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redrobin-detective · 4 years ago

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Delayed Mourning

Going Angst Day 5: Death

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It was 3pm when there was a knock on Maddie Fenton’s door. She huffed and set down the meal she’d been working on. Of course the one day she had time to pre-plan a nice meal from her family was the day she’d get interrupted.

“Yes? May I help you?” Maddie asked, opening the door. She had expected a salesman. Possibly even a neighbor coming to complain, again, about the noise or the smells that came from Fentonworks. Instead she found a small woman who couldn’t have been much taller than 5 ft with dark brown hair tied up in a tight bun. She was wearing a sharp white shirt and suit jacket with a matching white skirt.

“Mrs. Fenton, hello,” the woman gave a polite little head nod. “I’m from the the Government Institute of Interdimensional Warfare though I hear the locals like to call us the Guys in White.” She said with a knowing smiling, “of course, as you know, it’s not only the guys who are interested in ghosts. May I come in?”

“Oh yes, hello,” Maddie blinked, opening the door to let the agent in. The petite woman stepped inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Her small frame, her oversized glasses and soft nature seemed so at odds with the meatheads Maddie usually found in the GIW. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Perhaps,” the agent demurred. “It’s more there was something I wanted to inform you of. If you’re not too busy, may we sit down and talk? Your husband and children are not home.” Maddie thought that last statement was a bit odd, framed as a statement of fact rather than an inquiry but moved on.

“Yes, Jack’s out of town visiting a relative and my kids won’t be back for a little while,” Maddie said. “Let me just finish putting this roast together, I’m almost done. Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” The woman said quietly. “And please, continue while you’re doing. Let me give you a little bit of background.” The agent adjusted her large glasses with her tiny hands. “Let me introduce myself, you may call me Agent S. I work primarily out of Washington for the Institute but sometimes I am deployed on site for... special cases. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, your town is very special.”

“Now, as you may have noticed, I am not particularly built like the normal Institute agents you have probably come across. That is because I do not work in the field but behind the scene in Investigations. My job is study the history and happenings of hauntings and spectral entities.”

“Oh that sounds fascinating,” Maddie beamed as she finished with her final preps and put the roast in the over. She looked over her shoulder at Agent S while she washed her hands. “Jack and I dabble a bit in history and folklore but we’re more versed in the hard sciences of ghosts.”

“Yes, I’ve read some of your papers, you and your husband truly are the frontrunners in the field,” Agent S nodded. Maddie preened at the praise and sat down, delighted to have a sophisticated conversation with someone in her field who she wasn’t married to. If more of those GIW agents were like Agent S then Maddie would get along a lot better with them. “So, Maddie, may I call you Maddie? What date and time did your portal start working?”

“It was August 28th,” Maddie said proudly. “It didn’t work at first when we first plugged it in. I’m afraid I don’t have an exact time it started up as we weren’t here. Jack was convinced one of the electrical conduction pieces wasn’t fully connected and was preventing ectoplasmic distribution. We ended up driving 4 hours to Springfield and back for some specialty parts only to find the portal working when we returned.”

“I can help you there,” Agent S said with a soft smile reaching into her white briefcase and pulling out several thick folders. She laid them out gently on the table and Maddie was unnerved by some of the information: schematics of Fentonworks, past and present financial records, transcripts of public statements. Her shoulders tensed when she saw Jazz and Danny’s names on some of the files. “Toll camera captured your vehicle on the Jane Addams Memorial Tollway at exactly 1:26pm on August 28th. We can confirm you and your husband’s vehicle traveled to Springfield and back via video feeds and credit card statements at 10:45pm that same day and were therefore out of the city all day.”

Maddie suddenly felt very trapped by the woman’s sharp grey eyes as she plucked a piece of paper and pressed it towards Maddie.

“At 3:18pm, the majority of the residential power in town went out for a period of 2 and a half hours. The cause was determined to be from a massive power surge that blew out the transformer. You may recall being blamed for this outage given your history with previous outages but the news that you were out of town settled that argument. However, I was not convinced.” She pulled out another piece of paper and Maddie bristled to see it was a Casper High attendance sheet.

“Your daughter, Jasmine was at her final summer cram session which ran from 2pm until 5pm. I spoke to her tutors and she never left the whole time and, in fact, stayed late to help a fellow student work through her study materials. But what about your son?” Agent S asked with with a curious smile but her eyes belied the fact that she had her own answers.

“How dare you spy on my family, on my children,” Maddie hissed, crumpling one of the papers in her fist. “Get out of my house, I will sue the pants off of your organization for this invasion of privacy! Get out!”

“Now Maddie, don’t you want to know how your son started up your Portal?” Agent S asked coyly, that drew Maddie up short. Danny? No, he couldn’t have possibly. He had no interest in their work, in fact, now that she thought about it, Danny had been sick that day. Agent S pulled out a set of blueprints for the Fenton Portal. Some small component inside the Portal was circled.

“You left at approximately 1pm and your daughter presumably left not long after. Phone records indicate Daniel called both Tucker Foley and Samantha Manson. Your neighbor, Mrs. Benson, saw them coming into your house not long after but before the 3pm power outage which I was able to triangulate did in fact originate from your home.” Agent S tapped the circled part of the inner portal mechanisms. “Now did you happen to push the on button in the Portal before plugging it in?”

“On button?” Maddie asked with a dry mouth, overwhelmed by the amount of information being thrown her way. All she could think about was how Danny hadn’t seemed sick when they’d left that afternoon but had looked awful when they returned. Would he have really gone downstairs and messed with the Portal? Had he gotten hurt? Been contaminated down there? Images of Vlad’s sickly visage after his accident flowed through her head. She should have paid more attention but she’d been so excited about the Portal working...

“It’s right here in the blueprints you submitted to the patent office, buried under dozens of other hardware bits. Its small, such a little thing compared to all the moving parts required to open up a dimensional portal. Daniel was a bright boy, his middle school records prove it. A bright mind, friends to impress, no parents around to chastise him... I think you can see where I’m going with this.”

“No, no,” Maddie said, burying her hands in her hair. “No, I’m not. You’re saying -what? - that my teenage son turned on the Portal when we were gone? No, my Danny wouldn’t lie to me about that... Why wouldn’t he say anything?”

“I don’t blame him for not mentioned in because, if my hunch is correct, he was inside the Portal when it turned on, killing him instantly,” Agent S said with a carefully neutral face. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I’m afraid this haunting has gone on long enough.”

“My child is alive!” Maddie screeched, standing up in her chair. “Danny is alive and healthy and he is not a ghost!”

“I will admit the evidence of how he died is circumstantial but the fact that Danny Fenton is deceased is not.” Maddie fell back into her chair as he legs gave out underneath her.

She watched the agent put paper after paper in front of her and detailed all sorts of data about her son that Maddie, who lived in the same house as him, had missed. Unusually high ectosignatures picked up by GIW (and their own) detectors, Danny being spotted in some form before most ghost attacks, faked signatures of hers getting him out of nurses’ visits. Maddie barely felt alive herself as she stared at a red light camera photo of her baby sitting atop a light post late, late at night. His eyes were a toxic green color.

“I know this must be distressing as a mother but your child never left that basement, never attended high school and will never achieve his dream of working for NASA.” Agent S said with carefully measured sympathy as she gathered up her papers and put them back in her case. “But you are a brilliant scientist, unlike your husband, you should be able to look past your emotions and see that your child is gone and the ghost he left behind is dangerous.”

“My husband?” Maddie asked blankly, running a finger down Danny’s unnatural photograph.

“I approached Jack two days ago, mistakenly believing he would be the most understanding of you both. He refused to believe the evidence and was, in fact, going to warn your son’s ghost that we planned on taking him. He is safe but he presently being held at one of our facilities until the capture is complete.” Maddie should feel outraged at her husband’s kidnapping but all she could think about was the fact that her son was dead, dead, dead, killed by her own invention over a year ago and she never noticed. How could she not have noticed?

“Daniel’s ghost is extraordinary, not only able to pass as human so accurately for so long but immensely powerful. We need to make sure he doesn’t harm anyone else. Think of his friends who are probably being forced to aid him and keep his death quiet. Think of your husband, your daughter, living in the same house as a dangerous ghost.” Agent S dropped some of her professionalism and plucked the photo of Danny out of Maddie’s hands and replaced it with her own tiny hand.

“I know this is impossible thing to ask but I must do it anyway, will you help me capture what remains of Danny? There is a chance with his charade exposed, he will be able to move on and so will you. You have been wronged, Maddie. You have been denied the right to process and grieve your child by his own ghost. But a delayed mourning is better than none. Danny’s death is a tragedy but please don’t let it become someone else’s.”

“Maybe he’s not-” Maddie’s breath hitched, “he’s never shown any signs of aggression. Jasmine spoke of benevolent spirits... maybe-” Agent S sighed roughly and retracted her hand to grab another photo from her case. Maddie was surprised when she held up a picture of Phantom.

“Ignore the glow,” Agent S instructed. “Change his white hair to black, his green eyes to blue. Think of how often Phantom is spotted in your neighborhood, around Casper High. Remember how he always has his hands on your technology,” the agent frowned. “Think of how he grins when he sees you, like he knows something you don’t. Like it all just a big joke you’re not a part of.” Maddie felt like she’d been slapped.

“Your son is dead,” Agent S said more forcefully, throwing the picture of Phantom next to the spooky one of Danny. “And his ghost has taken his place, taunting you, stealing energy from your family, from the portal that killed him. Phantom’s power is increasing too rapidly and soon we won’t be able to contain him. It’s why I was brought in to identify his haunt so that he could be stopped before anyone else died.”

“I will state this plainly, I am giving you the chance to participate in putting your child to rest but you are not required for this operation. If you refuse, you will be confined with your husband until Phantom is taken down. Do not let this monster with your son’s face trick you any more. So I ask again, Maddie Fenton, will you help us stop Phantom from making a mockery of your son’s memory?”

XxX

“Mom! Jazz! I’m home!” Danny announced, kicking off his shoes and grabbing a paper out of his backpack as he walked into the kitchen with a grin. “And I have a present! Jazz’s tutoring paid off, look at this A I got on my history test! Well A- but a solid A-!”

“Oh... that’s great,” Mom muttered quietly. She was sitting at the kitchen table, not cooking or tinkering with some gadget. Just sitting there quietly, twiddling her thumbs and not looking at him.

“Is everyone okay?” Danny asked, dropping his bag on the floor and walking over to his mother. “I saw Jazz at school but is Dad okay?”

“No, everything is not okay,” she said turning and looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “Someone died, someone I love dearly and I’m not ready to let them go,” she sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “But they've been gone for a long time, even if I’m just hearing about it now. I’m upset but it’s better to know and be grieve than to go on in ignorance, living a lie.”

Danny was about to ask who had died when something was jammed into his neck and he was shocked within an inch of his half life. His body spasmed to escape but his mother was gripping his arm to hold him in place. He transformed unconsciously but that only made it worse. He fell to the floor, ectoplasm leaking off his form as he could barely hold himself together.

“Mom,” he croaked, reaching for her despite everything. She stomped on his hand which was practically goo from such a vicious, destabilizing ectoplasmic shock.

“Don’t you ever call me that,” she hissed through angry tears. “I didn’t want to believe it but the proof is right in front of me you horrible, selfish ghost.” She kicked him in the side and half of him ended up on her boot. “How dare you, how dare you impersonate my son! How dare you string me along all this time, make me look like a fool who had to told that her own child was dead! I bet you just laughed and laughed at our stupid, human ignorance of what your were!”

“‘lease,” he begged through the ectoplasm in his mouth. “I’m still your....”

“My son is dead and he has been for a while,” Mom said, throwing the ecto-taser away from her. Danny vaguely heard the door being kicked in and in his rapidly diminishing vision, he saw black boots and white suits. “With you gone, I can finally come to terms with it and not be tormented by an inadequate replacement.” She turned her back to him. “Get that filth out of my house, I never want to see it again.”

“Of course,” a quiet feminine voice said as his goopy arms were restrained with ghost proof cuffs. “I know this is hard, Maddie but you made the right choice for your family and Danny’s memory. Jack will returned to you within the hour. I spoke to my superiors, for your cooperation, the Institute will take care of declaring Danny dead as well as covering costs for your boy to be laid to rest, the first step in moving on.”

“No, the first step will be removing that duplicitous monster from my home. It’s stolen enough of my baby’s life. Now please leave, I have - I have a funeral to plan.”

#going angst week 2021 #*jazz hands* I uh finally contributed #this is another interesting thing that just sorta happened #I was actually rereading and writing more for Side Effects when I realized that someone could follow the paper trail of the accident #which led me to a tiny lil GIW Investigator who blew Dannys secret wide open #which *then* led me to the tragedy of Maddie learning of her child's 'death' second hand but over a year after a fact #there's something about delayed tragedy... thinking everythings ok only to learn it hasn't been for a while #Love Mads but btw her an Jack shes the one who seems the more likely to take offense to her son's ghost haunting his own life #to keep playing along and pretending to be alive #him secretly being Phantom was the final straw #Both pretending to be Danny then *teasing* her when he saw her as a ghost #(obviously thats not the case but Maddie believes was Made To Believe it was)#Oh I wanted to strange Agent S this whole time typing #the blatant.... manipulation #Maddie may feel free to grieve now but her child's torment was only beginning #haha good times see ya

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lovenhlboys · 4 years ago

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From a Distance (E.Pettersson X Reader)

Chapter 1

Masterlist

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A/n: hello peoples!! I’m so excited to FINALLY post the first chapter of this fic!!! I’ve been working on it for a long time, and after a few unpleasant delays, it’s finally happening 😁. While this isn’t my first fic, this is my first NHL fic, and the first fic I’m posting on Tumblr, so I’m a little nervous. This first chapter is mostly the set up to the main story, this is reader’s side of things with a flashback story. Chapter two will be mostly from Elias’s point of view. The rest of the chapters will switch back and fourth between the two.

CREDIT: Finally, before we get started I have to shout out my proofreaders. Y’all put up with me and my insanity: @siriushxney @iateyourdonuts @petey-patty @hufflepuff-girlx @cherrylita @immmbabyyygraceee @💕💕And specifically @imagines-r-s ASH!!! Babes, you have been the best and most supportive friend I could’ve asked for during this. You boosted my confidence about this fic and I have no idea what I’d do without you 😁😁

Without further ado, let’s get started shall we!! (Sorry for the long A/N, it’ll only be for this first chapter)

Paring: Elias Pettersson X Fem!Reader

Warnings: lots of cursing, friends with benefits but like...just cuddling???, references to iCarly, mentions of One Tree Hill.

Genere: enemies-ish —>friends —> lovers

Legend: (i suggest having these ready before you read)

Y/C/N/N= your cute nick name, only Markstrom calls you it (you’ll see why) this can be either a pet name you like, or a nick name you already have.

Y/N/N= your nick name, Brock, Quinn, and a few others call you this, it’s more of a playful name. Again, this can be a nickname you already have (if you don’t have one I suggest something stupid (sounds like something Stech or Brock would come up with)

Y/N= this is your first name, only Elias calls you this unless it’s a serious situation, or you’re in trouble, or Brock is being an ass. (If it wasn’t clear before...your last name is Boeser)

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: you have a hardcore crush on your brothers best friend, who also happens to barely speak to you...it’s a slight predicament.

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(This is set in the 2021 season, however, because of my denial, Marky and Stech are still in Vancouver and were never traded... also no Covid. however the season was still delayed just to make it easier to follow.)

Present (Feb. 2021)

You’ve always been best friends with your older brother, you never had any real issues when you were younger and you were inseparable. So much so in fact, that once you graduated early a little less than two years ago (June 2019), he asked you to move to Vancouver and live with him. He was always so protective of you and you appreciated everything he has done in your life. One of the best parts about Brock being your older brother was the people he introduced to you. You aren’t very social and god knows how much of a people person your brother is. Once you had moved in, Brock quickly introduced you to the team. And with your double major in Statistics: Data Sciences and Sports Management, you were able to secure a job with the team. Quickly, you found yourself with a second family, one with many members.

Quinn Hughes is your best friend. when you met him about a year and a half ago, you hit it off immediately. With both of you being the same age and not very social, there was an obvious connection there. When Brock and The boys go out, it is you and Quinn who stay in and watch shows on the couch (your favorite being New Girl). Huggy Bear is so sweet and you tell him EVERYTHING, even things you’d never tell your brother. You are still thanking the draft lottery every day that the Canucks received the 7th overall pick that gave you your bestie.

Thatcher Demko AKA Dems AKA Thatch AKA baby goalie is the sweetest and most hilarious guy you know. He is always looking after you just like Brock, but he is also one of the most annoying guys you know. When you’d first met you had the biggest crush on him. You told Quinn as much and he gave you so much shit for it. That crush was short-lived though, once you found out how obnoxious he could be. You still love him, just as a friend. Though Quinn never forgets to remind you of the crush that once was.

Bo Horvat is like another big brother to you. Sure you have Brock, but he’s your best friend. Bo, however, is the person you go to when you needed advice. Holly is one of the only WAGs you’ve become close with. She and you consistently have wine and gossip nights, of which Quinn is sometimes in attendance. Plus, you and Quinn are an amazing babysitting team for Gunnar if you have anything to say about it.

Troy Stecher is the annoying older brother you never had. He always makes fun of you, calls you names, and bullies you in the loving way brothers do. And he never hesitates to come to you if he ever needs girl advice, which seems to happen a lot.

JT was just like Bo, except he is waaay more protective of you, maybe even a bit more than brock. He doesn’t have a sister and when you met, he made it his job to never see you get hurt. Seriously, one day a guy was bugging you at the bar, and both Brock and Bo were struggling to hold him back when he saw him slap you on the ass as you walked away.

Jacob Markstrom, AKA Marky, AKA Giraffe (pronounced like it is in one of your favorite vines), AKA your cuddle buddy for the past few seasons. Both being single, you felt lonely sometimes and Quinn wasn’t much of a hugger (despite what the nickname might have you believe). Thatcher had offered but Marky, though just as social, is much more laid back. It also helps that he is 6’6 putting him over a foot taller than you. So during movie nights, or late nights at the bar, he is the side you lean on. Of course, you made it abundantly clear to most of the boys and yourselves that you were just friends. As sweet as he was and as great of a boyfriend as he would’ve been, he wasn’t quite your type and your personalities clashed.

Then there was Elias Pettersson, the tall, skinny, Swedish guy you knew as Petey. The guy who looked at you often and barely spoke a word directed towards you. He was Brock's best friend and he came over all the time, you didn’t have an issue with him, and you couldn’t deny he was funny, and from what you’ve heard he is a very kind person. So naturally, he was exactly your type. You’ve had a massive crush on him for a while now, somehow despite the lack of conversation. And the few times he has talked to you, he’s seemed so perfect, but there are only a few times you can remember.

Right now, as you're on your way to the Canuck’s break room your brother texted you to meet him in, you try to recall those few times, specifically the one where your crush on him truly developed.

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FLASHBACK (some time in January, 2020)

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You, Quinn, and Jacob were laying on the L-shaped couch in ‘The Boeser apartment’, you were cuddled under the blanket with Jacob, laying on the section perpendicular to the TV, your heads at the corner. Quinn was on the other side of the couch, his head right next to yours. it was about 7 o’clock and the episode of One Tree Hill you were watching had just ended and you three had not eaten dinner yet. As the countdown for the next episode started, your stomach growled and you got a look from Quinn and a giggle from Jacob.

“You hungry Y/C/N/N?” Jacob asked.

You looked up at him and giggled, “maybe just a little bit.”

“Y/N/N, you know what sounds amazing?” Quinn asked, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You turned to each other and you both smirked knowing you were thinking the same thing.

“Spaghetti tacos!!�� You both said.

Ever since you were about 10 and you watched iCarly on TV, you had always wanted to try them. It had become an inside joke between you and Quinn for quite some time as he had the same desire as you to see how good they actually were.

“We should totally try them tonight!!” Quinn was quite excited.

“I’m so confused right now,” Jacob chimed in.

“They’re from a show! They take spaghetti and put it in taco shells,” you explained.

“Ahh, hence the name.” he nodded.

“Exactly,” Quinn said.

You jumped up from the couch excitedly and ran straight to your kitchen.

“Ok, we have spaghetti, spaghetti sauce, ground beef, taco shells, aaaand..... by chance do either of you know how to make good meatballs?”

“You’re asking the Swedish guy if he knows how to make meatballs?” Jacob replied.

“Not Swedish meatballs, Italian, stupid Giraffe,” you retorted.

“Gross,” he said with a disgusted look.

“Ooo my mom made the best Italian meatballs, let me call her to see if she can send me the recipe!” Quinn said with a big smile.

Quinn exited the kitchen and ran to your room to call his mom.

“You know, I’ve never seen him so excited about anything,” Marky said with a laugh.

“Quinn loves his food,” you replied.

“Are Brock and Thatch having dinner with us ?”

“I’ll ask.”

You started boiling the water for the pasta, and you cooked part of the ground beef for the meat sauce. Then you texted Brock:

Y/N/N: hey, you want me to make you dinner

Brock: Yeah, who all is there?

Y/N/N: the usual

Brock: Huggy and Marky?

Y/N/N: yep, so do you want some?

Brock: Yeah, and make enough for another person too

Y/N/N: ok

You figured it was Dems since that’s who he went to hang out with when he left 5 hours ago.

You continued to cook when Quinn came in and grabbed a bunch of stuff from the pantry and cabinets. “Did your mom tell you how to make them?” you questioned your frantic best friend.

“Yes she did and she sent me the recipe too.”

“Coolio,” you reply.

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You were almost done cooking, the pasta was done, Quinn had put his meatballs in the oven and there were only 5 minutes left on the timer. And the sauce had about 2 minutes to simmer.

“Oh my gosh, I forgot what to do when they're almost done, she does this thing, I have to call her,” Quinn said with a panicked look on his face. He ran back to your room.

The front door to your apartment opened quickly, both boys laughing, “ahh, shit, my brother’s calling me,” Brock said as he ran back to his room.

“Why does everyone feel the need to exit the room for phone calls?” you asked Jacob.

He shrugged with a giggle, “I don't know, maybe they don’t trust us,” he said in a sarcastically dramatic tone grasping his chest.

The door closed slowly and you glanced at the doorway where you thought you’d see the ever adorable goalie, Thatcher Demko, instead, you saw the adorable, slender, tall blonde you’d seen all the time, but never had a one on one interaction with... except the first time you met, when he told you that you looked pretty.

“Hi, Petey!” Jacob said as he slipped behind you to watch you mix the sauce, he stood over you looking at the sauce and put his hand on your waist.

“Hi,” he replied, his smile from before had faded.

“Looks so good Y/C/N/N,” Jacob said with a kiss on your cheek, a regular action.

“Thanks, Giraffe, can you grab the taco shells?”

He grabbed them easily from the top shelf (tall ass bitch -_-), and moved behind you, placing his hands on your waist yet again, to move you to the side. “I've gotta run to the bathroom, but I’ll be right back”

“Ok, you have fun with that,” you said with a wink.

Suddenly, was only you and Elias in the room, and the silence was deafening.

“So what are we eating?” he said, pulling your attention to his bright blue eyes.

“Um, spaghetti tacos, they're from a tv sho-”

“Like from iCarly?” he interrupted.

“...Uh yeah? How'd you know?” you couldnt pull your attention away from his eyes, ‘they are just so beautiful,’ you thought somehow you hadnt noticed this within the on and a half years you’d known him.

“We also get Nickelodeon, you know,” he said while throwing you a smirk that made your stomach flip.

“Oh, I didn't know that,” you replied, feeling just a little embarrassed.

“iCarly was my favorite, actually.”

“Yeah, it was mine too,” you said, smiling back, looking at the way he just lit up your kitchen with his presence.

You both stood there for a second just looking at the other, “So how long have-,” he started.

“OKAY,” Quinn unknowingly interrupted, “so she told me what to do, turns out I have to put sauce over them for the last 2 minutes, so Y/N/N can you just put a tablespoon of sauce on each ball then put them back in for two minutes?”

“Yeah of course. Elias, you were saying?” you looked back at the Swede.

“Oh it's nothing,” he looked down at his shoes.

“Ok, Y/N/N you need to call mom and tell her we’re fine and that she doesn't need to worry about us please, Paul says she’s stressing,” Brock said as he entered the room.

“When is she not stressing about us? I’ll call her after dinner, how's dad?”

“Doin’ good, nothing has changed or progressed or whatever since we were home last,” Brock moved and sat on the couch letting out a big sigh.

“That’s good,” you let out a sigh.

“Petey, come here, we’re watching Gossip Girl” Brock shouted at the Swede.

“Ooo what episode are you guys on?” you asked. Brock had mentioned how he was making him watch the show you two had watched about 5 times together.

“Just after Chuck gets Dan kidnapped at Yale.”

“Oh so you still hate Chuck?” you asked Elias.

“Ew, yeah...wait is that gonna change?” Petey said with a scoff.

“Uh....,” you stalled.

“Y/N shut up, don't spoil it,” Brock interrupted before you could make it worse.

“Ok well, dinner is ready so just start the show after and we can all watch it together.”

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“Oh my god, these are actually amazing,” Quinn said with his mouth full.

“I know, I did not think this was gonna taste good,” Jacob added.

“Hey!” you said, offended.

“Y/C/N/N, you know I love your cooking, it was the idea of the meal that I doubted,” Jacob said leaning into your side and putting his arm around your shoulder.

“Mmmhmm, suuure,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Hallå Marky, ni två är söta (hey Marky, you two are cute),” Petey said, confusing you, Quinn and Brock with the sudden change in language.

Jacob, being oblivious to what Petey was implying, just said, “tack broder (thanks, bro).”

Little did you know what was going on in Elias’s head.

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PRESENT

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Before that night, you never really thought of Elias in a romantic way. You'd been around him quite a lot, seeing as how, seemingly, is in your apartment more than his own. Sure, you knew he was cute and very sweet from what you'd seen, but up until that point, you'd never had a one-on-one interaction with him. That interaction, however small, was the beginning of an obsessive crush. Quinn was the first to point it out, you started listening closely any time he talked, attempting to converse with him, and thinking about him on a daily basis even when you didn't see him. And due to your stubbornness, no matter how unrequited your crush seemed, it never faltered. You had always thought he hated you, or maybe he just tolerated you because you were Brock’s sister, and you were always around.

However, that couldn't be farther from the truth.

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Tag list: @calgarycanuck @suffering-canucks-fan

#from a distance: series #pls let me know what you think!!#hockey #nhl #elias pettersson #vancover canucks #elias pettersson fic #brock boeser #elias pettersson x reader #elias pettersson imagines #elias pettersson imagine #vancouver canucks imagines #vancouver canucks fic #hockey fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines

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mlqctranslations · 4 years ago

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Lucien 贪恋 SP Date

Reposted from my instagram account, @mlqc_translations!

Chapter 1

The inside of the traditionally styled room was warm and dry.

I changed into a yukata and sat down on the tatami, taking a deep breath as I tapped the news notification on my phone-- "The announcement of the Kelawo award list has been postponed. Can the genius scientist Lucien Xu become the youngest winner in history?" The large bolded words on the news notification were dark and obvious. ......Postponed? I paused, surprised, and then immediately tapped on the notification to find out more. "...Today, the most renowned award of the scientific realm--the Kelawo Life Science Award, is about to release their winners list. This caught many people's attention both nationally and internationally." "Scientist Professor Lucien Xu's innovative work in the neuroscience department has convinced many to clamour for his nomination." "However, according to the information disclosed, the requirements for this year has changed, and there may be strong competitors in the mix." "The Kelawo Award Committee has also recently announced that, since the opinions of the judges were divided, the release of award list will be delayed until this afternoon today..." I swiped through the news article, wrinkling my brow more and more as I scrolled down. I was so focused on my phone that I didn't notice someone walking towards me. ??: Why are you still looking at the news?

Lucien spoke as he covered my bare legs with a blanket, his gaze sweeping over the screen of my phone. Lucien: You said you invited me to go on this vacation so I could relax and forget about my work... Lucien: But you've been staring at your phone this whole time. He paused, and he looked slightly dejected and sad. Lucien: Does the Professor Lucien in the news appeal more to you than the one in real life? I was momentarily dumbfounded, and then quickly turned off my phone. MC: Of course not! I just...coincidentally came across this news article. I accidentally tapped on it. MC: And...I was mostly looking at the weather report anyways. I widened my eyes in an attempt to seem more convincing. MC: Look, it's snowing so much today. The Innkeeper even suggested that we try the hot springs another time... MC: But according to the weather report, it might stop snowing later. So we might still be able to try it out today! Lucien was silent for a second, and then let out a soft chuckle, nodding his head. Lucien: Mn, it looks like I misunderstood. I didn't think you'd be so thoughtful and considerate. MC: Of course I have to be! It's rare that we both have time off. I was looking forwards to this vacation a lot. It was the truth. In the past few days, Lucien and I were both so busy that we didn't even have time to share a meal together. That's why I chose a hot springs resort. I wanted to stay with Lucien in a room together, relaxing and spending our time with each other peacefully. I raised my head and took Lucien's hand. MC: You've been so busy with your research these past few weeks. You haven't been resting well. MC: Leave the traveling planning and arrangements to me. Your only job is to relax and enjoy the vacation. Lucien: Alright. The corners of his mouth turned up in a faint smile. The sunlight streaming through the window landed on him, coating his body in a soft glow. Lucien: Then...I'll leave it all to you? MC: Yep! Leave it to me. I glanced at the time on my phone, and an idea popped into my head. I raised my head and spoke to Lucien. MC: Since the luggage has all been unpacked and put away, you can go change now! Lucien nodded and walked towards the door. I took this opportunity to pick up my phone secretly, planning to finish reading the news article I just closed. Lucien: Oh, and one more thing. MC: W-What is it? I didn't expect Lucien to turn around and scrambled to hide the phone behind my back. Lucien's gaze flicked back and forth between the phone and my face. He seemed to have something to say, but he just gave a soft chuckle. Lucien: Nothing much, I just wanted to tell you...

Lucien: I'm also looking forwards to this vacation with you a lot.

Chapter 2

While Lucien was changing, I quietly sneaked out, waiting by the door. As expected, an attendant came walking in my direction, holding a rectangular wooden box in her hands. Attendant: Miss, the hotel owner's wife asked me to bring this to you. Attendant: As for the other package you ordered...we express our apologies. Since the product has to be made fresh, we tried to send a driver to pick it up just now, but it's snowing too heavily for them to get down the mountain. MC: That's okay. Thank you for your hard work. Please give my thanks to the owner's wife. I took the box from her and returned to the room, my heart overwhelmed with a flurry of complicated emotions. This is the gift I prepared before we even set off for the resort. I had originally planned to surprise Lucien with it when the Kelawo award results are announced. I was not expecting the award requirements to change. The Kelawo Award announcements were postponed, and my carefully devised plan was disrupted. I stared at the box in my hands, and the thought of a result that I've never expected before appeared in my mind. What if...... My heart sank. Now, I wasn't even sure if this celebration could happen at all... Lucien: What are you thinking about? I turned towards the direction of his voice, and then froze. Lucien was wearing a dark-coloured yukata. The loose collar of the clothing exposed his chest and collarbones. He leaned against the doorframe, looking more casual and relaxed compared to his normal state. His gaze found the wooden box in my hands, and I could see a hint of curiosity in his expression. Lucien: What's that? MC: Um, this...... I searched my mind for a proper explanation. Just then, his phone rang and our conversation was interrupted. Lucien looked at the glowing screen of his phone and wrinkled his brow slightly. After a brief pause, he answered the call. Lucien: Hello? Lucien: ......Yes. His tone was light, but his expression grew serious. The news article from before flashed through my head, and I couldn't help feeling a bit anxious. Lucien: My apologies, I'm on vacation right now. I'm afraid I don't have time for that. Lucien: I look forward to working with you next time. His voice was calm and soft, and he immediately hung up after that sentence. I was caught off guard by the swift action. I looked at him quizzically. Before I could say anything else, Lucien spoke up. Lucien: It's from HuanQiu News. I widened my eyes. HuanQiu News is a well-known weekly magazine in China that mainly reports international issues and major events. It has great influence and fame. MC: And they want to work with you? Lucien: Yeah, they want to interview me. MC: Wow, really? That's great! I felt relieved when I heard that it wasn't the bad news I was expecting, and set the box down on the table beside me. MC: It's such an influential magazine. If you accept their invitation, you can let more people know about your research results. Lucien looked at me, surprised, and then the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Lucien: Why do you want more people to know? MC: Because......I think...for most people, your research results are just a string of boring, meaningless scientific terms. MC: But I know, you put a lot of work and effort into it. MC: Even if you have the title of "Genius Scientist," your determination and perseverance is no less than anyone else. The memories of the time I spent beside him flashed through my head as I spoke. Because of some small data error, he would have to put the papers of his experiment report--that he spent months working on--into the shredder one by one; He would be unable to hide his joy if he got the desired results for his experiment, even suggesting--somewhat childishly--that we go for a movie to celebrate the occasion. I smiled at Lucien and spoke to him in a lighthearted, playful tone. MC: So, I want you to be rewarded for your efforts...that's probably my only wish. My only selfish wish. Lucien stared at me quietly, and a soft, gentle emotion seemed to slowly melt in his eyes. After a while, he gave a quiet laugh and smiled in resignation. Lucien: Dummy. He reached out and gathered me into his arms. Lucien: I declined their invitation. MC: Huh? Why? Lucien didn't answer, and instead, gave a soft chuckle. Lucien: Do you want to know what my selfish wish is? Lucien: You always joke that my time and energy is endless and never used up, but that's not true. They have their limits, too. Lucien: It's just that, I need to save them up and use it all on the person who's most important to me. He paused, gently rubbing the top of my head with his chin. Lucien: This is our vacation. I want to spend it with you, and you alone. I could feel his familiar body temperature on my skin. It felt as if his warmth was slowly seeping into my heart. I couldn't help but wrap my arms around Lucien, wanting to be closer to him and wishing the moment could last longer. MC: Yeah, me too. My gaze landed on the wooden box on the table. I closed my eyes and came to a decision.

MC: Lucien, the belt of your yukata seems to be a little loose. I noticed that the strip of fabric at his waist wasn't tight enough, and subconsciously reached out to help him fix it. MC: Hmm...this doesn't seem to work either...... MC: I'll just help you redo the knot! I untied Lucien's belt, planning to redo it for him. Lucien: It looks like you're very experienced with this. I heard the faint trace of a smile in his voice. I raised my head and met his gaze. Only then did I realize how close and intimate we were. MC: I-I'm not really experienced. It's just that I learned a bit from the attendant when she helped me put my yukata on. MC: Plus, the way girls wear yukata is more complicated than the way guys do. So, tying your belt...it's not very hard for me. I lowered my head, trying to hide my blushing cheeks. Lucien: I see. He nodded and then spread out his arms, allowing me to retie the belt. I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but the breathing at my neck made it hard to focus. The atmosphere was filled with an indescribable feeling. I pressed my lips together, and when I was about to say something, Lucien spoke. Lucien: I didn't notice before now, but there's a few sentences written on that hanging painting over there. MC: Eh? I raised my head and followed his gaze to the wall behind me. A traditionally styled painting was hanging there. Bright red leaves floated down and landed on the clear spring water. They looked like the flames of a raging fire, dyeing the water around it red with warmth and passion. I hadn't paid much attention to it when I first entered the room. Now that I looked at it carefully, I realized that there really were words written there. I was about to examine the sentences, but Lucien beat me to it and read them out loud. Lucien: "The matters of the gods, never concern the humans." Lucien: "The maple dyes the river red, the flowing waters run deep..."

(I’ll leave the original sentence here, since this is a poem and I might have made some translation errors: 悠悠神代事, 黯黯不曾闻, 枫染龙田川, 潺潺流水深)

MC: I think I've seen these phrases before... MC: Is it from that really famous love song? I turned to look at Lucien quizzically, and he nodded. Lucien: Well, it's definitely filled with lots of emotion. Lucien: I think it's probably here to set the mood for Valentine's Day. That's why the wife of the owner put it here. Lucien: And if you look at the writing...it seems it was added not too long ago. I studied the painting again after Lucien's comment. MC: I didn't expect the owner of this hotel to be so considerate and attentive. It looks like a normal painting if you don't examine it carefully... MC: There was a hidden meaning all along... I tried to feel the emotions hidden in the lines and strokes of the painting. This piece of art, originally just used as a normal hanging painting, now had depth and concealed meaning thanks to the added sentences. My attention was all on the painting when I heard a voice by my ear. Lucien: It looks quite beautiful... Lucien: But, aren't you forgetting something? His gaze landed on the belt in my hands. I realized I still didn't finish tying Lucien's yukata. The fabric was draped loosely over his body. The low neckline fell even lower, and more of his chest was exposed. My face grew even warmer. MC: ...I'll finish it now! I tried to ignore my quickening heartbeat and finished tying Lucien's belt. When I was done, I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. I raised my hand to try and fix the low neckline of the yukata, but to my surprise, I discovered that it was just designed that way. MC: Was, was this neckline always so low?

My voice was quiet. Lucien looked down at his yukata, and then a smile of understanding spread across his face. Lucien: Yes, that's how it was when I first put it on. Lucien: I'm pretty sure all men's yukatas here are in this style. MC: That's strange, I think I remember seeing a different type of yukata on the official website... MC: Unless...this is also part of "setting the mood" for Valentine's Day? In order to cover up my flustered feelings, I spoke in a joking tone. Lucien gave a soft laugh, going along with my jokes. Lucien: Yeah, that's possible. He blinked and seemed to think of something. He bent down, leaning close to my ear, and spoke to me in a soft voice. Lucien: I think... Lucien: This counts as setting the mood as well.

Chapter 3

Lucien and I sat opposite to each other on the tatami. He took the sake out of the wooden box and uncorked the bottle, pouring its contents into two cups. Lucien: So this is why you were talking with the owner's wife today... Lucien: Is there a reason for this sudden surprise gift? I answered him calmly, trying to hide my nervousness and anxiety. MC: It's not really sudden, just part of the series of things I planned for this trip... MC: Just think of it as a reward for your past months of hard work! I tried to steer the conversation away from this topic and pointed at the sake cup, gesturing at him invitingly. MC: Apparently, this kind of sake is very popular here. I was afraid that it would be all sold out by the time we arrived, so I ordered it half a month in advance! Lucien's eyes filled with the faint trace of a smile. Lucien: I guess I'd better taste it, then. You worked so hard for it. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip. MC: How is it? Lucien: It has a slightly sweet flavour...quite delicious. MC: That's good! Drinking wine in winter can warm you up. The memories of Lucien drinking wine flashed through my head, and I couldn't help adding to my sentence. MC: ...and its alcohol content isn't very high, so you don't need to worry about getting drunk. He raised an eyebrow. Lucien: It seems like I'm being underestimated. He poured some more sake into the cup, and then sipped at it unhurriedly. Lucien: I've had sake before. I didn't get drunk. MC: I think you've mentioned it to me over the phone before... I felt even more curious after he brought the incident up again. My impression is that he almost never drinks alcohol, but instead, loves tea. MC: Why did you try sake that time? Lucien: Mm...let me think. He set down the cup, propping his head up on one hand, and lifted his gaze to stare at the leaves in the yard behind me. Lucien: It was back when I was still a student. We were celebrating because we won a contest with our project. MC: Huh? Lucien: Didn't expect that, right? His gaze met mine for a split second, and then he continued speaking. Lucien: I had worked with my classmates on a very challenging scientific research project. We finally got our ideal results after a year and a half. He sighed, seeming to remember the scenes of the past. Lucien: They were absolutely overjoyed...dragged me to the tavern to celebrate...... He spoke with resignation, but I could see the corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile. I've almost never seen him celebrate his own achievements. The thought I had suppressed earlier was appearing in my mind again-- I want to stay beside him, celebrate with him, and witness the moment his hard work blossoms and he's rewarded for his efforts. A tangled mess of emotions spread across my chest: anticipation, anxiety, and even a hint of worry... Lucien: You're zoning out again. A light tap landed on my forehead, and I came back to my senses, smiling apologetically at Lucien. He narrowed his eyes, staring at me silently, and then spoke. Lucien: Oh, I remember a game we played back then... MC: A game? Lucien: Here, I'll show you. I watched with interest as Lucien took an empty cup and placed it upside-down on the table. Lucien: It's pretty simple. We take turns, you can either choose to tap the cup with your fingers, or take the cup away. Lucien: If the cup is taken away, the other person has to knock on the table with their knuckles. Touching the cup or tapping the table both count as losing. MC: This game seems to rely heavily on reflexes... Lucien smiled at my slightly confused state. Lucien: Yes, but it isn't very hard. You'll get the hang of it after a round or two. Do you want to give it a try? MC: Sure! I nodded eagerly. A streak of emotion flashed through Lucien's eyes, and a smile appeared on his lips.

MC: ...... MC: That's impossible! I took another sip of sake in frustration. Apparently, the "It isn't very hard" of this game is only directed at Lucien. Aside from having great reflexes, he always seemed to know my thoughts, and predicted my movements ahead of time... MC: It's like you can read my mind... Lucien just smiled in response to my complaint. Lucien: Or maybe it's because I know you so well. Lucien: That's why it's not hard to figure out what you're going to do next. He didn't seem to notice how his words made me flustered and embarrassed. I muttered under my breath. MC: That's not fair... Lucien: Why don't you try putting all of your attention on me as well?

MC: Huh? Lucien tilted his head, supporting his face with one hand. He studied my face curiously. Lucien: Maybe this strategy will be more effective. My heartbeat sped up uncontrollably. For a split second, I couldn't tell if he was teasing me, or being completely serious. I still decided to give it a try. I was losing right now, but this method would give me a chance to turn things around. I have nothing to lose, anyways. We soon started a new round. I followed Lucien's advice and stared at him intently, trying to find loopholes and weak points in his gestures. Lucien was smiling the entire time. He seemed to be in a good mood. It was now my turn to tap the cup. I noticed Lucien wrinkle his brow, and I suddenly decided to change tactics. I grabbed the cup and took it away. MC: ...! Lucien: I lost. He looked at our hands, both touching the top of the cup, and sighed. Lucien: It looks like...I was too careless. Lucien: I shouldn't have told you about that strategy. He looked a little sad and regretful. Lucien took the sake and downed it in one go. MC: Does it really work that well? I was a little surprised by the sudden victory. I wasn't sure if it was just luck or not, but I still grinned and felt excited at finally winning against this flawless person. The game went surprisingly smoothly for me after that. I didn't think I would ever experience such a day, where I was always winning against Lucien. The smile on my face grew wider and wider. It stayed that way until Lucien had to drink another cup of sake as punishment. Looking at his reddish ears and smiling lips, I suddenly realized something. I stopped smiling immediately and walked up to Lucien, looking at him sternly. MC: I nearly fell for your tricks again! His gaze flickered, and he reached out for me. Lucien: What's wrong? He looked at me, blinking innocently. Lucien: Why do you look so angry? Did I do something wrong? I couldn't help but laugh somewhat angrily. He already knew the answer...but he was asking anyways. I squeezed his hand. MC: You're letting me win on purpose, right? Lucien didn't respond, but hooked his fingers around mine, wrapping his palm around my hand. Lucien: Who said I let you win on purpose? Lucien: I'm losing to you willingly. He reached out and brushed his finger against my nose, a smile appearing on his lips once more. Lucien: I can finally see your genuine smile. MC: Eh? Lucien: You've looked worried ever since this morning. Lucien: I had originally thought that I shouldn't pressure you into telling me and wait for you to talk to me yourself, but on second thought, it's not good for you to bear this on your own. Lucien: I'm guessing...the thing that's bothering you... is something concerning me? He looked lost in thought for a second. Lucien: Is it that article from the morning? The determined look in his eyes and his behaviour just now made me suddenly understand. MC: So you wanted to play this game so I could relax more? MC: I should have known...I can't hide anything from you. He laughed and wrapped my hand into his palm, speaking in a teasing tone. Lucien: Tell me, how did the Professor Xu on the article trouble you? I laughed, amused by his words. Since my inner thoughts have already been exposed, I decided to just be honest with him. MC: Well...actually, this bottle of sake was originally a gift for you to celebrate your victory. I didn't expect the list to be postponed... MC: I still want to celebrate with you, but if......the results aren't good, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. MC: ...So, I didn't say anything. I sighed with relief, feeling more at ease after admitting everything to Lucien. MC: But now I think...it's more important to cherish the time we have together. I picked up my phone and turned it off without hesitation, trying to show Lucien my determination. MC: I won't get distracted anymore! The light in Lucien's eyes flickered and, he too, turned his phone off. He wrapped an arm around my waist, and lifted his head. Lucien: Then it's a promise. From now on, don't let anything disturb out time together. Lucien: ...not even humans. I couldn't hold in my laughter when Lucien made another addition to his sentence. MC: ...But it's still my fault for getting distracted before. Now, we can make up for lost time. Lucien: Oh? What do you have in mind? I glanced at the courtyard and raised my eyebrows at Lucien. MC: Didn't you notice? The snow outside is getting smaller. He looked puzzled for a second, but then understood what I was implying. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. The heavy snow storm outside had turned into light, soft snowflakes-- Drifting into the steaming hot springs, and melting away silently.

After having our meal, Lucien and I walked on the stone pathway in the courtyard. The sound of tricking water reached our ears. MC: It looks like the weather report was accurate. The snow is much smaller and lighter than before.

Lucien: Yes, but are you still drunk? We could come back later. MC: Don't worry, I'm totally awake and sober. MC: Plus, I already did my research. According to the internet, the best time to take a soak in the springs is two hours after a meal! Lucien opened his mouth to say something, but then suddenly stopped in his tracks. He stared at the hot springs in front of us, and a streak of shock and surprise flashed through his eyes. I followed his gaze to the outdoor springs, and my eyes widened. MC: This is... To my utter surprise, I realized that this private hot spring didn't have any sort of barrier separating the two sides!

Chapter 4

MC: That's strange...I clearly remember that the pictures on the website had the hot springs separated with wooden boards... I stared at the water, feeling my ear tips turn red. I couldn't help feeling nervous at the thought of two people in the same pool... Just as I was about to say something to break the awkward silence, Lucien spoke up. Lucien: ...I'll just go back to the room. Lucien: I'll come back once you've finished. MC: Huh? I raised my head. Lucien's expression was still calm and gentle, but his eyes avoided mine. Could it be...... ...I'm not the only one who's nervous? Looking at the steaming hot spring, I swallowed and steeled myself. MC: I mean, we've already changed into new clothes and everything...let's just do it together.

Lucien and I sat across from each other in the hot spring. The clear, rippling water came up to our chests. Lucien: Do you think the water temperature is too hot? I raised my head, and my gaze slid disobediently from his bare chest to his collarbones, his Adam's apple, and then his lips...I didn't dare look up any further. MC: No, it's perfect. I shook my head and tried to suppress my rapid heartbeats. I lowered myself a bit more, submerging my shoulders in the warm water, and couldn't help giving a soft sigh. Snowflakes landed on my face, making my skin feel cool and icy, but melted soon after due to the hot air and my warm body. Lucien's hand swept over the surface of the water, making the water splash. He closed his eyes, tilting his head up, and leaned against the rock wall. Lucien: I remember the last time we took a soak in a hot spring. It was snowing...like today. MC: Yeah, I remember that too. My heart warmed as I remembered the last time I celebrated Lucien's birthday. MC: It feels like all of my happy memories about snowy days are spent with you. He slowly opened his eyes. Droplets of water clung to his eyelashes, and the shape of his lips looked attractive and alluring. Lucien: To me, it's not just snowy days. The sound of flowing water overlapped with his voice, reaching my ears through the misty air. The distant memories in my mind seemed to be lit up little by little under Lucien's gentle gaze. My throat felt a little dry after being stared at for so long. My gaze landed on the tray, and I looked over at the wagashi and cups of hot tea. I picked up a cup and took a sip. It wasn't alcohol or sake, but I somehow still felt slightly drunk. I patted my slightly hot face and tried to stretch my body a bit. My foot accidentally touched Lucien's leg. Lucien: ...... MC: ...... My heart skipped a beat and my breathing quickened. The water of the hot spring seemed to make every part of my body more sensitive. I looked up at Lucien. His gaze flickered, and then he looked away. Lucien picked up the other cup on the tray. Lucien: ...The aroma of tea is very strong. MC: Yeah... MC: T-This kind of opportunity is rare, why don't we replace alcohol with tea and give a toast? I bit my tongue in embarrassment as soon as the words were out of my mouth. The hand Lucien was using to hold the cup seemed to shake. He studied my red cheeks for a second, and then couldn't hold in his laughter.

Lucien: Yes, that's a good suggestion, but...... Lucien: Toasts are usually for celebrating. What are we celebrating right now? I was at a loss for words. While I racked my brain for things to say, a thought flashed through my mind. MC: To celebrate- Lucien: I'm going to be very disappointed if you say something like "to celebrate your prizewinning ahead of time" again. MC: Uhm... This man definitely has mind-reading skills! I looked at Lucien's smiling eyes through the white mist, and then couldn't help smiling as well. The snow floated down from the skies, the clear water rippled, but nothing could compare to his shining eyes. Everything in front of me suddenly felt unreal, like a dream. An amazing man was right in front of my eyes, sharing tea and the wonderful snowy view with me. I could see my figure reflect clearly in Lucien's eyes. I suddenly realized that...to me, this moment with him surpasses everything. I instantly spoke without thinking. MC: Then, let's celebrate the moment we share right now. Underneath the water's surface, our touching skin lightly rubbed against each other. The distinct touch made me feel like there were electric currents coursing through my body, the sensation causing ripples in my heart. I no longer avoided his eyes like before, but looked at Lucien quietly. His Adam's apple moved slightly. The pale, warm mist made his dark eyes twinkle with the lights reflecting off the water. I suddenly had the feeling that Lucien could somehow see past the hazy mist and stare straight into my heart. After a while, he gave a soft laugh. Lucien: Only the moment now? MC: What? Lucien didn't answer, but instead, got up and leaned towards me. His chest, originally submerged in the hot spring, was exposed above the water. The temperature of the hot spring made his skin slightly red. The water rippled and splashed, the droplets falling back towards the spring. Slightly nervous, I touched the ground with my foot. I was a little unstable due to the buoyancy of the water, but Lucien grabbed my waist with one hand just in time. I lifted my head, bewildered, and stared at the defined line of Lucien's jaw, my fingertips digging into the tight and strong muscles of his shoulders. His hand slipped over my back and he held me even tighter in his arms. I subconsciously put one hand at his shoulder and pressed the other against his chest. MC: Lucien...... The soft waves of the water lapped against our bodies. Lucien bent down, and his lips moved close to my ears. His voice was slightly hoarse. Lucien: What I want to say is, not only should we celebrate this moment, but also... Lucien: Every single second we have together. A light touch landed on my earlobe, and it felt as if tendrils of fire were lit up there, one by one. The cups collided with a clear, crisp sound. Lucien drank a mouthful of tea, held my chin, and leaned down. I watched his face come closer and closer. I had no time to think, all I could do was close my eyes...... And...experience the numb sensation on my lips and taste the fragrant sweet tea in my mouth.

There was the sound of splashing water as Lucien got up and walked out of the pool. Lucien: Our clothes were left out and now they're wet from the snow. I'll go back to get new clothes. MC: Wait, I'll go with you. I stood up and tried to follow him. Lucien stood frozen in place, and his gaze wavered slightly when he looked at me. I followed his eyes and looked down. The wet towel clung to my body, clearly outlining my figure. Water dripped down from the soaked fabric. A cool breeze blew past, and I suddenly noticed something. I quickly sat back in the hot spring. MC: I-It's so cold... Lucien laughed softly and nodded. Lucien: Yeah, it would be cold for you if you go back like this. Lucien: So, can you wait for me here? I touched my slightly hot face, and nodded at him, smiling. MC: Okay!

When Lucien returned, I was eating the wagashi in the tray. He laughed when he saw me. (Wagashi are traditional Japanese sweets that are typically enjoyed with a cup of green tea. In Chinese, they're called 和果子.)

Lucien: Are you hungry? MC: A little bit. Look, these desserts are all so detailed and beautiful. I pushed the platter towards him. He crouched down and examined them carefully. Lucien: Yeah, you're right. Lucien: I once heard a really skilled pastry chef say that wagashi desserts can express and reflect anything, whether it's from nature or human emotion. MC: Really? I put my arm on the stone edge surrounding the hot spring and started studying the wagashi in the tray curiously. MC: These are made for Valentine's Day. I wonder if they're special in any way. Lucien: I think they are. He leaned down and examined the desserts along with me. Lucien: Maybe...we can use our imagination to take a guess? He smiled and picked up one of the sweets. The shape and design was fairly simple compared to the others. It was round like a small steamed bun, and there was a circular yellow label stamped in the centre. Lucien: I'm sure they made the label yellow for a reason. He looked at it for a while and then handed it to me. Lucien: Can you think of anything? MC: Um...yellow circle...... MC: Like a full moon? I looked up at Lucien. The corners of his mouth turned up, hinting at me to continue on. I stared at the seemingly plain and ordinary wagashi, and suddenly realized something. MC: The moon is a very important symbol of love and can be used to express many different emotions... MC: So, it seems that this wagashi really fits the theme of Valentine's Day. Lucien: Do you want to taste it? I leaned over and bit into the wagashi in his hand. The sweetness melted in my mouth. I was pleasantly surprised to see the red filling underneath the white outside layer. MC: It's red bean paste...! A flash of surprise crossed Lucien's eyes, and after a while, he nodded thoughtfully. Lucien: To choose red filling for the inside... Lucien: That's probably because the person who created it wanted to express the sincere emotions between lovers. MC: So wagashi can really express human emotion... I looked at the emotion-filled dessert, and a warm, gentle feeling grew in my heart. I spoke to Lucien without thinking. MC: You try it too! I remembered something as soon as the words left my mouth, and quickly changed my words. MC: Oh, you don't really like sweets...then I'll take it! I reached out to take the wagashi away from him, but Lucien moved his hand away and out of my reach. MC: Huh? He gave a light laugh at my puzzled look. Lucien: I don't really like sweet things, that's true. Lucien: But...a dessert with such beautiful meaning...I still want to give it a try. MC: But...... Lucien's face appeared in front of mine before I even finished speaking. He put his hand behind my head and leaned down. In the blink of an eye, I felt a sudden warmth on my lips. His hot breath fell on my face, making my skin feel both itchy and numb, dispelling the coolness in the air. The snow on the edge of the pool melted into water and fell into the spring, causing little splashes where they land. After a long time, Lucien finally let go of the hand behind my head and looked at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Lucien: Mm, it's sweeter than I imagined.

Chapter 5

After taking a soak in the pool, Lucien and I walked back to the room. We both froze when the door was pushed open. A gaudy “prize cake” was sitting on the table.

The word "AWARD" was written in large block letters using red chocolate, and right underneath it, was a sentence written in black chocolate-- "The Best Scientist Award". Lucien raised an eyebrow, glancing lazily towards me. I coughed awkwardly. MC: Cough cough...would you believe me if I said the attendant sent this to the wrong room? The door was pushed open again, and the attendant came in with two sets of cutlery. Attendant: You're back, Miss. Did you enjoy the hot springs? Attendant: This is the special cake you ordered. The driver was able to get down the mountain to get it since the snow's smaller now. Please enjoy. The attendant gave me a meaningful look, as if saying "I won't disturb you any longer", and then bowed and walked out. After a short silence, a soft chuckle came from behind me. MC: ......Okay, I'll admit it. I prepared this for you...a present to celebrate your victory in winning the award. MC: I think there's more of a celebratory atmosphere if we eat cake. MC: Well...I know the appearance of the cake is sort of...weird and exaggerated, but it probably tastes okay... Lucien nodded, laughing softly. Lucien: Yes, I think this cake will be delicious. And...... Lucien: Now, I'm convinced that you really do care a lot about this topic. He paused, and then took out his phone, turning it on. Lucien: Since you want to know so badly...let's find out together. MC: ......What? Lucien: Didn't you want to know the results? I remember it said in the article you read this morning...it was going to be delayed until the afternoon. Lucien: It should be the right time now. MC: But...! I watched his unhurried movements, my eyes wide. I seemed to be more nervous than he was. Lucien: If I don't let you know now, you'd be worried over it for the entire day. Right after he finished speaking, his phone buzzed continuously for a few minutes, and endless messages flooded the screen. My heartbeat sped up as I stared as his vibrating phone. Lucien also seems somewhat surprised by the amount of notifications. Lucien: ...A Ming, sent fifteen text messages and called me six times. He wrinkled his brow. Lucien: It looks like he didn't take what I said about "focus on the key points" to heart. MC: I'm currently also questioning your ability to "focus on key points"! Finally, his phone calmed down. Lucien lightly tapped the screen, his face expressionless and emotionless. I looked at him with mixed feelings of anticipation and anxiousness. After a few minutes of silence, Lucien suddenly leaned towards me, burying his head in my shoulder, and let out a soft sigh. Lucien: ...... My heart stopped. MC: I-It's okay...... My mind was blank, and I was stumbling over my words. MC: Maybe it's because they changed the requirements for this year, they need to consider other elements, and...... MC: This is their loss! You're so talented and smart, they're going to regret it for sure! Lucien: ...Really? MC: Yes!! I replied instantly and was about to continue on when my ears caught a low laugh. I suddenly realized that something wasn't right. MC: ......You're tricking me again! I immediately straightened up, trying to escape his embrace. He caught my wrist, laughing, and pulled me into his arms again. Lucien: I didn't trick anyone...it's kind of unfair for you to say that. Lucien: I don't think I actually said anything about the results yet? I bit my lip, pouting slightly as I looked at the triumphant smile in his eyes. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. I dove into the blankets on the bed and pretended to be angry. Even though the news of Lucien's success made me smile from ear to ear, I tried to control my expression and spoke in an upset voice. MC: I was so nervous, yet you still tricked me! MC: I had prepared a third gift for you, aside from the cake and the sake...but now I'm going to reconsider if I should give it to you or not! His low laughter immediately stopped, as if someone had pressed the pause button. I secretly giggled to myself and counted down silently. 3, 2, 1...as expected, I felt a pair of hands hug me from behind when I counted the last number. Lucien: I'm sorry. You were so cute...I couldn't help teasing you. Lucien: So, can you tell me what the last gift is? Lucien waited, and when I didn't respond, he started coughing. Lucien: Cough cough... Lucien: I think I caught a cold from staying outside for so long... I listened to Lucien's coughing. At first, I was startled, but then couldn't hold in my laughter. I didn't think he'd resort to such childish tactics. Lucien also started laughing when he heard my laughter. The hands around my waist tightened, and his voice was more serious when he opened his mouth. Lucien: MC. Lucien: Actually, I don't really care about this award that much. My heart skipped a beat. It was the first time I heard him say something like that. Lucien: Because, everything that I wanted to have......I got it when the research results were announced...maybe even earlier than that. Lucien: Any praise from the outside world, to me, is nothing but icing on the cake. He paused, as if suddenly remembering something, and then started laughing softly. Lucien: But, everything that you've done for me today...I'm very happy about it. Lucien: Whether it's the gifts you gave me, or the sincere words you spoke...all of that made me feel how important I am to you. Lucien rubbed his chin over my forehead through the blanket. Lucien: The only one who would feel happy, nervous, or even sad for me from the bottom of their heart... Lucien: It's probably only this silly girl in front of me. His soft, gentle words fell over my heart, splashing up waves of emotion. Lucien: I think...the reason I keep teasing you is because I want to see more of the reactions and feelings...that you only display for me. Lucien: I guess I'm also a "collector", of some sort-- Lucien: It doesn't matter what form of MC...I want to have them all. Lucien: Will you forgive me now? His tone was filled with tenderness and gentleness. I still didn't respond, but instead, answered with my actions-- I threw off the blankets, and kissed Lucien's cheek as he froze in shock. My fingers swept over the strands of his hair, stopping on his face, and I held on to him tightly, pulling him towards me. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room. As if in a trance, I kissed him over and over, and then pressed my lips against his ear. MC: I'm not angry, you're the silly one here... My lips made their way down the edge of his ear. He gave a sharp intake of breath, and I stopped my kisses and instead, rubbed gently against his ear. After a long time, my eyes met Lucien's, and I finally realized how bold and embarrassing my actions were. I tried to pull away from him. But Lucien didn't allow me to hide. The hand on my waist tightened, and he pressed his forehead against my forehead, his dark eyes staring deep into mine. Lucien: Is this the third gift? Our breaths mingled, both of us breathing hard. I shook my head. MC: ...It's a promise. I tried to calm my breathing, and slowly said the words that had been fermenting in my heart. MC: I was planning to wait until the results were out...no matter if you won or not, I would still say this to you-- MC: In the future, I'm going to stay beside you and spend every memorable moment with you. MC: ...Do you still remember the crystallized flower you gave me? MC: My thoughts are the same as yours. Every single second we spend together is precious and special for me. I don't have a gift as beautiful and romantic as the one you gave me, so I can only express my feelings in words... MC: But this truly is my most genuine and sincere thought. The evening air swept past. Behind Lucien, the flaming red maple leaves fluttered down from the sky. I suddenly had the feeling that Lucien and I were closer than ever. He lowered his gaze, staring at me for a second, and then let out a soft laugh. Lucien: Your romantic sentences have improved a lot since the last time. My face felt hot when I met the mischievous look in his eyes. MC: I was only speaking from the heart! Lucien: Yeah, I know. Lucien: I don't think your words are plain. In fact, I believe the opposite...your words are of great significance and importance to me. Lucien: But, even if I receive such a wonderful vow, there's still one thing... Lucien: Aren't you giving me an empty promise? MC: !... I... I was at a loss for words. Lucien smiled, his gaze traveling down to slightly open lips, emotion wavering in his dark eyes. Lucien: Sometimes...actions speak louder than words. He lifted his arm, brushing his thumb against my lips. Lucien: The sincerity in your promise...maybe I'll understand it better if you express it in a different way. His voice was low, and he lifted his gaze to look at me, lights shimmering in his eyes. Lucien: Are you willing to give it a try? My face turned red, and my thoughts were a mess. The next second, Lucien grabbed my wrist and pressed me to the tatami. MC: Uhf...! His soft tongue pried my teeth open little by little, rubbing against the inside of my mouth gently and delicately, as if trying to rub away all the heat and lingering feelings. I tasted the faint, pleasant flavour of tea in his mouth. It somehow tasted like wine with an incredibly high alcohol content...I felt slightly drunk. He lifted my chin with one hand. Lucien's eyes were half-closed, and he loosened his grip on my hand. His fingers gently caressed the skin of my wrist, slowly and tenderly, making my body gradually relax. The temperature around us rose quickly, and I instinctively threw my arms around his neck, responding to his actions with another kiss. He let go of me just when I started feeling a little dizzy. His familiar soft laugh sounded by my ears. When he saw I was slightly weak from his actions, Lucien held on to my waist and let me sit on his lap. One of my hands were pressed against his sturdy chest, and the other was weakly grasping his already messy and disheveled clothes. MC: Lucien...... I lowered my head and stared into his eyes. I could see some sort of suppressed emotion in his dark eyes, and I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his chin. Lucien: ...... The light reflected in Lucien's eyes seemed to flicker, and then suddenly darkened. The hand Lucien was using to stroke my hair suddenly moved, giving me no time to react, and he pulled me towards him, kissing me once more. Unlike the gentle, tender kiss from before...this one was filled with overwhelming passion and a slight hint of greed. The tingling sensation from my mouth seemed to course through my body like an electrical current. Lucien's warm palm made its way down my back, making me shiver. My senses and emotions were all occupied by him. I could feel the kiss gradually deepen. I felt a slight pain at my collarbone, and I cried out. I could feel a warm, moist touch appear over that area. A layer of fine sweat appeared on our touching skin, and with it, came an intimate, sticky feeling. I ran a hand through the sweat-drenched strands of Lucien's hair and lowered my head to look down at him. His eyes were closed, and his face was slightly red with the colour of maple leaves. I didn't know where to put my eyes, and my face turned hot again. As if feeling my nervousness, the corners of Lucien's mouth turned up slightly. He lifted a hand and covered my eyes. Lucien: Close your eyes. His voice was commanding, but also extremely gentle and tender. I slowly closed my eyes and surrendered myself to him. The last image remaining on my eyes was Lucien's dark, unfathomable eyes... ...And a brilliant red.

- End -

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

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Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @vfordii‘s birthday which was....five months ago. BUT LISTEN, it’s still better than last year’s six months so like...improvement. IMPROVEMENT.

“You know why I called you here.” The Marshal’s voice is soft, barely louder than the hum of the fluorescents. “I presume.”

Shirayuki catches herself at the edge of her seat, chest pitched forward, neck craning to decipher every word and--

She settles back with a frown. Even a PhD isn’t a defense to the cheapest tactic on the pop-psych bookstore self-help shelf, it seems. Worse, Izana knows it, his mouth tipped so subtly toward a smile. And now he knows she knows it, and--

Her mug has gone cool, but it’s at least a credible distraction, a convenient way to buy some time and save face. Not something she ever expected she’d care about. Doesn’t mean she won’t take the opportunity.

“Zen.” The ceramic clacks like a shot as she sets it down. “You want to talk about the drift.”

“Yes.” He breathes, long and labored. “And no. I want him back in the cockpit.”

Come see me at your earliest convenience, his email had said, practically polite by PPDC standards. Manners atrophied when a body spent so much time in the higher altitudes of the chain of command. I’d like to discuss a few things with you.

She’d known what this would be about. What it was always going to be about. And still--

Shirayuki is still disappointed. “You have to be joking. It took him three years to get him into a jaeger at all, and you want to just...push him right back in.”

“No,” he hums, fingers still and steepled over his desk. “I want you to do it.”

There are rules of engagement for tangling with the Marshal. Voices are to be kept low, steady. Think before speaking. Don’t react. Showing an emotion in front of Izana Wisteria would be as good as handing him a rope to hang her with. “I’m not his commander.”

His fingers knit, knuckles popping in the silence-- “I know that, Doctor.”

Her own are curled into fists; at least then he can’t see them shaking. “Then I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job,” he tells her, with only a pause for breath before he does. “I am merely suggesting that it is far past time to remove the kid gloves you have been handling him with.”

Her fists clench, hard enough to leave vivid crescents in the meat of her palms. “I believe I’m the judge of that.”

“Of course.” Every word drips with insincerity. “But I’m sure a little encouragement from you would--”

“I’ll do what’s necessary for the health of my patient,” she informs him, words clipped. “You’re not my commander.”

Izana stills, gaze riveted to her. “I am well aware of that, doctor. But I need him in a jaeger yesterday.”

“You’ve needed him in a jaeger for the past three years.” Shirayuki bolts to her feet, and oh, if only she could locate at least another foot of height, she might be able to finally have the high ground in one of these arguments. “I don’t see what the rush is now.”

His voice doesn’t raise above a pleasant chat, but bitterness weighs down every word. “You should.”

Shirayuki doesn’t believe in violence. Or rather, violence is a choice, and she doesn’t believe in choosing it unless no other option remains that causes less harm, but, well--

She’s got a very short list of people who deserved a black eye, and Izana Wisteria sorely tempts her to put his name on it. “What do you mean by that?”

The Marshall is all tense lines behind the battlement of his desk, a buttress against the fall. “Aren’t you a part of K-Science?”

The only distinction that mattered in the dome was between combatants and non; that a licensed therapist fell more into the ‘administration’ box rather than ‘research scientist’ was the least of their concerns. At least as far as the placement of her office. “Tangentially.”

“Well then.” His tension washes away like debris after the storm. “It’s all in the numbers.”

Shirayuki has been trained extensively in conflict resolution, in effective communication, in managerial manipulation, and still, still-- annoyance dogs her every step, nipping at her heels as she loses herself in the dome’s labyrinth of corridors. For once it would be nice to leave the Marshal’s office with something more like a sense of purpose and less like a reprieve in shoving boulders up a muddy hill in Tartarus, but this far into her tenure with the PPDC, she knows better than to hope for impossible asks. It’s not a new feeling by any means-- there’s certainly a hole worn in her heart for just this sort of fruitless anger and a monkey on her back with Izana Wisteria’s face, but he’s certainly devised an entirely new way to get her hackles up today.

Long limbs insinuate themself next to hers, a white-clad arm weaving its way around her elbow. She looks up-- not far-- into a pearl white, movie star grin.

“Well, well,” Yuzuri lilts, halfway between a drawl and singsong. “Someone’s looking stormy.”

Shirayuki doesn’t know how tall a person has to be to be considered thunderous, but if the crinkle to Yuzuri’s eyes are any indication, she’s well below the mark. “I was meeting with the Marshal.”

Yuzuri swings a single, impressed note. “Yeah, that’d do it. Or, I’d imagine it would. Not like he asks to see many of us in K-Science.”

Funny, she doesn’t say, since he’s so comfortable quoting your data. “You should probably count yourself lucky on that one.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuzuri waves a hand, bangles jangling down her wrist. “Garrack handles him. Honestly, I think she enjoys the aggravation.”

Knowing Garrack like she does, Shirayuki certainly wouldn’t discount it.

Slender fingers flick out a sharp snap. “Hey, maybe you can send her the next time you need to deal with His Majesty. I’m sure she’d kill for a distraction just about now.”

“Oh, no! I’m-- I don’t need any help, it’s just...” She frowns, rifling through the satchel slung over her shoulder. She hardly has anything in it-- lip balm, her notes, a pack of tissues, her civilian identification, her wallet-- but still, her keys are shifted underneath the whole of her life, jingling just out of her reach.

It’s a metaphor, probably, but her love affair with literature is at too much of a standstill these days for her to bother unpacking it. Not when it’s probably going to end in her storming back into the Marshal’s office and demanding he show her some form of respect if he expects her to do her job.

Yuzuri’s mouth curls into a sly smile. “He’s top brass that’s used to having full grown adults ask how high rather than why?”

“That’s part of it,” she admits begrudgingly. “But it would also be nice if he could say what he means, instead of--youch!”

Metal teeth digging painfully into her palm, but she holds on anyway, dragging the ring right out, hair ties and all.

“Instead of...?” Yuzuri prompts, far too amused.

She heaves a sigh, plucking rubber bands off her hand. “Making it all some sort of...logic block word puzzle.”

Blonde brows slant skeptically. “I thought you loved those things.”

“For fun. Not for...” She waves a hand, keys jingling and brightly as Yuzuri’s bangles. “...Professional conversations. I’m not here for his entertainment. I don’t have time for-- for games!”

“Not when you could be doing your actual job.”

“Right.” Her actual job, which has almost exclusively been managing Zen’s feelings regarding Izana for months now. “And now he wants me to...“

She hesitates, teeth sinking into her lip. Outside the dome, patient confidentiality is the backbone of her profession, but here, when everyone eats and breathes and lives on top of one another--

“Lemme guess,” Yuzuri drawls, “get that boy in a pilot seat?”

-- it’s impossible. “I just wish he would show some faith.”

“In you?”

“No.” That’s asking far too much from a man who has only ever trusted as far as the drift could take him. She heaves a sigh, flyaways fluttering in her peripherals. “In Zen.”

A laugh huffs out of Yuzuri. “That’s asking a bit much from an older brother, don’t you think?”

Shirayuki has never, strictly, had a sibling. Ryuu certainly straddles the line between friend, colleague, and family, but she’s never doubted his drive, or the rigorous course of his research. He wouldn’t be her first choice to stand in front of the PPDC committee and defend her findings, but in a pinch, she would trust him wholeheartedly, with no reservations, to do the job.

That does not seem to be the unifying sibling experience. “Is it?”

Yuzuri grins. “You are definitely an only child.”

She restrains her scowl to a disapproving frown. “Maybe, in this case, that’s a good thing.”

They turn down a corridor, and relief floods into her-- this is it, the hall that holds her office at the end. She takes a step forward, but Yuzuri holds her back, gaze fixed leagues away.

“Do you really think he’ll do it?” She blinks, eyes finally focusing down on Shirayuki. “You really think he’ll get back in that jeager?”

“Yes.”

Yuzuri recoils, blinking. “Wow, no hesitation on that one, huh?”

“None,” she agrees, a smile lingering at the edge of her lips. “I know Zen might be hurting right now after--” the most disastrous drift she’s witnessed in her entire career-- “everything, but he...”

She takes in a breath, putting her back to her door. “No matter what happens, Zen always does the right thing.” It’d been that unwavering moral compass that had drawn her to him, a shining bright light among the downtrodden heart of the dome. “He may need a little time to pick himself back up, dust himself back off, but he knows that one day, he’ll have to sit down and talk this out, not run--”

“But not today, it looks like.” Yuzuri’s hand darts right over her shoulder, plucking something off her door.

Shirayuki blinks, letting the yellowed square of paper come into focus.

Something came up. Rain check ~Z

She stares, fingers numb as she swipes the scrap out of Yuzuri’s hands.

“That sunovabitch,” she grits out, paper dinting beneath her grip. “He’s avoiding me.”

“So.” Yuzuri cocks her head, mouth stretching wide. “Wanna grab some grub?”

“I’m just saying.” Suzu’s hand scribbles across a napkin, dropping symbols more arcane than any rift. “If I could just get any of the brass to take a good look at this, things would be different.”

“Different how?” Kazaha drawls, accusation dripping from every word. At least, that’s how it sounds-- it hadn’t taken Shirayuki long to realize that’s just how the man speaks, every phoneme meant to cut glass. The asshole accent, Yuzuri calls it. “Does this somehow improve the quality of life in the dome? The world? The--?”

“It’ll certainly improve my quality of life if I don’t have to hear about it,” Yuzuri deadpans. “C’mon, we’re eating dinner. Let’s put the toys away.”

“It’s not a toy, it’s a tool,” Suzu grumbles, finishing it with a flourish. “And if we used it, we’d know when the kaiju would show up, instead of just waiting for them to wade into the Sea of China or whatever.”

That, at least, gets the team to bow their heads over it, passing around frowns and furrows alike.

“If that was the case,” Kazaha sniffs, pushing it away. “Garrack Gazelt would have already put this in front of the Marshal.”

Suzu scowls, yanking it back. “You know that none of those jarheads appreciate good science! Until I get this paired up with some pretty little graphs, I might as well be speaking Japanese.”

Izuru perks up at that. “Doesn’t the Marshal speak Japanese?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Hm.” Ryuu squirms next to her, craning his head over the napkin. “I think you’re missing a variable.”

“Impossible.” Suzu stares down at it. “Just look here--”

Shirayuki glances down, letters and numbers do-si-doing between roots and over fractions. Izana might shove her office all the way down in K-Science, but that certainly didn’t give her the training to decipher this little bit of mathematical prognostication.

Suzu pitches forward, felt-tip pen rolling across his knuckles in a bit of sleight-of-hand she would have never thought him capable of. “--you’ll see that by putting ‘a’ over ‘n’ squared--”

“All right.” Yuzuri’s fingers knit in the cotton of his button-down, dragging him back down onto the bench with a thump. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

With a lift of his brows, Suzu’s face shifts from fox to puppy in eight muscles flat. “But, Yuzuri--”

“No buts.” Her fingers pluck the pen out of his, dropping it back into a pocket with a firm, warning pat. “Now, as I was trying to say: His Highness is avoiding you.”

Shirayuki blinks, gaze dragging up to where Yuzuri waits with an impatient smirk. “N-no! That’s not it at all. Something probably came up--”

“Izana’s avoiding you?” Suzu swings a wide, gaping stare at her. “Didn’t you just have a meeting today? What did you do to him?”

Her hands fly up, waving off the accusation. “Ah, no, I didn’t--”

“No, not His Majesty, His Highness,” Yuzuri corrects, blowing on a spoonful of the mess’s finest chicken noodle. “And he is avoiding you, which is bullshit.”

She has to bite her cheeks to keep her lips from peeling back into a grimace. “Zen has lots of work to keep him busy--”

“What work?” Kazaha scoffs, meticulously cutting his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “He’s a ranger without a co-pilot. It’s not like he can just jump into a jaeger and fight kaiju with half a working mecha.”

Yuzuri swivels toward him, hands held out with a level of emphasis Shirayuki can’t help but feel is more than the situation truly deserves. Especially since some of the rangers are starting to peer over their way. “See, even Kazaha knows it’s bullshit.”

His mouth purses into a tight frown. “I don’t know why it’s even Kazaha--”

Yuzuri’s brows make a dubious stretch toward her hairline. “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“--I’m very socially astute, even Shidan--”

“--just because he lets you out of the lab doesn’t mean you don’t offend people by breathing--”

“I dunno.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, tapping a spoon on each of his oyster crackers, drowning them in broth. “Zen seems like a real upright guy, you know? Forthright. If he had a problem, he’d say something, not just ghost you.”

Yuzuri stares at him. “He buys you one bubble tea, and now he can do no wrong.”

“Do you know how hard those are to get out here? He had to go all the way out to--”

Whatever else Suzu means to say, it’s lost in the siren.

This isn’t Shirayuki’s first time in the dome-- far from it-- but it’s never easy.

The siren’s moan shivers through the air, something she feels rather than hears. Her teeth rattle in her mouth, and there’s nothing she wants to do more than curl up beneath the table and ride it out, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears. She wouldn’t be the only one; already half of K-Science is on the ground, tears streaming down more than one ashen face.

Man’s worst enemy is fear. Grandpa had told her that, letting her dip her toes into the bay. She’d been small, young enough that she still wondered if kaiju might lurk under the surface, waiting to pull tasty little girls beneath the depths. Kaiju can only kill you once, but fear kills a hundred times. His hand sits heavy on her shoulder, a comfort, a cage; and she--

She gets up.

Pilots and personnel scramble; one tech stands up too fast, boot hooking on the bench’s edge and sprawling face-first into the floor. It’s only ranger reflexes that keep her from getting trampled, dodging around the splay of her fingers with a dexterity that would make Shirayuki’s jaw drop if she wasn’t trying to keep all her molars from jittering out of their sockets.

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t just imagined it, a goad to get her standing. She traces the hand back, up ranger fatigues to dark hair, brows raised, and beneath them--

It’s violet eyes, not gold. Not Obi, but a ranger she’s never seen before, his mouth quirked with cold consideration.

“It would be safer,” he says, voice somehow Altantic-crisp over the cacophony, “if you stayed in your seat.”

Her mouth opens, working around the sounds to thank him, but he’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd of PPDC personnel around her. Shirayuki’s eyes shift over the mob, trying to-- to find him, maybe, or at least a face she knew, someone that she could talk to, someone to memorize one last time--

She finds one, silver-blond hair shimmering at the door, too pale to be anyone else. Zen. It’s Zen looking right at her, those deep blue eyes inscrutable, mouth carved into a line more grim than he’s ever shown her.

He turns away.

“It’s too soon, though,” Suzu murmurs, staring down at his napkin. The screens are on now, muted by the siren’s wails, and there’s a Kaiju on it, frill rigid around its reptilian face as it tears a city to twisted metal ribbons. It’s just buildings, streets, impossible to tell which one, but all that matters right now is not here.

“As I said,” Ryuu says, only just audible over the drone. “You dropped a variable.”

What hurts most, once her teeth stop rattling and her heart ceases to pound in her chest, is that Yuzuri is right-- Zen is avoiding her.

“The sessions are his choice.” Labeling tubes isn’t quite how Shirayuki had envisioned her evening going, especially with her mind half-away, pondering over the Pacific, but it’s something to do. “No one can force him to come.”

“Sounds like that’s half the problem,” Garrack mutters, forehead pressed to the hood, leaving a faint, oily smear across the glass. “Free will. Foils gods and men alike, doesn’t it?”

Her mouth pulls down at the corners, a bow stretched too tight, just like her patience. “I don’t want him to be forced. Therapy only works if the patient wants to change.”

Which, by Zen’s conspicuous absence, tells her he doesn’t. He’s happy as he is, wearing the fatigues but never getting in the cockpit, waiting for a copilot that’s already shown how little he cares about anything but lining his own pocket.

“Of course. You can lead a horse to water, but you’ll never make it drink.” It’s impressive to watch Garrack work; even in rubber sleeves, her grip never trembles, never slips. In the same position, Shirayuki can barely close a fist, but Garrack’s got the same dexterity in the hood as she does out of it. “Good thing you get paid regardless.”

Shirayuki flushes, heat pricking at her pride. “I’m not worried about that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you are,” Garrack murmurs. “I’m just saying it’s nice. Salaried, with room and board to boot.”

Her frown falls further, flirting with a glower. “I’m aware that I’m in the unique position of not having to care in an official capacity if he bothers to come back. But personally--” her breath catches, stomach doing one, solid somersault-- “I do. I want him to want this.”

Garrack hums, not an agreement or judgement, but an acknowledgement. Tactic permission to proceed.

“Izana wants me to tells him to climb into a jeager, to use my-- our personal connection to manipulate him into the cockpit, regardless of what his personal feelings are.” Her breath rushes from her lungs, suddenly ragged, frayed at either end. “No, encourage. That’s what he told me. That it’s my job to do it for humanity.”

One thick eyebrow arches under Garrack’s cap, her eyes bright with interest. “And how do you feel about that?”

It’s strange being on the other side of this question, to be the analyzed instead of the analyzer. She squirms, teeth worrying at her lip, mind racing with possibilities.

“C’mon now,” Garrack chides, mouth hooking into a smirk. She picks up her rack, rattling the small tubes in their holes. “I gave you those for a reason. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, you know-- at least, that’s what people say when they’re afraid of what you’ll get up to if you start thinking.”

She tosses her a wink, ejecting the tip of her pipette into the trash before fitting on another. “Too bad they don’t know that drudgery clears your mind. Have all my best ideas when I’ve got a sharpie and a hundred two-mils to get through. So come on--” she grins, all conspiracy-- “tell me. What do you think of our illustrious leader’s idea?”

Her teeth click shut around her first opinion-- saying Izana Wisteria should go suck eggs would not only please Garrack far too much, but would be around the rest of the base by morning. The last thing she needs is the Marshal inviting her into his office and reading that off one of his hundreds of emails. “...Think that’s beyond my professional scope to comment on.”

“Oh please.” Garrack waves her off, one rubber arm flailing behind the glass. “I’m not asking you to issue a formal complaint about the marshal’s policies. I want to know if you think that kid should get in that steel coffin and kick the closest kaiju in whatever passes for their balls. If throwing another body at the breach is what’s best for humanity.”

“I...”

It shouldn’t be. There’s more rangers on this base than jaegers to fit them; one career pilot pulling back to fill the ranks shouldn’t be more than a drop in the bucket, a chair to fill. But this is no ordinary jaeger-- this is Rex Tyrannous, the most advanced piece of machinery to roll out of a PPDC facility before or since. Rebuilt from the same blueprint as the Mark I, reconfigured with the best technology the Mark III could offer, the Mark IV’s older, more deadly brother, and--

And the money for it hadn’t come out of Defense Corps coffers. No matter how many hopefuls washed up at the dome, the King of Kaijus wouldn’t come out of its box for anyone less than a Wisteria, not as long as at least one was still standing.

“Yes.” She spits the word out like poison, but still she feels unclean. “There’s no one else that can do what he needs to.”

Garrack’s mouth twists in a wry curve. “Then there you go.”

“It’s a conflict of interest!” Shirayuki insists, the sharpie in her hand shaking as she tries to form a 4. “If there was anyone on this base that had the credentials, I’d-- I’d put in the referral myself. He deserves someone that’s impartial--”

“Shirayuki.” With exaggerated care, Garrack pulls her arms from the hood, letting her hands fall down to her lap. “Do you think there is a single soul in this dome who could do the math you did and not be partial?”

Her mouth works, opening once, twice, before settling shut with a snick.

“I didn’t hire you because you lacked bias.” Garrack’s voice pitches low, softer than she’s ever heard her, knuckles white where they clasp her knees . “You wrote a paper about PTSD in rangers that lost a partner in the drift. A paper, might I add, that showed a great deal of knowledge in jaeger production and use. The sort of thing no one learns unless they’ve been locked up under a dome for years before being released in the wild.”

It’s not an accusation, not yet, but Shirayuki’s hands still anyway, clammy beneath latex.

“Because of that useless wall, we’re years behind in jaeger production. We need new mechs, and Rex Tyrannous is the best model we got left, whether it’s been sitting in its box for half a decade or not. ” She settles back, brow arched. “But I don’t need to tell you that, now do I?”

No. Her fingers clench hard around the sharpie. She doesn’t.

“Shirayuki, I know you’re a good kid, but you do get to be selfish sometimes.” Garrack grins, too pleased at the prospect. “You’re human, just like the rest of us. There’s no one who doesn’t have skin in this game.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “But it’s my job to do what’s best for him as my patient, not just--”

Garrack snorts. “Oh, is the discontinuation of the human race not going to affect him?”

Shirayuki frowns, opening her mouth to-- well, to say something quelling, no doubt. But-- “Oh.”

Garrack hunches over her lap, forearms braced on her thighs. “I know the Wisterias put on a good show of being gods, but they’re flesh and blood like the rest of us. It doesn’t do anyone good for them to sit out the apocalypse. Not even themselves.”

“But, I...” She sets the tubes down, gloves crinkling into fists. “I don’t know what happened in the drift, just what the readouts said. It could have been a failure on Obi’s side just as much as his, and if they’re not compatible--”

“Then just ask him,” Garrack sighs, swiveling back toward the hood. “You don’t need to try to read minds.”

“But he’s not talking--”

“Not that Wisteria prick.” She chucks her chin toward the door, toward the vague direction of the dome beyond. “The other one. Seems like the real problem there might be getting him to stop talking.”

“Obi?” She blinks. He’s friendly, sure, but she wouldn’t say he’s been one to volunteer information.

“If that’s the one that’s down here every other day, talking my ears off with Suzu, then yes.” One rubber arm flails at her through the glass. “Now get out of here, and get those two little shits inside their tuna can before a Cat 5 can make it down the coast and make us regret it.”

When she steps into the hall, Shirayuki has every intention of following Garrack’s advice. It’s solid, after all; in a two-sided problem where one solution makes itself unavailable, the obvious answer is the best approach-- especially when in this labyrinth of a dome, there’s only so many places where he can hide.

She stops by the mess for a peace offering. Obi might be disposed to be friendly toward her at the moment, but she knows all too well how far good will will get her if she’s going to start rummaging around in things he’d rather keep cooped up behind that smile. Quality coffee and some contraband cookies might not mend the bridges she burns, but it’ll at least keep them standing while she’s walking over it.

It’s a good plan, a solid plan; she just doesn’t anticipate the company.

“Shirayuki.” Dark circles ring dark eyes, but Mitsuhide smiles just as warm as he always does, sprawled stiffly on the bench. “It’s good to see you.”

“I should be saying the same thing!” she gasps, her and her tea sliding in across from him at the formica table. “I thought you’d be out...” in your tuna can.

She bites her cheek, just hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. Sometimes she really, truly wishes she didn’t listen to Garrack quite as much; her mouth and Garrack’s words made a volatile mix. The sort that would get her a dishonorable discharge, if she weren’t a civilian-- or careful.

“We were. I mean, I was. Both Kiki and myself.” His body twists with a good, solid shake, eyes clearing. “Sorry, just had to exorcise the ghost. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t, but she does. There’s papers on the subject; reams of them-- Longevity of neural imprints in active rangers had been a favorite when she’d been in undergrad, as well as the far more entertaining, Ghost Drifting: How does one leave a ghost while still alive? It’s still novel to witness it, to see that spectral presence cling to the neural stem so long after--

“We just got back a little while ago.” He shifts, his right leg stretching long across the floor, knee bucking stiffly. “Kiki hit the rack, but I needed to, ah, take a walk.”

That’s his-- his good leg, as Kiki likes to call it, the half of him that becomes Redwood Dancer to pair with her left. That’s what makes them first line defense, even in an older Mark III; Kiki’s a real lefty, not one made by the drift. When Dancer throws a punch, both sides come full powered.

That’s what you get being the best of the best, Zen would say, envy and wistfulness thickening his voice, everyone knows they can count on you to serve.

That seems less like a good thing as Shirayuki sits across from it, watching the shadows shift in Mitsuhide’s eyes.

“Did you see it?” she asks, voice a whisper in the cavernous lair of the mess. “The kaiju?”

Mitsuhide grunts, shaking his head. “No, we were kept on standby. Got there after some of the boys in Hong Kong did, and they handled it.”

He doesn’t offer how well; she doesn’t ask.

“Ah,” she hums instead, hunching over her mug. “So it was out that way?”

“When they get that far down, yeah.” One of his large fingers wraps around the handle of his mug, bringing it to his mouth for a long, steady drag. “Not many wander out this way.”

“Alaska--”

“Yeah, there’s a few up north, and I think Seattle always has a good sweat when that happens, but...” His brows furrow, just a small wrinkle in the center of his forehead. “Not so much down here. Not anymore.”

Her palms press against warm ceramic, lips curling into a thin smile. “I guess we don’t have what they want. Whatever that is.”

His mouth gives a wryly twitch. “Thank God for small blessings.”

It would be nice to let the silence between them mellow, to allow herself a companionable respite after swallowing around her heart for half a day, but--

But there are things that won’t keep, no matter how much she’d like to set them aside, set them down even for just a moment. “Mitsuhide...”

He stiffens, the way a dog does when it hears its name shouted in the key of trouble. There’s two ways to respond to conflict, they used to say, fight or flight; years later they added freeze with as begrudging a reception as any change to common wisdom was given. But Mitsuhide does none of those; he just hunkers, eyes warm and dark and wary when they meet hers, hedged by hunched shoulders. The sort of man who grew up in a place where natural disasters are weathered in bathtubs and basements, or else watched from afar on front porches.

“I meant to talk to you.” Her fingers knit into the natural ridges of her mug; the only way to keep them from trembling. “After...after. I mean, not this, but before. The, um...”

It’s ridiculous how many calamities can cluster in a few hours. She’ll need to start numbering them to keep them all straight.

“The drift,” he rasps wearily. “Zen's talked about it with you, hasn’t he?”

Her mouth works; her duty to her profession says to keep it shut, to keep her patient’s business confidential, but her duty as a member of the human race, of a species that is growing more endangered by the year-- “He skipped his session.”

Shirayuki couldn’t have moved him if she hit him, but this rocks him back in his seat. “I’d been hoping...” He shakes his head, mouth curling into a rueful smile. “I thought I’d be the one trying to work something out of you.”

“Ah.” She bows her head, watching the leaves swirl in her tea. “So you haven’t had any luck either?”

Her shakes his head, disappointment stark in every sway. “He won’t talk about it. After he got out of the hanger he went and locked himself in his rack. He only agreed to come to the mess if we promised to drop the whole thing.”

Shirayuki winces. “I’d normally never ask, but when he didn’t show up to our usual appointment...”

Mitsuhide lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t know why he’d do that. I’d give some of my teeth to let someone else listen to my head sometimes.”

She blinks. “You’re always welcome, if you wanted to.”

“No.” His mouth rucks up in a rueful curve. “I really couldn’t.”

“But--”

“The thing they don’t tell you before you get into that cockpit is--” he takes a deep breath, the air emptying out the tension in his shoulders-- “is that the second you hit the drift, all your secrets aren’t your own anymore.”

“Oh.” The drift is two minds laid bare to one another, the deepest form of trust, but in all her studies, she’d never thought what that meant. How tangled and deep a mind could become in things that weren’t theirs to know, weren’t their secrets to carry. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrows ruffle up an inch, curious. “Of course. Anything I can answer.”

“When you first came to the dome, you were...” Shirayuki bites her lips, considering. “You were Zen’s copilot. But then Kiki came...”

The PPDC might be the one that’s stamped on the letterhead, but the Wisterias are the spine of the jeager project as well as its face. Their neural net stretches far and wide through the Corp’s hierarchies, fingers in every pie, and although Zen might not be in the upper echelons of leadership, the sort of state secrets someone might glean from the casual details rattling around in his head...

Well, it’s a good thing the Seirans were just as entrenched.

“Why did you do it?” she asks finally, though it’s miles away from what she means. “Why change when you already...?”

“Ah, well...” Mitsuhide’s shoulders heave awkwardly. “It was an emergency, at first, and then...I don’t know how to explain it. We just fit. Not that I didn’t with Zen, but this was...”

He hesitates, smile edging towards a kind of self-deprecation that doesn’t quite fit him. “It was different. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” she admits. Not to her, at least, someone who has never been in a cockpit, who has never drifted over a set of pons and tried to make a connection. But to someone who has, who has spent the last half decade rotating through a list of hopefuls and throwing them all in the trash-- “But I think...maybe it could.”

Shirayuki would love to say that she’s experienced a perception shift, that a few words with Mitsuhide gave her a clarity that she needs to pore over before acting on, but the fact of it is-- she’s too anxious to approach Obi, pure and simple.

Not that he’s given her much cause; he’s scarce after that failure of a drift, but his absence lacks the marked purpose of Zen’s. It’s hard to find anyone after an attack; everyone’s on high alert, hypervigilant, waiting for another call to come like an aftershock. It’s never happened before, but to assume that means a double event is out of the question--

Well, humanity stopped making assumptions about what lurked beneath the Pacific the day Trespasser ripped the Golden Gate off its moorings.

She catches a glimpse of him every once and a while, always going the wrong way but with a smile to share before he disappears. He’s not avoiding her, he’s avoiding everyone else, and she’s just too much of a cog in the dome’s machinery to not be a casualty of it. It’s nothing personal, she’s sure, but with all the people giving her a wide berth lately, it’s hard not to feel that his absence is pointed.

Still, there are things that just won’t keep. She can’t just keep avoiding this because she’s afraid of one more rejection.

And that’s how she finds herself in the middle of the dome’s combat room, on the business end of Obi’s smirk.

“Doc,” he hums, kicking the end of his staff up to yoke his neck. He makes it look easy, like the jo is an extension of him rather than a separate piece. She can’t help but think of what he might do with a hundred tons of jeager strapped to him, how easy he might make it move. “Funny seeing you here.”

She nods, rocking on her toes. “It’s been a while.”

He swaggers toward her, stopping barely an arm’s length away, hip cocked. Sweat dews along every inch of him, his tank damp and clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, tighter than the lycra in her own gear. His pants swing low, leaving a sliver of skin between it and his shirt, and she--

She should really be looking elsewhere. He’s not a giant, not like Mitsuhide, but when she looks up, it’s a long way to meet his eyes. They’re laughing at her when she does.

“You’re not gonna get anything out of me, you know,” he says as if he’d like to see her try; a challenge rather than a defense. “What happens in the drift stays in the drift.”

Her mouth works; this time stuck less on the sweat crawling over his skin and more on how quickly she’s been made. “I didn’t say I was going to.”

“You had the look.” He shifts, hips drawing her gaze with them. When she glances back up, he seems to find that funny too. “Besides, why else would you come in here? Most shrinks I meet aren’t, hm, combat ready.”

“I-I work out!”

His eyebrows raise, mouth following suit. “That so?”

She flexes arm, baring what, in her humble opinion, is no small bicep. Kiki might have her beat, but in K-science terms she’s practically buff. “See?”

Obi slinks close, hunching over, jo and all, to give her offering a good squint. With a hum she’d like to think is at least mildly impressed, he straightens, suddenly so close she can smell the sweat on him and the faint whiff of his deodorant.

“Well then, I stand corrected.” His smile stretches Cheshire-wide as he steps aside, sweeping out a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Shirayuki peers past him, fighting to keep the grimace from her face. She works out, sure, but more along the lines of slow and low. Yoga. Tai chi. Pilates. Things that promote mind and body balance. But even in the gym, all the equipment is meant for bulking muscle, for building the sort of bodies that can bear up a skyscraper. And the combat room...

Well the only equipment here is the jo in their rack and the tatami on the floor. This isn’t for people looking to do a pull up, it’s for rangers looking to spar.

“Tell you what, Doc,” Obi says, no small amount of amusement or pity in his voice. “I could use a cool down.”

His jo whips down from his shoulders, lightning fast, hands thrusting out in the air, and she--

Her hand rises to match, catching the jo mid-air. She sags under it, a little heavier than she expected from a stick that size, but keeps her feet under her. She glances back at Obi, wide-eyed, but he just lifts his brows, impressed. “How about we go a round, you and me?”

It’s a normal request-- maybe not to her, but the rangers certainly aren’t shy about taking conversations to the tatami. But Obi’s voice does something with it, pushes it down into a register that feels more mattress than mat, and she shivers as she lets the jo drop more naturally into her grip. “Me?”

“Well, I really thought you wouldn’t catch it.” His chin juts toward her staff. “But it looks like you at least know how to hold it.”

Her finger flex around the wood, settling against its smooth surface. “I’ve done it once or twice.”

A half dozen years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His mouth twitches. “Great.”

Obi’s not a mountain of a man, not like Mitsuhide, but when he falls into stance, he could make himself one. It would take an earthquake to move him, and she has the world’s smallest lever. “Come at me.”

Shirayuki shuffles awkwardly on the mat, twisting the jo to rest on both her hands. It feels like she’s got two left ones holding it-- neither one of them are as good as Kiki’s-- but muscle serves her better than memory. Center yourself, Grampa told her, yanking her chest above her hips, feel the earth come to meet you. You’ll be part of it one day, and it’s ready.

Morbid, but it works. Her spine jolts into a straight line, weight teetering between her feet, and she takes her swing.

Obi doesn’t try to dodge. He could-- even in that split second, his muscles twitch, goading him to flee-- but he just raises his staff, a jolt she feels right down to her shoulders. The puny clack echoes in her ears. It’s nothing even close to how him and Zen were sparring.

“Go ahead.” He shifts his weight as she recovers, bracing himself. “Again.”

Right. Her feet flatten against the mat-- or at least they try to, pressing instead against the foam of her sneakers. Her sneakers that she’s still wearing, since she came in here thinking there would be an elliptical, or weights, or not this.

That won’t do at all. She toes them off, setting them at the edge of the tatami, the only spectators to her impending humiliation.

She hesitates, fingers peeling socks over her heels. Obi’s already said she won’t get any information out of him; she doesn’t need to do this. She could walk away right now, and the only consequence would be his teasing. And yet--

And yet, Shirayuki walks back, feet grounding against the weave beneath them. The jo settles between her hands. Obi grins.

When she moves again, it’s with more confidence, memory fueling her strike. He catches it again, but this time it doesn’t rattle her. At least, not until he moves too, viper fast, and then she’s scrambling again. She’s no noodle-armed K-science geek, no matter what Obi might say, but when she thrusts her staff up overhead to meet his swing, her arms tremble, teeth jangling in her mouth.

Obi retreats, amusement clinging to his lips, and she huffs. Maybe she can’t take the same sort of beating Kiki can, but she isn’t about to be some pushover.

She comes at him again, lower this time, on the outside. He’s not prepared-- she can tell the way his eyes widen-- but reflexes smooth his response, drawing her back with a few of his own strikes, and then--

Then it’s just trading blows. Not like his spar with Zen; he’s too skilled and she’s too inexperienced for this to be anything but a planned draw, for him to do anything but go easy on her. But still, still-- there’s a strange electricity every time they meet, more than just their jo rising to meet each other, an anticipation--

Obi steps back, brow furrowed. “Hm.”

Shirayuki’s panting, drenched, and he’s barely broken a sweat. “Is something wrong?”

It certainly doesn’t feel wrong to her.

“N-no.” He plucks her jo from her grip, the swagger gone from his hips as he mounts it on the wall beside his. “Just. Interesting.”

“Interesting?” she prompts hopefully.

Obi shrugs, like there’s an itch between his shoulders. “Did you need anything else, Doc?”

“I...” She bites down on the impulse to ask, to demand to know if he felt it too. “No. I should, um. Get going.”

“Nowhere to go but people to see, huh?” he laughs, but it’s weaker than his usual, stilted.

“Yeah,” she breathes, turning away. “Something like that.”

We just fit, Mitsuhide said with that strange look on his face, a yearning she knows now. If that makes sense.

“Obi?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from another mouth, not her own. Maybe it’s just because she’s bent in half, working cotton over sweaty toes. Maybe it’s because it feels like she’s only working with half a body.

His head swivels, chin peeking over his shoulder. “Yeah, Doc?”

“It wasn’t you, was it?” He blinks, head tilting with confusion, and she clarifies, “It wasn’t your failure.”

His breath tumbles from his like wind over water; she swears she can feel the ripples of it even where she stands. “No,” he says, so soft it’s nearly lost over the rattle of the vents. “Not yet.”

The static fizzles on her skin, belly rocking as she bends to slip on her sneakers, and oh, Mitsuhide’s words might not have made sense before, but--

But she’s worried they’re starting to now.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #this chapter ended up being much more of a beast than i thought #and this is WITH some scenes getting moved to next chapter for like...SPACE #but that's pretty much what took this so long #trying to rearrange this to cover some of the big points that HAD to be covered by Shirayuki POV #so that this was only like...6K instead of 8K and double the chapter length of any one before it #DEEP SIGH #this is a hobby i choose to do for fun

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weekendwarriorblog · 3 years ago

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MOONFALL Review: Master of Disaster Roland Emmerich Has Done It Again

You always know you’re in for a special kind of treat whenever you sit down for a Roland Emmerich movie. While the general concept of Moonfall might seem to be one of his sillier ideas, there’s also some interesting science fact (sort of) amid the fiction, which I’ll get to much further down this review, while still trying to avoid spoilers.

First, we get a 2011 prologue of Patrick Wilson and Halle Berry’s astronauts Brian Harper and Jocinda Fowler on a mission to repair a satellite above the moon when their space shuttle is struck by a torrent of debris coming from the moon. They barely survive, but Harper is discredited over the incident, despite having landed the shuttle safely. Fast forward ten years and John Bradley’s astrologist Dr. KC Houseman is working as a janitor at the UCal-Irvine, but he uses that job to acquire some data that can confirm his theory that the moon has been shifting out of orbit. Now in a high-ranking position at NASA, Fowler learns about this at the same time, so she has to call upon Harper to help her save the world by returning to space in a now-decommissioned space shuttle.

This should probably be pretty evident, but you’re not going into see a Roland Emmerich expecting high art – expect for Anonymous, which is still one of my favorite movies of his – but he’s just so good at creating movies that are entertaining escapist fare that, at times, might make you ponder what it might be like if something devastating happens to the earth. And yet, Moonfall actually features some of Emmerich’s most-rounded characters, ones you’re just as interested in as the storyline, with none of the actors taking things so seriously, they’re not above a quip or two here or there.

I’ve long been a fan of Patrick Wilson and Berry is quite good as one of the three key characters, but I think my biggest surprise was John Bradley (who some might know as Samwell from Game of Thrones), who not only instills humor into the movie with his character but also some genuine emotion with his relationship with his dementia-stricken mother, and as the film’s unlikeliest hero.

Then again, there are also more than a few of the hilarious Emmerich “escape scenes” where people are able to outrun an enormous, seemingly impossible to avoid catastrophe. In this case, one of the funnier ones is when Harper, Fowler and Houseman manage to get the space shuttle Endeavour off the launch pad as an enormous “Gravity wave” bears down on them. No, I have no idea if a “gravity wave” is a thing or not. That’s for Neil deGrasse Tyson to ascertain.

Another running subplot involves Harper’s son estranged Sonny (Charlie Plummer) on a side mission to help get Jocinda’s young son to a government safe haven in Colorado along with her Chinese exchange student governess Michelle (Kelly Yu). Michael Peña, who plays the jerk of a husband husband for Harper’s ex-wife, appears the most in this section of the film but doesn’t add as much humor as we know he can from the Ant-Man movies. Blink and you’ll miss Donald Sutherland, who just appears in a single scene.

Granted, there are aspects to the film that will remind some of the (in my opinion) far better Greenland from 2020, which was clearly inspired by Emmerich’s earlier films only with generally better filmmaking and characterization. Moonfall never loses track of the fact that people going to see the movie will want to see some epic-scale destruction, and of course, Emmerich delivers, destroying New York City (again), but in a waythat allows for a funny sight gag or two. (L.A. gets its fair share of destruction as well, so no one can say Emmerich is playing coastal favorites.)

I do want to get into a little bit of SPOILER territory here, though I’ll try to remain somewhat vague. Are you ready? For a long time, Emmerich was developing a movie called Singularity for Sony Pictures, and I have to assume that some of those ideas became Moonfall, since the reason the moon is out of orbit and heading towards earth involves a MUCH BIGGER idea involving nanobots and A.I. and other science fiction tropes we might have seen in the work of Frank Herbert or Isaac Asimov. Emmerich puts his own personal twist on it, implementing these big ideas in his own inimitable VFX-heavy fashion. I worry some might not like where the movie goes in its last act, which is a shame, since that’s straight-up science fiction world building and where it both diverges and merges with some of Emmerich’s past work.

I’m not expecting critics to suddenly give Emmerich a fair shake, but Moonfall is far better than both 2012 and The Day After Tomorrow, since it feels like more work was put into developing relatable characters despite the over-the-top craziness frequently on display.

In many ways, Moonfall isn’t just another Roland Emmerich disaster flick – it’s more like Roland Emmerich’s answer to 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Rating: 7.5/10

#Moonfall #Movie #Review #Halle Berry #Roland Emmerich

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sa-gt-tarrius · 5 years ago

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Liars Ahead: Proceed with Caution

Warnings:

Foul language, needles, lots of injuries, character death. Tread carefully!

@cakercanart @secret-shifters

This fic is a bit gritty, moreso than what I usually write. If it’s too much for you to handle, or if it’s just not up your alley and you don’t really like the harsher elements, please feel free to let me know! I’d be happy to edit it down to make it less angsty.

***

No one knew exactly how many secrets MIRA Incorporated kept under wraps.

Their kind of work demanded secrecy, of course. When a company is involved in such groundbreaking fields, they are bound to draw prying eyes. MIRA specialized in relativistic aeronautics, atmospheric engineering, and long-term spacefaring. These terms were new-age babble that roughly translated to “living in outer space.” MIRA studied things that science fiction nerds could only dream of seeing.

However, MIRA understood that profits would tank if any old Joe Schmoe could walk into their headquarters and leak their data. It was no surprise, then, that the employees of MIRA knew so little about their own company. Most workers had to stay on their assigned floor for their entire careers. Three whole levels of clearance were required to use the fancy upstairs bathrooms!

But there was one thing that was no secret to anyone: MIRA was planning something big. Something amazing. And whatever it was, it was going to happen soon. Excited whispers swept through every office and laboratory—the company had something in store that would rock the world.

But to Henry Newground, this was all a bit underwhelming.

Henry had been tirelessly working at MIRA HQ for five years. He was an accountant for MIRA’s payroll, which meant he spent most of the day staring at lists of numbers and rummaging through file cabinets. When he was first hired, Henry naively believed that he could climb the corporate ladder and become an astronaut if he just worked hard enough. But alas, it was not to be—even after long years of no sick days and lots of overtime, Henry was still a simple accountant. He fought tooth and nail for a goddamn raise, so it was no wonder that his dream job was a mere fantasy.

At least, that’s what he thought. But then a letter appeared on his desk one morning.

Mr. Henry Newground,

We at MIRA have accepted your application to join our spacefaring and research apprenticeship program. Enclosed in this letter is a Level 10 Clearance Card. You will need it to access the upper office on the 50th floor, where more details will be provided. Please come to the office as soon as your shift ends.

Kind regards,

Elliot Rose

Chief Executive Officer of M.I.R.A. Incorporated

At first, Henry thought this was just a joke. His boss Kerri didn’t mention the letter all day, so she must’ve not known about it. (Either that or she had been in on it the whole time. She was a well-known jokester, after all.) And none of Henry’s coworkers spared him a second glance as he quietly left at five o’clock to head upstairs.

The security guard at the elevator tried to turn Henry away, which seemed to confirm his just-a-prank theory. But as Henry fumbled over a frantic apology, trying to explain that he must have been set up by his coworkers, the security guard spotted a shiny blue rectangle dangling from Henry’s neck: a Level 10 Clearance Card. The guard opened the elevator door without a word, ushering the confused man inside and pressing the button for the fiftieth floor.

“Ms. Rose doesn’t usually let people into her office,” the guard murmured as the elevator ascended ominously. “You must be helping with that big project they’re talking about. All the nerds upstairs won’t shut up about it.”

“Sh–she said she’d give me details when I got to her office.” Henry spun to face the guard, his face scrunched up anxiously. “Do I look okay? I didn’t have time to put on a suit…”

“You look fine. Stand up straight, we’re almost there.”

Given the air of mystery surrounding the upper floors of the building, Henry had no idea what to expect. But what he didn’t anticipate was to be met with a gust of wind. Henry shielded his eyes as a glare of sunlight began to burn his retinas. He was outdoors—on the roof of the building. It looked like a helicopter pad, only much, much larger.

The security officer cleared his throat, gently ushering Henry out of the elevator. He jutted his finger towards the other side of the launch pad, towards a hallway that led back inside the building. “Just follow the path for a bit, and then take the left path at the fork. If you make it to the greenhouse, you went too far.”

“Er, thanks…”

“And make sure you knock. Ms. Rose hates when people barge in.”

Henry nodded tentatively. He took a deep breath and marched towards the entryway, determined to get to the office before chickening out.

The upper floors weren’t that unusual, Henry thought as he trotted along. He passed by a smelly locker room, a tiny medical bay, and a grimy computer room. Nothing about this place seemed particularly flashy or elite. Henry was starting to think he was on the wrong floor.

Henry made the left turn, as the guard told him, and arrived in a small alcove with three rooms. One of the rooms was a lab of some sort, although it was barren and empty for the time being. The room ahead was filled with bushes and shrubs, with a large glass tube in the centre. And the last one was closed—a sign reading “please knock” hung nearly on the doorknob.

Henry knocked three times and yanked his hand away like the wood was searing hot.

Then the door creaked open.

No one knew much about Ms. Elliot Rose. Even the managers and supervisors scarcely spoke of her at all. Henry honestly had no idea what to anticipate from her, aside from the cutthroat ruthlessness most company owners tended to have. But instead of a snide, fierce woman who could tear him apart with a glance, the woman standing in the open doorway was hardly remarkable. She was just barely taller than Henry, no older than thirty, and her red hair bristled out in all directions like she hadn’t brushed it in days. Her eyes were bagged and sunken, almost sickly, and her gaze was panicked and wild for a moment before locking onto Henry.

She frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Rose?” Henry tried, unsure if he was truly talking to the CEO of the largest corporation on the planet. “My name is H–Henry Newground. I was told to come here at five, I–I have a clearance card if you need to see it—”

“Oh, right. Henry.” The woman suddenly straightened up, swinging the door open fully and gesturing for Henry to enter. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for the delay.” Henry stepped inside, clearing his throat in a sorry attempt to appear composed. The room was nothing special—just a small office with four computer desks and a box-shaped radio. The woman took a seat at the messiest desk, leaning back into the chair. Henry claimed an empty chair from a desk nearby, bouncing his leg anxiously. “So, um… about this spacefaring program…”

Elliot Rose smiled, sinking into the chair cushion and leaning back. “I’ve looked over your application and was very happy with what I saw. I think you have potential, Henry.”

“Thank you,” Henry sputtered, baffled and giddy that the CEO was singing such high praises of him. “I’ve always loved learning about space, you know. That’s why I applied for this job. Even as a kid, I—”

“That’s great, Henry,” Elliot hummed, slipping out a gaping yawn before continuing. “Anyway, I just wanted to run a couple of things by you before we send you off. You got your master's degree in microbiology from Harvard, correct? I’ve also heard you’ve taken courses in astrophysics.”

Henry nodded eagerly. “That’s right. I’ve also taken extracurricular classes on geology, I was the leader of the chess club… a–and I sold drinks at the campus football games,” he finished lamely.

“You see, Henry,” Elliot drawled, twirling a pen with her fingers, “I have thirty-four other applicants with higher education than you do. Half of them have three or more doctorates. I don’t care much about your education.” She leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. Something glinted behind her eyes—it was impossible to read. “But you have special skills, ones that could greatly benefit my crew.” Elliot leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. “Our coordinators are getting ready to send supplies to Polus on a small dropship. The trip will last about two days. I want you on that ship before it takes off.”

“Y–you want—” Henry choked on his breath. “You want me to go to space?”

Elliot smirked. “Is that a problem?”

“I–I just— Y–you don’t— W–well—“

“Use your words, Henry.”

“I’m just…” Henry sputtered, struggling to find words to say. “Don’t I need training?”

“You don’t sound very excited… I thought you would be happy about this. Didn’t you apply to join our spacefaring program last year?”

“I mean, yeah.” Henry shuffled in his seat awkwardly. “But my application was turned down. I didn’t have enough education for it. Why do you want me now?”

“Things change,” Elliot laughed. “I’d like to personally ask you to join the Polus crew and help document alien life.”

The two fell silent.

Elliot smirked coyly. “Is that a yes?”

“I–I mean, absolutely,” Henry sputtered. “I’m just… a little confused. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

“I most certainly do,” Elliot replied.

“Okay,” Henry muttered, unsure of how he managed to get into this strange situation with no warning. “So… what now?”

“Go home, get some sleep, and come back here tomorrow. Same time, of course. I’ll get you all the details by then.”

“Okay.”

“Have a good night, Henry.”

“Th–thanks.”

Henry’s head was still spinning as he made his way out of Elliot’s office.

“You alright, buddy?” the security guard piped as Henry entered the elevator, his eyebrow raised curiously. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine.” Henry gripped his forehead, fighting off another dizzy spell. Butterflies were forming in the pit of his stomach as the elevator descended. “I just need to go home.”

And that’s exactly what Henry did. As soon as he fetched his lunch kit from the office fridge, the young man hopped into his SUV and drove straight home. Not even bothering to change out of his work uniform, Henry collapsed on the bed. His head continued spinning.

Surely this was a big joke.

Elliot herself said that many people were far more qualified than he was. So why was she so adamant about having Henry on her crew? It made no sense.

Henry knew he wouldn’t have gotten any answers that night, not by muttering and mumbling into his pillow like a lunatic. He’d have to get the details tomorrow like Elliot told him to. So instead of uselessly mulling it over, Henry plucked his phone off the side table and quickly dialled a number. The phone barely had time to ring before someone on the other end picked up. “Hey, sweetie. How was work today?”

“Hi Henry, it was good! What about you?”

“Well, I–I was called into a meeting by the CEO. She said she wanted me in her spacefaring program.”

“Oh, that’s… hang on. Are you serious? They accepted you?!”

“Yeah. She asked me to help with some research. She said she was impressed by my application and—”

“You’re going to space!” A young woman’s voice bubbled ecstatically over the phone. She laughed and giggled, even belting out an excited shriek for good measure. “I’m so proud of you! I knew you’d get in, I just knew it!”

“You did, yeah.”

“God, I wish I could be there right now,” the woman chuckled. “I want to give you a big hug.”

Henry smiled faintly. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“I’m going to go buy a bunch of chocolates for you today. I don’t know if it’ll get delivered before you leave, but it can at least be a welcome-back present.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Sigrid,” Henry replied. “How would you even send it? The post office won’t accept packages that big. I don’t even know if a box of chocolates would fit in the mail truck.”

The woman, presumably named Sigrid, huffed indignantly. “Well, fine. I’ll just think of something else.”

Henry had never actively sought out a relationship. He was too focused on work to consider dating, and his social circle wasn’t large enough for him to start dating around. And yet, for three years now, Henry had been in a lovely relationship with a woman named Sigrid Brandson. She lived in northwestern Canada (according to her), far away from any large cities, and Henry wasn’t yet lucky enough to meet her face-to-face.

The reason? Sigrid was a giant.

There few places giants and humans could casually be together—and much fewer ways to travel to each other—so they usually spent their time on the phone or video calls. Henry didn’t mind much, although it was disheartening to have never kissed Sigrid even after years of being committed.

It was thanks to Sigrid that Henry learned to speak and write Riesian, the language of the giants. When the two first met on an online fan forum, Sigrid spoke very little English, and Henry didn’t even know the Riesian language existed. But with time and effort, the two were able to cross the language barrier, eventually teaching each other their native tongues.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah, she said I’m going to a planet called Polus. They have a research base set up there.”

“Polus?” Sigrid repeated. “Oh… that’s… that’s nice.”

It was then that Henry realized Sigrid’s voice had become a tad crestfallen. He frowned. “Everything good?”

“Just… be careful out there,” Sigrid murmured. “I know it’s probably fine and I’m worrying about nothing, but make sure you stay safe, okay? And call me if you can. I’m so proud of you, Henry.” She suddenly stopped speaking English and switched to Riesian.

“Bai tcho eim, honey.”

Be safe.

***

On the days leading up to takeoff, Elliot had been vigorously training Henry. He learned how to fix wiring issues, how to power up engines, how to use the weather nodes, and how to examine and sort specimens that were brought into the base. Henry was very quickly becoming a rather competent spacefarer.

But still, Henry was on edge. Despite the training and the reassurances from Elliot, something didn’t sit quite right. But none of that mattered—before he knew it, Henry was stuffed into a white spacesuit, complete with the MIRA logo and the American flag emblazoned on the shoulders. Dozens of people swarmed around him, talking to each other and furiously taking notes. A brisk wind punctuated the murmur of the crowd.

Elliot knelt before him, her hands running along the fabric to make sure the suit would fit Henry.

“You’ll be accompanying Aesir Vidstrom while you’re on Polus,” she said as she worked. “He’s the new chief of medical staff. He’ll meet you at the landing site and help you get settled in.” Elliot fiddled with the straps on Henry’s waist, tightening the suit until it fit. Henry was quite a few inches shorter than prior astronauts, so his spacesuit needed to be altered before he could use it. “You’re to stay with Aesir at all times unless he says otherwise. Is that clear?”

Henry nodded and glanced away, choosing to stare at the looming spaceship atop the crowded launchpad—a dropship, Elliot had called it. The ship was fairly large, about eight meters in height and width, and the nose stretched outwards almost twelve meters. The jet black paint glistened in the early morning sun, and Henry’s nose crinkled at the smell of something burning.

“And remember, my crew is always on standby. We’ll be ready to help you whenever you need it.”

“Th–thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it.” Elliot finally stepped away from Henry, admiring the finished spacesuit. “I think you’re ready. Let’s get you out of here.” She turned around, facing the crowd, and raised her voice. “Five minutes to takeoff!”

“Five minutes!” someone screamed over the din. “Fire up the reactors!”

“Starting reactors! Diverting power to the left and right engines! Standby…”

“All clear, ma’am! Someone get Newground on board!”

“Let’s go, Henry.” Elliot shoved Henry towards the dropship. The large metal plating began to slide up, similar to a garage door. A pair of men in uniform guided Henry up the steps and into the cabin of the ship. Ten plush seats lined the walls—Henry took a tentative seat in the closest one, the farthest to the left, and began to buckle himself in. The men in uniform quickly left as the engine roar increased in volume. The other staff members gathered along the edges of the launch pad in anticipation.

“Good luck, Henry!” Elliot hollered, waving her arm up over the crowd. “You'll do great, I know it!”

Before Henry could reply, the door began to slide shut. The ship shivered and groaned, and within seconds, the whole thing began to rise and sway. Henry barely had time to squeeze his eyes shut before the ship suddenly lurched forward at unimaginable speeds.

The poor man clenched his seatbelt like a lifeline. He knew takeoff would only last a minute or two, and yet the ordeal seemed to last a lifetime. Henry felt his body being squished against the chair, constructing his lungs and preventing him from breathing. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t even scream.

And then, as quickly as it began, everything started to slow down again. The roar of the engine faded somewhat, and the whole cabin gradually stopped shaking. Henry wasn’t quite confident enough to get out of the seat, so he remained strapped in, gasping heavily as he tried to soothe his racing heart.

Finally, when everything was calm, Henry shakily unbuckled himself and rose to stand. As he shuffled through the cabin, he took the time to properly examine the interior of the dropship he would be riding in. There were various steel crates scattered about, each containing canned rations and various tools. A small laptop was placed on the smallest crate, detailing the dropship’s velocity, fuel levels, turbulence, and current distance from Polus. He made a mental note to check on it later to make sure everything was normal.

And then, on the starboard side of the ship, a solitary window glimmered.

Henry dared himself to peer outside.

He paused, then gasped.

Even after seeing outer space countless times in photographs and videotapes, Henry was still gobsmacked by the vast starry void before him. To his right, the planet Earth was rapidly shrinking as he blasted further away, and the sun was a mere speck of light in the distance. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore—Henry was hurtling through the solar system in a spaceship, making his way towards an alien planet.

A childish grin crept onto his face.

This was it. After years of daydreaming, Henry was a real-life astronaut—his younger self would be so proud. Henry was so ecstatic that his earlier anxieties and frustrations were completely forgotten, left behind on his home planet.

In less than two days, Henry would arrive on Polus to begin his spacefaring apprenticeship. He kept thinking about Sigrid, imagining all the stories he’d get to tell her when he got back to Earth.

This was going to be amazing.

He just hoped nothing would go wrong.

***

The trip to Polus was progressing faster than Henry ever expected. He wondered how MIRA’s ships could move so quickly and yet use so little fuel—it was a blessing of science, to be sure.

But by the twentieth hour of the trip came and went, Henry felt anything but blessed.

There wasn’t much for entertainment in the dropship. Henry could only fumble around on the laptop, gaze out of the window, or pace the cabin a few times. The boredom was excruciating, but the anticipation was even worse. Luckily, Elliot had reached out to him a few times via video calls, answering questions and keeping him company during the arduous journey to Polus.

“Any turbulence today?” she asked.

“None,” Henry replied. “No asteroids, either. Everything is fine so far.”

Elliot smiled. “Good. The dropship has a bit of a reputation for rough rides, so I was worried about engine damage. Seems like I was worried about nothing.”

The two made idle conversation every four hours or so, which was a welcome distraction. As much as Henry adored being in space for the first time, he couldn’t deny how lonely and boring it was. And having someone like Elliot to guide him was another welcome addition, even if her presence unnerved Henry somewhat.

Two more days passed. Henry was munching on his lunch ration. He’d opened the package to find sliced canned meat—bland and oily and smelly. But with the addition of some crackers and canned oranges, the meal made for a decent lunch. However, before he was even halfway finished eating, a rumbling began to overtake the cabin. His lunch contained tumbled onto its side, spilling cracker crumbs all over the floor. Henry instinctively latched onto a nearby crate, trying his best not to fall over as the entire ship swayed.

A synthetic voice rose over the fray. “Entering the Polus mesosphere,” it announced in a polite, monotonous tone. “Current velocity: 326 miles per hour. Engine temperature: nominal. Distance from indicated landing site: estimate of 833 miles. Please fasten your seatbelt and prepare for landing.”

Henry was knocked to the ground as the shaking intensified. The ship was approaching Polus, and fast. He crawled to the nearest seat, restraining himself a bit too tightly in his haste. The voice continued droning on as the ship entered the planet’s atmosphere.

“786 miles… 721 miles… 678 miles…”

And then a deafening screech sounded from above. Henry winced and tightened his grip on the seatbelt as the ship suddenly did a nosedive.

“504 miles… 452 miles…”

A siren overhead wailed loudly. Bright red lights flashed in the corners of his eyes.

“310 miles… 259 miles…”

Something was very, very wrong.

“199 miles… 97 miles…”

He braced himself.

“12 miles… 2 miles…”

Everything went white.

***

“Come on, don’t die on me.”

Black dots continued to bounce in Henry’s vision as his mind stirred. The young man let out a miserable groan, clutching his forehead painfully.

“That’s it… Wake up, little guy…”

Henry paused. It took him a moment to realize that the voice overhead wasn’t speaking English. It took two more seconds to realize that the voice was extremely loud, almost like it was coming from a speaker.

Both these mysteries were solved as soon as he opened his eyes.

A monstrously large figure loomed above, blocking out the light of the bulb dangling overhead. Ginormous eyes, hazel and bright, were locked onto Henry’s trembling body. And it—he—was smiling gently.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the giant man murmured in Riesian. “I’m not gonna hurt you, little guy.”

Henry swallowed hard. He took a moment to gather himself so he wouldn’t have a panic attack, then turned his attention back to the giant face hanging above him. The huge, strange man cocked his head curiously. “Ah geez, I hope you’re not broken or anything… That would suck.” The voice boomed and shook Henry’s core, even though the giant was trying to speak softly. Henry couldn’t even keep eye contact without his heart dropping, so he kept his gaze locked onto the giant’s chest. He only barely noticed the white MIRA spacesuit the giant wore, identical to Henry’s suit in every way aside from its massive size. “Oh yeah, you can’t understand me, huh? Maybe we have a translator lying around here…”

“I–I am fine,” Henry fumbled in awkward Riesian, forcing his voice not to waver. He wasn’t even sure if he was even speaking correctly—but he was too nervous to care about his grammar. Fluency was the least of his problems. “I am okay.”

“Sweet.” The giant nodded, froze, then gasped. “...Wait, you can understand me?”

“I d–d–do.”

“But you’re human.” The giant’s face descended further—huge strands of curly brown hair brushed along Henry’s stomach. “Humans don’t speak Riesian.”

“Y–you’re right,” Henry murmured, flinching away from the enormous eyes drilling into him. “It’s a long story.”

The giant suddenly scoffed, his sheepish half-smile giving way to a full grin. “Cheeky bugger, huh? The name’s Aesir. What’s yours?”

“You are Aesir?” Henry perked up. “Aesir Vidstrom?”

Aesir’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, yeah. You’ve heard of me?”

Henry licked his lips, trying to remember some difficult Riesian words. “You are a… scientist. A space e–explorer. B–b–but Ms. Rose… never said you are a… giant.”

“How about that,” Aesir laughed, stroking his chin. “Never thought I’d meet a human like you.”

Thinking for a moment, Aesir snapped his fingers in a sudden realization.

“Oh, wait—then that would make you what’s-his-name, right? HQ said some random new guy was on his way. But they never said you’d be a human. That’s MIRA for you, I guess… If they were stupid enough to wreck your ship, then they’d forget to mention that.”

“Wreck my ship?” Henry repeated slowly. Memories began flooding back into his mind. The alarms, the flashing lights, the sudden nosedive…

The dropship crashed.

“Wait, then I—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, buddy.” The giant winced when Henry scrambled to sit up. “Take it easy, yeah?” Aesir paused for a moment, tapping his foot a few times. “Actually… Wait here for a sec, alright? I need to grab something.”

With that, Aesir moved away to shuffle out of sight.

With the enormous face out of his vision, Henry was able to sit up and finally assess the surrounding area, hissing a bit as he aggravated his injury. He was sitting on a mattress that stretched several meters in every direction. The blue sheets and white pillow were reminiscent of a gurney, like ones you might find in a hospital. And sure enough, upon closer inspection, the room appeared to be a small medical bay, white walls and smell of disinfectant included. There were three other identical beds lined between curtain barriers, just like the bed he was sitting on. Henry peered to the right. He could see the silhouette of Aesir leaned over a countertop through the wall of curtains.

What was he doing over there?

Henry forced himself to speak. “This is Polus?”

“Sure is,” Aesir replied from beyond the curtain wall. “You were lucky you made it this far on that hunk of junk—if your ship malfunctioned any sooner, you might’ve crashed into an asteroid or something.” Aesir came back into view, sidestepping the curtain to approach Henry. “Now stay still.”

“I… uh…” Henry held up his hands, carefully scooting back a few inches. Aesir hadn’t come back to Henry empty-handed; in his left palm, the giant cradled a glass syringe filled with a bluish liquid. The needle was almost six feet tall, taller than Henry was. “I–I do not need that.”

“Yes, you do. Come over here.”

“It is t–too big,” Henry wavered, curling in on himself as Aesir continued to approach. “Nothing hurts. I am… un–uninjured. Do not need that. Do not need it.”

Listening to Henry’s trembling voice and weak attempts to dissuade him, Aesir’s face fell. “Look,” he whispered, getting onto his knees to kneel by the bed, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be. When we’re in medbay, I’m the boss.” The giant slowly reached out his free hand, grasping Henry’s shoulder with his enormous finger and thumb. His other hand, the one bearing the syringe, began to drift closer to Henry. “Now stay still, or this will hurt more than it needs to.”

In a fright, Henry leapt away from Aesir’s hand in a frantic escape attempt. He scrambled across the sheet, making a beeline for the white pillow at the head of the bed.

“Shit—” Aesir cursed under his breath, tossing the needle to the side. He made a lunge forward, both hands outstretched, reaching for Henry’s tiny form. Before Henry could reach the pillows, the terrified human being suddenly found himself encased in musty, cramped darkness. His stomach sank when he realized what just happened—Aesir had trapped him in his hands.

A feeling of intense vertigo overcame him as Aesir stood up straight; he felt himself being slammed against the giant palm beside him. Despite being very obviously trapped, Henry continued to squirm, searching in vain for an opening to crawl through. He pawed at the skin surrounding him, growing ever more desperate.

And then a light shone through the fingers above him. “Stop being a brat,” Aesir muttered. Henry opened his mouth to retort, but his breath hitched in his throat when a sharp pain pierced his lower back. He let out a strangled sob, trying not to thrash around and hurt himself more.

Aesir hummed contentedly. “There we go… nice and easy.” The needle retracted as quickly as it was injected. Henry took the moment of reprieve to dry his eyes and ease his pounding heart. “Told you it wasn’t that bad,” he chuckled. “Just be thankful it wasn’t worse.”

Henry refused to reply—he focused on keeping his eyes locked downward. Aesir’s lack of empathy was beginning to unsettle him; although the giant paid lip service to Henry’s discomfort, he ultimately seemed to care very little about the pain and terror he was causing.

Aesir, oblivious to Henry’s plight, lifted his hands to his face, staring down the sniffling, petrified human with unbridled excitement. “Well, now that you’re all drugged up, I figure we’re good to get your suit back on. Don’t want you freezing out here, you know.”

“Suit?” Ah, yes. They were in space, after all. It made sense that he should have to wear a spacesuit, even if they were indoors. “O–okay.”

Aesir pulled his left hand away from Henry, reaching for the nearby countertop. His hand returned quickly, dangling the white spacesuit with his index and thumb. “Legs up, bud. Let’s get you dressed.”

“I can do it,” Henry said quickly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

“Yeah, nah,” Aesir chuckled. “Doctor’s orders. Now hold still this time, you brat.”

Henry huffed pointedly, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting out of this. With heavy reluctance, Henry slowly raised his legs into the air, allowing Aesir to slip the pant legs on, followed by the sleeves and the helmet. Unfortunately, the visor was cracked along the upper edge, but Aesir urged him not to worry. “The glass is three layers thick,” he explained. “You’ll be fine until we can get a replacement.” Surprisingly, Henry didn’t quite believe him.

Henry had only just gotten the suit fitted (or rather, Aesir did the fitting for him) when someone suddenly spoke up. “Aesir.”

At the sound of the firm, strange voice, Henry flinched. His eyes landed on a figure standing in the corner of the room, dressed in a bulky green spacesuit. Henry couldn’t see her face—the light of the room reflected off the visor, obscuring whatever was behind the glass. Henry briefly imagined that she looked like a war veteran, stoic and hardened, probably with lots of scars decorating their skin.

“Oh, Svikari!” Aesir whirled around at the voice, clearing his throat and donning a lopsided grin. “What brings you here?”

“I came to see the human.” The woman, presumably named Svikari, barely budged as she spoke. It was like she was a statue with a voice of its own. “But I see you’ve taken care of things. I’ll be on my way, then.”

Aesir choked on something. “W–wait! Hang on a tic, alright? Why the hurry?”

Svikari cocked her head, acting as though Aesir’s question was incredibly stupid. “I have work to do. I came to see how the human was doing, and now I have to go.”

“Well, hang on,” Aesir stammered, fumbling over his words. “How about you come with me to storage today? I have to do some refuelling there.”

“I don’t have any tasks in storage today,” Svikari replied curtly.

“Come on, boss,” Aesir urged, lowering his voice. “It’s safer in groups. You know that.” He perked up a bit, raising his cupped hands. Not expecting to be jerked upward, Henry was almost launched off his palms. “A–and I know you wanna meet the human! He’s kind of bratty, but I think you’ll like him.”

Svikari paused. “Hello, human,” she said softly. “I trust you’ve been treated well?”

Henry hesitated. What was he supposed to say? He was tempted to start ratting off all the bruises he was getting thanks to Aesir, but he bit his tongue. Would he get in trouble if he told the truth? This Svikari character seemed far less sympathetic than Aesir, so perhaps there would be no point in complaining. They might even hurt him even more for speaking up. So he swallowed his pride and nodded slowly. “Y–yes, I am fine.”

Svikari paused, glancing between Henry, who shuddered under her scrutinizing gaze, and Aesir, who smiled hopefully.

“If you’re that afraid to go alone, I suppose I can come,” Svikari sighed.

“I’m not scared!” Aesir retorted, tightening his painful grip on Henry. “I just don’t wanna get jumped in there.” Shrugging, Aesir once again prodded Henry in the stomach, chuckling as he did so. “I guess if an imposter shows up, I can use Henry as bait. You wouldn’t mind, right bud?”

Svikari laughed in reply, although something about her tone seemed… off. Henry wasn’t able to tell if the laughter was genuine or sarcastic. Henry said nothing at first, focusing on clutching his stomach to keep himself from throwing up.

“I–imposters?” Henry finally coughed. “What are imposters?”

“Oops.” Aesir winced painfully. “Uh, well… we weren’t supposed to tell you.”

“I see no harm in explaining,” Svikari interjected. “If he’s going to stay here, he should know.”

“But Ms. Rose said—”

“I’ll handle Rose. Just keep your mouth shut.”

Aesir groaned, scrunching up his face in discomfort. “I mean… you’re the boss, dude. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s scary when she gets mad.”

“Thank you, Aesir.” Svikari nodded, finally turning her attention back to Henry. “I assume Elliot never told you about the strange happenings on this base?”

“N–no.”

“I thought not. It’s in her best interest to keep this all a secret, after all.” Svikari folded her arms, exuding that terrifying, ominous energy that only giants were capable of. “Elliot probably told you that we found life on this planet. The life forms we discovered are what we’ve been calling imposters—carnivorous, man-eating shapeshifters that we’ve been trying to get rid of for the last few months.”

Henry felt his stomach drop. Carnivores? Man-eating? Shapeshifters? Someone had to be pulling his leg at this point. “Ms. Rose said you found plant life,” he countered quickly, not willing to believe Svikari’s wild claims. “She said nothing about aliens.”

“That’s because she was lying.”

“B–but why would she lie?”

“Telling people would be bad for business, I guess. Who knows what goes on in her head.” Svikari shrugged weakly. “Imposters have been wreaking lots of havoc lately. They kill the lights, mess with the reactors, cut off the oxygen supply… and I’m willing to bet they caused your ship to crash.”

“You’re right,” Aesir gasped. “I didn’t even think about that. They probably messed with the radio signals or something.”

“We’re pretty sure we got rid of them for now, at least.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Aesir corrected. “Remember what happened to Tor?”

“Of course I do,” Svikari huffed. “It took Bastion weeks to get the blood out of the carpet.”

Oh, dear god.

There was no room for doubt, then. Henry began to tremble, tears causing his eyes to glimmer. What sort of cruel joke was the universe playing on him? After so long, he manages to achieve his dream of becoming an astronaut, only to find himself stranded on a faraway planet with malicious giants and man-eating aliens. Some malicious deity had to be laughing their ass off right about now.

“Aww, don’t worry, little guy!” Aesir cooed behind his visor, bouncing the human seated in his hand. “Big bad imposter people can’t hurt you out here.”

While Aesir continued to coo condescending reassurances, bouncing his hand in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, Svikari stared thoughtfully at the minuscule human. Henry had no idea what was going on in that strange head of hers. Henry simply gripped the coarse fabric of Aesir’s glove, trying his best not to descend into a full-blown breakdown.

“We should be going,” Svikari said suddenly. “Let’s take care of refuelling so I can finish my tasks.”

Aesir hummed in agreement. “Okay. Let’s go.”

***

If Henry was being frank, which he usually wasn’t, he’d say that Polus was a bit… underwhelming. If he wasn’t looking at the dank, snowy, barren landscape, or the abnormally large scale of everything around him, Henry would truly believe he was still on earth. Still, Aesir seemed determined to remind Henry just how small he was at any given opportunity. He’d croon, poke, and tease him incessantly, despite Henry’s continual whimpers of disapproval.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Aesir to fill up the fuel tank in the storage room, which was a cramped little building in the centre of the base. Svikari decided to just follow Aesir around until all his tasks were done, with the promise that Aesir would return the favour afterward.

Svikari offered to carry Henry while Aesir worked. The giant was visibly hesitant about this proposition, refusing the offer the first few times Svikari asked. But eventually, Aesir relented, and Henry had been relegated to riding in Svikari’s hands. Henry sat in silence, rubbing his newfound bruises absently. He briefly wondered if someone would give him painkillers if he asked, but he pushed the thought away. There’s no chance they’d even consider the idea.

“Almost done,” Aesir announced after a while, leading the group down a long hallway. Small patches of snow crunched beneath their boots as they trudged along. “I just gotta check the oxygen supply. Svikari, what tasks do you have left?”

A beat of silence passed before an answer came out. “O–oh, I need to fill the air canisters,” Svikari said quickly, stumbling over her words a bit. “And then I have to upload some data to HQ.”

“Cool.” Aesir glanced behind him, eyeing Henry with a cheeky grin. “You good back there, pipsqueak? Need anything?”

“No,” Henry mumbled.

Aesir laughed, unfazed by Henry’s sneering tone. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a knot.”

After his initial wave of terror had passed, Henry found himself becoming increasingly agitated. He was upset with Aesir for terrorizing him in the lab. He was angry at Elliot for sending him to Polus. And he was mad at Svikari, too. He didn’t have a reason to be, but darn it, he was mad anyway.

Henry was broken out of his thoughts when something brushed against his shoulder—a thumb. “Hey.” Svikari tapped him gently, her head tilted to the side. “You look upset. Is everything ok?”

With her intimidating presence, Henry could barely keep his eyes on Svikari. His eyes drifted to the ground, locked into his feet as he replied quietly. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” the giant prodded. “Did he... Did Aesir hurt you? You don’t look too good.”

Henry bit his lip nervously. “N–no, he didn’t.”

Svikari sighed. “You’re lying. I can tell.” She adjusted her hands, swiveling Henry around so he had to face her completely. “Tell me what happened.”

“I–I...” Henry backpedalled, scooting as far away from Svikari’s looming face. He found his back pressing against Svikari’s curled fingers, and through the shimmering glass, he could almost see two pleading eyes locked into him. “H–he didn’t mean to. I just... wh–when he tried to give me those medications, I tried to run away—”

“What?” Svikari frowned. “Hang on, back up. What medications? What are you talking about?”

“U–um, he didn’t say what it was. Maybe it was a painkiller.”

“...Did he use a needle? Was it a blue liquid?”

“H–how did you know that?”

Svikari fell silent. She glanced towards Aesir, who was walking a ways ahead, and her muscles tensed. “That wasn’t a painkiller,” she said lowly. “It’s an experimental drug that our old medical chief was working on. We aren’t allowed to use it until we test it, since it killed our test subjects a few days ago. Aesir seriously could have killed you.”

Henry’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“I knew something was fishy,” Svikari growled, her grip on Henry tightening slightly. “Aesir was just an intern until our old medical chief got killed by impostors. No one thinks he’s cut out for the position, but we don’t have anyone else who’s even remotely qualified.”

Silence overcame them for a few minutes.

“Aesir,” Svikari finally called, a hard edge lining her voice. “Can we talk?”

Aesir stopped in his tracks. He turned to Svikari questioningly. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”

“About that drug you were working on... Have you tested it lately?”

Aesir paused, tapping his foot as he descended into thought. “Hmm... No, I don’t think so. Not since the rats died on me.”

“I see.” Svikari huffed indignantly. If she weren’t holding Henry, she most certainly would be crossing her arms. “So you haven’t used it at all since then?”

“Nope.”

“That’s funny,” she laughed. “Because I’m pretty sure you used it on the human this morning.”

Aesir’s arms and shoulders locked up.

“Am I right?”

“...Did he tell you that?”

“No, I figured it out.”

“Oh.” Aesir looked down at Henry, a faint scowl crossing his face before he turned his attention back to Svikari. “Don’t tell anyone,” he breathed. “Please. I could get fired.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Svikari snapped. “You weren’t worried about killing him? God, it’s just like you to pull a stunt like that. You only care about yourself.”

“I–it’s not like that, boss. I promise.”

Svikari groaned, rubbing her face with her free hand. “I won’t tell anyone. But you have to get your act together or I’m bringing this issue to the captain.” Her fingers curled inward, shielding Henry from Aesir’s view. “And until then, I’m revoking your jurisdiction over the human. He’ll be accompanying me from now on.”

“But I—”

“Is that a problem?”

“N–no, ma’am,” Aesir replied shakily. “You’re the boss.”

“Good.” Svikari nodded firmly. “Now, then... let’s finish our tasks before I change my mind.”

Aesir nodded, ducked his head, and continued walking in silence. His footsteps clomped much faster than before, but Svikari continued at her usual slower pace.

“I’ll take care of this, Henry,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.”

Way to make an impossible request. Henry wasn’t just worried—he was terrified. Not only did Aesir try to make him a test subject for his weird new drug, but now he had to face the wrath of the very giant that could have killed him. The only thing standing between himself and Aesir was Svikari, who Henry wasn’t even sure he could trust.

Svikari probably meant well. At least, Henry wanted to believe that. But something was off about her that Henry couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way she carried herself, her odd way of speaking, her constant bouts of silence… She was weird. No one would deny that.

But there was something else. Svikari wasn’t just strange—she was downright creepy. She obviously knew much more than she was letting on, and Henry couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met her somewhere before.

And then a thought struck him.

Henry craned his neck up to look at Svikari’s visor, and through the glass, he could almost spot the outline of two large eyes. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

“You told me earlier, remember?”

“No, I didn’t. I never told you my name. Neither did Aesir.”

“Oh.” Svikari slowed to a stop. She glanced at Aesir, who was too far ahead to hear them conversing. The giant huffed and lowered her voice, a frantic tinge lining her words. “I’ll… I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.” Henry wasn’t sure why he felt so brave all of a sudden; maybe he was fed up with being constantly treated like a child, or maybe he was just experiencing an adrenaline rush. But he felt he had nothing else to lose at this point—Henry wouldn’t be giving up until he got an answer. “What’s your deal?”

“Deal?” Svikari laughed nervously. “I… I don’t have a deal. I’m just Svikari.”

Henry found it a bit strange that Svikari was caving so easily to his interrogation. She had no problem shutting down Aesir, so why was she losing face in front of a human? It made no sense. But Henry was beginning to put puzzle pieces together. Svikari knew Henry’s name. She was invested in keeping him safe. She was able to tell when he was lying. And here she was, her tail tucked between her legs, being verbally grilled by a human being.

This Svikari person… seemed awfully familiar.

“Are you?” Henry glared daggers at Svikari’s visor. “Because I don’t think you’re telling the truth. Is that even your real name?”

“It’s—!”

“Tell me the truth!” Henry hollered, throwing his arms to the air in frustration. “I’m tired of being babied! I’m tired of you two hiding things from me! Tell me the truth right now!”

“Okay, okay!” Svikari hissed. “Keep your voice down, alright? I don’t want Aesir listening.”

At that, Henry sobered a bit, tossing a cautious glance at Aesir walking ahead. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have heard anything. “So out with it,” Henry snapped, facing Svikari with a scowl. “What’s going on?”

“...You were onto something when you mentioned my name,” Svikari said slowly, every word hushed and deliberate. “Just so we’re clear—my real name is Svikari. But you wouldn’t know me by that name.”

“You used another name,” Henry finished, the dots finally connecting in his mind. “When you talked to me.”

The giant’s empty hand falling limp at her side. “I… I was hoping we’d get to see each other on peaceful terms, and… I wanted it to be on Earth, to be honest.”

Henry swallowed hard. “You… You’re Sigrid.”

Svikari smiled, trying her best not to look intimidating. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

“This is impossible. I–it can’t be you. You’re a—”

“You fellas good back there?” Aesir called, swivelling his head around to peek at the pair. “Sounds like a real bout you’re having.”

Svikari cleared her throat. Her hands lowered, taking Henry out of her field of vision. “We’re fine. Just keep going.”

Aesir simply shrugged. “Alright.”

The group hooked right when the hallway abruptly ended. They found themselves standing before a small room secluded in the corner of the building. Something akin to grass lined the ground, and a large, towering tree stood proudly in the centre of the room. Embedded in the trunk of the tree was a small monitor, complete with wires looping in and out of the bark. While he couldn’t be certain, Henry wagered that this was the oxygen supply Aesir mentioned, although he didn’t expect the oxygen supply to be a plant of all things.

“This won’t take long, ma’am,” Aesir stammered as he stepped into the threshold of the room, bending over to peer at the monitor. His face contorted into an expression of disgust. “Yeesh. Who messed with the RAD settings?”

“Beats me,” Svikari hummed.

“Whatever... Hang on, I just gotta fix this mess real quick.” With that, Aesir fell silent, sliding his fingers rapidly along the screen. Svikari simply stood nearby and waited, while Henry fidgeted anxiously. He couldn’t get their earlier conversation out of his head. Svikari’s words—or rather, Sigrid’s words—echoed in his brain, rattling his thoughts around.

Svikari, meanwhile, was extremely quiet. Henry gazed at her, opening his mouth to ask a question, only to have a giant finger press against his mouth. Shh.

Henry blinked, a little unnerved by how Svikari was acting, but nodded slowly. Svikari lifted her head and peered at Aesir, who was still focused on the monitor screen. Then, moving as slowly as possible, Svikari knelt down and tilted her hands, sending Henry sliding onto the grass below.

It took Henry a moment to orient himself. He diligently wiped off the grass that clung to his suit and looked skyward just in time to see Svikari approaching Aesir from behind. The human watched intently as Svikari snuck up on Aesir, a kitchen knife clutched tightly behind her back, wondering what she was up to.

…

...A kitchen knife?

Before Henry could even think to look again, he was subjected to the sound of a hideous squelch. There was a flash of red, a pained grunt, and suddenly Aesir collapsed to the ground, motionless.

Svikari loomed ominously over the limp body, her hand still latched onto the knife that she’d plunged into Aesir’s back. Murky blood was beginning to pool at her feet, staining the grass a horrid shade of crimson. And then Svikari’s head pivoted like an owl, boring her gaze into Henry.

“Don’t scream,” she heaved.

“Y–you—” Henry’s hands flew to his mouth. “You killed him.”

Svikari faced Henry fully. She extended her hands slowly and carefully, taking cautious steps forward as she spoke. “I know. Just… please stay quiet,” she whispered as she drew closer.

“G–get away from me,” Henry choked, stumbling backwards and throwing his hands up to protect himself. “Please, don’t— d–don’t kill me.”

“Henry!” Svikari suddenly exclaimed, speeding up and making a beeline for Henry. “Be careful, you’re going to—”

Seeing Svikari quickly approaching, Henry made the split-second decision to spin around and bolt. But by the time he noticed the gaping crater in the floor below, it was too late. His foot whizzed through thin air, and with no further fanfare, he tumbled down into the pitch-black abyss. Time froze—a shout echoed from above.

Then he hit the ground. Hard.

Something snapped. Henry yowled in agony. He found himself unable to budge without pain coursing through his battered limbs. Tears began welling in his eyes, but he fought the urge to sob—crying would make it hurt even more. Thankfully, his visor was still intact, although the same could not be said for his bones. He simply laid motionless on his stomach, his arms and legs spread out, praying he would just pass out already.

“Oh no.” Svikari’s voice echoed off the crater walls, but Henry couldn’t see where she was standing. Even if the human was able to move his head and look around, the darkness cloaked everything in the vicinity. There was no telling where the giant was, but she was close. “Henry… It’s alright. I’m going to help you.”

“N–no,” Henry hissed, weakly hacking out the taste of copper from his mouth. “Not like this. Please.”

“Stop that. You’re hurting yourself. Please… let me help.”

“But you killed—” Henry couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He began to cry softly, despite how much it hurt him to do so. Every sniffle was excruciating, wracking his body from the inside-out. “You’re an i–imposter, aren’t you? And you’re going to kill me next.”

“No no no, honey… I would never hurt you.” Svikari’s voice was right next to his ear at this point. A huff of hot breath washed over Henry, rustling his hair. Wasn’t Svikari wearing a helmet, though? How could he feel her breath? “Listen… you’ve gotta trust me. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Henry cast a bitter glance to the side, unsure if Svikari was even standing in that direction. “You’re a liar.”

Svikari didn’t grace Henry with a reply. Instead, two long fingers slowly and deliberately dug beneath his stomach and hoisted him into the air. Henry squeezed his eyes shut as he was pressed against Svikari’s chest. Maybe this would be quick and painless. He could only pray at this point.

“Let me think…” Svikari inched her way forward, snaking through the dark underground pathway so as to not jostle Henry too much. In his daze, Henry failed to realize that there was no way Svikari could fit into the crater, let alone move around freely. But the only thing he was focused on was making peace with his life, knowing that he was about to die at the hands of the one he loved more than anyone else.

Suddenly, Henry was blinded by sunlight. Svikari had begun crawling out of another crater located outside of the building. The holes in the ground seemed to be interconnected. But how did Svikari know that? And where was she planning on taking him?

Before Henry could voice any of these questions, a deafening alarm sounded from above. He looked up just in time to see a flashing red light next to a speakerphone attached to the roof nearby. “BODY REPORTED,” a voice blared. “ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE. REPEAT, ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE.”

Svikari swore under her breath. She lifted Henry out of the crook of her elbow, quickly swooping him towards a pocket located on her chest. “I’m gonna need you to stay quiet for now, alright?”

Henry’s breath hitched, eyeing the pocket warily as his legs were swallowed by it. “Why do I—”

“Shh.” Svikari cut him off. “Just trust me. I’ll explain everything once I take care of this.” With those ominous words echoing in his head, Henry was once again plunged into darkness, trapped in the front pocket of her spacesuit.

There was no way this would end well.

***

#among us #gt #g/t #giant tiny #giant/tiny #mywriting #i really hope you liked it!!! its not really my usual content so i hope it was enjoyable #and again if its too gritty id be happy to go back and edit those parts out #you didnt list any warnings aside from vore but i wasnt really sure if you were ok with this stuff #hopefully its all ok and you liked it aaaaasdfghjkl #secret shifters 2020

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sciencespies · 4 years ago

Text

To Boost Black Men in Medicine, Advocates Turn to Sports

https://sciencespies.com/nature/to-boost-black-men-in-medicine-advocates-turn-to-sports/

To Boost Black Men in Medicine, Advocates Turn to Sports

Emily Laber-Warren, Undark

Aaron Bolds didn’t consider becoming a physician until he tore a ligament in his knee while playing in a basketball tournament when he was 15. His orthopedic surgeon was Black, and they hit it off. “He was asking me how my grades were, and I told him, ‘I’m a straight-A student,’ and he was, like, ‘Man, this is a great fallback plan if basketball doesn’t work out,’” recalls Bolds, who is African American.

“He looked like me,” Bolds says, “and that was even more encouraging.”

If not for that chance encounter, Bolds, 34, a doctor at Mount Sinai Health System in New York, might never have gone into medicine, he says. When he was growing up, there were no physicians in his family or extended social network to model that career path. And at the schools he attended, he says, his aptitude for science didn’t trigger the kind of guidance young people often receive in more privileged contexts.

What Bolds did get attention for was his athletic ability. He got a full basketball scholarship to Lenoir-Rhyne University in North Carolina, where his team won a conference championship. But when he transferred to Bowie State University in Maryland, where he also played basketball, an academic adviser discouraged his pre-med ambitions, Bolds recalls, saying his grades were low and he lacked research experience.

Bolds is not alone in finding in athletics a fraught lever of educational opportunity. Whereas Black players comprise more than half the football and basketball teams at the 65 universities in the top five athletic conferences, and bring in millions of dollars for their schools year after year, the graduation rates for Black male college athletes are significantly lower — 55 percent as compared to 69 percent for college athletes overall — according to a 2018 report from the USC Race and Equity Center. Many Black college athletes end up without either a professional sports contract or a clear career path.

Now some educators and advocates are looking to reverse this trend by connecting sports, an area in which African American men are overrepresented, and medicine, where the opposite is true. As of 2018, 13 percent of the U.S. population, but just 5 percent of doctors — according to the Association of American Medical Colleges — identified as Black or African American. (The AAMC data notes that an additional 1 percent of doctors identified as multiracial.) Decades of efforts to increase diversity at medical schools have made progress with other demographics, including Black women — but barely any with Black men. “No other demographic group is broken down with such a large split between men and women,” says Jo Wiederhorn, president and CEO of the Associated Medical Schools of New York. “And none of them have stayed stagnant, like that group has.”

According to data the AAMC provided to Undark, the proportion of Black men enrolling in medical school hasn’t changed much since 1978 — with only some headway being made in the past few years.

The absence of Black male medical professionals ripples across the health system, experts say, contributing to widespread health disparities. African Americans tend to be diagnosed later than White people with everything from cancer to kidney disease, leading to more advanced disease and earlier deaths. Meanwhile, a recent study suggests that Black men who see Black male doctors may be more likely to follow medical advice. Other research also suggests that racially concordant care, in which patients and doctors have a shared identity, is associated with better communication and a greater likelihood to use health services.

“We are in a crisis point, nationally,” says Reginald Miller, the dean for research operations and infrastructure at Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai. “I don’t think it’s a stretch to suggest that the health of communities of color are directly proportional to the number of practitioners available to see,” he says. “It’s just that straightforward.”

Last year, the National Medical Association, a professional organization representing African American physicians, embarked with the AAMC on a joint effort to address the structural barriers to advancement for Black men. “We need to look at this with a unique lens,” says Norma Poll-Hunter, senior director of workforce diversity at the AAMC.

There is no single solution to such an entrenched and multifaceted problem, Poll-Hunter says. According to her, some medical schools have adopted a holistic admissions process that evaluates many personal factors rather than relying on standardized test scores, which can exclude promising Black candidates. In addition, she says, students of color need better access to high-quality K-12 science education, particularly in under-resourced public schools. “There are a lot of barriers that exist early on,” she notes, “and that then creates this narrowing of the pathway to medicine.”

But the novel strategy of wooing athletes is slowly gaining traction. Advocates point out that high-performing athletes possess many of the skills and attributes that doctors, psychologists, physical therapists, and other medical professionals need — things like focus, a commitment to excellence, time management, and problem-solving skills, as well as the ability to take constructive criticism and perform under pressure.

“When you say, ‘What’s your ideal medical student?’ it’s not just a kid who’s academically gifted. It’s a kid who’s got resilience, attention to detail, knows how to work on the team,” Miller says. “Because science and medicine are team sports.” And by virtue of being athletes, these young men are already attuned to nutrition, fitness, and other aspects of human biology.

Two former NFL players, Nate Hughes and Myron Rolle, recently became physicians. And there is evidence that competitive sports experience contributes to medical success. A 2012 study of doctors training to become ear, nose, and throat specialists at Washington University, for example, found that having excelled in a team sport was more predictive of how faculty rated their quality as a clinician than strong letters of recommendation or having attended a highly-ranked medical school. Likewise, a 2011 study found that having an elite skill, such as high-achieving athletics, was more predictive of completing a general surgery residency than medical school grades.

Advocates of the athletics-to-medicine pipeline point out its practicality. Thousands of Black men are already in college, or headed there, on athletic scholarships. It would only take a small percentage of them choosing medical careers to boost the percentage of Black male doctors to better reflect the proportion of African American men in the general population, they say.

No one thinks it will be easy. One obstacle, advocates say, is a lack of role models. Black sports celebrities are household names, but some young athletes may never encounter a Black medical professional. “People don’t believe they can become what they don’t see,” says Mark R. Brown, the athletic director at Pace University.

And for the best chance of success, many say, these young men need to form and pursue medical aspirations as young as possible, along with their athletic training. “Those kids who are able to do both, the rewards at the end are enormous,” Miller says. But the adults in their lives may not believe the dual path is possible. “The second that a kid says to a science teacher or someone else that he’s an athlete,” Miller says, “they go into a different category. ‘They’re not really serious about science and medicine, they’re just here, and so I don’t expect this kid to really achieve.’”

Rigid course and practice schedules also make it challenging for busy athletes to undertake demanding and time-intensive science majors, observers say. What’s needed is “a cultural change, and not just a cultural change with the athletes. It’s a cultural change with the whole structure,” Miller says. “Everybody’s excited about the idea” of the physician athlete, he adds, “because it makes sense. But when the rubber hits the road, it is challenging.”

Donovan Roy, the assistant dean for diversity and inclusiveness at the Western Michigan University Homer Stryker M.D. School of Medicine, was one of the first people to envision the potential of directing Black athletes toward medical careers.

Roy, 48, who is Black and a former college football player, grew up in the working class, primarily Black and Latino community of Inglewood, California. Attending an elite private high school on a football scholarship was eye-opening. He vividly remembers the first time he ever saw a walk-in pantry, at a friend’s home. “It was stocked like a convenience store,” he recalls. “Five different types of Hostess, Ding-Dongs, sodas, every type of snack that you ever wanted.” Equally startling was speaking with another friend’s mother, who was a lawyer. “I’d never seen a road map to success in my community,” he says.

Roy’s athletic talent continued to open doors — at 18 he got a scholarship to the University of Southern California — but poorly prepared by the under-resourced public schools he had attended through ninth grade, he struggled academically, and left both USC and later another university that he also attended on an athletic scholarship.

Eventually Roy found his footing, and when he did, he became a learning specialist. After working through his own academic struggles, he wanted to help others with theirs. Roy took a job as a learning skills counselor at UCLA’s medical school. There he helped the students who were struggling with classes like anatomy and genetics. In early 2015, he returned to USC as the director of academic support services at Keck School of Medicine.

Something Roy noticed at both these medical schools stuck with him, though it would take a few years for the observation to crystallize. A certain kind of student sought help despite, by ordinary standards, not needing it. These were the athletes, and many of them were Black or Latino. “They always talked about, ‘How can I excel? How can I get better?’” he recalls. They “were getting 90s and they wanted to be 100.”

Roy began a doctoral program in education in 2015, the same year the AAMC published a damning report about the lack of Black men entering medical school. This was a crisis Roy understood both personally and professionally. For his dissertation, he decided to interview 16 Black male students at Keck School of Medicine. What was it about them, he wanted to understand, that had gotten them there against all odds?

The answer, he discovered, was what academics call social capital. For medical students from privileged backgrounds, social capital might take the form of a family friend who arranges a summer internship at a biotechnology lab, or a well-funded high school that offers advanced placement science classes. The young men Roy interviewed did not, for the most part, have access to those sorts of resources.

“Growing up, I didn’t see a Black male with a college degree until I got to college,” medical student Jai Kemp said in a separate interview Roy conducted for a documentary he’s making on the topic. The social capital these young men leveraged to get to medical school took the form of parental support, science enrichment programs and clubs, peer social networks, faculty mentors — and the perks that come with athletics. “For me it was just sports that got me through,” Kemp said.

The pieces started to fit together. Roy knew from his own experience all the benefits athletes get, not just entrée to educational institutions, but travel, enrichment, and academic advantages like tutoring and early class registration. Athletes also tend to possess social cachet on campus and, with more exposure to different types of people, may feel comfortable in environments that seem foreign and forbidding to other young people from disadvantaged backgrounds. Roy also recalled the drive for academic excellence he had observed in the athletes who came to his tutoring programs. “I got this epiphany,” he says. “Why don’t we look at student athletes in order to increase Black males’ representation in medicine, because they have the most social capital and the most network on predominantly White campuses.”

Donovan Roy at the Western Michigan University Homer Stryker M.D. School of Medicine, where he is now the assistant dean for diversity and inclusiveness. While working on his doctoral degree, Roy interviewed Black men in medical school and discovered one key to their success: social capital.

Mark Bugnaski

But when Roy began talking to his medical school colleagues about recruiting athletes, who according to a report from the Center for American Progress — a liberal think tank — make up 16 percent of Black male college students receiving athletic aid in the Big 12 athletic conference, he says most weren’t receptive to the idea. The same thing happened when he got up the nerve to make the suggestion publicly at a 2018 conference in Orlando, Florida. The idea ran against type. “I think people tend to lump athletes into this box,” he says. “They just think that athletes are big meatheads.”

Roy knew this truth viscerally, because with his offensive lineman’s build of 6-feet-6-inches and 300-plus pounds, he sticks out in academic settings. “People stare,” he says. “They do not expect me to be in the role that I am in.”

What Roy didn’t know was that the idea was percolating elsewhere, including at the National Collegiate Athletic Association. Brian Hainline, the NCAA’s chief medical officer, says he and Poll-Hunter of the AAMC are in talks with several universities about launching a pilot program to support African American athletes interested in medical careers.

Meanwhile, in 2018 Miller founded the organization Scholar-Athletes with Academic Goals (a.k.a. SWAG, a name he hopes will resonate with young people). The initiative connects promising athletes with a range of available programs to help them pursue and succeed in science and medicine. Recently, Miller worked closely with leadership at Pace University to create a program, expected to launch next year, to support Black college athletes interested in attending medical school. Pace officials want the initiative to become a magnet for out-of-state athletes and a model for other schools. “My hope is that two years from now, colleges and universities will call” and ask, “Wow, how did you do this?” says athletic director Brown. “Once we have some success, and proof of concept, then I think it can really grow.”

Bolds graduated medical school in 2018 and is now doing his residency at Mount Sinai. His focus is rehabilitation medicine, and he plans to tend to injured athletes and serve as a team physician. He got a business degree while in medical school, and his long-term goal is to open his own interventional spine and sports medicine practice specializing in preventing and rehabilitating injuries in both athletes and non-athletes, as well as helping serious players enhance their performance.

But there were tough moments along the way, such as the encounter with that academic adviser, which Bolds says only served to motivate him. At the time, he thought, “Wow, this person doesn’t believe in me. So let me make them a believer,” he recalls. “That was, moving forward, really a turning point for me, honestly. Because I knew that people aren’t going to believe in you unless you give them a reason to.”

Bolds began to apply an athletic mindset to his pre-med classes. “That same grind of having to get up, 5 a.m., get to the gym, get shots up before anybody gets there, to put in that extra time — I was doing that with my studies,” he says. “I would get to the library before anybody.” Once Bolds turned his grades around, professors began to notice and help him, he says. Still, he says, his score on the MCAT, an entrance exam required by nearly all U.S. medical schools, was borderline. Instead of giving up, he attended multiple events at Howard University’s medical school, where he met people who advocated for him. It was the only medical school he got into.

Whereas Bolds had to bushwhack, he saw other Black students fall off the medical path — and his fellow Black teammates avoided it entirely. Many athletes find themselves enmeshed in a profit-making system that may not prioritize their education. The NCAA has been criticized in recent years for its long-standing policy which prohibits profit-sharing with college athletes — a policy that was only recently reversed under interim guidelines. Others have said that Black labor has been especially exploited.

In his residency, Bolds is focusing on rehabilitation medicine, and is pictured here working at Mount Sinai’s sports medicine clinic.

Jeenah Moon for Undark

As of 2014 reports, fewer than 2 percent of athletes in the NCAA will go on to play professionally. But for self-serving reasons, critics say, (Clemson University’s football team, for example, made $77 million in average annual revenue from 2015 through 2017) universities often direct athletes to “academic paths of least resistance.” Many schools practice “major clustering,” in which players are steered to the same relatively undemanding major, such as communications, so they can devote themselves almost entirely to their sport. Major clustering is more pronounced among athletes of color, according to a 2009 study of football teams at 11 universities. At six of those schools, the study found, over three-quarters of the non-White football players were enrolled in just two academic majors, although dozens of majors were offered.

Sheron Mark, an associate professor of science education at the University of Louisville, co-authored a 2019 case study of two young Black men who arrived at college on basketball scholarships, with the intent to pursue respective careers in computer science and engineering. But both found it difficult to balance academics with athletics because of pressure and blandishments from coaches and faculty advisers.

“For so long, they’ve been sold this message that you don’t have many choices, that banking on a professional sports career is one of very few options for you if you want to advance your station in life,” says Mark of many Black athletes. It’s important to have a plan B, she says, since “the odds just aren’t in their favor.” But coaches can discourage academically demanding majors because they may cut into practice time, and college athletes are not always capable of pushing back, she says, because their financial packages are tied to fulfillment of their team responsibilities.

Many Black college athletes are already strong candidates for medical school, advocates say, but others may need extra academic support to compensate for deficits acquired at under-resourced K-12 schools. They may also need post-graduation training to take science classes they did not have time for while working long hours as athletes — with some working 20-plus hours a week. “How are they being mentored and guided and protected in planning for their futures?” Mark asks. “They are high achieving in sports, they want to be high achieving in academics. Why don’t we support them?” When people wonder whether student-athletes can cut it in science and medicine, Mark’s response is: “It’s on us. It’s on us to help them do so. That’s how we can grow their representation.”

That’s what Pace University intends to do. The school already nurtures academic success in its athletes, who collectively had a B+ average last school year, but premedical studies have never been a great fit, in part because afternoon practices can conflict with long lab classes, says athletic director Brown. As part of the school’s new initiative, Pace science departments have pledged to offer flexibility in course section offerings in order to accommodate football commitments. Athletes of color from any sport will be welcome, but football was prioritized because it is the largest and one of the most diverse teams and has the most complicated schedule, Brown says.

The school also plans to adjust its advising, tutoring, and library services to ensure that pre-med athletes won’t falter when they struggle with personal issues or tough classes like organic chemistry. “Rather than saying, ‘Oh, chemistry, nobody likes chemistry, you’re right, you should just drop that,’ instead now it’s going to be, ‘Yeah, you’ve got to buckle down. And here’s how we’re going to do it,’” says Hillary Knepper, the university’s associate provost for student success.

Meanwhile, Brown will be directing his coaches to actively recruit Black and Latino high school athletes who are interested in medicine. In the past, Brown says, his coaches were less likely to select such students because of anticipated scheduling challenges. But now Pace is trying to establish a partnership through which a nearby medical school would give preferred consideration to pre-med athletes who have completed the Pace curriculum. “With our new approach, you’re not only going to have the ability to do it,” he says, “but you’re going to have a support system, to make sure that you follow the path.”

Some advocates for the athlete-to-doctor paradigm see this work as part of the larger movement for social justice. “Look what Jackie Robinson did, right? Look at Muhammad Ali, look at Colin Kaepernick,” Roy says. “Athletics has always been the vehicle for social change.”

Medical professionals can influence public policy, accumulate wealth, and help empower others in their orbit. “The impacts ramp up really quickly, from just that individual benefiting,” Mark says, to “your family, your neighborhood, your social network, and society — people you won’t even meet, and across generations.”

Studies suggest that African American doctors are more likely to choose to work in underserved communities. They also may be more attuned to, and motivated to combat, the disparities in health care. A study published last year, for example, suggests that Black newborns are half as likely to die when they are cared for by a Black physician.

Bolds is keenly aware of the health disparities for Black communities, and he jumps at opportunities to mentor other young Black men, to show them that they, too, can become doctors. “It seems like there’s so many steps that just are never-ending,” he says. But, he adds, to see someone “that you can connect with that’s at that finish line or has already passed that finish line — I think that’s very key to their success.”

One of the people Bolds has connected with is Darius Ervin, a talented Black basketball player from Crown Heights, Brooklyn, who is now a sophomore at Cornell University. The two met when Ervin attended a virtual event late last year, sponsored by SWAG, at which Bolds spoke. Afterwards, the two chatted, and Bolds now checks in periodically with Ervin, who says he appreciates the encouragement. “Those are people that have once laced up shoes and got on the court and played just like how I did, and now they’re in the hospital helping people,” he says. “Being able to speak to those people gives me the visual, allows me to see that it’s an opportunity and it’s definitely possible for me to do.”

UPDATE: A previous version of this article referred imprecisely to the institutional affiliation of Donovan Roy. He is at the Western Michigan University Homer Stryker M.D. School of Medicine, not the Homer Stryker M.D. School of Medicine at Western Michigan University.

Emily Laber-Warren directs the health and science reporting program at the Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism at CUNY.

This article was originally published on Undark. Read the original article.

Doctors

Health

Medicine

Race and Ethnicity

Sports

#Nature

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grouptalekindnesssoulstories · 5 years ago

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Genderbent!sides

Once again I am writing at midnight. I blame my horrible habits.

Katie/Dee, Roman/Rachel, Remus/Rexine, Virgil/Storm, Logan/Lia, and Patton/Penelope are our cast of characters!

Warnings: scars, snappish behavior, invasion of privacy, implied bullying, injury, implied negligence, stalker, curses

Word Count: 1,600

___

Katie was done with society’s expectations. She had decided to go barefoot around school. Screw the rules about needing shoes. She had a pair in her bag for walking on the sidewalk, she wasn’t dumb. Her outfit also pushed school rules, with a tank top with straps juuuuust barely wide enough to not be spaghetti straps. Her pants were on par with expectations, unfortunately in one of the other triplets’ mind. Rachel and Rexine had been busy fighting over who would change that morning to follow the older triplet’s example. Not that it bothered the two girls who had crushes on them. Lia and Storm were trying very hard to hide the fact that they stared as the girls swept down the hall to their lockers. Penelope was too busy with the cheerleaders to see Katie’s outfit.

“Miss Rekans, I ask that you put on a sweatshirt over your...top” Mrs. Smith wrinkled her nose at the barefoot girl.

“Sorry, don’t have one. Gotta get to class” Said girl called over her shoulder. Her shoes were in her locker, and her books balanced in one arm. She also had plenty of time to get to class, but she didn’t wait around for that to be pointed out. Penelope was one of the last to get in the science class with a few of the cheerleaders with her.

“Alright you guys. We’re starting a multiple day lab, and I have chosen your partners. now, Miss Manson with Mr Karl-” the teacher started to list off names “-Miss Rekans with Miss Picani” He put down his clipboard after announcing the last pair. Katie’s leg was bouncing with nerves as the cheerleader moved to sit next to her.

“Uh, I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Penelope Picani” The petite blonde offered a hand to the taller girl. The red head scoffed before returning the courtesy.

“Katie Rekans. Not that it matters pretty girl. I’ve seen you around and I’m not exactly impressed. You seem to be slow, and if you drag down this lab I will find a way to get even. Now, do you know where the beakers are” She immediately bent her head to read the directions, ignoring the way Pen sagged. The right side of her face, the one without the scars criss-crossing it was bright red. The two didn’t talk more than necessary until the end when Katie glanced over.

“....You forgot to put it over the accepted value, and to multiply by 100″ She pointed to the paper, where Pen was struggling to figure out what she was missing.

“Oh. Thanks I guess. thought you didn’t exactly care about if I failed” The struggling girl muttered the last part under her breath. After a second, she reached up to touch the scars on Katie’s face. Her hand was immediately slapped away, and the girl whirled on her.

“Don’t touch. Now, go away” Katie mumbled as she scooped up her stuff to leave for her next class. In her haste, she dropped a small notebook. She was out the door before Pen could point it out, and Pen hugged it close to her chest self-consciously.

~~~

“Tor, look at this” Pen said, holding out the notebook to the violet-haired girl. Her confusion was evident on her dark face, and she immediately started flipping through it.

“Pen, look. This looks like you” She stopped on a sketch, obviously very well loved, even in the well-loved notebook. There was the beginning of a story on the next page.

“Give that back” A snarl echoed behind them. Rexine stood there, her face as dark as they had seen it. Storm handed it over quickly, and the tallest of the triplets stomped off to her sister. It looked like the owner of the book began to cry silently, and she was indeed. Her heart was broken as a result of someone invading her privacy.

“Shit. That was a dumb move” Pen cursed, a rare occurrence. Tor shrank down, pushing what little food she had in front of her away.

“Maybe apologize? Can’t make it worse” Tor suggested, and her friend nodded and stood quickly. She walked carefully over, hovering nervously at the end of the table.

“What” The bold girl snarled, hugging her book close.

“I just wanted to say sorry. That was wrong”

“No shit Sherlock. I’m going to ask Mr. Snid to transfer lab partners. You obviously need someone who can deal with that. Have a nice day Miss Picani” Katie left immediately after, trailed by Rexine. Pen was left standing there, tears building in her eyes. Why must that girl be so bitter?

~~~

Lia was helping in the library last block. It was her safe space, and the only area no bully could reach. To her misfortune, Rexine had class there at the same time.

“Hey, uh, can you help me find something?” Said girl approached Lia.

“This is a library, and I am an assistant here. So, yes, I can help you find something. What are you looking for?” She stated matter-of-factly, a slight smile on her face on the obvious respect this girl held for the space.

“Uh, a book on STDs, and a date to homecoming?” Rexine said in a rush.

“This way. Much harder to help you find a date to homecoming though, as I know very few available people. I also have no idea of your preference either” Lia responded mindlessly.

“Would you be my date?” Rex seemed to have gained some confidence.

“I have no one to go with, so yes” A hot blush spread across Lia’s face as she realized she’d just agreed to go to prom with Rexine Rekans. The girl she’d had a crush on for 3 years, 4 months, and 17 days

“Would’ja also be my girlfriend?”

“As we are to be going together it would be implied we are dating so yes of course I’ve wanted to date you for 2 years 4 mon-”

“You could have just said yes calc!” The girl laughed that warm, booming laugh that Lia just melted for. She handed a book to Rexine before fleeing to tell the librarians.

~~~

“You asked out Lia Samson. And she said yes??” Rachel was grilling her sister an hour later.

“Yes. It was alllll over school” Katie said boredly from her perch on the window sill. She was writing in her journal, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“I’m still in shock. I just blurted in out and she responded! And now we’re girlfriends!!” Rex was wiggling happily, an expression of bliss across her face.

“Speaking of, how are you Kat? It sucks that your crush did that to you” Rachel turned to the other teen.

“If I deny my crush enough, it’ll go away. I said it was stupid and it was never gonna work out” Katie shrugged, studying her fingernails. There were twin hums of doubt, but all three dropped the subject quickly, switching to plans for dinner and homecoming.

~~~

“I have a girlfriend” Lia was numbly stating to Pen. The other girl looked almost lifeless, like the confrontation had taken something out of her physically.

“Hey kiddo. I think you should head home. Pen and I need to talk” Dr. Picani appeared, grimacing at his daughter’s expression. Lia packed up quickly and left.

~~~2 days later~~

“For the last time, no, Miss Rekans, you cannot switch partners. I don’t care what happened, you need to have the same data” Mr Snid sighed, looking like he had no more patience left. Katie stomped off, taking her seat next to the blonde and scooting as far as possible.

“You have to talk to me sometime. We are partners” Pen said 20 minutes later, frustrated with the silence broken only by numbers to be recorded.

“No one said you had to try and make up with me. Now, DON’T DO THAT” Katie stated quietly, before knocking the other girl over. The boys in front of them had knocked into the table and spilled dangerous chemicals right where the girl had been. There were whimpers of pain after a moment, and the teacher realized Katie had taken some of the chemicals on her legs. They were currently swelling and getting more and more irritated.

“JOHN CALL THE NURSE AND 911, PENELOPE, PULL HER OVER TO THE SHOWER. BOYS, OFFICE. NOW” Mr. Snid shouted, pointing at each kid he instructed. Pen sprang up, grabbing hold of her partner’s shoulders and dragging her to the aforementioned shower. She pulled the handle with all her strength, releasing the water. There was a scream of pain as the water hit the severely irritated wounds. It did its job however, and washed the chemicals off before any more damage was done.

“I’m...sorry...Pen” The girl mumbled, meeting the girl’s eyes. Before Pen could do more than flail for words, the nurse arrived and shooed her away. She fumbled for the other girl’s phone, and hit emergency call. She pushed the button for Rex first, tears already running down her face. The girl picked up, luckily.

“Rexine, Katie, hurt, room 223″ Pen hung up before she could say anything and did the same with Rachel. Luckily, the confusion had made it so they could answer. There were thundering footsteps as the paramedics arrived.

“Please, that’s our sister. Please let us come” Rachel begged as they took her away. After a moment they nodded and the two followed.

~~~~

“Please. Let me see her? I’m..I’m her lab partner. Please?” Pen was begging the hospital staff a few hours later. Tor and Lia were also there. Dr. Picani entered behind them, and finally the group was allowed into the room. Rachel and Rex were asleep next to Katie, who was staring blankly at the TV.

“Where are your parents girls?” Dr. Picani asked.

“Out of town” Katie answered after a minute, turning her gaze on the group at last.

“I’m sorry. I should have- should have been paying more attention” Pen hiccuped clutching her hands to her chest. Lia had moved to sit on the floor next to her girlfriend.

“It wasn’t your fault. You may have been hurt more severely if you hadn’t said something when you did” Katie was trembling, tears building in her eyes.

“Pen did regret her actions” Tor spoke up quietly after a couple minutes of awkward silence.

“I know. It’s just...I thought you had figured out. And I realized it wasn’t stolen, just lost. I’m still mad you looked at it though. Come here, I know you want to hug me” Katie opened her arms. Pen ran forward, collapsing into the embrace and beginning to sob. The other girl awkwardly rubbed her back.

“I love you and I was so afraid I lost you. I...it killed me when I realized I had hurt you so badly. I always admired your bravery and, and I slowly fell in love with you. I’ve been in so many of your classes and you just....you were so amazing”

“Shsshh. I love you too airhead” Katie mumbled into Pen’s hair as she rambled on.

~~~~

Katie was released a few days later, in a wheelchair. She was excused from the lab and sat near the door in all her classes. Rex and Lia had led the charge to combine the tables. The first day Katie had been wheeled in, she nearly asked to leave. Pen had gone back to quietly maintaining distance and the possibility of sitting with her was daunting. She sucked it up and dealt with it, until she finally worked up the courage to talk to Pen. After a few days of casual conversation, she held Pen back.

“Look I...I feel the same, ok?! I just...always thought you had someone and it waas stupid but I thought you’d hate me if I tried to get close to you” Katie couldn’t keep her voice steady in her fear. She was finally shut up by a tender kiss.

“I had a few someones, but they never lasted. None of them could slice through my barriers like you have. You’re charming, and sarcastic and confident. So, does this mean we can be a thing?”

“Yea. Yea, I’d love that. Just...try to keep it on the down low? I don’t want to wreck your popularity” Pen just huffed, and pushed Katie to her next class before dashing to her own.

~~~~

Tor quickly realized out of the two groups, she was the third wheel. There was Rachel, sure, but she always seemed busy with theater, especially as the productions approached. She was a major character, and they had a preview at the pep rally, which she wanted to ace. Plus, there was Gus. He was the guy who Rachel had reluctantly begun to date a few weeks before her sister’s accident. She broke up with him right after, and he refused to leave her alone. Tor came across the two a few days before homecoming.

“Look Rach, I don’t get why you dumped me! We were the power couple, the star quarterback and the theater nerd. Plus, you are not a lesbian, and everyone can see that. You are just trying to get out of a relationship” He had her backed into a corner.

“I am a lesbian and i broke up with you for this exact reason!” She glanced around for an escape before he grabbed her chin.

“Look baby, you are in denial. You need me”

“Hey bitch, listen to the girl for once in your pathetic life. Or are you too stupid to realize someone else exists beyond your dick. You may be quarterback, but you are hated by your entire team. So shove a stick up that fat ass and hope you can piss, you sniveling sack of bitch and stupidity” Tor shoved him away, yelling at the top of her voice. Gus snarled, reaching to move her out of the way. In response, she shoved a knee towards his package before shoving a fist into his mouth. He gagged and she rammed a shoulder into him, knocking him over. Rachel pulled Tor after her, racing towards the bathroom and locking the door behind them.

“Thank you. You’re my knight in shining armor” She panted, offering a charming smile. Tor’s heart skipped a beat, making the crush obvious to even the most oblivious of people.

“It’s nothing. Just...y’know. Self-defense classes with my Dad. Bonding time finally came in handy” She smiled, ducking her head.

“No, please don’t hide those beautiful eyes. They’re my favorite feature of your’s after seeing them for the first time”

“Sap”

“Emo nightmare” The pair burst out laughing, dispelling the fear.

“look, I wanted a date to homecoming and since we’re picking your friends up and all, and I don’t wanna third wheel, would you be my date?” Rachel spoke again after a minute.

“Sure Princey. Just...don’t expect me to be a good date”

“You’ll already be perfect as you are” Tor spluttered, and Rachel started laughing again.

“Whatever. I’m claiming you as my girlfriend so creepy will back off. Just tell him the girl that beat his ass is your girlfriend. And travel in a group if possible” Storm called over her shoulder, leaving a very red Rachel.

~~~

The rest of the year was going to be interesting for sure.

#moceit #prinxiety #Intrulogical #fem!sides #sanders sides #sympathetic sides

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heartslogos · 4 years ago

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newfragile yellows [941]

"Dorian."

"Ah, ah. That's your upset voice. The one you use when you're barely hanging onto the vestiges of your patience and calm rationale by the tips of your fingers. I do so hate it when you use that tone on me. Especially when I have no idea what I could have possibly done.”

Evelyn levels a blank gaze at Dorian, who after years of enduring academia in an unbelievably cutthroat environment field by corruption and gross unethical biases, returns it with a calm, cloying smile.

Both responses can only be attributed to higher levels of scholarship and both responses are equally withering.

“Tell me you didn’t do this,” Evelyn says, tapping something on the tablet in her hands. Dorian’s own tablet chimes softly as he opens it to look at the data file she’s sent him. “I know you get bored sometimes, we all do, and want to work on other unique projects that usually have no practical use to the situation on hand. It’s a good exercise. Work on something not pertaining to your current project to keep the mind fresh. But this is inexcusable.”

As Dorian scans the file — it looks like some sort of code? Some kind of algorithm for predicting or calculating something. Not generally Dorian’s area of expertise, though he does enjoy dabbling a bit here and there. Nothing to this extent though.

“What is this inexcusable thing exactly?”

“It’s an algorithm for predicting people’s actions,” Evelyn says.

Dorian’s eyebrows raise. “And you think I did this? Why in the world would you think I would do this? Surely you can tell that something in this general realm of sciences isn’t my modus operandi, nor is it my forte. If I was going to unwind by doing something unethical I would be working on experiments with morgue bodies.”

Evelyn’s gaze doesn’t falter. “I think it’s you because the thing actually works at a reasonable success right. If there’s anyone in the world who could write a script for something as unpredictable as human nature and have it be right more often than it’s wrong, which sounds like horrible statistics but considering what it’s trying to predict here it’s more on the hose than it should be, it would be you. You are the only person on this ship I would believe capable of doing it.”

“That’s truly flattering. Your faith in my abilities to do the impossible is — I won’t say unearned. It is definitely earned. I have done the impossible for you and I will continue to do the impossible so long as my life and wellbeing is hitched to this proverbial post. And it isn’t humbling because, again, I sort of have to pull off the impossible as part of my job. But it’s definitely something. No, Evelyn. I did not write this code. Nor am I lying about it to cover my ass.” Dorian continues to scroll through the equations. “This is a work of…not art. But something. And it’s not mine. I am tempted to say that I wish I could take credit for it though. Have you tried the Iron Bull? This sounds like something he’d do in his free time.”

“Why would the Iron Bull — “

Dorian cuts Evelyn off with a slow eyebrow raise. More academia trained responses in action. Evelyn closes her eyes, tilting her head back and breathes out slowly through her nose. They’re all falling back onto the things they learned back when they were simple scholars on Earth.

Never let it be said that becoming a scholar of theories and other such supposedly inapplicable subjects will never be practical. The things you learn to manage stress and take down your supposed colleagues transfer universally.

“He would, wouldn’t he? Of course. The Iron Bull would, of course, be able to pull something like this off. He’s got just that many depths. Scholar of architecture, polygot, mathematician, master ranked chess player, extreme proficiency in most forms of combat, tactical genius — sure. Why not throw in coding as well? Why not throw in this level of coding? Maker. Of course it’s Bull. I mean. It could be Leliana, but if she were working on something like this there’s no way it’d accidentally fall into my hands. Maybe on purpose because she’d want me to know what she’s doing, but knowing her she’d already know I wouldn’t approve. God. There’s too many spies on this ship. And they’re all giving me a headache. I have to think circles around so many people who are already thinking circles around me. And that’s not even considering my actual enemies.”

“Such is the burden of leadership,” Dorian drawls. “Now, if you’re done accessing me for things I haven’t done?”

“Yes. Sorry. I kind of wish it was you.” Evelyn sighs. “Do you know where Ellana is?”

“You’re not going to talk about this with Bull?”

“I will. But first I need to know if Ellana was in on this. And between the two of them Ellana’s easier to handle because I know I’ll have her brother on my side. And if Ellana wasn’t in on this chances are she doesn’t approve so then I’ll have Ellana and Mahanon on my side against Bull. It’s a tactical thing. I’m thinking in the long term here.”

“The Inquisition will make a master tactician out of you, yet.”

“Don’t tell Leliana or Cullen that. They might start expecting me to come up with brilliant plays on my own,” Evelyn shakes her head, “You want to come with me on my Lavellan search?”

“Sounds exciting,” Dorian says. “I haven’t got anything better to do today, I suppose. Sure, why not? Am I just watching or do you expect me to be involved in some way?”

“Just back me up if things get into the weeds. You know how talking to a Lavellan can be. I know I’m making them sound like another species here, but they’ve got such an intrinsically strong ability to talk people into and out of things it’s absurd.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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thorne93 · 5 years ago

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Unforeseen Chasm (Part 1)

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count: 2191

Warnings: Language,

Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my novels). It’s a collaboration with the amazing @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo. It started as a funny “What if...?” and it evolved and got huge. This took two years to write. We are both proud and happy and we hope you enjoy it. It follows from Thor 1 to Endgame in the MCU. Some of the timelines may be off in order to fit certain people, and some characters may show up earlier or in different ways than they have in the movie. But for the most part, it follows the MCU. It also has a bit of crossover with some other Marvel characters throughout the story.

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

Once in a lifetime, and sometimes not even then, people meet someone who can be described as their better half. The person who knows them better than anyone. The person who completes them. Sometimes it can be found in a lover, or a sibling, or sometimes...once in a blue moon, it can be found in just a friend -- a stranger you cross paths with one day. A stranger that eventually means more to you than anyone else in the world.

That’s how it was for you and Shannon.

It was freshman year of college when she walked into your life. The two of you were set together as roommates. She had a touch of pluckiness to her, drive that you’d never witnessed, intelligence that rivaled yours, and a take no shit attitude.

Of course, she was shy at first, so were you. But within just a few minutes, you realized that you two were destined to be best friends. Her major lied in anatomical mutation and molecular engineering with a minor in foreign language. Meanwhile, you majored in physics and engineering, minoring in Norse mythology.

Shannon definitely teased you for that. She wondered why or how you would ever need that, but your reasoning was simply that you enjoyed it. If you were going to spend thousands upon thousands studying something for a career for the rest of your life, the least you could do was study one thing that was a little different that fascinated you, even if was just for four years.

Your areas of study may have overlapped, but your upbringing didn’t. Shannon had parents, who loved her, and according to her “sent her to a prestigious academy to refine all skills”. And you saw these skills in the way she moved, talked, carried herself, and focused her skills. She was all things a lady should be. In fact, she did so well in this so called “Red Room”, that Howard Stark (founder of Stark Industries) caught wind of her accomplishments and decided to invest further in her. He gave her a full ride scholarship to any college she wanted, to study whatever she wanted. He thought maybe, one day, she might be of use to his son Tony.

In fact, they became good friends too. Tony and Shannon, that is. He was a few years older than her, but he helped her with her work, and became curious as to why Shannon was always hanging around his dad’s company. It didn’t take a genius to see why Shannon was selected -- she was elite, one of a kind.

You on the other hand, you were the nerd. The little bit dorky type. All you ever really loved was science, math, technology. You were raised by foster parents, but they weren’t the greatest. They didn’t ever give you any attention past making sure the foster money cleared for you. The only person you had was Remy, another boy that lived in the foster family with you. Kids were in and out of that house for years, but you and Remy seemed to stay, that is, until you left for college. College was where you met Shannon and her family, and ever since then, Shannon’s family was now your family, making you far closer to Shannon than you’d ever been to anyone besides Remy. You went to her house for holidays, even met with Tony a handful of times.

Once the two of you graduated college and decided on grad school, you didn’t want to separate. Four years of living together had made you two almost inseparable. Not wanting to lose each other just yet, you grabbed an apartment only thirty minutes away from your graduate school. Graduate school was surprisingly a breeze, and when you completed it, the two of you moved into a studio apartment together.

After being best friends for nearly a decade, you got a dog together, both of you animal lovers and you thought it might add some more character to your home. And he certainly did.

While the both of you, yes, were involved in STEM, for the most part, your paths slightly diverged.

After graduation from graduate school for both of you, Tony Stark offered a job to Shannon at his company as his assistant. She would help oversee nearly every operation, invention, gizmo, gadget. All of it, would be under her supervision. Through this, she became good friends with Dr. Bruce Banner, and Tony, being at the labs day in and day out with them.

It was actually in those labs that her… well… accident happened. A lab malfunction caused a chemical gas to react with her molecular structure causing a strange reaction. By strange you meant, well, unusual. She developed a mutation, but not like a third eye, or another pinky. No, she gained the ability to manipulate the weather and drain people of their powers. It was the most magnificent thing to watch. She accidentally discovered her powers at home, in the kitchen, and you witnessed it, but you swore yourself to secrecy for her. You could never hurt her and betray her like that.

Tony knew, of course, because he had to help her figure out what was wrong with her. And Bruce was an expert in lab experiments gone wrong. Between those two helping her control her powers, and your emotional support, she was just like a normal person -- until you pissed her off.

Just another crowning jewel on an already nearly perfect woman. She was the epitome of a femme fatale -- beautiful, genius, deadly, and powerful beyond human strength.

As for you? Your work placed you in the field. Your physics took you to some crazy locations and you picked up work wherever you could find it. You loved physics, you were good at it, damned good. But you weren’t winning nobel prizes, you weren’t heading huge projects for Stark Industries, you weren’t getting offers from MIT for research. No, you were scrounging for contract jobs, for little pick me ups with NASA. It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, or that you were desperate for work. People knew of your work, you spoke at conferences, you were in high demand.

But by your dumb luck, it wasn’t you that ended up with the glitz, glam, and glory that came from working for Stark.

For the last few months you’d been in the field with Jane Foster - a highly respected physicist -- with barely any funding. The two of you could barely split the research grant you’d been given and you had to hire an intern. You were all the way out in New Mexico while Shannon was still in NYC, living the dream. You missed her like crazy, but this work you were doing was important… At least that's what you kept telling yourself…

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

Jane and you had set up camp in Small Town, New Mexico, you’d been out here for a few weeks now. There were these strange atmospheric phenomenon that were going on that Jane felt were connected to the research the two of you were involved with. She called Dr. Selvig out to study it with you two, seeing as he was a pioneer in this field.

Just before you all headed out to the site, you decided to give Shannon a call, a strong case of homesickness hitting you.

You propped open your laptop and selected her contact and called. The familiar ring only went through twice before her wonderful face filled the screen.

Y/N! Hey!” she greeted delightfully.

“Hey!”

She stepped away from the computer and back to her workbench in Tony’s lab -- a very familiar sight to you.

“What’s up?”

“Just missing you. We’re about to go study that aurora again tonight, but Selvig is here now, so it’ll be another set of eyes,” you explained.

“Ah, yes, the light in the sky. Any headway on that?”

“None. Hopefully he’ll have some insight because I’m growing tired of staring at clouds each night. I’m not out here to be a storm chaser…”

“What’s this about storm chasing?” Tony suddenly said, entering your field of view.

“Hey, Tony,” you greeted in a friendly tone.

“Why don’t you ditch the desert and come to a real lab?” he asked as he walked backwards, looking at the camera before spinning to stand next to Shannon and work on the tool she was soldering. “You could have unlimited technology here. I could really use someone with your expertise on physics when it comes to landing gear for my suit. What do you say, Y/N? A real job, in air conditioning, not out in the dirt…?”

“Tempting,” you said with a smirk. “But I’m gonna stick to real work for now.”

“Did she just insinuate I don’t do real work?” Tony asked Shannon, pretending to be offended. She merely rolled her eyes and laughed, shaking her head.

“You two…” she lovingly chided. “When are you going to come home? I miss you. I need your world famous tacos.”

You laughed. “My tacos are trash and you know it.”

She returned the laugh before becoming serious again. “Seriously though. When? Things aren’t the same without you.”

You sighed, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. I’m trying to get all this data, but since we have to wait every night… There’s no telling.”

“Well work hard,” she requested, sadness but understanding in her voice.

“I’m trying.”

“Seriously. Y/N, pick up the pace, I can’t take another week of this. She is killing the morale,” Tony remarked, gesturing to her with a tool.

“Okay, Tony, for you, I’ll try,” you said with heavy sarcasm, making the two of them smile. “Oh, shit, gotta go. Time to go watch the sky give me some pretty colors.” You rolled your eyes and told them goodbye before signing off of your laptop.

The four of you set off about twenty miles west from your little lab in the middle of town. You sat out there for several minutes, nothing happening. Selvig started to question Jane and you, and Darcy was getting restless. Jane was pleading that he just hold on a few more minutes. Finally, Darcy saw something and drew your attention to it.

This was no subtle aurora. This was… something else.

Jane ordered Darcy to drive, and all of you launched back into the camper full of equipment, bumping and knocking things as you went over the rough terrain of the desert. Darcy was pushing the camper to full speed, zooming towards the odd light in the sky when suddenly a funnel of light and wind swirled toward the ground. Jane was filming it all and you were taking in what you could.

Just as you were about to go through the tornado-like event, Darcy cut away from it.

“Darcy!” you shouted, needing to get inside this event.

“I’m not dying for six college credits!” she yelled before Jane tried to take the wheel from her.

The two of them fought over the steering wheel for a few seconds before -- THUD. You hit something… actually, you think it was someone. Darcy slammed on the brakes and all of you jumped out of the camper.

You ran over to a man lying on the ground as Jane said, “Do me a favor and don’t be dead.”

“I think legally that was your fault!” Darcy called.

“Get the first aid kit,” you commanded as you knelt beside him. You grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse -- there was a strong one, good. Next you looked at his face to examine any damage -- but before you could do that, you were taken aback by his beauty. He was… handsome, very handsome. Then he opened his eyes.

He jumped up, muttering and stumbling around. Jane noticed the markings on the ground, and you saw them too, and they should’ve been important to you, but right now all you could focus on was this stranger.

“Hammer...Hammer!” he suddenly yelled.

“Yeah we can tell you’re hammered, that’s pretty obvious,” Darcy noted.

Jane began trying to note the markings on the ground, telling Erik to look at them, but he was telling her they needed to get this stranger to a hospital. Your mind wasn’t exactly focused on either thing as you watched him. There was something… familiar about him, but you were sure you’d never seen him before in your life.

“Father! Heimdall! I know you can hear me! Open the Bifrost!” the man commanded, making your hair stand on end.

“Bifrost,” you muttered inaudibly. You’d heard that a lot. Actually you’d heard that in Norse mythology. Clearly this man was delusional and thought he was some Viking God…

“You! What Realm is this? Alfheim? Nornheim?” the man asked of Darcy.

“New Mexico?”

She pulled out her taser and aimed it at him. “Darcy, no!” you demanded.

“You dare threaten me, Thor, with so puny of a weapon?!”

She pulled the trigger and he dropped, just as a mortal man would, making some of your suspicion (and hope) fizzle out. Of course gods weren’t real, that was just silly.

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

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#unforeseen chasm #loki x reader #tony stark x ofc #loki fic #loki #loki odinson #tony stark #thor

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tazzytypes · 5 years ago

Text

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 8

Hey guys! So sorry it took a bit longer this time to get a chapter out. As always I love hearing from you guys and every comment and Kudos keeps me going. Realy, your support, no matter how small you think it is, means a lot to me. This chapter is a bit slower, in my opinion, but I hope you all will like it!

Read on AO3 or see Masterpost for more chapters!

Em had decided to drop the investigation into the Geiger counter and focus on more productive investigations. The work schedule and manual from Mead’s closet would bear more fruitful and usable data, but it didn’t mean that moving from it was easy. Something about Stu’s death was off, they all knew it. Em knew about answer lay in that single page of shorthand gibberish.

Now they were in the library... her and Emily at least. Timothy was in a meeting. Langdon had the worst timing... or the best. Depended on what eyes you looked with.

A book sat in her lap, closed after she had read the last page. Dante’s Divine Comedy — she had meant to read it above ground but... well she had meant to do a lot of things. As the days went on the more worry she had over an idea of an afterlife. She was desperate for it and if, as an unbeliever, she was cast to hell, she’d much prefer to have an idea what torture she faced.

Frowning, her hand went to her throbbing leg. Em prayed her sewing skills were enough to mend the wound, small but deep. She had dressed it with some cloth from the towel she had bloodied and tied it in place with a ribbon. Most of the time she could hardly feel it, but one wrong move and she was hissing in pain.

Emily was doing some reading of her own, that of the more productive sort. She understood science much better than Em did and was having a go at the Geiger counter note.

“You know what I hate most about stories?” the brunette mused aloud after staring at the ceiling for a good twenty minutes.

Emily’s eyes didn’t leave her book, “What?”

“The ending.”

Her friend's nose scrunched for a moment before she turned to her, “isn’t that the whole point of reading? To make it to the end?”

“It’s sad,” Em sighed, “isn’t it?”

Em shrugged, watching her friend stare at the sky, “depends on the ending.”

“No... happy or not... it’s sad.”

Emily sighed, closing her book and stashing the note in her corset, “I think you’ve been spending too much time in your own head.”

“So have you,” Em reminded.

“Because I’m trying to figure something out.”

This piqued Em’s interest, eyes glimmering with the excitement of something new as she leaned towards her friend. “A mystery.”

Emily laughed and shook her head at the other woman’s antics, “you make it sound dramatic.”

“We’re some of the last people on earth... everything we do is dramatic as there is nothing to compare it to.”

“You’re eccentric, you know that?”

Em was starving for something new to investigate. Her mind needed a focus or else it would go into the worst places. “What’s the mystery, Miss Holmes?”

Her friend rolled her eyes but quickly turned to business.

“Venable is hiding something.”

“Venable is hiding a great deal of things,” Em noted, “that isn’t something new. So is Langdon, but that’s part of his job description.”

“Why the secrecy, though?”

“Knowledge is power.”

“But what is the truth?” Emily said, “we’ve been here for almost two years and all we’ve found out is when certain Wardens work and decontamination procedures and whatever else is in that manual.”

“Then how do we find out their secret plot?” Em asked, “preferably before we have to put that manual to good use.”

Emily rose from her seat and quickly made sure the library was empty. It wasn’t a particularly large library... about the size of the one at her high-school. She looked down every aisle before coming to sit back down, leaning in close to Em.

“Timothy and I are working one out,”

“Oh?” Em asked, raising an eyebrow.

Emily’s face flushed, “Not like that!”

“Don’t dash the power of a romantic subplot.”

“Did you always speak in poetry or have you finally gone insane?”

“I’ve simply lost my filter,” Em dismisses with a wave of her hand, “this plan of yours?”

“We need you to distract Langdon.”

El laughed, quickly quieting when she realized her friend wasn’t laughing along.

“That man would see right through any attempt.”

“He likes you,” Emily reminded, “why else would he call you to his office so often?”

“Bored cats will catch mice and watch them run around, barely surviving death for hours on end, just for their own amusement.”

“...so Langdon’s a cat.”

“He something far worse.”

Emily sighed, “will you help us or no?”

Em really didn’t want to tell her friend that she would be a hindrance to the investigation due to her injured leg. However, saying that would bring up more questions and she really didn’t want the girl to think she had completely lost her mind. Blackouts were one thing... homicidal urges were something else entirely. And the possibility of them happening at the same time? Not a cocktail she was willing to try.

“Your best bet is to observe his behavior and watch for patterns,” She noted, “find out when he’s distracted. You’re smart, Emily, that’s why you’re here.”

“So you’re not going to help us?”

“I want to live,” Em insisted, “the best I can do is keep silent while you two work. Venable’s already watching me like a hawk and she’d gladly take down all of us if it meant killing me.”

Emily understood her friend’s reluctance. Last time Em had a more hands-on role. She could take action if things went wrong.

“Don’t you want to know?” She asked, grabbing her friend’s hands and squeezing them, “knowledge is power, right?”

Em remembered her vision, Emily and Timothy laying on the floor while foaming at the mouth. Their eyes staring desperately at the sky as if begging god to spare them.

She cursed under her breath and pulled away from Emily’s touch, pinching her nose and sighing.

“Where do you need me to be?”

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

By the time Timothy arrived Em and Emily had long grown bored of talking plans. In all honesty, the less Em knew of what they were doing the better it was. If she got caught there’d be nothing to pry from her. All that mattered was Em would make a distraction at the right time, pretend to search through his office while Timothy and Emily searched his room.

For now, however, they were content to play Heads Up and pretend the real world didn’t exist.

“Am I a pretty… lady?” Em asked. She was never good at this game.

Emily was sitting in Timothy’s lap, draped over him like a cat with her legs propping up on the armrest of the sofa.

“Would she be?” Timothy asked her.

Emily hummed, “I’m not sure.”

“Let me rephrase it,” Em proposed, turning to Emily, “is she my type?”

“Yes,” Timothy answered a bit too quickly, Emily giving him a look and shaking her head.

“But she has—” he tried to reason.

“But she doesn’t have—” Emily reminded, the pair staring at one another until they burst into laugher. Emily curled into Timothy, her head resting in the crook of his neck.

They were interrupted, as always, by a screeching of the library doors. Laughter halted in their throats, eyes turning towards the sound of feet on carpet as silence overtook the room save the small sizzling of melted wax meeting fire.

Mead appeared from the shadows of the room, arms crossed as she came to stand before them. Her eyes narrowed as she realized two-thirds of them had a piece of paper taped to their heads, something written upon them which she could not see.

She turned to Em with and sighed, “Michael wants to see you.

Not bothering to hide her annoyance, Em rolled her eyes and rose from the armchair.

“Who was I?” She asked the pair.

“Gwyneth Paltrow,” Emily said with a smile.

Em turned to Timothy and gave him a look. Her type? Really?

“Oh, honey,” She said, “bless your heart.”

Emily smiled and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “That’s southern for stupid.”

“You said Pepper Pots could get it!” Timothy exclaimed.

“Pepper Pots is a badass,” Em noted before turning to follow Mead.

“They’re the same person!” Timothy shouted, exasperated as Emily’s laughter echoed through the room. It only stopped when the door closed behind Em, sealing off the pair from the rest of the world.

“You have a—” Mead noted, motioning to Em’s head.

“Oh!”

Em laughed and took the card from her head, staring at it for a moment before turning to Mead.

“Do you mind?” She asked the woman, holding out the card. There were some things she’d like Langdon to not know, small as it may be.

Mead sighed, trying to sound annoyed as she took the paper.

“Half the time I don’t know what to expect with you three.”

“Have to pass the time somehow.”

“Who’s Gwenneth Paltrow?” Mead asked, opening the paper and turning it back and forth in her hand.

“Actress,” Em told her, side eying the paper and trying not to think of the dull ache in her leg, “always on about that crazy new-age stuff that makes no sense.”

Mead shrugged and pocketed the paper, “never was one for all that crap.”

“Me neither,” Em admitted, “only know the name because she got into some crazy cult shit.”

Her companion let out a barking laugh, an infectious smile crawling onto Em’s lip, “so did half of Hollywood.”

The woman showed no hint of suspicion towards Em. Then again, Mead was the type of person who knew how to control her speech and emotions until it was time to strike.

A familiar sound of a cane caught the pair’s attention as they made it up the stairs— tap-ta-tap, tap-ta-tap. Em looked to Mead, trying to read any emotion on her face. There wasn’t… something that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Venable’s face greeted them as they turned onto one of the many upstairs hallways. Em took some satisfaction in the momentary widening of her eyes as the woman saw them. The expression quickly straightened, lips pursed as Venable tore her eyes from Em and laid them upon her escort.

“Miss Mead,” she said, voice reminding the brunette of when her parents pretended they weren’t at one another’s throats just a moment before they sat down for dinner, “May I have a word.”

Mead’s only response was a subtle nod before she turned to Em, “you know the way.”

Em offered her a friendly smile, making sure it remained on her face as she walked past Venable. Her contempt was so easy to read.

“Have a good day, Miss Mead.”

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

Langdon was standing by the fire when Em entered. It felt like he hadn’t moved since their last visit, affixed to the same spot she had left him with his hands behind his back. She took a moment to read the room as she closed the door quietly behind her.

There were no wardens in the room, meaning he probably didn’t see them in Mead’s room and that Venable most likely didn’t inform him of her suspicions. So Venable didn’t trust him… that was revealing.

“Is this another interview?” Em asked as she took a few steps forward. She imagined he already knew she was there, but her words finally forced him to turn and acknowledge her. A smile flickered to his lips as he turned to her.

“This time more of a social call.”

“Oh?” she said, a brow quirking up her forehead and a smirk finding it’s way to her lips, “Is that what you’re telling residents now?”

Langdon glanced to the floor, still smiling as he shook his head. Finally, he gestured to a set of armchairs facing the fire. She rounded them, taking the one on her right. Her hands rested on the back as she waited for Langdon to move.

His eyes were focused on her skirt, eyes slightly narrowed in thought. Her awkward gait was obvious to him, slight as the limp may be. Langdon didn’t note it, simply staring at the woman until she finally sat. Em did so with a sigh, eyes turning to the chess set that sat on a small table between them. It looked like he had been mid-game with someone.

“You play?” she asked as he sat next to her, legs crossing as he turned towards her ever slightly.

“On occasion. You?”

“I used to be good once,” She admitted with a rueful smile, hands going to straighten one of the knights, “but I haven’t played since I was a child.”

This visit felt different from the others. Langdon seemed almost relaxed, leaning back into his chair and hands free of any files. The fire crackled before them, making the world feel a little more quiet than usual.

“Why is that?” he asked. She felt his eyes on her but refused to look at him, occupying herself by fiddling with the pieces.

“My parents weren’t overly fond of spending time with me… though they pretended they did.”

“Perhaps I can reteach you.” Langdon offered.

Finally, Em’s head rose from the chess set. He watched as green eyes flickered between himself and the fire, never quite meeting his gaze.

“I’d like that.”

They set to fixing up the chess pieces, exchanging pieces that lay on the other’s side. He chose the black pieces and she took the white — she’d have to make the first move. Though, that wasn’t surprising when it came to conversations with the man.

“You’ve spoken a lot about your parents,” he noted, “what about the rest of your family.”

“Emotionally abusive father and a codependent mother,” she noted, “are a perfect equation for isolation. One that kept us from reaching out to others and ensured that my siblings would rarely return home.”

“You feared him,” he noted, taking a bishop she held out to him, “your father.”

“Fear,” she corrected, “present tense.”

“But the bombs—”

“Fear is illogical that way,” Em noted, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“What was your family like?”

Langdon paused, eyes betraying his amusement as he debated what he said next. A few details wouldn’t hurt.

“I was adopted by a family friend after my grandmother committed suicide.”

She didn’t apologize as most people did. Her eyes said enough. He expected the usual questions, the kind one would encounter in therapy. Em was debating which ones would be appropriate.

“Do you miss her?”

“Which one?”

“Either.”

Langdon sighed and placed his last pawn in place, “someone once told me that nostalgia is much nicer than true memories.”

“smart person,” Em noted, moving her first piece — a knight.

“She was.”

He was quick to counter her move, choosing to move a pawn near the outer edges of the board. The fire crackled as a log snapped in two, settling into the center of the fire with a rippling crack.

“I have to admit your quick thinking is intimidating.”

“Take all the time you need,” he reassured.

Her hands hovered over the board, fingers twitching as she ran through possible outcomes in her head. When she spoke, her voice sounded distant.

“So you can pick at my brain while it’s distracted?”

Langdon chuckled, moving a piece after she moved forward another knight, “Something like that.”

A comfortable silence filled the room as they got into the game, Michael’s movements quick while Em took more time to play out moves in her head.

“Are you sure about that?” he had taunted at some point, a devilish grin on his face. Em paused for only a moment. If she didn’t move the rook to take his bishop he’d have check in two.

“Fuck off, Langdon,” she laughed, moving the piece despite his warning. Her laugh was infectious as he shrugged his shoulders and moved another piece.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Langdon won, naturally. Though Em had a feeling he hadn’t played fair. His smugness filled the room, leaning back in his chair with an air of content at having beaten her. It both annoyed and amused her — like when her brother beat her at Super Smash Bros.

“Another round,” she demanded and he rose a brow, sitting up in his seat. He rose an amused brow and she shook her head. “This time we play checkers.”

“Checkers?”

“I lived in the south,” she reminded, ignoring a stare that displayed how much the man was judging her, “there were Cracker Barrel restaurants on every major exit. One was right across from the college dorms I stayed in.”

“So you’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Don’t worry,” she teased, “perhaps I can teach you.”

He smiled and put the chess pieces away as she pulled the checkers out from the compartment inside the board. She set them out and waited for him to make the first move.

“Can I ask you a few questions?” Em said as she quickly countered his move. He chuckled at the symmetry of her actions and waved his hand for her to proceed.

“Why was this place designed to fail?”

The way his hand hesitated over his piece betrayed his surprise, quickly recovering and completing his move. Her pieces clicked against the board as she countered, waiting for him to respond.

The blond straightened back into the iron mask he wore around the rest of the residents. “What makes you say that?”

Answering questions with questions. That was also a game she knew well.

“This whole place was designed on the tip of a knife,” She explained, balancing a checker on the tip of her finger, “We’re just waiting to lose our balance.”

To emphasize her point she allowed the checker to fall. It clattered on top of the other pieces she had stolen from Langdon.

“And what would you do to make it better?” he posed, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Do you want me to alphabetically or categorically?”

Langdon leaned back with a short barking laugh. He stared at her with what she’d almost consider pride… the cat’s favorite mouse. He waved a hand again, prompting her to continue.

“Whatever is easier.”

The board lay between them, game abandoned in light of a more interesting chain of events. She mirrored his actions, considering which point to bring up first.

“This place was built by the rich, yes?”

He nodded, watching her intently.

“Why the hell would the rich settle for unfulfilling cubes?”

“Those cubes—”

Em cut him off with a sigh, “have all the nutrients we need but not all the calories. An extreme coupon mom would have a greater quantity and quality of rations than we do.”

The blond prepared himself for a long conversation, leaning his head against a hand that was propped up on the armrest of his chair. She stared at him, waiting for a response.

“What else?” he asked with a sigh.

“The Cooperative put in place a NASA-esk water filtration unit, but couldn’t find a way to have a self-sustaining food resource?”

“You make it sound easy,” he noted.

“It is,” She stated, “Scientists already had designs in place before the bombs dropped.”

“This does nothing to prove we intended the worst,” He nearly sang.

“Then why do you claim there is a sanctuary more equipped for this? Why is that not the standard for all the outposts?”

Langdon thought back to his first interaction with the girl. Her first accusation. He should have known she’d be trouble from the start… but perhaps he could use this to his advantage. Leaning forward, he moved another piece across the board.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Em was intent to get to her thesis — the final blow.

“You intended this from the beginning — make people desperate enough to see their true colors then pick them off one by one.”

He chuckled, twirling one of her pieces in his hands and he shook his head and stared into the fire.

“Someone’s done their research.”

“Venable and yourself are the most openly condescending people I’ve ever met… you both think you’re so smart and with this crowd that’s mostly the case.” She said with a scoff.

Em took one of his pieces, then another, “you’re so pleased with yourselves that anyone with a brain can look right through you and see your intentions. No offense.”

“None taken,” he said with a smile, “…Mostly the case?”

“Timothy and Emily were chosen for their genetics. That’s the only good choice The Cooperative has made thus far.”

“Your care for them makes you blind to their faults,” he noted, “no offense.”

“None taken.” Em said, offering a shrug as she collected three more of his pieces, “King me.”

They lapsed back into a comfortable silence. Langdon lost and as she had expected he did so poorly, immediately challenging her to another game. That meant what she had said had some effect on the man. He sought to cover his fumble with conversation as they began the next round, asking about her observations of Outpost Three’s inner-workings.

Even that conversation came to comfortable silence, Langdon far more intent on this game compared to the last. Em stared at him when he wasn’t looking, too busy playing out moves in his head. His lips would twitch ever slightly when he thought.

“Do you ever feel lonely?” she asked him, playing the question in her head a few times before speaking.

“Lonely?” He echoed, voice distant as he finally moved a piece, “I thought we already had this conversation.”

The brunette sighed and stared at the pieces for a long moment as she ran through what to say next.

“Do you ever have that feeling that something is supposed to be there, but isn’t?”

He also took a moment to think, mouth open for a moment as he chose the right words to say, “I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with the emotion.”

“You’re lucky then,” She admitted, “sometimes it’s often claustrophobic in nature… like looking for a friend in a sea of thousands.”

“I thought you said you were content with your own company?” he asked, moving his piece to the other side of the board, “king me.”

“I am, but… I can’t place it. It feels different somehow.”

He looked at her, brows knitted together as he moved another piece, “how so?”

“It’s the same yearning I feel for a sense of purpose,” she said, shaking her head and speaking before she could think. Her eyes were on Langdon, but the man could tell she was looking at something past the physical realm. “But more specific. I yearn for someone or something, but I can’t place it’s… like I’m looking at it through a fog.”

“We all left things behind in the old world,” he noted, giving her his full attention “perhaps you are searching for something you lost.”

She sighed, “but reminiscing on such things is a fruitless task. Nostalgia is only healthy in small doses.”

“Nostalgia can be good.”

“Too much of anything is a bad thing,” Em noted.

“That it is.”

A buzzing in her head made Em focus back on the game before her. The sound of pieces moving made the blond turn back towards her, out of his thoughts and back into the current moment.

“What is it like?” Em asked, changing the subject, “traveling from outpost to outpost?”

“Is that what prompted your question?” he asked, sighing as he forced his mind back on strategy.

“In part.” She admitted.

“I’d call it a time to reflect,” he noted with a sigh, “but it’s hard to think when you’re keeping an eye out for cannibals.”

Em’s gaze turned to the fire, brows bunched together at the bridge of her nose. Venable had been right. She had somewhat hoped the monsters the woman spoke of would be nothing but fear-mongering.

“It’s only been a year and people are already—”

She cut herself off. Biting her lips and shaking her head, she chided herself, “no… that’s not fair of me to say.”

“Law was the only thing keeping humankind from its unlimited cruelty,” Langdon noted, hardly phased as he got yet another piece to the other side of the board. He was a quick learner. “The outcome isn’t that much of a surprise.”

Em was quick to change the subject, “What did you see out there?”

“Nothing pleasant.”

For some reason, he wished to keep the reality from her. Whether out of compassion or a desire to keep her ignorant, she couldn’t quite tell.

“I’d like to know,” she finally insisted, “Venable has only told us so much and we’re forbidden from leaving the premise… even with hazmat suits.”

Langdon nodded. He expected as much from the two women — Venable and Em. Pausing from the game, he gave her his full attention — turning in his chair and resting his elbows on the armrest closer to her.

“The trees are barren and everything is covered in thick green fog,” he said, slow and methodical as if he were trying to recall every last detail, “the animals have gone rabid or are in the very late stages of cancer. You cannot see the sun in the sky… an eternal night.”

“What about the people?”

“Killing each other for food or simply out of paranoia. Cancer and tumors are the norm for most.”

Her arms had come to brace themselves on the arms of her chair, knuckles white and jaw clenched. She stared into the fire but did not see it, darkness clouding her vision as she was sent back into that first day in the outpost. How many of those messages weren’t their last? How many survived only to face torment? How many had she abandoned in the wastelands?

“The children?” she forced herself to ask, forcing herself to look at him. His eyes widened every slightly before he glanced away, conflicted. She watched his chest rise and fall, his eyes close momentarily as he centered himself before speaking.

“On the way here, I came across a woman,” He told her, “A young mother, with two children. They were some of the unlucky ones who were far from the blast radius to survive the fireball, but… not the radiation.”

Em’s mouth opened every slightly in shock as she realized he was crying, a single tear breaking free and racing down his cheek.

He held his hand up, the other hovering over it and tracing up his arm as he continued to recall the incident before resting at his chest, “they were covered in tumors — sores. Their lungs were burned from the toxic air.”

With a clench of his fists, he fell back in his chair and refused to meet her eye, “After a few moments I realized that the child she was carrying in her arms was dead. She was begging for us to murder her other child out of mercy… she didn’t have the strength to do it herself.”

Em didn’t even realize she was crying until he turned to her. She stiffened as he reached out a hand to her cheek, cupping it and brushing away the tear gently with his thumb.

“Did you?” she asked, voice hardly above a whisper and his hand still on her cheek.

Blue eyes refused to look away from her, “Did I what?”

“Have mercy.”

An emotion she had never seen on him before tainted his features. It made his face fall, his eyes shine in a way that wasn’t pleasant and his lips part every slightly. His hand pulled back from hers and he turned away from her, closed himself off.

“No,” he finally answered, “I couldn’t bring myself to.”

Langdon felt regret… shame.

“I doubt anyone could.”

“Why do you cry for them?” he asked.

“I have nieces and nephews,” she said, “friends and—”

A frog sat in her throat keeping her from speaking. She waited a few moments before clearing her throat and drying her eyes, forcing the unpleasant emotion back from whence it came. After a few more breaths of unprompted tears, she spoke again.

“I’m sorry for bringing up a depressing topic.”

“Knowledge is power,” he noted, “and the desire of power is in our nature.”

Langdon cleared his throat as well before turning back to the game. It seemed both of them were content to pretend the last few moments be forgotten… for now, at the very least.

“What would you do to survive?” he asked her, waiting for her to make a move.

She sighed rather loudly. Naturally, he was using interview questions to take back the power he had relinquished for but a moment. Still made her head feel light like she had whiplash.

“What would I want to do?” she asked, moving a piece without much thought. Langdon was keen to take advantage, quickly moving his piece to take over it. “Or what I would actually do?”

He scoffed, “is there a difference?”

“Of course. I’d like to think I’d preserve some of my humanity — morality and the like.”

“But in reality?”

Em opened her mouth and closed it again. What would she do? So far she had certainly become more… adventurous wasn’t quite the right word. Admitting that, however, would be giving him and, in turn, The Cooperative more information than she was willing to part with.

“I don’t know,” she said, “It’s hard to know what you’d do until you are forced to take action.”

“You like to skirt around questions,” he notes, “despite my warning against hedging.”

“You want honest answers,” she reminded, “that required introspection — especially with these questions. It’s rarely linear.”

“How do you react to conflict?” he asked, sounding like he was reading from a list. Em wouldn’t be surprised if he had all the questions memorized at this point.

“What kind of conflict?”

He sighed, trying to be annoyed but failing as a hint of a smile let itself be known, “Your answers tend towards the circumstantial.”

“C’est la vie,” Em said with a shrug, moving a piece and watching Langdon frown as she captured one of his kings.

“It certainly keeps at least one of these conversations interesting.”

Em gave him a look, “is this a conversation?”

“We’re communicating, are we not?”

“You’re asking questions and I’m talking about myself for…”

She glanced at the clock in the corner of the room, “… an hour. Not much of a conversation.”

“Therapists would disagree.”

“You’re my therapist now?

He didn’t look at her, but she could see him smirk, “…of a sort.”

The brunette leaned forward in her chair, regarding him for a moment, “Then what do you see?”

Langdon’s head quirked to the side as he eyed her, “I see a woman who hides her insecurities behind bold and intelligent words… a philosopher without students.”

Em could only laugh, sparing him an amused but unbelieving look, “You give me far too much credit.”

“My records indicate you were quite introverted and withdrawn before,” he noted, “What changed?

“When you stare at death he does not care what mask you ware,” she told him, voice distant as if it was not her own, “so why bother with pretenses and polite society?”

“Why, indeed?”

They finished the game, coming to an impasse with two kings following each other across the board. Langdon rose from his chair and wandered over to the pitcher of water from before.

“You care for some?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

He turned to her with a Cheshire grin, “what happened to polite society?”

“Born in the south, remember? We mind our P’s and Q’s and say ‘bless your heart’ instead of ‘go to hell.’”

“I hear it’s quite pleasant this time of year,” he said, turning with two glasses of water.

“Hocus Pocus,” she noted.

“A staple in my house during Halloween,” he noted, a sad smile coming to his lips.

She rose and took a step forward as he approached her, hand extended to take the glass from his hands. A thankful smile turned tense as too much pressure was placed on her bad leg. After sitting for so long, she had forgotten it was there. She leaned back on her good leg and regulated her expression.

Langdon didn’t seem to notice and she pulled back and carefully lowered herself into the chair, waiting for him to move and do the same. Placing the glass on the table beside her, she turned to make a comment about a third and final match only to find him crouched on the ground.

Red coated his fingers, a small puddle on the ground the size of a silver dollar. One of her stitches must have torn. Of all the timing…

“You’re hurt,” he noted, looking up to her, “where?”

“Oh,” she tried to write off, “it’s embarrassing, but I think that’s— “

His eyes were deadly as he stood and stepped towards her, a growl in his throat, “we agreed not to lie.”

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Em lifted up her skirt to reveal the comically small injury that sat three inches above her knee. As she feared, unbinding the bandages revealed the stitching had come undone.

He kneeled down in front of her, hand hovering over the wound. “What happened?”

She tied the bandages around it, resolving to cauterize it later as she knotted the ribbon extra tightly around her leg. Langdon retreated as she threw her skirts over it once more, obviously not wanting to let the incident rest or for her to leave his office without treatment.

“A fucked up side-effect of conditioning.”

Langdon sighed, “this is why I said—”

“I’d be better off acting on my anger?” she snipped, “oh, yes, I remember. You were quite insistent on that point.”

Em averted her eyes, staring past him and into the fire with venom. From the corner of her eye, she could see Langdon sigh, shoulders falling ever slightly.

Her shoulders tensed as she felt a hand upon them, finally turning towards Langdon as she realized he refused to pull away. He wanted to speak, she could tell that from the way his lips pressed together. Why was he speechless? Langdon had a response for everything.

Green eyes couldn’t look away from him— his knitted brow and the frown that marred his features. His hand rose to her cheek and all she could feel was her heart beating in her ears as the heat rising up her neck. His thumb ghosted under her eyes, over the tired circles where tears had been not even thirty minutes before.

This strange and witty woman… why did she have such an effect on him?

Hands curled around the back of her neck as he moved her hair from around her face. The pieces she had pinned back had begun to fall from their confines.

His fingers pulled her forward, thumb hovering under her chin. She felt like she was under a spell, unable to move. Did she want to move? All she could feel was her heart trying to force its way through her chest.

She smelled sweet— lavender and earth overwhelming him in the best way. His eyes flickered between her mouth and her eyes, his neck craning to the side as he felt her breath on his face.

Then, she suddenly tensed. Breaking free of the spell, she pulled back— jumping off the chair and past him to the door. She had let her guard down and… she didn’t know what to feel. The hammering in her heart told her to run, but—

“I’m leaving,” She whispered.

Langdon took a step towards her, a hand outreached. He moved as if he were approaching a wounded animal, slow and tentative.

“The interview isn’t over,” he said, hand coming gently around her wrist.

“Yes,” She growled, realizing something that made her steel herself against him and tear her hand from his grasp, “it is.”

“This could forfeit your place—” he began, cursing himself as he realized how he sounded.

“So be it. I don’t care.”

She tried to open the door and his hand went instinctively to keep it from opening. He needed her to understand. He needed—

“I’m not here to hurt you,” He all but pleaded, “take a seat.”

“…You’re right—” she finally said after a moment. His grip on the door loosened and a smile of relief came to his face, tenseness leaving his body.

The door slammed into his head as she threw it open. With a grunt of pain, he fell back and gripped at his head. When he looked up a satisfied smirk was on her face, the door blocking her body from him like a shield.

“— My anger is best used outward instead of inward.” She said, disappearing back into the hall. By the time he stumbled to the door and threw it open once more she was gone… like she had never been there in the first place.

The thought of that terrified him.

�� ---------------------------------------

Em was… well, she wanted to pace, but the newly cauterized wound on her leg would have protested too much. So there she was, seething on her bed. Her hands dug into the comforter, pretending it was someone’s throat.

At least this time she had been sure to put away her knife first. Then again, the now blistering skin took care of any destructive and impulsive urges she may have.

She had been blind, the desire for having her life mean something clouding the reality of logic and fact. Langdon wanted her to depend on him. He wanted her to think she was special. Em wasn’t. She was an average person with a tragic childhood. A dime a dozen case.

Coco probably got the same treatment. They were both single and desperate to survive, desperate to be wanted. Langdon weaponized sex.

… But that wasn’t what it was. Not to Em, at least. It was vulnerability, understanding, trusting someone with—

He was playing with their emotions. All their emotions. Part of her was willing to be strung along. Was certainly an easier route.

With a sigh, she hung her head in her hands. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. To live or not to live… wasn’t that the fucking question? She was supposed to graduate this year, get a shitty job with shitty pay, and live in a shitty apartment. It’s why she had sacrificed so much, stayed in a less than happy place in the hopes that one day—

A knock at the door pulled her from the spiral. Straightening her back and clearing away her misty eyes, Em turned to the door.

“It’s unlocked,” she informed the person on the other side.

“That’s new.”

Emily’s head pocked through the door before she slipped inside, closing the door behind her after checking her six, “You didn’t come to finish our game.”

The bed dipped as she took a seat next to the brunette. Her worry was transparent on her face, lip quirking to the side and eyes focused on Em’s face as she waited for the woman to say something. “We were worried.”

Em could only shake her head, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Though her eyes were focused on the floor, she could feel Emily’s hands cover her own. A familiar squeeze curling around her hand.

“We’ll make it through this,” Emily assured. It did little to convince Em. No matter what the brunette did, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the wrong path.

“And then what?” she couldn’t help but ask, teeth gnashing with every word, “we leave here and play the game somewhere else in some mysterious sanctuary or play Mad Max as we slowly die from cancer?”

For once, Emily didn’t have a retort.

“I can’t live like that anymore!” Em hissed, finally turning towards her companion, “My whole life I’ve lived one day to the next just to say I made it another day. I can’t! I— “

Her companion could only stare at her friend, mouth open but no words. What could she say? Emily hadn’t much thought about what would happen next, the cost of living. It was quite like what doctors faced, wasn’t it? Determining whether quality of life justified the means to the end. What was the future when they faced the end of the world?

Em shook her head, “I just can’t.”

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon #ahs x reader #ahs x oc #ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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scaredandbored · 5 years ago

Text

the one with the sonic showers

for @julie-yard , (sorry it’s so ooc but it’s got DaForge in!)

word count (excluding the compulsory grouching i do in the brackets next because i ran out of space in the tags whoops) : 2233

(also this is my first ever piece of writing using solely other people’s characters so i apologise in advance lol)

(constructive criticism welcome just please be nice i cry really easily)

(hey so data is literally an android and geordie is CHEIF FRICKIN ENGINEER and i am Bad At Physics. so there are large gaps in dialogue which i would LOVE to do some more research on (not sarcasm i really would but i would get sucked into it and never actually write lol) but i’m more of a chemistry/biology Basic Bitch™️ so even though i’m supposed to know enough about sound waves to write that dialogue i don’t trust myself enough to do it)

(also, i’m a First Aid Responder, not a doctor, damnit! so all medical talk in this is me reading three (3) articles on chronic tension headaches and then seeming myself fit to write about it)

(sorry in advance, here you go!)

The alarm he had set for twenty minutes before the beginning of his shift made Geordie feel as though he was being hit repeatedly by a phaser. Wincing, he groped for his VISOR, slamming his other hand on the button that would stop the infernal shrieking. Logically, Geordie knew the noise was just barely above a soft trill, but as he rummaged around his drawer for his acetaminophen hypo, he was considering having a word with the senior medical staff about limiting the volume of the ships alarms in the interest of the crew’s wellbeing.

As usual, the hypo did very little for the inescapable pressure on his skull, and the activation of his visor did nothing but restore him to the state he was before the hypo. Grimacing, he dragged himself over to the replicator in the far corner of his room, toeing off the black regulation bottoms he’d slept in and tossing them into the laundry shoot as he walked by. “Coffee, black, sixty degrees Celsius.”. Hoping against hope the caffeine would keep the dull pain from spiking until he could administer her perscription later in the day. He rolled his head between sips of the slightly too bitter beverage, with the intention of loosening up in order to stave off neck and shoulder tension later in the day. “Computer, set a reminder to schedule a meeting with Dr.Crusher for me, will you?” The computer’s answering trill was, again, much too loud for his liking, so he gave a second order for all automated auditory responses to decrease intensity by 50%.

Sliding off his VISOR, Geordie decided to pick out his uniform and dress using muscle memory, the idea of putting his VISOR back on before absolutely necessary was enough to make his stomach turn, violently. “OK, so don’t put it back on, Geordie, it’s not rocket science.” he sighed to himself as he tugged the zip up, catching his thumb in his collar. Adequately annoyed at himself and already aching to take another shot of his hypo, Geordie lamented the fact he hadn’t decided to shower, the warm water would’ve done some good towards the inevitable spasms his upper back and neck would undoubtedly engage in later that evening. Sitting down, he pressed the heels of his almost-cool hands against his temples, rubbing around the terminals for his VISOR, where the ache was the worst. As he considered requesting sick leave and how to tell Riker he’d be missing poker tonight without raising suspicion, his communicator went off, the obnoxious trill sending a jolt of nausea through him as Barclay’s voice rang around his room.

“Barclay to Commander LaForge.”

Geordie winced and sighed before tapping his badge. “LaForge here.”

While Reg was relaying his message, Geordie reluctantly picked up his VISOR and clicked it into place. “There’s been several complaints shipwide about sonic shower malfunctions, the captain has asked us to assemble a team and look into it as soon as possible, sir.”

“Acknowledged. I’ll be in Engineering as soon as I can. Until then, Reg, you get a few ensigns and run a few tests on the basic functions in the malfunctioning units on the lower half of the affected decks. I want the results updated in real time so I can check them against the ones I’ll run. LaForge out.” Geordie considered popping into Sickbay on his way to see if he could get a muscle relaxer to avoid any serious cramping of his neck muscles, but the acetaminophen seemed to be kicking in, and he’d hoped this meant the worst was over.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

After numerous hours of running several different sonic showers at increasingly higher frequencies, Geordie felt as though his head was going to burst. He’d missed the hour he was supposed to re-administer his painkiller by a good thirty minutes, and the ensign he had taken with him to the upper decks had noticed his smile was less a smile and more a pained grimace. When she’d suggested he let her run a few tests while he updated the logs, Geordie had politely declined with a small laugh and an even smaller smile. When she repeated the question ten minutes later, he complied without a word.

Lunchtime arrived what felt like years later, when Geordie finally caved and turned himself into sickbay.

“Hey, Alyssa, can I talk to you for a second?” Geordie held out his hand in a sort of rushed, half-thought out greeting that immediately told Alyssa what it was Geordie wanted to talk to her about.

“Geordie, maybe you should sit the rest of your shift out.” Was all she said in the way of sympathy as she administered several of his usual hypos. This was why Geordie came to her before any other nurse on the Enterprise. Her sympathy was just enough to get her job done and she kept her pity to herself for the most part.

“Well, you know what they say!” Geordie jumped to his feet, rubbing his hands together briefly before giving one sharp clap to test the rapidly receding pressure in his head. “No peace for the wicked. I’ll see you around, Alyssa, thanks for the help.”

As Geordie moved out from behind the thin curtain Alyssa had pulled for privacy, he found himself looking straight up at his best friend, and his heart skipped a beat. “Data!” He grinned.

“Geordie.” Data’s head nodded in acknowledgement. Geordie admired the halo his VISOR caused around Data’s head. “I fail to see the relevance between your chosen turn of phrase and Nurse Ogawa’s reccomendation. I also object to the comparison you have drawn between yourself and the afformentioned ‘wicked’.”

“Data, it was a joke.” Geordie smiled again, the combination of the slightly stronger meds and his closest friend reducing the pain to a tolerable level. The fact his crush on Data was all-consuming only meant he had something to distract himself from what pain remained. “And Alyssa was just being nice, you know how I’d love to take an evening off to fool around on the holodeck.” Geordie immediately regretted his choice of words, but Data remained oblivious, his concerned head tilt still in place.

“Nurse Ogawa is not known for the benevolent prescription of unnecessary sick leave, Geordie.” He opened his mouth as if to suggest something, before closing it again and taking a step forward, placing his hand on Geordie’s shoulder. Now, it was Geordie’s chest that was under considerable pressure. “Do not hesitate to contact me if necessary. I must return to duty.”

Geordie chuckled in order to hide his disappointment at the loss of Data’s hand on his shoulder, shaking his head fondly. “No problem, Data. I’ll do that.”

Geordie was nearly out the door of Sickbay when Data called after him. “I shall see you at poker tonight, Geordie.”

It didn’t sound like a question, but Geordie knew Data well enough to know he was hoping to prompt a response. “I dunno, buddy. I’m kinda tired, if I’m being honest. I’ll let you know later, ok?”

Data blinked once, then twice, then nodded, his head adjusting itself into a neuteral position. “That is satisfactory.”

This time, Geordie laughed, the pain in his shoulders creeping up on him slowly once again, despite Data’s adorable half-attempt at a wave as the doors slid shut behind him. “Computer, what time is it?”

The shrill chime that preceded the response didn’t particularly hurt his head, but Geordie could feel his shoulders tensing even further, and he knew beyond doubt there was no way he would make it to cards that evening.

That evening found Geordie still in one of those awful, shrieking showers. He’d been technically off-duty for an hour now, and desperately needed to take off his VISOR for ten minutes, but Barclay had taken one look at Gerodie’s drawn face and refused to leave him alone in the bathroom they were checking out. “Hey Reg, do me a favour?” Geordie needed to get him out of the room so he could slip off his VISOR and massage his temples. That, or he needed to stop working with the shower on; the high frequencies were really not helping his situation.

“Sir?” Barclay’s hands had stuttered to a sudden stop the minute his commanding officer had spoken.

“Could you run and grab a coffee? The Gamma Shift doesn’t start for another five minutes, we can take a break from this instantaneous reporting.” Geordie didn’t take his head out from the panelling they had removed half an hour ago, afraid Reg would see the pained twist he could feel in his lips and call Dr.Crusher. He knew he could handle it, it wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever had from his VISOR, and he’d managed to subtly administer another hypo when he’d gone to grab them both a water around twenty minutes ago.

“Yessir.” Was Barclay’s anxious reply, and there was a prolonged silence between his response and the sound of the doors opening and shutting. They’d had to shut down all replicator and environmental control activity while they worked, which meant Geordie had five minutes to give his head a well-deserved break. Clicking the VISOR out of its terminals and heaving a sigh of relief, Geordie felt his head swim. Taking a few steadying breaths, he fumbled blindly at the sonic shower’s controls, silently cursing himself for not having shut it off before removing the VISOR. Only succeeding in shifting the tuning to an impossibly more painful frequency, Geordie sat down on the floor of the shower, back pressed against the back wall, head falling back against the cool slate. He rubbed at his eyes. “Goddamn.” His sigh made his head swim once more, and his subsequent calming breaths only served to worsen the sensation. The constant drone pressed down on his head so much the pain from that morning seemed as intimidating as... Geordie couldnt think properly; he could only conjure up an image of Data as he worked at his desk in his quarters, resolutely ignoring Spot on his stack of PADDs, aside from his gentle, regular strokes. The image made him smile, which caused his tensed muscles in his neck and shoulders to spasm, violently. Again, the deep breathing Deanna had helped him with when he’d first arrived on the ship did nothing but worsen the sensation.

Geordie dragged his shaking hand down his face, which came away damp with what Geordie briefly considered to be sweat, before everything went black.

There was a hand on either side of his face, a comforting pressure being applied by what felt like a pair of thumbs around the terminals on his temples. “Do not be alarmed, Geordie.”

Data was whispering, Geordie noted, and his tender head thanked the android for it. “Data? What happened?”

The thumbs stopped rubbing briefly, but resumed without hesitation when Geordie accidentally, slightly whimpered at the loss. “You passed out while completing your tests on the malfunctioning sonic showers. Dr.Crusher administered a variety of medications which she noted in your medical log, if you would like for me to read them to you?”

Despite his hushed tones, Geordie’s head really wasn’t going to put up with any noise for very much longer. “No, no talking, please, Data.” he managed to get out, curling up a little, before starting, which caused his shoulders to spasm lightly. “Wait, my VISOR-” Data’s hands shifted to the problematic muscles immediately, massaging firmly.

“I have your VISOR on the arm of your couch to my left. However, given the negative effect it has had on your condition throughout the day, Dr.Crusher has requested you refrain from replacing it this evening.” There was a pause as a mildly confused but very tired and complacent Geordie allowed himself to be gently manoeuvred into a reclined position, his head in Data’s lap while the second officer returned his hands to Geordie’s head. “I am here to assist you in every way possible, and I have downloaded various massage techniques frequently used on those who suffer from long-term, extreme tension headaches.”

“Why?” Geordie mumbled, slowly drifting off despite the pressure slowly returning with a vengeance behind his eyes.

Another pause, the hands stilled. Geordie frowned and they started to move again, but the silence continued. Just as Geordie was about to fall asleep, Data spoke. “You are my friend.”

“Huh?”

“I am helping you because you are my friend, Geordie.”

Geordie smiled softly, shaking his head. “I know that Data.”

Another pause, much more brief, and the hands did not stop their gentle rubbing on his delicate head. “What was the purpose of your inquiry, Geordie?”

And Geordie, as much as he wanted Data to know, he couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t say he wanted Data to be there because he liked the domesticity of this situation, to be there not only to massage his knotted muscles and play nurse, but to hold his hand, to kiss his forehead, to... “No purpose, Data.” He sighed softly, settling further into his best friend. “None at all.”

His breathing had lengthened, he was almost fully asleep but not quite there yet, when he felt cool lips press against one of the terminals, then the skin right beside it.

“Hmmm, Data?”

A pause. “Yes, Geordie?”

A mumble, the beginnings of a snore.

Slightly more urgently, “Geordie?”

“Said, I l’ve ya,,,”

Several minutes of soft snores and gentle massages later, an almost unintelligible: “I believe... I am in love with you also.”

fin

i was going to put in a bit about Data finding Geordie because he hadn’t gotten back to him about the poker but then i felt like it took from the kind of,,, geordie pov vibe i had going idk

hope you enjoyed!

sorry for all the inevitable typos i did this on my ipad and i didnt proof read because i’m kinda using this one shot prompt thing as a warm up to writing as opposed to actually writing fic? idk if that makes sense but i enjoyed writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it!

#the number of ‘research’ TANGENTS i went off on #im here to formally apologise to anyone with actual medical training #a bitch is only a FAR #the only medicinal treatment i know is aspirin for heart attacks whoops #i also have zero personal experience with chronic pain #and only mild migranes and shit #the only issues i have with my eyes all involve the vision going shitty #which obviously is no help here #so im apologising to people with chronic pain and who actually suffer from chronic tension headaches and stuff for my inaccuracies as well #i had fun though!#thanks for the request!#geordie la forge #fanfic #daforge #star trek #star trek tng #data soong #ok so confession #as much as i ADORE geordie and data and daforge #ive actually never read a fanfic for tng #because im afraid of spoilers #also im a whimp who wont read fanfic until ive consumed all the content lol #so as out of character as this COULD be #it doesnt even have the fandom’s characterisation/influences #im really sorry if this isnt what you were looking for #also i focused more on chronic pain than his blindness #i hope thats ok #wow this is a lot of tags #and none of them are relevant #bored writing

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harryandmolly · 6 years ago

Text

Complicit // 3

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, a TLWH easter egg

WC: 7k

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Shawn Mendes & Bex Spotted Canoodling in Toronto -- The Sun

Did Shawn Mendes Take Bex Home To Meet The Parents?! -- JustJared

Fallin’ All in Bex! Shawn Mendes and Bex Hit His Hometown For A Romantic Weekend -- TMZ

Penny steps back from her magnifying mirror, mashing her mauve lips together after a good blot and decides she’s ready. She smoothes her manicured fingers down the front of her ice blue Vince slip dress and reaches for the handle of her suitcase, packed with one of her favorite clients in mind, who has a fondness for vibration.

As she turns, she’s stopped in the doorway of her bathroom by an enormous German shepherd, sitting patiently, watching her like a little girl studying her mother putting on makeup. Penny scrunches her face affectionately and squats a little, cupping the dog’s big soft head in her hands.

“My baby Pammy,” she coos, leaving the dog with a kiss on the nose that makes her sniffle and sneeze, “I’ll see you early tomorrow morning. Maybe we’ll go up to Wildwood Canyon for a hike.”

At the word ‘hike,’ Pamela’s head tilts dramatically. Penny laughs and heads for her front door.

Gus is standing on her porch with his arms folded behind his back, admiring her view. When he hears her front door open, he turns with a soft smile.

“Hello there.”

Penny rises on her toes even in her strappy sandals to reach his cheek for a kiss.

“You look lovely as ever. We’re heading to the Roosevelt tonight. Can I take your case?”

Always the same routine. Gus greets her, compliments her, tells her where her date is (though she already knows) and offers to take her luggage. His professionalism is somehow comforting. Penny nods and passes over the suitcase, allowing him to open her door in the back of his Tesla (the agency used to have a small fleet of towncars but went electric last year for the environment).

The car is cool and sleek and silent. Instead of the music some of the agency women prefer to play on the way to a date, Gus and Penny talk. He catches her up on his week, tells her that his daughter Jamie is trying out for freshman soccer and they’ve been running drills in their backyard in Pasadena. His partner Ty is running another marathon, which Gus shakes his head at. Wasn’t one enough?

Penny craves the normalcy she gets a peek at in Gus’s world. Her life is beautiful -- glamorous and exciting and full of color, but Gus has a family to come home to every night that loves him and misses him when he’s away.

She gazes out at the rippling lights of West Hollywood as they zip past. She makes a choice every day to pursue a life she’s not ready to share with someone else. The truth is, her job fulfills her so much more than dating ever has. When she started working as an escort, she still tried to date. No one was ever worth leaving her work behind for. No one was worth giving up the satisfaction of helping, of relieving, of healing. She resigned not to stop working until she met that person, if they ever came along.

Gus leaves the car in the back lot, taking her case with a wink and a smile.

Penny waits.

The room is cool. The doors to the balcony are open. Penny makes a mental note to shut them for privacy later. They may be in one of the penthouse suites, but this client is extra concerned about discretion and pays a premium for Penny’s sealed lips.

The delicious thrill of an evening with a client crawls up Penny’s smooth back. She reaches out and cups a pair of full hips facing the quiet night. She uses her lips to brush away the soft red hair at the nape of a neck.

“Hello, Julia.”

The woman in her arms reacts, relaxing palpably, sighing and closing her electric green eyes.

“Where the fuck have you been in the last sixteen days?”

Her voice is teasing. Penny grins against her freckled skin, nipping to feel Julia’s perky ass grind back against her hips.

“You were the one who’s been in Moscow shaking hands and playing nice with the big boys,” Penny reminds her, stepping closer and sweeping her hands up Julia’s stomach, teasing the undersides of her breasts beneath her silk blouse.

Julia comes down another notch, her shoulders dropping as she slowly gives in to Penny’s touch. She sighs again, louder, reaching for the wall to steady herself.

“Wish I could fold you up in my pocket and take you with me.”

“Mmm, you haven’t taken me on a business trip in a while,” Penny hums, remembering Rio de Janeiro in January fondly. She slips her fingers over the generous swell of Julia’s breasts, digging her nails in slightly to get her coming all the way undone.

Julia rolls her head back against Penny’s shoulder, blinking slowly. “That’s because you fucked me so hard with the strap-on I looked like an idiot meeting the Brazilian president. I couldn’t… walk.”

Penny drops a hand back down, gliding past her Prada trousers and into what Penny is sure is La Perla lingerie to press her fingers against Julia’s wet cunt. Julia gasps and grinds down into Penny’s touch.

“Worth it, though, right, princess?”

Julia whines, loud and breathy. Penny knows the sound well. Julia Granger, Fortune 500 CEO and one of the richest, most powerful women in the world, is willing, desperate putty in Penny’s hands.

“So worth it,” Julia replies, her voice an octave higher than her soft mumbling moments ago. Penny smiles, rewarding her with a rough roll of her fingers. Julia squirms and stares at her.

“Is that what you want tonight? You wanna fuck my pussy with your pretty cock?”

Adrenaline flares hot and heavy through Penny’s entire body. She drops her head back and closes her eyes, reveling.

“Maybe if you’re the good girl I know you can be.”

Julia coos, rolling her hips between Penny and her hand. “Gonna be a good girl for you. So fucking good, Penny. The best.”

Penny’s free hand cups the back of Julia’s professionally blown out hair and drags her in. She tastes like red wine and woman. Penny groans appreciatively, loving the way Julia softens and waits to follow Penny’s lead, never taking more than she’s given, totally willing to offer her considerable power. Drunk on it already, Penny bites hard on Julia’s lower lip, swallowing the sweet, silky moan.

Penny pulls away smiling, pecking the skin she just abused, eyeing the open balcony doors.

“Let’s close these before I get you screaming for me.”

Penny scurries on tiptoes toward her VPI HW-40 turntable, a lavish gift from a client, to turn down the silky crooning of Patti Page. In her free hand, she hits the “Accept Call” button on her phone.

“Hello, stranger.”

“Ciao, bella. How are things?”

Penny looks over the warm, angular face of her brother Peter and pads back to her loveseat. She settles in, sweatpants and hoodie on in full post-date hibernation mood.

“Things are good. I’m recovering from last night.”

Peter smirks and leans back against the blank white wall behind his dorm bed. “Who was it?”

“Julia.”

Peter cocks his head and grins. “I loooove Julia.”

Penny barks a vibrant laugh. “She’s your style icon.”

“She is,” Peter admits freely, widening his eyes to show his sincerity, “She was photographed in this vintage Chanel suit last month in Page Six, I think it was from the 60s, and I swear to god--”

“Pete, you know I usually pay more attention to what’s under the suit,” Penny interrupts dryly, lifting a brow.

Peter pauses and rolls his eyes. “Then you found the perfect profession.”

“I really did, didn’t I?” she teases, wrinkling her nose, “So, how’s school?”

Peter grunts and slouches down into his twin XL, picking at his Target-purchased jersey sheets. “‘S fine. I’m taking on an extra project in my Mathematical Economic Modeling class. Gets me more face time with that professor with the Apple connections, Dietrich. And the TA is gorgeous.”

Penny’s smirk is alarmingly similar to Peter’s. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She gestures to herself.

Peter snorts. “You’re not my tree.”

“I’m as good as. How is that tree of ours, anyway? Have you talked to them?”

“They’re fine. I talked to dad and Kris on Thursday. They’re going to Miami for fall break so they asked if I could stay with mom and Frank. I told them I was flying out to visit you instead.”

Penny pauses her fiddling with the cushions on her sofa and looks at him through the phone. “Are you?”

“Ugh, don’t look so horrified. I’m going to Sasha’s. Her family lives in Delaware and they have a boat.”

“First of all, I’m not horrified, I would just need to move some shit around in my calendar. Second, why don’t you just tell them that?”

“Oh my god, I’m not gonna, like, cramp your hooker style. Just leave me on a beach I’d be fiiiiiine,” Peter whines. Penny narrows her eyes.

“I don’t live anywhere near the beach and your ass still can’t drive. Why do you care if they know you’re at Sasha’s?”

“Oh my god, I know, my useless gay ass really needs a license, what the fuck,” Peter laments.

“HEY!” Penny yelps for his attention, “Why does it matter if you’re in Delaware?”

Peter grunts and rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t. I just don’t need them knowing shit about me, you know?”

Penny’s lips fasten. She nods. She can’t argue with that, it’s the same approach she took with their parents while she was growing up with them in the suburbs of northern Jersey. She didn’t have a shitty childhood or anything. In fact once her parents got divorced and quickly remarried wildly different people, things ran much smoother. But the family isn’t close. Her parents were very preoccupied with their own lives and never paid much attention to Penny or Peter. So they made their own family. And in that family, the less others outside it know about them, the better.

Penny feels an overwhelming urge to hug her little brother, the super genius, the boy who got into MIT at 16 to study Computer Science, Economics and Data Science. Their parents barely noticed, but Penny did. She pays his tuition bills and housing to remind him financially of how much she cares. She tries to remind him in other ways, too, like this, their (usually) weekly FaceTime date.

“Well, you’ll be out here for Thanksgiving, right? We’re gonna order Chinese and get high in Big Bear?”

Penny sounds laughably eager. She doesn’t mind. Peter deserves her eagerness and her care-giving instincts. He always has.

Peter smiles, hugging a stuffed hippogryff pillow into his narrow chest. “Course. Better you than the stepmonsters.”

Penny rolls her tired eyes. “I’m flattered. Email me your holiday schedule this week so I can buy your flight, ok?”

Peter nods and watches his sister yawn and collapse back into her pillows.

“Julia wore you the fuck out,” he laughs.

“She did. I’ve had a few very long nights over the last couple weeks, actually. And doing all the end of month stuff for Silver.”

“Silver, OMG, my mom.”

Penny continues, ignoring Peter’s extremely gen Z interruption, “And before that I was with Victor in the Caribbean.”

“Has Julia been hogging you since then?”

Penny glances at the record player, shrugging. “New client, actually.”

“Ooh, we love. Anyone I know?”

Penny doesn’t have to tell Peter to keep a secret. She also knows better than to play coy for too long. She tells him everything.

“Shawn Mendes.”

Peter’s eyes go wide. His jaw drops. He makes a squeaking noise and falls dramatically into his pillows. “Dead. Bitch, I’m dead. What the fuck?!? Are you… oh my GOD!”

Penny’s familiar with the reaction. She got almost the same one when she had a few dates with Timothee Chalamet last spring. This one is even more… Peter.

“Truly, this is the highlight of my life and it’s not even mine. What a moment. Can we just pause and take this in? Oh my god. You’re… oh my god. How many times have you seen him?”

“Twice.”

“Oh sweet god. Tell me everything, holy fuck.”

“I’m not going to tell you everything. I never tell you everything,” Penny reminds him.

She’s been open about her profession with her brother since he was 14 (with the maturity of an 18-year-old) but long ago decided he didn’t need to know all the details of her escapades. Some things have to remain just hers.

Peter whines loudly. “But this is different! He’s… god, an Adonis. The best looking man on the planet. Seriously, he has no business looking like that.”

Penny nods solemnly. She doesn’t disagree.

Peter’s lips purse. His eyes narrow. “But you like him, right?”

“I do. He’s very nice. And… he’s a very good boy.”

Peter lifts a cushion to his face and screams while Penny laughs, curling into a comfy ball on her couch.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Mendes?”

Shawn blinks. His stomach drops into his shoes and his fingers tighten around his phone. “Uh… yeah? Hi.”

“Hello, this is Colette. May I have your verbal password for security purposes?”

Shawn presses a hand into the hair he forgot he was doing up and frowns. La Splendeur has never called him before. He has to give his verbal password when he calls the service, but he’s a little thrown off at being the one getting a call. He clears his throat.

“Um, it’s “Ireland.””

Shawn wasn’t prepared to have to create a password when they first asked him for one so he spit out the first word he thought of, and Niall was the one who gave him their number, so…

“Yes, thank you. Mr. Mendes, I’m calling regarding your appointment tonight with Penny.”

He has the sudden urge to throw his phone on the bed and punch a pillow, throw a little temper tantrum. She’s cancelling. He can feel it. He’s been in Toronto sexless and desperate for 10 days thinking about seeing her again, feeling her again, making her come again. And now she’s ditching him.

“Yes?” he croaks miserably.

“There’s been a change of venue. Penny and her driver will meet you at the Bel Air Bay Club in the Pacific Palisades. We have texted you the address. Penny apologizes for the last minute change in plan and hopes you’re still able to join her.”

The roller coaster he seems to be on brings him back up to a peak. He grins and nods until he remembers Colette can’t see him through the phone.

“Yes! Yeah, no problem. 8:00 still?”

“Yes, 8:00. Thank you, Mr. Mendes. Enjoy your evening.”

Shawn is about five minutes from the turn off to the Bel Air Bay Club when the radio station he has on to block out the static in his head starts playing the Lost in Japan remix. He flinches and hits the off button on the stereo, looking around at the red light like he’s worried people stopped around him might think he’s listening to his own music. Truthfully, he doesn’t want anyone around him to notice him for any reason tonight. He feels safe enough for now.

He was immediately relieved when he realized Penny was not cancelling their date, but became slowly unnerved trying to riddle out why she didn’t have the service book a hotel room like their first dalliances. She’s changing the game. Why is she changing the game?

He knows he’s not in charge. That’s literally the point. Seeing her means seeing her on her terms and bending to her will and whims. So if driving out almost to Malibu is what she wants him to do, he’ll do it. But just when he was getting comfortable with this, or as comfortable as he can be when he’s regularly utilizing the services of a high priced call girl, she’s got him on edge again. Maybe she’s doing it on purpose. Maybe it’s a whole “domme” thing -- luring him like prey into a sense of security and then teasing him, faking him out to keep him on his toes.

He might be thinking too hard about this. Penny’s always trying to get his mind clear, not confuse or upset him. She wants to take care of him.

He swallows as the light turns green and he eyes his turn off a few hundred yards away. He hopes he’s dressed ok. He googled the Bay Club and it seems to just be an event space, not a restaurant or a hotel, which threw Shawn even further down the loop. He’s in black jeans, the good ones, the ones he wore before the Calvin Klein partnership that don’t have the big obnoxious CALVIN KLEIN JEANS patch on the back waistband, and an off white oxford with some embroidered detailing on the inside of the collar and the shirt pocket.

Are they staying here? He wonders as his Tesla hugs the curves of the road heading up the bluff to the Spanish style country club. Is she taking him to some kind of event? That would be weird. People know him. She can’t take him to stuff and expect him to be incognito. She wouldn’t do that, right? She’s been doing this a long time, she probably has had lots of famous clients that insist on staying under the radar.

He begins to spiral as the road does, dropping him right into the valet lane in front of the grand main building complete with cascading bougainvillea and an ornately sculpted fountain. He spots Gus standing under an overhang with his arms folded professionally looking like expensive private security. Shawn supposes that’s exactly what he is, actually.

The car rolls to a stop. He chokes down an inhale and rolls his window down when Gus gestures to him.

“Good evening, Mr. Mendes. Miss Penny is in the parking lot just around the corner there. May I see your--”

Shawn holds up the screenshot of his bank’s transfer confirmation on his phone with what he hopes is a smile and not a grimace but his whole stupid body is churning. Gus looks it over and nods, waving him toward the lot.

It’s nearly empty. There’s no event here tonight. It’s near sunset on a Tuesday in early June, but the dreaded LA June gloom is nowhere to be seen. Maybe Penny did away with that for them, Shawn muses absurdly as he steers the car toward the lot. She has power he doesn’t understand.

He stops the car in the middle of the lot, hitting the brakes a little too hard. He can’t even be bothered to park.

Propped up against a sleek black Aston Martin Vanquish S in a little white dress and beige leather driving gloves is Penny, looking somehow more like James Bond than one of his Bond girls. His brain pops and fizzles, giving out entirely. He swears he’s already hard in his jeans just from seeing the car. He releases a whimpered breath and gets his shit together enough to park beside her, not directly next to her for fear of bumping her car with his door.

He steps out on jello knees and stares at her, a burst of shocked laughter rumbling from his chest.

Penny grins and pats the hood affectionately.

“You wanna go for a ride?”

Does he ever.

The car growls as she shifts gears once they’re back on the PCH, cruising past ridiculous beach homes on their right and the Pacific on their left. He keeps looking down at her lap and the way her leg muscles flex and release as she works the pedals easily, like she’s been driving hundred thousand dollar sports cars since she got her license.

“How long have you had this?” he murmurs, gazing around at the blonde leather interior appreciatively.

“Two years. It’s my dream car.”

She strategically leaves out the part explaining that it was a gift from the North American president of Aston Martin for her birthday while he was her client. That’s need to know information.

“I think this is everyone’s dream car,” he snorts.

“I like your Tesla though,” she comments, shifting again, swerving around a couple hippies in a Jeep Wrangler without doors as easily as if she were brushing an ant off a windshield. Shawn’s stomach lurches in response and his skin tingles. There’s something incredibly sexy about a practiced, fearless driver.

“Yeah, it’s a good car,” he chirps, feeling silly about the boyish pride he felt when he bought it, like he was hot shit. Teslas are everywhere now, especially in LA. Aston Martins remain eternally cool. He finds himself oddly jealous.

“I don’t let just anyone in this car, you know,” she says, easing into a stop at a red light as they head north to Malibu. He looks over at her.

Her berry pink lips spread. He flushes.

“Oh no?”

He picks up on the implication that she means she doesn’t often take dates in this car. Where there was a hint of childish jealousy there’s now a swell of pleasure and pride.

“No, definitely not. There are many powerful men that are comfortable enough submitting themselves to me for sex but still can’t stomach being driven around by a young woman who’s a better driver than they are in a car that’s nicer than theirs.”

She lifts her leather gloved hand gracefully from the gearshift and drops it against his mid thigh, mashing her lips together as they enjoy the breeze coming in from the window.

“You’re saying you think I’m secure enough in my masculinity?” he jokes, but he feels himself flush a little.

Penny squeezes her fingers enough to make his whole body stiffen. She lifts the corner of her mouth in a smirk at his reaction.

“Exactly.”

Her voice is smooth and controlled, just like her driving as she springs forward on the green light. Shawn’s head tips back against the seat from the acceleration. He misses her hand as soon as she takes it away to attend to the gearshift.

He turns his head to watch her shamelessly, pressing his cheek into the warm leather headrest, admiring the way her dark hair flutters in the breeze.

“So where are we going?”

She smirks again in that way that always makes him ready to drop to his knees in surrender to her. That smile means she knows everything and controls it, too. He loves that smile. That smile is his freedom.

“Oh, you noticed this isn’t a hotel room?” she teases.

Shawn rolls his eyes and looks forward, watching the colors spread like spilled paint on a canvas as the sun begins to dip below the watery horizon. “Don’t need a hotel room to make you feel good, Penny.”

He feels her eyes and looks over to see her watching him, swiping her soft wet tongue against her lower lip. “Good to know.”

She dips around a curve and slows at another light, drumming her long slender fingers against the wheel. He watches them and can’t help but think about the last time they were together when she so generously let him watch her fuck herself and suck on her fingers after.

She seems to sense his antsiness and clears her throat. “Well, we are headed for a hotel room. I just wanted to take you on a little drive first. It’s not often I show off this car, like I said. And I like this part of the PCH.”

He settles, knowing there’s a bed for them at the end of this little journey. “Do you like the beach?”

“I love the beach,” she answers, nodding, “My favorite beach in the world is on Laucala Island in Fiji. It’s dead quiet and the snorkeling is the best I’ve ever seen.”

Shawn smiles. “So have you been, like, everywhere?”

“Well, I’ve been most everywhere on the Conde Nast Traveler’s Best Of list. There are still a lot of other places I’d like to visit.”

“Like where?”

“Like… Chicago. I’ve never been to Chicago,” she chuckles.

His eyebrows lift. “You’ve been to Fiji but not Chicago?”

She shrugs. “I know. Imagine missing out on all that deep dish pizza.”

Shawn laughs. “It makes sense though. Clients would rather fly you somewhere sexier than Chicago.”

There he goes, acknowledging the elephant in the back seat of the sportscar again. Penny nods appreciatively, but stays quiet. She still isn’t quite sure what to do about his insistence on reminding them both that she’s here with him in a professional capacity. He doesn’t even sound bitter or awkward about it, that’s the weirdest part. He just treats it like it’s a part of her life, and maybe he’s interested in her life and not just the insane orgasms she can dish out.

“What’s the craziest trip a client has taken you on?”

Penny chews on her lip. Shawn expects her to come away with lipstick on her teeth, but nothing. Figures. She’s perfect.

“I think… well, I can’t tell you who, obviously, but someone flew me to Mustique once on about four hours notice. I had to pack and get myself to LAX to catch the flight. And then we couldn’t get back for almost a week because of a hurricane on the east coast. But honestly, if I had to be stranded on any private island, I’d pick that one.”

Shawn grins and launches into a story about getting hounded by paps in Mexico with his family once. While Penny listens, she quietly marvels at how easily he handles her honesty about her job. She understands she’s not getting into the nitty gritty, not describing how many influential businessmen, politicians, musicians and actors she’s had on their knees for her, but still. Given the way he reacted the first time she flubbed and made mention of their professional arrangement, he seems oddly relaxed about it now.

She likes hearing him talk. She can see the way he settles down when he’s rattling away about something. He talks about his family and his crew and bandmates, weaving in and out of tangents with each breath. He doesn’t question it when she flips on her turn signal and edges them up a canyon path that leads up into the craggy hills, climbing away from the sunset.

He’s even still chattering when she shifts the car into park at the top of a bluff with a deserted lookout point that she knows and loves.

“... and anyway, I think the festival thing will be good, ya know? It’ll take my mind off all the shit leading into releasing the next album. Or, hopefully it will.”

He looks around and registers that they’ve stopped. He clears his throat and smiles sheepishly, tilting his head back against the headrest. His curls flop boyishly over his forehead, bathed in violet light from the sunset.

“I haven’t shut up for fifteen minutes at least, eh?”

Penny shakes her head, amused. “You haven’t, but that’s perfectly fine with me.”

Shawn understands that. It’s better if he talks than if she does. Her job is probably one that she tries not to put too much of her real self into. He imagines he wouldn’t, if he were in her position. Too messy.

He tries not to feel the pang of… something that flares in his chest when he looks at her and wonders how much of the little she shares of herself is real.

“I wanted you to see this view while the sun was still setting.”

He nods and settles in. They unbuckle their seatbelts. She reaches for her phone that’s plugged into the stereo and selects a playlist. Shawn closes his eyes, stretches out his legs as much as is possible in the sleek sports car and sighs.

“This is nice. I feel, like… really good around you.”

He doesn’t even flinch when he feels her fingers on his neck, the soft buttery leather tracing up his jugular vein to run along his jaw and tangle in the hair at his nape.

“That’s good.”

He keeps his eyes shut and breathes into her touch, letting Frank Sinatra’s voice flood out anything that isn’t Penny related. His aching brain welcomes the cleanse.

“Do you feel good around me?” he hums.

“I do,” she responds, pulling her hand back from him. He opens his eyes to see her carefully slipping out of her driving gloves. The action is erotic in a Victorian sort of way, despite the fact that if he glanced down he’d see a lot more leg than was ever shown in that era. He loves her hands, though. They’re fucking gorgeous hands. He thinks about them on a piano or a guitar and it makes him breathe a little harder.

She tucks the gloves away in the center console. Shawn swallows and blinks at her, hoping his big brown eyes can entice her into touching him with her bare fingers. He doesn’t even care where, not yet.

“So you like Sinatra?” he rasps.

He gets a nice little smile out of her. “I love Sinatra. I listen to a lot of that kind of music. The Rat Pack, anything from the 40s and 50s. My best friend Silver tells me I have an old soul.”

“Silver. That’s a cool name.”

Penny wets her lips and pushes a hand through her floaty blow out. “I’m not sure it’s real, but I don’t mind. She runs La Splendeur. We’ve known each other a long time.”

Shawn squirrels away this piece of information, knowing somehow in his gut that it’s the truth. He doesn’t think Penny lies to him much, if ever -- she just doesn’t offer a lot of specifics. When she does, he hoards them like a starving man.

“I thought about you so much in the last week,” he sighs, sounding resigned. As he keeps his eyes down at his lap, he sees her hand appear again, resting on his thigh. It’s warmer without her little glove. He takes a chance and places his on top of hers, massaging her wrist gently with his rough fingers.

“What did you think about?” she asks.

He looks up at her and sees all the little details his brain failed him on when he was away from her. She has little freckles on her shoulders, bared by the thin straps of her dress. She has a little scar on the cut of her jaw. Her lips are full and round but slightly uneven so when she purses them a certain way it looks like a sexy little scowl.

“Thought about touching you,” he muses, letting his greedy eyes rake over the rest of her, “Tasting you. I really… I love the way you taste, Penny.”

She slides down in her seat, sighing heavily, letting her legs fall open as much as the footwell will allow. Shawn’s mouth goes instantly dry.

“I wonder what you’ll do for me if I let you have another taste.”

She looks over to see Shawn’s eyes looking wild and needy. She has to tamp down a satisfied grin to keep her facade.

“Anything you want, Pen. I’ll make you come so good. As many times as you want. It can be like the other night, you know? Or… or whatever you want.”

Penny reaches out and cups his chin in her hand. He leans into it like an attention-starved house cat, practically nuzzling into her palm as his eyes flutter.

“Anything I want?” she purrs, pressing her fingertips into his jaw teasingly. He swallows a moan and nods as much as he can in her tight grip.

“Anything. Wanna be so good for you, Pen.”

She licks her pillowy lips and releases him. He inhales sharply, watching as she pushes her door open and steps out. Before he can react, ask what she’s doing or even open his door to try to follow her lead, she steps out of her vibrant pink Manolos and easily unzips her dress all the way to the hem, pushing it off her shoulders until it lands in the dust at her feet. Shawn groans at all her sweet soft skin, still evenly bronzed, her tight brown nipples puckering in the cool evening breeze. Her nude satin thong joins the rest of her expensive clothes. Shawn’s eyes focus on her, on the soft little patch of dark hair that crowns her pussy, on the memory of how wet he got her the last time they were together. He struggles to keep himself together.

She leans into the driver’s side, her breasts swinging as she lowers her head to kiss him. He sucks at her lower lip and hums into her mouth, the first taste of release as sweet as he remembers.

“Come here, Shawn,” she says firmly, jerking her head as she drops herself back into the driver’s seat, this time with her back to him, seated sideways facing her open door.

Shawn leaps out of the car, slams his door and hustles around the hood, barely slowing as he drops to his knees in front of her.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she chastises, plucking his hungry hands off her thighs as he braces himself to bury his face in her.

He looks up, bewildered but willing. She presses a finger to his lips, watches him kiss her skin while he stares up at her like it’s second nature to him.

“Stand up and turn around.”

His jaw snaps shut, the muscle twitching in protest like it does when he doesn’t get what he wants right away. Ever obedient, though, he stands and turns away.

Penny reaches into the glove compartment and comes out with a white silk tie from her favorite fetish set. She drops it in her lap and reaches for his hands, clasping them together behind his back. She binds him wrist over wrist like an expert.

His exhale whistles through his nose as his chest deflates. “Jesus, Penny.”

“I know,” she whispers soothingly. She’s been watching him all night. She knows how badly he wants to touch her. Taking that away is almost cruel, but it’s for a good cause.

With a gentle push from her, he turns and kneels again, watching as she props herself up, spreading her legs for him, arm up on the center console.

Shawn keeps his eyes on her despite how badly he wants to stare at her body. Her nose twitches against a powerful smirk. She rolls her hips forward slightly and watches him suck in a desperate breath.

“Want my pussy, Shawn?”

He nods almost frantically.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” he croaks, his eyes flashing at hers, “Please. I need your pussy.”

She casually shrugs a hand into her hair and sighs. “Good. Because I want your mouth.”

Shawn lurches toward her, his shoulders pulling together as he buries his face in her warm wet folds. She mewls, smiling at his eagerness, rolling her hips slowly as he whimpers into her, trying to get his bearings before he can get totally lost in her perfect cunt.

He eases back slightly to focus on sucking on her outer lips, lifting his eyes to look at her as he tastes what he missed so much in the last week.

“That better, Shawn? You feel better now that you’re tasting me?”

He nods without lifting his head, swiping his tongue out to take long, broad licks of her, sweeping up all he can. When he can look up at her, her abdominal muscles quake, reacting to the heady desire in his eyes. She grunts, lifting her chin to urge him on.

“Yeah, feels so fucking good,” she mutters, letting her head fall back as she basks in it.

He knows what she likes now. After spending hours worshipping her pussy before he left for Toronto, he’s learned all the tricks, experimented carefully with pressure and position and speed and anything else he could think of to watch her perfect fucking thighs tremble next to his head and hear her make her pretty noises. Once she got comfortable with him between her knees, she started to talk dirty, praising him, swearing, generally moaning filth. He thinks he likes that maybe even more than her little whimpers.

But nothing’s better than when she screams.

Shawn starts slow, warming her up until she’s absolutely dripping on his tongue. He courses slow, deliberate circles around her entrance, just dipping inside and watching her chest rise with her inhale before he swipes at her lips some more, humming to drive her a little crazy. She likes the teasing, though. She likes the slow burn. He gives her what she wants.

“Like watching you suck on my clit with your pretty pink lips,” she half-whines, her foot slipping a little as she starts to fade closer to orgasm. He takes the hint and flicks at her swollen bud once, twice with his stiff tongue and then sucks it into his mouth with a satisfied groan.

“Yes,” she hisses, gripping his hair in one hand and the edge of her leather seat with the other, “Fuck, that’s so good. You’re so good for me.”

Shawn preens, sucking harder, then letting up on pressure, then going hard again. He can feel her orgasm coiled in her abdomen. She just has to let him release it. He alternates sucking and brushing his tongue against her entrance until she’s yanking at his hair, sitting up straighter.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come on your tongue,” she chants, nodding, eyes squeezed shut.

She opens them, looks down to see his hands straining behind his back, still bound for her as he sucks at her pussy like it’s the fucking fountain of youth.

She explodes. She holds his face down against her, rides it out against his mouth. Her legs spasm, feet slipping from where they’re propped beside him. Her cheeks are flooded red, her eyes glassy and dark as she swears his name. He doesn’t let up until she’s pulling his head away with a fist in his hair. He licks his lips and smiles -- it’s not a smirk or a simper. He smiles at her like he’s never been happier to see her. She grins back, giggling effusively.

“How was that?” he grunts, even though he knows. He wants to hear it. He deserves it.

“Perfect, Shawn. So… fuck, so good. Your mouth is amazing. You make me feel…” she sighs again through a drowsy grin, “You get me so high, baby.”

Baby.

His ears go as red as his cheeks. He ducks his head shyly, feeling his chest burn as his heart rattles like an angry kettle in his chest. One word, a word he’s been called a hundred times, a pet name he sings in songs he writes for women that don’t exist, and it has him reeling. He manages to raise his eyes again. She’s watching him fondly.

“You like that?” she whispers, cradling the back of his head as she reaches down behind him to free his hands. They go limp at his sides. He makes no move to touch her.

What a good boy.

He nods, uncertain. “I like that.”

“We all want to feel wanted, Shawn,” she coos, nudging him back up on his feet. She grins at the patches of dirt on the knees of his dark jeans. She offers him her hand and he helps her stand now in the crisp blue light of new dusk.

“Kiss me, baby,” she breathes, reaching for his waist. A weak noise of eagerness slips from his throat as he pulls her in, tucks her warm, orgasm-flushed body against his and lets her taste herself on his tired tongue. Just as he’s settling in, just as he gets comfortable and starts toying with tangling his fingers in the ends of her hair and massaging her cheek with his thumb, she pulls away, poker face firmly in place.

“Can you get my coat from the trunk?” She seals her request with a perfunctory peck against his lips.

He nods, letting himself look her over, naked and proud on this bluff above the ocean like there’s no one around for a thousand miles. He pops the trunk and opens her suitcase. A Burberry trench coat sits on top. He blinks and lifts it out. He’s about to ask if this is all she plans on wearing tonight when he catches sight of what else is in the suitcase.

He peeks his head around the trunk to look at her.

“Is… that for me?”

She places a hand on her hip and shrugs. “Dunno. Guess we’ll find out tonight.”

Shawn’s heart bounces into his throat. His fingers tighten around the jacket.

“Jesus… Christ.”

Penny smiles and looks down at her feet as she takes slow steps toward the back of the car. She pries the jacket from his clawed hands and slips it on over her bare body, tying it at the waist.

She looks up at him under soft, hooded lids. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip and cocks her head. “Ever tried one?”

He swallows like a fucking cartoon character and shakes his head.

“I think you’ll like it,” she purrs, flipping her hair out from under her collar and turning on her heel. She crouches, gathers up her dusty clothes and tosses them into the backseat. She slips back into her heels and lowers into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition.

The car growls. Shawn shivers. She pops her head out the driver’s side door and raises her eyebrows.

“Coming?”

Definitely.

----------

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