to start a small talk when you are the former winter soldier.”

You tried to tell yourself not to overthink it or take it personally. Of course, you were aware of the history. It was told in every history class. But you still couldn’t shake the need to get to know him more. You’d do it deliberately, you weren’t going to force him to break out of his shell, but you wanted to let him know that he had nothing to be ashamed of with you.

And so, you would often knock on his bedroom door since your bedrooms were on the same floor when you brought something from your favourite bakery shop. Or when you hear the excruciating screams at night, because he couldn’t tame down the demons in his sleep, reminding him of his inevitable, vicious past that spilled a lot of blood and caused him a lot of pain. Mentally, emotionally and physically.

At first, he would give you a sardonic look as he asked you of why you were here. You’d tell him that you thought he could use a company and so, the friendship, or whatever that you had with him would bloom through the murmured secrets and the late-night rendevous. It turned into a nightly thing that only you and Bucky shared. Nobody else had to know.

During the day, there were a lot of stolen glances and lingering tension in the room, everyone could sense it except you and Bucky yourselves. But yet, you didn’t speak many words about it to each other. Everyone who saw you two knew that you two hid some amount of feelings for each other. But yet, neither of you dared to make the first move.

Sam, Wanda and Nat were your closest friends and therefore, they knew the most about your unspoken feelings for Bucky. Starting from the awkward chats to the time where this new agent shamelessly flirted with Bucky in front of you. Of course, you were aware that anyone could flirt with Bucky, he wasn’t yours, to begin with. But it was still rude and disrespectful and you being the irrational, jealous person that you were, you’d often ramble to either Sam, Wanda or Nat in their private quarters until you felt better again.

One night, where this agent, Samantha or whatever her name was, had boldly touched Bucky’s arm at one of Tony’s flamboyant parties, in front of you, you immediately texted Sam, Wanda and Nat in the group text called “Besties” to gather up in your room because you needed to vent.

“Look, y/n, if you’re so annoyed by her flirting, then why don’t you just tell Bucky how you feel?” Wanda said.

“I don’t understand…” You squinted your eyes at her. It’s not like you didn’t actually understand what she was saying, but the concept of confessing your feelings to Bucky sounded like an absurd idea.

“Look, I’m just saying, what’s the worse that could happen?”

“Okay, Wanda, now you’re just talking shit.”

“Y/N” Sam interposed. “He might like you too. He may not say much but we all caught those stolen glances, don’t you think we didn’t see it.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Sam. Besides, it’s not just about him not liking me back… What if he’s just not ready to date? What if he likes me but not in that way? There are a million things that could go wrong. So, please, let’s cross out the idea of telling him how I feel because it’s definitely not happening.”

Sam, Wanda and Nat exchanged a look. “Okay, it’s your life anyway. But y/n, if you don’t move now, then you might lose your chance forever. Samanta could be seducing him into her bed right now as you are rambling about her to us.” Natasha closed it.

Her words had truly struck you light lightning. You never thought of it that way… You always thought you had every second in the clock, just waiting for you to be ready. Or him to be ready. But you never thought of the possibility of Bucky and Samantha actually going on a date… What if she had asked him to go out with her next weekend? And what if he had said yes? The thought hurt. It crushed your heart like a shredder. It twisted you inside out like a sickness.

And so, after Sam, Nat and Wanda returned to the party, you stayed in your room. You told them that you’d catch up, you just needed to rest your feet from standing in heels for too long. You were lying. You needed some time alone with your thoughts, as you were trying to plan your next move. You recalled all those late-night rendevous and midnight conversations, and you felt it in your heart. That mighty urge in your heart. Like the entire crowd you were standing before are chanting the words loudly to you. “Tell him! Tell him! Tell him!”

You felt all the feelings you contained inside for him rushed through your veins, like a power surging through your cells, bestowing you the courage to stand on your feet, put on your heels and reapplied your lipstick. You straightened the frowns of your dress in front of the mirror as you took a deep breath. “You got this.” You stared your reflection dead in the eye and convinced yourself.

When you were satisfied with your fixed appearance, you immediately went back to the party. You couldn’t wait to find him. Giddiness, nervousness, and anxiety were swirling in your chest. You ordered Friday to take you to the lobby, where the party was held, as you leaned back on the glass wall of the elevator and you folded your arms around you, trying to ground yourself. You tried to stand steadily and not face-plant yourself on the marble floor in front of Bucky. You would never be able to live with yourself.

When the elevator finally reached the main lobby, the metal doors separated, showing you the people in fancy suits and dresses chattering with one another, with a glass of sparkling Champagne in their hands. You immediately searched for Bucky. A slick black, long dark hair, clad in a black dress shirt and black pants. Your eyes gazed into every corner of the room, focusing thoroughly on the large chunk of a man.

You finally spotted him by the bar. He was sitting with a glass of tonic and gin in his hand, as he took a sip of it, then he put it down on the bar counter. It would’ve been a tantalizing sight that you’d love to sit back and observe if it weren’t for the person sitting next to him. Samantha was sitting with her legs crossed beside him, her body was fully faced to Bucky as she tried to reach out to feel his bicep again for God knows how many times that night. She was laughing and even from the distance, you could see the glint in her eyes at something he just said.

You felt like you had been hit by a truck. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a monster that was devouring your insides with its tapered fangs. You felt dizzy as you felt like you were going to drop on the floor if you don’t hold onto something. Steve happened to be walking past you thankfully and as soon as he saw you looking unwell, he immediately grabbed your arm, awakening you from your daze.

“Y/N, are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, Steve... I’m…” You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself back into consciousness. “I think I need to lay down. I’ll see you in the morning, Steve. Please tell Tony that I’m not feeling well.”

“Alright, yeah, go ahead. I’ll inform the team if they ask about you.”

“Thanks, Steve.” You nearly stumbled on your feet as soon as you took your first step.

“Whoa, do you need me to walk you to your room?”

“No, it’s fine. I got it. Night, Steve.”

“Goodnight, y/n.” He watched you warily, feeling hesitant whether he should really let you walk to your floor alone or not. As soon as you went inside the elevator, and the mental doors had closed, you slumped on the wall as you tried to muffle your cries. Nothing could hurt you more than seeing the man that you were secretly in love with, flirting with another girl. You couldn’t find it in you to give directions to Friday. So you just stood there, listening to the Jazz music playing in the background.

Until you were finally wearied enough to say the word to Friday. The AI politely responded, “yes, miss.”

As soon as you reached your floor, you took off your heels as they swayed with every step that you took. Your cheeks were tainted by ruined mascara, and your hair was slightly dishevelled. You couldn’t care any less. You should be dancing to the slow music or even kissing him drunkenly at the bar with your hands wrapped around his neck right now. But no, he was probably doing those with Samantha. You knew you were being unreasonable, crying over a man who was never yours, to begin with. But you allowed yourself to feel the pain and then, you can figure out a way to move on. You just needed to unleash it all out first.

You put your heels in the corner of your bedroom and stripped yourself out of the white cocktail dress. You immediately ran for the shower, your limbs felt more ponderous than ever. The last time you experienced a broken heart was in eleventh grade when you ran into your senior crush, Peyton at the mall with a girl who didn’t go to the same school as you, in his arm. You nearly walked up to him to say hi but your plan was instantly crushed before you even found the courage to talk to him.

Ever since then, you made a pact with your heart that you were never going to fall in love first ever again. You were okay with being single, you weren’t the kind of person who constantly needs romantic love. You focused on self-growth, you focused on your skills which is martial arts and military tactics. You invested your mind and energy into self-love, friendship and your education.

When you were finally ready to roam around the city at night as a vigilante, you’d sneak off every night to sit building rooftops and you looked after the small guys around the neighbourhood. Until your small vigilante works were heard and Fury snuck into your apartment to recruit you himself.

After your shower, you changed into an oversized grey hoodie that you once stole from Bucky’s closet, one night while having one of those clandestine rendezvous in his room. You were cold and you were only wearing a thin-layered white shirt with a worn-out pair of old swimming shorts that still fitted you.

“Here, wear my hoodie.” He walked to his achromatic closet and revealed the tidily-placed pile of black and white shirts and pants. He didn't have that many clothes but, it was enough to secure his enormous figure cosily. He pulled out one of his fresh from the laundry sweatshirts from the heap. He handed them to you and inserted yourself into the aromatic material.

When you were both finally too somnolent to keep your eyes wide open. He walked you to your room and you didn’t realize you were still wearing his hoodie until you said your final goodnight. When you tried to take it off your body, he said, “no, it’s alright. You can return it to me in the morning.”

But you never did. And he was okay with that. At least you thought. Because never once he asked for it back. You’d even catch his demure smile when he saw you wearing it.

You did your nighttime skincare routine and went to bed. The scent of his hoodie was faint but enough to make you yearn for him. It’s ridiculous, really. To miss someone who was never yours, and someone who practically lived right next to you, considering how long he could spend hiding in his own room.

You felt the tears brimming in your eyes as they ran down your cheeks and soaked your pillow sheets. You sniffled as your mind harked back to the shared moments in the gloom and the timid touches when words could no longer bear the intimacy. The moon knows more about you and him than anyone ever will and if you could no longer feel his skin against your anymore even for just a second, you were going to hold onto the memories.

You were lost pacing down the memory lane until you heard a subtle knock on the door. Three taps and you instantly knew who was standing on the other side. You tried to neglect it, hoping that he would get the message of leaving you alone. You weren’t ready to face or talk to him. But he wouldn’t relent. He knocked once more, telling you that he wasn’t leaving until you answered him.

You stayed in the exact same spot until you were peevish enough to keep listening to it. You finally stood on your feet and opened the door with a sour look on your face. He greeted you with a nonchalant smile, his hair now was tied in a low bun.

“Hey, Steve told me that you weren’t feeling well, what happened?” His expression was filled with concern.

“I’m fine, now. You can go.” You sneered. You tried to shut the door, not even wanting to face him any longer or listen to his unprompted “I got a date!” story.

He was appalled by your anomalous behaviour, as he immediately stopped the door with his hand from being slammed on his face. “Hey, hold on a second. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I said, I’m fine, Bucky. Just leave me alone, please.”

His chest tightened at your sardonic words. You had never acted this way around him before. Did he say something wrong? Did he wake you at the wrong time? Were you on your cycle? He was bewildered.

“I just wanna know if you were alright. Steve said you looked really pale at the party and you had to leave early and if you are then maybe I could bring you a soup or something.”

“I just need to be alone, Bucky. Alright? I was feeling much better until you showed up.” You didn’t mean to be so spiteful and blunt. You just needed some space. And his presence was intoxicating and the longer you see him, the harder it would be for you to let go.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately but the look on his eyes was enough to beckon his hurt. “What did I do? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Bucky, it’s not you, it’s just-” You inhaled. Trying to cool yourself down before you continued. “Just not tonight, alright?”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” He puffed himself up, masking his frustration. No, no, he wasn’t ready to let you go before he could even tell you he loved you. So if planting himself on his feet would make you enlighten him, he was going to do that.

“Okay, then just fucking stand there all night, I don’t care.” The cool in you vanished, turned into a small flame of counterwork.

“Why are you acting like this? Huh? You can’t just knock on my door whenever you feel like and shut me out like this.”

“Well, why don’t you just vent to your new girlfriend, then? I’m pretty sure she’ll be more than happy to listen to your ramblings all night.” You stormed into the room, trying to slam the door behind you but Bucky stopped it as he followed you inside. It wouldn’t be wise to keep this argument in the hall where the whole tower could hear you.

“What? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend!”

“Oh, of course, Bucky. As if you hadn’t practically just gone on your first date with her at the party.”

“You’re being ridiculous, y/n! We were just talking.”

“Bullshit! Like no one could see the bedroom eyes she was giving you. She was practically fucking your brains out at the bar. Oh and not to mention, how she was groping your biceps like you were the only two people in the room!”

“What is this? Jealousy?”

“No! Stop flattering yourself, Bucky.”

“Okay, so what is it? I can’t fix whatever this is…” His fingers motioned to the invisible string binding the two of you. Who are you kidding? You both knew there was something more than a platonic bond between the two of you, you were just too dastardly to admit it with words to one another. “…If you don’t tell me the truth.”

Deep down, you knew the jealousy was senseless but in the heat of the dispute, you couldn’t stop your mouth from conveying the words out loud.

“Because I like you and I don’t want you to be with anyone but me, okay? There. I said it. Are you happy now? I like you and I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t like the thought of you being with someone who’s not me.”

Bucky was aghasted by your vehement declaration. Did he get it right? Did you really just tell him the words that he had always wanted to hear? The words that nearly escaped his lips more times than he could count, but never found the courage because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you? Was he dreaming? This felt surreal.

“You… You like me?”

You scoffed. “Yeah. I do, Bucky. Unfortunately. But now, I understand if you wanna go out with Samantha or if you never speak a word to me again, I get it. But at least you know that I li-”

He abruptly grabbed your face and pressed a brief kiss on your lips, taking your breath away like a typhoon. It was short-lived but enough to knock you off your feet. He retreated and gazed deeply into your eyes, hoping that you could see the suppressed emotions you made him feel whenever he was with you. He wasn’t a man of many words, after all, but after spending months of excavating each other’s secrecies, you got the message. Words were futile, anyway, when the feelings that you had were stronger than anything else you had ever felt.

“I like you too, y/n. So much.”

“You do?”

He nodded, a grin spread across his face, making his eyes gleam in the obscurity of your room.

“What about Samantha?”

“Sweetheart, I never had any feelings for her. She can flirt with me all she wants, but you gotta know that I only have eyes for you, darling. And there’s no one else I wanna be with other than you.”

“You mean that?” Your smile had made its way back to your face. The smile that only Bucky could evoke. Your eyes were twinkling with hope.

“Every word.”

And that’s you ended up here now, three years later, sharing a reposeful room with the love of your life. You had just returned from a late sparing session with Natasha in the training room. Crazy, how three years ago, you’d incessantly ramble about the same person and the same topic, which is Bucky’s cluelessness whilst running on the treadmill with her but now, you talked about various random things like two normal friends would. As if the issue that you had with Bucky had been resolved. All’s well that ends well.

You spotted your boyfriend, who had a much shorter hair now, sitting contently on the bed with a Sci-Fi novel in his hands. His long fingers sophisticatedly enveloped the cover as he thoroughly focused on the words on the pages but, it was quickly disrupted when you walked into the room, greeting him with a smile. “Hey, baby. What are you reading?”

“This sci-fi novel that Sam got me for my birthday but I didn’t pick it up until now. How was the training, sweetheart?”

“The usual. Nat, being the competitive little shit that she is, kicked my ass but I got her back at least. Twice.” You had showered in the gym bathroom before you went upstairs to see your boyfriend so you didn’t have to bother concealing your musty scent due to the sweat.

“That’s my girl.” He got on his feet and walked towards you, as he looked at you with so much admiration and love in his eyes, it overwhelms you sometimes. The way he’d hold you whilst being starstruck by every feature on your face, and the way he’d tell you he loved you, with so many sincerity behind the words, even after three years of being together. You were lucky. You both were. To find a home within each other.  

He kissed you deeply like he hadn’t had the pleasure to see you in three months even if you had only been gone for an hour. His lips enthralled you every time and he wouldn’t mind giving you the solace as much as you desired. He needed it more from you, anyway.

When your lips were apart, he pressed his forehead to yours. The vague light from the table lamp beside your bed illuminated the room along with the dimmed city lights, casting a dainty glow on the two of you. Like a spotlight on a stage, and you were the star-crossed lovers of the tale, illustrating a true story of unbreakable love.

“Dance with me.” Bucky said.

“Well, then, I shall put on the perfect song, sir.”

You ordered Friday to play the song “Lover” by Taylor Swift, as the first hits of the drum immediately moved your bodies against each other, his hand seized yours as you tucked your head under his chin. His other arm wrapped itself around your waist, holding you as close as possible like it was your last dance. But certainly not. This was merely one in a thousand dances to come.

We could leave the Christmas lights, up ‘till January

This is our place, we make the rules

You swayed to the nostalgic song playing in the background, echoing the words of love all around the room. Like you were the only lovers on the grand dancefloor, as the singer harmonises only for you.

And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

You leaned your head on his chest, his slow heartbeat thumps in your ear. The beat grounds you like gravity, reminding you of how the term ‘home’ isn’t only a structure with four walls and a ceiling, but rather, a figure with serum-injected blood coursing through his veins, an injured skin layering all the organs, fashioning one magnetic force of a man.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close?

Forever and ever

His gentle hand rubbed your back, as his feet swung with the tune. He was a man out of his time. Despite being alive in the modern world long enough now, he was still taking baby steps in adapting to the culture and that includes music. Back then, this wasn’t exactly the kind of music he’d ask a girl to dance along to, but he learned to appreciate your musical preference and slowly, he grew fond of them too.

And ah, take me out and take me home

You’re my, my, my, my lover

Because the lyrics had truly hit close to home. If someone had delivered him a mail during his Winter Soldier years, that he was going to find a beautiful, loving woman who willingly took his hand; scars and all. Despite the demons in his mind and the ghosts in his past, she was going to love him faithfully and she would offer her own hand to guide him through the path of daylight… He’d laugh on their faces and told them to piss off because they were wasting his time by speaking baloney.

We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

But he was wrong. You walked into his life and gratefully punched his face on that night and he will forever thank the lucky stars for that. Because what he didn’t have a single clue of was that, it was the beginning of something tangible and something that became his religion. Something that became his lifeline. Despite still dealing with his own demons that he wasn’t sure whether they will ever truly leave him or not, he was a happy man. He didn’t think it was possible to say that. He was a happy man, in love. And it sounds strange to accept that as the truth but, it was what it was.

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

He twirled you around gently. Careful not to trip you. He caught you in his arms as you bent your body with peremptory trust, his handsome face never failed to mesmerize you.

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

You swayed on your feet once more, but really, you were just spending time, embracing the security in each other’s arms. You don’t care about the past heartbreaks or the haunting memories. You are not even stressing out to think about what tomorrow promises, you simply wanted to live every second of this moment with him.

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be over-dramatic and true to my lover 

But whatever the future plans for you, you knew there would be no hurricane violent enough to shake your ground as long as you had Bucky by your side.

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover

You were going to hold onto him through the agonizing mornings or vicious nights. You were going to hold onto him through Spring until the first drop of snow starts to cover the ground in white again. You were going to hold onto him through the Christmas Eves and New Years. Whether it be when you’re sharing a midnight kiss or when you’re hungover for all the drinks from last night.

You took a vow that no matter what happened, there would be no more unspoken words that would be an emotional barrier between the two of you. You only wanted to have eyes for him because everything fades into the background and the stars align when your bodies were intertwined, unable to tell where you began and he ended.

You’re permanently stuck with each other and that’s all you ever really wanted.

[robots-and-writing]

The Road to Ruin (MTMTE Sunder part 3)

(TW: Needles, Surgery, blood, mind control, yandere, mentions of human experimentation)

Sunder left his beloved's room, human blood staining his hands. His room is directly beside it, and in the corner is a hole where he has a perfect, one way view of his dearest. Their set up is the same as last time, except this time a note is set on their chest. It's handwritten, in his scratchy yet legible handwriting.

"To my dearest most beloved little angel,

My dear, you've been out for a day after those nasty decepticons attacked us. I fended them off but they managed to injure you. I've dressed and bandaged your wounds and I will be back soon with some food and some clothes for you.

Your dearest Conjunx,

Sunder"

It was a messy letter, with a small bloodstain on the corner. But it would serve its purpose well. He checked his human supplies for anything he may be lacking. Blood transfusions ready to go in case of any injuries, water, food, and clothes. There was still more to get but the human would have to wait for them to arrive.

Sunder looked over to the altar dedicated to his beloved. Pictures of them adorned his walls, along with their name all over the walls written in energon. The altar had little keepsakes of them. One of their shirts he had stolen, a lock of their hair and a vial of their blood were his favorites. But his favorite thing of theirs? A recording. Taken without their knowledge back on earth, they had a lover there. They confessed under a tree to their old flame, and Sunder's spark broke in two at that moment. But one good thing came of that confession. A recording of his little angel, saying "I love you, more than anyone else. Despite your flaws and despite mine, we are meant to be."

Those words tasted like the most delicious memories, like the sweetest energon, and like the greatest victories. They repeated in his mind 24/7, and were what motivated him to continue on when it came to keeping as sane as he could be without them by his side.

But despite his best efforts, Sunder couldn't handle being without them. Seeing them with another person made his brain swim with thoughts of violence. He should use his powers to tear that wretched other human to shreds. But something made him stop himself.

What if my dear hates me?

Sunder wasn't exactly the friendliest looking cybertronian. Tall, broad and scary, with spikes and pointy bits sticking out of him, most humans would run away in terror. (Before being torn apart of course.) But after a few human experiments, his idea was made possible. Mnemosurgery works on humans. Not from a distance, that requires a brain module. But it could be done.

His first experiments were unsuccessful. Too many needles meant a full lobotomy and possibly making them brain dead. Too few needles and the results were more temporary and a much more thorough "coding" would be necessary. Some of them bleed out due to him accidentally hitting a major artery. Some starved as he didn't feed them right. And some couldn't handle being an experiment, so they threw themselves off the workbench onto the ground, committing suicide. It was a delicate balance.

At first he didn't want to alter his beloved too much. Just make them despise other humans. Then he realized that would just make them miserable. So then he wanted to make them like him. But that would be too easily undone. He had to go full in. Make him their guardian angel. Make him the only one they feel safe with. He is the only one they will ever love. He is what stops the universe from killing them.

Getting the human was a challenge. He could do it himself but that would run the risk of alerting the other Autobots to his presence and imprisoning him again. He could do something the humans called "Catfishing" but that requires patience. And that is not something he has ever had enough of. He finally settled on a bounty hunter. 10 million shanix, as long as not a hair on his precious human's head is harmed.

He got a ping from a famous bounty hunter. He had the human. "Rendezvous at the coordinates and bring the shanix." Sunder did, and the human was finally in his grasp. Kicking and scratching at his hand, they were a wild and untamed thing. Taking the human back to his ship he pet them gently on the head, far more gentle than he ever had been.

"Who are you? Why was I taken here? Are you going to kill me? I thought Autobots didn't harm us?" He only smiled.

"Are you even listening to me? I'd at least like to know if I'm going to die? Are you really just going to keep on petting me like some pet-"

"You're home now darling. And soon, you'll be whole. We're two sides of the same coin."

"Uh- WHAT? I have a partner, and I love them very much! Besides I don't even know who you are, now put me down before you break my arm or something?"

He deposited the human in a large glass enclosure, with a bed, sink and bathroom and a cup on the side of the sink.

"Is this... an enclosure? Am I a pet to you? Excuse me but I'm a person with a life to live, rent to pay, and a partner to love! I'm not for your sick entertainment!"

Sunder only looked at them with wonder and glee, like a kid on Christmas. He spoke in a spine-tingling, nerve-wracking voice, as if Satan himself was speaking through him.

"You my dear, are a unique creature. Small and insignificant in stature, yet bigger than anything in existence." His words did nothing to soothe them as he leaned in so close his eyes reflected their face like a mirror. "Humans are so short lived, yet manage to reek of sin. Even you! With your small head, and tiny little legs, you have managed to commit the worst atrocity of them all!"

"What did I do?"

"You promised yourself to someone other than me."

Sunder tilted his head in a way that was probably trying to get a better look at them but only brought tears of panic to their eyes.

"I don't- I don't understand! I don't think I deserve to die!"

"Kill you?" The confusion in his voice was true. Had his intent not come through clear with his words? "My dear! You are sorely mistaken. I am your Conjunx! Your other half! Or as humans put it, your husband?"

"HUSBAND!? Sir I hardly know you! And even if I did know you, I already have a boyfriend and I love him more than I will ever love you."

The hand Sunder had on the edge of the clear box the human turned to a fist, shards of glass bursting everywhere. It cut into the human and they hurriedly put their arms in front of themselves to protect their face.

"Now now. That walking pile of sin is far far away now. And there is nothing more you have to do with him."

"But-"

"You're bleeding darling. And while your blood would taste delicious, I can't afford to have you fall unconscious or worse."

Reaching for them with the hand that didn't have glass shards sticking out of it, he held them firmly in his hand and took them to a corner of the room that had medical supplies. Sunder pinned them to the table as they thrashed around with blood dripping everywhere. One limb at a time, he picked the pieces of glass out of them and dressed and bandaged the wounds. Judging by the screams of pain the human made, it stung terribly. Then Sunder moved them to the medical bed and strapped them to it and moved on to cleaning off their face. He patched them up with expert precision as they cried out hoping someone would rescue them.

"Hello? Anyone? Please, someone help me! This can't be happening to me!"

"You speak as if anyone will ever rescue you."

The human finally stopped moving and let Sunder work as his words set in. No one will ever come for them. No one will ever save them. Ever. Ever. Ever.

The human didn't even react anymore to the sting of the cleaning of their wounds. Nor when he set them in his hand, this time loosely and just sat there petting them with a look of wonder and some sick form of love. For once, his mouth was closed.

Sunder looked back on the next two days as a time where he had what he thought he always wanted, but had been in denial of one fundamental truth. Having his beloved is meaningless if he isn't their beloved. Sure they didn't resist his petting, or him telling them all about the last person he ate the memories of. But they never reacted. They only drank when he forced water in their mouth. His dearest didn't even eat and became lethargic and entirely nonresponsive. That's when he knew. It's time for you to be perfect.

That was also the day he realized he had been conned. He woke up and they were gone. All that was left of them was a fresh bloodstain where he had broken the glass a few days ago. The vent nearest to the glass box was open as well, meaning they had truly escaped. Sunder cursed himself and his oversight. But now he had a human to catch.

The first place he checked was his room. And sure enough, there was a stack of boxes the human must have climbed down and the door was open. They must be terrified. If they stayed with me they would be worry free. And they were terrified. Straining his audials, he heard a faint and distant whimpering from a hallway further down.

"Oh dear human, why do you feel the need to run?" He put his hand around the corner of the hallway, just to hear their muffled gasp. "With me, you will never feel any shame from your sinful memories, and you will have eternal happiness by my side."

Now backed into a corner, they stood strong and tall, looking him in the optics with nothing but pure revulsion at him.

"Sunder, eternal happiness by your side? How is that possible?" His hand dented the wall unconsciously. Their words hurt, but he was not surprised. "You tore my family to bits, kidnapped me and forgot to give me anything but water for 3 days! I could never be happy with you."

Yes. It's time now my dear. Now It's time for you to be perfect. He didn't bother trying to hide his smile as he reached his hand towards them. There was no trying to escape him now, they were cornered.

Back in the present, Sunder had been scrawling mortilus' name on the walls in the blood of his beloved. The walls had been written over multiple times, in both blood and energon which made his entire room smell of rust. He checked on the human one more time before going into recharge.

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter XVII.5: Inevitabilis, Inevitable

HOSTIS PLAYLIST: WONHO - LOSING YOU

Previous Chapter (XVII: Et Universum Parallel)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz) 

Genre (by chapter): drama, angst

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

Dana’s A/N: this is a special piece written by @vxstarlightxv​ who has been feeding me ideas to fuel this story. i did not write this chapter, i only merely proof-read it/gave her tips etc, but otherwise the beauty of this chapter will never be able to be my own original work.

P.S: if you’re emotional, please keep a box of tissues with you 

“there is no escape from you, not now, not ever. you are inevitable.”

The day the kids at school start calling you Ares is the day Hyunjae loses faith in humanity. You are a spineless, low-life coward, who hardly deserves to be bestowed with the same title as himself. Yet here you are, acting as though you were worth being on the same plane as him.

He hates you. Oh god, he truly does.

He remembers the way you fucked him over so well and thoroughly, and in front of the whole school that too. Granted, he may have screwed with your equipment, but maybe if you didn’t suck so bad you wouldn’t have failed.

Blaming him for your shortcomings. How typical.

But showing Minhee ​that picture of the accidental kiss (that meant ​nothing​) for the sole purpose of destroying his relationship? That was a bitch move right there. So he has no regrets when he posts a cleverly edited picture of your lab teacher with his girlfriend. None at all. In fact, the sight of your tears when that himbo Younghoon dumps you is something that brings him delight.

His heart definitely did not twist when he saw you cry, because he definitely does not care. You hurt him, and it’s only fair that you’re hurting too.

Nonetheless, he is pleasantly surprised at how fast you bounce back. His breakup with Minhee was a huge watery mess, and he cannot help his grudging admiration for your strength when you power through your own with Younghoon.

It is only admiration, for he definitely still hates you.

When the time comes to choose a medical school, he chooses the one that seems the furthest away from you. But fate hates him, so after 4 years of respite, he is dumped back on your doorstep as your fellow intern in the neurology department.

Of all the fucky coincidences.

~~~

Ares is a brutal god. He is the fire of war, wild and relentless.

Hyunjae is furious when he finds out you’ve stolen his report, but he’s not surprised. Not when he would’ve done the same thing. Then again, he was kind of hoping you would leave him alone. Naturally, you’ve done the opposite. He wonders if his emotional response is a little… disproportionate, given the situation, but he’s not going to let you fuck him over like this and escape unscathed. He isn’t a fucking pussy, your thoughts on the matter be damned.

Silly little kitten. Put your paws in the fire, and watch the heat bubble your skin.

He is simmering as he bangs on your door. He hears you screaming some nonsense about your mother, but he’s too pissed to process anything. You open the door, face falling as you see him. He cannot help but reach out a hand and grab you by your pretty throat.

He shoves you into the house, fuelled by the magnitude of his anger. You’ve hurt his pride, made a fool out of him in front of Dr Kim. He wants to shred you to pieces, get you on your knees and rip the apologies from your mouth.

Tonight you will understand why the other gods fear the wrath of Ares.

 ~~~

Hyunjae replays the encounter in his head as he drives home. He has never once considered you as anything but an enemy. But today, something of seismic proportion has shifted in your dynamic.

The flutter of your lips against his, like butterfly wings on a flower. The warmth of your chest against his in a tight alcove, hiding from Dr Shin. The way you felt when you took him in, the way you cried when he hit every single spot that made your toes curl. The way you purred when he called you kitten and mewled as you fell apart on his cock.

In retrospect, he hopes that he didn’t hurt you. He usually likes to stick around for aftercare, but he didn’t want to ruin your pride even more. You’d already been dealt with a devastating blow, and he didn’t want to make it worse, regardless of how big of a dick you think he is.

(Ring, ring)

The sharp blare of his ringtone shatters the silence of his ride home. He glances at the screen, smiling when he sees the caller id.

“What’s up, Juyeonie? Are you finally back?” Hyunjae is thrilled to hear his best friend’s voice. Juyeon is very busy these days, being a commercial pilot and all, so these rare moments they have with each other are more precious than gold.

“Hey, hyung! Yes I am! On that note, are you free next Friday? Let’s get drinks and catch up!” Juyeon sounds so eager and hopeful that Hyunjae can’t help but say yes, no matter how packed his schedule might be. The rest of the conversation proceeds pleasantly, and he is happy to forget the day’s drama.

It is only when he reaches home that he realises that the thought of you has never quite left his head.

~~~

“So what happened? The last I heard, she left you high and dry in JFK.” 

He watches as feline eyes crinkle with delight at his question. His friend launches into a happy tirade about his mystery girl, going on and on about fate and chance encounters and love lost and found. Hyunjae listens carefully, admiring the way Juyeon has changed. He wonders for a moment if he'll ever experience something as profound as Juyeon has, will ever wake up one day knowing that his heart sits in the palms of another person, and will not fear the idea.

The image of your eyes dancing with wicked laughter arises unbidden, and it punches the breath out of him.

He is jostled out of his thoughts when a hand lands on his thigh. It is so abrupt, so sudden that he all but jumps out of his skin.

“Long time no see, stranger.”

Choi Minhee is standing in front of him, batting her mascara-painted eyelashes at him seductively. She is as pretty as ever, with her delicate collarbones and anime-girl eyes.

But she is not you.

The thought is so dreadful and unsettling that he cannot help but flirt with her the whole night in order to get it out of his head.

When have you become anything but an annoyance, anything but a pest that’s been shoved down his throat?

It is pleasant, talking to someone who he hasn’t met in a long time. He remembers her fondly, despite how miserable their parting was. Minhee is soft and kind, a gentle cherry-blossom compared to your ever-burning inferno. She complements him well (not perfectly, because only ​one​person does), and for a second he feels white-hot annoyance at you for fucking him over in this regard. Hyunjae cannot help but wonder if they would have been married by now had you not intervened with that photo. Would they be living the white-picket fence dream? What would their kids have looked like?

All he can see are children with your ash-brown hair and his almond eyes. The image causes his gut to clench so tightly that he wonders if something inside him might have cracked open.

“Have you and Y/N gotten together yet? I figured that after we broke up the two of you would end up going out. You were always kinda obsessed with each other.” The question jolts him out of his reverie. Juyeon, who has been listening politely so far, decides to insert himself into the conversation.

“Yeah, hyung. The two of you have always had something special, right? What was that stupid nickname we gave you? Paris and Helen?”

The irony is not lost to him. Enemies, being compared to the two greatest lovers of all time. A face that launched a thousand ships, a blaze of love that destroyed a nation. Only fools succumb to Aphrodite, the cruelest of the divine hosts.

“Ares and Ares. And for fuck’s sake, I will never be attracted to that hag. You won’t believe what she did at work last week-”

Hyunjae misses the knowing look Minhee and Juyeon exchange. He’s only seeing you.

~~~

If there is one thing that Hyunjae hates, it is surprises. So he really, really hates it when he sees you flirting with the intern as though ​he ​doesn’t exist.

The day had actually started off pretty well. He came into work feeling all pleased with himself. Not only did he break you down, but he also figured out a solid way to keep you in line. You were reacting beautifully to his taunts, and seeing you unable to walk made something vicious inside him preen.

And then, before he can breathe, you are making stupid cow-eyes at the snot-faced little intern as though he created entire galaxies in your honour.

How dare you, honestly? You’re wearing ​his ​hickeys on your neck, limping and ​sore because ​he​ripped you apart last night. How can you even ​think​of flirting with another man? Are you doing this on purpose, to get some semblance of power back?

This is not jealousy. It definitely is NOT jealousy because that would mean he would have to be attracted to your hideous hag face. No, it was an issue of pride. And no, he definitely was not deluding himself right now.

Nonetheless, watching Eric help you into his car after work makes him want to vomit.

~~~

It is the party incident that truly knocks it into his head. He spends the entire night seething over your flirtations with Eric, with even ​Sangyeon. He glares at you, but you pretend to not see, and it shoves him off the edge.

Why won’t you look at him? A room full of people, but you are the only one he sees. So why aren’t you seeing him too?

He reminds you that night, who is the only one who knows how to pick you apart, snap you in half. He reminds you who is the only one who can make your body thrum and vibrate, who is the only one who can coax tears from your eyes and pleasured sobs from your throat. But he is also tender with you after, because under that diamond-hard exterior is a heart wrapped in silks and satin. Hurting you is the last thing he wants to do.

It is only when he wakes up alone in the morning that he realises that maybe, just maybe, he wishes he could see you in his bed again, hair spilled across the sheets as your breathing slowly evens out into slumber. He wants to coo over your keening wails, drink the moans from your mouth.

A thought, fleeting and profound, surfaces.

He wants you to be his.

~~~

He goes to work on Sunday with iron resolve. He has spent the entirety of Saturday thinking hard about you, and the relationship you shared with him. The line between obsession and infatuation is a thin one, one that the two of you have been dancing on for 10 whole years. When did his foot slip? When did the late nights plotting revenge mutate into candied dreams of your lips, of your body, singing for him?

But of course, who else could it be? You have always been, will always be, his forever other half.

Ares and Ares, locked in their death dance. But when did Ares become Aphrodite? War has become Love, and Love has become War.

Somewhere along the way, something has gone wrong. At some point or the other, he has forgotten the hatred that sizzled through him like blazing poison. He has forgotten that you are annoying, that you are competitive, and that you get revenge in the sleaziest ways possible. He has forgotten everything, because all that remains is the way your smile looks like a flashing ray of sunlight, like a tendril of shimmering starlight. All that remains is the sound of your wind chime laughter, the softness of your small hands on his heated skin. All that remains is the memory of how good you are for him, how addictive the juxtaposition between your submissive sweetness in bed and your fiery heat outside of it is.

So he decides that he is going to make you his. Granted, the order of things was completely wrong, but he would fix it. He would cook you dinner, press kisses onto your cherry mouth, and then love you till morning comes. And then he would repeat it every day, till the day the two of you are cradled in the eternal embrace of death.

Surely, surely you reciprocate his feelings? How can you not, when your body weeps for him the way it does?

He likes to think you do, when he admires the way your eyes flutter closed when he steals kisses in the pantry. He likes to think you do, when you stay four hours past your shift and order takeaway for him. He likes to think you do, when you dangle Eric in front of him in order to get him to fuck you ​hard,​just the way you like it.

You are his, now.

~~~

Hyunjae’s love for you grows like tender flowers. It starts off small, but grows into something lovely and heartbreaking. You have carved your way into him, nestling against the walls of his heart and beseeching him to let you in with your stupid almond eyes.

He loves your stupid almond eyes.

He is on a cloud these days, brimming with affection that lights up his every step. He never considered himself to be one of those annoying, lovey-dovey honeymooners, but he can definitely see where they get their joy from.

Lovers alone wear sunlight.

You become his greatest delight. When you are around, even dust seems to sparkle like a thousand tiny diamonds. He loves waking up with you, your eyes half lidded and neck covered in his marks. He loves to see you in his clothes, smelling of his body wash, smelling of ​him.

(He has an extra special fondness for the days in which you are soft and pliant, allowing him to dress you like a doll. It makes his internal organs feel like they are tumbling over each other, and it makes him a little giddy. He loves taking care of you.)

But if he really had to pick a moment, he supposes he loves you most when you are with your patients, hands calm and steady and strong. It reminds him of everything beautiful there is about his profession, and he cannot get enough.

You are beautiful, in all the ways there are to be beautiful. You race through him like lightning, and he is sucked further into your orbit everyday. You carry his heart with you (inside yours), and you are never without it.

So he is overflowing with love when he picks you up and tastes your peach-covered mouth. He is overflowing with love when you smile at him with a sort of lightness that he's never quite seen directed at him before. He is overflowing with love as he goes to your favourite cafe one day to pick up the chowder you never stop talking about. Tonight, he will ask you to be his girlfriend, make this tentative little dance official.

Perhaps that is why the pain is so exquisite when he sees you with Younghoon, and hears you talking about Eric with such tenderness in your eyes.

“​He’s super enthusiastic and there’s just something about him that’s so... comforting. I see him and I think about nothing but sunshine and warmth and laughter. He’s just... so cheerful, compared to whatever i’ve been used to.​​” Something inside him shatters into a million jagged pieces when he hears the words, and every breath becomes as a blood-drenched ordeal.

Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. The words ring like alarm bells.

Fool. Naive, hopeless fool. You were never really his, were you? You might be the light by which his spirit is born, you might be his sun, moon and stars, but he? He is your nothing. He is the shadow that is birthed of your radiance, forever connected and forever forgotten.

Is this is why storms are named after people? You have destroyed him in the sweetest of ways. Is this taste of heartbreak? Rust coats his tastebuds. Is this how tears are born? The agony is magnificent and all-encompassing. There is nothing left for him here. He has never been enough, never will be.

He leaves quietly, chowder forgotten.

~~~

It is truly repulsive, the fact that he can see what you adore about Eric. The intern is strong and sweet, kind in all the ways Hyunjae is not. He is soft and mellow, and will cool your scalding tantrums with gentle words. He will not stir up the embers of your fury the way Hyunjae does, hoping for a reaction. He will be tender with you, gently laying you out and coaxing your body to sing. He will not be harsh and hard and possessive like Hyunjae, claiming you with bites and bruises and writing his possession into your blood.

He has been measured, and he has been found lacking. Eric is the perfect Hephaesthus, a sweet spring dandelion, and it is no surprise that Zeus will give you to him.

Aphrodite never belonged to Ares, after all.

“Hey, Eric! Do you have a moment?” By some miracle, his voice doesn’t crack.

“Hey, hyung! What can I do for you?” Eric is as mirthful as ever, and Hyunjae wishes they weren’t fighting over the same girl because he might actually ​like the​ intern otherwise.

“Have you gotten Y/N’s number yet?” He pauses to watch the bashful amusement dance across the intern’s face, and waits for the head shake he knows is coming. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but she’s very into you. So here’s her number, and make sure you call her, alright?” The teasing lilt he’s going for comes off more as a hoarse croak, and he realises belatedly that he really needs to be less of a shit actor.

“Thank you so much, hyung! But hey, don’t you hate Y/N? Why are you helping her out?” The intern offers him a cheeky grin, and all Hyunjae wants to do is knock his teeth out. But he’s a ​professional,​so he offers Eric a tight smile (read: grimace) and says “Well, maybe I’m hoping you’ll distract her from work so that I’ll get the promotion first.” He tosses a wink in for good measure, before reaching out to ruffle Eric’s hair with a certain sadistic pleasure.

That’s thirty minutes in the bathroom gone down the drain. But that’s what he gets for stealing Hyunjae’s girl.

Of course, because Eric is quite literally an angel who can apparently do no wrong, he gives Hyunjae a sweet smile and rolls away happily in his chair, high off his excitement at finally getting the girl he’s been after for ​ages.

And then Hyunjae is left alone to drown in self-loathing.

Hyunjae is clearly a masochist who likes to hurt himself, so that’s why he decides to tell you to meet him at the carpark after work. One last time, he’ll be the one to drive you home, the one who kisses you goodnight.

He promises he’ll let you go after this.

~~~

The car ride is as quiet as ever. You enjoy being left alone with your thoughts, and Hyunjae isn’t about to interrupt you when he’s being pummeled by his own.

The Japanese once made up a fictional disease to describe the horrors of unrequited love. They call it ​Hanahaki​, in which flowers grow in the lungs of the victims, causing them to cough up petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

He supposes that it is the exact feeling that he feels now. His love for you coils in his chest, choking leaves and thorns that crush his internal organs. It is rooted so deep that it might never leave, killing him softly but surely. The petals tickle his throat in an insidious kiss as he chokes on his desire for you, their softness a poisonous taunt of your lips against his, a feeling he might never know again.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a balm to his wounded heart.

Of course he’s not okay. He’s in love with you, but you’re not in love with him. He knows that he is nothing without you, and that knowledge is somehow everything.

All this time he wanted to make you his, but you have made him yours.

He cannot form words, so he looks at you, really, really looks at you. He memorises the contours of your face, the slender bone of your nose, the tilt of your eyes, the exact shade of red your lips are. He'll hold every little detail close, remember the last night you're his and his alone, because tomorrow Eric will ask you out and his Aphrodite will never be his again.

He wants to pretend like the sudden moisture in his eyes is surprising, but he can't lie to himself anymore.

Liar, liar. Ares is a liar.

Is this how Lucifer felt when he fell from heaven? You are life, you are life and light and everything bright. And he is cold, dark and alone. He has fallen from grace, and all that is left are the coiling tendrils of hubris keeping his spine straight and gluing the shattered pieces of his heart together. He is heartbroken, but he will clench his teeth and grit through it. Your joy is worth it. His ego won't let him fall apart. He's stronger than this. Isn't he?

Break my heart. Break it into a thousand pieces and then some. It was only ever yours to break anyways.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Anyways, we’re here now. Get out already.” Your scoff is musical. He is aching and he is broken, so he does not have the strength to resist the screaming in his head to steal one last kiss from you. He luxuriates in the feeling of your petal-soft lips against his, before pulling away reluctantly.

Everything is more beautiful because the two of you are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. You will never share this moment again.

“Goodbye, kitten.”

The words are far more permanent than he likes. You don’t hear them.

His tears run as he pulls out of your driveway. He allows himself one last look at you, confusion blossoming on the face he once swore was hideous but now haunts his every moment.

Love is fire. It burns as much as it warms, and he is the poor fool who allowed himself to get scarred.

~~~

Crossing the line from enemies to lovers was a wheeling drop of ecstasy and biting kisses. Crossing the line from lovers back to co-workers is a study in heartbreak, and Hyunjae doesn't know how much longer he can handle it.

How do I forget you? I've tasted your secrets on my lips and drank the whispers of your body. You are the weakness in my bones and the hollowness in my lungs. How do I cleave my soul from yours, when you are the drum that my heart beats to?

It is an awful sort of pain, feeling his chest cave in when he watches Eric roll over to you from his cubicle. You find him cute, it's obvious from the way your eyes crinkle like little stars when you regard him.

Look at me. Look only at me.

You look up, searching for his eyes like you’ve heard his prayer. You're expecting jealousy, disdain, fury. You're expecting him to drag you to the pantry, to call you ​kitten ​and kiss you till you bleed. But Hyunjae has no more poison to offer you. He is empty, and all he can do is give you a blank look. He hopes you will be happy, silently wishing you the best.

Hephaestus gets Aphrodite, and all Ares can do is watch. Bloody, brutal Ares is never the winner.

His lack of response throws you off. By now, you are used to his hissy fits, his seething rages. But who is he? What right does he have? You are not his to rage over, or his to claim. You might wear his marks on your neck, but you are definitely not ​his.

How he wishes you were. But wishes are like pixie dust, and this is no fairytale.

The rest of the day is agonising. His body is so keenly attuned to yours now, and he doesn’t know how to rewire himself. He keeps a cool distance from you, but every molecule in his being roars in fury at the forced detachment.

He misses you already.

You continue to press him, trying to push his buttons and rile him up. Hyunjae studiously ignores you, hoping his coldness will further fray the ropes holding up the fragile bridge of a relationship that the two of you have developed. You are looking at him with a strange mix of anger, disdain and annoyance. For a second, he thinks he might even see-

Is that? Could it be? Longing? Do you miss him like he misses you?

Wishful thinking. That’s what it is. But it hurts so bad that he decides that he’s just going to avoid you from now on, until he finds a more appropriate coping mechanism than simply crying like a toddler when he can’t get his way.

Maybe he should call Minhee, and try to rekindle-

He cuts the thought off before it dredges up more painful memories. All he can see when he thinks of Minhee are the one-thousand-and-one different ways you exceed her.

You’re fiercer, with more spine. You don’t give in as easily. You’re not afraid to fight with him. You have a kinder heart. You are so much smarter. Your lips are softer. Your hand fits into his so much more perfectly. You are lovely in all the ways she never was, never will be.

It is a numbing, novocaine relief when Dr Choi summons him for rounds. If Hyunjae is left for even a second longer with his thoughts, he might just spiral into a pit of depressed longing and self pity that he might never emerge from.

Mighty Ares, on his knees. Aphrodite’s laughter perfumes the air, irresistible and menacing.

~~~

He is on his final round when he meets Mrs Kang. The kind, old lady takes one look at him, eyes lighting up with knowledge that he wishes she wasn’t able to glean so easily.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Well he doesn’t, but the words explode out of his bleeding heart like ink spilling on ivory pages.

“I... I thought that it would be okay, that I could forget and let go and that it would all be fine and good but then… I saw her--” his voice cracks miserably as a lump etches itself into his throat. His heart is racing, and every inhale feels like swallowing glass shards.

“I saw her and something went terribly wrong because I couldn’t forget and my heart was remembering and I felt like I was dying but I couldn’t do anything because all I want is for her to be happy and I know that happiness isn’t with me and I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT.”

Mrs Kang is silent, regarding him with a look he can’t quite decipher. He takes it as an invitation to continue.

“I wish I was him. I wish I was the one who could make her smile, make her laugh. But I’m angry, I’m jealous and I’m immature. I’m overly competitive, and I don’t know how to lose graciously. When I’m pissed, I do stupid, radical things.”

Silence. Inside, outside. It is deafening.

“Why would she want me? I don’t deserve her, and knowing that I’ll have to live my life watching her in another man’s arms is ripping me apart.”

He’s breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon. It’s a terrifying prospect, facing his feelings head on. Until now, they were swirling around his head in an ugly tangle of emotion. Verbalising them, hearing them out loud, is painful and cathartic at once. But he’s already feeling like a pathetic little sap. He wonders if you would sneer at him if you heard. Is this what it feels like to lose? Is this how you felt, lifetimes ago, on your sofa? The two of you have always been push and pull, a forever impasse. But today, you’ve finally shoved him off balance.

Who is the stronger Ares now? Your kisses are his kryptonite.

A hand comes to rest over his.

“Love always finds a way. I know you’re feeling hopeless now, but know that if you are meant for each other, you will always find your way back,” Mrs Kang finishes with a gentle smile. The pretty words do not reassure him.

If only love was as perfect as love seems to be, if only his flaws and broken edges could be hidden away. But this is a dream that will never come to life, a flower that will never grow to bloom.

She does not know who it is that he is fighting with, who it is that is slipping away from him with every passing second. She thinks that it will be okay, but she does not know that Ares has no mercy. He expects none from you. Nonetheless, he gives her a watery grin in return before standing up to complete his rounds. He may have lost, but he has enough composure to know better than to break in public.

It is a monumental effort, holding it together.

Hyunjae makes it to the lift in peace, stepping in through the shiny doors and slamming the button for the fifth floor. When they slide open, the sight before him makes his heart drop like a wineglass.

You and Eric are standing across him, hand in hand. Eric’s foot is tapping impatiently, eager to drag you off to wherever he was taking you for dinner.

For a second, he loses control over his emotions. Agony crumples his face, and you, because you’re just that smart and just that perceptive, register it. He doesn’t have the heart to pretend anymore.

Hyunjae brushes past the two of you, ignoring your questioning look, ignoring Eric’s cheerful greeting, and most importantly ignoring the writhing in his chest. He goes straight for his briefcase and shoves his belongings in, flicking the lights off and rushing to the carpark. He does not want to see anyone. He does not want to process anything.

He is empty. So, so empty, and hollow. The void inside him threatens to consume him whole.

The moment he reaches home, he goes straight to his spirits. There’s a bottle of whiskey sitting in the top most shelf of his kitchen, a birthday gift from his father. He pulls it down, slamming the glass decanter onto the kitchen counter, and the pressure nearly cracks it open.

He remembers the sight of you pressed up against this very counter, squirming under his ministrations. He remembers your lips fall open in a sigh, and then to beg. He remembers standing between your thighs, feeding you and then licking cream off your lips. Memories swirl through his head, cutting through his ribcage and slicing his heart open.

He doesn’t bother to grab a glass, pouring the scorching liquid down his throat. It claws at him, and he welcomes the pain.

Love is cruel, love is cold. When it kills, it does it slow.

He knows the tears are coming. The pressure has been building in his head for the last twenty-four hours. They fall as he walks over to the living room, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

The mirror you clutched when you moaned wretchedly, promising him that HE was the only one who could ever ruin you this way.

He lifts the bottle, forcing himself to look his reflection in the eye as he drinks a toast to Eric. ​Here’s to you, buddy.

His reflection sneers back, bloodshot and desolate. A half of a whole, incomplete. This is what he is without you.

Hyunjae sinks to the ground, bottle thumping down on the carpet. It rolls once, twice, and rivulets of alcohol splash across the floor. Another memory lunges up.

There is nothing more striking than red on white. Blood on snow. Wine on cream skin, tracing paths his eager tongue follows. A hiss of anger that softens into a sigh.

The sofa smells like you. The study smells like you. You are everywhere, and it breaks him, tearing a wail of grief out of his chest.

One day, the smell of you will fade. You will slip between his fingers like the wisp of a dream, and all he will be left with is the recollection of the fleeting seconds you were his and his alone.

Too much. This is too much. He cannot think, he cannot see, he cannot ​breathe,​without being haunted by you. You are in every orifice, in every nook and cranny and cell. You are in the water of his blood and in the porous hollows of his bones. You are in the fibre between his atoms, you are in the electricity racing across his neurons. 

There is no escape from you, not now, not ever.

You are inevitable.

(Knock, knock)

It takes him a moment to realise that the pounding is not from the blood rushing in his head, but from someone impatiently banging on his door. He picks himself off the floor, not bothering to fix his appearance.

By now, you must be in Eric’s arms. He would kiss you softly, like summer rain. You would sigh into his lips, and he would look at you like you hung the moon. He would take you home, and press more kisses into your silk skin as he whispers his love. One day, he would get on one knee and present you with a diamond. You would say yes, because Eric is sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine. Warmth. Laughter.

This, this is what you deserve. Not him, not his twisted mess of anger and jealousy. He is a stinging scorpion, and you deserve more than his petty poisons. But his heart still lurches at the thought of you, nestled into Eric.

The gods have always feared Aphrodite more than Ares. He thinks he can finally understand why.

He swings the door open, and once again forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think, forgets that he kinda hates you but now kinda loves you because there you are, raindrops glistening in your eyelashes, and you eclipse every star in the sky. There is nothing but you and you alone, and his withered little heart is shooting to life because ​that’s just what you do to him. There’s so much he wants to say, so many thoughts tumbling through his head. But he’s a frightful, useless coward, so all that flies out of his mouth is:

“Why the fuck are you--”

And then your lips are cushioned against his, kissing the venom out of him. He cannot help the sigh he breathes into your mouth at the way your body slots so perfectly against his.

Home, home is in your arms. He has been running all his life, and you have always been his only destination.

Tears slip out, hot and fast, washing the festering wound inside him clean. The cracked pieces of his soul begin to lift up and fuse together.

The light of a thousand suns slices through the void in him, and the darkness melts like ice on a hot summer day.

He is shuddering, wrecked by the sheer ​force​ of the emotions in him. But you are holding him tight, so very tight. He hopes you will never let him go. ​Never ever, ever let him go.

He is yours, and you are his. Where he ends, you begin and where you end, he begins. There is nothing else, no one else, because there was never anyone for him but you. Love not at first sight, or even the second, but at last sight and at ever and ever sight.

When you finally pull away to murmur the words he would have never even dreamed of hearing from you, it’s like starlight is filling the dusty hollows of his chest, sewing the pieces that have fallen apart back into the tapestry that is you. He is surprised, he really is, but something inside him has always known, has always clung to the hope that you would choose him, despite everything.

All that matters, is that you’ve come back to him. You are the only truth he’s ever known.

~~~ 

Later in the evening, when the two of you are spent from your love-making and coiled so tightly that your breaths have become one, Hyunjae takes a moment to contemplate the situation. You have won this competition between the two of you. You have planted yourself as first in his life, and for once (​and of course, the only time ever, because he is still going to get that damn promotion before you)​, he is happy to cede to you. This is what love is, to break and to be broken, to be full and to be empty, to win and to lose. He would have it no other way. All that he is, and all that he will be, center around the axis that is you.

Do you feel like this too? Like your heart is bursting from the seams?

You sigh in your sleep, seemingly agreeing. He loves you so much, it hurts. But there is one final thing to do.

He lifts his head to the stars, who have been waiting for this collision of souls for a long, long time.

Thank you, he whispers.

And for once, Zeus smiles down on his Ares.

ENDING THOUGHTS:

First of all, a very big thank you to everyone who made it to the end!! This piece has been a wild, emotional ride from start to finish and I understand that the sudden change in style can be jarring for some. As such, I am very grateful to everyone who took the time to read it :)

Hyunjae has always been a very complicated character. We’ve seen him through Y/N’s eyes for the last 17 or so chapters, and she is definitely not the most reliable of narrators. Many of her thoughts regarding his actions and motivations are shadowed by her own negative emotions, and he has come off as a rather poisonous character, except for the rare moments of tenderness he seems to show. Hopefully this will help you get a glimpse into Hyunjae’s psyche, in a way that is untainted by Y/N. I’ve seen many of your asks about Hyunjae and his behaviour, and perhaps you will see this as a sort of redemption for him, in the sense that he is so much deeper and complex than the seething neanderthal Y/N sees him as.

Writing this was a challenge nonetheless, and I think we should all be very grateful to Dana for powering through Y/N and Hyunjae’s story, given how much of a hot mess this couple is! It’s very hard to write an enemies-to-lovers fic without it coming off as corny and shallow, and she had the double struggle of writing that dynamic in a medical setting. The fact that we’re all whipped for these two is testament to her brilliant writing, so let’s all say a big thank you for that :))

Before I end, I’d like to pay homage to some of the writers that have inspired this fic. Reading through, you will see quotes inspired by the likes of Nabokov, Cummings and Homer. If I’m not wrong, there’s a little bit of Sarah J Maas and Caitlyn Siehl in there as well. And of course, who can forget the little bits of mythology peeking out here and there? If you happened to notice these references, feel free to scream in Dana’s ask box! It’ll be fun to read your thoughts :)

Once again, a very big thank you for following Hostis so devotedly, and showering Dana with your love. I hope you’ll continue to give her all your love and support the rest of her works.

(P.S Did anyone notice Pilot! Juyeon? If you didn’t, you should 1000% check out his story too, here.)

Love Always,

V

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter XVIII: Renuntiatio

[komorebirei]

A Detailed Lukanalysis

Before getting into this post, let me just say that I have a pretty moderate stance toward canon Luka. Yes, I think he could play a more important role in the show as more than just Marinette’s alternative love-interest. I’m not defending the way Luka is used in the show.

I watched all the episodes with Luka in them and took detailed notes on what happens and what we can imply, mostly as ‘research’ for when I write Luka in my fics. In light of Luka salt I’ve seen lately, though, I decided to share my findings to make the case that Luka does have a well-rounded, consistent personality, and has had plenty of on-screen opportunities to display his character.

Even if no one reads this whole post, my purpose is accomplished from the sheer amount of evidence I found when scouring the episodes for indicators of his personality.

Analysis starts below the cut.

Observant/Accommodating Nature

Though being ‘observant’ and ‘accommodating’ are two separate traits, I put them together for this point because they are interlinked in Luka’s personality. He observes so he can be more accommodating.

Attentive to Conversation Partners

When Luka is introduced in Hardrock, we see him watching Marinette intently when she talks to him, and he notices/points out all her verbal mistakes and fluctuations in mood. (See “Role of Music —> Smoothing Ruffled Feathers” for more on this scene below.)

Attentive to Surroundings

In Frozer, although he is shown gazing out toward the ice rink while Marinette and Adrien are talking privately, he interjects his advice for Adrien regarding Kagami, showing that he has been listening the whole time, and that even when he seems not to be involved or paying attention, he is taking in his surroundings. (He’s an eavesdropper.)

Luka’s advice for Adrien sums up Luka’s character very well. He says, “Be natural. Follow her rhythm, let yourself go, and let her guide you.” (Quoting in a rough translation from French version because I feel it’s clearer and more direct than the English version.) His policy is to observe first, then mold himself to accommodate the other person/people involved, letting go of his own will and desires. He is not one to insist his own way. That does not mean he always stands by without acting, though (see below, “A Man of Action”).

“Follow Her Lead”

Luka’s advice, “Follow her lead,” does not mean to literally let one person dominate all the time. Assuming he follows his own advice, let’s look at his dynamic with Marinette. Rather than literally letting her lead him onto the ice, he in fact is the one leading when they skate together. “Follow her lead” means to observe the other person, intuit what they need, and provide that. Since he senses that Marinette is unstable (on her feet mostly, but potentially emotionally as well), he provides the guidance and support that he thinks she needs.

As a related point, in Miracle Queen, when he offers Marinette a shoulder to cry on, he does not ask her what’s wrong or attempt to pry anything out of her; he tells her it’s okay to talk to him, or not talk to him, whatever she wants. He forces nothing on her, but tries to be what she needs.

Cool-Headed (by Choice)

When Marinette interrupts him meditating, he takes his time to open his eyes, and doesn’t break his posture (Hardrock). He is not easily flustered. Meditation is often a solution to a problem (stress, anxiety, emotional fluctuations, etc.), so Luka may suffer from some of these problems by nature, and has found a solution that works. See “Hot-Headed” below for evidence of anger issues.

In Silencer, he is visibly very angry, but has enough self-control to let go of the angry feelings and walk away at first. (More on this under “Focus on Others —> Indignant for Others.”)

Whenever shown, Luka channels a very calm, easygoing disposition in general. However, in the section below, there are hints that this is not his nature, but rather, something that he chooses.

Hot-Headed (by Nature)

When Luka sees XY wearing the Kitty Section rip-off costume, he immediately gets angry. Later, when XY boasts, Luka does not make excuses for him, he is ticked off. He jabs XY in the chest and snatches the mask off him. When Bob Roth says more infuriating things, Luka growls, shakes his fist, and clenches his fingers so hard they shake and start to crush the mask, before he is even touched by the akuma. Usually we see this sort of reaction in the victim once the akuma has entered the cursed object.

Luka does not exhibit the self control that he shows in other situations, but rather, animalistic rage, like the expression, ‘seeing red.’ He treats XY and Roth as if they have been “blacklisted” in his mind and no longer has the forgiving, calm attitude toward them that he has toward people who are in his good graces.

Luka also shows signs of anger in the form of clenching teeth or lowered brow (even toward Chat Noir in Desperada for not showing up) whenever he feels like the situation is not right.

Focus on Others, Not Self

Concern for Others’ Comfort / Emotional Perceptiveness

Luka tends to prioritize the happiness and comfort of others over his own, and is very attentive to whether people are comfortable or not. Because of this attentiveness, he can easily sense other people’s emotions. He laughs at Marinette when he meets her, but when he senses that she is hurt, he immediately switches tracks to try to cheer her up. Later, when he senses that she feels more comfortable and that it’s okay to tease her without hurting her, he does so (Hardrock).

When his mother is akumatized, Luka looks distraught and begs her not to ruin the music festival for other people, showing that he does not like to disturb others or make them unhappy, and that this is more of a concern for him than the fact that his mother is akumatized.

Respect for Others

Luka also shows respect toward others, from his mannerisms (guiding, helping hands, picking up miraculous box with both hands, etc.). Considering his mother shredded tickets issued by a police officer, he did not learn this under the rod, meaning it’s an innate sense of respect for other human beings he has developed on his own.

Counting His Ducklings

Whenever someone he cares about is not accounted for (Marinette in Hardrock, Adrien in Desperada), Luka is concerned and is the first to ask about their well-being when Ladybug shows up. Luka looks out for ‘his own’ and worries / takes action until he sees them safe.

The Positive Enabler

Luka is quick to speak praise for other people and plays the role of the ‘encourager’ / positive enabler within the group. In Silencer, when Marinette is excited about the opportunity to submit a video to XY, Luka immediately brings up her designs. As soon as they finish rehearsing, he immediately praises everyone’s performance and the group dynamic. In Reflekdoll, he tells Juleka she’s pretty and encourages her to follow her dreams. He says positive things to make people feel good about themselves, and confident enough to take action.

Indignant for Others, Not Himself

Luka gets more angry when other people are concerned (Marinette, or his friends/family, as shown in Silencer and Desperada) than himself. He is more upset about Marinette’s costumes being stolen in Silencer than his own song being plagiarized. Moreover, while he is willing to walk away after being insulted as a musician and having his own song stolen, when Marinette is directly attacked by Roth, he becomes infuriated and akumatized.

Hawkmoth’s speech gives us insight, since Hawkmoth can feel people’s emotions. He says that Luka cannot bear to see the ones he loves suffer. This shows that the reason Luka gets akumatized is not because the work was plagiarized, but rather, because Bob Roth is yelling at Marinette, subjecting her to humiliation and insult and trying to crush her self-esteem. This emotional abuse is what Luka cannot bear.

He accepts the snake miraculous in Desperada because his family and friends were attacked.

Genuinely Concerned for Others’ Happiness

When Marinette goes running after Adrien, Luka is left alone, yet he smiles, showing that he is not only putting up a positive front for Marinette; he genuinely wants her to follow her heart and be happy. He also looks on tenderly, like a proud parent, when Adrien and Kagami come to the houseboat, saying “I’m glad Adrien has found someone he can leave the house with.” He wants his friends to be happy and do what they want to do.

In Felix, Marinette accidentally talks about Adrien in front of Luka, and feels embarrassed that he’s heard. In response, Luka tells her that he will be happy if things work out between her and Adrien, but that if they don’t, he (Luka) is there for Marinette. The fact that he answers this way is an acknowledgement that Marinette is aware of Luka’s feelings. However, Luka doesn’t want her to feel guilty or conflicted about having feelings for Adrien. He wants her to be happy and feel at ease, and that is more important to him than asserting his own feelings. (See “Speculation —> Why Luka Doesn’t Pursue Marinette” at the bottom for more on this.)

Generous with Belongings/Space

Luka doesn’t closely guard his personal belongings and space. He’s comfortable with having it invaded, and generous with his belongings. He shares and accepts people into his life freely. When he meets Marinette, he doesn’t mind her touching his things and gives her a pick right away. He warms up to her right away and is already teasing her within five minutes of meeting her. When Adrien appears, he welcomes him into Kitty Section without even knowing anything about him (Hardrock).

In Desperada, Luka frowns when Marinette suggests Adrien, and gets a hopeful smile when Jagged Stone mentions him (Luka). This shows he is aware and not indifferent to what is happening. However, when Marinette asks Luka to lend Adrien his guitar, Luka hands it over, saying “If you like, Marinette.” Later, he also gives up the guitar to Ladybug.

His willingness to hand over one of his most important items shows that he is not a possessive and jealous person. But also, the fact that he did so at Marinette’s bidding with the words “If you like” shows that he is willing to prioritize his love and support for someone (Marinette) over his self-insistence.

Positive/Trusting Outlook

Luka shows that he is quick to trust. When Marinette escapes from Captain Hardrock’s chains, Luka goes along with her plan, allowing himself to be recaptured in order to let Marinette escape without fully knowing what her plan is. Without trusting Marinette, that seems risky since he is also free and has the agency to seek help, but is losing that agency by allowing himself to be recaptured.

In Silencer, Marinette freaks out when there’s no response about the video, but Luka makes excuses for the studio, saying they probably got a lot of submissions and are still picking. He’s probably the type of person to give people the benefit of the doubt when there is no evidence of a reason to distrust their motives. E.g. if a random person is rude to him, he will more likely think “They’re probably having a bad day,” than “What do they have against me?”

He is not the type to freak out, assume the worst, and catastrophize.

Luka also seems to value upholding other people’s trust in him, and that trust is important to him as a whole. When he gives Ladybug back the snake miraculous, he thanks her for trusting him.

Methodical Thought Process

The way Luka uses the snake miraculous reveals a lot about his thought process and ties into the next point, “Role of Guitar/Music.” Let’s take a look at Viperion’s first fight in Desperada.

In battle, Viperion hangs back and watches, IMMEDIATELY hits Second Chance when something goes wrong, and gives instructions to Ladybug/Chat when they loop back. (By contrast, in Miracle Queen, Snake Noir reacts emotionally to the situation—freaking out, gaping in shock, realizing what’s going on—for a few seconds before hitting Second Chance.)

A couple Second Chances later, we see a clip of Viperion playing the lyre, sitting on the Eiffel Tower, out of the fray of battle. When Desperada reacts to the lyre playing, Luka smiles delightedly, like an experimenter who is seeing the lab rat respond the way he hopes. He then hits Second Chance again despite no errors happening, because he has accomplished his purpose for the loop.

Luka is methodical in his way of using the snake miraculous. He doesn’t just use it and hope things will go better next time. He uses it strategically, testing different variables until he sees which ones lead to the results he wants. Armed with knowledge that he gains piecemeal through multiple Second Chances, he formulates the perfect plan and instructs the team on what to do. In this battle, he is the brains, not Ladybug. His observation skills are his strength as Viperion.

This leads to the next point… that clues indicate that Luka uses music the same way—to get results that he wants, because he has observed that it works more efficiently than words. (“Sometimes, music is clearer than words.”)

Role of Guitar/Music

Smoothing Ruffled Feathers

Luka uses his guitar to affect/manipulate people’s emotions in a way that words cannot easily do. When he senses that he has offended Marinette upon meeting her, he plays something, and she cheers up (Hardrock). When he notices Marinette is down in Frozer, he plays something cheerful and she brightens up. Considering characteristics mentioned in “Methodical Thought Process,” it’s likely he has picked up this efficient tactic for changing people’s mood through music.

Connecting with People

In Party Crasher, we see Luka keeping to himself at first, but he is later shown playing the guitar while Jagged Stone plays the piano. Aside from when Luka is playing music with Kitty Section, we only see him on his own, yet his friendship with Kitty Section members seems strong (Silencer video prep montage). As his friendship with Adrien develops, we also see them playing instruments together while looking at one another. This shows that Luka’s way of forging connections with people is through making music together.

Expressing his Sentiments Toward People

In Frozer, when Luka says “I think I have a new song to write,” some may interpret this as a cheesy metaphor to mean that he has feelings for Marinette.

However, in Miracle Queen, we see Luka actually composing a song for Marinette. This shows that it was not a metaphor (or is only partly a metaphor)—he literally intended to write a song for her. People express their affection and love in many ways. Marinette makes clothing or baked goods for people. Adrien mimics the gestures of others (making a charm because Marinette made him a charm, giving roses because that’s what romantic cliches do). Luka writes dedicated music.

When Marinette kisses him on the cheek, he becomes happy and promises to come up with the perfect melody for her song, indicating that he will finally express his feelings for her in the song he’s composing.

Playing/Joking

Three times, Luka makes jokes with the guitar—the ‘guitar curse’ in Hardrock, the baby song in Desperada, and the sound effects for Juleka in Reflekdoll. His “guitar emoting” is done playfully and probably with a degree of self-awareness that it’s silly, but as mentioned above, he finds it effective in cheering people up.

...But All Within Reason

In Miracle Queen, when Marinette breaks down, Luka does not play music. This indicates that he uses his guitar as a tool when appropriate, but he does not one-sidedly rely on it as a cure-all for how to interact with people. In Miracle Queen, Marinette does not need the guitar, she needs someone who will listen and give her a shoulder to cry on, and Luka provides that.

Internal Law, Not External

Especially having been raised by a mother with little regard for authority, Luka shows that he is ruled by a strong sense of inner morality, but is willing to bend rules that are imposed on him externally. He doesn’t mind breaking the law when he doesn’t feel the act is morally wrong (Hardrock).

This point extends slightly to encompass that Luka is motivated by inner factors, not outer factors.

Strong Moral Compass

In Desperada, when Ladybug calls Chat for help and he does not answer, Luka looks pissed, indicating he feels like Chat is shirking on his duties. Also, even though Chat makes excuses about Adrien’s whereabouts and pushes Luka into a locker with the instructions to keep hiding, later Luka runs into Ladybug and Adrien in the sewer. This means he did not listen to Chat, but went looking for Adrien to make sure he was safe, because he felt that was the right thing to do.

Impulsiveness

Luka is driven by what he feels is right to do at any particular moment. In Love Eater, he is working at a job, and tells the customer “Sorry, I have to go” and immediately goes off to visit Marinette to play a song he has thought up for her. He is still using the company bike, and may still be on his shift / have a job to do, but his priority is to fulfill his creative need. He doesn’t hesitate to give Marinette a ride on her own errand, despite probably having duties to do himself. His top priorities/loyalty lies with his loved ones and his creative goals.

He brings his guitar with him on his deliveries, implying that he could stop at any moment to play something if inspiration strikes, a hint of an impulsive personality.

Self-Motivated

Despite being easy-going, Luka does not have a complacent nature, but challenges himself to be better. When he plays the song for Marinette in Love Eater, at first he says it’s perfect, but after she listens and he gets her feedback, he decides he can do better and takes it back to tweak more.

Akuma Form Symbolism

This point is only LIGHT evidence as it ventures into questionable symbolic grounds, but as an akuma, Silencer scoffs at the notion of Ladybug and Chat Noir as figures of moral good. “Where were they when we needed them?” He says he will lay down the “Law of Silence.” This symbolizes Luka’s disregard for externally imposed morality / conventions and indicates that he operates according to a strong inner moral code. From a writing perspective, though, this can count as valid evidence of this characteristic of Luka’s, since akumatizations are manifestations of people’s deep emotions. 

Body Language

Luka often uses body language (gestures and touches) to communicate. He invites Marinette to sit on his bed with a gesture, no words (Hardrock).

Luka is a tactile person who is not shy to invade other people’s personal space. When guiding, helping, or speaking to Marinette/Adrien, Luka is often touching hands, shoulders, waists, arms, and often he leaves his hands on them the whole duration of the exchange (Hardrock, Frozer, Desperada). To encourage Juleka, he touches her shoulders, pins up her hair, and kisses her head. He is not stingy with physical affection.

Introversion

Usually, when Luka plays the guitar for other people, his eyes are closed. He does not watch their reactions, despite the fact that he is playing for them (usually Marinette)—to change their mood or in dedication toward them. This can symbolize that although he devotes himself and his actions to others, and finds communication important (see “Responsible Communicator” below), he is still a private, introverted person.

In Party Crasher, Luka is only shown briefly during the party. When he is not playing the guitar, we see him standing among the crowd using his phone and not interacting with anyone, while all the other guests are either doing crazy things or talking to one another.

In Felix, Luka is with the group on deck at first, but later, he has retreated to his room even though the rest of the group is still on deck.

Private Humor

Luka doesn’t make very flamboyant jokes like Chat Noir, but he does show a sense of humor, making jokes with the guitar or gently teasing. This subtle humor can go undetected, but (as with Marinette) is appreciated more by the people he has gotten close to.

Responsible Communicator

Talking is the Best Policy

Luka shows a standard policy that communication is the best way to solve problems, and practices this himself. (See “Multiple Methods” below.)

We can see Luka’s thoughts about communication surface in the advice he gives to others. In Frozer, when Luka notices that Marinette is upset about Adrien, he advises her to talk to him. In Reflekdoll, when Juleka is having doubts about her ability to model, Luka advises her to talk to Marinette.

Multiple Methods of Communication

Luka doesn’t spare his words to communicate, but he also uses words, body language, or music to communicate. By saying “Sometimes music is clearer than words,” he indicates that his goal is to reach people and he feels that music can be a more efficient means of doing so. (See “Role of Music” for more on this.)

In Silencer, he praises the sincerity of the song, indicating that it’s important to him that the message of the song be pure and genuine, and that communicating true sentiments is a large part of his goal in making music.

Not Shy to Speak Up

In Frozer, he shows no inhibition or shame about admitting (by getting involved) that he was eavesdropping on Adrien’s private conversation with Marinette regarding Kagami, despite the fact that others might see this as intrusive or not socially acceptable. He is not shy to speak his thoughts.

He also confessed to Marinette easily in Silencer. It was unplanned, impromptu, but he said exactly what he meant.

Stress Response

He meditates (Hardrock). See “Cool-Headed.”

Sublimation

In Frozer, Luka is playing alone on the deck when Marinette joins him, and he does not change the (melancholy) song before he asks her, “You feel like this, don’t you?” The song was not originally for Marinette. This means that he was playing a melancholy song for himself before Marinette joins him, and by implication, he was feeling melancholy, and that when he feels upset, he plays the guitar. He is smiling faintly when Marinette comes on-deck, implying that the self-soothing method is working.

The above is evidence that Luka deals with stress through “sublimation”—in other words, transforming a negative emotion into something positive, productive, or creative.

Space

In Frozer, when Marinette is upset and flees from the rink, he does not pursue her. He gives her space, meaning he recognizes that his solicitation is not always what will help the other person, and indicating that he also seeks space when he is upset.

A Man of Action

Learning and Leading by Example

Instead of offering Adrien verbal advice in Frozer (aside from his few short lines), he shows Adrien an example, through his treatment of Marinette, of how to treat Kagami. The fact that he teaches by providing a visual example indicates that he learns by example as well. See “Speculation on Why” for why this might be.

Lending Help

Despite the fact that Luka does not mind stepping back in social or romantic situations, when it comes to a situation where people are in trouble or need help, Luka does not hesitate to act. He and Adrien are watching Ladybug fight alone in Desperada, and when Adrien says Chat Noir may not be there in time, Luka is the one who insists that they do something to help Ladybug, and immediately tries to create a diversion. In Miracle Queen, he jumps between Marinette and the bees, protecting her the same way Chat protects Ladybug. He is not a coward.

Pursuit of Dreams

Luka has a job. He’s pulling his own weight, in that small way; he is dependable and responsible enough to have a job. By working, he is developing the means (money) to make his dreams happen.

Feelings for Marinette

How He Developed Feelings

Some people perceive a gap between Luka meeting Marinette and suddenly having a crush on her, and wonder how in the world he caught feelings.

In Captain Hardrock, Luka witnesses Marinette stuttering and nervous first, then sees her during an akuma fight. The contrast of these two aspects of Marinette’s personality are plenty to wow Luka, and is it any different from what Chat Noir witnessed in Ladybug to make him fall in love with her? Let’s recap.

When Marinette is chained to Luka in the Liberty, Tikki undoes the lock, and Luka is amazed, instantly impressed that Marinette has managed to get them out. She says she did it with the guitar pick, and he is impressed, saying she’s a magician. He probably thinks she is smart and resourceful to be able to come up with a way to undo the lock.

When Ladybug appears, Luka praises Marinette to her, saying she’s a brave girl. Ladybug mentions that Marinette alerted her. From Luka’s point of view, all he knows is that Marinette has escaped, and the only way out is the window which would drop a person into the Seine. He probably assumes that Marinette jumped ship, swam, and figured out a way to contact Ladybug for help. A proactive, resourceful, and bold personality with miraculous connections (would just anyone know how to contact Ladybug for help?). Plenty of traits to admire and find extraordinary.

After Hardrock, Luka and Marinette go on a “date” together (Frozer), and spend significant time together working on creative projects (Silencer). Plenty of time for his admiration to turn into a full-blown crush before his “confession” in Silencer.

Marinette Over Music

Luka lets his guitar drop in order to hug Marinette with both arms instead of just one. Despite the fact that he feels attached enough to his guitar to bring it on his job deliveries, he’s willing to risk it getting damaged for the sake of providing Marinette some temporary comfort. Though it’s a simple scene/gesture, the camera angle (low, showing fallen guitar in the foreground) indicates that this scene is symbolic, showing how important Marinette is to Luka, that she takes precedence over his other great love in life.

The end screen shows Luka looking distressed while holding a crying Marinette. Going back to Hawkmoth’s comment about Luka as someone “who can’t bear to see the one he loves suffer,” his main concern is not to date her, but to comfort her so she won’t suffer anymore. Putting together his empathic nature, his facial expression, and everything we know about him, he probably feels torn up and in pain himself when he witnesses Marinette like that.

Passiveness in Love

For my thoughts on why Luka does not pursue Marinette, see below under “Speculation —> Why Luka Doesn’t Pursue Marinette.”)

Speculation

This section is speculation based on the clues provided above.

Why Luka is So Observant and Self-Motivated

Luka was raised by Anarka, a woman who has no respect for social conventions or authority. She has an illegally-parked houseboat, does not respect police officers, and does not believe in cleanliness or organization. It’s unlikely that such a person would teach her children social constructs like gestures of courtesy, or put them in lessons the way Gabriel has done for Adrien, etc.

We see in Frozer that Luka knows how to figure skate. He has probably learned from watching, rather than having been in lessons. It is likely that most of the learning Luka has done, has been from watching other people and picking things up. In order to learn in such an unstructured, free environment as Anarka has created on the Liberty, a person must be self-motivated, otherwise they end up as a slob who can’t do anything.

Luka’s advice to Juleka is to follow her dreams in life. We can assume that Luka is doing the same, and that no one is pushing him; the only way he can achieve his dreams is to push himself.

Why Luka is So Friendly with Adrien

We may suppose that it is due to Luka’s empathic nature that he’s able to embrace a rival in love (Adrien). Because Marinette loves Adrien, he may pay Adrien special attention and notice the things about him that Marinette loves, and as a result, also feel admiration toward Adrien as well. In Desperada, we see Luka being very concerned about Adrien, looking after him, making sure he is safe. It’s possible this special attention derives from his feelings toward Marinette.

Why Luka Doesn’t Pursue Marinette

Luka tells Marinette he has found her melody, but he asks if she really wants to hear it, then follows that with “You’re still thinking about Adrien, aren’t you?”

It’s obviously a metaphor that the song being perfected and Marinette listening to it symbolize her and Luka syncing up romantically. Looking deeper, though, Luka recognizes that Marinette is seeing him as a rebound now, and as much as he likes her, he knows that she will not feel fulfilled if she dates him as a rebound and her heart is still stuck on Adrien. Luka only wants to date Marinette if her feelings for him are genuine; if not, he will stand back.

(For more on this point, see “Focus on Others, Not Himself: Genuinely Concerned for Others’ Happiness.”)

Conclusion

Luka has a personality.

I think other characters, like Marinette and Adrien, are easy to caricature. Marinette’s propensity to catastrophize, bumbling in front of Adrien, obsessive crush, crazy/daring plots, etc. Adrien’s daddy issues, denseness, anime-style dramatic flair, romantic ideals. These characteristics are all easy to exaggerate and lend themselves well to humor, drama, etc.

Luka, on the other hand, has subtle and moderate characteristics that are difficult to exaggerate and don’t lend themselves well to humor and drama. His only major quirk (love of music) is easy to parody, and that makes him seem one-sided.

Honestly, I think he’s more like a normal human being. Not everyone’s personality screams something, but everyone is driven by a set of principles and values, the way they think, the way they see the world, behavioral trends, etc... and I feel like the writers have given us plenty of glimpses at what those are for Luka.

[sonder-writes]

Day 23: treasure

“Harry! Where’d my bloody treasure chest go?!” Tom yells, after he had finished making a mess of their room from digging everything out of the cupboard.

“Oh, that old thing? I took it to the charity shop, didn’t know you still wanted it,” Harry replies. Tom’s face flushes.

“Harry, I literally kept my soul in there! Why?!” Tom screams, going out to confront Harry. Harry just shrugs, concerned about why Tom has gotten so mad.

“Geez, sorry, I didn’t know you cared about it so much,” Harry takes another bite of his toast, then puts it down and begins looking around for the name of the charity shop he’d brought it to, “by the way, I gave all of the things inside of it to them separately. I didn’t know you had a tiara. It’s kinda cute, honestly.”

“Harry, it’s not a tiara, it’s a diadem. Big difference,” Tom mutters.

Harry thinks about it, “looked like a tiara to me.”

“Well, whatever, I just need it back,” he says, “where did you take it?” Harry tells him and he immediately leaves for the charity shop.

When he arrives, he walks around all of the aisles, looking at all of the antique things, all of the boxes, the clothes, the ornaments, gosh, even the children’s toys. After an hour of searching, he still can’t find any of them, so he goes over to the front desk to ask about it.

“Did you perhaps receive a little treasure chest, a diadem, ah, a locket, a ring, a cup, or maybe even a diary recently?” Tom asks. It has only just hit him that not only did Harry give away his soul, but quite possibly all of his secrets that he kept in his diary. What a brilliant husband he is. No actually, Harry is pretty brilliant, but right now he’s very annoying. At least he didn’t give them Nagini... right?

“I’ll just check,” the lady at the desk calls someone over, and they have a little chat, and then she turns back to Tom, “Alright, we did get some of those the other day, but I think most of them have been sold already. Did you need them for any particular reason?”

Tom considers telling her. If he does, she might be able to tell him who bought them, but then again, he’s only a customer and things like that are confidential. So he gets a better idea, “Oh not really, but can I speak to your manager?”

The lady seems caught off guard, but then she replies smoothly, “of course, I’ll just tell her you’re coming over.”

When Tom is in the manager’s office, he sits down at the visitor’s side of her desk, and puts on his business face.

“Good morning, and what brings you here, Mr...?” begins the manager.

“Mr Riddle,” Tom finishes.

“Right, well I’m the manager, Hermione Granger, and by the looks of you, you don’t look like you’re here for a petty complaint,” says Granger.

“That’s right, Ms Granger. You see, I would like to ask if I could...” he pulls out his wallet, “buy this place.”

“Well, Mr Riddle,” Granger forces a laugh, “that is quite an unexpected request, I have to say. Erm, how much are you willing to pay?”

Tom tries to think of an amount of money that he has, “Well, how about £600,000?” Tom is sure he doesn’t have even that much, but he could just rob a bank and he’d have the money soon enough.

“Erm, yeah, sure. I mean, I don’t really like this job anyway, have it for £10 if you want,” Granger laughs.

“Really? Okay,” Tom hands her a £10 note. She takes it slowly.

“Oh. Right. Well, good luck with the business, see ya!” And she runs out. Tom smiles, and walks back out to where his new employees are. He spots the lady he’d been talking to before, and pulls her aside.

“Now, tell me, who bought those items I asked about before?” Tom asks.

“That’s confidential, sir. Sorry,” says the lady, trying to get back to work.

“I am your manager, I believe I should be able to know,” Tom snaps.

“Please,” the lady laughs, “Hermione Granger is the manager, not you!”

“I just bought this charity shop. I’m the manger,” Tom explains forcefully.

“Oh. Right. Well, I’ll give you list in a second,” the lady says nervously, walking back over to her desk. Tom waits, and then carefully reads the list when it is given to him.

“Thank you very much,” he says, and off he goes to hunt down his soul pieces. First, he looks for his diary, now belonging to a woman named Claire Barlow, and after a bit more research, Tom finds that she lives on Elm Row. Tom immediately departs for the house, and, after taking a moment to just admire the street, knocks on the woman’s door.

After a moment, a lady who must be Claire, opens the door, “uh, hello?”

“Hello, are you Claire Barlow?” Tom asks.

“Yes, I am. Who are you?” Claire asks suspiciously, an eyebrow raised.

“My name is Tom Riddle. I believe you-” but Claire cuts him off.

“Wait a second—Riddle? Is this your diary?” she holds up Tom’s diary, with his name printed on the front.

“Yes, that’s mine. May I have it back?”

“Um, no? I bought it because I thought I could do some great writing about this. I mean, you really poured your soul into this,” Claire smiles at the pages, and Tom looks at her, irritated.

“Quite literally, actually. But anyway, I really need that back now, thanks,” Tom says impatiently, holding out his hand to get it back.

“No! It’s mine! I bought it!” Claire yells.

“Yes, well that’s my private musings in there,” Tom utters.

“Then why did you send it to a charity shop?” Claire says mockingly.

“I didn’t, my husband did. Now give it back!” Tom grabs onto the book, pulling, but Claire is pulling back. They both pull on the diary so hard that any normal book would have split in two, but it doesn’t, because it has a soul inside of it.

“£10 for it? It’s the same price as a charity shop, then,” Tom grunts, pulling harder and harder on the book.

“No way! I’m not selling it!” breaths Claire, tugging at it even more.

“I won’t murder you if you give it back,” Tom stipulates.

“What the hell?!” Claire loosens her grip and Tom yanks it out of her hand before running off, back to his car.

“Thanks!” he calls, and drives off, leaving Claire to stand there, mouth open, looking bewildered.

The next item Tom goes to pick up is his diadem. Someone named Bill Adley owns it, and Tom swiftly drives over. He doesn’t want to go through all of the fuss he had to last time, so luckily he sees the diadem through an open window, and he stealthily creeps through, grabs it, and runs back to his car. Two down, three to go. Tom doesn’t really care about the treasure chest, it doesn’t have a piece of him inside it, so he doesn’t bother finding its whereabouts. Next on the list is the locket. Bought by a man named Samuel White. When Tom arrives, he can’t find any open windows, nor can he even see it, so he has to knock again.

“Hello, I’m Tom Riddle, and I want my locket back,” Tom explains quickly.

“What locket?” Samuel asks, confused about why some random person is at his doorstep demanding he returns ‘their’ things.

“You know, the one you bought from the charity shop,” Tom says.

“Oh, that one! Yeah, it kinda got stolen,” Samuel explains with a shrug.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Tom exclaims, “who stole it?”

“I dunno, don’t ask me- oh, there he is,” Samuel points to a man just leaning on a lamppost down the street. Tom approaches him.

“Give me back my locket,” Tom demands.

“Can’t, sorry, it got taken off me,” says the thief. Tom rolls his eyes.

“By who?” asks Tom.

“Some lady called Dolly Umbrella or somethin’” he says.

“Are you sure?” Tom sighs.

“Yeah. Why, was it worth somethin’?” the man asks eagerly.

“Only my soul,” says Tom casually.

“Oh, so not much then, eh?” the man visibly deflates. Tom glares at him.

“Do shut up,” he growls, mentally adding him to his ‘kill’ list.

Tom looks for people with names similar to ‘Dolly Umbrella’, until he finally finds one living in London, and drives to her house.

“I’m Tom Riddle and you have my locket. Give it back,” Says Tom. He had found the lady just outside the house.

“No way,” she says.

“Yes way,” says Tom, watching the locket around her neck. Tom prepares, and then in one quick, swift movement, he snaps the locket off the woman’s neck, and runs for it, leaving yet another flabbergasted woman.

Next on the agenda is Tom’s ring, now belonging to person named Sam Becker who lives on Bywater Street.

As Tom walks down the road towards Sam’s house, he accidentally mutters out loud, “this... is... very colourful...” as he looks at the pastel-coloured houses. He arrives at Sam’s house, and notices them kneeling in front of a man, holding up a small box with Tom’s ring inside.

“Will you marry me?” Alex asks softly.

“Yes, yes of course!” the man cries, slipping on the ring. Tom marches over and takes the ring off him.

“Congrats, but this is my ring,” and he marches off again.

Lastly, the cup. Turns out some fancy restaurant was looking for antique cups, and so they’d bought Tom’s. He walks inside and orders some food after his long day. It’s a very fancy restaurant, but Tom isn’t planning on staying long, so he just orders some chips and, pointing to his cup on the shelf, asks for water in “that cup”.

Confused, the waitress passes Tom his order, and he quickly eats his chips, finishes all of the water in his cup, pays, and leaves with the cup.

Success at last!

“Harry, I got them all back,” Tom says happily, displaying his soul pieces, “Oh yeah, and I bought the charity shop.”

“You what now?” Harry gapes.

[omg-baeyoung-baeran]

Maybe I Should Resign (Jumin/MC Oneshot)

Summary:

When your cringeworthy, cutesy cat-based post-its meant for your depressed friend are accidentally sent to your stone-hearted boss...take it as a sign to turn in your resignation letter.

o-o-o-o

It was mischievous and amusing, he admitted. The words written were always related to his current situation for some reason. Initially, it was odd and suspicious, but after it had given him comfort on several occasions, he had grown a little fond of the notes sent attached to his cup of coffee. 

Unless it was something related to cats, he was never the type to waste time, energy, or even money on something that did not involve the family and the company’s benefit; therefore, he never bothered finding the person behind it. He figured it was another scheme from someone who wanted to get ahold of his affection, so it was in his best interest to leave things be. The interaction went on for months, and the unknown person did not seem to have missed a single day doing the same task.

Impressive.

This mysterious person had persistence he would applaud of if he or she were not using it on something insignificant.

“Make efforts for yourself too because you are worth it!” The sticky note was purple this time.

That day, he bought himself a cat mug and was delighted by it.

Is this what commoners mean by “reward yourself”?

The first time the note made him frown deeply was when his father was involved with another woman, though the message was not the reason why he had made such a face. He wondered once again who the person might be behind the notes. Is it a woman who has the same intentions like his father’s passing lovers? Is it a man who is sucking up for a promotion? 

He had asked Jaehee before who had been preparing his coffee lately, since he had her retire from the task to handle more important matters at hand.

“It’s the chef’s son who prepares the coffee for the executives, Mr. Han.”

“He is not an employee.”

“Yes, but he volunteered to work without pay to help his father fulfill his duties without problems. I have offered to raise the concern to you, Mr. Han, but he refused.”

He hummed, raising his hand to his chin in thought. “Make him sign a contract and ensure his pay is more than sufficient to compensate for the days he did not get paid.”

Jaehee nodded and reconfirmed, “We will need to help him get a lawyer for the contract. The chef has mentioned before that his son is illiterate, so I will be contacting Mr. Joyou for recommendations.”

For a brief second, his eyes flashed in confusion. “Are you sure his son is illiterate?”  

He received the third report the next day, proving that the chef’s son was indeed illiterate.

From mysterious messages, it went down south to suspicious messages.

Fortunately, nothing other than passing one-sided notes was happening. The messages were innocent and can sometimes be helpful, thus there was no need to be alarmed.

“Meow~ a kitty a day keeps the purrblem paway!”

It can sometimes be… cute… he begrudgingly confessed. 

That was the first time it made him smile and his heart flutter.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

It was a huge mistake.

All this time, she was digging her own grave, and she had no idea she had dug deep enough to be a knock away from entering the gates of hell. She had been writing him notes to cheer him up and, perhaps, brighten up his troubled days. Pretending to be a maid to gather information unavailable online from a huge company seemed to be a huge hassle. He was tasked to do it for months too; hence, she made sure he wouldn’t get too lonely.

She wrote him notes—which she thought might help him smile—and stuck them on the cup of coffee he would serve for the employees. He never mentioned anything about it whenever they got the chance to chat. It was a bit disappointing, but her little help appeared to be working well. He seemed genuinely happy, and that was the only thing that mattered.

That was until she got a response in the form of a cat-shaped baby blue sticky note.

The coffee area was empty early in the morning. Most employees were yet to arrive, but the tray holding the cup where she usually stuck her messages already had a sticky note attached to it. Her lips touched the rim of the mug, her own sweetened coffee warming her cold lips.

Oh? A response? I wasn’t expecting that….

She took the note, flipping it around to inspect it.

Cat-shaped? Aw, so cute! Seven really loves cats. 

Her eyes scanned the message written.

“Write something about cats today.”

Huh? Wait, hold on, something’s wrong here.

She felt the heavy feeling of dread fill her stomach as she analyzed the piece of paper in her hand. Her mother had always jokingly called her “stupid” when she was in her teens, but she never believed it was true until she actually gave evidences to such hypothesis. Her joke was probably not a half-meant joke but a prediction of what she would become in the near future.

One thing she was certain of….

This is totally not his penmanship.

She had known Seven for years and was one of his closest friends. He would even take her out at random times to get ice cream even when his schedule was loaded. They would write on receipts and draw doodles of whatever came into their imagination. His penmanship was not necessarily messy but it carried its own charm.

This, on the other hand, looked too elegant to be his.

“Umm… good morning, Ma’am,” greeted a young man with brown hair and light brown eyes.

She forced a smile, tucking the note into her skirt’s pocket. “Good morning! Are you gonna grab a coffee?”

“Oh! Umm… no… haha! I am more of a tea person, though I make coffee for the executives.” His laugh sounded awkward, but she thought he looked like a nice guy. “Please do excuse me,” he muttered before passing in front of her, grabbing the tray where the cup with the note was placed.

The coffee she drank nearly burst out of her nose when she choked.

“Miss?” the boy questioned in a low voice, albeit slightly alarmed, “Are you okay?”

Her laugh can sound as fake as it was, but her petrified mind was too horrified to function.

“Ohohoho! I am fine! Nothing to worry about!” she beamed between coughs.

Later that day, Jumin did not get his daily note.

He tried to deny it the best he could, but it was just too evident.

It was the first time it made him upset.

Just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

When a week came without a single note from the mysterious messenger, he started to feel unusual. It may be childish of him, but because he had learned to like it, it brought him disappointment to find a typical cup of coffee served in front of him. Perhaps it was from the fact that he forcefully abandoned his childhood before that his childhood spirit came back to bite him now.

Each morning, it got him curious of what secret message he would receive for the day. Will it be another joke? Another cat pun? He learned to find excitement in the short letters and “freebies” that came with it. Once, he got a stamp, and it caused him to raise a single brow.

“What is this?” he asked the chef’s son while he studied the white cat stamp between his fingers.

The chef’s son cocked his head to the side. “I do not have a clue, Mr. Han. I just found it on the tray next to your cup. I assumed it was something important and someone wanted to send it to you.”

It was nothing expensive, yet he kept it displayed on his table.

That was weeks ago… and he missed it.

Again, just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The gossip which greeted her ears the moment she entered the office mortified her beyond belief. Apparently, the heir of the C&R International company had asked if anyone knew of someone who was courageous enough to leave “memos” on his cup of coffee. He worded it terribly, as though it was a violation of the company’s rules and regulation, so it was not a surprise people made a huge deal out of it.

I’m leaving this company. I will never rise from the ashes of my shame and humiliation. Surely, Mr. Trust Fund Kid will know immediately if he’s ever free to check the cctv footage.

With a silent battle cry, she filed her resignation a day later…

and just her luck, a secret agent had successfully stolen quite an important document from the CEO the very same day.

“You are relieved from your mission, Agent 707.”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

“Are you sure you did not misplace it, Father?”

Three people stood inside the CCTV control room. They were surrounded by more than 20 monitors that were flashing previous clips from the past weeks.

“I am sure without a single doubt that I kept it hidden in drawer 7.”

Dark, calculating orbs scrutinized the video. It was the last clip they were reviewing, and it was where the chairman can be last seen holding the documents prior leaving it in drawer 7.

“How can it disappear when no one has entered Father’s room? Have you double checked the system if anything’s amiss?”

He patiently waited for a response while the control manager worked on the system check—his eyes drifting back to the multiple clips they were previously analyzing.

There was Yeonwa chatting with Jaehee...

Jaewoo bringing in three boxes of pizza...

Helena bumping into Chong—

He frowned.

“August 6, 2018” was coded on the top right corner of the screen. If he was not mistaken, the company suspended all works that day to celebrate their successful purchase of Grace Cup Store.

So why are there employees working?

“Mr. Han,” the male manager cut off, “I believe the entire footage was placed in a loop since March using videos back in 2016.”

“Since… March?” He racked his brain for any memory that happened back in March. There were international events, meetings, partnership requests….

“Surprises will start today~ I’ll make sure you’ll enjoy it.^^”

Now that he recalled, he was pretty sure the notes started back in March.

o-o-o-o

Soooo this is meant to be an open-ended oneshot, but we MAY post a second chapter (emphasis on “may”)

[overcupofcoco]

kaz brekker as an adoptive father au though

• ok so yeah, the dregs might be the edgiest and mightiest but at some point jesper and wylan have kids, nina settles down and starts her own bakery and inej can’t live in ketterdam, she a different woman now

• kaz on the other hand, this bitch might be older but he’s just gettin started. 

•yeah he’s stolen from the Ravkan kingdom now, yeah he’s in a little shit with the Shu, oops are the Zemeni after him? he almost forgot. 

• anyway, he’s swaggering down in the barrel like usual one evening when he hears really loud screams from an alley

• usually he ignores because the bastard of the barrel ain't got time for pidgeon affairs, but for some reason this time he wants to take a look. he hasn’t had his Wraith in a while so he’s gotten used to being sneaky

•what he witnesses isn’t necessarily out of the usual; a woman at gunpoint holding a child. Pleads for mercy. Screams. An attempt to run away. A murder. Pillaging of the body. 

• He took note of the killers (u never know when you need the intel) when he realizes that the child is still screaming.

• he pauses

• what the fuck was he supposed do? Leave the kid baby? Give it to some woman to take care of? he knew the probability that she would sell the child out in slavery the moment it was old enough was basically 100%

• he remembered jordie and him, young and lost, orphaned in the streets. he remembered inej, basically enslaved by Tante Heleen

• before he knew it, he was walking towards the corpse, uncovering the baby that couldn’t older than three years, from under its dead mother’s long skirts. 

• it was a girl. dark skinned, tufts of curly hair, large grey eyes staring up at him in concern. 

• “god dammit” he muttered, wrapping the girl in his coat and bringing her to the slat. he would give the girl to Jesper and Wylan when they came back from their vacation in 3 weeks. in the meanwhile, he would somehow deal with her. 

• The girl was a clever one, silent and observing as he made their way to the Crows Club. She didn’t cry for her mother, perhaps because Kaz’s glare was too frightening, or perhaps because she simply wasn’t afraid at all. 

• He put her on the bed, looking at her with hard eyes. She stared back, tilting her head. “No talking.” he said promptly, “No moving.” 

• The first hour, he almost ripped his hair out. Drug dealers, mafia, merchants, gang members, he could easily deal with. But a curious child? 

• Somehow, she had managed to open a pen and scrawl all over his pillows.

• He didn’t bother to use any type of voice when he scolded. it was the same cold, flat voice he used during parleys. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t touch my pens,”

• she just frowned, tilting her head to the side. something dinged in Kaz’s heart and he didn’t like it.

•at some point, she figured out how to climb out of his bed and was now crawling around his room. he couldn’t focus-- so he resorted to observing, leaning back in his chair. 

• she had started silently babbling herself, fidgeting with papers on the ground, chair legs, discarded coins. 

• slowly he grew used to her static mumbling and managed to start paperwork again until--

• a weak tug on his pant leg. He flinches back, looking down sharply at the girl

• “my leg hurts”

• Kaz probably hadn’t been taken by surprise in years but those three words shocked him. she could talk?

• he looks at her silently, clenched her jaw. her eyes were a bright blue. Should he call a medik? Should he ignore her? he couldn’t have people knowing there was a child in his room or that he needed medik. It was a weakness.

• “Where?” same flat, uninterested voice.

• She struggled to lift her soiled pant leg to reveal a mildly bloodied gash across her calf. Kaz could tell it wasn’t deep. 

• “It hurts a lot, mister, help?”

• now imagine Kaz Brekker, after a long pause, picking up the girl from under her arms and bringing her to the bed. He spends half an hour cleaning and mending her leg as she sits quietly. 

• “is mama dead?”

• “yes. gone.”

• “are you going to kill me, mister?”

• pauses his work to look up at her. decidedly, she was full of surprises. 

• “not planning to,” he squinted at the tiny girl, “how old are you?”

• the girl cracked a smile and held up three fingers-- proud of herself. “I’m four in one months, mister!”

• “When did you learn how to speak?” 

• the girl looked bewildered... for the first time in the evening, fear was in her light eyes, “I don’t know, mister brekker”

• Kaz looked at her sharply. She recoiled in fear at his menacing glare. She must have known how to read, his name had been all over the papers she was fiddling with. 

• “You call me Kaz. Only Kaz. You stay in this room until I can find you some parents.”

• That first night, the girl slept in the bed. Kaz slept in his chair-- only to be woken up by a clang of rustling early the next morning. 

• reflexes kicked in and he grabbed his gun. 

• “i just wanted water, mister Kaz.” a high pitched voice said weakly as the girl’s head popped up from behind the desk. Her leg was clearly better, as she was standing up. 

• annoyed sigh from Kaz. He just picked up his cane and coat, having slept in his gloves, and just scowled at the girl. She looked at him, then proceeded to continue her attempts at reaching the tall glass of water on the desk-- failing miserably. 

• Kaz handed it to her and she gulped it all down. 

• Kaz left the entire day, running errands, checking on the crow club. He had left crackers and water for the girl, but in reality, he knew he was desperately trying to rid the child of his thoughts. 

• he was kaz brekker, for saints’ sake, and there was a talking toddler in his office? 

• he finally came back in his room late in the evening, expecting the child to be either somehow dead or asleep, but instead, he found her standing on his chair that she had pushed against the window ledge, looking outside and talking to herself. 

•Panick ran through him. What if people saw her? What if people thought he was holding children hostage? Worse, what if people thought he had a child? What if... she could fall over the ledge...

• “Get off the chair,” “I thought I had told you to stay hidden”

• “Sorry mister Kaz, I thought you had told me to stay in the room”

• did she just accidentally sass him? 

• the next day, she wasn’t perched over the window, but she was on his desk, grasping a pencil and struggling to manipulate the utensil in her tiny hand. her face was pure concentration.

• silently, Kaz walked up behind her, reading over her shoulder. Two days after having picked her up, he knew better than to just expect her to be scribbling gibberish. 

• Z U R i       zURi     fat circle for the dots above the i, uneven letters, but still writing.

• “this is my name! do you like it, mister Kaz?” Zuri. Hope in Zemeni. He realized he had never asked her name. She hadn’t seem bothered. “You said no touching the pen... this has no black stuff, so I used it! Look, mister Kaz! I made you a pretty picture!”

• She beamed, shoving another piece of paper in his face. It was messy, but Kaz could see the outline of a child with dark skin, a bigger person colored in crudely with black-- and was that a bird?

• “That’s me--- that’s you, Mister Kaz! Those lines are your eyebrows because you are always mad! and that's the nice bird that comes to the window sometimes!”

• It became routine. Kaz spent his day out, leaving Zuri in his room. He provided food, water, paper, pens and after the fourth day and massive amounts of begging in the middle of the night, a box of colored pencils.

• ( “Mister Kaz” *groan from Kaz* *Gentle tug on his pant leg* “Can I get color?” “What?” “Color for my drawings!”......... “Please?”...... “Fine. Go to bed. Time to sleep.”)

• Gradually, Kaz spent less time thinking he was insane for taking in a child, and more time observing the girl. she was sharp, learning quickly. She knew immediately that touching Kaz was a big no-no, apart from the spare pant leg tug. 

• Sometimes, she would ask Kaz for help. Give him her drawings. They were always of her and him and a crow, in different settings. In the beginning, he grudgingly agreed, only out of annoyance that she may start to cry. 

• (she had never cried in front of him, but he heard her gentle sniffles in the middle of the name and her whispers for her mother) (he tried to ignore her)

•anyway, as the days passed, he started really paying attention to her letters on the papers, giving her advice and examples. She improved fast. 

• Two weeks passed. It was raining outside. Kaz was working and Zuri was silently practicing her letters right under his desk.

• “Mister Kaz?” “Hmm?” “Why do you have the stick?” The cane. 

• He paused. “My leg is hurt.” “Like me?” “No.” “Why?” “Because mine is hurt forever.” pause “Why?”

• Zuri might have been a quiet girl, but Kaz knew that she grasped at any opportunity to ask questions. 

• “Enough questions.” 

• Silence. 

• “Mister Kaz?” she squeaked slowly. He exhaled. “What?”

• “Are you magical?” she peaked out from under the desk.

• “What?”

• “Sometimes you make things disappear from people. I see it.”

• Kaz put down his pen and rose an eyebrow, peering at her from his chair. Had she been getting out of the room? Of course, in the Crow Club, he picked different pockets or simply impressed the guests with sleight of hand-- but no one was supposed to notice that.

• “Did you go out of the room?”

• Immediately, she realized her mistake. She tucked her chin in her neck and looked down shamefully. “Nevermind.” She picked up the orange pencil.

• He almost laughed. He thought he would be mad at her for jeopardizing both her and him, but her worried little face was too cute-- what was he thinking? he shook away the thoughts. Jesper and Wylan would be in Ketterdam soon enough and the girl would be out of his legs

• literally. 

• There was thunder that night. Kaz had gradually collected dozens of blankets to make a bed for the girl. That night, there was no tug at his pant leg, but whimpers. Loud ones. Kaz couldn't ignore them

• “Zuri?” he grumbled. 

• Silence.  

• “Zuri.” he turned on the little lamp at on his bedside table. He waited. Slowing, Zuri got up. The shirt he had given her to sleep in reached her toes. 

• “I’m sorry, Mister Kaz,” she whispered. Her face was full of tears, her blue eyes shining in the light, “The loud noise makes me scared.” 

• As if to prove a point, thunder resonated and Zuri pressed her lips together, shaking and covering her ears. She didn’t cry though. Never when he could see. 

• His heart twisted. His heart twisted for her. He made the decision. 

• “Come here.” he lifted a corner of the covers, inviting her in. She hesitated. 

• “Now or never.” he warned. she waddled to the bed, struggling to get over the side. Kaz silently slipped on his gloves as Zuri curled herself in a ball.

• Zuri had never asked him about the gloves and he was thankful.

•The bed wasn’t big, but she took up so little space that he could easily keep a healthy distance away. 

•Thunder boomed as he turned off the light.“I’m scared, Mister Kaz” 

• he froze. 

• “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He could barely fathom the words he said.

• “With your magic?”

• “With my magic.” 

• The three weeks went by, and Kaz gave Zuri to Wylan and Jesper who easily took her in. They didn’t ask any questions. 

• As Kaz packed up Zuri’s possessions that she had collected throughout the three weeks, the girl looked at him sadly. 

• “Why do I have to go Mister Kaz?” 

• “It’s better for you.”

• “Why?”

• He sighed. “Because.”

• “I’m going to miss you, Mister Kaz.” 

• He clenched his jaw, giving her the box of her belongings. It had seemed like forever ago that he had found her in her late mother’s embrace. 

• “Me too, Zuri.” They had not hugged, but she had tugged on his pant leg one last time.

• The days went by. The office was back to what it had been before. Calm, orderly, silent. 

• Kaz had dreaded the feeling, but he knew that he missed it. He missed her. Her mumbling, the soft sound of her feet padding the ground, her drawings, her letters, the Zemeni lullabies, her excited smile, her small pout when he told her he wouldn’t get her waffles, her frown when he told her to brush her teeth. 

• He even missed her minuscule presence at night. 

• It had been a week since she had gone away. He had ignored Wylan and Jesper. He didn’t want to know what they had done with the girl-- he trusted them enough. Then he found them--

• Of course he did. Of course he kept them.  The drawings. The childish drawings. Her, him, the crow that she had named Will. Her notes. FOR MiSTER KAZ.

• He knew he should have burned them. Instead he shook his head--

• Next thing he knew, he was at the Van Eck manor. 

• “Kaz?” It was Kali, Jesper and Wylan’s oldest daughter. She swung the door wide to reveal Jesper carrying Zuri. 

• Her face light up the moment she saw him. 

• “Mister Kaz!” she waved gingerly, but smiled wide. “I was telling Mister Jesper that I did a cartwheel!”

• Jesper grinned. He may have been in his late thirties, but the man still had the heart of a teenager. “It was very impressive,” he agreed, letting her to the ground. She rushed to Kaz, but stopped a safe distance away.

• “Are we going home, Mister Kaz?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

• Jesper interjected, “Zuri, darling, Mister Kaz can’t--” 

• “Yes,” Kaz breathed, squatting down to level her, “We are going home. Will the Crow misses you.”

• Jesper’s jaw dropped. Zuri clapped her hands. “Crows are so nice!”

• Kaz cracked a genuine smile, offering a bare hand to the little girl that had somehow given him a new dimension in life. 

• She grabbed it slowly.

• “Now... how about some waffles for the birthday girl?”

so yep yeah idk this just is something i want like a little girl to soften out Kaz’s edges you know what I mean? also i know shes really young but thats the point she like a genius u know idk

[catsandstrawberries]

Nutcracker and the Seven Heartthrobs-3

Warnings: None

Summary: Spending Christmas Eve in the middle of a snowy forest wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my day. I thought my night would consist of fuzzy reindeer blankets, hot chocolate with the large marshmallows and silly hallmark movies. Not flower kings, snowflake dancers or sugar plum fairies. How can I be the one to save the realms when I don't even know where I am? Or how my deceased mother is even connected? Let alone know how I feel about the seven boys who can't help but make my heart flutter. 

To be honest, it was shocking that I hadn't caught frostbite. Even though I wasn't shivering or turning blue, it was still chilly, and the longer I chased after the nonexistent Taehyung who somehow disappeared into thin air, the more I contemplated the fact that this was real. That somehow I had gotten sucked into a world where mouse kings were real, and people could just appear at will. But what seemed to be my biggest priority was finding the end of the seemingly never-ending forest.

Thankfully, I had soon reached a frozen lake, a metal bridge connecting the white forest to...another forest, with no snow. I groaned in irritation, even though a change of scenery would be gladly appreciated, Id prefer not to jump from forests to forests. I approached the bridge, focused on the dreary looking trees, the orange sun shimmering between the fraying branches. Walking towards the entrance, I couldn't help but chuckle at the small attempt of a gate in front of me. A metal pole laid horizontally at ankle length, I gently kicked it, the pressure immediately spreading throughout my whole foot after the impact. I grunted in pain grabbing my foot and hopping around like an idiot, then falling back on my butt. How could something so minuscule be so freaking painful? I didn't even kick it that hard. Getting up from the snow and dusting myself off, babying my foot, my eyes diverted to a tall metal box-or not the box, but the person inside. The boy in the box looked young, around my age but definitely younger then Taehyung. He had bright red hair that was parted slightly to the left, snowflakes dangling off the end of the red strands. Pale skin with thin layers of frost covering his cheekbones.

 "Are you, alive?" I spoke aloud, mostly to myself, poking his soft cheeks, giggling at how it retracted like a water balloon. My eyes then traveled down to his red uniform, small yellow garlands hanging from his chest, gold embroidery traveling down the shoulders and through the chest. He looked almost like, a nutcracker? Suddenly his eyes were popping open, deep, earthy brown irises glistening at me. I jumped back at the sudden action, placing a hand over my chest to calm my heartbeat. "Name and business please, miss."  His tone had a youthful cheer to it, but also a strange politeness that made me raise an eyebrow? "Excuse me? If anything I should be asking you where I am." He tilted his head at me and strangely the only thing I could compare it with was a confused puppy. "You're in the fourth realm, excuse me." He took a step out of the box into the sunlight, the frost from his face melting, leaving nothing but perfectly clear skin. I forced my brain to stay focused as to not get distracted by the beautiful boy in front of me. "First off my names not excuse me, it's (Y/N) (L/N), and second off what do you mean realm?" His brown orbs widened and before I knew it he was on one knee in the snow, head facing the ground before looking up at me in awe. "Princess (Y/N), we thought you'd never come." He stood up immediately gently taking my hands into his somewhat cold ones. "Wait, princess? I'm sorry, but who are you?" He gasped slightly, pulling at his uniform as if to fix it before nodding his head eyes downcast. "Nutcracker soldier, Jungkook, at your service princess."  I decided to play along with the strange procedures of the dream, hoping it would all make sense eventually. "Um....okay? Thank you, I guess? Anyways, do you think you could help me find Taehyung, he's stolen a bracelet of mine." Jungkook immediately flushed at my words, checks turning a similar shade as his hair. "That's Tae for you, always getting into trouble." He shook his head then turned his attention to me, smiling with his front teeth eyes scrunching into crescents. Cute. "Tae should be just within father gingers forest." He mumbled something under his breath next, which I couldn't decipher and instead of pressing him I decided to ignore it. As well as, not questioning who father ginger was, knowing I would probably meet him sooner or later. "You may want to stand back for this, princess." He motioned towards the bridge and that's when I took notice of the stupid small metal bar, hooked at ankle height. Jungkook seemed so focused on the tiny bar that I couldn't help but laugh at his cuteness. Especially when he started to stretch his arms and do his own mini warmup. "Is that real-" I started to chuckle only to be cut off as he accidentally tore it off with his bare hands. "Wha-how did you?" My mouth hung open in shock as I was left a stuttering mess. I wasn't that weak, was I? "I guess I'm not quite used to my gift, haven't used it in a while." He mumbled, an embarrassed smile on his features. Gift? 

"We better get going to the kingdom. She'll be so excited to see you! Oh, and you'll get to meet Yoongi Hyung and Jhope-ssi." I furrowed my brows at him, "wait, wait! We need to get my bracelet back from Taehyung first!" Jungkook frowned at me shaking his head slightly. "But princess, if something happened to you on my watch I don't know what Id do." His puppy eyes didn't help the argument and I had to force myself to look away. "Well, aren't you a soldier." Jungkook smiled, puffing his chest out in pride. "If I'm a princess and you're a soldier then technically don't you have to do what I say?" I cocked an eyebrow, crossing my arms confidently knowing I had won the argument. "Only if its an order. Is it an order?" He asked stepping closer so he was just within arms reach. I smirked reaching for his hand and pulling him across the bridge, "yep, let's go soldier boy!"

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[moonprincess92]

Continually Unexpected (3/3)

1, 2  Read on AO3 

PART 3: End

Kay had been preparing himself for the day honestly ever since they had gotten back together, yet he found that he was still not even remotely ready for it when it came.

He’d put it out of his mind. Seriously, it was more of an abstract concept that had no meaning really, as Cassian and Jyn spent their time being all wrapped up in each other again. Ever since the award ceremony, they were once again joined at the hip! It was just like old times as she dropped by unannounced, continued to eat Kay’s cereal (scrawling ‘thanks! :)’ on the box every time) and once again finding himself investing in a pair of decent headphones to drown out any noises that may emit from Cassian’s bedroom. No, the idea stayed on a backburner, simmering away but never really coming to the front… until the day that Cassian came home from work with his anxiety levels apparently through the roof and an impulsively bought engagement ring in his pocket.

“Kay… I think I did something stupid today,” he said as a greeting. 

“Do I have to bury a body?” Kay asked, flatly.

“What? No.”

“Because I think we have a shovel in our storage space downstairs and if we’re going to do it, we had been get onto it before the rain comes–”

“While I appreciate your willingness to cover up a murder for me,” Cassian said, shutting the front door behind him and dropping his bag and coat onto the chair in their hallway. “No crime has been committed, except perhaps that I’m convinced someone has stolen my sanity.”

“I see,” Kay put down his phone. “Right, I’m listening. Explain.”

Cassian nodded, abnormally white-faced as he walked further into the lounge. That was odd. Even stranger still was the way he just blurted out the words without so much as a breath, “So I was just walking to the train station after work, when I noticed this jewellery store still open and I swear I only noticed because there were all these sale signs outside of it. Really, you couldn’t not notice! Anyway, there were these rings in the window and they were at a reasonable price and I didn’t even think about it, I just…”

He suddenly shoved his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the slightly crumpled store gift bag. He reached inside and pulled out the box, which he then handed to Kay. Kay took it with some trepidation, before lifting the lid and seeing the engagement ring that Cassian had chosen.

Blimey. 

“That… is one hell of an impulse buy, Cassian.” 

“AM I INSANE?”

“Oh, definitely,” Kay said, scrutinising the ring. He didn’t know much about gems and precious stones, but considering that Cassian had said he got it on sale, he’d guess that he’d certainly gotten his money’s worth. “Does Jyn even wear rings?”

“Fuck,” Cassian squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“When are you going to ask her?” 

“YOU THINK I HAVE A PLAN?” Cassian said, wildly. “Kay, I bought that on a complete whim! Sure, yes, I would marry Jyn in a heartbeat, but we haven’t talked about it at all yet, I don’t even know if she wants to live with me! I really am fucking crazy.”

“Well, maybe you just… hold onto it, then?” Kay suggested.

“What,” Cassian finally came and sat down, flopping with a defeated whoosh next to Kay on the sofa. “just… hide it and never ask her?”

“Well, not never,” Kay snapped the lid closed, handing the ring back to him. “You said you’d like to marry her someday. Maybe just hold onto it until you’re actually ready to ask?”

“Yes,” Cassian said, with the kind of manic look that one might have if they had impulsively bought an engagement ring for their girlfriend. “Yes, that’s a good plan! But you’ll have to hide it for me.”

“ME?” Kay said, affronted.

“I can’t keep it in my room, she’ll find it!” Cassian said. “I don’t know how, but if anyone could, it’s Jyn. And how often does she ever go into your room?”

Kay unfortunately couldn’t argue with that logic.

“Fine. But know that if someone ever accidentally finds it, I’m calling you out.”

“Fair enough.”

Somehow, Kay had found himself at yet another party. How did this keep happening to him?

At least this time it was Cassian’s birthday, so it was for a reason that Kay somewhat cared about. Their flat was overrun with people, their friends and colleagues laughing and chatting over the top 40 music that was blasting from the stereo. Jyn was naturally binging on Mezcal because this was about Cassian, it was a Mezcal night damn it, and Kay had already been forced to intervene and rescue her from plummeting headfirst into the floor several times.

Kay had already drunk his quota of alcohol for the next 10 years of course, so he was happy to stick to his virgin rum and coke. “You realise tha’s jusss coke, righ’?” Jyn had slurred at him at one point, but he digressed. He was able to experience more or less the same taste of a usual rum and coke, only without the side effects of falling down! It was foolproof. Why didn’t everyone do this?

Cassian thankfully wasn’t quite as shit-faced as Jyn currently was, despite the fact that he was now only 2 years away from 30 and that concept did seem a little daunting, even to Kay. He’d been somewhat on edge ever since the whole ‘Ring Incident’ (Kay technically wasn’t allowed to call it that, but how else was he supposed to refer to it?) only tonight he seemed calm. Happy. He was dancing with Jyn in their lounge, his arms tight around her waist and her hands in his hair. It could barely be called dancing, if truth be told, but they were having fun and that was the main thing.

He watched them from across the lounge, the self-appointed DJ of the evening, since apparently no one else had the ability to choose a song that hadn’t been overplayed on the radio yet. Honestly, Kay didn’t think they’d never been this loose before. Before they’d broken up, when they were first together, there had always been a kind of tension to them and they’d always been happy of course, but they’d never looked quite so… free. Jyn’s head turned with the beat, giving Cassian access to her throat and he spent the next several minutes exploring it with his mouth. She laughed, grinding her hips up into his and it turns out that they must have been walking on eggshells the entire time. He’d never seen them this close before.

Not physically close (he’d unfortunately seen a bit too much of THAT before) but emotionally close. Which wasn’t something he’d ever thought Jyn Erso capable of.

He tore his eyes away from them. There was something there that seemed too intimate to witness… that, and by his usual calculations, this was about when tongues would start to become involved, and he had no intentions of seeing that! Shara was there in front of him now, requesting a certain song and he happily allowed himself to get distracted. He played whatever inane pop songs everyone wanted and quite honestly, Kay was able to forget about Cassian and Jyn entirely… right up until he walked in on them in the hallway.

Naturally. 

Still wrapped up in their own world, they thankfully didn’t notice him stumble to a hasty stop. They’d apparently been in the middle of dragging themselves off to Cassian’s room (Kay’s was technically closer, but they would never dare, surely) when they’d apparently gotten side-tracked. He had shoved her up against the wall, Jyn’s legs up around his waist and seemingly permanently attached at the mouth. Kay sighed. Every time! 

He was about to do an about face and walk back off again, however, when he heard his name.

“But I need to talk to Kay first–”

Jyn groaned a little, although it could have been more of a pained whimper. “That’s really not a name I want to hear when making out, Cassian.”

“Sorry,” he murmured against her. “just – this affects him too. I can’t just announce ‘oh by the way, Jyn’s moving in with us’ it doesn’t work that way–”

“True,” Jyn hummed. “it would probably send him into shock.”

“Jynnnn.”

“You’re too nice,” she smirked into his lips.

“We’ve been living together for almost 10 years, it would be the end of an era–”

“It was the end of an era when you first met each other,” Kay helpfully pointed out.

The two of them broke apart, yelping slightly. Jyn almost fell as she was hastily dumped back on her feet and Kay stepped forward, unable to help revealing himself. Cassian clutched at his heart a little, the other arm gripping around Jyn’s waist.

“Where’d you come from?” Cassian asked. “Fuck, Kay, I didn’t mean – I’m so sorry–”

“Stop apologising,” Kay waved away at once. “it is clear that at some point during this party you have decided to move in together, but you do not have to worry. I am completely on board.”

Jyn exchanged a disbelieving glance. “But you hate me.”

“You are mistaken. I only hate you every second day.”

She actually let out of a bark of laughter, burying her nose into Cassian’s shirt for a second. “It’s really ok with you?” Cassian asked, tentatively. “We’re not asking you to move out or anything–”  

“Oh, I understand,” Kay nodded. “Couples live with flatmates all the time, and a third person would help keep the rent down. Really, there are no downsides to this scenario.”

“I’m scared. Why’s he being so reasonable?” Jyn stage hissed at Cassian.

Honestly. The truth of the matter was that they were probably ready to move in together and if it was going to make them happy, then he was willing to go along with it. Less rent was just a bonus. However, that reasoning was incredibly sentimental which he just knew that Jyn would rip him apart for, so in the end he just settled on saying,

“But if I have to catch you guys making out one more time, I’m going to smash something.”

Cassian threw back his head in laughter, although Jyn was already quickly reaching up for him. “Punch a hole in the wall then,” she grinned, before crushing her lips back to his.

Kay rolled his eyes.

Somehow, there ended up being an evening in which Kay and Jyn actually Hung Out.  

It wasn’t exactly by choice. Cassian was busy working a case, and Jyn had been living with them for three weeks now, so an argument over who got to use the T.V. had only eventually been settled when they had decided that watching something together was the only fair solution.

“But just to make it clear,” Kay pointed out from his end of the sofa. “I only agreed to watch something together, I did NOT agree to specifically watch Harry Potter.”

“Do you want to fight me?”

On any other day maybe, but he was tired and his head hurt from dealing with her.

“I don’t understand any of this movie, it makes no sense,” Kay gestured vaguely at the screen, where the children were currently flying around on broomsticks with CGI backgrounds. “They have magic, yet they write with quills? What about electricity? Are you telling me that they live alongside the modern world, yet are less updated than them? What if there was an emergency, an owl isn’t going to deliver something in real time–”

“OH MY GOD, it’s a movie about kid wizards ok?” Jyn burst out. “Don’t overthink it.”

“But. It. Makes. No. Sense.”

“It’s 2017 and you’ve never seen Harry Potter, you don’t get to talk about what makes sense.”

Kay grumbled a little, but otherwise didn’t have an argument for that one. He sat in silence, watching Harry’s broom go haywire. At least the child actors in this movie were decent enough. It was odd that none of this actually felt… well, odd. Despite all of his assurances that he was ok with it, Kay had admittedly kind of dreaded the inevitable move-in day that he’d known was coming. However, in the end Jyn becoming a part of the flat felt… strangely natural. She had been practically living with them anyway so moving in officially really hadn’t made much difference, except that they also got her mail now too and that their rent was of course slightly lower. Sure, there were more frustrating scrambles to get the bathroom first and Jyn always complained that Kay was slowing down the internet with his programming, but at the end of the day, she more or less fit seamlessly into their lives.

(She still stole his cereal, though. It seemed that nothing was going to stop THAT).

As Harry’s adventure continued, Kay made sure to keep providing his always thought-provoking commentary while Jyn consistently threw popcorn at his head. Right when Harry and his friends were running through a poorly constructed set of a forest, however, there was a knock at the door. Kay was more than eager to take a break to go and answer it.

“No, you don’t have to pause!” he called back down the hall. “In fact, please don’t pause it,” he added in a mutter.

He opened the door to find a weary-looking middle-aged man standing out in the hall. Kay narrowed his eyes at his bulky stature, dark hair and heavy eyes. He wasn’t someone he had ever seen before, and Kay said, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Hello. Is Jyn Erso there?”

“Who are you?” Kay stared, but within the next two seconds, he answered his own question. He’d seen the case files often enough to recognise the face. He’d seen him on the news and hell honestly, just from the way the man held himself told Kay everything he needed to know.

Huh. Maybe he was better at reading people than he originally thought.

“You’re her father, aren’t you?” Kay blurted out.

Galen Erso sighed. “I’ve heard that she’s been trying to find me–”

Kay slammed the door right in his face and promptly locked it.

“Kay?” Jyn’s voice echoed from the lounge.

“PLEASE BE AWARE THAT MY FLATMATE IS A POLICE OFFICER,” Kay barked through the door. “I AM CALLING HIM IMMEDIATELY. IF YOU ATTEMPT TO ENTER THE PREMISES I WILL NOT HESITATE TO USE FORCE AGAINST YOU.”

Jyn skidded into the hallway within five seconds.

“What the hell is going on?” she said in alarm.

“Jyn, CALL THE COPS.”

She did without hesitation. Punching the number into her phone, she glared at him and all but demanded, “What is it?”

“Your father is here.”

— 

It was a lot of commotion.

Harry’s adventure was abandoned in favour of their own drama that was unfolding within their very building. Kay wasn’t even sure how the man had gotten inside, but either way Cassian was called, who apparently then brought with him what felt like an entire battalion of cops. Galen Erso was arrested and Jyn had refused to say even one word to him the entire time.

“He faked his death to go and work for a shadow government that was developing illegal drugs and weapons,” Jyn had snapped earlier when Kay had questioned it. “I don’t want to even know him.”

Kay didn’t really understand, as he stood on the front steps of their building, watching Galen get put into the back of the police car. Jyn had spent a good majority of her life thinking he was dead (or maybe hoping he was dead?) and when she’d learned that he was alive, she’d wanted nothing more than to find him. Only now that he had reached out and found her… she was pushing him away.

Kay supposed he didn’t really need to understand, though. Figuring out Jyn Erso was a job best left to Cassian, who had wrapped an arm around her some time ago and had his hand firmly anchored in her hair. He couldn’t see Jyn’s face, but Cassian seemed to be whispering to her and Kay was satisfied knowing that he was there. He would take care of her.

Kay was a little confused, therefore, about how Jyn managed to go from Cassian’s arms to cornering him up on the steps only minutes later.

“So… you won’t hesitate to use force, huh?” she mentioned.

He huffed. “I’ll admit that came out in the moment. I apologise.”

“Don’t,” Jyn’s voice was quiet, but he heard her. He turned to see her with her arms folded tightly across her chest, hair hiding her face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Well,” Kay spluttered, quite unsure about how to answer. “You’re welcome?”

It seemed that she made a split second decision because suddenly, she was moving forward and wrapping her arms around him. Oh dear lord! Kay quite honestly floundered, because he didn’t do hugs, where was he supposed to put his arms, did she even want him to hug her back? She squeezed tight, almost too tight, but as annoying and grating as she could be sometimes, Kay realised that his earlier statement of it all being ‘in the moment’ wasn’t entirely true. If it meant protecting Jyn Erso… he would always use whatever force necessary.

He never expected this.

He awkwardly patted her on the back. She laughed.

Kay got the phone call at roughly 8pm.

“I was just about to watch Goblet of Fire, this better be important–”

“KAY,” Cassian hissed down the line. “I need you to bring the ring!”

Kay hit pause immediately.

“Is this for real this time?”

Cassian had called with that exact phrase no less than twenty times since he’d actually bought the damn thing half a year ago. Every now and then, he would suddenly decide it was time and Kay would bring it out of its hiding place amongst his socks (he thought it was probably best not to ever inform Jyn of that fact) only to go and find Cassian rocking back and forth on the floor, shaking his head and saying, “Never mind, never mind, maybe next time…”

Apparently, it was next time. AGAIN.

“This is real as fuck, I promise you!” Cassian stage whispered. “How quickly can you get to the park?”

“Maybe twenty minutes, if the traffic is good – but Cassian, I’m not going all the way into town, just for you to back out again.”

“I promise I’m not backing out. THIS IS IT,” He assumed that Jyn was still nearby, since Cassian was still attempting to keep his voice low. “We went to dinner at the same place we went on our first date, and there’s this night market with a bunch of lights and it’s cheesy but she’s happy and I’m happy and I have to marry this girl, SO PLEASE GET HERE–”

“Ok, ok!” Kay heaved himself up off his bed. “But be warned that if you’ve dragged me away from Harry Potter Night for another fake out, then I will be mightily displeased.”

Kay didn’t even know how Cassian ended up giving him directions to where they were. Their city was a big place, and he was left wandering the paths somewhere throughout the park, with nothing but a vague one-sided text conversation as his guide

From: Cassian We’re next to the doutain  *foundtain  *FOUNTAIN  U know in the park go down the path nxt to the pond   Have u found the market??  Just walk right thru  Ashahdfhjdfhj  She keeps asking me who im txtng HRURRY UP  WE’RE @ THE FOUNTAIN WHERE R U  Hold up I see u!!!! dnt move!!!!

Kay glanced up from his phone then, staring around in confusion across the market ‘square’ that was currently being hosted within the park. The ambiance was admittedly romantic, so Kay could at least accept that this was an appropriate time. Lanterns and other fairy lights were strung up through the makeshift streets, setting everything with a multi-coloured glow and he finally saw Jyn not too far away, apparently saving their seats at the edge of a large, ornate fountain. Cassian looked a little crazy-eyed when he hurled up to him from amongst the crowd, but Kay didn’t fault him. This was a big deal.

If he actually did it this time.

“Thank god, where is it?” Cassian asked a little frantically.

Kay pulled the ring from his pocket and handed it over. “I expect this to be beautiful,” he warned. “I’ve been live-tweeting about it ever since you called.”

“KAY.”

“What?” Kay shrugged. “Shara says that if I go viral, I might get on Ellen.”

Cassian just turned and stomped away. As he approached Jyn once more, Kay pulled out his phone and started filming on selfie mode.

“Well, he took the ring… as you can see, target is in sight. Also Ellen, if you’re watching this, my friend Shara loves you.” 

They didn’t end up on Ellen, but she DID retweet his video and apparently that was all it took to go viral these days.

“Guy Livetweets His Best Friend’s Proposal And It’s Hilarious,” Kay read.

“Oh my god, you legit got on fucking Buzzfeed,” Shara snatched the phone right out of his hand.

Apparently, his ‘clinical, deadpan approach’ was a hit with people and the fact that he wasn’t even trying to be funny at all had made it all the more funnier! Kay was kind of in awe over the entire thing – he had gained thousands upon thousands of Twitter followers practically overnight, which was slightly overwhelming when he remembered that he’d had a grand total of 12 before this entire thing had happened. He was getting messages from all sorts of websites asking for comments, but he was content to just keep deleting them. Shara got her shoutout, and Cassian and Jyn were engaged. That was all that mattered to him.

“It gets better,” Jyn called out from the other side of the room, currently sitting snug under Cassian’s arm. “I think you’re a meme now.”

“WHAT?” Shara leapt across the room.

“Show me,” Kay insisted.

They all crowded around Jyn and her phone. She held up just one of what appeared to be many posts, all featuring his screenshotted face with the subtitle target in sight. He watched Jyn scroll through the endless sea of posts.

When u see bae across the room… target in sight.

When it’s nearly the end of the semester… target in sight.

When it’s September 30th… this time he had a pumpkin photoshopped over his head.

“THIS IS INCREDIBLE,” Shara was apparently beside herself.

“Work is actually going to fire me,” Kay noted.

“Hey, it’s not like you ASKED to go viral,” Cassian pointed out. 

Kay literally did not know how to dignify any response, so instead he just walked out of the room amidst peals of laughter from Jyn and Shara. One of these days he needed to get better friends. He decided to leave his phone behind, since every now and then it still pinged with a message or another, even though he had turned off all notifications that he possibly could several days ago and he was already looking through the pantry for something to cook when Cassian joined him.

“Oh, hello,” Kay noted. “Jyn and Shara laughed themselves into comas yet?”

“You’re ok with this, right?”

Kay turned to stare at Cassian. He stood in the middle of their quiet kitchen, barefoot with nerves written all over his face and Kay scoffed incredulously.

“Are you asking for my approval?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know,” Cassian ran a hand restlessly over the back of his neck. “Kay, with everything that’s happened, with it blowing up this big when I know you didn’t mean it to, I guess I just wanted to… to know whether you… we’re ok.”

“Cassian, I am ok.”

“Because it’s been you and me for so long and–”  

“Are you kidding?” Kay asked. “It hasn’t been just me and you for years! Jyn’s your life, Cassian, and that’s fine. I love both of you, I want you to be happy, and no amount of Twitter followers is going to make me change my mind.”

Cassian smiled weakly. “Shit, Kay.”

He winced. “I got emotional… I apologise.”

Cassian swung forward two steps before throwing his arms around him. Kay staggered slightly under the weight, but carefully figured out how to hug him back tightly (he liked to think he was starting to get better at it). He didn’t say anything for a long moment. The only sounds were Jyn and Shara’s voices chatting muffled in the other room, and Kay concentrated on just being there in his best friend’s presence. Friends liked that kind of thing.

“Thank you,” Cassian muttered into his shoulder, voice a little choked.

“It’s fine,” Kay replied.

“I mean it,” Cassian held him tight. “Thank you for being there for her. Thank you for looking out for her, even when she makes you watch stupid movies and steals your food. It means a lot that you care.”

“Hey, Harry Potter isn’t that stupid.”

Cassian laughed. “I love you, Kay.”

And for a moment, Kay did have that slight touch of emotion. A brief second of what if, what if everything did change from here? What if they got married and forgot about him, what if they grew up and they eventually become too different over the years, their lives slowly drifting further and further apart until their only interactions were happy birthday messages on Facebook? Rationally, Kay knew it wouldn’t likely happen, but it only took a second to second guess yourself and Kay let himself have that second to worry.

He clenched his arms tighter.

“I love you too, Cassian.”

Sometimes, Kay looked at Cassian and Jyn and wondered what it felt like.

He was honestly just curious. Back in the early days he’d almost thought that he was jealous of what they felt, certain his interest had to come back to why a love as strong as theirs never seemed to happen for him, but turned out it wasn’t about that at all. He knew now that it just wasn’t something he wanted or needed, but damn it they looked at each other like they each set the world on fire and he needed to know how they could stand it without burning up. Maybe they didn’t, he figured. Maybe they were both like stars, burning bright in this endless universe until eventually they would expand and explode. Become stardust.

Or something (he wasn’t good with analogies).

At one point, he had been resentful. He and Cassian had been doing just fine, he didn’t need this explosion of a girl to come in and shift their entire universe because things were just fine the way they were! But as much as Jyn was a pain in the arse, she hadn’t just changed Cassian’s life. She had significantly tilted Kay’s as well, to the point where he couldn’t even see the horizon anymore and he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. Something in him still shuddered at the thought of calling her a friend, but he knew that he was willing to die for her if need be, and considering that Cassian was the only other person in the world he was willing to do that for, it said a lot.

Maybe he’d never really understand what it was that drew Cassian and Jyn together. They were certainly enigmas! Either way, he was still proud to be the one who was stepping up to her, offering his arm. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Kay did at least felt the need to that point out.

Jyn just shot him a look that he might have interpreted as disdainful, if he hadn’t actually known how nervous she was.

“That’s exactly what a girl wants to hear five minutes before her wedding,” she said.

“I just mean–” Kay cut himself off, frustrated. “What if I fall over? What if I say the wrong thing?”

“It’s the bloody 21st century, we’ve been over this, you don’t have to say anything!”

“BUT TRADITION DICTATES–”

“WE’RE NOT ARGUING ABOUT THIS NOW,” Jyn attempted to press warily onto her eyes before remembering the make-up. “Look, just – just walk me down the aisle and get me to Cassian in one piece, ok?”

Kay nodded, perhaps a little frantically. “Ok. Ok.”

“It’s gonna be fine, Kay! Jesus Christ, we should have eloped.”

“I approve whole-heartedly of that plan – we could leave right now and no one would be any of the wiser?”

“Tempting,” Jyn said, dryly. “but I think Cassian might get a little pissed in that scenario.”

“HA, HA,” Kay muttered. The doors opened then, the guests rising to their feet beyond and Shara turned to exchange an excited grin with them before music played and the Maid of Honour started the progression down the aisle. Oh, god!

Jyn suddenly turned to Kay. 

“Thank you,” she said, somehow panicked and earnest all at once. “I know I give you shit all the time but honestly, thank you for agreeing to do this.”

Kay squeezed his elbow around hers. 

“Of course. Do try to not fall over.”

“God, why do I bother?” Jyn muttered. 

Kay almost laughed. “Let’s just get you married.” 

And the two of them stepped out to start what felt like their miles long journey down the aisle. 

- FIN 

[lamiaward]

Medical au

I don’t own OUAT.

Emma Swan has a pretty good life. It is a lot better than she expected really. The rare times she had thought about her future when she was not yet wearing jackets but did actually wear stolen watches occasionally, her goals were pretty much keeping out of jail ( she hadn’t ) and being able to eat grilled cheese twice a week.

Now, she had far more than that.

She had a kid , a beautiful kid with a happy smile and an abundance of sass he couldn’t have gotten from either of his parents. And 17-year-old Emma might have punched you in the face for suggesting she would ever want this, but she was so happy she had Henry. Even when he left his gross socks laying everywhere.

“ Henry- can I pick these socks off without needing to wash my hand with a lot of disinfecting soap?”

Henry rolls his eyes from his place on the coach. “ It is a sock, mom, not a small population of microorganisms”

“Because your teenaged body is so clean” she teases, well aware he hasn’t had a shower in one and a half day and he has had gym- because let’s face it, her kid may be insanely smart and very good at strategy but even he cannot keep avoiding gym indefinitely.

He glares at her. Emma is a little tempted to take a small step back, because he is crazily good at glaring (seriously how is a child his age better at being intimidating than the legit criminals she chases that have guns sometimes)  but she doesn’t. That would be ridiculous and you know, probably undermine her authority. “ Stop the glaring Henry, I am just sayi- “.

“I was going to take a shower “he says, turning his attention back to what is either homework or a book he is writing. “ And you do not smell like daisies and roses either”.

“ Well, I would hope not” she says, laughing. “ That is not really the kind of thing I would want to smell like”.

His lip twitch. She kisses his cheek as she walks past him with the sock held between two fingers. “ Have you finished your homework?”.

“ Have I ever not?”.

“ Henry- “.

“ yes, I have finished my homework. Like ages ago”

“ Good. Do you want to shower first or should I?” she says it as soon as she has dropped the sock in the laundry basket. “ Oh and don’t forget to put your dirty clothing in the laundry basket. Seriously, why do you think I bought the thing in the first place?”.

“ Just go take a shower mom “ Henry says, giving her that look that is a little haughty and very unimpressed but also loving somehow. It is a pretty good look.

“I mean it. And you are not a toddler anymore, nor are you a dog , so I shouldn’t have to like train you” she smiles at him and makes sure to keep her tone light, to know she is joking. But also being serious, because if she nearly slips on an article of clothing one more time-

He sighs, then shrugs. “ Fine” .

She smiles at him.  “Awesome” she lets him be slightly annoyed for several more moments before showing him the bag.  “Are you up for pizza?”.

He grins at her. “ Pizza is cheesy and delicious, so it is like asking whether water is wet, mom”.

She chuckles. “ I definitely share the sentiment” she stretches.  “Okay, I am going to grab that shower now, before the stench clings to me forever. Can you- “.

Henry is already standing up. He really is a great child. He approaches the cardboard, throws her a grin. “ I would hug you, but I really do not want your smell transferred to me”.

“You do realize I can ground you, do you not?”.

“ You won’t. You have a sense of humour” like she said, her son is great at strategy. He knows exactly what to say as he toes the line between the fond ‘little shit’ and ‘damn, you are grounded’. He smiles, most likely because he knows this. “ And you should be extremely grateful for that” she winkles her nose. The smell really is bad.

“ I am going to grab that shower now, do not touch the pizza before I am back”.

“ I wouldn’t mess with your love for pizza” Henry promises solemnly, then arches his eyebrow a little.   “ Are you going to recount the tale of how on earth you managed to fall into a trash can afterwards?”.

“ Shut up” she mutters.

“ I mean, I assume that it is not a fashion statement, that bit of spaghetti smeared into your hair”

“ One more sassy remark and you are grounded “ she warns, but her lips are twitching.

He grins at her. “ Please take the shower, so the apartment won’t smell like someone dumped its garbage somewhere in it”.

“You should be immensely grateful for that sense of humour I have Henry “she says, but she is laughing as she walks away from him and towards the shower she really wants to take.

They are in the middle of eating pizza and Emma is recounting her tale- careful to be a little less animated this time, so she won’t accidentally throw the food on the floor and have another ‘does the five second rule actually exist’ fight with Henry  - when the doorbell rings.

“ So he ran at me , which I did not- “ she stops in the middle of the tale to throw Henry a confused look.  “Did you invite anyone?” .

“ No. Did you?”.

She snorts. “ When do I ever invite anyone?”

Henry frowns a little.  “That is not funny , that is more- “  

“ Henry, I really do not need many friends. You know that”.

“ Yeah, I know”  he hesitates, then adds “ but you do not really have friends. I mean, the mothers of some of my friends do not count. And I really would like you to have friends, it would be good for you”.

Sometimes, Emma wonders whether Henry is the universe’s ‘I am sorry for all the goddamn awful years in the system’ gift. Because really, which other boy his age would ever be thoughtful and caring and still mostly comfortable with showing he loves his mom? She gives him a one-armed hug. “I am fine without them, Henry, you know I only need you. And stop stealing my job, will you?”.

Henry laughs. “ Well, maybe if I didn’t have so much more credentials than you do…  “

“  How dare you! I totally- “ the bell rings again. Emma had kind of forgotten all about it. She gets up and starts walking towards the door.

“ Hah! I win” Henry explains, before tearing into his pizza again. She throws him a glance over her shoulder, then opens the door. She stares a little at the person in front

It is a woman she has never seen before. She is probably around Emma’s age, with dark hair and skin that looks like she avoids the sun a lot. Emma nearly steps forward, a little concerned by how the hands that are holding a box are trembling slightly. Then again, the look in the eyes of this stranger keep her frozen on her doorstep, wanting to take a step back.

There are actual tears in those eyes. There is a wobbly smile that makes Emma uncomfortable, but strangely also makes a small lump form in Emma’s throat. And there is something about her expression that makes Emma think the woman is mistaking her for someone else. Why would you look at a stranger like this?

“ Can I help you?” she finally asks, when it seems obvious that the woman is not going to speak.

She slowly shakes herself.  “Uh- I – “ she has to clear her throat , then offers Emma the box in her hands. “ I am your new n-neighbour”

Emma relaxes a little bit. Perhaps the tears were just hormones and the woman is just awkward? She is quite certain that the woman’s stomach is not like that because she eats a lot of fast-food, no – she is pregnant. And Emma still remembers how her own pregnancy messed up her hormones.

“ Oh, nice to meet you. I am Emma” she says, taking the box from the stranger and offering her a hand.

The woman grabs it with lightning speech and Emma stares down in confusion as her hand is grabbed tightly and for a too-long. When she tries to subtly pull it back, it takes an additional (really weird) minute before the woman let it go. “ Sno- Mary Margaret” she says, after a short hesitation.

“ Well. Thank you for the pie”  she is about to close the door when the woman – Mary , was it? – gasps and almost starts crying. She throws her a disturbed look before glancing behind her. It is Henry, staring at the woman with concern. Not entirely unwarranted concern, considering the woman’s trembling lip and the expression she is wearing.

“ Are you all right? “he asks.

Emma subtly shifts, tensing. The woman does not look dangerous , but she is not taking chances, not with her son behind her. Maybe she does not have to worry though:  Mary ma- something nods even when she is nearly crying and gasps out “ pregnancy hormones, sorry”.

It is not entirely believable- not when the tears are not the only weird behaviour- but Emma will take it. For now. She even offers the woman a smile. “ Been there, it is awful is it not?”.

Mary nods, manages another wobbly smile. “It really is” she whispers, giving Emma an intense look that nearly has her step back. She throws an arm around Henry, offers him the pie without looking. “ You can put this in the fridge”.

He grins. “ Pie? Awesome!” he turns that grin on Mary, who immediately sniffles and sounds half-a-second away from crying.  “Thank you!” Emma kind of wants to slam the door when she sees Mary’s eyes follow Henry but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans against the threshold. There is a short silence as the woman of her tries to pull herself together.

“ My apologies” she wipes her eyes, smiles. “ I am such a mess lately”.

“ That is okay. So you have moved her today?”.

“ Yesterday actually. I thought I would introduce myself” .

“ Welcome to the building, I guess”.

“ Thank you. Have you lived here for long?”.

“ A little over a year”

“ Oh. Where did you live before that? “ does this woman look at anyone this way, or does she just look at Emma with really intense eyes? Either way, it makes her uncomfortable.

“ Here and there. Uh listen- “.

“ I am sorry, I was prying “ she forces a laugh. “I am just new to this city and thought it would be nice to know someone who actually knows where to find things”.

“ That is fine” she hesitates, but then decides to offer it anyways. Perhaps her son is getting to her  “ I can show you around sometime, if you want”.

She immediately gets a bright smile. “ That would be wonderful. So – “.

“ Well, you know where I live” Emma says, a little awkwardly.

“ Right. I hope you enjoy the pie”.

“Thanks again”

“ You are welcome”

Emma is waiting for the woman to say something like ‘have a nice evening’ when she decides it won’t happen. The woman – Mary, right? – just stares at her until Emma decides she has had enough of this and firmly says “ good evening”.

“ Oh. You too”

And then she is alone with her son again, thinking what the Hell

 Weirdly enough, they actually become friends. Quick friends, too.

They just click for some reason and even though MM ( as Henry has started to call her) still has her weird moments, she is mostly just a pretty great friend. She likes half of the series Emma likes as well, is a lot tougher than she looks and is pretty good at helping Henry with stuff like homework. So really, Emma can deal with the too-emotional hugging and looks as well as things happening like Mary Margaret dropping her plate when Emma was in the kitchen making desserts and casually shared the really great memory of toddler Henry helping her make apple turn-overs.

She still doesn’t understand MM’s look, that went spooked-pained-amused-thoughtful.

However, for all MM’s weirdness, she has quickly become a fixture in the Swan family. Henry seems really glad - even though he gave her the ‘you hurt my mom and I will destroy you’ talk – and gets along with MM really well. And Emma is just happy that she finally has a friend like this, because she realizes that she has actually missed a lot. So really, everything would be peaches and roses despite the fact that Emma’s job is still catching sleaze balls-

Were it not for two things that are pretty much like earthquakes.

The first one would be like a seven on the Richter scale ( her son is an adorable nerd who likes sharing facts he deems interesting with her): Emma suddenly dreams. She used to have weird dreams every now and then – like the time she dreamt she was in an orchard and there were flying apples that turned into unwrapped condoms- but this is a different kind of weird.

These are dreams that feel more like déjà vu (you can also thank Henry for her knowing bits of French now that are not swear words or pick-up lines) .The first dream she has is about a ten-year-old Henry. The sound is off, but she can see herself possibly bicker with him before they step into the car. She remembers little off that dream ,except from a sign and someone wearing a grey dress.

She wakes, feeling off-balanced and hurt. For some inexplicable reason, she still wants to remember the dream instead of forget forget forget like you would expect. She needs to know who was wearing that dress, what was that on that sign. It kind of consumes her, but she just can’t remember.

It is the first time in years she dismantles a toaster out of sheer frustration and anger (and really MM why are you smiling fondly like that?)

That dream seems to be the first of a line of confusing, frustrating déjà vu dreams that keep slipping away into her subconsciousness , the jerks. Emma dreams of a playground, of a book that she is reading without seeing the letters, of the barking of a dog, of a black turtleneck… she dreams of gentle brown eyes and a low voice and strains to hear the words. She dreams of blood in her mouth and holding someone up against a building. She dreams of hospitals and mines and what looks like the jungle.

It is definitely earthquake-like, with how Emma feels unbalanced and  of kind of taken apart- with pieces missing. She logically knows they cannot be memories, but she stills strains and strains to remember them. She never really does, but the dreams keep happening.

Then there is the second reason things aren’t as great as they could be.  

The second reason is a ten on the Richter scale. Yup, the buildings are turned to ash, there are no people just corpses and basically everything is upturned and changed forever. Perhaps they might even invent a new Richter scale, one that has a place for ‘earthquake that pretty much moved the continents and made all the buildings fall like domino stones and just –“

MM visits someone in the hospital, asking them to go with her ‘for moral support and because I would like you to meet her’. Emma is nearly immune to the weird looks she gets from MM every now and then, so hardly thinks about it. That turns out to be a mistake.

It turns out to be a mistake, because they walk into that room and she feels Henry freeze next to her and she stares. Stares at brown hair and closed eyes and tightly entwined fingers on top of the frozen body. For some reason, she vaguely remembers reading fairy tales.

She is only snapped out of it when MM squeezes her hand briefly. Usually, she would be questioning the way she looks at Henry- so very concerned and sad and apologetic- but now she is staring at this woman, that is in a private room and attached to machines. She feels Henry press against her and when she glances at him, he is frowning at the woman and she can see him trying to push down on the urge to grab her hand like he used to when he was scared or upset.

She throws her arm around him. “ Do you want to say hello? “ it is Mary Margaret’s voice. Emma glances at her: she has her hand on Henry’s shoulder and is wearing one of her strange expressions. Emma can hardly concentrate on it, instead glancing from her son to the literally comatose woman on the bed. “ Just say hi, Henry” Mary Margaret says, her voice trembling a little.

Henry slowly pulls away from Emma before walking towards the bed. Emma follows him. They’re on either sides of the bed. Emma looks at Henry as he swallows and starts talking.

“ My name is Henry. I am sort of a friend of M- Mary Margaret” he hesitates, glances at Emma for a moment. She smiles at him, nearly runs around the bed to give him a brief hug. Should I get him away from this, is it too- she is always wondering whether she is giving Henry what is best for him. Now she wonders what this will do to him- whether it’s too scary or emotionally loaded.

“ There all these stories  about people that wake up from a coma and can recount things that were said to them, or around them. So I am just going to talk and hope you think it is interesting. I would not want to bore you, definitely not when you are stuck with me!”.

He glances at Mary Margaret.  “What would she like hearing about?”.

The tears are back.  “ You” MM whispers.

When Henry and Emma glance at each other, not understanding why a stranger would want to hear all about a teenager, she adds  “she- used to have a son. She was snappish and distant with a lot of people, but- with children, she was often different. I am certain she woul- will love to hear about you”.

Henry nods. Emma’s stomach is in knots and there is tension knotted in her muscles at the very idea of ever losing a son. She suddenly looks at the woman with different eyes, imagining her smiling at a boy with her hair and looking at him with gentle eyes. She suddenly wants to know the colour of those eyes. Would they-

“ I like writing. I suppose I enjoy creating new things, or making the impossible happen. So there’s that. And I think English is pretty great!  We have this English teacher that is a little wacky, but in a good way and he gives extra marks for creativity. So we get to write stories and act a little” Henry laughs. He is not as frozen, as tense and uncertain as before. “ Last week, we were discussing Shakespeare and he started reciting parts really dramatically. He even made his voice higher to mimic Julia and it was actually real good. Did you know that the female roles in Shakespearian plays used to be played by male actors?”.

Emma feels her breath caught and hears a sound that could be a sob but also a gasp. Henry voice fades as he leans forward. “ I am sorry, I did not mean to – “ he stares at the single tear on the woman’s cheek. “ I am sorry” he repeats, clutching his fist a little.

She steps forward. Henry has never been able to deal with people’s pain. He always wants to help so badly and gets frustrated and hurt himself when he can’t. He might be growing up, but she does not think he will ever grow out of that.

“ Henry- “ she shuts up when she realizes she doesn’t know what to say, just throws an arm around him and pulls him into a hug. “ You were doing great kid. She probably just- “ she looks at Mary Margaret helplessly. “ Does stuff like that happen often?”.

She shakes her head. “ No “she whispers, staring at the lone tear. “ No, it doesn’t “.

Henry insists on going back. And she has to admit, she doesn’t really try to keep him away. And Mary Margaret tries to hide it, but she is weirdly relieved when he goes back. And again. And again. And again.

It is a month later and he is still visiting Regina. When he had to read ‘to kill a Mockingbird’ for class , he brought it with him and read his favourite parts to her. When they made apple turnovers together, he brought her a piece and described it – “ It is that kind of hot where you can feel your tongue feeling slightly burnt, but it is not hurting.  It is baked perfectly- here, feel- so   “  . He does that a lot actually, describing things. He has described himself –“ I have short brown hair- it kind of the colour of Nutella, the cocoa spread” and Emma – “ Did you ever read the wonder woman comics? Mom is pretty much like Wonder woman- she even has an inbuild lasso of truth!” and objects that he brought. He is really careful and gentle and still happy in a way that she knows she doesn’t imagine Regina’s lips twitching with a smile whenever he is gushing about something.

Right now, he is reading his newest story to her. Emma is very silent as she listens- that was Henry’s condition : ‘you cannot make jokes or anything mom. You are only invited if you can be silent’ even if which gets easier the longer she listens. The only sounds she makes in the end are gasps- when the villain that has discovered a fountain-of-youth formula captures the very sarcastic and kind of hardass antihero as she tries to stop him- and half-formed questions – when that same villain somehow manages to trap the person in a coma that will slowly destroy her supernatural abilities and eventually things that might be sob as the antihero’s tragic past is revealed, as well how she will never –

“ It was so very unlikely, the possibility so infinitesimal that Regina herself would have scoffed at it. She had learned to live with a heart whose pieces were hardly hanging on to the stitches in between them and the idea that no one would ever genuinely love her. But this child did. He did, because he had known something was missing for a while – and it was more than the fear he got whenever his mom was hunting bad guys. So he started to fight, knowing he had a family for the first time. And with his mom helping him – how could they lose? “

Henry’s cheeks are flushed, his hands are clutching his notebooks and his eyes are wide open. “ How could they lose- “ he repeats, softer now. He slams the book down, bends over her.  “How could they l-lose”

Emma finally stands up, clearing her throat. “ Hen- “.

“ How could-  “his voice cracks. She suddenly realizes he had hoped she would wake up. She grabs his hand when it reaches for the book, that expression in his eyes that means she has to be quick or he might explode and tugs him gently towards him. She doesn’t touch him, apart from the gentle grip on his wrist.

He swallows, stares at the ground. She hates the tears that fall.  “They’re going to turn it off” he whispers.

“ What- ? “.

He yanks his head up. He is really crying now, but trying to stop it. “ The r-respirator. They w-want to turn it off”

She glances at Regina, feels sick herself. “ They- “ she shakes her head. “ Ki- Henry, they won’t. Mary Margaret won’t- “.

“ They s-said it was costly and she would n-never- “

“Henry” Emma finally breaks and hugs him. He immediately hugs her back, shaking. She wants to punch the idiot that thought about taking Regina from them. “ Nothing is worth than a life, okay? And I am sure MM knows that”.

“ I am afraid” he confesses, making his voice so very quiet. She hugs him tighter. “ I will punch anyone who even thinks about it” she whispers, and she doesn’t even know whether she is trying to lighten the atmosphere of no no no no no or that she means it.

She glances at Regina, thinks of evenings where sitting next to her bedside and talking about the shitty day she had, sharing the parts she could never share with her teenage son with this woman. The times she has imagined Regina’s eyes, or her smile. How she has made her into this whole person, sarcastic and witty and so very loving in her head.

She would punch anyone. No one takes a person Henry cares about. “ They can take her” he whispers. “ We are not- “. Her family. It is not our decision whether she remains on life support.

“ I don’t care. They’re not messing with her” she pulls back, puts her hands on Henry’s shoulders. “If you want someone to be family, they only have to feel like it, you know? Does she feel like family? ”.

He nods. “ yeah “.

“ Then she is. Simple”.

He laughs, then sobs once. “ Y-yeah” he hugs her again. “ Thank you”.

She rests her hand on his head, closes her eyes. They remain like that for a minute, perhaps. Then- “ Do you love her too?”.

It is easier to admit things when people cannot read all your vulnerabilities and wants in your eyes.  “When MM told me her son had been adopted…. I think I loved her then”.

Perhaps she had even loved her before that. Emma definitely doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Sometimes, she doesn’t even know whether she believes in love in the first place. But hearing that this supposedly tough, angry woman had chosen to raise a child all on her own and tried everything and anything to keep him safe and loved.. even if she had messed up a little like MM told her , she had always loved her son. How could Emma not love someone like that?

“  I loved her when I heard about how she had made she many wrong choices , but made the right one in the end”.

“ For her son”.

She feels him shrug.  “Yeah. And she just-“

“ She just feels like family”.

“ Yeah”.

“ I know, ki- Henry” she had. She had even had a dream she had hardly dared to acknowledge, one with barbs and eyerolls but also one where Regina had been smiling so fondly at the both of them and had held her hand gently as she promised her she would do anything to make them happy. And really, how unfair is it that Emma finally manages to love like she once had and the person is in a fucking coma.

(and yes, maybe Regina would have never fallen in love with her. But now, they won’t even have a chance for an epic love story or slightly awkward friendships)

Henry pulls away. He wipes his eyes, clears his throat several times. He gives her an embarrassed smile. She smiles back, aware that he is not the only one with dry, red eyes and a running nose. “ Go get your book” she says, gently pushing him towards the bed.

He sniffs, then grabs his book from where it has fallen on the floor. She takes the time to wipe away tears and pull herself together. She looks at Henry again, who is standing next to the bed with a forlorn look. She sighs.  “Henr-“

“ Do you think she would mind if I kissed her forehead? You know, like you used to after reading to me”.

She manages a nod, biting on her tongue. She really has cried enough. He tugs at her sleeve.” Come on “ .

“ What?” she whispers

“Are you not going to say goodnight as well?”

“ Henry- I am pretty sure she wouldn’t want me to”.

“ Maybe she would” he wrinkles his nose. “ And I am definitely not asking you to kiss her on the mouth”.

She laughs.” Okay. But if she wakes up and obsesses over avenging this kiss, you can explain it” Mary Margaret had been very vague but Emma had still gathered that Regina was the ‘my ghost will still hold this grudge “ kind of person.

She walks over to the other side of the bed, slowly bends forward. She holds her breath, hesitates for a moment. Then slowly presses her lips to skin, closer to that mouth than she had meant to. She can hear nothing but her rapid heartbeat for a while, is starting to relax and pull back when-

Her hair is pushed back, she turns her head away to avoid being blinded by the light and then she can feel a startled gasp where her lips are still mostly pressed to a cheek but also really close to lips that are usually- Red. She always wears- omg. Did I-

She pulls back, stares. That is Regina sitting there. Regina Mills, the woman in a grey dress that pulls her son into her arms as she runs towards him. Regina, who hands her cider and talks about how difficult it is to raise a son when you are a single mother and the mayor. Mayor Mills, who offers apples as a passive-aggressively ‘fuck you, get out of my town’ and gets a look somewhere in the middle of angry and excited when you cut down a branch off her tree. The Evil Queen, who wants you to tell the story of her death like it is okay, like ‘it wasn’t too late for me to do the right thing’ will heal the pain of a ten-year-old that lost his mom.

Regina, who takes your hand and promises you a happy ending. ( never knowing it would only be happy if she would also be in it)

“ Henry “ she gasps and he chokes and crawls into her arms. Emma smiles sadly at the chorus of ‘mom’ erupting from his mouth. Not me. But her who used to kiss him on the forehead after reading about superheroes. She is already stepping back, when her hand is taken again. Regina’s eyes are just as gentle as they had been then.  “It was not just one person who broke that curse” Regina says, trying to make her voice strong and indifferent but Emma can hear the tremble in there. She sees her own disbelief echoed in Regina’s eyes, her own hope.

She slowly sits down on the bed. Regina tries to scowl, but ends up smiling instead. ‘  The saviour. Seriously?”.

Emma laughs and feels less inclined to bolt out of the door in the face of emotions and very complicated ones at that. Instead, she curls up next to what is apparently her true love and listens to that voice she now remembers was in her dreams. Henry talks and talks and Regina smiles and nearly chokes on laughter and tears and it is all Very Good.

Atop the cover, their hands slowly intertwine.

[fxikb0ay-blog]

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[nookishposts]

In Praise of the Porch

The distance of years can certainly soften some realities of memory, preserving the best and discarding the rest of what may well have been formative. pivotal experiences in our lives. Perhaps it’s a part of the mechanism that slowly allows us to let go of old hurts and create space for new perspectives. We may notice an old scar on our elbow and have some recollection of the pain of falling out of a tree, but more likely will remember with great fondness the joyful building of the secret fort that got us into the tree in the first place. That we dragged old boards and stolen nails into the branches and made a hideout, a safe perch from which to observe the world below as we examined our options, was a rite of passage in itself: we learned we could build stuff,  felt entitled to a quiet space of our own, shared only  by personal invitation. An elbow gash from missing a step was a small price.

Tree forts and snow forts and blanket forts aside, many of my own fond memories involve porches. Throughout my life, even as a student with a postage-sized fire escape or a young adult with an apartment balcony, those just-outside-the-door havens have been my go-to and sanity-savers.

On the farm, the first home I recall, had what felt to me like an endless porch, hung like a one-armed hug around two and a half sides of the house, and elevated about 3 feet from the ground on 2 of those sides. The floor planks were wide and sturdy, likely to a depth of 8 feet from wall to lip, with 6 generously square brick stands upon which rested thick wooden posts soaring to uphold the pitched roof.Those posts held a blanket hammock very nicely, and a loose floorboard made a great stash for childhood treasures. It had been many times painted, so splinters were few and the deck sealed so thoroughly in oil that it was almost soft under bare feet. There were 3 doors from the house, one from the kitchen and two from the living room, thick wooden doors with mysteriously huge iron keys that felt important in my hand but which nobody ever actually used. The farmhouse was not large or fancy, but it was as solid as a fortress and that porch had been built as a refuge and retreat from the hot sun, to catch the cool breezes after a day in the fields or the cloying dust of the barn.

My cousin Shirley, 5 months older than I, used to come for weekends in the summer and we would be allowed to sleep out on the porch when the nights were hot and still. We’d put a couple of old blankets down as a pallet, perpendicular to the wall so that we could lay on our bellies gazing over the fields as we’d talk or on our backs to watch for falling stars, and still have the surety of the house within easy reach of our toes. We felt ourselves quite brave in not flinching when the coyotes would call or the night hawks would swoop heard but unseen nearby. If it rained, we pretended we were on a ship in a storm and kept watch for leaks that we might heroically plug to prevent our vessel from sinking. We scanned the bright skies for constellations and gazed dreamily into the face of the Man in the Moon.

If I had been home sick and  eventually deemed to be in recovery, the porch was my half-step re-entry place. I recall being bundled into a blanket and carried out to a chair, a cup of milky tea with lots of sugar placed on the low table, with a box of kleenex, and a book to read. Usually Heidi, as the big firs outside my bedroom window on the farm could roar just as well as the firs did outside her Uncle’s house in the Alps. I could snooze in the swaddle of my blanket, safe and warm, with the starlings and the chipmunks and the occasional groundhog to watch over me, dimly aware of house-sounds through the open window: Mum doing dishes or starting supper.

When the gardens and fields flourished to bursting, my Grandmother would come to stay for a couple of weeks to help with the picking and processing. There were long afternoons on the porch with bushels of peas to be shelled and beans to be snapped, corn to husk and apples to peel. I filched peas from the big clay bowl knowing if she saw, Grandma wouldn’t say a word. She and I would be tasked with the berry picking: strawberries and raspberries proliferated along the fence on one side of the long rutted driveway. Gooseberries grew near the pond behind the barn. Black caps burst in our mouths with a seedy sweet/sour gush that puckered our grins. There would be fresh pie for dessert on the porch after supper, and tomorrow the pickling and canning would begin.

We would sit like stair steps in the cool shade: Grandma on a tall straight-backed chair, my Mum on a 4 legged stool and me on the floorboards at their feet.  As we shelled and snapped our gleanings,the very air we breathed above our filling bowls smelled and tasted green and fresh, with a hint of sunlight and a sense-memory of soil. Family gossip would be exchanged between pea-pings against the metal pan, and if Grandma were in the right mood, she would tell me stories of the Auld Country; about her parents and grandparents, siblings and cousins; colliers,  foresters, and labourers all. About hopping over the stone wall at the edge of their garden on her way to school, with a twist of newspaper “Peas in a poke” in her hand for a snack along the way. About babies born onto clean newspapers at home in front of a peat fire. About scraping the muck off her father’s boots and the dust off his back as he came home after a 12 hour day in the mines. About how horribly seasick she was as the huge ship of immigrants crossed the English Channel bound for Canada, and the promise of space and prosperity. I watched the kalidescope of emotions on her face as she gazed into the distance, deciding what to tell and what would best remain unspoken. If I asked a question, she would turn her eyes to mine: hers were a riveting cornflower blue in comparison to my little black buttons, and I would be enveloped in a warmth of expression that could have lifted me into the clouds. She would feed me the comical bits, the quirks of genetic predisposition she could see in both our faces, like teaspoons of honey infused with magic. I was entranced. On rare occasions, my Grandpa came too, but our time on the porch was mostly silent; he smoked his Players unfiltered and nursed a beer and dropping a hand on my head, spoke volumes.

Moving into town as a teen, my parent’s back porch was the place where I retreated in piques of simmering resentment over some remark at school or frustration with the world at large. I slammed the door coming and going in adolescent argument, stomped emphatically to cover up my insecurity, smoked furtively, secretively, in the wee hours while everybody else was presumed asleep.I comforted myself in a porch corner with a guitar on my lap writing angst-y songs of the type of meandering melodrama that leapt regularly in the heart of every 14 year old female.  I was pressed into service with trays of sandwiches and tarts when there had been a funeral and everyone came back to my parents afterwards to mull over the details, men shedding ties and rolling their shirtsleeves, women fanning themselves with the order of service pamphlets and tut-tutting at the sultry weather. I came out to my Mother on her back porch at the age of 22, and she told me she had known for years. My homosexuality wasn’t nearly as much of a problem as the fact that I was dating a married woman at the time. I sat on thinking on the porch a for very long time that night.

In each of the places I have lived as an adult, I have managed to either build or re-build a porch. Having a predilection for neglected century cottages, I’ve learned by doing how to safely remove and preserve the best of the old while also shoring up and strengthening footprints with new and/or recycled wood. I’ve dug post holes and unearthed small treasures ; metal toys and pottery shards, bottles and coins and arrowheads, chunks of coal. Tiny animal skeletons, from abandoned under-the-porch homes. In our current location, our porch is quite large especially given the small footprint of the house, and we quite literally live out there April through October; we cook and eat our meals outside, step off into the vegetable garden, and surround ourselves with flowers. We talk and read, and nap, and dream on that porch to the extent that most people check the back gate first, before the front door, knowing they will likely find us there.

There is an indefinable quality to the unmistakable symphony of porch sounds; that combination of floor squeak, screen door bang, rain on the roof and wind in the eaves that seems to leave us comforted. Countless important conversations have occurred in safety there; any number of friends and family have unburdened themselves against the trickle of a tiny pond fountain on the edge of the darkened porch, in the shadows that keep tears private and thoughts escaping freely in unfettered bursts. It is as if the openness provides more room to squirm our way through difficult subjects without accidentally banging elbows in the process, while the proximity of our knees from chair to chair acts as anchor. It’s a great porch for potlucks, for celebrations, for watching fireworks, and for little ones to roll around on with the dogs. By candlelight , its quite romantic. In the sunset, with a glass of wine, its heaven.

I still turn to the porch, whether it’s been a good day or a not-so-good one, for the steadiness and re-calibration of place that it provides me. I meet myself there and remember who and where I am, and am reminded to be grateful for both. I have found myself wishing that in the constant turmoils of an uncertain world, I hope there are porches enough to go around; that there may be that sense of pause and shelter in which a few quiet breaths may give rise to new and respectful conversations, to remind us of our common dreams and those basic things we hold so dear, chief among them, one another as co-travellers in a world where it is all too easy to become lost.