#BUT BUT oh the time i would burn doing that... the resulting brain worms... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

givemethatgold · 3 years

Text

Fix’er Upper Pt. 8

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: none? Length: 2.1k Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series MASTERLIST

The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.

It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.

Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.

Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.

It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate.

Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods.

Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.

Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game.

Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang.

"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.

In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.

"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."

Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."

Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.

Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.

"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.

Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.

"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."

It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.

"I can manage-"

"But what about your-"

You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.

"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."

You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.

"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-

"Emmmm... hi."

His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.

Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.

Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.

Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.

"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"

You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.

For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.

Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband.

She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.

Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.

Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it.

Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable.

Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.

Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile.

The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.

Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.

She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.

Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.

You loved him.

You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.

Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.

Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.

"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.

Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"

"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."

This admission stopped you in your tracks.

"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."

He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."

"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.

Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.

"I trust you with everything."

PART NINE

TAGS: If you’d like to be added, send me an ask or a message! If you’re on the list please interact, I love getting your feedback, hearing your predictions, and all the “these two idiots!” comments

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#Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x Reader #Francisco Morales x you #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Morales x reader #Frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #Francisco catfish morales x you #francisco catfish morales x reader #fix'er upper

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kanene-yaaay · 3 years

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Sentence Starter - Part 2

I decided to gather all my Sentence Starters in a post. This is the second round!

I know I already said thankys before but, really, thank you so much for your support, it means the world for me. <3

[~.~]

[Gee these covers are lumpy, better fix the covers up!]

"Gee, these covers are lumpy, better fix the covers up!" Mina wormed her hands under the giggly boy, fishing a loud shriek as she vibrated her thumb between his shoulder blades and her other hand squeezed his sides, resulting in a more desperate wiggling from her victim. "Squish, squish, squish the squirmy Ojiro to fix all the lumps!"

"I AHAHAM NOT A COHOHOVER!"

"Hmmm, I don't know if I am convinced," her eyes glinted when the blond arched his back and her hands immediately dashed to scratch his incredibly, horribly ticklish lower back. "I mean, why else would I find such a cute squeaky toy, oops, I mean, cover in my bed?" Bubbly squeals painted Ojiro's laughter almost as strong as the red that painted his cheeks as he shook his head, protesting.

"I ahaham not s-squeheheaky!" Mina's nails scribbled and grazed on his ribs, the quick, high pitched sounds that flied from his lips contradicting his own words. "That doesn't prove anything!" The tailed teenager managed to breath out before descending in belly laughter again.

His pink friend matched his laughter in response, slowing her silly tickly attack as tears began to form on the other's eyes, pinching and poking his tummy in order to keep the adorable giggles filling the air. The cute wiggles from him and his tail were a bonus, as well.

"Hard day?"

Ojiro nodded, a smile still plastered on his face.

"It was. Your behed is fluffyhihihi. Sorry fohohor intrudihihing."

She waved his worries off, "it's no problem! Just give me a warn next time so I won't lay on you again, okay?"

Ojiro snickered, remembering the scared screams from they both when a few minutes ago Mina decided to jump on her bed and didn't even realize the strange lump that was Ojiro sleeping under all the comforters and plushies.

"I will."

"Good." The pink haired girl then cracked her fingers, a dangerous smirk spreading on her face, probably an effect of being Bakugou's friend, and making goosebumps ran freely on Ojiro's spine.

"No no nohoho!" He shot his hands up in an a placating gesture, excited giggles already falling from his mouth. "I already agreed with you! Please!"

Mina pouted in faux empathy. "Sorry, friendo, but your squeaky squeaks and wiggly wiggley wiggles are just too much cute for me to not tickle you again!"

"Ihihi don't," a snort cut his sentence, "I don't dohoho any of that!" He says, in between his wiggles and squeaks.

"Well," She attacked his armpits, a blinding smile taking over her features as the other began to giggle and snicker non stop. "I am sure we can compromise, eventually."

[~.~]

[I wouldn’t say that with the position you’re in, star student]

"I wouldn't say that with the position you're in, star student." Sero grinned, the non said threat falling heavily between them.

Todoroki blinked, stopping his struggles to lay limply on the floor, still staring the black haired friend on top of him, the fake dagger pressed on his neck.

"It doesn't make sense." Sero threw his hands up, exasperated. Shoto turned to look at Momo, who signalized at Jirou to stop the filmation. "If he's just got into my house in the middle of the night to kill me how does he know about my grades?"

"Well, maybe you just look like a super genius or something!" The other actor retorted, shoving his face on his hands and then on the floor as Todoroki stared at him with an unconvinced expression.

"Or," Kaminari jumped in, ignoring his friends dramatics "he can be his archenemy, building his hate and revenge plan since Todoroki did.... Something bad at him in the school."

Todoroki piked up at the opportunity to put another conspiracy in the movies' plot. "That could make sense."

"Don't encourage him." Jirou smirked at the protesting 'hey!' shouted by the other, preparing another snarky remark before being cut by Momo's voice.

"We're not making any more changes on the plot. We will just remake this scene and then everyone can go home, okay?"

"I think Izuku would lose it if we asked for him to rewrite another part." Nods and mumbles of agreement to Sero's words filled the room as all the occupants remembered the boy's determined rant of why the dagger's blade shouldn't be completely straight nor silver. "Anyway, I still need to buy that new Fatgum's game that came out. Let's move on."

"I can't," the dual haired actor claimed, a blank face "you're sitting on top of me."

And, for a moment, as the pun sank on his friends' brain, only silence met him.

Then Jirou and Kaminari immediately broke in loud laughter, Momo hiding her own chuckles behind her hand.

"Oh my god," Sero bit his own laughter in order to try to look at least a bit serious as he attempted to glare at Shoto. "You think you are so funny, don't you?"

Smugly, Todoroki let the corner of his lips twitch.

"Let me help you to show what is funny, then!"

"Wait-" but he was too late, before the words even came out from his mouth Sero was already dancing his fingers on his sides, switching between squeezing them quickly to scribbling and prodding at his ribs, yelps and guffaws already spinning in the air. "Dohohon't! Wait, wahahahait!!"

The black haired friend laughed with him, his blinding smile and uncontrollable giggles being too much adorable to resist. "I think you actually meant 'I am very sorry for ever complaining about your great performance, my amazing friend Sero.', right?"

Todoroki shook his head, gasping and squirming harder when Sero experimented clawed at his stomach, a series of quiet nononono's and pleaseplease's spilling freely from his lips.

"Tsk. Not even close, man. But don't worry, we have aaaaall the afternoon." A snort escaped from Todoroki and he hid his face on his hands, making Jirou 'aww' and Kaminari shout a 'wait wait make he do it again!' "So take your time, OK?" And then, in a quieter voice "If I go too much far just hold my wrists and I will stop."

A barely there nod showed that the other had heard him, however, as his hands continued to hid his face, bright laughter and shy giggles still filled the studio for much more time.

[~.~]

[Oh yeah! I told you’d they’d win! Ha! Pay up, Midoriya!]

"Oh yeah! I told you they'd win! Ha! Pay up, Midoriya!"

"B-but this is not fair! Tokoyami bought the victory by offering to do Shoji's dishes! That is not a-!

"There is nothing against this in the rules." Tokoyami shrugged, still panting from the sparring. "And I just remembered there is Midnight-sensei's paper for tomorrow that I didn't even start."

"Sorry, Midoriya. But we will have much more training in the future, still, and your analysis really helped me! You're right, maybe starting to use some weapon, since a hand to hand combat can give my quirk some damage, will be a good advantage." The taller teenager waved at them, Dark Shadow mirroring him enthusiastically as they followed Tokoyami back at the dorms. "I should search for options before choosing. Thank you for the cheering."

Kaminari waved back before turning to Izuku, his smile getting bigger as he saw his protesting pout. "Aww, is someone angy?" He hugged him from behind, snickering when he saw a glimpse of a smile on the other's expression before an exaggerated frown took over, green eyes deviating from his teasing grin.

"I know you want to smile. ~" Denki delivered a couple of pokes on his stomach, an evil idea full of wiggly fingers and giggly squeals blossoming on his mind. "Maybe the 1-A sunshine need some cheering up after being such sore loser? ~"

Midoriya turned on his embrace, now being face to face at him, determination burning on his features.

"Maybe I do!"

And then he blew a raspberry right on that spot where his neck and collarbone met. A loud, surprised squeak answered him and he was quick to dig on Kaminari's hips, being so careful and so mindful to give plenty of attention and tickles to every sensitive inch of flesh, don't forgetting to still deliver smaller raspberries at random spots on the blond's neck, successfully ending with all his coordination to get revenge.

"Whahahahat!! That is nOT-" A snort, more bubbly giggles. "That is not fahahhair!!!"

"But you're helping me to cheer up. See, I have no more pouts and no more frowns thanks to you!"

"Then stop!"

Kaminari tried to squirm his way out of the ticklish embrace, finding that maybe bringing Midoriya to his lap when he decided to tickle-hug him wasn't his best idea.

"I don't know. I think I am still a bit grumpy..." He stopped his attack in order to gently trace that spot right on the blond's right third rib, drawing circles around it and trying to not giggle together when Denki's bubbly snickers filled the air. "Maybe you amazing laughter can help me with that!"

[~.~]

[You know, this fluffy duster feels a lot like your tail...]

"You know, this fluffy duster feels a lot like your tail..." Izuku said, thoughtfully, a particular idea shining on his mind that may or may not was inspired by yesterday's Great Tickle Fight.

"Really?" Ojiro, (un)fortunately, didn't notice the danger hidden on the smaller's words, petting the duster and the fluff on his tail for a bit in comparison. "It really is. But it's not stronger like mine tail!" He made a show of flexing the aforementioned, both chickling at his silliness. "Oh, are you going to clean the curtains? I can help!"

A plan formed on Izuku's mind. He controlled his features to not show the playful grin that threatened to take over his face.

"Yes. Could you hold that part right there?" He pointed to a high spot on the fabric. "I can't research it."

"No problem!" The blond smiled and did as asked, not realizing the way Midoriya stepped closer nor how his shirt exposed a small patch on his stomach with his new position. "Like this?"

"Yes!" Izuku, then, shoved the fluffly, soft, tickly duster under his shirt, instigating a loud squeak to escape from the other.

"Midoriya!!"

But he didn't let go of the curtain, a smile spreading on his face.

"Yes?"

"Dohon't"

The green haired boy slightly moved the duster, quick enough to make the bristles of the feathers to barely tease the skin, but only that. Another yelp and a few giggles leading Ojiro to try to hide his red face on his shoulder.

"Don't what?" He beamed.

A small shook of head, a shy giggle. "Ihim not falling for thahat."

"Aw. But I am going to tickle you anyway!" Ojiro yelped, trying to curl on himself, however immediately regretting his decision as the movement shot light shocks across his torso, every feather following his squirms. "Yes! I am going to tickle, tickle, tickle you until all those cutes squeals and nice laughter trapped inside are free. As a future hero, it's my job to help them!"

"Dohohon't say that word." His words were in vain, especially because now Midoriya carried that determined look, thoughts racing on his mind as his hands continued to keep the duster on the same place.

"Maybe I should try to tickle his stomach first? I could start wiggling the duster there and then change to his sides and ribs or maybe I could start on his sides and ribs going up and down a few times and then tickle his stomach as I change from a side to another. The element of surprise is always a powerful tool so I should always change from going extremely soft and low to more quick attacks! I wonder if I can try it on his tail too? I could-"

"Ihihizuku, please!" The one being called snapped out of his rambling by a very flustered, giggly Ojiro, who still held the curtains as if his life depended on it. "J-juhust do it already, plehease."

And Izuku was happy to oblige.

[~.~]

[As nice as this is, we really should get up]

"As nice as this is, we really should get up." Tokoyami said softly, patting the green hair of the head which rested on his shoulder, - it was really as fluffy as it looked! - almost snorting when Midoriya squinted his eyes at the credit's playing on the screen. "Everyone else already went to their room."

Izuku looked around, as if he just realized all his friends decided to call it a night when President Mic - who has been called both due his good taste in movies and to keep an eye on them and their ability to cause chaos - woke up half of the class as he fell asleep in a bad position and started snoring, accidentally activating his quirk.

"It's not-" A yawn cut Izuku's words and pulled Tokoyami away from his thoughts. "It's not a movie night if we can't watch at least five movies."

"Oh no, the horrible punishments that the Universe will bought upon us after such terrible offense. What we shall do in the face of that helpless fate?"

Midoriya lightly shoved him away, a sleepy smile taking all the seriousness from his frown. "N't f'nny."

Tokoyami started to softly scribble his fingers on the other's neck, following him as he tiredly wiggled away, no real fight on his movements.

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Tohohokoyami! Naha!"

"What? Wait... Is this the punishment from the Universe?" Maybe it was because it was so rare for his friend being this playful, or because the drops of faked seriousness painting his words, but Midoriya found himself giggling harder, a bubbly tittering escaping as the tickling traveled to behind his ears. "Giggling and wiggling until we inevitably give up and decide to watch movies until the end of our brief mortal existence, oh, the pain."

"You're so sihihihilly!"

"Me, the embodiment of darkness ‘silly’? Oh, Midoriya, what have they done to you?" His tune was bathed in faux pity.

"Plehehehease!" Tokoyami decided to travel to the smaller boy's sides, scratching and poking them lightly enough to keep the flow of airy laughter and rare squeaks as a reward for the sudden, quick pinches. "It tickles! It tickles so much!"

"The Universe is tickling you? Will the cruelness ever end? Ah, the struggles someone as ticklish, so, so ticklish as you must be going through... Do not give up, Midoriya!" He did his best to not huff in amusement as the aforementioned hugged him, hiding his face oh his chest and muffling his louder laughter due the teases. "Don't let its darkness to dim your light."

His fingertips grazed the back of his ribs, Izuku only giggled harder, "Okahahay, Okay! We- no, not there! - we can go slehehehep!"

Tokoyami stopped the light tickling, waiting for the moment green eyes locked on his before proceeding, a deadly serious gaze on his face.

"Don't." Izuku warned.

"But the Universe's punishment-"

"O-oh my GOD!"

[~.~]

[i did not say that!]

"I did not said that!" But the giggles were already spilling out.

"Yes!!" Izuku, the traitor, couldn't be any more happy, basically sparkling as the feathers of his wings fluffed up in amusement. "You did! You did! You did! I am totally going to do that, now!"

Kirishima was quick to retrieve a pillow and prepare it to a fight, pointing it at his guardian angel with a half groan, half giggle. "That is not fair, man!! You can't ask questions when I am about to sleep, I always say the first thing that pops in my mind!"

"It wasn't really my original intention," the angel smiled sheepishly. "Humans' need to sleep are still confusing to me... But!!" He crept closer, fingers wiggling. "That only means that when you said yesterday..."

"No."

"That you likes when I-"

"No!" Big smiles, small giggles. "Come on. Shut up!"

"-that you like when I tickle you-" The rest of the sentence was a squeak as the red haired boy jumped at him, his soft weapon firm on his hands, and both dashed across the room in a chase. "I knew it!" Izuku laughed, - laughed. Not shyly giggled or awkwardly grinned, - pleased that one of his theories about his protected human (and friend) was right.

Damn, Kirishima wanted to at least fake a pout and put on a real fight, but how could he when the magical being was acting so happily? When he was so full of joy?

That didn't stop him from tackling his friend on the floor, both rolling in a playful roughhousing and playing fair until Kirishima felt something incredibly, impossibly soft on his neck, wide eyes as he realized only now how Midoriya's wings were stretched around him, almost engulfing both beings on its length.

The soft feeling came back, now scribbling all over his neck, sending tickly shocks through his body and weaking his strength, something which allowed the other launch his arms around his waist, hugging Eijirou from behind and leaving him to freely stare at some free feathers that slowly swung on his direction, aiming for his tickle spots.

Izuku felt a bit worried when the human stopped squirming.

"If I last 30 seconds without laughing you will let me go to that Parkour classes on Monday."

"But they're dangerous," Eijirou interrupted him, "you can use your magic feathers."

He could almost feel the angel thinking, analysing his options.

"Forty-five seconds."

"I will get you back and ask Shinsou to help me."

Pout. "You're mean."

A feather wriggled on his bellybutton, cutting any snark answer that the human had to that.

More feathers appeared in front of him. Adrenaline ran on Kirishima's veins at the idea of his new challenge.

"Deal."

[...]

Sidenote: Shinsou is Kirishima's cat. He loves to randomly lay and nap on the angel, but for some reason his purring tickles Izuku. He likes to purr a lot. Izuku is almost sure the feline knows what he is doing. Kirishima think the whole situation is hilarious.

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gentlemancrow · 3 years

Note

Ohh prompts! Maybe 21 and some shippy JonTim?

OK I know I agonized about this one but NO REALLY THANK YOU IT WAS GREAT <3! It was a GREAT exercise for writing in so many ways for me! Also I know the prompt "Maybe you should sit down" sort of implies getting bad news or something more than what popped into my brain, but this is what popped IMMEDIATELY into my brain so I went with it 83 Also again this is my first JonTim so be gentle with me uwu! Honestly it's my first time writing Tim in general for longer than one sentence so there's that too jfhlsajf XT Anyway enjoy!

Jon would have infinitely preferred to think of his bungled little excursion as a calculated risk that the whims of capricious probability had simply decided he had lost on that particular doomed occasion. What it truly was, however, was an infinitely predictable culmination of skipping his physio stretches for three mornings in a row, deciding a quick jaunt into the stacks to hunt for a statement to cross reference with the one he had been working on all morning did not, in fact, require the aid of his cane, and several cups of black tea on an empty stomach with their resultant caffeine jitters that had left him splayed and wobbling like a newborn fawn with one hand anchoring him in a vice grip to the handle of a file drawer. His bad leg ached in that special way it did that he knew all too well could be catastrophic if he moved it even slightly wrong, and set him back significantly on his physio progress. That oft repeated foible would also attract the ire and derision of literally every single person who knew him, never mind the physical therapists at the clinic, and he was very much not prepared to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lucky for him he wasn’t even supposed to be back at the institute in the first place, so no one would be looking for him, and he was reasonably assured that he would have plenty of time to figure out how to escape unscathed, or at least enough to hide a suspicious limp for a day or two. Unlucky for him, probability it seemed, also liked to double down.

“Alright there, boss man?”

Tim’s jovial voice echoed through the file cabinets like the worst song on the juke at the pub out of all of the hundreds of better selections just as Jon was preparing to gingerly move his spasmodic leg. He sighed and closed his eyes bitterly.

“Oh, yes, just fine, just dangling precariously from this file cabinet to try out a new stretch, it’s called the ‘mind your own business’,” he growled.

Tim chuckled, the echoes of it raising pinprick hackles of irritation on the back of Jon’s neck as he emerged from the shadows, hands on his hips and wry, crooked grin on his scarred face.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“And pray tell where, Timothy?” Jon snapped in a low growl.

Tim made a low whistle.

“Yikes! Busting out the -othy today? You must be in a bad way.”

“You think so? Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?” Jon drawled, rolling his eyes, “Are you going to stand there gawking and making me feel even more like an invalid or are you going to deign to render me aid?”

“I think I can spare a moment, just for you,” came the predictably smug retort, “What exactly would you like me to do?”

“I just need to sit a moment and massage it out, so fetching a chair from somewhere ought to suffice.”

Tim pondered the request as he strolled to Jon’s side, chewing his lower lip pensively.

“Well, I could do that for you, but seeing as you’re not actually supposed to be here yet I am a little concerned that dragging a chair randomly down to the archives would attract… unwanted attention? You know Martin would have a conniption.”

Sighing heavily, Jon pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“Good point.”

“How about my lap then?” Tim continued without missing a beat.

Jon choked on his own tongue as the tips of his ears burned like cinders.

“TIM! Is this really, truly, and honestly the appropriate moment to be… making a pass at me?”

Unfazed, Tim pressed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Jon, I’m wounded! Ordinarily I’d be deeply offended you’d think my flirting skills so inelegant and crass, but I was actually being sincere this time.”

A dark brow slid skeptically, pointedly up Jon’s forehead.

“Beg pardon, but how could that possibly have ever, in any situation, been construed as sincere?”

“Well, we’ve determined a chair is too risky, the floor isn’t going to do you any favors, and I know you won’t let me carry you back to your office, so I won’t even bother to ask, so where does that leave us, hmmm? Plus, if you recall, I had much the same physio you did, I know the massages and the stretches, I can have you patched up and out of here in no time,” Tim elaborated, counting off on his fingers.

Jon hated it when anyone other than him was making the most sense in the conversation, and he gnashed his teeth and growled his begrudging acquiescence.

“…Fine.”

“Brilliant. Alright to touch?” Tim asked brightly, hands hovering a respectful few inches from Jon’s hand and shoulders.

Eyes narrowing to smoldering brown slits, the last embers of a dying fire, Jon made him wait a few moments for the wordless nod of approval.

“Okay, just taking your hand there, my other hand’s got your other arm, and easy does it…”

With surprising finesse and gentleness, Tim took Jon’s hand and eased him onto the ground with him and into his lap, taking great care to keep his seized-up leg straight and comfortable. Jon melded against his assistant, looping his arms loosely around Tim’s waist while he tipped his head against his shoulder and let his twisted-up bones and sinew go slack against the radiantly warm aegis of him. His shirt was screamingly loud and his hair was freshly pink and he always smelled crisp and free and wild, like a sea breeze on a sun-soaked twilight. Jon liked the way he smelled, and the self-assured posture of his broad shoulders and the heartening solidness of a body meant to be shirtless as often as possible holding him so secure in the humming powerlines of his care. Just to be touched was a visceral melody of nerve endings and synapses, to be touched by him was a blinding symphony of electric light and sound perfectly in tune to the aria of his core where so few dared to go.

“Not so awful right?” Tim teased, squeezing his affected knee with care.

“Get on with it, Stoker,” Jon murmured languidly into the crook of his neck.

“Ohoh, last name now. I’m on real thin ice, aren’t I?” he chortled in reply, pads of his fingers feeling out the ridge of a patella and skating down his calf.

Jon winced, opening one eye to glance guiltily up at the ever-chipper mien of Tim.

“I-“ he stuttered, his protest melting into a sigh, “No, you’re not. I’m sorry. You’re being helpful and I’m being an ass.”

“Mmm, that’s a smidge hyperbolic. You’re being snappish because you got caught being naughty, and you’re in pain, and you also got caught being in pain, which is probably the worst offense out of all of them.”

“I suppose…” Jon conceded, closing his eye and letting his body go slack again.

“Okay to roll your cuff up? Or would you prefer trouser leg down?”

“You can roll it up, I don’t mind.”

Tim promptly, neatly, folded the cuff of Jon’s trousers up only to just above the knee, baring the cratered mares of his leg. His fingers felt them out, felt the places where the worms bored holes in him that had forgotten which way to mend and pulled and tugged in a confused riot of fibrous muscle and scar tissue, and rolled through them with slow, deliberate tenderness. Jon hissed softly in pain, but Tim’s fingers knew the weft and trail of his muscles, and he squeezed and massaged and tilled them with expert care. Unhurriedly, painstakingly, Jon’s knee unlocked, and it bowed gratefully outward with the sigh of relief into a Hawaiian print collar.

“You’re allowed to hurt you know,” Tim whispered at length, fingers just stroking idly now.

“Everyone’s allowed to hurt,” Jon replied automatically, “It’s only that those of us who can bear it have the duty to do so for those who can’t.”

Tim chewed his lip in the wake of that, weighing his feelings against his words carefully.

“And what god decides who is who?”

Only silence from the clinging, boneless and wounded creature in his lap.

“I’m just saying. I was right there with you, the same thing happened to me, so maybe share a little of this one, hmm?” he tried again, nudging at Jon’s temple with the tip of his nose, letting the silvered chestnut hairs tickle.

The strings of Jon’s body wound taut again around Tim’s fingers still tracing blind patterns on his shin, and he glanced up, daring to ensnare his irises only for a moment.

“I’ll try.”

A soft, breathless laugh whisked past Tim’s lips as he shook his head fondly.

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get out of the high and mighty head archivist,” he huffed, “But I’ll take it. Now, where can I kiss it all better for you?”

It took Jon a full cycle of pouting, scowling, and digging vengeful fingers into Tim’s back before he could conjure an answer.

“Forehead, please.”

“You got it.”

Jon ducked his head to receive Tim’s lips pressed against his creased brow, and while he knew he bore a burden too great to be carried away with velvet kisses and frank words, for a moment at least he could feel just a bit lighter.

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #JonTim #jonathan sims #Tim Stoker #Crow Writes #Ask Drabble #wordsintimeandspace

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taephilia · 4 years

Text

through time and space

part of @heartsforbtsnet‘s hearts for halloween event!

pairing: kim seokjin x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst, sci-fi, adventure, time travel au, doctor who au

word count: 10,694 (oops)

warnings/content: swearing, alcohol consumption, if you’ve watched doctor who then this is based off of river song and the doctor

summary: as a universe-renown time traveller, you’re a fairly common household name. From intergalactic governments to planets themselves, your help is needed across the universe; whether it be uniting an alien orphan with its human parents or playing peacemaker between two alien races that have both committed genocide against the other and are at the verge of war. You’ve seen countless faces, heard hundreds of names, but one has always stayed with you, following you like a shadow: kim seokjin.

a/n: this took me SO long mainly bc it’s been years since i watched doctor who and i still never quite understood how the doctor and river’s timelines worked. and it took me so long to even wrap my head around this fic’s timeline so hopefully this all makes sense. if you have any questions, feel free to send them in because time travel is very complicated and every interpretation of it is different and the fact that time just isn’t linear in this can make it very confusing. also this is unedited/not proofread bc i procrastinated, rushed some parts, lost motivation, like to live life on the edge, etc. you know how it is. also yes it’s late i’m sorry, i’m not even going to say why because it’s really embarrassing lmfao

tag list: @suhdays @ggukkieland @hesperantha

i. planet busan in the year of AFI-283

Taking a walk through a city that you’ve never been to before in the morning is usually something you quite enjoy, but after having to save a neighboring town from an invasive species (which involved a lot of running away from giant man-eating worms which were the invasive species in question), your thighs are burning more than usual and all you want to do is get back to your ship and go home. You feel a bit guilty as everyone walks around you, grumbling underneath their breath about how slow you’re walking, just looking around like you have all the time in the world, but you figure that you deserve to admire the sights for just a little bit. And besides, you’re a time traveler—technically you do have all the time in the world.

As you get closer to the alleyway that you parked your ship in (and that you hope is still there), a strange whirring noise begins to sound out throughout the street, causing everyone around you to slow down and look for the source. A strange glowing orb appears in the middle of the sidewalk right in front of you and everyone around you either runs away or stands around it, scared but fascinated at the same time. You watch the orb grow brighter and brighter, shielding your eyes against the light with one hand while the other reaches down for the blaster gun on your hip. When the light is finally gone, there’s a metal booth standing in the middle of the street with smoke rising off of it. A strange banging noise can be heard coming from the inside of the machine so you slowly walk up to the door and knock, everyone around you waiting with bated breath to see what kind of creature would emerge.

All you see though when the door opens is a set of broad shoulders before you’re pressed up against someone, their arms wrapped tightly around you as they sway you side to side. They pull back to look at you and you’re met with bright brown eyes and possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. And said handsome man still has his arms wrapped around you and although you’re sort of wondering if you actually got eaten by one of those worms and died and went to heaven, you’re also wondering who the hell he is.

“Stunned to see me, sweetheart?” he teases you and you swear that your heart rate picks up at the pet name. “I know that my good looks can be quite shocking sometimes but you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Which we both know isn’t possible since ghosts aren’t real.” He rolls his eyes and laughs as if he made some sort of joke, and before you can even begin to process just what exactly is happening, the man leans down and presses his lips against yours. When he pulls away, he stares into your eyes and says softly, “But the fact that you look so beautiful this early in the morning is upsetting… yet amazing.”

Your brain short-circuits at that and you jump back from him in shock. You have to take a moment to look around, to look at literally anything or anyone but the man that just kissed you as a greeting, to stop your face from heating up even more and your heart from jumping out of your chest. The crowd that had first gathered around the booth had already dispersed during your brief interaction, people walking around you and only stopping to glance when you jumped back.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, although exactly what you’re apologizing for you have no idea. “But have we… met before?” Or done something more than just meet and somehow I experienced amnesia right after, you think to yourself, your lips still tingling from when they were pressed against his.

The man in front of you pulls out a journal and you’re taken aback at how it just seemed to appear out of nowhere. As he’s flipping through the pages, you stare at the purple cover and wonder where exactly he was hiding it before. He glances up at you and stops turning the pages when he sees you just staring at him, as if he expects you to be doing something as well.

After a few seconds of the two of you just staring at each other, him in expectancy and you in utter confusion, he lets out a sigh. “What year is it on this planet? Where even are we? Planet Busan, correct?” he asks, hand poised over the pages as he awaits your answer.

At this point, you’re just convinced that this guy is crazy and you’re witnessing some sort of psychotic episode. Once you manage to get yourself out of this situation, you’ll definitely need to contact someone about him. But for now, you’ll play along. “Yeah, we’re on Planet Busan. It’s AFI-283,” you answer, eyebrows raising when he immediately begins thumbing through the pages.

His eyes flicker back and forth as he skims whatever is written down before finally stopping somewhere in the middle of the journal. You watch as his eyes widen before looking up at you and then back down at the journal. He lets out a little stunned “huh” before pursing his lips and closing the book. He takes a step closer to you as his eyes meet yours, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s analyzing you or something because of how hard he’s staring at you. Who is this guy?

“So you don’t know me?” the man questions and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. That’s all he got out of this?

“Am I supposed to?” you retort as you cross your arms over your chest, getting a bit impatient at this man’s behavior. You just need to find the right time to slip away and-

“Well not to brag or anything but I am a pretty famous time traveler,” he informs you, interrupting your train of thought at the mention of the words ‘time traveler’. When he sees you perk up at the end of his sentence, he smirks and does a little bow for you. “Kim Seokjin at your service, madame.”

Your eyes widen upon hearing his name. “You’re Kim Seokjin?” you ask, partly in awe but also partly in disbelief.

Everyone who’s anyone knows about Kim Seokjin; he’s one of the most famous time travelers throughout the universe, and the fact that you’ve heard about him since you were young and now he’s standing in front of you looking as young as ever really says a lot. Namely, this guy is good—like, really good. So good in fact that it made you kind of dislike the guy the more you heard his name. When you first completed your training to become a time traveler on your home planet of Earth, you had been so excited for what the universe had to offer. Diplomatic meetings, running from space monsters, traveling in your very own spaceship; you wanted it all. And as the top of your class in your space academy, you thought you could have it. But any time you did something, it was always “Oh well, did you hear that Kim Seokjin saved an entire planet from being eaten by a Weblum last week?” and “Good ol’ Seokjin’s already done that, gonna have to do something more impressive.” Seokjin this, Seokjin that. They always compared your results to his rather than being happy that you’re the first student in nearly 50 years to even come close to results like his. And now here you are, on a random planet meeting the one person you’re always compared to, and he’s stumbled out of a-

“What even is that?” you ask, pointing to the metal booth that he stepped out of only minutes ago. “I don’t think that that time machine is a standard issue.”

“Have you never seen a coin noraebang before?” he questions you in response, looking taken aback when you shake your head. “Seriously? You’ve never done karaoke with your friends at the arcade or anything? Popped in just to sing that one song that’s been stuck in your head all day?” You shake your head once more and he sighs. “You’re making me feel really old right now. Why don’t I just show you?”

He steps aside and offers to let you take the lead, the door to his ‘noraebang’ wide open but you can’t see anything at all except for darkness and a few blinking lights. Your eyes go back and forth between the machine and him, wondering if you should just make a run for it at this point. After everything you’ve heard about Kim Seokjin, you wish you had learned that he’s probably crazy.

“You’re kidding, right?” you scoff as you gesture to the machine. “This thing barely looks like it fits you, how the hell is it supposed to fit the two of us?”

He places one foot over the threshold, both hands braced on the door frame on either side of him, and looks down at you curiously. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N); valedictorian of the class of 2193 at the Earth Space Academy, rookie time traveler but already making a name for yourself, and fluent in 17 languages on planet Earth alone. All of that and you can’t understand the basic concepts of wibbly wobbly, time-y wime-y stuff?”

“Of what?” you laugh. You notice his ears go red and can’t help but feel a bit endeared at his embarrassment.

“Just get in here, will you,” he groans before entering the darkness. His hand pops out when you don’t immediately follow, shaking insistently at you, and you let out a reluctant sigh before grabbing it and allowing him to pull you inside.

You brace yourself as you step inside, fully expecting to slam right into him, but you’re met with nothing but air. When you open your eyes, you’re standing in a giant control room, buttons and levers surrounding multiple screens that display different universes, different angles of the noraebang, and different views of the city from where the machine sits. The ceilings are high with windows that allow the sunlight to come in and all around you are multiple doors leading to who knows where. Seokjin clears his throat after a few minutes of you staring around in awe and you jump because you had almost forgotten he was even there with you.

“So,” he smirks as he runs a hand along one of the control panels. “Not the tiny metal booth that you thought it would be, huh?”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe out as you stretch your own hand out to run along the walls of the room. “How is this even possible? It’s- It’s bigger on the inside! This room itself is already bigger than I thought it would be but those doors-” You point to the doors around you, ignoring the look of amusement on Seokjin’s face. “Just how many rooms are there?”

He holds out a hand to you with a smile and gestures towards one of the doors on his right. “Care to take a look?”

You place your hand eagerly into his and allow him to give you a tour of his noraebang time machine. You walk through so many different rooms that it’s hard to remember what the previous one was like after you enter a new one, especially since Seokjin is telling you about different planets he’s visited and people he’s met while doing so. There are rooms for different environments and climates, rooms with animals, rooms for different time periods on different planets, normal rooms like bedrooms and bathrooms, and even a kitchen. He talks about planets completely covered by liquid nitrogen, lizard people living underground, and a purple elephant floating through space. There’s a game room, a movie theater, an observatory, a pool, and-

You hear feet scurry by behind you as Seokjin explains the physics behind the gravitational pull of Planet Haxor’s moons but when you turn around, all you see is a flash of hair and a shadow before it’s gone. Seokjin notices your distracted stare and looks at where you’re looking, but sees nothing.

“Sorry,” you apologize as you force your gaze away from the doorway across the hall and back to him. “I thought I saw something. Are you the only one in here? There’s no one else?”

He’s about to answer when you hear a dull thud and what you think sounds like a whispered “shit!” and you can’t help but edge closer to him. Seokjin laughs at the noise, but he sounds a bit nervous as he explains, “Oh that’s just my Flerken, that darned thing! I don’t know where she learned those bad words from. Anyways, that’s the end of the tour!” He ushers you out of the room and back to the main control room, his footsteps quick, and you wonder just what exactly he’s hiding. And who or what that was that you heard because you know for a fact that Flerkens can’t talk. “So what do you think?”

“What do I think?” you ask in response, your hands gesturing around vaguely as you look around the vast room once more. “I think that this is the weirdest day I’ve ever had and you’re probably the most insane but interesting person that I’ve ever met.”

Seokjin ponders over your words for a moment before shrugging. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyways, I was thinking that maybe we could-” A loud beeping noise interrupts him, numbers and symbols that you don’t recognize appearing on a screen that cause him to panic and jump into action. “Gonna need a rain check, I have to go. Gotta take care of some of that time-y wime-y stuff I was telling you about,” he explains as he’s pushing buttons and turning knobs. He waves his arm towards the doors and they open, revealing the bustling city sidewalk that you had been standing on- How long ago was it? An hour ago? A few minutes? It seemed like time had stopped the second you stepped foot into the noraebang.

The time traveler all but shoos you out when he sees you lingering in his control room and he’s about to close the door on you when you block it with your hand. “One more question,” you say, hoping that he’ll oblige you. “I’m 100% certain that we’ve never met before so how do you know my name?”

He seems taken aback at the question but then a smirk appears on his face, one that you’ve become all too familiar with even though you’ve just met. “Spoilers,” he teases you as he brings a finger up to his lips before shutting the doors.

There’s a whirring sound and you step back from the machine, watching as a light begins to engulf it that grows brighter and brighter, so bright that you have to shield your eyes. There’s a whoosh! and when you look, Seokjin and his time machine are gone.

ii. daechwita mountains on the yoon planet in the year of 9-T-41

You watch with a frown as the acid snow and gigantic crystals continue to fall from the sky, mentally cursing your curious nature that led to you being stuck in a cave for the night. At least, you hope that it’s only for the night. You had been flying home after another successful mission when you realized that today was the day where all 5 of the Yoon Planet’s moons would line up for a quintuple lunar eclipse. You of course couldn’t miss out on this opportunity and thought that a little pit stop wouldn’t delay your plans too much. You were wrong obviously. And now here you are, in a cave on the top of one of the Daechwita Mountains, with only a jacket, the keys to your ship, three granola bars, and a half empty bottle of water. Just great. Leaning against the wall, you close your eyes and pray for a miracle. You don’t know exactly what but that’s the point, isn’t it? You’re not supposed to know until they happen?

As you begin to accept the reality of the situation, you let your mind wander to get yourself to calm down and your thoughts begin to drift towards a certain time traveler that you first met a few months ago. A certain, very confusing time traveler that is; with pretty brown eyes, the most infectious laugh you’ve ever heard, and-

Wait what, you interrupt yourself, physically shaking your head to get yourself to stop thinking… whatever it was that you were thinking.

Back to Seokjin. You think that the universe must be playing some sort of trick on you now because ever since your first meeting, you seem to be running into the guy everywhere you go. The second time the two of you met, he had had no recollection of giving you a tour of his noraebang time machine. You had thought he was twisting your leg or something but when he informed you that he’s never even owned a Flerken before, you decided to just drop the subject. The more you ran into each other, the weirder Seokjin would get. Sometimes he would recall your previous meetings and his personality would be similar to the first time you met him; flirty, completely comfortable around you, and a bit loud and obnoxious. Other times, he would only recall a select few and his personality would be similar to the second time you met him; awkward, shy, and seems like he has no idea what he’s doing ever. Just as you were starting to wonder how long he was going to keep this charade going, he somehow found the answer to your unspoken question.

“Opposite timelines,” he said to you in lieu of a greeting, not bothering to explain further as he walked beside you in the busy marketplace.

You struggled to keep up with him as you dodged and weaved around people and you watched as he plucked a purple book off of one of the stands, paid for it, and then handed it over to you. You looked down at the book in his hands and then up at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. You think he purposefully doesn’t elaborate on things for the dramatic effect, which is so very like him. He took your hand and placed the book in it before continuing to walk, this time making sure that you’re keeping up with him so that you heard what he was saying.

“Imagine two lines going in opposite directions,” he started off, trying his best to give you a simplified explanation because he knows that, even for a time traveler, sometimes this kind of stuff isn’t the easiest to understand. “Sometimes, the lines will intersect. Sometimes, one line will do a loop and circle back and intersect with the other line towards its beginning. That line is still going forward in time but in the context of the other line, it’s in the past. Does that make sense?”

You nodded along and looked down at the notebook, surprised to find that it had the exact same cover as the one that Seokjin pulled out when you first met him. You were about to ask him about it but refrained from doing so. If what he said is true and the two of you really do have opposite timelines, you could potentially cause problems if you brought up something specific that he doesn’t know about. “So what’s this for then?” you asked instead, gesturing to the book in your hands.

“That is for you to keep track of each and every time that we meet,” he answered. “Make sure that it’s in your chronological order. That way, whenever it is that we meet again, we can compare journals and see where we are in each other’s timeline and it’ll help us know what not to talk about. Time has never been too fond of spoilers.”

It still makes your head hurt a bit whenever you think about it, but it has come in handy ever since he gave it to you. And you find that you do quite enjoy thinking about your adventures with Jin a lot—and thinking about Jin in general. The man practically lives in your mind rent free at this point with how often you think about him, it’s starting to get a bit ridiculous. But you know that it would never work out anyways. Aside from the whole opposite timelines thing, you can’t remember the last time you’ve heard about Jin returning to Earth. He’s always jumping off cliffs and running from planetary authorities but you? You have your family to think about, your job is what’s getting your brother through college right now. You have responsibilities, people who depend on you, a reputation to maintain. Jin would never understand.

You jump as a particularly large crystal hits the ground outside, shattering into smaller pieces with a deafening crack. And although the sudden sound is what initially makes you jump, it’s the scream accompanying it from outside that causes fear to flood your entire body. You watch as a figure enters the cave and approaches you, and you shakily hold up your water bottle in what you hope is a threatening position, praying that they mistake it for a weapon of some kind. They shine their flashlight in your face and you panic as you lose sight of them due to the blinding light, and you’re about to begin just thrashing around wildly to ward them off when you hear a familiar voice call out, “(Y/N)?”

You lower your water bottle as they lower their flashlight, and as your eyes adjust, you let out a sigh when you see that it’s just Seokjin. Wait- “Seokjin? What the hell are you doing here?” you ask incredulously. Out of all places for him to turn up…

“I could ask you the same question,” he answers as he gestures to your supplies, or lack thereof you should say. “Are you trying to die here or something? You don’t even have a full bottle of water.”

Seokjin sits beside you and puts a blanket around the two of you that he pulled from his backpack, and you don’t even feel any shame as you scoot closer to him, his body heat too tempting. “I stopped by after a mission because it’s the only time I could see the lunar eclipse,” you explain. “I didn’t bother checking the weather and before I knew it, the storm came and this was the only place I could go to for shelter.”

“You do realize you’re a time traveler, right?” Seokjin teases you, smiling as he takes the granola bar that you offer to him. “You could just look up all of the dates that Yoon has had a quintuple lunar eclipse and choose one to go to.”

“No unauthorized time traveling, remember?” you point out, wondering just how long it’s actually been since Seokjin graduated for him to already be forgetting the academy’s most basic rules. “They put trackers on our ships.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” he muses before crumpling up the wrapper in his hands and tossing it aside. “Guess that’s what happens when you become a time rogue and all-”

“Wait a second,” you interrupt him. Did he really just say what you think he said? “Did you just say that you’re a time rogue?”

He blinks at you slowly as if waiting for you to start laughing and tell him that you were joking. Instead, you stare directly back at him, the expression on your face still the same as you wait for him to tell you that he’s joking. That he wasn’t serious about being a wanted criminal because he’s broken at least one of the Universal Laws of Time and Space.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” he answers. “Since around the time you graduated from the academy, I think. Last I heard, they’ve still been sending out emails about me and the incorrect anonymous tips that they get about my last known locations.”

“I haven’t checked my email since I became a traveler,” you admit sheepishly. “I just report back after a mission and then wait for Captain Namjoon to give me a new assignment.”

“Captain Kim Namjoon?” Seokjin asks and you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“...Yes, Captain Kim Namjoon. Why?”

“That bastard,” he mutters before chuckling to himself. When you look over at him, he’s staring out into the storm and even though he’s right next to you, his gaze looks very far away. “I always knew he was cut out to be a captain. Never believed me though.”

You don’t say anything, knowing that he’s not talking to you, simply content to just sit beside him and watch the storm outside rage on. He begins to hum and as your eyes begin to close, you wonder if it’s one of those songs he would sing at karaoke with his friends before you fall asleep.

While you’re fast asleep on his shoulder, Jin grants himself the luxury of staring at you. You look so relaxed, so open, nothing like you are when you’re awake. He wishes he could save you, whisk you off to some faraway galaxy in his time machine where no one would ever find you. But he knows that that’s too good to be true. He knows your fate, has seen it with his own eyes, and he can’t mess with time, no matter how much he wants to. So he’ll give himself these few hours of your company while he waits for the storm to pass, let himself savor your presence before the guilt takes over. He just hopes that you can find it within yourself to forgive him for leaving you once more.

iii. orbiting around star bt21 in the vantae galaxy, year unknown

You grimace as you swallow the caffeine pill, hoping that it’ll kick in soon otherwise you’ll be falling asleep during this upcoming meeting. You mentally curse Namjoon for forcing you to fly all the way out to Planet Mang on one of your rare days off, wanting nothing more than to just turn around and fly back home so you can crawl back into bed. But no, you “have a job to do” and if you don’t go, you’ll “make the Space Academy look bad”. Whatever that means. You’re just one out of the five time travelers going to represent Earth, you don’t think it would be that bad if you didn’t show up. Namjoon didn’t like it when you brought this up though and threatened to bench you for the few upcoming missions, so you shut your mouth very quickly after that.

As you’re passing through Vantae Galaxy, you spot a familiar floating metal booth orbiting around the BT21 star. Now that you know that Seokjin’s a time rogue, you figure that he’s just been traveling all of time and space to see whatever sites he’d like to see but you didn’t take him for an average tourist. Everyone who’s anyone from the Space Academy knows that the popular star isn’t really worth the travel time that it takes to get there. But upon closer inspection, you see that it looks like the time machine isn’t even… on. As this discovery processes in your brain, you watch it float through space for a brief second before immediately jumping into action, grabbing your helmet and getting your ship as close as you can to Seokjin’s noraebang.

Clinging on to the outside of your ship, you slowly make your way towards the door, hooking your ship up to Seokjin’s so that it doesn’t float away. You open the doors and place a foot on to the threshold, the machine’s artificial gravity taking effect as you step inside. You’re immediately hit by the cold that seems to have taken over the entire main control room, frost covering every surface and icicles even hanging from the ceiling. The entire machine seems to have powered down and you’re about to call out Seokjin’s name when you hear a thump from the other side of the circular control panel. You approach hesitantly, nervous for what you might find on the other side, but let out a breath of relief when you see that it’s just Seokjin.

But then you immediately begin to panic when you see that the thump was from him slumping over on to the floor. Running over to him, you frantically begin to shake him awake, hugging his body close to yours to give him some semblance of heat. “Jin,” you call out loudly as his head lolls on to your shoulder. “Seokjin, wake up!”

When nothing seems to be working, you heave him up with a grunt, tossing one of his arms over your shoulder before lugging him over to the doors. But as you pull on the handle, it doesn’t budge. You inspect the hinges and the edges for any ice or frost but find none. You pull on the door a couple of more times, panic beginning to rise as it resists. You set Seokjin down, leaning him against the wall, and take a deep breath. You look at your surroundings and then back at the man below you, hoping that some sort of idea will come to you. But nothing does.

You walk over to the control panel and begin looking over every button, hoping that maybe there’s just an “ON” button that you haven’t seen. As you’re desperately scanning the control panel for any sort of answer, you can’t help but think back to a conversation you had with Seokjin regarding his noraebang. He had been rambling on about some crystal that he found in the crust of one of Jupiter’s moons when he caught you leaning against the control panel.

“Don’t lean against that!” he exclaimed, rushing over to shoo you away. “Jeongguk is sensitive, he doesn’t like when people do that.”

You spun in a circle after he said, looking around for this Jeongguk that he mentioned. Perhaps it was that person (or that Flerken, you should say) that you saw the first time Jin showed you his time machine? But you found yourselves completely alone. “Who’s Jeongguk?” you asked, knowing that he wouldn’t give you any sort of explanation unless you did.

“My noraebang,” he said as if it was obvious. “I named him Jeongguk. Does your ship not have a name?”

Is he being serious right now? you asked yourself as you stared at him and with the way that he went back to casually cleaning, you could only assume that he was. “No because it’s a machine, not a living thing.”

Jin gasped at that, pressing a hand up to the wide glass column that the circular control panel surrounds. “How dare you say that!” he said, eyes accusatory as he glared at you. He rubbed his hand along the glass, as if comforting the time machine as he cooed, “Don’t worry, Jeonggukkie, she’s just in a bad mood today is all. Of course she knows you’re alive.”

I’m friends with a crazy person.

Looking back on it even now, you still don’t believe that Seokjin’s time machine is “alive” like he said it is. But you’re desperate and Jin is starting to look paler by the minute so-

“Jeongguk please,” you whisper, your hand pressed against the glass as you stare at it. You don’t know what you expect to see and even if the time machine is alive, you don’t even know where its eyes could possibly be. “Please wake up.”

You look around but nothing seems to change. You run over to Jin and hold a finger up under his nose, your heart beginning to race when you feel his breaths become shallower and spaced out even more. “Jeongguk, wake up!” you yell out, your voice echoing around the large space. “Seokjin’s in trouble, please, you have to help him! I don’t know any of the controls, I don’t know how to do anything. So please you have to wake up, you have to save him!”

Nothing.

Sinking down to the floor, you feel tears prick at your eyes as you pull Jin closer to you. You shrug off your jacket and wrap it around him, the harsh cold immediately hitting you and causing you to shiver. Jin’s eyes open just the tiniest bit, his voice soft as he whispers, “(Y/N)? What are you doing?”

You just shake your head and wrap your arms around him, closing your eyes as you pray for some sort of miracle. All of a sudden, you hear a soft whirring sound and when you pick your head up, you see some lights on the control panel begin to flicker. With bated breath, you watch as the noraebang starts to come back to life and it feels like your soul leaves your body when you feel a blast of heat coming from the vent behind you. You quickly tug Seokjin off of the floor and carry him to the first bedroom that you find, tucking him in before finding a chair and a blanket for yourself.

As you hold one of Seokjin’s hands between yours, you suddenly remember the diplomatic meeting you were supposed to be at. To hell with them, you think. One of your friends almost died, you think Namjoon will find it in him to understand. Your eyes trace over every feature of his face as he sleeps, and you once again struggle to push down the fondness and relief that you feel as you watch him. You know that this probably isn’t a good idea, letting yourself indulge in him in the way that you are. But just this once; just this one time you’ll allow yourself this.

You don’t remember falling asleep at Jin’s bedside but when you wake up, you find yourself seated in your ship. You wrack your brain but the memories of what just happened are a bit fuzzy. Even the feeling of the biting cold against your skin is fading.

Was it all a dream?

iv. in a bar on planet earth in the year 3004

The alcohol burns your throat as you swallow but you welcome the feeling, the dark cloud that’s been following you around all day finally beginning to clear up (figuratively of course, not to be confused with the actual dark cloud that was following you on Planet Gwangju). Nothing seemed to be going right that day, absolutely nothing had gone in your favor, so rather than go home and sleep off the long day as you usually do, you decided to go to the one bar that seems to stay in business no matter what year it is. There’s a couple on stage singing along to an old song (ancient’s more like it, you think the DJ said it was from 2091) but you ignore their off-key yelling in favor of waving down the bartender.

“Another, please,” you say, not even looking in his direction as you scan your watch to pay for your drink.

“You know, there is such a thing as an open tab,” the bartender says wryly as he mixes your drink. “I know that it’s an ancient concept but it still works pretty well.”

You roll your eyes before finally making eye contact with Yoongi, the both of you smiling at each other the second your eyes meet. That’s the other thing that doesn’t change about this bar, it’s always had your same favorite AI bartender. He was a bit confused at first as to whether or not you were also an AI because apparently the first time he met you was in 2398 but when you became of age and found the place with your friends from the academy, it was 2192 and you looked a lot younger than the first time. You explained to him that you were a time traveler so he must have met the future version of you and after a bit more explaining, he concluded that you were not in fact a fellow AI. So now whenever you come into the bar, always at the same time of night, Yoongi welcomes you with his classic small but fond smile, not even asking what you’d like to drink because he already knows.

“I have self-control, Yoon,” you scoff as you grab the drink that he places in front of you. “I don’t have an open tab because I don’t need one. I’m going to stop drinking soon.”

“Yeah well that frown on your face and faraway look in your eyes tells me otherwise,” Yoongi points out. Before you can respond though, another person calls him over and he walks away without a word.

“I don’t have a frown on my face,” you mutter to yourself before looking up at the mirror placed behind all of the alcohol bottles at the bar only to find that you do indeed have a frown on your face.

You sigh as you look away, eyes roaming over the people seated as well as on the dance floor, and you can’t help but feel a bit disgusted at the fact that the majority of them are couples. Usually you don’t even pay attention to that kind thing but you know exactly why you are right now. It’s the same reason you’ve been sad this entire week, the same reason you’ve started to question the Space Academy, the same reason your heart beats faster and butterflies appear in your stomach: Kim Seokjin. Since you saved him in the Vantae Galaxy about two months ago (which you now know to be real because you can’t find that jacket anywhere so it must be in his noraebang), you haven’t seen nor heard from him. No “thank you for saving my life”, no “hey sorry for leaving you literally every single time we meet”, not even a “who are you, have we met before?” You’d rather take a clueless, younger Seokjin than absolute radio silence.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see two large figures approaching you and heave out another sigh. You’re in no mood to be hit on or even threatened right now so you reach for the knife hidden in your jacket, but just as your hand touches the handle, an arm wraps around your waist and an annoyingly familiar voice exclaims quite loudly, “There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

You look up and who do you see but none other than Jin in the flesh. His ears are bright red to match the color on his neck, and he takes no notice in you staring at his drunken figure as he glares at the two men while they hastily retreat. “Okay they’re gone,” you mutter when you see no sign of them, your voice a bit venomous as you push him away from you. “You can stop touching me now.”

There’s a look of vague surprise on his face when you push him away followed by resignation but it’s quickly followed up by a warm smile. You don’t know how he does it. “It’s great to see you, (Y/N)! How long has it been? Do you have your journal on-”

“Vantae Galaxy at the BT21 star,” you interrupt him to answer his unasked question. You don’t even need your journal anymore. You know your timeline to a T now; every single encounter with Seokjin, down to the planet and the year. “That’s the last time I saw you.”

His eyes widen at that and you pretend not to be hurt when he schools his features back to his happy-go-lucky personality. “Ah yes! The BT21 star, a marvelous star really. A bit tourist-y but you know, it wouldn’t be a popular tourist attraction if it wasn’t good.”

You only nod at his words, downing half of your drink to get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth. You make eye contact with Yoongi across the bar and you watch as he slightly tilts his head in Jin’s direction, and you silently laugh before subtly shaking your head. It’s nice of him to offer to save you, and part of you wants to take the offer, but you don’t need it. Not yet anyways.

“So,” you say to break the awkward silence, and you almost laugh at the way Jin jumps slightly in his seat, as if he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him. If you were him, you’d be surprised too with how coldly you’re treating him. “Why are you here?”

You order more drinks for the two of you as he tells you some story about a haunted dollhouse, an adopted alien orphan, demon dolls, and unknowing human parents. The alcohol seems to make him more animated and a lot louder as he talks, but the warm feeling that you get remains in your stomach as all of your anger slowly dissipates. You can’t find it in yourself to stay mad at him at this moment. His eyes are shining, his laughter is infectious, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t even notice when he stops talking but you definitely do notice when he rushes forward and kisses you right on the mouth.

His lips are soft, a bit chapped, but you welcome the feeling; well as much as you can when you’re frozen in shock. He pulls away when you don’t kiss him back, his eyes as big as saucers while his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “I- I’m so sorry, oh my god- I don’t know what- oh shit-” he stammers out but you’re barely listening as you bring your fingers up to your lips because you know that the tingling you feel in them is definitely not from the alcohol.

You look up and Seokjin is still stuttering out apologies, his entire upper torso (from what you can see of it) red from both intoxication and embarrassment at what he just did. He’s so absorbed in trying to apologize that he doesn’t even notice you lean towards him until you’re practically nose to nose. He breathes out a, “What-”

And then you kiss him right on the mouth. You place a hand on his chest as you kiss him and he raises up two shaking hands to gently cup your face, and you smile against his lips when you hear him take a shuddering inhale through his nose. His hands slide down your neck, across your shoulders, to your back and you feel yourself practically melt when he pulls your body closer to his. Your hand fists at the fabric of his shirt and you’re about to step closer to him when he pulls away. Seokjin’s pupils are blown wide and he’s panting as he stares down at you like you just showed him all of the secrets of the universe.

“I- We-We’re in public, we shouldn’t-” he stutters out breathily, looking around as if to make sure no one is staring. Not that you could find it in yourself to care right now with the combination of adrenaline and alcohol running through your veins.

“This one’s on the house if the two of you leave after,” Yoongi mutters as he slides two more shots to you. “Can’t have you disgusting lovebirds ruining my bar like this.” Yoongi’s voice sounds disgusted but you can see the amusement in his eyes as he hands you an opportunity on a silver platter.

You throw the shot back and look at Jin who’s still looking at you like you’re a completely different person. “I know exactly where we can go,” you say with a wide smile. You lean closer and smirk at the man in front of you. “For some privacy, that is.”

Seokjin throws the shot back. “Lead the way.”

You’re not sure what exactly it is that wakes you up—the sunlight coming in through the crack in the curtains, your sore body, or the draft entering your cocoon of blankets—but you know that the pounding headache you’re experiencing definitely has something to do with it. You hear the clanking of metal and turn your head, eyes closing once more when you see that it’s just Seokjin putting his pants on.

Wait-

Your eyes fly open and you pick your head up when you realize that Seokjin is putting his clothes on in your hotel room. Every muscle and bone in your body protests as you slowly sit up and you see Jin’s movement stop when he notices that you’re awake. Your gaze meets his and you feel your stomach drop because the look in his eyes is so unfamiliar to you, you can’t gage what he’s feeling at all. You look at his wrinkled shirt, the pants that are only half on, and his bedhead as the events from last night slowly start coming back to you.

“I know exactly where we can go for some privacy.”

Oh shit.

“Good morning,” he finally greets you as he slowly pulls his pants up over his thighs. “I didn’t think you were awake. Did you sleep well?”

“Where are you going?” you ask, completely ignoring everything he just said. You know exactly what’s about to happen and you wish you didn’t because then maybe you wouldn’t have to be fighting the urge to cry right now.

“Oh uh, I have an important meeting to get to that I forgot about,” Seokjin answers. His voice is a bit higher and wavers a bit at the end and you wish he would just tell you the truth for once.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you,” you say, more of a statement than a question. And he knows exactly what you mean because he doesn’t answer, only continues to fiddle with the buttons on his sleeve. “I’m not letting you leave me behind again, Seokjin.”

He freezes at that and when he looks up at you, you feel your heart crack right down the middle because of how guilty he looks. “(Y/N)-”

“I know you feel it too,” you plead. Your voice sounds so desperate but it’s because you are. You’ll do anything to try to get him to stay. Just this once. “I’ve never felt this for anyone else the way that I feel about you, Jin. So why are you running away?”

He slowly begins to back away and you jump out of bed with the blanket held tightly to your chest. “(Y/N), please, don’t make this harder for me than it needs to be,” he requests, his voice pained though his eyes never leave you.

“It doesn’t have to be hard at all!” you argue, unable to keep your voice at a normal volume as you feel yourself growing more and more frustrated and more and more desperate. “Just stay. Here. With me. Why do you insist on leaving me?”

Jin grimaces at your question as he reaches behind him and slowly turns the door handle. “I guess it’s just what I do. Spoilers,” he shrugs and the way he just casually says that makes you want to throw up blood.

The door shuts behind him and you’re left standing in the middle of your hotel room. There are tears in your eyes, your head is pounding, and there’s only a thin blanket covering your naked body but you still run towards the door and throw it open. “Jin!” you yell out, but when you look down both sides of the hallway, he’s nowhere to be found.

v. koya prison in the year RJ-17

Thirty minutes have gone by and you’re still clueless as to what the hell is going on around you. The prison guards don’t even try to understand what you’re saying, all of the other inmates are either fighting or laughing with each other, and the guy that was taken in for questioning has been gone for fifteen of those minutes. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to help out a bunch of vigilantes but what can you say? You root for the underdog. You walk over to one of the guys that was leading the group, kicking his leg and disturbing him of the nap he seemed to think was an excellent idea to be taking right now.

“Hey, what the fuck’s going on?” you ask harshly, frustrated at the fact that you literally couldn’t understand the language of the majority of the people around you. You pride yourself on knowing a number of languages known across multiple galaxies, but of course you happen to land in a prison where none of that matters. This usually wouldn’t be a problem if you were wearing your watch, which is able to translate what others say to you and vice versa, but of course, they confiscated that as soon as you were admitted.

“My buddy’s in there getting interrogated right now,” he answers gruffly while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “But don’t worry, he knows what to do. We’ve trained for situations like this, he’ll get us out. Nobody’s getting executed today.”

“Executed?” you shriek, causing some people to turn around and look over at you. You smile weakly at them before crouching down so that you’re face-to-face with the guy, and you’re sure that the panic that you’re feeling right now is very evident. “Nobody said anything about getting executed.”

He gives you a look of disdain, and if you weren’t in such a tight spot, you’d probably feel offended. Part of you still does. “We led a failed revolution to overthrow a government, what did you think was going to happen? They’d keep us here for the night and then give us a slap on the wrist before letting us go?”

Before you can even begin to think of a response, the man who was being interrogated is returned to the cell and says something to everybody that causes them to cheer. They all begin to gather towards the door and you follow suit, assuming that this means that their plan worked and you’re all free to go. But when he sees you making your way with the rest of them, he roughly pushes you back with a shake of his head.

“What are you doing?” you demand as you try to get around him, but he just continues to block your path. “Stop playing around, let’s leave.”

He says something to the other guy that you don’t understand and watch as they slowly begin to leave, their eyes never leaving you. “So he managed to negotiate with the warden like I said. But the only way we’re allowed to go free is if you stay and get executed in our place, Holy Leader.”

“‘Holy Leader’?” you repeat. “What the fuck are you talking about? We did not agree on this, you guys are the ones who came up with this whole thing, I just offered to help!” You run forward to stop them but before you could even try to pull them back inside, they slam the cell door shut right in front of your face.

The actual leader just smirks at you, the prison guards none the wiser as to what’s going on. “While I’d love to help, I’d love to see my family even more. Rest in peace.”

You shake the bars of the cell door as they walk away, yelling and cursing at them until they’ve turned the corner at the end of the hallway. Panic rises in your chest and everything you’ve ever learned is suddenly gone from your head. You have absolutely no idea what to do. Nobody knows that you’re there, you have no means of escape, and not a single person in this entire prison understands you when you speak.

I don’t think I’ll be able to get out of this.

The door opens and two prison guards make their way into the cell, grabbing you under your arms and dragging you out into the hallway. “Where are you taking me?” you shriek as you try to fight them off. You wriggle around in their grip but it’s no use, they’re too strong. “Where are you taking me? Please, you’ve got the wrong person! I didn’t know, please! Contact the Space Academy, ask for Captain Kim Namjoon, he’ll explain everything! Let me go!”

There are tears streaming down your face as you continue to struggle but you know that it’s no use. This is the end for you. You let your head hang as you finally give up, letting the guards drag your practically lifeless body through the halls towards wherever it is that they’re taking you. Sunlight comes in through the windows and when you look out, you see a stage out in a courtyard, a singular chair in the center of it. Even from here you can see the dried blood on it, and you struggle to keep yourself from throwing up.

Suddenly, you hear a familiar laugh and you don’t think you’ve been more relieved or happy to hear his laugh than in this moment. You look up and see Seokjin walking along with the prison warden, a wide smile on his face as he converses with her. “Jin!” you call out and immediately his eyes meet yours. “Seokjin! Help me! Tell them it’s all a big misunderstanding!”

His head tilts to the side a bit as he looks at you in confusion, and when he comes closer to you, you don’t see even the tiniest bit of recognition in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but how do you know my name?” he asks, and the feeling of horror that consumes you is overwhelming. “I don’t think we’ve ever met before.”

The warden ushers Jin ahead, saying, “Don’t waste your time talking to the prisoners, Mr. Kim, especially this one. She is to be executed today for leading a revolution against the Cree.”

You can’t even bring yourself to say anything more, exhaustion taking over your entire body at the revelation that there is truly no way out. Because of course, out of all times for Seokjin to not know who you are, out of all times in the past month that you wished he didn’t know you ever since he left you, this is the one time you need him the most. The guards drag you through the courtyard and secure you to the chair, the stench of blood and other bodily fluids making you almost gag. The stands begin to fill and you watch in horror as right in front of you, the warden escorts Seokjin into her private booth. His eyes are unfamiliar as he looks down at you and any feeling that you have left leaves your body.

You close your eyes and await your fate, not sure how long you would have to wait for the show to start. You pray to all of the gods and deities across the cosmos that they watch over your family, that Captain Namjoon isn’t too mad at you for getting yourself executed, and that wherever Seokjin is—your Jin—he’s safe. The warden’s voice bellows out across the courtyard as she announces something that you don’t understand, the whoops and hollers of the audience that follows almost deafening. Heavy footsteps approach you but you keep your eyes shut; the panic that’s bubbling up will only get worse if you meet your death head on.

The courtyard goes silent and a single tear escapes as you hold your breath in anticipation, but a loud bang startles it right out of you. When you open your eyes, there’s smoke everywhere and absolute chaos as fires rage around you. There’s yelling and a stampede of footsteps as everyone scatters, completely ignoring you in your helpless state as you struggle to release yourself of the cuffs that hold you down. A hand reaches out and you try your best to move away from them, thinking that it must be the executioner still trying to do their job.

But even amongst the frenzied crowd with their yelling and the gunshots that you can hear all around you, there’s a voice that’s bright as day, one that you would recognize no matter what: “It’s just me, sweetheart. I’m here.”

You turn your head to find Jin frantically working at the cuffs around your wrist, too concentrated on freeing you that he doesn’t even notice you staring. This isn’t the Seokjin that you saw up in the stands. No, this is Jin, your Jin, the man you thought you would never see again, the man you would gladly let shatter your heart into pieces if it meant you got to spend one more day with him. He’s there, at your side, to rescue you.

“Wh-What are you doing here?” you breathe out, too overwhelmed by everything that’s going on around you to speak up. “How are you-”

“I’m tired of leaving you behind,” he answers, not even looking at you as he finally frees your wrists and begins to work on the cuffs around your ankles. “The first time I met you, I watched you die right in front of me. And I had to live with that, knowing your fate every time I met you after.”

Jin pulls you up out of the chair and pulls you close to him, both of his hands taking yours as he looks into your eyes. “I couldn’t just let the girl that I fell in love with die. Maybe that’s selfish of me, but I’m tired of running away. The only running I want to do is with you.”

At that, you feel yourself begin to float off the ground, and you let out a startled laugh when you see that the two of you are in fact rising up. Jin points above you with a grin and you look up to see his noraebang with a gravitation beam pointed at the two of you. Nobody notices as the two of you escape and above all of the fire and smoke, you see soldiers and prisoners alike fighting off the prison guards.

“Who are all of these people?” you ask, not recognizing the armor that they wear or the emblems that they display.

“I called in a few friends, cashed in some favors,” he shrugs and although his words sound nonchalant, the smile on his face is as bright as the sun itself. “Had to get the very best if I was going to save you.”

As you get closer and closer to the noraebang, you hear Jin’s voice from down below, and you see the Seokjin that was up on the stands with the warden fighting off the soldiers, shirt torn and blood streaked across his face as he escorts people to safety. And it’s only then that you realize the gravity of the situation.

“Wait,” you say while placing a hand on his chest. “Jin, you can’t do this. You just- You changed my timeline, you came back to the past to rescue me. That breaks like every single time rule that exists in every galaxy. Everyone will be after us. Time itself will be after us. We can’t run away from time.”

Jin’s eyes look determined as he looks at you, one hand grabbing hold of the door to his time machine to pull himself up. “We’re time travelers,” he laughs as he pulls you in with him. “Isn’t that what we do?”

vi. flying through outer space, galaxy and year unknown

“I’m starting to believe that you being at the top of your class was a lie,” Jin snickers as he looks through your journal. “Are you still not understanding it?”

“Well when you use words like ‘time-y wime-y’, it’s a bit hard,” you grind out, trying to recall what meeting with Seokjin in your past could have triggered your alternate timeline.

After escaping from Koya Prison, the first thing on your agenda before traversing the cosmos while simultaneously running from every single authority out there is to ensure that your alternate timeline happens. Jin had explained that your future version of himself (or the current version of himself as he clarified but which only made you even more frustrated as you tried to understand) had to have come back to your past in order to steer you in the right direction. You think back to every instance you’ve seen him and any moment that stood out to you.

Your eyes widen when you realize and you grab your journal and Jin’s to compare them, letting out a noise of disbelief when you see one entry in yours that you don’t see in his. The one event that no version of him has ever remembered no matter how much you try to get him to recall it.

“No wonder,” you mutter before rushing over and putting in the date and coordinates of the exact location.

“‘Planet Busan’?” he reads, eyebrows furrowed as he watches you set all of the controls. “What the hell is on Planet Busan?”

The noraebang shakes around a bit as you travel through the wormhole, and the two of you stumble a bit as it lands on solid ground. You tap one of the screens to check that it’s the correct location and chuckle to yourself when you see your past self making your way through the crowd that gathered around. You push Jin towards the door with your journal and are just about to open it when he stops you.

“What, no plan?” he asks, thoroughly confused as to what could be going on inside your head. “You’re just going to throw me outside without telling me what’s going on?”

“Just trust me,” you say as you shake your head. There’s still a skeptical look on his face but you feel his shoulders deflate a bit. “Just go out there and be your usual charming self.”

You push him out the door and watch as everyone gasps when he emerges, a fond smile appearing on your face when you watch him approach you with a “Stunned to see me, sweetheart?” You walk away while he converses with the past version of yourself, looking at all of the screens to make sure that you weren’t followed by anyone. Jin’s voice gets louder and you realize that he’s bringing you inside so you dart into the other room, careful to make sure that you’re not spotted by your past self. You follow along to ensure that it’s all happening the way that you remember, part of you a bit nostalgic at seeing your younger self. You miscalculate the timing at one point and dart behind yourself, practically throwing your body into another room so as not to be seen, causing you to bump into a shelf and drop one of Jin’s many souvenirs.

“Shit!” you hiss, hand slapping over your mouth after from how loud you were.

“Oh that’s just my Flerken, that darned thing! I don’t know where she learned those bad words from. Anyways, that’s the end of the tour!” You hear Jin laugh nervously as he escorts you back to the main control room and you let out a breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding.

The alarm begins to sound and you rush back, entering the control room just as your past self exits. “A little too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Jin teases you as his hands fly over the controls. “We’ve got bigger problems though so I think that’s our cue to leave.”

He turns to you with a mischievous grin on his face, finger poised over a button as he asks, “So where to first?”

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firelxdykatara · 4 years

Note

I was the anon who sent the ask about cs, and you actually addressed some of the major arguments i've seen - being with hook turned emma from a strong, independent woman into just a love interest, hook pursued emma with no reciprocated feelings, and that he never really redeemed himself. I've also seen arguments that cs is abusive, which i've seen to some extent in anti-kataang posts. i try not to dive too deep into the anti tag for my own sanity but these are some of the main things i've seen

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ok, sorry, i was just caught up in the euphoria of reminiscing about my captain swan feelings that for a moment there i lived in a world where the Anti CS Brigade didn’t exist. but no, yeah, i know exactly what you’re talking about and honestly i think i just......blocked 90% of it from my mind because so many of those arguments were so vitriolic and widespread but also baseless, like...

gods, ok, here we go. anon you have activated my dormant ouat wordvomit processors and idk if i’ll be able to shut up any time soon but i have A Lot Of Thoughts Here, and also a lot of really bad memories cause ye gods, the ouat shipping wars of the days of yore were vicious.

ANYWAY, like, the vast majority of these arguments came from the ‘swan queen nation’, which is where you can trace a lot of super toxic wlw ship stans back to--just for a little context, but clexa and supercorp both had their roots in swan queen, among other ships, but those are the Big Three i always go back to because what they have in common is ‘the main character of the series is explicitly abused/treated horribly by another woman and for some reason the shippers go nuts over this pairing and will insist the show is queerbaiting them if this specific pairing is not made canon’. and swan queen stans, in particular, had it out for captain swan, because they were incredibly insistent about regina and emma being in love, and naturally the existence of emma’s romantic arc with killian threatened that.

as a result, they quite literally made shit up.

it’s funny (not ‘funny ha ha’ but like funny depressing), because a lot of what they accused CS of is actually shit that happened explicitly on screen with regina and emma. they claimed that emma was no longer strong or independent because she fell in love with killian, while ignoring the fact that she’d become a literal doormat for regina’s many abuses (there are so many things regina did to emma even after her alleged redemption which, if she weren’t being so coddled by the narrative, emma would never have let her get away with--like blaming her for saving the life of a woman regina had murdered in the past, or like telling emma to her face that she wanted to tear killian’s throat out because he managed to come back from the underworld while the man regina loved stayed dead) because, for some reason, they interpreted emma being happy and no longer closed off to the people she loved, choosing to let down the walls she’d built up over a lifetime of trauma as her being ‘reduced to a love interest’ which just did not happen.

like, factually, straight up, emma was every bit as badass while dating killian as she was back in season 1. the only difference is, in season 1 emma didn’t trust anyone, she was closed off, she had a million walls built high around her by trauma, and she wasn’t willing to let anyone in because she believed that if she did then she’d only be traumatized again when they inevitably left. by season 4, when she started officially dating killian, many of those walls had come down, she was happier and healthier, she was falling in love and she was letting herself be in love, she had her parents, her son, the whole town full of people she loved. she was fucking happy, but she wasn’t happy with the right love interest, so swan queen shippers insisted they wanted ‘season 1 emma back’. because they would rather emma be miserable so they could interpret her antagonism with regina as closeted gay pining, than have her dare to be happy with a man and a family that didn’t include regina.

as to the other claims, while hook did make his feelings for emma clear once he realized he felt them, the ball was in her court almost completely. he made comments, told her how he felt, said things like ‘when i win your heart, and i will win it, it will be because you want me’ where the clear emphasis was on emma’s feelings--he believed she had some feeling for him, but he wanted anything between them to be because it was what she wanted. emma initiated every explicitly romantic interaction. killian made a flirty comment, which he was wont to do, and which she could easily have brushed off--instead, she grabbed him by the coat and yanked him into a kiss which lasted far longer than it needed to if all she wanted to do was make a point. (sorry, that scene is just burned into the brain of every CS shipper, i know it literally by heart lmfao) he made it clear that if she wanted him he would be there, but i she didn’t he wasn’t going to push her. he followed her through an entire damn portal into the past because he wanted to help her, because he’d go anywhere for her--to the end of the world, or time--but emma was the one who invited him to dinner with her family. emma was the one who noticed he hadn’t come in yet, and went to see him. emma was the one who kissed him, initiating their relationship.

like @storynightlight said in the replies to the last ask you sent, a majority of the important milestones in killian and emma’s relationship were initiated by emma. she was the one constantly progressing their relationship, it went entirely at her pace in large part because one damaged soul recognizes another, and killian had been through enough trauma in his long (long, long) life to understand that emma needed to work things through on her own terms. he wanted to be part of her life, but it had to be when she was willing to let him in. and he was perfectly content to wait for her to be ready.

as far as the ‘abuse’ claims go, that was honestly just straight up fabrication on the part of swan queen shippers mostly, which is intensely ironic considering the state of emma and regina’s ‘friendship’ for literally the entire damn series. most of them referenced things that happened while emma and killian were enemies (they called their sword fight ‘abuse’, which like.... i’m sorry but two people on opposite sides of a violent conflict having a fight is not abuse, and incidentally that’s an argument that zutara gets hit with too, to this day, clearly words don’t actually mean things anymore), and ignored the fact that killian’s behavior changed as his redemption arc progressed. he didn’t become a good upstanding citizen overnight, but he did feel remorse for his prior bad actions and the harm he caused, he went to great lengths to make up for that harm when and where he could, and he tried to be as good a man as he possibly could in later seasons, even when circumstances (like, oh, gold having possession of his heart and using it to control him, which anti CSers also blamed him for, go figure) made that nearly impossible.

meanwhile, as late as season 6, regina was still blaming emma for everything that went wrong in her life. regina happily browbeat emma about everything she ‘stole’ from her for basically the entire series. regina, in the context of their friendship after her alleged redemption, was constantly verbally and emotionally abusive to emma--and yet that behavior was completely overlooked, or deemed ‘pining’ or some other obvious evidence of romantic feelings, by swan queen shippers who would prefer to claim emma was being abused by her caring and loyal boyfriend who constantly believed in her even when she had trouble believing in herself. (incidentally, it truly is incredibly rich of regina stans (and rumple stans, a lot of them say this too) to claim that killian never redeemed himself, when regina is the one with a vault full of hearts she never returned to their proper owners, and regina is the one who murdered someone emma cared about and never confessed to it, let alone apologized for it; graham died in emma’s arms while regina crushed his heart, and it was never once brought up again. regina got away with it scott free, and it is just one on a list of crimes she literally never expressed even the slightest bit of remorse for, let alone tried to atone for. yet killian is the one who ‘never redeemed himself’ mmhmmm ok sure jan.)

I’M SO SORRY ANON, you probably had no idea the can of Worms you were opening with these asks, but CLEARLY i still have a lot of damn feelings about this fucking show lmfao. THANK YOU THOUGH!!! i haven’t talked about captain swan or even really reminisced much in a while, and i miss them a lot, so it was nice to dive back into my Feelings and remember so much of what i loved about them! i may do a rewatch soon >.> it’s ok if i just skip 4b except the finale and then turn it off immediately after emma and killian’s reunion at the end and pretend the entire show ended there, right????

i hope you’re having a good night! thanks again for the asks <33

#ouat #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #anti swan queen #there's a tag i haven't used in a while #asked #Anonymous

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wenttworth · 4 years

Text

growth;

Jon said Martin's name in a wide variety of ways since they met. All of them had done something to those nervous butterflies in the pit of his stomach, from killing them off slowly to sending them to a wild frenzy.

Although they first woke several months ago now, they were no closer to relaxing like they had for any of Martin's other crushes. Martin had taken one look at the small man stood in front of him, dark eyebrows furrowed over dark eyes, slightly greying hair to his shoulders tucked artlessly behind one ear, clocked the colourful stains on his fingernails that came from scrubbing at them with cheap nail varnish remover, and had been overwhelmed for more than the time it took to finish the conversation. He'd never met anyone before who quite so markedly ticked every box of 'his type'.

This way just made Martin spring into action.

"Oh, that's his 'spiders, Martin' call," he muttered.

Tim grinned at him as he leapt to his feet. "We could always lock him in there with it," he said. Sasha snorted and Tim leant forward to prop his chin on his hands. "Maybe he'd die of fright. It would lend more credence to some of these tales." Shaking a statement derisively as he fixed his eyes on Martin's.

"Martin." A slightly more panicked Jon called from his office.

"It's not fair to play with people's phobias," Martin said. Tim just kept smiling at him.

Jon was stood back from his desk, anxiously staring at a tape recorder, upon which an impressively large spider was sat. Well, large by British standards.

Martin was well used to this process by now. He calmly scooped the spider into his hands and pointedly did not look at Jon as he scurried away from him.

Jon only relaxed when Martin had thrown the spider out. "Okay?" Martin asked.

Jon stared at him for a moment, before giving an abrupt nod.

His hands were shaking, and there was a pale undertone to his brown skin which worried Martin more than it ought. "Do you want some tea?" he continued gently.

Jon blinked. "Please," he said. "Thank you, Martin."

The butterflies flurried to life.

"I have a crush on Jon," Martin announced, louder than he should, with more certainty than he could have mustered four drinks ago.

Sasha made a face halfway between pity and a grimace. A pitying grimace? That was an oxymoron, surely. "Martin, you can do so much better than Jon."

Sasha didn't know about his forged CV, and Martin pointedly did not think about it, did not look down at his body that had never felt right, did not think about anything but the thankful smile Jon had given him when he had passed him his tea. "You got that the..." he swung an index finger left and right. "You got that the wrong way round."

Sasha sighed, and sighed even louder when Tim dropped between them and immediately swung his arms around both their shoulders. But she still smiled at him with something that, though not love, was something still close. "Am I interrupting?" he asked. Martin shook his empty beer bottle.

"I just thought we should invite Jon to some of these evenings," Sasha chirped.

Tim didn't seem convinced, and Martin very carefully sent her a glare. There was no way Tim hadn't picked up on his crush on Jon, but he still wanted to maintain some illusion of self-prepossession, and had enough pride to not want to admit it. "He's our boss now, Sash. It would be weird."

"Just remember that he has no firing power. Whatever we say or--" teasingly meaningful look at Martin, "--or do, he can't do anything about it."

Martin squinted at her as Tim protested between them. “We can’t go out with our boss, Sash. That makes it a work thing.”

Martin would much rather Sasha and Tim not come to an evening with Jon, but that was frankly a little rude to say when they had known him much longer.

“Next thing you know she’ll be inviting Elias.”

Martin shuddered and Sasha smacked Tim over the head.

“Please don’t,” Martin insisted. “He was so weird about Jon’s cake; it made me feel way too uncomfortable.”

Sasha cackled, “The boss with an insatiable thirst for cake,” she boomed in a voice that wouldn’t be out of place in an action movie trailer voiceover.

“What will he eat--”

“No, consume, Tim.”

“Oh, good idea! What will he consume next?!” he continued in an imitation of the voice, only marginally more impressive.

“Don’t,” Martin begged, but he still laughed.

There was something...unnerving about being in the institute alone after dark.

Less unnerving than being stuck in his apartment, only his overactive imagination and the handful of paperbacks for company, an eldritch entity with worms for fingers, hair, guts tapping at the door and tempting him to join her embrace.

He would be so loved, she had insisted. So adored, held in the grasp of a million creatures, a part of something so much bigger than just him. Thank anyone who listened that he had a horror for anything that writhed.

He tried to scare himself sometimes, to relieve the boredom between gaps of writers’ block. Moving a torch so the beam threw uncanny, elongated figures a shadow against the wall. Creeping through the hallways and muttering horror stories under his breath. His poems took on a decidedly spooky feeling, less purple prose about the rain in the city, the warmth of someone’s touch. He would wait until everyone, even Jon and Elias, had left to twist his way through the halls, watching for any small, wriggling worms to crush with triumph against the floor.

At least, until tonight.

He was sure someone was creeping around, too. Sticking to the shadows and tapping slow rhythms against the hardwood floors. He always seemed to just catch their shadow as they disappeared around a corner. It took only an hour of building up his nerves, pushing the horror narrative that was constructing itself in his brain, before Jon appeared in the kitchen.

Martin immediately poured boiling water over his hand, yelping as it burned.

“Martin!” Jon exclaimed, rushing forwards to inspect the burn and quickly dragged him to the sink, shoving his hand over a jet of cold water.

“Is it you who’s been creeping around here all evening?” Martin asked, more than a little snippy from the pain in his hand.

“Creeping?” Jon exclaimed, annoyed and indignant. “I haven’t been creeping anywhere, I was walking around the institute!”

“Yes, but quietly. I thought Jane had come back!”

Jon’s furrowed brow relaxed, and he sighed. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew I was here.” It was a moment later that he let go of Martin’s hand, pointedly ordered him to stay where he was and informed him that he was going to locate a first aid kit.

It made Martin feel uncomfortable, in all honesty. He didn’t want to be taken care of by Jon. By all accounts, it should be the other way around. There was no reason for Jon to be in the institute outside of a normal work day. There was no reason for him to be anywhere but at home. Martin should insist. Should urge him to leave.

The selfishness was stronger this time. He didn’t want to be alone here. Not when everything was so uncertain.

He watched the water fall and drip around his hand. It was already blistering, even under the cold. That would hurt tomorrow; it was his dominant hand.

“C’mere,” a soft voice said behind him. Martin turned--Jon was like an assassin when he was barefoot-- and held out his free hand for the first aid kit. Jon frowned at him. “Don’t be stupid; I’ll put the cream on.”

Martin could only be relieved that he was too gobsmacked to blush as Jon took his hand with a gentleness that struck him speechless, and with soft fingers--thin and small against his hand--rubbed the cream in small circles until it absorbed. He cut out a small bandage after, placing it against the burn with even more gentle movements. “You should be more careful, Martin,” he said.

Martin was still speechless, sat at the break room table as Jon finished up making the tea Martin had started and brought it to him. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh…” Martin stammered. Maybe it was something about the evening light that softened Jon so much, something about the casual, comfortable clothes he wore, his hair in a dishevelled bun on top of his head. “No. I was going to make some ramen.”

Jon wrinkled his nose at the instant ramen packet that had been left on the side ready for his dinner. “No you’re not,” he replied. “I have enough for the two of us; I’ll make us something.”

“Really?” Martin asked, a little disbelieving.

“What?” Jon barked, squaring his shoulders.

“I… I didn’t expect it, is all.”

“Oh.” He relaxed again. “It would be rude to just make something for myself.”

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you here?”

Jon let out a sigh. “It’s...I’m worried. I don’t know when Jane will reappear, and every time I leave the office or my flat I’m looking over my shoulder to see if she’s coming after me. At least here I know I can…” he trailed off. “I feel safer here? Or at least, like I have more control.”

“Where are you planning on sleeping?” Martin asked. Maybe a bit forward to tell him that he didn’t mind if Jon wanted to share the cot. There was probably just enough space for the two of them, and it wasn’t as if he’d never shared a bed with a friend before. Just never with a friend he had such a strong crush on.

Jon started clattering around the tiny kitchenette, pulling spices from the cupboards and vegetables from the fridge. “I set up another cot in my office,” he answered. Martin made to join him to help with preparing the vegetables, but Jon waved him away insistently. “I’m doing this, you’re hurt, Martin.”

So instead he watched as Jon’s practiced hands pulled the ingredients together, a heavenly aroma coming from the pot. He was more relaxed than Martin had ever seen him, going so far as to hum a tune under his breath and laugh at some of the things Martin observed. What resulted was remarkable; Martin had never had the time or patience to cook anything other than the bare minimum. Whatever dishes he may have learnt from his mother were made impossible when she fell ill, his father’s spiced curries a faded memory long in the distance. If Martin remembered rightly and trusted his nose, it wasn’t far from what Jon was cooking.

The selection that was placed in front of him would have made a king’s mouth water.

“Who taught you to cook like that?” Martin asked, wondering and almost swooning when he tasted some.

Jon watched him for a moment, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips before joining him. “My grandmother. She lived in Bangladesh until she was in her forties, and never adapted her cooking to the UK.”

“Which I can only thank her for now,” Martin replied.

“She taught me from a very young age. I think I was cooking curries before I could read.”

There was a fondness in his voice that made Martin’s chest ache. Jon loved his grandmother, that much was certain.

Would he have felt any differently, had he had any connection to his father?

Jon was furrowing his brow at the menu above the counter. “Do you want your usual?” Martin asked.

He blinked. “I wanted to try something different but… I forgot my glasses.”

“Oh.” He cast a glance at the board again. The writing was large, easy for Martin to read even from the other side of the restaurant. “You… you really are blind, aren’t you?” he added.

Jon glowered. “I didn’t choose to be.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Jon replied immediately. The butterflies leapt into action at just how confidently he said it, the confused twist of his mouth as if he were also surprised by the confidence of his reply. A small pause, and he turned away, pressing his lips together.

Martin copied him, half to hide the blush that was very obviously painting his cheeks, probably clashing something awful with the pink shirt he’d had the lack of foresight to wear. “Okay,” he said carefully, pushing down on any waver to his voice.

“For this, at least,” Jon added nonchalantly, a careful smile in his voice.

“Flatterer,” Martin muttered.

He picked two of the sandwiches and carried them both back to a table, Jon trailing behind. “We’re not going back to the office?” he asked.

“No,” Martin said, with a confidence he barely felt. “I could do with a break from that place.”

Jon sank into his seat, watching Martin as he cut both sandwiches in half and split them. “It’s almost Christmas, so I went for the Christmas flavours,” he explained.

“I… I don’t celebrate Christmas,” Jon said.

Martin shrugged. “I know. Neither do I; I just enjoy British Christmas dinners.” He didn’t seem entirely convinced, and Martin hid a smile. “The other one is spiced lamb.”

“Oh,” Jon said with a much happier tone, picking up one of the sandwiches and digging in.

“So?” Martin asked once they were on their way back to the Institute.

“The Christmas one was good,” Jon admitted, only with a little reticence. “Still preferred the lamb, though.”

It could have been minutes or days that Martin and Tim were sat in the corridors. The walls changed sometimes, varying from one garish pattern to the next, undulating in impossible fractals. It had been giving Martin a headache, but now?

Well, he was used to it, he supposed.

Tim had his head on Martin’s lap, humming a song under his breath that seemed repetitive but forever changing. The sound bounced off the walls almost visibly, as if the waves were making the fractals warp. The horrific silhouette of the entity was still watching them, impossibly long limbs and fingers that reached like willow branches.

“Kinda wish it would do something,” Martin said.

It shook its hands and Martin snorted.

“What?” Tim asked. Martin gestured to the silhouette. “Ah. Yes, I know what you mean.” Sitting up, he patted his hair until it was back to the artlessly dishevelled look he usually sported. “Should we go for another walk? Maybe we’ll find the exit this time.”

The laugh the entity gave grated like a spoon against a china cup, nails on a blackboard, a knife on a metal sheet. Martin clenched his jaw as it made his teeth ache. “Sure,” he said, brushing himself off as he stood up.

It didn’t seem like the entity moved, but somehow it was always in the corner of his vision whenever he scanned for it. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that whatever it was, it was dangerous, but that was the thing about fear, wasn’t it? When repetitive, it lost its hold on you. He and Tim had been here for hours or days or years, he was accustomed to it now. If it was planning on killing him, surely it would’ve happened by now.

Also at this point he would welcome death just to escape the maddening boredom.

The corridors circled, never changing angle, no slope, but somehow never doubling back on itself. The light was always different, the fractals and colours shifting and undulating maddeningly.

Hours, days? Maybe decades at this point, Martin sat. Tim joined him after tapping on a wall and a mirror. “Hey, it’s like one of those funhouse mirrors!” he exclaimed.

“Are you sure that’s not just you?” Martin said, warbling his voice mockingly. The entity was still observing them, the glint of a wide, unnaturally white smile made of sharp teeth.

“Excuse you, I am unbelievably attractive,” Tim said, dropping to the floor. He was lounging against the wall, arms crossed over his stomach, his legs comfortably settling against Martin’s.

“Urgh,” Martin grunted. “I can’t believe I have to be stuck here with you, of all people. Wish it was…” he trailed off. “Wish it was Sasha,” he continued. “Or Sasha as we thought--”

“Don’t,” Tim interrupted, all teasing vanished from his voice. “I can’t think about that here and now, okay? And we can’t…” he gestured at the entity, who chuckled. “Not in front of that thing. I know it hasn’t hurt us yet but honestly? It’s only a matter of time.”

“Okay,” Martin said.

“And at least you’re not stuck here with Elias and his--”

“Insatiable thirst for cake,” Martin continued, joining in Tim’s laugh.

“And Jon and…” his face twisted. “Whatever is going on with him.”

Martin’s mouth went dry. In all this, he’d almost managed to forget everything with Jon. He twisted the hem of his jumper. The butterflies hadn’t gone anywhere. Maybe they were worse, actually. It was a worry fueled by vanity, but he hoped that Jon wasn’t too troubled about his and Tim’s whereabouts. Tim’s, at least. He probably wouldn’t worry about Martin, after everything.

“Jon is… going through something. And he doesn’t want our help but I still want to give it to him.”

Tim sighed. “He’s a paranoid idiot.”

They would probably die in these corridors. Maybe that was okay. “I’m in love with him,” he admitted, burying his face in his hands.

Tim let out a short laugh. “Oh. Oh no. I thought it was just a crush?”

“It was but then…” Something changed? Jon changed? “It’s not just that anymore.”

“Oh, Martin, that’s so stupid!”

“Loving someone isn’t stupid.”

“Hmm. I beg to differ when the person you love is Jonathan Sims.”

Martin pulled away, bringing his knees to his chest, and Tim smiled apologetically. “Martin, you can do so much better than him. He’s not a good person, right?”

Martin didn’t reply. He knew well enough that it wasn’t true. Jon was a good person. Good to a fault, utterly ridiculously good.

Tim sighed. “I know, you can’t choose love, it chooses you,” he said, air quoting until Martin slapped his hands down. He shrugged. “I thought I was in love with Sasha, but…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Tim interjected. “How about when we get out of this, we go for a drink? Just us. Away from all the madness which is Jon and Elias and… and Sasha, or whatever that thing--”

“Okay,” Martin interrupted, patting the part of him that he could reach which, currently, was his ankle. “We should do that.”

The entity cackled again, and Martin almost hit his head on the wall. “I wish that thing would stop being so annoying,” he projected, eyeing it meaningfully.

“Who knew! These terrifying fear entities are actually just badly done horror movie creatures,” Tim interjected. “How long are you keeping us?”

“Not much longer,” it replied, and Martin almost kicked Tim in the chest in shock. “You’ll want to be present. When the Archivist brings all to a close. It’ll be fun.”

It prickled in the back of Martin’s mind, and he let out a ‘huh’. “That’s basically what Jane Prentiss said to Jon,” he said to Tim.

Tim shuddered. “We’re in a relatively clean place here, Martin. Please don’t remind me of the worms.”

“I wonder…” he trailed off, before standing up again. A door had appeared, or revealed itself to have always been there. The entity backed away, gesturing to the door with another glint of a grin. Sharp teeth, impossibly wide mouth. Before long it was shrouded in darkness, and the white of its teeth and shining eyes were all that were visible. Martin shuddered.

“God,” Tim said. “I swear, that’s nightmare material for at least a month. Maybe two.”

“I wonder what we’re coming back to,” Martin mused.

“You look tired.”

Jon jumped what looked like half a foot out of his skin, spinning round and only relaxing a little when he saw Martin. “I don’t think I’ve been well-rested a day in my life, Martin.”

“That’s not an excuse to stop trying.”

Jon gave a wry smile, putting his head to one side when Martin placed the mug of tea he’d been carrying on the desk. “Thank you, Martin. And regardless, you’re the one who almost gave me a heart attack and I don’t see you apologising for that.”

“I’m...I’m sorry; I thought you’d heard me?”

Jon smiled again. “It’s fine,” he said. “How...how have you been?”

The question almost made Martin drop his own mug of tea. Jon had said it so carefully, like he was physically forcing himself to, but he still asked it, still looked at Martin expectedly as if he was actually interested in the answer. “O-oh! I… I’m okay?”

Jon waited for a moment. “The...the statements, are they bothering you as much as before?”

“I took your advice,” Martin replied. “The others are taking some on. Though I don’t know how long that will last.”

“They’ll continue,” Jon said, glum as he stared into his tea. “I wish no-one would, but…” he met Martin’s eyes again.

“You should take a break,” Martin continued. “We could go down to that sandwich place?”

Jon kept his gaze for a moment, much too short, much too obvious about what his answer would be. “I can’t,” he admitted, resigned, and holding up a statement. “This one needs to be digitised pretty...pretty urgently, I think. I know.” He placed it back on the desk, reaching for a tape recorder and brushing some cobwebs off it. “How…? I swear I only put that down a minute ago, how did the spiders get to it so quickly?”

“I could bring lunch back for you?”

Too desperate. Too obvious that he was worrying, that he wanted to take care of Jon. Too obvious that he lo--

“It’s okay, Martin. But thank you.”

His voice was painfully sincere, digging deep into Martin’s core with an intensity that made him blush. Thank… whoever was listening that Jon had turned back to the statement, placing the recorder close and starting the statement. Martin tried not to be too alarmed that he hadn’t even needed to press record.

The clock was infuriating.

Martin was sure it ticked slower now, when waiting by Jon’s motionless form. At least it was better than the incessant beating of the heart monitor for normal patients, just waiting to fade to that slow beep of the flat line. But this, the tick, tick, tick. Martin found himself timing his breaths to it, timing the tap of his foot, even his heart he was sure, was beating to that aggravating tick.

“I can’t wait till you’re out of this place,” Martin grumbled. “You couldn’t hurry it up, could you?” The joke was weak, punctuated with a gentle touch to the back of Jon’s hand.

He pulled it away in a rush, feeling like he wasn’t allowed anything so tender. Especially now that Jon was here and unresponsive and Tim was…

He found it difficult to finish that thought. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to acknowledge. And all that time, when Jon had been fighting his way through an apocalyptical scenario and Tim was… he’d been in the archives, fine and safe.

Fine because… Elias hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t suspected already. Of course his mother resented being taken care of, of course Jon wouldn’t care about his feelings.

“Come back, Jon,” he asked.

He didn’t know how long he’d have to wait, but he’d wait. He’d be here for Jon when he woke.

Jon was calling him.

Martin stared in part horror, part wonder at the name on his phone, the blank anonymous picture because there was no way he would ever have a photo of Jon on his phone, not now, not ever. But regardless. It was midnight, and Jon was calling him.

He waited until the phone went dead, and the notification popped up. No message left. Maybe it had been a mistake; it wasn’t the first time he’d been butt-dialed. Maybe he would have ended up as the unwilling participant of an embarrassing conversation.

But then it started again.

Maybe he was hurt. Maybe he’d tried calling everyone else, and no one had picked up. It could be any number of reasons. It had only been a month since he woke from the coma, and even if he was doing weirdly, preternaturally well, it didn’t mean that things didn’t go badly sometimes.

It rang out again, and Martin watched it for a few more minutes, warring with every part of himself.

Sentiment won, which he was sure he would regret the moment morning came, and he reached for the phone, unable to tear his eyes from the familiar letters that spelled Jon’s name.

Jon picked up within the first ring.

“Hi,” he said. Martin paused. “Are you there?”

“Yes? Why did you call me?”

There must have been… something in his voice, because Jon’s breath audibly caught in his throat. Something distant maybe. Hopefully.

“I just…” Martin waited, but he didn’t continue.

“Jon, if it’s not an emergency, you shouldn’t call. Especially at this time.”

“You can’t have been that worried that it was an emergency,” Jon snipped. Martin almost laughed out loud at his sudden annoyance. He could picture exactly how Jon looked right now, ruffled from lack of sleep and an angry furrow between his dark brows, hair spilling over his shoulders. He’d always been beautiful--Tim’s amusement at Martin’s confession aside--but these days…

Maybe it was the lack of time spent with other people. Everyone looked more beautiful to him these days.

“Sorry,” Jon said after another moment of silence. “I shouldn’t have snapped there.”

“Tired?” Martin asked.

“Yes.”

“You know what you have to do if you’re tired, right?”

Another sigh. He was probably twisting a strand of hair around his finger, now. He’d picked up that habit pretty soon after it grew out. “Not just that. I miss you.”

The butterflies would probably never die, at this point. Not until he did. “You said,” he replied carefully, flat, emotionless. Everything he wished he could be. Something that could ignore the voice telling him to say it back, to finally admit what they both knew but had never had a chance to say.

It would be so easy, if only for...

The reason. The reason that he was staying so far away. He rubbed his forehead. “Don’t call me, Jon.”

“Your voicemail message.”

“What about it?”

“I didn’t expect you to answer. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Another beat of silence. “Hang up, Jon,” he tried to command, hating himself all the more when it came out wistful.

“I’m here if you need me, okay?” Jon answered, hanging up the moment he was done.

Too bad, really. Hilariously inconvenient. The kind of dramatic irony that was only usually seen on crappy US sitcoms. There was no uncertainty in Martin’s mind; Jon had fallen for him the moment Martin had lost all hope, with no chance of regaining. Martin sat on his bed, and laughed until he cried.

See, the safehouse didn't start safe. To start, it was all cobwebs and scuttling legs and an insistent pull to the farmer they had passed who Jon knew had quite the story to tell. Something about the endless pit at the corner of his field of cows. He'd already lost so many of them in that gaping maw. Jon was digging his nails deep into the palms of his hands, wishing that Martin would take them but recalling how Martin flinched away from touch now.

Time. They all need time, right? Maybe a therapist, though how much they could communicate Jon had no idea.

He shook his head, repeated, "No, no, no," over and over. It was all...dark and webby. Jon could see eyes peering at him through one of the paintings on the walls. Martin gave him a blank look, the barest hint of concern hiding in the set of his mouth. He asked what Jon needed. Although Jon had the desperate thought, 'You, only you,' run through his head he didn't voice it. "A broom. Light. And to get that painting out of there."

"Wait here," Martin said. 'Don't go,' Jon thought.

Would he ever get to a point where this was all okay? Where it was a distant memory? Where he and Martin would grow old together? He had no gods to pray to, not anymore, but something in him still sent up a desperate little prayer.

Martin emerged with two brooms and the painting carefully covered up with his sweatshirt. There were goosebumps on his arms. He set the painting aside, handed Jon a broom, and carefully didn't look him in the eye.

He was fading at the edges. The pull of the lonely was still so strong, Jon could almost see the thin cords wrapped around his body, slowly but surely dragging him into the pit. Their nearest neighbours were 3 miles away, the nearest town a further 2 miles. The only living creatures near were four cows curiously watching them.

"Martin?" Jon asked. He brushed gentle fingers over the back of Martin's hand. God, he needed touch. He needed to feel Martin against him, needed to be held so tight he couldn't breathe.

Martin flinched away, but gave Jon a brittle smile. "Let's get rid of the cobwebs," he said, achingly gentle.

Jon gripped the broom tighter. "Yes."

The dust fell into his hair and against his face and clothes, making him sneeze with a frequency that alarmed Martin. He was banished to the garden within a few minutes as Martin continued, though Jon carefully listened, watched the movement inside the cabin as he worked his way around the rooms. Maybe this place wasn’t the best for someone so recently escaped from the clutches of the lonely, but where else?

“Where else can we go, we orphans of the storm?” he asked himself, sighing heavily and propping his chin on his knee.

“What?” Martin asked behind him.

Jon plastered a marginally more cheery look on his face, looking over his shoulder at Martin. He joined him on the wooden steps that led down to the small patch of grass which functioned as the cabin’s garden. Careful distance, as if he couldn’t bear to touch Jon.

“It’s nothing.” He turned away from Martin, watching a kite make regular circling turns, diving into undergrowth. The colours painted against the sky were a work of art, all reds and golds. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

Martin didn’t respond other than with a nod. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, it was just… allergies. Too much dust.”

“Right, I should--”

“Stay?” He didn’t mean it to come out quite so plaintive, quite so much laying his heart out with directions on how best to shatter it. If Martin left now, even just to sit inside, something would break. “Please,” he continued. He might as well beg, at this point.

Martin looked down at his hands where they were resting against his thighs. He was thinking...Jon’s breath caught in his throat. He was thinking about being in the hospital, watching Jon with no hope that he would ever wake up. How he felt like he was stealing something he had no right to when he touched Jon’s hand.

Jon reached out his hand, stopping halfway between them. This wasn’t… it, by any means. Martin needed time, maybe he just wasn’t ready to lay out his feelings. But he wanted to hold Jon’s hand, wanted...more. He paused for a long moment, before finally reaching, curling his fingers into the spaces left by Jon’s.

“Martin?” he asked.

Martin’s lips quirked at the sound. Not enough to be a smile, but not fake, either. “Jon?”

Jon edged closer by way of response, slowly resting his head on Martin’s shoulder, waiting for Martin to push him away. It took a while, at least, a while of tracing the lines on Martin’s palms and the branches of his veins on his wrists. A while of Martin remaining utterly still, as if this was borrowed time, and any movement might jolt him out of the reverie. A while until he relaxed the same as Jon.

Romantic, really. The stained clouds, the vast expanse of space, the slowly moving animals. In any other case, feeling like they were the only two people in existence would be good. Like some distant honeymoon, but this was far from a honeymoon. Jon may have pulled Martin from the lonely, may have bared his heart but Martin hadn’t responded. He had loved him. Maybe that was the important part. In the past, before fog and loneliness had stripped all warmth.

It was only then that Jon noticed just how cold Martin’s hand was.

He was staring in the distance, brown eyes dulled to grey, the lines of his body faded and wispy as if there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to find purchase on. “Martin,” he insistently cried, cupping his cheek, drawing him closer. “Martin, look at me.”

He obeyed, but sluggishly, as if Jon’s words were coming across a vast expanse, a valley or ocean. “Jon?” he echoed quietly.

“I’m here, I’m here. Don’t… don’t look away, okay? I’m here.” A gentle squeeze to his hand, though Jon felt like he might pass through. Martin took a deep breath, slowly reached up to twist a strand of Jon’s hair around a finger. “I never responded.”

A beat of silence. Jon traced a thumb across Martin’s cheekbone. “Responded to what?”

“I love you.”

Furrowing his brow. “That’s not right,” Martin said, quietly enough that Jon could almost expect that he didn’t think he would hear. How far was he, to Martin’s eyes?

“I love you,” he repeated, edging closer. “Don’t look away.”

A derisive smile. “That’s… no. I love you, not the other way around.”

The tense line of Jon’s shoulders suddenly relaxed, so sudden that he almost collapsed forwards. It would be a vain hope that Martin would catch him now, when he was so far away.

“Martin,” he called out again, waiting until Martin was looking at him. “I love you. I’ve loved you for...for much too long to only be telling you now.”

He blinked, the grey fog, filmy over his eyes, started to disperse. There was still...something. Some scar that probably wouldn’t heal for a long time, if ever. But colour was coming back to his cheeks, his dark hair and eyes starting to shine and reflect the red sunset again. His hand was suddenly firmly there, clasped tight between Jon’s fingers.

“You love me.” Not a question, but Jon still nodded.

“I love you,” he agreed. “How many times do you want me to say it?”

“I… A couple more times would be nice.”

Jon smiled, far from missing the way Martin shifted his weight closer. “Okay. Let me count the ways,” he recited, only a small lilt of teasing to his tone. “Your resourcefulness,” he started, bringing his hand up to kiss the knuckles. Martin froze, watching him with wide eyes. “Your kindness.” A kiss on his neck. “Your bravery.” His forehead, after a small struggle to get Martin to lean down so he could reach. Martin was laughing at his display by that point. “Your devotion.” Finally, reaching slowly, enough that he could pull away if he wanted. It had been a long time since Jon had kissed anyone, but regardless this all felt new. Even Georgie hadn’t been love, not really, but the young adult’s approximation of what love might be at some point in the future.

It only took a few flurried beatings of his heart before Martin kissed back, hands buried in his hair to keep him close. Only a few more slowly calming beats before he deepened the kiss, and Jon let him take the lead, pressing him against the bannister behind him. “That took way too long to happen,” he complained once Martin had pulled away, contenting himself with pressing kisses against his face.

“You were my boss, Jon. It would have been way too weird.”

“Honestly? I had no real power. I was just a glorified assistant.”

Martin laughed against Jon’s shoulder. “We knew. We all knew.”

Jon sighed, shifting around until he was more comfortably propped against Martin’s side. Best to watch the sunset for now, and how it played against Martin’s eyes. “We’ll be okay,” he promised. “We’ll get through this, we’ll…”

“We’ll be okay,” Martin repeated.

#this is what happens when you just shove 8 fics into one doc #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma #my writing

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anika-ann · 5 years

Text

Nothing but the Truth - Pt.8

The Resolution

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4070

Summary: A fake dating AU. You’ve been moping for two days now; despite some surprising visitors in your hospital room, there was one person who haven’t made it yet. It’s just your dumb luck it was the one person that mattered very much.

Warnings: swearing, light angst, brief mentions of violence, fluff, extra dialogue-heavy chapter

Story Masterlist

The first thing your foggy brain registered as you woke up was that you must have a flu. There was no other explanation for how you felt.

Every single muscle, every single joint in your body, simply everything hurt and was so, so heavy… confusing images flickered through your mind, images of a dark room and the burning blue of irises, the pain and the poor attempt at a smile, the ring and leather straps, the maniacal grin on the vendor’s face—it was all adding to the splitting headache that was keeping you from opening your eyes; because no, no sharp light, thank you very much-

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” a velvety voice caressed your ears, gentle fingers lightly squeezing your hand. “You had us worried.”

Mind still fuzzy, you groaned, attempting to squeeze the warm hand back, but with zero result.

God, why is it so, so hard to move--

“I’ll call a doctor, yeah?”

Grunting something incomprehensible in disagreement, because fuck it, I just want to sleep, you drifted back into blissful ignorance, not having a care for the world.

When you woke up again, it was to Sam’s concerned gaze and you did not like that expression on his face one bit.

To your utter shock, he was soon replaced by Tony Stark; though Sam still stayed in your corner while the billionaire gushed about how you had led them right to the bad guy.

“He was crazy, alright. His brain was a like bag of cats and that coming from me? Real deal. Anyway… we couldn’t save anyone else. He was… eh, systematic. Putting trackers into the rings, stalking the couples and then he moved onto his mission of testing the true love bullshit and everyone failed, so he had the shocks to-“

Sam cleared his throat meaningfully as you winced, the ghost of the very unpleasant sensation running through your nerve endings, biting chill curling at the base of your spine, flashes of Steve’s face, the mask, the vendor, the chairs and the electricity crackling-

“Sorry. Just wanted to say… you did really great. You saved a lot of lives by helping us to lock him away. You basically entered the hero kindergarten,” Stark announced almost brightly, earning another ahem from your friend.

You smiled at the genius tiredly. “I’m not planning on joining your superhero group, Mr-“ you faltered when he made a face, “-Tony. And… I’d feel better if we could have—if the people who were taken-“

“Hey. Not your fault,” Sam interrupted you swiftly, voice as serious as his face. “You did amazing and I hope you’re never getting into this kind of shit ever again.”

Now he looked like a father torn between being proud of his kid punching a bully to their face and being exasperated because the said kid had earned an exclusion from school for it. To be fair, he possibly felt exactly like that.

“Yeaaaah, I guess that’s my cue,” Tony backed out with an awkward grin, stopping in the doorway to toss few more words over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry for the delay. The deactivated trackers took us a while. Get better, hon!”

You couldn’t but grin at his demeanor, but your mood instantly shifted back to grim when you saw the look on Sam’s face. The air of an overexcited genius which Stark was carrying around was sucked out of the room, suddenly making it hard for you to breathe as the horror images filled your mind once more.

You shook your head and gulped, trying to push them back to the corner, focusing on something else entirely; namely on the black eye which Tony was nursing, one of which had a good idea how happened.

“You gave him the black eye, didn’t you?”

Sam’s furrowed brows rose at the probably unexpected remark, but he didn’t bother lying. “Damn right, I did.”

Who would have guessed that two days, only 48 hours, could last an eternity?

You would.

You knew; you had your fair share of experiencing that. Still, every hour crushed your chest as Tony Stark visited once more, Sam was at your bedside at nearly all times, Irma came to see you, hell, even Natasha freaking Romanoff stopped by and yet, yet, no Steve in sight.

Sam had told you he was busy; you could imagine. He must have probably been filling out mission reports, recovering himself, had to answer to authorities, to reporters-- and your eyes filled with stupid and pathetic tears when you thought of the reporters every single time.

Recalling your own encounter with the sensation-hungry sharks, the intrusive memory of the interview wormed its way to your brain and more importantly, to your heart; a memory of the time when everything had seemed alright, better even, almost as if there could be something more —and then Steve had said yes--- and then-

Then all you had was a hazy memory of his voice at your ear when you had been pulled out of unconsciousness, a wistful dream, a fata-morgana which you made up to console your mind when your body couldn’t quite comprehend the exhaustion and pain tearing you from your sleep only to slip back again.

He hadn’t come.

For two full days, he wouldn’t as much as shoot you a text, send flowers or something awfully sweet and Steve-like and you were starting to question just how much of what had happened down there you only imagined.

You were almost certain he had said he loved you, you would swear on it even; but if it truly happened and Steve was still not showing up, well… then it opened a whole new number of possibilities of what his motivation could be.

You refused to believe he didn’t care at all. However, you had met Steve a while ago and if you understood something about him, it was that his sense of duty was just a tiny bit inferior to his sense of loyalty. In other words, he would look out for his friends, as much as they would look out for him – more even.

So, even when Steve was supposedly busy – unless he was out of the country, naturally – he would let himself to be dragged out of the gym, out of his office, dragged away from anything that seemed urgent, yet not urgent enough for him to refuse Sam or anyone else who was concerned and insistent enough.

Hence you coming to the conclusion that he simply didn’t want to spent a single second in your presence, because he had in fact figured out that you had been about to confess your feelings to him and now he was doing everything to avoid you, because he had somehow tricked the machine when saying that stupid ‘yes’ and he had no clue how to turn you down gently now-- because Steve was nothing short of gentle.

Yep, that was your elaborate theory.

Say yay for your super-inventive brain, you thought darkly. And try not to choke at the thought of Steve ghosting you for the rest of your life.

Burying your face in the pillow and letting it soak up with your tears, you lulled yourself to sleep, grateful there was no one in your room at the moment to witness your break-down.

You were woken up from your slumber by three swift knocks on your door. It snapped you to full consciousness at instant, mostly because there weren’t many people who bothered to knock; it was quite common for them – and that included the doctors – to simply enter.

That difference in approach was essential, because your mind traitorously drifted towards the idea of Steve finally paying you a visit and it was both exciting and mortifying.

Also, it gave you hope of which you were certain would be crashed the moment the door open, so there was that.

The knocks echoed in the room once more, this time softer, as if the person behind the door worried about intruding your sleep.

Huh. Cute and considerate. How could you not get your hopes up at that?

“Uhm… come in,” you encouraged the mystery person cautiously, your heart nearly giving out when a blond head hesitantly poked in.

Yep, it’s Steve.

Or maybe I’m just high and I’m imagining him.

Hard to tell.

He offered you the weakest of smiles as if he could hear your thoughts and whispered a very shy ‘hi’.

You felt your heartbeat pounding in your temples in panic and excitement.

“Steve… uhm. H-hey. What-eh- what are you doing here?”

You would have been ashamed for stuttering like an idiot, except you were too busy freaking out over looking like a hobo, having red-rimmed eyes and chest filled with dread at this encounter, feelings spoken and unspoken sitting heavily in your ribcage—and well, generally just losing your mind.

Also, Steve was unable to speak like a normal person as well, so that helped. “I-uhm… came to check up on you.”

He stepped fully into the doorway and you expected him to come all the way in. Instead, he wavered there, not quite entering and it only caused your chest to tighten. You swallowed against the lump in your throat, trying your best to seem collected and not like desperately looking for a clue, anything to give away a single of his thoughts.

Was he hesitating because he wasn’t sure if he was welcomed after ghosting you or was it because he wanted to have an escape route open? He was a strategist, after all; it would be wise to have a chance at escaping the moment he sensed the situation going off rails.

A somewhat torn expression crossed over his face, followed by an expectant one, and you realized he must have been waiting for you to lead.

Again.

Ever the gentleman.

You would have appreciated it and possibly melt into a puddle of sappy goo, because Steve was a sweetheart always… except you hadn’t a clue what you wanted and where you wanted this to lead—well, you did know, but you doubted that would happen.

Your heart ached, a reminder of his confession possibly not being sincere and you being left on your own in your pining.

Shaking your head to free yourself from the cage of your own mind, you attempted a small smile, one that probably came off as super-awkward.

But he needed to cut you some slack, alright.

“Oh. I’m fine,” you finally said, answering the question not quite asked. “I mean… my head spins a little-“ And you’re not helping. “-but mostly I’m here because Tony Stark is being an overbearing ass. I don’t think he would admit that, but he probably feels guilty.”

It was another conclusion your brilliant mind had come to. You know, apart from the fact Steve was ghosting you because he was waking up in cold sweat dreaming about you being interested in him and all that.

But why were you telling him about Tony? Were you really that desperate to see him for a bit longer that you babbled? So desperately trying to postpone the inevitable conversation for later, because once it happened… God only knew what the outcome would be?

Your ears might have been playing tricks on you, but you would swear you heard him murmur ‘I know how that feels’ under his breath.

Hm.

“Good,” he stated, nodding his head as if he needed to assure himself that it was indeed good. “Uhm… it’s good that you’re almost fine.”

“Yeah.”

He was still standing in the doorway and your eyes started burning with unshed tears.

Small talk. Awkwardness. Things unsaid, hanging in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Was this how it was going to be between the two of you now?

And what else did you expect it would be like after you pretended to be a couple? After you kissed? And got tortured together, just in the case you forgot about that?

“What about you?” you forced yourself to ask, willing your voice not to crack. “How you’ve been?”

“Huh? Oh, uhm. Good. Yeah, good. Busy.”

“Right. I-- uhm… I bet-“

“No, actually… that’s a lie.”

You blinked, utterly taken aback at the blatant admission. It was so unlike Steve to be this cruelly honest that you barely registered that his words felt like a punch to your face.

Not that you had ever been punched to your face. Only nearly electrocuted. Which you guessed wasn’t any better.

“Oh.”

Steve shook his head, chuckling bitterly, still not moving from the fucking doorway and you wished you were in his place, so you could just flee.

“I spent half of the time staring at a wall in my office.”

“Oh… uhm.” And like an idiot, because you were one and you had no clue how to react besides bursting into tears, because he hadn’t come to see you and had been staring at a wall instead, you said: “I mean… I guess Stark Tower has some pretty interesting walls.”

This time when he chuckled, the sound was just as breathless, but lighter. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and gestured towards the chair by your bed.

“May I?”

No. Nope. You let him in here and the more you look at him and do small talk, the more you’ll want to cry. Tell him no-

“Sure.”

Idiot.

Closing the door and finding his seat, he spoke again.

“Thank you. I… I should have visited. But… I spent hours and hours wondering how to apologize, and I know that it isn’t the best excuse, but I- you--“

You tried to blink away your tears, grateful for Steve staring at the bedsheets and not watching your face when talking. That would be pretty humiliating if he saw your awe-struck, humiliated and entirely confused face; this already was enough.

Apologize? For what? For lying and getting away with it? For telling the truth and then ignoring you? For pretending to care? For caring and suddenly not caring enough? Or for what?

What, what, what-

“-what happened in that basement-“ he continued and the tone he spoke with was already too much to bear— you knew at instant that you didn’t want the answers to your questions.

Not if it meant that you‘d have your heart broken, a wedge driven into the already wide enough raw crack in it.

“Steve-“

“I got you hurt. And I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning his elbows onto his thighs, fingers interlacing as his hands hang loosely between his knees. Wait, what? “I am so, so sorry. That never should have happened-“

Your heart skipped a pleased and relieved beat.

You shouldn’t be getting your hopes up just yet – this wasn’t about what you thought it was, he wasn’t telling you he hadn’t been lying down there, but this possibility hadn’t even crossed your mind. It should have, it made perfect sense that he was feeling guilty, because he was the captain of the team, responsible for them—

You were so wrapped up in your own head, clinging to the fact he admitted he loved you (or not, who the fuck knew), that you hadn’t even considered this.

The revelation explained so much and sounded much more like him than you could imagine and your mind started racing with new possibilities. Maybe… maybe he didn’t—or did he- this was far from him denying that he never wanted to talk to you again and had literally nothing to do with your little truth-or-lie issue, yet you felt an enormous weight fell from your shoulders, a blanket of lead that had been lying on your chest for a while now lift.

You wiggled up so you could sit straighter in the bed.

“Steve, that guy was insane. He drugged you with god knows what, he had you-- wired to something-“

“We shouldn’t have been there in the first place.“

Oh. Oh.

You gulped, your head pounding all over again, ribcage constricting.

Yeah. You supposed that was true. It didn’t mean that it hurt less; no, hearing him to say it out loud hurt more, actually, however, you tried your best to focus on the problem at hand, which was giving Steve whatever forgiveness he craved, no matter it wasn’t his fault in the first place.

“Well. I was the first to agree, if I remember correctly and you were radically against. So if anything, I kinda got us into that mess, so-…”

His cerulean eyes bored into yours, sorrow, self-torment and stubbornness incarnated, as he interrupted you.

“Maybe, but I agreed then and I promised to protect you. You trusted me and I failed you,” he accented, anger lacing his voice. He sighed then when he took a note of that and slowly breathed in and out, sounding much softer when he spoke again. “I’m sorry.”

It was as if you hadn’t said a word in the past minute.

“Steve, you’re… you’re just human. Serum or not, you’re- hell, even superman had his kryptonite and he’s fictional. You’re just— what--what he did to me--- after which I’ll be alright, by the way – that happening doesn’t make you any less of a hero,” you explained sincerely, minutely forgetting your weeping uncertain heart. “I know that you did everything you could. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

The implication that there was something else he should apologize for hang heavy in the air.

“I… about what I said down there-“

“Steve, don’t. You don’t need to explain anything. Whatever happened, however you managed to do that-“

“You think I lied,” he stated dully and you avoided his gaze at that.

You didn’t respond.

If you were being honest, you weren’t sure what to think anymore. Everything was just so damn confusing; his yes, his apology, his sorrow, him avoiding you… it was making you dizzy and it all the wondering had you honestly exhausted.

“I’m a coward.”

That got you snap your head back to him, hundreds of question marks in your eyes. “What?”

A humorless chuckle was the answer.

“I didn’t lie. I mean, I did lie down there once, and the machine caught that. And I got you hurt-“

You wanted to protest, because you’d been over this, but his previous words rang in your ears, confusing and disgustingly hopeful.

He hesitantly reached for your hand, gingerly taking it between both of his own, thumbs tenderly caressing its back. You swallowed the choked noise threatening to escape your throat at the soft touch; deliberate, yet seemingly not uncomfortable to him.

“I was forced to admit how I felt right after I got you hurt and I had no single clue what to do with that. Still don’t. I-I spend hours just sitting here and staring, trying to figure out-“

You successfully – ha, you wished – tuned out the first part, focusing on the latter one, not any less surprising.

“You’ve been here?”

He seemed distracted by that question. “Yeah, uhm-“

“Were… were you here when I woke up?” you asked, another foggy memory flickering in front of your eyes, a memory of him in the chair, the concerned frown on his face, dark circles under his dry eyes, raspy voice-

“You… you remember that? You weren’t even conscious for a full minute. You were out again before the doctor arrived, both times.”

‘Both times.’ He had witnessed you conscious twice.

Just how long had he spent here by your sleeping form?

“I thought-“ I though that I dreamed that up. Apparently, you hadn’t. He… he had been there with you. Oh. “I—so you- oh.”

He waited patiently before all of his words registered in your brain; including the ones about-

“You… weren’t lying?” you asked breathlessly, astonished and warmed from inside out for the second time in the past few days as the realization took roots in your brain, finding the remnants of your previous belief and euphoria.

“No. Not when I- when I said-”

“-yes,” you finished for him, your lips parting in amazement, your heart fluttering in joy.

There was no need to specify which question you were talking about – it was clear as day; about the only one that truly mattered.

“And I’m an idiot. I hurt you again, letting you think that I didn’t care at all and I should have come here, but I had no idea what to do next and if you-- what did you think about it- and I got you hurt-“

“We’ve been over this. Not your fault,” you chastised his distractedly, staring at his face because he was breathtaking and he… he-

His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously and you couldn’t but give him the reassurance he was no doubt seeking; you knew you would in his place.

“I… I was about to say yes. And it wouldn’t have been a lie either,” you offered quietly, a slow smile spreading on your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a watery smile, tears still crinkling in the corners of his eyes as he carefully raised your hand, watching every micro-expression on your face, searching for the tinniest trace of disapproval; finding none, his lips brushed your knuckles with the gentlest kiss.

You melted into the pillow, feeling warm all over, your smile turning goofy as you finally, finally got your answer and wanted to scream it at the top of your lungs, because it was delightful.

Steve loved you.

Steve loves me.

And you loved him.

There was a mess for you to deal with for sure, a lot of explaining ahead, but… what else than the fact that you loved each other was important here?

Nothing. Not really, not at the moment at least.

Something told you this might be the true start of a beautiful relationship.

The non-faked kind.

--and you hunch turned out to be true.

The next day, the very hour of your discharge from the med-wing, Steve was waiting for you; all ready with a car to drive you home, a bouquet of cream-colored tulips in his hand to make your day downright wonderful and for some reason, also with daggers in his glare whenever he sized up the nice doctor who had been keeping you company until Steve arrived.

It earned Steve a kiss on his cheek as he led you to the car with his palm lightly resting on your lower back and if your lips brushed his before you got in, well, no one needed to know.

“Mr. Wilson, you wished me to tell you when the confessions would be made. They were just now.”

Sam glanced up from the screen and stopped scrolling mindlessly through his phone, letting out a long exhale.

Judging by the not-so-ominous tone of the AI – nope, he would never get over the fact that an artificial intelligence could speak in different ways and be sassy on top of everything – the talk didn’t end up tragically. At least Sam hoped; he didn’t think there had been much space for messing it up worse, to be honest.

“Thanks, Friday. It was about damn time. How did it go?”

A record of the infamous interview, showing his two friends making out on live TV lighted up his phone—fucking rude to hack his phone like this, especially showing him that.

“About like this, Mr. Wilson,” Friday explained nonchalantly as if that fucking thing wasn’t in control of his phone.

Sam breathed through the shock caused by the intrusive AI, focusing on the good news before planning on giving Stark another black eye because what the hell, SOME privacy left would be nice and very much appreciated-

“Didn’t exactly need the visual,” he muttered, adding a louder ’but thanks.’

His screen returned to normal and he found himself too tired to get up and find Stark right now; he could always throw it to his face later.

Speaking of planning on throwing words and things at someone’s faces…

Sam realized he had to stand up anyway, because he had a different job to do, now that the two idiot friends of his finally made it past the mutual pining phase and actually got together.

Shoving his phone to the pocket of his jeans, he went to polish his guns; just in case that the big blond dumbass planned on making Sam’s favorite almost-sister cry again.

Note: White Tulips – representing purity, innocence, forgiveness and respect, they would be a great flower for a wedding or to give with an apology. (Cream-colored tulips are closely related and have also a meaning of commitment.)

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Thank you for reading and leaving likes! You’ve all been amazing :-* Special thanks for commenting and/or spreading my work, it is greatly appreciated ❤️

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#marvel #mcu #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #fake dating #fake dating au #nothing but the truth #anika ann

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ladyaudentium · 4 years

Text

Confectionary Affection

Title: Confectionary Affection Fandom: Final Fantasy Crisis Core Rating: T Pairing: AngealxOC Characters: Angeal Hewley, Zack Fair, Genesis Rhapsodos, Original Characters Links: A03, FF.net

This took me longer than I would have liked, but I'm back with the next chapter! This one is jam packed with Angeal and Zack content! Be sure to grab a cold drink and a snack to enjoy!

Thank you to all who reviewed, favorited, and followed after the first chapter so far! If I missed responding to anyone's review, I'm sorry! I'll be going back over the reviews for the previous chapter, and if I missed you, I'll send you a response!

Enjoy!

It was nearly impossible to forget that Angeal and Zack had stopped by her bakery.

Kalika and Anri worked themselves to the bone and were only just barely able to keep up to the new level of demand. Sometimes it was so busy during the morning that there was simply not enough stock left to open in the evening; not even if Kalika remade everything again.

At first the business had been making a considerable income, and even now, it was till turning a higher profit than the past, but the costs of running the establishment had also increased. Sometimes there was simply not enough ingredients or prepared pastries left to open again in the evening. Usually this ended up with the business losing money.

Not only that but the increased workload had Kalika and Anri burning out more quickly than they could regain their strength. Kalika's usual late nights and early mornings preparing dough and bakery items were quickly turning into working around the clock. It wasn't unusual for her to doze off kneading a bread dough only to wake with it on the floor or ruined from over working it.

Anri was the same, for the first time since she was a new employee, she was making mistakes with drink and food orders. As a result, the customers were becoming upset and more than once a scene with raised voices had caused Kalika to intervene and forcibly remove the troublemakers.

It was getting to the point where an extra set of hands was a necessary addition; preferably a set with some muscle behind them. Kalika sighed heavily as she once again wiped the chalk board clean. Her handwriting was never great to begin with, but her hands were still sore and shaky from the kneading she had just finished.

The sun was beginning to set, and the bakery had been closed all day. Kalika had spent all night and day preparing every bit of dough, batter, and meringue for the no doubt absolutely insane day tomorrow. If her usual delivery of supplies was on time, she would be able to open again the day after, but if not… well she would come up with something. She always did.

Slapping her cheek, she forced herself to stay awake for just a little while longer, she just needed to finish this task and then she was finished—

*KNOCK KNOCK* "Kalika?" a voice called from outside.

The young woman jumped at the sudden noise which caused a series of events to follow:

First, her precariously placed step ladder slipped off the edge of the counter, causing her to scream in fear and drop all her supplies creating a racket.

Second, the door burst open just as she desperately tried to remain balanced, her hands reaching out for anything that would keep her from the inevitable.

Third, she fell.

The young woman braced for the cold, hard impact of the floor, but instead was met with a warm embrace. Black hair and blue eyes entered her vision and it was with a sudden sinking pit in her stomach that she knew who it was.

Angeal Hewley.

"You should be more careful." He intoned lowly, his chest vibrating with his voice, "We need to stop meeting like this."

Kalika stared up into his bright blue eyes as her head rested on his chest. "I don't know, I think it's kind of nice?" the words escaped her mouth before she could think twice and immediately could feel her face begin to heat up in a deep, mortified blush.

Angeal blinked once in disbelief as his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"Better be careful, Angeal or pretty soon she's going to be falling for you!" Zack called excitedly, breaking the silence.

The black-haired man, sighed deeply and screwed his eyes shut, clearly stressed, "Zack. What have I said to you about appropriate behavior and comments?" he prompted as the burly SOLDIER made a move to stand, his steady grip assisting Kalika to stand along with him.

There was a heavy sigh from the opposite side of the corner while the younger boy replied monotonously, "You said that I need to think before speaking and that words have impact. I can't take back anything once it's been said, sometimes the best choice is to remain silent." the energetic boy leaned back over a bar stool and with both hands over his face, "I can't help it though, you two make it so easy!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands to the ceiling.

"You need to learn self-restraint if you intend to be an honorable member of SOLDIER in the future." Angeal scolded and judging from the young boy's reaction, this seemed to be a common occurrence between the two of them. Somehow, that did not come as a surprise to the young woman.

"I know, I'm doing my best, Angeal! Sometimes it just bursts out before I can stop it!" Zack turned to Kalika, "By the way, we're here to return this! The scones were delicious, thanks!" he held out the same container that Anri had given them upon their departure from their last visit.

The blue haired girl blinked once in surprise as she accepted the box; a reusable one that was not their typical to-go boxes. That sly girl, she had planned for this too. "Thanks, I'm glad you liked them." she looked up at Angeal, "I'm sorry for the trouble of making you come back here to return it. It would have been fine if you just disposed of the container instead." she also took the opportunity to notice that it had been washed as well. How… odd. Somehow, she just could not picture prominent members of SOLDIER doing something as ordinary as washing dishes.

The image of Angeal in a pink, frilly apron suddenly was at the forethought of her brain and she blushed deeply once again.

"It would be wasteful to merely dispose of an easily reusable box such as this." Angeal stated plainly. His eyebrows lowered with concern as he pulled a glove from his hand and gently placed his palm on her forehead, "You're quite red, are you feeling alright? Have you eaten anything today?"

"I - I think so? I've been busy today and haven't had a chance to sit down for long." Kalika blurted as she froze in place. Should she move away from his hand? Or would that be rude? Why was he being so friendly? Was he always this caring to strangers? Especially a stranger that just hit on him a minute ago. The blush returned full force to her face with that traitorous thought.

Before she could panic any further, he pulled his hand away and once again donned his glove. The young woman breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Busy? But you're closed!" Zack spoke up, and cocked his head to the side, "Wait, why are you closed? Shouldn't this place be hopping right now?"

Both sets of bright blue eyes settled on her with varying inquisitiveness. Zack's was honest confusion but Angeal's was less readable. His mouth was set in a straight line across his strong jaw while his eyes held a spark of suspicion that set a cold sweat down Kalika's spine.

Oh boy, how could she explain this without outright blaming them for the necessary closure and the empty ingredient cabinet?

"I… well… you see, ever since your last visit, business has been crazy. Lately I can't keep to the hours we normally hosted. Sometimes I'm up all night preparing!" Her words were spoken with a joyous tone, but from the lack of change in both of their expressions, she was not convincing them.

Angeal opened his mouth to respond, the frown of concern deep on his brow, but was interrupted by a fourth, unfamiliar voice, "Oh my Gaia, you're Angeal Hewley First Class SOLDIER! You're back! I can't believe it, I gotta tell everyone!"

Kalika felt the blood leave her face as her attention immediately snapped to the tall, blonde woman currently standing in the open doorway attempting to snap a picture of the two men.

"No, pictures without permission and we're closed, please leave!" She ordered, pushing past Angeal to confront the woman directly.

"What? But it's the middle of your posted hours and your door is open! You can't throw me out, do you know who I am?"

"Nope, and I'm sorry you've forgotten. Now, please get out, we are closed, and you are trespassing."

The woman's brown eyes flashed with indignation, "Listen, I don't know how you get off talking to customers like that, but—"

"No buts! I asked you to leave. I won't ask again." Crimson eyes sparked with anger as she stared the other woman down.

Red lips opened to argue further, but she was cut off by a deep, commanding voice "You have been asked to leave, you should comply with that request."

A quick, furtive glance backwards revealed Angeal standing straight, his burly arms crossed over his chest and a dark glare adorning his features. A shudder wormed its way down Kalika's spine. Scary, was the only thing she could think.

There was a beat of silence between the three of them. The woman suddenly looked appropriately ashamed of her behavior and without another word scuttled away.

The second the woman was outside, Kalika grabbed the door and threw it shut behind her. Much to her surprise, it bounced back open and that's when she noticed the lock was completely broken. Around the spot where the deadbolt should have been was a hole in the door frame and splinters scattered along the floor.

She shut it again, it bounced backwards.

She applied a little more force, it bounced backwards again.

Frustration and resentment burning within her, she tried again; it bounced backwards.

With all her strength, she slammed the door shut and before it could bounce back, shoved a chair underneath the similarly broken and limp door handle.

Defeated, she braced her hands against the door and let her head hang between them.

"It would probably be a good idea for you both to use the back door to leave. You'll attract less attention that way… plus, it seems this one is broken now." Kalika murmured quietly, not daring to look up in fear that they would see the unshed tears in her eyes.

"Kali…? Is everything… okay?" Zack's genuinely concerned voice broke the silence.

A lump caught in her throat and without looking at either of them she walked to the nearest table and sat down on one of the chairs, burying her face in her hands. She could not cry, not here, not with Angeal Hewley First Class SOLDIER and Zack Fair here to witness it. One shuddering breath later gave her the confidence to speak.

"Yeah, I'll be fine… somehow, I always am."

A shadow fell over her, "Is there anything we can do to help?" Zack asked.

"No, but thanks." Kalika waved him off but much to her surprise, he caught her hand between two gloved ones of his own. Surprised, she looked up into an uncharacteristically serious expression on the young boy's face.

"I swear on my honor as a SOLDIER I will do whatever it takes to help you, Kali. You're one of us now, right Angeal?"

"Don't swear on your honor lightly, Zack."

"I mean it! I do!"

Angeal nodded, seemingly accepting his young protégé's resolve. "How long has your door been broken like this?" the First Class inquired.

Kalika sniffed as delicately as she could as she attempted to take her hand back from Zack, but it was held tight. "It was fine earlier today; it was only just now that something seemed to be wrong. There was a hole where the deadbolt was and splinters from the door frame were scattered along the floor…" the young woman snapped her jaw shut when she realized the implications of her words.

Angeal's face darkened once again and his eyebrows angled inwards at a dangerous angle as he stared his young protégé down. There was a heavy beat of silence as Zack seemed to realize what was going on, "Oh… well… you know… SOLDIER strength, am I right?"

"No! It's fine really!" Kalika jumped up and did her best to placate the visibly upset SOLDIER, "It was old and in need of replacement anyways, I can probably write the replacement off as a business expense. I'm sure Zack didn't mean it."

Angeal sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "His intentions aren't the issue. SOLDIERs have enhanced senses and abilities. If Zack does not learn how to control these properly, he could end up hurting himself or worse, others." He looked up, "I apologize for the door, Zack you're going to suspend a fifty-pound weight in a squat today to make up for your lack of control this evening."

Zack groaned and Kalika winced sympathetically, "I don't think that's necessary, is it? Maybe since you're really strong you could help me with something, and we call it even?" she suggested. "I still need to finish rewriting that menu sign. We're opening with a new item tomorrow."

Angeal looked over his shoulder to see the unfinished chalkboard, "Is that what you were doing when you fell?"

An embarrassed blush crept over her face once again, "Yes, it's too high for me to reach on my own. So, I usually have to get creative… with a step ladder… on the counter."

"That sounds very dangerous." The raven-haired man lowered his eyebrows in concern and disapproval.

"Maybe you can help Angeal! Just lift her up and she'd be able to reach no problem!" an excited Zack exclaimed and, in his enthusiasm, squeezed her hand that was still held captive.

The young woman sputtered, "I- that's not what I meant, but maybe if one of you could just hold the ladder steady? I usually have Anri to help me, but I gave her the day off today."

Angeal turned and with one hand lifted the step ladder she had been using, revealing one of the legs to be broken off, "For the sake of your safety, I would advise against using this again."

"Oh… I see…" the young woman murmured as she worried her bottom lip, how was she going to get up there now?

Zack was practically vibrating with excitement from beside her. A quick glance to him revealed that he was glancing quickly between the two of them biting his lip in anticipation. He was planning something, if only the blue-haired woman could figure out what it was…

"To make amends for the broken door, I would be willing to lift you as Zack suggested." Angeal offered as he moved the broken ladder out of the way.

"I mean, are you sure? I don't want to be a burden. Are you sure I won't be too heavy?"

The burly man grinned and chuckled deeply. The genuine mirth revealed pearly white teeth and the genuine good-ness that radiated from him was unlike anyone she had ever met before. "I'm sure."

Kalika blushed for what seemed like the tenth time in under an hour, "I – Well… if you're sure, I guess. I need to get the chalk." Walking forwards, Zack finally let go of her hand and Angeal stepped out of the way to let her pass behind the bar. Grabbing the chalk from the ground and the eraser cloth, she turned back to the First-Class SOLDIER, "Okay, I'm ready, how would you like to do this?"

Angeal stepped forward and for the first time she noticed how tall he was. She had never felt so small compared to someone in her life, he dwarfed her in every sense. She was eye level with the middle of his chest, and he was easily twice as wide as her. Another blush adorned her cheeks as he knelt to one knee, "Sit on my shoulder and I will take hold of your legs."

Nodding, she turned around and as instructed, gingerly sat on his shoulder, doing her best to put as little weight on him as possible. Two arms wrapped around her knees, locking them in place and the next thing she knew, he was lifting her into the air.

Sucking in a breath she flailed, unbalanced, for one moment before a hand on her thigh steadied her. Angeal Hewley, First Class SOLDIER of Shinra was touching her leg. She tried not to think about how her butt was on his shoulder and instead focused on finishing the sign as quickly as possible. Her hands and shoulders cramped but she did her best to legibly scrawl the newest addition to her menu.

"Dumbapple tart?" Zack exclaimed, "Angeal, didn't you grow up in Banora?! That's so cool!"

"Is that true?" Kalika inquired, looking down to meet the bright blue eyes of Angeal.

"It is, both Genesis and I grew up there. His parents had the best Banora White tree, every summer we would take as many apples as we could and sit in the branches eating them." A small, nostalgic smile pulled up the corners of his mouth.

"That changes everything then, let me down, I'm all finished now."

With one swift movement, the hands disappeared from her person and for a brief moment, she hung suspended in the air before being gently lowered to the ground. The black-haired SOLDIER stared down at her with a quizzical expression on his face. Setting the chalk down she made to pass him, "Have a seat. I'll be right back," and disappeared into the kitchen.

The fridge opened with a hiss, a quick scan through the contents revealed her prize. Pulling two small tarts from their tray, Kalika put them on a plate and made her way back to the front. The fridge closed with a satisfying click behind her.

"Here, to thank you for helping me with the sign, please be the first to try a tart!" placing the plate on the bar counter, she waited excitedly for them to each take one. "They're Banora White apple tarts with some decorative white chocolate to counter the sourness and some edible gold sparkles for presentation."

Zack immediately grabbed one and in one bite put the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes lit up as he playfully slapped his mentor's shoulder, "D'ese are r'lly gud An'eal! You shou'd taste ish!" (translation: These are really good, Angeal! You should taste this!)

Angeal sighed in resignation as he took a tart, "Thank you, this wasn't necessary as it is us who are in your debt, not the opposite way around."

Kalika smiled brightly, "It's fine, really! Plus, I hope that I can live up to your memories of the times stealing and eating the apples."

With a small smile, he took a bite and instantly his blue eyes lit up with surprise, his eyebrows once again disappearing into his hairline. Swallowing, he turned back to the blue haired woman, "You have a true gift for baking."

Flushing for the umpteenth time that day, Kalika continued to smile, "I'm glad you like them. I'll package up one for Commander Rhapsodos as well and you can give one to him too!"

"How much do we owe you for the tarts?" Angeal asked as she pushed through the door to the kitchen.

"Nothing! They're thanks for helping me!" she called back as she began to package up the third tart and then returned to the front with it. Angeal stared her down, his mouth a straight line and his azure gaze steeled with his resolve.

"Please, it would be dishonorable for us to accept these gifts a second time. Especially when your door breaking was our fault in the first place."

Stumped, she could only stare. Never had anyone been so insistent on paying for a gift. "Don't be silly, these are gifts, do you insist for payment when you give a gift to someone?" she held out the tart wrapped in a white box with Confectionary Affection stamped on the sides. "Here's Commander Rhapsodos's tart, try not to squish it if you can, and now it's getting late. I imagine you need to get back to Shinra, since the front door's broken and likely a crowd of fans outside waiting for you to exit, follow me to the back door."

With that, she turned on her heel and pushed open the swinging door and motioned for them to follow her. Zack hopped up immediately, but Angeal took a moment to gather himself and follow. Passing through the kitchen and a small hallway with a set of stairs leading to the second floor, they came to the back door. Pushing it open revealed the dirt yard and receiving area for her shipments of ingredients.

"Thanks again for the treats, Kali. They were delicious as always!" Zack called as he jumped down the short flight of stairs, an arm extended in a cheery wave.

"Thank you for your hospitality. You honor us with your generosity. Genesis will enjoy this pastry, I am certain." Angeal stated solemnly, his eyes shining with the depth of his gratitude.

"Any time, come by again soon. Preferably without causing any trouble this time. Using the back door might not be such a bad idea to avoid any drama like with that woman earlier." She pointed to a black rectangle with a button in the middle, "Next time you're by, just ring this doorbell and I'll let you in."

Zack grinned devilishly and took a breath to make a comment, but before he could utter a sound, Angeal put a hand over the young boy's mouth to silence him. "Thank you Kalika, we will not forget your kindness today."

The blue -haired baker could only manage a small wave as they turned to walk away. Zack continued to wave enthusiastically until they were out of sight behind the fence. Closing the door, her knees felt weak. The sound of her name on Angeal's lips created a feeling in her like she'd never experienced before. Sliding to the ground she replayed the memory in her mind until she was sure that it would be with her forever.

She had offered for them to come back again, but it was such wishful thinking she did not dare hope too much. Once was a coincidence, twice was a pattern, but three times was a dream and nothing more.

But oh, how she loved to dream.

Oh they'll be back, but in the meantime, there's other shenanigans that need to happen first >:3c

Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you'd like! I always enjoy hearing your thoughts!

#angeal hewley #zack fair #original character #me and my dummy thicc angeal propaganda #fic #confectionary affection #writing stuff #my writing

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nrth-wind-a · 4 years

Text

Cont. // @flamekeeperbellroc

Skrael hadn’t been sure where exactly the question had come from. All he knew was that it had wormed its way into his brain some time ago—so long ago, now, that he couldn’t even remember when it had truly begun, if he was being honest— and had burrowed into his waking thoughts with an unmatched gumption, had dug its claws in and cemented itself into place. No matter what he’d tried, it wouldn’t be shaken.

So, okay, fine, he’d lived with it. For a time.

For a time, he’d simply ignored it as it came up, ignored the way it absorbed his other thoughts, ignored the way his traitorous brain had tried to invent answers that Bellroc could give.

Eventually, he’d come to realize, as it continued to persist for longer than he could comfortably manage— it had a rather pesky habit of showing up in his mind at the worst possible times— he couldn’t run from it, and he couldn’t hide from it, and he certainly couldn’t make it go away.

So, if ignoring it wouldn’t work, perhaps he’d indulge it insofar as he would allow himself to think on it, consider it, sit with it, and then let it pass. A meditation of sorts.

This, too, had ended up failing.

He’d sat alone, the night previous to the one where he— well. That previous night, at any rate, was spent in his chambers, alone, as he sat cross-legged on the floor, hands laid upon his knees, eyes shut in concentration.

Carefully, he examined this predicament which he was in, as if each answer was hanging in front of him. His options, logically based, were a hard yes, a lukewarm yes, a lukewarm no, and a hard no.

The trouble was, each of his options had options.

Were it a hard no, he’d either get laughed at outright for even wondering such a thing, or he’d be told without any hesitation that no, they didn’t, and why would they? His mind had supplied him with a rather cruel image of Bellroc, staring him down, warm eyes turned to ice and—

Skrael had moved rapidly from that one, wishing not to dwell too long on it, to the less strong ‘no’. The less strong ‘no’ of someone who didn’t want to hurt his feelings; the less strong ‘no’ that meant ‘let him down gently,’ ‘ease him into the pain of rejection.’ As if there was an easy way to handle a rejection of his strength like that. Because in that moment, it wouldn’t be the rejection of his love that would hurt the most, but rather, the fact that they’d take his vulnerability and assume it made him too weak to handle a non-softened blow.

Because he was prepared for the likelihood that they’d deny him.

But he was not prepared for the possibility that they would show him in action just how much they did not know him well enough to know that he cared not for being spared. He sought truth, not mercy.

Which was why he had prepared so carefully for rebuttal. The ‘no’s in his mind played like a headache across his forehead, but they were vivid, and easy to picture.

He had shaken his head, then, as if to dislodge them from his mind’s eye. Prepared as he was, he preferred not to think on these much harsher potential truths, as he tried to remind himself that they’d known each other for thousands of years. A bond of some sort had to have formed by then… he couldn’t be the only one. He knew he couldn’t.

Yet, even still… the ‘yes’s felt almost too—

…they tasted like hope.

They tasted like hope, a thing that he hadn’t allowed himself for a very long time, for anything. And now for this, as well.

Because could they truly love him? In any fashion at all, did they feel something like that for him?

They were opposites, and had found each other out of necessity. He didn’t know, and had no way of knowing unless he asked, if Bellroc had begun choosing to be near him, the way he did for them.

He couldn’t remember when necessity had turned to choice, but it had, in his heart, in his gut. But Bellroc… as readable as they were to him sometimes, was not always so keen on sharing something of that nature with him, consciously or unconsciously. He knew that they could be vulnerable, and he knew that they could feel, but what would they feel about the one thing— the one person— that could entirely destroy them?

Of course, quid pro quo, they could take him apart as well, melt him little by little, and utterly crush him.

The thing was… he wasn’t even sure that would be so bad. If it was Bellroc doing it.

If it was Bellroc doing it, he wasn’t sure anything could be so bad.

It would ache, yes— oh, gods, how it would ache— but it would be the ache of being something to someone, even if that something was being someone slain by their own hand.

So, yes, when he pictured the paths where Bellroc denied him, he could see them with perfect clarity, and it felt akin to that.

Yet, only akin. It was still in his own head, where the rebuffs sat. Their full weight couldn’t be felt, when they weren’t yet reality. There was a glimmer of that hope taste again.

And as for the paths where Bellroc said yes? Any kind of yes at all, a half-hearted one, a noncommittal shrug, a simple nod and a subject change, something— dare he dream— more enthusiastic? All of these were invisible to him, unimaginable. There was a hole in his understanding of potential futures, and a hole in his understanding of Bellroc.

Gaps in his knowledge, of course, could not go without being dealt with. He could not afford to sit in questioning, in ignorance, no matter how patient he normally was.

Bellroc always seemed to be the exception to things that he considered truths about himself, though. He was untrusting, except for Bellroc. He was never vulnerable, except for Bellroc. He was patient, except for Bellroc.

Or, rather, he was patient, except for when he had a question about Bellroc that burned so deeply in his mind that he’d begun to feel like the wick of a candle, curling in on himself, consumed by the heat and the flame.

Perhaps that was why he finally asked, the day after this inconclusive, and, frankly, painful meditation. Perhaps that was why he’d blurted it, too, before he could stop himself.

He’d meant to lead up to it. He’d meant to enter into a conversation, easy and casual at first, but gently, subtly, he would guide it toward more meaningful speculation, and then eventually, at the opportune moment, he’d slip the question in, unremarkably. Once he did, he’d watch their response, every tiny movement, every posture, every gesture, as he would observe impartially, coldly, detached, so as to not skew his results.

But then he’d laid eyes on them.

He knew what it was like to be hit; of course he knew. He knew what Bellroc looked like; of course he knew.

But he didn’t know that he could feel like his lungs had been punctured, like his head had gone foggy, when he simply looked at Bellroc for only a moment.

As he stood there, in front of them, he must have been silent for a moment too long, because it seemed like Bellroc’s full attention was suddenly on him, after a beat. He must have been acting so strangely to them— the fact that he’d just stood there, looking at them, with gods-knew-what expression on his face. As he realized this, he swallowed and made the effort to think, only to find that his thoughts were simply repeating that infernal question over and over in his head, and he couldn’t find any other words he wanted to say to them anymore, and this wasn’t how he’d meant for this to go— and why did he feel so warm all of a sudden?— and you fool, say something to them—

“Do you love me?”

Beat.

Silence.

Doubt.

Clouds parted, but Skrael wished they’d close again. This wasn’t how he’d meant for this to go.

He wanted nothing more, then, than to drop through one of his own portals, to go and hide for a millennia, and wait until they no longer remembered he’d asked this.

But then they started speaking, and the way their palms glowed, the way they looked almost… frightened, the way they had to start and stop their words, and the way their voice shook. It actually shook—

First, it made him pause.

And then, it made him want to hold them.

It made him want to apologize for his question, apologize for what he’d done, apologize for the fact that he’d caused them… something. Distress? Concern? …Anger?

No, their voice was too soft for anger. Too… gentle.

Too destroyed.

They sounded as if he’d punched them.

After that thought sickened him with guilt for a moment, he finally began to truly register what they were saying. He’d listened— of course he’d listened; he’d hung on to every single letter— but now, Bellroc’s words were genuinely sinking in, and oh, they did something to him.

They did something that he could not name beyond the sensation of utter torture and abject relief, combining about the same way as hurricane gales combine.

They did something to his chest that made it feel hollow and thick. They did something to him that made him want to—

So he did.

He was not sure if he was moving as slowly as he felt he was moving, but after what felt like an eternity to his own racing mind, his hand lifted, and touched their cheek.

And what could he say? What, truly, could he say, that would describe what was going on in his heart, better than how Bellroc had put it?

“I would not be…” his voice cracked, but he pushed past it, “I would not be me without you, either, you know.” He whispered, as if speaking any louder would break something.

“And… I do not want to know who he would be, as you do not want to know you without me.” Skrael could speculate, if he wanted to, about himself without them. The only word that came to mind, however, was lacking.

But even that word wasn’t strong enough. Skrael wouldn’t just lack without Bellroc, he would have part of him torn away; he would have chasms ripped open inside of him. Whoever he was without them, he was—

“However, I do know one thing about him, one thing that I don’t need to search for in speculation. I know that he would be, like I, nothing without you.”

#// lsjdklsfksjldjfa #// i'm-#// writing this hurt me so good #// i hope you like this omg #// this fucked me up so hard #flamekeeperbellroc #i hold with those who favor fire: skraelroc au

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chaoskirin · 4 years

Text

The Seven Seas--Chapter One

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-Fi/Gen Rating: PG Chapter 1 Word Count: 2379

I haven’t written any Queen fanfic in a while, but I’ve had this one in mind for about a year. Figured now was a good time to give it a go!

---

The morning started like any other: At quarter past noon, and with beer and potato chips for breakfast.

"Fred, I want to go home," Brian said, hand on his forehead, leaning back in his chair. Roger stretched his leg out and attempted to tip the chair over; the back collided with the wall and Brian shot him a grumbly look.

"No. We're staying right here 'til we're done," Freddie replied. "And I would say we've been productive thus far--except for all the complaining."

They wouldn't be done until Freddie said they were, which could be today, or tomorrow, or three weeks into the future. With his Mercurial temperament, he'd named himself well. That's something none of the four would ever argue over.

John, typically, said nothing.

Roger flipped over in his chair, reclining upside-down with his bleached hair splashed across the dusty floor. Out of all of them, Rog felt the crushing boredom the worst as they sat and sat and sat and thought about lyrics for a good chunk of the day. He just had a different way of dealing with it; while Brian complained and John entertained himself within the recesses of his own mind, Roger caused Trouble.

"Oh, Roger," Freddie said. "Do sit up."

"I'm gettin' the blood to my brain," he replied. "So I can think of your stupid songs."

"If they're stupid, we're not using them," Freddie said.

"You let the car song through," John muttered under his breath, after which Roger grabbed a handful of wood chips and attempted to launch them--while still upside-down--across the room. He performed an unintentional backflip out of the chair and crashed to the floor.

Where he remained for some reason.

"Entertaining," Brian observed. "I still want to go home. I've got things to do. My thesis--"

"Oh, your bloody thesis. You're a rock star now, Brian!" Freddie exclaimed. He stood, paced across the barn, stepped over Roger, flailed his hands for effect, then paced back. "You don't need a doctorate if you're a rock star!"

"I thought we were to be rock gods," Roger provided, insinuating that a god was somehow superior to a star.

Freddie supposed he had a point. "Yes, yes, we're getting there. Patience!"

Asking this lot to have patience was like asking an elephant to fly. Like asking a fire to burn cold. Like asking a monkey to type the full works of Shakespeare with both hands tied behind its back. All possible, when one considered how very exciting and unpredictable the universe was... But still vastly implausible.

Something very small and very loud crashed through the barn's roof, landing mere centimetres from Roger's outstretched arm. Roger jumped to his feet with the alacrity of a twelve-year-old non-smoker and stumbled away, knocking over stools, a bandstand, a whole table, and a random chicken as he went.

The chicken, perturbed, scuttled from the barn.

John sat up, his face perfectly passive as Freddie asked, "What the fuck was that?"

Brian stood, creeping toward the shimmering object. It appeared frictionless with all its sparkling silver splendor, and as aerodynamic as the most advanced American war devices. Oblong and saucer-shaped, it sat off-kilter within the barn's floor, its leading edge plunged clear through the rotting wood and stuck soundly within the dirt. It wiggled a bit as if to free itself, then seemed to deflate in defeat as if sighing.

It was no larger than a standard record.

"Aliens, probably," John said.

"Oh, aliens!" Freddie poo-pooed, swatting him with the back of his hand. "It's clearly a toy. A frisbee or somesuch. Roger, go outside and see if--"

The frisbee whirred and hissed, a door opening and consummately vanishing as it did so. A bright green light shone from within as steam and fog poured out of it like water.

"Is Spielberg here?" Roger said. "Is he having us on? He's making a movie, you know. Offered me a part--"

"Oh, he did not," Freddie said. "Hello in there? Hello? Is it aliens?"

"Well, they wouldn't be aliens to themselves," Brian griped. "We'd be the aliens to them."

"Bother your semantics," Freddie said, kneeling next to the oblong contraption. When he poked it (as he could think of nothing better to do with it), his finger slid off the surface as if it were made of particularly slippery ice.

"Well don't piss 'em off," Roger said, kneeling next to Freddie and poking the thing as well. "Whoa. I can't touch it."

Indeed, it was covered in some sort of shield, which reflected all attempts at poking, no matter how vehement. Whenever one of them thought to touch it, it shimmered with a glowing rainbow of energy before repelling the contact entirely. It was neither cold, nor warm, nor anything at all. However, Roger could make the shield wiggle with a sort of frustration if he touched it in two places, and when Freddie added his fingers to the mix, the whole saucer seemed to burble in scandalized protest.

"I can't help thinking that's a terrible idea," John said.

"We should kick it," Roger suggested.

"That's exactly what I meant," John replied.

As Roger stood and drew back his leg to give the thing a good kick, Brian said, "It's not a football."

Defeated, Roger stomped the ground with the very foot that had been just about to launch the thing back into the sky. "Then what's it doing in our barn?"

Brian opened his mouth to answer, then his eyes dulled with the abject inability to answer Roger's inane inquiry. "What kind of question is that? Do footballs inherently belong in barns where you're from? If something enters a barn, does it become a football?"

"Well... Kinda? If it can be kicked?"

Meanwhile, the little door on the saucer-object remained open. Freddie wondered how much more mist could pour out of the thing before it was empty. Or perhaps it contained its own mist generator and it would continue to spew forth a cloud of noxious green gas until evicted from the barn. "I actually think Roger may have the right of it," Freddie said, detecting the faintest hint of ozone. "Exciting as all this is, I don't want to be poisoned."

Roger reeled his foot back again.

Fortunately, the occupants of the saucer picked that moment to show themselves. A single moment later, and they might have been stepping out into earth's atmosphere, tumbling end over end in the worst result of first contact ever written about in any science fiction in history.

Thwarted again, Roger collapsed into his chair and crossed his arms.

The aliens--for that's the way Freddie had begun to think of them--appeared as silhouettes against the burning green light from inside the saucer. Unsurprisingly, they were tiny, each barely the size of a paperclip or perhaps even smaller. A walkway extended in front of them as they squirmed out into the barn's dim light; the creatures meandered down it, leaving a trail of slime behind them. Vaguely slug-like, they were nevertheless adorned with at least half a dozen tentacles each, which were in turn adorned by an incredibly ridiculous amount of jewelry. Enough to rile Freddie's jealousy at any rate. If only he had more places to put shiny things, he could be a much happier man!

There were three of them. The tallest one spoke:

"ARE YOU THE QUEEN?"

Freddie blinked. The alien repeated: "ARE YOU! THE QUEEN?"

"We're... Queen?" Freddie tried. "The band. Queen."

"HAIL QUEEN BAND. THROUGH THE RADIO CHATTER OF YOUR ILLUSTRIOUS PLANET, WE HAVE DETERMINED YOUR LOCATION AND SEEK AN AUDIENCE."

John muttered, "I'm sure this is going to go well."

"I'm not sure you understand," Brian said. "We're not the queen. Or any queen, really. We're just--"

The aliens seemed undeterred. The tallest one interrupted: "NONSENSE. YOU HAVE PRODUCED MORE RADIO CHATTER THAN ANY OTHER ENTITY CALLING THEMSELF A QUEEN ON THIS PLANET. WE DEEM YOU THE SUPERIOR OF ALL OF THEM. YOU WILL NEGOTIATE ON BEHALF OF YOUR PLANET."

One of the smaller ones, who seemed to be wearing glasses on his protuberating eyes, asked, "WHAT IS YOUR PLANET CALLED?"

"They've been listening to our radio chatter," John began, "and they don't know what the planet is called?"

"Er... This is earth," Brian supplied.

"OF COURSE IT IS EARTH," the smaller alien said. "ALL TERRESTRIAL OCCUPIED PLANETS ARE MADE OF EARTH. WHAT DO YOU CALL YOUR PLANET? WHAT NAME?" He pulled out a very tiny, very adorable starmap from one of the flaps in his skin. Freddie didn't know whether to be awed or disgusted.

"That's--" Brian tried. Puzzled again, he scratched his head, as if the aliens had made a perfectly reasonable point.

In the silence, Roger clarified. "The planet is called earth."

The three beings conferred with each other for some time, their slimy tails wriggling behind them like rain-saturated worms. Occasionally, their stalk-eyes would flick around to fix the quartet with a glare--at least, Freddie thought it was a glare. It was hard to tell when one didn't understand the intricacies of alien expression.

Finally, the visitors turned. The one holding the starmap said, "EARTH IS A TERRIBLE NAME FOR A PLANET. WE DEMAND TO KNOW WHICH IDIOT NAMED IT."

Never mind that none of this made any sense whatsoever... Brian still engaged in a heated argument with the aliens about the virtues of a planet named earth, and how no one had ever actually named it. That's just what it was called. Roger found that hard to believe, since the idea had to have come from somewhere--and after all, the people of earth hadn't always known there were other planets, which meant they had to discover earth was a planet at some point, which meant they would have had to name it. When asked why, Roger shrugged and said that if humans were presented with something to name, they would inject their opinion onto it without questioning whether or not they should.

Brian supposed that was logical, then he further supposed that the person who named earth would certainly be dead by now, which the aliens thought was probably better for everyone.

"And just what is your planet called?" Roger asked, once the argument exhausted itself. Freddie thought the whole point of the alien visit probably wasn't to discuss the names of their respective planets, but here they were.

The other shorter being stood up just a bit taller. He was wearing different colors than the other two, although those colors were so random and chaotic that no one in their right mind could describe them. He seemed for all intents and purposes to be a diplomat of sorts. After a wiggle of importance, he said, "DENMARK, OF COURSE."

No one said anything for quite a while, then everyone started speaking at once. Except for John, who was quite content to smile at the absurdity of it.

"You're just from Denmark?" Roger asked. "How are you so short? And slimy?"

"I'm sure it's lost in translation," Brian observed.

"They've come billions of kilometers all to tell us them come from a place called Denmark!" Freddie exclaimed.

"NO, NO, NO," the alien said. "IT'S WHAT ALL CIVILIZED ENTITIES CALL THEIR HOME PLANET ON A MAP! SHOW THEM, WOULD YOU?"

The other short alien--the one with the glasses--lay its starmap out on the floor and opened it to a rather obscene size. It shouldn't have been possible for so much paper to fit inside one pamphlet-sized document, but the creature continued to unfold it and unfold it and unfold it until it covered an enormous portion of the dirty floor. Moreover, the stars elevated themselves just above the paper in a spectacularly impossible three-dimensional layout. Freddie couldn't help an awed "Oooh," of admiration.

John, sarcastically, added "Ahhh!"

"YOU SEE?" the tallest alien said, pointing to an X on the map. As it poked the location with a tentacle, it lit up with a vast trove of information--exact location, atmosphere type, composition of the rocky surface, current radio traffic, and climate. Probably. Freddie didn't actually know, as he couldn't read their language.

"Okay, what's it really called?" Roger asked.

"OH, YOU COULDN'T POSSIBLY PRONOUNCE IT," the diplomat said.

"Don't tell me what I can't pronounce," Roger insisted.

The aliens conferred again, this time for quite a while. When they turned, the diplomat cleared his throat and announced something that no human would ever be able to pronounce: a cacophony of squeals and thisksks and clicks and sub-sonic whistles and grunts and whoops and probably a boat horn or two.

Roger narrowed his eyes, considered for a moment, then opened his mouth and screamed.

"IMPRESSIVELY CLOSE," the diplomat said, as one would comfort a toddler who also happened to be a horse.

"IN ANY CASE," the leader said, his eyes spiraling around in what might have been an eyeroll, "WE CANNOT EXCHANGE PLEASANTRIES WITH A PLANET NAMED EARTH. IT IS SIMPLY PREPOSTEROUS. WE DEMAND YOU RENAME IT."

"But as we've said before--" Brian tried, but the leader held up a remarkable number of tentacles to halt him.

"YOU ARE QUEEN BAND," the leader said. "CLEARLY IT IS YOUR RIGHT TO NAME THIS PLANET."

Freddie, rather half-asleep from the long day they'd already suffered (at his whim), imagined it would be easier to give the visitors a name now, then sort things out later. After all, nothing political could come about as a result of this visit. The aliens were far too tiny to be any sort of threat. And if he just gave them a name, he could get back to writing lyrics with the others and no harm would be done.

Without any sense of impending doom despite his foreshadowy thoughts, Freddie searched around the barn until his eyes fell upon an open, half-stale loaf of bread. "The planet is now called Rhye," he said, adding the H in his mind since it sounded more dignified. "Yes, Rhye. Has a nice ring to it, I think."

"The moon's called Chicken Shit," John said.

Brian elbowed him.

"THEN ON BEHALF OF DENMARK," the leader said, "WE DEMAND THE UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER OF RHYE AND ALL ITS INHABITANTS! IMMEDIATELY!"

#queen #queen band #fanfic #freddie mercury #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #ck writes #not bestiary

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you-guys--are-losers · 5 years

Note

Super need a fix about the scene where peter takes his shirt off in front of MJ. Maybe an alternative;) love ya

//Love ya, too!!! Ahh, I was hoping to receive a prompt about that particular scene. ;) I definitely have some thoughts about it, mostly concerning what would have happened if Ned hadn’t shown up right at that moment. So, here goes, and I hope that you guys appreciate my alternate ending!

A Purely Anatomical Interest

Summary: MJ has imagined Peter Parker taking his shirt off in front of her many times. Now that it’s happening, though, everything is so much more confusing. Killer drones, secret identities, illusion tech, and a super-fraud: it’s enough all on its own, and MJ knows she’s capable of handling it.

Peter Parker’s abs, though? Those are another story.

Characters: Michelle Jones x Peter Parker, Nick Fury, Quentin Beck

Word Count: 4,169

Warnings: Partial Nudity, Teenage Awkwardness, Fluff, Angst

/ gifcredit: @alwaysthequietones /

Slam, thud.

The door to Peter’s hotel room slams shut behind them, causing both Peter and MJ to start slightly in the quiet of the suite. The noise is followed by the soft thump of their shared discovery as Peter tosses it on his bed. In the middle of the refined hotel room, the hunk of advanced metal tech is almost humorously out of place.

Or, at least, it would be humorous if everything weren’t so real all at once.

Suddenly, the soft humming of the radiator that was so calming when MJ initially settled into her own hotel room now seems ominous, like a quiet whisper that she can’t quite make out, no matter how hard she tries.

The warm glow the light casts over everything now feels ironic as Peter immediately launches to action, shooting to close the curtains. MJ is left standing in the center of the room, watching as the dweeb (whose relationship to her is far too confusing to contemplate at the moment) leaps into the action. Every little, paranoid measure he takes seems almost like second nature to him, something that strikes MJ as both amusing in a twisted way and a little sad.

How much of this, she can’t help but wonder, is a result of losing so much to the Blip?

Peter’s quiet mutterings snap MJ away from her quiet analysis of Peter Parker, and she simply watches and listens as he continues.”

“I can’t believe I gave back those glasses,” Peter breathes, peeking through the curtains one last time for good measure. Before the blue gingham has even had a chance to flutter back into place, he is already across the room and situated at his laptop. “I mean, how could I be that stupid? He’s probably spying on me right now, or sending a drone to come and kill me.”

MJ knows that the proper response is probably something like, “No, you’re not stupid, anyone would have made that mistake-” or whatever, but nothing of that sort leaves her lips as she turns to stare at him. Her eyes widen as she stares burning holes into the loser across the room, incredulous.

“You had access to killer drones?”

Okay, so not her smartest comment; after a quick examination of the statement, she supposes that his killer-spandex probably have given him access to a number of dangerous weapons. But drones… That sounds like something that she’s read about in one of her many conspiracy theories, except this?

This is real, in a way that fills her with both a pressing sense of anxiety and the strange, slightly macabre urge to laugh. After all, this is her life now, and he’s talking about things that sound like they came out of a low-budget sci-fi movie in complete seriousness.

“Yeah. I didn’t really want ‘em, especially after I almost killed Brad,” Peter mumbles. He ignores her stare for a moment, and MJ can’t help but be slightly grateful. She’s sure her eyes are bugging out of her head, and for a moment, she can’t even find words.

“You almost killed Brad?”

Peter’s eyes snap to her then, and at that moment he at least has the good sense to appear slightly sheepish and flustered as well. Now, MJ is acutely aware of the fact that she is standing in the middle of a chaotic, jumbled mess in Peter’s hotel room, and she’s pretty sure that he’s being struck by the same sort of realization.

Just when MJ thinks he might address it, Peter opens his mouth, hesitates for a fraction of a second, and moves on. “Look, I have to call Mr. Fury and tell him Beck’s a fraud, but… I think he tapped my phone.”

Right, right. Okay. There’s really no time to think about what this means; no time to think about them, about the weird walk on the bridge, about anything but the strange simulation tech that is sinking into the duvet and mattress topper.

MJ can tell that Peter’s mind is moving quickly, perhaps too fast even for him. He’s trying to think, but he’s not processing anything but his panic, and MJ knows that if he continues down this path he’s going to overanalyze himself into a meltdown.

Luckily, MJ’s expertise with conspiracy theory has brought her to the point that little can shock her, and this affinity for true crime has also taught her how to react in a crisis. Granted, most of the crises are hypothetical (except for the current political climate in the US, but that is an issue for another day), but any experience is beneficial if it makes her helpful in a situation like this.

“Okay, so what are you gonna do?” MJ’s voice is sharp, practical as she scrutinizes Peter. For a moment, his eyes flicker to hers, and MJ can see the shifting of his brain into gear as his face loses that stupidly adorable flustered expression. A quiet sort of confidence is left in its place.

“Um, I need my suit,” Peter begins, and MJ offers a small nod. There. He’s figuring out what he needs to do now, and she can tell that her logical question was enough to ground him. “And I have to go to Berlin and talk to Mr. Fury in person.”

With that, Peter jumps into action, and MJ observes him as he grabs a dark bundle of fabric (pfft, ”Night Monkey” her ass) and immediately begins to remove his shirt and pants.

It takes MJ a moment to even process what is happening. As soon as it hits, her eyes shoot open so quickly it hurts. Peter doesn’t realize their compromising situation quite as quickly as MJ, but when he does, his mouth falls open slightly.

His eyes meet her own, and for a moment, they stand in front of each other just staring.

MJ can see the beginning of a slight, awed smile that Peter is trying to hide, and so she quickly looks anywhere else. Unfortunately, the only other option presented her is, well–

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope-ity nope, nope, nope.

They’re just muscles, MJ tries to remind herself as they seem to stare her down. Just anatomical structures meant to allow movement of the skeleton. They’re useful, and that’s all. There’s nothing about them that’s supposed to be aesthetically pleasing…

Oh, but they are.

It is only then that MJ realizes that the pair of them have been staring. Heat floods her cheeks. MJ swallows, clenching her jaw, and offers him what might be an attempt at a nod before she slowly revolves, turning to face the wall. There is a moment of hesitation as her eyes find the fancy wallpaper, seizing on the pattern as the rustling and zipping of fabric resumes.

Maybe if MJ stares at the wall designs enough they will erase the image of Peter’s bare chest that has burned itself into her mind.

This proves to be just wishful thinking, however. No matter how hard MJ tries to think her way out of this one, to focus on something, anything else, all her brain can scream at her about is the fact that Peter Parker is standing behind her, half-naked and built like one of the Spider-Man action figures in the stores.

She always had thought them to be an exaggeration, but nope.

Maybe this doesn’t have to be a weird thing. The thought comes out of nowhere, and MJ’s eyes drift upward as she tries to keep herself from considering it. Maybe if she focuses on the light fixture above her–

You had a chance on the bridge, and you blew it, the voice in her brain realizes. You lied.

A little pang of guilt worms its way through her stomach, and MJ is having trouble ignoring it. She searches for any way to ease it, but there isn’t one. MJ’s policy is honesty, even when it hurts. Now that she’s broken it, she understands why.

Because even if the truth hurts, it doesn’t hurt as much as it does to hide it.

And here is a chance to make it right. It is for this reason that MJ slowly begins to turn, eyes traveling to the side as she waits for the loser that she’s been crushing on for years to come into view. But each second that it takes to turn adds to the panic in her chest, and at the very last moment, MJ’s stomach lurches to tell her she can’t do it.

Okay. It’s fine, it’s okay. MJ snaps her head back forward so that she is facing opposite him, squeezing her eyes shut. For a few seconds, MJ takes deep breaths as she struggles to regain her composure.

Alright, this is stupid.

It’s Peter Parker, MJ reminds herself. Her mental voice is chastising now, fed up with the amount of pure, unfiltered teen stupidity that is running rampant through her brain right now.

This is the kid who tripped on the way onto the bus, smacked into the side railing, and then apologized to it. He’s not some terrifying, unapproachable person; he’s him, and that’s why MJ likes him. Maybe even more than that.

And that’s why he deserves the truth.

MJ takes a deep breath, slowly allowing her eyes to open. After a minute, she deliberately sucks in some air, parting her lips. It’ll take two seconds, she reasons, to tell the truth. So go. And with that thought, MJ begins to speak.

“So-”

What if he doesn’t feel the same for you, and when he looks at you his stupid puppy-eyes have pity in them?

The thought crashes into MJ out of nowhere like a semi-truck into a smart car. It knocks the breath out of her lungs, and before she even has time to think, words come tumbling out of her mouth.

“There’s actually three types of muscle in your body. Or, at least, in the human body. I don’t really know what kind of muscles there are in the spider body, so I guess that you could have some weird, hybrid-type muscle going on. You know, because of the radiation.”

Each syllable follows directly on the heels of the last one, sending them all stumbling into one another as they hit the air in a rapid-fire burst. The movement of the fabric behind MJ stops suddenly, sending the room into silence for a moment.

MJ might be imagining it, but when Peter speaks, she swears that she can hear a bit of breathlessness in his confused tone. “MJ, what are you-”

The panic returns again, this time in a stronger surge, and MJ knows that she can’t let him talk. She can’t let him, because what if he says something and it hurts? So there’s only one alternative left.

“There’s smooth muscle, which some of your organs are made out of. It’s the slimy stuff, and it kind of does its own thing, so you don’t really see much of it. Then there’s cardiac muscle.”

“MJ-”

“It’s the stuff that makes up your heart, and it’s pretty weird-lookin’. Kinda got that whole bamboo aesthetic goin’ on, you know? It’s called striation. Also, each cell has more than one nucleus, so that’s pretty cool, too. I wish Flash had more than one brain; it might make up for some of the stupid.”

“Wait, I don’t-”

“Then there’s skeletal muscle, which is the type you can actually build. That’s the stuff the bodybuilders have a ton of. It weighs, like, a ton or something, and it’s basically the stuff that moves around your bones, kind of like puppet strings. So your skeleton is one big puppet, and then your muscles are the things that make it dance around like a marionette.”

“Um, okay. So that’s all pretty cool and creepy, but-”

“Right? So there’s no reason for muscles to be attractive.”

MJ stares at the wall all the more fiercely, her breath becoming even more shallow as silence stretches between them. She swears she can hear Peter’s breathing catch in his throat, but before she has time to analyze it, MJ surges ahead.

“They’re really just useful, so there’s nothing that impressive about building them up, right? Like, bodybuilding competitions are just weird. ‘Oh, huh, you have the same stuff everyone else has, you just wasted more time and energy than anyone else on pointless movements. So, here’s a trophy.’ All that having muscles means is that you did the same thing that everyone else already does to function a couple extra times. So this whole thing everyone has for muscles is really weird.”

MJ can barely hear Peter’s slightly constricted interjection. “MJ, I-”

“Some scientists think that it has to do with the whole strength thing. Apparently, our monkey brains like looking at someone who has whatever body type is the hardest to get because it means that that person is powerful. Since today, food is less difficult to obtain for a larger percentage of the population, someone who is muscular or skinny has sex appeal. That’s why when everyone was, like, starving to death and dying of dysentery and plague, being well-fed and heavier was seen as the ideal body type.”

MJ is fully aware that, to date, talking about diseases involving violent episodes of diarrhea has not been a particularly successful seduction method. But now that she has started talking, MJ can’t stop. She needs to say anything, anything and everything.

She needs to say everything because if she stops talking she knows she’s going to have to say the truth.

“So, by that logic, muscles aren’t really attractive. They’re just the hardest thing to get, so they’re the most sought-after,” MJ rambles, seizing a panicked breath between statements. “Pretty lame, really, how capitalistic attitudes ruin our standards of beauty. It’s one of the many evils of the system-”

“MJ.” Peter seems to have recovered his voice, though it is slightly lower and huskier than normal.

MJ clenches her fists, and her breath seems determined not to leave her as she attempts to burn holes in the wall with her eyes. Maybe, if she stares hard enough, she can set the building on fire, and then they never have to talk about this situation ever again. Or, hey, they don’t know the full capabilities of the advanced technology on Peter’s bed. If MJ presses the right button, it could open a hole in the ground that will swallow MJ right up.

Deep down, though, MJ knows that whatever happens next is inevitable. There’s no avoiding the discussion that’s going to follow, so she might as well let it happen to her. MJ lets out the held breath in a soft sigh, loosening her fists.

“Yeah, loser?” MJ’s voice is quiet, and though the words themselves have confidence, she can’t keep a note of hesitation out of her voice.

“I, uh– could you turn around?” Peter’s voice is just as flustered and uncertain, and something about it calms her. It is for this reason that MJ nods, and before she can stop herself, slowly turns herself around.

As soon as she does, MJ can feel all the blood in her body return to her face again. She manages to keep herself frozen, at the very least, but the hammering in her heart makes it feel like someone has shoved Usain Bolt into MJ’s chest cavity. Because, though Peter has the suit on up to his neck, she can still see every single muscle in Peter Parker’s chest, each one only further highlighted by the gleaming, black, suit.

MJ can’t help but think that if there is a God out there, She must have chiseled each and every sculpted rise and fall in Peter’s chest Herself.

In order to preserve her sanity, though, MJ locks her eyes onto Peter’s own. In them, she finds the same alarming depth that is there every time she glances his way. As her eyes fix themselves onto his own, MJ knows that it is this deep, dark warmth that keeps her looking his way, keeps her observant.

As she looks into them now, she sees a tangle of emotions: hesitation, uncertainly, awkwardness. But what she sees that causes her heart to skip a few beats is the hope that ties it all together.

“So, um…” Peter starts awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. MJ swallows thickly, pursing her lips, but she doesn’t look away. “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve thought about it before I started, uh, changing. You didn’t consent to seeing that, so…”

“Uh, no, it– it’s fine,” MJ replies, a little too quickly. For a second, there is more silence, and they both quickly look away from each other.

MJ’s gaze snaps back to his, though, when Peter clears his throat. When her eyes find the slightly awed smile forming on his lips, though, she can’t breathe again. Her eyes narrow just a bit, and the question that leaves her lips is slow and careful. “What?”

Peter quickly erases the smile, but a fraction of the expression remains in his wide eyes. “Uh, nothing,” he stammers. “I mean, we just established that, um, there’s really no reason for anyone to find my muscles attractive.”

MJ isn’t sure quite how to respond to that one, but it’s easier to give him a quick, stiff nod than it is to address the warm tingling in her stomach, so that is what she does. “So?”

Peter’s eyes lock on her own, and they hold all of the familiar things: nervousness, for one thing, and an acute awareness that whatever he is about to do it probably a bad idea. There’s also a gleam of intensity, though, and this is what prevents MJ from looking away as he speaks.

“Well, uh… I guess, even if that’s true, I wouldn’t be upset if you did.”

That statement sucks all of the breathable oxygen out of the room, and MJ’s eyes widen as she gawks at him. She has to process this– she needs to run his statement through her head once, then twice, and then maybe three or four more times for good measure…

No.

For once, a smooth, cooling silence settles itself over the chaos in MJ’s head. As she looks at him, letting his words wash over her, MJ realizes that there is no pity in those eyes, no matter how hard she looks. In fact, if she looks hard enough, she can see something else, something that scares her for a different reason.

Something that scares her in a good way.

So, when MJ speaks this time, it isn’t to drown him out or to hold herself back, and it isn’t in a jumble of words. This time, her words aren’t meant to beat away the fear, they’re meant to embrace it– and they’re meant to do it in as few words as possible.

“Good.” The one word is enough to fill the space between them, and as soon as it drops from her lips the ripples it creates expand into crashing waves that roar in her ears. Peter’s eyes widen across from MJ, but then the smile is returning.

When he looks at MJ, Peter looks like he has never seen anything like her before– he looks at her with an admiration that is pure and whole. It’s not the sort of absentminded appreciation that one has for a sparkling jewel or a static painting, something meant to be seen and not touched. This is the wonder inspired by a storm rolling in with massive, crashing waves, all of the awe that accompanies a brilliant sunrise, the kind of art that will never quite fit in a frame.

MJ lets out a shaky breath, and then she is taking a step to close the distance between them. Immediately, Peter matches it, and then they are so close that their chests are almost touching, so close that MJ has to tip her head down slightly to maintain eye contact with him.

Slowly, experimentally, MJ raises a hand and brings it to rest on Peter’s upper chest. It is warm, solid beneath her fingertips and the suit, and MJ can feel the sharp gasp that her touch causes in Peter Parker. Her eyes rise to meet his, and when they do there is a playful glimmer in them. In response, Peter slowly lets his hand wrap around the back of her neck, resting where his fingers can tangle in the baby curls at the nape.

His touch makes MJ nervous, but this is a different kind of nervous. These are the nerves that result from knowing that something is coming… Something soon, and something that is going to change everything you thought you knew for the better.

“Because even if I did like looking at your stupid arms or anything,” MJ informs Peter, composed though the inches between them seem to tingle with expectation, “it’s only because I’m an inquisitive person with… With a purely anatomical interest.”

Peter’s thumb travels lightly along the side of her neck, barely skimming the skin as he looks up at her. His smile only grows then, and MJ isn’t sure if her body is built to process the slight hint of adoration she can see in his irises.

“I-I think I can live with that,” Peter manages to say, his voice an octave higher than normal. “And, um… Maybe, when I get back from Berlin, we could have– I dunno. An anatomy lesson?”

MJ stares at him for a minute, face completely inscrutable. Peter’s eyes widen as he realizes what he’s said, and MJ watches as his eyes dart around the room, clearly searching for a means of escape.

“Wait, I– uh, I didn’t mean it like-like that, I-”

It’s Peter’s panicked stammering that causes MJ to break. The laughter that bursts from her is wild and unexpected, and it can’t possibly surprise Peter more than it surprises MJ. But there, in the middle of the hotel room, MJ can’t help but sit in the middle of it all and laugh. Peter joins in too, after a minute, and when they step away from each other it’s with a new sort of ease that MJ has only tasted around him before.

“You didn’t just say that.”

“Um,” Peter says with a grin, rubbing his neck sheepishly as he strides to the window, “yeah, maybe you can forget about that while I’m gone?”

“No chance.”

“Yeah, I knew it was a long shot.”

The window slides open, then, and as the night air enters the room, the sort of frenzied relief that MJ feels darts out into the darkness of Prague. As MJ turns to face Peter, there is something different in her eyes– something determined. “Hey, dork.”

Peter, who has by now effortlessly leaped into the open window, turns to face her. He has pulled down the mask on his suit now, and MJ can’t help but miss his dark eyes as she stares into the glassy, opaque ones. “Yeah?” he asks, and just the sound of his stupid voice is enough to make her heart twinge again, renewing the uncertain tension.

“Come back.”

For a minute, those opalescent eyes lock on her own, and MJ thinks that Peter is going to turn without saying anything. But then, his stupid voice pipes up, slightly constricted and forced in its optimism.

“Well, yeah. Who else will be able to get you that anatomy lesson?”

MJ can’t stop the shocked laugh that leaves her, and she slowly shakes her head. “Okay, yeah. Get out before I call Flash and tell him you have a thing for teacher-student stuff.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter replies, saluting her in response. His gaze lingers a little longer on her, though, and she could swear his body language softens. “Um… Bye, MJ. I’ll be back soon.” He moves to leave through the window then, but MJ finds herself lurching forward.

“Wait,” she says quickly, and Peter immediately freezes and turns back to her. As soon as he turns, his arm shoots out to catch the piece of tech that MJ has just tossed his way. “You’re gonna need this.”

“Oh.” Peter’s sheepish voice causes warmth to crawl up the back of MJ’s neck. “Thanks.”

“Let me know when you get there.” MJ isn’t sure what prompts her to say it.

Peter gives her one quick, final nod, lingering for a moment before he finally leaps into the night. MJ is left in his hotel room with the sounds of Prague drifting in through the open window. As she moves to close it, though, MJ realizes that those aren’t the only things that Peter has left with her.

MJ now has a slightly better understanding of the anatomy of who Peter is… And, though she can’t quite explains why, MJ knows that once they manage to get through this mess, there are going to be plenty of lessons for the both of them on the other side.

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years

Text

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (10/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer’s work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Ao3 Link Here!

Alfred was the one to come in and rouse them that morning. They hadn’t managed to get much sleep, instead quite content to just lay holding each other and talking. It was only when they heard Bruce return from patrol, did Tim finally push for them to at least catch a couple of hours rest. When Alfred came in, Stephanie, a little embarrassed at being caught, buried herself under the sheets, whilst Tim kept his head above to speak to the Butler.

“Hi, Alfred.”

“Good morning to you both. Ready for the day?”

“Serious question?”

Alfred smiled. “I’ve brought your breakfasts up, then Ms Andrews is arriving in two hours. I thought it would be best to put the bride in Miss Cassandra’s room. I have had it tidied to a presentable state.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Stephanie hummed from under the sheets.

“You are welcome.” Alfred paused as he left the tray next to Tim on the dresser. If he noticed the scattered clothes from last night laying around the bed, he did not comment. “Best of luck today.” He added, mirth gone for just a moment.

Tim nodded an acknowledgement, and then Alfred left the room.

Tim got up, Stephanie poking her head out from under the sheets to watch as he put on underwear.

“You’re staring.” He joked.

“Can’t I?”

He pulled out a threadbare t-shirt, the kind which was oversized and what he used to wear when he was a teenager, and flung it at her. Still awkwardly trying to preserve her modesty, she wriggled it on like a worm, then got up to join him eating a slice of toast and a small bowl of fruit yoghurt.

She hugged him from behind. Tim was thin and lean, with not much soft skin to grab. That didn’t really matter to her though, because it meant he ended up being something solid to cling to. Always there when she needed him. He reached down and held her forearms and she pressed kiss after kiss to his shoulder.

“Okay?” He said.

“Mm. Let me ask you that.”

She felt his chest heave, and he took her question seriously. “I envy you. How you can just bounce back.”

“We’re not our worst moments. I forget sometimes. But I always remember. Thanks to you and Bruce and Babs…”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You do a lot of the hard work too.”

“Hmm. Do you believe that though?”

“Believe what?”

“That we’re not our worst moments.”

He held her hand which was holding his tummy. “For you? Yes. For Dick? Yes. For me and Bruce…”

“Why?”

“It’s hard… to let go of everything. Really hard. Some days I still open my eyes and I, like, want more than anything for my mom to be the one to wake me up. She didn’t get the chance to very often and now on today of all days… She and my dad should be here. I can’t let that go.”

“Of all days? Tim… this isn’t for real.”

Tim stared at his closet, thinking of the one ring that remained to be gifted to Stephanie. “No.” He said. “But, maybe…”

Whatever Tim was going to say, he didn’t get the chance to as Dick kicked in the door.

“Morning! Ready to –”

Dick paused as he realized Tim was in his underwear and Steph was wearing his t-shirt. Both turned around, looking like deer caught in car headlights. If Tim was expecting Dick to start teasing him again, Dick surprised him, and he just smiled brightly.

“Cass says to hurry up, Steph.”

She let go of Tim. “Right. Okay.” She ducked around Tim to grab some toast and the glass of juice. “See you in a few, then?”

He kissed her, not bothering to hide it anymore, though the kiss was not as firm as he would have liked considering her hands were full, and said his goodbye. She padded away, and Tim would not see her again until she joined him at the Cathedral. When she shut the door behind her, Dick turned back to Tim, eyes bright and curious.

“We’ve been sleeping in the same bed since Bishop Sherborne’s death.” Tim answered before the question could be asked. Dick’s cheeks blew up like a pufferfish.

“What? No, no! How could you not tell me?”

“You would make fun of me!”

“I would never! So, have you…”

Tim burned red and Dick laughed so loudly and exuberantly it reminded Tim of one of Harley Quinn’s hyenas. “Ah! No! I could’ve given you advice!”

“I am not discussing this!”

“No, no,” said Dick, quickly making Tim’s bed and piling up the abandoned clothes in Tim’s laundry basket. As if it were the correct place for clothes that expensive. As he had done the night before, he sat on the bed, though Tim noticed he sat at the very foot, perched as little as possible on the mattress. “Before Damian gets here though... It was good?”

Something about the innocuous nature of the question set Tim off. “It was perfect. And it was with the girl I love more than anything and...”

Dick looked so happy at his brother’s breathless excitement that Tim just smiled back. He sat next to Dick, positively glowing.

“Worth the wait?” Dick asked.

“Yeah.” Tim sighed, and flopped back. “We promised, that no matter what happens after today, we’ll stay together for the aftermath. Bruce can go take a running jump.”

Dick squeezed Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t think you have to worry about Bruce’s approval for you two going forward.”

“Huh?”

Dick jerked his jaw over to the door. “Go have a shower and brush your teeth. Got a wedding to go to.”

Once again, after getting ready, Tim spent an uncomfortably long time fixing his hair. Damian had come in and out repeatedly, his boredom making him fidgety. When Tim had heard that the designer had arrived, he poked his head out the door, curious, but saw nothing particularly of interest about the woman. He didn’t really want to speak to her, for he knew he would have nothing to say.

Thanks very much for doing the job you’re being paid huge amounts of money to do. Or, Hey, you’re not a serial killer, are you? Both seemed a little blasé.

Cassandra also seemed to click something was off about Stephanie, and watched as the girl got ready for a shower.

“You’re walking funny.”

Stephanie dropped the towel in a spasm of panic. As she scrambled to pick it up, her brain conjured an excuse. “Oh my God. Cassandra.” She glared. “My leg is a little sore today. I spent a lot of yesterday on my feet.”

Cassandra would have accepted this, but when Stephanie came out of the shower in a towel, she saw the hickeys along Steph’s shoulders.

“Oh!”

Stephanie frantically put her finger up to her lip, begging Cassandra to be quiet. Cass bit her lip and pressed both hands to her face. She looked like a child at Christmas.

“Tim?” Cass breathlessly asked.

“Yes.” Stephanie hissed.

If she was expecting Cassandra to insist on Stephanie baring her heart and what had happened the past two months, she was surprised when instead Cass zeroed in on another facet. Still pressing her cheeks into a fish puckered look, Cassandra exclaimed,

“I didn’t know he bites!”

“Cassandra! God, can this wait until it’s all over, yeah?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes but did not push.

“I’m going to get your makeup ready. I found a tutorial which looks good.” She said instead.

When Rebecca arrived, Cassandra did not hide how she wanted to be the one to help Stephanie get dressed, and made Rebecca sit to the side.

Stephanie had done her own makeup and Cass had helped with the hair. She had practiced on Stephanie over and over when given the chance, and as a result Stephanie had her hair braided into a crown, bangs and stray hairs curled to make her look softer. Cassandra had grown up practicing something until it became second nature, and so doing Stephanie’s hair was no different. It was when Stephanie looked to Cassandra, and asked what Cass was doing with her own hair, that they ran into difficulty. Cass had blinked, like the thought had never occurred to her, and Stephanie made her sit, so she could flat iron curl Cass’s raggedy mop, pinning in the white cherry and orange blossoms that Stephanie would also wear. It was the girliest moment the two of them had ever shared, but Stephanie thought Cassandra was enjoying the pampering.

Rebecca did some finishing hand stitches whilst Stephanie spent the longest time doing eyeliner and applying false lashes. She tended not to bother with most of this stuff. Concealer, mascara, out the door. She had escaped teenage acne (she tried not to think about the impact having a baby so young had done to her body), but she had bags under her eyes that on her worst mornings took up most of her eye sockets. Cassandra sat, peering over the woman’s shoulder, all dressed in her golden gown. She was not so subtly also watching Rebecca watch Stephanie, who was trying very hard to remain focused on her face.

Tim, meanwhile, was still fussing with his hair. Damian was lying on the floor, the cats and dogs smothering him in his boredom, whilst Dick annoyingly tapped his fingers on a dresser.

“…Do you want advice?”

“On?”

“Weddings. Since I’ve been to a few more of them than Damian or Bruce here.”

The joke was both a needle at Bruce’s non-presence and Dick’s strange running gag of making it to the altar, and Tim laughed.

“Sure.”

Dick grew frustrated watching Tim mess up his hair, so walked over and pulled his shoulders back.

“Let me do it, Tim.”

Feeling more than a little like a monkey being groomed, Tim let Dick fuss, especially after he saw Damian’s eyes glinting with jealousy that Tim was the centre of attention.

“You’re probably gonna feel like smiling or crying. That’s totally fine. Don’t try to act all stoic. You end up just looking constipated and your tummy will hurt.”

“Right.”

“Nothing is ever perfect. Something is going to go wrong. Don’t freak. Just take a breath, let it go, keep moving forward.”

“Right...”

Tim got the feeling the advice was less to do with weddings and more to do with life in general. Dick finished fixing Tim’s hair, then looked so deeply sad for a moment that Tim didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Just don’t waste your time with her.” Dick concluded.

“…Right.” Tim’s phone buzzed. “Time to go.”

Dick nodded. “Hold on. Damian, there’s a lint roller on the mantelpiece. You’re not going anywhere covered in cat and dog hair.”

Damian grumbled, but did as he was bid. Dick when he was in mother hen mode was a veritable hurricane of bossiness, and it was best indulged.

For the girls, Stephanie watched as the car drove away, being nosy and peaking at Tim in his black suit as they rolled down the gravel lane. She didn’t think anyone saw her through the window.

Alfred came in holding two boxes.

“The veil, which Master Bruce’s great-grandmother wore, and the earrings, which were…”

He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence. Rebecca watched, eyes flittering between the trio, tugging a little too harshly on her stitches.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“You are welcome. I must say Mrs van Rijk has arrived with her flock of workers. I have half the mind to stay behind and make sure she behaves.”

Stephanie smiled, lips stretched as she was putting on her lipstick.

“No, you can’t! How else are Cassandra and I to get to the church?”

“Oh, I am sure you would find a way.” If there was one thing Stephanie had learned the past few weeks, it was that Alfred was as much of a control freak as Bruce and Tim, albeit his areas of expertise differed to the vigilantes.

“We’d run if we had to.” Cassandra said, not entirely joking.

Rebecca snipped the last of the thread and sighed, her eyes admiring her own work. “Right. That’s it. Anymore and I’m just fiddling. Let’s get you dressed.”

Stephanie blotted her lips, then did as she was told. Alfred remained present as an extra pair of hands, though Stephanie wasn’t particularly embarrassed of him watching her get dressed. Alfred was Alfred.

He handed her Martha’s earrings and pulled out the veil. They had practiced a few times how and where it would be kept in place, and sure enough, with Alfred doing the job, she soon had the front thrown over her, clouding up her sight.

It was a mid-length veil, as her dress train was already long enough without one extra layer making her look like a moving cloud. Handing Stephanie her bouquet, Cassandra bounced up and down.

“You look beautiful!”

Stephanie smiled genuinely. Rebecca watched with a pinched face, then finally she smiled.

“Okay, I’m off to the Cathedral now. I’ll see you there.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. I can’t say that enough.”

She turned around, staring at Stephanie by the window. She looked like she was about to cry.

“You’re welcome. Definitely one of my more beautiful brides!”

Stephanie looked at her feet hidden under the tulle skirt, looking ever so modest.

The lace of the bodice was a modern pattern which avoided looking like a doily. As Rebecca had promised, she had given Stephanie a high bateau neckline that plummeted in a v-shape down her spine to her lower waist. The sleeves went all the way past her thumb, creating an illusion that her arms were slimmer and longer than reality. Her already small waist had the skirt structured in such a way that it jutted almost horizontally out before cascading down and back. As the train was nearly seven feet long, it was an almighty skirt. With the flowers in her hair, earrings as her only jewellery, and a veil which left her hands free and covered her back, she looked fey and not entirely belonging of this world (or at the very least, Gotham).

“Indeed!” Alfred agreed. “Certainly, in my top three.”

Stephanie laughed as Alfred showed Rebecca the way out, and Cassandra tutted.

“She’s terrified.”

“Rebecca? Of what? Another death or getting caught?”

“Don’t know. And Bruce wouldn’t say.”

“But why? And where is he anyway? He’s supposed to be coming with me to the cathedral. I haven’t seen him all morning.”

Under normal circumstances, Stephanie would have been pacing and gesticulating, but as she was, hair arranged just so, dress so expertly tailored that she felt one dramatic turn would rip a seam, Stephanie remained static, fingers trying very hard to not start ripping off the flower heads of her bouquet.

Unhelpfully, Cassandra shrugged.

Alfred returned, and abruptly shame ran through Stephanie. Alfred sighed very happily at the sight of her, and tugged on his driving gloves.

“I am very much looking forward to this. Haven’t attended a wedding in decades.”

Cassandra left to grab a camera, hoisting up the skirt of her long dress so she could skip down the steps quicker. Alfred held out an arm, Stephanie reached for him, and they made their way out and down the stairs. Cassandra took several shots as they walked. The photos were never going to see the light of day, so Stephanie wasn’t sure for what purpose Cassandra was taking them.

When they reached the car, Cassandra and Alfred helped Stephanie get in, carefully piling the skirt around her so she wasn’t too uncomfortable for the drive over. Cassandra sat next to her with little fuss, her dress more streamlined and form hugging. It was bright yellow, as was decreed by the colour scheme, with a jewelled neckline and long sleeves. It was by far the most feminine Cass had ever been. Stephanie had asked if she was okay with this. If shit hit the fan on the day, if a fight were to ensue, Cassandra would have been hindered by the clothes. Cassandra had simply shrugged. It’s just a dress, she’d said. And fabric can be torn.

Stephanie conceded that Cass had a point. The girl would probably just flat out strip in the Cathedral if it meant she could fight easier. A complete disinterest in societal norms gave her a certain leverage someone like Stephanie or Tim could not as easily reach.

Alfred went to shut the door, but Stephanie reached out for him before he could do so.

“Alfred… Bruce can’t be happy with me wearing his family’s stuff like this. You can’t be happy.”

Alfred knelt with only the slightest of grunts, and took her hand.

“They are Master Bruce’s to give, and he insisted. And I agree. They are not going to get any use from Miss Cassandra, and I do not think that is a controversial statement.”

“It’s not.” Cass said, holding the bouquet and taking Steph’s other hand. Alfred nodded approvingly.

“So, as is the way with these things, it instead goes to the significant others of the male children. Just as Janet Drake’s items have passed to you. This is no different. This is all a means to a good end. Rather extravagant means if you ask me, but, alas, it’s been fun to pretend regardless. And I do not know what will happen five or ten years down the road. Maybe you’ll be gifted them again.”

“Alfred…”

“Mustn’t delay!” He stood up and got in the driver’s seat. “It is acceptable for the bride to be late, but it is not a habit we want to encourage.”

It had yet to start raining, but the air was muggy, and the clouds were dark. A few workers were coming in and out of the manor, setting up for the reception that, if all went to plan, would never be held. One or two people waved at the car, and Steph found herself waving back. One lady was jumping up and down she seemed so excited for Stephanie.

As they drove in, Cassandra asked, “Alfred, is Bruce already at the Cathedral?”

“Possibly,” Alfred answered, smoothly making his way across the island. “He came back very early this morning almost to immediately leave again.

“He told me if he was late, to start without him.” Stephanie said.

“Did he?” Alfred did not sound amused. “Oh, that’s no good. He must have a card up his sleeve.”

Stephanie made a little grunt and watched the streets as they drove through town. Cassandra’s hand was still in hers, and they were holding tightly onto each other.

She could hear the Cathedral bells before she could see the building. Bright, joyous ringing of bells indicative of a celebration. Her throat began to tighten, and Cassandra’s hands fidgeted in response.

“Oh wow!” Cassandra exclaimed. “They did have to put barriers up then?”

“So, it seems.”

“Huh?” Stephanie leaned forward as they slowed down and parked, looking over Cassandra’s shoulder. Behind the makeshift metal fencing, was a not insignificant number of people who looked like they had been waiting all morning for her arrival. When she caught their eyes, they began to cheer and wave.

“Oh.”

Alfred got out, first letting Cassandra out her side. Cass gleefully waved to the spectators, enjoying the positive attention, before making her way around to Stephanie’s door.

“People always like a high society wedding.” Alfred explained. “And we are the first family of Gotham, after all.”

Stephanie took Alfred’s hand and pulled herself out of the car. Cassandra dragged the rest of her skirt out, and Alfred got back in the car to drive it away. He would return quickly, before the ceremony started, and once the car was removed from blocking the view, Stephanie tried not to jump at the borderline hysterical screams that seemed to be coming from across the road.

Cassandra was fiddling, straightening her train and veil but Stephanie didn’t miss her whisper of, “Wave to them! They came to see you.”

Slowly, stiffly, Stephanie rotated at her hips, looking over her shoulder, to see a lot of very happy faces, all waving and smiling and cheering.

Gotham had its name for a reason. The city was oftentimes unendurably grim. People stayed here for one of three reasons: they had no viable option of selling up shop and leaving, they actively profited over the misfortune of its residents, or they tried desperately hard to prove there was something in this city worth staying for. The Wayne family, for all its flaws and scandals, were the highest profile example that the city had of the latter, and it had endeared them to the rest of the city’s residents. No-one with that much money would willingly spend that much time and effort into the city’s improvement, especially for someone like Bruce, who’s childhood had been ruined by the city’s worst inhabitants, unless they truly believed there was something worth salvaging.

It had been one of the things Tim and Bruce had put out in their statement, all those weeks ago. This was supposed to be a celebration for all of Gotham. Stephanie was somebody to project onto, Tim was somebody to admire. Staring at the crowds who were pressed against the fence, Stephanie also suspected that maybe it was also just because people were happy for a young pretty couple getting married.

She smiled and waved back, and the people cheered louder.

Cassandra handed Stephanie the bouquet then moved behind her to ensure the dress behaved. Stephanie did have to lift the skirt a little to get up the steps, but once she reached the top, she was met by the Dean, who was dressed to the gills in formal clothing, and Damian, looking adorable in a sharp suit and gelled hair. Stephanie didn’t miss the way his eyes widened at the sight of her.

The Dean stepped forward as Stephanie gave one last wave to the crowds.

“Welcome back.” He said.

“Thank you.” She said sincerely. “Don’t suppose Bruce is here, is he?”

“He is not with you?”

Stephanie sighed. “No.”

“He was out last night.” Damian improvised, “I have tried calling him but there is no answer.”

“Is he okay?” Cassandra asked.

“Probably.” Damian replied, a little unhelpfully.

“He told me, yesterday, that he might be late.”

The Dean nodded. “I can hold off for a little bit more then. Fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.”

He nodded at the door behind her. “Come in a little more so we can shut the doors. When the music starts, you must start your walk down, regardless of whether he is here. I can’t stop the entire Cathedral, not even for him.”

Stephanie nodded, whilst Damian saw Alfred coming in.

“Pennyworth, you have to keep phoning father. This is ridiculous.”

“Damian it’s alright.” Stephanie said soothingly, trying not to let her own worry seep in.

“It’s very much not alright.”

Cassandra sniggered, then continued to fuss. Alfred simply nodded.

“I will keep trying. I will go inform the groom.”

Dick was leaning on a pulpit, looking up at the stained-glass windows. Tim was next to him, but shoved behind, so he could not see Stephanie. Alfred approached the pair, looking a little frazzled.

“Okay?” Dick asked.

“Master Bruce said he would be late, did he?”

“Apparently. Is he not here with you?”

“No, Master Dick.”

“Great.” Dick tutted, leaning over to see Stephanie at the far end of the aisle. “Wowza.”

“Wow what?” Tim tried to look over Dick’s shoulder, but he received a nudge from Dick’s left knee for his effort.

“No peaking. Not until she makes her way down.” Dick continued to stare. “She looks good though.”

“Of course, she does.” Tim snapped. Dick looked back with a raised eyebrow, and Tim corrected his tone. “Of course, she does.”

“Hmm.” Dick looked back up at the rose window. Tim’s eyeline followed his, but Tim could not see anything that would make his brother glare so intently at the stained glass.

Minutes passed, and Bruce did not arrive. Stephanie, who was feeling more and more sick, gripped the flowers tighter.

The woosh of the doors opening and shutting quickly made Stephanie’s veil billow up and out, and when it settled, she very quietly swore to herself at the sight of four people who had snuck into the cathedral.

Kara pressed her hands to her cheeks, Bart waved, and Conner and Cassie stared.

“Wow.” Conner finally broke the silence.

Cassandra hissed like a cat, stepping forward like an overprotective bodyguard. “No! You four can’t be here!”

“Why not?” Kara complained.

Damian had also taken the defensive. “Because you were not invited! Don’t they teach manners in the mud pits you all grew up in?”

“Woah. Harsh little dude.” Conner dismissed Damian with a wave of his hand. “Listen, we just thought it was super rude to get ghosted the way we were, so as Tim’s rightful best man –”

“Well no, that’s me.”

“Shut up, Bart. As Tim’s closest friends, we just thought we had the right –”

She had never much patience for Conner’s posturing, finding his bravado a cover for how insecure he could be at times deeply frustrating. She liked Connor, she really did, when he was being genuine, so in that moment, when her stress levels were starting to peak, she cut in, asking,

“Can you sense Batman nearby?”

It caught Conner off guard, and he stopped and listened. She imagined if he were a dog his ears would be pricked up. “Urrr. No. Kara?”

“No.” She shook her head, making less of a show about it. “Why? Is he supposed to be?”

Cassandra sighed and grabbed Conner and Cassie’s hands, intending to drag them to a corner of one of the wings. “I will find them a seat. You want in on this? Sit quiet and behave.”

Taken aback, Conner began to argue. Cassie on the other hand, went along willingly, but turned to look at Stephanie.

“Good luck!” She chirped. “You look beautiful Stephanie.”

“Thanks.” Steph choked out. Kara noticed her friend’s growing distress and moved in close.

“We’ll keep quiet. Don’t worry. Think of us as an extra two bodyguards each for you and Tim. We won’t let anything happen to either of you.”

Hearing those words and seeing Bart’s emphatic nodding quietened Stephanie’s frantic heart. She realised that the idea of Bruce not catching the bad guy in time would lead to Tim being injured (or worst of all dying) was making her panic. She tried to make herself trust Bruce. And she tried to make herself trust the Titans. No way would Conner, Cassie or Bart let anything happen to Tim, and Kara would look out for her as much as Dick, Cassandra and Damian would.

Kara smiled as slowly Stephanie relaxed. When Cassandra returned for her and Bart, Kara gave Stephanie a hug, then tugged on Damian’s earlobe, who protested loudly at the physical contact. Bart waved goodbye, and then they were gone. Stephanie wondered if Tim had seen them, but as far as she could see through the fine mesh of the veil, Tim was hiding behind Dick far in the distance.

Cassandra returned once more, and the music started.

“No.” Stephanie whispered.

“You can walk alone. Damian and I are right behind you.”

“No.” Stephanie desperately wanted Bruce next to her, but for all she knew he was in trouble. He wouldn’t just flake on them. Well, Bruce Wayne might have. Batman? No way.

But she didn’t really have any other choice but to start walking.

She took one last unsteady breath, raised her chin, then began to walk down the aisle, Cassandra and Damian behind her.

She saw Tim jump out from behind Dick and take his place halfway down the aisle, where initially Bruce was supposed to hand her over, and she saw how handsome he looked, and she saw how happy he was. She smiled back, incredibly embarrassed, but also – strangely only to herself – very happy.

She didn’t pay attention to her college and high school friends sat with their phones out recording her, she didn’t look at the countless other rich folk she had been forced to make pleasantries with, she didn’t look at Mrs van Rijks endlessly judgemental eye, and she didn’t look at Rebecca Andrews once.

Babs and her dad would be somewhere in the pews, but Leslie was not, as far as she knew. Something had come up very last minute, as was a Doctor’s life, and she could no longer attend.

When she reached Tim, she curtsied a little so he could throw her veil back over her head. He was grinning so widely and did not seem one bit bashful about it.

“You seem happy.” She whispered, taking his arm as they finished the rest of the trek together.

“God knows why.”

She laughed, and they stopped in front of the Dean, who had a very serious expression on.

Stephanie felt Cassandra do last minute fixes, ensuring not a fold or curl was ill placed, took Stephanie’s bouquet from her, then went to sit down. Damian placed the rings on the Dean’s paper on the stand, then went to sit next to his sister. There was a very conspicuous gap between Damian and Alfred, but neither of them tried to think too hard about it. Dick seemed distracted, still looking up at the rose window, though no matter what angle Tim looked at it, he couldn’t see what his brother saw. It had finally started to rain. Some of the saints from the large stained-glass windows looked like they were sobbing as the water dripped down.

The music ended, and the Dean began the service in a booming tone that made Stephanie jump a little. She grabbed Tim’s hand tight and tried to focus on the service. She heard her mother sniff, and when she turned around, she saw Crystal looking very torn up. Stephanie smiled at her mother, trying to be encouraging, and Crystal mouthed back the word beautiful.

“…brings husband and wife together in the delight and tenderness of sexual union…” Stephanie whirled her head back around and tried very hard not to blush. Tim on the other hand, had turned as red as a tomato. “…in which each member of the family, in good times and in bad, may find strength, companionship and comfort, and grow to maturity in love.”

Tim squeezed her fingers, and the embarrassment faded. The Dean continued the opening monologue, and the pair pretended not to take anything too much to heart, Stephanie especially at the little bit about marriage being something “no-one should enter into it lightly or selfishly, but reverently and responsibly”.

Yes. Stephanie thought. Much responsible.

The Dean took a breath, then looked up at the congregation. “I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now.” Stephanie and Tim waited for someone to stand up, to yell or jeer, for a gun shot to ring out, but nothing happened, and the moment of silence passed. Shakily, Tim exhaled. The Dean looked to the pair, and over his glasses, asked, “The vows you are about to take are to be made in the presence of God, therefore if either of you knows a reason why you may not lawfully marry, you must declare it now.”

Tim saw out the corner of his eye Stephanie shake her head, and his smile returned. The Dean nodded at the two, and then begun the declarations.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, will you take Stephanie Brown to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.”

There was no pause in his reply, and he did not look away from her as he said it. It echoed from the acoustics of the cathedral, and distantly, Stephanie heard applauding from the outside. People had stuck around, despite the worsening weather, to cheer them on.

“Stephanie Brown, will you take Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

Her voice was quieter, and much more emotional, but no less lacking in conviction, when she replied with, “I will.”

More cheers came from outside, and Stephanie looked down, at her hidden feet.

“Take her right hand now.”

Tim did as he was told. They were already angled towards each other, but they shifted a little more, ensuring that the rest of the family and congregation faded from sight and mind. The Dean adjusted his glasses and peered at his notes. “Repeat after me then. I, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, take thee, Stephanie Brown…”

Tim steeled himself and began to repeat after the Dean.

“I, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, take thee, Stephanie Brown… to be my wife… to have and to hold… from this day forward… for better for worse… for richer for poorer… in sickness and in health… to love and to cherish… till death us do part...”

Stephanie did not look away from him as he made the vow, and he was forever grateful she did not. She was smiling in that beautiful way of hers, where her cheeks grew pink, her eyes were half shut in their arc, and if she were any happier she was going to start laughing, and with her laughter came the snorting. Not the most dignified, but it was more contagious than Joker Venom.

Or at least Tim thought that.

Stephanie took his right hand, then repeated the same vow back to Tim. When he was finally passed her wedding band, he watched her eyes bulge a little at how sparkly hers was, but she didn’t look too displeased as he slid it on, making the final vow of the session,

“…With my body I honour you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you.”

Stephanie had nice hands, like Tim. Long fingers that were well suited to playing the piano she rarely touched anymore. As a matter of fact, had she even looked at the piano in the apartment since she’d moved in?

She did have knuckles that would cause her arthritic issues in forty years’ time, as various injuries had left her with swollen knuckles. However, the worst it meant in that moment was the slight awkward pause as he fought to get the ring past her middle joint. She laughed, a bright giggle, as he screwed up his nose in concentration. He was trying very hard not to hurt her, and she stepped closer, as if it would make it easier for him.

It slid on, after a little bit of elbow grease, and sat comfortably around her left ring finger.

She repeated the same vow, then slid his own ring on.

There. Done.

Married?

Again, the pair waited for some commotion to happen. For Bruce to burst through the doors saying, So sorry I missed the start where are we at? For a bad guy to come crashing down, Batman high above, to bring the ceremony to an abrupt close.

But nothing of the sort happened, and the ceremony continued.

Tim realised that they were nearly at the end of the service. They were probably legally man and wife by this point… At what point were a couple legally married? Was it only valid until after they signed the register? Tim suddenly gawked at the fact he had overlooked this important factor.

It was soon forgotten though, when Stephanie leaned forward for a kiss, which he gave, mind going blank as it tended to do when kissing her. He forgot that his parents probably weren’t watching from on high, he forgot that Bruce was missing in action, he forgot Dick and Cassandra’s teasing smirks, Alfred’s English poker face, and Crystal and Damian’s reluctant happiness. He didn’t hear the church bells start to ring, the applause of the congregation, nor the final proclamation of the Dean.

He forgot about Rebecca Andrews pursed lips and expectant face.

Stephanie broke away first, and Tim slowly, reluctantly, took a step back. That was it right? They were married? Stephanie was his wife? For real?

It seemed Stephanie had a similar realization, and she looked to Tim. To his sinking stomach, it looked like she did not enjoy the thought.

Tim suddenly felt like he was going to burst into tears.

The Dean took their hands and joined them together. His voice giving one last boom, he announced,

“Those whom God has joined together let no man put asunder.”

A gun shot sounded, and Stephanie, acting on pure instinct, grabbed Tim and tugged him down on top of her. She didn’t know where the shot landed, but wherever it was, it hadn’t hit anybody. There was commotion, as people slowly realized what had just happened.

Abruptly, Dick’s eyes flittered upwards, and very sharply, very loudly, he exclaimed, “Shit.”

The rose window shattered, and two figures came crashing through. One of them was Batman, and he very gracefully landed on the font, balanced perfectly.

Glass rained down, Tim instinctively pressing down on Steph to protect her face from any shards.

Batman stood up, cape falling over the font, looking positively demonic in the Cathedral.

God, he really had wanted a spectacle, hadn’t he?

The other figure was a man all in black and he hit the floor hard. It took a moment, but everyone soon registered the number of guns he had attached to his person. He grunted, the shock of the impact too much for a moment, then he went limp, unconscious.

Instantly there was chaos, and the congregation erupted in shrieks and yells and shouts. People got to their feet and tried to flee. It took a moment, but Stephanie was still on the floor, Tim pressed on top of her, and she craned her neck, looking for Rebecca. There was another woosh of air, and suddenly her and Tim were surrounded by their family and the Titans. Dick moved away, towards the shooter, as Batman apprehended the man. Commissioner Gordon, quick to shift from happy family friend to police commissioner, also quickly joined the pair.

“We need the designer!” Batman emphasized to them.

“You both okay?” Conner asked, tugging Tim upwards. Tim looked a little winded, but was otherwise absolutely fine. Connor was having to yell over the commotion, and Stephanie, still on the floor, caught sight of Rebecca.

She was trying to leave the cathedral.

“No!” She cried out, jumping up.

“Steph!” Steph vaguely recognized the voice as Babs, but she was already gone, up and into the crowd.

She couldn’t run, even with the crowds that refused to part ways for her, as her dress was just too heavy and long to run effectively in, but that did not stop her from trying.

She apologized the entire time, shoving her way past people and allowing her train to be ripped to shreds as people stood on it. Rebecca had noticed her chasing after her, and had begun to try to escape faster.

Stephanie was the more experienced runner, so as soon as Rebecca managed to leave the Cathedral, Stephanie was immediately on her, throwing her down the stone steps and holding her tight. The rain was coming down as hard as ever, soiling her dress with the grime of Gotham. Her veil had come off when she ran, leaving her back prickling at the cold raindrops hitting her bare skin. The people who had so kindly been waiting for her and Tim to emerge for cheering were utterly baffled at the sight of the bride seemingly throwing a woman down the stairs.

The rain was so heavy that Stephanie felt herself becoming blind, knowing her makeup must have been running something terrible.

She became completely overwrought with emotion, and yelled out,

“Why were you killing all those brides and their husbands? Why did you kill Bishop Sherborne?”

She was screaming as if Rebecca had personally taken each shot, which was untrue, but Stephanie was surprised at how much the truth hurt. She’d still, in her gut, hoped this woman was innocent. Stephanie still didn’t even fully understand what involvement Rebecca had, but she was acting as if Rebecca had personally shot Tim.

People were pouring out of the Cathedral now, including Bart and Kara, who had managed with little trouble pushing to the front. They saw there was nothing to be done, and only watched.

Rebecca was in tears, shaking her head. “It isn’t me! It’s him! I swear, I’m a victim as much as you are! I didn’t have a choice! My career…”

Something about being called a victim set Stephanie off and she began to yell, “No! I’m sorry that you’ve been hurt, but seven people are dead! You had a choice!”

Commissioner Gordon came outside, ready to arrest Rebecca. Stephanie stood up and backed away, emotions running too high for her to think clearly, and turned to Bart and Kara. The rest of the family soon followed. Tim was soon enough pushing to the front and she instantly was in his arms. It was a ridiculous spectacle, they both knew, but they had done their job. Crystal quickly found her daughter, white faced and more than a little frantic, and needed more attending to then the couple who were shot at.

They would have to stay behind, offer an excuse of how they knew Rebecca was suspected of being complicit in murder (Batman had contacted Bruce after the engagement announcement, convenient as the man funded him after all, who had then asked if Tim and Steph were willing for their engagement to be put at risk the way it was, to which they had said yes, wanting to help). They were also informed of where Bruce was – officially (crashed his car on the way over and had gone straight to Leslie’s. Thank goodness it was nothing serious. Dick had gotten a look in his eye showing that he was already thinking of how to wreck another one of Bruce’s old cars) and they were told that, despite not getting to sign the register, the two were still – for all intents and purposes according the Church – married. Signing the register was just the civil, legal notice confirming it so.

Tim had seen the sick look on Stephanie’s face, and had gone with the “can we get back to you once we’ve calmed down” excuse.

The Dean, quite ready to be rid of the Wayne’s for another thirty years, agreed.

Left standing in the rain, knowing that this was going to be an absolute disaster come the following morning, and surrounded by frightened and confused wedding attendees, Tim went to bury himself in a hug with Stephanie. She granted it immediately and held on tight, her makeup completely ruining his perfect black suit.

“I’m not leaving.” She whispered, for his ears alone, and Tim’s heartbeat grew steady once more.

#timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #dc #my fic tag

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