#God I saw this in a museum close to two years ago and it remains one of the most striking and visceral works of art I’ve ever seen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alluringjae · 4 years ago

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until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

⤑ genre: fluff, humor, angst | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, college!au

⤑ warnings: jaemin mentions onlyfans as a joke, references to actual historical figures (some try to flirt with jeno lol) and literature, explicit language

⤑ author’s note: wow, i’ve had this idea for almost two years! this one was inspired by one of my favorite childhood movies, night at the museum. it definitely required a lot of research and brainstorming, and finally i brought it to life! it was so fun to play around with the characters, and even if majority of them are real people, this is all still fiction.

i also wanna mention one of my moots, marge for enlightening me about her life as an architecture major.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome (dm me if you want to be added)

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Dormitory rent was another thing to worry about aside from the inflated university tuition per semester. Although he’s lucky to have his parents backing him up already on it, paying the monthly rent for his dorm was the remaining objective on Jeno’s list.

Plus, money for food. The man was a heavy eater, following the whole “gym is life” mantra.

Splitting it already with two of his dorm mates turned best friends, Renjun and Jaemin, his plate felt lighter. But the question still lies: where on earth was he going to get the money?

He’s practically checked out every available part-timing job in university and anywhere near campus. Barista at the same café Jaemin works at, teaching assistant for an art school for kids, convenience store cashier, library assistant, all taken in a heartbeat. The burden of his friends paying his debt these past months took a toll on him, almost to the point he almost considered making an Onlyfans.

“Yah, just find something else! Part-timers are in demand right now!” Renjun intensely closed his laptop before his older friend gets any suggestive thoughts.

“I mean, you didn’t work out your body to look the way it is for nothing.” Jaemin pitched otherwise, lifting the front back up. “When do you want to start filming? Loads of chicks would dig a piece of you!”

The contradicting opinions of his friends were like the devil and angel debating on his shoulders. Useless, he gave this worry a rest and returned to drawing new plates. A common thing when you’re an architecture major. Those deadlines were nearing. Looks like he’ll pull another all-nighter again.

Good thing most of his classes were late in the morning until 6 pm.

As if someone from above heard his petition, Jeno saw a help wanted sign posted on the bulletin board outside of the university museum. He initially went there to document some artwork and architecture models from Greek and Roman times, further analyzing how they’re still apparent in modern buildings.

The sign explained the need for one part-timer from any college to cover the night shift of the museum due to the current night guard’s full semester absence. He only had to come in 3x a week, choosing his days since he was still a student. Even the pay was above average, considering that most part-timers never go beyond midnight. Jeno would, on the other hand, always staying for his projects or gaming with the boys. Drinking sometimes during late-night Fridays with his entire college crew.

The pay would leave him a load of extra cash for himself, thus he sent an application to the museum office right before he left. A week later, while he was out with the boys, he got a text from the office that they wanted to meet him again for a final interview first thing on Monday.

Perhaps it was having architecture as his course and a healthy physique that landed him the part-timer position. Mainly, the latter because guards required strong endurance and fighting skills when worse comes to worst. It would start at 9 pm until 6 am the following day, and there was a designated uniform of it too. Blue blazer with matching trousers, white dress top, and loafers.

Aside from the typical museum etiquette the head director instructed him about, there was an unofficial list of tips written on paper given from the night guard on leave when the director handed you over his box of office-related things.

Only read at the night guard office once you’re the remaining staff left.

He did as he was told like an obedient son, flipping the succeeding page.

To my temporary replacement,

This part-timing job is nothing regular than the other jobs. You’ll witness things as you’ve never imagined them to be, almost like witchcraft. You’ll be lost and maybe frightened, or that’s how I felt the first time because no one led me through it all those years ago. Lucky for you, I made this small guide on how to properly take care of the place that the other staff doesn’t know about.

Before you proceed, I request you take a 5-minute stroll around the lobby first to understand what I’m talking about. After such, go back to the office or somewhere quiet then browse through the guide as quickly as you could.

Art is timeless here, so they need to be taken care of.

Good luck!

Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

Nothing could’ve prepared Jeno for what’s to come once he unlocked the office door. They say that art brings so much color to our life, allowing us to feel all sorts of emotions in a glimpse. But no one ever interpreted art to be literally alive and walking in the halls.

Behold, random wax figures and marble sculptures that he’s seen in the past roamed the hallways, as well as the paintings were interacting with each other side by side. Even the standee of a puppy from the entrance played fetch with one of those sculptures. He swore he looked like Hermes the messenger god from his arrow headpiece and sandals.

It made more sense why the guard on leave explained his feelings during the first day because it resembled Jeno’s. But unlike that guard, Jeno sucked it up. No one ever does well on the first day, even if others say otherwise. The first day was a learning experience, so he collected his thoughts even though the goosebumps triggered his body during that one rotation.

There was an indoor garden, already locked by the day guard earlier. The only room without any art piece, where students lounge to study the plants or relax in nature.

The sculptures section ahead, showcasing various fictional figures specifically from Greek mythology, chattered away about family drama and beliefs. The sculptures of Hades and Zeus, according to their title plate, argued relentlessly about power while Athena always intervened by shouting or even throwing arrows or daggers to any of the lightbulbs there.

That was one rule in the guide, but Jeno didn’t know yet until he came inside the room and swerved the attention of the arguing duo.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeus, in the center, straightened his posture on his throne to present himself in a more regal way. “Are you perhaps the temporary replacement of Sir Sanghoon?”

“Sir Sanghoon’s stand-in is rather good looking, don’t you think?” Hera mused, stepping down from her throne beside Zeus to take a closer look at the taller male. Her cold fingers trailed his jaw until his chest, where his heart was beating intensely. She even pinched his toned bicep, mouthing wow.

“Truly handsome you are, my dear. So full of life, please introduce yourself to us.”

While Jeno introduced himself to everyone in that room, he answered any sorts of questions they had for him too. From his age, educational background, hobbies, Aphrodite just had to ask him if he had a girlfriend because he was that handsome.

“Nope, I’m single. With my degree in architecture, the requirements are so heavy I can’t even try dating.”

Mentioning his degree excited the gods, telling him how their people created and designed all these temples to house them and perform rituals. They loved it so much. This was a copy-paste of what Jeno learned from his history classes, and for a first, he’s hearing the perspective of the Greek gods.

Mind-boggling that he hasn’t fully freaked out yet. That’s what Athena anticipated when Sanghoon told her about his short leave, putting her in charge of everyone for the meantime while the replacement settled down.

The college museum was built during the late 70s as a gift from one of the alumni. It was for the purpose to preserve history and educate college students outside the classroom. The Greek mythology exhibit was the oldest one, making Athena have more seniority. Over her stay, she’s seen every new guard lose their senses during the first night. Some not even returning for a second night. She got used to every outcome, and so far, only 8 people lasted after the first night. A couple of students in the 70s and 80s, Sanghoon in the 90s, and now Jeno was one of them.

“Jeno, aren’t you terrified by us? You just got a job in a museum that comes to life every night, and it’s not a normal thing.”

“Well, I’m still shaken up about it. But it’s my first night, and it’s when I learn everything about the place from head to toe. Plus, I really need the money.”

“Money for what? But you’re young, a student even!”

“Yes, I am. However, I do pay for the rent in my dorm. So, this job is like my first big responsibility, and I want to perform well.”

Athena commended his sense of authority, capable of leading himself. She noticed how well-spoken and poised he is, respecting and listening to everything the gods and goddesses said even if they were nonsense. She never liked to compromise with her power, taking a while to like Sanghoon back in the day. Though Jeno looked like a natural leader on his first night. If he could take care of himself well, he’s skilled to take care of the rest in the museum as well.

Plus she had full control on the nights he won’t be there, especially the weekend.

With his potential, Athena mentored him the entire night about the gist of the entire museum. Every upcoming leader needs an intelligent mentor, right? She was naturally gifted with worthy leadership skills, managing Jeno like her own child.

Athena explained how the museum came to life, which was through a royal golden plate from the Oriental room. It was a gift from a popular sorceress in China to an affluent family from the Han dynasty, who wished them a long life after she was saved from invaders due to them. The plate preserved over time, becoming an artifact. Its power remained immortal, mutating to bring life wherever it goes. In this case, the museum since its arrival in the late 70s as well.

“That’s why the Oriental room must be locked always so no one could touch or break the plate.”

After she ordered Jeno to lock the mentioned room, alongside the Foreign Art Exhibit Room which he checked out for his class, she led him to the best view of the entire museum. Center of the second floor, where stairs were on both sides. Jeno marveled at the vivacious atmosphere, witnessing actual art living, breathing, and enjoying themselves.

“Unreal, right?” She leaned in the railing, scanning through the chatty paintings.

Jeno also leaned down, deep in thought and wonder. “Absolutely, Athena. How come no one knows about this? Art coming to life? It’ll invite more students to the museum.”

“That goes against a golden rule as a night guard in this museum.” She replied bluntly. “The life that goes on inside this museum at night must remain a secret to the public.”

Jeno predicted this kind of response, having watched too many films where anything supernatural mustn’t be revealed. Although he liked the advantage of knowing something this powerful, he’d never abuse it.

Athena’s intellect was beyond the world, seamlessly reading Jeno’s expression and what he was thinking. He had good intentions even if he’s a bit mischievous. She needed to keep a keen eye on him, but for now, he needed to explore on his own.

“Anyways, Sanghoon still left out some other details. So if you have any questions, I’ll be at my exhibit trying to shut my father and my uncle up again.”

“Can you not use any weapons to do so?”

“Can’t make any promises, Jeno.” She slyly cracked her knuckles and neck as if she was fighting another battle.

Jeno was silently left with himself, finally browsing through Sanghoon’s guide while seated in one of the museum benches.

It consisted of 25 rules, wherein the first two rules consisted of locking up. One, for the doors and gates of the museum, so no art piece could escape. If they do, they will turn into dust when the sun is out according to Athena. Two, locking the Oriental and Foreign Art Rooms, which was already done.

Rule #5: Let Mochi the puppy from the lobby tag along with you; feed him treats if you have any.

On cue, the little guy barked from the corridor and raced to his side. Jeno carried him, babying him for a little and letting him lick his face a few times before putting him back down. He’s surely going to the pet store first thing in the morning with the museum allowance the director gave him.

Since he was on the second floor, he read and followed the rules that fit in before returning downstairs. On the other side of the floor were the wax figures exhibitions: one for prominent men in history while the other for prominent women. Well, more people to get acquainted with.

It’s the exchange of gasps and profanities he received when he chose the latter room. Seeing their faces, these were women he’s learned in school and online. Now in the (fake) flesh. Except for one girl he’s never heard of, unbothered in her corner sketching her life away in a sketchpad. But before he could check who she was, a suggestive touch on his arm distracted him.

“My, oh my, Hera wasn’t lying when she said that the new night guard was a fine specimen.” By her dark blue eyeshadow and eyeliner with the snake-like crown, Cleopatra studied him like he was one of the most renowned art pieces. Even patting his chest, abdomen, and arms with both her hand, Jeno caught a suggestive glint in her eyes and a smirk across her red lips.

Rule #13: Reject Cleopatra’s seductive advances at all costs.

“Goodness, Cleopatra. It’s only his first night, and you’re scaring him.” With her accent, round eyes, and a chic formal outfit, she carried a posh aura while unhesitatingly scolding the Queen of the Nile.

“Come on now, Diana. He’s stunning, who wouldn’t go after him?” If no one knew her, you’re not reading up on your world history. She’s said to have been a lovely and intelligent woman, gone so soon. Jeno definitely understood why after she detached Cleopatra’s raging hands off him.

Rule #14: Treat Princess Diana and Hera like your own parent.

“Your highness.” Jeno nodded at her out of respect, only making her chuckle uncontrollably.

“No need to address me like that, love. Now, come here.” She widened her arms for Jeno, hugging him amiably. He sensed her motherly warmth, accepting such a gesture. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Harry. Welcome to the night shift of the museum, love.”

Similar to the Greek mythology exhibit, he introduced himself and responded to any questions that the women wax figures may have. Good for him, they weren’t crossing any borders and kept him at ease.

“A student like you working at night to pay rent?” Katherine Johnson, an African-American NASA mathematician whose calculations led to the success of a lot of famous spaceflights, cannot believe her ears. Students must only focus on school, nothing else. “What about your studies, boy?”

Rule #15: Engage in academic discussions with Katherine Johnson whenever you can.

“Most of my classes are in the afternoon, Miss Katherine. So I’ll sleep in the entire morning later and study during my breaks.”

“Mr. Jeno, what do you like to do outside of work?” Anne Frank, a German-Dutch teenager whose revolutionary diary that documented her life in hiding from the Nazis gained popularity worldwide after publication dreamily asked from her section of the exhibit. Her life was robbed of greatness merely because of her religion and war.

Rule #16: Bring delicious food or gifts to Anne Frank.

“Well, I like to bike with my friends, exercise, and draw whatever comes into mind!”

Everyone he’s met so far acquired pleasure in knowing about who he was and his passion for architecture, ridding the “freaking out” phase Athena assumed he had. Yet not everyone in this exhibit bothered to give him a shot.

Jeno’s attention from Anne talking about her crush towards Peter van Daan, a teenage boy who lived with her, switched to the section beside her, where an unacquainted figure was zealously sketching as if something was due to the following day. It reflected how he’d look when he’s cramming one of his plates due to first thing in the morning. While he properly excused himself, he quietly gazed at the way this woman scrunched her eyebrows when she erased something then drew it again. She was someone he’s never seen or heard before, reading the information plate in front of him about her.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N), Explorer and Author. (1854-1900)

Wealthy women in the Victorian Era only served one purpose in society: marry a man from a prestigious family, have his children and join whatever interests they have. However, for (Y/N), she wasn’t going to conform to those standards.

Born into the affluent house of (Y/L/N), she was the youngest of 8 children. She was said to be the kindest and sweetest sibling out of everyone, not capable of hurting anyone or anything. She said it herself that she can’t throw away a dying flower because it’s too painful. While 5 of her older brothers were sent to school, she stayed at home with her 2 older sisters Cecilia and Amelia where she learned how to play the piano and take voice lessons from impressive teachers. Due to the huge age gaps between them (12 and 8 respectively), she never felt close with them. She was only closest to the 6th and 7th siblings, her twin brothers Benjamin and Liam whom she only had a 2-year gap. She was also best friends with one of the scullery maids her age, Lily, because she found her amusing that than the boring rich girls her mother forced to interact with.

The moment it bothered her that she wanted to live a more meaningful life was when Amelia got married. She was 12 years old at the time, and it left her as the last unwed daughter in the family. Badly did she want to revolt, which she gradually did. Instead of practicing piano, she’d sneak in to read every book in her father’s office. She secretly studied the notes of her older brothers from school and even dressed as a boy numerously thanks to Benjamin and Liam to join their classes or field trips.

This was her routine up until the age of 18 when she stomped her foot down and expressed to her parents that she wasn’t going to let Victorian society dictate her. The night before her parents were bound to send her to her great aunt’s home down South to sort her out, she successfully snuck out her house thanks to Lily, Benjamin, and Liam. It’s another good thing that she saved a lot of money for that moment.

Off she went across Europe first, then sailed to America and even parts of Asia. Initially under the name Lilibe, coined from picking the first two letters of her brothers and best friend, she documented her days and nights through her journals and sketches. Over time, she sent them to her brothers for publication. It started the franchise, “The Adventures of the Young and Free Lilibe”. There are 10 books under it.

She learned French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean by herself as she made friends from those places. It was rare of someone like her to be fluent in Oriental languages, surprising locals every time she spoke to them. She was the only explorer to vividly describe life in different Asian lands in English, talking about their history and culture. With her accurate drawings of diverse citizens and their daily lives, it educated a lot of those living back home in Europe about them rather than speaking lowly of them.

In Seoul did she stayed the longest until her death from pneumonia at the young age of 46.

In her posthumous work, Finding Me, did she reveal her real identity, dedicating it to her parents whom she apologized and expressed her love for them despite everything that occurred between them. She talked about the last years of her life in Seoul, how locals were so nice and inviting to her, and how she adopted kids instead of having her own through the years.

“It’s not because I never found love in men. It’s more like I found love in doing things I’m passionate about. Traveling, learning new cultures, it outweighed the human need of romance.”

Due to her thrill in taking risks and embarking on wondrous adventures, it brought inspiration to a lot of young girls pressured to marry at that time to pursue what they really want.

A remarkable background you had, Jeno contemplated. How come no one discussed her in his classes?

You kept brushing the bangs of your hair back as it fell repeatedly. But you got irritated instantly because it sabotaged your drive, you brought out a hairpin from her desk and attached it on both sides. But when you shifted your angle of focus, the corner of your eye locked with Jeno’s attentive gaze.

He didn’t flinch, even he should’ve. He wasn’t one to linger his look on anyone’s physical appearances, but your story and the passion on your face as you sketched mesmerized him. He was charmed, to say the least.

“Uhm, hello there?” You broke the silence due to your uneasiness about it. What’s his deal?

Jeno bowed, reintroducing himself to you. As soon as his presence settled in the room when Cleopatra attempted to hit on him, you could’ve cared less. Though this man was a first for you, a first in a long time as all guards would feel intimidated by you during the first night. Even your sharp tongue didn’t faze him. “Staring is rude, sir. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She did,” He wandered through the exterior of your section, by the fence that separated you and him. Not breaking eye contact, his eyes turned into moon crescents as he smirked with trouble. “Though she also told me to appreciate the art too.”

Snorts noisily exhaled from Cleopatra, who took the center section of the exhibit, succeeded by Princess Diana’s whispered gasps and Katherine’s side-eyeing Anne beside her while she taught her math. That was an odd way a guard conversed with you, but Jeno was merely doing what the rules stated. Partly, he was impressed with his cheesy pick-up line, partly embarrassed because he’s never spoken like this to anyone.

Rule #17: Act playfully around (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to break the tension; she’s a harsh one.

There was irony between the information he read about your life versus the wax model. Even when you faced sexism and ran away according to your history, never were you impolite to anyone in your life. You couldn’t even kill a lurking fly when it roams around your food! It showed Jeno a possibility that as much as you’re just a wax version of someone famous in the past, maybe the external environment around you had a heavy influence too.

“You fool!” His confidence exasperated you, urging you to persistently throw balls of paper with your failed sketches at him. No one dared to talk to you like that, most especially a night guard. “Take that for your comment!”

If you thought he’d scram away and act repentant, you were proven wrong. His reflexes were parallel to a spider, capturing every single paper ball without fail. Up and down his body went, one arm held on to them and no more were left on your part. Never a single defeat during the first meeting in years, but that seemed to alter now.

“Give up already, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Jeno remarked vibrantly as he discarded your mess in the trash bin behind him. If he managed to get everyone to like him tonight, he wanted to make sure to have you onboard too.

Whatever agenda he had, you weren’t up for it. You’d treat him the same way you usually treated Sanghoon for the past 20 something years: cold and ignorant. From your stool, you left your comfortable position to come face to face with this man. He better be grateful for that barrier in between you, or else you would’ve caused mayhem.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Mr. Lee.” Your mouth gave a half-smile, clenching on the bars to liberate your annoyance. Before you could fend back, that’s when Princess Diana intervened between your heated dialogue.

“Oh heavens, children!” She stood by the barrier, mostly to protect the newbie Jeno with her body. “(Y/N), he just wanted to know you. Must you be so cross?”

This Princess Diana embodied all the traits the real one had: soft-spoken, intelligent, and protective. She’s gotten so used to your gradual temper, staying on standby whenever anyone tried to mess with you. Even if it was harmless, you could get so mean!

“Diana, he was mocking me! Saying such a sleazy phrase as if to amuse me, ha! Not a chance, I hate people like that.”

“Not us women though; you just despise men in general.”

“And you’re absolutely right!” With a smug smile, you greedily rejoiced. “Anyways, escort this disgrace out. I’m not in the mood to get angry when I have a lot of inspiration on mind right now.”

While you resumed your sketching to let go of that extra steam, Jeno was left with Diana who apologized on your behalf. Your pride was too high to do that, and as the motherly figure among them, she always took care of things in your exhibit.

“I’m so sorry for that, Jeno. She’s not really like this, but I know how much you tried your best. It was quite a fresh spectacle honestly.”

Whatever was responsible for your abrasiveness, Jeno yearned to know. He couldn’t understand who you were yet even knowing your life story. All he wanted was to get along with everyone. It was the key to successfully maintain his job for the next 6 months.

“How can I make her come around then?”

A demanding question that no one had a solid answer to. Diana recalled how much Sanghoon didn’t let your dislike for him get to him, maintaining a respectful boundary in between each other after his past attempts. Though with Jeno, observing how he riled you up and your focus entirely on him, she hasn’t seen anything like it since the 80s.

There was something in Jeno that may just get you to warm up and return to your kind nature.

“Aside from acting playful, as Sanghoon recommended, I can think of two ways, love.” By the doors of her exhibit, where Jeno was already waltzing the corridor to visit other rooms, she suggested smartly. “One, argue back to her opinions. She hates whenever anyone tries to get her way, but boy, you’re just as wise as her. No one was brave enough to peeve on her until you came.”

“How about the second way?”

“Do your research, love. Aside from libraries, you have those small technology devices that allow you to search up anything.” She tousled Jeno’s brown locks as if it were her actual son’s. Some habits just don’t die when you do.

“Brush up on your history, Jeno. Not only will it help you with (Y/N), but it’ll serve purposefully with the other art pieces here.”

Boy, he was ready to crash in his bed for a few hours after all those interactions. His introverted nature required to be revitalized.

Towards the last hours of his shift, the art pieces who’ve strolled in the first floor lessened his plate by not leaving any major clutter behind. As if she listened to him, Athena didn’t break any lightbulbs too.

His main highlight would be meeting the men of the historical male section, who flaunted a more humorous ambiance. Freddie Mercury from Queen insisted he drink a glass of his wine and to bring more wine next time, which he denied since it would against Sanghoon’s rules. King Sejong the Great and Martin Luther King Jr. argued back and forth over the most random things (pineapple on pizza specifically), while Steve Jobs mediated whenever one crossed the line. Meanwhile, William Shakespeare was too preoccupied in his writing and speaking to himself about his books, wondering how to improve them.

During one of his breaks today, he multitasked drawing a new plate with his research on every art piece to know them better. He started with the exhibit of sculptures of the Greek gods and goddesses, which were Zeus, Hera, Hades, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus, and Circe. They weren’t the complete roster because the rest were in other museums across the globe, as said by Athena before sunrise. The majority of them he knew what they were in charge of, but the rest were foggy to his knowledge. Typing away and jotting notes down, he started downloading his favorite jazz songs too.

Rule # 4: Play jazz music to the paintings on the first floor so they can relax and dance within their frames.

Circe is a minor goddess, the daughter of the sun god Helios. She’s recognized for her versatility in incantations and herbs, capable of transforming people into animals. From Jeno’s perspective, she’s mostly within her space with her journals and magic wand, trying new spells or combinations of herbs. For the latter, he had to keep a closer eye on.

Rule #9: Don’t let Circe, god of potions, into the Oriental Room to get plants and herbs.

He discovered that Dionysus is the god of wine, happiness, and theatre. That’s why every god in the exhibit had full wine glasses during their gathering. It also added up why Freddie Mercury always comes to him when his bottles run empty, though he mustn’t go overboard.

Rule #18: Make sure Freddie Mercury doesn’t get too drunk from the wine of Dionysus; he might make numerous scenes if he does.

After his lone studying session, he took a short trip to the pet and convenience stores to buy food. He got a dumbfounded look from Jaemin back in the dorm room, who was studying for one of his quizzes in Biology in a couple of hours.

“Woah what’s with this stash? Is it for yourself or something?”

“The museum surprisingly has a lot of tasks needed to be done at night. And no, not from my wallet but the allowance they gave me before you get a heart attack.” Jeno plopped on his solo bed, covering his face with a pillow.

“Thank God.” A relaxed sigh escaped Jaemin’s lips, taking back his balled-up fists meant for his roommate. “I think I would’ve stormed that boring museum if they made your broke ass spend a cent.”

“Boring?” Jeno removed the cushion hastily, eyeing his busy and coffee-high roommate. The scent of black coffee from his mug spread in the room, assuming that this upcoming test was testing his roommate’s patience again.

Not even trying to look at Jeno while reviewing his handwritten notes, Jaemin continued giving his opinion. “Museum culture is dead, Jeno. Not everyone has the time to roam around one, plus people can always look up the artifacts online these days.”

People were entitled to their own opinions on numerous things, though Jeno begged to differ with his roommate’s. Especially after witnessing the magic of the night shift, you shouldn’t merely judge a book by its cover. In this case, you shouldn’t judge an artwork or art piece merely on its history and legacy.

Maybe because his roommate was in the science department, he thought this way. A lot of art students regularly visit the museum both for fun and for their classes, and Jeno was one of them. Though he was too sleepy to explain his side, he let it slide for now and snoozed throughout the late afternoon.

An hour before the start of his shift, Jeno promenaded the emptying museum to inspect anything else he might’ve missed out on from last night. There were two areas according to his rotation, both in the first floor.

One was the Diorama Room. Divided into 4 sections, highlighting some of the well-known ancient civilizations in world history. Ancient Egypt and Ancient China to your left, Ancient Rome and Ancient Maya to your right. They acted as if they were the actual people during those times, giving Jeno a laugh when they cracked jokes in between. Such tiny figures, yet the rule for them said otherwise.

Rule # 7: The small figurines in the Diorama Room are feisty, so make sure they don’t fight with one another again.

The remaining room left was the Theater Room. He’s never been here, though his art friends have for film festivals held by the university.

The interior of it was set to look like an actual cinema place you’d see in a mall. There was a mini lobby with a few posters of iconic films over the years. Singin’ in the Rain, Back to the Future, Titanic, those were some framed and hung on the wall. There were two other doors there: one leading to the chairs and the other where the movie projector was. The latter room was pretty riveting, wherein you can choose to watch old short films through an 88mm film projector or switch to a cd player for the newer releases.

Back to those posters, they weren’t an exception to the magic and a simple rule was left for Jeno to do.

Rule # 10: Chatter with the movie posters in the lobby of the Theater Room; they love meeting new faces.

Since there wasn’t anyone checking out the Art Rooms on the second floor, he closed them. Though as he was about to lock the Oriental Room, the ravishing plants around the royal plant appealed his interest. Said to hold magical properties from his research, Jeno was reminded of another rule to keep in mind for later.

Rule # 3: The fake flowers in the Oriental Room come to life too at night, so when no one is lurking, water it diligently.

Instead of lounging at Sanghoon’s office first, he brought his important items to the front desk of the lobby and continued sketching his plate. He wanted to watch the art come back alive with his two eyes. Usually, he’d have coffee when he does his work, but due to another crucial rule in the guide, he’d rather not take the risk.

Rule # 6: The lobby room can get rowdy, so keep any drinks away from important items.

On the dot, the cries and yawns from the art pieces around him reverberated. Closing his sketchpad, his night guard mode was on. Connecting his laptop on the aux cord of the museum speakers, he tapped play on his playlist of jazz music that’ll last for the entire shift duration. As the first notes flooded the entire vicinity, sounds of joy left the lips of each painting. Some were humming, dancing, and even singing along.

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

“This Jeno lad really did the heavens’ work quick!”

Having the sense of accomplishment on his sleeve, the small barks of his fluffy pal reached closer to him. As he kneeled to find him, he was only taken by surprise as Mochi excitedly jumped on him. Tumbling over, Jeno chuckled innocently as Mochi licked his face numerously. This puppy was friendly, easily liking everyone at first sight. He wasn’t as choosy like Daegal, the puppy of his friend Chenle studying Business Management.

Once he composed himself and cradling the dog like his own, he fed him a dog treat from the desk.

“Good boy, Mochi!” He rubbed his fur while the puppy happily munched on it, ready to fulfill more of his duties.

He skipped the Greek mythology exhibit since Athena was doing a good job not letting anyone go overboard with their powers, though he’ll check in again in a few hours. He met the posters of the theater room, who were celebrities he grew up watching on tv. Sanghoon was right; they were the kinder group in the entire museum because they were more laidback.

On to the second floor, all the female wax figures lounged by the male section due to another lecture from Shakespeare. Although the guide informed him that most of the time it could get boring, this lecture was more stimulating. On his platform, he elaborated with conviction the lines of one of his famous books, Romeo and Juliet. A must-read book back in his high school days, there’s no way Jeno could’ve missed that out.

From the looks of it, Jeno perceived that Shakespeare was performing spoken word poetry due to him reading only Romeo’s lines while Cleopatra read Juliet’s beside him. This kind of show was one of the sources of entertainment to these figures, so Jeno leaned by the side of the door to listen. After all, the famous author of it was a few feet away. Cleopatra channeled such a naïve character to her ability, absentmindedly saying as she clutched her chest.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose-”

The flow of an engaged Cleopatra was abrupted by the loud yell from Shakespeare in front, specifically to an amused Jeno. “Jeno, my boy! Welcome back!”

Such an announcement diverted everyone’s attention to the back, some running to Jeno to give their respective greetings. It’s rare for everyone to feel at ease with a new guard, taking them weeks to approach them due to the intimidation. Though Jeno’s bright presence felt welcoming, so they accepted it. Perhaps it’s because of his youth, it reminded them of theirs too.

Shakespeare highly requested (or forced) Jeno to take his part as Romeo, intrigued to watch someone younger read his lines. Since most of the male wax figures were aged, it never satisfied Shakespeare so he jumped on this opportunity as quickly as he could. With the roaring cheers from the other figures, Jeno might as well give it a try. It wasn’t like his friends were here to clown him like they usually would if he did something humiliating.

Jeno shockingly liked this activity as he wasn’t much of a performer on stage, but someone who does the behind-the-scenes of it. He realized as he read the lines from the book Shakespeare asked him to follow along with why people held university-wide spoken word shows a few times per semester. He was no actor, but it’s delightful to have tried it at least once in his life.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” As if the edge of the platform was the balcony of Juliet (or Cleopatra rather), he knelt as he ardently spoke his lines. He’s emphasizing this rush of uncontrollable desire for her, rambling whatever he would do to get the girl.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Cleopatra questioned from her chair, inching closer to the young boy. Even outside character will she attempt to charm Jeno, but Jeno was quick to catch it and kept his distance.

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it, and yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Everyone was condensed by their top-notch acting, as if this was the actual play unfolding before them. Jeno wasn’t so sure how he got himself in character without preparation, yet he felt what his character felt. He comprehended the material a lot better now than when he was still in high school.

However, there was always that one killjoy to ruin the heartfelt mood.

“How dumb is it to say that you’re in love after the first glance?” You opposed, putting the spotlight on you. This book was said to be a classic in literature, but as you matured physically and mentally, you could no longer agree with it. “Isn’t love the same thing that killed Romeo and Juliet in the end?”

Remembering what Princess Diana told him, he wasn’t going to let this pass. He wanted to give a piece of his mind too, caring less if the show must be paused. “Love is an emotion we don’t ask to feel. It’ll come to us when we least expect it, even when the timing of it can be crucial.”

“Of all the people Juliet could’ve gone for, it just had to be the enemy.” In all the years you’ve been brought to life, no one dared to test your opinions because they were aware of your intelligence, from the streets to the books. When someone bark, you’d bite back. Hard. “With all due respect, I love your works, Shakespeare. Yet the fate you’ve given these two at a young age was grave, could’ve you given them a better outcome or another character to love instead?”

“Giving them extra characters to love won’t address the horrific life fact that love can be dangerous. Regardless of what status you’re in, you can’t stop the attraction towards someone. The heart wants what it wants.” Jeno pressed his hand to his chest, pumping it a bit. Unknown to you and him, the audience found more entertainment in your argument. Anne, who was munching on the popcorn Jeno gave her earlier, passed the snack to Katherine who just couldn’t stop watching.

If this man wanted a challenge, you’re all ears. Who was he to compete with you? Was he not intelligent to know who you are?

“So are you insinuating that we just go with the flow? Be a slave to our emotions too and let them dictate our next motives?”

“Slave is such a strong word to use, (Y/N). But it’s not like we can’t choose who want to love because we actually can. In this case, Romeo chose Juliet and vice versa.”

“But what happens if the person you choose doesn’t choose you in return?”

“At least you tried your best, right? It’ll hurt like hell though, but it won’t last forever.” From his kneeling position, Jeno strutted his way with confidence. Trying not to let it mess with you, your extreme stare at him as if they’ll shoot lasers. Inches away from you, Jeno declared. “Love always has risks, that’s a given. Romeo and Juliet still tried and followed their hearts despite the downfall. But it was a needed downfall to get the message across.”

“No one would be that foolish to risk their lives for love though, right? Life is so precious, why would they do such a thing?”

“Even if they knew what their lives were without each other, they still preferred living a life where they were both in the picture. Therefore, they tried all they could that time because the regret of not doing anything at all carries a heavier burden.”

Whenever anyone argued with you, their debating points they spat back would further piss you off because most of the time, it never made sense. Back when this rude man told you to go home and be a wife in your earlier years of exploring, you civilly told him to fuck off, kicking his balls because he cornered you in an alley. For the first time, a man who tried to challenge you actually made sense. Was it because he lived in a modern time, where minds were more open? Because of the amount of sexism you faced in the past, you’ve turned a blind eye to the current period.

But your high pride maintained, not submitting into anything he said. “I still think it’s stupid to risk your life for love. There’s no such thing as having only one true love anyways, and you have to be alive to see it.”

“Fair point, but again, the feeling of regret and carrying it your entire life doesn’t fade easily. It’ll make you reflect on the what-ifs, and it’s heart-wrenching.” Jeno digressed, walking around you in circles. He’s intentionally trying to drive you mad, but he could care less. He wanted someone to put you in your place and open your mindset. “The question stands: would you rather try and go for it even knowing its risks or regret not even trying for the rest of your existence? Quite ironic for me to ask you that, don’t you think?”

Past the information board, Jeno researched more of your life history online. Your whole life was grounded on risks, from breaking the standards of your society, leaving your family and home country, to fending yourself from disrespectful men. Rather than living the original life expected from you, you chose not to because it didn’t make you happy. Such a risktaker he knew you are, but with the topic of love, he wondered why you were on a fence with it. Though some records stated you’ve had rendezvouses with a few men in your journeys, love was never in the equation. The single life was what you chose and you were more than satisfied, plus your adopted kids filled that supposed void anyways.

This man may have studied your history, but so much he still doesn’t know. Information that never made the books because you chose not to write or tell anyone about it. Aside from the discomfort growing in your chest, everyone else felt the awkward tension when you were lost for words.

Never been defeated in an argument, until tonight. Your mind lost its drive and willpower.

“Touché, Lee Jeno.” Indeed, his name you’re acquainted with. Numerously passed around in your exhibit, mostly from the lips of Cleopatra, who’d fantasize all the graphic things she would do to him. Too much information, least of your interest. “Please excuse me. I’d like to work on my sketches to ease my mind.”

As you quietly exited the room, an all too familiar sculpture leaned against the railings overseeing one side of the museum. Just like you, she hated accepting defeat or compromises. She always rooted for you to win. With a faint chuckle, “Facing a loss for the first time, I see.”

“Don’t even lecture me about it, Athena. I’m still fired up, and I need to relax.”

“Jeno is a different breed, isn’t he?” She stuck to your side, strolling wherever your feet led you.

“Different as in he’s a man? Yes. What else is there to it?”

“Men these days aren’t as trashy as those back in the day though. Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“Last time I did, it destroyed my heart. I’m not allowing myself to let men in even as a friend, Athena.”

She knew exactly what you were referring to, not touching on it further. No way will you let heartbreak or disappointment from men bother you. Even Sanghoon’s sweet company took a while to tolerate. You really needed to sketch this out on your pad right now, excusing yourself from Athena’s presence. Isolation wasn’t new to you; it’s what’s protecting your entire being. Immortal as you are, you had to recover from the past pain so the next decades won’t feel as brash.

You hoped to return to your old self when you were a fresh new figure in the 70s. So naïve, only proud of your accomplishments, and purely happy.

While Jeno continued to finish his scene in respect to Shakespeare, he received a standing ovation for his mini-show. Cleopatra didn’t expect such talent from him, growing fonder of the younger male. Whether she seduces him or not, he was never afraid to try new things and she liked that about him.

“Bravo, love!” Princess Diana praised, clapping at him.

Although Jeno appreciated all this positive attention, his thoughts bounced back to your and your stance on love. The debate earlier was just out of being playful, interested to hear your opinions. Though, he’s worried that he might’ve offended you. It may have been time to finally witness something like that, but then again, he was sure he touched something personal to you. No matter how you tried to fight it off, your eyes can’t lie. Staring down at him, there was pain beneath it. Your eyebrows scrunched to the center, thinking deeply yet remained utterly speechless.

A win he didn’t feel good about.

“It’s time she encountered something new in the years she’s been here. Give her some space tonight, then try again to reach out to her. Kindly this time; I’m not in the mood for another brawl that could end up like the Greek gods’ past fights downstairs.”

These clever words shared by Katherine loitered his mind for the rest of the night, eventually going back to finishing his current plate since everyone was behaving well. As great it is to get the approval of the majority, he tried brainstorming ways to make you like him too.

He understood the whole “men are trash” concept in today’s modern society, but if he could prove it wrong to at least one person, it would be you. Whatever is holding you back, he only hoped that you’d let it go. Questionably unsure as to why he was so persevering, he concluded that it was so he could perform his job better as the night guard. Set higher standards than Sanghoon even.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

The capability for you to ignore his efforts remained strong, whether he was pestering you over small things or debating with you again about anything. Life, books, morals, the two of you always head butt each other. Anything good he did, you searched for a flaw in it. Whatever acts he’s tried and continued trying, not one flinch from you ever.

Even if that’s his state with you, his job no longer felt stressful nor strenuous. He’d try to sleep more on days he was off-duty. Although the fatigue of staying beyond his usual sleeping time was inevitable, he compromised to take a nap lasting an hour or two when the art pieces weren’t acting frisky.

Plus, there have been multiple times they adapted to any alterations so his physical well-being wouldn’t fall sick. Per order of Princess Diana and Hera, who by instinct became his motherly figures here, only wanting what’s best for the kids.

He became accustomed to everything that went on at night, discovering things on his own without Sanghoon’s guide. Anne talked about how much she missed biking in her neighborhood, so one night, Jeno snuck his bike inside and let her use it around the first floor. With proper monitoring so none of the paintings would be unbothered or pieces wouldn’t tumble.

Hermes the messenger god was fluent in every language possible, so every so often, Jeno would freely speak to him in Korean because sometimes he felt he could explode by the amount of English he used every night. Bilingual things, you know. He knew you were multilingual too, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t converse with you.

Because Jeno was heavily favored, that should’ve been enough to push through his night shifts before the end of the semester. In addition to that, the hourly rate was above the average of whatever Jaemin or Renjun was earning. For the past 2 months, Jeno paid upfront first, even paying back all his debts. It almost made Renjun want to switch jobs with him.

“Trust me, Renjun. You don’t want it, being the lowkey scaredy cat you are.”

Work no longer felt like work, and that’s what everyone aspired to feel. Nevertheless, he tended to worry over you mid-shift, glancing at you from his side view. Sketching, reading, and writing were your default actions. No matter how many times he said to himself not to let your dislike for him affect him, it’d always backfire.

Why were you so cold?

What made you lose your fire from all the research he did about your lively personality?

When morning arrived and he gathered his stuff, you’d be the last thing he’ll check on. Frozen in your standing pose, smiling as you held a book and a pencil, he detected how fake it was. Bystanders would only assume your happiness was from your achievements, though Jeno’s gut firmly pried that something grand overpowered that happiness. And definitely, not in a good way.

Out of all the art pieces, he investigated on you the most. Skimming through every material in the library, endless searching on the net, even asking professors from the History department thanks to Renjun, he did whatever he could. People may already think he was obsessed with who you are, but only little did they know.

Another plate was done and submitted, and he promised himself to look you up one last time before surrendering. For someone who’s rarely given up on a challenge, this one was really out of his control. Maybe he should follow Sanghoon’s footsteps now.

You lived centuries before him, and there’s limited material of you left. Rather than learning of your adventures again, he dug through what things you liked over your life. Maybe by giving one of them, it’ll lessen the tension from a 100 to 99. Maybe you preferred gifts over words, he’ll never know until he tried.

Boom.

According to one of your journal entries, there’s a fond liking you’ve acquired for lavender roses from Benjamin and Liam when they visited you in Paris in secret because of how much you missed them. It went both ways, praying your family ties could be recovered.

It’s a good thing he needed to refill his stock of items for the art pieces so he could pass by the flower store a few blocks away from his dorm. That night, without further words, he graciously offered you a fresh lavender rose in between your new sketching session.

“I may not know exactly why you’re spiritless around me, but with this rose, I hope we could work something out.”

Your frigid face of disdain, keeping your chin high and squinting your eyes with judgment, began to crumble down. Of all things as a peace offering, he gave you that? Then again, it’s not like he knew that an item you liked so much became something you’ve grown to hate and why so. No history books could teach him that.

Vulnerability was a normal thing, yet feared by many. Once one uncovered your weak spot, they could harm you. You still couldn’t trust Jeno fully, not willing to show your helplessness nor were you ever going to tell him. Hidden from his knowledge, everyone else including Sanghoon were familiarized as to why this kind of flower tormented you.

You sprinted like thunder out the exhibit room to wherever it’s private to control your senses. You may not have a physical heart, but your emotions were just as actual as a human’s. You needed to regulate your panting breath. In the past decades, you’ve not shed a singular tear but the cycle broke when they streamed out your miserable eyes like a flowing river. Quiet sobs, an empty corner near the fire exit was where your wobbly legs faltered, the painful memories of the past replayed in your head. Once beautiful, but now an agonizing reminder of what could’ve been.

Katherine, Cleopatra, and Anne were swift on their feet to hunt you down, anxious of what you may do next. Seeing or the mention of these flowers still affected you despairingly. Sanghoon must’ve forgotten to write them down, or perhaps he didn’t know either about this fact during all the years he’s worked there.

It’s one of the biggest secrets of his museum. By the clueless face Jeno had with his eyebrows raised, mouth, and small eyes slightly open, he repeatedly asked what he did wrong and adding that he never meant to harm you. Indeed, they knew that yet what occurred involved a secret in the list of museum secrets. Confidential only between art pieces according to Athena, none of the male wax figures spoke a word, only pitying the boy.

“I wasn’t here yet that time, but they said that it was once beautiful, but now it’s a rough period.” With hesitation, Princess Diana chose to reveal it to rid Jeno’s misery. She didn’t mind having to argue about it with Athena later on, as this may further affect the two of you later on.

“A long time ago in the early ‘80s, there was a night guard around your age named Junmyeon. Also, a college student, trying to make ends meet. He did it for 3 years until he graduated. Though within his stay, not only was he such a delight to everyone, he broke a golden rule in the guide. I believe you do know the guide much more now, Jeno?”

“Yes, I do, Princess Diana. Memorized it even, but which one specifically?” Jeno’s desperate eyes pleaded, only hoping for the best and to fix what he messed up.

“You can form friendships with the art pieces, but nothing more.” Princess Diana replied bitterly. “Junmyeon was an aspiring painter, a different path from his business-oriented family. He was seen as the black sheep. She resonated with him, sharing the burden and lifting it by doing whatever fun they could in the museum. In time, they both fell in love with each other; they were each other’s first loves.”

“Why must something beautiful like love be broken? It’s not like you can control it. That golden rule makes no sense.”

“It does, unfortunately. Wax figures like me cannot age, while humans like you can. None of them could accept the reality, always pushing it away. Until Junmyeon’s last week in university, he broke it off with her unexpectedly. From there, (Y/N) was heartbroken for decades. With heartbreak, giving the cold shoulder and bitterness followed. Then with the lavender rose you gave that she used to love became a flower that she associated with Junmyeon too because he gave her one almost every night for those past 3 years.”

Things finally added up, and the guilt in Jeno’s gut expanded. His major lightbulb moment was a major failure.

“Has Junmyeon ever returned to try and win her back?”

“Well, there was one time he did come back for an art exhibition for his paintings in the 2000s. I was already here, then he had a woman around his shoulder with an adolescent boy holding his hand. He roamed around our exhibit and kept gawking at (Y/N). We may be asleep, but we remember the conversations exchanged in the room. So, his son then asked him if he knew who she was.”

“What did he respond?” Jeno attentively listened, on the edge of such a hurtful tale.

“He knew her name, praising her for historical achievements. However, nothing as a former friend or lover. From what I predict, he ingested one of Circe’s potions.”

“But I thought Circe isn’t allowed to make potions for actual consumption. She’s not even allowed to enter the Oriental Art Room.” Jeno pointed out, overwhelmed at the puzzling past. Princess Diana was mindful that she had to stop spreading too much information, so she had to end her discussion with the lost boy.

“There are a lot of secrets about this museum, Jeno. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal to you to protect our peace.”

With due respect, Jeno quit his follow-up questions and concerns. The only thing he wished to do was mend his relationship with you. As vague as to where you even stood in the first place, he unintentionally crossed a line due to his selfish intention to befriend you.

“What can I do now, Princess Diana? You know I’d never push her buttons like that, even if I’m a whimsical person.”

“Oh, my boy.” Princess Diana soothed, holding both her hand on his sweaty palm and cupping his cheek. “For the meantime, give her space. No taunting for a while, and just observe her from a distance. Though do not fret the slightest; I’m sure she’ll be okay again.”

During that interval, you were hunched on the wall, bawling and weeping like the wound was brand new again. While Katherine and Anne stood by your side, on the lookout for anyone who’d be spying on you, Cleopatra knelt in front of you as your infinite tears gushed down.

“My dear,” She tried to wipe some of them while holding your hand. “It’s been years, and Jeno didn’t know a single thing. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I don’t care, Cleopatra! He should’ve stopped trying to socialize with me because I won’t ever live down my experience with Junmyeon.”

“As if crying like this will bring Junmyeon back to your life,” Cleopatra exclaimed, holding in her temper. Acquainted with heartbreak, it’s awful that it changed you entirely, but you should’ve found a way to heal. Throughout your attitude change, it’s mostly you in pain, not those you inflict it to. “My dear, I love you a lot. But this Jeno boy is different, and you know it.”

“He’s still a nightguard, for Christ’s sake, Cleopatra.”

“You shouldn’t generalize that all night guards are bad just because of one encounter that occurred at the wrong time.” Brushing some strands stuck by your wet visage, she professed to you bluntly. “You’re never going to know how good Jeno is unless you slowly open up again, (Y/N). Not forcing you the slightest, but healing started once you’ve acknowledged the past and move on from it.”

“But I’m scared, Cleopatra.” You restlessly admitted, hunching even more against the wall. Your poor, metaphorical heart could only take so much. You barely expressed sorrow towards others as you always held a strong exterior, only letting it out alone. Not holding back anymore, Cleopatra brought you in for a hug. The last time she did that was the first night after Junmyeon left, calming your intensified emotions so you wouldn’t do anything dumb that night. No violence, just pure sorrow.

“My dear, it’s alright.” She whispered while stroking your back upwards. “But you’re a risktaker; that’s how people remember you. Now, you must challenge yourself to move on from things that didn’t work out. Because once you do, it’ll put your heart and mind at ease.”

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

“Yes, you will be, my dear. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Acting like the dutiful son he always was, Jeno distanced from you.

He still cracked jokes, chatted with the art pieces, and followed the rules, yet never did he utter anything to you. You’ve proudly anticipated it since day one, not wanting him up in your business or teasing you ever. But this time, it felt odd.

On nights he didn’t report, you’ve unconsciously wondered what he may have been up to. A job like this at his age was just as Sanghoon once said: nothing in the regular.

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

From the moment you chose to let go of your limitations and old thoughts, it included your grudge against past guards. Asking for forgiveness to Sanghoon when he returns was on the top of your list, however, that’ll take a while to happen. In the start, you’re baffled as to why he no longer picked on you like every night he’s been present. Somehow, it became a habit you’ve gotten used to, having so many comebacks planned to fend yourself. But you didn’t want to concede to it, maintaining what was left of your pride since that breakdown.

While on the subject, you suspected if anyone told him anything that night because that also indicated the last time he reached out to you. By anything, it would be your unwritten past with Junmyeon. A part of yourself in the museum that you didn’t want to disperse like rapid-fire again. It would be the last thing you wanted Jeno to know.

To your misfortune, Princess Diana came clean due to your growing concern over it. Although your attitude changed and people got used to it, you could only blame yourself that you were responsible for Jeno’s change.

“All he wanted was to understand and enlighten us with his likable presence. Then with you, you were his challenge because of your high walls. Out of everyone, he tried to learn everything about you. From my observation, whenever he has a goal, he’s determined to achieve it.”

“But I’m trying to be better now, Diana. Why did he stop?”

“He may have determination, but he knows where the boundaries lie.” Princess Diana patted the side of your arm, giving you a half-grin. “It hurt him when he hurt you, even if it was accidental. So he opted to give you space; that way, you could catch a breather and he wouldn’t harm you anymore. It was what you wanted from the start anyways, right?”

A hard pill to swallow, though it was a fact. It’s just that now, you’re slowly willing to release yourself from the dark. It’s been decades, and more to come. Nothing can move on unless you do.

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

Just as she predicted right on the edge, Diana completed the grin on her face and led you to the entrance of your exhibit. She may be younger than you, but you’re reverted in your twenties while she remained in her mid-thirties. Gaping the wide museum from the railing, starting from the painting exhibit in the lobby to across the other side of the museum, Diana spotted the black hair of the boy in the Foreign Art Room.

“Over there.”

Observing where her eyes focused, you caught a glimpse of a recognizable side profile. The owner’s eyes were completely taken by whatever he was drawing on the fold-up desk he brought out from the storage room. By the tedious action of his right hand going up and down, you’ve gotten so used to his part-time identity as the night guard to entirely dismiss his current status as a university student.

Architecture specifically as he first introduced himself to you. The same path your oldest brother, Christopher, worked in. The look of tenacity Jeno presented as his eyebrows continuously scrunched, his crescent orbs hastily spied his work for any unnecessary details and his veiny hands brushed his already messy hair, you were profoundly reminded of Christopher when he was designing his possible future house. You were 8 years old, and he was 22, who just got married. He explained how many floors it’ll have, what rooms to put and what extra furniture he’ll place to make it feel more at home.

Seeing how exceptional his art skills were, you started to sketch like him. With flowers first, it turned into bedrooms and sceneries of your neighborhood. You felt your shoulders rise in accomplishment when you were able to accurately draw people. As much as you credited Benjamin and Liam the most in your works, it’ll only be within yourself to know that you also held a soft spot for Christopher.

Excusing yourself to Princess Diana, you bravely yet quietly ventured into the Foreign Art Room. Hiding first from one of the cement columns, you resumed watching him sketch. Instead of a pencil, he used a black pen with a tip as thin as a pencil. Your assumptions would be it was for a class, basing it on him informing everybody earlier that he’ll be inactive for the remaining hours of his shift to focus on his midterm requirements. That must be difficult to balance, yet he still does everything expected from him. Maybe the second cup of iced coffee beside him stimulated his bones and mind, letting his imagination free.

Through the limited space, you tiptoed whilst holding the side of the column to make up his work. There were 2 and a half rectangular shapes stacked on top of each other, the third one he was still tracing. A sign encrypted with tiny written words you couldn’t decipher, the beauty and modernity of Jeno’s plate cannot go unappreciated.

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

Sweet words you didn’t think would bounce back in the room, Jeno’s pace ceased whilst you hid again. Art pieces capable of walking weren’t allowed here, he locked the door even beforehand! Or he thought as he was rushing to get his work done because one of his terror professors moved up the deadline to tomorrow morning. Not even 25% finished, he petitioned for everyone’s cooperation just for tonight.

He used up his 2 days of not having the night shift for other projects, and not wanting to ruin his perfect attendance, he proceeded to show up.

The voices from the foreign paintings around him hushed for him out of respect. So possibly someone snuck in, his head looking around for intruders. But only did he quit it when he saw your blurry reflection leaning against the column. The glass windows slightly mirror back what it sees, without you knowing that.

Not to mention, the small bit of your lilac dress was left out. Of all people, it was you?

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) inside when she’s not allowed so?”

To break the killing tension, he tested the waves with an innocent taunt. Never did you reach out to him, so least to say he was entertained whilst keeping his distance.

Fixing your proud stance, you responded in a low baritone voice you used to persuade numerous men in her adventures. “Uhm no, I don’t know who she is.”

As intelligent as you were, Jeno was a few steps farther than you this time. Educated about the risky ways you’d get around and one of them was changing the pitch of your voice, he heartily laughed at your unsuccessful attempt.

“Okay don’t lie, (Y/N). I can see a trail of your dress and your cloak. Oh, your reflection too.”

Damn, you peeked a little to realize that he was correct. Hauling your dress back in to readjust your outfit, you pushed your hair back before appearing to him. Though when you did such, you didn’t suppose that he was practically beside you the entire time. Bumping into his towering stance of 5’10 while the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, your proud posture loosened up. He even discarded his blazer. A few more inches, he could’ve cornered you on the column if you didn’t take another step back.

Has he always been this tall or were you so used to your boots having high heels under? Oh wait, maybe because you wore flats this time because it’s making your toes sore. Your head bowed from struggling to maintain eye contact with him, your palms caressing your cheeks that suddenly heated up. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back again like nothing happened.

Jeno thought otherwise, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled. He’s never seen you get shy, not that it was a bad thing either. The temptation to play around it more was there, but he was running out of time for his assignment.

“Come in. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” His arms opened up, allowing you access to such a wonderful exhibit. Paintings from different European periods, miniature versions of famous infrastructures inside glass containers, and replicas of Greek columns in the front entrance, no wonder it’s important to protect them all.

“Are you sure?” Watching him return to his spot, which was a bench in the center of the exhibit with a table in front, it didn’t process that you were gawking at his toned back. His broad shoulders and the evident muscles in his arms while he stretched, your eyes were speedy to look away when he tried to take a glance at you.

“I don’t think the paintings here and I mind.” Sitting down again, he tapped the vacant space beside him. “Feel free to watch me draw if you want to.”

Settling by his side, he recommenced where he left off. Now with a closer view of his piece, it did look like a building as you thought. He was sketching the remaining outline of the 3rd floor of this hypothetical place, continuously checking his ruler to monitor if the lines were consistent. Able to pick up on the words of the sign beside the building, you wowed with one hand on your lips.

“You’re redrawing Seoul National University Museum of Art?”

“One of my plate assignments was to visualize a renovation of a certain place, so I chose the museum.”

“Why so?”

“Well,” Jeno shook his pen so the ink could come out. “This entire place comes to life with the royal plate, so I think we should expand the space and bring in more art pieces to life if we add another extra floor. A rooftop area for visitors and events would be fun. And definitely, we should modernize the exterior and interior a bit because it looks outdated personally. That’s also what my friends think too.”

Noticing the minor details of his plate whilst removing any unnecessary pens so it wouldn’t smudge, “Huh, I quite agree with you.”

For the first time since his night shift, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), came into an agreement with him. He became so accustomed to clashing opinions that now, you had no contrasting points to make at all. A good change perhaps was what he’s witnessing.

“Woah, who are you agreeing with me and where’s (Y/N)?” He creased his brows whilst locking eye contact with you. This time, you didn’t wince away and just nudged him on his shoulder to get back to work.

“Hush, Jeno. Isn’t that due later? Get to work, I’ll roam around here for the meantime.”

After decades in this museum, you’re enlightened with the foreign paintings in which some you’ve heard of in your younger years and some that were created beyond your time. The Birth of Venus, Liberty Leading the People, Girl with a Pearl Earring, there’s an advantage of learning about their stories that humans couldn’t interpret. Logical that this section must be off-limits because these pieces were extra special, yet there’s so much more than what meets the eye.

There’s peace in silence while you wandered around, though it doesn’t hinder only at the art. Jeno hasn’t uttered a word since he got back to drawing, and once you asked him what’s doing now, still no answer back. Odd, he’s constantly awa-

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

Your eyes laid on Jeno leaning forward on his desk with his arms serving as his pillow, resting his head sideways. Soft snores and minimal movement in his upper body to shake the growing cold temperature of the room, he was sleeping like a log.

Putting into perspective, he hasn’t acquired enough rest specifically this past 2 weeks. The endless number of plates due making him work extra during his shift rather than sleeping in the slightest, exhaustion must be an understatement. Coffee no longer pushed him to his maximum for this week even.

But this was the path he chose, and it’ll have its challenges. Still, if you could relieve the stress in any way, you would. This would be one of the ways to repay for all the rudeness you’ve passed on him. Scurrying to his side, placing the plate on the side with his other things. You returned the caps of his open pens so they don’t spill. They must be expensive, recalling how Jeno shared the cons of being an architecture major to Princess Diana. One was the pens needed for sketching, and any tiny damages to them meant buying them again.

With his watch on clear display, he only had 2 hours left until his shift was done. Then, 4 hours until his plate assignment was done, and his current plate was far from done.

The blunt impulse to wake him up slithered your mind, though his calm state deflected your duty. As if you were on board a ship again for your explorations, you paid attention to the view with a relaxed mindset.

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

His coffee-stained lips were parted and his sharp nose breathing in and out at a relaxing pace, he must be dreaming a happy moment the way half his lips curved into a smile. If he’s resting well, then you too would be calm.

Because of your past disinterest in him, only at this moment did you observe how sharp his jawline was and the cuts on his arms he sought refuge in. No matter how many times you tried to deny Hera’s compliments of him on the side, you couldn’t.

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

Back to his plate, it’ll put him at a disadvantage if he submitted the way it looked before he passed out. But you remembered all those extra details he mentioned and wanted to add to this project. Being an explorer, you documented all your ventures through words or drawings. You’re fast to adjust to anything new too.

For all the good he’s done for everyone, he only deserved some help in return.

Your version of help was sketching the remaining details of this plate, using other pens for more emphasis. It’s a risk also, but no way could you turn a blind eye on Jeno this time.

Around 5:30 am, Jeno’s eyes blinked open due to a brightening light from the outside. Stretching his limbs, he finds a velvet cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. But before he could question it, he pulled his arm in to see the time on his watch.

“Fuck!” He cursed, realizing that his so-called 10-minute snooze break aborted.

“Oh my, you’re awake!” From his frazzled state, there you were. So put together yet active, some strands of your hair falling down your face even with your hair up in a ponytail. “How was your sleep?”

This whole time he could’ve been woken up, yet you chose not to. You’re aware of his deadline, yet you let him rest entirely. He could’ve burst out in stress, yet he didn’t. You and he may have started on the wrong foot, yet it’s impossible of you to do such an evil thing. He’ll just have to tolerate the outcome later today.

“Refreshing. I really needed it.” Packing his things in his bag and closing the table, you trailed along as he exited with you. Locking up, he has 30 minutes left to accomplish the cleaning. A long good morning indeed.

But his worry of that vanished when you admitted that you had it all covered.

“Everyone helped out in cleaning, plus there are no damages made either.” From your hand, you returned one of his keys that was on his guard blazer. “I double-checked the Oriental Room and locked the doors again.”

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me, (Y/N)?” He questioned with confusion, wearing his blazer again and patting away any creases. He placed your cloak over you again like a true gentleman.

Without a word, you simply invited him to walk you back to your exhibit as parts of the sun began to rise. As you returned to your section, your fellow figures readying themselves to pose again,

“It’s my way to apologize for my very rude first impression and the succeeding moments after. I was too cooped up in my past that I was too afraid to let humans in again, night guards in particular.” You admitted, removing your cloak and placing behind your chair like always. “I’m so sorry, Jeno. Everyone was right about you and your kind heart.”

“About time.” Cleopatra’s sultry voice cut in, laying on her day bed.

Before you had the chance to flip off, Jeno mediated swiftly. With a gentle smile, “No worries about it. I’m just happy you’re okay, after all you’ve been through.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Absolutely.” With his free hand, he brought it out. No matter what kind of introductions, shaking one’s hand was the best way to start a friendship. “Good evening. I’m Lee Jeno, the new museum night guard.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), explorer and author.” Sighing at his humor, you still replied by shaking his hand. “And I believe you’re mistaken, Lee Jeno. It’s a good morning.”

Seconds after, you imitated your typical pose and smile. Only now, the latter was more genuine. Finally, a fresh start to end your agony.

Once the sun fully revealed itself, every figure including yourself froze back to sleep. Something Jeno wished to catch up on if it weren’t for his damn plate. He was so screwed, already contemplating his next steps if he does fail this class. The possibility of getting delayed in all aspects, he dreaded it already.

Heading back to his dorm, where both his roommates completely passed out from soju on the couch, he sat by his work desk and turned on his night lamp for more light since the sun wasn’t strong enough yet.

With another cup of coffee, he cracked the joints of his knuckles and laid out his pens. He had 2 hours left to submit this plate, and at most he should accomplish 50% of his initial plan. However, he didn’t anticipate such a gorgeous outcome when he brought out his plate.

Picture perfect of every detail he desired, even adding a rooftop area with that he’d love to have if ever the museum does go under renovation one day. Rather than setting the plate during the day, it was at night as the skies were dark and bright specks of yellow inside the building symbolized light.

So much for wasting coffee, he’ll just give it to Jaemin when he wakes up later. Below the final product, a note written in cursive was stuck on it.

I knew you wanted to get this specific plate done, but you mustn’t compromise your sleep for it. It’s your inhumane professor’s fault!

To make up for my faults, I wanted to help you out. I paid extra attention to the details you spoke highly about, so I only hoped that I interpreted it correctly. It’s risky, but as someone who researched so much about me, would you be surprised that I did such a thing?

PS: Get back to sleep. I’m quite sure your desk is laid out the same way in the Foreign Art Room.

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

Turning off his lamp, Jeno jumped the covers of his bed to continue his lost sleep. Without an ounce of care that he hasn’t changed into cleaner clothes, he’s relieved that he won’t flunk his class.

Most of all, he’s relieved that you’ve melted the ice in you and allowed kindness to come in. Jeno may never understand how hard that must’ve been for you, yet he raved you for it.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Surprise is an understatement when it comes to you.”

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falcqns · 4 years ago

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Mad

Pairing: post endgame!Bucky Barnes x Barton!Reader

Summary: Bucky has a hard time coming to terms with Steve’s departure.

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, Steve Rogers slander, first kiss.

A/N: As usual, this came from a shifting experience! Poor Bucky just needs a hug :( Hope you enjoy!

You tossed and turned in your bed. No matter what you did, you couldn't fall asleep. You never had trouble sleeping, so you didn't know why you were up. You decided to give up on sleep, and turned on your lamp on to read for a little while. You had only red two pages when you heard Bucky’s door shut and you heard his heavy footfalls make their way to the living room.

You decided to stop reading for a little bit and check up on him. He was quite distant with you, considering that he had met you a few weeks ago, but the rest of the remaining Avengers had warmed up to you already, and you were unsure why he seemed to avoid you. There was always a nagging thought at the back of your head that made you think he hated you, but you didn't want to assume anything.

Bucky, on the other hand, was absolutely terrified of you. Well, not of YOU, but of hurting you. The first time he met you, he immediately took notice of how your eyes were locked on his metal arm, and he immediately felt like he needed to remove himself from the situation before he scared you even more than he had. Over the course of you living here, he had begun to notice how much he liked you, and that thought terrified him even more. Since Steve left him to go back to Peggy, he was terrified to get close to anyone. He was a super soldier, and logically knew that he would most likely outlive those who he loved dearly, another thought that terrified him. He hated being alone, but he wanted to seclude himself to spare himself the inevitable pain.

When he had awoken from his most recent nightmare, his first instinct was to run to Steve. Steve had nightmares as well, but not at Bucky’s level, and he had always been good at calming Bucky down. But, the realization that Steve had left him for a girl he kissed once, soon washed over with him, and he felt the feeling of abandonment creep up on him once more. As he looked around the room, all he could see was Steve. Steve had done everything in his power to make sure Bucky felt safe and at home in the compound before he left, and Bucky should have known he was compensating for something. He was never one to splurge, after growing up with almost nothing. He felt his chest tightening, and he couldn't bare to stay in that room any longer.

He stood up, and walked out of his bedroom to head to the living room. He passed your door, and briefly considered seeing if you were awake, but decided against it. You were already scared of him as it was, and he didn't want to cause that fear to grow. He continued on to the living room, and took a seat on the sofa. He stared at the dark TV, almost willing it to turn on by itself so he didn't have to touch something Steve had. A few minutes later, he heard your bedroom door open, and was prepared to apologize for scaring you before heading back to that god forsaken room where he didn't want to spend another second, until you walked in the living room and sat next to him, shoulders almost touching.

“Are you okay?” You asked, and you noticed his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why were you talking to him? You were terrified of him, and he didn't want to force you to do something you were scared to do. But, he was intrigued. Maybe, he had read you all wrong at your first interaction. So, he shook his head.

“No. But I will be. I’m sorry I woke you up,” He said in a timid voice, not making eye contact.

You gave him a soft smile even though he couldn't see it. “You didn't wake me. I was having troubles sleeping. It seems you are too, so I decided to come and see if you were okay.” You said, and your smile grew when you noticed he slowly turned to face you, although his eyes remained locked on the ground.

“I-I thought you were scared of me,” He admitted, and your brows furrowed.

“Why would I be scared of you, Bucky?” You asked, and he looked up at you, tears brimming in his steel blue eyes. You rested your hand on his thigh for comfort when he spoke again.

“T-The first time we met, I noticed you staring at my arm, and I instantly thought you were scared of me because of it, because of what it could do, and because of what it has done. Of what I’ve done. T-Thats why I avoided you, and never spoke to you. I didn't want to give you any more reasons to be scared of me.” He said, a sniffle following his little speech.

You inched closer to him. “Before I met you, and before you were revealed to be him, I was. Dad had told me the things that HYDRA made you do, and it was scary. I think I was just scared that dad’s life would be in danger because of his affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D., but when it was announced during th Accords situation that you were The Winter Soldier, I knew it wasn't your fault. I had learned about you from going to the museum with my dad when I was little, and I was always fascinated by you. I knew HYDRA had to be brainwashing you. I brought it up to Dad and he agreed. You are NOT The Winter Soldier, Bucky. You are Bucky Barnes, the boy who risked his life for his best friend without question. You are not what they made you. I was staring at your arm because I thought it was cool, and because my best friend made it. She told me all about you whenever I called her. About how you would entertain the Wakandan children, how you raised those goats, and took care of the land you were given to protect. She told me how the first words you spoke to her was “Thank you.” You deserve to be happy, and not to live in fear.” You said. You watched as Bucky’s chin and lower lip trembled before he launched himself into your arms, hugging you tight to his chest. He hugged you to his chest like a teddy bear, and almost afraid to let go.

You ran your hand up and down his back to soothe him, and he eventually got ahold of his emotions enough to pull away. You noticed something lingering behind his eyes, and asked him another question.

“What else is going on, Bucky? I know something else is wrong,” You said, and he sighed.

“I’m mad.” He said, and looked up at you, almost half expecting you to realize you were scared of him and take off running. But, when you didn't, instead taking his metal hand into yours for comfort and reassurance, he spoke again. “I’m so mad. At Steve, so much. I took care of him for a lot of his life. I stood by him, and I fought beside him. I lost almost 70 years of my life because I was fighting HYDRA with him, only to be caught by them, and have to be tortured for 20 fucking years and slowly lose my memories of him, and my old life. Then, I save him, escape HYDRA, he finds me, helps me, and him and I fight side by side again. Then I died. For him. Did you know he didn't even talk to me until the final fight was over? Not a single goddamned from him while I fought for him. I thought, that when Thanos was finally turned to dust, he and I would be okay. That we would have a normal life. That we could reconcile all those years we lost because of HYDRA depriving us both of that. But, he chose her.” He said, tears rolling down his face.

“He chose a woman that he kissed ONCE, over his best friend since childhood. I was the one who took care of him whenever he got sick. I was the one who stepped in whenever he got beat up. I’m the one that got captured by HYDRA because I was fighting FOR HIM. And he still chose her, the girl who helped him become Captain America. It fucking hurts. Maybe if I hadn't been snapped away, he wouldn't have gone back. Maybe-” He ranted, and you cut him off with a hug.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself. His choice was a purely selfish one, and it was the wrong one. It had nothing to do with you. You risked everything for him, more than once, and its so shitty that he wouldn't do the same for you. If he was here right now, I would kill him. For everything he put you through. He thought about himself, and this was the one time he shouldn't have. But don't blame yourself. It was ultimately his decision, not yours.” You said, and slowly, Bucky melted into your embrace.

He rubbed his stubbly cheeks against yours, and slowly pulled out of the hug. He pressed his forehead to yours, and his eyes drifted over your features. He had noticed how beautiful you were, and he knew he had a crush on you. But, he always saw you as untouchable. Your father was Clint Barton, the best archer in the world, and he really didn't want an arrow in the head. But, right now, as he rested his head against yours, watched your slow smile spreading across your lips, and smelled your scent, he couldn't think of any of the reasons why he never let himself be happy, especially with you.

Without thinking, his eyes locked on your lips, and he slowly pressed his against yours. He tensed up when you didn’t return it for a few seconds, but relaxed when he felt you kiss him back. He pulled away when the need for air became dire, and rested his flesh hand against your cheek.

“Thank you. This is the first conversation I’ve had with you, and you've already helped me immensely. C-Can I take you out on a date?” He asked timidly.

Your face broke out into a huge smile. “Of course, Bucky.”

Bucky felt tears springing to his eyes, and pressed his lips to yours again, tugging you into his lap in the process. And for once in the last two weeks, he wasn't mad at Steve. If it wasn't for Steve leaving, he wouldn't have you.

And you were all he needed.

#Bucky Barnes #mcu bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #fluff #angst #Steve rogers is an asshole #first kiss

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uvobreakmylegs · 4 years ago

Text

Red Thread of Fate

I wrote this when I was in a mood but hopefully Paku isn’t too ooc

Soulmate AU

“The red thread is what connects you to your soulmate, my dear. When the time is right, the rest of it will appear and lead you to them.”

Those were the words your mother had said to you one morning several years ago, after you had woken up to discover a red string wrapped around your left pinky that, no matter how hard you tried, wouldn't come off. When you went to your father about it, he didn't know what you were talking about, unable to see it. Your mother had then pulled you aside and explained it. How everyone was meant to be with someone, but not everybody had the ability to see those connections like the two of you could.

“I waited until our connection revealed itself, and at the end of the thread I found your father,” she had said, “it may take a long time, perhaps even years, but one day, you will find your soulmate at the end of that thread, and I am certain that you will find happiness with them.”

The words she had spoken always stayed with you. Even after moving out of your parent's home and finding a job on the outskirts of a nearby city, every time your eyes drifted to the thread around your pinky, that conversation and musings about your soulmate repeated themselves in your head.

Not only could you see your own thread, but you were able to see the threads that connected others. Just as your mother had said, a red thread connected her to your father. Several of your old friends from high school also had those threads connecting them to their spouses, and part of you wanted to ask them if they could see the threads and knew that they were meant for each other. But you remembered the concerned reaction your father had when you had tried to show him, and so you kept your mouth shut.

Through the years, you weren't surprised to see that couples whose threads weren't attached generally ended up splitting apart. Couples that aren't made for each other never stay together, your mother whispered to you as the two of you watched the couple next door as they argued in their front yard. Their threads weren't connected, and months later, they had divorced. You had been able to make a few calls on some of your friends relationships that way, whenever problems arose with their partners you would subtly push them to end things, and they always came out happier when they did.

But as you saw those around you connecting and finding their own soulmates, your thread remained as a small circle around your finger.

That was the most likely reason why the self-doubt within you had formed. Seeing everyone else find their soulmates without even trying, while you knew what it was that brought people together but were left alone, the thread that tied you to your soulmate staying invisible.

Your mother had forbade you from dating after she found out you could see the thread, citing that she didn't want you wasting your time on anyone who wasn't your soulmate. The remainder of your high school years had left you feeling empty in terms of romance. Even after moving out, you kept out of the dating scene, your mother's instruction ingrained into you as you waited for the rest of the thread to appear. You were pinning all of your hopes onto your unknown soulmate, you realized, and then you had a terrible thought:

What if your soulmate didn't like you?

What if they hated you?

What if when you did finally meet them, they just didn't want to be in a relationship with you?

Your mother had insisted that you would find happiness with them, but she could be wrong. She was wrong a lot actually, and there was now the possibility in your mind that maybe you had wasted too much of your life pinning your hopes on your soulmate and in the end would only be left with disappointment. But by now you weren't sure of what else to do, as you were still unwilling to reach out to see if anyone else was aware of the soulmate connection.

So for now, you maintained your course, trying to keep your outlook positive while those fears simmered in the back of your mind.

Life had a certain monotonous quality to it. You went to work, you did your studies, you hung out with friends in the time that was left, over and over again. And in the quiet moments, you would look at the thread, waiting to see if there was any change.

So when something different finally did happen, you were caught completely off-guard.

It was a late-afternoon on a weekday, with very few customers coming in to the store where you worked. You had been in the process of pretending to work to avoid getting a talking to from your manager about being lazy, wiping down a surface that didn't need it as you waited for the time to go by, and you'd glanced down at your hand.

There was a thread coming off of the one on your pinky, trailing along the the tiled floor and out onto the sidewalk outside.

It was finally happening. You could finally see it, finally use that connecting thread to find your soulmate.

The universe must have also been waiting for this moment, because shortly after your manager approached you and asked if you wanted to leave work early. You jumped at the chance with such enthusiasm that it surprised him.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Something came up,” you answered, already heading to the back.

Stuffing your work uniform into your bag, you began to follow the thread once you made it outside. The trail was straightforward, but it appeared as though it went on for several blocks. After a few minutes, it took a turn to the left, the end still nowhere in sight.

With a small sigh, you made your way forward. You'd waited this long, after all.

The thread you followed vanished as you made your way along, flowing up and disappearing into the thread around your finger. As you made your way through the streets, you tuned out the world around you which left you alone with your thoughts, and those ugly questions popped up again. What would you do if they didn't like you? How do you even approach them? Since it was obvious your ability to see the soulmate connection was rare, it seemed unlikely to you that they would be able to tell that it existed at all. And you couldn't just go up to them and tell them that the two of you were soulmates. Your palms began to sweat as you wondered if doing this was a bad idea; maybe you weren't actually meant to see this thread and should just let fate handle everything. But after all of this time, you at least wanted to see who it was you were meant to be with.

The thread trail began to grow taught the further you went – that meant you were getting close, right?

You were in a nicer area of the city now, one in which you felt vastly out of place. And based off some of the glances you caught people giving you, you must have looked out of place as well.

Another turn at a corner, and you saw the trail lead up the steps of a.... Museum?

There was a large number of people gathered at the front, all appearing to be waiting to go inside. The banners on the building indicated that something new was being displayed, but that mattered very little to you as you saw the thread disappear into the crowd. You kept to the side of the stairs, dipping past the people who were situated on the steps as you looked for who the thread connected to. It would be a problem if your soulmate was already inside the museum, as you doubted you would be able to get inside with how you were dressed. Would you have to wait for them to come back outside? You doubted museum security would let you do that if they were in there for hours.

Those worries turned out to not matter, as you stepped behind a group on the landing outside the entrance and saw the end of the thread, and the woman it was attached to.

Tall and slender in a suit top and skirt with short blonde hair and an aquiline nose, she was speaking to a man with slicked back hair and a long black coat. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, but she had a serious expression on her face, and you noticed she appeared to be scanning the crowd around her. Was this person really your soulmate? You checked again, looking at the thread that hung from your pinky.

She was. No question about it.

Already you felt that she was far more intimidating than you could have anticipated, and you wracked your brain trying to figure out how you could approach someone like her.

You noticed that she glanced down at her hand, and then she did a double-take. Was she.... Was she looking at the thread? Her eyes were clearly trailing along the thread's path.

She could see it?

Then her eyes met yours, and she looked at you with a muted surprise. Your expression was likely similar – you hadn't counted on your soulmate on being able to see the thread, and at the moment you could do little more than stare at her.

The man she had been talking to was looking at you now as well, having noticed her reaction. They were speaking again, but they kept their eyes on you. It only caused you more confusion. What were they saying? Who was he? Who was he to her? Could he also see the thread? Was it possible that you had run into two people in one day who could do that?

You stayed still, watching, unsure of what to do. Then the man said something, to which your soulmate nodded. He then turned and walked over to the museum doors, but not before looking at you with a small smile.

Your attention was quickly brought back to your soulmate as she approached you.

Oh God this was really happening.

“Umm.... Hello?”

Your first words to her sounded pathetic. That was what you thought the instant they fell out of your mouth. But if she felt the same way she didn't show it.

“Hello,” she responded. A warm smile graced her lips.

You opened your mouth, trying to say something – anything – when you were bumped from behind. You only stumbled forward a few steps before she steadied you, her hands on your shoulders. The woman who had bumped into you didn't even acknowledge you, content to continue on her way.

“We should find someplace else to talk,” you soulmate said, and you nodded in agreement. With an arm wrapped around your shoulder, she led you through the crowd of people and back down the steps. She kept that arm around you until you were a good distance away from the museum, pulling away once the two of you had found a secluded spot next to a building.

“So......”

Was all you were able to say once the two of you had stopped. After all those years of wondering about this moment, the things you would say to your soulmate, and you could barely get a word out.

“So?” she repeated, her head tilting slightly.

“You can see it?” you asked.

That was a stupid question, you told yourself. Of course she could see it. That was why she came up to you.

“Yeah, I can,” she nodded, “but I'm more surprised that you're able to. How long have you been able to do that?”

“Since years ago. My mother is also able to see the threads, so I thought it was just something the two of us could do.”

“A lot more people have that ability than you may think.”

“Really? How long have you-”

Your words were interrupted by the growl of your stomach.

You wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up beneath you and swallow you whole.

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled, your cheeks growing red.

“Don't worry about it,” she said, chuckling, “I guess food is in order; do you know anything around here that's good?”

You shook your head.

“I'm not familiar with this area, so....”

“That's fine. We can just walk until we find something. My treat.”

She motioned with her head to follow, and the two of you made your way down the sidewalk once again. You should have been on the lookout for some sort of restaurant where the two of you could properly sit and have a conversation, but your gaze kept going back to her, a million questions running through your head.

“Do you not live around here, then?” you asked.

“No. I'm only in town for some business.”

“Business? Wait, that wasn't why you were at that museum, was it?”

“It was.”

She didn't sound angry or even a little agitated, but guilt from pulling her away from a possible job hit you.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you if you were doing something important.”

“It's not a problem,” she said, “you take precedence.”

Despite her words, you were still worried.

“Won't you get in trouble for leaving?”

She chuckled again.

“No. My boss was very understanding.”

Boss? You wondered if it was the man she had been speaking to, given that he was the only one who you had seen her with. Questions on who he was and what exactly she did for a living were about to spill out of your mouth before she interrupted you.

“What about you? You didn't skip work just to hunt me down, did you?”

“Ah, no. It was slow, so I was able to leave early.”

“And where do you work?”

“A small store on the other side of the city. It doesn't pay all that well, but it's about as good as I can get.”

“I see.”

The two of you continued to walk, with her being the only one still looking for a place to eat. Maybe you were overreacting, but you swore you could hear a bit of disdain in her voice in her last response. The self-doubt that had been in the back of your mind for years began to show its head, and you were caught up once more in the worry that your soulmate didn't like you. That you weren't good enough for her. Reflecting on the actions that had lead to this point, you wondered if you had gone with the most selfish route. You had literally tracked her down and had forced her to acknowledge you, even if the second part had been unintentional. And now, even though the two of you knew nothing about each other, she had put business on hold and was even taking you out for a meal. Were you just causing her problems?

“What's wrong?”

Her voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you realized that you had stopped walking. She stood before you, her head tilted in concern.

“Are you not feeling well?” she asked.

“No, it's just..... I'm sorry,” you said.

She blinked in surprise.

“For what?”

“I just.... I'm.... Worried that this is a disappointment for you,” you mumbled.

“You're clearly a lot better off than I am, and I don't have much to offer you, in terms of..... Well, anything really,” you continued, “I don't want to just barge into your life and disrupt it. So, if you don't want anything to do with me, I completely under-”

A finger to your lips stopped your rambling, and you looked back up at her.

“You apologize too much,” she said after a beat, taking her finger away. The urge to give her another apology rose up, but you bit your lip as you realized you would be in that awkward position where you apologized for apologizing.

She seemed to sense your turmoil, as she brought her hand back to cup your cheek, and you felt the urge to lean into it.

“I'm not disappointed in the slightest,” she said, “I'm very glad that you came to find me; I can't wait to learn more about you.”

The blush from earlier returned to your face and you found it hard to keep eye contact with her, your eyes turning to the concrete sidewalk as she smiled at you. You were at a loss for words once again, but she didn't push you to respond. She wrapped her arm around your shoulder and pulled you forward.

“I think there's a place we can eat at up ahead. Let's go check it out, okay?”

You nodded in response, keeping up with her pace as she kept her arm around you.

Another thought occurred to you.

“What's your name?” you asked.

“Ah. We somehow didn't get to that, did we?” she laughed.

“I'm Pakunoda. And you?”

The way she looked at you was nothing other than loving, and you felt your heart flutter at the way she repeated your name after you told her. All of the doubts that had grown over the years were quashed in an instant. Pakunoda wanted to be with you. She was happy the two of you had met. Everything was going to be fine.

That had been too close for comfort, Pakunoda thought to herself. Had she not happened to be at the museum's entrance speaking to Chrollo, she could have missed you entirely, and that left open a slight chance that you could have gotten into the museum and then be slaughtered like the rest of the guests. It was doubtful that the rest of the troupe would have been paying attention to such a thing, and would have left her with her nen abilities gone.

She had noticed that the thread appeared shortly after she and the rest of the troupe had arrived at the museum's back entrance for their current heist, but the thread had been completely slack and leading in the opposite direction, and she just assumed that she could leave it until afterwards and then track you down. But never had she counted on you being able to see it, much less you going out in search of her. Especially when you clearly didn't have much in terms of a nen ability. You didn't even know that you were using gyo to see the thread between the two of you.

Paku would explain it to you eventually and help you develop your skills, though it she didn't plan on ever having you participate in any heists. Like the other soulmates for the troupe, if you had nen then you needed to be trained enough so you could defend yourself.

The two of you were sitting in a booth at the very back of a small restaurant, you telling stories about your life that you clearly felt were too mundane while she listened and smiled at you, silently encouraging you to open up to her. Although in truth she was only half-listening. While she had played it off that this situation hadn't affected her in the slightest, her own emotions were running wild over your meeting, though for reasons much different than yours. For the troupe, finding one's soulmate was something that was necessary to ensure that one's nen couldn't be lost due to a soulmate's untimely death. At worst, a soulmate was a burden; something that needed to be protected just so one could ensure their abilities wouldn't just vanish one day. And while Pakunoda didn't view the concept as harshly as some of the others, she did understand the sentiment.

But when she had seen the way you had been pushed forward, Paku's first thought was that she should blast the head off of the woman who had bumped into you.

A brief moment of irrationality that she had quickly managed to quell, instead just taking you away from that area. She wasn't used to feeling such rage over such a small action, especially one over someone who was still a stranger to her. Paku would be the first to admit that she didn't open up easily to others, and yet she had been ready to kill for you within seconds of meeting you. There had clearly been more to the soulmate bond than she had initially thought.

As you continued to talk, she glanced up at a clock on the wall – their operation at the museum would have started by now, the patrons dead or in the process of dying. Pakunoda's eyes narrowed at the thought of the woman who had pushed you being killed in various ways, depending on who she came across.

“Is everything alright?”

Your voice brought her back, and she realized she had been smiling at the thought. She quickly wiped it away, shaking her head and giving you a more genuine smile.

“I'm fine,” she said.

“You bring out a side of me I didn't even know I had.”

You blushed, taking a swig out of your drink as you avoided her gaze while the darker implications of her words flew over your head. The warm feelings of affection began to fill Pakunoda again as she watched your reactions. So uncertain but so clearly head over heels for her.

She decided then that she would hold off on letting you know about the troupe. At least for as long as she was able to. From what you had said about your job, you didn't seem to like it, so it would be easy enough to get you to quit if she began to provide for you. Then it would just be a matter of moving you somewhere else, somewhere more out of the way where you would be off the radar. Pakunoda knew she would need to tell you the truth eventually. There was no lie she would be able to come up with to explain away her “job”. But by that point, she hoped that you would love her enough to overlook it.

The thread that connected you to her spanned across the table. She reached over to cover your hand with her own, and you smiled, the sight of you doing so warming her heart.

Everything was going to be fine.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere hunter x hunter #pakunoda #reader insert #pakunoda x reader #hxh pakunoda

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mhashorts · 4 years ago

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When Our Eyes Meet

Inspired by mmajjyc’s art on TikTok.

Pairing : God Izuku Midoriya x Reincarnated Katsuki Bakugou

Prompt : God falls in love with a mortal, only to lose him. The reincarnation of his lover slowly remembers him after making eye contact with a painting.

Genre : Romance, Fantasy, Anime

Word Count : 1,550....I think.

It was a sudden visit to the museum, nothing interesting to be expected besides the random pieces of art made years ago by artists known and unknown. And some new pieces of modern art of course. Eijirou thought this trip would be a great outing, something different from the amusement parks, arcades, and movie theater. He also needed the visit so he could write the 5-page essay on specific pieces of art for his college class that was due in two days. Not like he was going to tell any one of his friends that though. Unbeknownst to him, Denki and Katsuki did know the moment Eijirou pulled out his notebook from his backpack once they stepped foot on the museum’s front steps. They just did not want to ruin the positive atmosphere.

Grumbling as the trio walks further into the museum, Katsuki separates himself from his friends but stays close from behind as they enter the Japanese God’s and Goddesses exhibition first. There were a decent amount of people examining the art and sculptures, silently speaking amongst themselves. Some even attempting to sneak a few pictures of the angels in the paintings.

Eijirou and Denki walked at a fair pace, catching glimpses of everything here and there. Coming up to a huge mural-like portrait painting, Katsuki stops in his tracks and stares up into the eyes that suddenly caught his attention. He stays fixated on this piece of art that displayed a crying angel, paying no mind to his friends who continued walking, leaving him behind.

Deciding he wanted to know more, out of pure curiosity, he calls out to Eijirou. “Oi. Shitty hair, give me the guidebook.” He demands, not sparing him a glance as his focus stayed on the painting. “I wanna know who this is.” Eijirou turns to him (as well as Denki) and brings the book up to his face, flipping through the pages.

Finding the right page, he reads it out to his friend who was ready to listen. “It’s a representation of Izuku, The God of Peace. He answered people’s prayers and was worshipped in all Japan in ancient times.” “One day he fell in love with a mortal, and he was banished from the god realm.” An image of Izuku with a huge smile flashed through Katsuki’s memory suddenly, causing him to shudder. He did not know why but it felt like déjà vu to him. Like he has experienced seeing that smile before in person.

“Legend says he is among us, trying to find the reincarnation of his long-lost lover… who remains unknown?”

Katsuki’s eyes stayed on the face of the green haired angel and his eyes widen as another memory flashes through his brain once more. This memory was vividly clear to the point a single tear fell down his cheek. He shakes his head to rid the memory, but it was no use. Then he recalls the dreams he had that he never remembered the morning after. Unable to tear his eyes away from the green ones that stared back, Katsuki jumps to the touch of his friend’s hand on his shoulder. He turns to them with teary eyes. Eijirou and Denki stand their shocked, not knowing what to do since this was the first time seeing their hardheaded friend so emotional.

“Are you okay Bakubro?” Eijirou asks, “Did I say something wrong?”

Katsuki uses his sleeve to wipe his tears and shoves his way past the two.

“Woah. I didn’t know he cried. He’s usually so kept.” Denki states, watching his friend leave the exhibit. He looks at Eijirou, “I’m worried. Should we go after him?”

It doesn’t take the red-haired friend more than two seconds to respond, “Just give him a minute. I think he needs to be by himself for a while. I’m sure he’ll message us if he goes home.”

“Okay.” The two continue their visit.

Katsuki makes his way out of the museum in a rush, not caring if he bumped into anyone on accident. He was somewhat thankful that his friends did not follow him out, not wanting to break down even more in front of them. He treks down the stupidly long cement set of stairs and when he finally reaches the last step, he trips over his own feet. With no way to prepare himself for impact, he closes his eyes, only for him to land in a pair of sturdy arms.

“Woah. Are you okay?” The person who caught him asks, helping him to his feet. “These stairs seem to be a little steep. There should be a sign that says, ‘watch your step’. Haha.” He jokes before pulling his hands away from Katsuki. Looking up, the two make eye contact and the memory floods back.

~Flash Back~

Izuku’s face was covered in dirty tears as he held his lover in his arms, his face buried in the ash-blonde hair that was now stained red. He screamed out to the gods, begging for forgiveness so he could heal his dying lover. Alas, the gods did not respond to his cries. He rocked his dear Katsuki, kissing his face over and over in hopes that the gods and goddesses saw his pain.

“Don’t die on me. I cannot live on this world without you. I just can’t.” He pulls him closer, “Please Kacchan. Please.”

Katsuki lets out a small cough, placing his hand on Izuku’s tear stained face. “I wish I could, but I don’t have immortality like you, my love.” He whispers, “Or else I would walk on this earth with you for eternity.”

“No. Not like this Kacchan. I won’t let you die.” “I can’t be healed, whether it be from the gods or yourself.” Izuku cries get harder, “This is all my fault. If I didn’t fall in love with you, you would be living peacefully.”

“Yet here we are.” Katsuki coughs, “It’s not your fault Deku. None of this was your fault. I fell in love with you, and nothing could come between that, not even the gods. Please, do not blame yourself.” More coughs erupt and blood falls past Katsuki’s lips.

“I’m sorry, my love.” Izuku apologizes. Katsuki uses the last of his strength to bring Izuku’s head down so their foreheads touch.

“What did I say Deku? Don’t apologize.” He grunts, “We will meet again. And when we do, I may not remember until my eyes meet yours.”

“O-of course.” The two share a final kiss and once Izuku pulls away, Katsuki’s body falls limp.

“Got damn you!” He shouts up at the sky, crying harder. “I did nothing wrong but fall in love with someone who had a heart! You all would do the same if you were in my place. You let me keep my immortality but at what cost. To see my suffering for falling in love!”

He looks down at Katsuki’s body once more, “When our eyes meet. I’ll see you again Kacchan.”

~End of Flashback~

Reality sets back in and Katsuki is in shock. He does not break away and looks deeper into the familiar green eyes. “Deku?”

Izuku, equally shocked, slowly starts breaking out into tears. “Kacchan? Is that you?”

Engulfing Katsuki into a hug, he brings his hands to the ash-blonde hair. Soft and spikey, same as before. He pulls away for a second, examining the face he dreamed about every night. The lips he remembered kissing. The eyes he stared into for hours on end. “Please tell me you remember me.”

Katsuki smiles back, “I do. It’s cloudy but I do my Deku.”

“Yes. I’m your Deku.” He laughs through the tears, hugging his lover again. “It’s been so long Kacchan. I almost lost hope.”

“Like I said, I may not remember until my eyes meet yours.”

They make eye contact again and finally, after decades of their souls being separated, they share a kiss. A spark flows through the two of them, rekindling the fire that has been waiting to be ignited once again.

They can finally live in peace.

At the top of the stairs, Denki and Eijirou fist bump. “Our job is done. Great work partner.”

“Do you think we should tell them that the Goddess of Love sent us?” Denki asks.

“Nah. I think they’ll be better off knowing that the gods regret their decision to banish him. Plus, Midoriya is no longer immortal.” They look at Izuku, smiling when they see he is finally at peace and can rest after decades of searching. “It seems like he already knows that.”

“And I don’t want to know what Bakugo would do to us if he finds out we knew about this this whole time. We might be the goddess’s helpers; we can still get hurt.” Denki nods rapidly in agreement.

The two watch on as the lovers walk away, holding each other close as they disappear into the crowd. “We are good friends.”

“THEY DID WHAT, DEKU??!!!” Katsuki shouts, running back towards the museum with Izuku right behind him.

“Hey. Do you still have that essay to write?”

“Yup. Wanna go back to the apartment and help me finish it?”

“Yup.” With that, the two book it.

“KACCHAN. THEY DID IT FOR US! DON’T HURT THEM!”

“THEY’RE DEAD.”

The End.....

So, it is the end of the short story I promised. It took me 4 hours to write since I wanted it to be perfect. I tried to input as much detail as possible get make it short. I cried at the flashback part. I also didn’t know if I wanted to do parts but it took me some thinking and I just decided with this. I also added a little funny ending for my pleasure since it’s what I do in my regular writings.

I hope y’all enjoyed it! Let me know if you did!

Also, thanks to mmajjyc for allowing me to write a short story of the duo! You art is beautiful and inspired me to write this since there wasn’t gonna be a part two. Lol! You are amazing!

Thanks again! Much Love - Maia❤️

#midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #mha #bakudeku #kaminari denki #kirishima eijirou #my hero academia

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poptod · 4 years ago

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The Nose Kiss (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: A dinner and offerings to the Gods devolves into something much quieter.

Notes: yesterday was the last day of my fast so today is the feast! i thought it might be fun to write something relating to that and my kemeticism thing, which is definitely there edit: i just realized all my fics lately have been about ahk im sorry lmao WC: 1.3k

The first thing on the list was obvious––you didn't even need to get them, as they were a common staple in your diet, especially around the festival of Opet. Dates, specifically medjool, and though you already had a box at home the thought of pitted dates came to you. If you got a couple nuts and coconut sugar you could stuff them, which was always a nice treat.

Number two and three on the list were a vegetable mix and olives.

Ahk mentioned liking olives.

You paused in the middle of the grocery store, staring at the list on your phone. Ahk would like all of this, actually––why hadn't you thought of that before? How many years have you celebrated this festival in a row and never thought of your friend?

Despite knowing exactly how the museum came to life every night, you'd never met anyone besides him. It was one of those evenings (or midnights, really) where restless wanderlust had you roaming the streets, looking for buildings to scale and the tallest places you could get to. The museum ended up being one of them, and that was where he saw and accosted you, a scared look in his eye that held you petrified.

That was a while ago now, though. It had to be... two? maybe three? years since you first met him, and considering the state of his existence he was a wonderful friend. And a very nice man to dream about.

One time he mentioned being a vegetarian, which happened right around the time he told you Teddy, a man also from the museum, recently became vegetarian as well. You wouldn't mind planning the feast around that. Thus you continued your shopping, a faint smile on your face as you imagined Ahk's upcoming look of surprise.

His hand in yours, you led him down the hallway, watching as he trailed behind you with a vacant but confused smile.

"I, the child of Khonsu," you began as you walked, starting a recitation of a prayer that you and Ahk had long since memorized. It would act as a sort of hint.

"I, the son of Ra," he returned.

"I will live and have power beneath the branches of the tree of Hathor. There Re appears in his horizon, his Ennead following him. Raise yourself, Re who are in your shrine, that you may lap up the breezes. May you swallow the northern wind, may you entrap the day, may you kiss Ma'at, may you sail the Sacred Bark to the Lower Sky, may you reckon up your bones and turn your face to the beautiful West."

In chanting unison you recited the prayer, the image of your shrine flashing behind your eyes. By now you remembered every detail of it, how it looked when you fell to your knees and prayed, soft utterances falling from your lips.

Your shrine at home was much prettier, much better managed than your portable one, but the smaller worked fine for your spot on the museum roof. Ahk never needed a jacket, but you did––for that you brought several thick blankets, wrapping up around the shrine and your pillow seats. Candlight surrounded the mobile shrine, illuminating the small painting of Khonsu in the back. For Ahk you brought an image of Ra, painted in faux gold, and gifted to him a couple months back.

His eyes drew first to the food. Plates of well-seasoned peas, turnips, lettuce, garlic, and onion––stacks of honey cakes and bowls of stuffed dates. In the middle lay the offering dish, one made of carved and stained wood and lined with flowers.

"How did you...?"

"Tied it all up in a big blanket and hauled it up the side," you said with a laugh, eyes set intently upon him, gauging his reaction. Thus far he looked delighted––beyond delighted. Almost... blushy.

"This.. this is –"

"Unwarranted?" You finished for him, raising a single brow.

He nodded.

"Don't worry," you said, once more taking his hand and leading him to sit down on his pillow seat. "It's the festival of Nehebkau today. Perfectly good reason."

"I suppose so," he said softly, attention drifting between the different plates.

"Offerings first?" You asked, and he nodded.

For the proceeding five minutes you stacked a fair amount of food onto the offering plate, lighting an incense whose smoke drifted high into the night sky. Without a roof above you, the scent remained distant, which suited you just perfectly for the meal you began to eat. An interesting yet uninvolved conversation flowed between you two, your attentions divided between the food and one another.

While Ahk finished up the remaining bites on his plate, you dug into your bag in search of your lute. You didn't play it often, more suited to guitar, but on the go it was a much lighter and smaller instrument.

"I lov–"

"Do you want to –"

You spoke at the same time, stammering and chuckling when you both recoiled your statements.

"You go first," you said, hands falling into your lap as you fidgeted.

"No, it's alright. What were you saying?"

"I just – wanted to know if you wanted to make some music," you said as you raised the lute into his line of sight.

"Sounds wonderful," he said with a happy, but dissatisfied, smile.

He taught you this one. The words. Together you translated it into English, though you rarely sung such songs in that language. Still, as you sung, you turned the words into English in your head, following along with the beat of your own voice.

But I, I am excited by your love alone

My heart is in balance with yours

and may I never be far from your beauty.

Yet I have departed from you now,

and when I think of your love,

my heart stands still within me.

The taste of sweetcake

Turns bitter on my tongue

The scent of your nose

is what revives my heart.

I have obtained,

forever and ever

What Amun has granted me.

"You sing that song well," he commented as you finished, quiet so as to not break the spell of music. "It becomes you."

Before you could answer he leant forward, eyes concentrated deeply into yours as his fingers raised to brush the hair off your face. Your heart skipped a beat as his skin touched yours. The two of you had never been all that touchy with each other––the furthest thing you'd done was a quick hug, leaving you clueless as to the sudden affection.

"You asked me about that one line in there, the one about the noses. When was that?" He asked, his head quirking to the side.

"Um.. a couple months ago maybe? You never gave me a direct answer. Why do you ask?"

He paused before opening his mouth, eyes straying to the side as a blush overtook him.

"It's called a nose kiss," he said, though apparently still couldn't bear to meet your gaze. "When a couple rubs their noses together and take in each others' scent."

You leaned forward the two inches it took to reach his face, closing your eyes as you bumped his nose with yours. At last his eyes turned to you, wide as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Once he did so he laughed––blushed a deeper red, and looked bashfully to the floor.

"Not quite that short," he mumbled through the soft laughter wracking his shoulders.

So you tried again; leaned forward with a gentler touch, brushing your noses together instead of bonking. Still your eyelids fluttered shut, focusing on the scent of him, the feel of his warmth, the rush of your heart at every grace. He sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders tensing until your hand came up to cup his jaw. Then he relaxed, moved into you, slotted his nose beside yours and landed the softest kiss right above your lips.

"Better?" You asked.

He kissed you again, this time on your lips.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader

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bb8sworld · 5 years ago

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— litoreus, part i

pairing: god of the sea!obi-wan kenobi x reader

word count: 7k (*sweats nervously*)

a/n: greetings, and welcome to the first part of my new series! i don’t know how better to summarize this story than by saying that kara (@karasong) said “neptune is a dilf” then val (@milleniumvalcon) said a statue of poseidon looked like obi-wan, and it spiraled from there. so many thanks to the discord for the idea of this poseidon!obi au.

-- ☆ -- ☆ -- ☆ -- ☆ --

Destiny. Fate. Will. Luck. Fortune. Chance. Predestination.

Words Obi-Wan Kenobi was intimately familiar with in a multitude of different tongues, languages, dialects, and scripts. Words that have altered in connotation throughout history but have remained steadfast in their use. Words that he didn’t believe in but knew nonetheless. As someone who has been around as long as he has, and as someone who knows the inner workings of the universe and was created shortly after it’s conception, he’s aware that the ideas of Fate and Destiny were innately… human. Something clung onto by ordinary people who dwelled on the Earth and needed reassurance for an occurrence in their lives or ideas blamed for any wrongdoing that came their way.

No, Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t believe in Fate, Destiny, Fortune, or whatever other terms may be used to describe these phenomena. Everything had an order, everything had a purpose, and things didn’t happen “by chance” or “just because.” They happened because they were supposed to, not because some outside force separate from the godly beings decided to intervene. As a godly being himself, he thinks he would know if there were outside forces beyond him and his fellow gods having any say in the universe.

One of the many perks of being a god, he supposed.

Being a god was tricky business, and it was a job that often didn’t pay in kind. From his very creation, Obi-Wan had struggled with this role of his, from who he was, who he was meant to be, and how he was supposed to act.

Despite being named Obi-Wan Kenobi upon “birth,” he has gone by a plethora of different names throughout his immortal life thus far—such as Olokun, Lir, Hapi, Poseidon, Neptune, Enbilulu, and Njord, just to name a few. So many names to describe one being who ruled, guarded, and protected the seas and oceans. Each one attuned to the civilization in which the name originated from, but all converging together to describe the same god. And from it came an outpouring of love and awe. It was flattering, to say the least, that humans at one point cared so much about him that they would craft pieces of artwork dedicated to him. Or how they would construct temples of worship for him so that they might have a place to pray for safe voyages, either for themselves or loved ones. It made him feel good and loved and appreciated and a whole litany of positive affirmations that humans use to describe this gooey feeling nestled within him.

Obi-Wan loved to help humanity and had always been infatuated with them—their cultures, lifestyles, relationships, emotions, everything. And any time he helped, he got to learn a little bit more about what made humans so human. Sometimes when he did intervene in their matters and was praised for it, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it felt like to be human. To be loved, appreciated, adored, wanted.

But being a god wasn’t always so pleasant and flattering.

Sometimes, if a storm churned in the ocean and caused a shipwreck, his name would be cursed at in such hatred and despair as grief overtook the humans. It stung and was incredibly painful to hear, but unfortunately, he didn’t always have control over those situations. Whenever this happened, he would wonder if the feelings he felt were the same ones humans did in response to these occurrences—unloved, hated, disgusted, guilty, remorseful.

Obi-Wan really, truly wanted to take suffering away from the very humans who had fascinated him for centuries, but that’s not the way the universe works. Matters of life and death were not his jurisdiction, even if either of these happened in the blue waves below. It fell to the god of the underworld who was the overseer of death, so therefore Obi-Wan’s hands were tied. He only had control over the voyage's journey, not the destination of the passengers, meaning he was often forced to watch as lives were taken at sea and his name was sworn against in wrath.

But like with all things brought to the attention of humanity, people move on. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, as times changed and new beliefs gained traction, that meant humans moved on from their old ways and religions—from the other gods and from him.

Despite his presence once being well-known and called upon in times of need and worship and gratitude, his importance dwindled in the eyes of the humans until he was all but nonexistent. His very being and all his life’s work were boiled down to a name that was somehow both him yet not him, written offhandedly in a history textbook for children to be aware of for a test but to forget immediately afterward. His life became a story sometimes told in a mythology book or two, often censored and abridged for audiences to “understand better.” He became a name people were familiar with but knew little about.

And so humanity had moved on from him, but he hadn’t moved on from humanity.

He was still endlessly intrigued by everything they were about and everything they had to offer, but because of his godly status, he never dared to go down and explore for himself, despite other gods having done so for one reason or another. And every day he was a little more tempted to go down and see what was new and exciting. Every time he saw another god leave to head down, he got a little bit closer to asking if he could join.

That being said, he did stay connected where he could. Throughout all of human history, art had been made in his name, and sometimes he would clear his mind and connect to those works as he did back in the ancient days and listen in on what was being said. Sometimes he caught snippets of stories from those who stood nearby. Sometimes he heard tales of his own life being taught to a younger generation in museums. But it had been a long time since he heard anyone talk to him. And despite his lack of belief in Fate or Destiny or whatever you wanted to call it, he couldn’t help but wish for the times to change and for one person to talk to him instead of about him. He wished that someone would answer his pathetic call and just talk to him.

So imagine his surprise when one day someone picked up.

At first, he thought it to be an accident. No way had someone genuinely believed he was real and manifested the powers to protect them when they traveled at sea, nor had someone directly contacted him in years for any reason. With all the new methods of transportation and exploration in the seas and oceans, most people went on those devices willingly without saying a quick prayer to him for the waters to be safe. Which was fine, really. He knew his place. Doesn’t mean he didn’t feel a little pang of hurt every time he saw a cruise ship head out or people go boating or children learn how to canoe.

But no… this call was different. It wasn’t a history lesson, or someone singing to themselves near a statue of him, or just some background clutter. No, this one felt different. And so, Obi-Wan sat on the floor of his room, closed his eyes, and began to slip into a meditative state in order to hear the call better.

“—maybe… we hang the light a foot more to the right? And tilt it just a tiny bit backward… there. Perfect! Look at you, Poseidon—or do you prefer Neptune—whatever, it doesn’t matter. But look at you, all cleaned up, restored, illuminated, and ready to go on display when the exhibit opens tomorrow. Let’s hope the visitors appreciate you in your polished state. Are you ready?”

Ah, so a new exhibit was going up featuring, presumably, a statue of him made by one of the ancient Greeks or Romans he oversaw so many centuries ago. He was about to tune out the voice and slip out of his meditative state when the voice picked up again.

“—god I must sound crazy. Just look at me, talking to a statue of a god who doesn’t even exist.” A beat. “I wish you did though, you seem like you’d be better company than some of the other people around here. Wishful thinking, eh, Neptune? Or… Poseidon… ugh, this is what happens when it’s an ancient Greek and Roman exhibit, there are too many double names—”

And off the voice went on a tangent about finishing up illuminating each of the iconic pieces of artwork and organizing pamphlets about the new exhibit in the information stands. From the sounds of it, the person behind the voice presumably worked at some museum where a new exhibit of him and the other gods in his life was being put together.

Maybe… maybe he could go down and visit it sometime. At least to see the art he hadn’t seen in many years. And if he happened to stumble across the worker with the voice he just tuned into, then he’d consider that a happy accident despite that very claim going against his beliefs about Fate. But how could he head down from his home in the clouds without raising suspicion among the other gods? He was notorious for keeping his distance once humanity forgot him, instead preferring to observe from afar and rejecting any offers to head down to the land.

The answer came in the form of Anakin Skywalker—also known as Camulus, Svetovid, Teutates, Ares, Mars, Odin, and Montu, to name a few—the god of war and the manifestation of the spirit of battle. He was a frequent visitor of the land and was undoubtedly Obi-Wan’s best friend. Not to mention, he regularly asked Obi-Wan to join him in hopes of getting him “out of his hermit lifestyle and back to the land of the living,” to quote Anakin, but Obi-Wan had either made excuses or flat out rejected his offer. But maybe it was high time he said yes.

With his plan in mind, now all he had to do was wait for Anakin to approach him and ask. And sure enough, just a few earth days later, Anakin showed up outside of Obi-Wan’s room with a cheeky smile on his face and a “ready to be done with being a recluse?” comment as expected. And though Anakin wouldn’t ever admit it to Obi-Wan’s face, Obi-Wan could see the true concern reflecting in his eyes alongside the expectation of getting rejected. Typically, there would be a pain in his eyes following each rejection, likely stemming from the wedge that sat between them because, for all that they were best friends—brothers even—they didn’t always see eye-to-eye on godly matters. From this came the worry that always sat at the corner of every conversation because Obi-Wan (admittedly so) had been self-isolating from humanity and became a stickler for following the rules of the gods. Contrast that to Anakin who was laxer in his ways and open to embracing his feelings and attachments.

But that concern and pain would end today. Obi-Wan was tired of feeling sorry for himself and hiding away up here and being lonely despite never actually being alone.

He was ready for adventure again.

And so, it was with a resounding sigh and faked exasperation that he said, “Oh, alright.”

If he took a little pleasure in being able to cause such a shocked facial expression on Anakin’s face, then that was for him to know. Though, it was a moment later when Anakin’s face split into a wide grin that he felt any lingering doubts about going down to earth dissipate. Yes, this was the right choice. If not for himself, then for his relationship with Anakin.

The act of getting down to earth was a rather easy task consisting of exiting through a golden archway that teleported them to a location of their choosing. Obi-Wan hopped on Anakin’s coordinates and the two reappeared in a forest Obi-Wan was unfamiliar with, the lights and sounds of a nearby town being their guide on the trek.

Before stepping into the hustle and bustle of the town, Anakin and Obi-Wan had “normalized” themselves from their usual glowing, almost angelic appearance into something more humane and easily looked over, particularly nondescript and unassuming, using the powers they possessed. The less attention they brought to themselves, the better. It was safer not to risk the chance of revealing themselves. Back in historic and ancient times, it was more common for them to fall into crowds of people undercover and interact, getting to know and understand the circumstances humanity faced up close and personal instead of from a distance. But that had all changed once Obi-Wan, Anakin, and the fellow gods above all became characters in a history book.

Nonetheless, Obi-Wan treasured this one act of using his powers for fun instead of remaining dormant and simply controlling the seas in the same patterns and cycles. He looked over at Anakin, wanting to see if he was ready to head into the streets, when he was surprised to see Anakin’s eyes already looking his way, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, exasperation smothering the very word, “What is it?”

“Finally decided on getting a haircut?” Anakin replied, laughter playing on the edge of the question. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the question. Yes, usually when he came down to earth he sported a longer hairstyle—a godly mullet, as Anakin oh so lovingly called it, business in the front and the only fun you know how to have in the back—but times had changed, and Obi-Wan had figured it was time for him to as well, at least a little bit. So he did. It was less of a haircut and more of the decision to manifest with shorter hair, unlike a certain someone standing next to him who had apparently decided the opposite.

“Strong words coming from someone who’s sporting a mullet themselves,” he quipped back, turning his attention forward and beginning the trek to the town. Affronted was the only word to describe how Anakin reacted, cemented in his shock, before he shook out of his state and rushed to catch up with his friend, secretly happy to see Obi-Wan engaging in their familiar back-and-forth.

“It is not a mullet, Obi-Wan,” Anakin refuted. “It’s stylish and helps me blend in.”

Obi-Wan gives a quiet hmm in acknowledgment before replying, “Whatever you say, Anakin.”

And so the trek continued until they found themselves in a bustling town with car horns honking, people shoving themselves through crowds, and bright lights illuminating around them. It was both entirely overwhelming yet hauntingly intriguing. For as much as he wanted to look away from the circus before him, Obi-Wan couldn’t stop admiring and absorbing all the information thrown at him. Of course he was aware of how the earth and humanity had progressed from his perch in the clouds, but while it’s one thing to hear and know of something, it’s another thing to witness and experience that which you had heard so much about.

Through his daze, he’s just barely able to keep up with Anakin as they take to the sidewalks, Anakin walking in an apparent familiar cadence as if he already knows where he’s heading and knows the trek well. Perhaps there’s a destination Anakin frequents on his jaunts down to earth? Maybe Obi-Wan should’ve asked what Anakin had in mind before he agreed to this excursion, but it’s too little too late for that now. But still, asking the destination of their slightly fast walking couldn’t hurt, right?

“You know, Anakin,” he starts, “You never told me where you were intending for us to go today.”

“Oh,” Anakin flounders for a moment, as if not expecting the question. Curious. “I, uh, well I figured we’d go to the local art museum.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan is unconvinced, but plays along anyway, only the slightest bit of suspicion seeping into his tone.

“Well… I know you love learning and appreciating the more—how do you phrase it?—refined and civilized things in life,” Anakin jokes, “So I figured we could go to an art museum together.”

Well wasn’t that just the shock of the century. Art museums were far from Anakin’s usual environment. Why? Anakin was loud, brash, and impulsive, constantly itching to go out and meet action head-on, act now think later, a complete contrast to the usually quiet, serene, and contemplative nature that art museums held dear. And for all that Obi-Wan loved Anakin, there were certain environments he would never dare to be with him, art museums being one of them. But, considering Obi-Wan had agreed to join and Anakin actually seemed somewhat eager to go, he figured he could indulge Anakin just this once.

Besides, Obi-Wan figured there must’ve been some ulterior motive at play here, and if he played his cards right, he could figure it out.

“An art museum?” he asks casually, hoping maybe he’ll get a hint of this mysterious motive.

But Anakin immediately picks up on the slight curiosity in his words. “Yeah, why? You don’t want to go?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind going, I just didn’t know you’d be interested in that.”

“Well, people change, Obi-Wan. Maybe I’ve taken a page from your book and learned how to be stuffy and grandfatherly.”

Rude, Obi-Wan muses, but an unlikely story. He leaves it at that and instead asks Anakin what else he had on the itinerary for the day as they walk toward the museum. Apparently, the art museum is the highlight of the day, though Anakin does promise that if Obi-Wan would be open to indulging in human food—something that honestly means nothing to them because they can’t be satisfied on non-godly food—there’s a cafe not too far from the museum that they can hang out and people watch at. All-in-all, not a bad day. Could’ve been way worse given how differently he and Anakin define “a fun day out.”

Eventually, they do make it to the art museum in one piece, and Obi-Wan immediately takes note of how quaint it looks against the glamour of the surrounding town. Less bright colors and flashes of light on the exterior but still a commanding presence with its masonry that almost demands you to look at it and compels you to go inside.

They stand in the queue to get tickets and go inside, but once they do, Anakin starts walking off before Obi-Wan can even grab a map of the museum. He manages to snag one and just barely finds Anakin in the crowd of the entry foyer, leaving Obi-Wan to trail behind a couple of feet once he catches up as Anakin guides him to the Medieval and Renaissance art exhibit. They’re only a few feet inside the exhibit when someone calls out “Ani!” and the two whip their heads around in-sync to the sound of the voice, a chorus of shushing surrounding them.

It’s a short woman who approaches the pair, a charming smile on her lips and a glint in her eyes. She immediately goes to embrace Anakin and Obi-Wan thinks: ah, ulterior motive discovered. He looks at her professional attire, the low but elegant bun her brown hair is in, and the name tag he just barely caught a glimpse of and easily deduces that she must be a staff member here. Maybe once the two finally release each other Obi-Wan can say his greetings and find out more.

Luckily, she seems to be the sensible one between the two and releases Anakin after making eye contact with Obi-Wan, as if just now realizing that Anakin came with company. She tries to be blasé about the overly friendly interaction with Anakin by plowing forward in her introduction, holding her hand out for a handshake. Very interesting, indeed.

“I’m Padmé Amidala, one of the curators for this exhibit in the museum. You must be one of Anakin’s friends,” she greets. Obi-Wan takes her hand and gives it a slight shake. Her grip is firm but not tight, giving just enough of her away for him to understand that she is a person to be respected and in awe of but not feared. It’s easy to begin understanding how her dynamic with Anakin works.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Oh, so you’re the famous Obi-Wan. Anakin has told me so much about you.” Obi-Wan gives a side-eyed glance to Anakin, noting the innocent expression he wears and wondering just how much he’s revealed to Padmé.

“Interesting, he hasn’t mentioned you at all,” Obi-Wan responds, giving them both a teasing smile in some semblance of reassurance that he isn’t offended by this fact.

However, Obi-Wan can feel the lingering hesitation and slight nerves radiating off of Anakin, which is an unsurprising development. Gods aren’t meant to have deep bonds with humans. Loose friendships are typically accepted with only slight frowns, but once it strays into a tight-knit bond and attachments form, especially romantic ones, they’re frowned upon greatly. And between the two of them, Anakin is less of a stickler for the rules, instead preferring to live by his own interpretations and caveats to the rules—which means Obi-Wan knows that Anakin fears this friendship of his with Padmé will be scrutinized and berated.

Which… okay, is a valid concern considering Obi-Wan’s devotion to the rules, but Obi-Wan hates to be a snitch on his best friend. And as long as he doesn’t witness any actions that would confirm a more serious relationship, particularly romantic, Obi-Wan is willing to turn his eye to the obvious heart eyes and lingering touches the two share. Can’t tattle if there’s room for doubt and question.

He just hopes Anakin knows this himself. And he especially hopes that Anakin hasn’t told Padmé that he’s a god.

He decides to shake off these thoughts and turn the conversation to safer territory to try and ease Anakin some. “So, Padmé, I take it you work here. What is it that you do?”

Immense relief hits him like a tidal wave from Anakin with happiness trailing behind like seafoam as the wave recedes. Not wanting to make any open comments about Anakin’s feelings and potentially clue Padmé into their more than human nature, he settles for a quick moment of eye contact before focusing back on Padmé.

“I’m one of the museum curators here,” she confirms, “I mainly specialize with art in the Medieval and Renaissance exhibit as well as our Impressionist pieces.” She pauses to size him up, silently scrutinizing him and his reactions. Whatever it is she finds must satisfy her, because she continues as if nothing happened, “Have you been here before, Obi-Wan? We recently got some new pieces on loan from some collectors and other museums that are worth checking out.”

“This is my first time, actually,” Obi-Wan starts before Anakin jumps in, quick on his verbal heels, “Right! And I was going to show him around. Make sure he visits the highlights at least.”

Instantly Padmé’s face drops ever so slightly at the idea of this conversation ending and her parting from Anakin, but she composes herself well. But Obi-Wan would be blind not to notice Anakin’s disappointment too, so he decides to take matters into his own hands and says, “Though I’m more than capable of wandering on my own if you’d rather stay and chat with Padmé, Anakin.”

“Are you sure, Obi-Wan? I was the one who invited you out after all—”

“Nonsense, I’ll be more than fine on my own. Maybe then I’ll actually get to appreciate the art and read the descriptions like the grandfather you think I am,” he jokes. “I’ll meet you back by the entrance in a couple hours. Pleasure meeting you, Padmé, I hope we meet again soon.”

And just like that, Obi-Wan is off and he no longer has to be surrounded by the obvious desire for something more between the two that was only stifled from being acted on by his presence. When he’s a good distance away, he decides to stop for a moment and actually look at the map in his hand, and he’s pleasantly surprised by just how many exhibits, art movements, and cultural regions are housed in this art museum. With the knowledge that he may not be able to knock out every exhibit in one visit, he decides to make his rounds to the ones that intrigue him the most.

He starts in the African Art section, admiring the ceramics and textiles created in various regions of Africa, before moving onto the Chinese bronzes, ceramics, and jades exhibition and it’s next-door Japanese screens and paintings exhibit. He’s thinking of swinging to modern and contemporary works when he looks at the map in his hands and eyes the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit, reluctance setting in. Obi-Wan always feels a bit of hesitancy whenever admiring ancient creations because he remembers who the artists were and that fact makes him feel old and worn down in ways he never expected gods to feel like. Besides, wouldn’t it be narcissistic of himself to go and admire the times of old and perhaps even stumble upon a work of him?

Caution thrown to the wind, Obi-Wan decides to make his way to the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit. With his head held high, he spots the tall glass doors to the exhibit and opens them slowly before stepping inside and almost immediately being hit by a whirlpool of nostalgia. Just seeing the vases, plates, coins, cups, relics, and statues on display make him nearly stumble on his feet. The faces staring back at him on the head busts by the entrance are so eerily similar to those of his friends that he feels his breathing stutter for a moment. It’s true that back in those times the gods were more… open to visiting earth. Back then they were more willing and able to interact with humanity and be treated kindly in return. Though, the stories of their escapades and interactions always seemed to be skewed and embellished among all civilizations.

But one thing that transpires over almost every civilization who ever believed in the gods and goddess that Obi-Wan is connected to is that they managed to nail one key feature of the gods in their stories: their extremities. Because at the end of the day, that’s what the gods all were—the best and worst of humanity, but maximized.

Obi-Wan prefers not to think about that fact and how, subsequently, he feels more than humans do and also has an awareness for the feelings of the other gods.

No, best not to dwell on that.

He decides that perhaps it’s best to move beyond the entryway and stop clogging up the doorway with his presence, so he begins to move through the exhibit, stopping every now and then to admire a certain work of art. By the time he’s gone through about half the exhibit, the sting of seeing those he knows etched onto bronze or marble is hurting less; he’s thinking he can finally start to appreciate the art more when he hears a voice.

But it’s not just any voice, it’s a voice he recognizes. And it’s not Anakin, nor is it Padmé. It’s a voice he’s heard before but he doesn’t know the person it belongs to. It’s familiar enough that he clings to it, scrambling through past and recent memories until finally it clicks:

The voice he’s hearing is the voice that recently talked to him via one of the statues commemorated in his honor.

And just like that, he turns his head around and begins to look around for the source. It’s like he’s a ship lost at sea and this voice is his guiding light home, if only he could find it. It takes a couple more seconds before finally his gaze settles on you, and it’s as if sunlight just burst into the room. He notices your eyes first and the way they shimmer with happiness as you wander through the exhibit, admiring the artworks yourself. But then he catches your smile as you turn to talk to one of the nearby patrons and the very sight of it makes him feel as if the world has just opened wide, opportunities he’s never considered laying out on many paths before him.

He takes a moment to shake himself out of his daze to properly take in your appearance. Judging on your outfit and the name tag that he just barely can’t make out and read, you are obviously a worker here, perhaps a curator like Padmé. You’re wandering the exhibit with an air of pride surrounding you, as if you’re happy that so many people are taking the time to come and appreciate the art before them. Everything about you is intriguing and he wants to introduce himself to you before this high feeling surrounding him comes crashing down and he goes back up to the clouds to spend out his immortal days alone and separated again from humanity.

Just as he’s about to take a few steps in your direction, he feels a harsh force of another body hit him in the side, nearly sending him toppling over onto a head bust next to him. He’s bracing for impact, praying that this piece of art somehow is a counterfeit and doesn’t cost more than he can even fathom (seriously, exactly how bad is inflation right now?) when he feels hands on his shoulders that push him back onto his feet. His hands immediately latch onto the ones grabbing him as he steadies himself. One he’s back on solid ground, he looks up to go thank whoever caught him when his heart leaps to his throat and he momentarily stops breathing because who else would be his savior than his guiding light?

He barely has time to even admire your speed and strength before you’re talking to him.

“Are you okay?” you ask and oh how he wants to hear more and more and more of your angelic voice. It’s as if you’re a siren, tempting him closer and closer to you until finally he is caught in your eyes and dancing among the many stars that twinkle in them. But suddenly he flushes with the realization that he’s been staring way too long and oh dear this is quite a messy first impression he really needs to redeem himself with something coherent and get this boat sailing back on course—

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah. Fine. I’m fine. Never better, truly.” Shipwreck. What an utter shipwreck this is for him. Maker, he’s making a fool of himself. Amid his internal despair, he hears you giggle at his fumbling and his heart starts beating faster.

“Poseidon right?”

And suddenly his heart stops, his mouth drops every so slightly, and his face whitens. How have you possibly figured him out so quickly?

“What?” Is about all he can muster in response.

“Or Neptune, I guess, depending on which you prefer.” He’s silent. Awestruck. But you must pick up on the confusion and awe on his face because you elaborate, “You know… the sculpture right over there? The big marble one with a man holding a trident? The one you were staring at before you nearly crashed into this poor head bust of Zeus and broke this priceless piece of historic artwork? Really, what did the poor guy ever do to you? Surely he doesn’t deserve his head getting cracked open a second time.”

Oh thank the Maker, you were just referring to the art in the room. Which perhaps he should’ve accounted for instead of internally freaking out because he did willingly enter the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit of the museum.

But you take his silent relief as continued confusion because you are suddenly rambling, “You know, because Zeus already had his head cracked open once by Hephaestus after Zeus swallowed a pregnant Metis and gave birth to Athena through his forehead?” You laugh awkwardly before plowing on, “Maybe I should stop talking now, sorry, sometimes I just go off about all these old myths, I just think they’re fascinating and—sorry, I’m doing it again aren’t I?”

He laughs in response to your weak joke and hearty explanation, and he starts to feel a little less wound up and nervous when he notices that you’re feeling the same way.

“No, no, it’s alright! It was very clever. Funny too,” he comments. The two of you share a smile and simply stare into each others’ eyes for a couple moments. But then he begins to worry that he’s making you uncomfortable by maintaining eye contact for longer than normal—except what is “normal”? How much has human etiquette changed since he’d last been on earth? Is this conversation already doomed? He decides to take the gamble anyway and clears his throat as his eyes flicker around the exhibit, trying to think of what else to say to you, before he lands on your name tag (what a pretty name you have) and he says the first thought that comes to mind.

“So, you work here then?” Not the best conversation starter, but it’s something, he supposes. Maker, what is wrong with him? He’s never been so nervous in his entire immortal life, but one conversation with you and suddenly he’s falling victim to all the nerves and anxieties of humans, but dialed up beyond a 10. Gods really are the maximization of humanity’s best and worst. What an awful time to be living this fact. Thankfully, you respond and break him out of his spiraling worries.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been working here for the past couple of years as one of the curators. I actually worked on this exhibit. I helped organize and select all the pieces in the exhibit, arrange restorations and displays, and record all the art you see here. I’ll admit it’s rather hard selecting which art pieces would fit best with the message we’re trying to convey, not to mention the availability of many pieces of art also plays a difficult role, but I like to think it paid off in the end. There’s something special about all the pieces of art here,” you suddenly pause in your speech before walking over to the very Poseidon statue you thought Obi-Wan had been looking at earlier, and he follows, quick on your heels.

You continue, “Like, this statue of Poseidon, for example. It traveled through an ocean of time, across several continents, through several restorations, all to be right here, right now, in this very moment for you and I to admire.” You let out a sigh that Obi-Wan can only describe as wistful. “I can only wonder how it looked when the artist was creating it and when it was first unveiled.”

He wishes how he could tell you about when he first laid eyes on this statue of himself he had nearly burst into tears, sending a light rain over the agora from the intensity of his emotions. But he suppresses the urge. He wasn’t supposed to reveal himself to humanity, and even if he did let something slip, what are the odds that you’d ever believe him? The two of you are not close, and you never will be. His livelihood as a god forbids it.

Still…

There’s something about the sparkle in your eye as you wistfully look at the art, as if looking at it for the first time despite having seen it countless times before, and your passion for the ancient classics that he finds compelling. Initial literal-sweeping-off-his-feet encounter aside, there’s something about you that draws him to you.

You’re entirely intriguing to him, and he can’t quite pinpoint why. Not entirely, at least. It doesn’t hurt that he finds your ramblings of history and art to be adorable. Not that he’s admitting to anything more than simple infatuation at first sight. He wishes he had the chance to get to know you better beyond the confines of this Ancient Greek and Roman exhibit. But the two of you lead entirely different lives and he has to let this go.

But, he can allow himself this one instance of normal human interaction.

“I’m sure it must have been a sight to behold given how important the gods were to the Ancient Greeks and Romans,” he comments.

“Exactly!” Despite being a curator here and knowing the rules of the exhibits like the back of your hand, you are shushed by a nearby patron at your happy exclamation. Obi-Wan laughs softly at the embarrassed look on your face.

“Guess that’s my cue to switch topics,” you joke. Obi-Wan smiles kindly at you before you continue, “Basics then. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it,” he winks at your unimpressed look. Luckily for him though, it cracks and transforms into a brilliant smile as the two of you share a laugh. No harm done.

“Okay, smartass, I’ll rephrase: what’s your name?” you ask. “Not all of us are lucky enough to talk with people who wear name tags.”

“Alright then, since you asked so nicely, I’m Obi-Wan. And it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand for you, which you easily take and give a shake. A slight zing runs through his body at the slight contact, his hand still buzzing even after you two let go.

“Pleasure to meet you as well. Is this your first time here?” you inquire.

“Ah, yes, my friend decided to take me,” Obi-Wan starts, but he can’t help but grumble out, “I think he’s a frequent visitor.”

You let out a giggle at his grumpy tone. “You make it seem as if that’s a bad thing. Surely it’s not that god-awful here?”

“The company sure makes it better,” slips out before he can catch the words, but he’s not blind to the pleased look on your face. Huh. Interesting. “I never thought he was interested in art museums but—”

“Obi-Wan!” Cuts through the air, loud and brash and diluted with the slightest hint of concern, immediately followed by shushing by other patrons. Obi-Wan sighs as he recognizes the voice of Anakin.

“—it would appear that he still hasn’t picked up on museum etiquette despite all those visits.”

You rub his arm gently, a look of playful sympathy on your face as you tell him, “How awful it must be to have a friend that cares about your whereabouts.”

But he’s suddenly finding it very hard to even pretend to be annoyed when you’re touching him with such care. All too soon, your hand is off his arm as Anakin makes himself known, sidling up right to Obi-Wan and immediately grasping his elbow.

“Where on earth were you? We were supposed to meet half an hour ago. I waited for you! And here I was thinking you were the responsible one—” Anakin is cut off by you attempting to diffuse the situation.

“I believe that’s my fault. I kept him here talking to me and I held him up,” you turn back to Obi-Wan, a bright smile on your lips and the stars twinkling once more in your eyes. Maker, if he didn’t know any better he really would think he was looking at the sun, his beacon of light. “It was lovely talking to you, Obi-Wan. Maybe you could come again soon and we can continue this conversation?”

“Of course.” It’s his automatic response, no thoughts, questions, or worries in mind. You just look so hopeful and he’s once again a ship in the night, setting out to sail the high seas but hoping to return to again safely, guided by your light. He can only hope Anakin doesn’t pick up on his infatuation with you.

“Great! I’ll let you two go then. Nice meeting you!” And just like the wind, you’re gone, moving on to other patrons and other works of art, sharing your knowledge and stories and passion with other lucky souls. Maybe he will come back.

“They seemed nice,” Anakin remarks with absolutely no subtly.

“I’m not sure what you think happened between us, but whatever it is, you’re wrong,” and with that Obi-Wan turns and begins walking out of the exhibit before Anakin can refute or comment on Obi-Wan’s building anxiety, giving him no choice but to follow.

The walk out of the museum, their time sitting and people watching at a nearby cafe, and the walk back to the forested area follow a similar pattern: Anakin trying to do some digging with heavy insinuations, Obi-Wan denying vehemently any theories and offering scant details, and neither one willing to back down from their stance. It’s an old familiar rhythm, and despite it being grating at times, it’s nice to feel a sense of normalcy with Anakin once more.

Eventually, they make it back up to their hidden sanctuary in the sky and part ways for the day. Once back in his dwelling, Obi-Wan sits down on a cushioned chair and mulls over his day. While going to the museum was fun and enlightening, his mind wanders back to a certain museum curator. The dark horse of the day. The unexpected detail. His beacon of light.

There’s something more to you, something he wants so desperately to know. He practically itches to go back to the museum and keep talking with you. You’re intelligent, beautiful, and humorous. You’re the sun, moon, and stars. He knows he can’t pursue a romantic relationship with you, and he knows friendships with humans are frowned upon if they get too close, but he reasons to himself that one more visit down to earth to speak with you wouldn’t hurt anyone. With this in mind, he closes his eyes and begins to reach out to see if he can hear you once again, but as he’s doing so, a realization dawns on him.

Meeting you is the closest he’s come to believing in Fate, and despite this going against his beliefs, he’s ready to set sail on this unknown voyage and see where your next meeting takes him.

#so that was a doozy... good grief but i hope it's worth it #i usually don't do taglists but lemme know if you want to be tagged in future parts #because i don't have a schedule soooo #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars one shots #obi wan kenobi #my writing #userkarina #yes a lot of the godly traits were inspired by disney's hercules bc i am basic

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robbyrobinson · 4 years ago

Photo

OWL HOUSE x CTHULHU MYTHOS CROSSOVER: GODS AWAKEN

(Pt. I)

“Come on, class,” the teacher announced in a stern voice.

On that day, a class from Hexside School of Magic and Demonics was on a field trip sponsored by the potion's coven. It was to a museum that purported to be a documentation of the history of the Boiling Isles. The students walked in an orderly line behind their teacher who himself followed the tour guide, a small rabbit like creature with a bow tie.

“If you look all around you, you can see that several of these creatures had managed to bleed out of our world and into others.”

The tour guide pointed to different anomalies some stuffed, others mounted on the walls. Griffins were suspended from the ceiling mimicking their movements in life; vampires were placed in tanks fashioned as coffins. Within those tanks were a green-yellow liquid supposedly to preserve their corpses and to keep them from getting exposed to light. Large tarantulas were placed in an array aligning the floors which led to artificial plants and trees.

The tour guide turned his attention to the class. “Are there any questions on your mind?”

One student raised their hand.

“Yes?” the tour guide asked.

The student was a cyclops whose eye nearly engulfed his face. “What is that one over there?”

“Where are you looking at, kid?” the tour guide inquired.

The student pointed his finger towards the far end of the room. The tour guide squinted his eyes to process what he was being directed to and slowly recognized the sight before him.

“Oh, that,” he said, “it was initially meant to have been relocated because of some being fearful that it would be too...troublesome.”

“Well, is it possible that we at least catch a small glimpse of what it is?” the teacher asked, “now that he had raised awareness of it, we cannot simply ignore it.”

The tour guide scratched his chin deep in thought. After pondering it for a few seconds, he sighed. “You have really twisted my arm, but I suppose I can at least tell you the history of it.”

They followed the tour guide towards the site of inquiry. Their eyes widened in amazement: before them towered, a colossal figure wearing attire alien to the witches of the Boiling Isles. It had a massive kilt splayed across its pelvis and reached down to its feet. Upon further inspection, the figure’s eyes were obscured with only its wide maw being visible. Rows of pointed, jagged teeth were littered in its mouth. One could even say that there were actually two rows of teeth, some teeth being so wide and mammoth, the figure’s mouth could not fully close. On the head of the creature, it wore pieces of cloth that came together to form a headpiece. The strands of fabric also rolled down its back.

Another student stepped closer to the figure now realizing that it was a statue. “Who is this?”

The tour guide hopped over. Before he said anything else, he took his finger and drew a circle in the air. A small ball of light formed in his hand. “This being,” he started, “preexisted the Boiling Isles.”

He walked towards the student and illuminated the area with his ball of light. “Thousands of years ago before the Boiling Isles’ recorded history, this being appeared one day seemingly with little rhyme nor reason. He went by many names, but the one he preferred the most was Nyarlathotep.”

Around the statue of Nyarlathotep were murals depicting the Boiling Isles at different points in its development. He was prominently on display one mural in particular being the most disconcerting. A red ball of fire appeared before a small group of witches. Behind the ball was a long, spindling tail. From the look of horror on the witches’ faces, the event was not met with warm reception.

“Where he came from no one knows,” the tour guide emphasized, “but what he did do next proved to be for our good.”

He flashed the light ball in another mural illustrating Nyarlathotep forming a circle and rays of that shape went to the witches. “Long before Emperor Belos and the coven system, Nyarlathotep bestowed the early inhabitants magic.”

The students looked at themselves. They were never once told by their parents or their teachers that a being likely from another dimension granted them magic. And certainly not the notion that it preexisted the Isles itself.

The guide seemed to know what they were thinking. “This information was initially removed from the historical records and was only accessible to the most secretive of archives.”

“What is happening there?” the teacher asked.

They saw murals depicting the children of the early natives being tied to stakes and set ablaze before Nyarlathotep. The smoke of the mass fires danced around him. Inscriptions of ancient rituals detailing the sacrifices accompanied the grizzly imagery. But in return for the sacrifices, Nyarlathotep conjured rainclouds that poured down on the witches.

“It was best understood that the people of the Isles were indebted to their god,” the tour guide clarified, “so they offered him their own flesh and blood in order for Nyarlathotep to continue providing them with blessings.”

The teacher scanned the inscriptions but could not process what they were alluding to. “What happened to those that refused?” He shrugged. “I mean, surely some would be opposed to that.”

The tour guide frowned. “Oh, yes; there were some who obviously had misgivings with his demands. But that is what happened to them.”

He lifted the light ball higher revealing the bigger picture. Villages that Nyarlathotep visited were razed to the ground with their dark god being the perpetrator behind the senseless assaults. Each mural depicted the same thing: witches standing up to oppose him only to be immediately quashed. In each mural, Nyarlathotep was in a different form some resembling winged beasts and satyrs. Sometimes Nyarlathotep would merely send gusts of wind to topple houses and buildings.

“Everywhere Nyarlathotep went, death was almost always a guarantee,” the tour guide said, “people were not even safe in their dreams for he would send madness-inducing nightmares into their subconscious safe haven. It would remain that way until one day, someone stood up for the children of the Isles.”

A hooded figure stood before the dark figure without any weapon or army to assist them. Nyarlathotep shot his dark power towards the figure only for it to be reflected onto him. After a lengthy battle, Nyarlathotep’s imboding figure was licked away until he was cornered by the hooded figure and a few of the witches. With his power stripped away, Nyarlathotep was fired on with his own magic and was encased in a glass prison.

“And so, thanks to this mysterious stranger, the Boiling Isles was freed from Nyaralthotep’s tyranny and he was encased in this glass prison that you see here.”

The light danced on Nyaralathep’s glass case. “But before he was made to slumber, Nyarlathotep threatened that he would return once the thousand-year imprisonment reached its end and that he would send someone to act as his representative until he returned to full power.”

The cyclops noticed a book.

“Oh, that book?” the tour guide observed, “the hooded figure wrote the book and told for one of his countrymen to hide it far out of the reach of any of Nyarlathotep’s followers; inside that book, he had the magical incantation that could return Nyarlathotep to his full power.” The tour guide closed his hands over the light ball. “It was said that more copies of this book exist, but I suppose one should take the entire story with a grain of salt.”

He clapped his hands together to get the class’s attention. “Now, who wants to learn about different types of poison?”

They cheerfully applauded and followed after the tour guide. The teacher dragged his feet trying to follow suit. “Wait, guys, what did I say about an orderly line?”

The history exhibit became deathly silent not too long after they left. But in their excitement, no one noticed that a crack on the statue’s torso was forming.

(More to come)

#cthulhu mythos #nyarlathotep #the owl house #'owl house #owl house #fanfiction #luz noceda #fanfic #lovecraft

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revalise · 4 years ago

Text

Afterdate | UshiOi

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Oikawa Tooru

Genre: Fluff, first date

Rating: SFW

Words: 6900+

A/N: This was for UshiOi Week (@ushioiweek2020) but I wasn't able to make the deadline. I wrote Ushijima and Tendou scenes on a writer's block, phew. Thank you to Risa for beta reading this! I owe it all to you!I have quite a number of Haikyuu one-shot ideas, including thrillers and angst, I still need to write. But uni is taking a lot of my time and I haven't fully surpassed my writer's block yet (hence, why I've been posting less and less). If you enjoyed it, don't hesitate to comment. See you on the next! Nevertheless, I hope you love the story as much as I loved writing it!

Masterlist

Ushijima stared at the slightly breathless wonder in front of him as he skidded to a halt. His eyes twinkled, just a bit—in a way they usually did when he was amused but tried hard not to be. Oikawa looked spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. A little stiff on the edges, but spectacular

It was a terrible date. Until it wasn’t.

The usually loud metropolis was quiet as a wraith as Tendou and Ushijima waited for the bus home. The kiss of smooth, cold breeze enveloped them both, making Tendou shiver.

Tendou rubbed his hands on his arms as the condensation of his breath blew against the low temperature before whipping his head to the side, only to see Ushijima dart his gaze to the road, patiently waiting. He didn’t care at all about the freezing temperature, standing still as the bus finally arrived, making Tendou frown at their differences.

He would always find himself beside Ushijima as it seemed they always came in a pair. And he knew how different they were. Tendou was the lively one, while Ushijima remained as composed as ever. For a moment, he thought he’d never outdo the captain of the team, but Tendou had a girlfriend waiting for him, waiting for a message regarding his whereabouts.

That alone was enough to make him think he was ahead of the stoic captain. And as a serial dater, Tendou knows how girls turn into something else when their boyfriends don't text back in two minutes.

But when he took out his phone, it was dead.

So the horror that produced sweat on his forehead cascaded down from his neck, even in the temperature, was accompanied by a hammering chest. He knew he needed to shoot his girlfriend a message.

He was left with no choice but to ask Ushijima to borrow his phone. As he fumbled through his friend’s phone after he had no choice, something piqued his interest.

Tendou paid a short glance beside him and his mouth formed a sly smile. The shock mixed with amusement on his face was inexplicable when he saw the Tinder app on his best friend's phone. He covered his mouth to stifle a snort, careful not to wake passengers in their slumber in the back row, late at night from volleyball practice.

Ushijima directed his attention at Tendou, who was looking at him maliciously. The moment his eyes landed on the phone, he understood why.

He tried to hide his surprise, but failed miserably as he quickly tried to retrieve his phone back from Tendou.

Thanks to all the blocking techniques Tendou learned from the team, he held the phone as high as he could out of Ushijima's reach. There was no way Ushijima could retrieve his phone without pushing Tendou over and making a scene since he sat on the window side.

"Hm," Tendou teased. "Since when did you have this?"

"I don't know why it's in there. Give it back," Ushijima argued with a straight face, but the falter in his voice was enough to prove that he was lying. And he wasn't a good liar.

Tendou wiggled his brows, tilting his head. From Tendou's above peripheral, the app successfully loads, and he immediately turns his attention to it, raising it further from Ushijima's grasp.

He pressed on Ushijima's profile. Gods above, did it make him cringe, not to mention the photo Ushijima used for his profile taken about four years ago.

Ushijima, 20

Miyagi Region

"Ugh," Tendou released a sigh. "Have you ever dated anyone from here?"

Ushijima sighed, sitting straight as he set his head down, "No, I don't understand it. I only swiped, and then nothing."

So nobody swiped for him, Tendou thought, feeling both sorry and amused for his friend at the same time. He should change his picture on the app. He looks like an annoying know-it-all, 15 year old. Nobody would go for him.

"Well, that's why you have me," Tendou grinned and head-locked Ushijima. "I'm going to help you get a date!"

The volleyball captain slowly looked up at his friend, "How?"

Tendou only smiled, "Leave it to me."

All Ushijima could ever do was sigh and look over the window as the bus moved further away. He kept his eyes on the bright and warm lights of establishments outside that elongated from the bus’s movement.

He knew that fighting Tendou was futile. In all these years, he had known how the redhead always did whatever he wanted, and how he was good at getting all that. Besides, Ushijima felt too tired to argue anyway.

The continuous clicks of the camera brought his conscience back from almost spacing out. Immediately, he turned his head over to the source beside him to see a smiling Tendou holding his phone as if he’d just come up with something interesting of some sort.

“Did you know it's rude to take photos of somebody without their knowledge?”

The redhead only rolled his eyes with a grin, turning the phone over to Ushijima to show the new profile he’d arranged. "And did you know I only did that as a favor?"

His new bio now read:

Ushijima, 20

Miyagi Region

I must be in a museum because you are a work of art

The four year old photo he once had as his profile picture was now replaced with the one Tendou took.

It was Ushijima's side profile looking outside over the window. The lights of the establishments they passed through created a nostalgic aesthetic along with the slight blurriness of the photo, but never missing his straight, high nose and the sharpness of his jaw. Oh, and that aura of both seriousness and mysteriousness that Tendou knew would catch the attention of anyone who’d look at it.

Ushijima stared at the phone closely, reading the new bio Tendou wrote for him, "That doesn't feel like me at all."

Tendou ignored his friend's remark, giving the phone back to him. "Now try swiping again."

Ushijima took his phone back, observing what buttons to press as he had forgotten how to use the app between the long months since he used it. Finally, the profiles load and he's greeted with a certain boy with light brown hair looking rather cheerful in his picture.

Oikawa, 20

Miyagi Region

If nothing lasts forever, can you be my nothing? ;)

Ushijima scrunched his nose, making Tendou roll his eyes as he grabbed the phone back from him.

“You don’t just stare at it, okay?” He swipes right and a match appears, “See? You swipe and then that will appear if they like you too.”

“Why would they like me if they don’t even know me yet?” the captain asked, tilting his head to the side.

Tendou grimaced, looking a little funny at the innocent question asked of him. “They like your face, okay?” he replied. “Okay?”

Oikawa couldn’t remember how long he’d been talking to the brunette he met on Tinder. Yes, Ushijima was a dry texter, but for some reason, for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from talking to him. Not even when every topic shifted to thinking if they’d ever had milk from the same cow. Because Ushijima took him to a place where he only knew two things: that he couldn’t stop smiling and couldn’t stop looking forward to all his replies.

The smell of sweat and the sounds of bouncing balls and shoes scraping against the gym floor sang around Oikawa as he made himself comfortably seated all alone on the bench, taking advantage of the fifteen-minute break the coach lent the team.

He laced his phone around his nimble fingers while the other danced around the clean, white towel he used to wipe his forehead before setting it down beside him, placing it along various colored tumblers that belonged to his teammates.

Iwaizumi watched Oikawa from a distance, gulping down on his tumbler, rivulets of water running down from his lips to his Adam's apple, all the way down to his chest. He narrowed his eyes at the flamboyant big shot as he lowered his drink.

He didn’t know why exactly, but there was something different about Oikawa today.

One could say that there was something quite off about the confident captain of the team. Usually, he’d be socializing with the team, or annoying Iwaizumi during breaks, but today he chose to confine himself in the corner, craving what little quiet the noisy gym could offer. Of course, underneath the winks, smiles, exaggerated swagger, and childish antics lies a much more serious persona for when a situation demands it, channeling all that bravado in his pursuit.

But what was so important that could possibly bring Oikawa’s tenacity and attention completely locked on his phone, which he hasn’t put down since the first minute? What could possibly have Oikawa on edge that he couldn’t keep his right heel from lifting and dropping over and over, restlessly?

Oikawa couldn’t stress how long he’d been waiting for Ushijima to ask him out. He wished to have Ushijima beside him, wished he could inhale his scent—and how he probably smelled of dark wood with a hint of vanilla, wished Ushijima’s fingers threaded his hair, and how he wished they were something more.

Truthfully, he couldn’t explain why he’s so intoxicated with the man. He couldn’t determine or distinguish the weight of various reasons why, as if translating them into words would be translating symbols into letters.

Perhaps, the first time Oikawa let himself be swayed by the awkward and dry texter was after he had only slipped into his blanket. Ready to go into a deep slumber after reviewing tapes of his enemy team a day before the match to chalk out strategies, when his phone lit up, the light coming from the screen illuminating a halo around the corner.

From: Ushijima (sent at 9:43pm)

No. You’re the only one I talk to.

His breathing hitched, and he rose as quickly as he laid on the bed. In the small light, his bronze eyes glittered. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he wondered, Only me?

Oikawa had teased Ushijima about staying up late to reply to others. Vague, but just the right words to get the exact answer he wanted from the male: if he’d been talking to anyone else other than him. But he found himself kept up by the lingering messages from Ushijima.

A few weeks after that conversation, and at the mention that Ushijima also played volleyball, here he sat anxiously alone on the gym bench, trying the same scheme yet again.

Another word, another hint that he was interested in meeting Ushijima.

To: Ushijima (sent at 4:30pm)

Yeah, volleyball is good! But I miss hanging out sometimes >_<

Oikawa bit his bottom lip, anxiously staring at his phone that had just shifted to a black screen as he waited for a reply. He sighed, dropping his eyelids as he slumped his shoulders back from all the tension he didn’t know had been building up.

His phone pinged, almost sending his body into a full gallop, immediately raising his gaze to the screen. His heart jumped at the sight of the text preview, Do you want to…

This is the moment. He’s finally going to ask me out. Oikawa smiled to himself, regaining his composure as he sat upright. He inhaled slowly, swiping his fingers to unlock the message. Nevermind the smell of sweat. This is the moment.

From: Ushijima (sent at 4:32pm)

Do you want to play volleyball?

Oh. The corners of his mouth dropped just as soon as they pulled upward at the reply. His shoulders sagged, setting his head down in disappointment. Oikawa couldn’t quite make it up, but sometimes, Ushijima seemed to be out of place.

Sometimes, he’d read signals as fast as he misinterpreted others.

This is hopeless, Oikawa laughed to himself. The array of possibilities he set for himself and Ushijima smeared like oil in the air, drowning out his suave as he tried to shut them all down. Then he tipped his head back, breathing in deep. Breathing in the disappointment, taking it into his head that Ushijima was most likely not at all interested in that way. Anxiety and embarrassment mingled into his chest.

But his phone pinged another time, and it sent his body into another jolt.

From: Ushijima (sent at 4:33pm)

I mean, do you want to go on a date?

And for a moment, he couldn’t breathe under the crushing weight that pushed in on him.

“Are you going on a date or to a Sunday morning service?” Tendou cackled as he watched Ushijima put on his necktie over his deep violet long sleeves he paired with black slacks, sitting comfortably on the bed.

Ushijima reciprocated Tendou's gaze through the full body mirror, his eyes squinted, fingers securing the knot of his tie, “What's wrong? Isn't this presentable?”

“Formal. Too formal!” he said as he raised his hands up to stress his remark, barely unable to stop the wide, malicious smile.

“Then tell me,” Ushijima sighed in defeat, realizing that his friend might be right. “What should I wear?”

He was so hopeless that Tendou wondered, What would he do without me? What would have become of him if it weren’t for me guiding him in the big world out there?

Tendou could go on and on about teasing Ushijima with the kind of clothing he chose to wear. Who goes to a date wearing a church outfit? But he saw how Ushijima needed genuine help and pushed his remarks to the side, lending his friend a helping hand on his first Tinder date.

Actually, his first date in general.

“You sound like that time when you finally asked your match out on a date,” Tendou chuckled. “Oh, it was thanks to me.”

Ushijima turned to face Tendou, “I thought it was obvious.”

“Obvious?” Tendou’s hand reached for his stomach as he laughed at his best friend’s words. “How is asking someone to play volleyball flirting? How is that considered flirting?”

Thanks to Tendou, Ushijima was able to make a correction. He was fast to take the latter’s phone in his hand and send another reply. The shock that reverberated into Tendou’s body only dispersed once they received an enthusiastic reply. A feeling that Ushijima would never have felt because of his inexperience.

“But I don’t just ask anyone to play volleyball,” Ushijima replied, tone low and neutral, completely clueless. If he was embarrassed, it didn’t show. Rather, his face remained distant as usual.

The red-haired cleared his throat. It was one of those rare moments when he thought he should be honest with Ushijima before he ventured into a world he hadn't stepped into: dating.

“You’re hopeless. But there’s one thing I can tell you,” Tendou clicked his tongue, eyes shifting left and right trying to search for the perfect words.

He weighed in the list of possibilities that could happen to Ushijima and his date. Of course, there was already a high probability that both of them would be as awkward as ever. But Tendou took notice of the amount of emojis Ushijima’s date uses, so he couldn’t be that boring.

Sometimes, there are just people who could make everything boring. Unfortunately, Ushijima was part of that.

Tendou chuckled inwardly at his thoughts.

Ushijima was intimidating, and he doesn’t speak much. But when he does, he can come off as blunt. He was the kind of man who spoke no lies. He didn’t hesitate to speak what’s on his mind. He didn’t have any concerns. Only that he disliked things he didn’t understand.

He had the oozing air of confidence and reliability about him. He was a fantastic player on the court, but he was just a regular person outside of that. And sometimes, Tendou wondered if Ushijima had any fun at all.

His scrutinizing gaze brought Ushijima’s eyes to meet his through the mirror as the lad unbuttoned his shirt to change. “Have fun.”

Oikawa’s blood pumped through him in a strange rhythm. With every step he took, his feet felt heavy, lightweight, soft, and hard all at once, dragging them to move. He was tizzy as he approached the cinema—where he and Ushijima agreed to meet, biting down on his bottom lip.

The man walking in front of him paid him a short glower as if he’d been suspecting Oikawa for his stalking gait. Oikawa reciprocated the man’s hostility with an apologetic smile, halting his steps and embracing the frigid weather around him.

He took in a few deep breaths as he closed his eyes. Then he opened them, and the big ‘CINEMA’ sign glowed red in the light of the dark and the busy streets and youth passing by.

The first snow still hasn’t touched the ground, but it was felt in the frigid cold. He posted himself beside the entrance. He could feel the warm temperature coming from inside the hall whenever the doors opened. There was that burning need to invite himself in, but he stood outside, patiently waiting in the cold.

All around him, there were laughs and smiles from people around his age. Mostly couples, but he spotted friends who came in groups. Some were buying tickets from the booth manned by a straight-faced fellow, who impassively bid goodbye by saying, “Enjoy your movie.”

Some, he guessed, were waiting for someone. The restless tapping of their foot against the ground, the constant checking of time, and the biting of their lips. All of which Oikawa recognized. Because he was doing the same thing.

He raised his left hand, pushing aside his long, blue sweater sleeves to reveal his leather watch, “6:47…” he whispered.

There were still thirteen minutes left to see Ushijima for the first time. Thirteen minutes to hold on to his dear sanity.

He tapped his foot restlessly against the pavement once more, releasing another breath that condensed in the air, making him push his khaki scarf upwards to cover his mouth.

As soon as he raised his gaze towards what’s in front of him, he saw the man he’d been yearning to see. Behind the screen. Behind all those words. Behind all the smiles. And on that cold night, he saw him for the first time.

Oikawa’s eyes widened as he watched Ushijima from only eight feet away.

Ushijima’s body was turned to the side, giving Oikawa only the picture of his long coat, cropped light-colored trousers, and loafers. His side profile boasted that high nose and that brown hair—and Oikawa wondered if it was as smooth as it looked.

It’s literally unfair how attractive he is, Oikawa groaned in his thoughts. He knew how strange it was to look at Ushijima. But he found difficulty in not staring at him. He couldn’t find the courage to tear his gaze away from him. Not when Ushijima had that mesmerizing aura about him.

He was all too aware of how cliche he sounded, and he smiled like a fool when he realized that, maybe, he liked it. And he was still smiling like a fool when Ushijma whipped his head in his direction, locking their gazes.

Ushijima narrowed his eyes, making Oikawa’s smile drop as soon as he realized. But Ushijima was already walking toward him, and Oikawa couldn’t breathe.

“Good evening,” Ushijima greeted as soon as he was in front of Oikawa. If he was nervous, if he was shy, it didn’t show.

Oikawa noted the aura Ushijima emitted. He was, perhaps, more than what he had expected. A little too unreal, maybe. He swallowed, but his throat was too dry. “Hello…”

Ushijima’s lips twitched a little upwards. Even as he smiled, there was still something serious left in the air. “Have you been waiting long?” he checked his watch then returned to the speechless Oikawa.

He’s so pretty. I think I’m gonna faint, Oikawa thought before he realized he was asked a question. He shook his head to disperse himself of unwanted thoughts, creasing his brows as he leaned a little forward. Ushijima’s scented soap caressed his nose, a touch of wood… and is that baby powder? “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Have you been waiting long?” Ushijima repeated.

“Oh. No,” Oikawa retreated. “No, I haven’t. I just got here,” he chuckled, trying to conceal the awkwardness in his tone. Feeling a little anxious, he asked, “And you?”

“I also just got here,” Ushijima answered dryly. Then his eyes went past Oikawa, and both felt the warm temperature from inside the hall, the noises sounding louder as the door swung open before it shut on its own and the noises died down with it.

Ushijima brought his gaze back to Oikawa, “Would you like to go inside? I’ve got the tickets.”

“Sure…” Oikawa smiled awkwardly.

Ushijima pushed the door open for Oikawa, to which he thanked him for. As soon as Ushijima couldn’t see his face, he closed his eyes in frustration. Say something!

Oikawa found himself speechless around Ushijima. It seemed like all of his confidence had died at the very sight of him. There was something intimidating about Ushijima that he couldn’t quite explain.

Yes, he’d been waiting for this moment for so long. And he hated himself for feeling as if he wasn’t even trying hard to connect with him.

The thundering drum in his heart pulsed through his ears, drowning out the sound of talks and the smell of popcorn invading his nose. He was shifting his weight from one foot to another as they waited in line for the cinema room, pocketing his trembling hands as he started at his feet.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then lifted his head as he smiled at the staff that manned the entrance to the cinema room before following Ushijima ahead. His throat was tight in nervousness—a feeling he wasn’t very much familiar with—even as they sat in their seats.

Oikawa shifted his gaze over to Ushijima, and found he kept his eyes on the big screen, the flickering light from the changing scenes illuminated the planes of his face. He could watch Ushijima the entire time. Nevermind that Romeo and Juliet movie using the original dialogue. He couldn’t even understand it.

Then his eyes shifted towards his hand that rested on the recliner, making him frown. Since the movie started, he already placed his hand where Ushijima could hold it. But the movie was probably half over already, and nothing.

A child’s cry drowned the actors’ voices and shook the whole cinema, turning everyone’s attention to the source in the row behind them. Only Ushijima did not bother to pay a glance towards the disturbance.

Oikawa thought, Why make a child watch Romeo and Juliet?

He stifled a laugh and his hand flew to cover the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards as cheese popcorn fell from right above Ushijima’s head.

That was all it took to have Ushijima turn his attention to the annoying child. The audience expressed annoyance through angry muffles, but Ushijima remained calm and collected, politely accepting apologies from the man, whom Oikawa guessed as the father, as he tried to soothe the crying child.

Ushijima caught Oikawa’s attention, but it was too late for him to hide his smile. Oikawa laughed awkwardly, then hoisted his drink he hadn’t touched from the recliner to hand over to Ushijima.

“Drink water,” he said even as he himself was dehydrated.

Musicians took up spots inside the restaurant that Ushijima booked for the date. The room was filled with a blend of soft conversations, the clang of plates, and violins. Such a beautiful sound, if only that one musician knew how to carry a tune.

Oikawa and Ushijima kept straight faces, looking at each other as if they could tell what the other was thinking.

It was grand, but terrible. The dishes were too small. Certainly not enough to satiate their hunger. And that music? Gods above.

He registered the change in Ushijima’s face as he watched him intently across the table that separated them both. His ears were turning a little red, his forearms braced on the table. While Oikawa, on the other hand, leaned on the back of his chair, sitting like a king.

“How do you do it?” Ushijima asked quietly, his eyes almost pleading.

“Do what?” Oikawa grinned, raising his head high, teasing.

Ushijima gave him a slow smile and a flicker of light moved across his eyes, “How do you ignore that irritating sound?”

“My teammates are louder, and much more annoying than that,” Oikawa laughed, stealing another glance at the stressed-out musicians who wasted no time in poking at the one who couldn’t play the right strings. He would’ve felt sorry for him, really, had it not sparked an interesting conversation between him and Ushijima.

Ushijima traced the rim of his glass, “Louder and annoying?” his brows narrowed slightly.

“So,” Oikawa tilted his head, keeping a smile on his face as he recalled moments he spent with the team. “There was this one time when we went to a training camp. And I couldn’t sleep on the bus because they were all so obnoxiously loud and kept singing.”

Oikawa was the leader of that fiasco, but he would never admit to it.

“I had to snap their foreheads one by one to make them stop,” he shrugged. “It was fun though.”

“You have a very different definition of fun,” Ushijima chuckled, so soft and so mellow. The sound was better than the horrible quartet playing in the background, and Oikawa wanted to hear it again.

“Well,” Ushijima started, “do you want to get out of here?”

Somehow, it didn’t seem like goodbye.

“Wait!” Oikawa laughed when the tail of the scarf around his neck got caught in between the restaurant door they walked through.

Ushijima took a step closer, opening the door for Oikawa to pull out his scarf. A slash of a grin spread across his face, “What are you doing?”

Oikawa could only laugh as Ushijima stared at him with the same intensity. They stood in front of each other. No words, just stillness. But they were sure something changed. Even when they’ve only had a short time to get to know each other.

From the short distance that separated them, Oikawa watched as Ushijima’s brown eyes turned molten from the warm lights all around them. He couldn’t brush off the rush of having Ushijima look only at him, trying not to get lost in those strange, enticing eyes.

Oikawa winced as a gust of icy wind blew the tail of his scarf and froze his ears. He took that sign as an opportunity to pull it tightly around him.

“Walk with me?” he asked gently.

“I would love to,” Ushijima nodded. “But I’m afraid you would have to lead me instead. I’m not quite familiar with the road down there.”

Oikawa smiled even as he rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re the kind who gets picked up?”

Ushijima tucked his hand behind his back as they strode forward through the cobbled streets. He fumbled for words, but he did not drop his grin as the golden lights twinkled across the city, “Not really.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Do you have a reason not to?”

“Okay, you’re good,” Oikawa complimented when he couldn’t counter his quick remark.

“Thank you,” Ushijima chuckled, deep and slow.

Oikawa frowned, “You actually look more handsome with honesty on your face.”

“I do?” Ushijima grinned, boasting those white teeth, brows knotting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa waved him off. “You’re cute. Stop smiling at me like that,” he added, averting his gaze from Ushijima. “Your lack of self-awareness is deeply troubling.”

Ushijima pocketed his hands, “And you? Are you honest?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Oikawa shrugged and smiled roguishly, keeping his gaze on the lights ahead. From a distance, he could see the head of the illuminated fountain by the park they were nearing. “Maybe I’ll just be straightforward about taking advantage of you.”

Ushijima laughed but said nothing. No one spoke as they realized that the space between them felt strangely intimate.

“What about the violin in the restaurant earlier, huh?” Oikawa followed with a tease.

“What on earth,” Ushijima drawled, sounding exasperated, “is all I have to say to that.”

With a turn around the hedge, the gush of water from the fountain park enticed them both. A strong gust of wind made them feel that the air had turned colder with the time, ripping through them as they observed the golden lit decorations surrounding the park.

“Do you want to..?” Ushijima didn’t finish the words, extending his arm and pointing his index towards the brightly lit fountain.

Their date should have ended the moment they stepped out of the restaurant. But the beautiful fountain in the center illuminating their faces signaled that it had only just begun.

Before Oikawa could sit on an empty bench—only a few feet away from the fountain, Ushijima dusted it with his hand, making his date smile appreciatively at the effort. In the touch of freezing cold, it became their spot to just sit and watch the fountain as a silent acknowledgement that neither were ready to part ways just yet.

“So,” Oikawa said as he crossed his legs, turning to Ushijima as the latter sat down. “Tell me more about you.”

“About me?” Ushijima’s brows creased, setting his eyes on his hands that rested in his lap. Oikawa realized how there was no progress in terms of skinship between them, but he wasn’t complaining. “There’s nothing much about me, really.”

“Impossible,” Oikawa shook his head. “There’s never nothing about anything or anyone.”

Oikawa’s eyes glittered as he stared at Ushijima’s hand, and his heartbeat quickened when his gaze rose to his face.

“How about us?” Ushijima asked.

A flush of pink bloomed on his cheeks as his heart hammered against his ribcage. He hadn’t been expecting such an honest question, such a question that flushed all the bravado he tried so hard to muster.

“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” Ushijima tilted his head.

Oikawa kept his gaze averted, biting his full bottom lip. Because of you!

“Oikawa?” Ushijima called.

He tried not to let it show what it did to him to have Ushijima remember his name. Or to hear him say it. To have him let out the words from his lips.

“Are you okay?” Ushijima asked, but made no move to touch him.

Good. Because Oikawa wasn’t entirely certain he could handle his heat hovering against him. He took a breath, and that same impish grin swiped back. “You should know by now,” he teased.

The silence that followed after didn’t lay as heavy as it used to be. Instead, Oikawa straightened himself, resting a hand on the bench in the short distance separating both, gazing at the fountain that kept them company.

“I like mushroom risotto,” he said out of the blue.

“Mushroom risotto?”

“Mushroom risotto,” he repeated, still keeping his eyes averted.

There was a short pause before Ushijima spoke, “Did you know that mushrooms are made up of 90% water?”

Do you want to go try mushroom risotto next time? Do you want me to bring that for you one day? Do you want me to cook that for you? Such questions were what he thought would’ve followed next. Questions that would make them meet each other again. Never a random fact he didn’t expect.

Oikawa turned his head towards his date. “What?” He choked on a laugh as he asked it.

“Yeah,” Ushijima gruffed, completely unaware of what left Oikawa in disbelief. “They’re also a fungus. Did you know?”

“No,” Oikawa shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“We should forage for mushrooms next time.”

Next time, the words rang in Oikawa’s head. Next time.

“And you?” Oikawa followed. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Curry,” his date answered plainly, his free hand discreetly traveling towards Oikawa’s hand on the bench.

A faint warmth bloomed in his chest. The brief touch of Ushijima’s fingers through Oikawa sent a pang of desire through him so strong he wanted to pull him in closer. It had taken all of him, all his self control to keep his breathing steady as he gazed back at the fountain.

That was all it took to have Oikawa’s gaze back at the fountain again, “These lights are familiar,” he started. “From my recitals from those years ago. It’s kinda nostalgic.”

When Ushijima didn’t say anything, he took it upon himself to turn his head back towards him. With the look written across Ushijima’s face and those eyes, he understood.

“I will pretend I haven’t heard the question in your eyes,” he groaned.

“No, tell me,” Ushijima leaned a little forward.

“It’s nothing, really. I just took up dancing a while back. Then I shifted to volleyball,” he eyed him, searching for any sign of mockery.

“Dancing?” Ushijima pondered, running a finger along his lips—the sight making Oikawa swallow—before returning his gaze to the other, “Could you, perhaps, show me?”

“What?” Oikawa asked in disbelief, turning left and right. “Here?”

Ushijima nodded.

“What?” he shook his head. “No!”

But Ushijima stood up and offered his hand. Oikawa stared at it for a moment, creasing his brows, but a ghost of a smile remained plastered across his lips. He looked around, searching for prying heads.

“There are people,” he argued in a whisper.

Ushijima shrugged, “People are too busy to care about anyone other than themselves.”

Oikawa let out a long sigh before he took Ushijima’s hand. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Fine.”

He cleared his throat and lumbered, positioning himself in the center from where they stood. Ushijima could never tell him, but he looked like a perfect decoration in front of the fountain behind him.

Oikawa gazed across the stone pavement. Sliding his foot back and the other forward, he extended his arms in front in a smooth motion that truly suggested he had some background in the art. He was dancing, then his arms were flailing in the sky with feline grace. His scarf spun around him as he whirled, and he was thankful for the cold that he wouldn’t sweat. He felt like flying, until the ground was beneath his feet again.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this. And why did he stop?

Ushijima stared at the slightly breathless wonder in front of him as he skidded to a halt. His eyes twinkled, just a bit—in a way they usually did when he was amused but tried hard not to be.

Oikawa looked spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. A little stiff on the edges, but spectacular.

Oikawa picked up his scarf that fell on the ground. Then his eyes rested on Ushijima, whose hands were pocketed in his coat. A tug on the corner of his lips issued the bravado he’d been keeping.

“What? Amused?” he teased with a conspirator’s grin when he closed the final distance between them.

Ushijima just stared at him, taking in the warm gleam in his eyes. He said nothing, but his hand flew to Oikawa’s scarf. Both said nothing as Ushijima wrapped the it around him, “It always becomes loose when you’re the one putting it on.”

A delicious heat kissed its way down Oikawa’s neck to his spine as if there was some warmth left despite the winter.

“Perhaps I will take up dancing again,” he said in a little more than a whisper, his throat constricting at the moment.

A hush had fallen between them, but Oikawa felt as if there was something inside him that found it to be a perfect piece in their merriment. It went beyond his expectations. He enjoyed his time with Ushijima.

“Let’s take you home,” Ushijima said and Oikawa only nodded.

The streets were too quiet this time of the night—so quiet that only their footsteps and chuckles and moments of conversation lingered in the sleeping city. They were still talking and laughing, and it had been that way since they left the park, stepping forward with the wings of conversation.

“What was your favorite part?” Ushijima asked, his eyes not on the streets before him but on Oikawa. Such wild ecstasy, he noted.

Oikawa paused, his brows creasing as Ushijima waited for his answer, thinking. Then his eyes widened and met Ushijima’s, “Oh, you mean the movie?”

Ushijima only chuckled, “Yes, the movie.”

“Not the baby?”

“Yeah, and maybe that too,” a faint smile stretched Ushijima’s lips.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Oikawa looked forward, brows knotting yet again as he acted. His finger tapped on his lip in a way that forced Ushijima to remind himself to keep his focus on Oikawa’s eyes, “I like the part where the dad,” he stared back at Ushijima, “picked up the baby and they went outside. That scene was amazing!”

Ushijima chuckled, looking away from him and Oikawa realized how manly Ushijima’s voice was. Then Oikawa’s eyes scanned the street before him, how the establishments and the crooked, dark streets were becoming more and more familiar to him.

“You laughed at me earlier,” there was a hint of a smile on Ushijima’s lips.

Oikawa felt a little embarrassed, but he laughed, “You’ve gotta admit. It was kind of funny.”

“It was fine,” Oikawa answered seriously.

“Same here.”

“No way. I thought you liked Shakespeare,” he said in disbelief.

“I thought you liked Shakespeare,” Ushijima countered.

He assumed that Oikawa was interested in Shakespeare because, sometimes, he would post quotes from Romeo and Juliet. What Ushijima didn’t know was that: it was Oikawa’s literature teacher who originally posted those, and he only wanted to get on their good side.

“It took me some time to understand the words,” Oikawa admitted.

Ushijima’s smile widened, revealing his white teeth, “For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

Oikawa’s hand flew to his mouth that went agape, “How did you memorize that?” he asked with amusement in his eyes.

“Say your lines,” Ushijima urged him.

“You are reciting Juliet’s lines,” Oikawa narrowed his eyes in thought, but the grin didn’t disappear from his lips.

“Say your lines,” Ushijima repeated, ignoring his remark.

Oikawa rolled his eyes, his brows knotting trying to remember the right words, “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“You’re annoying. Mine is long,” he frowned at how fast Ushijima replied and how long he remembered the next line was. But it took only one grin from Ushijima and he started speaking.

“Something. Something,” his eyes almost bawled upwards trying to remember the words. “Let lips do what hands do. Uh. They pray grant thou, lest faith turn to despair..?” he finished with uncertainty. “Wait. How do you even memorize these?”

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayer's sake,” Ushijima continued.

“Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take,” Oikawa grinned with how fast he recited the lines as he halted in front of his house and Ushijima did the same.

“Thus, from my lips,” Ushijima said hoarsely. Oikawa didn’t mean to, but his eyes went down to Ushijima’s lips, “by thine, my sin is purged.”

His heartbeat quickened when his gaze rose to Ushijima’s eyes, “Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” he said in a little more than a whisper.

The night was honest and his eyes whispered of how they met, how there was an unspoken understanding between them. And being with Ushijma was like staying in the rain, he still wanted to be in it one more time.

Through a clearing in the skies, clusters of stars could be seen and the sliver of the crescent moon shone above them as they stepped into the pool of moonlight.

“Good night,” Ushijima said. “You’re probably tired.”

But he was not tired, he was not done. There was still greed and want inside of him that made him want to pull Ushijima closer. The longing for a wave of touch and friction of joy that only grew bigger and bigger by the minute.

“Good night,” was all he replied, his voice so soft and mellow.

Oikawa turned his back on Ushijima, his steps feeling heavier by the minute as he trudged away from him. But he looked back, and the greed must have shown because Ushijima stood there, watching him, thinking.

He grinned and crossed his arms, “You do realize what time it is, right?”

Ushijima shrugged and pocketed his hands, “I just want to see you walk in.”

That was all it took for Oikawa to do the opposite. He went closer to Ushijima, closing the gap between them. There was only the absence of conversation and how much he wanted to touch Ushijima.

“It was enchanting to meet you,” Ushijima said quietly before his ears filled with the softness of Oikawa’s laughter.

“Do you know how cliche you sound, Romeo?” he teased.

Oikawa watched the way Ushijima’s lips widened in a smile and died down slowly.

“I think,” Ushijima started, the words were barely more than a strangled whisper, “I like you a lot.”

The longing blinded him, and he flung himself on Ushijima, breathing in his scent and the slight trace of cheese in him. He memorized the feel of him and the heat of Ushijima’s body hovering over him.

“We probably should just go to McDonald’s next time,” he teased.

“As long as I’m with you,” Ushijima chuckled against Oikawa’s lips. “I would like that very much.”

It was only that, and their lips touched.

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atths--twice · 4 years ago

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Continuing on...

Chapter Three 3/8

Quests and Fortunes

After a night of sadness, Mulder wants to spend time with Scully and cheer her up if he can.

Mulder stood outside of Scully’s apartment with bags of food in his hands, as he waited for her to open the door. He had picked up a late lunch on his way over, intending to take full advantage of the day off and spend it with her.

The door opened and she seemed shocked to see him. She was in jeans and the softest, bluest sweater he had ever seen. He wanted to run his hands up and down her arms to see if it was as soft as he imagined. Her eyes were even bluer than normal and he felt as thought he he could drown in them.

“Mulder! What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.

“Well,” he said, as he pushed past her and set the bags on the table. “I was home and thinking that some food would be nice. Then I thought you would probably be hungry by now after you ate...” He trailed off as he glanced at the plate that held the bagel and doughnut from earlier. Finding the bagel still remaining, he looked at her and grinned. “You chose wisely, I see.”

“Shut up,” she said as she closed the door and joined him at the table. She tried to hide her smile but she was not able to do so.

“So, what did you get for, what are we calling this, lunch?” she asked with a glance at the clock, as her stomach grumbled. Oh, apparently it had been awhile since that doughnut. He grinned wider and she smiled back.

“I went to Sal’s and got you your regular and for myself, a super delicious meal,” he said as he began to unpack the bags.

“Are you implying that my food is not delicious?” she asked, staring at him with raised eyebrows. “And I doubt you got my order down. I don’t always get the same thing, you know.”

He scoffed. “Scully, that’s crap and you know it. Prepare to, once again, be amazed at my abilities.” He cracked his knuckles, rolled his neck, and took a deep breath. “Thin sliced turkey on wheat bread, no mayo, light mustard, tomatoes, sprouts, pickle- on the side. Salad, vinaigrette dressing- also on the side. Croutons in a bag, so they don’t get soggy and lose their croutony crunch. Sparkling water, with a lemon wedge-in a container, also on the side,” he said with a proud voice, as he pulled each item out of the bag and presented them to her. He stared at her, daring her to say he got it wrong.

She smiled at him, an adorable smile that he very rarely saw. He remembered her first smiling at him like that years ago, in Aubrey, Missouri, as she talked about his extreme hunches. His heart beat fast seeing it then and it damn near did cartwheels seeing it now. She nodded through her smile and began opening the containers that sat in front of her before sitting down.

He sat next to her and opened a container to reveal a super messy sandwich. Full of mayonnaise, mustard, ham, cheese, turkey, tomatoes, onions, lettuce- all on sourdough. He took a huge bite and she shook her head as she watched him chewing his food. He knew he had to have mayo and mustard on his face, which she confirmed when she reached over and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He grinned, licking his lips before taking another giant bite.

She continued staring at him, eating as though he had not seen food in years. She shook her head once more and took a small bite of her food, as though to show him that people could be civil and not disgusting. He watched her and grinned.

“Your sandwich looks pretty good. You wanna switch?” he asked, offering the other half of his sandwich to her.

She eyed it suspiciously, but then agreed to trying it only, and he smiled. He knew that once she tasted it, she would not give it back; he just had to present it the right way.

She took a couple of bites and then simply finished off the other half of his sandwich. He nodded knowingly at her and she stared back at him, narrowing her eyes. He wiped her face this time, as she was sporting the remnants of his sandwich, while he was left with her bland, boring sandwich. He did not complain, however, wanting her to eat, so he said nothing about the lack of taste and enjoyment her food brought him.

She ate her salad, but offered him half. He accepted and they squabbled and fought over the croutons, each trying to be the first to spear them with their forks. An odd grown up version of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Mulder chuckled as the jingle for that game from so many years ago popped into his head.

“Scully, do you remember the Hungry Hippos commercial?” he asked as he smiled at her.

She looked at him quizzically, then at the salad with its remaining croutons mostly on his side. She seemed to give it some thought and then she looked up at him and grinned. “Who will win? No one knows! Feed the hungry hip-hip-o’s!”

They both laughed and he spun the salad container so that the croutons were within her reach. She looked at him and smiled her thanks as he cleaned up the trash from their meal and then pulled the last item out of the bag.

Sal’s sandwiches were the best in the city, so Mulder thought. It was a small little deli type place, owned by Sal, his wife and their three sons. All the bread was made on site every day and thus the sandwiches were extremely delicious, if the lines out the door were proof of it. However, nothing compared to the desserts his wife made.

Cakes, brownies, cookies, all made from scratch and with love. Sal’s wife, Sylvia, was a big bosomy, old world, Italian woman. Her apron was always full of flour and she pushed her treats on everyone who came into the shop.

“Life is to be enjoyed. Have a cookie, a brownie. I made them this morning. They are good. Eat!” She was always heard to say, her smile infectious.

Today, Mulder had splurged on the Brownie Supremo and her smile was worth the price he had paid for it. She had wrapped it up for him carefully and thrown in a frosted sugar cookie, which he ate on the way to the car, the buttery sweetness melting on his tongue.

“You give this to your woman,” Sylvia had said. “She is too skinny. She needs some meat on her bones.”

He did not try to explain their relationship to her. He just nodded and grinned, taking the dessert from her and adding it to his bag.

He placed the brownie on the table and opened the lid, his mouth watering at the sight of it. It was chocolate overload with caramel swirling within. Licking his lips, he looked at her.

“Mmm... Scully, Sylvia gave this to me today with strict instructions that you were to have some. So,” he said grabbing two forks from the bag, “unless you want to anger the sweetest Italian mother I have ever known, I suggest you do as told.”

He held out a fork to her and waited. She looked exasperatedly at him, then down to the dessert. She looked at him again, and he pushed the fork closer to her. Sighing, she grabbed it from him.

He grinned and motioned for her to take the first bite. She sighed again and dug her fork into the brownie. The chocolate and caramel practically created a river inside the container. She got a bite on her fork and the caramel stretched with it, stringing across the table. She put the fork in her mouth and her eyes rolled back in her head as the first taste of chocolate hit her tongue.

She moaned as she chewed and Mulder was mesmerized watching her. He knew it was wrong to find her eating arousing, but shit, it was. Her moans and her eyes closing like that, made him think things he should not be thinking and he took a bite to cover his emotions.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, as the caramel and chocolate merged in his mouth. “That is goddamn delicious.” He took another bite and closed his eyes just as she had.

Between the two of them, the brownie was gone in no time at all. She was running her finger inside the container and licking off the remaining caramel, when he asked if she would like a spoon, or perhaps a straw. She told him to shut up and she sucked her finger into her mouth, causing him to clear his throat and look away.

After they had cleared everything up and the kitchen was back to Scully’s neat and tidy order, Mulder went into the living room. He was looking at her collection of movies and he smiled when he grabbed the one he wanted. Taking it out, he put it in the VCR, taking off his coat and settling down on the couch with the remote.

“Scully, come over here,” he said, patting the couch. “No paperwork today, and time off work means movies in the middle of the day.” He grinned at her as she walked over and sat next to him.

“Mulder... what movie are we...” She stopped speaking as she heard it starting. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

She looked at him and smiled, bringing her legs up under her cross legged, and nodding while he grinned like a fool.

For the next few hours, they watched the movie, saying lines they knew, discussing parts they liked best, the ones that bothered them and characters they loved most. They paused the movie a lot to have in depth discussions and Mulder found her contributions to be incredibly intellectually arousing.

He discovered that Scully had a soft spot for both Marcus Brody and Sallah. She loved Marcus because he was oblivious and a lovable dolt and Sallah because he was such a sweet guy. He was always looking out for Indy and he was there anytime they needed him.

“Marcus though, Mulder, he gets lost in his own museum. How can you not find affection for a goof like him?” she asked, a big smile on her face.

She did not care for Elsa and showed it by rolling her eyes a lot when she was on screen. The fact that she slept with both Jones’ apparently back to back, got on her nerves.

“I get the appeal, for all parties, because...” She trailed off as he stared at her and paused the movie, giving her his full attention so she could explain herself.

She smiled so hard, her dimples showed and his near cartwheeling heart started doing backflips instead.

“Elsa is beautiful, there is no denying that, but there are better ways to get close to someone than sex. Of course, it is quicker, but sex and trust do not a combination make. The two do not equal the other,” she said as he stared at her. “Now, both Jones men are incredibly attractive, there is also no denying that, but falling for the honey pot just makes them appear simple. They are intelligent men, but put a pair of flirty boobs and blonde hair in front of them, and it makes them seem like they are idiots.”

“”Flirty boobs,” Scully?” he asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

“You know what I mean, Mulder. So if she came to you, giving you the big eyes and the sad stories, all while using her... yes “flirty boobs,” you’re telling me you wouldn’t fall for it?” she asked him with a twitch of her lips and a raised eyebrow.

He looked at her, trying to gauge how far he could take his answer. How far he could go without pushing past that line they seemed to be unable or unwilling to cross?

“Nah...” he said finally, looking at the television screen frozen on Elsa’s face. “They send in the blonde bombshells... you know it’s a trap. I’ve watched enough spy movies to know that much.” She nodded, apparently happy with his answer.

“Besides, she’s not exactly my type,” he said, ready to restart the movie.

“She’s not!” he said at her silent, side eyed expression. “I like women with regular boobs, thank you. Flirty ones... hmm, they seem like too much work. How would you ever buy lingerie as a gift for someone that has them?” She laughed so hard at his comment, he waited until she was quiet to start the movie again.

When Henry was shot, he heard her take a breath as she looked away for a second, and he understood what she was not saying. The Nazis wanted Indy’s help and he was not willing to give it. They hurt someone he loved as incentive so he would do what they wanted. How many times had he and Scully been in the same situation? How many times had Scully suffered because of him?

“Oh, this is my favorite part,” she said, her eyes back on the screen, the tense moment seemingly passed and Indy was about to perform his tests of worthiness.

Instead of watching the movie, he covertly watched her. Her rapt attention to the movie, the way she mumbled the lines, her expressions as she did. Watching her enjoy something he loved made him immensely happy. Seeing her lose herself in a movie, one that was somewhat scientific, though still fictional, made him even happier. The need to be intellectually stimulated while also being entertained was so Scully.

She was leaning forward, her hands clasped together as Indy was taking his leap of faith. She smiled as he stepped out and his foot hit the pathway. She looked at Mulder, finding him staring at her.

“What?” she asked, surprised to find him looking at her so intently.

“Nothing,” he answered. She gave him a look, but then turned back to the movie. He did too, not wanting to get caught staring again.

Elsa and Donovan were in the small temple with Indy and the Knight, trying to find the grail. Elsa asked to pick the grail and Scully scoffed at her choice and then sighed as Mulder grinned at her.

“Oh Donovan...” Scully said. “See? He fell for it. Believed she was right when she handed him that cup. What a damn fool. Jesus was not ostentatious. He was a simple carpenter. People go for the flash and bang, they end up disappointed. Flirty boobs, Mulder. I’m telling you,” she said with an overly dramatic shake of her head.

He chuckled as he watched Donovan drink from the deceitful chalice, unknown to him that Elsa tricked him.

“See, that’s why it’s good you didn’t choose the bagel this morning,” he told her as they watched Donovan disintegrate before their eyes and she smiled at him.

The correct cup was chosen and Scully smiled. “That’s the cup of a carpenter” she said along with Indy.

Henry’s bullet wound was healed by the power of the grail. Here again, they had to pause the movie for awhile as they discussed what happened to the bullet in his stomach. Did it dissolve or would he live with a bullet in him forever? Or was it as if the whole thing never even happened? Mulder said they should open an x-file and she laughed.

They both then laughed over the similar situations of Elsa and Indy trying to reach the grail as the temple was crashing down.

The movie ended as it should, with good conquering evil, the last living Knight finally laying down his sword to be at peace. Mulder turned the movie off and asked her for her five top moments and he would tell her his.

She smiled and nodded. “The leap of faith, the “everything is on fire” scene, the boat fight, the misspelling of Jehovah, and X marks the spot.” She raised her eyebrows and waited.

He grinned at her and pretended to think for a bit until she shoved him and he laughed. “Okay, okay. The tapestries, the Ming vase, the room is on fire, the walk through the catacombs, and when Henry is saved.”

She nodded and accepted his answer. She got up and stretched, yawning as she did. He tried not to notice her body as she stretched, but Jesus, a man could only be so strong.

“Should we order some Chinese food?” he asked as he got up as well, forcing his mind off of what it was thinking, his phone out ready to dial.

“Mulder, are you really hungry? It’s only been..." She looked at her watch. “Four and a half hours?! Oh my god...” She shook her head and looked at him.

“Think of all the stimulating conversation we had though, Scully,” he said, dialing the number to Wong’s Palace, the place they always ordered from.

“I’m going to take a bath,” she said as she turned to walk away.

“You don’t want anything?” he asked as the phone started ringing. “Broc-“

“Broccoli beef sounds okay, I suppose." She realized he was already saying it, when she finished. She smiled and he grinned back as he ordered their food and she headed toward the bathroom.

“Hey, Scully,” he said, taking a few steps toward her, as he ended the call. She raised her eyebrows as she stood in the bathroom doorway. “There is ha documentary on about Bigfoot and some new footage that has apparently come to light. Do you want me to tape it for you? It’s on right now and..." He stopped speaking at the look on her face.

“Okay, okay,” he said, with his hands up and a smile on his face as she walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

“Hey, Scully,” he said again, to the closed door.

“Yes, Mulder, I’m sure,” she said before he heard the water start running. He laughed and walked back to the couch to watch the show.

A while later, dinner had been eaten, Mulder regaling her with the things she had missed in the documentary. She stared at him, sighed, and rolled her eyes just as he had thought she would.

She walked past him when they had finished, putting away the leftovers, and he got a whiff of her bubble bath. She smelled so good, like jasmine. He remembered her telling him how much she loved that smell and he understood why; she smelled like spring and summer. Warm and light.

Her house phone rang and she looked at him in surprise. She answered it and he heard her mother’s voice through the phone. He heard the one sided conversation, but did not pay much attention until he heard his name.

“Mulder? I don’t think he could make lunch tomorrow, Mom. Yeah, he has plans, I think. Sure, I could ask him. Now? But we’re on the phone, I’ll call him later. What? What makes you think...? Okay...” She sighed, covered the phone, and looked at him. “Would you like to join me and my mother for lunch tomorrow?” She stared at him and shook her head.

He nodded at her and she waited a beat. “Yeah, Mom, he won’t be able to join us. I know. I will. Yes, tomorrow at 1:30. I’ll see you there. Love you too. Bye.” She hung up the phone and closed her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked her, knowing what she was thinking about; whether or not to tell her mother about the IVF. “Hey, Scully,” he said quietly, touching her hand. “I can be there if you like, take some of the pressure off. Your mom likes me. I could be your wingman.”

She smiled slightly at him and squeezed his hand in response. “Thank you, Mulder, but I’ll be okay. Not sure if I’ll even tell her yet, but... it... it would be easier if it was just me and her.” She nodded at him and he squeezed her hand in support.

She let go of his hand and she turned toward her room. He watched her start to leave, wishing he could ease the pain she was feeling.

“Scully, wait. You didn’t get your fortune cookie." He grabbed it and walked over to her.

She sighed as he handed it to her and, not meeting his eyes, she walked into her room, closing the door softly behind her.

He stood there with his own cookie in his hand, staring at her closed door. Not sure if he should stay or go, he stood there waiting.

Her door opened and she had two pillows and a blanket in her arms. She met his eyes and he had his answer, her silent question asking him to stay. He nodded at her as he watched her set the things on the couch.

She walked past him again and quietly said goodnight, before returning to her room and shutting the door.

He stood still for a few more seconds before shaking out of his thoughts. He felt the cookie digging into his palm and he cracked it open, popping the cookie in his mouth as he read his fortune.

You will follow your path to what your heart desires.

He felt the air go out of his lungs as he looked at her door, his heart's desire standing on the other side of it. His heart pounded as he read the words again. He sighed and shook his head sadly. Now was not the time, he was sure of it, but he would hold onto this fortune and one day hopefully, he would give it to her.

The cookie in his mouth felt like clay and he had a hard time swallowing past the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He put the scrap of paper in his wallet and went to the bathroom.

The toothbrush he used the night before was still there. He liked seeing it there, as though it belonged there next to hers. He sighed and shook his head as he grabbed it and the toothpaste. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, used the toilet, and washed his hands before heading back to the couch.

He turned most of the lights out, leaving the room in a soft glow. He took off his jeans, outer shirt, and his shoes, laying them on a chair. He adjusted the pillows and stretched out on the couch. Covering up, he turned on his side to watch the television, the volume turned down low.

He slid a hand between the pillows and felt something scratchy. He pulled it out and saw it was a fortune cookie paper. Scully’s fortune. He got up, turned the light on over the kitchen table to read her fortune.

Your journey will reward you with the answers you seek.

He grinned and looked at her door again. Looking down at the fortune, he imagined her reading it. He wondered if she had thought the same thing he did; about the movie they had watched tonight, and how it seemed to pertain to them on many levels.

He turned off the light, put her fortune next to his in his wallet, and lay back down on the couch. He thought of what Henry had said at the end of the movie. That Elsa never believed in the grail, but saw it as a prize to be won, and that was ultimately her downfall.

He thought of Scully. She may not believe in things like ghosts, sea monsters, vampires, or Bigfoot, but she respected the journey. She was there by his side no matter the outcome. She was not on this journey to win a prize, but because she believed in him and his quest to find the truth.

He laughed quietly and shook his head at the thought that they must have gotten each other’s fortunes, but then he sobered. No. As usual the universe seemed to give them what they both needed to hear.

She needed to hear that the crazy journey she was on would eventually be fruitful. He needed to hear that the quest was not what was most important. To stop... get out of the damn car and take a chance, getting off the crazy ride.

He lay on his back and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He could feel a change in them. Not just with the IVF, but them. Something was coming and he knew it was going to be a step forward, a step for good. His backflipping heart settled and he took a few deep breaths. They could not stand in one place for much longer. A change was in the air, so much so, the universe seemed to feel it.

Soon, he thought, as he surrendered to sleep.

Soon.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Per Manum #Lunch #Sweets and Desserts #Spending Time Together #Watching a Movie #Chinese Food #Fortunes and hope for the future #Sleeping Over

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bangtan-madi · 5 years ago

Text

All Of Our Lifetimes — Six: Yeoubi

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 1.9k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?

Part — 6 / 15

Warnings — none

Previous — Next

The last thing you expected to hear, the last thing you expected him to say, was exactly what Taehyung muttered. He'd cut you off before you could finish your sentence, but that alone wasn't what caused you to stutter and stumble over a response. Here you were, trying to figure out how to put into words the idea that he could've been in your dreams since you were young.

And he beats you to the punch.

"It's me, isn't it?" he repeats, seeing your flabbergasted expression. "The man you're with, in your nightmares."

You swallow the dry lump in your throat, offering a tiny nod. "H—How did you know? I hadn't told anyone that. Not my family, not Milo, no one."

Taehyung bites his lips. "It's like you said: a gut feeling."

"There's gotta be more than that. I—I couldn't have come all this way just to have you have a gut feeling about it, too."

Instead of responding, the brunet stands and gestures for you to follow him. His chin jerks towards the smaller hallway off to the side of the fountain, leading to an area you hadn't yet explored.

"C'mere, there's something I want to show you."

You rise and follow him, keeping close enough to hear him speak softly.

"I came to this museum for the first time when I moved to Seoul to join Big Hit and BTS. That was around seven years ago. And like you, I felt an urge to come here. I couldn't explain it at the time. Everything about this place felt...familiar, like I had been here before. Like I knew it. It's the same way I felt when I first saw you."

"So I'm not crazy?" you murmur, half to yourself.

Taehyung shakes his head, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "But it wasn't just the familiarity that kept me coming back. That was part of it, but I have to show you the other half."

Around the corner, tucked into a small corridor of the museum, there's are walls of hidden portraits. Lining both sides of the walkway, beautiful pieces of art hang in minimal frames against the stark white. Each of them tells a story, and most are in black and white. Some are of inanimate objects, while others are of striking scenery.

But the focus of half of the photographs, if not more, is a woman. Taehyung stops in front of the center portrait, eyes locking on the semi-blurry, candid image. Though the object of this artist's fascination wasn't crystal clear, it showed her in as real as could be, right in the middle of a life in motion.

This portrait catches your attention for another reason, one that drops your heart into your stomach. Though the hair is different, though the era wasn't your own, you've seen this woman many, many times throughout the years. She's nearly identical to your own reflection.

In another place, another time, another life—this woman was you.

"That's...That's..."

"You," Taehyung finishes when you are unable. "So not only did I think you recognized me earlier but when I saw you...I saw her." He points to the portrait, eyes remaining transfixed on you. "Look at the artist's name on the title plate."

Stepping closer, your gaze shifts from the image to the small, golden plate below it. You run your fingers along the engraved Hangul characters, reading it aloud so you can start to believe it yourself.

"'Yeoubi' by Kim Taeh—Taehyung."

"You remember what I told you about a murder here, at the museum over twenty years ago?"

You continue to stare at the art and it's artist, wondering how in the world this all makes sense. Managing a nod of affirmation, you prod Taehyung to continue.

"These were his," he murmurs. "They put up the display shortly after he was killed."

Turning to glance back at him, you ask, "When was he killed?"

"February 28th, 1995." There's a pause, and Taehyung runs a hand through his dark hair. "It's not something you'll see on any display or in a brochure, but I was here late one day a year or so ago and overheard the caretakers talking about him. I got curious, so I hired an investigator to find out what happened. There was next to nothing, but I did figure out that this Kim Taehyung was the murdered artist. He...and his wife."

"What was her name?"

The brunet shrugs, his lips forming a firm line. "I wasn't able to find that out. The police report was sealed, and all evidence of their existence is just...gone. No friends, family, possessions: everything disappeared shortly after their deaths." He nods his chin towards the pictures around you. "Safe to say it's her, though. The one he's always photographing."

"Who looks exactly like me," you sigh, burying your face in your hands. "God, I thought I was coming here to get answers, but now I feel even more lost. What if...What if my nightmare is real? What if it really happened?"

"You think this Taehyung and this woman were the people in your dream?"

Your hands slip down your face, and you swallow hard, throat contracting at the thought of it all coming to pass. "I mean, an artist named Kim Taehyung died with his wife in the exact same way as my dream. Same people, same place, same circumstances. I don't know what else it could be..."

"If that's the case, then you're dreaming of events that happened before you were born," Taehyung concludes, tilting his head to the side out of curiosity. "When were you born?"

"December 8th, 1995. You're December 30th, 1995, right?" He nods. "And you've never had this dream?"

He shakes his head. "Never."

You shake your head violently, trying to clear your mind as you pace the length of the small corridor. "Okay, say that my nightmare was real, that I see the events of the artist's and his wife's murder. That does not explain why he has your name and face." Looking up at your companion, you're awestruck by the similarities between the man in your dreams and the one standing in front of you. "I mean, it's uncanny. You're the same person, even if you're slightly younger right now."

Taehyung gnaws on his lower lip, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, if you're dreaming of the artist's death, and that artist is me, then the artist's wife who dies in your dream is her." He points to the portrait for reference. "And she is you."

You spend a few seconds of silence putting the pieces together. Your nightmare, the artist and his wife, the Kim Taehyung in front of you and the one that died twenty-five years ago. Everything slips together, like pieces of a perfect puzzle.

And like magic, an idea clicks in your head, one that you would never have considered before tonight.

"Taehyung...do you believe in reincarnation?"

Taehyung cracks a tiny smile, and says, "I mean, reincarnation is as part of Korean culture as kimchi. In a way, I think we all believe it."

"That doesn't answer my question. Do you, Kim Taehyung, believe in reincarnation?"

His smile fades, and his gaze shifts sideways. "Before seeing this place and you, I don't think I could've said yes. But now?" He shakes his head slightly. "How can I not?"

The conversation is cut short by another person entering the corridor. She's a tall and thin woman, probably in her early fifties, wearing a brown two-piece suit and pearl jewelry. She's the epitome of class.

When she spots you and your companion, her eyes grow large and she freezes mid-step. Her attention shifts back and forth between the two of you, and her hand covers her mouth. If you didn't know better, you'd say the woman had seen a ghost.

"Oh...my god," she breathes, eventually finding her legs again. They take her further into the hallway. "Unbelievable."

"If we're not supposed to be in here, we're sorry," you state, trying to cover for you both. "Taehyung wanted to show me a photograph here and—"

"—No, it's not that," she replies, cutting you off. "Not at all. God, it's just...when I heard your names, I had to see for myself. The resemblance is uncanny, truly."

Taehyung's brows pull together, creating a crease between them. "Who are you?"

"You don't recognize me, do you?" When you shake your heads, the woman blinks quickly. She bows and introduces herself. "My name is Jwa Ji-yeong. I'm the art curator at this museum."

Taehyung returns the greeting gesture, and you follow suit, still off-put by the situation.

"Do you know us?" you inquire as you rise.

"She obviously does," Taehyung interjects. "The question is how? I've never met you before."

There's a pause, and Jwa Ji-yeong sighs heavily. Dark brown eyes move past you to the portraits on the wall. "Before I answer your question, might I ask which picture caught your attention?"

You point to the image directly behind you. "The one with my face and his name."

A flickering of a smile appears on her face, but it's soon disguised by a monotone exterior. Footsteps and shouts echo down the hallways; the boys and filming crews are getting closer.

Jwa Ji-yeong hands you a small piece of paper before she whispers, "You have questions. I can see that. Now is not the time or place, but if you both have time tomorrow morning, come by this address. I can show you the answers...if you want them."

Looking down at the paper, you see an address for an office at the other side of the museum. You can only guess that this is where the staff is located, somewhere nearby.

Just as quickly as she came, the woman in brown is gone. With her goes the truth to a history you have only in pieces. Taehyung glances at the card over your arm, and you tilt it so he can see easier.

"I'm going," you announce, knowing that time is short by the louder sounds of Run BTS closing in. "Are you?"

Taehyung nods eagerly. "I might not have one constant nightmare, but that's my name on the wall. You see my face when you dream. That woman recognized both of us." When his dark brown irises meet yours, you see his intense resolve. "I'm as much a part of this as you are."

You take a picture of the card and save it for later. Offering him the original, you say, "Meet me here at ten tomorrow morning, okay? We go together."

The brunet takes the card with a grateful nod. You turn towards the photograph, taking it in for the last time before you depart. Everything about it is so familiar: the woman, the artist, the title. It's all too close for comfort.

"What does 'yeoubi' mean? I don't know that word."

"It doesn't have a direct translation to English," Taehyung says softly, eyes on you and not the image. "Roughly, it means 'the sun shining through the rain.'"

Taglist — @just-call-me-trash-can, @jaienn, @happyhrsme, @butaes

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dani-luminae · 5 years ago

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Another Rewrite the Stars AU

I wrote another little AU for my story Rewrite the Stars! This one is much shorter than the D2 AU one, and the premise of it is “What if Mal had put Lia under the sleeping spell rather than Ben?”

@lady-of-the-spirit Tagging you in case you’re interested!

Under the cut, of course, so I don’t clog up any dashboards.

“Ben's love for you is temporary. He'll remember who he really loves, soon enough. Then, trust me, you won't be welcome in this kingdom. Why do you even want to be here, anyway? You've got your own kingdom, don't you?”

Stung by Mal’s hateful words, Lia retreated to a secluded side-garden, wanting to be alone. She didn’t realize that Mal had followed, and with a stolen spindle in her hands. Mal returned to the party, but Lia didn’t.

Uma walked through the crowd, looking for her sister everywhere. But she didn’t see any sign of Lia. So she walked right up to Ben, approaching him just as Mal tried to. Mal hung back, scowling, as Uma asked Ben, “Have you seen Lia?”

Ben paused and looked around, as if it just now occurred to him how odd it was that he had no idea where she had gone. “No,” he said. “Not since I left her over there next to… Mal.”

Uma glanced at Mal, who stood a few feet away, glaring at them both. “Well, Mal’s right there, but I don’t see any sign of Lia,” Uma said, scanning the party for any hint of Lia’s whereabouts. She saw nothing.

Ben was growing concerned. “That’s strange – whoa!” He jumped back slightly with a start when suddenly, a large, pearly insect flew up in front of his face and buzzed at him. Then, the insect – a beetle with shining wings – flew away, disappearing from sight. “What was that?” Ben wondered, staring at where the beetle had disappeared.

“According to Lia’s mythology, those beetles are messengers of the God of Love, or even the god himself in disguise,” Uma commented, finding it rather amusing.

“What, you think I should follow it?” Ben half-joked, still confused.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Uma replied. “Maybe it’s got some big romantic message for you.”

Ben looked across the crowd and picked out the place where the beetle had vanished. Now he saw it was a small path that led out of sight, into a little garden. He moved through the crowd, keeping his eyes on his destination, hoping that Lia was alright.

“Ben!” Someone grabbed his hand. It was Mal.

Ben spun around, startled again, but calmed quickly. “Mal,” he said.

Mal smiled at him. Her green eyes looked wickedly bright, though not quite glowing. “Why don’t we dance? Or join the celebration?” She asked hopefully, pulling Ben a little closer to her.

Ben smiled at her apologetically and shook his head. “Maybe later,” he said, glancing towards the path into the garden. “I’m looking for Lia.”

Mal’s smile hardly flickered. She was good at keeping up appearances. “Why?” She asked.

“What do you mean, why?” Ben said, pulling his hand away from Mal. “Because she’s my friend. Because it’s not like her to vanish from sight, and I’m concerned.”

Mal’s smile faded when Ben pulled his hand out of hers. “Are you sure she’s not distracting you from what’s really important?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Ben replied, but he turned and left, slipping away through the crowd, before Mal could even answer. She stood there, watching, as he reached the other side of the crowd and disappeared down the little path to the out-of-sight garden.

“Lia?” Ben called as he turned a corner on the path and entered the garden. “Are you here?” He saw the beetle, with its wings shining in the light, sitting on the bench. A second later, he saw a much more worrying sight. Lia was lying on the ground, her eyes closed. She didn’t look very comfortable. It looked more like she had fallen and just not gotten up. “Lia!” Ben said, kneeling down next to her. He gently shook her shoulder, trying to wake her, but Lia didn’t move. “Lia!” He repeated, worried now.

“Lia?” called a voice. It was Ayesha, Lia’s mother. She entered the garden and paused when she saw Ben kneeling next to Lia. “What’s happened?” Ayesha asked.

Ben shook his head. “I-I don’t know. I just came here and found her like this! She won’t move, she won’t wake up – I don’t know what’s wrong with her!” Panic was starting to set in. He wanted to help Lia. He wanted to know she was okay. But he didn’t understand anything that was happening.

Ayesha knelt down at her daughter’s side, looking her over. “Bashtela? Vuka! Vula amehlo akho!” Ayesha said urgently. [Wake up! Open your eyes!]

Lia didn’t as much as stir. She laid there, looking like she was asleep. Suddenly, recalling the recent museum theft, Ben had a terrible idea. “Oh no…” He grabbed Lia’s gloved hand and saw that his fear had come true. There was a mark in the pad of her index finger, liked something had pricked her there. “No!”

“What is it?” asked Ayesha, looking a little startled by Ben’s shout.

Ben showed her the mark in Lia’s finger. “I think she’s been put under a sleeping curse,” he explained, dread creeping into his heart. “It’s administered by a prick from a cursed spindle, which was stolen today. “

“A sleeping curse?”

“Yes. She’ll stay asleep forever, unless she’s given True Love’s Kiss – which is… as it sounds, a kiss from her True Love, her soulmate.”

“Izihlobo Zentliziyo,” Ayesha translated, looking down at her sleeping daughter.

“Yes,” Ben nodded. He looked down at Lia again. He couldn’t stand the idea that she might never open her eyes again. “Does she… do you know who that might be for her?” He asked Ayesha.

Ayesha shook her head. “She’s never expressed romantic interest in anyone but Erian. Even then, she says that he is not her True Love.” There were tears starting to gather in her eyes and she looked down at her daughter again. “Oh, bashtela…” She whispered, brushing a few braids away from Lia’s face. She looked up at Ben again and asked him, “Is there no other way to break this spell? Any way at all?”

“No,” Ben said sadly. “There isn’t.”

A note of dead, heavy silence fell over them both as both of them thought of what that meant for Lia. She would remain in a cursed sleep forever, never waking, never speaking. Unless they found her True Love – but neither of them knew who that was, even if Ben wished it so much.

“We can’t leave her here,” Ayesha said. Who knew how long Lia had laid here already, on the garden floor. How long ago had the curse been cast on her?

“We’ll call the limo back,” Ben said. “We can take her back to Beast Castle and put her to bed, so she’s at least comfortable.”

Ayesha considered that and saw no better option. “Agreed,” she said softly. She helped Ben lift Lia, carrying her bridal-style. Lia didn’t even stir, giving no indication that she knew at all what was happening around her. The two of them left the side-garden, returning to the plaza, where the party was taking place.

Jim was standing with Adam and Belle on one of the higher terraces. When Ayesha and Ben reappeared, the three of them at first noticed nothing amiss; then they saw Lia, her eyes closed, in Ben’s arms, and they instantly knew something was wrong. Ayesha hurried up the stairs to tell them what was happening.

“Ayesha?” Jim asked, concerned for his daughter. “What’s wrong with Lia?”

“Ben says it’s a sleeping spell,” Ayesha announced.

Adam’s eyes went wide. “Oh no…”

“The spindle!” Belle whispered.

“Someone here must have it,” Adam said, turning to look out over the party. “The spindle that casts the curse,” he explained when Jim looked at him quizzically, “It was stolen earlier today.”

Belle shook her head, like she couldn’t understand what was happening. “But who would do something like this to Lia, of all people?”

As Ben stood there, with Lia in his arms, waiting for Ayesha to return with Jim, more and more of the partygoers caught sight of Lia, and the party suddenly started to go quiet in shock, understanding that something terrible had happened. Uma rushed through the crowd, seeing her sister seemingly unconscious. “Lia? Lia! Oh my goblins, what happened to her?” Uma said.

“I think it’s a sleeping spell,” Ben told her sadly.

“A sleeping spell?!” Uma repeated. The crowd, hearing this, started to murmur in alarm. A sleeping spell hadn’t been used in Auradon for years – but now, here it was, used on a girl who wasn’t even Auradonian.

“Yeah. She has a mark on her finger and everything,” Ben mumbled. He wished he was anywhere but here right now, out of the spotlight. He wished Lia was awake.

“A sleeping spell?” Mal said, and Ben jumped, because he hadn’t even realized that Mal was standing almost right behind him. “But who would do that to her?” Mal wondered, ignoring Ben’s fright.

“I don’t know,” Ben whispered, “I really don’t.” He looked down at Lia in his arms. She continued to sleep, but under better lights, Ben could see that something was horribly wrong with her. Her skin lacked the golden shine he always saw, and her hair seemed duller. “Lia…” He breathed, feeling as if it physically hurt him to see her this way.

Mal put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, looking sympathetic. “Well – look. It’s easy to wake her,” Mal said. “You just have to take her to Solasar and have her betrothed kiss her, right?”

“No.” Ayesha was coming back down the stairs with Jim.

Mal started slightly, having not expected Ayesha to respond to her. “What?”

“If you mean Erian… she doesn’t love him,” Ayesha answered.

“Oh.” Mal blinked, not sure exactly how to respond to that. Lia didn’t love her fiancé. Well, that wasn’t exactly a problem in Mal’s mind. “So she’s just… gonna be like that forever, then?”

Uma wouldn’t even consider that. She shook her head, refusing to accept that fate for her sister. “No. That’s not an option. It can’t be. Ben – you try. Kiss her.” Uma said, turning to him.

“What?” Ben said in surprise.

“Kiss her!” Uma repeated.

Mal glared at Uma for this suggestion and said loudly, “That won’t work!”

Uma glared back at Mal. She knew that Mal was trying to make a scene in front of the crowd, trying to gain allies in the bystanders, and Uma wasn’t willing to let that happen. “And how do you know?” Uma retorted.

“Because Ben is my True Love!” Mal said, like it was obvious, with an infuriating, smug smile. “Not hers!”

“You don’t know that,” Ben stated, surprising everyone, even himself.

For a moment, Mal stared at him as if he had said something obscene. Then she smiled sweetly and said, “Yes, I do. And you know it, too… don’t you, Benny-boo?”

Ben didn’t respond to Mal. He looked down at Lia, laying in his arms like a broken doll, and realized how much it would hurt to never see her eyes open again, to never see the light shining in her jewel-blue-and-gold eyes. Those eyes had nearly hypnotized him the first time they had ever met.

“Ben?” Mal repeated, her voice a bit colder. She took a step towards him, but Uma, Harry, and Gil blocked her way.

Ben glanced up at Lia’s parents. They both nodded at him, knowing what he was thinking. He sank down to the ground, to better support Lia. She continued to sleep, unknowing of what was happening around her. Ben gazed down at her face for a moment, then he leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

The crowd whispered hopefully, watching. Lia stirred, and before Ben could pull away, she reached up and brushed her fingers through his hair as she opened her eyes. Ben pulled back, smiling, tears in his eyes, like he could hardly believe that she was awake.

“What?” Mal hissed in disbelief.

“Ben,” Lia said softly, sitting up.

“Lia!” He said, still staring at her. “You’re awake!”

“Your kiss… woke me,” Lia said, starting to grin. “That was –”

“True Love’s Kiss.”

“Yes.”

Ben and Lia kissed again, and the crowd called and cheered in relief, happy that Lia was awake, that the spell had been broken – True Love’s Kiss had saved the day. It was like a scene out of all of Auradon’s old tales, right in front of them.

Once they finished the kiss, Ben stood up and pulled Lia to her feet. “Lia, do you remember who cast the spell on you?” He asked her, anxious to know who had stolen the spindle and cast an irrevocable curse.

Lia’s smile faded. “It was…” She began, but then she hesitated and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“No, tell me,” Ben insisted, trying to sound gentle.

Lia looked down at the ground and said, “Mal.”

Ben blinked, stunned. “Mal?”

Lia nodded. “It was Mal.”

Mal heard all of this and turned to try and slip away, but Harry and Gil, far stronger than her, surrounded her and kept her from leaving. Ben spun around and ordered her, his voice carrying across the audience: “Mal! Explain yourself.”

Mal froze, knowing she was caught. She fixed an innocent smile on her face and turned around again with a clueless shrug. “What is there to explain?” She asked.

Ben wasn’t buying the act all. “Did you steal the spindle?” He questioned her.

Mal rolled her eyes. “Why’s that important?”

“Did you or didn’t you?” Ben demanded.

Mal scoffed at him. “I don’t see what you’re so worked up about,” she said, her green eyes sparkling vividly bright. “The curse was broken, your precious Lia is perfectly fine. Your True Love.”

Ben heard the venom in those final two words and finally realized the truth. “You did curse her, didn’t you?” He said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Why? To get rid of her?”

Mal brushed it off. He didn’t quite have it all right. “Well, not ‘get rid’ of her – at least get her sent back to Solasar, assuming her fiancé was her version of True Love,” Mal replied. The crowd gasped at the admission. Mal paid no heed and glared at Ben and Lia. “Unfortunately, your kiss ruined that. You shouldn’t have been able to wake her!” Mal yelled at Ben. “You and I are supposed to be True Love! Not you and her.”

Ben and Lia both jumped back when Mal yelled at them. Lia’s wings appeared, but bore new markings of pink and white. Ben held out an arm, keeping himself between Mal and Lia. “Mal –” He tried to reason with her.

“No, look!” Mal interrupted. She spun around and stalked up to where the stained glass stood, covered in pale gold. She yanked the curtain down, and instantly recoiled. Instead of showing Mal and Ben, it portrayed Ben and Lia. “Oh, no,” Mal whispered.

Ben stared up at the stained glass. The scene portrayed was a truly gorgeous scene, with Ben carrying Lia in his arms as they started into each other’s eyes. “Whoa,” Ben said.

“It’s so lovely,” Lia said, smiling at the sight.

“It’s a mistake!” Mal declared, spinning around to face them. She glared at Ben. “It’s only supposed to show you with…”

“With my True Love,” Ben guessed. All of this had been about getting Lia out of the way and Mal reminding him that he was supposed to be her True Love. And all of her plans were shattering right in front of her. He almost felt a little bad for her. “I truly loved you, Mal – once,” Ben said, trying to explain himself. “But not anymore. You’ve hurt too many people.”

Mal looked hopelessly between Ben, Lia, and the stained-glass portrait. She took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, surprising them all. “I didn’t… please forgive me.” She looked down at the ground.

Ben stared at Mal, trying to decide how true her apology was – and how much of it might just be a trick. “Should I forgive her?” He asked Lia. After all, Lia was the one who had been put under the sleeping spell.

But Lia shook her head and said, “I can’t make that choice for you, Ben. I stand with you either way.” She knew that Ben was, by his nature itself, a very forgiving person; but even Ben wouldn’t ignore when the lines were crossed. Whatever he chose, she would trust in him.

Ben went quiet, considering Lia’s words. And then he turned back to Mal and announced, “I can’t forgive you, Mal.”

Mal blinked. “What?” She said, her voice dangerously quiet. She looked up and locked eyes with Ben.

Ben held her gaze. He didn’t waver in the slightest. “You’ve hurt too many people,” he repeated.

Mal’s eyes flashed, glowing green. She clenched her fists. “While, I’m about to hurt a whole lot more!” She snarled, and she vanished in a blast of purple smoke. Several people in the audience screamed. And then there was a terrifying roar, and Mal rose up into the air in her dragon form.

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dweemeister · 5 years ago

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The Dragon Painter (1919)

Asian-Americans are often sidelined in Hollywood, whether they appear in front of or behind a camera. So when the exceptions come along, there is a tendency to label that actor, director, or writer (or whatever their role is) as – to put it bluntly – as representing all Asian-Americans. I do not know if actor Sessue Hayakawa ever felt that public burden during the peak of his popularity during the silent era, and I hope he never did. During the 1910s and early ‘20s, Hayakawa was a legitimate Hollywood leading man and a sex symbol – the sort of actor that will, on a rainy day and with a sizable puddle of water between the vehicle he is exiting and the sidewalk, have women willingly throw their coats onto that puddle to assure him safe passage. Yes, that story is real.

Many of Hayakawa’s silent films are now lost and the ones that are extant are either difficult to find (sitting in a vault with obscure/nonexistent home media distribution) or in poor public domain quality (though much credit has to be given to the Library of Congress’ National Film Registry for their restoration work). The subject of this piece is The Dragon Painter, directed by William Worthington and released by Haworth Pictures – Haworth was jointly owned by Hayakawa and Worthington and is pronounced by combining the first syllables in their surnames. Haworth was Hayakawa’s outlet to make films that avoided the damaging Asian stereotypes found throughout American filmmaking in the silent era. But as for cultural fidelity to Asian stories, values, and aesthetics, The Dragon Painter feels as if Hayakawa – who shines in the film with a ferocious performance – and Worthington are compromising that fidelity to appeal to general American audiences.

High in the Japanese mountains lives the painter Tatsu (Hayakawa), who spends his days gazing across picturesque landscapes, his hair unkempt, fixated on his artwork. Tatsu’s sanity is not clearly established, as he believes the gods have taken custody of his fiancée, a dragon princess. In Tokyo, the elderly painter Kano Indara (Edward Peil, Sr. in dreadful yellowface) is seeking a student, having dismissed many candidates over the years. One of Indara’s friends, Uchida (Toyo Fujita), stumbles upon the eccentric Tatsu and his paintings. Despite Tatsu’s untamed behavior, Uchida believes Tatsu has the artistry to be Indara’s heir. Thus, he invites Tatsu to Tokyo by claiming he knows the location of the missing princess. Tatsu, of course, follows. Once the backwoods painter arrives in Tokyo, he causes a ruckus at his own welcoming dinner but is calmed as Indara’s daughter, Ume-ko (Tsuru Aoki), poses as the dragon princess and performs a dance. They marry soon after, but their marital status comes at the expense of his painting abilities.

With many outdoor scenes filmed in Yosemite National Park in California, I – as someone with a casual appreciation for the history of the United States’ National Park Service – found myself utterly distracted by the view of numerous iconic features of the park that appear in the film. In the film’s first half, the constant backdrops of Yosemite Valley by cinematographer Frank D. Williams (a then-former chief cinematographer at Keystone Studios, with a credit in The Little Tramp’s debut in 1914’s Kid Auto Races at Venice) challenged my ability to take The Dragon Painter’s claim of representing an “authentic” Japan seriously. Worthington, seeking a sumptuous location, plays up the film’s geographic and cultural Orientalism. The installation of a torii gate in the middle of the Merced River and a Japanese village surrounded by flora that could only be found in Northern California is laughable today. Somehow, The Dragon Painter escaped such criticisms upon its release. But Yosemite, as a United States national park (and the place where the idea of national parks was born), was less than thirty years old in 1918. Generally, in America in the 1910s, there was far less knowledge about the national parks system, even about one of the crown jewels of the National Park Service. Today, with greater knowledge about at the parks nationwide, the film’s backdrops make less sense given one of the film’s central goals to depict Japanese culture.

The film’s cultural Orientalism is no better. With a white director, white screenwriter (Richard Schayer), and based on a novel written by a white woman (Mary McNeil Fenollosa), The Dragon Painter could deviate from its source material – even a minor change or two – to minimize its inaccurate cultural depictions. Worthington and Schayer decline that option. Indara’s household is filled with an aesthetically busy, incoherent, and period-clashing hodgepodge of Japanese art. Ink paintings, sculptures, and other works. It is a legacy of Japonisme, a French term on the popularity of Japanese art in the late nineteenth century following the nation’s forced reopening of trade.

The Dragon Painter goes even further than its set decorations and costume design as the film posits that in order to restore Tatsu’s artistic abilities after his marriage to Ume-ko, Ume-ko must sacrifice herself for him. That development should raise skeptical eyebrows, as no one should lay down their lives for someone else’s art – and predictably, the person who must perform the sacrifice is a woman in love. This angle of a Japanese woman killing herself makes The Dragon Painter, in its second half, a Madama Butterfly narrative. It is not known if Worthington or Schayer were influenced by Giacomo Puccini’s opera and John Luther Long’s short story (neither Puccini nor Long ever visited Japan), but the movie’s depiction of an obedient (if not subservient) wife that will even consider extreme practices to salvage her husband’s career comes from an inauthentic place. Contrast this depiction of a woman to the one in Kenji Mizoguchi’s The Story of the Last Chrysanthemums (1939, Japan), where Kakuko Mori’s life-straining altruism – and numerous female characters in dire straits found across Mizoguchi’s filmography – was based on Mizoguchi’s close relation to his older sister. Unlike Worthington, Mizoguchi frames his film of female sacrifice from the personal, rather than something offhand.

If Hayakawa intended to distance himself from the stereotypical, vehemently racist portrayal of Asians at the major Hollywood studios of the silent era, those intentions are constrained by the financial and production-related realities of The Dragon Painter. Though his and Aoki’s performances are satisfactory, the fact that Edward Peil, Sr. appears in yellowface as Indara contradicts Hayakawa’s goals. How much power Hayakawa had over The Dragon Painter’s production is an open question (as well as how he felt about the final product), but if Hayakawa wished to portray Japanese culture as faithfully as possible, he must have been disappointed at the results. In the 1910s, tension between the Japanese-American community and Hayakawa’s image – exotified romantic roles that nevertheless kept some distance from white women characters – precipitated into the creation of Haworth and Hayakawa’s promises to make films with less problematic Asian depictions. This tension – which also existed with Japanese moviegoers who saw Hayakawa as too Westernized – is almost never mentioned today, as Hayakawa’s reputation has been subject to hagiography for being the lone Asian leading man of silent era American cinema.

For Hayakawa, clashes with his film distributor, economic recession, and the State of California debating the prohibition of property ownership by resident of Japanese descent forced him to leave the United States for Europe, only to return to Hollywood sporadically for the remaining decades of his life. The Dragon Painter, once presumed lost, was rediscovered when a print was unearthed in France. In 1988, a joint restoration effort by the American Film Institute, George Eastman House, and New York City’s Museum of Modern Art brought renewed attention to the film. Six years ago, The Dragon Painter – as one of Hayakawa’s few existing films – was inducted in the Library of Congress’ National Film Registry, deemed a national treasure, and marked for preservation for posterity.

I have spent most of this review dragging The Dragon Painter through the mud of my reservations and criticism, but I appreciate the film as a rare example of a leading Asian-American actor and actress (Hayakawa and Aoki were married) given top billing in a Hollywood film. For that reason alone, it deserves to remembered and appreciated in all its representational imperfections.

My rating: 6/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found at http://dweemeister.tumblr.com/ratings_system (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not allowing certain links to appear on tag pages, so I apologize for the clunky spelling-out of the URLs).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, they can be found at https://dweemeister.tumblr.com/tagged/My-Movie-Odyssey.

#The Dragon Painter #William Worthington #Sessue Hayakawa #Tsuru Aoki #silent film #Toyo Fujita #Edward Pell Sr.#Frank D. Williams #Richard Schayer #Mary McNeil Fenollosa #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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waiting4inspiration · 6 years ago

Text

The Psychic VI (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: Finally reaching the place where Steve and an unconscious Bucky hide, you reveal to Steve what’s been going on between you and Bucky.

Warnings: Follows the events of Civil War,

The Psychic Masterlist II Marvel Masterlist

Following Sam to an abandoned warehouse, while also trying to avoid police and SHIELD enforcements, your press your back against a wall as agents run passed, you laugh to yourself and shake your head. “Why is it that whenever we work together, we end up being the most wanted on SHIELD’s list?” you questions, turning your head to Sam beside you.

Your words make him laugh and smile down at you. “Maybe it’s because we’re doing the right thing?” he suggests, checking to see if the coast is clear, you shrug your shoulder before following him out of your hiding space. “Hopefully,” he mutters to himself as he carries on to lead you to the warehouse.

When you finally reach the place Steve told you and Sam to meet him, you can’t help but breath a sigh of relief from having a break from running away and trying to avoid the eyes that are looking for you. Steve, when he sees you, also sighs in relief, jumping to his feet and making his way to you. “You alright?” he questions, his eyes running over your injured face as he gently places his hands on your shoulders.

Reaching up to touch the cut on your lip, you nod your head at him and smile. “I’ve had worse,” you chuckle, glancing over his shoulder to try and find Bucky.

“I’m good too, thanks for asking,” Sam teases, your head turning to him as he chuckles at his own joke, Steve shaking his head to him as a smile spreads across his face.

Steve turns around and leads you across the warehouse, Sam following not too far behind you. “Can you get out that mindset?” he questions as you reach an unconscious Bucky.

His metal arm is being held down with a hydraulic press - probably for precaution - and his head hangs between his shoulders. Without breaking your stare on the unconscious soldier, you step towards him and away from Steve. Kneeling in front of Bucky, you slowly reach out to touch his face. “There’s not much I can do with an unconscious mind, Steve,” you whisper, turning your head over your shoulder to look back at him. “And you know I don’t like playing with minds without someone’s consent first.”

“So, if he wakes up and is still in the Winter Soldier mode...”

“That’s a different story, Sam,” you state, standing back to your feet and folding your arms over your chest as you walk back toward him and Steve. “Because I know that he hates that part of him which then makes him hate himself,” you add, glancing back over your shoulder for a second before back at the two men. “I’d rather do what I have to when he wakes up.”

A few minutes later, you sit on the ground on the opposite side of the building where Bucky is only because - even though he is unconscious - you can still feel his mind buzzing with a million thoughts and it’s slightly draining your powers.

Your eyes remain closed as you try to meditate, focusing your powers to stay in a stable position. To make sure you’re not overusing them or underusing them. It’s something you always do after a fight when the adrenaline in your body starts to die down. And especially after a fight where you used your powers, it’s important to find harmony between your own mind and your powers as well as the minds around you.

It sounds complicated, but seeing that you’ve been doing it for as long as you can remember, it’s pretty easy and simple now.

Steve pulls you out of your trance as he sits beside you, keeping his eyes in front of him at your eyes search his face, pushing away the temptation to read his mind to see what he’s thinking. “So, this where you’ve been all this time?” he finally questions, his eyes finally shifting down to you. “Trying to get him to remember his life?”

Nodding your head, you turn your eyes to the room where Bucky is and let out a quiet sigh. “And I’m sorry that I ignored your calls for all that time, but it was just easier than lying to you and the team,” you say, looking back up at him with a sincere smile. “And I didn’t have to heart to just let him fight this battle himself.”

He frowns down at you, bites the inside of his cheek before turning his gaze to the room you glance at a few seconds ago. “You have feelings for him,” he states, your eyes widening at his words as he turns to look back at you. “I saw it in Bucharest. The way you two look at each other...”

“Oh God, you’re making this sound like a romcom,” you groan, leaning your head against the wall behind you with a small sigh. “Bucky and I have gotten to know each other a lot deeper than a normal couple,” you admit after a moment of silence. “I’ve seen everything in his mind and he’s seen everything in mine. It’s what happens when you try to fix someone’s mind for a year,” you chuckle, bringing your knees up to your chest as you sigh out again. “We know what each other has been through and it made it easier for the both of us that we didn’t have to say a word. Sure, we talked about what we saw in each other’s minds afterwards, but...”

“You already knew what would be said,” he finishes, making you nod at his words. “I glad Bucky has someone like you by his side,” he says, you eyes snapping back up to him as he smiles down at you. “Not just because you can snap him out of it if he goes back into the Winter Soldier programming, but because you’re so understanding. And patient.”

Giggling at him, you drop your head so your chin touches your chest and smile to yourself. “Well, we don’t know if I am even able to snap him out of that programming,” you state, bringing your hand up to gently touch your bruised neck. “Hopefully, we won’t have to try.”

Sam calls out to you and Steve, making you head snap over to him and finding him standing in front of the room where Bucky is. Jumping to your feet, you and Steve jog over to Sam. Seeing Bucky move and feeling his mind is more active, you rush forward to him without so much as a second thought.

Kneeling in front of him, you touch the side of his face making his eyes snap up to you. He gently smiles at you before his eyes land on the cut on your lip. And then the bruise on your neck. “Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve questions harshly, making your head snap around to him with a scowl on your face.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah,” Bucky says before you can sneer at Steve. Turning back to him, he glances down at you for a second before returning his gaze back up to Steve. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” he chuckles, lowering his head again as the corners of his mouth turns up in a smile.

“Can’t read that in a museum.”

“Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?”

“What did I do?” Bucky questions, you head bouncing around from Steve to Sam and back to Bucky at the quick exchange of words, making your mind spin. Touching the side of his face again, you shake your head and try to comfort him, but Steve interrupts by saying that he did enough. Enough to make thing worse than they already are. “Oh God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there,” he states, slowly turning his gaze back to you. “All he had to is say the goddamn words.”

You try to speak, but get interrupted by Steve yet again. “Who was he?” he questions, your head turning harshly around to him. “People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.”

“And if all of you would just shut up and let me talk, I might have been able to tell you that I can find out,” you sneer, glaring between Sam and Steve.

They hold their hands up in defeat as you shake your head at them before turning back to Bucky. “He wanted to know about Siberia.” Bucky words make the blood in your veins turn cold. “Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where,” he adds, turning his gaze back up to Steve as you take in a deep breath.

“Why would he want to know that?” Steve questions, your head dropping between your shoulder before looking up at him.

Bucky stares at you as he sighs loudly. “Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

Tags: @tephi101 @rororo06 @flokidottir-imagines-br @mad4oak @nerdypisces160 @xinyourdreamsx @vikingaestheticsblog @xenavistania @medievalfangirl @simam12 @ben-wyxtt @mood-pancakes @chameerah @momc95 @lucille-lovely @marvelmenappreciation @mother-of-fire-snakes @peterman-spideyparker @mywinterwolf @ultramagicaltacofandom @princessizzy36 @death-unbecomes-you @deartomholland @warmchick @nohemi2500 @veganfangirl5 @usernamemingmei @crookedslimecreatorpasta @yourwonderbelle @naurin-of-the-east @delilahstan0010 @animegirlgeeky @avengerswon @allonszassbutt @thewackywriter

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #the winter soldier imagines #the winter soldier x reader #captain america civil war #the avengers imagine #the avengers imagines #the avengers x reader #the psychic

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 6 years ago

Text

Attention

So as I promised to show you all, here's a fic about Ahkmenrah, the Reader, and Rexy that I wrote back in 2016.

I've made some changes to it, but overall the plot remains the same: Two exhibits wanting attention from the newest nightguard who's related to Larry.

Hope you lovelies enjoy 💕

"See you in the A.M, [y/n]."

"Night, Uncle Larry."

"...before I go did you remember to lock up the Wild Africa exhibit?"

"Yes."

"And the gum for the Easter Island Head?"

"How could I forget?"

"And-"

"Larryyyyy everything will be fine," You whined. The former night guard chuckled. "Just making sure. Be safe, okay?" He patted your shoulder with a confident smile before heading outside of the museum.

After he had left, you searched around for any guests or children that may be lost or hiding. Fortunately, that was not the case this time.

Now you were ready for yet another night of fun.

You watched the sun set as you locked the revolving doors. Time seemed to go slower as you waited for it to turn dark, so you decided to turn around and head to your favorite exhibit: the Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton.

Dinosaurs were always the coolest thing to you. Everything about them--their behavior, species, extinction--interested you as a child. That's why Rexy was your favorite exhibit out of the bunch. Plus he was just a giant, playful puppy.

"Good evening, Rexy," you greeted, walking up to the skeletal dinosaur. With a smile, you put your hands on his snout, rubbing it tenderly as you waited patiently for the magic to do it's job.

Your grin widened when you saw the massive tail start to sway. Rexy lifted his head slightly, before he recognized your scent. His bones were rattling with excitement as he nuzzled your palms. "I'm happy to see you, too," you giggled.

With a happy-sounding growl, he lowered his head, allowing you to climb onto it. You managed to reach his back and sat down, holding onto him. "Alright boy, let's go explore!" Raising his head up, Rexy emitted a thunderous roar, frightening the other exhibits into awakening, before he stepped down from his stage and began to stomp his way about the museum.

"What in God's name was--? Oh. It's only you, Rexy." Looking down, you waved to Teddy. "Sorry about that, Mr. President!"

"Ah! Good evening [l/n]!" He chuckled, looking up and tipping his hat. "I didn't even see you up there! My, Rexy gave Tex quite a scare." Teddy patted his horse, who only neighed in return. "But not to worry. I'm off to see Sacajawea. She said she has many interesting stories to tell me about her homeland."

You nodded. "Well don't keep her waiting, lover boy. I'll see you around." With that, you bid farewell to the 26th president, before the T-Rex skeleton continued through the area.

Rounding a corner, Rexy stopped in his tracks. "What's up bud-?" When you looked over, you saw Trixie down the hallway.

After the battle she became part of the family here at the museum. You were afraid that she'd try to kill Rexy, given that the T-Rex and Triceratops species were enemies 65 million years ago. But after Larry tamed her, the two became the best of playmates, though it meant that you had to be much more careful playing fetch.

She stomped her way towards you, letting out a few grunts. "Alright Rexy, lemme down for a second." With a nod, Rexy crouched down, allowing you to jump back down.

You walked up to Trixie, looking up and smiling at her as you patted her nose. "It's good to see you too Trix." The skeletal Triceratops snorted, nuzzling her face to your cheek, making you laugh once more.

Then you heard a loud snap and slowly turned around to see Rexy push one of his ribs towards you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Trixie crouching and her tail swaying. "Alright fellas." You grabbed the large bone, raising it high above your head and aiming it towards the long, empty corridor. "Promise me you won't break anything?" The two dinosaur skeletons bobbed their heads in understanding.

"Ready...set....GO!" You tossed the bone as far as you could, stepping out of the way as Rexy sprinted past you, bellowing.

As you watched the two disappear around a corner, the ground stopped shaking. But then you heard another set of footfalls, though they were nowhere near as heavy as theirs.

Turning around, you looked up to see Ahkmenrah's Anubis guards. It was odd seeing them outside their exhibit, as they would never leave the tablet nor artifacts out of their sight. "Hey guys." You chuckled, giving them a polite wave. “What can I help you with?”

They did not respond, but instead looked over at each other. Your smile fell and you sighed, checking your watch. “Alright. I best be making my rounds, so if you fellas aren’t gonna say anything then-”

But the moment you turned back around, one of the guards grabbed you by the back of your shirt and picked you up.

“Hey! What gives?!” You growled, trying to reach for his arm. Then you looked up and saw Dexter perched on the second floor’s railing, grinning at you. When you called out to him he only waved you off and disappeared.

Not even that damn monkey wanted to help you!

"Listen,” you huffed to the guards. “I may not be Larry but I’m still related to him! I sacrifice sleep and spend my paychecks on caffeine so I can take care of you guys! And this is how you repay me-?!”

"Put. Them. Down. Now.”

You stopped thrashing around as the guard dropped you without warning. With a groan, you sat up, rubbing your knee, before realizing that you were at the entrance to the Egyptian Exhibit. And a furious Ahkemenrah stood right there in front of you, glaring up at his guards.

The jackals nodded apologetically, kneeling before him. But he just pushed past them, his expression changing into one of concern as he helped you to your feet. "Are you alright [y/n]?" He asked.

You nodded, dusting off some dust that clung to your uniform. The pharaoh sighed, looking back at his guards with disgust. "See what you've done?! Next time I may not forgive you so easily. Now away with you!" They nodded in acknowledgement, standing up and returning to their places in the exhibit.

"Thanks," you spoke, smiling at him.

He turned back to you. "No need to thank me...but....are you sure you are alright?"

"Yeah. I think I was just caught off-guard when they showed up outside their exhibit. But it’s no big deal.”

"I-It is, though.." His eyes held guilt as he looked down at the ground. "They can be arrogant at times but..they should know how to treat you with respect. It was cowardly of me to not approach you myself. I-I understand if..you don’t wish to speak with me after what-”

"Ahk....it's okay." You set a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He immediately looked up at you, almost surprised that you forgave him. "How about we go for a walk?" You suggested, nodding your head towards his exhibit. “I heard your exhibit got a few new additions.”

He seemed to relax a bit after that, as his smile returned. "I'd love to."

....

Ahkmenrah gave you a tour of the rest of his exhibit, showing you the many artifacts there were. It was absolutely beautiful. There were even half-animal statues of some of the gods, as well as hieroglyphics on the walls, that came to life. It was clear they were very fond of you, but whether it was because of their respect for the pharaoh or if it was genuine kindness was a mystery to you.

Once you were finished with the tour, you both returned to where his sarcophagus was, sitting down on the steps together. “Wow, that was incredible,” you told him.

“It does help this place feel more like home,” he remarked, taking off his crown and setting it aside. But then he blinked with realization and gazed at you. “Ah, that’s right...I wanted you here because I ah..have a small gift for you.”

You glanced at him. “Really? But..I mean I haven’t been here as long as my uncle. And-”

“That doesn’t matter.” He chuckled. “As you said, you sacrificed sleep for all of us here. And you’re right, we should be showing you more appreciation. So..this gift will surely express that. So close your eyes for me.”

Complying, you closed your eyes and waited, wondering if you should’ve held your hands out beforehand. Then you felt something cold and metal slip around your neck. Once he told you to open your eyes, you glanced down and realized it was a golden necklace with an ankh pendant. The tiny crystal pattern etched into it made it glitter with the exhibit's lights.

“Oh wow..this is..lovely, Ahk.” You held the ankh, rubbing your thumb along its texture. With a smile you turned to him and hugged him tight. He returned the embrace, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m glad you love it, my friend. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for-”

A deafening roar cuts him off, and startles you both out of the hug. “Rexy?!” You glanced towards the entrance, gasping when you saw the T-Rex skeleton bellowing at the guards, who had their spears aimed at him.

Fortunately he couldn’t fit himself inside the exhibit, but you were still scared shitless and ran over to disperse the situation. “Shit! Calm down everybody!!” You attempted to grab one of their arms as the spear’s tip came close to jabbing Rexy’s snout. “He’s not gonna hurt you! Stop it!”

Then you heard a soft grumble and looked to see Rexy backing off the moment he made eye contact with you. Squeezing past the guards, you checked the walls and saw the large cracks in them. 'Hmph, they fit well with the exhibit. Maybe I can just tell the boss that if he suspects something’s wrong.’

Your attention went back to Rexy as you heard him whimper and crouch down, nuzzling the top of your head.

It was then you realized why he was threatening the jackals: he thought you were in danger when you disappeared. "Hey buddy, it's alright," you soothed, rubbing his snout gently. "Shhh..it's okay. I'm okay. I should’ve told you where I was going, but I’m alright. Just back up a little."

Obeying your wish, he took a few steps back, allowing you to walk out the exhibit. In his jaws he had the bone from earlier, which he placed into your hands. Looking up at him, you smiled gently. "Good boy."

Hearing a sigh from behind you, you turned to see Ahkmenrah, his arms crossed as he frowned at the exchange. But when he caught you staring he looked away, muttering something to himself before walking back into the exhibit.

"What's up with him?"

"He is envious of your interactions with the dinosaur, [y/n].”

Startled, you glanced at the guard. “Y-You can speak?”

"We don’t unless we’re given permission to,” the other told you, kneeling down. “All we can say is that our pharaoh is upset. So..it’s in your best interests to discuss the matter with him.”

You were surprised that he was actually jealous of you playing with Rexy. But then again..he did give you such a beautiful gift and probably felt like it didn’t matter to you anymore.

“Yeah..I better go make things right.” You turned back to Rexy, throwing the bone down the hall to send him away. Then you grabbed the crown that was on the steps and returned to the exhibit, searching for the pharaoh.

Sure enough, you found him sitting somewhere deep within the room, resting his head on his knees. Your heart ached at how depressed he looked, especially since you were apparently the cause of it.

Sometimes you forgot that he wasn’t made of wax, stone, or marble like the others; he was a real, living person with emotions, his youth having been preserved for so many years.

"Ahk.”

He glanced up at you, but said nothing even as you sat next to him. Thankfully he made no effort to shift away, so that was a good sign. “Your friends told me.”

“..I’m sure they did,” he mumbled, his eyes downcast.

“Listen,” you sighed. “I’m sorry. You..You know how Rexy gets. He's a literal puppy who needs a lot of attention. I was just trying to defuse a situation that could’ve cost me my job..or worse. So I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not you that I’m mad at..”

You blinked in confusion. “Wait..really?”

“..w-well..I just...” Ahkmenrah put his hands on his head, curling his fingers into his brown locks. “I can’t stand that beast always stealing your attention night in and night out,” he mumbled. “I know that I, a pharaoh, shouldn’t be feeling such emotions, but..I just can’t help but-”

He was cut off by a soft chuckle, and he saw your smile, staring at you in bewilderment. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” You nudged his arm. “It’s normal to feel jealous. I know I’m at fault here, too. I do go straight to Rexy anytime I lock up..and..I should’ve known better than to abandon you at the steps. It didn’t help that you gave me such a lovely present beforehand and..I’m sorry for that. Can you forgive me?”

For a few moments, he remained silent, before he smiled softly and hugged you first this time, which was a surprise. But you held him just as tight. “I’ll take that as a “yes”.”

Then you heard a familiar grumble after a minute or so. You both stood up and headed out of the exhibit, where a certain dinosaur was waiting for you. With a chuckle you rubbed his snout, before you turned back to Ahkmenrah and put his crown back on his head, making sure his hair was hidden.

‘I never thought a handsome young pharaoh and a T-Rex skeleton would want my attention,’ you thought. ‘But either way, I couldn’t have asked for a better job.’

#rami malek x reader #ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah #night at the museum x reader #reader insert

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illyrianwingspans · 5 years ago

Text

Do Not Go Gentle: Buzzcut Season

Link to song: Buzzcut Season by Lorde (my other absolute fave)

Synopsis: The history of Hybern and Night Industries.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 17: Buzzcut Season

War.

The word echoed in my mind, and all I could see was his face twisted into that vicious snarl of his.

“Please,” I breathed, “Don’t do it. Not for me. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

“What are you talking about?” Rhys demanded, his eyes full of concern and confusion. When he finally understood the fear in my eyes, the trembling of my fingers, he shook his head. “No, Feyre—not with Tamlin. Not with Spring Corporations.”

I flinched at the sound of his name.

Rhys sighed, then gently took me by the elbow and lead me over to the couch. It was directly in front of the map I’d seen before. Rhys wandered over to the coffee counter, and I heard the whirring of a machine. He spoke over the noise.

“Spring Corporations, for the last six months, has been working with Hybern and Co to import and sell Cauldron. C’s made their way into Prythian’s black market about three years ago, and since then can be found at nearly every party, frat house, club or back alley. They are all anyone wants right now, and the price they go for has never been higher. Hybern and Spring have been profiting big time off of these druggies. But they can’t maintain their supply anymore.”

“Why?” The world of drugs and illegalities still confused me to high hell, but Rhys remained calm and focused. He strode over from the coffee bar with two mugs in his hands, and handed me one. The smell was peppermint, and one sip of it had my stomach calm. He sat beside me, hands wandering over the map.

“This, here, are the ports. They used to import everything and operate out of here, the warehouse. That’s where I had my guys working to deliver them.”

“Wait, wait, how did you get caught up in this?”

“I’ll explain after. Anyways, we used to distribute from here to our dealers. But now, they can’t import anymore. They were caught with some misdealing at the border, and now they have no incoming supply. So they need a new facility to start producing here, in Prythian.”

“Okay, but what’s the issue then?”

Rhys sighed. He took another marker, then circled the mountains and territories north of Prythian, Illyria. “He’s looking at buying the reserve.”

My mouth fell open, and I immediately blurted, “Hybern can’t do that. That’s protected land. That’s their land.”

“I know,” Rhys sighed and fell back against the couch. “But this city has an asshole of a mayor in charge who doesn’t quite care as long as there’s money in his pocket.”

My brows furrowed. “He can’t do that.” I repeated, furious. I didn’t know much about Illyria, but I knew that their people, the Illyrians—they’d been there for hundreds of years. They were native to this land before Prythian was colonized, before the city had a skyline at all.

“He can, and he’s trying. The land, though they claim is protected, is under city jurisdiction. No matter what we do, feds aren’t getting involved because it’s not federally owned. It’s up to the mayor and the people to decide. And as you know, the Illyrians aren’t very popular amongst city people.”

It was true. They had a reputation for their coldness, and were known only for their cheap gas prices and bars.

“For years my people have been marginalized. They have no voice, no means to make a living. We’ve been demanding for better government infrastructure, for healthcare, for schools, but the only thing that seems to be opening up are more bars and liquor stores.” His eyes closed. “My people have been suffering. The homicide rates, the suicide rates—they’re six times higher in their territories than here.”

For a few moments, we were quiet. I only looked down at the map, disdainful that I’d never been told of the suffering lingering just beyond the city limits.

“If they buy that land, their homes will be destroyed. But that’s not all—they’ll employ those people. They’ll give them a pittance of a salary for menial work, and three quarters of them will be addicted to C’s before the first month of production is over.” He glanced at me sidelong, the usual spark in his features gone. “My people will only suffer more than they already have.”

I shook my head, eyes still focused on the map. “So what are you doing?” I wondered. “What can I do?”

Rhys hesitated for a moment, then said, “You seriously want to work with us?”

I thought it over for a moment, and realized quickly that I hadn’t been so passionate about something in… in years. I’d loved my job at Hum’s. It was something to do. Something to make the days go by without submitting completely to the numbness filling my bones. But this…working with my friends, trying to destroy the people who had ruined my life…

“You need to tell me how you got involved with Hybern, though. I want to know the whole story. I want to know what exactly it is you all do in this building before signing anything.”

Rhys looked to me for a few moments before saying, “Night Industries works security. Exactly like I explained to you: security detail, cybersecurity, infrastructure security, we do it all. We have real estate holdings, we have hundreds of investment projects. But security is our main focus.”

“Why?”

At that, Rhys smirked. “Because no one thinks the people that are protecting them actually listen in.”

“And by that you mean…?”

“Information, Feyre, costs more than any currency you can imagine. Secrets are worth more than a hundred kilograms of gold. Because they are leverage. Insight. A way into your enemy’s mind, the thread you pull for the fabric to fall apart completely. Nobody thinks the security guard in the front of the limo is listening in on their conversations about sly deals. Nobody thinks their security software is actually reporting back to the manufacturer whenever a new file is uploaded. Nobody thinks the guard at the museum party is noticing who walks into the bathroom with a married man for a quick fuck.”

I sat back for a moment, trying to process everything he was telling me.

“I first caught wind of Hybern’s dealings because I was the one who worked his security detail when he first came to Prythian. As soon as my people reported back, I realized that I was sitting on one of the biggest drug operations to ever enter Prythian. Days later I was in Hybern and Co’s office, speaking to Mr. Hybern himself, proposing a business plan for his future dealings here.”

“Why did you help him?”

“It’s easier to know your enemy by being their friend. But back then, I was stupid. I moved too fast. Before I knew it my guys were in the streets practically dealing the stuff themselves. By then I knew I was in too deep, and I tried to back out as quickly as possible. But they had me by the balls. Bookkeeping on which my name wouldn’t be erased if it ever came to light. Irrefutable incriminating evidence that would flush my life and my business down the drain.”

“How did you get out finally?”

At that, Rhys’s face completely shut down. He only said, “By chance. I saw my opportunity and got the fuck out of dodge.”

By the sound of his voice, I knew not to push him. I only said, “I’m in.”

The storm in his eyes cleared up at the words. “What?”

“Whatever it is, I’m in. I’ll do it.”

“Feyre,” Rhys said quietly, “take some time to think it over. It doesn’t have to be right away.”

“What would my position be?”

“For starters, you’d be my personal assistant. That office out there would be for you.”

“I have very limited experience working in offices.” I never wanted to think about that janitor’s closet ever again.

“I know,” Rhys hedged, “and it won’t be like that at all. We’ll start you off slow, get you used to our systems, help you work your way up. Cerridwen, Azriel’s assistant, will show you all the ropes. We’ll start you off on half-days and work you up from there. If ever you feel sick, tired, anything—you have the day off, no questions asked.”

I eyed him nervously. I couldn’t believe, in the course of two weeks, I had gone from Spring Corporations straight to their enemy, ready to accept a job offer two days after nearly ending it all.

“Like I said, take your time, Feyre.” Rhys said softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’ll think about it.” I promised. “Over dinner tonight.” I added.

“Jesus Christ, I hoped you forgot.”

***

When we got home, I took a nap while Rhys cleaned up the main floor. He’d turned it into his office while he was working from home, despite the fact that he had a perfectly usable office upstairs. He said it was ‘too dark’ (despite the wall of windows it had), and I knew full well it was just because he wanted to keep an eye on me while I lounged on his couch reading and watching TV. As though I would try to suffocate myself to death with a pillow.

My alarm went off at seven, and I dragged myself to the bathroom to make myself look presentable. I donned some of the nicer clothes Mor had bought me, just jeans and a t-shirt, but each were soft and expensive looking, that made the guilt within me fester even more. For the first time in a while, I looked at myself in the mirror, and was terrified of the face who stared back.

I hadn’t noticed the thinness in my face until my cheeks had hollowed out and my skin was pale and white. My hair had begun falling out a while ago, coming out in heaps of strands in the shower, and it’d lost any traces of shine and glimmer that it originally held. Not to mention, my waist had thinned out as well, and my ribcage stood out starkly against my skin. The t-shirt, thank the Gods, was loose. All I had the energy to do was run a comb through my messy hair, brush my teeth and splash some water on my face. Though it wasn’t much of an improvement from before, at least it was something.

Downstairs, Rhys had cleaned up most of his mess, leaving behind only his computer on the corner of the coffee table before the TV. In the kitchen, the counter was clean, and something smelled glorious as the sounds of kernels popping emanated from the microwave.

“Popcorn?” Rhys wondered as he pulled the bag out and dumped the contents into a bowl. I nodded my head and pecked at a few kernels. My stomach, thankfully, did not protest at the buttery taste across my tongue.

At the edge of island were two games stacked atop one another: Pictionary and Monopoly. I raised my brows.

“My family takes game night very, very seriously. It doesn’t happen often. When it does, I always have to buy a new table.”

“A new table?”

The doorbell rang, and a look of misery overcame Rhys’s face. “Because someone always ends up flipping it.”

I stayed in the kitchen while Rhys wandered unhurriedly to the front entrance. Once the door opened, it was instant chaos that overtook the household. There was so much noise and voices that I could barely decipher who had walked in the door, only the fact that someone had wrapped in their arms. Cassian’s comforting scent enveloped me, and I sighed as I hugged him back, missing his cheerful spirit.

“Feyre! You could’ve at least given me some rent money before you left.”

I forced the best chuckle I could as he released me, and his full, toothy smile shined above me. Before I could even say anything his hand was already reaching for the popcorn. I guess Rhys hadn’t said much about my abrupt move out of his apartment, and I wasn’t sure if I preferred it that way.

A low voice sounded from behind me, “We brought pizza. Mor requested banana chilis, I’m sorry.” Azriel nodded to me, and I gave him my best impression of a grin. It didn’t work.

“It’s like you’re trying to burn off my tastebuds.” Cassian whined. Mor was already moving around the kitchen like a hurricane, plucking wine glasses from Rhys’s cabinets and pulling a bottle of rosé from her purse. She only replied to Cassian, “You’re one of the only ones here with an inkling of culture, honey. Your tastebuds should be adapted to spice by now.”

“I’m going to ignore that slightly racist comment. And remind you that you and Feyre are the minorities in this party.”

“Do you have anything strong, Rhys? I don’t know why they keep inviting me to these.” Amren commented. She’d already taken up a spot sitting on the kitchen counter. By the lack of looks she was getting, I guessed that was her usual seat.

“You’re the one that keeps showing up, Amren. Nobody’s forcing you.” Cassian argued.

Amren quipped, “You parked in front of my apartment building and threatened to honk all night until I got in with you. I don’t want a public disturbance added to my criminal record.”

Added? was all I could think to myself as Rhys pulled out a bottle of vodka. Amren smiled—well, smile was the best word for it, it was more like a wolf bearing its teeth. He poured her a knuckle’s length, and she knocked it back in one gulp. Rhys took one look at her and the bottle, then left it there for her on the counter. She poured herself another then kept it next to her, like a dragon guarding its trove.

“I know you don’t like talking about work at home, but I have to tell you one thing.” Azriel said.

Mor and Cassian both rolled their eyes at the same time (Mor tried to claim jinx, but Cassian refuted you can’t jinx something non-verbal). Rhys, though, was at full attention. In his hands was a glass of what looked like scotch. Suriel’s words kept playing in my mind, but I was thirsty—and a glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. Just something to ease me into this new dynamic. I stood and went to the pantry and grabbed a glass, then went to the fridge where I knew Rhys kept his stash of white wine.

Behind me, Azriel asked, “Do you trust her?”

The room was silent, save the sound of the wine pouring into my glass. Quietly, I put the cap on the bottle, then slid it back into the fridge side door. When I turned, five sets of eyes were turned to me. I only took a sip of my drink, then looked to Rhys.

“Do you?” I asked curiously. Rhys only exhaled sharply.

“Seeing as though I might be hiring miss Archeron, yes, I do trust her, Azriel.”

Cassian’s eyebrows lifted in excitement. “Seriously, Fey? You’re coming to work with us?”

The name threw me off, and I flinched. All I could see was his face, his and Lucien’s, the stupid nickname they’d called me for years. It only made me tilt back my glass, wanting to blur the lines of their faces until they were unrecognizable.

“I have not agreed to anything yet, so don’t get your hopes up.” I took another sip, then pinned Cassian with a look. But not the type that was antagonizing or joking. I stared at him, dead serious, and said, “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian blinked. Even Mor looked between the two of us, shocked, only for Cassian to say, “Message received.”

“I got a call this afternoon,” Azriel said, trying to clear the air as quickly as possible, “that they’ve arranged a meeting for next week.”

“Hybern and the mayor?”

Azriel shook his head. “No. The mayor and Spring Corporations. They’re having lunch at West Border.”

“So he’s taken over as Hybern’s coordinator?”

“More or less. The mayor trusts Ivy. They’ve made deals together in the past, the mayor’s profited off of a few strategic property investments. It would be too direct to get Hybern directly involved.”

There was nothing else to do but sip my wine. Anything but think about his kind features and golden hair. Because I knew those investments. The limited amount of information he’d shared with me, I remembered, was about the mayor’s dealings. I’d even been to one of those lunches with him, a year back, when they were discussing a new condo development on the east side.

“We can’t let that meeting happen,” Rhys said, “or we have to intercept it in some way.”

“What do you want us to do? Waltz in dressed as waiters and pull the fire alarm?” Cassian interjected.

Amren, seated at the kitchen counter, seemed like she was pondering the idea fondly.

“Can we hold this meeting tomorrow? I’m hungry for pizza. And Pictionary.” Mor said.

“That pizza is inedible.” Cassian grumbled, but picked up the boxes and wandered to the kitchen table anyways.

“That’s why the Gods gave your Neanderthal-self opposable thumbs to pick off the peppers.”

I took a seat at the table between Rhys and Mor. Cassian instantly dug into the pizza box, tearing away the red peppers with an animalistic furiousness before nearly inhaling the slice. Mor savoured her piece slowly, and I reluctantly took a bite. The peppers set my tongue on fire, and I washed it down with a sip of wine.

“Well?” Amren wondered, staring at her perfectly manicured nails. “Are we going to get this ridiculousness over or what?”

Azriel collected the Pictionary box from the kitchen island reluctantly and set it on the table, pulling away just in time before Cassian dug into the box, grease dripping from his fingers.

“Remember what I told you Feyre?” Rhys murmured beside me.

“Yup,” I said, “if anyone but Azriel wins, then they’re cheating.”

#dngg #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #sjm #sarah j maas #feyre #rhys #rhysand #feysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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