#the circle was an afterthought after I realised something was missing

[petri-ch0r]

I gotta work on drawing her more. I have a love/hate thing with drawing her. She has so much potential to look cool but I just cannot pull it off half the time.

[thedollface221b]

A Touch Of Magic

Pairing - Younger Neville Griffin (Misdirection - Inside No 9)/Original female character (can be read as reader insert)

Rating - Explicit - Over 18s ONLY

Warnings - soft BDSM

Summary - You get a job working as an assistant for a young Magician, but you find yourself fiercely attracted to him. Can you keep your mind on the job, or will lust win out?

Dedicated to the amazing @barkilphedros-hat for being wonderful. I ❤ you!

I searched through all the available jobs pinned on the job centre noticeboard and sighed. Absolutely nothing, yet again. I was just about to give up when I noticed a small, type-written card in the far corner. It read:

“WANTED

Assistant to a young, up and coming Magician.

Must be flexible”

Beneath that, written in red pen as if an afterthought was, in brackets:

“(Both in hours AND body!!)”

Typewritten again for the following:

“Please call Neville Griffin for more details”

Below that were two numbers, which I presumed were his landline and his mobile phone.

Scribbling down the info in my notebook, I resolved to call this Neville Griffin later that day. I had absolutely no experience at being a magician’s assistant but I had always been fascinated by magic ever since I was a little girl, and I was always being teased by my lovers by how amazingly bendy I was in bed – so why not give it a go?

______

After a brief phone call where we spoke only to arrange a meeting place and a time - his warehouse at noon the next day - I was left to wonder what Neville might be like. I couldn’t help but pre-judge him, with a name like Neville he was bound to be a total nerd, or perhaps older than he was letting on. Still, he did have a nice voice...

Whatever, I needed the work and impressing him with my appearance could go a long way... even nerds liked pretty girls and you didn’t often see a plain magician’s assistant, so I needed to look my absolute best. I spent the rest of the evening exfoliating, shaving, deep conditioning my hair, and giving myself a mani-pedi and a facial in preparation for the following day.

Despite my best efforts I slept fitfully, nerves getting the better of me. Putting on a little extra concealer to hide any dark circles my sleepless night may have caused, I finished off my make-up with a pop of cherry-red lipstick. Something a little bit daring and sexy. It paired well with the knee length, floaty red summer dress I was wearing, its sweetheart neckline giving onlookers just a peek of my décolletage.

I arrived at the road the warehouse was situated on a few minutes early so I could scope the place out. ‘Number Nine', I read off the GPS directions on my phone. It was a fairly barren looking alley, the kind of place you’d see on police shows where murders or rapes had taken place. I double checked my bag for my pepper spray and my rape alarm. All set.

Taking a deep breath and fixing a smile in place, I knocked on the door. It took a minute before I heard the heavy, metallic clank of a lock sliding back and the creak of the door opening to finally reveal Neville Griffin.

Oh.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a young, ridiculously good looking guy. His long, brown hair - just reaching his chin - framed a classically handsome face. Azure-blue eyes hid behind wire-rimmed glasses, resting on a strong nose, and his lips were a delicate pink and looked deliciously plump and kissable. He was dressed in a dark blue hoodie worn partially zipped over a red t-shirt, black jeans and a pair of black converse All Stars. All clothes of a typical guy in his late 20s.

“Oh, hello.” he said, his forehead wrinkling in confusion as if he hadn’t expected to be interrupted.

“Hi? I spoke to you on the phone last night, I’m here about the...”

“Oh, the assistant job, of course.” He wiped his hand on his jeans even though it didn’t look particularly dirty. “I’m sorry I was working and lost track of time.”

He held out the hand and I took it. It was warm and soft, with several calluses on his fingers, likely from day after day of practicing card tricks. For a guy of relatively small statue – around 5ft 7 I guessed – and lean build, he had large hands and long, thick fingers. My pussy gave a small, involuntary throb at the thought of what those fingers could do if given the opportunity. His grip was firm and I idly wondered if he was one of those guys who looked slight but was actually deceptively strong. Fuck, I had to stop thinking like that and concentrate on the interview. This guy could potentially be my Boss, not a one-night stand.

“Do come in,” he nodded, standing aside to let me enter the warehouse. It was dark, despite the overhead lighting, and the entire place was cluttered with debris of various magic tricks, boxes, notebooks and unquantifiable detritus. I noticed a zigzag lady in the corner, and a very cool looking guillotine towards the back.

Neville guided us towards two old, shoddy-looking stools placed right in the middle of the room and indicated that I take a seat. I sat up straight, my knees together and my hands placed in my lap. I had read somewhere that it was how Royalty was taught to sit, and that it was supposed to make you look more elegant and sophisticated.

Neville threw himself down on the stool in front of me, our knees almost touching. I could feel the heat emanating from his body, smell his aftershave, which was a musky, woody scent and very sexy. Jesus, I had to stop thinking like that!! Concentrate!!

“OK,” he started, “First off, are you a fan of magic?”

“Oh yes,” I said honestly, “I’ve loved it since I was a little girl.”

From his nod and smile, I figured we were off to a good start. The rest of his questions were pretty easy to answer and we fell into a casual conversation rather than a formal interview. It was looking good.

“And just one more question,” he said finally. “Do you think you can drop ten pounds?”

The flat of my palm made a satisfying crack as it made contact with his cheekbone.

“No!” he cried, clutching at his reddening face. “You misunderstood. It’s because the spaces you have to squeeze yourself into are so tiny. You need to be as small as you can possibly get yourself, that’s all.” He rubbed at his cheek. “I think you look perfect as you are. I mean fine. I mean you look...” He stopped. The other side where I hadn’t slapped was turning red now too.

“Oh.” I dropped my head, kicking myself for losing such a great job in the dying minutes. Talk about clutching defeat from the jaws of victory. “I’m sorry.”

“It's fine.” He stood and offered me his hand again. I stood too and took it.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“It was no problem. Well, almost no problem. Can you start on Saturday?” he asked, looking almost scared in case I slapped him again.

“You mean you want me?” I asked, shocked. I couldn’t believe that I had still got the job despite screwing up so heinously at the end.

“Yes, I want you. For the job!” he clarified. Together we walked to the door of the warehouse and he showed me out into the filthy alleyway. “Saturday at 4pm. Don’t be late.”

As the door shut behind me I did a little happy dance before setting off to catch my tube. I was going to be a magician’s assistant. What the actual fuck.

_____

I wasn’t really sure what to wear to my first day as a Magician's Assistant, so I just threw on what I normally wore to yoga. Skin-tight lilac leggings with a matching sports bra and a sloppy, cropped vest in baby pink. I chose ballet style trainers as I thought they’d have the most flexibility if I had to do anything particularly bendy. I covered it all with an oversized hoody to keep me relatively decent on the tube. I didn’t fancy having my ass groped by some greasy stranger.

The door to the warehouse was slightly ajar so I just knocked on it, called out a hello and let myself in, unzipping my hoody as I walked through the cluttered space. I tossed it over some boxes out of the way. I didn’t see Neville at first, until I spotted him kneeling beside the guillotine, tightening some screws. He looked good in his dark blue jeans and navy and white striped top and I took a moment to appreciate the view. He didn’t seem to notice me at first so I cleared my throat. Still nothing. I called his name again, louder this time and he jumped, looking up at me with wide eyes, scrambling to get up while simultaneously pulling earbuds from his ears.

“Sorry I didn’t see you... hear you come in.” he said, winding the cord of the earbuds around his phone and setting it on his desk beside him.

“I'm a few minutes early,” I said apologetically.

“No, it’s... fine,” he nodded. I noticed that he was still looking down at the phone he had placed on his desk. I wondered what was so important about it. Especially as it was switched off.

“I didn’t really know what to wear so I hope this is appropriate.” I indicated to my outfit and he gave me a quick glance before looking down again.

“It's fine,” he repeated. OK, so it was going to be like that. Still, if Neville was going to be weird and anti-social it was going to make it a lot easier to not be attracted to him.

“So what are we doing first?” I asked with fake brightness, trying to lighten the mood.

“First things first,” he tapped the table three times with his fingers and then finally deigned to look at me, “Your name. We need to change it.”

“What’s wrong with my name?” I asked indignantly, crossing my arms beneath my breasts. I knew this action would push them up slightly and make them more apparent but to be honest I wasn’t really caring about that at that particular moment. Neville, however, definitely seemed to notice as his eyes widened slightly before he realised himself and forced eye contact again.

“It’s not exactly showbiz, is it? You need something with a bit of spark, a bit of pizazz. So from now on, your name is Miss Ruby Jewel.” He moved his hand through the air as if performing some mystical action.

“Ruby Jewel? It sounds like a fucking porn star, no way!” I shook my head.

“Well, I was thinking more Bond Girl,” Neville sniffed haughtily. “Anyway it's too late now, I’ve already started designing the promotional material. You'll get used to it. Besides, it goes with my ideas for your costume.”

“Oh yes, I meant to ask, where do I get my costume? Is there some sort of dress shop that caters exclusively for Magician’s Assistants?” I enquired, half joking.

“Of course not, you silly girl!” he snapped.

I jumped. While I was shocked at his outburst, I was ashamed to say that a part of me found the dominance in his voice... kind of arousing. A shiver travelled up my spine and I felt my nipples start to harden against the soft fabric of my sports bra.

Oh please God let the two layers of my bra and vest be thick enough so my erect nipples don’t show through.

No such luck. I could see them poking out through my top like two tiny pebbles.

Neville cleared his throat and continued, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been working so many long hours trying to come up with new tricks... I just need something...” He trailed off and turned away for a moment before shaking his head and turning back to me with a smile, as if the previous moment hadn’t just happened.

“There’s a local seamstress who will make your costumes couture. Although we can only afford one for now. I’ve already sent her my design ideas and so I just have to get your measurements and email them to her and she can begin.”

My heart leapt into my throat and my legs almost gave out at hearing him say that. Surely that couldn’t be right. “I’m not going to her to be measured? Isn’t that standard?”

“Doing it this way will save us time and money,” he confirmed, already picking up the tape measure from his desk. “I think you’ll love your costume. It’s going to be ruby red and adorned with lots of sequins and jewels. And you will wear red lipstick like the one you had on during your interview, as that was...” He paused and swallowed hard. “Sufficient.”

“Does it have to be so... gaudy?” I asked, my nose wrinkling in distaste as he measured my height and my body length.

“We need you to be as bright and flashy as possible.” I quivered slightly as he fastened the tape around my waist. We were practically nose to nose, except he was looking down to read the numbers on the tape. I could smell his aftershave again but this time I was close enough to also smell his shampoo and his soap. He smelled clean, with that same woody, musky scent from before, but with a hint of coconut from the shampoo. Heady, sexy and inherently male.

My pussy was throbbing again, despite me telling myself that this was my Boss and nothing could ever happen. Unfortunately my body didn’t want to listen to my brain and continued to send signals of arousal south. I could feel myself getting wet already. Fuck, this was bad.

He whipped the tape away and stood back, and already I missed the heat from his body.

“The reason Magicians use beautiful female assistants in bright outfits,” he began, rolling up the tape, “is because we want the audience to be watching them here...” he waved his empty hand around in the air in front of me, “while the magic is happening over here!” He clicked the fingers of his other hand, then opened it to reveal that the tape had disappeared. “Classic misdirection.”

“I’m impressed!” I laughed, applauding. “OK so where is it?”

He leaned in and for a split second I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he brought the tape out from behind my ear where it had supposedly been hiding. The disappointment of not being kissed must have shown on my face because he said “What, the old ‘behind the ear’ gag not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s great, really.” I faked a smile. “But we should get on, don’t you think?” I wanted this torture over with as soon as possible. Still, Neville had called me a ‘beautiful assistant’. That was something at least.

“Yes, quite right.” he agreed. “I just need to do your... ah... your top area.”

Wait, did he mean my bust? Was Neville really going to put that mother fucking tape around my breasts? Fuck!

Awkwardly he put his arms around me as I stood frozen to the spot like a statue, my arms stretched out wide either side of me like wings. I didn’t even dare breathe. After fumbling with and dropping the tape twice, he finally got it around the largest part of my breasts, touching the two parts of the tape together as quickly as he could. His knuckles brushed against my still painfully erect nipples so there was no possible way he couldn’t have noticed them. The movement was sending little zings of pleasure through me and I had to clamp my lips shut so as not to accidentally moan out loud.

I noticed that his hands were trembling and when his eyes met mine for a moment I could see how large and dilated his pupils were. Wait a minute... was it possible that he was finding this just as arousing as I was?

“OK, got that,” he mumbled, letting the tape drop to the floor and rushing over to his desk to jot down the details. “I’ll email those details to Sarah tonight and she can get started on your costume first thing tomorrow. I’ll give her your number and she can call you when she wants you to come in for a fitting.”

“Sounds good,” I said, eying up the bottle of whiskey sitting on Neville's desk. God I could really use a drink right now. But that wouldn’t be very professional and I was already walking a very thin tightrope there. Instead I went over to my bag, got my bottled water and took a long slug, hoping it would cool my ardour as well as my body.

The rest of the evening was spent explaining to me how most of his bigger tricks worked and what I would be expected to do as an assistant. I was actually quite excited to begin learning how to perform properly.

“We'll have our first proper rehearsal on Monday, but we’ll take it slow and I’ll just walk you through a few tricks to start with using the actual props,” Neville was saying as he walked me to the door. “Nothing too difficult at the beginning, maybe the zig zag lady, or I could saw you in half, show you the Rope escape...”

“That all sounds great. Well, bye then,” I waved, fighting the urge to grab him and kiss him goodbye.

“Bye, see you on Monday,” he smiled, and my stomach did a backflip.

______

I lay in bed that night thinking back to everything that had happened that evening. Remembering Neville’s touch, the way his knuckles brushed against my sensitive nipples, the intoxicating scent of him. Fucking hell, I was so aroused!! If I didn’t do something to take the edge off I would never sleep. Fumbling in my bedside cabinet I found a small bottle of lube and my trusty rampant rabbit vibrator.

I let my imagination run wild as I switched on the pink silicone device. I closed my eyes and pretended the long, thick dildo section was really Neville's cock as it stretched me open, and the tiny little ‘ears' buzzing rapidly against my clit and sending electric shocks of pleasure through me were really his fingers working me to orgasmic bliss. I recalled his domineering attitude from earlier and quickly made up a fantasy scenario in my head where I kept getting the trick wrong and he was shouting at me that he was going to have to punish me, that every time I made a mistake he was going to have to fuck me until I learned to get it right.

I came hard and fast, his name on my lips.

I felt dirty once the afterglow had worn off, and not the good kind. Neville was my employer and no matter how attracted to him I was, I shouldn’t be getting myself off thinking about him like that. Even if it was the best orgasm I’d had in a long time.

I turned over on my side and fell into a broken, troubled sleep, full of crazy dreams about being sawn in half, and Neville leaving me there, carrying the bottom half of the box away with my bottom half still inside it. OK, surely that had to be some sort of weird sex metaphor.

______

Monday came around quickly and I was back at the warehouse. Despite telling myself I wasn’t interested in impressing Neville, I had dressed in one of my cutest vest tops - a tight black ribbed number - and a short, ice-skater style skirt in a bright, ruby red fabric. It was probably totally impractical for what we would be doing but I figured I could always claim I was trying to match my new name if Neville made any comments about it.

As it turned out he simply gave me a quick glance up and down and then told me he was leaving to run a few errands but would be back soon, and that I should pick up a deck of cards and practice shuffling them while he was out.

After almost 45 minutes I got bored of shuffling and started to poke around the warehouse, snooping in drawers, looking through boxes, peeking in notebooks. Nothing was particularly interesting, until I opened the bottom drawer of his desk. There, hidden amongst papers and decks of cards, was a box of condoms, still unopened in its cellophane wrapper.

Why Neville, you sly dog.

Of course there was nothing to say the box was new. He could have bought them ages ago, stuffed them in there and forgotten about them. They could even be for some kind of trick. But maybe, just maybe, he had bought them since I arrived, and that could be confirmation that he liked me back.

I closed the drawer just in time as Neville came back into the warehouse. “What took you so long?” I pouted. “There’s only so much card shuffling a gal can do.”

“I do expect you to be fully proficient.” He grabbed the cards and shuffled them like I’d only ever seen Blackjack dealers in Casinos do, with lots of fancy cuts and flips. OK, so that was impressive.

“Can we start working on an actual magic trick now?” I wheedled, my hand in a light grip on his arm for that little extra peer pressure.

He was staring at where my fingers massaged the bare skin. It was unusual to see him without his hoody – I remembered he had left wearing it but now he was just in his black t-shirt and light blue Levis.

“Fine, let’s do the rope escape,” he said after a moment. I let go to allow him to cross the warehouse to get the correct prop he’d need. It was a large wooden X style cross about 6 foot in height and behind that was a slightly taller pole. At the top of that pole was another rectangular pole coming off it, rather like one that would hold a shower curtain. Only this pole held a thick, dark blue velvet curtain that could be raised and lowered at will.

“Let me explain how it works,” Neville began, wheeling the entire contraption into place. “You will stand in front of the cross and I will take the rope from where it is already tied off at the back here, loop it around one ankle, then the other, then up to your wrist, then the other, and then back down to tie it off tightly again. A member of the audience can come up to verify you’re securely fastened in.”

We moved around to the back. “But the secret is that this lever here can turn and give you just enough slack to get out. So the trick goes that I tie you up, I pull the curtain up, I twist this and free you and I climb in to take your place, you twist it back to tighten the ropes again and pull the curtain down to reveal that we’ve switched positions.”

He looked at me to make sure I was following. I nodded - it all seemed pretty simple.

“With practice we can get it down to a matter of seconds to make the switch.” He snapped his fingers on the word ‘seconds’ for extra emphasis.

“Can I try?” I asked.

“Of course,” he nodded, almost proudly, as if he was pleased to see that I was so keen. I lined myself up against the cross, both arms in the air and my legs open wide in an X shape. Neville expertly looped the rope around each limb, loosely to begin with. “Are you OK for me to tighten it?” he asked. I gave a quick nod of acquiescence and the rope immediately snapped tight against my wrists and ankles, causing me to let out an involuntary gasp. He tied it off at the back and came around to stand in front of me.

“How does it feel?” he enquired. I noticed his voice was gruffer than before. “Can you free yourself?”

I twisted against the nylon rope in vain. “No, I’m well and truly trapped.” I confirmed. There was nothing I could do to free myself. I was totally at Neville’s mercy. And oh fuck if the thought of that wasn’t a massive turn on. My clit throbbed, and I wondered if I dare push the envelope with Neville. If I was right about the condoms, he wanted something to happen between us and this might be the perfect opportunity to test the waters. But... if I was wrong, I could lose everything.

“I feel so vulnerable like this,” I said breathily, my voice dripping with submissiveness. “You could do absolutely anything to me and I couldn’t stop you.” I sucked in my bottom lip and looked up at him coyly through my lashes.

Neville let out a long, shaky breath and stepped towards me, placing his left hand on my hip.

“Anything?” he asked, his voice cracking a little. We both knew exactly what question was really being asked in that one little word.

“Anything... Sir.” I confirmed. And with that his entire demeanour shifted. Any trace of nerves were gone, and the dominant Neville I so fantasised about took over.

“Do you know the traffic light system?”

“I do,” I nodded. It was on.

His fingernails dug into the soft skin of my hip even through my skirt. I’d probably have bruises there later and I’d wear them like a badge of honour.

“I already had to take a very uncomfortable walk home this morning with my hoody tied around my waist to hide my hard-on, thanks to you coming into work dressed like a little whore,” he sneered at me. “I think we’re going to have to have a very serious talk about professionalism in the workplace.”

The hand that had been on my hip suddenly disappeared, only to reappear with a hard smack on the side of my buttock, the only part of my ass that was accessible. I gasped at the sharp sting and then moaned with arousal as the flesh burned. Another smack, only this time he slipped his hand under my skirt and groped at the still-smarting globe of muscle over the satin of my underwear.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” I moaned, wishing that I could cross my legs and put some pressure on my almost painfully throbbing clit. But I was still bound and completely at Neville’s mercy.

He stared at me, eyes fiery, licking his lips like a wolf licking its chops before devouring its kill. He obviously enjoyed me calling him Sir, the light blue of his tight jeans doing nothing to hide the thickening outline by the inseam of his right thigh.

He must have noticed me staring at his hardening cock, as he palmed at it with his right hand, admitting, “I already came once today thanks to you, you little slut.”

“Yes Sir,” I gasped, trying to push my pelvis forward to give him more access to my ass, his fingers kneading into the hot flesh. But I needed more!

He moved behind me and I could hear him searching through the drawers. “The good thing about being a magician,” he smirked, coming towards me with a small pair of scissors, “is that I can make anything disappear.” He reached up beneath my skirt and with two simple snips my underwear came away in his hand. He slipped the scraps of black satin and lace into his jeans pocket.

Because I still had my skirt on I wasn’t actually exposed, but because of my stance, my legs spread open so wide, I felt more naked than I ever had.

“This too.” He placed the scissors at the bottom of my vest and slowly began cutting. I protested at first but that earned me another spank.

“Sorry Sir,” I apologised. Just knowing that I was completely under his control was making me so aroused that I could actually feel my wetness begin to drip down my thighs. He cut the vest away completely, leaving me in just my sports bra and tiny skirt. At least the bra zipped at the front so he wouldn’t have to cut that.

He set the scissors and fabric scraps on the desk and came back to stand before me, eying me hungrily. “Please Sir,” I moaned. “Touch me.”

Agonisingly slowly he clicked the zip on my bra down, tooth by tooth as I writhed against the ropes. Finally my top was completely open, and he took one of my hardened nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hot, pebbled skin. His hand massaged the other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I groaned at being touched at last, my hands clenching in empty fists as lightning bolts of pleasure ran through my body.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against the skin of my chest as his free hand found its way to my upper thigh. He rested it there for a moment and I whimpered, desperate for him to touch me more intimately.

“When I’m ready,” he scolded, biting my nipple as punishment.

“Yes, Neville.” He looked up at me through his impossibly long lashes with an angry look on his face, and I knew exactly what mistake I’d made. “I mean Yes Sir, I’m sorry Sir,” I gasped out, feeling my whole body flushing with arousal.

“Good girl,” he purred.

Torturously slowly, his fore and middle fingers traced a line across the smooth skin of my upper thigh, up under my skirt and then dipped down into the crease of my hip. He explored further still until he came to the delicate fold between my thigh and outer lip, where my juices had already dripped down.

“God, you’re soaked!” He sounded astonished that I could be so wet only from what we had done so far.

All I could do was moan in agreement, straining to try and force his fingers to slip closer to my clit. Thankfully he didn’t make me wait any longer and slid the two fingers either side of my dripping hole, collecting as much of my fluids on his thick digits as he could while still avoiding entering me, before at last rubbing his fingertips over that hot little bundle of nerves at my core.

I jerked and cried out at finally being touched.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed in a voice one might use to soothe a startled horse, all the while still rubbing circles on my clit. “I’ve got you.”

The ‘fuck’ that slipped out of my mouth was practically a sob. Neville really did have magic hands and I could already feel the beginnings of an orgasm building deep inside me.

It was killing me that I couldn’t reach out and run my fingers through his hair, but being tied up was turning me on more than I could have ever imagined it would.

“So fucking wet...” Neville moaned into my neck as he kissed down it, and I gasped as he suddenly pushed both fingers into my pussy without warning. The hot stretch of it felt so amazing and I just wished I could clamp my legs around him and grind into it. As it was I tried to tighten my muscles around him as much as I could. His thumb continued to work my clit and the tight ball of electricity started to grow deep in my stomach. Fuck, I was close.

“Gonna cum,” I gasped.

The thumb withdrew. I groaned in frustration and displeasure. I had been so close!

“You cum when I say so, babygirl.” he said assertively, biting and sucking at my collarbone as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of me.

Finally the thumb returned and my pleasure built to a crescendo again. I couldn’t help myself, I moaned out, “Please Sir, let me cum!”

“As you asked so nicely,” he smirked. “Cum for me.”

I closed my eyes and allowed the white heat of my orgasm to overwhelm me, crying out as the waves of pleasure flooded through me, over and over and over.

Finally I blinked my eyes open, my body heavy and satiated. He was holding me up, as my legs could not do it for themselves and he didn’t want the rope to cut into my wrists. Reaching around behind me he pulled the lever to loosen the ropes and helped me to step out of the bindings, as I was wobbling like a new-born deer. Then he lifted me up and carried me to an old chaise lounge in the corner with half its stuffing missing.

“Are you OK?” he asked, checking my wrists and ankles for chafing. Thankfully there was none.

“I’m fine,” I answered honestly. “But what about you?” I nodded towards his crotch, where his very obvious erection was still waiting to be taken care of.

Once he knew I wasn’t hurt, dominant Neville came out to play again.

“Oh my sweet little babygirl, don’t worry,” he smiled, “I fully intend to take you.” He grabbed me by the neck to pull me into a deep kiss. I realised that despite him just giving me the most amazing orgasm, this was actually the first time we had kissed! His powerful tongue probed against mine, his hands roaming over my mostly naked body. Finally, with my own hands free I could touch everywhere I wanted to. They raked through his hair, across his back, cupping his tight buttocks. I was in heaven.

He stopped the kiss after a few minutes and stood up to pull off his T-shirt and jeans, while I slipped out of my last remaining pieces of clothing. I lay back and admired the view in front of me, this beautiful man all mine, his huge cock erect and already leaking pre-cum just for me.

He leaned down to kiss me again and then with one hand flat on my chest, forced me to lie back on to the chaise lounge. Both of us were now fully naked, our bodies shining in the dim light of the warehouse.

He reached down into the back pocket of his discarded jeans and pulled out a condom that he must have stashed there earlier when he was getting the scissors.

“Ready?” he asked, tearing open the foil and carefully rolling the prophylactic down his thick shaft.

“Yes Sir, please take me. I need you.”

His beautifully reddened, kiss-bitten lips twisted into a satisfied smile and he laid his full bodyweight on top of me, the blunt head of his cock resting against my dripping entrance. He teased me for a moment by circling the flushed cockhead around the hole before finally breaching my tightness, just with the tip at first. I let out a long, low moan at the delicious stretch and wrapped my legs around his back, trying to force him into me more quickly.

“Ah ah ah!” he scolded, his left hand flying to my neck. He squeezed lightly in punishment, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle so I didn’t need to use any of the safe words. “At my pace, little Princess.”

I kept my legs around his waist but I ceased any attempts to pull him closer. I threw my head back and mewled as he finally started to push himself in fully, enjoying that deep burning sensation of being completely filled. He bottomed out and began to thrust slowly inside me, drawing himself all the way out to the tip and then sliding back in again.

It was like sweet, divine torture. He obviously had no intention of rushing this, each stroke brushing against my G spot just enough to start building my orgasm but not enough to actually make me cum.

He kissed and nibbled at my throat, working his way up my neck to suckle on my earlobes which made me shiver with delight. I could feel my skin prickle with goosebumps as his tongue worked its way down again, finally ending up at my breasts. My nipples hardened in response and he sucked one into his mouth, his warm saliva leaving a trailed string from the pebbled skin to his bottom lip for a moment when he pulled away.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him down to kiss me again, and as we kissed his thrusts began to speed up. We moaned into each other’s mouths, the arousal building for both of us. He reached down between our writhing bodies and started to finger my clitoris again, and I groaned loudly as immense pleasure overtook me. Neville was grunting with the effort of fucking me now, his thrusts growing more frantic and erratic.

My second orgasm was building, the tight knot of pleasure in my core growing as Neville’s cock brushed my G spot with every stroke, and his fingers expertly worked my clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” I announced, my eyes fluttering closed, stars behind them in my vision.

“That’s it, cum for me my good girl,” he praised. “So fucking beautiful.”

I let the orgasm wash over me, pure pleasure spiking every nerve in my body until everything turned white and I shuddered in Neville’s arms.

“Jesus, uh, fuck,” Neville groaned, and I felt him stiffen, then he too shuddered as he came inside me, his cock twitching as he unloaded into the condom. After a moment he collapsed on top of me, completely spent.

We lay there for a few moments until the chill made me shiver. Neville stood up and turned away to dispose of the condom, seemingly embarrassed for me to see him do the ‘clean up’. Then he grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and a blanket that had been thrown over some boxes in the corner, and came back to the chaise lounge, throwing the blanket over the both of us.

“Are you OK?” he asked me, handing me the water. I took it gratefully and took a long drink. He did likewise and then set the bottle aside.

“I am,” I smiled, snuggling into his arms. Even though the dominant Neville was a huge turn-on, I was glad that he knew how to do the aftercare as well. “So what does this mean for us?” I asked, even though I was terrified of the answer. “Was this a one-off, or...”

“No!” he said, a little to quickly and loudly. “I mean, if you want us to... I’d like... do you want to go out? I’ve always thought you were attractive.”

“Same,” I smiled, relieved that he wasn’t just using me as a one night stand. I wanted to be with Neville. He seemed like a really nice guy, and they had been few and far between lately.

“So do you actually want to go out with me?” I asked, reaching a hand up to curl it affectionately through his hair.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“So... a proper date,” I mused. “How about tomorrow night?”

“That sounds great,” he smiled, taking the hand that had been in his hair and kissing it. “Oh, but I’ll have to take a rain check I’m afraid. I’ve got a magician coming round tomorrow night to show me a trick I’m interested in buying.”

“Oh right,” I replied, feeling a little bit annoyed, but understanding that work needed to come first. “Who’s the Magician?”

“Some old guy called Willy Wando,” he said. “But it probably won’t come to anything.”

Even if Neville didn’t hold out much hope, I had a funny feeling this trick was going to change his life.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 24 - If You Want Me... 

Masterlist; Chapter 23

Summary: Tension reaches its boiling point when you overhear an unfortunate conversation. With unexpected allies, you attempt to break the impasse once and for all.

Warnings: ANGST (still but... well you’ll see ;)); at few points R! is being a little dramatic which can be triggering if you’ve been dealing with intrusive thoughts (nothing too bad though); swearing.

Author’s Notes: Finally! It’s been a wild ride... and god am I happy i’ve managed. This part took a lot of effort but I quite like what I came up with... even if sometimes it gets too angsty. Can’t wait for what’s coming next, however... :)))) Hope you enjoy and all feedback is always appreciated! <3 

The shooting range on the icebreaker was a strange place. It occupied a large proportion of the deck floor in the accommodation part of the ship, next to the turnstile and sparring grounds. With darkness swallowing every corner that was not lit up by the blinking fluorescents, it was a perfect place to hide. Soon it became your go-to solace when things got difficult, and the only other idea you could come up with involved going outside without the oxygen mask attached. You did not want to go that far. Yet. Target practice became your favourite occupation. It was simple and did not involve talking to people that could give you worrying looks or comment on the dark circles underneath your eyes. Sleep was no longer a thing, with you catching three-hour-long naps at best, in between never-ending worrying and staring at the ceiling, reminiscing the past. The constant headaches were something you soldiered through, accepting them as a part of reality. The worst part of that new life was the fact that you and Neil stopped talking to each other altogether. Not even empty pleasantries could get through the stone-cold awkwardness and tension capable of killing you before the heartache would. After a day of near-misses and horrifying mistakes that culminated with you accidentally spilling boiling water all over the sweater when Neil entered the galley, you both mastered the art of hiding. You only saw him once afterwards, sitting at the table in the corner of the canteen. That was almost two days ago, and you were thankful.

Once you went through the assigned daily rounds, you moved onto the task of cleaning the guns and rifles. Polishing the metal cases and arranging the bullets was as close to therapy as it could get. With the repetitive action occupying your brain, there was no time to get emotional over things you could not change. Only at the shooting range, you did not feel so utterly hopeless. So terribly unloved. A sudden noise by the airlock made you look up. Conveniently the air in the range was sealed so that you need not to worry about oxygen masks during the target practice. It also meant you got approximately five seconds warning to check the identity of the intruder. This time you were surprised.

“Hi, Y/N. Thought I’d find you here” TP’s dark gaze slid over you cautiously.

Taking off the mask, he joined you at the makeshift table, looking at the arsenal you have spread over the surface. You eyed him with curiosity. That was unexpected. So far, he has never interacted with you outside of the meetings. And every time he did, you could not stop thinking about how much he knew. Who did he see when he looked at you?

“Afternoon” shaking off the reverie, you offered him a tight smile, “Is it afternoon?” glancing at the watch, you grimaced, “Oh,”

The last time you checked, it was 3 pm. The blue numbers on your wrist were mercilessly ticking away. 8:30 pm. How the fuck. TP caught your silent crisis as he asked:

“How long have you been down here?” looking up, you encountered a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

Interesting.

“Umm, five hours?” it felt like the best estimate.

It was probably longer. But he need not know that.

“Jesus,” wincing, he directed his taxing gaze back onto you, “When was the last time you had food?” tone strictly business.

The truth was that you did not remember. With everything falling apart and losing meaning, food became an afterthought. Half the time you would realise you only had one meal around 1 am, forcing you to tiptoe to the kitchen and grab something from the cupboard. A hungry stomach was nothing compared to all the other issues. It could be ignored.

“Breakfast. I’m not hungry though,” brushing off the concern you chose defiance, “Is this an interrogation?” you arched one eyebrow and cocked the gun you have wiped clean.

TP snorted at your comedic timing.

“No, I come here in peace” he raised his hands in defeat and added, “To see if you’re… alright” the hesitation made you scoff.

“You know that I’m not. Because things are generally far from alright,” letting annoyance slip into the sentence, you let go of the tools and met his gaze with coldness.

The deepening frown was concerning. You were being unfair. After all, it was not him who has caused all this pain. Remorse nipped at your heart as you sighed heavily.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,” he accepted your apologetic smile with a nod, giving the courage to continue, “And I’m also sorry that you all have to witness that mess in the meetings. I’d rather it stayed between him and me... but he seems to disagree” you shrugged.

Sometimes you did wonder why Neil seemed so intent on making your arguments a public spectacle. Whether that was a part of the intricate plan to make you look like an idiot or a result of his emotions boiling over. Not that it mattered. Everyone on the team knew what the deal was anyway. A poor, naïve you, desperately in love with someone who could not care less. Nothing out of the ordinary. Judging by TP’s passing frown, for him too the topic was rather uncomfortable. He took a long moment to respond, looking for answers in the rows of bullets you have arranged on the table.

“Not going to lie, it’s awkward, but at least I know what’s going on, and I can offer to listen” he met your gaze with newly found determination.

Okay… Confiding in TP was quite low on the list of things you expected to have the opportunity of doing. But then so was having to convince Neil not to get himself killed for the sake of the operation. Anything goes.

“Aren’t you taking a side?” that suspicious voice in your head was difficult to get rid of, “Agreeing with him that I’m stupid, emotional, and overall a burden?” you recited the memorized litany of epithets with a stone-cold expression.

The words have lost their meanings after you have put them apart in the quiet of your mind. Now they were just sounds, incapable of inflicting pain. It was the least that could be done.

“He went too far with that” TP winced, his eyes expressing traces of disapproval, “I might not know you well, but you’re none of these things,” a sympathetic smile softening the tone.

An open hand. An olive branch. Why not? Taking a deep breath, you got ready to open up before the most unexpecting of allies.

“In a way, he was right though…” you looked down, trying to find the needed strength, “I am stupid because I have allowed myself to care too much for him” there it is, “And now I’m paying for it” when you met his eyes again, you found nothing but thoughtfulness.

It was something you thought about often as well. The fact that Neil was right, you did care, and that it was perhaps the reason for your demise. But who could blame you for falling for the bastard looking like the devil? And equally charming too.

“Maybe it’s a little too forward, but-” TP’s tentative tone made you grin.

In moments like this, you acutely remembered that he was still a rookie. Not used to the half-truths and strange tenets you accepted as your credo. His innocence was adorable even.

“In this profession, a it’s sometimes nice to say the truth. Shoot away” you waved your hand dismissively, anticipating the question.

There is a first time for everything.

“Fair point” he mirrored your smile before asking, “Do you love him?”

Plain and simple. Ignoring the panic, you took a moment to ponder the answer. It was… obvious. You told Neil as much twice before, and no amount of pretending and lies could ever undo it. The words were his. Just as you were. Unfortunately.

“I’d want to say no, that I got over it, but… Yes, I do,” you offered the answer with a helpless frown, “Think any idiot can see it” noticing a hint of embarrassment briefly you patted TP’s shoulder, “No matter how much he hurts me, I always find myself wishing things could be… like they once were”

Whatever that meant. In truth, you wanted more. You wanted to wake up next to him every morning. You wanted affirmations of love every day as you tasted his coffee-stained lips. You wanted to lie in his embrace, feeling desired and loved. But most of all, you wanted to be able to lace up your fingers with his, following the instincts that became your second nature. To card your fingers through his silky golden strands and to give him everything he would desire. You wanted to be his. He was supposed to be yours. Or was the universe wrong?

Thoughts of that kind could be lethal. Shaking yourself awake, you met TP’s eyes. Apart from the lack of surprise at your admission, you noticed something strange. A passing realization. As though he has heard something similar before but was afraid to speak up. Once again, you found yourself wondering what Neil told him. What did he mean by ‘things you and I should explain to each other’? For a moment, you wanted to jump head in and ask. But what good would knowing the truth be when you could not act on it? As though aware of your increasing dilemma, the man spoke up again.

“I’m sorry for Oslo” your eyes widened at the reminder.

“Why?” blurting out the question, you eyed him cautiously.

The deepening discomfort radiating off him confirmed your assumptions. That was it. He knew what nearly happened that night. And he was flustered about his role in it. That was not the conversation you ever expected to have.

“I can’t help but think that maybe if I hadn’t… interrupted you, it would’ve-” he stumbled over the sentence somewhat endearingly.

Perhaps it was the lack of care that made you say the next words. Or maybe just the fact that nothing mattered anymore, and so who could judge you for the purest form of honesty.

“Doubt it,” interrupting him with a sour smile, you added, “Maybe it’s good you knocked then… Least he doesn’t have absolutely everything” noticing the alarm painted on TP’s face, you blushed.

Yep, too far. Still true, however.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t have to know that much” you brushed off the sudden awkwardness with a sincere apology.

“I can pretend I’ve never heard it” it was his turn to give a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

You could feel the strange companionship forming. Sure you did not mind. Relaxing back in the chair, you spoke up:

“Thanks,” as TP also visibly reclined, you brought up the thought that was not letting go of your mind, “I don’t know how much he has told you about… this,” gesturing vaguely, you bit your lip.

Somehow you knew that he would not betray Neil by sharing with you everything that has been said. But even crumbs would do…

“Quite a bit,” you watched him closely, intrigued by the hesitation, “Enough for me to know that you’re someone I can trust and that he had reasons to be acting that happy in Tallinn before the action” oh.

That painful pang in your heart was heart to ignore. You winced, feeling the steady gaze fixed on your face. The analysis was mutual. Neil, happy, back in Tallinn. Because of you. You have lost too much.

“What do you mean?” treading carefully, you asked the safest of questions.

A small smile on his face showed you just how obvious you were. Lovesick idiot.

“Hours he has spent texting someone, phone calls he would pick up instantly and then come back grinning like a madman” TP offered you examples with a glimmer in his eyes “It only clicked when we were inverting, and I asked him about you” the blush on your cheeks deepened under his taxing gaze “Suddenly all of that made sense if you were in Estonia with us” he shrugged, finishing the thought.

Oh my god. While you experienced it all firsthand during those chaotic yet hopeful days in the safehouse when everything seemed to have infinite potential, hearing about it from someone else’s perspective felt strange. Almost like a slap in the face. Because it only confirmed what you knew – he once loved you. Once.

“Well, it seems like he has changed his mind…” you muttered, feeling the resentment settle in.

You wondered whether one day it would stop hurting. If you could ever get over this and find someone else. That darkest part of your brain knew the answer well enough. Nothing could come close. And nothing ever would.

“Or he’s just an idiot” the cheeriness felt forced.

But judging by the way TP was staring at you, you could tell it was his attempt at dispersing the sudden melancholy. It was strange to see him worried about you of all people. Perhaps your shit attempts at diverting everyone’s attention from your declining mentality were failing. And that was a reason to be concerned.

“That too,” plastering on an unconvincing smile, you stifled a yawn.

That caught his attention.

“You should get some rest” upon further thought, he added, “And food,”

The intensity of his look was stifling. You hated being the centre of attention. Especially in moments like this when you felt vulnerable, an object of pity and unease. Stupid, weak, and useless. The sabotaging voice came out in full force, making you want nothing but to curl up in bed and disappear. Not yet, however.

“Yes, sir” you raised your hand in mock salute.

Your face fell when instead of a laugh, you got a frown in response. Oopsie.

“I’m serious” TP seemed to consider something quickly before placing his hand on your forearm, “I’m… I’ve been a little worried about you” he met your eyes with a clear purpose.

Shit. That is exactly what you wanted to avoid. Being seen as pathetic and a burden. Internally, you cursed yourself for not being strong enough. For letting anyone see the cracks. You would not let them see you shatter into pieces.

“I’m doing fine,” mustering the happiest of grins, you tried to mask the urgency.

Please buy the bullshit.

“Are you?” he didn’t. Before your brain could fully arrive at the panic station, his inquisitive expression softened. You held his gaze for a beat, hoping to convey everything. Hoping to convince him to let the conversation go. It worked for TP gave a final taxing look before backing off. You exhaled slowly, relaxing a little. Maybe the worst was over…

“Before we go… there’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about…” TP changed the subject, looking down at the table “The lock. You want to go with him”

It was not exactly a question, yet you knew he expected an answer. That one you could easily give him. It was obvious, even if you have never said it out loud. Up till now.

“Yes... Maybe it is an impulsive and stupid thing to do, but I can’t let him do it alone. I can’t let him get killed” the word felt foreign in your mouth.

As though ‘Neil’ and ‘death’ were two irrelevant concepts that did not fit together even in theory. They could not. You would not allow it. And you were willing to accept the worst of risks to make sure it would not happen. Hell, you would even fight against fate and time to assure that.

“I’d rather avoid that too” TP’s quiet comment made you look up, “He deserves so much more than…” there was something startling in his gaze.

As though he has stopped himself before saying too much. Much more than what? And why was he looking at you like that? Like you were missing something tragic, and his heart was breaking for your loss. You felt like going insane. TP cleared his throat awkwardly, resuming the conversation, not at all fluently:

“I don’t buy the whole ‘what’s happened, happened’. What does that even mean?” the irritation shining through his strange tone was distracting.

“Don’t ask me,” you shrugged, “I like to think there’s a different solution to this. One that doesn’t involve Neil sacrificing himself. And I need to be there with him because if it comes to it… I’d take that bullet for him” you did not know where the honesty came from.

Or why you would admit something that fundamental to TP. His response was just as anticipated – a gasp and widened eyes. Nibbling on your lower lip, you broke the eye contact and chose to stare at the forgotten gun lying on the table. It was the truth, so why did admitting it feel so… radical?

“Are you sure?” when he found his voice again, it was hoarse.

“It’s that kind of love,” you replied, still unable to meet his gaze.

You never expected to reveal yourself like that to TP. Wheeler? Maybe. Even Kat seemed like a probable option, but not the boss himself. And especially not at this stage of his story. Yet he was there, willing to listen, and that was enough. You would deal with the consequences later, in your mind that would undoubtedly rebel against such a display of fragility.

“I don’t want it to sound patronizing… but you’re still young. There might be someone else for you along the line if Neil-” his voice broke through your reverie as you interrupted him with a start.

“I know” finally, you raised your head again, showing the sincerity of expression, “But something tells me it’s him or nothing. Call it fate or insanity” biting back a dry chuckle, you felt a single tear form in the corner of your eye.

That was something you have spent most of the time thinking about. At the start, you desperately wanted to believe that you would get over this. That it was just another disappointment, and like before, eventually you would forget about those blue eyes and maniacal grin. But your heart knew better, constantly reminding you that it was not that simple. That Neil was not someone you just forget. Because how could you?

“Reality?” TP’s eyes were filled with thoughtfulness.

“Perhaps,” you cracked a smile, feeling heaviness in your heart lift by an inch.

Always something. Another yawn ended the delicate moment seconds later, making you scowl in annoyance. What was the point of tiredness when you could not even rest properly? TP laughed at your pained expression and got up:

“Now, you into the kitchen. And try to get some sleep” he offered you a hand which you took and stood up.

“I’ll try” a lie, “Thank you… for checking in and listening” sheepishly, you tried to find any words of gratitude.

“I owed you that after those hours in Oslo, filled with plans, coffees, and awful songs you’d sing to entertain us” the knowing smirk suggested that he did remember what you hoped would be forever forgotten.

MTV in Norwegian. Your knackered brain deciding that singing along to ‘Like a Virgin’ and ABBA was what had to be done to make everyone smile. Mistakes have been made.

“Don’t remind me,” TP laughed as you smacked him on the shoulder.

*** You did not sleep after you bid goodbye to TP. That night too was spent tossing and turning in bed, thinking about how everything could have crumbled so quickly. It has only been weeks since Tallinn. In fact, looking from the linear point of view, it has not even happened yet. The normal you have been enjoying the confusion of those days before Oslo when everything was difficult yet hopeful. Too good to be true, at times. Well, now you knew that those moments never lasted too long.

The next morning you quickly grabbed breakfast and sneaked into the sparring area, hoping to catch a few minutes with the punching bag before the troops would take over space. However, that day it was not meant to be.

You heard the voices as soon as you opened the airlock and entered the large room. It was divided into a few sections, each devoted to a different training exercise. To your advantage, each was also separated with a thin plastic screen. Cautiously, you approached the nearest divider, trying to determine whether your mind was not playing any tricks. After one second, you knew. TP and Neil were having a rather heated conversation on the other side of the screen. A sparring ground was the place you least expected to encounter them. And yet… You wanted to turn away and leave before more damage could be done, but the moment you heard the boss’s voice, you froze on the spot:

“Why are you so hard on her?” TP’s question rung out clear in the highly domed room “The only crime she has committed was falling in love with you. I don’t think that’s worth all that pain you’re inflicting”

There was no doubt as to who he meant. Your heart sank. Oh my god. On one hand, it was encouraging to know someone was fighting for your side and pointing out the unnecessary torture Neil was so keen on. But the fact that they were discussing the nature of your feelings was terrifying. Listening on felt wrong, yet you could not move away.

“It would be better for her if she hadn’t” Neil’s cold tone made your blood turn to ice.

There was something frightening in how distant he sounded. As though he was nothing like the man you fell in love with, only a cold impostor that borrowed his face and voice. He was right.

“Why? You told me that you love-” TP’s voice rose, incredulity tinging every single word.

Neil told him his feelings. You expected that, and it still felt like a punch. You leaned on the wall for support.

“It doesn’t matter what I said” the biting edge to Neil’s voice was new, “Or how I feel. The sooner she gets over it, the better for all of us” he threw it without caution, as though he was done with your bullshit.

With the fact that you were stupid enough to love him. He did not want your love. Never did. The crushing weight on your chest would not give way.

“You’re cruel” TP was surprised, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

“That’s mercy” Neil was begging for the conversation to be over, “Cruelty would be letting her entertain the idea that we can...” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Christ. All those nights spent wishing for answers, and when they came you wanted to forget you ever heard it. It was foolish to believe anything could ever happen between you.

“But why? Neil, you are in love with her” TP raised his voice yet again, utterly done with whatever the blonde bastard was doing.

You could not care less. Nothing mattered anymore. But you did not expect the very next punch. Or the pain you would feel.

“I’m not” clear-cut rejection; nothing to interpret “I don’t love her. There’s no need to look at me like I’m a monster”

Enough. You heard enough. The pain was as bad as ever as you walked away. Your mind set on one simple thing - tea. Yes, that would solve it.

*** Going to the galley felt as though you were stuck within a dream you could not shake off. Half-aware of your surroundings, you nearly walked into Dominic, whose survival instincts kept him off your path. Muttering apologies, you undid the zip lock and sauntered into the kitchen without a care in the world. With a start, you noticed Kat sat at the table. She gave you a welcoming half-smile as she sipped the tea from the metal cup. Your autopilot stuttered, overwhelmed by the company. Blocking off any attempts at thinking, you followed the muscle memory. Setting the kettle on. Putting teabag into the mug. Earl Grey because it reminded you of those morning kisses in London. No. Wrong memory. You shook your head, waiting for the water to boil. The fridge was too loud, the buzz making thoughts appear. Sighing, you leaned on the counter. Your eyes were burning, the sensation increasing with every single blink. It was alright. So why did it feel like the world was ending?

The kettle switched off. Without sparing a single thought to the reality, you poured the water in, watching with fascination as the teabag floated up. Kat’s spoon let out a clink as she placed it on the edge of the plate. You jumped up, startled. That was enough to break through your carefully woven barrier. The thoughts came rushing in. Neil didn’t love you. Your chest tightened as the next breath came out strained. The air was gone. Your hands shook as you tried to take out the teabag. Fuck. Everything was over. A single gasp was all you could manage before you shattered. The tears fell down your cheeks in a steady stream, blurring everything with tragedy. Choked sobs shook your frame as you desperately tried to hold on. To sanity. To reality. Anything to make the pain go away. But it would not disappear, only getting stronger. As though through the glass, you could hear someone say your name. Voice tinted with worry and urgency. But you did not care. The sobs turned into a howl as you slid down to the floor. The sounds coming from your throat sounded foreign and harsh, tearing at your vocal cords mercilessly. Oh my god. That was the break you always feared. There was no end to tears falling down your cheeks onto the floor and beneath your shirt. Slowly breathing became almost impossible, forcing out those pathetic half sniffles that only made everything worse. You wanted to do something. Anything. To make it stop. To forget. To lose the ability to feel things. Your fingers clawed at nothingness, barely losing against the desire to make all that internal pain physical. By any means necessary. Because then at least you could blame it on something concrete. And not just heartbreak. A word you despised because it sounded weak. Stupid. Easily avoidable for everyone but not you. A lost cause. A failure.

“Hey…” warm fingers gently touched your shoulder.

You raised your head. The pounding headache and lack of oxygen, making everything seem twice as difficult. Kat’s blue eyes bore into yours with concern. You have made quite the show. Self-preservation told you to get up and leave, save yourself some shame. But you would not even know where to go. Or what to do. You did not trust yourself to make reasonable choices.

“Are you alright?” Kat’s voice brought you back to the present moment.

An anchor. Maybe this could work… She was still eyeing you closely, unsure about how to act but wanting to be helpful.

“Mmmm no,” you sent her a broken smile, grateful for the handkerchief she handed, “But it’s okay. Sorry about this. I didn’t mean to-” you gestured vaguely, knowing she would catch on.

Tears were still flowing steady, threatening with dehydration should this continue. But at least the wailing subsided to quiet sobs interrupting your sentence every few words.

“Don’t apologise, we all break sometimes,” Kat squeezed your shoulder, joining you on the floor, “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was tempting. Even if terrifying. But you felt like maybe she could be the listener you needed. Someone objective enough, without any ties to Neil or you. Someone safe to confide in that would keep your secrets in safekeeping. But…

“What if someone comes in?” grasping the most idiotic of excuses, you glanced at the airlock with apprehension.

You could just about imagine what would have happened should Neil walk in during your conversation. Your heart would not take it.

“We’ll just tell them to leave,” Kat’s cheeky tone made you turn to her, “I think they’re all a little afraid of me for some reason,” she added, with a small smirk.

She crossed her long legs and sat next to you with both your backs supported by the cupboard doors.

“As they should be,” you replied, feeling strangely at ease, considering everything.

That spark in her eyes was worth the stress over being too forward for someone you barely knew.

“So…” she nudged you with her shoulder as further encouragement.

There was no more escaping it. You took a deep breath, urging your heart to stay strong. Words started spilling out without sense or order.

“Is just... the world is potentially ending in a few days, and here I am crying over the fact that someone doesn’t love me” your throat contracted upon the word as though it was forbidden “I should’ve known better. He never could want someone like me because why would he” more tears as you realised the ultimate truth “I’m not extraordinary. It all feels so stupid, pathetic. But I can’t get over it because I still love him. And I don’t know how to stop” you finished the rant on a sob that forced you to cover your face with your hands.

There it was. Out in the open. You wondered how you could have ever been naïve enough to think your feelings could be reciprocated. For him, it was just a crush. Amplified by the troubles you had to face and the recent difficulties. Nothing more. You were conveniently there when he needed someone to lean on. But if it came to it, he would never choose you.

“It’s about Neil, isn’t it?” something in her voice made you meet her gaze.

You were that obvious, huh? A panicked thought convinced you that everyone on the bloody ship knew about your weakness for the blonde bastard. Yes, even that mess sergeant that always gave you a sorry smile when you approached the counter at mealtimes. Before you could spiral down another wretched rabbit hole, you asked the most innocent of questions:

“How do you know?”

There was no point in trying to convince Kat she got it wrong. She seemed to consider something for a moment before she looked at you with newly found resilience:

“Let me tell you a story,”

You quirked your eyebrow, confused and intrigued. Might as well… Nodding at her silent question, you rested your head against the cupboard. Dried tears tinged your chapped lips with salt.

“When we were in Oslo, staying in a hotel for two nights, TP went out, and Neil stayed with me” she set up the scene with a neutral tone, “We talked a lot about everything really. He asked me about Andrei...” you glanced at Kat, noticing a passing grimace, “Normally I would shut off, but there was that calm curiosity about him, and I didn’t mind saying too much” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

You knew the feeling well, always telling Neil too much because he was such an excellent listener. Confiding even the darkest of secrets and thoughts never felt like anything significant when he reacted with that same confidence and acceptance. That was one of the reasons why the fall was unavoidable.

“Neil has that sort of effect on people,” you returned her smile, shrugging slightly.

Kat patted your hand gently, noting the look on your face. The infatuation and yearning you could not get rid of whenever you did as much as spare a thought towards him.

“I can tell... the point is that he mentioned you, as well” your eyes widened as she paused, “His friend, as he referred to you but not without stumbling over the word a little” she grinned upon your struck expression, “He told me about your role in this. That you’re an asset, excellent sharpshooter, brave as hell and equally reckless at times” my god

You blushed, feeling Kat’s taxing gaze. Friend? Suppose that’s one way of introducing you to people. It was fascinating to know that even after the mess of Tallinn, Neil valued your contributions to the mission. That he would mention you to anyone. Favourably, at that.

“Sounds about right,” frowning, you pondered the implications of her words, “So you knew who I was that morning on the bridge?” the sudden realisation felt refreshing.

That explained her looks directed at you and Neil back then. The visible consternation about the matter of your relationship.

“Yes, it clicked pretty quickly” upon your perplexed gaze, she picked up the story, “I could tell that there was more underneath all the praise. There was that longing in his eyes and a spark that lit up only for you,” Kat added, smiling as you gasped, “I asked whether love was allowed in your line of business” there was boldness in her eyes that made your heart clench. Something important was coming, “He said yes, but it’s dangerous and best avoided. Only that’s not always possible. Sometimes it gets you, and before you realise you can’t breathe another word without missing that one essential person. Your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore, and nothing can be done” oh my god.

You stared at the floor as her words sunk in. It felt surreal, as though you have wandered into a dream. A good one. But dreams could only last so long… Shaking off the haze, you glanced at the woman sat next to you. She was observing you with an enigmatic smirk gracing her features.

“He said that?” your voice came out raspy.

Just a clarification. In case you have misunderstood. But Kat was not surprised.

“Yes,” she nodded, that same sympathetic expression on her face, “Considering what I’ve seen with you and him... there’s only one person he could’ve meant” your heart dropped, as though unused to the idea “I understood it that morning on the bridge when despite the awkwardness, he was willing to defy everyone else for your sake”

Your mind wandered back. Neil’s constant presence by your side, his hand touching the small of your back and then staying there for longer than necessary. His support and trust placed in your hands without hesitation. Right now, even something that insignificant felt unattainable. But it did happen. Could it be that he meant you? Unable to withstand the whirlwind of emotions, you stood up. Pacing in the tiny room, a protest came up, spilling out of your mouth:

“But I just heard him tell TP that he doesn’t love me” you swallowed hard as the reminder of the reality hit.

It was one thing to know it. Another to put it into words once again. You felt like screaming, demanding answers from the main culprit of this whole mess. But it was too dangerous. Another heartbreak could be lethal in its consequences.

“Sometimes we lie to ourselves to save the pain” the quiet certainty of Kat’s voice kept you grounded.

It felt risky to believe that he was pushing you away out of fear. But what if… No. You met her inquisitive gaze, hoping to convey the confusion and desperation. She must have understood for she added:

“He’s still coming to check up on me every evening, and the last two days he’s been a little… strange” the meaningful pause felt like bait.

One that you did not hesitate to take.

“How do you mean?” stopping mindless trotting, you sat down on the stool.

“Quiet, wistful, as though something was troubling him, threatening to spill out if he wasn’t too careful” a long taxing look; it sounded familiar, “Trust me, I don’t mean to give you false hope, I just thought you should know that before deciding on any further action” Kat got up and approached you.

Placing a hand on your shoulder, she squeezed it. You felt immensely grateful. Even if a little speechless… Because all of that was a lot to take in. You desperately needed a long afternoon spent in bed, staring at the ceiling and processing the eventful morning. Was it still morning?

“It means a lot, I’m not sure how I could repay you” finding the words again, you gave her a helpless smile.

“Just try to be happy. And don’t give up on things that seem too good to be true. Sometimes those are most worth keeping around” the depth of melancholy in her eyes was startling, “What will you do now?” the tentative tone assured you of the intent behind the question.

It was Kat’s way of saying: don’t do anything stupid. You could not promise that to anyone. The wounds were too fresh; emotions barely kept under control. Anything could happen. But you did not want to alarm her.

“I’m not sure. Think, probably” an unconvincing nonchalance had to do, as unprecedented honesty took voice “But I’m beginning to realise that if I won’t be able to… have him… I’ll just let him be. He deserves the best more than anybody else” you finished the thought and met her eyes.

A passing shock you found there was intriguing. As though your words reminded her of something, and she needed an additional moment to recover. God knows what sort of secrets everybody held on this god-forsaken ship… If the weight of the past and the unsaid could sink boats, it would have been long over. For everyone.

*** You thanked the gods (and Ives) for letting the topic of the lock wait out a little longer. Instead, the next morning’s meeting concerned the splinter unit, the who, and the how. As a result for once, no voice has been raised throughout the two hours spent on the bridge. Nothing much has been decided, but you did not mind. The burden of the last few days rested on your shoulders, preventing sleep or any form of relaxation. The word ‘tired’ did not even begin to describe it. But duties had to be put ahead of any personal issues and so you took part in the confab as usual. Seeing Neil after everything felt like a stab straight in the heart. His silence and the complete lack of acknowledgment of your existence were the added twist of the hilt.

The moment the meeting was over, you bolted out of the door in desperate need of fresh air. It was bound to rain later as the entire deck was covered in strange puddles that formed out of nothing. Perks of inversion and all that. Lost in thoughts concerning the locks, blonde bastards, and the torture of love as a concept and a feeling, you forgot about the golden rule of inverted rainfalls in the making – caution upon stepping on the wet surfaces. Turning around the corner, your foot slipped. Fuck. All you could do was flail your hands helplessly while praying that the fall will not be painful and that it will not detach the oxygen tank. Suffocation was not the death of your choice.

Suddenly the fall was interrupted with a strong grip on your waist. Hands pulling you upright, back to standing. The hold felt familiar. And forbidden. Turning to face the saviour, you were struck by the sight of the blue eyes that haunted your every waking hour. Every dream too. He was close, with hands wrapped around your waist securely. Somehow this felt worse than the fall. You half expected Neil to let go any second now, step away and yell at you for being clumsy. Or maybe just for existing. But he was still there. One of his hands slipped down onto your hip. Speechless, you kept on gazing into his eyes, trying to understand what was going on. All you could see was increasing the confusion. Desire. The boundless depths were drawing you in. Neil pulled you closer. Something in his face made you believe that if it was not for the oxygen masks, he would have kissed you. His gaze roamed across your features, intense, relentless, as though he could never have enough of you. It felt like being stripped bare, left exposed and vulnerable. Despite trying, you were unable to put up a guard, showing him all that he was not supposed to know instead. Everything you tried to hide and deny, bury deep inside so it could be forgotten. Well not anymore… Whatever Neil saw in your eyes woke him up. You noticed a passing frown, replaced with increasing shock. And then horror. What the hell. Before you could even process what happened, he let go and took a hasty step back. He looked sick, pale with fear and panic. Then, just as you tried to find any relevant words, Neil spoke:

“Be more careful next time,” cold and curt as though nothing happened.

He walked off briskly, disappearing into the darkness of the training grounds. What the fuck? A single drop flew up from the deck, splashing onto your chin. The rain has begun. You felt strange. Suddenly mourning the fact that you have been saved from suffocation. It would have been simpler. Less painful. Less terrifying.

*** No matter the hours passing by, or the thousands of different grounding techniques you have attempted, nothing was helping. Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, you wanted a multitude of things. To get blackout drunk in the hope of forgetting this morning ever happened. (You checked the galley, utterly disappointed to have found nothing with the necessary voltage). You wanted to talk to someone, briefly considering visiting Kat further down the corridor. But that would have meant being even more vulnerable. And a burden. So nope. At one point, you once again considered marching outside without the mask, letting the inverted lung membranes and fucked up rain do the rest. But you did not want to end the life itself. That was not all that bad. You liked your job, the various people you have met along the way. It was only that the current predicament was… unbearable. There had to be a different option.

Then mindless pacing replaced the stillness of lying down. Window, door, and back again. To be repeated for at least an hour. Your thoughts swirling around everything that has been said. Everything that happened. Kat’s story. The look in Neil’s eyes. What if… what if? The unknowns kept multiplying in your head, driving you insane with the extent of what you did not understand. You always hated those moments of suspense. Unsure whether to give up, let go and try to move on, or to keep trying, hoping. Your heart could never process them well without breaking and shattering into millions of pieces. Fuck.

There was one way out of it. One that you tried to push to the back of your head for the few past hours because it was too terrifying. But you were slowly running out of alternatives. One look out of the window told you that you had spent at least six hours like this. It would not do. It was either him or nothing. But you could not survive the insufferable without knowing which one it was. Taking a deep breath, you stopped in the middle of the cabin. This is it. You knew what had to be done. You put on the sweater as though in a trance, making sure to repeat silly affirmations in the quiet of your mind. It had to be alright. If it wasn’t, there were always the seals left…

The walk down the short corridor felt like ascending the steps to the guillotine. Only whatever might happen could be worse than beheading. Your hand shook as you rapped on the door to Neil’s cabin. The sound felt like the worst mistake you ever made. It was too late to turn back. After a very long moment, you heard shuffling inside. When the door opened, you were shocked by a few observations all at once. Neil’s eyes were reddened, hair in absolute disarray. When he realised that you were the intruder, his hands automatically went to smooth the strands in some way. Making even more mess in the process. In any different situation, you would have found that endearing. But your heart was too heavy. You eyed him instantaneously, gaze slipping over the fitting black thermal shirt and the joggers with narrowed cuffs. Not helpful. As you glanced back at his face, you noticed the intensifying confusion. That was the chance to speak…

“Can I come in?” a tentative start to make him more likely to agree.

The shock in his blue eyes slowly changed into careful curiosity. Neil gave you a once-over before opening the door wider and stepping back.

“Of course. Friends are allowed to visit each other” a hint of impatience as though he already had enough.

But that was not the most infuriating bit…

“Friends?” you crossed the threshold and met his eyes with the face of stone, “Sure, that’s one way of looking at what we are” the lack of reaction was inspiring, “Or were” you took a look around his room.

Equally small cabin, littered with a few personal objects. His was phone abandoned on the bedside table, a change of clothes on the floor. A naïve idiot would have taken a moment to consider the fact that maybe he was not as well as you thought. But you were past that, desperate to get answers. A reaction. An end to this madness. With resolve ever-increasing, you sat down on the edge of Neil’s bed, ready for the battle ahead. Meeting his perplexed gaze, you let the penny drop:

“I wonder with how many friends have you been kissing on the bed for two hours” a flash of recognition and then a frown.

As expected. But it still hurt.

That moment from the afternoon before the morning plane to Tallinn was one you often replayed in those desperate hours when nothing seemed to help. You were lying in bed in your room back in London, enjoying each other’s company, exchanging kisses like compliments every few minutes. Sometimes Neil would let his hands become more daring in their caress, causing goosebumps all over your skin. Bringing out sighs and making your heart overflow with love and hope that you finally found what you have been looking for. You felt wanted. You talked a lot about the future, sharing different ridiculous plans for how it could play out. Neil promised to visit your prospective farm with the sheep and dogs. Back then, judging by the look in his eyes, you dared dream that perhaps he would want to be a part of those days still to come. Now, looking at the blonde man awkwardly perching on the chair in front of you, nothing made sense. He stayed for the night then, allowing you to hug him close until the morning. You woke up first, watching him for a few minutes. The steady rise and fall of his chest. Relaxed face with hair sticking up. Calm and content. The warmth spreading from your heart inspired you to press a kiss to his lips as a means of wake up. The sight of Neil sleepy-eyed, peering up at you with a fond smile gracing his features was worth much. Maybe even the current tortures…

Facing him now, you could see the frown deepen.

“Painful memory?” you countered, watching him closely for any hints.

A mask was put on well. But there were flashes of something there. A potential… A possibility of getting burned too.

“In a way,” Neil grimaced, avoiding your piercing gaze.

He was uncomfortable, mindlessly picking on the skin around his nails and tapping his foot. That was the signal to keep on pushing. Until he would be forced to be honest.

“That’s a shame. It’s one of my favourite ones” as he looked up, you offered a deadpan smile, “Just like Oslo,” a shrug complemented with a quick scan of his body, “Though I’m not sure about that… ending,” feigning thoughtfulness you ended the harsh scrutiny.

The point was to back him up against the wall without making him throw you out. That tiny voice at the back of your head told you that he would have done that already if you were not in any way important. That voice was too confident.

“What is your point?” Neil bit back, betraying the level of annoyance you have brought with the innocent reminder.

You knew there was no more skirting around the issue. Now or never.

“Why did you do that earlier? Why did you hold me like...” you trailed off, unable to put into words what it felt like.

Like what? Like a lover. Like someone you actually cared about and not just an irritation. Like someone you could want in your life. But you could never say that to him.

“I was being a gentleman” Neil glanced at you with painfully fake indifference, “Women tend to appreciate that,” a shrug that could not fool you.

Women. The spark of jealousy burned bright. Because what if you were just another distraction. Nothing special. But then the things he said to Kat suggested otherwise. You held onto that thought and squared your shoulders. The game was on.

“...Right,” a sceptical glance in his direction before you continued, “Was that look gentlemanly too? Because last time I checked, gentlemen didn’t tend to look at women as though they wanted to…” trailing off, you awaited the response.

That would mean he took the bait. And the case was not yet lost.

“What?” the lazy tone made you meet Neil’s gaze.

He looked… off. As though before you knocked, he was not exactly fine. It was that nervousness and unkempt appearance that betrayed him. On its own accord, your heart gave out a painful thump, anticipating the fact that Neil too might have been hurting. But why? Ignoring the distraction, you found the needed words and dropped them carelessly.

“Devour them” you held his gaze confidently.

The verb felt right. As though Neil was not trusting his instincts, he looked down, breaking the contact. Putting up further guards. Bingo. He scoffed, throwing in cruelty to the mix:

“And here I was thinking you’re over… this” a vague hand gesture to show what this meant.  

You. And him. That something that both was there and was not. Or rather, he wanted it to cease to exist. Only it was not that easy.

“I never said that” putting on the necessary emphasis, you kept on staring at him until he looked up.

Mouth open for another quip. That same steel-blue eyes and clenched jaw. Whatever you have been doing was working. Slowly aggravating him to the point of discomfort. You had to keep the upper hand. Neil seemed to consider something, restlessly fiddling with a pen he picked up from the bedside table. After a beat, he spoke up:

“Why are you here?” weariness in his eyes as he gave out a long exhale.

Easy question… right?

“Because I want answers” it could not be any simpler.

He flinched, letting you see the extent of panic hidden underneath the annoyance and casualness.

“What makes you think I’ve got them?” an arched eyebrow adding the mocking intonation.

The meter of space between you felt like an ocean. He was close enough for you to brush away the strand that has fallen into his eye if you only leaned in. And yet so far that you felt alone, alienated by the cold scrutiny. You had to keep going, tearing at the carefully build up armour hiding him away from you.

“Because you always have words. An abundance of them” you waited till he looked at you again before pressing on “Be it things you probably wish I have forgotten that you have once whispered between kisses” a pause, noticing the boundless unease in the blue eyes “Or all those lovely adjectives you have given me the last couple of days” using the moment of hesitation, you added, “But maybe you were right, and I am stupid, emotional-”

You could give him the whole litany. Your legacy. Exactly how much you were worth in Neil’s eyes. Unless it was a lie…? Before you could begin, Neil raised his hand, interrupting sharply:

“Okay, I get your point” no pride in that frown, almost as though he regretted it, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that” the apology took you by surprise.

As did the sudden change in his face. Neil held your gaze with unusual sheepishness. As if even the act of looking at you was dangerous. Tearing the skin from his lower lip, he was the epitome of insecurity. There was no time to falter.

“Everything?” you prodded, mindful of the poker face you had to maintain.

You could not lose him now. Neil hesitated for a short moment before responding:

“Yes,” another second of eye contact, and he got up, impatiently touching the doorknob “If this is all you wanted, then I’d rather be alone-”

No. You leaped up, reaching out before he could finish the sentence. As your hand landed on his forearm, his eyes snapped to you in shock. He was not expecting you to breach the touch barrier. But there was no other choice. With heart hammering in your chest, you felt your throat tighten. Please not now…

“No,” emotions exposed in the tiny voice crack, “Neil, I’m tired of this, of you not making any fucking sense and expecting me to accept it” pleading, you let your fingers wrap around his wrist.

That had to do. Judging by the terror in his eyes, it was already too much. You could feel your resolve waning. Terrified of the consequences if this backfired. Of what you would have to do if he rejected you once and for good. Of the pain you would have to face then. But you had to be brave. He swallowed hard. You wondered what caused the goosebumps on his skin.

“If this is about earlier, then you’re blowing it out of proportion. Be more reasonable” there was a raw edge to his voice that was new.

You were close now. Enough to force Neil to stare at the ground to avoid looking at you. You noticed those dark circles under his eyes. And the tension spilling out in waves. He was scared of you. And that was a horrifying discovery. Your eyes were burning as you begged your heart to hold on. You had to survive this.

“It’s not just that” betraying the nerves, you took a greedy inhale, “It’s what you told Kat in Oslo. It’s how you look at me” following potentially disastrous instincts, you tipped his chin to meet his eye, “It’s all those sudden switches when you seem so cold and calculating and yet so separated from the real you” running out of breath, you could only stare at Neil.

The widened eyes and parted lips told you exactly how shocked he was. You did feel bad for bringing Kat into it. The argument was too strong to let it go. And it worked if his silent panic was anything to go by. He was desperately searching for words, unable to tear his eyes away from yours as though what you said was a binding charm.

“Why do you think you know the real me?” finally, Neil settled upon the question.

One last attempt at making you forgo this madness. Only there was nothing convincing in his delivery. Eyes hazed, showing you fear and uncertainty. A blood droplet on the lower lip where he tore through the skin. Ignoring the most innate of desires to wipe it off, you cupped his cheek. Neil gasped, frozen in the spot. Could it be working? Sliding your hand down, you interlocked your fingers with his. Everything felt surreal. As if you were not a part of the scene. But you had to persist. To finish what you started.

“Because you once told me that you’ve never lied to me. That I’m very important. Your everything, even” your voice broke again on the last sentence as you tightened your hold over Neil’s hand, “And I understand that you could have changed your mind, but…” you hesitated, feeling him shudder.

Oh my god. Your heart broke for the umpteenth time as the fact dawned on you. Neil was shivering slightly as though he was cold. But there was no draft. Nothing to cause it apart from your presence, words, and the physical touch. A choked sob built up in your throat.

“…why are you trembling when all I’m doing is holding your hand? Am I that revolting?” the questions were interrupted by a sniff you could not hold back any longer; there was time for honesty, “The last few days have been awful, making me want to stupid things just to feel something different than heartbreak. I’m not saying that to get your pity, but if I got it all so wrong then tell me now. Because I’m not sure I can survive much longer like this” after finishing the speech, the tears trailed down your cheeks uninvited.

It was all there for him. Nothing to add. Your heart was beating fast, blood pounding in your ears. For a second, you felt suspended in time, unable to do anything but stare at Neil, who seemed utterly speechless. And then his face fell. Eyes fell shut as he let out a heart-shattering whimper. Tears started falling down his face as you tried to brush them away. You have not seen him that broken since the aftermath of TP’s death. He tugged his hand out of your hold to cover his face, turning away. Christ… The searing pain was back, this time making your heart bleed for Neil. You did not know what to do, powerless and paralyzed with a multitude of thoughts and feelings. After a minute which felt like an eternity, Neil faced you again with red-rimmed eyes and tragedy in his gaze. That was the needed wake-up. Stepping back into action, you placed your hand on his chest. Just over the beating heart. A gentle encouragement.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that it’s over because I still…” the breathless words tinged with panic and struggle as he fought for every gust of air, “I can’t keep on…” another sob, shaking his whole body “You’re…” a sharp intake followed by instant defeat.

Immeasurable anguish in Neil’s eyes was another reason to find the strength you did not know you had. Maybe it was worth it.

“What? I’m here with you and willing to listen. To do anything but please just make me understand” holding back more tears, you made sure he saw the determination painted on your face.

Slowly you were coming to terms with the reality. You would do anything for him. Anything he asked.

“I don’t know how to…” Neil trailed off, looking for answers all over the floor and ceiling, “I’m tired of having to pretend when you’re all I…” a moment of hesitation as his eyes widened.

He did not intend to say that much. You’re all I… what? Before you could find ways of pressing on, he turned away again and sat down on the bed. A frown etched deep into his forehead. Eyebrows furrowed. Eyes glistening with unshed tears. This was bad. Awkwardly, you shifted from one foot to another. Words were escaping you both.

“Then don’t. I won’t bite” your useless quip was received with an ill-disguised dry chuckle, “Call it naïve, but I don’t think it’s anything we can’t fix if we…” shit.

You knew what was there on the tip of your tongue. It was too early. Fuck knows if he even… But he had to. There was no other force in the universe that could cause this much pain.

“If what?” Neil caught your mistake with strange emotion in his eyes.

As though he wanted you to spell it out. You could not give in. Some words had the potential to destroy, and it was too fragile. A freshly opened wound you still had to mend somehow.

“Don’t make me say it again” a whisper to make him understand your actions.

After a beat, Neil nodded. He seemed exhausted, slouching and staring at the floor unseeingly. That feeling of helplessness threatened to come back with force as you were running out of ideas to make it work. To get him back somehow. Then his voice broke the tense silence:

“Christ…” a long exhale before he looked at you again, “I don’t even know where to begin, but…” resignation passed through his face.

You felt a strange spark of hope flicker in the depths of your heart. It did not look like rejection. It did not look like anything you have ever experienced, and yet it made so much sense. Because after everything you have been through, there was no way this could be easy. Kindling that building fire, you cautiously took a step forward, maintaining the eye contact:

“Yes?” the most neutral of tones, holding the emotions at bay.

Everything not to scare him off. You made it so close. You could give up now. A hint of a sad smile upon Neil’s lips was encouraging…

“Come closer. I want to…” he reached out a hand you gladly took, letting him pull you nearer.

It did not matter what he wanted. Only that you could give it to him. Anything. Everything. Upon the sudden surge of courage, you covered the remaining inches of space and straddled his lap in one smooth movement. Another gasp as Neil glanced at you with obvious amazement. Then, as though he worried that even this was too much, he looked down at where his hands tentatively settled on your hips. This position was familiar. And yet, you felt different, unable to make sense of the myriad of emotions and thoughts occupying your mind. All that mattered was Neil. His hesitant but intimate hold. The hair falling into his eyes. Shallow breaths escaping through the parted lips.

“It’s alright, look at me,” gently you lifted his chin so that you could meet his gaze.

Blue eyes full of longing. For you. Exhaling sharply, you knew well enough what to do. You wound your hands around his waist, drawing him into a tight embrace. That too felt natural. After a second, Neil relaxed, melting into your hug as if that was exactly what was missing. At that moment, with head resting in the crook of his neck, at last feeling as though there was a point in all this, your eyes welled up. No matter the suffering, this had to be it. Your everything. Neil breathed you in, warm puffs of air causing shivers all over your body. There was no point in pretending.

“Please come back to me,” you whispered against his skin, letting tears trail onto his shirt.

Neil tightened his hold, hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer. All it took was a kiss he pressed onto the exposed skin of your collarbone to make you tremble.

“I never left,” the hesitancy told you he did not believe it either.

“You did. But maybe… I’ll do anything to have you back” the urgency in your voice causing Neil to lean back.

He wiped the stray tears from your cheeks, taking an additional moment to caress your neck with tenderness. You could only lean into his touch, feeling as though whatever might happen has already been decided. There was no way you could let this go. Neil seemed to consider something quickly before he spoke:

“All those words… they fail me when I’m trying to explain what I was doing” his voice was raspy with the weight of emotions, “Or why. Because I’m scared of making it come true. It’s as if once I say it… it might…” he paused, searching for words in your eyes.

“Become real?” you offered, running your fingers through his unruly hair.

You were right. It was all an act. The elation was restrained by worry and love. It didn’t matter.

“Yeah…” Neil swallowed hard, “And then there’s all this mess in my head… The thoughts that just won’t shut up. I’m so fucking tired of… of-” the familiarity of his words causing another flash of pain within your heart “I can’t ask you to-” he cut himself off as though the idea was unspeakable.

You caught a sight of something darker within his gaze. They always said that actions speak louder than words…

“Neil, I said I’ll do anything. I mean it. What do you need?” you met his panicked eyes with resilience.

It took him a longer minute to stop staring at you. To wake up. And then, as simple as it can be:

“You. I need you,” touching his forehead to yours his breath ghosted your lips, “But after everything I did, I wouldn’t expect you to want me… like that” the depth of remorse was heart-breaking.

You already knew what the answer would be. Nothing else mattered. Regrets, worries, and fears had to be abandoned for the sake of this.

“The trouble with the heart is that it doesn’t care what you’ve done. Only that this is you,” smiling lightly, you cupped his cheek, “Just… kiss me. Like you mean it. Like you could love me. And then we’ll see if we can make it work,” unsure where the words came from, you faltered.

But before any vicious doubts could step in, Neil closed the gap. His lips slowly glided over yours, reminding you what it felt like. It did not take much persuading for you to open your mouth, deepening the kiss. It felt like coming home after a long time away. Like that first step over the threshold when one is unsure what they will find. Only to realise that everything is in the right place. That they should have never left. You tangled your fingers in his hair, bringing him even closer. He groaned upon the sensation, teeth grazing over your bottom lip. A sigh escaped your throat as Neil’s hands ventured underneath the sweater. For the first time in a while, everything made sense. You tugged at his shirt just for the sake of it as a means of showing him how wrong he was. You wanted him more than before if that was possible. The kiss consuming you both with its intensity and force. Your tongues participating in their dance, brushing against each other, increasing the intimacy of the moment. It finally felt right. Slow, unhurried, but desperate. Unforgettable.

You did not even know when it ended. One moment you were willing to give up breath if only to make it last longer. The next Neil had you pinned to the bed, breathless and shocked. When you met his gaze, the depth of expression told you what it meant. Finally.

[ethelphantom]

Things a Pet Name Can Reveal

Scroll down to the end for the art btw, don’t miss it! Also, you’re getting pure fluffy humour again, you should consider yourselves lucky. Maribat March day 13, Pet Names. Also, this is your friendly reminder that yes, I can tag you to stuff if you ask me to do it. This month or all my Maribat content or a specific series... You decide.

Ao3

This is Maribat -- don’t like; don’t read

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So, maybe, looking back on it, Tim regretted wanting to come over to see how Marinette was doing. He really hadn’t wanted to see and know what he did now and while it wasn’t honestly that bad, he kind of wished he’d found out some other way. Such as, maybe someone actually telling him with words.

The only good thing about any of it was that he had knowledge about Marinette none of the others except for maybe Alfred and Cass had. Scratch that, the two of them definitely knew, but the rest.

Marinette had gotten commissioned by many big names in the movie industry, as well as by a lot of the Wayne Industries’ partners, and yeah, she was definitely drowning in them. Of course, she had wanted to take them all as they paid well, they were good publicity to her, and they were okay with waiting as they knew she had a ton of people wanting to commission her at the same time. Tim would have felt bad for talking so much about his favourite designer to them because he was proud of her and how far she’d come, but Marinette had said it was okay and that she greatly appreciated it.

That was why he decided he wanted to come over to see how she was doing, maybe help her if she needed take-out (because yeah, he couldn’t cook to save his life), coffee (because at least he knew how to brew actually good and strong coffee), or really, anything. She would only need to ask and say the word, and he would do whatever she asked.

As he got to the door, the one that had opened it had been Jason. Which, okay, he could understand, they were close and Jason was the reason the rest of them knew her in the first place, but it still surprised Tim. Jason hadn’t even blinked an eye and let him in. And told him were Marinette was. And was that dark turtleneck Marinette's design he was wearing?

Marinette was, as Jason had said, sitting at the kitchen table (okay, to be precise, she was sitting on top of it), biting her pencil as she had a sketchbook in her hands. Some of her hair fell on her face and shoulders though most of it had been pulled up in space buns to stay away from her eyes. She didn’t even notice Tim had come in.

There was a huge pot on the stove, and the smell hanging in the air was wonderful. It was possible Marinette was cooking — that would explain why she was in the kitchen instead of her study — but somehow Tim found that unlikely. Marinette wasn’t focusing on any clock, didn’t check the food even once, and looked a whole lot like she’d stayed in one place for the past hour or two. There were chopping boards and knives behind her, as well as a whole lot of still untouched vegetables.

Yeah, so it wasn’t her cooking. Then who…?

The answer came in the form of a six-foot man with a white streak in his hair and a scar splitting his lips. “You gonna eat, Timbo?” Jason asked, crossing the kitchen easily with large strides before getting to the food he started stirring. “We’ve got quinoa.” And, as an afterthought, he added, “And avocado, tomato, corn, tuna, carrot and a ton of spices.”

Only then did Marinette realise there was someone else in the room as well. She lifted her head, looked at Jason, and then turned to Tim. The smile that had appeared on her face when she saw Jason widened and she abandoned the sketchbook and the pencil on the table in favour of getting down to give Tim a hug. “Hi Tim, it’s wonderful to see you. Sorry I haven’t texted you or anything, I’ve just been so—”

“Busy, I know. It’s alright, I didn’t really expect anything less from you,” he replied laughing. “You’re you, and you’re like me, and neither of us really knows how to stop working. That’s why I came over as soon as I had finished the biggest projects going on at the WE. I wanted to see you and thought that I could maybe help, even if it’s only in the form of providing you with strong coffee or snacks or something.”

Marinette snorted and covered her mouth with her hand. The ring in her hand glimmered in the light and her eyes crinkled. It was only then that Tim noticed the dark circles around her eyes that were so easy to see now that he paid attention. When was the last time she’d slept?

Not that he really had any say in it, he didn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than four hours at once. The last week had gone cat napping so much Selina would be proud of him. Dick would be horrified and disappointed. Well, who cared about that, that man didn’t know how to eat anything but takeout and cereal, so he had no right to judge the rest of them. Absolutely no right.

...Honestly, Steph, Cass or Jason were probably the most stable of them at this point. Maybe Duke. It was, the least to say, disturbing.

“Well, I appreciate that. You still remember how to make that death coffee you made for me like, a year ago when I was drowning in schoolwork?”

“The one that would probably kill any normal person with the amount of caffeine it contains but that both of us crave for because of the sweet, sweet caffeine?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Definitely. Where’s your coffee and coffee grinder?”

Marinette pointed him to the direction — to the left, the topmost shelf, hidden where neither of them could actually reach. When Tim asked why, Marinette’s sharp response of “Guess once,” and pointed look at Jason had told him everything.

Which meant, he needed to either get Jason to give the things to him or climb.

His dignity wouldn’t let him ask for help with this (after all, it wasn’t a life or death situation, or even an actual mission or job they had, simply his own personal need to be able to do something without anyone’s help on the line), so he climbed.

Eventually, he managed to reach the things and set them on the kitchen counter, careful as to not damage either of them.

After that, the coffee was soon finished, and he set a cup of scalding hot coffee in front of Marinette, who inhaled the strong smell of coffee into her lungs and sighed with satisfaction. He was rather sure someone else had sighed as well, and when he turned around to look at Jason, his suspicions were confirmed. He shook his head and looked at Tim like he’d ruined something personal.

“I was tryna to keep her from coffee. Just like you should be kept away from it, Baby Bird. Neither of you needs it, especially not the amounts I know both of you are drinkin’. God.”

“Yeah, we do need it,” Marinette and Tim chorused, followed by, “It’s the liquid of the gods”, “You can’t stop us”, and “stay away from our fountain of fortune.”

Jason just pinched the bridge of his nose but refrained from saying anything more even though it was clear he wanted to. That was alright with Tim — he didn’t, contrary to popular belief, have a need to fight Jason over every single little thing. No, the one he had the need to do that was Damian, even if he got along with the little brat significantly better these days.

When it seemed Marinette didn’t need him to do anything anymore and just wanted to concentrate on her designs again, Tim took out his laptop and set to work alongside her, just on the chair instead of the table. After all, just because he didn’t have that much work to do didn’t mean he didn’t have any or a lot of work to do.

Later, he was alerted back to the real world from his work by Jason who informed him food was done. A quick glance at the clock told him it had been forty-six minutes since the last time he checked it, so a little bit after he started working.

Reluctantly, he put his laptop away and accepted the plate full of the quinoa thing — whatever Jason had done — that was set in front of him. Marinette didn’t even move.

“Sweet Cheeks, you’ve got to stop working on that design before you burn yourself out. At least eat something.”

Tim’s gaze literally snapped at Jason. Sweet Cheeks? What was even going on?

Marinette groaned and let her face fall into her hands, but she missed and hit the table instead. That must have hurt. Then she gave Jason the finger, somehow perfectly aware where in the room he was located. “See, you started off saying that as a joke to annoy me and now I think you got so used to it that you're saying it unironically, and it's getting to be a problem.”

Jason just raised his eyebrow. “Does it still annoy you, Sweet Cheeks?”

“Yes!”

“Then I fail to see the problem here.”

“You are an asshole, Jason. Asshole.”

“No shit. We’ve been married for, what, half a year and you’re only noticing now?”

Tim’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He could not believe his ears. The fork in his hands falling to the floor, he finally got his brain to cooperate and asked, slowly, as to make sure he didn’t say something wrong and would actually be able to understand what was going on, “You’re what now?”

“We’re married, I just said so. You seriously didn’t know? I thought that out of all of the people B’s trained in his life, you would have been able to figure it out on your own.”

“And you — neither of you — thought to invite us to the wedding?”

“Nah. It kinda happened in the spur of the moment and well. I mean we did have a suit for me and a dress for her so maybe it wasn't that impulsively done but yeah. Forgot to tell you after that and then we started betting on who would notice and when.”

“Of course you did. I shouldn’t probably be surprised even, now should I?”

“No, no you shouldn’t.”

Marinette, that little shit, just laughed. Tim sighed.

“Well, congratulations, you two. I hate you both.”

“We love you too, Tim.”

The rest of the visit was spent discussing the hows, whens and whys of their relationship and marriage. It was cute, he supposed. He was most definitely sure that he was happy the two of them were happy together, though. They clearly deserved one another.

Also, it would be fun to see the rest of the family’s reactions because they told him that if they didn’t figure it out by the end of the month, the two of them would come over and tell them, in some way or another. Tim kind of hoped the family would not figure it out.

A week later, Marinette received a package that contained a card and a framed picture of herself and Jason, taken by Tim on the day he had visited. Under the picture, there was a quote from one of the few plays Tim knew for certain Jason favoured. What the card said was lost in the wonder that was the gift Tim had sent them.

“Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.”

_________________

@kris-pines04​ @thethirdwheelfriend @daminett4life @abrx2002 @persephonebutkore​ @rebecarojas07 @corabeth11 @freshbark @maribat-march2020 @catsandfanfic @fertileleaf @eat0crow @cutechip

[onbanksofadragonriver]

Varric x Merrill thoughts

This is a rarepair ship I’ve believed in ever since I saw this fabulous art a few years ago, and the fic “Perfume Shop” (in Russian) has been a major inspiration too. And then recently, @hollyand-writes got me to air my headcanons and to actually get down to writing for this ship, so here we are.

I’ll go by points, but it’s not my goal to somehow attempt to prove that this ship is or should be canon. They’re my headcanons: Don’t like, don’t ship. Also, I haven’t played DA2 in a few years, and have never played any of the DLCs, so feel free to take this with a grain of salt. All dialogue with no specifically indicated source is from the wiki.

Buckle in, this is long!

@geekalogian​, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold​ ♥

>> Amazing banter

All the companions get frustrated by Merrill’s silly questions, though I believe half of them are actually only asked as a joke. They try to explain it or avoid the question, or sigh about Merrill’s naivete. Fenris is downright hostile to her, and Anders tends to get preachy. Aveline treats her like a child sometimes. Isabela is protective and friendly, but sometimes she sounds a bit condescending and impatient with Merrill’s innocence. 

But Varric, he gets her. He gets her silly jokes and just rolls with it, and their dialogues are a pleasure to listen to. It’s with Varric that her somewhat straight-faced, silly humour really shines, because he’s the only one to play along: about frolicking in the woods, and his resemblance to Hahren Paivel, and Bianca having a pretty name, or how his family is like fleas, or Darktown rats following the mage/templar mess, etc. He never brings up her naivete or makes her feel inadequate or as if she’s missed some context. And they’re both so relaxed around each other it’s like Varric has unlocked a whole new dimension to Merrill.

>> Protecting her freedom. The ball of twine and taking care of the gangs. 

I’ve seen meta on how Varric paying off the thugs is him infantilizing Merrill, but he does this for Anders too. It’s his way of caring about people. And also, if you see Merrill’s reaction in case Hawke doesn’t let her have the arulin’holm, you’ll see that she’s perfectly capable of realising when people are coddling her, and letting them know — in no uncertain terms — when that kind of meddling is unwelcome. (see also: Varric and his product deliveries below)

I also like to think that half of the reason “nothing ever happens” when she wanders around at night is because Merrill is a badass mage perfectly capable of taking care of herself. One of her default starting spells is rock armour, and when Hawke meets her, she admits to having fought before, and having done so alone. She’s certainly capable or recognising the stupidity and danger Sister Petrice is walking in as she wanders around Lowtown, and that’s in broad daylight. 

Also, I’m thinking Varric must have put that protection in place after news of some incidents reached his ears, because it’s not something he does by default to other party members who’re new to Kirkwall. So perhaps it is, or was necessary at some point. On the other hand, perhaps Merrill is totally taking care of herself, and the thugs are not even trying to attack her, they’re just enjoying ripping off Varric :P

I like to think that the Viscount’s gardens were an honest mistake and Merrill did cut down on wandering there after Varric’s comment.

The ball of twine is interesting. Her closest friends in the gang seem to be Hawke, Isabela and Varric, but only Varric actually gives her a tool enabling her to find her way around the confusing human city. I don’t know what others did. Did they expect Merrill to just stay in the Alienage if there was nobody to accompany her around the city? Or did they expect her to find her own way through trial and error? Varric gives her a weird, but apparently functional tool for navigating the city until she learns her own way.

And the common motif between ensuring safe streets, an access to gardens and the ball of twine, is how Varric is safeguarding Merrill’s freedom. She’s Dalish, used to living under open sky, travelling from place to place. She’s used to green, growing things and wandering about as she pleases. And she’s used to doing magic freely and in ways that she herself believes appropriate. Now she’s stuck in a barely hospitable alienage of a city with a strong templar and slaver presence, and Varric doesn’t have the heart to scold her and limit her freedom even more. 

Considering Varric is part of the ascendant group in Merchant Guild, who believe in leaving behind Orzammar’s strict caste system and traditions and embracing surface life instead, looks like Merrill’s freedom speaks to something deep in Varric’s own beliefs and values, nonchalant as he seems.

>> Trying to take care of her. Delivering produce.

This gives me feels. First, Varric noticed that something was off. Maybe he missed her showing up at the Hanged Man, maybe he went to visit her. Either way, he noticed that she wasn’t going out, not even to the market. It’s funny to imagine Varric standing in the market scratching his head about what actually goes into food preparation, but more probably he initially just threw some money at the problem, sending someone shopping for her. And then he checked up and saw she’s still not going out. And then he tries to talk her into going for a walk, to get fresh air.

And again this is something I’ve read as coddling and infantilizing, but — when Merrill is clearly not in a mood for teasing, she rebukes him politely: “I’m not a plant, Varric.” She’s not harsh as in case with Hawke and arulin’holm. When Varric leaves, she admits: “Varric is... very sweet. Frequently infuriating and a terrible busybody, but sweet.”

Which at first read as... Merrill not reciprocating Varric’s feelings for her? But on a second thought: what if Merrill is the oblivious one? Not only to Varric’s caring but about her own feelings for him? What if she never considered Varric romantically because she always thought she’d end up with a Dalish partner, and then she becomes friends with Hawke and starts opening up to the idea that what if she takes a human lover? And falling in love with a dwarf has not even crossed her mind yet? (Look lower, queen.)

Because when Merrill cares, she helps people: waters their plants or repairs ancient artifacts. Part of her potentially falling in love with Hawke is due to how they help her, how they have her back. Varric and Merrill have the same love language. I choose to think of it as a mystery, why Merrill is not canonically head over heels for Varric. Maybe she’s so used to his confident, handsome self boasting about all the female attention he gets that she thinks she’s out of his league and has friendzoned herself :P

Additionally, I believe “sweet” and “infuriating” is something that the gang could equally attribute to Merrill herself. Pot calling kettle black? :D

>> Opinions on magic

Varric largely doesn’t have an opinion on Merrill being a mage, a blood mage, or whatever. He’s not afraid, because he has other, more pressing concerns, like Merchant’s Guild breathing down his neck and sending assassins, and when he does mention Merrill’s blood magic being “evil” it sounds like a rehearsed thing that might cause him headache due to other people getting their knickers in a twist over it.

He does acknowledge he’s distrustful of letting “dangerous people run amok” if Hawke sides with the mages in the end of DA2, but apparently he trusts Merrill enough that she knows what she’s doing and leaves it at that. He’s just sick of the whole mage/templar drama.

>> Mutual interest in what they do. 

Merrill is interested in what he does for a living, while he tries to keep her out of trouble that would come from her knowing too much. And Varric is pondering why Eluvian is a mirror, and not some other piece of furniture. Not judging each other, just — curious. Showing they are in each other’s thoughts. And I won’t go into details here, because @hollyand-writes​ has, like, ALL the receipts where Varric thinks about Merrill in DAI, but he does — a lot :) He knows her interest in history and lore, knows that news of ancient elves keeping slaves would upset her, knows she would have liked to see the Dales. He seems to be missing her a lot...

>> Priority. 

LOOK at the sequence he mentions his friends in, Merrill is No.1, while Hawke is almost an afterthought :D

Merrill: How do you do it, living in the city without picking a side? Doesn't it matter to you? Varric: Of course it does. That's why I don't take sides. Merrill: That doesn't make any sense. Varric: I've got you and Aveline, Fenris and Anders. Hawke. Isabela. I've got friends in the Circle and drinking buddies in the templars. All of them matter.

And who’s the first person that comes to Merrill’s mind when Hawke calls her pretty? Varric! :D [X]

>> Comfort in storytelling. 

Yeah, Merrill says somewhere later that she wouldn’t have made a good Keeper because she’s not good with people, but she did receive all the requisite education. She studied lore and elven legends and history, as much as is left of it anyway, and I believe that storytelling, thriving on stories, is something that she and Varric both have in common. 

Maybe she’s too shy to tell her own stories, but she’s definitely enjoying Varric’s and looking for consolation in his stories when things get rough.

Merrill: Varric, how does the story end? Varric: Which story, Daisy? Merrill: The big one. With us and Hawke, the mages and templars. Everything. Varric: You want to know before it happens? You're not worried about spoiling the surprise? Merrill: I might not see it end. Varric: You have to stick with us if you want to find out how it turns out, Daisy.

Merrill: Tell me a story, Varric. Varric: Right now? I don't think we have time, Daisy. Merrill: Maybe a very short story, then? Please? Varric: Fine. "When the cards turned, he lost." Merrill: Oh. Did it have to be so sad?

Merrill: (passing the Hanged Man):  "Do you think there's time for Varric to tell us a story while we're here?"

Merrill: I hope we win. Varric will make it a good story, I'm sure.

>> Conclusions & Future

The thing that gets me the most is how good and kind they are to each other. It’s in their teasing, their jokes, the way Varric takes care of Merrill. I love Merrill’s confidence in Varric’s storytelling talent, and I like to think Varric finds Merrill’s confident tinkering with the mirror at least a little bit hot, even if he doesn’t understand magic (Bianca is/was a brilliant engineer, and I think Varric has a bit of a competence kink :D)

I also enjoy thinking of them both as slightly out of touch with emotions: Varric ignoring his own, and Merrill oblivious to his. I like to think of what happens when Merrill realises Varric loves her: because she’s open and honest in her affections, and it would be awesome to see Varric taken by that storm. To see him openly fall for someone so different, at a first glance, but also familiar: a knowledgeable storyteller, confident in her abilities, believing in free will and freedom. 

I see them moving on together: Merrill learning to let go of the disappointment that is the unfinished eluvian, and Varric learning to let go of his lingering feelings for Bianca. Yes, the past is important for Merrill, while Varric wants to live in the moment, but the point of knowing the past, for Merrill, is to be able to move forward, and Varric certainly knows his family’s past, so I don’t see any disagreements there. If anything, Varric’s resources and connections can help Merrill get her hands on more artefacts and ancient tomes, letting her continue on her path in some other way.

It’s interesting to imagine their life together. After DAI, Varric pours his own funds into various infrastructure projects until he ends up the Viscount of Kirkwall, and Merrill is in Kirkwall too, helping the city elves. Somehow, it feels logical that at least some of those projects would be new elf housing and improvements to the alienage. 

Would they get married? Probably, because I think it would be important to Merrill, and also probably because it might be a better way to protect her, a rumoured/known blood mage, from the Chantry than if she was just the Viscount’s mistress. On the other hand, knowing Varric and his cousin Elmand, and his spy network, and his tendency to successfully evade the Merchant Guild messengers [X], it’s equally possible he’d whip up a completely fake story about how his beloved Merrill is a hatter, and leave it at that. Probably he couldn’t even be found in the Keep, instead preferring to hide out in the Hanged Man or in his wife’s house in the alienage :D

Because, in the end, I think they both enjoy doing their respective Things very much, whether it’s helping elves or writing books, and they let each other do it selflessly, even if maybe it means they can’t live together. (Because can you imagine a Viscomtesse Merrill having to host a ball? Dealing with Hightown nobles? No, I don’t think Varric would ever ask such a sacrifice of her.) But they live close, and help and support each other, and, in short, I think they’d be awesome :)

[sunnycityshadypeople]

Defining Heartbreak: The Friendzone

I felt like writing and I guess could be a place to put it as it’s my only social media account where I have a bit more anonymity.    I feel hung over as fuck today, but noticed when I was articulating some deeper thoughts with someone that instantly felt better - so here goes with a story not of woe is me, but of the discovery I made about myself  Unrequited love over the years has reared it’s head a couple times.    In my early twenties, a guy I met online on Gaydar (is that site still a thing) - became a friend. I was actually his first gay friend and we hung out a lot.  We both went ot the same university and had one class that we both had in common - despite studying different degrees.   I thought he was super cute, intelligent and a catch - he had a certain confident swagger about him. Nothing sexual ever happened between us.   He then went overseas to live in France for a year - studying at the same university that the recently departed Kofi Annan.   Fast forward a year and over that time of missing him, I realised I had feelings for him and the cliche of distance only making the heart grow fonder certainly rung true.   When he finally returned to Australia, I was so happy to see him and a bunch of us hit the town together. A friend brought his rather cute pal along and joined me and my crush on a night out.   As it turns out, my friend’s cute pal ended up hooking up with my crush.  In a tree. IN A FUCKING TREE.  

I was crushed.      Like *spoiler alert* Captain America watching his best mate Bucky die or Tony Stark seeing a fading spiderman begging him not to go.   Yeah I was in my early 20s but it was defining moment of heartbreak. 

I dont remember how long after but I was moping around at my brother’s place and my sister was there.  She saw me dejected and withdrawn, asking me ‘what’s wrong?’ - I left out the front door and sat on the balcony and ugly cried.   And not the ugly crying I did when KFC stopped selling hot and spicy chicken, this was far far worse.  And a defining moment of heartbreak.  Sidebar:  I’ve always been a bit of a philosphical existentialist - mainly due to the the movie ‘The Matrix’.  The nature of reality fascinates me.    When I was 18, the philosphical book ‘The Celestine Prophecy’ came into my life... I actually ‘found’ the book on the street (I kid you not!) and it changed my life and the way I think abnd that’s where the true existentialist in me had an awakening. anyways. I’ve always been an introspective soul -- something perhaps most people I know don’t realise.  The cyclic nature of life (ok picture me holding my laptop up ala the Lion King pose as we sing the Circle of Life) - means that sometimes it feels like things repeat themselves.  I sometimes forget about the lessons that we need to learn and of course it came from another defining moment of heartbreak - this time in my mid 30′s.  I’d started chatting to this guy on a dating app mid 2016.    I thought he was super cute, intelligent and a catch - he had a certain confident swagger about him.   Feeling a sense of De ja vu?  No,it’s not a glitch in the matrix.    I tend to have a long lead time before I meet anyone online (I’m sure there’s a basis of fear of rejection in there but really are you that surprise after hearing that fucking sob story before!?) Anyways, we ran into each other at the gym and that was the first time we met.  We hung out a few times, and certainly these felt like dates.  We had a lot in common (and a lot in difference too), laughed alot and he was probably the first guy in a long time I met whose personality I loved.    He was witty at time cutting, his text game was super strong - but I’d usually own him face to face.   We’d spend our days jibing at each other trying to insult each other with memes (because Memes are life, right!?).  One time I was chatting to him via text -  describing a guy I used to like and how this dude and I had a lot common, was super nice... he replied to me ‘Kinda like us really?’  AND WHOA hold up this could be a romantasiced re-telling of my overthinking interpretation of a message - but that was sliding doors moment that would lead me to my next defining heartbreak.     I should have taken the bait.  But I was scared.  My absolute fear of rejection was scared to just tell this dude I like him - even if I was misconstrued in that message.    I do prefer voice messages over text because tone is a hard mother fucker to judge - thank god for emojis and ifs but still - just press that record button on whatsapp (He didnt’ like voice messages as he thought they were lazy) whereas I like to really convey my meaning.

Unless that meaning is ‘cue Madonna’ “IM CRAAAAZY FOR YOU TOUCH ME ONCE and you’ll know it’s truuuuue I never wanted anyone like this it’s all brand new... you’ll feel it in my kiss, you’ll feel it in my touch because I’m crazy for you - touch me once and you’ll know its’ true’

Anyways sorry about that Australian Idol gone Karaoke wrong moment. If you’ve fallen asleep reading this, you can thank me for the cure to insomnia later.  Ok, cut to the chase Jimbo - fast forward a year and half of being friends with someone you secretly love.  I use the term’ secretly’ loosely - because OMG was I just coming across as the love sick despo girl - random presents in his mailbox, being the nicest most supportive, generous friend - because hey, maybe he’ll come around if I kill him with kindness.  There’s an excellent article on being in the friendzone you should read by the way - I’ll talk about that later. I’m not going to go into details out of respect for this guy, but I knew inherently and the truth of the matter was no matter what I did or who I was - he was still on his Rupaul ‘can’t love nobody unless you love yourself’ journey.   So the harsh reality, and the ‘hes just not that into you’ vibes as espoused by Oprah back in the day meant this defining heartbreak was a bit different to the first.   I knew it was too far into the friendzone (never say never, but yeah let’s be real).. if it’s in the friendzone, they have to give you something that’ll finally get you into the endzone.  Anyways, I’d do anything for this guy.  Despite actually rationally speaking he didn’t tick some major core values for me.  It’s funny how attraction works.   A close friend who is a counsellor told me about ‘attachment styles’ (look it up, I wont digress more than I already have) - but essentially I was a major victim (of my own doing, because people don’t cause us to feel - we cause us to feel - think about that for a sec).. I was a major victim of treat em mean keep em keen. And I kept coming back for more.   I even tried weening myself off him by disengaging and that was great, but then we re-engaged. His was of re-engaging was sending me a message that said ‘Welfare Check’.  If it was me, I’d be like ‘Hey dude, I miss you! whats up!?’  The last time we saw each other was almost 2 months ago - nothing dramatic went down, but after not seeing the guy for a few weeks - he could only afford me about 40 minutes of his time.    It was a pleasant catch up but neither of us have communicated since.   He’s stubborn and I’m stubborn too.  But ulimately, it’s not healthy for me to love someone who doesn’t know what to do with my love.   And I look back at my own behaviour and do a major eyeroll because I really should save that stuff for someone who likes me back. That article I mentioned above - which I’ll post the link to - had a very simple suggestion and rule to avoid unrequited love and being in the friendzone. Only like somone who likes you back. OH MY FUCKING GOD REGINA YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME THAT A YEAR AND A HALF AGO! Anyways, I’ve had some amazing dates and met a couple awesome guys (there’s still a them of them not living in the same city as me but hey I can deal with that for the moment). I have a lot of love in my life and the love I give  is welcomed and I’m not feeling like I’m being treated as an afterthought.  I emphasis ‘feeling’ because the truth is, I may not be an afterthought to him.   But actions do speak louder than words, and his inaction has spoken to me.   That’s cool.   My love will always be there.   But in defining heartbreak, I defined myself and thank you for reading this I’d like to thank the academy and you for being you. You are loved. 

[floweryfandomnerd]

@thelazyfanartist Hey I finally got this done and I’m very happy with it despite it being a procrastination method from revision man am I gonna fail my exams at this rate.

Anyway here is the fourth drabble in the schoolboy!arslan au that you requested. I say drabble it’s 4k+ long... I hope you enjoy

*

Chapter Four

The room that Elam stands in the doorway to is a mess with old toys strewn about the wooden floor in almost a circle from the centre, he sighs at the thought of cleaning it up.

“Hey Elam, did you bring your old toys to go through for the beneficence day?” Arslan asks him, springing up from what could be described as the eye of the storm, if the storm were one of dolls and stuffed animals.

He lifts up the canvas bag in his right hand to show him, Arslan eyes the graphic print on it for a moment then holds out his hand expectantly. Elam loops the handles around Arslan’s wrist, he tugs the bag open and peers inside, wide grin forming on his face as he pulls out a spiderman action figure, “Cool! You have my favourite hero!”

Elam steps closer to him, digging around in the bag himself, he produces a Hawkeye figure and holds it up to eye level, “Yeah, but Hawkeye’s my favourite because he's skilled with a bow and that's pretty awesome. Even more awesome is that in the original comics he's deaf, that's pretty inspiring for disabled kids, y’know?” Elam tells him.

And even though his voice lacks the same obvious excitement as his, Arslan has long since learnt to read him by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he talks about it, by the way that he stands just a little bit straighter and holds the figure to his chest. Arslan smiles softly, he's more than fond of seeing his friend so happy.

“Yeah! It's great because it shows that even with a disability you can be anything - even a superhero!” Arslan agrees, enthusiastically nodding his head, “Hawkeye is Daryun’s third favourite, besides Thor and Captain America.”

‘Yeah, they're kinda cool too.” Elam glances back down at the figure sadly, he doesn't really want to give it away.

“He says Spiderman is lame though, says it's because he reminds him of a teenage Narsus, except Narsus didn't have a six pack and liked art too.” Arslan gently takes the figure out of Elam’s hand as he laughs, (he takes pride in drawing that laugh out of his friend, he's glad that he doesn't always feel the need to be so serious around him anymore.) Arslan sets the two action figures down carefully on his bed, kept apart from all of the unsorted toys, “Anyway, we can't get rid of these.”

“Wow. Was Narsus that much of a nerd?” Elam asks, still in stitches and clutching his arms around his sides.

“What do you mean was? He still is!” Arslan jokes, mumbling an afterthought, “Though he's more of an art nerd than a science nerd now, I guess.”

Elam carefully steps around the toys to sit in the middle of them, he drags Arslan with him by the sleeve. Picking up the nearest stuffed animal in front of him, Elam inspects it for any rips in the stitching or missing eyes. When he finds nothing wrong with it he holds it up to Arslan. Silently answering the question, Arslan nods his head to say that it can be donated; Elam sets the toy aside in a basket labelled “donations.”

They get into a rhythm of deciding whether the toys can stay or go, picking them up, checking them over for injury and then questioning whether they can be kept or not. Most of the toys wind up in the basket, too many for them to be of any emotional value. Occasionally though, Arslan shakes his head and tenderly takes the toy from Elam’s hand, placing them on the bed. It builds up an eclectic collection of old, tattered toys that he stares at fondly.

They’re special to him, each and every one, he doesn't want to get rid of them. Knowing they're safe, he quietly returns to helping Elam sort the rest of the toys, neither of them break the silence, though Elam wants to ask what makes each one so important. After all, every toy has a story to it when it means something.

Breaking the silence between them by means of a creaking door, Alfarid strides in, calling out, “Guys, I’m here!”

Taking another step into the room, Alfarid stands on one of the still unsorted toys, slipping and crashing into the basket. A few toys go flying out, one of them hitting Elam on the head; Alfarid sits slightly dazed in the basket, limbs splayed everywhere and giggles sheepishly, “So um, what were you guys doing?”

Elam scowls at her, rubbing the impact spot, “We were enjoying ourselves but I guess that’s over now.”

Long used to his sass, Alfarid simply sticks her tongue out at him. Despite Elam’s sourness towards her, Arslan laughs at her. She laughs along too, guessing herself just how ridiculous she must look. The three blink at an unexpected flash and the sound of a camera shutter, Etoile stands in the doorway, polaroid camera in hand and held up in front of her face. Lowering it, she tugs the photograph printing in the bottom out and fans it around. The photograph develops, ink drying and the image forming in blotches.

She looks at it and grins, chuckling just slightly, then she holds it out for the others to see. They smile and Alfarid takes the photo in her own hand.

“This one’s a keeper!” she beams. “It’s definitely going in my memory box.”

Etoile points to the window where opened light blue and white curtains let the sunlight filter in through the glass, “Yeah, the lighting in here made sure it came out great. But that should be going in my memory box, I took the picture.”

Pouting, she holds it out for the other girl, but Elam quickly snatches it away and squints at it. He cracks a smile and shoves it into Arslan's face.

“It’s cute, we look cute in this photo don't we Denka?” he pauses, considering thoughtfully for a moment, then adds, “Alfarid doesn't.”

She gasps in outrage, insulted and ready to fire expletives back at him, Etoile speaks over the top of her, vexed, “Wait, why did you call him ‘Denka’?”

Alfarid resorts to crossing her eyes and arms and sticking her tongue out at Elam in a huff, he pays her no mind and gestures towards the bed in the corner of the room, “Because he has a king sized bed, in like every room, but we're still kids, so Denka.”

She glances to Arslan, ‘Denka’, questioningly but to her surprise he doesn't seem to mind the nickname. She turns her head away rapidly when she realises that she's caught his eye with her own. He jumps up, excitedly putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You should take another one,” he tells her, voice as warm as a sunny day, “but this time you should get in too!”

She nods, still a little surprised, then finds her voice to reply, “Of course, it wouldn't be the perfect photo if I weren't in it.”

He laughs happily and bounces off to the pile of toys on the bed.

“Before you take it,” he says, waving Alfarid over to his side, “we need to organise the toys on here for the background.”

They align them against the wall, organising them by size with the largest teddy bears at the back and action figures sitting in the front. Arslan grabs Elam’s arm and drags him over to sit in front of the bed with him and Alfarid. Etoile sets a fifteen second timer and places the camera on the bed side table, seating herself next to Arslan. Seconds later the camera flashes and she fights the urge to blink. She’d set it to go off three times, one photo for each of them.

The polaroid deposits the photographs in front of it, she idly goes through them, pausing and deciding which she likes best, Alfarid making the peace sign whilst Elam glares at her, Arslan and herself making silly faces; maybe the one when all four of them are smiling and Elam and Alfarid have given up their bickering. She decides on the one where, for some strange reason, Arslan's smile is directed at her instead of the camera. She pockets that one carefully and leaves the other three open to the others’ choice.

Turning to Elam, she picks up a stuffed horse off of the wooden floor, dangling it in the air by the tail. She scrutinises the toy, swinging it from side to side, “So Elam, why all the toys? We helping a tragic case of hoarding or? I mean, if so I guess it's a productive use of a Thursday afternoon… ”

Elam laughs, “No, our school is having a beneficence day so we're going through all of Arslan's old stuff to sell some and raise money.”

“You can donate that horse by the way,” Arslan chimes in.

Etoile nods, dumping it amongst the other sacrificed toys. “What about this ratty old bear? Are you sure you want to keep it?” she asks just a little brashly. Its fur is worn and discoloured, one of the eyes is missing and some of the stitching is coming away, letting the stuffing spill out in small patches. They couldn't even donate it if they had wanted to.

Still, Arslan nods almost shyly, softly replying, “Yes… I want to keep it.”

She carefully passes it to him, gazing thoughtfully in his direction, head cocked slightly to the side, “That’s important to you, isn’t it?” she says slowly.

“Yes, it’s the only thing I have left of my birth parents. They gave it to me when I was five.”

Alfarid’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Your birth parents?”

Smiling almost sadly at her, Arslan sighs quietly, ‘Yeah, they died in a car accident when I was eight.” He brightens up then - Etoile can't help but think the expression reads as fake - adding, “I'm okay with donating almost anything, just not this, okay?”

Elam silently pats his arm, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Arslan briefly taps Elam's hand with his own in acknowledgement.

Clapping a hand gently on his shoulder, Etoile reassures him, “Well that's fine, isn't it? You don't have to give up everything of yourself to make a difference to others.” She grins broadly at him then, firmly stating, “Giving to charity is a good thing Arslan, you just need to make sure you keep something for yourself too.”

When he beams at her in response, agreeing resolutely, she thinks she might just have to change her opinion of him as a spoiled rich boy. “Why don't I take that and fix it for you?” she asks, pointing at the stuffing spilling out like Winnie the Pooh’s, “I know how to sew.”

This time it's Elam's turn to be surprised, “Really?” he enquires almost incredulously.

“Yup.”

“Do you think you could teach me then? I'm no good at it past stitching up holes.” Elam points to the dark brown fabric patches on the elbows of his deep green jumper as if they were evidence of his lack of skills.

Etoile laughs then, quickly obliging herself, “Yeah, I think that would be fun. I could even teach you how to make clothes, if you want me to,” she says, closely scrutinising his work and mumbling, “though I think you're plenty good already.”

She doesn't notice the camera go off again, snapping a shot of her intensely staring at Elam's elbow whilst he looks to be concentrating equally as hard. Giggles escape Alfarid, betraying her mischief as she shows off the picture to Arslan who giggles along with her.

Cutting off the giggling, she turns to Arslan again, “Well do you?” she almost demands the answer of him, “I promise no harm will come to it whilst in my care. Just good old stuffing surgery.”

Easily agreeing, he hands the toy over to her, “Yes, I trust you'll do a great job.”

Daryun interrupts them, knocking loudly and pushing open the door to the room. “Dinner's ready kids. Come down and eat.”

“You didn't cook it now, did you?” Elam worries at him, Daryun isn't someone he would trust to make food. Responsible, usually, but he's just as much of a disaster in the kitchen as Narsus is, if his attempt at a cake is anything to go by.

Daryun's expression morphs into one of offense, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in an annoyed line, “Yes I did, I don't really think there's anywhere to go wrong with spaghetti bolognaise, Elam.”

Holding his glare a moment, Elam eventually relents, accepting that Daryun perhaps might not be as useless a cook as he is a baker. Though he does question why Daryun decided to make it himself, if he remembers correctly, Elam believes that Arslan's household employed a cook already, and that it certainly wasn't Daryun.

Daryun smiles in response, “Okay then, I'll drop you lot off at home after you've finished dinner then.”.

Etoile takes the bear home with her.

*

After her Tuesday afternoon shift in the shop, Etoile wanders around the town centre a little bit, gazing in shop windows without entering, pressing her hands against the glass when she takes interest in something and peering in curiously only to pull herself away a moment later. Eventually she arrives in front of the store she actually intends to enter and pushes open the door. It's a small shop with little room and fewer regular customers, but the products are good quality and inexpensive, so it's her chosen place to shop.

They have pretty fabrics hung on spools all across the far wall, Etoile likes looking at them, running her fingers across each one as she tries to decide which one she needs to buy. Pausing, she takes the bear from the plain brown satchel at her hip and studies it, tapping a finger against her lips in thought. A patchwork job would probably last longer, she thinks, than just sewing up the bear. As long as she finds the right fabric and colour.

This one, she thinks, feeling a soft and velvet-like deep brown fabric. She buys half a meter, some brown thread and a button that matches the eye of the bear. She pays for the items and is almost out of the door before she remembers that some stuffing might be useful. Purchasing the stuffing, she leaves and makes her way home.

Her apartment is empty when she arrives, Barcacion - the great uncle that she lives with and is rather fond of - isn't home, leaving Etoile to quietly sit in the arm chair by the window as she repairs the bear. It doesn't take long to fix, but as her needle dips in and out of the fabric, sewing the toy's wound shut, Etoile considers why Arslan, with all his money, didn't just pay for the bear to be sewn back up. At first she can't think of any real reason, eventually however, she thinks that maybe it was because he was scared it would be changed beyond recognition and he wouldn't have anything left of the people who formed his early life. After that, she's careful to make sure the bear remains recognisable.

Her chance to return the bear doesn't come until the Beneficence Day three days later. She wanders through the gate idly, taking her time to enjoy the afternoon sun that spills over the buildings around her, casting shadows and golden rays alike. The school grounds are unusually busy, but that's hardly surprising given the day's event, still, the crowd is so thick that she struggles to see where she can find Arslan, Elam or Alfarid. What gives it away is the circle of young children and their parents circling around one particular covered table, she figures that nothing other than a ridiculous amount of toys would draw that kind of attention and starts weaving her way through the throng of people to get there.

When Arslan catches sight of her amongst the crowd he beams at her brightly and waves to her to catch her attention, she smiles gently and holds up the bear, moving one of its arms from side to side to wave back at him. He laughs cutely, clutching his sides with one arm, Etoile quite likes the look of his laughing face. Quietly, and to herself, Etoile giggles along with him, holding one hand up to her mouth to hide it. Upon arrival in Arslan's little covered stall she deposits the bear in the front pocket of his apron, situating it with its arms hanging out over the top as Arslan's face begins to flame whenever her hands accidentally brush at his chest. She steps back, peers at him critically and smiles, satisfied with how it looks.

“Now you look like a toy maker, one who likes giving gifts to little children.” She tells him, patting his shoulder momentarily.

“That doesn't sound like such a bad job, actually.” He says thoughtfully, turning from her and serving a bright eyed little girl who eagerly buys the cutest stuffed rabbit Etoile has ever seen. Arslan holds a finger to his lips and leans down to whisper conspiratorially to her, “I'll tell you a secret about that rabbit, but you have to promise to take good care of her.”

The little girl nods her head, wearing a serious expression and crossing her heart, “I promise!” She says gravely in a hushed whisper.

Arslan looks pensively at her for a moment, “Okay,” he tells the girl, “That rabbit is the princess of the rabbit kingdom, but no one can know or the foxes will find her and plunge the kingdom into turmoil.”

She gasps and glances astonished down at the bunny in her arms.

“So you need to protect her, you see, brave lady knight, I wish you good luck.”

“Thank you, I'll look after her well.” The little girl declares, leaving and going back to her mother.

Etoile watches fondly and just slightly awed, she never realised just how good Arslan was with children, she doesn't quite know what to say, it reminds her of a game she used to play as a child. “That was adorable,” slips past her lips as he turns back to face her.

“I used to play a similar game when I was a kid, my bear used to be the prince of a fallen kingdom,” Arslan tells her wistfully, “Sometimes - as often as I could, actually - I used to get Daryun to play it with me, he was always this brave warrior, see.”

Etoile’s own memories are somewhat the same, it’s a rather nostalgic feeling, “Ah, me too, I was a valiant knight, fighting for my kingdom in the name of God, well, a made up one that I called Yaldaboath. It was fun.”

He smiles softly at her, probably imagining when she was ten years old, running around and swinging a foam sword. At least she can imagine him playing with teddy bears straight back.

“Arslan, you can switch out with me now. Go enjoy the rest of the event,” Elam says from behind her, appearing out of nowhere and startling Etoile just slightly.

Arslan nods, gently grabbing Etoile's hand and tugging her along with him, a mischievous sparkle shining in his eyes. He doesn't say much, concentrating on navigating through the crowd of people, stopping at a table with a crudely set up game of ring toss that offers prizes in the form of toys, money and cupcakes.

“Do you want to play?” Arslan asks her, pulling his hand away and reaching in his pocket for change to pay with.

Ignoring the emptiness of her hand, Etoile agrees, reaching for the rings, “Sure, but pay for two games I want to know who's better at this game.” She says, challenging him to test his aim.

He has fairly good aim, actually, which shouldn't surprise Etoile given his school has beaten hers at mixed baseball before. His first two throws go well, the rings hang on the necks of the bottles but he overshoots the last one just slightly and misses. He shrugs somewhat disappointedly, staring longingly at a giant chocolate cupcake offered as a prize. “Guess I'm not getting that cake then,” he says and Etoile swears she can hear genuine sadness in his voice.

Grabbing the second set of three rings, Etoile aims carefully, flinging them with just the right amount of force that they land on the bottlenecks, spinning noisily around them like a hula hoop. She doesn't even have to say what prize she wants, the bored student hands over the chocolate cupcake immediately. Etoile shoves it towards Arslan, offering it to him.

“You look hungry, so take it.” She half commands him.

Instead of eating it all himself, Arslan splits it in half and gives the bigger piece back to her, “Thanks,” he tells her with an impish grin.

There's not really much else to do at the beneficence day, having come so late and working on the teddy bear stall, they've missed all the events like races and talent shows. Etoile quickly finds herself growing bored despite her company and the different little games they play - actually, the one with the water guns is fun since she gets to soak him and he gapes at her in open shock - though she holds it in and doesn't say anything, at least she has time to think for once.

The crowd has thinned by the time he turns to her, still damp from her earlier attacks, “There’s not really anything left to do here, is there?”

Etoile shakes her head, “Not really, I think we missed all the good stuff, unfortunately.”

Arslan hums in agreement, making a little noise and obviously thinking about something else , what exactly, Etoile isn’t sure. He holds his hand out expectantly, waiting for her to take it again, “Let’s go then, I know somewhere nice.”

Hesitantly, Etoile takes his hand, following him through the grounds and avoiding the last few stragglers there, her cheeks feel decidedly warm.

“Where are we going?” She asks as they leave the gates, heading away from the school and in the opposite direction from his house, moving farther from the town centre with every step.

“You'll see,” he tells her cryptically, staring up at the top of a grassy hill from the base of it.

A small playpark sits on the summit of the hill, surrounded by a bright coloured fence and trees dotted around behind it with swings and slides and a giant climbing frame among the things to do there. Arslan tugs her hand and starts climbing it, bringing Etoile to realise that he wanted to take her to the park. Sometimes, she thinks, he’s a little bit of a kid and a little cliché but she doesn’t mind it so much. Silently challenging Arslan to a race, Etoile removes her hand from his, sprinting up the hill ahead of him. She sees him break into a run as she glances behind her, the corners of his lips curved up into a wide smile.

Etoile wins the race, sitting in the grass and panting at the top of the hill as she waits for him to struggle his way up.

“You’re many times fitter than I am, Etoile, I don’t know how you managed to run the whole way up,” He tells her, bent over with his hands on his thighs and wheezing to catch his breath.

Etoile shrugs casually, “I cycle to school.”

Pushing herself up from the grass, Etoile waits for him to stop wheezing and takes herself to the swings; she’s always been fond of swings, something about them is relaxing and they always seem to have the amazing power of clearing her mind. Arslan sits on the one next to her, swinging quietly aside from the creaking of the chains that attach the seat to the bar and the scuffing sound of his feet when he kicks off the ground. It’s peaceful.

“You know, I always used to come to this park as a kid, you know, before I was taken to Castle Andragoras.” He says softly, breaking their comfortable silence with a mournful tone of regret, “I don’t really remember it.”

“Was it fun?” Etoile asks in an almost-whisper.

“Yes.” Arslan abruptly stops swinging, getting up and holding out his hand for her again.

She lets the swing stop naturally before she stands, though she doesn’t take his hand this time, there’s no way for her to get lost in the little play park. After a confused moment, he lets his hand drop and begins climbing the giant climbing frame that she noticed earlier.

“Come up here, Etoile, this is what I wanted to show you.” He calls down to her, already a short distance from the ground.

She obeys, scaling her way up through the organised mess of cold metal bars until she reaches just below the top, where Arslan sits on one of the bars, distractedly swinging his legs as he gazes over the city. As she sits beside him, watching the same view as him, Etoile thinks she knows why he brought her there. The sunset is beautiful, pinks, purples, oranges and reds taking over from the sunny blue bathe every tree and building in their hues. If she remembers correctly, it’s the start of magic hour, or twilight.

“It’s so pretty, I’m glad you brought me to see it,” she voices with some awe.

“Yeah, I’ve always thought so,” he whispers on an exhaled breath, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with a fond smile.

Etoile sways slightly and Arslan places his hand on hers to help her keep her balance.

“Do you remember this?” She asks quietly.

“Yes.”

*

If you enjoyed this please think about a reblog so that more people can read it!

@inokinako You would probably like to read, no? 

[prince-simon]

”i’m sorry but no” from the prompt list thingy (also hello i love and miss u 💗💗💗)

Anriiiii 💕 I love you and I miss you 💕 I hope you like what I did with this prompt - I made it Evak, I guess you have nothing against that :D Even is very smiley so I thought this was perfect for you 💕 also my sister was rewatching Gossip Girl so this has some influence of that haha - and it got longer than expected, which actually isn’t that surprising because I just can’t write short stuff haha

“I’m sorry but no,” Sana shook her head, a hint of pity on her features before she looked back down on her notes.

Isak groaned, bringing his hands to his face. “Sanaaaaa,” He whined, inclined to get out of his seat just so he could stomp his feet petulantly. “Please, it’s your duty as my best bud.”

Sana sighed and put her pencil down to glare at Isak. If they didn’t know each other as long as they did, Isak would be fucking terrified by that look. “We’re not best buds,” Was all she said.

Isak leaned back, balancing his weight on the hind legs of his chair. “Sana Bakkoush, we are best buds. Don’t try to fight it, you won’t get rid of me. So please don’t let me go through the Annual Valtersen Easter Soiree on my own. I won’t survive it!” Isak ranted dramatically.

Sana rolled her eyes at his antics and clipped, “Oh look at that. You don’t survive, I get rid of you. I win.” And promptly laughed at Isak’s scandalised expression.

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Isak tried to think of another solution. Because if he knew one thing it was that Sana didn’t easily change her mind once she had decided on something. “Who’s gonna be my partner for that stupid dinner party then?” He groaned, his mind drawing a blank.

“I’ll come with you.”

That was definitely not Sana having suddenly decided to do Isak a favour after all. Isak’s gaze travelled up a long torso until his eyes reached smirking lips and then blue blue blue. Isak crashed forward, back on all four legs of his chair, his stomach swooping uncomfortably when he thought he’d crash to the ground and break his neck. “Hi?” He said rather breathlessly, blinking owlishly at the stranger.

Confidence in person, he stretched out his hand, waiting for Isak to take it. “Even. Nice to meet you.”

“Uh, okay,” Isak sent Sana a quick, confused glance but she just shrugged, just as stumped as him, “I’m Isak?”

Even shot him a blinding smile, rocking back and forth on his heels for a moment, the awkward silence stretching between them. “So you need a date for that… soiree you said?” He eventually prompted.

Isak furrowed his brow, trying to sort his thoughts before coming up with a reply. “I do, uh— but. I don’t know you? Why would you offer yourself?”

He shrugged. “I’m bored and you’re cute. So…” He spread his arms, “Here I am. What do you say?”

What Isak would like to say is that this is crazy and quite frankly, he felt like he was missing the joke. But instead, he just gaped at him and the ever (un)helpful Sana piped up, “It’s a deal.” Isak whipped his head around so fast to stare at her that something in his neck cracked.

“Great,” There was that smile again, so warm that Isak was melting, “Here…” He leaned down and grabbed a napkin, fishing a pen out of his pocket, “That’s my number, send me the details. I gotta run, but I’m looking forward to this!”

When he was gone, Isak’s mind was running a million miles an hour. “What the fuck just happened?”

Sana smirked. “I got you a date to your parents’ soiree.”

—

“This is bullshit,” Isak groaned, pulling on his untied bowtie, undoing it completely again, “I’ll just text him that the party was postponed or something.”

Sana shook her head vehemently and pushed his fingers away as she started tying his bowtie. “You’re not gonna do that. I’m not letting you complain to me anymore how you want a boy to like you when you have one right there.”

Isak threw his hands in the air in frustration. “We don’t know him! He could be a crazy stalker!”

“He’s fine,” She assured him, “I did a background check. Followed him on instagram and everything. He has not liked any of your pictures from four years ago — I mean, why would he, you’re lame.”

Isak pouted, “Excuse you, my meme game is on point.”

“And that’s why you’re lame,” Sana smirked smugly. “Also,” She added as an afterthought, “He liked some of my pictures.” She patted his shoulders when she was done with his bowtie and Isak immediately darted for his phone, opening his instagram app.

Isak asked as casually as possible, “What’s his username?” But Sana laughed at him anyway.

“even.bn,” She told him and Isak immediately went through his recent notifications to see if he found that name anywhere. But no such luck.

In that moment, there was a knock on the door and Sana went to get it, grabbing her jacket on the way. “Hi Even, bye Even. Isak,” She said, pushing past Even before either of them could say anything.

Isak couldn’t do much more than stare at Even in his smoking and perfect hair and even more perfect smile. He was fucking breathtaking.

“You’re stunning,” Even complimented, stepping farther into the room.

And Isak was reeling. He was stunning? When Even came in here looking like that? “T-thank you,” He croaked.

Even grinned like he had just won the jackpot, crinkly eyes and everything. “Ready to go?”

They took the tram to the Valtersen residence — a place Isak nowadays only saw for events like the one tonight — not quite caring about the funny looks their attire got them as they couldn’t really look away from each other.

The ride wasn’t that long but as they exited the tram, Isak already felt like he knew Even so much better. The initial shyness was gone so Isak didn’t hesitate to loop his arm around Even’s offered one.

As per usual, the house was lavishly decorated for the soiree and already bursting with people, stalking around in their posh dresses and smokings, putting on fake smiles and posing for the camera.

When Isak spotted his mother, he tugged Even in that direction despite Even’s insistence of getting drinks first. “Hi mamma,” Isak greeted her with a smile, leaning in to hug her. “Pappa,” His tone dropped a little bit as he looked at the man next to Marianne and the hug he gave him was only for show. Isak cleared his throat, turning to Even, “These are my parents, Marianne and Terje. Uh, and this is Even…”

Only then did he notice the pinched expressions on his parents’ faces and Even didn’t seem quite as comfortable anymore either. “Mr and Mrs Valtersen, nice to meet you,” Even said politely, stretching out his hand for them to shake but dropping it when it hung between them awkwardly.

Isak’s brow furrowed even more when his father simply cleared his throat and turned away from their small circle demonstratively. Marianne’s lips left a soft spoken, “Mr Bech Næsheim,” that echoed between them.

As the name registered, Isak’s wide eyes turned to Even. The awkwardness suddenly made sense. He had brought the offspring of his family’s company’s biggest opponent to their soiree. “Excuse us,” Isak rushed out, pulling Even away unceremoniously.

A large vase hid them from curious eyes as Isak glared at Even. “What are you trying to do?” He hissed, feeling humiliated and stupid.

“Okay, I can explain this,” Even stepped closer to him, grabbing Isak’s hands, there was a pleading look in his eyes, “You being a Valtersen has nothing to do with me being here.”

“Doesn’t it?” Isak challenged because when it came down to it, Isak didn’t know Even and he definitely didn’t want to get hurt.

“No!” Even exclaimed, crossing the last bit of space between them. “I saw you the first time you came to KB to study with your friend. Sana, right? I kept seeing you and you were the most beautiful person I have ever seen and I was trying to find ways to talk to you so when you talked about this soiree, I grabbed my chance. It only dawned on me who you were when I got back home. But I was interested in you before I knew you were a Valtersen.”

Isak hated how insecure he sounded when he whispered, “Promise?”

Even nudged his nose against Isak’s, smiling softly. “Promise. Once you’ll get to know me, you’ll realise that I won’t pass up on the chance of a good old star-crossed lovers story.”

Isak’s lips parted slightly, his breath hitching. It felt a little overwhelming how fast this was going but what Even made him feel, he had never felt before. “Like Romeo and Juliet without the dying part?” He mumbled distractedly, running his nose along Even’s, their lips hovering so close to each other’s.

“Tell me you’ve seen Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet and I’ll tell you I’m already in love with you.”

Instead of replying to that peculiar request, Isak smushed their lips together, unable to stop smiling while they kissed. It was a little messy but oh so perfect.

Send me a pairing and a prompt

[lesbrarians]

Junkrat/Roadhog:: Recipe for Disaster

My Secret Santa gift for @smokedoutcoldstar from the Roadrat Riders Discord! A very merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate the holiday!!! 

Title: Recipe for Disaster

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: T

Summary:  Roadhog teaches Junkrat how to cook. He then attempts to make a meal for Roadhog as a Christmas gift. It goes just about as well as you’d expect. Archive of Our Own

—

“Home again, home again,” Junkrat sang. He zipped the fly of his shorts, kicked some dry sand over the wet patch at his feet, and put his hands on his hips to survey the vast desert before him with utter contentment.

They had arrived back in Australia after a jaunt abroad and had stopped to answer nature’s call and take in the scenery before returning to their house on the outskirts of Junkertown. Junkrat had never realised just how fond he was of the barren wasteland he had grown up in. With its sparse vegetation and deadly fauna, the Outback was the farthest thing from traditionally beautiful – but then again, so was he.

“Jiggity jog,” he added as an afterthought. The faintest of memories tickled the back of his mind as he vaguely recalled being three years old, in his mother’s lap, as she sang a childhood jingle to him. He remembered giggling fit to burst as she counted on his ten toes – back when he still had all ten of them –this little piggy went to market… “How’s the first part of that go again?” he asked. “No, don’t tell me!” Anticipating an answer from Roadhog, he flung an arm out dramatically to smack him in the chest. It came to him in a flash of inspiration, and he whirled on the spot to grip Roadhog’s forearms and grin up at him maniacally. “To market, to market, to buy a fat hog!” He burst out into giggles and threw his arms around Roadhog. “I’d buy you, y'know,” he said, voice muffled as he planted his face into Roadhog’s chest. “If y’were fer sale. I’d actually pay, imagine that!”

“I wouldn’t buy you,” Roadhog replied. He rubbed the sore spot where Junkrat had hit him, his other hand resting comfortably on the small of Junkrat’s back.

Junkrat ducked out under his arm and gasped in mock offense. He’d known Roadhog long enough to know when he wasn’t actually being insulted.

“I’d steal you. What kind of money do you think I have?” Roadhog deadpanned.

Junkrat snickered. He was loving the implication that he was worth more than the considerable amount of wealth the two of them had plundered together.

Roadhog’s house loomed over the rest of the ramshackle shanties that littered the area just outside the gates of Junkertown. It was imposing in its stature, much like the man itself.

“Gotta say, it’s good to be back,” Junkrat said conversationally. “Don’t just mean Down Under either, I’m talkin’ about bein’ back in ol’ Junkertown. S'been too long. Think anyone here still remembers me?”

He pushed the door open.

Several Junkers’ heads whipped up in unison to look at them, eyes practically glowing in the gloom of the interior as they huddled together conspiratorially, like feral beasts gathered around a kill.

“You!” With a vicious roar, a man came hurtling straight at them.

Junkrat blinked, stupefied.

“Gonna say yes, they do,” Roadhog muttered. He grabbed the strap of Junkrat’s harness and tugged him out of harm’s way.

Thrown off balance by the force of his own momentum, the Junker stumbled.

“Who the hell are you?” Junkrat rubbed his chest, where the leather strap had bit into his skin.

The man spluttered. “What the– how do you not remember me?”

Junkrat squinted and leaned in close, scrutinising the man’s face for something, anything, that would trigger a memory. “…Nope! I got nothin’,” he said cheerfully.

Roadhog picked up the Junker, his hand circling easily around his neck. “You’re in my house,” he growled. “Get out!” He threw him on the floor, where he skidded to join the rest of his gang.

Junkrat sprinted to fetch his grenade launcher while Roadhog pulled his hook out of its holster on his hip.

“So, the usual plan of attack then, big guy?”

Roadhog chuckled. “I’ll hook ‘em!”

“And I’ll cook ‘em!” Junkrat gleefully finished. “Say, there’s an idea.”

Roadhog flung his weapon at one of the trespassers, who yelped as the hook lodged in her chest with a sickening squelch. “What?” He yanked on the chain with a grunt, and his prey sailed toward them.

Junkrat picked her off mid-air with a grenade to the head. “Cooking!” he said airily, raising his voice to be heard over their victim’s boyfriend’s anguished howl. “Proper cooking, like with a stove and shit!”

He grinned at Roadhog expectantly. Roadhog roughly pushed him aside and fired his scrap gun at a particularly murderous Junker.

Junkrat nodded. “Roight, roight,” he said knowingly. “First we take back what’s ours. Then we can cook!”

They made short work of the intruders. Junkrat appraised the missing limbs and bloodshed that was his handiwork with a satisfied nod. “They didn’t stand a chance,” he snickered. “That’s what y'get when ya cross Junkrat and Roadhog!”

They disposed of the bodies by dumping them in the river behind their base of operations. Junkrat could hazard a guess why they’d broken in; he was a little too free with his tongue, and it was no secret that they’d acquired a nice little cache of loot. Granted, what they considered “riches” wasn’t necessarily in line with the standard definition of the term – he was fairly certain that most people wouldn’t find Roadhog’s pachimari machine to be worth all that much in the grand scheme of things – but they did have more than their fair share of gold and jewels.

Not that it was enough for him. The Queen still had way more cash than he did, and that just wasn’t fair.

They had nothing to be concerned about, though. No one would ever find their treasure room – Junkers didn’t work together the way that Junkrat and Roadhog did, as two halves of a whole. They weren’t savvy enough to think to stand on two separate pressure pads as a team, if they even realised the function of the metal plates.

Junkrat was not confused about why they had found Junkers searching their house. What did mystify him was the fact that they had recognised him, when he was positive he’d never seen them before in his life.

Practically positive.

30%, give or take.

“Okay, but seriously, d'you remember what we did to piss these blokes off?” he asked Roadhog as they chucked the last of the evidence off the cliff’s edge. He watched the severed head plummet until it hit the water.

Roadhog shook his head.

“It was prob'ly somethin’ you did.” Junkrat took Roadhog’s silent stare as confirmation that yes, he was, in fact, utterly blameless, and Roadhog was the responsible party. “Anyways!” he said with a bright smile. He pulled the door open and ushered Roadhog in with a dramatic bow. “Victory dinner? Teach me how to cook, ‘Hog!”

Roadhog snorted. “Worst idea you’ve had since we met. And you’ve had a lot.”

“Oi! My ideas are brill, I dunno what yer on about.”

“You threw a 10,000 sparkler bomb in a campfire.”

Junkrat vividly recalled the resulting violent explosion. He’d scorched everything in a five metre radius and singed his eyebrows off. “Okay, in retrospect, not my finest moment. But what’s so bad about teachin’ me to cook?”

Roadhog stared at him, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“…Because I threw a 10,000 sparkler bomb in a campfire? Oh come on!” He flopped onto their bed in exaggerated exasperation. “I’m not gonna burn the house down!” He gestured at their hotplate. “We’re not even cookin’ with gas! No open flame or nothin’.”

“You’d find a way.”

“Ta!” he said, beaming at Roadhog. He chose to take it as a compliment, a measure of his abilities as a demolitionist, instead of the insult it was probably intended to be.

Roadhog gave a huff of amusement and sat down on the bed next to him. Junkrat popped his head up to look at him. “Listen,” he persisted. “Lemme prove ya wrong.”

“If I say yes, will you shut up?”

Junkrat’s grin widened. “Gladly!” Never.

“Fine,” Roadhog said with the long-suffering sigh of someone who knew he was going to regret this decision.

Junkrat cackled and clapped his hands. “Perfect! So, what we gonna make? Meat pies? Sausage rolls? A good ol’ fashioned barbecue?”

“Do any of those sound like something I’d eat?”

Junkrat’s eyes flicked over to the patch on Roadhog’s harness that bore a hunk of meat with a red slash through it. “…No,” he admitted, his enthusiasm deflating a little. He couldn’t help it, he was experiencing a craving.

The springs of the bed groaned as Roadhog stood up. “I’ll get some ingredients,” he said.

Junkrat bounded to his feet, but before he could ask what the plan was, Roadhog stopped him.

“You’re staying here.”

“What!” Junkrat yelped, glaring at Roadhog as if he had personally wronged him.

“You’re not allowed in Junkertown,” Roadhog pointed out.

“You’re not allowed in Junkertown, you mad cunt!” Junkrat fired back.

This gave Roadhog pause. “Yeah,” he grudgingly conceded. “But I’ll have an easier time getting in without you mucking around.”

“Ridiculous,” Junkrat scoffed. “Everyone loves me!”

“No one loves you.”

Junkrat brushed the slight aside. Roadhog wasn’t being cruel; he was stating a fact. The other Junkers hated his guts, and the welcome reception that he personally had received had only reaffirmed this.

On some level, Junkrat knew he was lying to himself when he pretended that others enjoyed his company. Most people couldn’t put up with his eccentricities, his penchant for explosives, his lack of filter and moral compass, his inability to behave appropriately in any social situation, the Molotov cocktail of emotions that was his constant state of being. He knew he was off-putting, but his overly inflated ego would never let him say so out loud. He was genuinely perfectly content to live in denial and continue being overly friendly to new people. A lifetime of rejection didn’t deter him. He just didn’t care – he bounced back easily, always shrugging it off as “their loss.” He lived such a hedonistic, carefree life, indulging in whatever pleasures his grubby little heart desired, and he was happy. He wasn’t going to be brought down by a couple of wankers who didn’t appreciate him.

Besides, he had proof that his occasionally inappropriate friendliness worked out. He had Roadhog.

“You love me,” he said, poking Roadhog’s belly.

Roadhog snorted. “Debatable.”

“Yer killin’ me, ‘Hog.”

Roadhog leaned down to press the snout of his mask to the top of Junkrat’s head. “Yeah. I do.”

A warm glow spread through Junkrat’s stomach, and a grin slid across his face as he wriggled on the bed. Before Roadhog could pull away, Junkrat grabbed his harness and kissed the stitched line of his gas mask’s mouth. The urge to climb all over Roadhog, to slip off the mask and properly kiss him, to forget all about the idea he’d hatched and spend the rest of the day in bed, was all-consuming. But for once – for once in his life – he exercised a modicum of self-control and pulled away. “Okay, okay, okay, go get those ingredients! Surprise me.”

“I always do.”

Junkrat giggled. “Sure ya do! Always keepin’ me on me toes. All five of 'em.”

Roadhog paused at the front door. “Don’t burn down the house while I’m gone.”

“Hey! You say that like I don’t know how to control my own explosions.”

Roadhog’s silence spoke volumes.

“…Oh, shut up.”

—

In Roadhog’s absence, Junkrat occupied himself with art. He could have worked on detailed technical drawings of prototypes for new inventions, but he needed to be in the zone for that, and his head was too far in the clouds to properly concentrate. Instead, he drew shitty little stick figure doodles of himself and Roadhog on their latest adventure.

“Now that’s what I call a masterpiece,” he said to himself, brushing a tear from his eye as he looked at his crayon drawings.

When he got bored with scribbling, he switched to juggling grenades, which never failed to entertain him.

Roadhog walked in just as he let a handful of grenades fall to the floor, cupping a hand to his ear to listen to the booms.

“Really?” he said, judgment dripping from his voice.

Junkrat smirked at him. “Y'know, this is really all your fault,” he remarked. “You left me alone to my own devices! Explosions were gonna happen. Least I didn’t set nothin’ on fire.”

“Yeah. Lucky the place is still standing.” He approached their makeshift kitchen counter and set down a handful of ingredients.

Junkrat snickered and slid over to Roadhog’s side to peek at the spoils.

“Eggs?” he said, wrinkling his nose up at Roadhog. This was not the glamorous and exciting meal he was anticipating.

“They’re easy to make. Good first meal for beginners.”

Junkrat snorted. “Oh, please. I’m brilliant, lemme take a crack at the real complicated shit. Bet I could suss it out, no prob!”

“Prove to me that you won’t fuck up eggs first.”

Junkrat shrugged. “Suit yerself,” he said, picking at the carton of eggs. “Who’d ya steal those from, anyway? The bloke what runs the takeaway shop?”

Roadhog nodded once. He pushed Junkrat aside and opened the carton before his destructive little partner could break its fragile contents. With a light touch, he removed two eggs and placed them on the counter. He might have been built like a brick shithouse, but Roadhog possessed a remarkable delicateness. Junkrat couldn’t help but marvel as he watched Roadhog prepare the ingredients – two eggs, a half-empty litre of milk, mismatched salt and pepper shakers, a can of non-stick cooking spray, a spatula – and he was, apparently, glaringly obvious in his adoration.

“What are you looking at?” Roadhog grunted.  

“Nothing!” Junkrat hastily replied, his knee-jerk reaction to deny any and everything. “Just admirin’ the view, that’s all,” he amended, flashing him what he hoped was a winning grin. “Hang on, lemme get the blackboard and we can get started!”

He wheeled the blackboard over to the corner of their house that served as their kitchen. It still detailed the plans of their last grandiose scheme. Junkrat spat on the slate and used his forearm to wipe it clean. He painstakingly printed the word “EGGS!!” at the top of the board and underlined it three times before drawing several ovals.

He took a generous step back. Cocked his head. Tapped the chalk against his lips. Discovered that he enjoyed the taste of chalk and sucked on it thoughtfully as he studied his work. He hadn’t managed to depict his subject in a suitably convincing manner, so he corrected the issue by drawing several arrows between the word “EGGS” and the ovals.

Behind him, Roadhog laughed, a deep, low chuckle that Junkrat could feel in his bones. At the familiar sound of his partner’s amusement, he whirled around to face Roadhog, caught between delight and suspicion.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” Roadhog said, and Junkrat could hear the smile in his voice. “Your art.”

Junkrat puffed out his chest. “I,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster, “am an artist!”

“I know.”

“All the good artists label their work!”

“I’m sure they do.”

Junkrat grabbed a mechanic’s handbook from his workbench and shoved it flat against one of the eyes of Roadhog’s gas mask. “See?” he accused, gesturing at the labelled diagram of a motorcycle engine.

“I see,” Roadhog said, even though in all likelihood, he probably couldn’t make out anything with the image pressed against his field of vision.

“Good!” Junkrat said, satisfied with this response. He tossed the manual aside. “Glad we got that sorted. Anyways.” He turned back to his blackboard. “What we cookin’?”

“Scrambled eggs.” Roadhog scooped up a mostly-clean bowl and frying pan and set them up on the counter.

“Scrambled…” Junkrat muttered, inserting the word in his title. This called for further revision. With the stub of chalk clenched awkwardly in his fist, he scrawled furiously over the eggs he had drawn and labelled.

“Now they’re scrambled, see?” he explained, gesturing at the scribbles.

“Beautiful,” an amused Roadhog said.

“Thank you!” Junkrat beamed at him. “'Bout time ya started appreciatin’ my artistic genius. Okay, lay it on me. How do we make 'em?” He assumed a battle-ready stance, crouching with his chalk poised above the slate.

“Easy,” Roadhog said. He picked up an egg and cracked it against the rim of the bowl. “Crack two eggs, then–”

“Hey, hey, slow yer roll there, big guy!” Junkrat shushed him, waving a hand in Roadhog’s general direction as he wrote down the first step. He was a quick thinker, a quick talker (an unfortunate characteristic that got him into trouble more often than not), but when it came to reading and writing, he lagged behind. He never cared much for books. The words slid around in his head, and unless it was about mechanical engineering, he wasn’t willing to expend the energy. Writing presented less of a challenge, but he was still slow. He still had the grasp of a five-year-old, and it hampered his ability to write quickly. Orphaned at a young age, he had had no one to teach him otherwise, and he’d never advanced to a more sophisticated pencil grip.

But Roadhog was patient. He waited for Junkrat to finish printing the first step and walked him through the rest of them, pausing as necessary so he could transcribe – a generous splash of milk, a little bit of salt and pepper, whisk it all together.

“Y’ve done this before,” Junkrat said, observing the way that Roadhog tipped the bowl at a slight angle and beat the eggs with one of their few clean forks.  

Roadhog nodded. “Used to make these for breakfast. I had a few chooks.”

Junkrat whipped his head up to grin at Roadhog, mouth agape in glee. Roadhog was usually reticent about his past. He could recall only a handful of times that he had shared stories about his life before the omnium explosion. Junkrat squirrelled this nugget of information away in his brain’s mental vault. He wasn’t always the best at remembering things, admittedly, but he was determined not to forget this little fact. Even after all their time together, Roadhog was a man of mystery, and Junkrat knew next to nothing about the person he was before the apocalypse changed him. He never knew Mako Rutledge, only Roadhog, so every miniscule detail he learned about him was a gift.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Roadhog told him.

“Ain’t lookin’ at you any different than normal,” Junkrat said innocently, but he closed his mouth regardless.

Roadhog snorted. “Yeah. That’s about the sum of it.” He turned on the hotplate, placed the frying pan on the burner, and sprayed it with the cooking spray. “Couldn’t find any butter, so this’ll have to do. We’re cooking them on low heat.” He looked directly at Junkrat. “Low heat,” he repeated.

“Low… heat…” Junkrat muttered, spelling out the words on his blackboard. “Got it.”

He watched as Roadhog cooked the eggs, periodically pushing the mixture towards the center of the pan with the spatula he had stolen from the takeaway. It took a maddening amount of time. He was not patient enough for this.

“They’re done,” Roadhog announced, pulling the frying pan off the hotplate. “Soft and moist but not underdone.” Junkrat had no idea how to tell the difference, but he nodded along like he knew what Roadhog was talking about.

“So, wait, they’re finished? That’s it?” He cackled and threw his piece of chalk over his shoulder. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor. “Easy as! Why doesn’t everyone cook?”

“Low. Heat,” Roadhog reiterated, stressing the words.

“Okay, okay, okay, I get it, move yer fat arse, it’s my turn!” He bumped Roadhog with his hip, as if that would knock him aside.

Roadhog stepped aside and deposited his batch of eggs into a bowl.

“Clean the frying pan first,” he said, handing the skillet to Junkrat, who made a face at him.

“Don’t see why we gotta, we’re just gonna dirty it up again,” he said, but he obliged.

With the frying pan clean and his workstation readied, Junkrat plucked an egg from the carton. He tried to mimic Roadhog’s delicate grip, but it just felt awkward. He hovered the egg above their prep space, testing his swing a few times, before bringing his hand up and smashing it against the lip of the bowl.

They both stared at the mess of crushed eggshell and runny yolk.

“What the fuck, Junkrat.”

“That was a slight miscalculation on my part.”

“A slight one.”

He went through three more eggs before Roadhog took the carton away from him and cracked the egg himself.

He was proud to say that he needed zero input from Roadhog, the nosy bastard, when it came to pouring in the dollop of milk. Roadhog had plenty to say when it came to adding the seasoning, however – apparently he was “heavy-handed” and “drowning the eggs in pepper” – and he was forced to dial back the enthusiasm for the salt.

“This doesn’t feel like enough salt,” he said, staring at the bowl with a critical eye.

“I promise it’s enough salt,” Roadhog said, his voice weary. “Whisk it and pour it in the pan – not as hard as you’re thinking,” he added, and Junkrat, who had been prepared to viciously beat the eggs with his fork, deflated slightly. He went to tip the bowl, just as Roadhog had done, but a huge hand stopped him.

“Don’t,” was all Roadhog said, and he held the bowl flat against the countertop as Junkrat whisked the eggs.

He poured the mixture into the pan, placed it on the hotplate, and cranked the heat up.

Roadhog twiddled the dial back down to “low.” He looked at Junkrat, then pointed at the blackboard.

“Low heat,” Junkrat read. “Oh.” He chuckled. “Roight.”

“Idiot,” Roadhog grumbled, shaking his head.

He tried to imitate Roadhog’s cooking methods, scraping the egg mixture away from him as it solidified, and the end result didn’t look all that different from the bowl of eggs that Roadhog had made.

Junkrat shovelled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. A tad too peppery, but otherwise– “Perfect!” Junkrat proclaimed, delighted. “And I did it all on me own!”

“No.”

Junkrat shot him a look. “Wha– yes I did!”

“I cracked the eggs. Warned you about the salt. Turned down the heat.”

“Don’t know what yer on about, mate. I was the mastermind behind these beautiful eggs.”

Roadhog sighed but, as with so many of his interactions with Junkrat, let it go.

—

Junkrat woke up at the crack of dawn the next morning. Roadhog slumbered beside him, hooked up to his oxygen tank, and as he watched the steady rise and fall of his belly, Junkrat was overcome with a swell of affection for his partner.

He crept out of bed, careful not to wake Roadhog up. He was determined to make his partner breakfast. It was Christmas Eve, and he couldn’t think of a better way to show his love for Roadhog than through food.

Junkrat consulted his blackboard and selected two eggs. He cracked them into the bowl and quickly glanced back towards the bed to make sure that the sound hadn’t roused Roadhog from his sleep.

He looked back inside the bowl, where several pieces of shell floated. He stuck a grubby finger in the egg whites and attempted to fish out the biggest pieces. He mostly succeeded. Good enough, he thought to himself. He poured in a hefty splash of milk, then checked the board again.

“A little bit of salt and pepper,” he mouthed. He could not remember what constituted a little bit. Several shakes of each shaker didn’t seem to produce a substantial amount, so he kept going until he was satisfied.

He poured the eggs into the frying pan and placed it onto the hotplate. He went to turn it on, when a wonderful idea struck him. If it took ten minutes to cook on low heat, it would probably only take one minute to cook on high heat.

Junkrat cranked the burner up as high as it possibly could go.

“Now, where the hell is that spatula…” he muttered to himself, realising that he had no idea where it had ended up after they’d finished making their first batch of eggs. Several long minutes later, he found it underneath the fridge, and he very nearly woke Roadhog up with a triumphant “ha!”

He returned to the very familiar smell of smoke. He swore and started scraping the burnt eggs, but he had made matters worse for himself by not spraying the pan first, so the eggs had stuck to the bottom of the skillet. He removed the frying pan from the hotplate and scraped harder, and the singed mess began to chip off.

“What’re you doing?”

Junkrat whirled around, his fight-or-flight reflexes going haywire, and he instinctively brandished the frying pan like a weapon.

The eggs hit the floor with a wet slap.

Roadhog stood before him in nothing but a pair of pig-patterned boxers. He stared at his twitchy partner for a few excruciatingly long seconds before his gaze travelled down to the burnt mess on the ground.

Junkrat followed his line of sight. He dove for the food and scraped it back into the pan. “Five second rule, they’re fine!” he said with a flippant wave of his hand as he straightened out. “Anyways. I’m makin’ you brekkie!” He nabbed a fork and held out the utensil and skillet. “Merry Christmas!”

“It’s not Christmas.”

“Oh.” Junkrat frowned, lowering his gift. “It’s not?”

“You’re a week early.”

“Son of a bitch.” Well, he would have to come up with something else for a holiday present then. Maybe he’d steal Roadhog’s gun, paint it Christmas colors, and regift it. He was confident that Roadhog would appreciate the personal touch. He made a mental note to do this in a week. He didn’t harbour any false bravado about his ability to remember this, however – he might lie to himself, but he wasn’t completely delusional – and he made the snap decision to write down this plan. “Hang on just a sec,” he blurted out, shoving the frying pan and fork into Roadhog’s hands and sprinting for the nearest scrap of paper and pencil stub. In his blocky chickenscratch, he wrote down “CHRISTMAS GUN –1 WEEK!” and shoved the paper in the pocket of his shorts.

“Okay, where were we?” he said, returning to Roadhog’s side. “Oh, roight – don’t think of this as a Christmas prezzy then. Think of it as a thanks for all the times y’ve saved me skin!”

“I do that a lot.”

“Sure do, mate. Sure do.” He waited expectantly as Roadhog simply stood there. Bloody ungrateful cunt, he thought to himself. Look at him, not appreciating all my hard work! “Well?” he demanded. “What’re ya waitin’ for? Eat 'em while they’re still warm!”

Roadhog looked down at the frying pan. The eggs were burnt beyond recognition, there were at least three visible pieces of shell, and they were gritty with dirt and dust from the filthy concrete floor.

He looked up at Junkrat, who grinned at him encouragingly.

Roadhog exhaled audibly, the sound wheezing through the filters of his gas mask. He loosened the seal of his mask and pushed it up.

Junkrat watched with bated breath as he carefully scraped up a forkful of eggs and took a bite. He chewed slowly, deliberately, several times before finally swallowing. “So?” Junkrat asked. “How’d I do?”

If Roadhog paused before answering, it was so slight that Junkrat didn’t even notice. “Good,” he said. “Good job. They’re delicious.”

Junkrat’s laughter was a combination of delight and relief. He threw his arms around Roadhog’s middle and hugged him. “I knew it!” he said exuberantly. “Told ya I’m brilliant, didn’t even need this beginner recipe!”

“Want some?” Roadhog asked, offering up the plate.

Junkrat eyed the breakfast he had prepared. “Nah, I made it special for you. S'all yers, enjoy!”

“You’re not hungry?”

“Naw, not yet. I can make my own later! You can eat yers now.”

Roadhog gave a hum of what Junkrat assumed was agreement and sank down heavily on the tire seat at their kitchen table. He took another forkful of eggs.

Junkrat sat down on the chair opposite him and propped his chin on his hands to gaze dreamily at him.

“Merry Christmas, 'Hog,” he said.

“Still not Christmas.”

“Humour me, will ya?”

“Merry Christmas, Junkrat.”

When Roadhog finished the eggs, he kissed Junkrat – a proper, unmasked kiss – before pulling his gas mask back down.

“They were delicious. But next time–” Next time? “–stick with the low heat.”

[believerindaydreams]

In the A03 version, I think Boone and Arcade probably need some alone time/fucking, and the train ride is the right time for that. Also girl!bonding for Veronica the Choo-Choo Expert.

In the rough draft I've just spent 10000 words having people talk about their feelings so here's a fight scene instead. The punchline is abysmal :)

Crossing at dawn, part 3

Carla

You didn't expect to get through the DC wasteland without seeing a few fights; but you also didn't count on one as soon as you left the train. Veronica had fixed up the surface level elevator without ever going outside.

What's outside is a lot of Super Mutants. Angry ones.

Arcade frantically pries at the elevator, now closed off by a blast door, while Boone and Manny had looked at each other and headed out to dispense hell. You crouch as best you can in a dark corner, fumble with the recharger rifle Boone gave you. It's very heavy.

"Don't make yourself a target," Arcade advises.

He then proceeds to do just that, running out with his ripper like an idiot; and you would rather not watch what's happening but you have to. No Super Mutant gets to tear you and your baby into pieces without a fight.

The crack of hunting rifles starts growing fainter; the boys must be moving out, finding more distant targets. Arcade stays fairly close, his weapon grinding away horribly.

It's a good thing. It means that when the explosion of a frag grenade comes out of nowhere, you're there to pull him away.

It looks ghastly- those nice boots he polishes every night are sodden with blood. There are leg bones sticking straight out of the skin. He moans, and you realise he's still conscious.

"Could do with a Med-X...or..."

You stab one into him. Also a stimpak, and a super stimpak, and a hydra, because syringes are easier than doctor's bags and you don't think you could do anything complicated right now. As an afterthought you give him a Nuka-Cola, because he's still very pale and maybe it will get his mind off the pain some.

The scary thing is, it works.

You can actually see the wounds mending themselves, flesh moving, stretching itself back into place. Shards of bone are absorbed under rippling skin, making strangely shaped lumps that smooth themselves out and vanish. The new skin is dead white, like feet after a long swim.

"Oof. That's much better."

You haven't been subject to morning sickness; but right now you want to throw up. "Did I...did I get it wrong? Are you going to die?"

"What? No, not as long as I can avoid any more grenades- you did great, thanks for the help. I'd better go return the favor."

Arcade grabs his weapon and goes, almost cheerful.

You stay where you are, cradling your small bump of life protectively; and wondering just what else the world's always had that you've missed.

*****

Manny

Well, fuck.

Look. I've seen Super Mutants. I've killed a couple, when they got too close to the NCR safehouse. I even ran drugs to a few in Jacobstown- you never know who wants the taste of chalky Mentats.

These things? They may look like Super Mutants but they are batshit crazy. Super super mutants, if you want.

"The fuck are you doing?" Boone's oiling his gun, lest he be caught with a minimally subpar one in the next minute.

"Poking through a net full of guts with a knife, what does it look like I'm doing? There's some caps here."

"You can't be meaning to take them."

"Eighteen classy suckers, all mine." I wipe them off with a fragment of blasted leather armor, drop them into the alcohol bottle I keep for real nasty examples. A day in there and the Ultra-Luxe would take them.

"Yeah. A real classy partner I've got," Boone says. He's kind of grinning.

"So...what do we make of this? FEV that gives you bad taste in decor?"

"I didn't like the way they handled grenades. Damn it," Boone says. "Never really thought about it, but only those asshole Powder Gangers really mess with this stuff back home. We're gonna need a lot more doctor's bags if this is warfare around here."

"Doctor's bags don't come cheap."

"Maybe we can get Arcade to make some."

It's a familiar rhythm we're falling into, the kind neither of us liked but we weren't bad at- dropout missions, I've heard them called sometimes. They drop you and let you figure how to get the hell out.

Only this time there's nowhere to get out to.

Boone's thinking is running along similar tracks. "If we could get back to the Mojave right now, I might at least think about it."

"Doesn't hurt to check our options."

So we circle the place, looking for exits. A few doors leading into mazes, a lot more blocked by debris. Those damned blast doors everywhere.

"Guess we know why no one ever came from here to the Mojave. I want Veronica's head on a plate."

"Me too."

Eventually we circle back to where we came in. Carla is hemming Arcade's coat, while he watches out.

It does feel a lot better having someone trustworthy to rely on for close work. Certainly for as long as we have Carla in tow.

"All clear?" he asks.

"Everything in here is dead," Boone says. "Who knows what's outside."

"I suppose Veronica was right about the magnetized lockdown parameters being unable to compensate..."

After a while we get it out of him that he knew this could happen, which we give him hell for, and he retorts that he gave us credit for understanding, which Boone squashes by telling him just to assume we never understand anything in future. Which is fun and all, but doesn't solve our problems.

Which right now, amount to two. If we don't have Cow, we don't have the tent, and that means makeshift bedding and no stove. Annoying, but we can get by.

The bigger problem is what Carla's gonna drink, because they say flushing with Rad-Away isn't ideal for pregnant women. Something about how rads hit the baby but the Rad-Away doesn't.

"So we need to find some purified water," Arcade says. "Well. How hard can that be?"

[orafortuneforyourdisaster]

A Pennywise Origin Story - Part 1

So, I read this post the other night and while at first it had only been an interesting thought, it has now become something that has me in its grip so hard, I can barely keep away from notebooks or keyboards, ever since I started pondering how a good natured clown would be willing to lend his body to a creature like It. Anyhow, because it is fun writinng for yourself, but even greater getting feedback, I just thought about putting it on here for people to see. If you enjoy it, that’s amazing, if not, well...then there’s a lot of other blogs to visit. So, well, here we go; the first part.

A Fateful Encounter - July 1772

Carefully the gloved hands took the little spider from the wooden make-up table and cradled it within their palms. It could feel a warmth emitting from the hands through the thin white garment, as well as It could feel the careful caution It was being handled with. Humans didn’t like spiders and most men, even if they would never admit it, were scared of them, however tiny they might be. Not so the clown. He had seen the spider on the light wood in front of the veiled vanity part of the vanity table and had let out a deep sigh. Not a scream, just a sigh. It reached out for the feelings of the clown; there was no disgust or fear, only pity and the will to help the little spider caught in his trailer. It felt some swaying and then there was green grass all around it, the red nose of the clown right in front of It. “Go on, little friend, enjoy your freedom. You wouldn’t want to be trapped in a circus.”

In a final attempt of scaring the clown, It rose on It’s four hindlegs, but the clown only smiled and waved at it. “Go on. Do spider things.” And with that and a little jingle of his bells, he turned around and went back into his trailer, leaving It to ponder human fear. Had It been over in the next trailer with the ballerinas, It might have given them a pretty big scare, maybe It might have even been able to scare one of them to death. But It wasn’t powerful enough quite yet. Still weak from Its hibernation and hunger, It wasn’t able to pull out all the bells and whistles right now. An easy kill, a light breakfast so to speak, would have to suffice. Its eight speedy legs carried it faster than one would have thought to the next trailer, where it could sense anger and viscious envy. Girls rivalling one another. It could feel an appetite grow. Anger stemmed from fear and fear meant an easy target.

The next day the oldest girl was missing. And It started to feel more alive and there was still a whole circus in town.

 *

 It could not fathom what It felt. The lonely figure in the street had seemed easy prey, scared out of its mind already, but when It reached out to feel for the figure’s fears to dress itself in their image, It came up the figure’s twin. That was new. It looked at It’s gloved hands and ruffled costume. It reached up to feel the immense forehead. Almost bit itself with the long front teeth. Another look at the weird silhouette on the road confirmed what It had perceived to be true; It had taken the form of the sad clown awkwardly limping along the road leading up to the Well House.  Night had fallen over Derry, Maine, where the circus had been staying for the past couple of weeks, and the clown felt uncomfortable walking along the old dirt road, away from the people who followed him. As It took a closer look, It could see the blood dripping from a small wound on the clowns head, see his clothes torn in places where people had tried to grab him and hold him. There were a few trees to his left, some of their branches clawing at his costume, making him jump, whenever he felt them tear at his costume, thinking it was somebody who had caught up to him. The area around here, for some reason, was deserted. There was an uneasy feeling about it, he himself felt like he was being watched. But maybe that was just his paranoia after being chased around by half the township. He could have drawn closer to the center of the street to avoid the branches, but that would have made him an easy target and easier to spot. Not that he wasn’t easy enough to spot with his flaming orange hair and his white face. And his large head. That large, unshapely head.

Though not exactly knowing why someone would be scared of themselves, It prepared for the hunt, excitement rising in It’s bones. It had wanted to stay undetected for a while longer, but the jingling bells on the costume made the clown turn around, a twist It hadn’t foreseen. A twist the clown had not foreseen. Damn bells, would take some getting used to. But for now, the game.

It saw the eyes of the clown widen with…not quite fear. There was disgust, anger, designation, surprise. But there was no fear. It was confused, when the picture it had gotten from the clown’s subconscious had been so clear.

It could hear the clown’s heartbeat speed up. They were staring at each other for a moment, both as unsure as the other as to what this meant.

“Not much dancing going on tonight, Mr.Pennywise.” It finally said. It didn’t know why It had said that, but it seemed appropriate. It had heard it somewhere, from someone. Or rather It had heard the sentence in the mind of the clown having been said to him by someone.

“You are the one who killed the children. You are the one who stole the women. You are what they are after.”

“Children, adults, men, women, it doesn’t make much of a difference. But children are the easiest. The tastiest.” It added as an afterthought, shivering with excitement, making the bells on the stolen costume jingle some more.

“You used my face.” A pause followed.

“Not until now. Not until today. We use a lot of faces, a lot of names.”

“Why today?” The clown’s enormous forehead creased almost comically in bewilderment.

“Why are you scared of yourself, Mr. Pennywise?”

The clown’s face lit up in dark understanding. “I am not. I am afraid of my face. The way people react to it. I am afraid of the farmers with their pitchforks and the women with their shrieking laughter. I am afraid of the children’s fear when they look at me. I am afraid of being thought a monster.”

“But what if you are a monster? What if you are made to be a monster?” It sneered, having found the weak spot in the other’s armour.

“The way I see it,” the clown said and looked into the distance, “mankind is the monster. They do each other so much harm. The most beautiful men have the cruellest of hearts and kindness wears an ugly face most of the time.”

There was another emotion, speeding up the heartbeat of Pennywise. It was anger. It felt fascinated by the poisoned heart of the innocent clown. What a beautiful contradiction. All Pennywise had ever wanted was to do right by the world and all the world had ever done was make him an outcast, laugh at him, spit in his face, just to laugh at him some more. His heart was burning with a fire brighter than It had ever felt. That was why It had felt drawn toward the clown. There was a deep satisfaction found in violence. It could feed almost as easily off violence as it could off fear. Fear made people taste better, but violence made them juicy.

“We seem to be seeing eye to eye on that subject, Mr. Pennywise. Which makes it a pity that we will have to kill you.” It circled around the clown and watched it hungrily. But the clown only shrugged.

“End my miserable existence if you must, but if you are the monster they are all talking about, would you mind doing me a favour?”

“We are not in the business of doing people favours. But you seem an interesting case, so speak on, dear clown.”

Darkness rose in the innocent blue eyes of the clown and its voice went deep and growling. “Make them suffer, take their children and their wives, let them watch and scream and wish they had never been born.” It bathed in the violence of the thought, fed on the hatred coming off the clown and felt deeply drawn toward Pennywise’s shaking figure. Bells tingling on the both of them, they stood facing each other, It’s eyes a glowing amber, Pennywise’s a dark blue.

It needed a while to form an answer. Speaking with their kind took some effort. “We will make them suffer for all eternity. The way we always did and always will do. We must feed. We must survive. What we don’t understand is why you would want them to suffer so badly.”

Pennywise closed his eyes. “They say ‘an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’, but I say they have not deserved to ever see the sun again.”

It’s head perked up in a jerky motion. They had seen him. They had found Pennywise. The clown looked at him darkly.

“Either you kill me or they will. But I beg of you to make good on your word. Give me the revenge I never got.”

It slowly faded into the background when it realised that the good people of Derry had been surrounding the clown, drawing closer and closer this whole chase. He hadn’t stood a chance against their knowledge of the layout of the town and his being caught was one of the inevitabilities of life. When they reached him, the mob started to attack him and it would have been easy for It to enjoy the show and feed of their hate and violence. However, something in It had been stirred by the clown. He wanted to know more about him. He had been so dark, yet so innocent, It could not let him die through the hands of a lynch mob. So it made them calm down. Let the rational people think their rational thoughts. A trial should be held. Tomorrow evening. Because everyone deserved a trial, even a killer clown. And if he didn’t deserve it, it would look better to the neighbouring towns. Because Derry, Derry was a nice place to live.

 *

1748-1753 

Born with what would today be known as Hydrocephalus and its side effects, the little boy had never had a chance at a normal life. When he was born, his father turned away and his mother cried in agony for three days. They thought about drowning their first-born son, but could not quite find the courage for that. Or the mercy. The child screamed in pain some days, having trouble to focus things with his eyes. His head, already big when he was born, grew even more in the first few weeks after his birth. The doctors said they could not help him, so his parents, who were still good people did their best by him. They did not give him a name, because the doctor said, he probably wouldn’t live to be a year. But his first birthday saw him a happy little boy, despite the circumstances. His mother loved him as well as she could, but his father never accepted him as his first-born, his heir. Everytime he had a cold or fell ill, they thought this was the day their son was going to die. But he lived to be two, three, four. He was still their only son. Their neighbours started talking that with his large forehead and bucked teeth, with his flaming orange hair, he was probably the Devil’s child. Talk about it went around town and his parents started to feel uneasy in his vicinity. His mother had had several miscarriages by then and even though nobody explicitly blamed it on the boy, they were thinking it. He was different and he knew from a small age that he was. A few weeks before he turned five, he got a little baby sister, but she died in her sleep only a few nights after she was born. Once again, no one dared say a word to the parents, but they all blamed it on the little demon boy. The boy who saved cats out of trees and butterflies from dying in cobwebs. The quiet winter child with the curious blue eyes and the kindest of souls. When his mother got pregnant again, he was joyfully telling his parents how he would love a baby brother to play with and it hurt his mother to think about the big tears he had cried over his dead sister. In the end, her heart couldn’t take another tragedy and so while giving birth to her second son, she died. It felt like she had died preventively to spare herself from another child death in the week bed, but what she did, was rob herself of a happy life with her two sons, one of them normal, the other a little odd, but kind and loving. His father, however, finally having the healthy son he had always wanted, blamed the death of his wife on their sickly son. In his mind, if it hadn’t been for his deformity, his wife would not have had to go through so many miscarriages and that last, deadly, childbirth. He could not bear to see the orange-haired boy day in, day out reminding him of the death of his wife. So, he decided to get rid of his crippled kid, and as it sometimes happens, things fell into place for the small boy with the domed forehead and the tinkling laughter that – more than anything else – reminded his father so much of his late wife.

A circus just happened to be on its way through town and the director took one look at the boy and was willing to pay up. Without knowing it, the small boy changed hands like a well-fed cow. His father got money and rid of him, and the small boy got his first real family. Within this circus, he was by far not the weirdest person, but felt oddly normal. Even though he missed his mother, he felt like he was home. And it was more of a home than his brother had, as he should discover in later years. When he was older and they came through his hometown on their circuit, he looked for his brother and father, only to be told that his father had almost killed his little brother one day in a drunken state and then managed to fall to his own death in a freak accident. His brother had been given to a distant relative no one really knew the name of and no one had seen him ever since. So, his circus family wasn’t too shabby after all.

 *

 After being rescued from a death at the hand of an overly eager lynch mob by none other than the most evil entity in our known world, Pennywise sat in a dark and dank, slightly moist and creepy prison cell, awaiting the arrival of the sheriff from Bangor. It was early morning and dawn started to slowly creep onto a fog-veiled horizon. His prison cell had only a small window, casting it into the darkness of an eternal night on days like these. He didn’t care anymore. Not after all that had happened to him. Quite frankly, he could not wait to leave this cruel and corrupted world, where hope was only an illusion to keep you going and as you went work hard for something you could never achieve, and where, if you actually did find yourself happy, just had to wait for the knife in your side to be turned again, taking away everything that was dear to you. That was, when he saw two amber eyes in one of the corners of his prison cell, glowing like embers in the dark. He could feel the mere presence of the being that had met him in his own form only a few hours ago, as it radiated an unsettling feeling of underlying tension and anger. Pennywise, the once kind and too-soft-for-this-world boy, embraced that violent feeling right now, it felt like the sun warming his skin. The eyes grew closer, the dark and hidden figure behind them not yet perceivable to his eyes, but changing into a form, his mind was able to comprehend. Once again, he found himself facing himself, with the slight exception that this version of him had amber eyes instead of blue ones. He hardly acknowledged the arrival of his saviour, so to speak, just looked at him tiredly.

“And what are you doing here?” he asked in a low voice, the tinkling laughter and playful notes all gone.

“We came to make you a proposition in case you were still who we think you could be.”

Pennywise gave a humourless laugh. “Could you be anymore cryptic? What is it you want from a run-down existence like mine?”

The eyes of the creature swam in different directions, which should have made him uneasy, but he found himself not caring anymore. He was done with this world and if the world sent him an actual devil to take him away, then maybe that was just how it was supposed to end.

It was looking for the right words to get what It wanted, but it was hard for the creature as It had never been inside the mind of a human being longer than the few moments the chase normally took. It had no real idea of how the mind of a human being worked when it wasn’t scared to death, It had no sense of personality yet, because It never had one, had never needed one. But mankind was developing at an amazingly fast pace and if It wanted to keep up with his prey, It would need to get a better sense of what they were and how their minds were working. Their fears became more complicated, varied and complex than “the dark”, “spiders” or maybe weird animal creations that had never been and would never be. And as It’s prey evolved, it was time for It to evolve with it or starve. But how to put all this into words, when It had never needed to use words to express anything else than phrases or on the rare occasion had to string together a meaningful sentence? That was another reason It was here. But once again, the right words escaped It, failed It, just hadn’t been heard by It before. It’s mind was like a phrasebook, able to use things it had picked up before, even able to rearrange them and combine them to give them the kind of meaning It was looking for, but there was no deeper understanding as to how their kind’s language worked, which made any original utterings impossible. So, It fell back on what It had heard before.

“Who are you and why are you here?” It asked of the clown. And somehow the clown understood. It didn’t need to know that he was known around most of New England as Pennywise the Dancing Clown, It already knew, as It knew that he was here because he had been caught by a mob of angry villagers. It needed to know why the villagers had been furiously following him and who he was to make them that angry. The creature drew closer, moving in awkward, jerking motions, revealing It’s inhuman nature by It’s lack of coordination and real speech. Again Pennywise noticed how scared he should have been, but how much this felt like something falling into place. Like he was here because of this. He took a deep breath and looked into the face of the stranger that looked so much like his own.

“I grew up to be a clown after my first circus took me in. Well, I guess they paid for me, but I was never told the specifics of why or for how much they took me in, I was too young back then to really understand…”

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Memento Mori 4/4

Memento Mori is such an important fic to me and to explain why would take years, but all I’ll say is that part of the reason it took me such a long time to write it is that it had to be right. Nari was not an OC when I finished Violets are Blue and Memento Mori was originally intended as a direct sequel (I have been writing it for a good six months), though it became increasingly clear upon writing that the thing the story needed most was a unique, human main character with her own sense of loss. Vabverse came from a lot of the drafts of this fic (it predates many, if not all of the fics it references) and as much as it’s made me suffer, I owe it more than I can ever say.

Not only that, though, but thank you for sticking with this fic and this verse all of this time. To everyone who encouraged me in November to write more of it, to those of ya’ll who have asked me questions, to everyone who liked and reblogged it, to my friends who have tolerated my whinging about this fic for I honestly don’t even know how long and I’m scared to ask at this point. Your support has meant the world to me and I’d never forgive myself if you didn’t know. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

As a newcomer to the RFA, Nari spent her first few days carefully examining Rika’s deserted apartment. There were almost certainly areas she should not visit and V had referenced private documents pertaining to the RFA, which left her in something of a quandary, for she knew she did not want to step on anyone’s toes, but at the same time did not know where anything was.

Consequently, Rika’s apartment never felt familiar to her, regardless of how many mornings she woke there. If anything, it was the opposite, a place she was not permitted to be and therefore an intruder any given time she was present. In the days that passed after her visit to C&R, she felt very much the same; waking alone in Jumin’s guest room and logging into the messenger as she ate her evening meal. In any given moment of silence, she found her attentions drifting to the front door, in much the same fashion she had in those first few days. Back then she had been anxious of the prospect that someone would barge in and demand an explanation, eyes darting to the keyhole at any sound she could not otherwise explain. This time around, she found herself doing the same thing, though not out of any sort of anxiety, but the hope that there might actually be someone on the other side of the door.

The evening before her second RFA party, she poured herself a glass of wine and examined the city lights through the penthouse window, wondering all of the while if V was somewhere out there with his camera.  

The messenger had been an interesting place of late. Although she, Jumin and V had not formally announced any sort of grief on their part, it would be unfair to suggest that none of the other members had realised that something was out of the ordinary. They were busy with their own lives, of course, between Yoosung moving into clinical study, Jaehee getting caught in the tidal wave of everything that happened at C&R, Zen’s busy schedule on set and Seven dividing his time between taking care of his brother following up on all possible leads in the Mint Eye investigation. Ordinarily it would not have taken two years to collate so much evidence, but now he was a freelancer and turning in his old job at the agency had burned bridges with all of his old contacts in one fell swoop.

No matter how busy their lives were, however, it did not go unnoticed by the other members that in the run up to the party Nari, Jumin and V never logged in at the same time, just as it did not particularly pass by Nari herself that the other members checked in in ways they believed would go unnoticed. Whether it was the combination of Jaehee’s public observation that Jumin’s recent decision to relocate to one of Chief Han’s penthouses in the business district had caused significant upheaval and her private one that she was sure Nari must have missed him terribly. Whether it was Zen’s out of the blue phone call and subsequent selfies during rehearsal, which Nari knew would never happened without some prior knowledge of Jumin’s absence.  Whether it was Yoosung’s phone call in the middle of the day to ask her food preferences because he’d made too many side dishes.

The only person who did not message her was Seven, but she never questioned his decision in that regard. Whenever he logged into the messenger it was to describe his brother’s behaviour and Nari knew it was unfair to presume he spend his time observing hers too.

And so it was that on the evening of that first party, she turned away from the window and paced the apartment instead; running her fingers through the fabric of the ballgown she had chosen for the party and switching on the light in Jumin’s home office. She had avoided the room semi-intentionally after returning from C&R without him, having had no real cause to go in. The party organisation had been in its final stages at the time of her hospitalization and most of the files in Jumin’s in tray related to the new house.

She knew she wasn’t forbidden in there. Any given time she hovered in the doorway, Jumin would smile and remind her that the penthouse was her home as much as his. There was no logical reason for her to feel exactly the same as when she first took in the paintings on Rika’s wall, but she jumped out of her skin the moment she heard knocking, as if she really had been caught stealing private documents.

She rushed to open the door so quickly that she spilled her wine en route, not knowing who she expected, though still managing to be disappointed when she opened the door to one of the guards.

“This came for you, Mrs Han,” he said. “We examined the contents; it’s safe.”

After the incidents with Glam Choi, Sarah and Mint Eye, all incoming mail was checked for dangerous materials before arriving at the penthouse interior. It had proven to be an unnecessary measure, but Jumin had overheard one too many horror stories to let the matter rest. Nari did not mind, even if the delay in mail made organizing the party slightly more complicated.

The package in question was a food hamper. Not only that, but it was heavy. So heavy that she regretted taking the wine glass to the door with her, for carrying the basket through the penthouse with only one hand was quite the strain. She set it down on the coffee table and flopped down onto the couch before leaning over to examine its contents.

She ignored the wine, the preserves, the bread, cheeses, meats, champagne flavour truffles, nougat and even the foie gras in favour of the card at the top, curious about who would send her such a gift. She did not recognise the writing on the card and even though she was well aware it did not belong to Jumin or to V, she was still disappointed to learn it had no connection to anyone she knew.  She laughed to herself as she slipped the card back inside of its envelope and leaned back into the couch, gazing up at the ceiling and closing her eyes, though opening them once again the moment she heard footsteps across the carpet and mewling at the front door.

Elizabeth had bounced right out of the master bedroom when Nari returned from C&R and, even though she could not speak, it was not difficult to understand that she too had expected something more. She had circled Nari several times and mewed at the door, expecting someone else to come through it who never actually did. Someone whose jacket Nari wore about her shoulders and earned her Elizabeth crawling into her arms and all but refusing to leave.

“It’s going to be alright,” she said, talking to Elizabeth, or so she thought. “We’re going to get out of this.”

For all of her preparation, every contract signed, every guest invited, the fact that she would actually have to attend the party arrived as an afterthought.

At exactly ten o'clock, a gaggle of strangers arrived at her door to style her hair and nails and apply her makeup, all while strapping her into the lavender gown she had chosen and even though she had scheduled the appointment herself, she found herself staring into space and only numbly engaging in their polite attempts at conversation.

When she caught a glimpse of herself for the first time, with billowing skirts and wearing so many layers of makeup that she barely recognised her own face beneath, she did not know what to do beyond stare. She went through the same motions only two years earlier, raising her phone camera to take a picture of herself smiling and posing in the same absurd fashion she might have done when sending a photo to her closest friends.  At the time, she had blushed even as she sent the photograph to Jumin, only to laugh when he responded with a blurred picture of Elizabeth Third.

This time around, she hovered over the dial, only to almost drop the phone entirely when it started ringing in her hand.

“H-hello?”

“Hello? Nari? It’s Jihyun. I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”

At the sound of his voice, she reached out to steady her weight against the kitchen counter.

“Jihyun, wh-”

She could hear water in the background; the lapping of the tides. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why, like trying to claw onto a dream after waking.

“I’m sorry…I know I was supposed to present at the party today…but it seems like I won’t be going after all.”

“What are you talking about?”

For a moment Nari wondered if he had gone back to Jeju, but she knew she had only ever heard those particular acoustics on the phone.

“I’m sorry, I…” He laughed. “I have to go!”

He hung up and Nari stared at the phone in her hand, not only wondering what on earth had just happened but why it seemed so familiar. She wondered if he had mentioned something similar in conversations after 2:15, though she knew that wasn’t right. For the most part after 2:15, he talked about karma and candlelight. The word ‘karma’ wasn’t wrong, though, for the moment she landed on it she was reminded of tea leaves and burying her face in Jumin’s chest.

“He said it that time too.”

And she had not understood what he meant, rubbing her eyes and yawning as he described a phone call that arrived after 2am, which in turn reminded her of another call from another time, that arrived as she returned home from an interview with a women’s magazine. She had not thought much of it then, for although it was only a week after Rika almost died in his arms, he had seemed practically chipper.

“Where are you?” 

She remembered laughing at the sudden sound of the ocean waves in the background, delighted by how unusual they were at the time.

“I’m where the sky meets the sea. I’ll take you sometime.”

The memory alone of what he said next sent her rushing into the master bedroom, high heels or no.

“That’s not an answer!”

“Fine, fine, you got me. I took a picture here once, of the sun shining on the ocean. It’s …how I met Rika.”

V kept annotated originals of all of his photographs in carefully organised leather bound albums. After any official showcase, he would store the film away separately, in case reprints were needed, all while noting down the date, the location and sometimes even his thoughts on each individual photograph. Some of the albums contained pressed flowers. Others contained ticket stubs and diagrams of butterflies. Somewhere, at the end of a particular album, was a photo of bed sheets and carefully transcribed verse about blue violets. Unlike his actual exhibits, which were left almost entirely to the imagination, looking through his albums was to reach into his soul.

She knew the one she was looking for. He had invited her to look inside when he transferred the pictures from his latest gallery into storage.

“They go in here, like this,” he had told her, though she had been too busy laughing at a picture of Jumin attempting to read a book while a much younger Elizabeth Third pawed at his face.

Nari reached for that same book and turned the pages in a flurry, not particularly paying attention to any of the picture but for the one she searched for, finally stopping at two pages near the back devoted entirely to pictures of the tides. In some of them, Rika stood at the railing, leaning over the edge with the sunlight shimmering through her hair just as it did the open water. Nari pretended she did not see and instead peeled out one of the photographs, turning it over to read the caption on the reverse.

“Alright then,” said Nari.

The car was an obvious place to start. Driver Kim already waited for her departure and did not question it when she called him up to the penthouse to view the back of a photograph.

Even so, she was sure they would never find him.

The stretch of road in his annotation seemed to span for miles. Nari spent most of the journey peering out of the window, watching for Jihyun at every street corner and every crowd, taking photographs of the top of every tree and the foam of every cup of coffee. She found herself drawn to every flash of blue; every inch of monochrome. Any time a tourist raised their camera, she stopped everything else to look.

When she finally saw him, they had left the city and she barely believed her eyes. At any moment, she might blink and find him gone.

He didn’t disappear, though, as she climbed out of the car. Instead he leaned against the railing in the same manner as Rika in the photograph Nari thought she had ignored.

“Jihyu-”

“Do you know where you are?”

The question took her off kilter and so she took a couple of steps towards the railings to take in the view.

“This used to be one of my favorite places in the world,” said Jihyun. “I came here often to take photographs…never got tired.”

“It’s….”

In truth, Nari didn’t know what to say. It was difficult to believe that such a place had ever been good for photography, with such grey skies overhead and little in the way of scenery. Jihyun laughed at her speechlessness, though the laughter did not quite meet his eyes.

“I told a lie here,” he said. “Before I met you.”

“A lie?”

“I don’t suppose it matters now,” he said. “But this place used to be beautiful.” 

He smiled out across the dark water with a contented smile. 

“You never got the chance to meet her as she was… but Rika was beautiful too.”

“Jihyun… you know what happened isn’t your fault.”

“You sound just like my therapist,” he said. “She also says I take on an inadequate amount of blame. Perhaps she’s right, but it’s difficult to ignore the pattern. I ruined this place. I ruined Rika and I also-”

He turned to her, his eyes skimming her frame. He did not finish the sentence but she knew his implication and it left the pair of them standing in silence, with nothing but the waves breaking against the shoreline by way of sound.

Truthfully, Nari had already known a little of his feelings where Rika was concerned. He did not speak of her often, but when he did it was clear that he did so from a place of pain. Nari had long suspected that after Rika almost bled out in his arms, it was not the shock that left him reeling, but something far worse.

She could not stand the thought that somewhere, deep down, he honestly believed he had ruined her. Not when the truth was so blatantly different. Every time he touched her, she believed she was beautiful, bursting into colour and transforming into something magnificent in his embrace. Jumin left her vulnerable. Jihyun left her glowing. Between them she was something she had never been before.

She took a deep breath.

“It’s not for me to tell you what you should feel, but I will say that, logistically speaking, there are probably more people out there in a better place because of you and the RFA. Whether they received funding from a charity fundraiser or they saw a photograph and felt inspired. It’s true that you’re to blame for some things, but I don’t for a second believe you’re to blame for all of them. We’ll-”

And at some point, though exactly when she couldn’t be sure, she realised she ought to take heed of her own advice.

“We’ll never know for sure who’s to blame in what happened to us,” she said. “But in all of the time we spend dividing it, none of us are moving on.”

Jihyun didn’t respond for a while and when he did, it was to glance across at her in a bemused fashion. He opened his mouth to say something and she flew into his arms, wrapping her arms around his body and taking in the coarse material of his coat against her cheek.

“Did you just…rehearse that?” He asked as he rested a hand in the centre of her back.

“I-” She blushed. “No…I.”

She snuggled her face into his person, wanting to absorb his look and feel so clearly that she never forgot, all while fearing she might hold him too tightly.

“All of this time you’ve been gone,” she said as his lips ghosted her forehead, “and already you’re making fun of me.”

Within seconds she was smiling, though.

“I missed you.”

At that, he held her tighter. Buried his face in her hair.

“So,” he glanced at his watch, “provided we don’t hit traffic, we should make it to the party hall just in time for the speech.”

“I’m not going,” said Nari as she untangled herself from his arms.

“Not going? But…I don’t understand.”

He held onto her hand only lightly as they returned to the car and stopped in his tracks entirely when she opened up the passenger door.

She had packed the food hamper onto the back seat and she supposed it did not look too out of place, given she had not indulged in any of its contents. Anyone might have presumed that she meant to take it to the party hall and present it to a guest.

The pet carrier, admittedly, was slightly more obscure. Driver Kim had positioned it carefully in the front passenger seat, but Elizabeth seemed to be under the impression she was going to the vet and, even as Jihyun peered inside of the car, she mewled in the same way she did when she got stuck on the kitchen counter and was too afraid to jump back down.

Back in the apartment, as she replaced Jihyun’s album and reached for her jacket, she had received a second urgent call from Jaehee, warning her that Jumin had not only cancelled the appointment with his driver but made no secondary arrangements

“He’s going to miss the party!”

And Nari knew then what she had to do; a plan that remained only too clear as she climbed into the back of the car with Jihyun, who by then had caught onto her intention.

“We’re going home,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a handkerchief for his tear stained face; barely noticing that he silently ran his fingers over the fabric instead of using it, all the while remembering an identically embroidered one he gave away once to a stranger sobbing in an elevator.

In previous months, both Jumin and V had expressed concerns at exactly how much organisation Nari took into account when putting together her second party. She had made sure to schedule servers for the floor and ushers for the main entrances, leaving nothing for the RFA members to do but show up, make speeches and mingle. In the end she only had to make one phone call.

"M-Mr Han?”

Jaehee answered after only three rings.

“No. It’s me,” said Nari. “Listen, I need to ask a favour.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“Did Jumin call you from his desk phone?”

After wrestling Elizabeth into her pet carrier and hoisting the food hamper into her arms, Nari had taken one last skim of the penthouse to see if there was anything else she ought to take with her. During that last check, she caught a glimpse of the picture from her wedding day, no longer in its frame.  She would have been lying if she said she no longer believed the woman in that photograph had never been hurt. That she had changed her mind and believed she knew far more of suffering or pain than would ever become apparent. It was something of a comfort, however, to know that that woman had no reason to be afraid of rejection and, as she pushed the button for the lift, she was sure the soft sunlight radiated through her nonetheless.

As the doors to the lift closed behind her, the absurdity of the situation began to sink in. She really was about to miss her own party and not only had convinced Jihyun to tag along with her, but he stood beside her quite happily with a food hamper in his arms. She really was standing there in a twenty thousand dollar dress clutching a pet carrier.

And before she knew it, she began to laugh.

For the first time in weeks, she no longer felt guilty. It was a stretch to say she no longer felt conflicted, but for the first time in a long time she could finally see solutions to problems that once felt like the end of everything. After leaving the hospital she had been so sure she would never know what it felt like to hope. She knew it would be a long time before she would feel completely whole again, but she had come a long way past running on empty.

This time around, Nari was prepared. She swiped her card through the reader and opened Jumin’s office door by a sliver, double checking the silent room before unfastening Elizabeth’s pet carrier and slipping it through the gap. She had been in his office more than once, climbing all over the bookshelves and prompting several anecdotes about disheveled paperwork, and so it was only a matter of moments few moments before she made a beeline for the desk. Nari reached up to switch on the light to Jumin’s cries of surprise and Elizabeth’s purrs.

He did not seem to have been drinking and Nari presumed he had not been in the office long at all from the fact that he still was rearranging his schedule. Elizabeth, of course, knew nothing of such matters and had jumped straight from the desk into his arms, leaving him with no choice but to sit and cradle her as she rubbed her face against his, only pausing to change her angle and lick his nose.

“N-Nari…Jihyu…” Jumin said, moving his face away from Elizabeth.

“You said you didn’t deserve to come home,” said Nari. “I thought we’d bring home to you!”

“There’s Camembert!” Piped up Jihyun behind her.

Once, a long time ago, Jumin described the way her voice soothed the darkest reaches of his soul in such a manner that he did not understand. She remembered the conflict playing out in his voice as well as his words; the same way that he looked at them then, from Jihyun rummaging through the hamper for the cheese to Nari herself beaming at him even though her makeup was smudged by tears. He glanced down at Elizabeth in his arms, who stared back up, unblinking.

“I….”

He smiled softly.

“I’ve been a fool,” he said. “Haven’t I?”

The first thing that crossed her mind when she opened her eyes was the bright afternoon sunlight; so bright that it hurt and she closed them again.

The grass was soft against her feet and someone-the same someone who only seconds ago had been holding their hands over her eyes-stroked her back.

“What do you think?”

She squinted, reaching up one hand to shield her face from the sunlight.

“I…”

It had been three months since the RFA party; three months since she sat on her husband’s lap to eat olives and between them they had dared their lover to eat his body weight in French bread. Those months had been long and bittersweet; everyone had laughed and cried and opened wounds in unexpected places. This time when she opened her eyes, Nari did not see the ocean but a house instead. A house with strong foundations positioned outside of the city and closer to the cherry farm. A house with a darkroom for V to process his photographs and a larger home office for Jumin. A house with several acres of garden.

And even though she no longer felt guilty, nor the immediate absence of the child that never was, Nari still found herself thinking of the child whose eyes were sometimes blue and sometimes grey and might have been born in that house under different circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to Jumin, suddenly conscious that he still waited for answer. “It’s wonderful. All of your hard work paid off.”

She didn’t say that she still felt empty, though by then she didn’t have to. He reached an arm around her shoulders and kissed her to the forehead, turning back towards the car where Jihyun fiddled with his camera.

“We have a surprise for you,” he said.

“You do?”

“It was Jihyun’s idea,” said Jumin, reaching to take her by the hand. “I…assisted.”

When Jihyun saw them approaching, he set aside his camera and climbed out of the car with an enormous smile on his face, suddenly looking for all of the world like a child set loose in a candy store.

“What are you up to?” Nari asked, glancing from one to the other and receiving nothing by way of an explanation. Instead she watched as Jihyun clambered up into the passenger side seat of the moving van.

When he hopped back down, he had a plant pot in his arms, which in turn contained a sapling.

“This is…” He said, searching for the right words, even if by then she had worked out their intentions.

The tree would flourish and grow, spread its branches and reach the sky even if their child never would.

Slowly, Jihyun lowered the plant pot into her hands.

“Now then,” said Jumin, clearing his throat and keeping his composure, “where should it go?”

[allondonboy]

Medicine for the Soul (Ch 3)

Chapter 3 - Allegro molto appassionato: leggiero (Ch 1, Ch 2)

Tiny content warning: one flashback is set before Alex comes out as nb so refers to them as 'she'. A bit more lighthearted than the last chapter. Sky, thanks again for betaing and the gazillion read throughs. You're awesome. Maggie's playing is inspired by Peter Gergely.

Just a heads up for anyone reading on AO3 that the next chapters might not be posted there until I get back to uni late September/early October as my home wifi blocks AO3, but roughly weekly updates will still happen here.

It becomes a habit.

Not just in that first bar, but in the others dotted around campus and outside, with coursemates and Lucy just as frequently as alone, after good days and bad, in a way that Alex argues is just shy of turning into an addiction.

Lucy thinks they’ve crossed the line already, but Alex is stubborn enough that she gives up trying to talk to them about it after the fourth time they shut her down. They compromise on the promise that on bad days they will call Lucy, and on the bad days, the dangerous days, they do, just as Lucy calls Alex to let them know she’s going climbing, or hiking, or just away from campus life while her head calms down.

Not for the first time, Alex acknowledges Lucy’s taste in drinking establishments as they settle into their first beer of the night to the sound of musicians swapping over in the corner of the bar, a saxophonist making way for a small figure with a guitar case in hand. Alex watches, intrigued, as she sets up and tunes, fingers dancing through a riff that makes them sit up.

They miss their face with their glass more than once as they get drawn into the slow chords she plays, deliberate and strong, and nearly drop it when she starts singing.

Her voice is husky and low and Alex shivers as the hairs on their arms stand up. The nervous edge to her voice disappears as she settles in and the sound becomes richer, thick with emotion, drawn through her fingers and out of her lungs, moving with her head as she rises to a chorus of warm pain that has Alex’s heart thumping along to the beat she taps out with her foot.

The song trails off into an afterthought and the guitarist visibly jumps when a smattering of applause starts. Her eyes light up and she smiles, and Alex’s foot slips off the bar stool.

Her next song is more upbeat and Alex joins the small crowd in tapping their thigh as the bar is recharged with energy, following her as she paints a picture of hope in the cramped corner, hope carried on the back of love and loss, struggle and strength in the rising notes and in the swelling chords as the music floods into the walls and curls behind Alex’s sternum to hook their heart, catching it and holding it as the last notes die away.

They take with them Alex’s breath and they firmly put their glass down and fold their arms, leaning back against the counter and watching the guitarist shrug out of her leather jacket. She rolls her shoulders and flexes her fingers, then picks her guitar up again.

Alex mourns the lack of her voice for a hot minute until their jaw drops as she begins picking at the strings and hitting the heel of her hand against the guitar, creating the backing for not her voice but her fingers, and Alex stares.

They stare as she plucks melody lines carefully between strummed chords, and they stare as her fingers fly up and down the fretboard, and they stare as each note is thrown into the air with confidence, surety, as though she’s been doing this since she was big enough to hold the guitar.

Loud, harsh rhythms as well as the quieter ones cushion them and combined with the increasing number of bottles on the counter, they get pulled into a sort-of-happy, sort-of-empty bubble, soft and soothed and somewhat protected from the day just passed.

“Precision is what you need, Alex.”

Their teacher circles a phrase and Alex sighs.

“When you’ve got the precision, the technical ability, you can add your performance and interpretation on top of it. Before you can do that, your fingers have to know exactly what you’re asking them to do without even thinking about it.”

She sets a new page in front of them and Alex sighs again.

“Sight reading. Take two minutes to look at extract four.”

“Do I have to?” Alex mutters, and their teacher raises a stern eyebrow. Alex grumbles for a moment then runs an eye over the music, and sighs again, loudly.

Alex takes a gulp of their beer, and hurriedly swallows when they see who’s arrived next to them at the bar.

“Hey,” they cough, and wipe their mouth quickly with the back of their hand. “You were the one playing just now.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” The brunette leans on the counter and waits for Mike to swing around to their side of the bar. Alex squints at her.

“You’re in my biochem lecture,” they say, and take another sip.

“Mhmm.”

A voice in the back of their head shouts that they should stop talking, leave it, compliment her and finish their drink quickly and quietly, but apparently their mouth doesn’t get the memo.

“Sounded good. Different.”

She stiffens. “Different?” The word is sharp, and Alex recoils in fuzzy confusion.

“Yeah – the fingerstyle, it’s hard to get right, but yours – it, the technique, it just – it flowed, you know, I haven’t heard many players who can play like you…like…that.”

She turns and looks down at Alex with folded arms and guarded eyes but something, something about her stance seems open, inviting, and Alex is relieved to see the tension start to fade from her shoulders.

“I liked it,” they say with a shrug. They pinch their hand into a vague claw shape and pick at imaginary strings. “You’ve got skilled fingers. A good sense of rhythm.”

One eyebrow shoots up at that and Alex thinks they see a small smirk play at the corner of their new companion’s lips.

“Maggie Sawyer,” Maggie says eventually, holding out a hand. Alex shakes it rather enthusiastically, mesmerised by the feeling of Maggie’s rough fingertips on the back of their hand. Maggie’s smirk grows when blood rushes to their cheeks, and their mouth runs dry at the appearance of a dimple – two dimples.

“Danvers. Alex Danvers,” they return and the smirk gets broader still.

“Alex Danvers,” she repeats, and sits down. “Do you play, Danvers?” Maggie nods towards her guitar tucked between her and the counter.

“Oh, no.” Alex laughs and downs the rest of their beer. “I did a… project, on the evolution of stringed instruments and there’s so much variety in guitars, you know? People don’t realise that the different shapes, sizes, even the number of strings, it all has a history. They all have a different sound and when you add in all the ways of touching the strings, it’s incredible how complex guitar music has the potential to be.”

They finish their ramble and look up to find Maggie with her head tilted to the side and her eyes soft. They’re suddenly self-conscious and signal to Mike for another drink, fiddling with their collar and the back of their neck while they wait for Maggie to say something. When she doesn’t, Alex clears their throat and points at her guitar.

“Nice instrument.”

“It does the job.”

“You sound like you know it pretty well.”

“We’ve been together a few years.” Maggie rests a protective hand on the top of the case and the tension starts to seep back into her. Alex looks intrigued.

“The way you play I’d have said you’ve been playing for…” they pause and think, nose scrunching, “upwards of six years. Yeah.” They nod, and Maggie momentarily splits into two people.

“I had other guitars before this one.” That’s all Maggie says on the matter before she’s sliding off the bar stool and slipping her guitar onto her back, taking a deep breath and sending a small smile in Alex’s direction. “See you around, Danvers.”

--

“Alex Danvers.”

Alex looks up from their work to see Maggie pulling out the chair opposite them.

“Sawyer,” they say quietly, nodding hello. Maggie slips a packet of mints from her pocket and extends it towards Alex.

“Mint?”

Alex looks up again and stares at the packet. “Oh, no. Thanks,” they add, and Maggie shrugs, dropping one into her own mouth and opening her textbook.

They work in more of a companionable silence than Alex has ever experienced in the library, with the odd highlighter and the occasional pen being passed between them. Alex manages to raise their head as Maggie starts what is approximately her sixth mint and they don’t clear their mildly horrified expression in time, and Maggie peers at them curiously when she feels their eyes on her.

“Everything alright, Danvers?” she asks, and Alex nods, feeling their cheeks burn, and Maggie watches them for another minute as they rearrange their papers and clear their throat, eyes flickering up every couple of seconds to see if she’s still watching.

She is.

“I’m going to get a coffee,” Maggie says. “Want to join me?”

Alex shakes their head, words still failing them. Maggie shrugs again, and Alex doesn’t miss the slight droop of her shoulders as she stands, hands shoved in her pockets, and disappears downstairs.

“It’s like revising for an exam,” their teacher says and yeah, Alex can kind of see that.

“The more I do it the easier it becomes, right?”

“Exactly. Let’s go again.”

Their library sessions become a common occurrence – or maybe, Alex realises, they’ve always been a regular thing but they’ve never registered just how beautiful – no, studious – Maggie is.

Alex knows when Maggie is likely to join them and makes sure they’ve cleared her half of the table before she gets there.

Maggie knows that on Fridays, Alex has most likely forgotten to restock their bag with working pens and now keeps a small supply in the front of her bag.

Alex knows that on Tuesdays, Maggie has a short one hour slot before she has her community project and without fail there is a sandwich on the table waiting for her.

Maggie knows that on Wednesdays, Alex is usually recovering from their Tuesday all-nighter and makes sure to glare menacingly at anyone who approaches their table, lest they fall victim to a particularly snappy Danvers.

Lucy knows that her friend refuses to believe Maggie might like them back, and gives Alex hell for it.

“Hey, Danvers,” Maggie whispers one afternoon. Alex waves a finger in a just a minute motion, and Maggie waits for them to finish their calculation, tongue between their teeth.

“Sawyer.”

“Would you like to go for coffee sometime?”

Alex blinks. “Oh, thanks, but you know I don’t - ”

“You don’t take breaks when you’re in the library in case someone takes your seat, I know. I didn’t mean now. Whenever.” Maggie makes a vague gesture. “Or. Whatever. You don’t have to.”

“Oh.” Alex blinks again and Maggie stifles a grin. “Yeah. That would be – yeah.”

They bite their lip and try a small smile which Maggie returns, but when Alex doesn’t offer anything Maggie sighs.

“Do you – if you give me your number I’ll text you?”

“Oh! Yeah.” Alex pats their pockets and drops their pen, spilling with it a ruler and their notebook, sending a cascade of notes to the floor. “Shit.”

“Here.” Maggie offers her phone to them instead, and Alex accepts it with a sheepish grin, thumbing in their number and handing it back to her. Maggie fires off a quick text and Alex looks around again for their phone but gives up when it isn’t immediately apparent under their now disrupted piles of work.

“See you later, Danvers,” Maggie says and Alex waves at her automatically, then glances in alarm at their watch to see that six o’clock definitely came around sooner than they expected and they hurriedly shove their work into their bag, filing system forgotten, and leap after Maggie with a startled yelp that has other students shushing them.

--

“Maggie!”

Maggie gives Alex little more than a glance as she sits down. Alex slides across the three seats between them.

“Maggie, listen - ”

“Look, Danvers, if you didn’t want to go out that’s fine. I get it, okay?”

“I lost my phone,” Alex explains in a hushed voice, glancing up at where the professor has started setting up the lecture. Maggie glares disbelievingly at her notepad. “I don’t get asked on enough dates to ignore someone I actually want to go with.”

What they’ve just said sinks in and they blush, refusing to look away as Maggie finally looks at them.

“You’re a liability, Danvers,” she says eventually, and Alex grins.

“I have to have some flaws.”

Maggie elbows them and grins back.

“Hold on, I’ll give you my new number.” They dig in their pockets and empty two pencil stubs, a bus ticket, a handful of loose change, and a small stack of crumpled business cards onto the desk. Grabbing a pencil and the bus ticket, they scrawl their number on the back and hand it to a thoroughly amused Maggie before tipping everything back into their pocket and smoothly slipping back to their things by the wall.

“How do you find anything in there?”

“It’s a system, Kara. It works when people don’t move my things without my permission.”

Kara adjusts her glasses. “Sorry, Alex.”

Alex shrugs. “’S fine.”

“I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“Kara, it’s fine.”

They’re early.

Thirteen minutes early, to be precise.

They head for their favourite table and angle their chair so they can watch the door for when Maggie arrives.

Maggie is seven minutes late and arrives in a whirlwind of apologies and mussed hair, and Alex has to remind themselves – and when they can talk, Maggie – to breathe as they stand and greet her, because looking as gorgeous as that on a Saturday afternoon should be illegal.

“Sorry,” Maggie says again and Alex waves a hand for the umpteenth time, free hand clenched on the back of their chair.

“It’s really fine,” they say. “There’s still,” they check their watch, “a rough half hour before my morning dose of caffeine expires.”

Maggie gives a short laugh and slings her jacket over the back of the chair opposite Alex, running her hand through her hair, and Alex catches themselves staring as she turns and squints at the board by the counter.

“What’s your poison?”

“Oh,” Alex says, and pats their pockets for their wallet. “Let me - ”

Maggie shakes her head. “It’s on me, Danvers. You can get next time.”

Alex stammers their way through their order at that because next time they’ve barely even started the this time, and Maggie swaggers off to place their orders while Alex navigates returning to their seat much more flustered than they were when they got out of it.

“Here.”

A steaming mug is placed in front of them and they lean down and breathe in the reassuring scent of their next caffeine fix.

“So, Maggie Sawyer: guitarist, biologist, coffee connoisseuse.” Alex picks up their coffee and takes a careful sip, raising their eyebrows across the table at Maggie. “Why biology?”

“Gay penguins,” Maggie says without preamble and Alex carefully puts down their coffee.

“You decided to major in biology because of gay penguins?”

Maggie nods, and runs a finger around the rim of her cup before answering.

“History used to be my thing,” she says. “I wanted to take the white man lens away from history books. Plus: dinosaurs.”

“That’s not gay penguins.”

“I was looking up information to counter the gays go against science argument – particularly the idea that homosexuality isn’t natural – and found gay penguins.”

“They’re not exactly related to dinosaurs, though.”

Maggie takes a sip. “No, but it let me get excited about a subject I could see myself in in a positive light. History becomes exhausting when the outcome for people like me is usually suffering. It’s more of a hobby now. Nature, on the other hand, is amazing and rarely anything other than beautiful.” She shrugs. “I like it.”

Alex leans back in their chair. “And you want to stay in biology after?”

Maggie clears her throat and scrubs at a spot on the table. “No, I – cop.”

“Oh. That’s cool,” Alex says. Maggie starts rearranging her side of the table into neat rows and thumbs a mint out of her pocket. “Have you always wanted to be a cop?”

Maggie tilts her head slightly and takes a deep breath. “What about you?” she says instead, and Alex drops it.

“Bioengineering here,” they say, “stay on for at least a masters and hopefully a PhD, land in a top lab somewhere, save the world one amino acid at a time.”

“Nothing major, then.”

“Nothing major,” Alex agrees with a wink, and takes a gulp of quickly cooling coffee.

“You now know more about me than I know about you,” Maggie says eventually, “so what do you do for fun, Danvers?”

“Hmm.” Alex thinks. “Would you believe me if I said I’m part of an underground organisation dedicated to protecting the citizens of this fine state from aliens?”

Maggie pauses. “No?”

“Good, neither would I.” Alex stands suddenly. “Want to see something?”

Maggie is already grabbing her jacket and draining her coffee, and Alex follows suit.

“Lead on.”

--

Alex goes out of the café and turns left, feeling rather than seeing Maggie fall into step with them, hands brushing together every now and then as they walk in a comfortable silence, until Alex feels Maggie’s hand ghost over their back as she steps back to let them go past oncoming traffic in front of her and they stiffen, the material of their shirt sliding over their binder in a way that does not happen with bare skin and they suck in a breath.

“Wait.”

They catch her wrist and tug her to a stop on the corner of the street. Maggie searches their face in confusion, and they would have taken confusion as a good sign at any other time than this one, because if she wasn’t going to make a big deal of it, maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal –

“I’m,” they swallow, hard, their tongue heavy in their mouth, and they swallow again. “I’m non-binary.”

“Okay,” Maggie says, and goes to move on but is stopped by Alex’s hand once more.

“Wait,” they say, and Maggie does, patiently. “That’s not a problem? Is it?”

“Danvers.” Maggie slips her wrist out of their grip to hold their elbows instead and waits until they meet her gaze. “It’s not a problem for me if it’s not a problem for you. What pronouns do you use?”

They blink, then feel the words slip out automatically. “They/them.”

“Okay. I use she/her,” Maggie says, and Alex is still paused in bewilderment because shouldn’t this conversation be more complicated? More questions, descriptions, a minor interrogation of some kind to justify their gender is what they always thought would happen if this scenario actually came about –

“Danvers, it’s not a big deal.” Maggie starts walking and Alex blinks again before catching up to her.

“It is to some people,” they say, and immediately cringe because that is absolutely not the way to go on another date with a beautiful woman, it really isn’t –

Maggie pauses again and Alex nearly walks into her. “Yeah, that’s true. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply coming out wasn’t a big deal. It is, and thank you for telling me.”

Alex nods slowly and exhales. “You’re really okay with it?”

Maggie shrugs. “You’re smart. You’re funny. I like you. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

“You like me?” Alex blurts before they can stop themselves and Maggie laughs.

“Yes, you nerd. I like you.”

“Oh good,” they breathe, “because I like you too.” They beam shyly at her and she grins back, before gesturing in the direction they had been headed in.

“So…now we’ve established that, do you want to keep going?” Maggie says, and Alex pokes her playfully before leading the way.

“This is the lake.”

“Yes.”

“This is where I surf.”

Kara’s forehead creases. “Surf?”

“With this.” Alex gestures to the board tucked under their arm. Kara’s frown deepens.

“What do you do with a surf?”

“You don’t – you know what, just watch.”

“The lake? I know you spend a lot of time in the library, Danvers, but some of us have actually explored campus - ”

“God, you’re so impatient.” Alex ducks under a low-lying branch and climbs up the steep bank in front of them in a couple of easy strides. Maggie scrambles after them, ignoring their outstretched hand and pulling herself up with the help of a nearby tree.

“Where are we going?”

“I said, you’ll see,” Alex says, and they part a path through the bracken. Sighing, Maggie follows, dimly aware that Alex’s longer frame has carved out an ideal tunnel for her to go through.

They come out in a small clearing. Alex is on the furthest side from where they came out, and Maggie takes a moment to appreciate their silhouette in the early evening sun.

“What do you think?” Alex asks, spinning with their arms open wide.

“It’s nice,” Maggie admits, “but I don’t get why we’re here.”

“Ah.” Alex takes Maggie’s shoulders and guides her to where they had been standing a moment ago. “Look out there.”

Looking down, Maggie immediately reaches an arm back to grab onto Alex’s shirt. “That’s high,” she manages with a small squeak.

“It looks higher than it is.”

“Higher than it should be.”

Alex’s chuckle rumbles against her back and Maggie looks over her shoulder to see their eyes bright and excited.

“I’ve got you, Sawyer. Look at the lake.”

Alex points down to the Lake Lagunita. Maggie reluctantly tears her gaze away from them to follow their finger. Groups of students litter the grass around the lake: some studying, some playing cards, others tossing around a ball, all framed by the backdrop of the university, clouds licking at the hint of the sunset peeking over the tree tops around them, tinted a soft pink against the sparkling water.

“Wow,” Maggie breathes.

“You asked what I do for fun,” Alex says, and Maggie nods. “At home, I surf. I don’t have my board here, but I like coming here on my runs or if I have a spare moment. It’s not the same, but it’s close.” Maggie reaches her free hand up to her shoulder to squeeze their hand.

“Look up,” Alex whispers in her ear, and Maggie does. “When it’s dark, you can see the stars really well from here. Best place I’ve found so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They watch the lake until all but two groups have left, and Alex fiddles with their watch as Maggie lets out a long sigh.

“Can I walk you back to yours?”

Maggie starts, their voice unexpected, and Alex steadies her.

“Yeah,” she says and turns to face them. “Thanks, for showing me this. It was definitely worth the trek.”

“It was hardly a trek,” Alex scoffs, then runs an eye over Maggie. “Though I suppose with such short legs it might feel like one.”

Maggie pretends to glare. “Watch it, you.”

Alex laughs and gestures to the bushes they came from. “After you, Sawyer.”

“Eliza, why is it human height determines household hierarchy?”

“Kara, no - ”

“What was that, Kara?”

“I - ”

Kara squints at where Alex is miming chopping off their head, and adjusts her glasses.

“How long will it take me to be as tall as Alex?” she asks instead, and Eliza appears in the doorway with a tea towel.

“Give it a couple of years,” Eliza says. “Why?”

“I – Alex said that once I’m taller than her I can choose things but for now she is the superior one and gets to choose the movie,” Kara recites and Alex groans, hitting their forehead with their palm.

“Oh, did she?” Eliza says and looks at her elder child. “Maybe you should remind Alex that I am taller than her and by her reasoning superior, and therefore I will choose the movie.”

“Mom, no - ”

Maggie points out her block as they amble up to it. They come to a stop and Alex fidgets.

“May I - ?”

When Maggie nods, grinning, they hesitate only a moment more before ducking down and kissing her cheek.

Alex moves away almost instantly until Maggie’s hand catches the back of their neck and brings them back, then her other hand slips to their cheek and they’re kissing, gentle and slow and sweet, and Maggie’s thumb is stroking their jawline, cupping it, and Alex’s hands are finding her elbows and holding her close, and they kiss until they can’t and they separate, noses touching, foreheads touching, breathless.

“Wow,” Alex says, and Maggie laughs and nods, and her hands slides down to her sides. “I – wow.”

“You okay there, Danvers?” Maggie says and Alex just beams at her, giddy, and her heart squeezes because wow indeed.

“Wow,” Alex says again, then shakes their head as though to clear it. “I – thank you for today, Maggie.”

They scratch the back of their head. Maggie slips out a mint.

“We should do it again,” she suggests, and Alex nods emphatically.

“Absolutely. Yes. That is a thing that we should do. Soon.” They take a deep breath. “See you Monday?”

“Monday,” Maggie confirms and waves as she slips up the path to the door. Alex waits until she’s sent them another wave from the lobby before spinning on their heel and only just resisting the urge to skip.

They shove their hands in their pockets to stop them punching the air as they head back to their dorm. Grinning, they bound up the stairs, a spring in their step, because Maggie kissed them.

At the end of their corridor, they pause. There’s a figure sat on the ground, cross-legged, and as they get closer they see that the person is in front of their door, and their grin turns to confusion as they get a better look at them.

“Lucy?”