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yesimwriting · 3 years

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The Promise of Rain, Blurb 3

Technically the third in a blurb-ish series (though this is kinda long for a blurb lol) but can technically be read as a stand alone, but i think the other parts make this seem more significant lol

A/n kinda angsty, not sure if i loveeee this but i haven’t posted a fic in such a long time bc of graduation chaos but now it’s summer and i’m working on a lot of requests/stories :))

Summary: jealousy is out of place when there’s no real warrant for it, and sometimes it’s okay to be content--to not need the rain to make you promises.

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! reader

Tiredness dulls the part of me that craves the rambunctious, but I’m still positive. I smile when someone does something only the truly inebriated find comical. I laugh when something somewhat actually funny happens, and I let the world around me drink. Twenty minutes--in twenty minutes I will claim a headache and go upstairs.

“You okay, y/n?” Jesper’s concern would border on genuinely considerate if it wasn’t for the slightest hint of slur in his words. Nights in which he consols himself after losing game after game are when he’s the friendliest. “You’re strangely quiet--you’re never quiet.”

I press my lips together oddly, smiling in a way that finally reaches my eyes. Jesper’s nice in an oddly particular way when he’s tipsy. Overly observant and careful. “Just a little tired,” I shift in my seat, leaning back against the plush seat in Kaz’s office, “I wish Kaz would just get here and dismiss us so I can go to bed.”

Jesper smiles, lifting his arm slightly and causing his glass to sway. Kaz is not going to take it well when he realizes that Jesper was extremely involved in the downstairs celebration. He turns ungracefully, moving to sit next to me with no warning. I half-heartedly glare as he takes up most of the small couch.

“You’re grumpy when you’re tired,” Jesper hums, stretching his casually.

I sigh once, but it lacks any bite. “I do not.”

He smiles easily, tilting his head so far to the side that it falls against the back of the seat, “No...but I know the real reason you’re grumpy.”

Rolling my eyes, I suppress my instinctual reaction. That would only expose his words as true. “I am not grumpy, there is no reason--”

“You know he hated it.”

I exhale, tired and slowly losing my fragine hold on fake tranquility. “Yeah.” That should make it better. “I know.” It doesn’t--it doesn’t make anything better.

So the contact we so desperately needed on our side took to flirting with Kaz. It was an uncomfortable situation because of its precariousness and I was worried because I know about his issues with touch. But it’s not like I care about the flirting part. No. It was unprofessional and so easily turned messy--that’s what my problem was.

Jesper sighs, stretching even more. I let him stretch his legs over me, too tired to push him off. I sigh, setting my chin on his bent knees. “What’s with the face, l/n?”

I roll my eyes again. Sometimes having someone care about you is annoying. I take back all of my positive thoughts about him--Jesper Fahey is an annoying drunk.

“There’s no face,” despite my words, I feel my expression sour even further. Jesper’s expression shifts from that of gentle worry to teasing pride. “And if there was one, it wouldn’t be because of Kaz Brekker.”

Jesper’s lips twitch upwards, something strange tainting his tipsy grin. “I never said a name.”

“One more condescending comment, and I’m shoving you off this damn couch.”

He laughs flatly, shifting closer and making himself more comfortable. Drunk and touchy--anyone else would have been slapped by now. “You’re nicer after some of this.”

He holds his glass out towards me casually, amber liquid sloshing slightly. I blink at the liquid with slight disinterest. I’m not exactly in the drinking mood...but I’m not exactly in the mood for any of this. The sound of the door opening doesn’t phase me--it’s not Inej, because she never lets herself be heard. Kaz doesn’t say anything, taking one dull step and then another, footsteps leaching the room of any warmth. The coldness he exudes so easily as a mask is strong tonight, I haven’t even looked at him and I can feel it.

Maybe I do need a drink.

I take the glass from Jesper, taking a quick and shallow sip of the liquid. It’s offensive in smell, taste, and the way it spills down my throat. The taste is much more intense than expected, some of the liquid slips past the corner of my mouth. Somehow more bitter than this moment, the liquid leaves me ready to splutter like a child. I exhale, pushing through the burning. Jesper moves his hand forward absentmindedly, wiping a single drop of liquid from my chin carelessly. The gesture would be sweet if my throat burned less.

“Jesper,” the warmth of the alcohol takes root in my chest, “That’s--” He laughs at my reaction, coaxing a smile from me. “Like literally the worst--why do you even have this?” If this is served in the Crow Club, I’ve never heard of it, this is the kind of under the counter alcohol that isn’t mass produced.

He laughs a little more freely. “Won it off of someone passing through--I don’t always lose.”

I wrinkle my nose, “An outlier shouldn’t be--”

“Oh, shut up.” Jesper laughs again.

“Both of you ‘shut up’,” Kaz sighs, stepping further into the room, “If you need to drink, at least wait until after my meeting.” I frown, ignoring Kaz’s lingering and sharp gaze, “You should all follow Inej’s example.”

“We can’t even see Inej.”

Kaz raises an eyebrow, but he regards me with nothing but voidness. He’s never exactly emotive, but normally in moments like this something I can never interpret touches his expression, coloring it human. “Exactly.”

“You’re funnier than people give you credit for.” The comment isn’t exactly sarcastic, but it’s something lighter than I should be offering. It’s an attempt at peace, the slight stiffness between us is starting to bother me. Our usual dynamic isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s more than this. Kaz glares. “But not tonight.”

His expression hardens. “Business is business. It’s not humor, it’s not whatever you try to make it.” Right. Just like it was business when that girl spent more time hitting on him than actually revealing real information. The thought leaves my expression tight as I swallow back my instinctual words. “It’s not whatever you’re currently doing.”

It takes me longer than it should to realize he’s referring to the position Jesper and I are in. Can he relax? It’s not my fault Jesper is tipsy and touchy.

“Kaz,” Inej’s voice is soft yet determined as she emerges from the shadows. It’s a miracle the way she’s nothing more than a shadow until she chooses not to be. “What’s our next job?”

Prompting Kaz in order to prevent a fight--Inej, always the closest thing to a mom available. I give her a partial smile, glad that she’s wedging herself between us and the tension, preventing conflict I’m too tired to follow through on.

“A merchant’s house,” he begins slowly, “We’ll be searching a merchant’s house but I’m seeking evidence more than property.” Jesper swings his legs off the couch with no warning. My head falls. I glare at Jesper who offers me a slightly apologetic tsk before dropping his head on my shoulder. Kaz must note the exchange because something in his expression tightens. He’s extra irritable today. “I’ll disclose more tomorrow,” he sighs once, already turning away, “Most of you are beyond listening tonight anyways.”

He’s at the door before I can tell him that I’m not drunk. The door opens and closes, but Kaz’s heaviness lingers like led. I frown, letting my head fall to the side, resting on Jesper’s.

“He’s weird today,” I mumble, unsure if I want a reply.

“He’s always like that,” Jesper breathes, “You’re losing your novelty, y/n--he always learns to harden himself against anything bright.”

The words leave me even more tired. “I don’t think I’m particularly bright.”

“Kaz does,” Inej replies, “And it has nothing to do with ‘novelty’, Jesper’s just cynical when he drinks.” I don’t know if I believe her, but I like knowing that Inej thinks that. “And Kaz can’t harden himself against you, and he hates that.”

I press my lips together, straightening my spine. “I’m not that great, and whatever Kaz does or doesn’t harden himself against doesn’t affect me at all.” My nails press into the plush seat. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this because whatever he does or doesn’t feel doesn’t matter to me.” I force myself up, doing all I can to seem perfectly calm. “All I care about is going to bed.”

Turning my head, I start to approach the door. Kaz has been strangely cold all night, and while I’m used to his moods, he hasn’t exactly directed them at me so fully since the day he caught me waiting for him to wake up after he almost died. If he wants to go back to how it used to be, then it can. Maybe I’ll care in the morning, when the growing weight of my eyelids is no longer a distraction.

“Sometimes the two of you confuse me,” Inej begins, “And sometimes I see you try to deal with emotion and I see the common ground.”

The words leave me cold. I don’t think being compared to Kaz is an insult, not when there’s so much it could mean. He’s much more complex than he wants to be. There is goodness within him, gilding the parts of him that are more shards than anything else.

I exhale, refusing to turn. Inej is too observant for her own good. “There is no emotion.”

“I’m not going to waste my time arguing over that because I know it’s a waste of time.” She pauses and I consider turning around in hopes of reading something less honest from her expression. “I’m just telling you as a friend that one of you needs to be mature and talk to the other tonight before the tension gets worse and that it’s not going to be him.”

She’s right. I exhale, “Do you think I should let him go?” Even just saying that leaves my heart aching. I know instantly that that’s not what I want, but it might be what he wants--it might be the best option. I might have the strength to let him go if I work at it. “I don’t--that’s not what I want and I’m not sure I could, but maybe that’s selfish of me.”

“Y/n.” I turn slowly, but I purposefully avoid her gaze, keeping my head down. “I know that I’ve known Kaz longer than you, and I know that when he’s getting along with you he’s,” she trails off, uncertain, “More him, in a good way.”

My heart swells, and with that comes feelings of panic. I never wanted to change him--to make him better or worse or anything; all I’ve ever wanted is to know him and to maybe help him with his burden. And to hear that maybe I’ve done that from someone so close to him--someone so observant and aware. That’s everything. And that terrifies me. Nothing good can last; nothing that seems to be all you could ever want actually is. I know that from life before the Crows, before I ran away from the castle I called home.

“I think he does the same for you.” I’ve never really thought about Kaz’s effect on me outside of the fact that he makes me feel warm in small moments and painfully seen in large ones.

I smile because she’s trying and she’s given me something. “I’d say I’d tell you when I make my decision, but something tells me you’ll know.”

She nods, expression shifting to something kind. “Goodnight, y/n.”

Jesper stretches out on the couch, settling himself comfortably, “Night, y/n.”

“Goodnight, guys.” I disappear past the door easily, heading towards my room.

I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to look for Kaz tonight. How much damage could be done in one night? Maybe he needs space. Maybe seeking him out now will make things worse. I exhale, opening the door to my room easily. I’ll decide before going to sleep.

When I step into the room, everything is in place. Everything is fine--but something about it feels off. The light is on. I didn’t leave the light on. Nothing else raises any red flags, so I continue into the room calmly, examining everything carefully. Nothing feels out of place as I further enter the room. I take in my bed, my dresser, and lastly my nightstand.

My heart swells all over again, but this time it feels even heavier than before. On the center of my nightstand, in perfect condition, is a copy of Pride and Prejudice. The same book I told Kaz about, the one thing besides clothing I took from the palace. I told him it was my mother’s favorite and then he asked me to read it to him.

I can’t picture him seeing this and thinking of me. I can’t picture him thinking of me--but no one else knew about my attachment to the book. I need to find him. I need to--to see him, to speak to him. To look him in the eye and see something I only ever see when we’re alone. Maybe he won’t have that look this time, but that’s okay.

I can’t expect to always understand him, but that does not mean I don’t know him.

The thought leaves me feeling a little more settled within the boundaries of my skin, but I don’t ease entirely. The good is more frightening than the bad. My fear of happiness is a benign secret I haven’t had to worry about in years. I don’t know enough about it to know how to deal with it let alone mention it to Kaz. Not that it’s his problem.

I squeeze the book to my stomach. Swallowing pride is a difficult thing, but I’m used to it with him. It’s usually worth it with Kaz because sometimes when I try he tries in his own way. I should find him. He’s not awfully creative about where he goes when he wants to be alone because people know better than to bother him. Kaz is probably in his attic or getting air outside or…

The lights were on when I came in. I’m an idiot. I didn’t feel weird when I walked into the room because of the book. Someone’s in here. He’s in here.

Setting the book down like I should have never touched it, I let out a sigh. “Lurking is unbecoming.”

“It’s also unbecoming to work for me and be so easily distracted by a book.” His voice reveals nothing as he emerges from the shadows. “I could have killed you with how long it took for you to notice my presence.” He pauses, eyebrows drawing together. “The light was on.”

Normally I’d have some kind of comment, some kind of joke that offers a more peaceful situation. “I know.” It’s a flat response. “I think on some subconscious level I knew,” I drop my gaze away from him, “I knew I was okay.” That sounds dumb. “I mean...I think I knew it was you so I knew I was okay.” Yeah, that wasn’t anymore eloquent. “That doesn’t make sense, but if you get to be confusing, I do too.”

“Confusing? There’s nothing to understand.” Curt. Simple. Dismissive.

I frown. ‘Nothing to understand’. Right, because there’s nothing confusing about how quickly he decided to dismiss me just to bring me some obscenely sentimental gift. “If you’re mad at me, you should at least tell me why.” I press my lips together. “At least that way I’ll know if I need to apologize or kick your ass.”

At that, he presses his lips together, corner of his mouth threatening to tilt upwards. “You would kick my ass?”

Great, even when he’s easing he has to be annoying. “I could.” There is no universe in which I could take him in a physical fight. “On a good day.” I let out a breath, doing all I can to not focus on his expression. Awkwardness settles in my chest as my eyes land on my bed. I sit down, trying not to let my shoulders slump tiredly as I stretch my legs across my bed. “You’re not having a good day.”

“My day is fine, I’m just not naively cheerful like you,” his words turn sharp, “Or Jesper.”

Weird addition. “Jesper’s not cheerful, he’s just drunk.” I let go of the ‘naive’ part, deciding to focus on the bigger picture. “And I’m not as naive or joyful as you think I am.” I’m not sure if I mean that as a rebuttal or just a fact. “I have bad days too.” This isn’t the kind of conversation I should have while this tired. “I could be less cheerful if you’d like.”

He’s so silent I momentarily wonder if he’s left. “No.” It’s not much, but I take it. Straightening my back, I pull my legs beneath me, intentionally creating space. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ah, blatant rejection. It would sting if I was less in the right. “Maybe you’ll be less weird then.”

“I am not being weird.” At least I’m getting some kind of reaction from him. “You’re the one who--”

“Who what?” Finally--progress.

Kaz sighs, turning slightly. “You’re the one who decided to ignore me after we met with the contact.” I part my lips, ready to retort, but no words come. He did pick up on my slight annoyance, and he reciprocated it in a much larger way.

He can never know that this all came from some ridiculous, territorial--partial jealousy. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” partial lie, “I’m just kind of in a weird place today, I’m tired.”

“Not too tired for Jesper, it seems.”

What? Is that what this is about? “What? All I did was sit there--he’s a touchy drunk and I just happened to be next to him.”

“You laugh with him,” he says this blankly, “You can touch him.”

The edge of unsafe territory cuts into me at an odd angle. Is this about him? Is he really tormenting himself over something so asinine to me when it comes to him? I’d rather have him than all the physical touch in the world. The book on the nightstand feels closer to me, growing by the prospect of its significance alone. That gesture, that’s more intimate than anything Jesper and I did downstairs.

“So?” I straighten my back slightly. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

He presses his lips together. “That’s the problem--anyone can manage meaningless contact…” The silence is louder than the words that came before it. Oh. I guess I’m not the only one who gets just a little jealous in an unwarranted way. “What if you were hurt? What if you were hurt and we were alone and you needed someone to help you and I couldn’t?” He lets out a sigh, a sound too tired for me to associate with him. “You say you don’t care now, but you’ll grow tired of it--the only life I can offer.”

Inej’s words about the similarities between Kaz and I echo in my mind. “Sometimes I don’t like when things are going well because I don’t know how to be truly content, fully happy.” Saying this twists my stomach. “I don’t know how to trust good things, so whenever there are good things I think about all the ways I could ruin something and then I do.” I take a breath. “I’m not saying that things are particularly good for you or that you’re happy, but I am saying that maybe you shouldn’t think three steps ahead when there’s nothing to think ahead about.” I regard his expression carefully, but nothing has changed. “I told you the only thing I want is to know you, and that’s not going to change.”

“Y/n,” his voice is low, “I am not rain--I can’t promise you anything.”

I scratch my knee, dropping my gaze. “For once I don’t want rain.”

Kaz sighs. “Get some sleep.” Something about the way he’s speaking is authoritative but it lacks any weight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I frown freely, “Kaz--”

“You look tired,” he mumbles, “You need rest.” He’s using this as an excuse to escape his feelings, but he’s already given me more than I expected. Greed ruins things, but then again, so does selflessness. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“For the job?”

Something strange crosses his features as his expression teeters on shifting. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeats, a little more certain.

The response doesn’t satiate me. “Kaz--”

“I may not be the rain, but I’m capable of making promises as well.” There’s something final about the way he says this, but it doesn’t feel cruel.

Maybe I’d protest if my eyelids were less weighted. “Goodnight, Kaz.”

My head falls against the pillow. I’m not sure if he replies, too lost in the drawl of sleep before he can even close the door.

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone show #my works #shadow and bone netflix #six of crows fic #soc imagine #soc fic #sab fic #kaz brekker imagine #grishaverse #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse x reader

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huearmy · 4 years

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Life is Beautiful - III

Summary: You are a glass half full person, your life motto is “Life is too short to… Insert something and anything here”. During your whole life you wanted something more, and even not knowing what it is, you put yourself to find out and get it, experiencing everything brilliant that the world offers - within the measure of what is safe, of course. The curious thing is that your way of living ended up rousing the interest of two vampires. One who sees beauty in everything and loves to exist, currently working with suicide prevention; and another one who no longer sees grace in things, in that boring immortality that never ends, and only complains about the Netflix catalog all the time.

Pairing: Jimin x reader / Taehyung x reader.

Genre: fluff, angst, mature (not really a smut i guess?)…

Words: 8k+.

Rating: +18

Warnings: As much as my writing is soft and light, and as these are not the main topic of the story, treated in a non-descriptive way, there are sensitive themes from the beginning of the first chapter to the end of the fic that can trigger sensitive people, like depression, suicide, addictions in general - Jimin literally works at a suicide prevention center here. SO PLEASE! Read responsibly, my intention when dealing with topics like this is always 1) dealing with them in myself, as a way of putting out part of my own healing process 2) generating identification in other people, so they can go through the difficult time a little less alone. THIS IS A STORY THAT SEES THE WORLD WITH POSITIVITY.

Chapter I Chapter II -

As soon as Jimin left for his date with you, giving one last thanks kiss on Taehyung's cheek, the house suddenly became darker and too huge, all the colors and brightness going away with Jimin's presence.

Even after a few minutes Taehyung was still on his spot in the middle of the living room, where he wished his best friend luck. What should he do now? How should he spend his empty time? He looked around, bored eyes not fixing on anything in particular. He slowly walked to the kitchen, just because it was the first door in front of him, and without thinking at all, opened the fridge. Since it was the refrigerator of two vampires, obviously there was only one thing inside, a few bags of blood labeled by type, and nothing more but empty space. It had been a few days since the last time Tae had eaten, and it was nowhere near as much as he was used to consuming, or as much as Jimin wanted him to take. He could feel his stomach empty, but he had no desire to take even a drop, almost feeling sick at the idea. He closed the fridge.

He sighed. A whine caught his attention to the floor, a tiny, cute, confused Yeontan looking up at him.

"You would never leave me, right?" Tae asked with a pout. The puppy just whined again. Tae picked him up, right in front of his face. "I need to find a way to turn you into an immortal creature."

With the little dog firm in his arms he got back to his room, seeing no other option on what to do than play video games till Jimin's return. His colorful neon set up welcoming waiting for him. Games are just uninteresting as series and movies, but at least playing online, with unknown, and often hostile, people, he feels a little less lonely. He has kind of some friends or so called, he doesn't really know any of them, never have met them in real life - he doesn't even want to - but it's been a while since they occupied an important part of Tae's existence, just for being his company.

He played with the loud people till around four in the morning, keeping himself silent in the call for most of the time, just hearing them teasing themselves and picking silly fights over nothing from time to time, talking only when someone talked directly at him. Then the mortals one by one go to bed, and he goes all alone again. Even Yeontan is soundly sleeping.

What should he do now? And why didn't Jimin come home yet? It had been more than ten hours since he left... He got into the bad habit of getting home in the morning, betting on running in the sun, almost killing Tae with worry. Maybe he had so much fun that he lost track of time, maybe there's another cat to find... But what if something bad happened? Should dates take so long to end? Should Tae call? He never calls, today shouldn't be any different... Maybe he would get in the way of something fun or important, the last thing he wants is to bother Jimin...

At the end Taehyung was standing by the front window, hiding behind the curtains, not moving a muscle, waiting, as usual. The street was empty, no light coming from the other big beautiful houses's windows, no cars or pedestrians to observe, yet that was what he was doing. The dark sky started to light up, his eyes adapting to it, the sun showing up painfully slowly. A movement caught Tae's attention, his side neighbor taking the trash out, like he always do on tuesday and thursday, and in the other days the old man still wake up pretty early and sit at his porch to watch the sun rise, drinking coffee, with his old cat on his lap. Taehyung saw him in this routine with three different old cats at different times. The old man practically dragged the black bag of garbage and himself down the sidewalk to the dump, with short and slow steps he went. As always. Maybe there was something wrong before and Tae didn't notice, maybe it was because of the wet grass and mud formed by the storm the night before that they still didn't dry, but the old man fell a few feet from the curb, and for some reason he wasn't trying to get up.Like, he was moving in some way, but wasn't getting up.

Taehyung waited, not blinking an eye as he stared at the man struggling on the ground, immeasurable torturing seconds. Then the man stopped moving at all. And something kicked inside Tae. He didn't even think, he couldn't. He was unable to stop and reason about it, or control his own body... To look out the window and notice that the sun had risen enough to illuminate the front door that he was now opening at full speed. When the sunlight touched his skin, it burned like hell, forming instant painful blisters, but he didn't hesitate and just ran outside. Straight to the old man, catching him without stopping and then crashing their both bodies on the porch.

"Hey, are you ok?" Tae choked, feeling his lungs burning. "Sir!"

The man didn't respond, instead he was emitting weird choking sounds, heart not beating the right way. Even before his self isolation, Tae didn't have too many experiences with mortals than casually knowing them and drinking from them, he knows they are fragile, but he doesn't study or get interested like Jimin, he didn't know what was happening. Was this man having a heart attack? A stroke? What should he do? He doesn't know the symptoms of their diseases... Jimin would know... But now Taehyung was all alone and half of his mind was focused on his aching skin that seemed to be melting into the sun itself. With his trembling hand Tae reached to his phone in his hoodie's pocket, already dialing.

"What is your emergency?" A voice came from the other side.

"H-hello... Good morning... I..." He stammered. "My neighbor passed out in... infront of his house. He is not ok. He is old."

"Noted. Please calm down. Can you tell me your address so I can send an ambulance?"

"Sure..." Tae recited the address he only uses to purchase things on the internet. "It's a big white house, with a big porch."

"An ambulance is already on it's way."

"Thanks..."

Taehyung tried to sigh in relieve, but now he couldn't stop thinking about his own bad situation. The porch was providing shadow for him to hide, but for how much time? And when the paramedics would come and see him like that, what would they do? He didn't have the strength to run back home, the morning sun is not so strong, but exposing himself to it's light twice is suicide. And he couldn't enter the neighbor's house, there was no one to ask permission to. There wasn't no one to ask for help. He was going to die alone. When Jimin arrived from his date all he would be able to find would be Taehyung's ashes... Nothing more...

"Jiminie..." Tae was crying now, dialing the only number registered in his contact list.

Just one second - literally - later his friend's voice greeted him.

"Yes?" Jimin's voice came like a whisper, a happy, satisfied smile audible in it.

"Jimin? Are you coming home?" Tae tried to sound calm, so he wouldn't ruin everything with Jimin date experience and all, but his voice betrayed him, showing nothing but the fear he was feeling. He just didn't want to bother.

"Tae, what's wrong?" Jimin mirrored his feelings now. Tae breathed once, the air burning inside, and then practically vomited the words of nervousness. "I'm outside, on our neighbour's porch. I can't go back inside... The sun will reach me, Jimin. I don't know what to do." He was panicking, the world around him was spinning, getting him overwhelmed.

"Keep on where there are shadows no matter what. I'll be there soon. Don't cry ok?" Saying to him not to cry had the exact opposite effect. Once again, vampire's tear ducts are basically dry - especially after almost being charred, their bodies retain all possible liquid - but the other symptoms of crying happen, and it can be quite dramatic from the outside, as if they were faking it. But the sobs and the lump in Taehyung's throat were very real.

"Jimin?" He called,he could hear Jimin and another voice on the other end of the phone, but he wasn't paying attention, he couldn't, instead his eyes fixed on the line of the sun on the wall, approaching him and the faint neighbor. "Don't leave me alone..."

"Just go, your friend needs you." Tae looked around, searching for a place to hide, finding nothing but the old man's rocking chair, it wouldn't do much to cover him from the sun, but was his only option. He crawled across the floor to the chair, knocking it over with a loud sound of wood hitting wood, and laid curled up like a ball behind it.

"Jiminie?" Tae voice sounded petrified, he really was. After decades not stepping out the house, the very first time was at minimum trumatic. "Yeah? I'm here."

"Can we stay on the call till you get here?"

Taehyung was terrified. They both were. If he was going to die he didn't want to be alone. He was feeling so pathetic.

"Of course, my soulmate." Jimin said, as soft as he could. "I'll be there in no time tho, so it'll be a short call. Don't worry."

"Please, drive safe." Tae whispered.

Jimin laughed, not a really fun laugh.

"I always drive safe, Taehyung, safety first."

"Liar." Tae pouted.

"Well, how can I save you if I don't pierce some red lights on this beautiful not so busy morning?" Jimin questioned, trying to bring some humor to the conversation.

Taehyung sighed, feeling the heat of the sunlight approaching him.

"You won't be able to save me if you get in a crash... How much time?"

"One minute." Jimin was tense.

"Ok."

Coming from the end of the street, around the corner, the ambulance with the siren on approached and stopped in front of the house. Two people in paramedic uniforms ran towards the porch with their equipment, heading straight for the old man lying by the door. Tae hugged his legs against his chest to get smaller, hoping they wouldn't' see him hiding behind the chair and just do their saving people thing. "Oh my god! There's another person here!" The paramedic woman said in horror, probably shocked by Taehyung's very burned skin. "Sir are you ok? Can you hear me?"

Tae whined. What if they try to put him in the light?

Before the woman could even get close to him, another high-speed car came from the end of the street, screeching, and instead of stopping beside the curb, like the ambulance, the sports car driver climbed onto the sidewalk parking on the neighbor's grass. Jimin came out of the car covered by a big black umbrella, stride and the jaw tight. "Ignore our presence and continue your work helping the old man. You won't remember us as soon as we leave." Jimin ordered, his eyes shining colorful shades as the paramedics got hypnotized and obeyed him.

Half a second later he was beside Taehyung, replacing the chair, covering his friend with a long black coat.

"Taehyung... I'm here."

"Jiminie... You came."

"Of course." He helped Tae to sit up. "Can you get up?"

Tae nodded and with Jimin's help he got on his feet. In silence they both walked below the umbrella to the car, and then Jimin drove back to their underground garage a few meters ahead. If time seemed to run desperately fast before, now it has stopped completely, leaving everything in slow motion and numb. As the large door behind them slowly closed they were swallowed by the darkness of the garage, their silhouettes static and tense, the only sound being soft aching whines. Gradually Taehyung's senses returned, he became aware of his surroundings, the other cars parked in a row, the light from the corridor coming through the door's frosted glass, the scratching of Yeontan on the other side waiting for them, the smell of a mortal someone who he did not know impregnating the whole car they were in... especially in the passenger seat he was in. He hadn't died in ashes, burned by the sun in a minute or less, and he didn't know what to feel about it, whether it was relief or awe.

After a long time Jimin sighed and left the car, one second later he was beside the other to help him. None o f them talked anything as both of them got up to the second floor, or while the bathtub filled with water and music was placed in the background to fill the silence.

"Take care as you wash that, and drink..." Jimin whispered, seating beside the tube as Tae got in, holding out a pack of blood to his friend.

Tea hissed as the water touched this burned skin, aches staying on its surface.

"Thanks." He took the pack, his voice little. Another long silence. "Aren't you going to ask what I was doing outside?"

"It hasn't even crossed my mind yet, to be honest. I was too worried about you..." Jimin pouted, resting his head at the side of the bath, facing the ceiling. "Thinking about it tho, is pretty obvious... Just be careful next time you help someone, please."

"I'm not good at it like you." Tae took a sip slowly, he was waiting to be scolded by Jimin, for some reason. "Sorry to make you come earlier, this way... I didn't mean to screw your date..."

It made Jimin smile. "You are the most important and constant thing in my life Taehyungie." He took a deep, full of emotions, breath. "And you didn't screw anything, Y/N was super understanding even if she was just half awake, and I can just talk to her later and make things out. She knows you are everything to me."

Tae just humed.

"How does she know I'm everything to you?"

"I told her. Silly"

"Cool." Tae's lips formed a tin timid smile, that's a nice thing to hear after such a stressful experience after all. "Hum... Can you wash my back? I can't reach it..."

Jimin knelt beside the tube and took a wet towel, taking all care to not put too much strength on his hands as he rubs Tae's injured skin. Almost like magic - almost - the water made the blisters to dismantle, releasing more ash on the surface, yet it would take a lot longer to heal properly. The better was just feeding and sleeping now, at least que floor was full of empty packs, perhaps as much as a healthy vampire should have taken in two months.Taehyung hissed when a specific one stung more when it burst.

"I feel like hibernating." He yawned.

"You should. Take all the rest you need." Jimin agreed, reaching for the hand shower, to also wash Tae's hair.

Tae closed his eyes as the water ran down his face.

"Will you stay close... taking care of me?" He asked in a small voice.

"Of course. We are a clan, we take care of each other hibernating bodies." Jimin joked.

And Tae laughed. What a rare, beautiful sound.

"A clan of two." ________________________________________________________________

You were waking yourself up with strong coffee in the kitchen, in pajamas - not that you slept in them, right, but it was your usual home clothes -, considering if you should spend energie making pancakes or just go back to bed and procrastinate to do all the house chores and study, and just daydream about last night instead, soon it would be lunch anyways... Your roommate, on the contrary, was in full swing, walking around with the vacuum. All her energy was draining yours, all you wanted to do was lie down and stare out the window with silly smiles gracing your face.

You drank all of your coffee at once before opening the latest rental listings you favored - all in the same region you already live in, or reasonably close to college. None of them make your heart warm as your current home, but you can't do anything about it, you need an apartment you can rent.

"Baby Y/N, There's a package for you down stairs." Lydia entered the kitchen.

"For me? I didn't order anything." You crooked your head in confusion.

She disappeared for a second on the corridor, then got back.

"I'm pretty sure it is for you... I'll get it for you." She smiled.

"Thank you, Lydia." You waved at her, calling her by the name she chose to herself inspired by the Beetlejuice movie.

Not wanting to be a vegetable all day, you got on your feet to wash your mug and then start your day properly. You have laundry to do, tons of assignments to catch up, and a new home to find. Maybe you should search for tiny student studios, you could live in just a claustrophobic room and bathroom for sure...

"The delivery guy was super cute. He told me it's a surprise someone sent you, that's why you didn't know about it."

"What the heck..." You laughed, feeling your heart skipping a bit.

Lydia placed a brown paper bag on the counter, clipped to the top of the package was a handwritten note in a letter you don't know, probably from someone at the establishment who sent it. You picked it, and as you started to read, a smile grew on your lips.

I'm still sorry we didn't have breakfast together, to make up for it I sent this little treat, I hope you like it, Sweetheart. - Jimin.

"No way, that's so sweet." Your roommate commented over your shoulder, where she read the note too, taking advantage of being much taller than you. You opened the package to find a beautiful slice of cake, it looked delicious. Apparently Jimin found the ultimate path to your heart. The part of you that like to be spoiled was dancing in happiness.

"You didn't tell me how the date went yesterday, but it must have been good..." She took the restaurant brochure from the bottom of the bag. It was an expensive establishment. "We did a lot of fun things..." You said with a smile with double meaning. "I'll eat this in my room! Bye!"

Said that you took the cake and ran back to your room on your tiptoes.You put it on the desk and took a selfie smiling beside it.

You: Thanx! <3 <3 <3

You sent the selfie and waited, unpacking the plastic fork that came with it, ready to taste. The reply, however, came faster than you expected.

Jimin: Can I call you now?

Could your heart burst even more? Instead of replying you called him already.

"Hey, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?" Jimin's sweet voice said.

"Like a baby. Thanks for the cake."

"Did you like it?" He was expectant.

"I don't know yet..." You were trying to open the plastic packaging with one hand, and failing miserably. You couldn't hold a self pity laugh to escape. "Just a sec."

You put your phone down and opened the cake packaging and taking a bite, a delicious bite. Still chewing you got the phone back at your ear.

"I like it." You decreed with your mouth full.

"Good." Jimin's voice dropped an octave, and it took him a while to continue. A very low music played in the background of the call. "You're not mad, are you? Because I ran out this morning..."

To be honest you were a little bitter, yes, at first when you woke up in the empty bed you didn't remember talking with Jimin earlier, the memory came to your mind just when you were brushing your theet minutes later, but because of the reason presented, and because Jimin didn't show signs of being a guy just interested in having sex with you and then disappearing right away, you pushed the feeling aside and gave the benefit of the doubt. He gave you cake!

"Not at all, Jimin." You smiled, so he could hear it in your tone. "How is your friend? What happened?"

"He got burnt... While trying to cook. Boiled oil." Jimin faltered. "He will be ok in two weeks."

You got a seat on your bed.

"Oh. It was bad then." You never had worse burns than sunburn for not using sunscreen, the kind that peel off for days afterwards, so you couldn't even imagine. "Tell him I wish him to get well soon."

"I'll tell him. He is a baby when he's not well. I already took two week out of work so I can take care of him properly."

"Two weeks?" You tried not to pout. You wouldn't see him at work for two weeks, if you would see him at all.

"Or until he tells me he needs me." Jimin didn't notice your swing of humor. "So I was wondering, since I won't be seeing you at work... What do you think about me picking you up at the end of your shift to take you home? So we see each other as usual and you get home safely, and faster too."

You were not expecting this. "Jimin, you don't need to... No need for you to wake up late at night because of me..."

"I've traded the day for the night for centuries now, sweetheart." He laughed "I won't be sleeping at this time, it won't cost me anything to pick you up. On the other hand, I'll be able to see you."

If before you were a little bitter, now you were just sweet.

"We can also hang out another time... If you're free." You suggested. "Is that proposal to meet your dog still standing?"

"Of course, sweetheart. We can appoint that."

"Nice..." You look around, searching for something to keep the conversation up. You were not fast enough..

"I'll turn off. Ok?" Jimin said.

"Sure. I have tons of clothes to fold..." You let a self mockery laugh out. "Till soon."

"Bye bye."

He was gone. And you were alone with your expectations and a piece of cake. Still, your whole mind was full of Jimin to think of, so you fought your will to spend the day in bed after a long and hectic week, and a long and fun night, and got up to do your chores, putting on the headset and playing on the list of lively songs to tidy up the house. Is a super fun playlist you have, would it be nice to send it to Jimin? Maybe you should make a playlist for him... Yeah it would be nice. ________________________________________________________________

Jimin turned off the phone and looked at Taehyung's sleeping face. After the bath, he made his friend drink some more packs before putting him to bed, and only after he promised once again not to leave Taehyung alone, that he finally closed his eyes and let the deep sleep take him. Hibernation is to make the vampire stronger, so that they can heal from wounds or even emotional trauma, to rest fully as almost no other creature on earth can... But it is also the most vulnerable moment for them too, so great clans have great dungeons very well kept. Now, these two young vampires only have each other.

Tae's skin was full of round spots the color of recent burns, a pale pink, not pretty, even if the boy himself is the most beautiful creature. His eyebrows were still tense, as if he's still afraid. "I'll be here when you wake up, silly." Jimin massaged the center of his forehead lightly, trying to make him relax, and brushing his hair out of his face. "I have nowhere to go."

At the very beginning, Jimin was alone, since his first memory. All by himself he lived as a wanderer. Until that man came and offered to take care of him, turning him into an immortal, in return all Jimin needed to do was call him a master and be loyal. There were others besides him, a girl very much like the master, a concun lady, a tall woman with long hair, a man with a serious face. The master called everyone a family, each had his role, as a joke, Jimin was the eldest son... Still, he was still alone. He never bonded with any of them, even if he tried.

One day he just walked away, all by himself, as a wanderer. The world was beautiful to see, to know about, to experience, even if all alone he would be happy living like this. He traveled and visited places he didn't even know existed, even after becoming a vampire the world was too small for him at first. Then he started to expand this world. Decades after his emancipation he met Taehyung on a train. The boy was a newly transformed vampire, lost, not knowing what to do or where to go, scared with all things that happened to him without warning. Unlike Jimin, who was a planned transformation, Taehyung had been an accident by a very inexperienced and foolish vampire, who didn't even see that his prey was not dead when he ran away. He was dealing with everything alone.

Jimin offered to take care of him, in return Taehyung should be his friend. They were the cure for each other's loneliness, and nothing in the world is more important than that.

So, for hours, lying next to his sleeping friend, Jimin stayed, and stayed. He would move from there only when the bloodthirsty sink in - or when Yeontan needed food etc. Never getting too far from Tae's room. ________________________________________________________________

Two days went by till Jimin felt his throat dry and stomach hurting and got down to the kitchen. The fridge was empty, literally, all packs ended after the incident. "I need to get more..." Jimin muttered to himself. "Dog food and snacks are also running out... And I could buy some... I'll make a list."

He pulled out a stool and sat down at the kitchen island, and opened his notes. Messages of yours popped up on the screen. You: hey. I wanted to make a dad joke.

You: about being tired

You: cuz im tired af

You: but im toooooo tired to think

You: [image.jpg]

Jimin opened the image of you with a sleepy face hidden by your hair and the hood of your hoodie, while you turns over a can of energy drink in a coffee cup. It was a cute fun photo. Since your date you both have been texting each other nonstop, as soon as you are awake and until you go to bed, your fun photos and not so fun jokes making him feel less lonely or bored or sad or weird. Jimin: I don't think this mixture is very healthy.

You: probably. but i didnt sleep.

You: tday is my shif!!!

You: i need to stay up :(

You: [image.jpg]

A photo of you in dramatic despair.

Jimin: I'll pick you up. Ok?

He put the phone down and stretched. Jimin is used to interacting with people every day, and having Taehyung when he gets home, and the last few days without that was enough for him to feel the change and be uncomfortable with it. He is a very friendly individual who needs other's presence, anything he has to do at home is too boring when there's no one to appreciate it. He likes to dress up stylishly to just go out to walk, just to feel handsome and gorgeous. Now he was bored. Still the idea of going out, letting Taehyung alone and unprotected, even for five minutes, was eating him inside.

You: r u sure?

You: you don't need

You: i said dat already.

Jimin sighed.

Jimin: Yes. I'm sure.

Jimin: I want to see you.

And he needed to get blood too. All he wanted you to say was something to motivate him to get out of house, or else he would be in this deadlock, not knowing what to do.

You: i want to see you too

That will do. Jimin's smile got wider.

Jimin: Then there's no reason to not give you a ride today. See you later, sweetheart.

He left the conversation with you and went to another whose contact was without a name or photo to identify. Jimin: I'm going to pick up my orders today. Please get everything ready.

As usual no answer. Jimin got back at writing down his “grocery” list, consisting of things for dogs, personal hygiene and cleaning products. ________________________________________________________________

Jimin finished dressing and looked in the mirror, beautiful as usual, but not feeling as good as always. He checked all the windows and doors in the house, to make sure they were tightly closed, emphasizing those in Tae's room. He checked if there was water and food for the doggie, and replaced the pee mat with a new one. Everything was in order, but he still felt anxious when he kissed his sleeping friend's forehead before leaving the house. "I'll be back soon... I'll just pick us some food." He whispered, feeling bad for half lying to Taehyung, even if he was unconscious, and feeling weird about the idea of admitting he was leaving to also see you.

He left, letting the room's door open so Yeontan could enter freely, and went to the garage. He still hadn't taken the time to clean up the ashes from the burnt skin that was left in the seats of the car he was using, so he passed by it, choosing another one, a model not so sporty, but equally expensive.

The streets were silent and empty, as the clock showed it was three in the morning. The only real movement he saw was of bars and clubs, as he crossed the center of the city. One or another homeless man lying under a marquee, with his old blanket and cardboard protection. In other circumstances he would stop and interact. He tried to focus only on the music playing on his phone, his favorite among those on the playlist you sent him.

Jimin finally arrived at his destination, parking in a vacant spot in a practically empty parking lot, in front of a private hospital. He wore a shoulder bag from the back seat of the car, and bypassing the front door of the emergency area, he entered through an exclusive entrance for employees. No one would see him or notice his presence. Having done this hundreds of times and knowing the way by his hand, Jimin guided himself through corridors all the same and antiseptic until he reached a pair of doors with a "Blood Bank" sign on them. "Good night. I have an appointment." He politely said to the nurse at the front desk. "Is Seokjin here?"

"Good night. Yeah, is his shift today." She held out a key to him, sleepily looking up. She was a human, but she knew what he was and why he was there for.

"Thanks." He went through the corridor behind her, passed by the lab and the blood donation collection room, and called the elevator at the end. The only option to go was the underground. Six seconds and he was in a very clean room with a too white illumination. There was no one to be seen beside metallic cabinets and refrigerators, and also an empty metal table.

Jimin waited.

From a heavy metallic door came a man. A really handsome and gracious vampire in resident doctor uniform. As he saw Jimin an enormous charming smile spread on his face.

"Oh, you are early. I was finishing to separate your order." He sang.

"Hi, Jin. Anything special today?" Jimin put his bag on the table, and his hands on his pockets.

Jin clearly noticed his bad mood and tension.

"Not really, there's a lot of O+ and some A+. We haven't had many different donations this past week." Jin cruzou os braços. "But as usual I kept the ones with the most delicious smell for you, the very healthy ones. As you and Taehyung are picky eaters."

"That's why I only negotiate with you."

Jin smirked and left the room with the bag, back through the same door. He used to help young vampires, teaching them how to hunt properly, as the centuries passed he started his little business of blood selling, good origin, discreet and without victims. Despite working directly with customers at the local point, his scheme is huge, practically a monopoly.

Jimin looked at his fancy wristwatch, you would be out of your shift in a little bit more of half an hour, and he should stop by the grocery store in the way.

Jin came back with the bag obviously full now.

"Everything is sealed and refrigerated but put in the fridge as soon as possible." He said as always. "And send my kisses to Tae, he doesn't respond to my messages for days now. Sometimes I have time to play with him."

Jimin considered telling Jin about Tae's condition, but opted for not doing it. This issue was something for the two of them to deal, and only them.

"I'll tell him. He loves playing with you on call."

Jin noticed Jimin's hesitation.

"I know. Bye." He didn't comment anything about tho.

"Bye, Jin. ________________________________________________________________

You like your job, you really do. Is something you feel needed as you do it, powerfull, helpful. Is something you believe in. But now, after a whole day deprived of sleep, full of stress on college, not finding somewhere to live next month, and mostly, after the last call - a situation you want to forget - you are destroyed, Crying pathetically in the bathroom was the most coherent thing you could do. You just hoped the mental breakdown would come in a place other than the office bathroom, and preferably it would be at home, where you could cry yourself to sleep in your flower pajamas, hugging your stuffed dolphin.

You stopped to wash your face and tried to breathe calmly. It wasn't the end of the world, you can handle this. Your supervisor already released you a few minutes earlier - because you were no longer in a position to work - so all you had to do was gather your stuff and wait for Jimin to pick you up.

As usual, your heart accelerated just thinking about seeing him again, especially now that you are a thing, this feeling compared to anxiety and stress is just divine. You: i'll wait at the lobby.

You: was released earlier today

You threw some notebooks and pens into your backpack and locked your personal locker before checking your belongings again - be careful is never too much - and went down the hall to the stairs. Jimin: No need to wait. I'm already here.

You almost jumped the last stair steps to the ground floor, passed by the concierge's empty space behind the counter, and before running out, checked through the glassy door if you could see Jimin or his car. At first you didn't find him, and was about to text him again, but then he lowered the window glass and you can see him in another car, different from the other night. You gaped at him - you're a very impressionable countryside girl - and got into the passenger seat.

"Good night, handsome." You said, putting your heavy backpack on the floor between your feet.

"Good night, sweetheart." He lost no time and reached to peck you in the lips, slightly holding you chin with his fingertips. The butterflies in your stomach were crazy. He studied your face closely. "You look dejected, did something happen?"

His care made you smile.

"Stressful day, lot of little things. It got hard on me today, but just it." You shrugged, an amused tone in your tired voice.

"Want to talk about it?" He cupped your face with both hands. You did the same to him.

"Honestly I want to sleep." You giggled. "What about you? You don't look the best either."

He sighed. Your care made him happy too.

"Just feeling lonely and stressed too." He licked his lips, thinking what he could or could not say. "I don't like to be trapped at home. I need to take care of Tae, but he is... not well to make me company, so I'll be lonely till he is ok."

You looked confused but tried to understand, choosing not to ask any more questions. Jimin didn't quite explain what happened to his friend, but it seemed like something serious, and if he didn't want to give you details, you wouldn't insist. "That's sad. I hope he is ok soon." You timidly pecked him, hoping this would make him feel better.

It worked. With a grin Jimin pulled away and started the engine.

"There is something I can do?" You asked, still wanting just to be sweet to him.

Jimin made thinking pout, and you wanted to take a picture of it, not fast enough.

"Spending time with me would be awesome." He answered, making you hum. Your routine is so busy and hectic that having time to see your friends is always a miracle, because you either have work and college stuff or you just want to sleep. You started to count on your fingers what your next break is so you can hang out with him. He continued, however, already having his own idea. "Why don't you come to my place to sleep with me?"

Your chin dropped, but it wasn't what you first thought.

"You want to sleep and I want company. If we cuddle it will be the best combination of our necessities being solved." He proudly smiled.

A soft smile fell into your face as you melted. Life is too short to deny cuddles with the guy you like on what you’ll now call your second date.

"Sure."

"Wait, really?" He looked at you with round happy eyes.

"Yeah. Of course. Just borrow me a pijama or something."

To get out of the way of your place he turned the wheel abruptly to enter a return that he was going to miss one second later, crossing all the lanes of the empty avenue. For a second you got startled but then you were giggling at how excited he was at the idea of taking you home. Well, you were excited to take him home too, nothing more fair. As you moved away from the city center, to more noble areas, full of beautiful houses and buildings, you started to expect that any one of them would be JImin's house, but he just kept driving, until you were no longer exactly in the city, and some mansions started to appear in the landscape. Looking at these huge, clearly expensive homes, you wondered how many bathrooms each has. Jimin, on the other hand, was considering what to do to feed you and make you comfortable, slightly freaking out because there's nothing to eat either in the fridge or in the cupboards other than a box of cereal he bought to win a collectible gift. Did he need to do something to make you feel more comfortable? He never received visits at home... "I need to tell my roommate and my mom that I'm not spending the night at home..." You murmured to yourself.

"Your mom too?" Jimin frowned. "Doesn't she live far away or something?"

You smirked looking at your phone.

"Our city is four hours from here, but I always ley her know where I am. So she is not worried. Besides, we talk all the time anyway..." "Oh." He thought about it. "You two are good friends."

You nodded.

"In the way of moms and daughters." You noticed the car was slowing down.

"Can I send her a photo of yours? Just so she knows your face?"

"Women have to be careful, right?" He commented, thinking that it is useful to know the face of the man that your daughter is seeing if something bad happens. He read a lot of things about it on twitter, and being a vampire himself he knows how bad things can happen too.

"Yep." You made a face. "But I want her to see how hot you are. She asked for a picture before but I didn't have a good one."

Jimin was between blushing and smirking. But vampires can't blush because the blood doesn't circulate, so you didn't see that reaction, just the burning look he gave you from head to toe. The butterflies in your stomach exploded and died. Before you could take the picture you noticed that you were now parking at a garage, and your chin dropped at the sigh of six more cars - seven in total, counting the one you guys were inside. The garage itself was bigger than the apartment you currently live in. Just the idea of so much money intimidates you a little.

"Take a selfie, then." Jimin passed an arm around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Ok." You did as said, the flash illuminating the inside of the car. "You are also photogenic."

"And you are beautiful." He looked at the photo with a cute smile. "Send it to me too. Come."

He left the car and you followed him closely behind, he carrying your backpack for you. He took off his shoes to get in, and so did you, wearing the pair of cloth slippers he offered you. You grabbed the sleeve of the black blouse he was wearing, despite the low light available looking at the whole house over his shoulder, the hallway, the living room, the stairs, everything huge and spacious, and you noticed too, with a very masculine yet artistic decoration. Definitely for you, only two people living in this whole space is strange. In your family you are in six occupying a much smaller house. Whas that a grand piano?

"It's a nice place." You thought you should say something. "Cool design."

"Tae is responsible for that. He's a very visual person."

"I see."

He took you to the second floor, straight to his room. He dropped your thing on an armchair and looked around, expectantly. It was cute, there were some plants and drawing like you sometimes see him doing at work, an ukulele on the wall... It was as you could imagine his room would be.

"I don't have a clue of how to make you feel comfortable... What should I do?" He was honest.

You smiled sweetly and took his hand on yours, and he knew if he had a beating heart it would have stumbled at the sigh.

"I'm ok. Comfy clothes to change would be nice tho."

He kissed your forehead with a grin.

"I can manage that." And he measured you from head to toe again, now really to get a sense of the size of the clothes he needed to get you. And then left through the pair of the closet's doors.

As you waited you kept looking around and took a seat on the king sized bed, you were tired after all, feeling your eyes heavy and feet hurting.

"Jimin where is the bathroom?" You barely articulated the words.

"What?" Jimin came back with some clothing in hand.

"Bathroom..."

He gave you a fondly look and deposited his clothes - a t-shirt slightly bigger than you and a soft fabric shorts that seemed to fit you - on your lap.

"Next door on the left, near the stairs to the attic." "Thanks." You picked the clothes and your toiletry necessaire and crawled out into the hall.

On the way there was only one door on the right side of the hall, which you hadn't noticed the first time you passed it. A door ajar with an ambar lamp light coming from inside. Without thinking too much you stopped to look and saw in a bed who you imagined to be the friend, Taehyung, sleeping in the center of another big bed. He looked like those illustrations of Snow White in the crystal coffin, beautiful, flawless, but pale as a corpse, the face emotionless. He looked so unreal, felt like if you touched him he would vanish away like a dream. You don't know how long you were looking at him, a few meters away, but you only managed to look away when your heartbeat became too loud in your ears. And only then did you realize that you had walked a few steps towards him. You hurried to the toilet and closed the door behind you as if something was chasing you. Looking in the mirror, you couldn't name what this feeling was. More than quickly and still shaking you changed, washed your face and brushed your teeth, and to go back to Jimin's room you were with his head down. He was already in bed waiting for you in a pair of silk pajamas, and frowned when you walked in. "Is something wrong?"

"Nope." You denied it too quickly, embarrassed to say something like 'I saw your sleeping friend in the other room and for some reason it made me nervous'. Then you smiled shyly and climbed into the bed. "Excuse me."

Jimin interpreted your fast heartbeat as shyness and pulled you close as soon he could reach you. You snuggled into him too, and your eyes felt heavy once again, the smell of him calming and slowing you down. Before you finished settling into a comfortable position you were asleep. ______________________________________________________________

Then you had your cute cheesy morning with Jimin, as you wanted. He was with his eyes open when before you, holding you tight as he scowled through his phone behind your head. You looked up and the first thing you thought about was how unfair life is. In addition to the slightly messy hair, Jimin was beautiful as always, without the sleepy face or puffy eyes of someone who just woke up, it gave you a mixture of emotions of ingenuity and admiration. You sure looked like a withered dumpling.

"Goomorning." You murmured against him. "What are you doing?"

"We have no food, neither me or Tae cook, so I'm ordering you breakfast. Did you sleep well?" He kissed your nose, as he added croassaints to his order - he couldn't let you enter the kitchen and see all the literally empty cabinets, the only exception being a very suspicious bag, full of blood bags, inside the fridge, that he put there yesterday without you noticing, using his superhuman speed.

"Babier than yesterday." You reached for your cell phone too. "Shit, I have a seminar about neuro-physiology in fifty minutes... Where's a bus stop nearby?"

Jimin looked at you confused, for not understanding the reason for your question right away and then for having no idea what to answer. He doesn't take a lot of buses to know where they pass. "Don't worry about it, I can call you a car. And so it's time for you to eat without haste." As much as you enjoy being pampered and cared for, you are the type of person who feels guilty when others do it in excess, especially when they spend money on you. And you're starting to feel that way with Jimin. On the one hand you want to accept everything he may have to offer since technically you have no reason to deny it, but on the other hand your paranoid mind can think of several uncomfortable reasons. Your insecurities also arise to say that at some point a handsome, rich guy with two degrees like Jimin will eventually be bored with you, a poor, broken, screwed to finish your first graduation, so why not enjoy it while it lasts? Damn, that also makes you very guilty... That's why you only have poor and fucked up friends like you. Jimin raised his eyebrows at you, and then you realized that you hadn't answered anything yet, and just debated the subject a lot inside your own head. "Ah... Ok. Thanks." You stuttered. Your brain just wasn't about to form full phrases.

He holds you tighter.

"Don't be shy. You are keeping me company, the minimum is to guarantee your transport." He took your face in one hand and kissed you slowly, lazily, and you returned it with a sigh. With his lips still on yours, he whispered in a hoarse voice that made you shiver. "And if I don't treat you well, you won't be back... And I want you to..."

You were about to answer the flirt, but a sharp bark interrupted you.

"Puppy!" You sang, rolling to the edge of the bed to see a little dog with pretty expressive eyebrows barking and jumping beside it. By the power of all the cute things in the world you spoke in baby voice. "Own... cute. Hi hi, buddie." "Come here, Tannie." Jimin whistled.

The puppy got rid of your anxious for pets hands and ran to the other side of the bed, and appeared a second later, jumping onto the bed and over Jimin. You rolled back, also leaning on Jimin to look the other way. "Do you have a ladder for him to climb on the bed?" Jimin smiled with your enthusiasm about it. "The whole house is adapted to be accessible to his little tiny legs." He said. You put your hands on your chest. "Oh, no. My heart." Jimin sat up to peck you again before getting up, stretching slightly. "He wants to eat, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Just a sec." He picked up the dog and left.

You pouted for not playing anymore, but you understand, you were hungry too, and you had to get up and get ready soon to go to college, or else you would get late. You jumped out of bed, got your things and barefoot even ran to the bathroom. The door to the other room was now closed, yet you felt a shadow of the feeling of the night before and went by it as quickly as possible, without looking in the direction. After that, you took a quick shower, ended up borrowing a t-shirt from JImin, because to wear the same shirt from the previous day was out of the question, you had a great brunch from a expensive bakery that you had never heard of, played a little - too little - more with Yeontan, and went to college by car, something totally new to you. The rest of the day you were chased by the desire to see Jimin again, to go back to his house and stay there, in the bubble of good things he gives you, by the feeling that you somehow don't deserve it, and by the almost scary feeling that you felt when you saw a complete stranger in his sleep.

Notes: I said I would update it before 2021! HAHAHA Sorry it took a whole life! IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO THE TAG LIST LET ME KNOW. FEEDBAKC IS GOOD TOO. ____________________________________________________________

Tag list: @ireallylikeyourwriting @angrygardenerr @depressed-dude20 @milktaetae95 @tangledsparkles @wlalsrkfla @minikolima @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @midiplier

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tarysande · 4 years

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Lucifer Fic: Sheet Happens (1/1)

For @thedeckerstarnetwork’s Halloween Challenge. @calia05 asked for “ghost” and “trick,” and said she loved Ella and Azrael. This is the result! <3

Also on AO3

Sheet Happens

Miss Lopez delivered the invitation in typical Miss Lopez fashion: as exuberantly as the world's friendliest golden retriever high on Adderall. Clearly handmade, she’d cut the card into the shape of a cartoonish ghost, white bedsheet and all, and covered it with an absurd amount of silvery glitter. Meaning, of course, that it covered him with an absurd amount of silvery glitter in short order. The sparkles stood out against the black of his suit like snowflakes. Or dandruff. Not that the Devil was in any way personally acquainted with the latter.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, holding the glitter bomb at as close to arm’s length as he could politely get away with.

Miss Lopez wore her every emotion not just on her sleeve, but from the top of her head to the tips of her platformed running shoes. Today’s t-shirt featured a sad ghost with a spilled cup of coffee and the phrase ‘Sheet Happens.’ “So, you’ll come?”

“Ah.” Even as the syllable emerged, Miss Lopez’s face began to fall. “It’s a … popular evening at Lux. I do rather feel I owe my patrons an appearance.”

“Oh,” she said, smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand and leaving ghostly glitter behind. “Duh. I should’ve thought of that.”

The glitter was sentient. He could practically feel it creeping up his fingers. He would have to burn the suit; once infected, recovery was impossible. He could only imagine how infested her home must be. The mind behind the creation of the stuff was truly devious; in the darkest of hellscapes, he’d never come across anything quite so … persistent.

“Would you … prefer to offer the invitation to someone else?” he asked, gesturing slightly with the ghost held between the tips of finger and thumb.

This was, evidently, the wrong thing to have said. She wilted, and when she shook her head, even her ponytail seemed sad. “I made it for you,” she tossed over her shoulder, already fleeing back to her lab as fast as her impractically high shoes would allow.

“You’re going, Lou.”

Lucifer blinked. Though the music and revelry, sin and sensation raged around him at top volume, the words reached his ears as clearly as if they were spoken into utter silence. Beside him, Azrael slouched, wearing the form so clearly influenced by Miss Lopez.

Or perhaps it was the other way around? The Azrael of old hadn’t slouched. She hadn’t worn bizarre spectacles or sported bowl-cut hair and t-shirts with sayings on them. When she glared up at him, hands planted on hips, her cloak parted wide enough for him to make out today’s offering. In the same cute-cartoon style as Ms. Lopez’s, it depicted a Grim Reaper, coffee in hand and wearing the exhausted expression Lucifer had so often seen on human faces after too little sleep or too much alcohol, next to the words ‘I FEEL LIKE DEATH.’

Lucifer sipped his whiskey to give his hands and his mouth something to do besides reply.

“Not just for Ells. Literally every one of your friends is there.”

He sighed, stepping aside as a tipsy angel with crooked wings tried to press up against his side. The cloying scent of her cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume wasn’t as easy to avoid. Neither was her pout.

“But you’re the Devil,” she whined in a voice he wished he heard much less clearly. “And I’m an angel. It’s sexy.”

“More like incestuous,” Azrael murmured, catching Lucifer so off-guard he choked on his drink. The smug grin she shot him was entirely the Rae-Rae of old. She nudged him with her cloaked elbow. “Still got it.”

He inclined his head at the disappointed angel, sidestepped a werewolf and vampire with tongues so deeply down each other’s throats that witnesses would convert to #TeamWhoNeedsBellaWhenYouHaveEdwardAndJacob at the sight of it, and swiped a bottle of whiskey he refused to see poured for anyone with such undiscerning tastes as the Borat who’d just ordered it. Evidently the bouncers had forgotten the longstanding no-neon-green-mankinis rule.

Azrael followed on his heels, and though he bloody well knew no one else could see her, somehow the seething crowds parted more easily for her than they had even for him.

“Why are you here instead of there?”

“I—you see how busy—”

“Uh, I see how you haven’t talked to anyone for longer than two minutes, your piano’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re basically oozing sulking-Devil-do-not-approach vibes.”

“You try my patience, Azrael.”

She shrugged. A trio of sexy nurses—or perhaps maids; it was hard to tell given the lack of fabric—contorted themselves into shapes he should have found pleasing to avoid being too near to her. One attempted to fall toward him, but he slid to the side so she ended up grappling with one of the evening’s nineteen (at last count) Captains America.

“Yeah? Well, you’re bugging me too,” she said, evidently oblivious to the effect her presence was having. “You didn’t even read the card, did you?”

“The … excuse me?”

Azrael’s prodigious eye roll involved every muscle in her face. “From Ella?”

A twinge of something like regret turned the whiskey on his tongue to ashes. He’d dropped disco-ghost into an evidence bag before it could do any more damage and left it at the precinct without sparing it a second thought.

Azrael thrust that same evidence bag into his chest hard enough to send him staggering back half a step. Another angel got partway through a curse Lucifer had a hard time imagining any of his siblings speaking before she realized the Devil to whom that curse was directed. He sensed a new rule for the bouncers brewing.

Of course, the most persistent of the angels presently irritating him didn’t obligingly flit off into the crowd at his glower. He’d no idea how someone so vertically challenged could make him feel small, and yet. The evidence bag and its spectral occupant had fluttered to the ground between them, where it lay like a murder victim bathed in blood glittering red from the overhead lighting. Sheet happens.

He bent from the waist, snatching up the invitation and stalking toward the elevator. The sea of demons and various sexy professionals and animals and … bloody hell, Sexy Donald Trump was infinitely worse than the worst mankinied Borat. Some things couldn’t be unseen.

And then he was in the elevator, and it didn’t matter that Azrael wasn’t with him because she’d be waiting for him with her ridiculous fringe and, beneath it, eyes that always reflected the brother he could have been, perhaps, if he didn’t fail so spectacularly so often.

He scanned the room when the elevator door opened but saw nothing out of place, and when he called out, no one answered. Azrael could creep and hide and lurk as effectively as the angelic purpose over which she held dominion, but rarely from him.

He opened the evidence bag and dumped its contents on the bar, releasing the spirit and its miasma of sparkles. The bloody thing looked so bloody cheerful—and not at all like any of the spirits he’d had occasion to meet over the millennia.

Then again, give the thing a spectral ponytail and a cute t-shirt and maybe—

He silenced the thought by reaching for a bottle. He didn’t, at least for the first burning pull, even bother with a glass.

He poured the second drink. By the third, he was ready to open the damned—ha bloody ha—thing. In the ebullient handwriting so familiar from paperwork and post-it notes, Miss Lopez had written, “My brothers made Halloween more about tricks than treats, usually at my expense. It would be ‘boo’tiful if you could come to my party. COSTUMES MANDATORY.” Instead of her name, she’d drawn a pair of ghosts. One was grinning. It had a ponytail. The other was taller; it held a microphone. It also had devil horns and a tail.

It was grinning, too.

Lucifer closed the invitation and pushed it away with trembling fingertips.

“Why aren’t you there, Lou?”

He gripped the edge of the bar until the moment before the marble would have crumbled. “Surely you know better than anyone, sister.”

The sound she made, caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry, was enough to turn his head. “I’m not—Lucifer, you know I’m not—”

“But you will,” he said. “Because they’re human. Because you’re you. And because you will do as you must. So forgive me for choosing to spend this night of specters and shadows amidst those whose deaths, when they come, will not weigh near so heavily.”

Moments stretched into minutes. Azrael’s jaw worked, and her expression said the words she chewed were bitter ones. Finally, narrowing her eyes, she said, “That’s bullshit.”

Unexpected.

A flush rose in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled not with admiration or sisterly love, but with anger. “You’re sad their time is finite, so you’re wasting what time you do have sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Listen to yourself, Lou. No, seriously. Like, stop for one minute and actually hear the crap coming out of your mouth.” She glanced down at her hands like she was trying to figure out just how much damage they were capable of inflicting. “You’re so … dumb. Like. Just … dumb.”

And though he wanted to protest, wanted to explain in painful, specific detail just why death and eternity and banishment from Heaven made his situation so much bloody worse … he didn’t.

Because Miss Lopez had drawn them as grinning ghosts. To her, this night was treats and costumes and friends and, as in so many traditions throughout all of bloody human history, defying the coming dark by facing it head-on. Perhaps the current tradition didn’t involve bonfires or sacrifices, but he’d be bloody damned—more damned—if gorging on candy and gathering in friendship and depicting the things humans knew went bump in the night without truly knowing how to name them as cartoons and bad puns wasn’t the very same flavor of ritual.

He released his grip on the bar. His hands glittered.

“Costumes are mandatory,” Rae-Rae reminded him.

When he glanced over his shoulder again, she was gone.

He stood outside, listening to the laughter within, for fifteen minutes. He raised his hand to knock eighteen times. He turned to leave at least seven.

“I’m gonna do it if you don’t, Lou.”

Bloody sisters.

He knocked. Moments stretched into eternities.

The door, decorated with glimmering ghosts and glittering pumpkins, opened, revealing Miss Lopez in all her pool-noodle-turned-double-helix-DNA glory.

For a moment, Miss Lopez’s wide eyes were so like Rae-Rae’s—the same belief in him; the same, dare he say it, love—that Lucifer couldn’t find breath for whatever foolish, nonchalant nonsense he’d usually have opened with. And when those eyes filled with glistening tears to accompany a grin no drawing could possibly capture, he was the first to look away.

“You came! In costume!” Leaning forward, she squinted at him, then reached out and plucked at his costume. “Oh my God, Lucifer, tell me you didn’t cut eyeholes in a freaking silk sheet that probably cost like, a month of paychecks.”

“I do not lie, Miss Lopez, so I can say no such thing.” Though she couldn’t see it, he grinned at the way horror and delight mingled on her features. He brushed close, close enough to give the phantom equivalent of the hugs she handed out so enthusiastically, and pretended not to feel a little teary-eyed himself at how tightly she returned the gesture. “Who am I to defy your command?”

She laughed and punched him on the arm. “Have you met you?”

“Ahh,” he replied gently. “But have you met you?”

This time, the laughter he heard belonged not to Miss Lopez but to his sister. And though she, too, was bound to her commands, as he stepped into the warmth and light and laughter of Miss Lopez’s home, Azrael’s dominion was the very last thing on his mind.

#thedeckerstarnetwork #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #deckerstar #lucifer on netflix #calia05 #thank you for your prompts #it's still halloween ... in Hawaii?#i'm not in hawaii #but at least it's halloween somewhere #my fic #lucifer fic #HAPPY HALLOWEEN

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raguna-blade · 4 years

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So, listening to [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQqY7s1-pyo], and that got me thinking about Kingdom Hearts again as occasionally is the case. I’m still a bit steamed about 3 for one reason or another, and probably i should get the DLC down the line, maybe when/if I do a full series dive again since As i’ve kinda gone through it it’s occurred to me that i’ve been 1: Giving it an unfair shake due to personal disappointments, and 2: Giving it an unfair shake because god, please lord the story isn’t (when you get down to it) that complicated but these twists and nonsense make things really obnoxious and hard to track the themes and stuff which I think it does a good job on honestly but it makes it so hard to track sometimes i swear.

But this isn’t about that.

This is a fanfic idea, following the post game of Kingdom Hearts 3 and the idea is simple enough.

Sora falls into the Persona 5 setting, and ends up joining (or at least working with) the phantom thieves.

Including A Persona!

Including A Sweet Rebellion Outfit!

It’s Vanitas!

Wait, hold on.

So the general idea here is again, Sora ends up in the persona 5 world and ends up mucking around with that plotline. If anything, Persona 5R especially is probably a good fit for this considering Maruki and his goings on.

But really setting wise I dig the idea because first off the creatures in the heart of mankind are basically Heartless, Unversed, and Nobodies all kind of rolled up into one. One might make the argument if the worlds are supposed to be completely compatible that Persona’s are basically filling up the last part of the triangle of things that exist with Hearts/Heartless, Bodies/Nobodies, and Souls/Personas.

That last may seem a bit fuzzy since the Link doesn’t seem super straightforward, but it seems to be that the Soul in KH is an animating force in part but also keenly tied to thoughts.

Which lines up fantastically with Persona and Shadows! They’re basically entities made up OF thoughts really when you come down to it. Thoughts and feelings shape how they act, effect the world in general, and in great numbers and concentrations create absurd entities that are a sort of crystalized idea for good or ill.

So I think that part links up well enough yeah.

But what ends up happening though? Well for the moment, the general vibe is this. Sora, now set adrift and kinda just vibing out between worlds and of course desperately trying to cling onto something ends up losing his memories. Well...Not quite losing his memories so much as, he is incredibly damaged by the absolute clownery that he pulled at the end of KH3. That shit is not without consequences, and the fact that he’s not just hot erased really speaks to both Sora’s keen ability to do things that really shouldn’t be doable as well his other critical feature of being able to befriend basically everyone and everything if they’re willing to at least take a step along with him.

Enter Rage Form and Enter Vanitas.

Now I could probably do a whole thing about how Rage Form is essentially Sora tapping into the Powers of Darkness and yet not absolutely getting lost in the sauce like everyone else and why that is...And I will actually, you cannot stop me.

So my going theory in regards to using darkness in Kingdom Hearts is that Using Darkness is, as literally everyone points out, Absurdly Wickedly Dangerous...It is not, however, inherently evil as the games kinda make it out to be. We’ve seen several people use it without going full super villain, and indeed one of the major series leads Makes copious use of Dark Power.

The Problem with Darkness is that well...I guess the way to put it is, Darkness is basically concentrated Heart in a sense. It amps up E V E R Y T H I N G, to dangerous dangerous levels, and if you aren’t paying attention it will cause you to hop off the slippery slope in a hurry because you have to do the thing and you don’t feel any different so it’s obviously not effecting your mind. And it doesn’t precisely, effect your mind and make you evil....But it does cause you to lose restraint, to more or less give into passions to absurd dangerous extents that you may as WELL be evil.

Take Riku for example. He’s probably the clearest cleanest example because he has a whole arc with it, but fundamentally when he starts using darkness it doesn’t exactly make him start being an evil jerk it makes him do the exact same thing he was doing before (looking for his friends, looking for sora and kairi and trying to wake up Kairi especially at the time) and kind of not think, to not consider things that are patently obvious because it doesn’t jive with what he’s feeling at the time.

Basically Darkness (as I think is said at some point? but certainly implied) causes hearts to rage out of control and if you’re dumb with it, if you’re not highly extremely cognizant of this fact you absolutely are going to lose it.

Back to Rage Form, back to Anti Form. Anti Form first actually, and then we can go into Rage form.

See Anti form when it was a thing explicitly was never a thing Sora really had control over. It occurred with Drives yes, but it was always an accident (and notably get’s cancelled out when you fuse with Roxas in the Final Form but another thing) which tracks with the general antics going on with it. It nukes your drive gauge (which let’s you fuse with Donald and Goofy) and it’s actually rather weak on it’s own, in no small part because part of Sora’s whole thing is series wide is obsessively IGNORING how frustrated and angry and all that he is.

Kid has no idea how to actually use his rage in a constructive useful way. As a result, antiform while edgy and possessing some interesting qualities, isn’t really actually all that useful for untrained still stupidly uncannily powerful Sora (Like...I know it’s probably a whole other discussion but I kinda feel like the games both underplay how ridiculous Sora actually is while still at least kinda nodding at the fact that yeah this Kid has single handedly absolutely and somewhat literally decimated every single foe he has come across with disgusting ease? No one takes him seriously and then he’s basically breaking you across his knee, it’s hilarious)

But Rage Mode...? Rage Mode is actually QUITE handy. Offer’s a quick health boost, lots of teleport shenanigans (combo wise yes but hey) offer’s a move to get stronger at risk of health and is an emergency save both in game and story, and while the exact reasoning that he has it is never stated outright, I think it’s also fair to say that Sora as of 3 Is both Coming to grips with the frankly Absurd amount of bullshit that is laid at his feet when he really just wants to chill out with his friends and fuck off for a while (It’s a little unmentioned since Sora spends a large amount of time knocked the hell out but I’m pretty sure from his POV it’s been like the most hellish year possible)

Rage mode is Sora acknowledging the bullshit of his life and actively using it to do things and accomplish his goals, which at the time were basically beat the living hell out of heartless, nobodies and Xehanort (13 times)

It’s an active deal with darkness that may yet actually have severe consequences, but for Fic purposes, we connect from Rage Mode to Vanitas.

Now Vanitas is, for whatever else he may be (and the Unversed Certainly are weird), still a part of both Ventus and Sora’s heart. His Mirroring of Sora appearance wise (and indeed being the opposite of him in that While he may work with others he is decisively something of a loner I think, to contrast Sora’s Friends Everywhere thing).

And I thought, personally, when he was fading away at the end of KH3 that there was something of a lost opportunity. Vanitas was perfectly happy being Darkness, whatever that may exactly mean. But hey, if we’re going with my idea that Darkness=Heart Unrestrained here, then I think it’s not unreasonable to track what’s going on here.

Ventus and Sora both got extremely raw deals, and Vanitas unlike them was able to express that anger, rage, and just...Immense seething I suppose. Taken as a whole really, that’s more or less what his role WAS, to be the outrageous out of control fury of Ventus and Sora, targeting everything that hurt them which, frankly, was pretty much everyone and everything constantly (to say nothing of whatever is going down with the Mobile game for ventus who apparently is involved there so that’s you know...Not helping)

Vanitas being Satisfied as the Darkness of Sora and Ventus (and of course his own being) tracks then. He really would be fine kicking it because he was spent basically. Those two had more or less at that point burned out the rage and fury and overwhelming emotions, had brought it to heel, had taken it under control and all that.

But I can’t imagine Sora willingly letting someone fade like that. It’s not that he’s soft, or won’t put down bad guys. He absolutely will and does. I don’t think he’ll be happy about it, but he’ll do it, and I think if he has any idea of what’s gone down with Ventus and Vanitas he would be willing to, if the opportunity arose, basically give Vanitas a place to crash for all intents and purposes.

So. Remember when I said Sora has a Persona, a Rebellion Suit, and that it was Vanitas?

Part of the entire thing with Persona is, in fact, dealing with your shadow self. Shown primarily with dealing with negative aspects of yourself, but it involves all untapped aspects of you right?

Vanitas is a near perfect Shadow of Sora, being about as far on the opposite side of the spectrum as you can get. Arrogant, Self Absorbed, Callous, Lonely, yeah? But also, genuinely skilled and powerful, more than capable of reading others, and a solid lone operator. And thus, as a Shadow of Sora he’s basically perfect for a kid who is now on his own.

But Persona’s aren’t shadows precisely. I mean they literally are, but they’re shadows put to purpose, controlled, a specific mask put forward to the world to deal with it.

And Sora right now, alone, forcibly separated from his loved ones again, and much more permanently this time, turns to someone who he took in in his heart for perhaps not kinship at least commiseration. And Vanitas in turn responds in kind. Sora’s a nice kid but he’s not really properly in touch with the darker aspects of himself. This is a problem, not because ooooooo you gotta have darkness edge edge edge, but more because Sora has already USED darkness before. At the time it was safe enough because he was focused had a goal and all that.

But Now? Oh now Sora is basically in a situation where he might reasonably reach out for those dark powers and he is not in the right headspace to try and do that safely 1 and 2 I don’t think genuinely has a good enough grasp of his own less than great inclinations that could lead to him SCREAMING off the slippery slope into bad time junction.

Now Vanitas isn’t really fully doing this out of the kindess of his heart here. He want’s to do what he wants and that’s cause a degree of mayhem, get into fights, just in general kind of fuck off and do his own thing in the same way that Sora does except you know kind of more maliciously (though I genuinely suspect that a Vanitas without an immediate thing to do probably would just kinda...go somewhere and be moody. He seems the type. With a task though well different story, but sans one? And hey, the old man isn’t around to push him around anymore)

So Vanitas functionally becomes his Persona Here, which ties back to the way earlier mentioned point. Sora is a little broken here, but he has a certain understanding of both what’s going on with Tokyo when he get’s there (something stupid is happening at the bottom of mementos involving a heart. Guess it’s Heartless Stomping Time) even if he’s not fully on board with everything because of yet more missing memories, but for the moment, he doesn’t have the full power’s he really had before. He needs to lean on darkness here not just to stay as a whole person, but to also find his way home. And of course, this requires darkness.

Some of you may be seeing the grim and stupid pieces lining up here, so for you, just hold your head in shame and prepare the finger wagging.

So we have vanitas as a persona, more or less. Cool, fine.

And predictably, his rebellion outfit would more or less be a flavoring of Vanita’s armored up form, albeit probably a bit more kingly given Sora’s king motif.

But he’s not a royal here no. He’s looking for something. Going after a thing hidden deep in the darkness.

And as a proper phantom thief needs a code name, Why not call the guy who’s seeking something in the darkness. Why not call him a-

Why not Code Name Seeker for Sora the Phantom Thief eh? eh?

And that’s about the limit of what I got on this idea honestly. I know that Sora is still his lovable goofball self in a general sense, because Edgy Angst Sora isn’t really fun or I think true to the character really, but I think he’d probably be at the very least a touch more bitter than he has been, and perhaps for once in his life, just not feeling making friends at the outset. Up until a problem occurs and he see’s these other kids dealing with both unmitigated bullshit and being absurdly way over their heads.

Also, Yaldabaoth getting his carefully cheated game absolutely derailed, perhaps much sooner letting Maruki do his thing, perhaps letting him do a slower more thorough and less rushed job of things and having the Phantom Thieves + Sora + Akechi Have to deal with it is kind of fun.

Especially since Maruki as Antagonist in this case would be interesting considering probably 1, Akechi would Almost Certainly Be Alive (unambiguously), 2, Haru’s Dad would probably be alive leading to Shido getting his shit wrecked way sooner (I would expect that Haru’s still going to mostly deal with the same general problems given her dad would be in jail albeit still alive. At least in a broad sense, the specifics will very certainly be different), 3, It’d let Akechi get in on the fun of having his “dream” world realized in gaining the phantom thieves as perhaps genuine friends minus at least the baggage of him being the murderer of someone they personally know. He’d still need to atone, and I can’t imagine them letting him off the hook for that, although in the immediate sense absolutely yes they would because Maruki pulling antics (probably more hidden this time I would imagine), and until they fix things at least it’s not like he actually CAN turn himself in because Idealized World is bending over backwards to absolve him which is probably still bullshit in his eyes (He did the crime he’ll do the time damnit!)

And meanwhile Sora is busy dealing with his PTSD basically, while Vanitas crashes on his mind couch and occasionally steers while Sora deals with the mess going on on the inside.

yeah.

Feels good to get that out of the system for the moment.

#Kingdom Hearts #Persona 5 #a fanfic idea that just kinda keeps popping back up #Spoilers #Vanitas #Sora #Some Kingdom Hearts meta

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thewhiterabbit42 · 5 years

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WIP Tournament

Week 2 - Roommates vs Sex Pollen

Roommates [Gabriel x reader]: You start a new chapter of your life far from home where you don’t know anyone, including the person you’re sharing an apartment with. It isn’t long before you start to notice strange things lurking in the shadows and about him. Is your roommate really as great as he seems? Or is there something he’s hiding?

Sex Pollen [Debriel x OFC]: Not your average sex pollen fic.

Below the cut are 300-500 ~800-1200 words from the beginning of each WIP and tags that currently apply to the story as a whole. Choose which one you want to see continued by:

Sending an Ask (anon’s allowed)

Leaving a comment on this post or in the body/tags of reblogs

Voting is open until 6/14. Thanks in advance to everyone who does!

Roommates

Section warning: a swear, maybe?

General story tags: long fic, canon divergent, normal reader, nurse!reader, dark fic, stalking, more tags to come as story develops

You wake up to what can only be described as sheer deliciousness; a smorgasbord of smells that remind you of the big breakfasts your mom used to make on Sundays when you were younger. It fills you with an aching warmth that’s bittersweet. You’re so far away from your family, from everything you’ve ever known, and as much as you miss them and everything familiar, a reminder of it all fills you with comfort.

You have a feeling that’s exactly why your place smells like a brunch buffet.

Everyone was against you moving away, let alone moving in with a stranger. A man no less, and every piece of advice you received had nothing to do with starting a new life, but protecting yourself in your own apartment, like he was guaranteed to be some monster.

Yet, Gabriel has been nothing but a godsend.

He’s the one you call when you get held over at work (which is far more nights than it isn’t), when there’s no way you’ll make it home without falling asleep at the wheel.

He’s the one who handled everything so you could just get some sleep when the hospital messed up your parking sticker, your car got towed, and you walked out to find it gone after a twenty-four hour shift.

He’s even walked you home from the bar at two in the morning when you were worried about someone following, you even though he had to be to work in four hours.

He’s kind. Funny. He listens, better than some of your friends you’ve known for years. He runs a little hot and cold sometimes, but it’s easy to tell when he’s in a mood, and he usually keeps to himself when he’s that way. Mostly though, he’s thoughtful, so much so you almost don’t know what to do with him.

It doesn’t surprise you he’s noticed that Sundays are the hardest for you, or that he wants to do do something about it. What does, is you have no recollection of ever telling him why.

You give yourself a once over in the mirror and make a face. He’s certainly seen you worse, but it’s not lost on how you handsome he is, and how self-conscious you feel when you look washed out with some of yesterday’s makeup still shadowing your eyes.

You’re thankful you each have your own bathroom attached to your rooms so he has no idea what you really look like when you first wake up. You do a quick wash of your face and what you can with your hair, which usually means throwing it up and hoping it looks more fashionably messy than hobo chic.

What you find when you’re finally ready to emerge throws you for a loop.

If he were your boyfriend, you would be walking into a scene straight out of the movies. He’s got your red checkered apron on, (the one with the rooster on the front your brother gave you for being such a dick about how to cook a pie, because his always turn out doughy in the center and you refuse to eat them until he learns how to actually make one), and to top it all off, your roommate is humming happily to himself as he samples something from the stove.

The spread already laid out on the kitchen table is out of this world. There’s a little bit of everything from pancakes to fresh fruit, bacon, sausage, eggs, waffles, and what you suspect is a bowl of fresh, homemade whip cream.

You let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Somebody’s been busy.”

He turns, giving you a dazzling smile. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty. I didn’t expect you up for at least another hour.”

It is a little early for you considering you’re coming off back to back fifteen hour shifts, but if this were a fairy tale, you could honestly say true love’s kiss had nothing on a breakfast like this. There’s hashbrowns on the stove you didn’t even see, and what looks like a raspberry sauce simmering away.

The smell fully hits you now that you’re right there, and you’re pretty sure it’s amazing enough to wake the dead.

“Pull up a chair. Let me get you some coffee,” he offers, gesturing to your normal spot at the table.

“I can get it my–”

He cuts you off, wooden spoon leveled at you in warning. “Sit. You’ve been on your feet all weekend.”

You hesitate. You normally fight him on these things, but there’s a persistent ache that has yet to leave after an unruly old woman with dementia accused you of being the harlot who stole her husband right before trying to use her cane to take you out at the knees. Literally.

He moves toward the coffee pot, gesturing at your chair once again. “I mean it. You spend most Fridays and Saturdays helping people, while the rest of the world is out partying. Let someone return the favor.”

You’re not certain you deserve that much credit for being an ER nurse, but it’s nice to acknowledged.

You smile, shyness driving your silence as you finally take a seat.

You don’t have to remind him how you take your coffee. He knows, just as he’s absorbed what seems like a hundred other little things about you.

You can’t help but feel guilty. You don’t know much about him beyond he’s a janitor at a local college, his room looks like several decades vomited all over it at the same time, and he must roll out of bed looking perfect because never once have you caught him looking less than amazing.

It’s not that you haven’t tried. He just manages to maintain that air if mystery by talking his way out of everything.

“What are we going to do with all this food?” You wonder. You rarely see him eat unless you’re both sitting down to a meal together, and there’s more than enough there to last you for over a week.

“Figured I’d just take whatever we didn’t want to the homeless camp across town,” he says, setting a full mug down in front you.

Everyone told you that you’d get murdered in your sleep, and yet here you were, having breakfast with a freaking saint.

He must catch the way you shake your head, his brow quirking up. “What.”

Incredulity overtakes your features as you begin to fill the plate in front of you. "You’re unreal, you know that?“

His eyes crinkle in the corner with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “What are you on about?”

As if he doesn’t know.

His hands land on his hips as he waits for your answer.

Someone like him has to know, right?

“You’re like, I dunno, an actual angel?”

A bark of laughter escapes his lips. “Oh, honey, angels are boring. Who wants to be one of those?”

His hand lands on the back of your chair as he leans over your shoulder, stealing a piece of fruit off your plate as if to prove a point. Something warm and sweet with a hint of spice undercuts the aroma of the food surrounding you. It’s him, and the rest of your senses begin to prickle with awareness with how close he is.

Just as suddenly as he’s there, he straightens up, popping his bounty in his mouth. “Besides, if you really knew me, that is the last thing you’d call me.”

Sex Pollen

Section warning: threats of violence

General story tags: multi-chapter fic / potential series, canon divergent, dark fic, non con, dub con, smut, all the sex (oral, anal, vaginal), more to come as story develops

She presses her face against cold concrete, leaning closer to inspect the brightly glowing spellwork in front of her. The color shifts the closer she is to it, morphing into a warm golden glow that casts shadows across her face and brightens the abandoned warehouse.

Interesting.

Every field has their experts, and even though there’s technically no career path for this, she is the one hunters and scholars alike will call when they encounter anything unusual or ancient. It’s a point of pride, knowing all her hard work speaks for itself.

What she’s looking at, however, rivals anything she’s seen, save Enochian. There’s an immense power here, layers upon layers of it, woven together so finely she can’t tease it apart on sight alone. It makes Rowena’s spells look like child’s play, and has to predate most civilizations she’s aware of, which likely means two things.

One, whoever laid this trap knew what they were doing.

Two, they likely know a hell of a lot more than she does.

She stares, entranced as the light flickers, shifting hues once more. She absorbs every detail about it, wracking her brain to recognize the ancient language that fades in and out of sight.

“The craftsmanship on this is exquisite,” she marvels, the intricacy of it nearly breathtaking.

“I’ve got something exquisite for you right here.”

The remark pulls her out of her reverie, her head tilting up as a familiar set of boots moves into the side of her vision.

“Why don’t you come a little closer and I’ll show you…”

She knows she should move, but she doesn’t, opting to inch her hand closer to the edge instead. The raw energy prickles across her skin sharply, and she almost snatches it back. It feels angry, like there’s a thousand tiny hornets trying to sting her, but can’t quite get close enough to fully do it.

“Nessa.”

She can tell Sam doesn’t like her being that close, and she doesn’t blame him. She knows she has a tendency to push it, but she’s also well aware of how seconds can mean everything in situations like this.

She inhales, bolstering her resolve, fingers stretching out a little further, knowing if she could just get past the edge of it she might –

There’s a sudden movement in front of her a split second before Sam grabs beneath her arms, hauling her away from the circle and his brother who’s now crouched inches from where she lay.

The spell work cuts back to a deep red, and the smile Dean wears looks that much more menacing.

“What’s the matter, Sammy? Afraid she’ll have fun for once?” There’s a burst of sanguine in the darks of his eyes that matches the rhythm of the light flickering at his feet. "Or are you just trying to keep her to yourself?“

It’s a strange remark to make. She and Sam are friendly, perhaps even friends, but anyone with eyes and half a brain could see her relationship with that Winchester is the epitome of platonic.

Dean clucks his tongue. “It’s not nice to hold out on me, Sammy. We’re family.”

Sam helps her to her feet, and they angle their body away from Dean, trying to ignore him.

“I just needed a few more seconds,” she mutters. She tries not to sound irritable, but she can’t shake the feeling if she had the chance to touch it, she’d have that much more information to work with.

The look on his face suggests he is highly unimpressed by that statement. “It’s always a few more seconds with you.”

He has her there, but he’s usually not the huffy one when it comes to her lack of self-preservation. She imagines someone has to be, though, considering the usual suspects aren’t themselves enough to care about these things… possibly anything.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get that close again.”

She recognizes what he’s saying is sound advice. She also proceeds to stuff it into the part of her brain that also knows her life would be so much easier if she just did stuff like keep a running grocery list as things ran out or found a nice, normal man to settle down with.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, eyes drifting back to the circle as Dean smoothly stands up. The movement is graceful as it is intimidating, the sheer confidence pouring off him sending a shiver down her spine.

“I mean it.” Sam rarely snaps, and the severity beneath his words has her refocusing on him.

Ness can see it in his face that he’s nervous, really nervous, and she doesn’t blame him. Not only is this Dean intense, but whatever they’re dealing with is strong enough to also overpower an archangel.

“C'mon, Sammikins, we’ll take real good care of her,” Gabriel slinks out from behind Dean, drifting back into view, and his stare rakes over her in ways she can feel before devouring Sam. "Or you, if you prefer.“

“He’s all yours,” Dean passes, eyes never straying from her.

“Hear that? You’re all mine, big boy.”

Gabriel winks.

Sam makes a face.

She simply wonders what kind of hunger it is that’s overtaken their consciousness.

By the way Dean licks his lips, continuing to stare like Ness might be the last tasty morsel in existence, she might have an idea.

Which leads to a completely different one.

"Walk up to the circle ”

Sam stares at her. Hard. Likely trying to decide if she really said what he thinks she did, or if there’s possibly something crazy in his ear. "Excuse me?“

“What’sa matter, Sammy? Scared?” Dean taunts. “You should be. I may not have a hammer this time, but who’s to say I need a weapon to bash your head in.”

Well that answers that question.

Sam comes to the same conclusion a moment later. “That’s… not just a lust spell, is it.”

“That’s a hard no,” she drawls

Roommates or Sex Pollen? Send an ask and let me know!

#wip tournament: round 2 #week 2 #roommates vs sex pollen

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witchqueenofthemoon · 5 years

Text

BODY AND SOUL Part 23 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: So we’re finally right before the Gala. I’m high-key proud of myself and frankly can’t believe I made it here, and yet, here I am, doing it, doing the work, every day, and feeling so fulfilled by it I can’t really describe its effect on me in words. This project has changed me fundamentally and made me confident in my ability to do what I’ve always wanted to do: write fiction. I know I’ll continue to write fiction when this story is done. I’ll continue to do it for the rest of my life. And that is profoundly moving for a person who spent the first decade of her adulthood doubting herself to an insane degree, avoiding her destiny, trying to write literally anything else because fiction scared her so much. So here’s my moment to be proud of myself! Okay, moving on. If you’re interested in more about the history of Cartier LOVE bracelets, there’s a lot about them on Wikipedia, but they indeed cannot be removed without the screwdriver. Here’s Duncan’s duffel they bring to Madeline’s. Here’s Norah Jones’ COME AWAY WITH ME, which I’ve always found to be achingly romantic. I didn’t realize Klimt had painted Athena until I was looking up some of his work for this part, and of course I had to include it in Madeline’s house, mirrored with Duncan’s own Athena--here. I grew up with the Muppets, so I gave Kenzie a Kermit. Billie really did call her grandmother, Debbie Reynolds, Abadaba. Here is the chicken and mushrooms recipe Madeline makes. Here are the Carpenters songs they listen to on the deck: WE’VE ONLY JUST BEGUN, TOP OF THE WORLD, CLOSE TO YOU (I love the Carpenters). I had so much fun writing Madeline’s dialogue. As a weed smoker, I can vouch for the fact that it really does help dampen hangovers. I based Duncan being bullied on the fact that Cody was likewise bullied when he was in school--he talked about it a bit at his SXSW interview. Here is Kenzie’s mustard dress. Claire’s dress. I posted Kenzie’s Gala dress long ago when I first found it (right after I started writing B&S and realized there was a novels-worth of stuff Duckenzie wanted to tell me), and here I finally got a chance to describe it, which was wonderful, cuz I been waitin’. The real version is by Hamda Al Fahim, an incredible Emirati designer who makes exquisitely beautiful fairy-tale-esque gowns. This blazer was my main inspiration for Duncan’s--it’s not quite as nice as his is, but you get the idea (it’s also something like this Saint Laurent velvet blazer, but without those light lapels). His collar tips are something like this, but much fancier and more intricate, and made of real gold. I am so fucking proud of this chapter. As ever, if you’re reading and enjoying the fic, your comments, reblogs, likes and asks and edits mean everything to me.

“Just out of curiosity, what’s your first memory? Your first memory of her.”

Duncan had known in that moment, in fact. He clutched Kenzie’s hand in the backseat of the BMW as Samuel drove them towards Arlington and Madeline, obsessing over the conversation with Claire Underwood for the hundredth time that day, his tears dried now but his mind in no less chaos. I knew even then. As soon as she asked me. As I’ve always known, somewhere in the back of my mind, hidden deep in my psyche. I’ve always known that there was something about me that didn’t fit against Annette Shepherd. That there were parts of me far more hidden than I ever dreamed. And I’m not a fucking Shepherd. I don’t know who the fuck I am.

Kenzie was running her soft little fingers through his, the pad of her thumb crooked into the dip of his hand, and he could feel her face turning to him, glancing at him with worried, bright eyes. He ached at her worry; ached at the sadness that waved out from her onto him, a sadness prompted by his own, a sadness he couldn’t entirely will away. The locking Cartier bracelet glinted now on her wrist pressed against him--its gold and diamonds caught the falling neon lights outside, the street lamps. The other bracelet, of solely solid gold, was around his, and they brushed against each other, cool and smooth, their fingers twined tightly.

Kenzie had called her mother. “Momby, something’s happened--can we come see you? We’ll tell you everything when we get there. Yes, I’m fine. Yes, Duncan’s okay. Well, physically, he’s okay. It’s about Annette. No, she’s not hurt. It’s something else. Can we talk about it when we get there? Duncan’s just--he needs us. Yes, Momby. No. We can order pizza or something. Okay. We’ll be there in like half an hour. Momby can--can we sleep there? In my old room? Yeah. I love you to the moon and back. See you soon.” Then Kenzie had gently pressed him toward the walk-in closet, and said “Dunny, get some things to sleep at Momby’s, okay?” And he’d obeyed, feeling dazed and on the verge of tears again, pulling down one of his leather duffels, absently throwing things inside it. Nothing seemed to matter in this moment--nothing but being near Kenzie, and he felt vague panic now that she wasn’t touching him. Annette is not my mother. Who is my mother? Who the fuck am I? Oh god, baby. Oh god. But Kenzie had returned in a moment, their toothbrushes and some toiletries in her hands, and she piled them in the duffel, then added a few other things-little white lacy underwear, a mustard-colored sleeveless lace dress, her flat lacing sandals, the Tiffany moon necklace, his big black cardigan he now considered to be hers--she seemed to know Duncan wanted her things in his bag, with his, seemed to know it would comfort him, the scent of her on his clothes. She can hear me. You can hear me, baby. You know. Thank you. I love you. I’m afraid, baby. I’m scared.

As Kenzie had finished packing her things in among his, Duncan had gone out to the kitchen, remembering what he’d gotten for her, and retrieved the red Cartier boxes from the island. He’d come back to see Kenzie emerging from the closet with his duffel clutched in her hand, and she’d set it back on the floor as he handed one of the boxes to her in the quiet, fading sunlight of the bedroom, not saying anything. Kenzie had opened the box as he opened his, and her little hand had come up to clutch against her throat, her eyes clouding with tears; Duncan could already tell she’d been crying earlier (crying alone, like I was), her face puffy from the residue of them and her sleep, but it seems today is full of tears--at least these are the happy kind, I think.

“They call them love bracelets,” he’d said to her quietly. “They can only be taken off with these.” He carefully picked the little screwdriver out from the side of the inner lining of the red box that held his, and lifted it out to her, flat in his palm. Duncan’s heart ached, desperately, in this moment--I am offering only myself, aren’t I, Kenzie. All of me, but only me, my faults, my sorrows, my anger, my sense of loss, my loneliness and my confusion, my temper, my flaws. These things I offer alongside my hopes and my dreams, my love for you. But no longer the Shepherd name. That name isn’t really mine. I don’t know what my name is. I offer you the indistinct self that remains. He watched her face in the fading light; the little bob of her throat, her hands trembling. He thought, wildly--I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve your love. You’re an angel, and I’m no one.

“They’re so beautiful, Dunny. Let’s put them on each other. May I?”

He’d nodded, eyes filling with tears again, biting his lip to stop them, feeling an ache in his mind, the ache of the terribleness of this day, the ache of her acceptance, lost in his relief towards her. Kenzie had leaned up to kiss him, her eyes closed, her eyelashes casting tiny shadows on her cheeks--her mouth was terribly soft and made him moan into her with succor. Saint Mackenzie, who consoles. Her touch alone heals me--reaches down into my secret heart, and presses it to her holy mouth, her kisses sweet beyond measure.

“I love you so very much,” she had whispered, and Kenzie had set her box down on the island; lifted the gold bracelet from the box he held with one hand, the little gold screwdriver with the other, and stared at him for a moment with an expression of devotion and trust in her eyes that shook him to the core of his being. Then, she used the screwdriver to unlock the bracelet, glittering in her hands--had ever so gently linked it around his wrist, bending her head over him to lock it into place. Duncan had lifted his other hand as she did this, pressing it down the dip of her hair, feeling another wave of tears cascade from his eyes, falling freely down his cheeks, and he’d shivered, shivered with the feeling of the hand of Fate on them again. You are my Soulmate, Mackenzie Stone. You are exalted above all others in my eyes. And next to you, all others have no hold over me. Not even Annette. No one. Kenzie looked up into his eyes as the bracelet clicked closed--his face fell against hers and he kissed her again, and she had whispered “Dunny, I love you, I love you, baby, I will always love you, I’m here, oh baby, it’s okay, I love you, more than anything, I’m yours--” and he could feel himself nodding, hands coming around into her hair, lost in her comforting voice. They stood pressed together, quietly, Kenzie’s voice drifting into silence, his mouth pressing up against her forehead, her fingers running along the gold bracelet around his wrist, now tethered against him (I’ll never take it off, never) and Duncan could feel her pressing her golden comfort into his body, and the wrenching sorrow he had felt was melting away into a duller, smaller pain, a distant sting.

“Now, do me.” Kenzie’s fingers trailed over the gold around Duncan’s wrist for a moment, then she handed him the box that held her bracelet--the diamonds glittered in the low light of the drop chandelier over their heads as he opened it, and Duncan noticed, almost removed from himself, that his fingers were trembling too. He tried to grip the screwdriver and fumbled with it, almost dropped it--Kenzie had gripped his hand and steadied it, and he’d breathed out, ragged, lost in the feeling of her hand. Then he’d felt her pressing into his mind again, felt her golden comfort, and his heart was relieved, the burden lifted away from it so he could see her clearly, see how trusting she was to him in this moment, see how luminously beautiful she was in the halo of this promise, the glow of the love that drifted between them. He grasped her little wrist, sliding the unlocked bracelet onto it, and his head dipped down to press his lips against her hand. My Kenzie, more beautiful than a starry sky. My moonlight, healing every corner of me, every dark place.

His hands quieted--almost removed from them, he watched himself lock the bracelet deftly against her, hearing the tininess of the mechanism clicking into place. Then he raised his eyes to hers. He could see her lip trembling, the fall of her golden hair shimmering in the fading light. You are mine. I am yours. You are never alone as long as I am breathing in this world. And even when I’m not, my spirit cannot be parted from yours for long. You know it as I do. Beloved. Forever. Beyond time.

“Let’s go see Momby, baby.”

Now they were quiet in the backseat, Samuel having closed the partition, giving them solitude with each other. Duncan glanced down at his watch--it was just after 8, and they’d been driving for awhile, maybe 20 minutes, out of downtown and toward Madeline’s house. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he ignored it, fingers clenching around Kenzie’s, trying to concentrate on the song that played low and soft: come away with me in the night, come away with me and I will write you a song...come away with me on a bus, where they can’t tempt us with their lies...he wished he could roll down the window and throw his phone away, let it fall over the bypass Samuel was crossing, let it disappear into thin air. I don’t care about anything and I can’t talk to anyone and I don’t want to see anybody but you and Madeline, he thought, and knew she could hear, knew she was listening as she dipped her head against his chest, warm and soft and smelling of rose and vetiver. Her thumb trailed across his palm, and where they touched she seemed to be weaving sigils of gold into his skin. I can’t help it--my heart fucking aches. I want to bury my face in your hair baby my sweet baby and cry until I can’t breathe. Cry until the tears dry up and I don’t have any left, I love you just you and you only and you are my constant comfort, my only One, what would I do without you, what would I do…

You don’t have to wonder, my Prince. I’m here. You found me. You’re safe in my arms.

Duncan couldn’t look at her--he was too close to tears again. He looked down at the bracelet on her wrist instead, fingers trailing over the gold and the glimmering diamonds, then at his, its gold steady, shining. I’ll lose the key on purpose, he thought to her. I’ll never take it off. Never. Kenzie sighed against him, and he felt the golden mixture of contentment and sadness in her--the sadness was for him, empathetic and overwhelming to him. What I feel from her is so extraordinary and so staggering in its loveliness. To feel her love for me this way is beyond all my dreams. To know its truth this way is indescribable.

And I want to walk with you on a cloudy day, in fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high, so won’t you try to come, come away with me

“I won’t let anyone take mine off me but you,” she whispered up to him, and finally he felt like smiling. “Only you, baby.” His ear had dipped down to listen to her, and her little mouth pressed against his stubbled cheek. Duncan closed his eyes, pushing the image of Claire Underwood’s expression when she told him to ask his mother where he came from out of his mind--pushing away the image of his mother walking away from him as he stood near the elevator in his uncle’s huge house (but he’s not really my uncle, is he), leaving him to the coldness of his realization, forgotten. Just be here with Kenzie right now. Forget everything else. Duncan lost himself in the drift of her scent, her softness, the golden touch of her mind--he didn’t realize the BMW had stopped, pulled up in front of a lovely brick Cape Cod-style house, warm with light from within spilling onto hydrangea bushes under the windows.

“Here we are, baby, come on,” and Kenzie was pulling him softly out of the backseat. He stood on the sidewalk, feeling dizzy; Kenzie was gripping the duffel in her hands, and he shook his head, taking it from her. She smiled at him; a smile tinged with worry. She leaned down to speak to Samuel, but Duncan felt like he was underwater, like he couldn’t hear--he gazed at Madeline’s house, still feeling dazed, as Samuel drove away and Kenzie gripped his hand again.

“Come on, baby, come on,” and she was pulling him to Madeline’s wooden front door, rapping on it insistently before digging in her satchel for her keys. Duncan turned to look out at the fading light--the sun still hadn’t quite set, and the world seemed to be bathed in a deceptively lovely glow, the quietness of the surrounding houses serene. He felt untethered from reality for a moment; he freed a hand from the duffel’s strap to twist his fingers around Kenzie’s hair, against her back. Touching her brought immediate relief; brought him back to solid ground. Kenzie was still fumbling for her keys when the door came open--Madeline stood there, her clean linen and dark wine scent wafting out toward where he and her daughter stood on her stoop. Her glasses had dark purple frames today, and she wore a black camisole top with a black cardigan pushed up around her elbows, a long silvery necklace with a jade stone dangling down her torso, her feet bare below baggy, worn denim jeans folded up at her ankles. She pursed her lips at them, not unkindly--then she shifted her gaze intently onto him, lifted her hands to him from her scant height (she seems even smaller than Kenzie somehow, though I think they’re about the same height--like mother, like daughter, ridiculously tiny) and gestured to him, dipping her fingers out and then back towards her body.

“Come here, Duncan. Come here.”

Duncan’s eyes went misty again--Kenzie was taking the duffel back from him and he was stepping into Madeline Stone’s deeply, instantly comforting embrace, stepping into the cool cocoon of her house, out of the balmy summer evening. He had to hunch to reach her--Madeline lifted up to him, and the feeling of her was instantly soothing. Like mother, like daughter.

“Now, now.” Her voice was against his hair. “My future son-in-law. What in the world. You look like you saw your own ghost.”

Duncan fought the urge to shudder against her. How wonderful, Kenzie, to have Madeline hugs all your life. He could smell warm kitchen smells wafting towards where they stood--spices and the savoriness of chicken, pepper, garlic--Kenzie food, he realized, and his stomach rumbled, and he realized he was starving.

Madeline pulled away from him when he didn’t speak, looking up into his face again, pursing her lips, concern flitting behind her glasses. Kenzie stood on the stoop behind him, and he saw Madeline glance into her daughter’s eyes, knew she saw the worry there.

“I’m going to make you a very strong long island iced tea,” Madeline said, matter-of-factly. “And then we’re all going to sit on the deck and eat dinner. And you’re going to tell me everything. Kenzie, take that into the bedroom, okay? Show Duncan.”

Madeline stepped away from them, past a staircase near the entrance, through a living room with an oak-framed fireplace (Duncan could see the glint of Madeline’s Pulitzer on the wall), into another room he assumed must be the kitchen, where the wonderful smells were coming from. Kenzie moved past him, setting the bag down again to unbuckle her sandals and leave them on a mat by the door. Duncan leaned down to slide off his Wyatt boots, mimicking her. He stood there in Madeline’s front doorway, still feeling dazed. “Come on, baby, this way,” Kenzie said, pushing him toward the stairs, closing the door. She gripped his hand and he felt the gold bracelets on their wrists clink against each other, comfortingly--Duncan grabbed the duffel as she led him up the steps, past the first doorway (a bathroom), to one in the middle of a hall, this door shut.

Kenzie pushed it open--the interior was a sensibly furnished guest room. On the walls were several prints of Klimt paintings; Duncan was struck by them instantly, amazed that they were all from Klimt’s well-known “golden” period, including Pallas Athene (women in gold, high on Olympus, he thought again, these Stone women), reminding him of his own Athena in the penthouse living room, her head bent, her expression all-knowing. He noticed one was The Kiss; it was right over the headboard of the bed. The duvet was velvety burgundy, and a plush Kermit the Frog toy was nestled between the pillows.

“This room used to be mine after we moved here when I was in middle school, but Momby made it into a spare room when I left for Georgetown. This Kermie is mine,” Kenzie said, throwing the duffel onto the bed and grabbing onto the toy with both hands . “My Abadaba got him for me when I was a baby. My grandma, I mean. She passed away two years ago.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Duncan watched her in the dim light--there was a part of him that knew that though the memory of her grandmother was sad for her, Kenzie was talking mostly to distract him, and he felt a wave of aching affection for her.

“She was wonderful. She was a lot more structured than Momby in some ways. She was a singer--she used to sing this funny song in nightclubs called Abadaba Honeymoon, it was about monkeys singing in trees. So I called her Abadaba. I always did. She would have loved you.”

Kenzie came up to him with the Kermit still clutched in her arms, and Duncan had a vision of her as a little girl, dragging one of the toy’s arms through the mud, having tea parties with it, falling asleep with it clutched against her at night. He could see one of Kermit’s eyes was beginning to unravel from its socket, and its legs and arms were fraying. Kenzie went up on her tip-toes and kissed him--Duncan brought his hands around her cheeks, holding her against him for a moment, loving the feeling of her little dress pressed to him, drifting on the edge of laughter, the pleasant energy in her mother’s house, and more tears, still feeling lost inside his emotions.

Kenzie leaned the Kermit doll’s face up to Duncan for a moment and pressed it on his cheek, pursing her lips and making a kissing sound. “There. All better. Momby used to do that when I was sad. There. All better. Worry to the wind, she would say. My Abadaba used to say that, too.” She turned to a wicker chair in the corner, a woven checkered blanket draped over it, and put the Kermit doll there carefully. Duncan felt unable to speak, unable to think, unable to do anything but stand and watch her. I wish I could forget myself entirely and just get lost in her. Just dissolve into her and become a part of her. I love everything about her. Her hands and her lips and her cheeks, her hair, her wonderful eyes with her beautiful soul whirling inside them, the little laughs she lets out and her little teeth, her bare feet, her curvy hips under my hands. How thoughtful she is, how kind, how sensitive, her memories, her dreams. She’s an angel and I don’t deserve her.

Kenzie was looking at him, her eyes clouded again. He dipped his head away from her.

“You do, though, baby,” and her voice shivered. She’d heard him. “You are the person I love most in the world. In all of the Milky Way. In all of the universe. You do deserve me. You’re my beloved. You are exalted in my eyes.”

The last part came out of her with strange conviction; where have we heard that before? He wondered again. When was the first time I heard you say that to me? It’s so odd. I don’t remember, and yet I feel like I’ve never not heard it from you. As though you’ve said it to me a thousand times.

Kenzie broke the spell, reaching for him, pulling him out the door, back down the stairs. She led him through the living room he’d glimpsed by the front door, and his eyes fell on a photo on the wall--Kenzie smiling and walking down a ramp in her graduation gown and cap, her hands lifting up in triumph. I want more pictures of her at home, he thought. One in every room. I need one on my desk. He remembered the photograph of him and Annette that had sparked the realization in him after Claire Underwood’s question, and felt bitterness seep into the back of his throat, his psyche threatening to delve down into melancholy again, but then Kenzie was pulling him into Madeline’s bright, warm kitchen, and he could see Madeline’s back retreating through a screen door in the far corner, onto a deck with a view of the hills behind the house. There were a few bowls on the small table in the corner, and Kenzie let go of his hand to grip one--it had mashed sweet potatoes in it. There was a tray of the promised long island iced teas--three of them, in fact, in huge tumblers, shivering with round ice cubes. Duncan gripped it and followed Kenzie out onto the deck. The sun had finally faded past the horizon and Madeline had put The Carpenters on low, Karen emanating from a little stereo on the edge of the wooden railing that surrounded the deck. And when the evening comes, we smile, so much of life ahead, we’ll find a place where there’s room to grow, and yes, we’ve just begun…

Madeline had made them baked chicken with mushrooms--a dinner Kenzie was obviously trying to contain her excitement over--and she’d already begun delving it out onto thick paper plates at a glass deck table. Duncan pulled one of the metal-framed deck chairs out for Kenzie as she set the sweet potatoes down. “Thanks, baby,” she murmured, dipping up to kiss him. He noticed Madeline’s eyes skirt over them, glancing at her shyly, self-consciously, as Kenzie broke away from him and sat as he pushed her chair in.

“I’m not much for the internet, but even I’ve heard about how crazy everyone is online about you two lately,” Madeline said, passing one of the plates to Duncan, who nodded at her gratefully. She dished out their tall drinks next, holding hers aloft so they could toast each other. “I think I’m gonna start selling Kenzie’s autographs for extra cash.”

“Momby,” Kenzie whined, taking a sip of her drink. She coughed a little. “Dammit, Momby, how much vodka is in this?”

“It’s mostly vodka,” Madeline replied, spooning sweet potatoes onto her plates and pushing the bowl towards her daughter. Duncan took a long drink from his tumbler. “Cheers to that,” he murmured. Fine by me. Thanks Madeline.

“So,” and Madeline collapsed into her chair. There were fireflies out in the yard, Duncan could see them winking in the dim fairy lights that lined Madeline’s wooden deck. Kenzie was already digging into her chicken enthusiastically with a fork, staring between the food and Duncan’s face, as if sheepish to be so into her dinner when his day had been so difficult. He glanced at her, smiling, baby, I’m okay, then picked up his fork as well, but not before taking another long gulp of the mostly-vodka-with-a-little-iced-tea drink Madeline had made for him. The chicken was delicious--savory and spicy, and it warmed him to the center of his being, calming his nerves again, dispersing the dizziness in his mind.

“Madeline, this is excellent,” he said, looking up at her.

“Of course it fucking is, baby,” she replied, popping the straw in her drink into her mouth. He laughed a little at that, nodding. Madeline fucking Stone. One of a kind.

“One of you is gonna tell me what happened today, after you’ve had something to eat.” Madeline forked sweet potatoes into her mouth after this statement, with finality. “At least you don’t look white as a fucking sheet anymore, Duncan, sweetpea.”

“What are you going to wear to the Gala tomorrow, Momby?” Kenzie asked, her tawny hair falling over her shoulder, popping mushrooms into her mouth.

“Nobody is gonna give a shit what I’m wearing, dearest daughter of mine,” Madeline replied, her eyes still on Duncan. He could feel the discerning, minute intelligence in her gaze. What did Annette do this time, she seemed to be wondering. “I have some old Calvin Klein stuff, maybe one of those.”

“Momby, there’s a theme, you have to dress according to the theme.”

“I can just slap a gold scarf on or something, honey, everyone’s going to be looking at you two anyway.”

Kenzie blushed and fell silent. She knows Madeline’s right. Karen was singing a different song now, her clear voice ringing out into the warm night. And the only explanation I can find, is the love that I’ve found, ever since you’ve been around...your love’s put me at the top of the world…

Duncan had devoured most of his chicken now, sitting back in the metal chair. He realized he was utterly exhausted--the anguish of this day had pressed on him like an anvil at his back, and the mere idea of the Gala tomorrow sent sharp spikes of anxiety into his mind. I don’t fucking want to see Annette. Not at all. I don’t think I can talk to her right now. I don’t think I can talk to her for awhile. I don’t...I need time. He caught Madeline’s eye again, took another long gulp of the vodka, and then he spoke.

“I went to see Claire Underwood today. I had a meeting with the President--an unsanctioned one. She had agreed to speak with me, and I thought...I thought I could build some kind of bridge between her and Shepherd Unlimited. Madeline--you know. You know I want to change the company. But I didn’t have a chance to be clear with Claire about that before she told me something. Something that she knew would hurt me...something to get at Annette.”

“She told you that you were adopted.”

Duncan gazed at Madeline in shock. “You knew that?”

“No, honey. No, I didn’t know. I suspected it, though. One day Annette’s wandering around in the world, not looking remotely pregnant, and the next day there you are, as if you sprang fully-formed from her head, like Athena popping out of Zeus. I had my suspicions for awhile, yes, but it’s not like Annette and I were on speaking terms, dear. It was just a hunch.”

Duncan was quiet at that--his mind ached again. Fuck, Duncan. Don’t jump down people’s throats. The only person who is at fault for not telling you is Annette. She’s your mother--at least, that’s what she always told you. It was her responsibility alone.

“I’m sorry, Madeline.”

Kenzie reached for his hand, and Duncan grasped it, gratefully, his breath coming out in a ragged gasp again. He drank at the vodka, drank it down to the bottom. Madeline stood up, holding a finger up. Hang on. She gripped his empty glass and disappeared into the kitchen. Kenzie leaned her head down to him, speaking softly.

“Baby, are you okay? Do you not wanna talk about it anymore?”

“No, Kenzie. It’s okay. I do want to talk about it. It’s--I think it’s the only thing that’s going to make me actually feel better.”

Kenzie nodded to him, eyes falling back onto her plate. Kenzie, I love you. I love how you’re always thinking about how I feel. I love you. If I didn’t have you right now, I don’t know what the fuck I would do. Thank you for this. This is helping so much. I feel so much better already. I really do. Her eyes came back up into his as she heard him, and she smiled, biting her lip a little, kindling his desire, despite his melancholy. My little moonbeam. He squeezed her hand as Madeline came back onto the deck with a fresh drink for him.

“This one is vodka with a dash of seltzer. And I put a lemon in there for you.” She held another in her other hand, even though her first was only half-drunk. Duncan grinned at her as she fell back into her seat. The vodka was starting to settle into him and the events of today were starting to seem far away, dull, the bitterness melting.

“Duncan, I don’t know if this is going to actually comfort you, but Annette does love you.”

“If she loves me so much why didn’t she fucking tell me? I’m 30 years old. She had time.”

“If you want me to explain Annette Shepherd’s psyche, sweetpea, I’m afraid there’s no chance I can help you with that. No one the world over has ever been able to crack that rock-hard outward shell of hers. She’s horribly stubborn. She’s cold as a witch’s tit in Dante’s ninth circle of Hell. She can be a real cunt. But she loves you. Maybe in her eyes, keeping it from you was akin to love. Maybe she thought you’d be happier not knowing.”

“I might have been.” The vodka crashed against him. He moved in his seat, leaning closer to Kenzie, and she reached her little hand out under the table, settling it onto his thigh. He sighed at the feeling of her; gold waves. I love you, Dunny, she was thinking. I can’t wait to hold you close, whisper sweetness into your ear, feel you against me in the dark. I’ll soothe you, my beloved. I’ll soothe you so entirely. You know how I can soothe you.

“So, then, if you can’t necessarily empathize with her reasoning, you can at least understand it.”

“I…” Duncan dipped his hand under his chin, ran his fingers along his bottom lip, trying to dampen Kenzie’s thrall on his mind, enough to concentrate on what Madeline was saying. It wasn’t easy--Kenzie’s wave was like a heady drug he longed to get lost inside of. “I suppose so.”

Madeline seemed to notice the energy that was building between the two of them, even if there was no possibility of her knowing the true intensity of it. Her eyes were skirting over her glasses between Kenzie’s bright eyes focused on him and his nervous expression between the two of them. Yes, it’s true, Madeline, your daughter and I can read each other’s thoughts and anticipate each other’s needs, he imagined saying to her. Get a fucking load of that. A lot has happened in the past two weeks, a lot more than I could ever find words for. I guess I should be considering the big picture, honestly. Finding out I’m adopted is on the lower end of unbelievable things that have happened to me lately.

But no. I’m fucking devastated.

“I’m not a Shepherd, Madeline.”

“You should thank your lucky stars for that, sweetpea. The genes there are all fucked up. Generations of inbreeding in aristocratic families.” Madeline said all of this so drily Duncan couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

“Momby.” Kenzie rolled her eyes at her mother, clenched her teeth.

“I’m serious, though. You don’t want to be a Shepherd, Duncan. Not really. You want the best of what being a Shepherd could potentially be. The resources of the Shepherd name. And they are as good as guaranteed to be yours already. Imagine what you can do with that company, sweetpea. Imagine. Imagine how many people you can help. Imagine the joy you can spread. You don’t need to be a Shepherd by blood. You just need to be a Shepherd on paper. And you are.”

“That reminds me. I need to ask you for something. A very large favor.”

“Sweetie,” Madeline downed the rest of her first drink and pulled her second toward her. “With that face I’d probably sign my house over to you if you asked me really nicely.”

“I’d like to officially ask you to be on the Shepherd Unlimited board of directors. I asked Kenzie already--” he glanced at her, and Kenzie smiled at him, then looked at her mother.

“I said yes, Momby. I think I’m going to need to resign from the Post eventually to do it. But I want to do it. And I want you to do it with us. And so does Duncan.”

“Resign?”

“I think so, Momby. I think--I think it’s time for me to write my book. And I feel like this is the right thing to do. We need your help.”

Madeline sighed deeply. It was not an angry sigh; it wasn’t even annoyed. It was as though she was closing one door, and when the sigh ended, opening another one. It was as though she was letting go of her need to worry over Kenzie--letting go of her apprehension, and falling into the realization that Duncan would indeed be person who would love her daughter with complete devotion. And I fucking will, Madeline. I swear I fucking will. Every fucking day. And on the days I mess up, I’ll do whatever I can to make up for it the next day. There will never come a day when I won’t try to give Kenzie everything she has ever wanted. There is no joy for me now that doesn’t anticipate and stem from her joy.

“You got it, kids.”

“Momby! Yes! Fuck yes!” Kenzie lept out of her chair, running around to her mother, throwing her arms round Madeline’s neck, burying her face in the crook of her mother’s hair. Madeline closed her eyes, but Duncan could see her smile. She opened them as Kenzie continued to clutch her, and they looked at each other--she nodded to him a little, and Duncan felt like he understood. Hey you. You over there. I love you too. I’m doing this for you, too. He felt the drift of tears float into his cheeks again. Not right now. Later, when Kenzie’s holding you in the dark, you know that’s when you will. And she won’t mind. Your sweet Kenzie with the golden touch will hold you and let you cry. She always will.

“Let’s smoke a bowl.”

Madeline disentangled herself from Kenzie’s tight embrace and her daughter (Kenz, angel baby) helped her out of the deck chair. She disappeared into the house again and Kenzie slid around to Duncan, leaning down to his cheek, her lips trailing along the line of his stubble. The revelations of the day felt very far away now, and Duncan felt hazy with tiredness, drunk on Madeline’s strong cocktails, and full of aching desire for Kenzie--Kenzie, from whom all goodness flows.

“Oh god, baby. That feels so good. Come here.” He pulled her down into his lap, anxious to be closer to her. He thought of that first night on the balcony--that sensation that they were touching before they had even truly touched, that vibrating energy between them, heavy and intensely charged. To touch you, my love, to really touch you, to be able to touch you always, I can’t describe how beautiful that is. I am more than blessed. To be chosen by you is beyond all beauty I’ve ever experienced.

“Do you feel better, baby,” Kenzie whispered against his lips, and he dipped them up to her mouth, insistent, nodding, the scent of roses and geraniums and her sweet skin in his nose.

“Uh huh. Much better. Kiss me, angel, please baby, please.” Kenzie sat with both her legs dipped over his thigh, stretching her arms out around his neck (Duncan felt the cool edge of the gold bracelet on his skin there, glanced down at his own now against her waist, his heart twinging), her eyes teasing him (dark green, shining gold), then she was tasting him deeply, her hair falling down against his cheeks, and Duncan suddenly wanted her alone, wanted the comfort of her body pressed against his, naked and so soft and so light under his fingers, arching into his touch. Fuck. I missed you so much today, angel. When I realized--when I knew Annette wasn’t my real mother--all I wanted was to feel you in my arms. Because you are my true family. My only beloved. And nothing else matters as long as you’re beside me.

I always will be, Duncan. You and me, baby.

Madeline was coming back and Kenzie broke away from him, her cheeks flushed, both of them breathing harshly. Madeline gazed over at them lazily, a pink and purple blown-glass smoking bowl gripped between two fingers, a BIC lighter in the other.

“Don’t let me break up the mood, Kenzie Lou,” she murmured facetiously. Kenzie blushed up at her mother, taking the bowl as Madeline handed it down to her. She leaned the mouthpiece toward Duncan’s lips and he pressed them into it, breathing in as she lit the bowl. She pulled it away as he breathed out, breathing in herself from the still-lit embers, then leaned down to kiss him again, blowing out into his mouth as she did. There. Fuck the world, baby. Just me and you. Then, Kenzie handed the bowl back to her mother, who’d already sat back down. Madeline lit it again and breathed deeply.

“Thank you for dinner, Madeline,” Duncan said, his mind an ocean shoreline now, the tide drifting in and out. He pulled on Kenzie’s waist, clutching her closer to him, and she dipped her face down into his neck, her arms still around his shoulders. On the day that you were born the angels got together, Karen sang, and decided to create a dream come true...Kenzie was singing along softly into his ear, and Duncan shivered, pressing down against her lips. “So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold,” that’s you he thought, hand drifting at her spine, “and starlight in your eyes of blue--”

And that’s you, baby, he felt her push into him, against his thought to her. That’s your eyes.

“You just owe me another night out on the town, sweetpea.” Madeline puffed at the bowl again, gazing up at where the moon had risen--it was gigantic and glowing, corn-yellow in the balmy night. “You can make it my first official work expense as your employee.”

“The first of many,” Duncan replied, “yes, ma’am.”

They all lingered there for awhile, not speaking, listening to the peepers and watching the fireflies drift out on the grass. Duncan closed his eyes, vodka and weed crashing between his temples, Kenzie’s softness in the little dress with golden flowers in his arms, her fingers twining through his hair at the back of his head. Eventually, Madeline set the bowl down and drained the rest of her cocktail, standing, wobbling a little. Kenzie went to move off his lap to help her, but Madeline shook her head.

“Nope. I’m good, sweetpea. I’m going to bed. You two are gonna do the dishes for me. But you can take your time.” Madeline came over to them and leaned down to Kenzie’s face, kissing her cheek--Kenzie kissed her in return. “Love to you the moon and back, Momby.”

“Love you to the moon and back, my Kenzie Lou.”

Then, Madeline stepped away from her and leaned down to Duncan, pressing her lips to the stubble on his face. Duncan felt his eyes flutter closed. His heart clenched, his breath catching. In that moment, he thought, Madeline loves me as a mother loves a child. And I love her as a son loves a mother. And I’m not alone. I have them, don’t I. I have my darling Kenzie, an angel on earth, and her bold, bright mother, who sees me as a son already, and I am very fortunate indeed. I am blessed among all men.

Madeline’s warm hand drifted down to his cheek for a moment, then dipped under his chin, thumb and forefinger pressing there, angling him toward her gently, and his eyes lifted up to hers. He could feel Kenzie looking between them from where her face rested in the dip of his collarbone.

“Duncan, sweetpea. Never forget how much you are loved. We love you. Okay?”

Duncan felt the tears gather immediately at the corner of his vision. For a moment he couldn’t speak--his breath shook. Kenzie’s fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Okay.”

Then Madeline gave him a little nod. “Good night, my moon babies,” she called over her shoulder, turning away from them, and disappeared inside, sliding the deck door shut behind her.

Kenzie lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “Dunny.”

“Yes, Kenzie Lou?”

“I love you.”

“As I love you.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll be together all day. We’ll have breakfast together and we’ll go see Morgan and Claire together, we’ll get dressed for the Gala together. Nobody can bother us, because we’ll be together. I won’t let them bother you. Anyone you don’t want to talk to, we’ll ignore them. Annette or your uncle. Anybody. Everyone. I’ll tell them to fuck off. I’ll throw a fuckinggg drink on them.” Kenzie slurred her words just a little--the weed was beginning to settle down into her, and the gold of her that fell against him in a tide felt more erratic, drawn-out, high. Duncan smiled against her. That’s right baby. You and me. Fuck them.

“I won’t fucking let anyone bother you either, baby. I can’t wait to see your dress, I’m fucking dying to see it. I’ll be thinking of you the whole time, I’ll just be thinking of later, thinking of you touching me, finally releasing me--” and at this he dipped his mouth down to the space under her ear and she was pressing her little breasts into his shirt, her hands flitting against his neck, her breath gasping as her mouth lifted up toward the moon, and he thought when you’ll finally slide that ring off my cock, hovering on the edge of hardness for hours and hours for you, when I’ll slide that plug out of your tight little ass and fuck you there, fuck you where you’ve been aching for me, I’ll be thinking of you the whole time, Kenzie, thinking of us alone together, the only thing I ever really want now, you you you your body and your mouth and your eyes and you and me alone alone alone just us no one else nobody but us my dearest love your gold like honey like nectar like sweet wine better than any weed greater than any drug the headiest of all pleasure and second to no one and nothing only you angel princess baby goddess, my moonlight, my moon flower--

Kenzie was giggling into his touch now, his mouth blowing cool tickling air onto her skin teasingly and his fingers dipping into her sides and pressing into her. You’re ticklish too, huh baby, and she wailed “yes, yes, stop, I surrender!” and he gripped her as she writhed, her screeches of laughter echoing out across the back lawn, tears in his eyes even as he grinned into her hair, happiness and sadness and some other emotion he couldn’t name crashing against each other in his mind, crashing into hers, maybe it’s more than happiness, more than sorrow, maybe it’s just the feeling of us together, the rightness of it, more than anything I feel, it’s the knowledge of our destiny, the knowledge of the perfection of this moment, when I thought perfect moments couldn’t exist, and now I know I was wrong, that they can, that they do, that this is one--nestled in a day so strange, so full of anguish--one moment, fit against us, molded to us. Perfect. There are perfect things in this universe. This moment, and the knowledge of us together. These things are perfect.

Duncan let Kenzie wriggle out of his lap, knowing full well that if he wanted to trap her there he could, keeping the strength in his arms coiled, not letting the neediness in his stoned, drunk mind take over his senses. She hopped away, breathless, gathering up their empty plates and the bowl of leftover sweet potatoes, cocking her head toward the screen door to the deck, which Madeline had disappeared into awhile ago. “Help me, baby,” and Duncan stood, stacking the empty glasses on the tray, gripping the serving platter with the remainder of the chicken. He followed Kenzie inside and she set the items on the counter, going back out onto the deck, turning off the little stereo, and the only sound now was the peepers and the cat clock in the corner towards the living room, and the sound of Kenzie shutting the deck’s sliding door, the sound of her bare feet on the kitchen’s linoleum. She went to the sink and pulled down a few tupperware containers in a cupboard beside it, scooping the sweet potatoes into one while Duncan slid the remaining chicken into the other.

I love this, he thought. Doing this with you. Doing anything with you. I wish we could do things like this more. When we have the garden house, we will. We’ll get away from the city, the company, my mother, the paps. We’ll make breakfast with eggs laid by our own chickens. We’ll eat fresh tomatos and cucumbers and lettuce from our own garden. We’ll take the horses out into the field, the woods, lay in the grass and eat apples under our orchard trees. We’ll fuck in the shade and lay there together naked and no one will see us, no one will bother us, no one.

That’s lovely, baby, she drifted against him, her little head brushing against his shoulder, filling the sink with hot soapy water, handing him a dry towel. Keep thinking those beautiful things and dry the dishes as I hand them to you, okay?

Uh huh, Kenzie. Anything you want me to do. And I mean every day. Always. The Cartier bracelet glittered on her wrist as she dipped the bowls and silverware into the sink, scrubbing at them with a scouring brush Madeline had crooked around the faucet, her eyes glancing up at him as she handed them off to him, dark green like the forest of you, the woods of you, the infinite of you. Princess Kenzie, fairest in all the land, fairest of them all. I’ll build you a castle where only beautiful things are, a castle of green growing things, a castle for your heart to find refuge in the certainty of my love, where we can hold each other, hidden by the boughs of the trees and surrounded by flowers, flowers to cover the wall over our bed in the city, and flowers for every sill in our home, flowers for you hair, flowers we’ll fall into as I kiss you--

“Oh baby, yes, I love that, god, that’s lovely--” she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper, and she dropped the brush and the bowl she held back into the soapy water and her wet, soapy little hands came up to his cheeks and pulled him down to crush his mouth into hers, and he dropped the towel onto the counter and lifted her into his arms, lifted her onto the counter too, the better to reach her, touch her, hold her, press against her, her smell like roses, her taste spicy and sweet and her, her taste, like flowers dipped in honey. Duncan felt the memory of today’s sorrow once more, knew there were things he now knew about himself that he couldn’t forget again, things he didn’t know about himself that he knew he needed to know, not just about his mother--whoever she was--but about him, about Kenzie, about how he knew they knew each other and knew they were meant to always be together, and why that was, how that had come to be, how they had found each other again. But all of that, his confusion, his despondency, his desire to know, was dissolving against her, and he felt the perfection he’d felt on the deck extending, stretching on into her mouth, perfect, baby, you’re perfect to me, you’re like a secret place I discover again and again, the secret safe place where my heart will always be able to rest and kindle its greatest emotions and that is beyond all words, all language, all description.

“Duncan, let’s wait until tomorrow,” Kenzie whispered, hands falling down to the sides of his neck, coaxing a moan from his throat, his hands gripping her knees, sliding up her bare thighs under the little dress, her warm, trembling skin sending an electric current through him, almost painful. “Let’s wait to fuck until tomorrow night, and we’ll be so fucking crazy for each other by then, we’ll be so needy for each other by then, baby, Dunny, god, I’m dying just thinking about waiting already, dying to feel your big cock fucking me--”

“Fuck, Kenzie, I don’t know if I can wait that long, baby, I want you now--”

“You have to. You have to wait. You have to do as I say, Duncan. You have to obey me.” She was giving him a hellishly lovely smile, one that set him absolutely on fire in this moment, her eyes whirling jade with flecks of gold, her hair in a cascade of silk over her shoulder--Fuck, Mackenzie Stone, you’ll be the death of me. Fucking marry me. Fuck me and choke me and tell me I belong to you. Because I do, I really do, I fucking do baby, I’m yours utterly, entirely. He leaned into her mouth longingly again as she kissed him, her arms drifting up his dark sleeves, her fingers brushing against his chin, holding him on her lips. Then she pushed him back--gently, but Dunan knew he needed to obey, needed to follow her, and he stepped backwards, eyes fluttering closed. He realized how tired he was in that moment, how the day’s revelations and the vodka and the weed and his desire for her were now combining to insist he hold her tightly and fall asleep now, sleep until today became nothing more than a memory. Kenzie slid back down to the floor, off the counter, and crooked a finger at him.

“Help me finish, baby. Then we’re gonna go to bed.”

“Uh huh, Kenzie.” He rubbed the fatigue from his eyes and yawned. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. The Gala is tomorrow. The full moon is tomorrow. I’ll long for you tomorrow, all day long, tomorrow.

Kenzie led him up the stairs after they finished the last few dishes, and they brushed their teeth quietly side by side in the little bathroom that used to be Kenzie’s when she was in high school, Duncan in a black tee shirt and gym shorts, Kenzie in his big Led Zeppelin tee that was now an integral part of her sleepwear. Duncan noticed a photo of her and Claire still there, in a bubblegum-pink frame over the toilet. Kenzie smiled at it, glancing up at him as she rinsed her toothbrush. In the photo they both wore Baskin-Robbins hats and aprons, Kenzie kissing Claire’s cheek, Claire with an expression of mock surprise, hand on Kenzie’s jaw. “Yes, I was an ice cream girl for two years,” Kenzie said to him, and Duncan let his hand drift into her hair, grinning as he scrutinized the photo.

“The prettiest ice cream girl in the world.”

“Ugh, shut up, Prince Duncan. I’d like to see you in that uniform. Give me twelve scoops and chocolate sauce and sprinkles, ice cream boy. I bet you never had a work a shitty job, huh.”

Duncan shook his head. “No, you’re right. I didn’t. But I did have to go to a shitty private school where I got my head smashed into a locker every other day for four years. I was bullied...a lot. Relentlessly. For awhile it was like it was my job to get the shit beat out of me. Two big guys in particular whose favorite insult for me was fag. Original, I know. Broke my wrist throwing me into a brick wall. One of them kicked me in the face so hard he knocked four of my teeth out, another time they punctured one of my ear drums with a pencil. God, that was the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”

“Baby. Fuck.” Kenzie’s face fell and suddenly she was pressing against him, her little nose in his shirt, her hands clutching around him. “I’m so sorry, baby. That’s so horrible. Ugh, no, no, no. I wish I had been there. I would have kicked their asses.” She turned her face up to him and he could see the tears glittering in her eyes. Duncan dipped his head so his lips brushed against her hair.

“My fearless Kenzie. I know you would have. I wish I could tell him--me, back then--how you were on your way. I wish he had known.”

“I’m here now, baby. I’ll always protect you now.”

I know you will, Kenzie. As I’ll always protect you. Nobody can hurt us now--now we have each other. Now we’re invincible. Our hearts are safe from them, shrouded in each other. Kenzie led him to the bed--Duncan switched the bathroom light off behind them, pulled the switch on the lamp beside the bed, glancing at The Kiss over it before he did (me and you)--and she pulled him down to her in the holy darkness. Duncan pressed his face into the sweet space above her breasts, kissing the shirt over her skin, his arms clutching her flush to him, and whispered “Kenzie, I love you,” and her cheek was pressing to the top of his head, her little thigh crooked up between his legs, and she was murmuring “I love you too baby, I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore...” and he knew she meant it, knew she would, knew that her golden waves of sunlight and moonbeam were his shield against all the harm of the wide world outside. And then, sleep, in her arms, in her embrace, in the warmth of her love...

And he forgot to cry--forgot that he had wanted to.

--------

The next morning Duncan woke to the sound of Madeline’s sharp tapping on the bedroom door. His head felt heavy; a small hangover from the vodka, softened by the weed. Kenzie was leaning from her position against him, same as the one they’d fallen asleep in, turning her head to the door, and he drifted up out of sleep, eyes opening to the crook of her neck, the sweet, musky smell of her. We were dreaming. But what was the dream about? We were together. The Mirror. The Mirror was in the dream. We were...but it was sliding away from him. Her dress was long and black, falling velvet...I don’t know. I can’t remember.

“Wake up, kiddos, I made pancakes. Chocolate chip and blueberry. And I spiked the coffee. Hair of the dog for a big day.”

Duncan heard Madeline’s laugh echo through the door and Kenzie shouted “Thank you Momby! We’ll be there in a minute!” and a sharp spike went through Duncan’s skull. He groaned against her, arms tightening to pull her mouth down to him.

“Did you dream, baby?” He tasted at her, the slight saltiness that had gathered on her in her sleep. I have to wait to fuck you until tonight, late, late tonight, fuck baby, how can I wait so long--Kenzie was wriggling out of his arms, her expression devious. You’re gonna really make me suffer today, aren’t you, angel baby. I can tell by the look in your eyes.

Yes. Show me how you worship me. Be good, baby. Be patient.

“I think so, but I can’t really remember.” Kenzie sat up, her golden hair in a frenzied, sleep-tangled halo around her head. I fucking love you so much, he thought, reaching for her, but she slipped away in that infuriating quickness, her little ass in its tiny pair of white lace panties kindling his morning erection (just the usual), the gold-and-diamond bracelet winking on her little wrist as her hand trailed off the bed. He lifted his hand up to his pounding head, his own gold bracelet brushing against his temple as he did; the tethers of the gold thread between us, mine extending to hers, tied together, for all of time. Thank you gods. Thank you Fates.

He had followed her downstairs to find that Madeline had indeed made them pancakes--a mountain of them, with organic butter and syrup and strawberries on the side, and strong black coffee spiked with what tasted like peppermint schnapps, which did its bit to clear his head and whisk away the hangover pressing into him. It was after 9--we slept for a long time, Duncan marveled. I could have slept for longer, honestly, something about this house is wildly comforting. I wish Kenzie and I could sleep through the Gala entirely, just forget it even exists. He couldn’t imagine speaking to Annette today; he knew as soon as she approached him he’d do his best to escape from her, despite the fact that the Gala was taking place at the Shepherd mansion as it always did. At least the house is so fucking huge it’s easy to lose people if you’re trying to. He looked up at Kenzie to see she was staring at him, her eyes knowing, glittering as she sipped at her coffee. I know you can hear me. I just can’t fucking do it, baby. I can’t talk to her right now.

It’s okay, Duncan. You won’t have to. We’ll avoid her. She’ll be busy anyway. She’ll be around other guests. We can hide from her. Kenzie pushed a forkful of chocolate chip pancake into her mouth, nodding to him. She’d left her phone downstairs last night and it was now resting on the table beside her--Duncan’s eyes glanced down at it, noticing it light up once, then again from two separate texts, one from Clairebear, the other from a number that wasn’t saved in her phone. His own phone was still in the pocket of the pants he’d left in a pile upstairs on the floor. Fuck my phone. I might as well throw it in the fucking garbage. If I’m with Kenzie there’s no one else in the world I want to fucking talk to anyway.

Madeline was in a fluffy dark navy bathrobe, wearing her purple-rimmed glasses, clutching her coffee cup in her hands, her eyes skirting back and forth between the two of them.

“It’s like you two are talking without actually saying anything, and it’s weirding me the fuck out.”

Duncan bit into his lip. We are, Madeline. He used the edge of his fork to cut off a piece of pancake, pushing it into his mouth. “These are great, Madeline. I can see where Kenzie gets her cooking skills.”

“Duncan is an incredible cook, don’t let him fool you, Momby. And he taught himself.”

“Well aren’t you two just so far up each other’s asses,” Madeline replied, smiling into her coffee cup. Kenzie rolled her eyes at her mother, making an exasperated sound in the back of her throat, going back to her plate, biting into a strawberry. Duncan snorted, trying to hold back his laughter. You have us down to a tee, Madeline. I am, indeed, so far up her ass. He snorted again as he saw Kenzie give him a look, sucking her bottom lip in. Oh my fucking god, Duncan. Then they couldn’t stop--Duncan pressed a hand over his mouth and Kenzie giggled, and then they were both laughing uncontrollably, and Madeline said “oh boy, I said it, didn’t I, I did that to myself,” and was laughing too. Tears were popping out of Kenzie’s eyes, her head falling back as she laughed into her hands, and Duncan thought fuck, I get to laugh with you every day now, fuck me, thank heaven.

Eventually they all quieted down and Kenzie looked down at her phone. “Claire says we should meet up around noon to make sure everything fits right. I guess you can finally see my dress then, baby. Oh my god, Momby, wait till you see, do you wanna see the photos Claire sent me? Duncan hasn’t seen it yet, we’ve been waiting to make it a surprise.”

“Fuck yes I want to see it,” Madeline said, leaning over to her daughter conspiratorially. Duncan heard her gasp and he felt twinge of jealousy. “Ugh, I wanna fucking see--” he said, trying to dip his head around to Kenzie’s phone, which she jerked back beyond his line of vision.

“Not yet baby, the first time for you has to be when I’m wearing it, please please please,” and Duncan whined.

“Fine. But stop rubbing it in, Madeline.”

“I sure will not stop rubbing it in, sweetpea. We don’t know each other that well yet so let me tell you something. I am the queen of rubbing it the fuck in. With salt. Duncan, it’s fucking exquisite, and you are going to shit yourself.”

Duncan gave Madeline a faux dark look, jabbing towards her with his fork, Psycho-style. She laughed at him.

“Baby, you’re so cute. We’re gonna change your name to Stone. I’m keeping you.”

“That would be my fucking honor, and we both know it.”

Kenzie was smiling between them, and the earnest happiness in her expression made Duncan want to press her against him, kiss her tenderly. But then she looked back down at her phone, and her face immediately creased with a frown.

“Kenz, what is it?”

“Um, it’s Annette.”

Duncan’s blood went cold, his good mood immediately crashing down to earth. “Oh. What the fuck does she want.”

“She’s asking if she can come by the penthouse. She says she wants to give me something.”

Duncan’s mind flashed with a spike of red-hot anger. “Spent all this time being horrible to you and now she’s trying to guilt-trip me by giving you gifts. Fuck her.”

“Duncan.”

“Kenzie, she didn’t tell me I was adopted for thirty fucking years.”

“I know, baby. I fucking understand why you’re angry, why you’re so hurt. But if she’s finally trying to be civil with me, it feels like an opportunity. Baby. We can help her understand what we want to do with the company. I mean--eventually. After some time. After you have some time.”

Duncan pressed two fingers into the bridge of his nose. Calm the fuck down, Duncan. Do not take your anger out on Kenzie, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare. She hasn’t done anything but be loving and sympathetic and cried her eyes out for you last night. She’s the one who is ALWAYS on your side.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He could feel Madeline’s eyes between them, intent, observant. She’s watching you too, Duncan. She’s watching how you treat her daughter, and you need to pass this fucking test, today and every day from here on out. So pass the fucking test and don’t be a fuck up. “I--I can’t see her right now. But she can drop it off for you with Anchaly. Or you can, I dunno--I can go somewhere while you talk with her.”

“I’ll go downstairs and see her for a minute. After we go see Morgan and Claire, before the Gala. I’ll just go talk to her downstairs for a minute. Is that okay?”

“Yes, Kenzie. It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, Kenzie’s phone poised in her hand. Duncan. I love you. We both know she wants to use me right now to get you back on her side. But that doesn’t matter. We can go away after the Gala, baby. Let’s do it. After the Gala, let’s just leave. Let’s go to the cabin and stay there for a few days. As long as we need to. Until you feel better. Until you feel like you can talk to her. How does that sound? Let’s just go. Everyone can fuck off after today. Just you and me, baby. Just us and the stars and the trees and the lake.

Duncan was nodding at her, and he could feel Madeline’s puzzlement again at their silence, their intent stares at each other, his nodding.

“Seriously, you two are spooking me. What the fuck.”

“It’s just how we comfort each other, Momby. It’s just--it’s like meditation.”

“Not like any meditation I’ve ever fucking seen. It’s like you’re talking to each other but your mouths aren’t moving. Like fucking telepathy. You two are...it’s just...it’s very strange.”

Duncan didn’t say anything, finishing off his pancakes, bringing his coffee cup (it had a full-frontal faun with a comically large erection playing panpipes on it--nice, Madeline) to his lips. Madeline sighed at them, then seemed resigned to them not elaborating further. “What time are you picking me up with that fucking fantastic man?”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to Samuel Adebayo, my irreplaceable chauffeur.”

“That’s what I said. That fucking fantastic man.”

“The Gala starts at 8. We should be fashionably late. So we’ll pick you up at 8 sharp, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, sweetpea. Plenty of time for me to get high as a kite beforehand.”

Kenzie was rolling her eyes again, but Duncan couldn’t help but agree with Madeline internally. I don’t think I can make it through tonight sober. Between avoiding my mother and edging in a crowd of famous politicians and celebrities, it’s going to be an interesting fucking night. He felt Kenzie’s eyes on him again.

Wait until you see my dress, baby. Wait till you see your angel. He felt gold swirling around her thoughts--the gold of the gods, she thought to him. My sweet black-clad god of riches, you will behold your Persephone. Your fucking queen. And I’ll be wearing my plug for you all night too, just fucking aching for you...

Kenzie. Fuck. You’re killing me.

Thankfully Madeline had turned away from them this time to make more coffee. Kenzie stood, having finished her breakfast too, and crooked a finger at him, grinning with her little teeth. Come on. Let’s take a shower together in my shitty adolescent bathroom, baby. I’m going to make you needy for me today. You don’t get to fuck me till later, but you can look and touch, baby.

“Momby, we’re gonna go get dressed. Thank you for the pancakes.” Kenzie stepped over to her mother, kissing her cheek, then hopped over to Duncan and pulled him toward the stairs, her eyes that dark jade green, making his stomach swirl with low heat. He watched her ass bounce up the stairs ahead of him and he closed his eyes as he went after her. Fuuuuck. How the fuck am I going to make it until tonight.

Kenzie was pulling him through the guest room (The Kiss, Pallas Athene, gold waves, hey Kermit) and into the little bathroom, closing the door with a snap behind them, turning the little lock, her hair falling. The shower curtain was celestial suns and moons--Duncan assumed it must have been the same one since before Kenzie went to college--and Kenzie pushed it back, turning her back to him, clutching the hem of her tee shirt and pulling it off, yanking her panties off with one hand, letting them fall as Duncan’s eyes roved over her bare ass. Ugh, I love it. I love your body, baby, love your shoulders and your hair, the dip of your waist, your hips and the round peach of your ass, the backs of your thighs and your short little legs--he reached out before she could wriggle away and his hands fell down to the jut of her hipbones, burying his nose in the back of her hair.

“Princess,” he whispered against her. “My beautiful fucking baby.”

Kenzie leaned back into him--Duncan felt the jerk of his cock growing hard as she rubbed her ass up against his crotch through the soft fabric of the gym shorts he still wore. How how how can I wait until tonight, baby, how can I. His hand was coming down her abdomen to hover above her sex, but Kenzie grabbed his fingers and yanked them away, insistently.

“No, baby. Be good. Get in the shower with me.” You smell like flowers, baby. You’re my little fucking flower. Let me suck on your exquisite petals, Persephone. Let me take you into my mouth.

She stepped into the tub and turned the knob, yelping a little as cold water came out against her breasts and stomach. “Ugh, I forget now that not every shower is hot immediately like yours, baby,” she murmured, and Duncan was hurriedly throwing his clothes off, stepping in beside her. Not every shower’s as big as mine either, huh, Kenz, he thought to her, his body immediately pressing against hers as he gripped her at the hips and turned her into him in the small basin, the shower head now falling against the back of her hair. His hardening erection was pressing to her stomach now. Duncan hesitated for a moment, looking down into her face turned up to him. Then, he kneeled in front of her, the bottoms of his feet pressed against the edge of the small tub, hands still holding her hips in a careful but insistent clutch.

“Can I please make you come, Princess Kenzie?”

Her eyes were backlit with that ethereal green in the artificial light of the little bathroom--the sun was facing away from the house this time of day, and only the yellow light of the bulbs over the bathroom mirror permeated the shade of their nook. The water was finally hot now, and steam began to rise around her, like some cascading spell coiling up from her, the water soaking through her blonde-dark hair, sliding in rivulets down her thighs, his mouth hovering just over the lips of her sex now. Duncan kept his eyes on her face, fingers tightening down onto the backs of her thighs, under the dip of her ass cheeks. Please say yes, I beg of you, angel. Please let me. I want the sweet scent of your clit to hover around my lips and mouth and nose all day. I want it to linger in my senses the whole time at the Gala. I want my thoughts to be intoxicated with the memory of your cunt, the desperate hope that I can worship it with my sex as I did with my mouth. I beg you to let me worship you.

Kenzie’s silence stretched, and he felt as though she had closed her mind off to him for a moment, closed herself and delved down into a secret Pandora’s box, and he ached to feel her again, a tiny whimper escaping him, his desperation rising up. Then, Kenzie’s gold surged back into him and he felt his cock jump between his legs with the force of it, felt the groan that erupted from his lips as the stare between them extended, the hot water falling against his cheeks from where he knelt before her, beholden.

Kenzie’s slender hands clutched into the back of his head, down into the wetness of his curls, and still not speaking, only staring into him, her expression obtuse and unreadable, Kenzie brought her leg up over his shoulder, crooking her knee there, lifting her thigh open, and she forcefully, harshly, demandingly brought his face, the open supplication of his mouth, flush between the wet lips of her sex. Duncan immediately clutched her against him with all his strength, easily holding her steady, the gold bracelet on his wrist pressing against her ass, and he kept his eyes open, lifted up to her face, her chin falling back and her mouth falling open as the water rushed through her hair. I will never forget the way she looks in this moment, either, in this tiny little shower. Her face is like the face of god to me. Yes, angel, yes. This is all for you. She was sighing deeply, her sighs like long, drawn cries, and he could feel the minute shuddering in the muscles of her legs and the core of her body, and he longed to be devoured by her desires in that moment, longed to be consumed by her needs. I’m your baby, Kenzie, I belong to you, the only thing I want is to make you feel so fucking good, the only thing I want is to be yours, and to make you come, come, come--

Duncan moved his head down, flicked his tongue out, pressing it along the quivering sensitivity of the dip of skin between Kenzie’s ass and the opening of her cunt, along the cavity there and the lips of her labia, then back up into her clit, and Kenzie was crying out softly, quietly, “fuck, baby, don’t fucking do that, I can’t be quiet if you do that, I don’t want Momby to hear us--” and Duncan smiled into her clit, swirling his tongue around the bud, loving the feeling of her thighs knocking against his hair, her involuntary convulsing, her hands gripping his hair with an intensifying low pain, pulling. He pressed his open mouth in a wanton kiss to the very head of where the lips of her began, then began to suck lightly, suck downwards over the mound of nerves, dipping his tongue back and forth, and each time it pressed into her Kenzie’s hips bucked into his face, her thighs beginning to tremble in a steady cascade now, and he dug his hands so tightly into her that he could feel his short nails now dipping half-moons into her soft skin.

Fucking come, moonlight. This is just the first time today. I’m gonna make you come later, even harder than I make you come right now. Fucking come against my mouth. I dream all day about your sweet little cunt, Kenzie. My daydreams are the feeling and the scent of you here, my daydreams are buried in your hair, the softness of your skin, the radiant glow of your eyes. He raised his head for a moment, away from his ardent sucking, and stared at her. He knew what she was thinking now, knew how she wanted to force him against her, felt the coiling desire to control him swirling in the center of her, an image rather than a thought, and he waited for another beat, waited for her to do what he longed for, what he knew she wanted to do. Kenzie brought her fingers away from their harsh grip at his hair; one of her little graceful hands clutched him under his stubbled chin as he gripped her thigh and the back of her ass, holding his face steady as he held her body in place, and then her other hand came up, hovered, then came against his cheek with a hard slap, the diamonds on her wrist winking, his mouth hanging open with the force of it, breath falling out in a harsh gasp, eyes fluttering closed, involuntary.

Kenzie hesitated for a moment, then brought the backside of the same hand down over the other cheek, not quite as hard as the first, but the sound of it still loud and sharp. The low pain of her attentions sent a dagger of hot need through his body and into his groin, crackling energy sliding through his mind. I bow to you, goddess. Kenzie. My beloved. Queen. I am beholden to your desires. Fucking yes. I want you to command me to suck on you. I fucking love you.

“Put your mouth back where it belongs, baby,” she said, and she lifted her chin, the hot water sliding down the curve of her breasts, between her collarbones down the flatness of her stomach, and he saw the glimmering wonder of her divinity again, and felt staggered inside it, knowing there was nothing else in the world he wanted inside this moment as much as he wanted what to do she told him to do.

Duncan pressed his open mouth against her again in a complete supplication that sent warm waves of her golden tide down his throat, the heady scent and taste of her making his cock jump into his belly again, and her hand was coming down to the nape of his neck, achingly gently now, pressing him into her, moving her hips so she was almost hovering over him now, almost as if she were floating, her body heavy against him but also impossibly light, and his eyes fluttered closed--he couldn’t help it, overwhelmed as he felt by her in this moment, extending forwards and backwards until he felt as though he no longer knew where he was, and didn’t care to know, only that she was here, impossibly close, and she was going to fucking come for him very soon, and with his mouth utterly pressed to her he felt the shudder build in her body and heard her needling cry, opened his eyes, holding his mouth carefully still and working his tongue into her as she shook, watching her head dip down, cock to the side in an achingly lovely moment of complete abandon, her eyes half-lidded and lit by a haloed glow, her mouth wide, her little teeth peeking from her lips, her breasts shuddering with tiny shivering adulations, her arms shaking, one hand falling across his stubbled cheek almost absently, needy to feel him there (I love it love the feeling of it love you fucking love you I fucking love you your mouth is all I ever want now your mouth and your adoration and you bowing to me, bow to me bow to me my fucking gorgeous impossibly beautiful prince oh fucking fuck fucking fuck me fuckkkk), her thoughts the most glorious poem inside her orgasm. His mouth stayed against her, loathe to leave the sweetness of her, as her shudders dissipated, floated down, dissolved slowly. Kenzie tried to uncrook her knee from where her thigh still laid over his shoulder, and Duncan gripped her hard, whining between the lips of her, trying to keep her there.

“Baby, be good, let me down,” she was laughing at him, hands soft on his cheeks, her diamond Cartier bracelet glinting in the corner of his eyes as she pushed his face back, and he pouted at her, pouted up into her radiant face, goggled by its loveliness, awash in the sweet afterglow of her orgasm. “Later, I’m gonna let you fuck me so hard. Be good today, okay? Be my sweet baby.” He sighed into her stomach at that, nodding, squinting his eyes against the heat of the water spitting down, then leaned back, licking his lips (god I love the taste of her, I don’t know any words for it, it’s like the sweetest cake with the headiest wine, the absolute tip of an orgasm, the absolute depth of the deep ocean, it’s like staring into the abyss with white stars whirling, it’s her, it’s fucking her, it’s the taste of heaven), and hoisted himself up, aware that his erection was achingly hard now between his legs, aware that she wasn’t going to touch him, and he wanted to moan with terrible frustration. Kenzie was leaning away from him, squeezing conditioner into her palm, fingering it swiftly through her tawny hair, and he could see her mouth still hovering open as she stared at him, could see the flow of her thoughts even though she wasn’t touching him. I love your big fucking cock baby, later I’m going to fucking gag on it for you, but only if you’re good, only if you’re patient, and he groaned, dipping his face down to press against her cheek, the heat of the water making his cock shiver as she leaned away from him so only their faces were touching. His fingers came up to press into her breasts, around her nipples, and then he was moving his hands away because the feeling of her was simply too intense for him now, too much to bear, and he moved back and he said “Fuck, Kenzie baby…”

Kenzie closed her eyes, rinsing her hair under the shower head, hands flitting through its dark gold, then she was pressing a finger up into the dip of his throat, right below his adam’s apple, curling her hand up to grasp his throat, gently but insistently.

“Don’t you dare come, Duncan Shepherd. You have to wait.”

Duncan’s mouth snapped closed at her commanding tone, the gold flecks that suddenly twirled in her gaze, and his hands fell away from where they had been hovering near his cock, his aching need to touch himself laid bare to her through their minds’ touch.

“Ung, Kenzie--”

“No whining. Finish up and get ready with me. It’s time for you to see my dress.”

Kenzie stepped out of the shower at that, and Duncan tried to dial back the wave he felt falling down his body, into his groin. You can’t. Kenzie said you have to wait. He forced himself to think of an open wound festering, the smell of rotting garbage, anything to ease him down from the edge of release. Slowly he began to feel the pressure in his cock easing, and he gasped into the water, sucking some into his mouth, swirling it under his tongue, desperate to ease the whirling need the taste of her sex kindled up in him. The taste of her in my mouth like this is fucking overwhelming, it’s like fucking torture. I could come over and over and never want it to end in a thousand years, tasting her on my lips this way. Duncan resigned himself to patience (you must, you have to, it’s what she fucking wants so it must be done) and finished his shower alone, despite the terrible ache of his desire for her, her gold still lingering like a patina around his body.

-------

Kenzie was wearing the button-down mustard-colored yellow lace dress she’d packed hurriedly in his duffel the night before, the little black heeled sandals on her feet, the Tiffany moon at her throat, her long hair still drying in soft waves around her shoulders, Duncan in one of his typical black Givenchy Oxfords, the fabric of it thankfully a cool cotton (somehow I packed something sensible, despite the erratic nature of my mental state last night, he thought) to combat the heat of the June day, already overwhelming, his round black-framed Yves sunglasses over his eyes, her little gold-framed round sunglasses over hers as she pulled him eagerly from the BMW’s backseat at Morgan’s studio, an wildly excited grin spread across her little face. I want to fucking kiss you, angel, your sweetness is like a food I want to savor.

Duncan had made the mistake of looking at his phone on the way and low dismay kindled in the back of his mind now; Annette had attempted to call him 15 times since last night and left him a slew of texts, which ranged in tone from the outright defensive to jarringly apologetic that bordered on a kind of begging. He’d never once been privy to a message from his mother that approached this level of penitence, and it unnerved him. But he was determined to stay away from her for a few days. I can’t fucking talk to you right now, and you have to fucking accept it, Mom. He’d avoid her as well as he could tonight, and they wouldn’t talk about what Claire Underwood had told him until he and Kenzie returned from the cabin. He knew this with certainty. His mind ached with acute agony when he tried to contemplate the truth; I’m not a Shepherd, I don’t fucking know who I am; it was simply too close still, and his psyche stepped away from it as he clutched Kenzie’s hand like a lifeline.

Kenzie was dragging him up the stairs, little sounds of excitement floating down to him from her mouth, her movements elated. My dress my fucking dress my gorgeous dress wait till you see baby wait till you see, he could hear her, waves of gold crashing. Kenzie slammed her palm onto the buzzer, hopping up and down, squeezing his hand, pinching his fingers. How can I be in a bad mood when you look like this, he thought, dipping his face down to kiss her cheek. My fucking angel. Today will be beautiful because you are here and you alone are my sunlight.

Claire greeted them, cheeks flushed pink, in a long-sleeved navy midi dress with rose-colored blossoms--her face was radiantly happy too, and Duncan was struck by the glow of her cheeks, the winking shine of her gaze. Harris, he thought, surprised at the immensity of it all over her face, surprised by the obviousness of it. Harris. Kenzie fell into her arms, squealing with delight, “We’re here, we’re here!” and Claire was laughing, her grin infectious--Duncan could feel his own smile falling over his face, so overwhelming was the loveliness of these two women before him in this moment. How can I possibly be sad, in a world where my Kenzie and her dear ones exist.

“God, wait till you see them, darlings, my Kenzie Lou, Duncan--wait until you see. The paparazzi are going to actually die. You should both wear those sunglasses this evening, cuz you’re gonna be blinded by camera flashes all night.” Claire was gripping Kenzie’s little hand so she was extended between her best friend and Duncan, like they were about to play ring-around-the-rosie. Duncan let Kenzie pull him into Morgan’s studio behind them, sliding his sunglasses off his nose. It had taken awhile for his erection to go down in the shower, and he still felt the vaguely uncomfortable edge of blue balls between his legs, the memory of a release anticipated and never carried to its end, the come still trapped in his groin that demanded attention. He shifted, resigned to it, trapped inside it, knowing it would be hours and hours until he got what he wanted. My Kenzie, moaning against me, lost inside my touch, my sex, my desire for her. That’s what I fucking want. Kenzie had let go of him, rushing over to greet Morgan, looking as obtuse and polished as ever in a long black poncho that fell to the floor, lacy black gloves on her hands. He raked a hand through the wave of hair over his ear, breathing out slowly, carefully. You’re going to need to pace yourself, he scolded himself. You’ll never make it through tonight if your nerves are like this all day. If your desire is this strong. Push it down and control yourself. We have a long way to go.

“Darlings, delightful to see you looking so fresh and anticipant,” Morgan cooed. “I think I’ve truly created two of my masterpieces for you in these pieces, a triumphant, delicate mixture of verdant power and seductive celestial ecstasy. Truly I have found my muses.” Duncan was stepping towards her, Morgan extending her hand to him, which he grasped in greeting, dipping his head down to her. Kenzie hopped in place, clutching Claire still, her hair bouncing.

“Please let me see it, please please please,” she was begging, and Claire was laughing at her. Duncan smiled, his body was beginning to hum with the premonition of the moment; he knew, somehow, knew how shaken he’d be to conceive her in it, knew how it was going to shatter into his soul, and he suddenly felt like he needed to sit. He grasped the edge of a nearby counter, covered in scraps of fabric, cloth scissors, pins and measuring tapes. He could see the bits of silken gold that were scattered there, and his heart lept into his throat.

“Dearest, come with me,” Morgan cooed to him, taking his long hand in her elegant lace fingers. “Claire will accompany Mackenzie to her gown while I escort you to your guise for this splendid evening. I trust you won’t need my help to dress, so I will then leave you and ensure that your beloved is fitted like a glove.”

“No, indeed, Morgan, I think I can manage.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Kenzie, who was looking at him with wildly bright eyes, biting into her lip, fingers gripping Claire so hard they looked white. See you soon, baby. He smiled at her, his heart pounding wildly. I love you, Kenzie, I love you, then Morgan was pulling him away with a surprisingly tight grip, to a side-room in the opposite direction of where Claire was forcefully guiding Kenzie, whispering animatedly into her ear. Duncan looked ahead, turning away from them with reluctance, and felt his heart rebound again, his breath catching--the blazer Morgan had created for him was on a rolling black dress form in the center of the room, immediately drawing his eye with its cascading metallic gold on crushed black velvet, a silk Oxford underneath it with strikingly intricate gold tips. He moved towards it immediately, reaching out a hand almost involuntarily to touch it--the gold was like dripping stardust, smooth and soft, like trails of falling stars smeared across the heavens, dripping down into the emptiness of space. This is how I feel when she touches me, he thought again. I feel like she’s spreading gold all over me, all down my body, into the secret, sensitive spaces of my heart, like I can taste her in my throat and the taste is beyond any taste I’ve ever experienced, beyond exquisite, beyond all other delights. He could see that the gold tips of the collar were each an intricate cage of lace, reminding him of the bracelet Kenzie had worn that night they first met--a cage that wove around me, and brought me in forever.

“Morgan,” he breathed. “This is extraordinary.”

Morgan was grinning at him, her eyes closing behind her huge cat-eye glasses.

“My darling, I know well that it is, but thank you. You have truly inspired me--the glory of such luminous love, good heavens. As an artist, to behold such emotion is to be moved to create. I can see that at heart, you are a romantic, and that perhaps, in the past, you have been moved to conceal it for fear of exposure to the cruelty of the world. We who wear black feel the heavy idyll of life, the drama of every moment, and we feel it most acutely. In our grief, in our ennui, and yes, in love. And this love is extraordinary--for you, it has healed your soul. Therefore, you must look the part. Gold leaf was my tool, and 18 karats for the tips, a perfect compliment, I see, for the Cartier.” She glanced down at his wrist, and Duncan nodded to her.

“I leave you to it.”

With that, Morgan turned and left, shutting the door behind her. Duncan breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them again--yes, it was still here, this miraculous coat made from gold, made of stardust. He breathed deeply. Get ready for Kenzie. He lifted his shaking fingers to his collar, his skin flushed, his mind aching.

--------

Duncan emerged twenty minutes later, gazing down at his sleeves, their gold mesmerizing. Morgan had laid the tailored black chinos that completed his look on a table next to the dress form, but he wore his signature Yves Wyatt boots on his feet still, and knew he’d wear them to the Gala as well; they complimented the look shockingly well. He moved over to Morgan’s oblong white table and pulled one of the white chairs closer to the center of the room, looping his long legs on either side of it, sitting carefully. The room was quiet, but he could hear the soft strains of Kenzie and Claire’s voices in the room beyond, the lilt of Kenzie’s excitement, and it was making his body vibrate with the desire to see her, his heart slamming painfully into his ribcage. He slid one hand along his jaw, index and middle fingers trailing along his bottom lip. Oh my fucking god, Kenz, I’m on fire waiting for you. He could feel the twinge of his cock straining under the tight chinos, wondered how he’d ever be able to stand the cock ring teasing him all night. I’m going to want to eat her alive by the end. He thought of the Bacchanalian revelry of The Youth of Bacchus, the dancing figures, stoked by a frenzy of wine and energy of a wanton god of ecstasy. It was as if he could feel that same energy beginning to stir around the corners of the day--could feel it being stoked up, being kindled, like the first strains of a tornado drifting down from a dark, stormy sky. The wild wine god comes tonight. He will stoke the lust of the people to debauchery, as now he pushes my senses toward my need for her. My Ariadne, draped in stars. Tonight, the party. Tonight, the wine god comes. He shivered.

The door Claire and Kenzie had disappeared into opened; Claire came out, Morgan behind her in her silent, cool way--Claire looked at Duncan approvingly, her eyes rapt.

“Wow, fuck, Duncan. You look fucking gorgeous. Not that you don’t always,” and she blushed deeply, a hand coming up to her cheek. “Everyone’s going to lose their shit. Okay, listen. Are you ready for this goddess?”

“Is it possible for me to be ready for this?” Duncan’s hand shook as he brought it down from his jaw, his question an earnest one to Kenzie’s best friend.

“Probably not. Take a deep breath.”

He shuddered one into his lungs. Make sure you breathe. He gave her a shaky nod.

“Kenzie,” Claire called through the doorway, stepping aside. Morgan moved to stand beside Duncan, for a longer view. “Your Prince is ready for you.”

For a moment no one stirred, then Duncan saw Kenzie’s little hand push at the door, pressing it open wider; an uncalculated moan fell from Duncan’s lips as he saw her, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment, had to catch his breath again, dizziness wiping over him, the ache in his cock returning full force. He forced his eyes open--she was staring at him, her mouth having fallen open, her eyes sparkling with sudden moisture, obvious even from the distance between them.

“Duncan,” she breathed.

“No, baby, no--you. You.”

Kenzie’s dress was gold.

Pure gold, a cascade of lamé that draped and pleated all around her, its opulent folds falling in drifts that hugged at her tiny waist and curving hips, gathering down to trail at the floor, her left leg visible above the thigh from a long slit that ran down the gown’s length. Its rivels, shimmering and weaving like the waves on the ocean’s surface, reminded him of how he’d always imagined the robes of the gods on Mount Olympus to appear; of a fabric not known to man, drifting as if in some phantom wind, too exquisite a fabric to be called silk, softer than the light of moonbeams on quiet forest floors in deepest night. One of the sleeves draped down her left arm, dipping almost to the crook of her elbow; the other lifted over her shoulder from a draping fold that began at the sharp tailoring at her waist and lifted over half the tailored bodice of the front of the gown, her breasts emphasized by two sewn cups and careful boning, outlining the form of her bust. Her throat and collarbones were bare, her skin exquisite in its whiteness above so much gold. The thin line of sleeve that went over her shoulder from the pleats continued to extend down her back--Kenzie turned, her eyes inside his, to show him the breathtaking drift of a long train that fell to the floor from her right shoulder blade, another rusch of fabric across her back below to her left shoulder. The train continued along the ground for several feet, its gold like spilled liquid, impossible in its lovely softness; the train of a princess, of a queen, of a goddess in a painting, a fairy tale come to life, and here she stands before me, somehow real, impossibly real. I should be struck dumb to behold her.

Kenzie turned back to him, and he could see the delicate bones of her clavicle quivering, the shiver of her golden hair over her shoulder, its waves like silk to him, the depth of the hazel of her eyes (ambrosia, the golden honey of holy bees, the green of emeralds, the russet of topaz and tiger’s eye). Her little hands were fumbling in front of her stomach, and the nervous curve of her mind was creeping up against him, like an electrical current. You look so fucking beautiful, baby, she was thinking, and the lump that rose in his throat threatened to shatter his composure.

Kenzie, it’s not me. It’s you. You’re a goddess. You’re truly a goddess. You’re too beautiful to describe. I don’t know if you can feel how I feel to look at you in this moment, but if you can even a little, you know I can’t...there are no words I know of. I can’t find words for how beautiful you are. You pierce my heart. I should build you a temple and leave you a garden of roses there every day. Duncan stood, his legs shaking. Claire and Morgan were quiet--they seemed to sense the intensity of the emotion that drifted in the room; Duncan heard Claire sniffing quietly, in tears.

Suddenly, quickly, Duncan and Kenzie had rushed together--his feet had carried him so quickly his mind seemed to follow after him, trying to catch up, and his hands were grasping hers with a tenderness that made his body ache, made his breath catch, they were falling, devotedly, down the easeful curve of the dress, the warmth of her body beneath it sending a shiver down his spine, the gold bracelet at his wrist disappearing into her gold, devoured by it.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he whispered. “Holy fuck.”

Persephone, my flower dipped in gold. Kenzie didn’t speak, but he knew she accepted the drift of his thought.

Hades, my shadowed prince draped in falling stars. She tilted her head to him, her little fingers coming up to drift over the caged golden tips of his collar as the diamonds at her wrist winked against the gold leaf of his velvet jacket, and she kissed him, her mouth a holy tremor on his lips, his prayer to her accepted, as it ever was.

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101flavoursofweird · 6 years

Text

Title: Autumn Summary: For all the anguish it has brought her, Flora still loves autumn.

Spoilers: For Curious Village, Lost Future, Layton’s Mystery Journey and possible Layton Brothers: Mystery Room.

Characters: Flora-centric with sibling bonding moments between her, Luke, Alfendi and Kat.

Warnings: Hints of PTSD... and Clive Dove isn’t portrayed in the best light in this fic. (Sorry.)

(More below the cut since Tumblr seems to have banished links to the Shadow Realm.)

Autumn

When she lived in St Mystere, she used to call it fall, like her Papa did.

Papa wasn’t fond of fall. He always made sure Flora was bundled up in layers before they went out. On rainy days, he preferred for them to stay inside. The only places Flora could play were in the manor or by her Mama’s grave. There, the flowers bloomed all year round— even when it got cold outside.

Ingrid said it was a magic garden.

“A secret magic garden,” Flora whispered.

Sometimes, she felt a bit like Mary Lennox. Mary got sick after her parents died. She moved to an English Manor House, befriended the servants and discovered a secret garden.

Flora had her own secret garden, but she wasn’t sick and her papa wasn’t dead...

She was sat reading behind her mother’s grave when the doctor came to visit. Not even her favorite books could comfort her then.

Matthew found her crying over The Secret Garden. Gently, he took the book from her and wiped its tear-stained pages with his handkerchief.

“This is an old book,” he mumbled. “Old... and yet, timeless.”

He studied the text for a few moments, searching for the right words. His eyes were shiny— or was that just the reflection from his glasses? Flora had never seen Matthew cry.

He sighed. “Don’t worry. We can fix it— the… the book, I mean.”

He dried her eyes and helped her blow her nose. On their way out, Flora picked some red pom-pom flowers (‘Dahlias,’ Matthew called them) for her papa. They wouldn’t last long in a vase. She put them by his bed anyway and he said they were beautiful.

Papa promised it was ‘just a cold’. Flora knew he was lying. If it was a cold, Papa wouldn’t kiss her in case she caught anything. But he kept kissing her head and talking till he got too tried.

This wasn’t something Flora could catch. She could only wait.

Even after her papa died, she kept saying ‘fall’ and so did the villagers.

It was only when she came to London that she learned most people called it ‘autumn’ in Britain. Luke was the one who corrected her.

The two of them had been walking home from school. (She actually went to the girls’ school but Luke liked to meet her on the way home, even more so when the darker evenings crept in.)

Flora’s day had been fine. The other students and the teachers were helping her settle in, but she still had lots of studying to catch up on since she had started late. That meant extra homework and tutoring sessions with the professor.

Flora let her mind wander. She relied on Luke to lead her up a road lined with horse chestnut trees.

“The trees look so pretty in fall...” Their leaves were either orange like the professor’s shirt, or rusty red like robot gears.

“Fall?”

Luke exclamation pulled Flora from her daydream.

“Um, you know... Fall. After summer, when all the leaves fall off the trees.” She pointed at a pile of leaves beside them on the pavement.

“Oh!” Luke kicked up the leaves. “You mean autumn!”

He was showered with leaves and Flora snickered. “Careful, or you’ll get lost in the leaves!”

Laughing, Luke chucked a ball of leaves at her.

She squealed and swept them off her school uniform. (Rosa had ironed it specially for her!)

“Luke!”

He gasped as if he had mortally wounded her. “Sorry! That was a bit rough—“ He got a face full of leaves. “—Ow... I think you threw a conker at me.”

“Conkers!” Crouching, Flora picked up the spiky green shell. She inspected it as a jeweler would an emerald. “Bruno used to make them for me— I mean, put them on a string— and we had conker tournaments. The villagers always let me win, though...”

Everything had seemed so simple back then. She smiled nostalgically the conker shell.

Beside her, she heard leaves crunching. She turned and her eyes widened.

“Bet you’d never beat me.” Luke was on his knees, holding a conker under her nose. “I was the best conker player in Misthallery!”

Flora’s smile became a smirk. “Really? Is that a challenge?”

Her conker would be... unconquerable. She had everything she needed at home: String, glue, a miniature drill she’d ‘borrowed’ from Bruno...

While she planned her conquest, Luke had been stuffing his satchel and coat pockets with conkers. He leapt to his feet and took off like a greedy squirrel. “Bagsie asking the professor for help first!”

What ever happened to ladies first? “Luke, wait up!”

These days, Luke called it ‘fall’. A warm smile enveloped Flora’s face as she read his latest letter. Who was this mysterious girl he couldn’t stop gushing about…?

Her fantasies of Luke’s possible-girlfriend were dashed by the slam of the front door. Her thirteen-year-old brother squelched into the kitchen. He’d been trying to grow his hair out but he currently looked like a drowned rat.

Flora snorted. “Did you forget your brolly?”

“Did you forget you don’t live here anymore?”

Flora didn’t take offence at the extra dose of venom in his voice. School had just started again and it was coming up to that time of year…

“I had a letter from Luke that I wanted to show the professor.” She stretched in her chair and yawned, “Are your joints meant to feel this stiff in your mid-twenties—?” She caught herself when she realised that, oh lord, she sounded like Dahlia. Dahlia would moan whenever her joints needed oiling or her perfect skin needed a polish or the colour was fading from her hair… All while eighty-year-old Bruno toiled away and Flora continued to age.

With age came agency. With each new trial life threw at her, Flora accepted that she couldn’t fuss over the little things.

This was a lesson Alfendi still had yet to learn.

Having ripped off his waterlogged shoes and his backpack, Alfendi raided the fridge.

“I made pasta salad if you want some—“

“Hell, no.”

“Language.” (Kat was out with their father, but still...)

Alfendi groaned, “Who ate all the leftover pizza?”

“Probably Emmy, if she stopped by.”

Alfendi’s scowling face emerged from the fridge. “Not helping.”

“Don’t snap at me just ‘cause you got caught in the rain,” she retorted.

It wasn’t just that, she knew, but she sat in silence as Alfendi fished a soaking, illegible newspaper out of his pocket and held it up to her. “The forecast said it would be dry today. There was only a 35% chance of rain!”

“They can’t always be accurate.”

“Well, they should be!” He pounded the wet paper into a ball and hurled it at the bin. (It landed just next to the bin with a sad ‘plop’.) “Why can’t the weather just make up its bloody mind?” he snarled, swiping wet hair out of his eyes.

The British weather was beyond Flora’s control, but she could at least do something about Alfendi’s hair. “Give me a minute.”

While Alfendi changed into some dry clothes, she nipped up to Kat’s room to grab a brush and a pink bag of hair accessories.

“This is a waste of time,” Alfendi grumbled. Still, he sat obediently as Flora dragged the brush through his wavy hair, taming it into a low ponytail. She offered to add a purple ribbon, so he’d look like a fairytale prince, to which Alfendi told her something very inappropriate for a prince. He was, at least, satisfied with his ponytail as it was ‘practical’ and kept his hair out of his eyes.

The next time Flora visited the house, she found Alfendi plaiting Kat’s hair. Apparently, a little boy had pulled Kat’s hair at the playground...

“Do you want me to plait your hair next, Al?”

Keeping hold of Kat’s plait, Alfendi turned to glare at Flora. “Get lost. Kat’s going to do my hair.”

“Yeah, get lost, Floor,” Kat said.

The thought of ‘getting lost’ would have terrified Flora years ago. Now, she just burst out laughing.

In October, Alfendi was promoted from hairstylist to ‘Halloween wardrobe stylist’. He helped Kat put together a spooky outfit every day. Some were inspired by Kat’s current fixations: The little witch from her favourite book, Tigger from The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh and Sesame Street’s Cookie Monster. (Kat saw this as an excuse to eat as many cookies as she liked.) Then there were Kat’s villain ‘disguises’, from Descole to Don Paolo. Alfendi drew the line at Bill Hawks. Not because it would be ‘offensive’— Hawks was the butt of many jokes in the Layton household— but because they all knew who came after Bill Hawks.

There had been… impersonators every year since Clive Dove’s attack, rather like the clown craze that followed a certain Stephen King novel. None of them copied Clive’s methods, as far as Flora was aware. They were just out to scare the public. That was traumatic enough if you had suffered at the hands of Clive… but what if you bore a striking resemblance to him?

Much to Kat’s dismay and Flora’s relief, Luke couldn’t make it back for Halloween this year. He was off solving another mystery. Flora hoped he wasn’t alone.

There hadn’t been any ‘Clive Dove sightings’ on the news lately, but Flora still insisted Emmy should go trick-or-treating with Kat and Alfendi. Flora would have accompanied them herself had she not been invited to a Halloween party by Kuri, her closest friend from university. They hadn’t seen each other for months, so Flora was very grateful for Emmy’s assistance. Emmy was over the moon because it meant she got her own share of treats. Alfendi, for once, didn’t argue.

He was content to dress as a vampire rather than some nightmarish movie villain. Kat went as a literal cat, complete with a tail, a cute red bow and bag of garlic to chuck at Alfendi. Emmy was Batwoman.

They all made it home safe and stuffed with sweets. Flora phoned at ten to check on them and to let them know she was staying at Kuri’s flat.

“Enjoy yourself,” Emmy chimed over the phone. Hopefully, Flora’s creepy doll makeup would hide her flushed face from Kuri.

In the following days, Alfendi knew Flora was hiding something, though he didn’t pry.

As soon as the holiday was over, he withdrew to his room. Halloween couldn’t cure the bitterness that had been festering inside him like a pumpkin left to rot.

Flora would take Kat out whenever Alfendi started shouting at their dad. (“WHY DO YOU KEEP VISITING HIM?”)

Bonfire night was the worst.

They had arranged to see the fireworks at Gressenheller. Flora had arrived at the house to find the professor comforting a tearful Kat. Alfendi had snapped at Kat when she kept asking why he wasn’t coming with them.

The professor had tried talking to Alfendi, tried getting him to talk to someone, to no avail. Flora told the professor to go on ahead with Kat. She could handle this.

When she tapped on Alfendi’s door ten minutes later, he barked, “Eff off—!”

“It’s me.”

Silence. Flora waited. She heard a firework explode outside. Then, a smothered whimper from Alfendi.

“Al...” she said softly. “I’m coming in, okay?”

Alfendi didn’t turn her away. She opened the door. Since Flora had moved out, Alfendi had claimed the biggest bedroom. (It stank of coffee now…) She used to tease Alfendi about how he was always holed up in his ‘cave’, but his ‘cave’ was the tidiest area in the house, as opposed to Kat’s toy-strewn room or the professor’s office. It was also very well-lit for a ‘cave’; the ceiling light, the lava lamp and his computer screen were all on.

Alfendi had been lying facedown in his purple beanbag. He sat up awkwardly and Flora saw he was wearing a pair of fluffy white earmuffs.

His eyes were red and his nose was running. Sniffing, he took the earmuffs off and tossed them at Flora. “Can you give these back to Kat?”

Another explosion went off. Alfendi flinched.

She nudged the earmuffs back to him. “You can keep them for now. I’m sure Kat won’t mind.”

“Is she ok?”

“She’ll cheer up when she sees the fireworks.”

He put the earmuffs back on, clamping his hands over them until the next firework had passed. “Weren’t you going with them?” he asked eventually.

The plan had been to meet Kuri there. Flora was going to introduce her to the professor and Kat.

But Flora shook her head at Alfendi. (Kuri would understand— she had practically raised her twin brothers.) “Nope,” she said. “I think The Muppet Movie is on... Want to watch it with me?”

The two of them curled up on the settee and she put the T.V. volume on full-blast. It was so loud that the professor, Kat and Kuri heard The Rainbow Connection on their way home.

Per usual, Alfendi didn’t join them for coffee but he said he would pop over to Flora’s after work. That was... sociable of him.

Kat thought it had something to do with his new assistant, Lucy. Frantically, Flora phoned Kuri and asked her to tidy the living room because Alfendi might be bringing a friend with him. Kuri made no such promises but she would made plenty of stew.

Flora thanked her, hung up and informed Kat they were having stew for dinner.

Kat squinted at Flora over her Pumpkin Spice Latte. “Are you quite sure your wife isn’t a witch?”

Flora chuckled, “Why would you think that?”

This was the question Kat had been hoping for. She launched into a retelling of ‘Katrielle and the Witch Wife’. That spark in her eyes, her exaggerated gestures, the way she took bites out of her chocolate muffin in-between... She looked so much like Luke. Flora remembered him describing his own encounter with a ‘witch’— back when he first met Professor Layton.

That part of their lives, much like Autumn, had ended too quickly. Now, some days, it felt like they were caught in an eternal Winter. The professor was gone, along with Luke. Alfendi was more distant than ever...

But she still had Kat.

Story complete, Kat leapt to her feet. There was a pair of fluffy boots in the autumn sale she wanted to buy. Of course, she secretly hoped Flora would buy them for her. Flora was happy to oblige, because that’s what big sisters do.

#professor layton #flora reinhold #luke triton #Alfendi Layton #Katrielle Layton #matthew #baron reinhold #autumn #PL fanfic #My writing #This is also on AO3 #Slight Flora/OC #fluff and angst #Flora is the best big sister

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red2007 · 6 years

Text

New fic

Accord

red2007

Summary: A mostly Scully-sided look at the few moments beyond the final scene of Triangle and a simple, possibly canon-compliant gesture.

Notes: Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. If I had there would have been sex. *shrug* Suck it Chris Carter.

Rating: G

“Oh, brother.” She turned slowly, with hesitation and walked calmly out of the room. Out of the room was as far as she got.

Where the hell did that come from? She thought to herself as she stood in the hallway, just to the left of his door. Their carefully constructed partnership built on a deep mutual trust and respect coupled with a unique ability to communicate and coordinate seamlessly with nothing more than body language was leaping into uncharted territory. Emotional territory, at least, acknowledged emotional territory. They’d been in emotional territory since the first time he’d argued with her, that first day in his office. They’d been steeped in emotions since that first night in Oregon with a heartfelt conversation in his hotel room by candle light. Hours after she’d all but showed up naked in a panic at his door. Fine, she decided to herself. We’ve been emotional for years, but did he have to say that?

He’d told her repeatedly how much she meant to him and vice versa. They both had a keen understanding that trust, in their line of work and circumstances in which they repeatedly found themselves, was difficult to come by. She’d trusted him enough to shoot him for his own good. He’d trusted her enough to risk prison to buy him time with a congressional hearing. At any given point, beyond a shadow of a doubt she knew he was always looking out for her. She knew she’s proven just how much she’s willing to put on the line to save him. Her entire reputation. Her legacy. Her honor. She wasn’t sure if her father would have been proud or ashamed of that fact.

I’d offer again in a heartbeat. The thought came suddenly and unbidden and she found herself leaning up against the wall to steady herself. The Gunmen had left believing Mulder high on pain killers after all the nonsense he was spouting. With all his crazy talk, it would seem as much, but she knew better. Antibiotics to curb any infections from a few open scratches and water inhalation due to prolonged exposure. And a nice shiner over his left cheekbone that he hadn’t complained about once. They hadn’t given him anything stronger than a couple Advil. A completely lucid and fully functioning Mulder had told her that he loved her.

And why should that even surprise me? She pondered. Of course he loved her, of course she loved him. They both had a deep…affection for the other. Like siblings, she assured herself and then immediately moved her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Fine, not like siblings, she admitted reluctantly. Siblings didn’t almost kiss in hallways. Siblings didn’t sometimes feel a literal snap of electricity and heat when they touched or looked lingeringly at each other. Siblings don’t LOOK at each other lingeringly, she groaned. Siblings also don’t feel relief, panic, and euphoria at the knowledge that the other feels the same about them.

But I can’t tell him. There’s too much at stake. With Kersh breathing down their necks every second of every day, how they managed to keep this excursion from him thus far was a miracle. If she was being incredibly honest with herself, she was still exceedingly pissed about the thing with Diana. She was pissed at the sheer presence of Diana. In her position. In her office. On the X-Files. In Mulder's life. The woman was a damned menace and dirty as could be. Dana Scully was not one to be possessive but the appearance…or more, reappearance of Diana Fowley had cast quite a green shadow over her partnership with Mulder.

I still do love him though, she chided herself. There was no point in denying it, even if she knew she couldn’t return the sentiment. Fine lines needed to be drawn. If they were ever going to work together, if they were ever going to tow this line with Kersh and eventually get their department back there had to be as few complications as possible. Love, or more, acknowledgement of love, was a complication. One they couldn’t afford. Right now, she added internally. Someday they’d throw caution to the wind, she’d kiss him senseless, profess all the repressed feelings she’s held for years and see if their passion equaled that of her fantasies. She promised herself as much. Someday. For now, however she knew that he’d made himself vulnerable for her. He probably believed that she assumed he was drugged and out of his mind. He’d probably been counting on that as a buffer in case she’d completely blown him off. Which you did, Dana, admit it.But maybe somewhere he knew that she had already checked his chart out of habit. They both knew wholeheartedly that he meant every word. They also knew there was an out, in case of emergency. He felt safe enough to be open with her, the least she could do is give him some sort of a sign. Innocuous enough that he’d understand but also realize that it wasn’t the time yet. She couldn’t leave him hanging like this.

She stood and glanced at his door once more before walking briskly to the nearest nurse’s station. She found his nurse and with a sweet smile said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

Mulder was still leaning gingerly on his pillow, the sting from his bruise a constant reminder that it had happened. He lay there with a faint smile and a dreamy expression on his face, replaying the whole thing in his mind. The curve of her head, the pressure of her lips, the brief taste of her tongue…he felt intoxicated while completely sober. In a matter of hours, he’d kissed a Scully and told his that he loved her. Yeah, he was feeling pretty high. Of course, she hadn’t said it back—he hadn’t expected her to. It wasn’t time yet. He’d just seen a rare opportunity and jumped at the chance. He was still in his state of bliss when his nurse came in with a purpose. She set down a large Styrofoam container on his side table while she proceeded to check his vitals. When she’d finished and charted her findings she stuck a straw in the cup she’d brought.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. But for now, get some rest.” She handed him the cup and with a wink added, “Your partner wanted me to give you this. Good night.”

Mulder took the cup, but he already knew its contents. She couldn’t say it, he understood that but she knew. She knew he was coherent, knew he was telling the truth, knew that it wasn’t time, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved her.

He took a long, jubilant sip from his cup of iced tea and told himself, it is most definitely love.

#thexfiles #the xfiles #xf fanfic #xf fic #triangle #post ep #fox mulder #dana scully #mulder and scully #fanfic #fandom

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maj0rmayhem · 6 years

Text

A Letter From Me To You (For Better Or Worse) Part 1

Chapter Title: Blood, Schmlood

Warnings: None in this chapter except for a vague mention of death

Ships: Familial Logicality

Once again I owe @candymadness for giving me the first inspiration for this

Summary: Patton scoffed, dropping back onto his heels with a short chuckle, beginning to lead the younger through the castle halls, “The emergency was that you looked bored out of your mind and it is my job to look out for your health. Mental health is valid too, Logan, and I felt that if I let you suffer any longer not only would you have to go through the inevitable and awful discipline methods of Joan, I would be a terrible advisor and even worse brother.”

Also read it on AO3 here!

Fic under the cut!

The halls of the castle glittered immaculately, not a speck out of place. Often times, Logan would look at these walls, wishing he could emulate their perfection. Within the walls of his own home he felt off-kilter, and often caught himself stealing glances at the large portrait of his mother, as if looking to her for guidance. She never answered and he knew the oils and pigments never would.

Distantly, he registered his instructor speaking and did his best to focus back on the older man. Outside, snow drifted down onto cobbled and dirt paths, and the quiet of the world outside beckoned to the fatigue pulling at his mind and limbs. Most of the year, the kingdom of Dialectica was trapped in an eternal winter, and Logan had always found it almost dangerously calming. Finally managing to tune back into the monotonous drone of his long-time mentor, he managed to catch the tail end of a question - likely one he’d heard dozens of times before.

“So, what would you do in a situation like that?” His instructor concluded, raising an eyebrow, expression smug like he knew he had caught Logan during one of the few moments the young prince fell short of the high standards placed around him.

Logan leaned back in the seat slightly, steepling his hands in front of him as if debating. He knew he could probably maneuver his way successfully through the problem, if he chose his words carefully enough. However, he didn’t have to.

“Hey!” A voice sang out, almost literally bursting through the door in a commotion of noise, “I know that lessons are super important and everything but I have a totally legitimate and absolutely completely urgent matter and I need Lo- the prince’s input! I’ll bring him back I promise!” The voice promised, coming into view.

He was dressed in different shades of pale and ice blues, and his eyes were a glittering blue behind thick round glasses. With a sunny grin and freckles peppering his face, he looked boyish and naive, but there was a glimmer of something sharper deep in his eyes that made people listen. He skid to a stop just a few feet behind where Logan had turned to face him, sleeves billowing to a stop a few seconds later.

The current advisor and instructor sputtered and raised an eyebrow at the one destined to take his place. “I - Patton! You know you cannot just… run in and steal the prince away!” He protested.

Patton just smiled and looked down at Logan who quickly stood and adjusted the cloak around his shoulders.

“I believe I was taught it is imperative to take matters brought up by my personal advisor to be of the utmost importance. I know that our lessons are essential, but I am sure we can find a time to reconvene.” Logan explained, and before he could reconsider the small act of rebellion and pent-up frustrations, Patton had already grabbed him by the arm and proceeded to drag him out of the room, much to the mounting fury of the man left behind.

Once the door had shut behind them with an echoing bang, Patton released Logan’s arm and rolled up on his toes for a moment, taking advantage of the minimal height difference between the two to look down at the crown prince.

Logan raised an eyebrow at the actions, “So, what was the ‘emergency’?” He questioned, crossing his arms, unable to hide the traces of amusement in his tone.

Patton scoffed, dropping back onto his heels with a short chuckle, beginning to lead the younger through the castle halls, “The emergency was that you looked bored out of your mind and it is my job to look out for your health. Mental health is valid too, Logan, and I felt that if I let you suffer any longer not only would you have to go through the inevitable and awful discipline methods of Joan, I would be a terrible advisor and even worse brother.” Patton declared, glancing at Logan out of the corner of his eye.

“Patton, you know you are not my brother by blood.”

“Blood, schmlood. Logan if I remember right I was the one who taught you to read and played all the games with you so you got to play the mad scientist.” Patton pointed out, casually throwing an arm over the other’s shoulders, a small contented smile on his face.

Logan’s face burned bright red in embarrassment, but he resisted the urge to shrug the other off, knowing it would only lead to more drastic measures, “To be completely fair, there were many times where we would go on adventures for your enjoyment. I think your mermaid alter ego would agree.”

Patton simply laughed, tilting his head in acknowledgement, “True enough.” He agreed lightly.

Logan grumbled at the easy acceptance to the childhood story, but was quickly distracted from his annoyance at a sudden realization, “Where are we going, Patton? You are leading me but you haven’t told me what the destination is.”

There was a beat of silence only broken by their footfalls and the distant sounds of movement throughout the palace. Finally, Patton answered, “I don’t really know yet! I was just going to go wherever our feet take us. Sometimes that’s how you end up where you need to be.”

Logan looked over at Patton and raised an eyebrow, the latter of which just offered a smile in response to his incredulity.

“Patton, I’m sure you’re aware of how illogical that is.”

The future advisor shrugged, “Logic can’t explain everything, Logan. Some things just are.”

“I’m not debating this again.”

“Just wait. You’ll see what I mean.”

Unconsciously, the pair hooked a left down a wide corridor and it was in that moment Logan realized where he had been heading. A few moments passed in amicable silence, a rare blessing for Logan, who relished in the peace of the moment. Finally, they drew level with a pair of wide glass doors, looking out into a wide garden, littered with a myriad of colors in the form of blossoming petals and unfurled leaves. It was a place Patton spent much of his time, and a place the two of them had spent much of their youth - the few precious years they had been able to indulge in elaborate games and idle competitions. The memories brought a small smile to Logan’s face.

Above them, a half-moon shed minimal light across the hedges and trees, and as they stepped into the brisk evening air, the shadows looked almost tangible against the purity of the snow that crunched underfoot. Patton released a deep sigh and tension Logan hadn’t even been aware he was carrying bled from his shoulders as he surveyed the midnight cloaked foliage.

Patton turned back to Logan and once again grabbed his arm, “Come on! I found something that I’m sure will take your mind off of financial negotiations!”

Logan wrinkled his nose at the mention of the day’s lesson content, but followed behind Patton with little resistance. The other could be frivolous, but in the many years they had known each other, and as Patton had grown into the role of an older brother and someone to confide in, Logan had found there were few times the other had led him astray.

At the easy acceptance, Patton beamed and reached over to ruffle the other’s hair around the diadem delicately placed in contrast to waves so dark they shone almost blue in the moonlight, “Aw! Lo-Lo! I still remember when you would try and make it seem like you hated all of our little adventures.”

Logan sputtered at the action and tried to fix what Patton had mussed, glaring, “Perhaps it was to discourage certain behaviors.” His tone was more of a complaint than an anger-sharpened retort.

Patton’s beam didn’t waver and there was a bounce in his step as led them through the snow-covered paths, memorized long ago, beginning to rant about the “surprise” he had in store, “I was out here a few days ago, and I found a wildflower that doesn’t look like any I’ve seen in here before! Maybe you can help me identify it, I have no idea what it could it be!” He explained, stumbling over his words slightly in excitement.

Logan simply nodded in affirmation that he was willing to help where he could, secretly equally excited at the prospect of finding something entirely new. Rounding a corner, there was no need for Patton to point out the source of his interest - it was vibrant enough to stand out even in the bleaching moonlight. Both men found themselves kneeling near it in the snow, ignoring the cold and wet to get a closer look. The delicate flower almost seemed to glow as it stretched upwards, petals narrowed and tapering to a gentle point. Almost electric yellow in hue, the snow beneath was tinted a paler version of the same shade from the pure intensity. The center was a deep raven, like an endless abyss, and upon closer inspection, veins of red ran through the petals, resembling rivers of blood. Thorns travelled up the stem almost as a warning to any that would be curious enough to get too close. It wasn’t remotely similar to anything he had ever seen, and that sparked an excitement in his core that only ever bloomed at the sight of something unexplained.

The next hour was spent speculating and theorizing, ideas bouncing back and forth between the two - from mutations to witches and potions. Eventually, they had to admit defeat and return inside, knees stiff from the cold and legs soaked from melted snow. Logan knew that when the sun returned to grace the sky there would be reproachful looks and words of scorn mixed into his daily activities. He knew that when morning came, the smile would slip off his face and he would hide back inside himself as he always did. But at the moment, for a very precious moment, the world felt right. It was, for a short second, spinning on the right axis the way it only ever did late at night away from responsibilities and destiny and fate. Logan grinned at Patton before they parted ways, skin flushed with the cold and looking more relaxed and at ease than he ever did during the day. That moment where the real Logan broke through the reinforced walls around his heart was well-worth the late nights and Patton smiled. For now, scattered moments like this were enough.

“See you in the morning, Lo.”

“Sleep well… Pat.”

#thomas sanders #ts #mirrors opposite! au #a letter from me to you #my writing #sanders sides #patton sanders #ts patton #logan sanders #ts logan #ts logic #logic sanders #medieval au #prince!au #prince!logan #advisor!patton #logicality #but familial #familial logicality

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thekidultlife · 7 years

Text

Adagio Cantabile | Woozi College AU

Words: 9227

Genre: Porn with Plot or Plot with Porn?? (generally fluff with a mix of angst and smut); Enemies to lovers

(Because of Ep 7 of Going Seventeen, Change Up, now Pinwheel, I’m falling for Woozi more and more. He’s just too handsome. Anyway, this contains pretty obscure musical terms and I may or may not be correct in using them because I just got them from the net wiki and my own experience and before I started doing SVT fics, I used to write about music because I really, really love classical music and I often go to orchestra concerts annually. Well I hope you like this~)

“In case you’re becoming deaf or blind, Y/N,”

You rolled your eyes as your strutted down the lobby of the College of Music in Seoul National University, fury seething from your rigid figure.

“Let me tell you that, that D sharp is not a fucking fortissimo.”

Hate. Hate was the only thing you would describe the student conductor for the Annual Gala Night. You hated him with every fiber of your being as you gripped on to the score of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor on your hands.

“’In case you’re becoming deaf or blind, Y/N’… well, fuck you!” you repeated his words with a mocking tone, walking towards the nearby dorms and seeking out the sanctuary which was your room.

“Where the fuck are you looking?! Look. At. Me. Y/N!”

You could still hear his voice buzzing in your ears which was making you more livid than ever before. He shouldn’t have embarrassed me in front of the whole orchestra! Fuck this! Fuck him!

Brashly inserting your keys into the doorknob, you slammed the door open and shut it at the same manner; leaving no care for those who are unfortunate enough to hear you angrily knocking things over. You tossed the loose scores on top of the black baby grand piano in the middle of your tiny living room (which was already filled with the large mass of the instrument) and plopped on your poor excuse of a sofa without much grace.

You were quiet for a second. Then, you were not.

“FUCK YOU, LEE JIHOON!”

Lee Jihoon might or might not have heard someone screaming how he was such an asshole but, not like he did care. He was so used to being hated by every musician in Seoul National University that he had grown immune, or, he might not have given any shit in the first place. What was important was the Annual Gala Night which will be held three months in the future and time was running out. He, the conductor, the orchestra members and the concert pianist were already chosen a year before based on school performance and scores were given six months prior—this gave no one the opportunity to excuse himself with lack of time and practice.

Because of this, Jihoon expected a well-seasoned performer not a shitty second-rate, a poor excuse of a pianist. Not that his description had any bias; it just so happens that the concert pianist was his greatest rival in the whole universe. Jihoon shared classes with you because he had piano as a minor degree and you were there just to show how you were so much better than him in the piano.

Yeah. He knew he was being an asshole. But it doesn’t matter.

Jihoon made for the comfortable bed at the far side of his bedroom, near the window. He hadn’t had any good night’s sleep since he began studying the score for Piano Concerto No. 3 and he felt especially entitled for an afternoon nap after that shit of a first rehearsal.

But no. His brain was wide awake. Had he taken too much coffee this morning?

“Fuck this,” Jihoon muttered; staring at the expanse of his cream colored ceiling and praying to the higher beings to let him sleep for once when he needed it the most.

As if on cue, Jihoon could hear the faint musings of a piano floating with the late afternoon sunlight and he never felt a song so appropriate to the ambiance of his room that he thought for a second that someone might be playing for him.

“What’s the title of this song again?”

It was an involuntary whisper; he was not even aware that he had said something yet he knew it was good—really, really good that it had calmed his nerves at once as if it was morphine. He felt the melody wrap around his senses, dulling them and then trapping him into a dream-like trance. Jihoon didn’t care though. If it was the only thing that could make him sleep, then so be it.

1 year ago

It was literally one of the best nights of your life—the party was lit, your date whom your friend Soonyoung suggested was no less than perfect—you were enjoying the night away after getting the role of concert pianist in next year’s Annual Gala Night. Nothing could make you happier that day.

“Congrats, Y/N! We knew you’d get it!” a fellow piano major, Junhui gave his salutations to you as he swayed with flashing lights and the booming music, the ever-changing lights gave his blond hair various hues every ten seconds. “You’re the best in our year after all!”

“Yeah sure. If you’re tone deaf, that is.”

A familiar stingy voice emerged from the crowd and you just groaned, knowing who it was. Yet you would not let anything destroy your absolutely perfect night, especially not him.

“Bitter, aren’t we Lee Jihoon?” you replied with equal amounts of sass and you simply looked at his frowning figure standing by your mutual friend Soonyoung, who you knew was a dance major.

“In case you missed it, I’m actually selected as the conductor. So, I’m not exactly bitter, Y/N,” he remarked as he shot an eyebrow at your glaring eyes. “Better be prepared next year. I’m quite a demanding conductor.”

He stalked away after imparting his final words as if on cue and you just pursed your lips together, humoring his natural hate towards you. You haven’t actually done anything wrong towards him, yet he just despised you and you were logical enough to return it.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. He’s kinda on the edge lately…probably not having enough girls to fuck,” Soonyoung, who was left behind, offered consolation and you smiled at his concern.

“I still wonder why you and Jun are friends with that jerk,” you said with a scoff, swirling the red cup of alcohol on your hands.

“Nah. What’s actually weird is that he dislikes you so much. He’s just grumpy on the normal,” Jun exclaimed, and then running off after spotting another dance major, Minghao entering the stage.

Right on cue, your date for tonight Jinwo appeared right behind you and Soonyoung knew he had to bail out. So he gave you a congratulations and went to where vocal majors Seungkwan and Seokmin were.

It was truly a beautiful night. Everyone was having fun including you. Jinwo proved to be quite an awesome companion—laughing at silly things, trading inside stories about how you beat Lee Jihoon’s ass during that one recital, and doing goofy things one after another. You two just clicked together. You decided on that night that you were going to say yes when he asked you on a date another time. You were happy, ecstatic, with a heart full of laughter and lightheartedness.

Well, that is, until Lee Jihoon ruined your night as easy as breathing.

“Seriously, Y/N? Him?” he asked with a disgusted look as he refilled his cup with cocktail by the buffet table. “Who knew you’d stoop so low just to get a guy?”

“Excuse me, Lee Jihoon. What do you even know about Jinwo?” you defended with arms on your waist and a brow shot high on your forehead. Jinwo was beside you, glaring at the brown haired man who had a mocking smirk on his face.

Jihoon simply eyed at your date and then scoffed as if he knew something that you don’t.

“You don’t know, Y/N? He’s like dating one girl from every department in our college,” Jihoon grinned after continuing; amused at how you were wide eyed and speechless.

Yet Jinwo simply looked enraged that time as his face flushed red and gave you the cup of vodka he was holding. Your date took a step closer to Jihoon who didn’t even flinch when the taller guy seized his collar.

“Say that one more time, you fucking bastard!” Jinwo dared and you knew Jihoon was going to do it just to provoke him. So you moved to stop Jinwo’s arm from hitting Jihoon’s face even though you wouldn’t mind it.

“Jinwo, stop!”

You were shouting at him yet his fist was faster than you could have imagined. Jihoon got squared in the jaw and the fight erupted soon after. Jihoon was hitting Jinwo with an intensity you never imagined he could and the taller man was surprised at how the other was so intent to kill him.

Afraid that it would transform into a bigger fight, you called for the host, Choi Seungcheol who quickly separated the two. Jinwo was still thrashing around, held on the arms by Kim Mingyu as he was brought outside of the venue until you can’t see him from the crowd of onlookers. Jihoon, with a cut lip simply stood beside Seungcheol with an arrogant composure as he fixed the collar of his sweater.

You were still in the middle of shock when Jihoon grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the party. He must have said something to you yet you weren’t really listening to anything anymore. At your grasps, you had everything you wanted in your life then it all came crashing down because of one single guy who was now guiding you down the street towards your dormitories. You had realized this and halted in a screech.

“What the fuck is your problem with me, Jihoon?” you weren’t shouting, more like you were getting tired of his unexplainable shit that it all came into one exhausted question.

“I don’t like you. You know that,” he replied nonchalantly, without turning to look at you.

“And so?”

“So, what?”

“Did you know that you just ruined my entire night? I was having a blast! I got a main role in the Gala, my date was the best I had for two years, and I had friends congratulating me! But what did you do? You fucking picked a fight with Jinwo! Can’t you just leave me alone?”

He was silent under the dark shadows of the elm trees on the sidewalk yet you weren’t really waiting for an answer. You walked pass him; having enough drama for one night and strode straight ahead to your dorm.

You knew he was gazing at your retreating back yet he stood there motionless in his spot until you turned at the curb.

“Where the hell is that asshole?” you hissed to yourself after tuning the piano with the whole orchestra.

Apparently, Jihoon was late for practice and this was the first time it happened. Normally, he was right on schedule and he would scold anyone who would dare appear late. You never tried to, though it was somewhat tempting to piss him off yet for the sake of everyone, it was better not to provoke the conductor. You were broken from your reverie when you heard the auditorium doors swung open and out came marching a panicky Jihoon who had his scores messily gathered in a folder and his baton sticking out from his pocket.

“Sorry I’m late. I assumed you would have finished tuning so let’s begin with the 35th measure of the second movement,” he blurted out rapidly as he climbed the stairs and to his podium right beside you. He assumed position without even catching a breath, raising both his arms with a baton on his right hand as he said, “Alright. Let’s begin.”

“Stop. Stop,” the brunet conductor slammed his baton on the music stand and sharply turned to you, who looked both confused and wounded. “You are supposed to play in the background! Can’t you tell that you’re being too loud?!”

You grit your teeth at him as you shot daggers with your eyes. You tried to remind yourself not to go along with his outbursts yet you just couldn’t let it go without defending yourself.

“How would I know what you want when you keep on scolding me like that? Can’t you just tell me normally that you want me to play pianissimo in this part? That’s the problem with you! You keep things to yourself so how are we supposed to play like you want us to?!” you retaliated as you sat up from the piano bench and marched towards him.

“You should know what to do by now! How many times have we practiced this piece since last week?” Jihoon narrowed his eyes at you and then continued. “Or maybe you don’t want to follow what I say because you’re that much of a show off? Why don’t you just fucking play solo? You don’t need the orchestra!”

His words bit you so cruelly that you were simply rendered speechless and warm tears pooled from your eyes and fell down to your flushed cheeks. You held on to your fists as you bit your lip; trying to contain the emotions which were welling up from inside you.

“I hate you so much.”

You cursed under your breath and then escaped from the stuffy auditorium so that your jerk of a conductor would no longer witness how his words scarred your self-esteem.

Jihoon dragged his body from the front door towards his bedroom and upon reaching the comfy mattress, he allowed himself to fall into its soft comfort face front. Today was the worst among all the shitty practices he had in his life and it was not helping his headache nor his insomnia.

What he needed right now was that song.

If he could hear it one more time, he vowed to himself to give his neighbor some gratitude for helping him calm down. It was the reason though why he woke up so late in the morning and thus, almost missing orchestra practice yet he didn’t care. Nothing could make him sleep so soundly, however, without it, Jihoon was cursed to replay the events that happened just half an hour ago in his head.

The image of you crying was burnt into the back of his mind. The tears running down your cheeks and the words you told him had widened his eyes and tug on his heart and when you made a run for it, Jihoon felt too exhausted to continue the rehearsal and dismissed everyone.

You should apologize to her. It was his conscience calling him yet his pride was pulling him not to.

A man shouldn’t make a lady cry. Jihoon bit his lip and gave a defeated groan against the comforter. So what if some of his pride was crushed? He did accuse her of things she wasn’t and she was hurt by his words.

He must have had that line of thinking when the song began playing again from the other room and it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep; lulled by the gentleness of the melody.

3 months ago

He shouldn’t have come here.

“Jihoon! Your turn!”

He could hear Soonyoung forcing him to swallow the shot of soju on his hands and he was too tipsy to even whine a refusal.

He shouldn’t have come here.

“Wow! How many shots have you taken, Y/N?”

“I dunno. Close to ten, maybe?”

Jihoon could hear the reason why he was in that drinking party in the first place and he couldn’t even formulate an insult at his condition.

Fuck this. Fuck my life. Fuck Y/N.

Hm. That wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

No. Bad Jihoon.

“Y/N! Could you take care of Jihoon for me?

It may be Soonyoung talking or something. He saw you looking hesitant at the request.

“Are you insane? He hates me, I hate him!”

Yeah kinda. But he was just too drunk to say that he can take himself home even without your help. Jihoon simply slid down the floor; looking at your general direction and mesmerized by your actions.

“I know you won’t kill him, so just take him home please! I’ll treat you with anything you want after!”

“I’ll make sure you treat me with some expensive shit.”

Jihoon wasn’t really paying attention anymore to the conversation and the next thing he knew, you were holding him by his arm and dragging him down the street to the dorms. You were cursing and complaining about everything as he slumped his head down; mind muddled up with the scent of alcohol and your perfume.

“I can’t believe such a puny guy can be so heavy! Jesus Christ!” you grumbled as you towed him over your shoulders; realizing that the dorms were just too far away. “Dammit Jihoon! Walk, for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry…” he muttered and then tried to walk, in which he barely succeeded, nearly toppling both of you to the ground. “Am…shorry…Y/N…sho sorry…”

Somewhat surprised that he was apologizing to you, you haven’t uttered a single word; afraid that anything you would say would sober up the demon inside him. Upon arriving to his front door, you struggled to fish for the keys Soonyoung gave you before he disappeared with a random girl on his arms.

“Jihoon, where’s your bedroom?” you asked the brunet hanging by your side as you flicked on the lights of his dorm.

“O’er there…” he replied, pointing weakly at the door beside the grand piano and so, you continued to drag him until you gently laid him to his bed.

“Shit. I feel like my arm’s gonna fall off!” you exclaimed as you sat beside him and stretched your upper body. You had completely forgotten about Jihoon for a moment and had a small heart attack when he suddenly tugged your shirt to get your attention; half-lidded eyes and red cheeks met yours.

“Sorry…sho shorry…didn’t…mean to,” Jihoon repeated again and again as he feebly sat up; seizing one of your hands and gently massaging it. “Good…?”

You stalled for a few seconds until you remembered how to breathe and then stuttered to answer him. “What…what did you say?”

Jihoon frowned slightly and then started to press on your muscles harder. To say that you were absolutely confused about his sudden behavior was an understatement—you were completely baffled and weirded out. Lee Jihoon wasn’t supposed to be soft. He was the devil incarnate; a little gremlin—you often described him. He doesn’t know how to apologize to you, much less show a little gratitude or affection. He’s as bitter as his favorite black coffee and as cold as his permanent narrow gaze.

Yet here he was, massaging your tired hand as a way to recompense.

“Good…Y/N? Am…I…goooood…now?” he asked for reaffirmation and you nodded at him slightly; still somewhat stunned and you thought you couldn’t become any more astounded than you are currently. Yet when he gave you a small warm smile; his dimples showing and his eyes forming an eye smile, you thought that all of that night was just a dream.

“You’re…um…doing great. Tha-thank…you,” you mumbled and then stumbled on your words when Jihoon gave you a bright grin; cuddling on your shoulder right after.

“I’m happy…so…so happy,” he whispered solemnly. He had ceased on massaging your hand, instead, he simply held on to you tightly as if you might run away. You would have under normal circumstances, yet everything that night was not normal. Jihoon smiled…the world might be ending tomorrow.

“Have…to practishhhh…Y/N….shorry…tessst tomorrow,” he suddenly changed avenues and shifted on the bed yet he was too weak to do abrupt actions, so he simply remained on his position but continued mumbling anyway.

“You can’t. You’re shit drunk, Jihoon,” you scolded, however you didn’t attempt to move him in any way; afraid that the brunet might cling to you more.

“Have to…be…besssht…have to top…” he replied with a meeker voice than before. “Or they…they…won’t…I…can’t…shtuddy…no more,”

“That’s…um…I—”

“Mother…Father…scoldssss me…doesn’t like…me not…best.”

“You’re already great. Better than me actually.” Good thing he’s drunk.

“No, no. Y/N…Y/N’s good…really, really…good. ”

“This guy, really…you shouldn’t go to drinking parties when you get drunk so easily.”

You sighed and faced him; placing the hand which he was not grasping, on his head as you began to gently pat him. He seemed to like your gesture and nuzzled closer to your neck as if he was a child. Or your boyfriend. Ok. Y/N. Just because he turned soft on you for ten minutes, you’re now having weird thoughts. He might be Romeo when drunk but still Jihoon the gremlin when sobered up.

“If he’s just a bit nicer, it wouldn’t be weird if I did have a crush on him.”

Jihoon couldn’t exactly recall what he had seen or heard that night. All he could remember was a melody playing on the piano; his piano. His thoughts were too scattered to realize that nobody should be playing on the piano because he lived alone and never gave anyone a duplicate of his keys, yet it didn’t matter. The song was nice—it suddenly became his favorite tune—lulling him to a paradise where his parents appreciated his work, where he wasn’t pressured to succeed and where he had a nicer relationship with you.

When a few streams of sunlight flashed upon Jihoon’s face the next morning, he felt like a train had hit his head last night and his mind was like a collection of jumbled ideas and images. He was staring at the ceiling yet he couldn’t recognize that it was indeed the ceiling he was looking at. Then the next thing he knew, he was on the sink; emptying his stomach.

“I shouldn’t have gone to that fucking party.”

“What’s this?”

Raising a brow, you took the sticky note off your door and read it more closely.

“’Liked that piece you played on the piano. Slept well ‘coz of it. Thanks.’ Well, what a way to start a day!” you exclaimed and inserted the note on your piano scores with a grin on your face. At least you were in a better mood to ignore your conductor’s rants.

Since your first class was around one in the afternoon, you decided to take a good bite at the nearest sandwich shop. You were in a good mood after all.

Ordering something like a chicken panini or whatever, you happily munched on a booth nearest to the window; your sheet music sprawled on the table for you to review the certain parts that needed your attention.

“Wait, what? A pianissimo after a series of octave jumps?” you whined as you took a bite on your lunch, chewing as you imagined how the piece would go. “C’mon! I have Rachmaninoff on my plate!”

“Why? Can’t you have Liszt and Rachmaninoff at the same time?”

You choked on your chicken panini when you heard the voice you wanted to hear the least; snapping your head in front of you and meeting his tired gaze. You automatically reached for your bottle of soda and drank the contents of your mouth down your throat.

Jihoon sat on the chair in front of you without giving any sort of preamble and just watched you panicking because of his unexpected presence. His hands eventually reached for your music sheets and helped you arrange them back to your folder.

You got more and more weirded out as you saw him help you clear away the table and by the time you were done, you sat back on your seat slowly; watching him with a confused expression.

“So…um…what brings you here?” you asked with hesitance; still wondering why he wanted to talk to you in the first place. “Is this for the rehearsal? The assignment in music theory? Or…um…chicken panini?”

The brunet conductor shook his head at all three of your questions and then suddenly retracted as if he had said something wrong. “No wait. It’s…yeah, it’s about the rehearsal. The other day’s rehearsal…”

“The other day…” you repeated his words and scrunched up your brows in confusion until you finally remembered why you went home crying in middle of your last rehearsal. “What…what about it?”

Jihoon gazed at you for a few seconds as if trying to scrutinize what you were feeling that moment before closing his eyes to collect himself. After some time, he opened them once more and then began to speak.

“I…well…I’m—I’m s-sorry. I said things I shouldn’t have…and, um…I made you cry, so…” Jihoon clasped and unclasped his hands as he struggled to spit out the words. “It’s against my conscience to make girls…no, um…rather, you cry. I don’t want you to cry…”

You honestly thought you were still asleep—there was no way such a day would be so good to you. You didn’t even want to breathe or blink, or Jihoon might disappear in front of you; so you sat as still as you could.

Yet Jihoon was not planning to stay a bit longer. As soon as he blurted out what he wanted to say, the brunet dashed out of the sandwich shop faster than you can react and you were left there standing and staring at his retreating back.

“What on earth am I supposed to feel?”

1 month ago; Leeds, United Kingdom

Leeds International Pianoforte Competition.

Your hands were sweaty as you stepped a foot into the lobby of the competition’s venue with the music score on your hands. It wasn’t your first time entering a contest abroad yet the Leeds was one of the biggest competitions you had in your entire life and you knew you can’t just screw it up because it means a great deal to your future career as a classical musician and—

“Would fucking hurry up, Y/LN? Unlike you, I don’t want to embarrass myself later.”

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted as you were shoved away by Kim Jaehwa, another competitor from your university which seemed to be more hostile to you than Lee Jihoon simply because you refused to date him back in first year. Not wanting to stress yourself before the competition, you moved pass him yet the other simply clicked his tongue and gave a mocking laugh.

“What? Can’t seem to taunt back?” Kim Jaehwa called out from your back yet you simply rolled your eyes and continued walking. “Hey! I’m still talking to you, Y/LN!”

Proceeding to walk without any care, you ignored the shouts of the idiot behind you. You only stopped when you heard Lee Jihoon’s voice which was definitely weird because you knew he was back in South Korea doing god-knows-what. You turned around immediately, only to be greeted by the image of the smaller Jihoon arm-locking Kim Jaehwa.

“Better go elsewhere, buddy. Or I might break every single bone in your hand right now,” Jihoon muttered to the guy as you simply stood there watching in awe.

Luckily, Kim Jaehwa was smart enough to run away because you knew Jihoon would definitely break his fingers if he would try to retaliate. So, breaking out of your initial shock, you placed your arms over your chest and began questioning the other person in the lobby.

“Mind if I ask why you’re here?” You arched a brow and he gave a careless shrug.

“Why? Can’t I?” Jihoon smirked and you sighed in exhaustion. “My competition in Germany is already over, so might as well watch you embarrass yourself.”

“Thank you for your unwanted concern, Mr. Lee. I better go and embarrass myself now. Goodbye.”

You turned around and walked towards the backstage slowly with pursed lips, leaving Jihoon alone to his own devices.

“I’ll be waiting for your mistakes later. Be careful with those runs and match with the feelings of the piece!”

He still warned you though. Fucking perfectionist. Yet, you smiled for the first time that day.

And when the conductor raised his baton parallel to his chest, in one breath, you began.

Piano Concerto No. 3 in C major, Op. 26 by Sergei Prokofiev

It begins with a slow andante clarinet solo; soft and mysterious and then gradually followed by the orchestra in the same slow tempo yet suddenly turns into a fast-paced movement with the piano entering immediately—also in fiery tune. With the whole orchestra clashing into one another in a threatening unrest, the piano almost in a battle with the orchestra. Reverberating low chords, tolling melancholic bell-like tunes, rapid movement mimicking a chase, strings foreshadowing a struggle about to unfold—it was as if the whole symphony was telling a story.

While Jihoon has higher standards than the highest mountain in the world, yet with you playing, you managed to go even beyond that. He can feel his whole body quivering in excitement as the notes kept on jarring with each other; forming an overall sound which made his eyes widen in exhilaration and anticipation for more.

It was a difficult piece. Just by hearing it, Jihoon knew that it was not a piece you can easily defeat in just a few days. The fingering techniques needed for those rapid piano movements interspersed with one another, for short, your hands were on top of one another while moving up and down the keyboard.

It was a performance which took him into a different realm…this is how Y/N would perform…this almost otherworldly performance…it resonated inside him.

Fuck.

That day, Lee Jihoon became afraid of his feelings.

3 months later; Seoul National University Auditorium

“Ahhhh. I feel so nervous!”

You could hear Kim Mingyu, who was contrabass one whining at the farthest end of the backstage and you simply sighed; trying to expel all the tension building up in your body. It was the Gala Night and everything which you and the whole orchestra had rehearsed would be tested and heard by everyone tonight. It was a night that would decide what comes after university.

“Alright, listen everyone!” The conductor, Lee Jihoon shouted as he stood above a wooden crate so he could be seen by everyone. “I won’t say don’t be nervous because you never listen anyway. However, this is it. This is our judgement day, our day of reckoning. Perform like it’s your last concerto and remember to be careful. I know we are all here for a reason. Let’s show those people why.”

You nodded yet continued exhaling breaths to control the shaking on your arms. God, you hated that feeling. Everyone dispersed with a calmer atmosphere and went back to reviewing the scores however, your eyes were still trained to Jihoon’s that he had immediately noticed your gaze. He got off the wooden crate and walked towards you with a substantive expression which scared you.

Both of you never really had a decent conversation after Jihoon had apologized that day in the sandwich shop. Rather, he had grown somewhat on guard every single time you were around and he would limit his interaction with you as business-like as possible. You wondered if you had done something wrong because why is Lee Jihoon, who insulted you in every opportunity he gets, suddenly became so silent? It felt both unnerving and empty at the same time. You did miss fighting with him.

When the brunet finally came up to you, you weren’t really prepared to say anything. Instead, you just stared at him as if waiting for him to begin and so he did.

“So…um, how should I say this?” Jihoon stuttered as he scratched the back of his neck as the suit suddenly made him feel stuffy. “Even though I told you many times that you’re not that good of a pianist, I know that um…you…y-you—”

“Oh stop it Lee Jihoon,” you broke off his words with a groan and sighed. “I know it’s hard for you to compliment me, so just say what you want in the language you’re most comfortable with, because you being this weird is really, really frightening.”

Jihoon blinked at you for a few times until his apprehensive expression turned into his rare dimpled smile that made his eyes look like tiny upside down crescents and showed his small but sharp canines

“Alright. I’m looking forward in watching you embarrass yourself up there. Try not to be too excited,” he mocked you yet his tone seemed to be teasing rather than offensive.

“If I embarrass myself, you go down with me. Remember that, Mr. Conductor.”

“Then, remember to look at me and go with the feelings of the piece.”

“Since when did I find it difficult to look at you?”

“What? What did you say?”

“Nothing. C’mon, it’s our cue.”

As you made yourself comfortable in front of the grand piano with your stunningly exquisite golden gown, you glanced down on the ivory keys. Tonight, they are both your ally and your enemy as you battle with fate, with chance, with your body and your mind.

Under the glaring overhead lights, the whole orchestra stood before the expecting audience. Lee Jihoon had picked his baton with controlled composure and placed a glance at you. Nodding at him, you took a deep breath and a small prayer before he waved at the orchestra to begin.

Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor, Op. 30—Sergei Rachmaninoff

The first movement begins with allegro ma non tanto revolving around a beautiful, almost song-like melody; diatonic in nature. It then fully dives into a B-flat major key as the first theme—trotting gradually to a loud development section which opens with toccata like quavers in the piano and reaches a loud chordal section. It was emotion brewing; hidden under layers of notes and cadenzas as if it was an ode to life’s complexities. The climaxes were ferocious especially in the cadenza and morphs into a quiet wind and brass solo section. The first movement ends with the piano restating the first theme alongside the orchestra, and concluded with a rippling coda; a nostalgic retrace of the second theme.

As the second movement had set off filled with its heavy romantic thoughts, you recalled that this piece was one of the hardest to play in the whole world and it wasn’t a concealed fact that you had cursed, complained, cried and suffered during the whole three months of practice. The violins rolled in with the movement’s second theme as the orchestra accompanies the soliloquy of the piano. You glanced at Jihoon in front of you, guiding the orchestra to the masterpiece of the night. He must have sensed you watching him as you pressed your fingers on the chords and he turned to you with a small smile.

When the second movement had ended and the piano had continued to the final movement with a cadenza-esque passage nonstop, the mood of the auditorium was immediately charged with your quick and vigorous attacks on the piano; the brass section adding flair to every note. However, the final movement diverges from a regular sonata-allegro form and Jihoon had precisely informed you during rehearsals to be careful with the unconventional development which was a long-winding digression using the major key of the movement’s first theme. It was much easier for you after that, with the recapitulation of the original themes building to a toccata climax much like the first movement. As the conclusion draws near, the sweat in your brow was falling down your cheeks as you pressed four-note rhythms in a victorious and passionate melody in D major as the orchestra accompanies you through the end. Your hands and arms were quivering as you felt the vibrations of the music well up your emotions and with a final notes on the piano, Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto in D minor completed with tumultuous cheers and applause.

Two years of failed auditions, one year of anticipation, three months of general rehearsals and tonight it had all ended.

You, for a moment, had muted out your surroundings yet when Jihoon finally tapped your shoulder to stand up, you immediately averted your gaze towards his eyes. He gave you a wide grin which you were secretly fond of as he clapped with the audience.

“Wasn’t that perfect really. You made a mistake in the first movement yet I’ll excuse you for tonight. You did great,” Jihoon had whispered to your ear as he guided you to the backstage to get a glass of water and the standard bouquet of roses.

“You really love to pick on me, don’t you?” you replied with a huff after downing cold water down your throat.

“No, I just don’t like you. Better prepare for an encore, by the way.”

“Wait, what?”

“You forgot? It’s tradition.”

When you got back on stage as the audience clapped once more, you were cursing Lee Jihoon silently for not informing you that concert pianists needed to do encores during Gala Nights. Feeling rather unprepared yet having no choice, you sat in front of the piano and decided to play something you knew by heart.

As you began with a sweet yet calming melody reminiscent of a quiet afternoon ambience, the whole crowd suddenly became quiet and the buzz from the excitement earlier had gradually died down. You were playing the main tune on your right hand and simple arpeggios on your left with a serene smile on your lips. Despite being instrumental, the piece you were playing was closer to a song—an adagio cantabile.

Jihoon who was standing just at the mouth of the backstage, felt his breath stop momentarily as his ears heard the notes you were producing on the piano. He felt confused, moved, astonishment and an assortment of emotions which he couldn’t describe any longer.

Fuck.

“It’s her. It’s her all along,” he muttered under his breath.

As your encore had finally ended, you gave a bow to the audience and shook hands with the concert master before walking back to the backstage for your long awaited rest.

Jihoon was still there in the same position and when you finally walked pass him, he had grabbed your arm and whisked you away from the oncoming barrage of orchestra members.

“What the hell is it again, Jihoon?” you asked with a bewildered and slightly annoyed expression. “You’re so difficult to understand!”

“And you’re always barging into my life!” he replied with the same tone as yours.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s you! You’re—”

“Jihoon.”

You would almost roll your eyes at the person interrupting your discussion when you felt Jihoon visibly freeze on his spot. When you turned to place a glance at the newcomer, you immediately understood why.

“Father. I—”

“You disappoint me, Jihoon,”

The first words which came out of his fathers’s lips stung to the deepest recesses of his being like poisoned thorns. And you simply stood beside him like an idiot, watching the events unfold.

“I’m sorry. I did my best so…” Jihoon heard his voice going smaller and smaller and his words choking him on the throat.

“Best? Tell me again that you did your best when a company or conservatoire approaches you after the concert. No one did, am I right?”

“Father…um…”

“I shouldn’t have let you study music when you’re just going to slack off.”

Unable to just observe the scene in front of you, you walked in front of Jihoon’s father with courage you never thought you had.

“Excuse me, sir. I may be intruding but I just want to point out that Jihoon never slacked off. He gives everyone hell but he gives himself something worse than hell. So for the sake of us who suffered under him, please retract your words.”

Jihoon’s father simply looked at you with the same cold gaze Jihoon had yet you grew immune to that certain hard stare that you were not by the least intimidated.

“And who are you?” the father asked, his tone harsh.

“Just some pianist. But that’s not the point. Please retract your words, sir because Jihoon was never a disappointment. He has won tons of awards and he will be working in Europe after we graduate!” you defended him with an intense glare before taking a breath and began talking once more. “He’s the most hardworking person I know that he even wants to practice even if he was dead drunk.”

Jihoon simply glanced at you with wide eyes and his mouth ajar, wondering how the hell you knew so much about him. But before he could ask you, his father had beat him to it.

“Let me ask you again. Who are you?”

You grit your teeth because you knew what he was asking for. He wanted to know who you are in Jihoon’s life yet that was a question you don’t know the answer to. He was neither your friend nor your worst enemy any longer. He was not your conductor because the Gala Night had just concluded. Jihoon was just a schoolmate and a friend of a friend yet you were defending him in front of his father.

That is if you continue to deny who Jihoon really is to you.

“I’m…I’m…I, um…wait—no, Jihoon is…Jihoon is someone I care about a lot. So Mr. Lee, please retract your words because it invalidates all of the efforts he did and struggles he had while studying music.”

You answered resolutely as you pursed your lips; waiting for an answer.

“I still think Jihoon has disappointed me tonight,” his father replied as he glanced at Jihoon who was staring at the concrete floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, and then looked back at you. “But, I will acknowledge that he had been working hard. Just like you said, Ms. Pianist.”

Jihoon’s father turned around and began walking towards the exit but before he disappeared in to the door, he had called out to Jihoon who twitched at the sound of his name.

“You should pick better friends, Jihoon.”

As the older man had gone off the backstage, you heaved a long sigh and placed your hands on your hips.

“We’re not even friends, for Christ’s sake!” you exclaimed however, instead of replying Jihoon simply seized your arm once again as he dragged you out of the auditorium and towards the compound of dormitories just far ahead.

“You need some explaining to do Y/N,” he told you as he pinned you on the door to his room; eyes boring through your soul as he stared at you intently.

“What? What are you talking about?” you replied as your brows knitted in confusion.

“Don’t play dumb with me. Tell me how you knew about my parents,” he demanded and you simply arched a brow at him, silently surprised.

“I…well, you told me…when you got drunk during Soonyoung’s birthday party and I had to drag your ass back to your dorm room,” you replied slowly as Jihoon simply gave you a puzzled look. “You…you don’t remember, do you?”

Jihoon stared at you blankly for a while as he tried to processed what you said and compare it to what little memory he had that night. Moments later, you didn’t need to be told that Jihoon had finally realized that you were telling him the truth.

“Fuck. This is so embarrassing!” He grimaced but you simply shrugged.

“Well, what’s done is done. So can you let me go now?” you asked yet he snapped back at you again and you just had to give an unamused frown.

“I’m not done yet.”

“What is it now, Jihoon?” You groaned as you sighed; rolling your eyes in irritation.

“I should be the one irritated here. Have you had any idea how much you messed up my life?” he asked you and you stared at him incredulously.

“Wow, bro. So it’s my fault that your life is shit? Excuse me, Jihoon, you may not notice but you’re the one who keeps pissing on my life!” you replied, your blood beginning to simmer.

“Good that you noticed how I’m trying to get rid of you from my life but you keep on coming back that I don’t know what to do anymore!”

“Alright, Lee Jihoon. It’s your time to start explaining.” You pressed a finger on his chest as you shot daggers at him with your glare. “Why the fuck are your trying to get rid of me when I have no fucking idea what I did wrong? Tell me! Did I say something offensive to you? Did I physically hurt you? Did I hurt your chances of dating other girls—”

“YES—!”

“For the love of God, Jihoon—what the fuck did I do? Shit. Did I make you seem uncool during class or some—”

“Would you just fucking shut up—”

You were shouting at each other for a moment, then the next thing you knew was the feeling of his soft lips pressed roughly on yours; his hands cupping your cheek as your eyes dilated in shock. Jihoon moved and slightly angled himself to gently nibble on your lower lip as your breath hitched at the sudden action. He must have realized your surprise when he pulled away and gave you a tentative look before nuzzling his head on your neck.

“I’m never going to think of someone else as much as I think of you. It’s your fault. No one’s gonna be better than you, nicer than you, funnier than you or prettier than you. No matter what I do to make you leave my mind…insulting you, ruining your day, teasing the hell out of you, but it’s all just making me feel like shit,” he mumbled on your shoulder as you closed your eyes to digest everything he had said.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. I swear this guy…!

“Lee Jihoon?” you called out his name softly with restraint and he hummed in indication that you had his attention. “Someday, I fucking swear I’ll hit your head on a concrete wall. But for now I just want you to kiss me.”

As soon as he heard your words, Jihoon immediately left your shoulder and gave you a look of surprise. However, you didn’t have time for that and simply yanked the collar of his suit and pulled him towards you for a kiss.

It didn’t even took much for Jihoon to reciprocate as he again nibbled and licked your lips, earning a gasp from you which he took as an opportunity to insert his tongue in your mouth. His hands travelled to your hips as yours went around his shoulders; fiddling with his brown hair.

Playing with your tongue, he pressed his hips against yours and definitely felt his half-hard member grinding against your thigh. You left out a soft mewl as Jihoon pulled away from your lips and went in for your jaw and down to your neck; placing butterfly kisses here and there. He ghosted his lips on your pulse point before leaving marks that you wouldn’t care if it would stay until tomorrow.

One of his hands left your hips and opened the door behind you, letting both of you inside his room. Jihoon kicked the door shut while giving your collarbone a variety of nips and bites up until the upper part of your chest as you held on to his head, moaning every time he sucked harshly on your skin.

“J-Jihoon…ahh…the afterparty…Soonyoung might—”

“I don’t care. I wanted you for so long and no one’s gonna stop me.”

He then pulled you into his bedroom where his hands found your cheeks once more and gave you a long-drawn kiss as you hummed happily against his lips. Jihoon snaked his way to the zipper of your dress and pulled it down to get your bulky clothes off of you and pushed you down on the bed. As you hit the soft mattress with only on your underwear, you could immediately get a whiff of Jihoon’s scent on the sheets as the real Jihoon standing in front of the bed, discarded his coat and shirt and hovered over your sprawled figure.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jihoon whispered as he bent over your neck and peppered small kisses which eventually turned to licks and harsh bites.

“Jihoon…”

His name escaped your lips as soon as he began to touch your bare breasts; licking your nipples which hardened against the cold temperature of the room. He pinched and sucked as you cried out his name; your hands on the back of his head, messing his soft but messy brown hair. One of his hands then moved to your hips and then to your inner thighs, stroking the sensitive skin. You felt the wetness between your legs drench your underwear as Jihoon caressed your body more.

Without giving much warning, he pinched your clothed clit and your breath hitched in surprise, however, he continued to play with it, making you grasp on the sheets to control yourself. Impatiently, Jihoon pulled your underwear off and knelt down between your legs as he began to kiss, then suck on the skin of your inner thighs. You wanted to close your legs together instinctively however, he was holding you at the back of your knees that you couldn’t do anything but arch your back and exhausted your throat with breathy moans and gasps as Jihoon latched on your clit; ruthlessly sucking.

“Fuck! Jihoon…god! Your tongue feels so good…”

Screaming, you held on to his head as he ate you out; pushing a finger in and out of you which made you pull on his hair lightly. Eventually, you reached your own climax as your body quivered and shook at your own release. Jihoon hummed pleasantly as he lapped on your juices while you cried out his name over and over again; proud that he was making you feel good. He then sat up and wiped his cheeks which were glistening with your own juices; licking his hands clean as he gazed at you and only you.

“Did that feel good, baby?” he asked you, smirking as he placed chaste kisses on your cheeks and forehead and then chuckled at how helpless you looked. “But I’m not done with you yet, Y/N. You think you can handle rough?”

“Wha-What the fuck…Jihoon—”

“Of course you can, right? You’re the only one who can handle me.”

Your half-lidded eyes widened at his suggestion as excitement filled your lower half once more.

“Alright. On your knees, baby,” he ordered and you instantly followed; secretly exhilarated on what was about to come.

You shifted on the bed with your ass high on the air as your arms supported your upper half. While you were doing that, Jihoon finally pulled both his pants and boxers down as he pumped his erection at the sight of you. You could see on your peripheral view that he was bigger than you had expected him to be and you were slightly frightened with how much he would stretch you out.

Jihoon approached you from behind and caressed your ass as he slid two digits into your still sensitive pussy. You mewled when Jihoon pulled his fingers out as quickly as he pushed them and instead rubbed his shaft against your lower lips; his cock grinding against your clit. You could hear him chuckling behind you.

“Damn it, Jihoon. Stop teasing and fuck me already!” you cursed; having enough of his playfulness.

However, instead of following you, he merely bent down by your ear and whispered. “I’m sorry. What did you say, Y/N?”

You bit your swollen lips as Jihoon continued to grind himself to you; deciding long before that you needed him so much that it doesn’t matter if you begged.

“Jihoon…fuck. I need you. Please, please fill me up with your cock,” you pleaded; letting out a silent moan as he did not waste any time filling you up, his dick stretching you out.

Waiting for you to adjust to his size, Jihoon placed small kisses on your back, oftentimes, sucking on your skin and giving you kitten licks. However, when you finally told him that it was okay to move, Jihoon pulled and thrusted into sharply; making you scream on the pillows that smelled so just like him. His pace was relentless—fast and rough thrusts into you as he rubbed circles on your clit; grunting every time you tighten up for him.

“You…feel…so good, baby. I wanted…you…for so long,” he breathed in every word as he pushed into you; filling the room with the sound of skin slapping and your sweet cries of pleasure.

When Jihoon shifted and altered his angle, his cock had brushed against your sweet spot that you didn’t care anymore if other people could hear you two fucking. Your voice was long hoarse yet you couldn’t help but scream when he pounded into our G-spot ruthlessly.

You felt your release building up as Jihoon continued to overwhelm you with pleasure until you collapsed on his pillows, crying out his name as your climax washed over you. Jihoon on the other hand, felt himself fall on the edge as you tightened around him; making his thrusts erratic. After pounding into you for a few more times, he finally pulled out and came on your back with his loudest groan.

Being so exhausted, you have never even realized that you had drifted to sleep until you stirred from your slumber. You felt an arm snaking around your waist as another body was nuzzling on your hair and for a moment, you panicked at the foreign sensations, however after remembering what had happened earlier, you simply sighed in relief and turned around to Jihoon who you never thought would be capable of cuddling.

You simply watched him sleeping for several minutes until his peaceful face contorted into an annoyed frown.

“Y/N, stop staring at me and just go to sleep,” Jihoon scolded you with a gruff voice and placed his head back on top of yours; breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“Jihoon I have a question.”

“Make it quick before I fall asleep,” Jihoon mumbled almost unintelligibly and you shrugged, knowing he would really fall asleep.

“Before your dad arrived, what were you about to tell me that time?”

“Huh? Ah…I just realized that you were actually the one who was playing that song after all this time. I really liked it.”

“Song? What…what song?” you finally replied with a rather small voice.

“You know, that one that goes like…”

Jihoon began to hum the tune of the song he was talking about and you realized then and there that he actually has a good singing voice.

“Oh that. I composed it a long time ago and I would play it when I feel really stressed.”

You could feel Jihoon hum an acknowledgement and you knew he was slowly drifting off. So, you went to tell him what you wanted to say before he falls asleep.

“Y/N, just be quiet already.”

“Hey. If I wake up alone here, I swear—”

“I won’t leave you alone, okay? We have a date tomorrow so shut up already and sleep.”

You shot a brow up as a small smile perked up on your lips.

“I want to eat ice cream tomorrow. Remember that,” you remarked and buried your head on his chest.

Jihoon smiled as he thought of ice cream parlors that you might like to go tomorrow before he had finally fell into slumber.

Admin Hyeri

#seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #woozi #lee jihoon

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dansphlevels · 7 years

Note

Ooh for the prompts could you do Ice or something about your mutant au Dan and Phil cuddling and it's just fluff af?

yO I know this isn’t exactly what you asked for.

But it’s the next chapter of the mutant thingy.

And there’s a lil bit of fluff mixed in.

(There’s also a significant amount of angst oops)

Let me know if you’d like another oneshot that’s more fluffy and shit, I don’t think I want to write one specifically for this fic cause there’s drama currently going down but I can totally write a different fluffy thing, just let me know!

But Love Is Overrated Anyways (Pt. 15)

Summary: Dan is an angry mutant with the ability to control the cold. He shares a tent with a man Phil, who has powers over fire but refuses to use it for evil. Dan has no such moral qualms.

Length: Chaptered Fic (ch 15 = 2.5k words)

Theme: Superpowers, Mutants, Dark, Dystopian

Read on AO3 / But Love Is Overrated Anyways Masterpost / All My Fics

Chapter 15: But He Kept Quiet

Dan and Phil managed to get all the way to shore before they crumpled against their friends, still laughing and grinning like they were drunk. Dan looked four years younger, and his brown eyes shone like they’d been freshly polished, a shade or two lighter than Phil remembered them. Phil had never seen him smile so widely. He looked different, Phil realized, like something had changed from the time he was brought into the lake and the time he’d swam out.

He recalled the blackness forcefully expelling itself from within Dan. But before Phil could think about it much more, he noticed a form leant up against a nearby tree.

"Mandy?"

"She collapsed," Jordan explained, helping him stand fully. "Didn’t pass out, which kind of surprised me actually. The force field shut down?"

"Yeah." As Phil said the word, he could feel the impact of the past hour hit him as once, and he would’ve collapsed as well if Jordan hadn’t been holding him up.

"Woah. Come on guys, let’s get back to camp."

Phil was still smiling dazedly as they walked back to camp, leaning heavily on Jordan. He was careful to only touch her clothes, not her skin: he didn’t want to burn her.

At least three people crowded around Dan, helping him walk. He looked almost drunk, smiling and grinning like he was coming down from anesthesia. The others held him up by his bare arms, and no one pulled away or seemed in pain at all.

After the long walk back, they were helped into their tent. Jordan zipped it closed behind them, telling them to just sleep and that everything else could be figured out later.

As soon as they were alone, Dan tackled him again, pressing their lips together. This kiss, their third kiss, was different. Less about necessity, and more about…. more about pure affection.

Dan’s body trembled lightly, and they stopped quickly, both too weak to continue on. Phil took Dan’s hand, tracing it lightly with his thumb. The black was completely gone, and his skin was warmer than ever before- both in shade and in temperature.

The realization hit Phil like a train. "You’re…"

"I’m not," Dan promised. His voice was a whisper, quiet and smooth, and Phil realized that those were the first words Dan had said since he’d been cured.

Cured. Phil breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "You’re fine? You’re okay?"

"I’m okay." His voice was still in that smooth, soft tone.

"Then we’ll figure it out later," Phil decided, repeating Jordan’s words. Had she known about Dan’s state? Phil had never understood her powers, which she made sure of. But she’d been able to sense Dan’s mind at work earlier. Had she done the same thing just moments before?

Dan and Phil climbed into their individual sleeping bags, just a little closer than normal. Dan fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and Phil wasn’t far off. But the same thought kept nagging at the back of his mind. Dan’s baby soft skin; how everyone had been able to hold his hands and touch him with ease; his skin tone, which was now a warmer tone, as opposed to his normal icy hue. If he were a human, he’d look healthy. But that was the thing- he wasn’t supposed to be a human.

———-

Dan didn’t know how long he slept for, just that it had been a long time. Phil was gone, and he could look around the tent, meaning it was day. It had been day when he collapsed- he thought. His brain hummed, like he’d been given a painkiller he wasn’t quite prepared for. His entire body felt warm, like he was trying to assimilate himself into the sleeping bag.

A sharp breath left his mouth, and he coughed, doubling over and choking out a few painful coughs into his sleeve. When he sat back up, a little bit of black goop had formed on his shirt, the consistency of blood.

"Dan?"

Dan quickly wiped the goop away, sitting up more as Phil unzipped the flap. "You’re up!"

Dan offered him a small smile. His memory was a broken puzzle that he had to piece back together one by one. Four pieces clicked together, forming a memory of Phil’s lips against his at the bottom of a lake.

Phil looked a little uncomfortable. "Um, we have lunch ready. Do you want to come eat?"

Dan’s stomach felt completely empty, yet he didn’t feel any hunger. That was a good way to describe it- empty. A heavy backpack with nothing inside.

"Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute." Dan felt almost as surprised as Phil looked. Was that… was that his voice? He touched his throat self consciously. His skin felt different, more doughy than usual. "Do you… do you have a jacket that I could borrow? I’m uh, I’m really cold."

That was a new feeling. Cold. Dan had felt it before, but this was a different breed. He’d never minded it before.

With a red, slightly too big hoodie wrapped around him, Dan emerged from the tent into the light of day. Everyone was eating a few paces away from the camp, sitting on the ground in the shade of the trees. Dan followed a few paces behind Phil, his body feeling strangely new, like he’d been power washed when he wasn’t looking.

Everyone looked up with they heard him. "I’ll grab you food?" Phil offered, hi# voice still a little unsure. Dan nodded, scanning the forest floor for somewhere to sit.

He sat cautiously, leaning against the same wide tree Mandy sat against. She looked utterly exhausted, like she was still recovering from running a marathon.

"What was his name?" Dan asked, careful to keep his voice down.

Her eyes widened, staring straight ahead. "Whose name?"

"The boy. With the animal powers, the one who held the bluebird."

Mandy turned and stared at Dan like she’d seen a ghost. "What?"

"I saw him," Dan started. He cut himself off with a round of coughing into his sleeve that stopped all conversation. He wiped the black goop away before anyone could see it. "In my dream," he admitted, more aware of the others looking at him. "And other people. A girl, with a mug of hot chocolate? She stared at me like…" he blushed, ending the sentence there. "But she wasn’t staring at me. I don’t really know what it was. Just, that she was staring at you."

"Lunch is served," Phil announced, plopping down next to Dan, oblivious to the conversation. He passed a sandwich Dan’s way, biting into his own.

Dan fingered it, then took an experimental bite. He nodded, deciding it was good.

"We need to make a plan," Jordan decided, leaning against a tree with a sandwich of her own. "You lied to us." She was staring at Dan, and he lowered his gaze, more focused on his sandwich.

"Let’s talk about this later," Dan begged. "With the council."

"We’re all here," PJ argued. "And we’ve waited this long."

"Then we can wait a little longer," Phil defended. "Dan just got up. Let’s give him a little time to recover before jumping him.

He caught Jordan’s eye. She was smirking slightly, and Phil could almost hear her voice, as if she’d invaded his head: it’s not like you waited very long to jump him.

Phil shook his head, and Jordan looked away, picking at her nails.

"We need to get moving," PJ announced. "At nightfall, we’ll start walking and make camp when dawn starts to break. We’ll meet before we pack up." He stepped out from under the trees, peering into the sky. "A few hours. Until then, everyone do your tasks as normal. Dan can talk to me in private if he’s too weak to walk or do his tasks."

"I’m fine," Dan defended, his voice not annoyed but actually meek. It was unsettling.

"Good. Let’s go then."

——-

Jordan hurried to catch up with then. "Hey Phil, hang back."

Both Dan and Phil stopped, but Jordan requested Dan go ahead. He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets as he climbed into his tent.

It was already beginning to get dark. No one had been in the mood for fast preparation, and it had taken longer than they’d expected.

Jordan pulled Phil to the side. "I know for a fact that you’re not planning on telling the truth to the council. And I won’t tell them you’re lying. But you have to tell me the truth."

She was right. Phil had spent most of the day trying to find the best words to use, the ones that made everything seem as ‘all right’ as possible. Everything that was going on with Dan felt like more personal issues, and neither of them wanted to let the council know all of the details.

Phil sighed. "Something happened. I don’t know what. In the water, the darkness was literally expelled from Dan. I don’t understand how or what it was, but I haven’t told him yet."

Jordan frowned. "What?"

"Yeah. He’s been acting a little… off lately. I think it must be his heart. All that black that was expelled must have been from his heart."

Jordan was still frowning.

"What?"

She hesitated, as if unsure how much to tell him. Finally, she relented. "Phil… his hearts still black. Nora looked earlier. She says… she says it scares her. If she’s seen anything like it before, she hasn’t said, but… well, he scares her. She thinks he’s…" she didn’t need to finish the sentence. Phil knew what the connotations might be with having a heart made out of shadow.

"You guys coming?" PJ asked, walking up to the tent.

———

Dan smiled at Phil when he came in, and for the first time since the incident, Phil saw a shred of what Dan used to be. There was a glint in his eyes, like they were sharing a secret but Phil didn’t know what the secret actually was. Then it switched off, and Dan looked down at his hands in his lap.

"You lied," PJ said, starting the meeting off without any unnecessary formalities. His friendly disposition from only moments prior had been dropped, and all of his annoyance was aimed directly at Dan. "You were sick and you didn’t tell us. I don’t know what we could have done, but perhaps we could have come up with a plan that wasn’t so dangerous."

Dan played with his fingers shyly. They were a soft color, a little pink, and showed no traces of the stark black frostbite that had covered them earlier in the week.

He didn’t look like he was going to speak up, so instead Phil did. "I knew."

"Obviously."

"Look, he’s better now. We figured it out, okay?"

PJ scratched his leg. "Is he though? Dan, are your powers back to normal?"

Dan tensed up so much Phil thought he might actually curl up. "No," Jordan interrupted, "Dan does not have to answer that. His powers are his business."

——

They walked in silence for a long time.

Dan and Phil were at the back of the group. Mandy had walked with them for awhile, but then she’d gotten into a conversation with Jordan and moved to talk to her. Dan and Phil drifted further and further back until they were out of hearing range, and even then they didn’t talk.

They ended up setting up camp in the woods by an enclosed town a little ways away. After they had a chance to rest and eat they’d explore the city, looking for stray mutants and replenishing supplies they couldn’t find in the woods.

——-

Dan was no where to be found.

Phil searched around the full camp, checking around the tents and even checking inside each tent. Then, when he still didn’t find him, Phil searched the woods around the camp. Dan was still recovering from everything that had happened, and so far, his powers hadn’t shown any hint of coming back. Dan was wearing gloves and coats and layers in an attempt to stay warm.

Phil had been searching for a full fifteen minutes when he found him. His coat and gloves were stripped off, and he lay on his back in a snow bank. He wore a thin long sleeve shirt that probably provided no warmth when pressed against the freezing snow.

"Dan," Phil said, slightly out of breath. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." His voice was barely a murmur. Phil still hadn’t gotten over how soft it was.

"Aren’t you cold?"

Dan’s nose and ears were pink. He stayed quiet for a few moments, starring up at the sky.

"Dan?"

"I don’t want to lie," he whispered.

Phil nodded. He understood. "Do you want to go to the tent?"

His voice was so quiet Phil almost had to read his lips. "No."

"Do you want to be alone?"

Dan was trying not to cry. "No."

"Okay." Phil looked at the snow, unsure. "I can’t lay down without it all melting."

"Yeah."

"So… I’ll just sit."

Silence. "Okay."

Phil shuffled down, careful not to slip. He sat by Dan’s feet, and leaned back, looking up to the sky.

"We’re going to the city tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"If you want, you could-"

"I’m going," Dan cut him off. "I don’t care about what my powers are doing. I don’t know, they’re shut off right now. But I’m going."

"But what about-"

"I’m going. I’m sorry."

Phil waited. "You done?"

"Yes. No. I don’t know."

"Just let me finish, okay? Just…. do me a favor? Stay low key? And if you find something, find someone else. That way you’ll have backup."

"I don’t need backup."

"Maybe you do." Phil thought back to his conversation with Jordan earlier that day, about Dan’s blackened heart and what it could mean, and then to Dan’s smirking face when he saw him immediately after.

Dan huffed. "I need something. Something I can’t find with other people around."

"What do you-"

"Phil. Please." Dan pleaded up at the early morning sky, still dark with only a few stripes of color through it. "I just have to be alone. I feel like… like I dropped something along the way. Like something’s off. And the only way I can find it is if I let it find me."

Phil traced his hand through a small puddle of melted snow on the ground. "I don’t understand."

"I don’t either," Dan agreed. He hesitated. "Thank you. For, erm, saving me earlier. With the lake and all. That was smart."

"You would’ve done the same for me."

"I wouldn’t have thought to use a lake. I don’t know. But I wanted to thank you. I 'preciate it." He sat up, crawling over to where Phil sat, sitting on the edge of the snow bank just a little above him. His ears and nose were pink from the cold. He leant over and pressed a little kiss to Phil’s cheek. "Thank you."

And there were so many things Phil wanted to say, Questions he didn’t need answers. But he kept quiet.

"You ready to go to bed?"

"Yeah. Let’s… let’s do that."

Request A Fic / ‘But Love Is Overrated Anyways’ Masterpost / All My Fics / 12 Days Of Prompts Masterlist

#12 days of prompts #but love is overrated anyways #ice #cold #heat #warm #powers #au #mutant #dansPHlevels #fanfic #fanfiction #phanfic #phanfiction #phan #prompt #prompts

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

In Sickness and In Health Ch3 - shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - its been a while!! i moved house friday 18th and ive only just got wifi!! but it’s here now thank god

i wanna show some love for my partner in crime nymph, who loves this fic more than she loves me (i think)

One thing Alaska had neglected to mention before the two of them arrived at the carriage station is that she’d never been in a regular carriage. Or any carriage, really. Her first time in a vehicle drawn by horses was that same day, accompanied by the King, Queen and Princesses. Granted, the regular carriages weren’t as lush as the royal ones, but that was to be expected. The interior was a shade of off-white, presumably painted with whitewash, and was a little bit dusty in the corners. There were two long benches on either end of the carriage, a thick blanket covering them. They were just long enough to lie across if one person shuffled to the side a little bit. The driver introduced himself and his horses – Star and Nutmeg – before helping them in. Sharon got in first, tugging the hood of her robe so it covered her face in case the driver recognised her. Alaska did the same, but to try and be untraceable rather than conceal her identity completely. No one would recognise her, but if she failed her task she knew she’d never be able to return home.

Fairly quickly, they were off, with Sharon offering double the cash to get moving as soon as possible. Light was beginning to fade and a lot of carriages didn’t travel throughout the night without extra coaxing. Alaska leaned against the wall of the carriage as she sat, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as she pulled the hood down again. Opposite her, Sharon did the same, drawing the ragged curtains closed before removing her own hood in the privacy of the carriage.

In the dwindling light of the evening, Sharon looked sicker than ever. The harsh shadows and lack of light were unkind to her sunken features. Alaska came to the realization, again, that the princess was inches from death, and there was little chance she’d get through it without Sharon dying, the witch refusing to treat her, or Alaska falling in love.

But she had to. It had only been early that morning that Alaska had left her home, awoken to the news of an emergency town meeting concerning the health of the Princess. It was mere hours ago that Alaska believed she would attend the meeting, then go out to work, return home to her small house and eat the same dry bread as always. The fact that she’d gotten entangled with the royal family so quickly, promising to complete a task that seemed damn near impossible, was so out of the ordinary that in a way, Alaska felt as though she had to deliver. If not, breaking out of her usual, albeit boring routine would’ve been for nothing.

“We’ll stop off at the next marketplace we find in the morning.” Sharon stated, her voice sounding grave. “For food, weapons, whatever we can find.”

Alaska nodded. “It’s gonna be a dangerous road ahead, if we even make it through the neighbouring kingdom. I’ve never been anywhere near it.”

“I have.” Sharon told her. “I used to accompany my father on peaceful visits to do with business and that. Not too exciting, but it’s something a future queen has to do.”

For a fleeting moment, the princess looked sad, staring off wistfully as if she were upset. However, she was quick to regain her stony facade. “I’ve been to a few palace balls there too. The place itself is beautiful, but I didn’t meet a single person there who didn’t make me want to drown myself in champagne.”

Alaska let out a laugh, strangely excited at the fact that she and the princess were conversing. “What’s Prince Ronald like? Heard he’s a real character.”

Sharon snorted. “Character doesn’t fucking describe it.” She swore. “If I’m honest, sometimes I wish that our kingdoms would go to war again, just so I could see him die in battle. The fucker loves me. His little brother does, too. Who is fifteen fucking years old.”

For some reason, Alaska still found it shocking just how different their lives were. Sharon had everything Alaska could ever want or need, and more. She had endless stacks of money, a beautiful palace, designer clothes, men falling at her feet. She attended parties and balls and conferences, spoke with individuals from all across the region, far and wide. She saw the world and all of its people. Alaska had none of it. She lived in a small home near the orphanage she’d grown up in, not far from Willam and Courtney. Her purse had pennies in it, barely enough to buy the groceries she needed to survive. She worked, she went home, she worked again. She wore the same dress for as long as she could get away with, washed it in the small stream, and wore her other dress until she could no longer get away with that one. The contrast was astonishing.

Yet Sharon sounded unhappy. Complaining. She had everything that anybody could wish for, dream of and need, and she didn’t seem to have an ounce of gratefulness.

“Must be exhausting, having so many suitors falling at your feet. All that money and everything.”

Sharon caught the hint of bitterness underpinning Alaska’s words, and raised an eyebrow. “You really wanna swap lives with me? Trust me, it isn’t as great as you might think.”

Alaska scoffed. “You have wealth. I can’t think of a single problem of mine that wouldn’t be solved by the money you have.”

“Money isn’t everything. Money doesn’t mean shit.”

“That’s what rich people say.” Alaska countered, feeling brave. “I can barely survive on the money I have. Your money could literally change my life –”

Sharon cut her off. “You have freedom. That’s something I’ve never had and I never will.”

An uncharacteristic bubble of frustration swelled up inside Alaska. “Freedom? Sharon, how on this earth do I have freedom? I have to work every single day, scrimp and scrounge and save every penny I come across. I can’t go out, drink in bars, have fun, I can’t do any of that!”

“Neither can I!” Sharon argued back. “When you step out of your house in the morning, no one is stopping you. No one tells you how to dress, what to say, how to act, who to talk to. You make that decision yourself. No one tells you where to go. You choose where to go. No one tells you not to go out, not to have fun. You choose that. Until I was twenty, I wasn’t allowed out of the palace walls without Miss Michaels. When I did leave, my clothes were chosen for me, my hair styled, I was told what to say depending on who spoke to me, and who not to talk to at all. I had to be the sweet, intelligent young princess at all times, responsible and ready to be a Queen. Try upholding an image like that when you just wanna go for a walk. You don’t have to be anybody. No one expects anything of you.”

She sighed. “I can’t go to bars either. I can’t go to all those rowdy revels that happen in the woods. I can’t even make friends. I’m twenty four years old and I don’t have a single friend.”

Alaska looked down. “You have me.”

“Huh?”

“You have me.” Alaska said again, louder this time. “My name’s Alaska, and I’m twenty two years old. My birthday is March 6th. My favourite colour is red and my biggest fear is drowning.”

Sharon chuckled. “Okay, I see. I’m Sharon, I’m twenty four years old. My birthday is November 28th. My favourite colour is mauve or black and I guess… I don’t know what my biggest fear is.”

She went quiet, but Alaska was quick to remedy the silence. “So we’re friends now. That makes us friends.”

Sharon smiled briefly, her lips curving upwards ever so slightly at her words. She opened her mouth as if to speak, before quickly covering it with one hand and using the other to delve into her bag. When she couldn’t control the impending coughing fit, she leaned her head out of the window, pushing the curtain aside as she blindly scrabbled for the little spitting pot she used. Alaska watched helplessly, knowing Sharon would only push her away.

After a couple of minutes, Sharon fell silent again. She drew back inside slowly, dabbing self-consciously at her mouth. Her face was grey and drawn, the bags under her eyes suddenly seeming more pronounced than before. She tossed the small pot back into her bag, sinking back down into her seat and letting her shoulders slump. It was clear she had no energy left to hold herself properly upright. With one trembling hand, she lifted her hood up and covered her face with it once again.

The carriage stopped suddenly, the two of them jolting forwards as the horses whinnied loudly. Alaska frowned in confusion as the driver poked his head through the curtain covering the window.

“Hey! I heard coughing in here. I ain’t carryin’ no diseased bastards in here, I got a business to run.” He snarled, glaring at Sharon. She turned her head away from him, catching Alaska’s eye and managing to signal her to pull her own hood up before she attempted to speak.

“S-S-Sorry –” She began, hardly able to formulate words.

“Listen.” Alaska continued for her, noting the grateful nod that was sent her way. “We paid you double to drive through the night, not to stop and ask questions about our health.”

The driver narrowed his eyes, squinting beadily at the two of them. “You know what dirty fucks like her do to my business? They contaminate my carriage, meanin’ I can’t have no more passengers. And then? Business goes bust. No money. Ya hear me?”

Alaska scowled. “You were paid extra. Carry on.”

“I’m not movin’ an inch.”

“Name your price.”

It was a risky move, offering extra money – for all Alaska knew, this driver could scam them out of pocket and leave with all of the money Sharon had with her. However, it was all she could think to do. Already they were wasting precious time that Sharon didn’t have. It was a race against the clock, and every moment that passed was a moment she was getting sicker. If money was what it would take to get the driver to keep going, then that’d have to work.

The driver thought for a moment, before stating his figure to his passengers. Alaska’s eyes shot open, taken aback, but Sharon didn’t react.

“P-P-Pock-ket ch-change.” She stuttered, gesturing limply to the bag beside her. “C-Can you…”

She trailed off, but Alaska understood her meaning. Leaning forwards – making sure to keep a careful eye on the driver, in case he tried anything clever – she reached into Sharon’s bag, opening up the purse and taking out his desired amount of money. True to her word, it was practically pocket change in comparison to what Sharon owned. The little purse was stuffed full with more notes and coins than Alaska had ever come into contact with in all her twenty two years of life.

“There.” She said, firmly pressing the notes into the driver’s greedily outstretched palm. “You’re driving through the night and the morning. You’ll stop when we tell you and only when we tell you. Try and kick us out again, the money goes right back to us.”

The driver nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be off, then.”

With that, he was gone. Alaska felt strangely amused; the fact that she’d been referred to as ‘Ma’am’, or even listened to for that matter, was so different compared to her everyday life. Bossing people around was a little more enjoyable than she cared to admit. The carriage jolted forwards as the sound of a whip cracking came from in front of them, and then it was shambling down the road once again.

“Th-Thanks, Lasky.” Sharon managed, smiling weakly.

Alaska brushed her off. “Oh, it was nothing! I had to make sure we kept going.”

“N-No.” Sharon tried again. “F-For frie-friend.”

The sentence barely made sense, what with Sharon unable to speak fully, but the meaning was clear enough. Unwittingly, a huge smile filled Alaska’s face as she looked upon the princess. She was Sharon’s first friend. At the very least, despite the outcome that lay ahead, she could say for certain that something good had come from the situation. At least it could be said that the princess had a friend.

Opposite her, Sharon seemed utterly drained of all life. She was struggling to keep her eyes open, her eyelids drooping and fluttering as she slid lower down in her seat. Her body grew weaker and weaker after every coughing fit, reaching a pinnacle as soon as the fit was over, leaving her grey and sweaty and exhausted. Back in the palace, Miss Michaels or someone else equally versed in Sharon and her sickness would be at her side immediately, helping her lie back and gently tipping water into her mouth, but not now. Now she clung to the bottom of her seat as tightly as she could – a grip so loose that a breath of wind could knock her down – and tried to collect herself.

“You need to rest.” Alaska said, speaking softly. “It’s been a rough day for you.”

Sharon snorted. “Ev-Everyday is r-r-rough.”

“I know. Come here, come lie on my seat. I can take the blanket from your seat and drape it over you.”

Normally, Sharon would’ve protested, but she just didn’t have the fight in her. Nodding tiredly, she rose to her feet and stumbled to the other side, sitting a few feet away from Alaska to catch her breath. Alaska reached for the blanket on the opposite bench, tucking Sharon’s belongings underneath so they were out of sight and guiding the princess into a lying down position. She was just a little taller than the length of the bench, her legs awkwardly cramped against the far wall.

Alaska draped the blanket over Sharon’s shivering form. “Hey, you can rest your head in my lap so you’re not so uncomfortable. Here, I’ve got you.”

Sharon was practically asleep, compliant to everything Alaska told her to do. She made sure the blanket was covering as much of the princess as was possible as she shifted her head into her lap, her fingers absent-mindedly stroking Sharon’s dark hair. Sharon mumbled unintelligible words of approval, sleepily nestling closer to Alaska and breathing deeply.

“G-Good friend…” She whispered.

Alaska smiled tenderly down at her. “I’m nothing if not a good friend. That’s why I’m here with you.”

Sharon didn’t stir. “N-Not noth-nothing…”

Before Alaska even had a chance to respond, or piece together what the princess had said, she’d fallen asleep. Her eyes finally closed, her body slumping more so than it had when she’d tried to keep herself together. In her slumber, Sharon’s cheeks and lips were rosy, flushed with colour that she lacked during her waking hours. It was incredibly reassuring to Alaska – that and the feel of Sharon’s breath against Alaska’s leg, and the rising and falling of her chest. She’d been irrationally afraid that Sharon would appear almost corpse-like in her sleep, like her daytime self only magnified, but she didn’t. If anything, she looked more alive than she had during the entire day.

“I’d give myself a week, two weeks at most. Death will be a goddamn blessing when it finally arrives.”

Not likely, Alaska thought to herself. You’re not dying on my watch.

-0-

Somewhere around two in the morning, Sharon’s steady breaths must’ve lulled Alaska to sleep. She woke up to glaring sun shining through the flapping curtain, the fresh air like a slap in the face. It was still early, but Alaska was fully conscious now, the pale sunlight outside suggesting that it had not long been dawn. Sharon, unsurprisingly, was still fast asleep, having curled up towards Alaska even more as she slept. One of Alaska’s hands rested on the side of the princess’s face, resuming the gentle stroking of her hair that she’d spent what felt like hours doing the previous night. Although still as black as her mother’s, Sharon’s hair felt brittle and dry, like it would snap or fall out at any moment. Alaska supposed that, what with her illness and the fearsome temper it had brought along with it, Sharon had bigger priorities than whether or not her hair was glossy. Still, it was a shame to see it had deteriorated so much since Alaska had last seen Sharon healthy. Almost everything about her had deteriorated in some way. Back when she wasn’t so sick, she’d been the envy of every woman and the eye of every man in the kingdom. Her last public appearance – a celebration of the harvest, which had been particularly bountiful that year, Alaska recalled – had been incredible, and Alaska remembered noting how wonderful she looked.

“Good evening everyone, thank you so much for the warm welcome.” Sharon greeted the crowd, her face alight with joy. The twenty-two year old hadn’t appeared in public on her own many times, and although she must’ve been dreadfully nervous, she didn’t show it. The crowd was positively delighted to have the eldest princess leading their celebration, used to simply having the King or the Queen. She’d dressed for the occasion in a gown that was golden, complimenting her fair skin, and her eyes were sparkling.

“As we all now know, the harvest this year has been amazingly fruitful. Never before have we had such a spread of grains, vegetables and fruit from one single yield. Our animals, too, are plump and well looked after. All of this, of course, is down to our wonderful farmers. Please, everybody show your gratefulness for the truest foundation of our community.”

The crowd broke into applause as the farmers made their way up onto the stage where Sharon was stood – a group of middle-aged men headed by one older gentleman, and tailed by a young apprentice of about fourteen. Each one received an award and a kiss on the cheek from the princess, accompanied by a wide smile and some kind words. The young lad, after receiving his award and complimentary kiss, blushed a deep shade of tomato red and clutched his cheek, his infatuation obvious.

Alaska smirked as she watched him stumble, wobbly-kneed, to his seat. Sharon always had that effect on the young men, her charisma and beauty an unbeatable combination. She was utterly charming.

“Maybe I should get into farming.” Willam commented off-handedly. Alaska started to snicker as Courtney slapped his arm.

“Willam!” She scolded.

“What?!” He defended himself, turning to Alaska for support. “Tell me Princess Sharon isn’t fucking irresistible.”

Alaska laughed. “Sorry, Court. Gotta admit, she’s gorgeous.”

Courtney sniffed. “Does she know the bad reputation that comes with red lipstick? Really, they shouldn’t let her wear it. Everyone knows it’s for whores. And she’s a princess.”

Willam sighed dreamily. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

His comment earned him another slap and a shrill telling-off from Courtney, effectively drowning out Alaska’s murmured, “Yeah, it is.”

Her hair had been thick and full then, her face full of life, her clothes well-fitted and her body healthy. It was a stark contrast to the Sharon who lay asleep in her lap, with only a mere hint of her old beauty remaining to identify the woman as the same beloved princess of their kingdom.

Still, it couldn’t be said that Sharon was no longer beautiful. Of course, she didn’t look a thing like she had before she had gotten sick, but that was to be expected. But the sight of her asleep – her head cradled in Alaska’s lap, curled up underneath the blanket – was definitely a beautiful one. If it were possible, Alaska would’ve just stared at her forever. However, she needed to focus. She had a mission ahead, and completion was a matter of life or death.

No sooner had Alaska been pulled from her thoughts, the subject of her distraction awoke. Sharon lifted one bony hand up to her face, rubbing her eyes before struggling into a sitting position. Instinctively, Alaska moved to help her.

“Thanks…” She yawned, half-asleep. “You’re a very comfy bed.”

She leaned down to rest her head on Alaska’s shoulder, her eyes closing again. Alaska chuckled lightly and put one arm around her, unintentionally moving the princess closer. Whether it was purposeful or not, Alaska didn’t know, but she didn’t miss the way Sharon nuzzled into her, clearly too sleepy to think too hard about her actions. The gesture made a rosy blush shoot across Alaska’s cheeks, her heart rate quickening.

“Glad to hear it,” She replied softly. “Did you sleep okay?”

Sharon breathed heavily, her head practically lolling. “Like a baby. Are we near any markets?”

“Not sure.” Alaska told her. “I can ask the driver?”

Sharon made a kind of grunt in response, reluctantly shifting away from Alaska and curling up instead inside her big robe. As Alaska made her way out of the seat, she laughed to herself. Clearly, the princess wasn’t a morning person.

“Hey!” She called, leaning precariously out of the window to attract the driver’s attention. “Are there any marketplaces nearby?”

Thankfully, it didn’t take much waving for the driver to notice her. “Yeah, five minutes away? You stopping?”

“Yeah, thank you!”

Alaska ducked back inside. “Five minutes. Wakey wakey, sleepyhead.”

Sharon groaned.

-o-

Akin to the marketplace back in their kingdom, the city square was abuzz with activity, a flurry of colourful stalls and signs and teenagers yelling for sales. Despite the similarities, Alaska felt incredibly nervous stepping out of the carriage. She had debated with Sharon about whether they should leave or take their stuff with them – on one hand, the driver might not be trustworthy, but on the other, markets were rife with thieves and pickpockets. In the end, they’d decided that taking everything with them would be safer, both of them putting their hooded robes on top of the bags strung across their bodies to hide them from sight.

The crime in markets always worried her, even in her own kingdom. Over time, she’d learned to identify the faces of who couldn’t be trusted, who she needed to look out for, and where they lurked, too. But here, somewhere new, she didn’t know. She didn’t know whose smiles were genuine and whose were tainted with mischief. She didn’t even know her way around. Sure, there were signs, just like the ones at home, but Alaska never used the signs. She knew where everything was at home.

“Well, shit.” Sharon murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. “Sheltered princess mode activated. This is completely overwhelming.”

Alaska frowned. “You’ve been to markets before, haven’t you? Like the one at home?”

Sharon pulled a face. “Not alone. There’s – there’s so many people!”

Without thinking, Alaska put an arm around the princess, standing closer to her. “It’s okay. Just keep your bag close to you and try not to bump into anyone.”

“That sounds impossible.” Sharon breathed, hastening to elaborate when Alaska’s expression became confused. “Hello? There’s people everywhere!”

Alaska did her best to keep Sharon calm. “Let’s just have a look around, see what we can find. You said yesterday that we need food and weapons, we can wander and find it.”

It was clear she didn’t want to show it, but Sharon was visibly nervous. Each time someone brushed past them, her fingers gripped tightly onto Alaska’s wrist, and every yell made her tense herself up. She remained quiet as they walked, too afraid in the new environment to strike up a proper conversation.

To Alaska, it was a little strange to have someone to accompany her to a marketplace. Usually she was alone, nipping between stalls to pick up exactly what she needed and then leaving. Only here, not only was she with Sharon, she didn’t know where anything was. After a short while of walking, she found herself amongst the clothing stalls – which wasn’t where she wanted to be.

“Food, food.” She muttered to herself under her breath. “Where the fuck is the food?”

Sharon stopped and pointed. “Food’s that way.”

“How do you know?” Alaska questioned her, tilting her head to the side.

A confused expression flitted across Sharon’s face. “There’s a sign right there, look.”

Instinctively, Alaska glanced up to the sign Sharon was pointing at. She could see an arrow, and some printed letters, but she had no idea what the words read.

She smiled uneasily. “Right, right, of course… Yeah. Let’s go.”

She didn’t miss Sharon’s gaze lingering on her for a few moment after she had looked up at the sign, but chose to ignore the rising blush on her cheeks. Sharon didn’t know, after all. Intelligent as she was, Sharon was naive. Why would she know that someone like Alaska couldn’t read? Of course, she’d grown up rich and educated; she would believe that everyone could read. For as long as she could allow Sharon to believe that, or at least not have to enlighten her to the truth, she would.

Soon enough, they found the correct stalls, and Alaska picked out the food they would need as Sharon counted out the money. Things had settled – Sharon was calmer now, and Alaska less embarrassed. Alaska knew it wouldn’t last long, something would disrupt the peace. And of course, she was right.

“Hello, my good sir! One of your finest red apples, please!” A loud, sonorous voice rang out from the stall next to them.

Sharon winced. “Oh, shit.”

Alaska was about to ask Sharon why she’d cringed when she spotted the speaker.

It was only Prince Ronald, the eldest son to the neighbouring kingdom’s monarchy. He was one of those men that appeared to be uncomfortably perfect – his teeth were too large and too white, his smile too wide, his back too straight and his voice too loud. As expected, he was all dressed up in his finery, with a long sword hanging from his belt. Alaska watched as he took a bite out of his apple, chewed appreciatively, and then spotted the two of them.

“Ah! Ladies!” He called out, tossing the barely-eaten apple into a nearby bin – a waste of money, even if he did have mountains of it. “Let me pay for this!”

The shopkeeper eagerly stretched out his hand for the prince’s money, uninterested in Sharon or Alaska. Wordlessly, he handed their bags over to Alaska and started counting the notes, his eyes wide and greedy.

Sharon groaned. “You really didn’t have to –”

She paused suddenly, as she realized her voice would be a giveaway to her identity. Unfortunately, it was too late. Prince Ronald turned around incredulously, his gaze honing in on Sharon as if Alaska didn’t exist.

“Sharon? What on earth are you doing here? A market is no place for a princess, especially not for a princess from another kingdom! Now I’m positively ecstatic that I bought your shopping for you! You should know it isn’t safe for you here!”

Sharon grimaced. “Thanks, Ron.” She said insincerely. “Now I –”

“If anyone sees you!” Ron continued loudly, as though Sharon had never even opened her mouth. “Goodness me! This won’t do at all!”

He took Sharon’s elbow and began to drag her away, leaving Alaska no choice but to follow. Sharon was too weak to fight him off as she usually would have, and stumbled alongside Ron with a pissed expression on her face. When he finally let go, having pulled the two of them into an alleyway backing the stalls, he started to speak again.

“I must say, it is wonderful to see you again! Although – oh my. You look dreadful.”

“Thanks again, Ron.” Sharon deadpanned.

Ron laughed, obnoxiously noisy. “Oh, you. Of course you’re still beautiful. You always will be! Especially to me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Flirting with me in a dirty back alley. You’re a class act, Ron.”

He laughed again, seeming to find everything that Sharon said hilarious, or perhaps interpreting her mixture of indifference and dislike as friendship. “A vixen, that’s what you are! Well-deserving of true classy treatment!” He exclaimed. “I say, let me tell you, my mother was talking about you just last week – just last week, fancy that! And she said, she said ‘Ron, that Sharon is a wonderful lady, you really should continue courting her!’ And she’s right! Wonderful, that’s you, simply wonderful. She tells me ‘All good women put up a fight before marriage, you’ll get her!’”

Sharon shot an apologetic look towards Alaska, shrugging helplessly. Alaska listened to the prince’s ramblings with a growing sense of annoyance.

“And I say, I say ‘Mother, that’s what you’re not understanding about Sharon. She’s not interested in princes!’”

Sharon’s breath hitched.

“I tell her, ‘She’s interested in kings, mother, kings!’”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Classy, see, classy! You want classy treatment because you know you deserve it! And rightfully so! My coronation is soon, and perhaps then I will be worthy of your affection. Until then, I will continue to shower you with gifts.”

Sharon’s brow furrowed in thought. “Oh, so you’re who’s been sending all those roses.” She said, mostly to herself. “Hey, look – can you help me and my friend?”

The ‘my friend’ made Ron finally acknowledge Alaska, sending a stiff nod in her direction before turning back to Sharon. Alaska wasn’t sure how she felt – on one hand, Ron’s eyes were too blue, watery and just plain wrong. His gaze was uncomfortable. However, on the other hand, she wasn’t sure she liked the way he acted towards Sharon.

Ron took to one knee, taking Sharon’s pale hand in his and pressing an awkwardly lingering kiss to it in what Alaska assumed was supposed to be a romantic gesture.

“Of course I can, ma Cherie.” He responded. “That’s Spanish for ‘my love’. What do you need?”

Sharon looked as though she wanted to correct him, but thankfully settled for an easy life. “I’m doing some travelling, to uh… you know, see the world before I become Queen.” She lied.

Ron looked affronted. “But Sharon! You really shouldn’t be travelling, especially on your own! A poor, defenceless woman-”

“I don’t have to be defenceless.” Sharon cut in, her fists clenched in an attempt to keep her cool. “If you can give me access to some weapons, I can be protected. I know you have an impressive collection.”

Alaska noticed the change in Sharon’s tone – subtle but deliberate flirting. Anyone with working eyes would see that Sharon despised the man before her, but he was so besotted, or perhaps idiotic, that he fell for her charm. In the meantime, she widened her eyes at Alaska, signalling for help.

“I do, I do…” He trailed off, his eyes dreamy. “But no! You shouldn’t be alone, it’s too unsafe for a young princess out there. Let me accompany you, and –”

“No!” Alaska burst out, spurred on by Sharon’s silent plea for help. When Ron frowned, she thought fast. “It’s… uh… she’s – it’s like a, a bachelorette-type thing. No, um, men.”

Sharon nodded gratefully, jumping on board. “Yeah, you know me. Bit of a lone wolf. I thought it’d be nice to… uh… fly solo, um, before I find someone to, you know… settle with. I have to be ready.”

Both of their lies were awful, strung together badly and riddled with pauses and gaps, but Ron nevertheless seemed swayed. He nodded slowly, although Alaska could tell he was secretly disappointed about not being able to travel alongside Sharon.

“That makes perfect sense!” He agreed enthusiastically. “Go off, ‘find yourself’ as all you women claim you want to do, and return! I’m sure then you’ll be ready to be my wife, hm?”

Sharon hummed uncomfortably. “Ha, maybe.”

Ron waggled his eyebrows, not picking up on any of Sharon’s hesitant body language. “Who knows, in a year’s time we could have some Prince Ron’s and Princess Sharon’s of our own running around the palace!”

Sharon shuddered. “L-Let’s not get too far ahead. So you’ll supply us with some weapons?”

“Of course!” Ron assured her. “Come with me, come back to the palace, and we can fetch some. I’m sure my mother will be delighted to see your gorgeous face again! As will Felix, of course, and my father!”

As Ron turned to lead them away, Sharon took Alaska’s hand. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot. She’d obviously noticed that Alaska had been sidelined, and had been stood listening to the exchange feeling shunned and a tad jealous, although she didn’t know why. She’d noticed, and endeavoured to try and make her feel better.

Sharon’s hands were cold, but Alaska’s were warm. She rubbed gentle circles into Sharon’s skin with her thumb, trying to warm her up.

“Can’t wait, Ron.” Sharon called out, the hint of sarcasm in her words drowned in Alaska’s mind by the accompanied squeezing of her hand. “Can’t wait.”

Alaska was in big, big trouble.

#shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #purecamp #in sickness and in health #willam belli #courtney act #rpdr fanfiction #submission #royalty au #lesbian au

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