#I was genuinely surprised (but shouldn’t have been) to realize how uncommon that is

[bubble-tea-bunny]

dive into you

[bennett x reader]

author’s note: lil fic for bestest boy benny inspired by the song by nct dream and the summer season :’)

word count: 3,600

There’s a bakery opposite of Angel’s Share, just across the cobblestone road, and every morning the smell of freshly baked bread wafts from its open double doors, ready to welcome patrons and the crisp air of the early hours. Bennett has easily fallen into the routine of making this his first stop of the day. When he wakes, eyes slow to open and greeted by little squares of light on the ceiling of his bedroom from the sunlight shining through the window, he swears he can already smell that bread and the pastries and the care put into each one. He doesn’t often find it in him to be lazy, to be sluggish this early, for a new day was a new promise of adventure, and whether he’s swept along by the wind to the wilds or to the bakery, it’s an adventure all the same.

He always picks out food for his dads. He considers carefully what they might like to have (some prefer to have the same each time, others don’t mind the variety and like to be surprised), and carefully, slowly he fills the tray. Usually it isn’t busy during the time he’s there, but he doesn’t want to take risks as he holds it securely with both hands whenever he’s perusing the selection. Even if there were no people to bump into, with his luck, he might bump into one of the displays in the middle of the shop instead, consequence of paying more attention to the shelves against the wall where there are loaves baked into fun shapes like fish or crabs, rather than to what’s in front of him. He’d hate to drop everything on his tray and waste it.

Sometimes the bakery keeps the doors closed, and while uncommon, it’s nothing unusual. On these occasions, the entry of each customer is announced by the small bell jingling just overhead. It’s the only sound in the shop, ringing several times in the past ten minutes but it’s mere background noise, easily ignored, as Bennett absorbs himself in choosing what to buy today.

“Good morning!”

Bennett’s hand freezes just above a loaf of bread that looks like a bear and he glances behind him to the counter because the sound of your bubbly voice, conversely, is much more difficult to ignore. Though to be fair, to him, you’re no mere background noise.

You’re carrying a basket of more loaves just taken from the oven, half of them regularly shaped into circles and the other half like turtles, and grin at the customers who have just walked in. He watches you make your way over to a shelf several feet away from him to arrange the bread, and he stares long enough that you’ve taken notice. Your smile is bright and reaches your eyes, and he’s embarrassed to have been caught. His cheeks grow warm and you can probably see the dusting of red across his face, a speculation which doesn’t help alleviate this embarrassment one bit.

“Good morning, Bennett,�� you greet him, more quietly since he’s closer.

He likes when you say his name, and it never fails to make his heart skip a beat and he stutters out an O-Oh, um… as if surprised that you’re talking to him, much less that you know who he is. It shouldn’t take him off guard that you know, considering how often he comes to the bakery, so he supposes it has more to do with the fact that he can’t believe his name should be spoken by a voice as gentle as yours, honeyed tones like the softly plucked notes of the Holy Lyre der Himmel.

Finally he musters an equally quiet Good morning in response, smiling back but he’s certain it looks more like a cringe, owed to his nerves. If it does, you don’t point it out, and simply return to your task. Only when another patron comes up to Bennett’s other side, muttering a pardon as they grab a loaf from the shelf he’s standing in front of, does he break his gaze from you. His hand that had been hovering above the bread that whole time he drops back down to his side, and he scoots to make room with another stutter and a sorry.

You’re back behind the counter when Bennett is ready to pay. The pile of bread, cake slices, sandwiches, and other miscellaneous pastries had in the past led you to ask him if these were snacks for the road, for you’d guessed him to be an adventurer doing commissions for the guild by the sword at his side. He’d chuckled and explained his actual purpose for buying as much as he did, and your grin had widened, and if he wasn’t imagining things, you’d been extra careful when packing every treat.

I’m sure they’ll really appreciate your gesture, you’d said. That’s sweet of you. And it’s not frequently that events in the course of his life run smoothly, but that day they had, and with no falter in his words he remarks it’s thanks to you, for you’re the reason there’s anything to bring back to his dads in the first place. You’d laughed and his chest tightened and he thinks that’s the point where he started to fall (to where, he hesitated to state exactly). But in any case, it was true—without you, there was no bakery filled to the brim with delicious food, and if he had anything to say about that, Mondstadt would be worse off for it.

This morning, Bennett is digging around his wallet for the appropriate amount of Mora while you pack what he’d picked out. Having gone through this process many times prior, he knows approximately how much it should cost.

“Ah—”

A few coins slip from his hand and clatter to the wooden floor, and he bends to pick them up. But on the way down, his head knocks into the tray that he neglected to push all the way onto the countertop, so part of it still stuck out. You blink in surprise at the jostling of the tray and his subsequent Ouch!, muffled because he’s obscured by the counter.

“Are you okay?” You sound genuinely worried, but to Bennett the accident had been no big deal. At least none of the food had fallen.

“Yeah,” he assures you. He’s still trying to gather up the stray Mora, fingers failing to get a proper grip on them and he huffs in slight exasperation. His face once more is burning from the embarrassment of being so clumsy. He’s clumsy around everyone, and it’s something he has long since come to accept, but it matters a lot more when it’s you.

Finally he stands back up, the money clutched in his fist victoriously. “Yeah!” he repeats now that you can hear him clearly. “It’s no big deal.”

For a second you don’t quite believe him, but it’s hard to argue with that smile on his face. There’s no pain he’s trying to hide (embarrassment, on the other hand, is a different issue entirely).

Upon handing him his package you tell him you’ll see him tomorrow and he feels sort of special because you don’t say it to anyone else. To others, you say Thank you, come again! but you know his routine and you know to expect him at the same time each morning. Judging by the look in your eyes and the sound of your voice when you see and greet him, you anticipate his visit every time, and his heart wants to soar out from the confines of his chest upon this realization and he is exhilarated. The wind and the new day have fulfilled their promise of an adventure, and the clock hasn’t even struck noon.

One day you’re a little distracted, focused on a paper in your hand as Bennett approaches the counter with his tray of baked goods. For the most part, your face gives nothing away, but then your brows furrow slightly, a subtle action he doesn’t miss, and he proceeds to ask if anything is wrong. He asks it kindly, keeps his tone neutral, wordlessly conveying that you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. He would hate to pry.

You purse your lips, pausing like you’re caught between saying yes and no. He waits patiently for whichever one it might be.

“I ran out of sugar and had been meaning to make more,” you start, opting to share with him what’s been troubling you.“I bought out Flora’s stock of sweet flowers but it wasn’t enough, so I may have to set aside time to pick more myself later.”

The mention of heading outside of the city makes Bennett perk up, for he never turns down a chance to go exploring. He’s about to offer to do it for you, but it’s the thought of possibly going with you instead that makes him hold back and rephrase his question.

“This afternoon?” he inquires, head tilting. You nod, and up until now he’d felt confident in the offer he was going to present, but then his nerves get the better of him and it doesn’t come out quite the way he was hoping. “I-I could go with you! You know, if you want! To protect you… Just in case…” He trails off and he wants to go hide in a hole. There are few other ways this could have gone worse.

You don’t answer right away, and he regrets having said anything at all, but your beautiful smile soon follows the silence and it sets his mind at ease, and you agree with a concise and cheery Sure! Well, at least the worst way this could have gone had not come to pass. It was the small victories for Bennett—just as important as the big ones. The next challenge would be to avoid making a fool of himself out there, in what should be his natural element; he does want to impress you. But that’s a big ask for someone like him…

Both of you agree to meet at the front gate in the late afternoon. By then, the traffic in the bakery is slow enough that you’re able to step away earlier than the normal closing time. You’ve changed into clothes more appropriate for walking around: in lieu of a dress, your typical work attire, you sport a tunic and trousers you don’t mind dirtying. The trousers are tailored to fit properly but the tunic is a tad big, the sleeves a bit too long, but Bennett thinks you look cute in it. A basket hangs on your forearm and you wave as you walk up to him.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” you say.

Bennett shakes his head. “Not long at all.” Technically the agreed upon meeting time was only five minutes ago, so you aren’t very late. Though he does refrain from sharing that he’d arrived early, in fear that he could end up late somehow and you would be the one who had to wait. Really, it’s been more like fifteen minutes for him, but he just keeps quiet about that.

One of the nice things about summer is that the sun sets later. There’s still a sufficient amount of light to illuminate the fields as you walk around in search of sweet flowers. At first, the extent of your conversation is discussing where you might be able to find a high concentration of them, then silence filled with the sifting of grass beneath your shoes and the occasional exclamation of having spotted a flower to be picked and tucked away in your basket.

Honestly, walking with you around the wilds of Mondstadt hadn’t been anywhere on Bennett’s list to do today, or any day really, not until he could muster the courage to invite you out like this, and who knew when that might be. Your need for sweet flowers had dropped the opportunity right into his lap, and thankfully he hadn’t squandered it. But now he’s at a loss as to what to talk about; he didn’t think he’d ever get this far.

Maybe you sense his struggle to come up with a topic of conversation because you’re the one to speak up, asking about his adventures and the commissions he takes. Done anything exciting recently?

Bennett’s eyes light up, a reaction which you can't help but smile at, and he regales you of the goings-on of his latest missions. He omits the instances where his clumsiness had made things more difficult (of which there were many), but each story is still truthful. Most of his commissions the past month hadn’t been anything too bold—after a mission that involved nearly getting himself trapped in a ruin due to solving a puzzle wrong then getting food poisoning on top of that from the snack he’d prepped that day, he’s been choosing jobs that he knows he’s more capable of.

To him, they aren’t too exciting, and in the larger scope of things, perhaps they aren’t, but you don’t seem to think that as you hang on each word. You’re absorbed in his story about trying to dismantle towers in a hilichurl camp, and gasp at the mention of their reinforcements coming to attack in the midst of it. Wow, you remark after he finishes his recounting of the event. You’re amazing, Bennett!

His heart does a flip again at the sound of his name and he shrugs offhandedly. He’s not inclined to think so, but your awed comment is sincere and has him reconsidering: yeah, that was pretty cool of him, wasn’t it? For all his clumsiness, he doesn’t often see the feats for what they are, accompanied by blunders or not, but you’re the fresh perspective he’d been missing, and he wishes you’d stepped into his life sooner.

The entirety of your outing together has thus far been free of any monsters, but as soon as Bennett makes this observation it’s like the universe has heard: hydro slimes suddenly pop out from the ground, halting you in your tracks. You squeak in surprise and Bennett is quick to shift into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and one arm out in front of you protectively.

“Just stay there!” he instructs before drawing his sword and rushing forward.

Luckily there aren’t many slimes to fight off, and they aren’t very big. His sword cuts through them easily, cleanly. They burst and spray water upon being sliced apart, so at the end, when they’re all dead, the only evidence they had been there to begin with is the slight dampness to his clothes and the squish of dirt turned to mud. With a sigh of triumph, Bennett resumes a relaxed stance, then sheathes his weapon and turns to you.

As instructed, you’ve stayed in place, but it seems to have been more out of being frozen in fear than anything else. You’re clutching your basket close, and once the slimes are gone, you follow Bennett’s lead and relax, shoulders releasing the tension they had been filled with for the duration of that fight. You let out a deep exhale of relief, hand placed over your heart which has yet to slow back down to its normal pace.

“Thank you.”

Bennett flashes a toothy grin and waves his hand as if to say It’s not a problem. “That’s what I’m here for isn’t it?”

You smile back. “I’m glad we went together.”

Together. He likes the sound of that. He thinks to himself that he’d go with you to other places too; you need only to give the word. To the edge of this world, and through a portal to the next? He’d meet you by the front gate at dawn.

He’s surprised that the encounter with those slimes had gone as smoothly as it had. It isn’t uncommon for him to get hit a few times, bruises quick to form on his arms or his legs. And it’s quite the run of luck, of which he’s ordinarily in short supply, that he should get through a fight with nary a scratch on him while with you. His efforts to impress are actually succeeding.

However, this is another case of speaking too soon, because he starts to walk back to you, but then his foot gets caught on a rock concealed by the tall grass, and he tumbles to the ground.

“Oof!”

His chest collides with the earth as he lands with a thud and the breath is stolen from his lungs. You gasp and close the gap between you, and in viewing you in his peripherals, he notes that you are much more graceful at it.

“Are you all right?”

Bracing his hands on the dirt, small bits of rock digging into his palms, Bennett pushes himself up to sit on his knees. “Yeah, I’m okay!” Here he thought he had handled himself perfectly well, but then just like that, his clumsiness returned, and once more before you he is awkward, blundering Bennett.

Unlike the incident at the bakery when he’d bumped his head into the tray, this fall had actually hurt, and he can’t hide it successfully, a slight wince of pain crossing his face in spite of his smile. Even if you hadn’t caught on to that, the injuries elsewhere on his body give it away completely.

“Your arms are all scraped up…” After Bennett stands back up, you gingerly take hold of his forearm and angle it to examine the scrapes there, thin red lines from tiny stones tearing the skin.

Your grip is light, like you’re scared to injure him further, and Bennett is thankful for the darkness that is setting in as the sun disappears and the moon begins its trek across the sky, for it conceals the way his cheeks redden to be this close to you, to be touched by you. The concern in your gaze as you look at his arm makes his chest squeeze but not in the good way, and he bends his knees slightly to duck into your line of view.

“Don’t worry! I’m fine.” And it’s true. He’s sustained worse, though he steers clear of sharing this part. He doesn’t like to see you worried.

He straightens up when you finally meet his eyes and dons his smile again, easy and reassuring. It seems to convince you, as you nod and let go. He drops his arm back down to his side but he’s already missing the feather-light sensation of your fingertips. Successfully reassured, your smile also returns, replacing the thin line of worry that your lips had previously been set in.

It’s dark now but the air is still warm, a consequence of the season. In the daytime the heat is more extreme, made even more so by the fire curling from the edge of his sword. At the conclusion of whatever commission he has taken, he’s left sweating, satisfied but exhausted. Missions in the summer are more difficult to get through, the sun beating down with little mercy and its heat lingering into the night, but he thinks that if he were to have you there with him, he’d hardly notice.

Your delicate gaze is the cool ocean breeze and your soft smile the deluge of waves washing over him, a force he receives gladly because he is falling into you, deeper into the expanse of your heart. He’s diving into the sea, the unbearable heat of summer long forgotten as he makes his way to the bottom. What he hopes to find he isn’t sure, but he’d be content to remain there forever, consumed by you and all the love you have to offer.

“Okay?” he asks, voice soft. You had nodded but he also wants verbal confirmation that you won’t burden yourself with worry anymore.

You catch on to his own need for reassurance, and he wants to sink into the refreshing fondness of your eyes as you watch him. “Okay.”

The moon up above illuminates your face, and he wants to run his fingers along all the parts it touches: the line of your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the cupid’s bow of your lips. He yearns to be closer to you than that moonlight adorning your skin, and maybe it’s strange that he should be envious of it, of that light which has the privilege to hold you so near, but the feelings he has for you are what’s written about in books, and in those stories, people do tend to do strange things.

In the morning, he stops by the bakery as usual but this time is surprised when you set a cake down alongside the other baked goods he buys. You answer his question before he can voice it.

“For yesterday,” you state simply. “For my hero.”

Your—?

“I think ‘hero’ is too strong a word for it,” Bennett replies, chuckling quietly and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. After all, they had just been slimes.

You hum noncommittally, corner of your mouth lifted in a grin. “Maybe, but yesterday you were mine. So please take this as thanks.”

He’d like to be yours every day, and the thought of how nice that would be makes his whole world just a little brighter, like the crystal butterflies fluttering around him in the wild on the warm summer nights; and he hopes that the next adventure the wind guides him on leads straight back to you.

[voiceless-terror]

Jon plays the piano. That’s it, that’s the fic.

At first, he thinks it’s the radio. It’s not uncommon for these stores to play classical music, trying to add an air of sophistication in what’s otherwise a dark room of dusty knicknacks. But when he walks towards the noise, he instead finds Jon sitting at the bench of an old wooden upright, his posture straighter than Tim’s ever seen it, hands moving slowly but deftly across the keys as he leans into each note.

It’s mesmerizing.

Jon must hear his footsteps as he doesn’t startle when Tim sits beside him. “You never told me you could play,” Tim says, too enthralled to be truly annoyed by it. Jon gives him a self-deprecating smile, though his eyes don’t leave the keys.

“I can’t, not anymore,” he responds in complete defiance of his actions. Tim’s always loved Jon’s hands, delicate and slender and naturally elegant in all of their movements; even the most awkward of gestures made with a sort of grace. He shouldn’t be surprised that he plays so wonderfully. But Jon’s always been protective of his interests, careful not to volunteer too much information lest he be laughed at or scorned. Sometimes, when it’s only the two of them, and occasionally Sasha, he’ll let his guard down and his enthusiasm for even the most mundane of subjects is surprisingly contagious.

“Well, seeing as how I can only do Hot Cross Buns, I think you can, actually.”

“Middle C is flat,” Jon continues as if Tim hadn’t spoken, his brow furrowing in annoyance. He taps at the key a few times, but Tim’s never had a good ear for that sort of thing, so he’ll have to take Jon’s word for it. “They should really keep this in better condition, it’s a shame.” He stops his tapping but his hands still flutter over the keys as if they itch to play more. Tim would gladly sit here all day and listen.

“What was that?” He nudges Jon’s shoulder, pleased when Jon leans further into his side. 

“Satie. From his Trois Gymnopedies.” 

“Ooh, nice accent,” he teases, though he does indeed love it. “Someone passed their French A-level.”

“Shut up,” Jon butts his head affectionately against his shoulder, his face flushing. “You’re just as bad with your insufferable Italian.”

“Alright, alright,” Tim lets out a small laugh. “It’s just, you never said. Seems like you enjoy it.”

“I did,” Jon replies, his eyes going distant. He gets like that, when he talks about his past. Tim knows very little of it, though Jon insists there’s ‘nothing to know.’ Jon’s told him about what brought him to the institute in a rare moment of vulnerability, but other than that, he knows the bare minimum. “I still do, I suppose. You know, my Gran was the one who actually pushed me into the lessons.”

Jon doesn’t talk much about his grandmother. He remembers back when he first started, Jon disappeared for a week and Sasha kept checking her phone anxiously. Tim later found out that his grandmother had died, that Jon was the only one left to take care of such things. That Jon was an orphan. That Jon came back with that stiff upper lip even though he looked like shit, and promptly crumbled when Tim gave him an awkward, one-armed condolence hug. 

From what Tim knows, she wasn’t the greatest guardian. Far from it in his opinion. But she was all Jon had.

Not anymore.

“Said I needed something to distract me from- from-'' his voice stutters out and Tim wraps his arm around Jon’s waist- he knows. He doesn’t need the explanation. “Well, she wasn’t the type of person to recommend therapy. It was her way of showing that she cared.” Or just wanted you dealt with, Tim doesn’t voice.

“Did it work?” He knows the answer.

“Not at all,” Jon smirks and his hands abruptly fly across the keys in a lively, fast tune. Jon isn’t just good, he’s excellent. The way his eyes brighten and his face lights up - the man’s in his element. “Still enjoyed it, though. And I was pretty good at it, entered a few competitions.” Pretty good is more than an understatement, but Jon’s never been one to brag over things that truly matter.

“What’s this one called?”

“Rondo alla ingharese quasi un capriccio,” Jon rolls out in an over-exaggerated Italian accent. “More commonly known as Rage Over a Lost Penny.”

“You could’ve just said that.”

“I could’ve, yes,” he replies playfully, the lilting tones of the music perfectly matching his little smile. He’s an infuriating little bastard. Tim loves it.

“You didn’t want to go professional? Hit the big time?”

“Hardly,” Jon snorts in derision, his hands stilling again. “Gran was right, it wasn’t practical. No use paying for a degree in music when so few people make it.” The music, still lively, goes a bit softer. “Didn’t stop me from auditioning, though.”

“Really?” He tries to imagine a young Jon in front of a panel of judges. “Must have been nerve-wracking.”

“Indeed.” Jon says stiffly, his hands abruptly stopping as they hit a sour note. “I had a panic attack before my hands hit the keys.”

Tim winces in sympathy. “Oh, Jon…”

“And I haven’t played since.” Tim reaches out to take Jon’s hands in his own, although the man avoids his eyes. Jon puts up a hard exterior, but he’s very easily wounded. One wrong word, one bad experience- it’s internalized, played over and over in his head. People don’t realize that about him, but Tim knows better than others that the mind keeps score. “I think a part of me knew she was right. Shouldn’t have bothered.”

“That’s a pity,” Tim once again wishes Jon had one person he could’ve relied on as a child. One adult he could confide in or get encouragement from. He thinks about young Jon, tiny and traumatized and alone, and his chest aches with it. “I think you could’ve made it.”

“Sweet of you.” Jon leans against his side and closes his eyes. “But there’s no need to flatter.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Tim insists. And yeah, maybe he’s not well-versed in music, but he knows talent and passion when he sees it. He used to see it in his brother all the time. And it’s sad that Jon doubts himself so much. He should be able to at least enjoy his hobby without being reminded of the guilt and what-could’ve-beens.

“Always wanted to learn an instrument,” he begins carefully, letting go of one of Jon’s hands to tinker at the keys. “Maybe I’ll get a keyboard, you can show me the ropes.”

The hand still in his twitches, and he turns to see the small beginnings of a shy smile. Jon’s a good teacher, patient and kind when someone shows a genuine interest in what he has to say. And Tim would do anything to see that easy, boyish smile again, see those fingers flying across the keys with such enjoyment.

“Not sure if you can afford my rates, Stoker.”

“Hey-!”

A cough cuts into his argument. It’s the old woman who sat behind the counter as they arrived, and she’s looking at a spot somewhere above Tim’s ahead. He turns around.

DO NOT TOUCH.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he drags Jon up from the seat, ignoring his squeak. “We’ll just be going now!”

They sprint out of the store, giggling like naughty school children the entire way. Jon’s genuine laughter is rare, and something to be treasured - nothing like the sarcastic snorts he usually prefers. 

“Damn!” Jon swears as he checks his watch, smile still lingering on his face despite the furrow in his brow. “We were supposed to interview that witness at noon, it’s already half past.”

“Don’t worry, this was a necessary detour,” Tim assures him. And for him, it was. “Piano could’ve been haunted, after all.”

Jon rolls his eyes as he barks out a laugh. “Haunted. Yes, of course.”

On the train, Tim googles how much a keyboard costs. He’s thinking he might take it up after all.  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31219403

[exmormondragon]

So I went to church yesterday

And it was certainly interesting.

I walk in wearing casual clothes, and ask if I’m here on time. Apparently I found the wrong schedule, and I got there just as the ward for my area was finishing up. But the next ward is halfway through their first hour, and so I slide into class to listen.

Everyone had masks, thankfully, and there was sanitizer out. I notice things that seem strange to my small-town experience, like most of the men are wearing sweatervests instead of white shirts and ties. The teacher for the class I was in had a voice that I would hesitantly say was the classic ‘gay’ voice a lot of guys use, which actually kind of shocked me to hear it in church.

One thing I shouldn’t have been surprised by was that no one asked me many identifying questions. I was prepared (for whatever reason) to be pretty vague about why I left or just say ‘Faith issues’ and maybe inspire a discussion. I’m feel like I’m okay at coming off as non-argumentative, so I figured maybe I’d get an interesting conversation or two.

But when I said “I haven’t been for about two years”, of course no one asked “Why?” I simply got a few “Welcome back!”s and a couple “Welcome Home!”

Because of course they aren’t going to ask about why I left. And they all assume that I was there searching for the Faith I lost, or for that good feeling that they assume everyone misses when they leave the church. No questions, because they didn’t think they needed to know anything about me.

So I sat down for sacrament meeting, and waited a little while. I was prepared to take notes, listen, and compare to the Recovering Agency book, see what things I could recognize and what things I could question.

That was when a sweet old lady stopped next to me and asked “Are you alone?”

When I answered that, yes, I was, she sat down next to me and hung out with me for the rest of the meeting, conveniently giving me a LOT of my material for this.

Just… wow. The pressure from this sweet old lady was strong, made all the worse because she was genuine. And very handsy too, constantly reaching out to touch my arm or hand to beckon me to be a part of the sustaining of callings. Something I wouldn’t have noticed before, but looking back I realize how much flagrant disregard there is for personal space by members of the church, especially older members.

She asked me some questions, talked about how wonderful the community of the church was (“Though of course, you have to come to church and learn people’s names to be a part of the community!”) and expressed how glad she was that I was coming back to church.

No questions about “Are you going to come back again? Are you planning on staying?” Just affirmations that I was. Throughout the meeting, she would comment on how she was going to see me next week, asked me to write down my name so she could remember it next week, gave me her number just in case I needed to call her.

When the sustaining of callings happened, and I didn’t raise my hand (I didn’t know anyone there, after all, how could I promise to support them and thank them for their service with any authenticity?) she reached out to tug my hand up (as politely as that can be done without asking) and say “Go ahead, you can raise your hand to sustain them too!”

When we sang the hymns (an uncommon one, and obedience-themed hymn, and two praise-god hymns) she commented on how nicely I sang, that it reminded her of her late husband, and how she would like to hear it next week too.

The theme this week was “God’s love.”, and so both the talks talked only about that. I’m going to have to put that all in a separate post because HOOBOY there’s a lot. So many vague quotes, stories, expressions of feelings.

Funniest thing was, I thought I was going to have to write my notes down in some sort of vague code so if my new friend looked over my shoulder she wouldn’t see a whole bunch of criticism. But frankly, all I had to do was write down a ton of direct quotes, and I got what I needed. It’s insane to me that people talk like that over the pulpit, so that I’m able to write down “God’s love is unconditional, but his blessings are not.” and no one around me thinks that’s strange.

I mean, heck, I didn’t think it was strange most of my life. Only now, after so many new things to think about, do I look back and realize how messed up so many of the things we talked about were.

After the talks and singing and prayer, she makes one more point of saying “I’ll see you next week!” And the best I could manage in reply was a “Maybe…” just to stay non-committal.

Mmm. It was an experience. And it wasn’t all bad. But it certainly was an eye-opener, and a reminder of what I escaped.

[andrea-lyn]

The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there! 

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

//

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend. 

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

 Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

OR

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way 

Sundering by romancandles 

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies (jms.eds@jms.com)

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

 (TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends. 

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."

[elizabeth-mitchells]

five times Deena and Sam met in secret (and one time they didn’t) - Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/6 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson Characters: Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, High School, Cheerleaders, Band, Teenagers, Teen Romance, First Meetings, First Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Happy Ending

Secrets.

Deena and Sam met by accident. They fell in love in secret.

But how long can they last together like that?

Chapter 3 - secret friendships:

Sam and Deena’s relationship was developing fast. They had evolved from meeting among the dark and dirt under the bleachers, to the dim light and cramped space of janitor’s closets. Finally, they had made it all the way to the girl’s bathroom when everyone else was supposed to be in class. There was more space and light. Plus, they had recently discovered how much they enjoyed making out.

One day, Sam was pressed between her girlfriend and one of the sinks. Deena kissed, Sam thought, like she talked. Slowly, confidently, meaning every single movement of her lips. That, in addition to Deena's hand on her waist, with her thumb rubbing soft but maddening circles above her uniform, made Sam feel like her knees would give in. All she could do was grip the edge of the sink behind her until her knuckles turned white. She didn’t trust herself very much in the event that she allowed her fingers to grasp her girlfriend's clothes. At least, she could communicate well enough with the way she kissed the other girl.

A particular swipe from Deena’s tongue on her bottom lip, obliged Sam to let out a small moan that didn’t go unnoticed by Deena. Sam could just feel her smirk through the kiss. She could play that game. If Deena’s kisses were languid and thorough, Sam knew how to balance things out by kissing her faster, pressing their lips harder, taking Deena’s bottom lip between her teeth and lightly pulling.

“Sam…” Deena exhaled, her voice trembling noticeably enough to make Sam smile. Deena tightened her hold on Sam’s hips and pulled her closer. “Baby,” she whispered, then moved to begin kissing Sam’s neck.

“Deena… stop, someone could come in,” Sam protested, albeit weakly, while letting go of the sink’s edge with one hand so she could wrap that arm around Deena’s shoulders, to keep her firmly in place.

At the time, Deena hadn’t yet stopped to consider Sam’s contradictions as a bad sign. She was head over heels, lost in the feeling of having her girlfriend in her arms, her pulse beating under the pressure of her lips, her small hand clutching the back of Deena’s jacket. It was pure bliss, no need to fear the future.

“I like your cheerleader uniform,” Deena mumbled, smiling against Sam’s neck. Her fingers even tugged slightly on the fabric of said uniform so the skirt would rise just slightly on Sam’s tights.

“Oh my God,” Sam laughed fondly, throwing her other arm over Deena’s shoulder. “I’m serious!” She insisted, her tone full of mirth.

Deena finally pulled back to stare at her girlfriend. “So am I!” She laughed. 

For a moment, all that mattered was holding each other and laughing together. Laughing at nothing in particular, just as the most natural reaction to that perfect pocket of heaven they had made for themselves. Sam moved a hand to push away Deena’s messy hair off her face, and left her hand there on her cheek. Soon, she was getting lost in Deena’s eyes, something not uncommon at all, it seemed. Those eyes held an incredible and welcoming warmth in them. Sam had been surprised the first time she watched Deena speak to other people, strangers in the hallways, and how closed off and even bitter those eyes could turn. But, the one scary thing about those gorgeous brown eyes, was the way that in their depths Sam could see immense valor, fearlessness, bravery that Sam wasn’t sure she could match. She preferred not to think about a day when she wouldn’t be brave enough for Deena, and instead she daydreamed about a perfect world where her feelings for the other girl could make her as unafraid as she longed to be, and as Deena appeared to believe she was.

“Sam?” Deena gently pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yes,” Sam whispered, closing her eyes and leaning forward enough to softly rub her nose against Deena’s. Not too long later, Deena was kissing her, as if there hadn’t been a pause at all. “Oh my God,” Sam chuckled, pulling away, “You’re-”

“A great kisser?”

“Relentless!”

Although Sam lightly slapped her shoulder, Deena could only continue to grin. “You enjoy it,” she defended herself. Then it was Deena’s turn to stare at her girlfriend. Sam had grown thoughtful again, but this time staring at the bathroom's door. She didn’t even seem to notice the way her fingers mindlessly played with Deena’s hair. It came to her so naturally that when she noticed, Deena’s heart skipped a beat. She felt the luckiest person in the world, with Sam in her arms. She felt like she was above Shadyside’s curse, like all problems had solutions and nothing bad could last for long. That’s not to say that she wasn’t as terrified as Sam. Shouldn’t she be skeptical of feeling so good? Shouldn’t she be wary of the dark corners around them? And the judgemental eyes in the hallways? It wasn’t so easy. It was just easier to comfort Sam instead of facing her own fears.

“Are you nervous?” Deen blurted out.

“Huh?” Sam looked back at her, caught in the act. She even looked back at the closed door once more before giving Deena all her attention. “No, I’m not nervous.”

“Yes, you are,” Deena patiently pointed out.

Sam looked away and took a deep breath. “You care about your friends,” she exhaled. “I’ve never had friends as good as yours. I… want to make a good impression.”

Deena was almost upset at the ridiculous amount of butterflies she felt fluttering in her stomach at the sight of a nervous Sam looking down after admitting that. She took the opportunity to leave a kiss on her girlfriend’s forehead.

“Josh already likes you,” Deena pointed out.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me!” Sam complained and hid her face in the crook Deena’s neck.

Just a couple of days ago, Deena’s younger brother had walked into the kitchen and caught the two girls in the middle of passionately making out. As mortifyingly awkward as that first moment had been, the three of them ended up sharing pizza for dinner and having a genuinely good time.

“Hey, listen,” Deena said, making the great effort of pulling back from her girlfriend to stare at her seriously at an arm’s length. “Kate likes you already. You made it on her team.”

“I don’t know,” Sam shrugged, “I’m probably just another one of the cheerleaders.”

“Wrong. You’re the prettiest one,” Deena stopped to drop a quick kiss on Sam’s cheek. “And Simon likes everyone! You’ll be fine.”

Sam sighed. “Okay,” she said, squaring her shoulders and standing just a little bit taller.

“Yeah?” Deena looked at her, a smile quickly growing on her face.

“Yes,” Sam nodded eagerly this time, matching her girlfriend’s smile.

“God, you’re cute.” Deena chuckled.

In a second, Sam pretended to frown at her, but immediately afterward she took Deena’s face in her hands and pulled her in for a kiss. The two of them were still kissing, and so into it that they didn’t realize, the moment the door of the bathroom opened.

“You bitch,” Kate said, “Are you corrupting my cheerleaders?”

Deena laughed, discreetly stepping forward to give Sam a moment to compose herself, fix her skirt, lightly wipe her lips with the back of her hand. “Fuck you,” Deena grinned at one of her best friends, “and it’s just one cheerleader.”

Kate rolled her eyes, though she was smiling as well. “It was a matter of time,” she added, walking to stand in front of the mirror to check her hair. “Hey Sam.” She finally sent a smile to the other girl.

Simon hadn’t been too far behind. He strolled into the girl’s bathroom with as much confidence as Kate, but displayed in an entirely different, much more harmless way.

“Mademoiselle,” Simon greeted Sam, extending his arm and bowing his head. “An honor to make your acquaintance.”

“Hi,” Sam laughed.

“Be normal, you weirdo,” Deena slapped Simon’s back.

“Hey!” He laughed in response, taking a step back. “I’m sorry! We just wanted to make a good impression on the lovely lady that melted your frozen heart.”

The comment prompted Deena to hit him again, and again, starting a familiar routine of play fighting between the two best friends. Meanwhile, Sam watched with a fond smile, and Kate was almost satisfied with the perfect state of her ponytail.

“So,” Kate started, clearly talking to Sam, who immediately gave her her attention, “Simon and Josh are obviously too soft to say it but,” then she turned and stared at Sam directly in the eyes and said, “if you break her heart, I will fuck you up.”

“Oh,” Sam mumbled. Her lips were still parted in surprise. That was infinitely more intimidating than anything Simon or Josh could’ve ever said to her. After clearing her throat, Sam confidently answered, “I won’t.”

“Good,” Kate smiled. At first, it seemed that grin was part of the act of intimidation, but it soon grew genuine. The two of them turned to stare at the way Simon got out of Deena’s chokehold and proceeded to lift her off the floor in a bear’s hug. “By the way, I actually like you,” Kate said, “didn’t Deena tell you?”

Sam chuckled, “Sort of.”

“You’re part of the gang now,” Kate told her, with a playful wink. “The very worst Shadyside has to offer… and also me.”

“Very humble!” That came from Deena, who had managed to push Simon away, and the two of them were trying to fix their personal appearance.

Simon scoffed. “You’re delusional, dude. I’m the star of this town! Don’t you all love me as the school team’s witch?” There were several playful agreements and laughter from the small group. In the midst of it, Deena reached out to hold Sam’s hand. Which brought Simon to ask, “Hey, Sam, you’re joining us for movie night from now on, right?”

The girlfriends exchanged a look, and a smile, and Sam nodded. Then it was Kate’s turn to add, “It’s really fun. We switch houses each week, depending on which is the least chaotic at the time. Should we count your house in?”

The question had been completely innocent, but the tension that fell over Sam’s body at once was unmistakable.

“I, uh, I don’t know…” Sam mumbled, glancing at Deena beside her, who tightened her hold on her hand reassuringly. “My parents are just always fighting and… Uh, well, my mom… I think my mom suspects us…”

“Damn,” Simon frowned.

“Are you okay?” Kate asked kindly.

 But Sam couldn’t take her eyes off Deena. She was the only thing keeping her optimistic when her fears were eating her from the inside out. There were risks, sure, but they would be fine, wouldn’t they?

“Yeah,” Sam replied, her voice trembled a little, but then more confidently she added, “We’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” Deena agreed with her with a slow nod, hoping that was enough to convince the two of them.

[ipuckwithhockey]

Always in Your Corner- Boone Jenner

a/n: So i wrote a Boone fic. This is at least a 5 parter, and I have the next few parts written. Let me know what you think. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Summary: You were happily engaged to your perfect boyfriend when everything came tumbling down on you. The person you turned to just so happened to be your long time friend, Boone Jenner. The ever loyal Boone is there to help you get back on your feet. Little did you know, Boone had been pining after you for all these years, he’s just not sure if you’ll ever feel the same way about him.

Warnings: Cheating, Swearing, Anxiety if you squint, Sex, talk about sex and the use of protection

----------------------

Boone met you years ago when you were doing a two semester internship with the Blue Jackets. Boone’s career had just started to take off and you were still in your undergrad. Although you were only at your internship a few days a week, you quickly got to know the guys on the team. Now, all these years later, you had a marketing job in Columbus and you were still friends with the boys.

You and Boone really hit it off all those years ago, and you’ve become close friends. However, no matter how many times your friends chirped the two of you about dating, neither of you ever crossed that line of friendship. You loved Boone, but just as a friend. And you knew he felt the same way about you. Or at least you thought he did.

Unbeknownst to you, Boone had been pining after you since the day you met. Back then you guys were just kids, and once he settled on the fact that you would never see him as anything more than a friend he tried to brush off his feelings as a small crush. After your internship ended you continued to hang out with the guys on the team. Boone had watched you go out with a number of different guys and for a while he thought he had grown out of his feelings for you. It wasn’t until Craig came around that he realized he was still very much in love with you.

Craig was now your fiancé of almost four months, and your boyfriend of three years.  He was going to law school while you were in PT school, and a mutual friend had set you up. He was the perfect guy. He was handsome and smart, and said all the right things. He was romantic and sweet... and good in bed. There really wasn’t a single thing wrong with him. You fell hard and fast, and it seemed like the first year of your relationship flew by. On your one year anniversary he asked you to move in with him. Then, this summer while you were on vacation with your family, he popped the question. You couldn’t have been happier.

Boone on the other hand was crushed. He knew that the reason he disliked Craig so much was because he really was perfect. It was always easy to pick out major flaws with the other guys you had gone out with, but even Boone had a hard time hating Craig. He was a nice guy who treated you right. Boone even thought that had Craig not been dating the love of his life, they would have actually been good friends. It’s not that Boone was rude to Craig, he was always friendly, and they had gotten to know each other pretty well, but he could never get over the fact that at the end of the night you were going home with a guy that wasn’t him.

Being the good friend that he was, Boone was always supportive of your relationship because he knew Craig made you happy. He wanted you to be happy, but that didn’t stop him from feeling sad for himself when you called to tell him you were engaged.

That was the end of July, and now it was November. The season had started and quickly picked up pace. The Jackets were doing well, but because of how busy you had been with work you hadn’t made it to a game in a while. The last time you saw Boone may have been their season opener. Between work and planning a wedding for the following year, you didn’t have much free time. Boone understood, and his busy schedule never made a social life easy anyway.  That’s why it was even more surprising to see you behind his front door that night. He was just cleaning up from dinner when he heard a knock. Thinking it was just a neighbor he quickly went to open it, but when he did he was greeted with you. You were still dressed in your work clothes and he assumed you had come straight from your work.

“Hey! I didn’t forget we made plans did I?”

You follow him in the door and take off your jacket as you head for his couch. “No, I just needed somewhere to think that wasn’t my house or work, and your place is about half way between the two so it seemed like a good option.”  You’ve barely even looked at Boone and the concentrated look on your face tells him there’s definitely something on your mind. When you got into your head like this you couldn’t be stopped. You just had to think it out on your own. But when Boone offered you some water, and you requested a glass of wine instead, he realized this was probably a little more serious than what color the bridesmaid dresses should be.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He hands you the wine glass and you just shake your head. You still needed to think some more before you were ready to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for you to go to Boone with your problems, you were close and he was someone you felt comfortable talking about anything with, but this was something that if you said it out loud it might just become real, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that yet.

Nearly 20 minutes pass before you look over at Boone who was scrolling through his phone. He looks back at you and sets his phone down thinking you might be ready to talk, but instead you just turn away again.

Your glass of wine is long gone, and knowing that you have to get home you don’t ask for a second. It’s been almost an hour since you got to Boone’s and you still haven’t spoken a word since you greeted him. You’re not sure what to do at this point, so you think that leaving may be your best answer. You start to get up and walk towards his door, but he catches your arm as you round the corner of the couch.

“Woah woah woah. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but if there’s something serious going on you can talk to me. You know I’ll always be there for you.” This is the Boone you loved. The loyal to a fault, caring, Boone. The genuine concern he has in his eyes is what gets you. You swear he’s like a puppy, you just can’t say no to him.

You let out a big breath before looking back at him, “I think Craig cheated on me.”

It’s the first time you’ve set it aloud, and you can feel a sense of panic rush in.

Boone isn’t even sure he heard you right.

Cheated on you?

Craig?

What the fuck.

What Boone is sure of is that you wouldn’t just throw an accusation like that around without being pretty damn sure you were right.

“Wait. What? Why do you think he cheated on you?”

“Well, about a week ago I was doing laundry and I found a condom in his work pants.”

You say it so casually, and Boone isn’t really sure what the problem is, “Okay… Why does that mean he cheated on you?”

“Because I’m allergic to latex. And the condom I found wasn’t latex free. I know I sound kind of crazy but we’ve been together for three years and one, he would never buy a condom that was made with latex, and two, we rarely even use condoms…”

There are a few other reasons too, like the fact that you barely see each other. Between your two jobs you’ve been super busy the last couple of months. Craig was working crazy hours trying to make partner at his firm, and you had been brushing off his lack of interest in you for him being stressed at work. You also hadn’t had sex in nearly a month. The lack of conversation combined with the lull in your sex life didn’t seem like that big of a deal until that damn condom showed up, but when you saw it you knew.

While you’re talking about your sex life Boone is mentally trying not to puke at the thought of another man touching you. Not only that, but he’s boiling at the thought of a man treating you this way. He’s not here to be a jealous friendzoned idiot, he’s here because you’re in crisis, and he has to remind himself of that before he speaks again.

“Y/N, what are you going to say to him?”

This is another reason why you didn’t want to say anything before. You weren’t sure if you were even going to mention it to Craig. You were supposed to be getting married next year. He had just proposed in July. There was no way he didn’t love you. Right? He wouldn’t have asked you to marry him, just to turn around and cheat on you a couple months later. Right?

You’re afraid to look at Boone’s puppy dog eyes so you just keep looking at the floor when you finally reply, “I don’t know… I don’t know if I’m even going to say anything.”

Again, Boone is shocked by your words. He might be more shocked at this statement, than the actual news of Craig’s indiscretions.

“I’m sorry but the fuck do you mean you’re not going to say something? Y/N, if you’re so sure that he cheated on you why the fuck are you just going to let it go?”

He’s pissed, and you can tell. His boldness takes you by a bit of surprise but you’re quick to retort, “Boone, to be honest I shouldn’t have even mentioned it to you. This is between me and Craig. I don’t expect you to understand, but we’re ENGAGED. We’re getting married. He loves me, and I love him, and if he messed up once then maybe I just don’t need to know about it. Everybody makes mistakes.”

It’s like you know you’re lying to yourself in the moment, but the weight of the ring on your left hand is telling you to ignore that feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“How is this “between you and Craig” if you never even talk about it with him?? How can you just ignore this? This isn’t like you.”

“Well Boone, it’s really not up to you... It’s late. I should get home.” You turn and head for the door, and Boone doesn’t stop you. When he hears the door slam behind you he’s seething from knowing that the ‘perfect Craig’ cheated on you and that you were just going to let it go.

When you wake up the next morning Craig had already left for work, and you turn your phone on to find a text from Boone.

Booner: I’m sorry about last night, you know I just want you to be happy. Don’t forget I’m always be in your corner.  

You know he means what he says, but you can’t bring yourself to confront Craig. If you can’t do that then you know you can’t reply to Boone, not when deep down you know that he’s right.

——

It’s been almost two weeks since you opened Boone’s message, and you still hadn’t replied. He tried calling a couple times but you haven’t heard from him in days. Boone knew that eventually you would come to your senses, or at least he hoped that you would. Even if you didn’t end up with Boone, he knew you deserved to be with someone better than Craig.  Against everything else in your body something in you told you that you were going to make this work. You loved Craig. He loved you.

You left work early that day and when you got home you changed into a new lingerie set that had been collecting dust for weeks in your closet. When Craig got home you greeted him, and like any man, he was thrilled at the site of a woman in lace.

You thought that maybe sex would help bring some fire back into your relationship, but it didn’t work the way you thought it would. The sex was quick and when he finished he didn’t even bother getting you off. He just rolled off you and headed for the bathroom.

That night as you heard him snoring next to you, you laid awake knowing it was true. You couldn’t keep kidding yourself. He wasn’t the perfect guy you had met three years ago. You had to talk about this, and even then there was a part of you that hoped you would be able to work though this.

You’re not sure if you even slept that night, but you get up before he does and you decided that it was time. As you quietly get ready for the day you try to decide how you’ll bring it up.  How are you supposed to confront someone who cheated on you? They definitely didn’t teach this in your PT classes…

You decide to grab the condom in question from where you hid it in your bedside table, and you set it on a plate at the kitchen island. As you move around preparing your breakfast you hear him get out of the shower and you know he’ll be coming out any minute. When he eventually rounds the corner he’s dressed in a suit and is looking down at his phone. It’s not until a couple minutes later that he even sees the condom sitting, in all of its glory, on your kitchen island.

“Babe? Why is there a condom on our counter?”

You turn around to face him and look him right in the eyes. “I found it… I found it in the pocket of your pants two weeks ago.”

“Ok, It’s just a condom…” He’s a good lawyer and therefore a good liar, but you know this man like the back of your hand and you know you’ve got him caught. The feeling that washes over you doesn’t feel like victory, it feels more like defeat.

You sigh, “Craig. Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be. For both of our sakes, just be honest with me.”

His phone and briefcase have now been gently set on the island that separates the two of you and he lets out the secret he’s been keeping for longer than you expected.

“I umm.. I uh- I’ve been sleeping with Chelsea for a few months.”

A few months. That means three, right? You’ve only been engaged for four… Somehow you still hadn’t prepared yourself enough for what was unfolding in front of you. You thought maybe he had messed up, that he made a mistake one time. But no, he had been having a three month long affair with his fucking secretary. The secretary that congratulated you at your engagement party. The secretary that had gotten you beautiful engraved wine glasses as an engagement gift.  On any other day you may have even considered Chelsea a friend.

“Were you going to tell me? Or were you just going to let me walk down the aisle next year, knowing that you were going to go back into work a married man and fuck your secretary?”

The words you spit out were laced with hatred. The layers of bullshit that you had built up convincing yourself that he loved you had been quickly torn away. No longer were you looking at your relationship with rose colored glasses. He hasn’t even said anything back. The coward had the balls to cheat on you for months after your engagement but couldn’t even look you in the eyes when he got caught.

“Why the hell would you even ask me to marry you if you were just going to go cheat on me?”

There is silence in your kitchen until he surrenders an answer to you, “It just felt like the right thing to do… We’ve been together so long and everyone was asking when we were going to get married… and then I thought my bosses would probably like it if I was engaged since no one really makes partner unless they’re married… and I knew you wanted to get married. And I love you I really do. And we can make this wor-“

He’s the one panicking now and you can’t even believe he’s trying to salvage this right now. The perfect guy you once knew was long gone. It’s clear to you that your impending marriage was only a strategic move to influence his career.

You can’t listen to his bullshit any longer, so instead you just turn and walk back to your bedroom. He starts to follow you, but you close and lock the door behind you. You lean back and slide to the floor. Finally letting your emotions get the best of you, you let out choked sobs.

Eventually he leaves you and you hear the door to your apartment close behind him. As you cry you lay on the floor of the bedroom you shared with the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. You don’t know how long you cry, and you’re not sure when you fall asleep either.

When you wake up your clock tells you that you’ve been on the floor for almost two hours. Your body feels numb and all you want to do is stay sprawled out on the carpet, but you know that the battle isn’t over yet. After you text your boss to let her know you’re sick, you get yourself up and start packing. You grab suitcases from the hall closet and start grabbing your clothes.

You get as much as you can in your car and before you know it the apartment you once shared is only half full. You’re actually surprised you packed so quickly, and that it all fit in your car. You leave your key and your ring on the kitchen counter, and you know you don’t need to leave a note explaining anything. He already knows it’s over.

Before you walk out the door, something catches your eye. Two wine glasses. They’re sitting on the bar cart you had bought Craig for Christmas last year. You don’t even think, and before you know it you’ve taken them and tossed them into the kitchen sink. They shatter on impact.

You didn’t bother with taking stuff like the dishes or furniture the two of you had bought together. The things you took with you were only yours. Clothes and items you owned before the two of you lived together. You took things like the pictures from your graduation, your favorite blanket, and the puck Boone had given to you after your last game as a CBJ intern.

Boone. You hadn’t even spoken to him since your argument… You didn’t have anywhere to go now, and Boone did say he was always in your corner, so you start the ignition and turn your car in the direction of his apartment.

[ziaxkawaii]

Worth more than some perceive (Victorian!Todoroki X F!Reader) Part 3!

Part 1 Here!         Part 2 Here!

~”You’ve got another one.” Your brother announced as he came into the back room, holding another white rose in his hands along with a card tied to it with the brown string.

~You stopped writing in your planner to first look at your brother and then at the rose. You got up.

~”I’ll go and put it in the vase, thank you.” You took the rose from him and carefully untied the string from the stem and threw it into a box on the table that had numerous pieces of the same type of string from the previous roses. It would be a waste of a perfectly good string if you threw them away.

~You went to put the rose into the vase, but then you realized that you should probably change the water in it as the other roses looked a bit whithered. You picked up the vase and brought it to the back to change the water.

~As you poured the water out, the old question resurfaced and you got curious. This has been going on for awhile, and at this point you’re not sure how you should be feeling about this anymore. Should you feel flattered or should you finally open your eyes and start to worry?

~You weren’t sure since you still don’t feel threatened or that you’re being watched, nor has William.

~”What do you make of this, William?” You questioned.

~”The roses? I’m honestly kind of vary of them, or at least the person leaving them.” He answered

~”I’m starting to doubt that these are not gifts of appreciation.”

~”Yeah, there must be a deeper meaning behind them.”

~You placed the roses in the freshly changed water and walked back out to put it back on the side table. Fixed the roses to look a bit nicer and then nodded in approval, ready to start yet another day.

~”But are you exactly worried?”

~”Not really since nothing else has happened yet, but I’m keeping my guard up. You can never be too careful.” You nodded at his response.

~”You’re right.” You agreed.

~Not long after you finished your sentence, a ding sounded through the air, signaling a customer has stepped into the boutique. You turned and immediately whatever worried thoughts you had previously washed away as you recognized the dual-hair-colored male. Seems like he has memorized the time you open the store, down to the minute.

~”Welcome back Todoroki!” You greeted Shoto.

~”How are you feeling this fine morning?” William joined your greeting. Then noticing he came alone this time. “Oh, roaming around alone today?”

~”I’m quite well, thank you. And yes. My butler has quite a lot of duties today, so I let him attend to them instead of coming here with me.” You both nodded in his direction. William nudged you on your arm.

~”Well, I’ll let you handle this one, I’ve got other work to do.” William called as he walked towards the backroom to finally start completing orders. You called him a quick goodbye and then turned to the other male in the room.

~”Well, how can I help you today? Last time you mentioned something about another commission?” You recalled his words from a week ago.

~”You are correct, so I’ll just get straight to the point.” You listened to what he had to say.

~”I would like for you to make a dress for my partner that will be attending the ball with me.” He said and your eyes widened from the request. Not only because he was ordering a dress without this partner of his, but also from the uncomfortable and unknown feeling growing in your chest.

~”I didn’t know you had a significant other.” You commented while trying to sound normal.

~”I don’t.” He said.

~”You don’t?” You lifted your eyebrow confused.

~”I’ll explain.” He breathed as though he was encouraging himself. “It might not seem like it at first glance, but the underlying purpose of this particular ball is for nobles to try and get their children to talk to other nobles' children, in hopes that the pair would get married.” He explained.

~”As the son of the steam train factory owner and founder, avoiding these balls are not an option. With the facts mentioned above, I’m bound to get many entitled women's attention if I come alone.” You started to understand where he was going with this.

~”To prevent this, I’m going to attend with a partner so I can avoid most of the excess attention.”

~You listened to him with interest but also you felt a bit bad for him, him having to go to such lengths to just be in peace. 

~As a child, you’ve always heard wonderful stories about extravagant balls and how they are for the rich to have fun, but as you got older you started to realize that those seemingly magical balls actually had more purposes to them than to just have fun.

~They were also the perfect place to snag yourself a husband or a wife if one was still unmarried, or a woman’s father would pick a husband for their daughter if he saw someone suitable.

~”I see. So I’m going to take a wild guess and bet that your partner doesn’t have a dress that would match your very attention-grabbing suit?” You’ve been in these situations more often than you could count, so you had a hunch why he came here.

~”It would be better if I and my acquaintance would wear similarly styled clothing.” You nodded along to his words. Agreeing that it would look kind of odd if his partner had a completely differently styled and colored dress than him.

~Of course it wasn’t uncommon for a pair to not match ‘at all’, but the ball Shoto described he was going to, indicated to you that the pairs should at least wear something matching, be it the pattern of the fabric, style of the clothing or accessories.

~”Of course, I’m sure I’ll be able to make a dress for your partner in a couple of weeks. Do you happen to know her favorite style of dress or her size? Then again It would be even better if they could come to the boutique and tell me themselves.” 

~You hated the feeling in your gut, the fact that you felt slight jealousy towards the unknown person who would have the pleasure to spend time with someone like Shoto Todoroki. Not because he was rich and handsome, but because he was genuinely polite and kind. He treated the noble and not-so-well off the same because he saw them all as people.

~You shouldn’t feel this way. It’s none of your business who he’s going to be dancing with. You’re just his tailor, nothing more.

~”Actually, I have not asked them yet.” He said pretty stoically but you could catch a hint of nervousness and embarrassment. You stood there for a moment, going over his words a few times until you found your voice again.

~”...You want me to make a dress for a woman,... who isn’t even aware that they’re going to a ball with you?...” You inquired, speaking every word clearly in case you’ve somehow heard him wrong and he would correct you. 

~Again, it’s not uncommon for people, most commonly men, to buy their partners dresses as a surprise. But those dresses were cheap summer dresses that were only slightly modified to the receiver’s liking, not perfectly fitted and sewn gowns that cost more than someone's whole month's rent!

~”Yes.” He confirmed. “You see, every time I attempt to build up the courage to ask them, I shy away like a small child behind their mother's dress.” He explained a bit bashfully. So that was the case, huh. “And the ball is only a short while away, so if we start the dressmaking process any later, it might be too much work on your end.” You silently appreciated his thoughtfulness.

~It was kind of hard to believe. Shoto, a very stoic man with power and good looks, felt nervous asking a woman to attend a ball with him. Then again, everyone had insecurities about literally anything one could imagine, he was no different you supposed so you had no right to judge.

~”I’m sure they would love to attend the ball with you. If they know you the same way as I do, I’m sure they’ll accept the invitation from someone as kind as you.” You reassured him, pushing down the feeling in your gut and focusing on helping, dare you say, your friend. He deserved it.

~He give you one of his rare smiles that made your heart melt for some unknown reason.

~”Thank you for the advice.” He bowed his head to you slightly. You shook your head.

~”No need to thank me.” You said with a smile. “Anyway, would you like to discuss more about this dress that you’re ordering?”

~”Yes.” He answered simply.

~”Alright, what kind of dress do you think she would like? Any references you can think of she might find appealing?” You asked, bringing out your trusty notebook.

~”I do not know what she would like.” He boldly said and you sweatdropped. This is going to be very hard…

~”Do you know her measurements?” You tried again but he just shook his head.

~”Not an exact number.” He said a little bashfully, it was improper for a gentleman to talk about a lady’s size.

~”Y-You must at least know something, I can’t do a dress with little to no information! I need references here!” You said half-panicky. This was already stressing you out and you have barely even begun. 

~How are you supposed to make a dress not knowing what the receiver wants? What if they don’t like the color or the style? Or what if the gown is too small, too big or the hem is too long? So many things can go so wrong here, it’s not even amusing!

~Just as your soul was about to leave your body, Shoto brought back your attention.

~”May I look at you for a moment?” He asked. You blushed slightly from the bold request.

~”S-Sure, but may I ask why?” You asked in return and he gestured for you to come from behind the counter. You walked to the front and stood in front of him and he started to eye you up and down. You felt slightly nervous under his gaze as he circled around you and compared your height to his, but you kept your unmoving stance. After a moment, he nodded.

~”Yes, your measurements are going to be perfect.” He announced and you took a double-take. Is this man serious?

~”Are you certain!? You want me to use my measurements for the dress?”

~”The measurements will do, you are the same height and size.” You almost wanted to tell him to reconsider so he wouldn’t be making a big mistake, but you figured he wouldn’t be changing his mind, so you relented.

~”If you say so. Then how about the style?” You inquired again, in hopes that he would now have something in mind, but you had a feeling he didn’t.

~”As I said, I know next to nothing about style.” He reminded you calmly and you thought for a second when you came up with a solution.

~”How about I show you different styled dresses and then you can see if one of them catches your eye?”

~”We can do that.” He agreed. 

~You asked if he was fine with coming to the backroom to look and he said he was fine with it. You said quick hi to your brother as you entered the room and brought Shoto to a clothing rack full of finished gowns that you have not yet mailed or given to the customers that ordered them. You skimmed through them and each time you explained to him what style it was and the price, which he didn’t seem to be too concerned about.

~”All of them are good in my opinion, I think I should just leave all the designing to you.” He spoke and you started to sweat again from anxiety. He can’t possibly be dumping this on you. 

~This wasn’t a discussion about his suit. Shoto had little references or wishes when he ordered his clothes, so it was fine for you to design them for him.

~Right now you are discussing about a dress that a woman was going to be wearing to a ball, and women tend to be very selective about what they wear even to the market. So you are basically screwed in this situation.

~”Todoroki, I understand that you are nervous about asking them, but I’m really about to faint from anxiety over this dress over here!”

~”You don’t need to take so much stress over it.” He hopelessly tried to help you.

~”Do you really think that’s going to help me calm down?...” 

~”What I mean is… No matter what kind of dress you sew, I know it’s going to be fantastic.”

~”Todoroki, many women are picky about their clothing. Even if one dress is pretty, they might still prefer a different one.” You explained. He seemed to be in thought for a minute. You turned back to the rack while you let him in his thoughts. ‘How am I going to resolve this?’

~”How about that dress?” You heard him ask. You turned around to look at him and saw him point at a draft of a dress that hung on the wall next to your desk, your eyes widened a smidge. You walked over to the draft and admired it.

~”I have never done this dress before.” You admitted as you traced your eyes over the simple but beautiful dress that you had drawn. “No customer has ordered it before.”

~”How come?” He asked again.

~”Well, they never come to the backroom for instance so they don’t see it.” You stated as you started to run your fingers over the worn parchment. Your dream dress. Your perfect dress to meet a kind prince in a flower garden at night, while the stars twinkle and bare witness to the two people falling in love, as they dance the night away under the moon light.

~”Do you plan on one day making it?” 

~”What for? It’s too expensive for me to make a dress for a chance that it would be one day bought. I never go anywhere where I would need to wear so formal clothing. It would only be a waste of perfectly good fabric.” You said solemnly as you looked at the drawing again. Which Shoto seemed to notice.

~It was pretty quiet for a moment, you went over your options in your mind briefly. Maybe you should just do one of your more popular styles and hope for the best. You were about to suggest your idea to Shoto, but he beat you to it, and boy were you speechless after that.

~”Would you be willing to make this dress if I ordered it?”

~Will this man ever stop surprising you? Probably not, but you’re pretty sure you’ll always react the same way as you do now, Staring him down and looking for any clues in his body language that he’s pulling your leg.

~”You want this design made?”

~”Yes, I think it’s a very beautiful gown and it would be a shame to just leave it as a draft.” He reasoned.

~”You’ll never cease to amaze me…” You breathed out, not sure if you, once again, should start to second guess his decision. “At this point I would be asking you to reconsider, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t be changing your mind.”

~”You would be correct.”

~”But why Todoroki? Why do you have so much trust in me?” You inquired.

~”Because you’re my friend,” He answered with no hesitation. “I would go as far as to say that I trust you more than some of my family members.” He admitted. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Alright I was not expecting that.’

~”I literally have no words.” You said dumbfounded.

~”There’s no need for any, I’m simply trusting you because I see you’ve got a good taste, and it would be an insult if a customer didn’t trust their tailor.” He flashed you his million dollar smile, and you almost collapsed to the floor right then and there. Cheese… You swear you’re soon going to have a heart attack from how hard your heart was pounding.

~“R-right, then I’ll make this dress if that’s what you wish, Todoroki.” Damn you and your stuttering.

~”Please, call me Shoto.” You looked at his heterochromic eyes seeing nothing but certainty in them. Your cheeks grew slightly pink.

“Sure, Shoto it is.”

~~~~~~

~You eyed the dress on the mannequin probably for the millionth time as you circled it, brushed off non-existent dust, or rearranged the hem of the dress to look better, even though it was already perfect.

~Saying you were nervous was an understatement of the century. You just couldn’t stop yourself from fidgeting and pacing around the back room. You have been walking around so much that you swore there is a clear path marked on the ground from where you have walked.

~”Just calm down will you? He asked you to make the dress from your drawing and you did just as he had asked.” William followed your pacing form with his eyes, and has been doing so for 10 minutes when the clicking of your short heels on the wooden floor became too distracting.

~”I’m not particularly worried about his opinion and you know it.”

~”I know dear sister, but why should you worry about a one woman’s opinion when you have not even met them?” William leaned on his desk and folded his hands over his chest.

~”They could complain to Shoto of the design or fit and then I would get a mouthful from him.” You imagined horrified as you pulled on your hair.

~”My gods..” He breathed out. “Now that is ridiculous. If his partner does not like the dress then it is not your battle, it’s Shotos and he can’t blame you for it.” He attempted to smack some sense into you. “And I doubt he would be that kind of person.”

~You finally stopped your mindless wandering. Breathing in deeply, and then exhaling. William eyed you. You turned to him.

~”I’m still nervous.” You admitted.

~”I’ll be alright.” He got up to rub your shoulders comfortingly. “Why don’t we calm your nerves with a cup of tea before he arrives-” He was cut off by the ding of the boutique bell. You tensed up.

~”I guess not then.” Your brother hummed. “Good luck!” He gave you a shove towards the doorway and immediately went over to his sewing machine to pick up from where he left off. You sighed and pushed your way to the main area.

~Shoto stood at the entrance, and he smiled as soon as you appeared in the room. You admitted, his smile did ease your nerves a bit, who wouldn’t feel comforted by that gentle smile?

“Welcome back Shoto.” You greeted your friend.

“Hello (Name). It’s relieving to be back, my father has been driving me mad.” He expressed as he hung up his jacket. You laughed lightly at his words.

~”I can imagine. Didn’t you mention he has been pestering you about some matter for some time?” You recalled the last time you spoke, which was a couple of days ago.

~”Yes, however this day has to be the most annoying of them all.” He walked over to the front counter where you stood.

~”How so, did something happen?”

~”You could say that, my father and I got into an argument over the most foolish thing. But I won’t ruin your day by complaining about it.” You felt bad for him that he must put up with his demanding father so much. Anyhow, it was not really your place to snoop into.

~”Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” You inquired.

~”Definite.”

~”Then I will not pry.” You announced, defeated. “The dress is ready, you want to have a look?”

~”I most certainly do.” He answered, with what you could’ve sworn to be excitement.

~”Then I’ll go get it, just a minute.” You disappeared into the backroom to go retrieve the gown. You took a moment to admire it for the last time. It was your dream dress. The dress you dreamed you would own once you grew up. The perfect fairytale dress for a magical ball.

~And now it was going to be someone else's dress for a ball.

~You tore your eyes off it. Not wanting to get too attached to it than you already were. You gathered up the hem of the dress and started pushing the movable mannequin to the main area.

~At least you actually got to make it in the first place.

~You rolled the mannequin over the threshold and over to the mirror. Spread out the skirt once it was in the perfect spot. And brushed out any odd creases. You stepped back and looked at Shoto’s reaction. He was speechless. Eyeing the gown with the most careful and amazed look you’ve ever seen. Even going over every ruffle and gem sewn on it with a delicate touch.

~”What do you think?...” Your question snapped the man from his daze as he turned to you, still a bit blown away.

~”It’s...It’s gorgeous, there’s nothing else I could possibly say.”

~”T-Thank you Shoto, I appreciated it.” Why were your cheeks getting warm, you get acknowledgement from customers all the time.

~”I like it very much, can you pack it for me, please?” He asked.

~”Of course I can.” You playfully answered and he rolled his eyes. You skillfully pulled the dress off the mannequin and carried it to the front counter to fold it neatly and pack into a big brown box.

~”Here’s the exact amount.” He handed you a check, and you took it just as you finished tying a dark-green ribbon around the box.

~”Here you go, feel free to stop by whenever.” You said your usual line as you expected to see him take the box and leave with his usual goodbye, but to your surprise, he doesn’t.

~You questionably tilted your head to the side, wondering what he was up to. Shoto then pushed the big box towards you and simply said:

~”Here, this is for you.”

~You blinked… Then twice… and after the third time you did and he did not move from his spot or do anything, you allowed yourself to once again question this man’s actions. This occurrence is starting to become a routine… It probably already is.

~”What is the meaning of this?” You inquired dumbfounded, thinking this was one big joke. Staring at the just tied up box on the counter like he wanted to return it.

~”It’s for you. For you to have as your very own.” But it was the opposite. He wanted to give it to you. For you to have as your own.

~”Wh- what are you..?” You stopped yourself before you started speaking total gibberish.

~”I understand this may come as a bit straight forward and unexpected, but would you like to accompany me to the ball this weekend?” He inquired while he looked at you with hope and nervousness in his heterochromatic eyes. Despite this, you still had to ask.

~”Are you tricking me?” Shoto flinched a bit when you didn’t answer immediately, then again, why did he think you would? He breathed to calm down his own nervousness.

~”I am not, I assure you, I’m most definitely serious.”

~”But why would you… ask me? What about the partner you’ve been talking about?” You fired question after question. Did his partner turn him down? Are they unable to attend? Are you his last available option?

~”I will gladly explain myself… if you let me.” Shoto said meekly while fiddling with the giant ribbon of the gift box. 

~You allowed him to begin explaining, curious and, should you say, eager to hear what he had to say. Part of you still believing that whatever he was going to say, was going to hurt you one way or another.

~”When I first came into this boutique or rather was forced in here by my father, I thought that this suit tailoring process was going to be just like the previous ones I’ve been to. So bland and emotionless. Most of the tailors I’ve worked with were always driven either by money or leverage, not really caring about what or how they were sewing as long as they made the most profit.” He wasn’t looking at you, but at the smooth green ribbon between his delicate fingers.

~”When I came here, and we started the designing process, I was kind of taken off guard how much you cared about what you were doing. Always asking me if I was alright with what you had planned, in such a gentle way.” He squeezed the ribbon a bit more tightly.

~”I didn’t think too much of it at the time. By the second time I visited, I really started to see the passion in your eyes and hear the fire of enthusiasm in your speech. It showed on the clothes you made, managing to make so much more of the measly fabrics that you use, proving that you don’t need the best of the best to make something brilliant.” He let go of the ribbon, letting it slip from his grasp.

~“This side of you caught my attention like a shooting star on a cloudless night. I became interested in your passion and wanted to observe it more.” You tried your hardest not to blush, but your body betrayed you as your cheeks felt a tad bit warmer.

~“Every visit I would learn more about you and I couldn’t help but be captivated. You are so different from me that so many things you talked to me about were things that I have never even thought about. It’s refreshing to hear such things when you live the life I do.” He admitted.

~”Then… what was going on when you set the order for this gown?” You clearly could see his cheeks turn a shade darker.

~”At the time, I couldn’t build up the courage to ask you. So I made up an explanation that I had not yet asked my partner to the ball and needed the dress made before it was too late. Actually, I wasn’t technically lying.”

~”So… I… Was the partner you were planning on asking, this whole time?” You had a hard time wrapping your head around it.

~”From the moment I asked you to make this dress.” He confirmed. 

~‘Oh how romantic.’ You thought with a slight laugh. These types of occurrences only seemed to happen in fairy tales, it was unbelievable. You noticed the white rose that poked out Shoto’s breast pocket. It was exactly the same looking as the ones you’ve received for weeks now.

~”That rose!” You suddenly exclaimed, startling both yourself and the male opposite of you. Your demeanor then immediately changed back to your meek demeanor when you realized that it could’ve just been a coincidence. a Really, really weird coincidence.

~”You finally noticed.” He commented. “What did you think of the roses that I left you? Were they a bit too much?” He nervously scratched the back of his neck. Why did he feel so nervous this whole time?

~”So it was you who kept leaving these in front of my front door and not some random guy who kept on mistaking the address.” You made quite a bold move and pulled the rose out of its previous sitting place and started to play with the petals of the flower. Gently feeling the velvety surface with the pads of your fingers. What a satisfying feeling.

~”That’s what you thought they were?”

~”Well I didn’t know what else to think. I didn’t really consider that they could’ve been from you though.” You looked at the delicate bloom in your hands. “But I’m glad they were from you, they really made me feel special.”

~”Do you know what will make you feel even more special?” He leaned closer to your face, so close where both of your breaths mixed, but you did not pull away.

~”What?” You inquired like an innocent maiden as you bravely peered into his miss-matched eyes, no-longer with shyness but calm anticipation.

~Boldly, Shoto closed the already small distance between you and gave you the most gentle and affection-filled kiss you’ve ever had in your life. Your knees would have buckled from under you, had you not taken a firm grip on Shoto’s shoulders, and Shoto taking a hold of your waist. Rose falling from your grasp, and onto the floor.

~He deepened the kiss even more and you gladly accepted it, embracing him with warm and welcoming arms. Soon, the need for air forced you to pull apart but you remained in each other’s hold.

~”Well, what do you say? Will you come to the ball with me?” He inquired again. You smiled again.

~”Of course I will.” He smiled and leaned in to give you another, shorter kiss.

~You suppose William will have to manage without you for a while.

[yikesimonfire]

Howdy Neighbor || Alfie & Bex

Timing: Before the events of Promise to Bind. Location: Hallway of Alfie’s apartment complex. Parties: @inbextween​ & @yikesimonfire​ Summary: Bex drops by Eddie’s apartment with a gift; Alfie isn’t sure what he thinks of her. Content: internalized homophobia tw

It wasn’t necessary, but Bex liked doing nice things for her friends, and so she’d made Eddie a bone crown while she’d hyperfocused on making things yesterday. She’d had so much energy the past few days, due mostly in part to Mina, and well-- the stuff that had happened between them. Sometimes, she couldn’t stop smiling about it. Sometimes, it made her face hurt. The crown was littered with dried, pressed flowers that were sealed with preserve to keep them from crumbling apart, and she’d dusted off some of the small antlers Morgan had in the workshop-- way too small to even be baby deer antlers, so Bex really had to wonder what they might be from. They looked almost rabbit size-- and arranged them in a fashion she thought might suit Eddie. The coyote jaw bones really brought the piece together, as well. She hoped he’d appreciate the celebration of death in it. She figured he might, considering he saw ghosts and lived his life with them. But when she knocked, no one answered. Hmm, maybe she should’ve messaged him first. That probably would’ve been the smart idea, but she’d sort of wanted to surprise him. She wondered where he might be, as she peered into the front window. All the lights were off, which meant no one was home, probably. She pulled out her phone to text him when she noticed someone outside the apartment next to Eddie’s. “Oh, um hello!” she called out, waving. She didn’t recognize them, but then again, Bex didn’t know a lot of people around town. “I was just dropping something off! Do you know Eddie?”

It wasn’t uncommon that Alfie saw people he didn’t know lingering around the apartment complex. In fact, he didn’t know many people that lived there — even fewer by name. So when he got upstairs, mail in hand, he didn’t think anything of the young woman standing outside of Eddie’s door. As he reached for his keys, he ducked his head to avoid any unnecessary eye-contact. Soon enough, he’d have the door unlocked and he’d be safe. But then, in an unusually friendly voice, she called out to him. The sound of her voice made him involuntarily jerk (and almost drop his keys), but he managed a glance in her direction with a polite, but thin-lipped smile. “Hi,” he curtly replied. The question that followed, however, caused his brow to raise. 

“Eddie? Uh — yeah. Yeah, I know Eddie.” Knew him better than most, or at least that’s what Alfie liked to believe. But that was neither here nor there. “I think he’s out, actually. Can’t exactly say when he’ll be back.” Obviously he was out, it probably didn’t take Alfie’s saying so for the stranger to figure that out. She wouldn’t have been standing outside if Eddie were home. Still, while Alfie fiddled with his key, edging it closer to the lock, he figured his friend would probably appreciate him being courteous. “Didyouneedanything?” The words sputtered out in an incoherent mess. “Or, uh… Is there anything I can do to help? He — he’ll probably be back soon.” He figured the polite thing to do was at least offer to wait with her (Eddie would like that, right?) but thought it inappropriate to mention.

Bex didn’t really notice the anxious behavior as she fussed with the phone and the crown in her hands, trying not to drop either one of them. At least her clumsiness had never extended to her hands. She managed to type out a text before the other boy mumbled something so quickly she didn’t quite understand it. “Oh! Oh, that’s-- kind of you to offer,” she said, looking down at her phone as it buzzed. An immediate answer, of course. He wasn’t going to be home for a bit, and she had stuff to do. Mina was expecting her back in a bit, as well. “Um, actually, yeah,” she said, pocketing her phone and looking back over at the other boy. He was quite a bit taller than her, even in her heels, and it wasn’t often she met someone who achieved that. She glanced back at Eddie’s door, before turning back to the other boy. “Would you mind giving this to him when he gets back? I would stay, but I have to be somewhere, and, well, I don’t really trust just leaving it on the doorstep, you know? I made it for him myself and I’d really like it if he actually, you know, got it.” She paused. “Not that I think anyone would steal it or anything! Or, well, I guess I sort of do, otherwise I’d be okay leaving it, but I’m more worried about it getting broken.” As nervous as Bex could be, she was used to talking to strangers and asking things of them. At least her parents had taught her one useful thing. 

She made it for him herself? Alfie stood there, dumbfounded for a moment before giving her a small nod. “Yeah, yeah. ‘Course I can!” The hand holding his keys dropped to his side as he shifted towards her, his arm prematurely extended for a swift transfer. In the process, he noticed his shoulders were slouched and straightened up his back a bit — careful not to stand too tall and risk intimidating her. “Trust me, I get it. It’s a sketchy place. There’s no telling what might happen to it before Ed — Eddie gets back. ‘Sides, we wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.” A forced chuckle followed which Alfie immediately regretted. “That… sounds like I’m saying it’s dangerous or something. I just mean, y’know… Things happen around here and, who knows — it’d probably be fine, but better safe than sorry.” His lips pursed together as he studied her face, trying to remember if he’d seen her anywhere; in any pictures Eddie had shown him, or even just from around town. Nothing. Was this just a thing now? Eddie having people over to bring him handmade gifts? “Will he be expecting it, or should I mention who it’s from?” he wondered. He figured that Eddie would be expecting it if she considered leaving it, but he also hoped that putting a name to her face might jog his memory.

“Oh, thank-- I appreciate that!” Bex said, catching herself quickly. It was still such an easy habit to fall into, saying thank you, without knowing what someone was. She thought of all the times she’d said thank you to Professor Campbell and hoped he wasn’t a fae. “Oh, yeah, yes! Better safe than sorry! I mean, this place doesn’t look too sketchy, and when I was over helping him edit some videos the other day, it seemed like a nice place! I think there’s definitely much sketchier places in White Crest,” she rambled. Oh, she was rambling again. She always did that when she was nervous. She smiled to cut herself off and held out the crown for him. “Do you know Eddie well?” she asked, when she noticed the slip in name. If he called him Ed, they were probably good friends, right? Usually people who were close gave each other nicknames. “Uh, no, I don’t think he’s expecting it. I just-- decided to make one and thought of him while I was doing it, so,” the sentence cut short as she shrugged. She wasn’t really sure why she’d made it for him, only that she wanted to do something nice for him, after everything he’d done for her. “You can tell him it’s from Bex,” she tacked on finally, looking back at the other boy with a half smile.

Helping him edit videos? Alfie never helped Eddie edit videos. Granted, that was probably because he never showed any interest in helping him. “Oh, yeah,” Alfie forced another laugh. “He keeps it surprisingly free of dog hair, considering.” He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how he felt about that. Eddie was allowed to have other friends; it shouldn’t have bothered him. So why did it? “We’re pretty close, yeah.” At this point, Alfie didn’t even know if that was true. No — that was ridiculous. Of course they were close. Eddie was his best friend, after all. 

As soon as the stranger introduced herself, things started making a little more sense. “Oh, Bex! From the — the exorcismyay,” Alfie’s voice dropped to a near whisper when he said “exorcism”. He remembered Eddie mentioning her now; how a filming adventure went awry. As it seemed, these excursions of his were just as dangerous as ever. “I realize now that’s still the same word in Pig Latin,” he tittered, a genuine smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. The nagging in the pit of his stomach was quickly dissipating. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bex, and it’s sweet that you wanted Eddie to have this. I’m sure he’ll love it. I’m Alfie, by the way. Alfie Ramirez.” Why did he just tell her his full name? Should he shake her hand now? Was that the right thing to do? Without thinking, Alfie dropped his keys to offer Bex his other hand. “I’d hate to keep you,” he added as an afterthought. “I know you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Hey, well, Bucket is a queen and she deserves the world. I wouldn’t mind dog hair all over me if it was hers,” Bex chuckled, giving Alfie a better smile this time. He was a nice guy, and, so far, Bex really liked him. Especially if he was friends with Eddie. She didn’t think Eddie would be friends with anyone that wasn’t at least a little like him. “Oh, have you known him long, then? He said he grew up here, and he’s one of those people who seems to love this town. I think it’s cute, don’t you? How much he seems to like this place. It’s...refreshing.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said all that, but she supposed it was the truth, so what did it matter? And if this was Eddie’s friend, then, maybe she wanted to connect with him, too. Maybe she wanted to show Eddie that she had a genuine interest in his life. He made her feel welcome, after all. And safe. She had broken down in front of him and made him see her horrific nightmare and he’d still offered to drive her home and then also be her friend. He deserved a lot more than a bone crown and a date rejection. 

“Oh! Yes! That! That was fun! I was so excited he asked me to come with him. I’ve never seen a ghost before. Or, well, I still technically haven’t, but I’ve seen what they can do! And stuff like that! And it was-- kind of amazing? Did you know there’s different kinds?” She straightened up, laughing a little. “Sorry, I um-- kind of get carried away when i get excited. It’s nice to meet you, Alfie!” she stuck out her hand and took his, watching his keys drop to the ground. “Oh! You’re not keeping me! I mean, I do have someplace to be in a bit, but not right away! Eddie just said he wouldn’t be home for a while--” she shook her phone at him in a gesture of ‘he texted me’ before dropping it, “--so I just don’t have time to wait for him to come back.”

There was a dull throb in Alfie’s chest the moment Bex referred to Eddie as “cute”. For years now, he’d been telling himself not to think like that — and for years, he’d failed. His friend and neighbor would forever be unattainable. It was fine; Alfie accepted that Eddie would only ever be his friend. But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t difficult every now and then. How could he pretend that his feelings were strictly platonic when Eddie’s laugh made his heat soar? Or when he stood there, one hand on his hip, and the other forcing his mess of hair in every which way? Eddie was cute — painfully so — but hearing that someone else thought it too seemed… unfair? Almost. With any luck, Bex said that sort of thing about all of her friends; it couldn’t be exclusive to Eddie, could it? 

“Uh, kind of, yeah,” Alfie croaked. “I’ve known him since high school, but we didn’t talk much.” That was a lie. Sure, they went to school together, but implying that they interacted at all was inaccurate. “That changed when Eddie moved in nextdoor, though. We’ve been friends ever since… The rest is ancient history, and all that jazz.” Alfie knew he needed to stop embellishing the truth. One quick chat with Eddie and Bex would know the truth. Hell, he apparently didn’t make it a point to mention him to her yet. The ache in Alfie’s chest permeated his entire body. His cheeks flushed and his heart raced. He was being ridiculous, he told himself. It shouldn’t matter that Bex didn’t know about him. It shouldn’t matter that Eddie was making new friends. And having them over to his house. Introducing them to Bucket. Watching movies and cuddling on the couch. 

Stop it! His mind screamed at him over the sound of Bex’s voice. What was the last thing she said? “Different kinds?” Alfie parroted, trying to remember the words that came before it. Ghosts, right. His ears were still ringing. She shook his hand and he laughed, returning the gesture long enough to be socially acceptable before withdrawing, completely disregarding his keys on the ground. “No, no — you’re fine! I know a bit about ghosts, but I’ve definitely never had an encounter like that before. It sounds—” terrifying, “— fun!”  For what it was worth, Alfie didn’t exactly want to shoo Bex away, not even when his heart was drumming in his chest. Maybe if he changed the subject? “Ah, that’s understandable,” he agreed. “Have you been here long? In White Crest, I mean — not here, here. I can’t say I’ve ever seen you around.” 

If the other boy was distracted by thoughts, Bex didn’t notice. She was caught up in her own, thinking about Eddie, and how much fun she’d had with him, and what was wrong with her? She had Mina, she had slept with Mina, more than once, and maybe she wanted more than to just be friends with Mina, so why did she keep thinking about what Eddie had said? Why had he asked her out? Why hadn’t she just told him the truth? Everything was so confusing yet so clear right now. She blinked, and readjusted, because Alfie was talking again and she needed to pay attention. Pay attention. “OH, you went to highschool together? That’s cool! I assume you went to the school here? Yeah, I mean, that’s fair. I always feel like people are very different in highschool than after.”

She looked down at his keys on the floor and wondered if he knew. Should she point them out? “Um, you dropped your keys, by the way.” He was being oddly quiet between bouts of words, and she wondered if he was somehow off put by her. She was being awfully nosy, after all. She couldn’t help it. Eddie was still kind of a mystery to her, aside from his ghost stuff. She wanted to know more about him. She’d have to ask him. Maybe bothering his neighbor was a bad idea. “Oh, me? I mean, technically, yes? I was born here. I live-- lived-- out on Harmony Island. I’m in East End now, but I didn’t go to school in town. I went to a private school up in Augusta, so that’s probably why you haven’t seen me around.” Lately, a lot of locals had been saying that to her. Did everyone just know everyone here? She supposed the whole six degrees of separation was more like two degrees in a tiny town like this. “What about you? Did you grow up here? I mean, obviously you went to school here, but, you know, did you move here or were you always here?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Alfie absentmindedly agreed, not bothering to get into the smaller details. In high school, the boys didn’t have much to do with each other. He saw Eddie around campus and onstage in theater productions, but that was about it. Whoever Eddie was in high school, he doubted they would have gotten along back then. 

When Bex mentioned that he’d dropped his keys, Alfie looked almost startled. His eyes shot to his feet where, lo and behold, his keychain limply lied. “Oh, huh, I— yeah, I guess I did,” he grumbled before crouching down and plucking them up. How was he managing to make this much of a fool out of himself? He worried what Bex must have thought of him; more importantly, what Eddie would think if he knew. Would she tell him? ‘Hey, I met your neighbor, Alfie. You know, the one you never mentioned? What a weirdo!’ His thoughts swarmed with what they’d potentially say about him. No doubt laughing as they huddled around Eddie’s computer and bonded over a shared interest. 

“Harmony Island, huh? Sounds fancy.” Alfie chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek as he tried to purge the negative thoughts from his mind. Honestly, he didn’t know much about the island. His reaction was purely based on the fact that it was, well, an island. There were probably a lot of fancy houses there, right? As per the natural progression of conversation, the question was now turned on him. “Yeah, I grew up here,” he answered as he shifted his weight, standing somewhat smaller than he had before. “I’ve never left the greater White Crest area, actually. My family— they, uh… own the library. Or, run it, I guess? It’s probably a lot less cool than it sounds unless you really love books.” Bex probably didn’t care about what his family did for a living, but it was better than hearing how great friends she was with Eddie. “I haven’t worked there in a while, though. I’m actually a software developer. Freelance. I could never work a nine-to-five.”

Bex took a small step back as Alfie bent to pick up his keys. He didn’t seem very talkative, and she wondered if it was because of her. Was she making him uncomfortable? Was it weird that she’d come to Eddie’s place without asking before hand? Was he wary of her? Did he not like her? She shook the thoughts from her head and tried to focus back in on what Alfie was saying. “Oh, uh, yeah! My family is actually kind of uh, well known around town,” she said, rubbing the back of her head before hands came together to wring each other out. She looked back over her shoulder, as if maybe she would turn and see Eddie coming down the hallway, but there was nothing. “My parents are pretty well off.” But I don’t speak to them much anymore. Or at all. She shivered at the thought. 

“You’re-- family owns the library? The public one? Do-- do you have a sister? I think I might’ve talked to her online! Is her name Leah?” She was somehow grateful for the change of subject, perking back up for a moment. IF she could make friends with Eddie’s friends, then that was only a good thing, right? That had to be a good thing. “Software developer? Woah, that’s so cool! How’d you learn to do that? Did you teach yourself or did you go to school for it? Either way, that’s, like, super impressive.”

Alfie gave a series of small nods as Bex talked about her own family. He wondered if he should know who they were, but thought better of it. He was still a stranger, after all. They knew each other's names and that they shared a mutual friend. That was it. Alfie was never any good at making friends. Sure, there was also Nell, but their friendship started out of sheer luck — and family ties. Small talk was also not within Alfie’s usual realm of comfort. He hated it, in fact. That’s probably why he didn’t have many friends. That and the fact that that he never felt he needed any. Maybe, with any luck, he’d manage to befriend Bex too. “That makes sense; with private school and everything,” he agreed. 

A light laugh surfaced from the depths of his chest. “Yeah, that’s the one,” Alfie confirmed after clearing his throat. “Leah, yeah. She’s, uh— she’s great, really.” He never knew what to say when it came to his family. His parents were strict when he was growing up. They still were, actually. Not that he had much to do with them these days. Leah was — beyond a shadow of a doubt — the golden child. Compared to her and their other siblings, Alfie was the black sheep. That wasn’t the sort of information people usually offered to someone they just met. Instead, Alfie kept quiet; at least until Bex showed an interest in his job. All of a sudden, his face lit up. It was cool! “I’m mostly self-taught, actually! I mean, I took some classes for it in high school, but that’s about it. It’s just always been something I’ve enjoyed doing — fiddling around with computers and whatnot.” Alfie grinned sheepishly at Bex. As much as he enjoyed talking about it, he didn’t want to bore her. “What about you, though? Do you work, or…?” 

“She is! She was super nice and agreed to let me borrow some books! Which...it’s a library so of course she did, but I mean, like--” Bex lowered her voice a bit and leaned in, “--special books, if you catch my drift.” Supernatural books. Magic books. She smiled again as she leaned back and gave a short chuckle. “Sorry. I just get really excited about books, and when I actually happen to know people. I don't know too many people around town, so it’s nice knowing this place is actually smaller than it seems, you know? Like, who woulda thought that Eddie’s neighbor, who I met coincidentally, was related to the nice librarian lady I talked to online, who also knows my mo-- er, my current guardian, and is friends with her! Isn’t that wild?” She tried to recuperate fast enough to hope Alfie hadn’t caught her stumble. Not that he knew about her situation, but the slip had even her surprised. Morgan wasn’t her mom. Morgan probably didn’t want the responsibility of that, either. Plus, Bex was an adult, mostly. She didn’t need someone to be that for her. She was doing fine, really.

“But, oh, wow! That’s so cool! And so impressive that you learned most of it all on your own! Do you make a lot of money doing it? What kinds of things do you design? I mean, software, obviously, but is it like, firewalls, programs, mods? There’s so much. Me? Oh, well-- I used to intern at my parents’ law firm, but I, uh-- have recently had a change of heart for what I wanna major in. So, currently jobless, just uh, focusing on school! And, well-- I guess ghost hunting, now. Does that count as a job if I’m not getting paid? It feels like more than a hobby, though, you know?”

“Special books — right, totally getcha. Like, say… her personal copy of ‘Interview with the Vampire’,” Alfie nodded. It wasn’t surprising that someone jumping into the ghost hunting scene would be interested in perusing the restricted section of the library. On the contrary, Leah wasn’t known to lend out books (as far as Alfie was aware) and he couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it than just Bex’s excursions with Eddie. “Sorry, that was lame. But, yes, I caught your drift.” As Bex apologized, Alfie shook his head with a gentle smile. He was no stranger to talking a bit more than he should about things that made him excited. The library might not have been one of his go-to hangouts these days, but if Bex wanted to gush over it, he’d be happy to listen. “No need to apologize! And actually — now that you mention it — White Crest may be a relatively small town, but you’d be surprised how many people I don’t know. I guess it is pretty cool to realize who knows who and whatnot.”

The broad grin never wavered from Alfie’s face. It was easy to push aside his reservations towards Bex when his craft was in question. He was very quickly warming up to this new acquaintance. “A handful of different things, actually! I’ve cast a pretty wide net. I’ve recently been really into programming a personal database. It’s, uh… a work in progress.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. In the event that it got back to Leah, his sister might start asking questions that Alfie wasn’t prepared to answer. “But, yeah. You pretty much hit the nail on the head with all of those. The pay’s decent enough, though I haven’t had any big projects lately — takes care of the bills at least.” Did it matter that some of these projects were morally questionable? Alfie was merely the brains behind them; what the clients used them for were out of his control. He objected not to voice this, considering her parents were in law. “Hey, take it from someone who didn’t go to college: you’re allowed to change your mind about that sort of thing. ‘Specially since you’re the one earning the degree. Have you picked a new major, or…? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“Yeah, but less Interview With A Vampire and more--” Bex started, then stopped. She’d been reminded time and time again that telling people she didn’t know that she was a spellcaster was a bad idea. But Alfie was friends with Eddie and he was Leah’s little brother, so he could be trusted, right? She wanted to trust him. “More, Practical Magic.” Oh, that was a blatant reference, wasn’t it? Well, no hiding it now, she supposed. She gave him a sheepish smile and waved it off. “Not lame! Definitely not lame. If it was lame then so was mine.” She chuckled lightly, hoping to move past the notion quickly, nodding eagerly when he amended his statement about White Crest. “Yeah, totally! I’ve definitely noticed that. I mean, I grew up kinda closed off, so I never really knew people around town, but once I started actually meeting people, it was like everyone knew everyone! Or knew of them, at least. Wild, huh? Six degrees of separation who?” Oh, now she was just embarrassing herself. She cleared her throat. “It’s just interesting to see. When I moved away to Penn State briefly, it was so different. Everything was so impersonal.” She’d sort of liked that, though, blending in easily. The dream of that life was so long gone,though.

“Woah, you’re making a whole database all from scratch?? That’s incredible!” Bex exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly, but she couldn’t help it-- people being excited made her excited and her cheeks bubbled with it. She needed to find every reason to be excited, anyway. Every reason to be happy. “But, you know, pays the bills is good! Especially if it’s something you enjoy! Isn’t that what they say? Find something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life?” She remembered one of her professors telling her that. She didn’t know if it was true. “Oh! Uh, yeah, I have. Um-- Anthropology. I’ll probably focus on uh, Archaeology. It’s what interests me the most. But, really, anything about history interests me. I could probably go to school for the rest of my life getting different history degrees. I won’t, though! But I could.” She rubbed the back of her head. “I’m what they call a History nerd. Or buff. History buff. Anything you wanna know about history, I probably know something about!”

Practical magic? That came as a surprise. The only spellcasters Alfie knew in White Crest were the Vurals. He always figured there were more, but never bothered to find out for himself. A wave of anxiety crashed over him at the thought of Bex having something to do with his curse; a worry that quickly subsided at the realization that no beginner magic-user could be involved in a plot spanning across what was likely centuries. Unless… 

“Not lame,” Alfie reiterated with a meek smile. “Although, I can’t exactly say I’ve read it myself.” He wondered if it would be appropriate to ask her more about it — if only to subdue his concern. Maybe it was best to leave it be for the time being. 

It was interesting to hear about Bex’s fondness for White Crest. The reasons she seemed to adore the small town were on Alfie’s list of why he wanted to leave it. “That sounds ideal to me,” he said playfully, electing not to elaborate. Explaining that he longed for a bigger city where he could easily hide away would only dampen the mood. Not to mention that it could potentially get back to Eddie who would undoubtedly be upset by it. If anyone could make Alfie stay, it would be him — another thing on his ever-growing list that Alfie wasn’t prepared to get into with Bex. 

“More or less,” he chuckled. “The original code is pretty much public domain, but I’ve made my own enhancements.” These ‘enhancements’ being private journals that he so eagerly nicked from the family’s secret collection, though that was neither here nor there. He’d return them… eventually. “I mean, that’s awesome, though! There’s still so much to discover through artifacts from the past.” In a sense, Alfie was doing the same; unearthing his own past through vague remnants of it. “Good on you for chasing your dreams.”

Alfie thoughtfully pursed his lips. He wondered if Bex had anything in her bank of knowledge pertaining to his own circumstances. “Actually, now that you mention it… You don’t happen to have any recommendations on, say, the history of White Crest, do you? More specifically pre-dating European colonization?” It was a long shot, but he couldn’t exactly ask Leah. 

“Oh!” Bex perked a bit, “it’s actually a really good book! If you like reading about that kinda stuff, I’d totally suggest it.” She beamed for a moment. She loved talking about books and sharing other people’s interests and, well, it was always nice when people shared hers, too, wasn’t it? She wondered if Alfie knew about all the things that went on in the shadows of White Crest, all the things the world tried to hide from people-- probably, considering he was friends with Eddie, and Eddie didn’t seem like the kinda guy to hoard that type of information. In fact, he was the opposite. She shook the thoughts away.

“What? Oh! Yeah,” she blinked back to the present moment and away from her thoughts and nodded. “I don’t mind living in a small town. I know it’s not everyone’s thing, but I dunno-- it’s not so bad, for me.” It was harder to disappear, but maybe that wasn’t what she wanted anymore. Maybe she did want to be known, after being hidden for so long.

“Enhancements? Well, I mean, still! That’s amazing. I’m sure you made it infinitely better. And, well, yeah, thanks! I just kinda figured, what’s the point of life if you’re just living someone else’s, you know?” She gave pause at his last question. She did, in fact, have recommendations on all that. But they were Morgan’s family notebooks and the ones she’d dug up at the record hall and “borrowed” permanently. No one knew they were missing, not when she’d replaced them with fakes. She chewed her lip. “Uh, I mean, you could check town hall, if you wanted to. They might have some old newspapers or records that could tell you about that stuff. Does your family not have any books on that stuff in the library?” And little did she know, her own parents had records of that time. They’d been in White Crest longer than the town had a name, after all. She shrugged. “Sorry I can’t be more help there.” Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at it. “Oh, uh-- I-- I should probably get going, actually. I-- thanks again, you know, for talking to me and for holding onto that for Eddie for me.”

“I’m not exactly, uh — how do I put this? — affluent in that sort of thing, if I’m being honest,” Alfie chuckled. The hand holding his keys darted behind him to rub the back of his neck. Growing up, Nell tried her best to explain it to him, but the only thing Alfie could relate it to was his lessons on temperature control — and his innate ability to burst into flame. Aside from that, magic simply didn’t make sense to him. He always assumed it was something some were simply born with. These new-age witches and wiccans most likely accomplished nothing more than what any ordinary human was already capable of. Then again, what did he know? He figured it would be impolite to ask Bex whether or not she had any real powers. It wasn’t his business. 

Alfie nodded along as Bex spoke, failing to come up with anything valuable to add. Living in White Crest was a curse (at least for him), but he didn’t expect others to share that opinion. He wasn’t sure how far back his history with premature death went. All Alfie knew for certain was that the records he did have access to were set in the unusual town; none of which explained the source for his self-proclaimed “curse”. What he needed to find was something with the answer in bold print — a pissed off spellcaster rebuking one phoenix in particular. Or perhaps an astrological phenomenon occurring around the time of his birth or death. Not that Alfie knew the precise dates. 

“Yeah, I mean, the library definitely has some stuff,” he said sheepishly. “But, uh, thanks. I’ll have to give town hall a shot.” At that moment, Bex’s phone buzzed. Alfie hadn’t noticed the tension in his shoulders until then. “Oh, of course! Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.” He felt a little guilty for being relieved that Bex was leaving. He hated small talk. “It was great to finally meet you, Bex. I’ll make sure Eddie gets it as soon as he’s home. And, uh… be safe out there.”

[ghost-in-between]

More Than Enough - Christmas Truce 2020

Merry Late Christmas @dailudannos! I’m sorry again that this is extremely late. Kinda funny thought that we had each other :D Hope you enjoy this sall piece. (I don’t think I’ve written Technus or Skulker ever for more than 2 lines, so I hope it’s still fun to read.)

Headaches were different for ghosts. Or maybe it was a weird personal thing for Technus. He hadn't asked. All he did know is that headaches sucked and being a ghost sucked and Christmas sucked.

Almost on autopilot, he was decorating the tree in the living room, putting ornaments too close together or too far apart. It wasn't his living room, or his tree, or his ornaments. The only reason he cared enough to put up with this was because Skulker had so nicely asked him to. Why he'd want to spend his time with Technus, he had no idea.

There wasn't much about him, really. He was the kind of person that was so lame that they try too hard to be cool. Skulker was the kind of person that was just cool without trying at all. Technus didn't know when they had started hanging out or how, but he still wasn't sure how much longer Skulker would want this. Neither was he sure how many more ornaments fit on this tree. Was this an appropriate amount yet? Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Are you sure that's enough yet?"

Turning around, he was greeted by a smug grin, framed in metal. Unsure, he glanced at the tree, counting the ornaments silently, until he was interrupted by a chuckle.

"I was teasing you. It's more than enough.

Letting the air escape his lungs and coughing to hide his embarrassment, he closed the box of tree decorations. "I know that," he grumbled. A sudden increase in pain made his grip on the box loosen, but he managed not to drop it. Headaches always left a lingering wave of pressure rolling through his entire body. It was as though the pain didn't know to stay in one area.

Skulker grabbed the box from his hands and set it down by the table. "You good?" he asked, lightly masking his concern behind a grin.

Technus nodded, forcing a grin onto his face as well, dropping it the second the other turned away. Pretending to be cheerful for one holiday should really not be this hard. Music started playing from an old-timey record player, the tunes crackling gently as a Christmas song filled the air. "Oh, really? Is this necessary?" Technus wondered, less irritated about the song choice than the technology.

"Yes," Skulker confirmed, winking at him. Technus didn't have a response. "Be glad I didn't sign us up for the choir."

Oh god, the choir. Technus remembered hearing other ghosts talk about it. It might have also been in the weird newspaper that Ghost Writer has been sending out. He didn't care much for it. All it did was give him more headaches. "Yeah," he agreed, sinking into the couch. "I wouldn't have joined if you'd signed us up though."

Picking up some green and red lights, Skulker chuckled. "You think I would have given you a choice?"

"I would have simply not done it." Technus shrugged, watching the other finish up the decorations, by hand, no ghost powers.

"That's what you think." Skulker fiddled with the lights, getting them tangled up. "But-" He tugged on them. "In reality-" They got even more tangled. "You would have- ugh." He threw the lights on the ground in frustration. "Stupid lights."

"Here let me." Technus got up and swiftly pulled them apart, handing one end over to Skulker so they could hang it up together. He didn't get a thank you, but the fact that Skulker quietly accepted his help told him enough. The hunter was tough but he never failed to remind Technus of his soft side. It made him feel special. But it also scared him.

"I think that's all the lights I had left. I put some outside. Remind me to take them down again as soon as Christmas passed."

Technus nodded as he returned to his position on the couch. Couldn't have anyone see Skulker being a sucker for Christmas decorations of course. Another spike of pain made him screw his eyes shut, pushing himself into the cushions. Why did he have to be plagued by headaches, all the time? Part of him felt like he knew what caused them, but it was buried somewhere in his mind and he didn't have the energy to dig it out.

"What's wrong?"

Opening his eyes, he was met with the sight of Skulker, looking at him suspiciously.

"Nothing." He forced himself to loosen his shoulders and shake off the pain. "The record player is just painful to look at." Skulker rolled his eyes at the comment. "Shouldn't you like all technology?"

Technus crossed his arms. "I have standards."

"So do I, that's why you're here."

Taken aback by the compliment – flirt? – Technus blinked and shook his head. Skulker did love to tease him. "Because I have standards and won't spend Christmas Eve without anyone to admire by epic power and wit?"

Skulker pushed him lightly, or at least lightly for him. "Me? Admire your power and wit? Dream on."

He know it was a joke, a tease. But then why did it feel like a jab between his ribs? "Ah, of course," he said, intending to make it sounds confident and like he was playing along to the joke. Instead it came out sounding bland and disappointing.

Skulker looked the tiniest bit horrified, uncomfortable, like he didn't expect this response and now had to think really hard on how to react. "I mean, you-" He cut himself off. Had he realized it was the truth?

The headache was a constant pounding by now, shaking his limbs. This was beyond stupid. He was letting his own thoughts get him down, on Christmas Eve, a day that was supposed to be cozy and nice, apparently. He didn't get the hype, really. A knock on the door interrupted the awkward situation and Technus quickly got up to check the door. Only on Christmas would he ever witness anyone actually knocking before entering. Swinging the door open, he was met by the sight of Ember and a bunch of other ghosts, wearing Christmas hats. Before he could say anything they took a deep inhale and started singing.

"Oh, please no."

Skulker came up behind him, looking torn between being amused and irritated. "Guess you couldn't escape them fully, after all."

Technus felt him look at him from the side, hoping his expression wasn't betraying how tired he felt and how much he regretted not saying no to today. It was silly, maybe. One day wasn't so bad, one song from a choir of people that wouldn't have stopped by his lair anyway. Not that he would have wanted that. Of course not.

Suddenly he was being pushed back inside, before Skulker said "Thanks, Merry Christmas!" and shut the door on the other ghosts.

"What-" Technus looked at Skulker, at the door, then back at Skulker. "Why did you do that? I thought you enjoyed it?"

"But you weren't."

Taken aback, Technus focused his gaze on the wall behind to Skulker, unsure what to say. The pain in his head felt loud. As a ghost, he didn't need to sleep, yet he felt so, so tired.

"Why did you come?"

"What?"

Skulker was mustering him, like he was trying to analyze his thoughts. He was glad that telepathy was an uncommon ghost power. "You don't like Christmas, so why did you come here today."

He thought about it, thought about his feelings for the holiday, about his feelings for Skulker, about the constant ache in his body that reminded him that he was different from the technology he controlled. "I don't know," he admitted.

Nodding, Skulker sat back down on the couch, patting the space next to him. Afraid of what was going through the other's head, Technus hesitantly complied. He opened his mouth to say something, apologize, maybe, but Skulker was faster.

"It's okay. I think I need to apologize."

Wait, what? Technus was so surprised even his head seemed to clear for a moment of confusion.

"Don't give me that look. Listen-" Skulker looked directly at him, unafraid. "I think I've been taking you for granted."

"What, no-"

"Please. Let me finish, alright?"

Technus nodded.

"I've been taking you for granted because I assumed if I enjoy hanging out with you, then so do you." Technus felt the movement on the couch as Skulker shifted. "And not just that. I've been assuming that if you tell me you're fine, you are fine. But you're not like that, are you?"

Looking away, Technus shrugged. He wasn't the tough one. It didn't really matter, did it?

"Hey, I know I'm the one wearing a metal suit, but you're the one that makes himself untouchable. You can tell me when something is wrong, you know?"

It sounded so foreign to him, yet the concept seemed familiar. He was untouchable when he encased himself in hardware or when he turned intangible, but was he untouchable as a person? Was he even still a person? As if in response, an invisible knife plunged into his head, making him stop the habit of pulling hair in through his nose. Yes, it seemed to say. Just because he died, he wasn't not a person anymore. He still felt pain, just a little differently.

Glancing at Skulker, who looked so genuine that it was hard to imagine him on the hunt, he sighed. It was Christmas, he was here, the lights on the tree shining on them and mixing with their own glow. Would a bit of honesty, a bit of showing weakness even be able to ruin this?

"I just," he closed his eyes for a moment. "I just have a terrible headache." Skulker seemed surprised, whether it was at the fact that he was troubled by a headache or that his words had gotten through to him somehow, he didn't know. "And I'm tired," Technus continued. "And I don't like Christmas." Before Skulker could reply, he smiled at him. "But," The headache was still pounding in his head, but he felt like he was letting himself be wrapped in a blanket. "I guess I'd still rather be tired here with you, than alone. So if you still like me when I'm weak and lame-"

Skulker took his head , effectively making him shut his mouth. "I like you how you are, strong and interesting and right here."

And Technus believed him.

[onthepageoftears]

Kill Your Darlings Ch. 8 (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader) || Witcher

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry this is late, I had a lot of schoolwork to do this week :/ Also, I’m almost at 1k followers! Thank you all for following and reading and everything I really appreciate y’all 💜💜💜

maybe i’ll do a little imagine giveaway or something??? lemme know what you think ;)

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me!

Summary: There’s more to people than the sins they have committed.

Warnings: mentions of killing/kidnapping, intense staring, I dont think there’s anything else lol

Word Count: 2,339

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

The sun had reached the top of the sky and was already on its way down by the time you came across the village. You counted approximately eleven times that Jaskier had asked Geralt to get on his horse — Roach — but to no avail. Now, the three of you were on foot with Geralt guiding Roach in front of you and through the village.

To say you were more relaxed was a bit of an overstatement.

Getting out of the city allowed your shoulders to lessen their tension, and you didn’t even mind that your hood was a bit further back than usual. But whenever you went into these villages, you were alone. You could walk around with barely a worry, the people around you not sparing you a glance. But now, with a witcher and a flashy bard, all eyes were on you.

By the time you made it to the small, smelly tavern, your ears were somewhat used to the whispers.

Geralt walked right up to the counter, where an older man was wiping down the surface with what looked like an already dirty cloth. The tavern had a few people littered around it, but it was still quite early.

“Got any rooms?” You peeked through the space between Geralt and Jaskier to peer at the man. He was frowning already — not a good sign.

“Barely. And definitely not…” He passed his eyes over all of you. “Three.”

“No, we only need one.”

That changed the man’s face. His eyebrows shot up, then quickly back down, a confused expression soon wafted away with a shrug.

“Fine by me. How much coin you got?”

This time, Jaskier answered. “How much do you need?”

“You bunch look like trouble.” He tilted his chin up. “So…double.”

“Double—“

“We’ll take it.” You shoved your way to the front, grabbing a bit of Jaskier’s arm in a pinch. He winced, turning to you with a hurt expression, but reached into his coin pouch nonetheless.

After he paid the tavern owner, he went to put his coin purse away, but you tightened your grip. “Actually, we were going to get some food as well.”

“We were?”

You ignored him and spoke through a synthetic smile. “Been traveling for quite a while. Food could do us some good.”

Despite his bitter tone, the man seemed to lower his guard at your change in tactics. “Could do us all some good, I reckon.”

“What’ve you got?” Geralt asked.

“Again, not much. But if you’re paying, we’ve got enough.”

You all turned to Jaskier, who still held his relatively hefty coin pouch. He looked back at you, and at the sight of your quirked eyebrow, he groaned.

“Fine, fine.” Again, he slammed the coin on the table, muttering as he put it away. “We’ll have that brought to our room, thank you.”

You flinched just as the man let out a cold laugh. “To your room.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his face back to a scowl. “What am I, your servant? Does this look like those fancy places you pay to shine your bloody shoes as you step into a warm bath?”

You stepped forward again, this time in front of Jaskier. The man’s scowl turned to you, barely lessening his glare.

“Sir, excuse my…partner. He isn’t right in the head after our trip here. Probably the lack of food—“ You leaned forward and placed a hand to the side of your mouth to block Jaskier’s view, “Which lead to a lack of manners.” When the man let out a dry laugh, you stepped back. “We’ll be fine at a table.”

“Sure you will.” And with that, the man shook his head and walked into the back room.

How these two ever survived on the road was a mystery to you. You assumed they had experience in small villages like this, especially because they traveled together often. How those trips went, you didn’t want to know. This was already toeing the line of being a disaster, and it had just begun.

Geralt took a seat at the counter, barely looking at the two of you. “I’ll wait here for the food.”

Fair enough. You practically dragged Jaskier with you to an empty table, not that they were hard to find. It was a weird time between the usual lunch and dinner rush hours, so not many people were accompanying you at the tavern. Either way, the village was quite small and you doubted it would be crowded in the first place.

You sat down across from Jaskier, keeping an eye on the main door. Even though the coast seemed clear now, you didn’t want to take any chances. But of course, Jaskier was there to distract you.

He was staring at you again, but this time with a small smile. It was infuriating.

You couldn’t help the sharpness of your voice, “What.”

“You know, maybe after all of this assassin stuff, you should be an actress.”

You couldn’t hold back a snort. But in an instant, your smile faltered. Rauf said something similar to you the night you got this assignment. The night where all you wanted to do was kill the man in front of you. And now…well, you were far from that.

You settled on a shrug.

Surely Jaskier knew something was on your mind; by now, he was used to the way you tensed up whenever you actually felt comfortable, how whenever the slightest amount of genuine emotion peeked out you immediately shut it down. So, naturally, he decided to push you further.

“Why do you kill, anyway?”

Your eyes snapped back to him. You supposed a question like this was coming, as it usually did. But something about him asking it was surprising. Like maybe…he was better than that.

You shook your head at the thought. Better than what? Every other person who didn’t understand the life you lead? It wasn’t uncommon, and it shouldn’t have disappointed you in the slightest.

But it did. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he placed his palms flat on the table. “I know you said you kill people who are…monsters. But…why?”

You reached for the knife on your wrist, dragging a finger along its sheath. “I was taught every person has a monster inside of them, waiting to snap. Some people never do. Others...kill their wives and sell their children. Or other variants.”

“Yes, I understand that.” You looked back up at him, where he was staring at you intently. “But why.”

His eyes were focused on you, and only you. It made you straighten your posture, roll back your shoulders. You knew why. Of course you knew why. And your first instinct was to just tell him. What’s a sad back story if it doesn’t get told? But your second instinct, the one Rauf’s voice controlled, was telling you to keep your mouth shut.

This time, you listened. “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” Jaskier sat back in his chair, continuing to look you over with his infuriatingly casual curiosity. “How strange.”

“What?”

“From what I understand, when you look at people, you see…sin. Monsters. But I see…stories.” His eyes shifted just past your head, focusing on something behind you. He jutted his chin out. “Him. What do you see when you look at him?”

You sighed, but twisted in your seat to look behind you. You assumed he was talking about the man in the back of the tavern, sitting alone. The man’s eyes were stuck to his glass, which held barely any liquid. He had what you assumed was the rest of his coin laid out on the table — definitely not enough to pay for more alcohol.

You turned back to Jaskier. ”I see a sad old man.”

“Right, but—” He looked past you again, this time taking in the old man’s features himself. Then, he turned back to you. “Look at his hands. Those are a poet’s hands — worn from hours of writing of longing and heartbreak. I would know.”

You snorted, but decided to let him continue.

“He was a poet, a good one at that. One who was just gaining popularity from the masses. He was striving— until he lost his muse. A terrible accident, I suppose. Perhaps in a shipwreck—“

You snorted again. “Or a bandit attack.”

He practically jumped up in his seat. “Now you’re getting it!” You couldn’t help the twitch of a smile as he leaned forward. “Maybe in his life he stole some things — a quill for his poetry, a ring for his love — but that was just one small part of his life.”

You considered the bard. His eyes were sparkling once again, and he smiled back at you with sincerity.

“Surely you don’t think every crime is inexcusable.”

“Of course not. But sometimes the…otherwise seen as, monstrous things we do…are just one chapter in our books.”

Just then, a plate of food was slammed on the table between you two — Geralt settled in the spot next to Jaskier, barely realizing the conversation he just interrupted.

But seemingly, so did Jaskier. His attention was now on the food in front of him. “That’s what 50 coin got us?”

Geralt nodded. “Looks like it.”

Jaskier only mumbled his curses, resorting to eating the food even though he was vexed as he did so. It didn’t take long for the three of you to finish it all, though you had soon found that your appetite was gone. Perhaps it was what Julian had said to you — though, you would hate to admit it, he often surprised you; where you expected him to be like everyone else, he changed his tune and left you…virtually speechless. You didn’t know if you hated it or enjoyed it, but either way, it made you uncomfortable.

You were all ready to retire to the room, but none of you verbalized it. At that point, you were just sitting there and staring at each other, almost daring the others to get up first. In your defense, you just didn’t want to have to spend another day holed up in a room, though you knew you had no other choice.

That was before the man came into the tavern.

He was distraught, to say the least. His eyes were sunken in, the bags under them showing he hadn’t gotten sleep in…maybe days. He was holding a small stack of parchments with a shaky hand, the desperation seeping off of him like the stench of alcohol.

It was a mistake to look at him long enough that he caught your eye. You turned away, knowing it was probably too late.

“Excuse me.” He was standing at the edge of your table, his features more prominent now that he was up close. He was looking at you with his pleading eyes, and you couldn’t help but look away.

Jaskier waved him off. “We don’t have any spare coin, good sir.”

“No, I…that’s not what I need.” You looked back up in time to see he was looking at Geralt. “You have two swords. Are you…a witcher?”

“Why yes, yes he is!” Jaskier perked up; his bright smile was unsettling for once in this atmosphere — it was the direct opposite of whatever this man was feeling.

“Oh, thank the gods. I need your assistance.”

“Sorry, can’t help you.”

You frowned. Geralt turning down a job didn’t seem normal. To be fair, you barely knew him, but still. You guessed he declined because of Jaskier’s situation, but then again, this man was clearly in a hardship.

Your own voice surprised yourself. “What’s the problem?”

The man turned to you again, relief filling his features. He reached into his pile and pulled out a single parchment, placing it on the table in front of you.

“It’s my daughter. She’s missing.”

Your eyes narrowed at the sketch in front of you. It was the same one you saw at Novigrad on the notice board. The young girl made of charcoal looked back at you with a sad expression.

You had to tear your eyes away. “I saw this poster in Novigrad. Are you from the city?”

The man shook his head. “No. I live in a small cabin just outside of the village, near the river. I’m a fisherman. My brother lives closer to the city — I had him hang up some posters there.”

He wasn’t from the city, meaning he was practically harmless. Well, you didn’t know of his past, but at least you knew he probably wasn’t an assassin.

You shifted in your seat. “How long has she been missing?”

“Around three days.” He must have noticed the tension around your table; his voice was at the brink of begging for help. “Please, I’ve tried everything. I...I don’t have much, but I can pay you.”

You bit your lip. It took everything within you to not jump on this assignment. If it had been three days, the young girl was either being held captive…or she was dead. But her father was desperate, like any good father would be. Even finding out what happened to her would be better than letting him suffer at the end of each day, not knowing why his daughter was gone.

“I think we can help you.” Your head shot up at the sound of Jaskier’s voice. Jaskier. Of the three of you, he was not the one you expected to want to help someone else. But when you shifted your gaze to him, he was already looking at you. He winked, then turned to Geralt. “Right, Geralt?”

The witcher grunted and grabbed the parchment that was laid in front of you. You and Jaskier shared a glance before turning back to him, waiting to see his response.

He looked up at the father, whose hands were holding the rest of his parchments with a nervous grip. “Where was the last place you saw her?”

———————————————————————————————————

Let me know your thoughts! :)

[blacklister214]

Illusions: (Chapter 5) The Offer

L.A. 1983

Caleb stood in the stage wing, listening to the applause thundering from the ballroom. Usually this was the best part of the night for Caleb. Soaking in adulation. Being praised to the skies. At the moment though he couldn’t muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm. He knew very well the source of his ennui.

Performing in the park, even for a minute, had been a high Caleb hadn’t felt in quite some time. There were over a hundred ghosts here tonight, and yet somehow it didn’t come close to the two dozen lifers he’d mesmerized that afternoon. The energy just wasn’t the same.

Caleb marched up the stairs. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that to keep drawing more ghosts to the hotel he needed to work the room. Convince tonight’s guests to bring friends to the next performance. That was how they’d grown their audience from five spirits to the crowd they’d pulled in this evening. Unfortunately his heart just wasn’t in it tonight. The others would have to carry on without him. Delilah would be irate, but then what else was new?

Caleb stopped in his tracks when he reached the green room. A large man with a thick black beard was sitting on the couch, flipping through what appeared to be an old magazine. Caleb was taken aback to see himself posed dramatically on the cover.

“Who are you and what are you doing back here?” Was this rather imposing individual a fan? Caleb had the vaguish sense of recognition, but he couldn’t quite place the face.

“To answer your first question: I am the man who now owns this hotel. As to your second question: I was waiting for you. I confess I presumed I would have to wait longer. You seem like a man who enjoys a good party.” Caleb felt sure he’d misheard. Probably staring into the man’s intense dark eyes had momentary confused him. Or maybe the slight Russian accent had thrown him.

“You own this hotel?” That was impossible. This man was clearly a ghost. Not only could he see Caleb, but he’d gotten to the green room without being noticed. A man this size could not have snuck past anyone.

“Yes, the legal documents are right there if you do not believe me.” Caleb grabbed the papers off the table. They certainly looked official, not that he would have known if they weren’t. In life Caleb’s lawyer had handled these sorts of things.

“Ghosts can’t own hotels.” Buying buildings took money and bank accounts, even Caleb knew that much. Both things were hard to come by without a pulse. The man, however, shrugged as if it were of little matter.

“They can if they have lifers in their employ and the savvy to make the most out of the gifts death has granted us. It is remarkable the fortune one can amass, merely by spying on certain bankers, wall street day traders, and CEOs. But I did not come here to bore you with drawn out stories of my business empire. I am here to offer you the opportunity to become part of it.”

Caleb blinked. That was a surprising offer. He wasn’t sure who this man was, but if he thought Caleb would be caught dead in a business office, he had another think coming.

“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. I couldn’t imagine a more boring fate than spying on hedge fund managers for eternity.”  The man didn’t seem at all perturbed by Caleb’s denial. In fact he cracked a small smile.

“You misunderstand me. I would never dream of asking a man of your talents to waste his time skulking around boardrooms. What I had in mind was you becoming my partner in running this club.” If Caleb had had a beating heart, he was certain that offer would have made it stop.

“Club?” The giant’s smile grew another half an inch. Caleb silently cursed himself. He was being too obvious with his interest.

“Yes. The Hollywood Ghost Club. We will close this section off from the main hotel, leaving only one clandestine entrance for the VIP lifers.” Caleb’s head was spinning. It was every fantasy he’d had since returning to the land of the living. But that was impossible.

“Lifers? I thought you said it was going to be a Ghost Club.” A ghost club Caleb could understand. A more polished version of what Caleb was running now.

“Only in that it will be run and staffed by ghosts. The audience, though, will be lifers of the highest caliber who will pay handsomely for the privilege of watching you perform.” Caleb’s stomach dropped in disappointment. He should have known it was too good to be true.

“Except they won’t be able to see me or the band. You do recall the little issue of us being invisible to them?” Caleb was probably being more sarcastic than was wise, but he didn’t care. He didn’t like being teased with his dream and then having it yanked away.

“You did not seem to have any trouble being seen this afternoon.” For a long moment Caleb had no words. How did this man know about the park? Caleb hadn’t even told Delilah yet. He suddenly felt uneasy. Had this stranger been spying on him?

“That was a fluke. I don’t know how it happened.” There was no way he was mentioning Alex. He had no idea who this man was or if his stated intentions were genuine. Caleb was dead, and thus relatively safe from harm, but the boy wasn’t.

The man cocked his head to the side and Caleb had the strangest sensation he had just been tested. Whether he’d passed or failed in the stranger’s estimation was anyone’s guess.

“Mr. Covington, do not be coy. We both are aware it had to do with the child. Alex, is it not? A fine name for a boy, I think.” Caleb didn’t have blood, but he could swear he felt it drain from his face. Was that a threat? If the behemoth even considered harming Alex, Caleb would find a way to destroy him.

“What exactly are you suggesting? That I kidnap a four-year old from his bed every night so he can play with me at the club?” Caleb scrutinized the man closely, watching for any hint of ill intent. He saw none. The giant stayed in his seat, posture relaxed as he shook his large head.

“No. The opposite, in fact. One of the conditions of you accepting this deal would be your ending your association with the child.” The gears turning in Caleb’s mind ground to a halt. Whatever direction he’d assume the conversation would take, it hadn’t been that.

“Excuse me?” End his association with Alex? That was...unthinkable. He felt like hitting the stranger for even suggesting it. Odd because he wasn’t generally a man given to violent impulses. Well...except where Greg Mercer was concerned, but given enough time with the man most everyone would feel that way.

“Do not worry, you do not need the child to be seen. Your connection allowed you to reveal a power that was already within you. The ability is rare, but the energy required to use it can be acquired in other ways.” Caleb was simultaneously intrigued and offended. Yes, he was desperate to learn how to be visible to lifers, but the statement seemed to imply that’s all Alex was to him.

“That’s not the only reason I spend time with Alex.” Caleb would never be so dishonest as to claim the abilities that came with the relationship weren’t a draw, but there was so much more to it than that. Alex filled a hole Caleb had never realized he’d had in him.

Once again he felt the man appraising him. Staring into his eyes as if to discover the secrets of Caleb’s soul. After a moment the giant nodded.

“You are genuinely fond of the boy. I can empathize. It is natural in circumstances like yours, but for your sake, as well as his, you must sever that connection as soon as possible.” That gave Caleb pause. The man’s tone seemed sympathetic, though Caleb was quite aware of how easy that was to fake.

“Why?” What harm could possibly be done to either of them? Alex strengthened Caleb, he was sure of it. He brought him peace and joy. And hadn’t Caleb improved the child’s life as well? Hadn’t he prevented Alex’s father from grinding his son down? Hadn’t he arranged for the boy to pursue his own passions? Hadn’t he taught Alex about music and more importantly about self-confidence?

“What do you know about ‘unfinished business’?” Caleb frowned, unsure where this was heading.

“I’m told the reason ghosts don’t ‘cross over’ when they die is that there is something they left undone in their lifetimes. If they complete whatever task they need to, then they vanish, to whatever awaits them on the other side.” Caleb suppressed a shudder. Crossing over was something he had absolutely no interest in. Even if his parents had been wrong and hellfire wasn’t waiting for him, what was the best he could hope for? It wasn’t like he had anyone potentially waiting for him. Anyone he missed and wanted to be reunited with. What else could heaven hold for him? Wings? A harp? An eternity of serenity? Caleb would pass on that fate, thank you very much.

“Precisely. I do not know what your unfinished business may be, but I can tell you with certainty it is connected to your Alex. The more time you spend with him, the more you risk your existence. Even if that weren’t a concern, you do understand the boy is a lifer. He will eventually die and at present you have no way of ensuring he will return as a ghost.”

Caleb felt his throat close up. The man was right. Alex would die. That shouldn’t be news to Caleb. Intellectually he must have known it, and yet he had never considered it. Alex was so young and Caleb hadn’t really spent much time pondering his own immortality.

Ghosts were uncommon. The small number he’d found in LA told him that. He could be grieving Alex for millennia. Suddenly Caleb remembered something the man said and latched onto it like a drowning man to a buoy.

“At present?” What did that mean? Was it possible to ensure Alex would return as a ghost when he died?

“I can teach you how to bind his soul to yours so that when he does pass on, he will be tethered to you, here in this plane. In the end you’ll have everything you want.”

Caleb thought he’d been tempted before, but now he understood the expression ‘I’d give my right arm for _________.’ A club of his own. A live audience. Alex with him forever.

But he would have to leave him. Leave Alex. He’d miss everything. Watching Alex grow from boy to man. Caleb would be unable to celebrate his successes with him. He  would be barred from consoling Alex through his hardships. He’d have to look in Alex’s tearful face and tell him he wasn’t ever coming back.

“I can’t. I can’t just abandon him. It would break his heart.” No. He couldn’t do that. Nothing was worth that.

“What if I told you I could take that pain from him? Lock the memories of you away in his mind. Let him live a normal life. He would not have to grieve you, and when the time is right you could open that box and be joyfully reunited.”

Caleb tried to think rationally, but it was difficult with the pain emanating from his chest. Alex forgetting Caleb would hurt Caleb deeply, but would it hurt Alex? You can’t miss what you’d don’t remember. And loath as Caleb was to admit it, the man wasn’t wrong about a ‘normal life.’

Typically Caleb scoffed at the term ‘normal’, but he was aware it was what most people wanted. By staying in Alex’s life, Caleb would be denying the boy any hope of that. If the incident at the park was any indication it was already creating tension between Alex and his peers. It would only get worse as the boy got older. Forcing Alex to keep a secret of this magnitude would eat at him. The cookie incident was proof of that fact.

He couldn’t decide. He needed time to think. Time to determine if the offer was even genuine.

“Why me? I’m sure there have been other performers over the years who would have leapt at this offer.” How many people had they asked before him? Why had they turned it down? What had happened to them after they did?

“Los Angeles has seen many talented ghosts, but you have more than just talent. You also have intelligence, ambition, and power. It is a rare combination. We have been looking to establish a club here in Hollywood for some time, but we needed someone special to run it.”

Caleb pondered that ringing endorsement for a moment. How much was true and how much was the man blowing smoke up his ass? Intelligence and ambition? In less than a year Caleb had managed to lay the foundation for a ghost business. His was the only such place in town. Objectively he had to admit that spoke to his drive. Power? He’d discovered for himself his abilities were unusual, especially for a ghost as young as he was. The club only worked if lifers were able to watch the performances. If the man was to be believed Caleb had the ability to make that happen. Perhaps the man was being sincere after all.  

“Are there other Ghost Clubs?” The way the man spoke suggested he’d struck this arrangement at least once before. Los Angeles was relatively young in comparison to other cities around the world. Surely some of them had to have established clubs already in place.

“Rome. Paris. London, Madrid. Moscow. Berlin. Buenos Aires. Tokyo. Hong Kong. Cairo. Athens. The list goes on. Ghost Club performers routinely swap venues. You can travel the world. Be worshipped by fans from every major country.” It was funny he hadn’t even considered travelling since rematerializing in LA. Now that it was offered to him though, it was an extremely tempting prospect. There had to be a catch. Things that were too good to be true usually were.

“You said there was more than one condition. What were the others?” The big man motioned Caleb to sit opposite him. He’d never stood when Caleb had entered and had let Caleb have the physical high ground up until this moment. Was that deliberate? Allowing Caleb to feel more secure? In control of the situation? This though, suggested they had entered a new phase. The business deal.

“The second is very simple. If you come across any exceptionally powerful spirits, you contact us. We are always on the lookout for new talent.” Caleb nodded once. The request made sense. It wasn’t like there were ghost Help Wanted ads. Some kind of headhunting model would be the only way a ghost organization could find suitable personnel. Caleb himself must have reported by someone, and now he was being offered the opportunity of an afterlife.  

“What else?” There had to be more to it than simply picking up the phone from time to time.

“The third condition is that you will take responsibility for the ghosts of Los Angeles.” Caleb was not thrilled with the sound of that.

“In what respect?” Was he supposed to be some kind of undead mayor? Hear grievances. Mitigate petty squabbles? Where was he supposed to find the time, not to mention the patience, if he was running the club?

The man steepled his fingered and fixed Caleb with a penetrating stare. He tried not to be intimidated, but it was unsettling.

“It is crucial to the survival of all ghosts that we remain urban legends. Myths. Stories the world at large scoffs at. We can not afford to become a widely acknowledged reality.” Caleb raised his eyebrows. That didn’t jibe with what he’d already been told.

“You said the guests of the club would be lifers.” If they didn’t know the performers were ghosts, then why would they pay such extravagant fees?

“Select lifers, yes, but we have ways of ensuring their silence. The public at large can not gain proof that we are as real as they are. It would be a disaster. History has proven time and time again that whenever two groups come into contact with one another it only ends one way. War. Sometimes even extinction of one of the sides.” Caleb couldn’t argue with that thinking. Hating the other was something humanity always seemed to excel at.

“What would I be expected to do?” Hopefully the man had the means to enforce this code, because nothing in Caleb’s current repertoire would be much good subduing another ghost.

“Deal with any ghosts who threatens to expose us. How will be up to your discretion as long as the issue is contained. There are skills I will teach you to bring recalcitrant spirits to heel. No one minds a little innocent haunting. A light switch flickering. The car horn beeping. But things on a larger scale, for insistence on your little performance today, would need to be curtailed.”  

That gave Caleb pause. It hadn’t crossed his mind that he’d already broken the man’s policy. Twice actually if you counted his possession of Greg Mercer. He pondered mentioning that incident, then decided against. If the man didn’t know, Caleb wasn’t going to risk the deal by telling him.

“Anything else?” The third condition would be a hassle, but considering what he would be getting in return, it was worth the price.

“One last thing. We would need to establish a soul link.” That sounded very new age, but Caleb suspected it was not.

“What is that?” The giant leaned forward, somehow sensing Caleb’s reluctance despite his poker face. Perhaps this was the least attractive condition for the other potential club owners as well. Undoubtedly it was why he saved it for last.

“It is an energy channel. I put my mark on you and I have the ability to tap into your energy reserves if necessary. You, in turn, will establish your own links with less powerful spirits and be able to siphon some of their energy.” Caleb suddenly had an image of the symbol that had appeared on Alex’s head when Caleb had kissed him. Had he already forged one of these ‘soul links’? His stamina had increased since that day. Was that as a result of his constant practicing, or had he been unintentionally stealing energy from Alex?

“Do they hurt?” Alex hadn’t experienced any pain, if anything he’d seemed comforted by it.

“They can be uncomfortable when they are first laid. Beyond that, it is about intention. The kind I will establish with you and that you will make with your fellow performers will be unnoticeable most of the time. It’s only when you draw on an extreme amount of energy that those with your mark will feel any effects. This is why it is important to have as many soul links as possible. The more ghosts, the less power each has to contribute.”

That made sense. Alex usually became sleepy after Caleb performed tricks for him, but Caleb had just assumed it was because he was a young growing boy who needed naps.

“But there are other kinds of links?” The ‘intention’ comment hadn’t escaped Caleb. Caleb’s intention had been benevolent when he’d kissed Alex, ergo his mark shouldn’t harm the boy. That was comforting. What wasn’t comforting was the implication that marks could hurt ghosts.

“It is possible to lay marks that will drain a spirit’s energy completely.” Completely? What did that mean?

“What happens to those spirits?” What happened when a ghost’s energy reached zero?

“They are completely absorbed by the mark-layer.” Dead. That’s what the man was saying. Ghosts could kill each other. Perfect. So much for his earthly cares being over.

“Sounds a bit like ghost cannibalism.” The giant nodded, as if conceding the point.

“I suppose it does. However, there are dangerous spirits in the world and sometimes extreme measures are necessary to deal with them.” Caleb finally understood. Not only was he potentially going to one day face spirits that could end his existence, he was expected to be ready and willing to do the same to them.

“I see.” Caleb couldn’t help but feel doubt. Before this had been a hard decision, but now it was an impossible one. Caleb had no idea if he could hold up his end of the deal if he accepted. He was many things, but a killer? He just didn’t know.

“I’m sure this is very overwhelming, but think about what you’ll be getting out of this bargain. Your own club, designed exactly to your specifications. A suite in this hotel all to yourself where no lifer or ghost will ever trespass. The opportunity to perform before packs houses around the globe. The chance to one day spend an eternity with your Alex. Not to mention the opportunity to learn tricks like this.”

The man waved his hand and suddenly Caleb’s wardrobe had completely changed. Gone was his magician’s garb, which after wearing it for most of the year, even Caleb was a bit tired of. Instead he found himself in a very familiar looking black suit. It wasn’t contemporary, but from Caleb’s time. There was even a pocket watch. He looked down at the magazine on the table. Of course. He’d worn this suit in the photo shoot.

The giant wasn’t done. Another wave of his hand and two brandy glasses appear on the table. Caleb blinked. That was new. Moving an existing object was one thing but conjuring drinks and, dare he hope, food was quite another.

“May I?” Caleb nodded at the glasses. He’d eaten and drunk nothing since his death. The need wasn’t there anymore, but the longing was.

“Of course.” The man picked his own glass and raised it. Caleb followed suit. “Do smerti!”

They clicked their drinks and Caleb sipped. It was exactly as he remembered. The taste. The warm feeling spreading through his limbs. Incredible.

“What did that toast mean?” He was fairly certain it was Russian, but beyond that he had no clue.

“‘To death.’ Typically my people toasted to heath, but in our cases, ‘death’ seemed more appropriate. What do you say Mr. Covington? Will you accept my deal?”

It was a lot, everything he’d learned in the last few minutes. Everything he’d been offered. He appreciated how the man had answered all his questions. He’d been as upfront about the drawbacks as he had the incentives.

“I’d say it’s an offer I can’t refuse.”  Perhaps if he were another type of man he’d walk away from this opportunity. Be satisfied with what he had, and accept its limitations. Caleb, however, was not that type of man and never had been. He’d risk anything if it meant he could have everything.

“Excellent.” The man extended his hand to Caleb and after only a moment’s pause Caleb took it. The moment his hand made contact, he felt a brief burning sensation on his wrist. When he pulled back to look, he saw a dark red circle and within the circle what seemed to be an upside down capital L followed by an uppercase P. Odd. After a few seconds it sunk into his wrist and disappeared. Caleb rubbed the spot, the pain fading as quickly as it had come.

“It just occurred to me. We’ve just established this ‘soul link’ and I don’t even know your name.” The man grinned wider than he had at any other point in the conversation. Caleb suddenly had the unnerving impression that it was less of a smile, and more of a wolf baring its teeth.

“Grigori. Gregori Yefimovich Rasputin.”

[ionlycareaboutyou]

Sethon fic about them on their first real date, learning about one another, perhaps?

thank you for prompting! i thought i’d write a little thing about what happened after seth told stefon he could be his valentine. here’s the sketch where that happens if you want to watch it. i’m sure this has been explored before, but i wanted to add my take to it! :)

cw for cheating...seth how could you!

Seth isn’t sure how it comes tumbling out of him. It’s not written on his cue card, and it’s not something he thought of before he went on. It’s just that--even if it’s a bit, Stefon sounds kind of sad as he beckons to the audience and pulls out his bottom lip, and how could someone like him be alone on Valentine’s Day? How could such a lively person who seems to have so many friends not have someone to go out with? There’s a pang right in the middle of Seth’s chest.

“Well, maybe just for tonight,” he decides, shifting in his chair, “And just for tonight,” he adds, though it feels like it’s a reminder to himself more than anything else, “You can be my Valentine.”

Stefon’s face lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Seth feels a smile tug on the corners of his lips. “I guess I got struck by Jewpid’s arrow.”

The audience chuckles as Stefon raises a hand, exclaiming, “L’chaim!” Seth signs off, taps the table for Amy, and on a whim, leans forward to give his party monster an awkward but earnest hug.

When the show is over, Seth slips his jacket off in his office and undoes his tie, rolling up the sleeves to the forearm. It may be February, but 30 Rock always gets hot. He hears the familiar soft, airy voice in the hallway, talking to Cecily. When he finds his way into the hallway, Cecily slips away with a wave. It seems like every time Seth joins a conversation with Stefon in it, they’re left alone. “So, I know it’s kind of late,” Seth begins. Stefon tilts his head, intrigued. “But I thought we could go to the diner by Central Park? I know it’s not super fancy, so if you’re let down I--”

“Oh, Seth Meyers,” Stefon’s voice is light and his eyes are wide. “You don’t have to take me out.”

“But, you’re my Valentine,” Seth replies, a little confused. “For tonight, right? If you don’t want to go out, I get it, we can just watch a movie or something.” He’s down for almost anything, though he’s surprised at the thought of Stefon not wanting to go out.

“I thought--I guess Stefon thought that you didn’t actually want to actually...” He lets himself trail off and makes a vague hand motion.

“Stefon, of course I want to!” He says quickly. It’s not something he would’ve joked about; he genuinely wanted Stefon to have a good time on Valentine’s Day. Sure, it was unpredictable, but he was committed now. “Unless you’d prefer not to.”

“No, I’d absolutely love to, Seth Meyers. I’m sorry I didn’t know you meant it.” Stefon gives him a smile that borders on shy. “We can definitely go to the diner.”

“I know it’s not exactly Booooooooof, but it won’t be busy like the other places,” Seth says with a grin. He slips into his office to get his winter coat, and then slips out of 30 Rock with Stefon by his side. It’s not an uncommon sight.

The last time they spent one-on-one time like this, they were in New Hampshire, visiting Seth’s family. His girlfriend had gone to her parents’ and told him to “have fun with Stefon”--he would be lying if he said he didn’t hear the hint of bitterness in her voice. He knows he needs to make that up to her. And he will tomorrow. He promises himself that he will.

But tonight, he’s catching up with Stefon, asking how he rung in the New Year as they make the subway journey to the diner. Stefon tells him all about how he met up with Jacked Beth for the first time in years and they went club hopping, drinking drinks of various neon colors and watching things like burlesque shows that featured acrobats and had encounters with human baby bjorns. Seth giggles the whole way through his story, and Stefon looks pleased with himself, nose scrunching up each time Seth gasps or laughs.

When they get to the diner, there’s only a few other couples there, most of them having quite a few years on both of them. They’re seated by the window, all the lights turning to a blurry painting in Seth’s peripheral vision. Stefon curls into the corner of the booth. “I’m still kind of surprised you really wanted to be my Valentine, Seth Meyers,” he admits after they order their drinks.

“I know it was kind of impromptu,” Seth says. “I guess I just thought...you shouldn’t be alone on Valentine’s Day.” He knows there’s more to it than that, but maybe it’s better to not bring it up right now. It’s not the time or the place.

“It’s nice to be here,” Stefon says. “Let’s do it more often. Not just on Valentine’s Day.”

They’re handed their cups of coffee--Seth puts plenty of cream and sugar in his, and Stefon keeps his black, somehow. They talk about almost anything. Stefon asks how Mrs. Meyers (or Madame Meyers, as he’s begun to call her) is doing, and Seth says she’s expecting a call from him. He asks Stefon how his mother is, and he gives a noncommittal shrug. They talk about a few lighter things, like the sketch John is going to pitch on Monday and the new movies that are out right now. The only time the conversation comes to a halt is when Stefon asks how his girlfriend is and Seth is unsure how to answer, because it’s only then that he realizes he doesn’t really know. “She’s fine,” he answers, quietly. They shovel food in their mouths for a few tense moments, before Stefon begins talking about DJ Baby Bok Choy’s new remix.

They leave the diner after three cups of coffee each and a shared piece of pie for dessert. They’re smiling again and making jokes, and Seth promises to take Stefon home even though Stefon says he doesn’t have to. “I want to,” Seth declares, and that’s that.

He walks him up the stairs to his studio apartment, and they linger in the doorway for a little bit, not wanting to say goodbye just yet. “Thanks for being my Valentine, Seth Meyers.” He smiles sweetly.

“Next year I’ll have a plan, I promise.”

“Next year?”

“Oh, I mean...if you’d like.”

“‘Course Stefon would like it,” he says.

“I would like it, too.” They linger a little more, unsure of what to say. ���But it’s late and I guess I have to go home.”

“A shame,” Stefon pouts a little. “But you do have a day job.”

“If you can call it that,” Seth chuckles. “Um, I’ll see you, Stefon. Sooner rather than later?”

“Yes, of course.” He smiles that sweet smile again, and before Seth can stop himself, he leans in and kisses him. It’s just lips pressed against lips at first, but then Stefon melts into it, and he doesn’t know how long they’re standing there, lips sliding over each other almost lazily. The taste of coffee and cake still lingers, and the warmth of it brings heat to Seth’s body, from the top of his head to his ice cold fingers. When he pulls away, they both look dazed, like they just came up from being underwater.

“I-” Seth begins, but he can’t find the end to the sentence. “We-”

“Shouldn’t,” Stefon finishes it.

“Yes, but-”

“You-”

“I- Can we-”

“Again?” Stefon asks.

“Yes. Do you want to? Again?”

Stefon nods emphatically, and pulls Seth in by his waist, the door shutting behind them.

[delaneytveit]

Satellites Part 6

Hey guys, sorry its been a while. I’ve been updating this story on AO3 pretty regularly and realized that I should probably do that here, (whoops) 

Anyways, I’ll be uploading about 3 or 4 chapters a day so that I can get all caught up on here! So enjoy!!! (oh and also since its already out, pretty much as its in the tags on AO3, I feel that I can announce that this is in fact a dad!lance fic, just a little unconventional) 

(Part 5) (Satellites Master Post) (Part 7)

The team was falling apart.

Shiro knew this, Allura knew this, hell the mice knew this. After their failed recovery mission, they were back to square one with no idea where to even start.

At first they were able to drown themselves in work. Doing whatever they could to find their paladin, but after so long of coming up with nothing, work didn’t offer enough.

It didn’t allow them the grace it once had, it didn't sooth their minds of the grief, it didn’t give them a crutch to hold on to.

No one was okay.

It shouldn’t have surprised Shiro how much the disappearance of their blue paladin affected everyone on the ship. Lance was a light in this war, somehow able to put aside whatever he was dealing with, which the leader knew must be a lot, to help and support everyone else.

Everyone called Shiro space dad, but he was starting to think that maybe that title should have been given to the person who pushed to make this team a family. Lance made Voltron a family.

All too often was the Black Paladin finding bitter memories of the boy. The times when he knew he was being too strict about training, or pushing Lance to do better in a way that would have no other outcome but retaliation. He found himself wishing he had done everything differently. Wished he had been nicer, more understanding, more leader-like. Wished he hadn’t been so quick to shoot down his ideas or jump to the other paladins’ sides in an argument that was probably no more than harmless bickering.

He wished he had paid more attention during the mission.

Some nights he found himself wide awake, mind unable to stop replaying that mission. At first he accepted it as punishment for the neglect of the Blue Paladin, but was quick to pull himself out of that. It was selfish to believe that this was his punishment, earned and dealt to him by the universe when it was Lance who was suffering.

Was he still suffering? Or was it over? There was too much blood to believe he could still be alive. He had been gone for so long, endured so much. Was it so wrong to hope that he was? Shiro knew the horribleness from capture. The druids haunted him. If Lance was...gone...he wouldn’t have to deal with the same trauma Shiro carried. He wouldn’t wake up from the nightmares, wouldn’t have the memories.

But he was supposed to go home. Lance was supposed to go home, and Shiro had made a vow that he would bring each and every kid home.

He didn’t want to break that vow.

It might not be up to him.

Many nights, when he found his mind to be much too loud, he took walks around the ship. To anyone who asked, he’d say he was patrolling, making sure everyone was safe and asleep. He knew it was bullshit. He just couldn’t keep himself cooped up in his dark room. Lance knew that too.

It wasn’t uncommon for Shiro and Lance to cross paths. The younger on his way to or from Blue, or getting a midnight snack. It worried Shiro the first few times. Concerned that he wasn’t getting enough sleep. He had voiced such to the boy one night.

“Your performance will suffer in the long run, you need to take better care of yourself.” in hindsight it probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but in the beginning when training and fighting were still new he had meant it. They couldn’t afford to be less than on top of their shit.

He heard Lance take a heavy sigh.

“You’re right, sorry.”

Lance turned to return to his room, but stopped when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist.

“Lance, are you okay?”

Lance turned to Shiro, a little confused at the question. He stopped himself from mumbling the generic ‘I’m fine’ when he saw the genuine concern on Shiro’s face, making him reconsider.

“Not really, but um Coran is helping me so-”

“You know you can talk to me, if you need anything.”

Lance gave Shiro that trademark cocky smile, but this one was unsettling, it proved that at least a number of the ones in the past were just like this one. A mask.

“Thanks man, really. Think we should both go to bed though. You know, can’t have the Legendary Black Paladin and Resident ninja sharpshooter off their game.” He said, throwing up finger guns and he walked back to his room, effectively ending the conversation.

Shiro didn’t move from that spot for a few minutes. Replaying the conversation, Lance’s expressions over in his head. The fact that he was so easily able to admit his current state was more concerning to Shiro than if he had just deflected.

Was Lance ever okay?

Shiro wondered this as he once again found himself walking the halls. Only coming to a stop when he heard a muffled sob. He stopped walking, straining his ears to find the source of the cry. For a few seconds he heard nothing, chalking it up to either him hearing things or the mice squeaking like they do. But that soon changed when it came again, front he room he had stopped just in front of.

It took a few moments for it to register that the room in question was Lance’s.

Hesitantly, he stepped towards it, knowing that the room should be empty. It had been empty for weeks.

The doors normally locked, slid open with ease when he walked in range of the sensors.

On the bed, wrapped in the blue blankets and quilts that Lance had no doubt picked up from any one of the various planets they had visited, was the last person Shiro would have expected.

Keith.

[unmanageable-day]

By your side | 05

previously ➺ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

You were applying your skincare routine and just getting started with your coral blush when someone rang the bell. You found it odd, because you never had a guest on weekends, let alone in the morning. Or at least before lunch time. The bell rang twice, making you rush to open the door.

"Coming," you shouted at the door.

You lost all words when Johnny appeared behind your door, looking as fine as you could remember although he simply wore a sweater and a pair of jeans. "Johnny, what are you..."

"May I come in?" he calmly asked. He was so quiet you almost can't recognize him. The Johnny you used to know was the bubbly, giggly, cheerful and talkative Johnny whenever and wherever.

"Yeah, sure." You opened the door wider for him. Without words, you watched him take off his shoes, waited for him to follow you entering your studio apartment, and gestured him to sit down on the couch. "Coffee? Tea?" you offered.

He smiled. He knew you knew he loved coffee more than anything, yet he also knew caffeine was never on your grocery shopping list. This kind of simple little thing sometimes made him unexpectedly miss you even more. "Anything is fine," he answered.

"Then yujacha it is," you concluded, smiling back at him. You excused yourself to make his drink. "So, why are you here?" you casually asked from the pantry, not even bothered to look at his direction.

"I want to see you." He took a pause, unsure to blurt it out or not. He approached you to the pantry, and managed to get in your way, standing before you. "Because, uh.. I miss you." There. He said it. Not very loud. But it was quite clear.

You made an 'oh' sound with your expression getting puzzled. Not quite the reaction he was expecting, which he had to accept. He had to swallow his disappointment, yet he couldn't complain since he was the one to end your relationship.

"I miss you too, Johnny," you responded. But the smile on your lips was not as genuine as before. As when you learned how sweet Johnny was with his words and actions.

You passed him through his side without saying anything. You silently put two cups of yujacha on the table in front of the couch.

Behind you, Johnny followed your steps back to the living room, feeling uneasy. His eyes were tracing all over your outfit; a summer dress he recognized that Sooyoung bought you for your birthday but he himself never saw you wearing that—which he had to admit you looked stunning and it went great with your name, as well with your rosy cheeks. He also noticed your neglected make up kit on the small table beside the TV. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked.

"Yeah, I was actually getting ready to go out, but then you came. So, yeah.."

He automatically looked apologetic, but the feelings were mixed. He felt bad to disturb you. But he couldn't help to worry about who you were going with. Could it be... Jung Jaehyun?

"Don't worry," you quickly said as you tied your hair into a messy bun before a word slipped out of his mouth. "It's not like I have important meeting." You quickly tidied up your small table, put it in your bed room, then grabbed an outerwear to cover the revealing skin of your shoulders, arms, and upper chest. Soon, you joined him on the couch. "So, is there anything I can do for you?"

Still, he can't feel relieved. Especially when you made it sound like he only visited for his interest only. Can't he just casually come visit you like a friend?

"Is it okay if we hang out today?" Johnny encouraged himself to make himself clear, at least for the time being. "No need to go outside. Just chillin' here. Just you and me. Just like you wanted to do." He ended his words in hesitation. He might realize it was not wise to bring up the things you wanted to do back in the days.

It just made you ask yourself. 'Like what I wanted to do'? Do I still want to do that?

But the soft side in you gave in. You said yes to Johnny, even if it meant that you had to cancel your plan for the rest of the day. You already made a messy bun anyways, and you hadn't gone all the way for your daily makeup. These excuses were enough to stay at home.

Except Johnny was with you.

Johnny offered to use his Netflix account, and in return you let him decide what to watch. You didn't have much interest in movies and TV shows anyway. So you just sat there, with a distance of two pillows away from Johnny, your eyes on either the TV screen or your phone. Mainly your phone actually. Sometimes Johnny would start small talks about whatever scene displayed. However, since you weren't very responsive, he gave up on talking with you. He let his mind wander around where and how it went wrong between him and you, while still trying to watch the TV series Doyoung recommended to him. Being the multi-tasking person he was, he would also caught you drown in your own world as your hands were stuck with your phone, your thumbs busy typing although you could still face him and talk to him.

Eventually, the only sound heard in the room was from the TV. You and Johnny were in the same room, sitting on the same couch, yet Johnny felt like he was alone. As the TV series went on, the more Johnny lost his focus on his sight. He no longer watched the TV. He was staring blankly at nothing. The dialogue from the TV started to sound like murmurs in his ears. His mind was rather going back to recall the moment he spilled everything on you. The moment he shouldn't have said whatever he said.

Now he had better understanding of what mere physically exist means. This was it. Only your body was sitting there. Probably his presence there didn't matter at all to you. Or maybe worse, you didn’t even want him there.

This had never happened before.

Just because you were being a bit more quiet than usual when you went out with him and his friends, the audacity he had to say that you were just ‘existing’. He didn't even bother to ask why. Maybe he did, once or twice, but because you said you were fine so he just bought it. Johnny wanted to mock and laugh at himself. Taeyong would love to do it for his dear best friend.

"Johnny?" you called. Loud enough to snap him back to reality from being in a daze.

"Sorry, I almost dozed off." He faked his blinking and yawning. "Oh, it's evening already," he mumbled as he diverted his eyes to your window.

"Yeah," you shortly uttered. You silently untied your bun and let your hair fall freely, then you tucked some strands behind your left ear. Your expression was difficult for him to read. You were neither smiling, nor frowning. You just sat there, still holding your phone. Johnny had never seen you occupied with a gadget to this extent.

"We should have done this more often," he quietly spoke, looking at your direction to find your eyes. He could see you were still not used to him being a homebody like this. It was very understandable as you always accompanied him almost wherever he went out. You barely had dates at home, or just nice brunch dates without having to meet many people. You can even count how many times Johnny visited your home. This time was probably the fourth or fifth time. "Instead of going out to clubs, or to some parties," he continued, mumbling. There were some regret heard from his intonation.

You finally put your phone away. You had been texting non-stop during the whole episodes, and Johnny noticed that, causing him to lose concentration.

"Hey, it's fine. I had fun too meeting your friends." You tried to boost his mood. It was very odd to see him down.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

"It's already in the past. Don't think about it anymore."

Johnny didn't respond. If there was one thing he just realized, it would be the idea of you being relieved that everything about you and himself now was already in the past. And how much you emphasized that, as if you didn't want him in the present time. This was another wake up call for Johnny, that he messed up real bad in his relationship with you.

The silence between you and him was another thing that was uncommon. The first and the last time you experienced this kind of mood was the break up day. It was uncomfortable when you were reminded of it. You got up and pretend to search for something edible on your fridge beside banchan and the raw foods. It never slipped on your mind to ask him stay for dinner although it was past 7 PM. Even you skipped lunch because you didn't bother to offer him a meal, and he didn't say anything about it either, so you ended up snacking your last fruit stock. Now you only had some leftover of kimbab from yesterday in the fridge. You closed the refrigerator door hopelessly and got back to the living room to find Johnny already get up on his feet.

"I should go home," he calmly said.

"Oh, okay." Then you walked him to the front door without any small talk or whatsoever.

Johnny wished you would ask him to stay, or ask him why leaves so soon instead of saying okay right away. It felt like you had been waiting for him to go.

I want to hug her, he screamed inside as he had to control his body from jumping towards you and making you sink in his embrace. He stood before you wordlessly, with his mind contemplating between asking your permission for a hug, suppressing his desire to take you in his arms, or not giving a damn and just pull you into a bear hug.

"Johnny? Is there something wrong?" you asked, tilting your head to one side.

"Can I... can I hug you?" he shyly confessed, while his eyes unusually looking at the floor. Three seconds had passed without any response from you and it already tortured him. "Anyway, never mind. Don't listen to me." He waved his hand to the air before putting them in his pocket.

Your feet shifted closer to his. To his surprise, you placed your hands on the both sides of his waist, your side head resting on his chest as if you were listening to his heartbeat. Just when he was about to tighten the embrace, you abruptly let go of him due to your phone ringing loudly, leaving Johnny frozen in his spot with the remaining fruity scent from your shampoo.

"Oh, hi, Taeyong." He heard you speaking over the phone.

Taeyong again? Johnny pursed his lips. He was so in a big trouble.

"Yes, Johnny's here with me. We're in my house. It's fine. Okay, I'll see you around."

You hung up the call then folded your arms. "Taeyong is looking for you."

"I know. I should really go now."

You nodded.

"Thank you for today," he said as he put on his shoes. Just before he headed out, he turned back to you. "Can I come over again?"

You wore your pokerface, unconsciously making Johnny feel uneasy. "It would be better if you ring me up first."

Johnny nodded lightly. "Okay, I will."

[lavendersoft]

My Soulmate’s Soulmate.

Part 4

Soulmate AU-

Synopsis: Before you meet your soulmate your world is black and white, without color. When soulmates meet, their world glows with vibrancy. The reality, however -as harsh and uncommon as it is- is that you are not always your soulmate’s soulmate.

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung (poly!au),

Warnings: N/A

Author’s note: jungkook is kinda dumb for the sake of plot. forgive pls.

--

Her mouth fell agape as she continued to stare at him. Taehyung started to get anxious, she looked like she had totally spaced out.

“Y/n..? Listen, I know it’s a lot to proces-“

“A lot to process? A lot to process?!” She immediately covered her mouth with the book she had been fidgeting with, her voice getting a bit too loud for a bookstore.

“I’m sorry. It’s just- yeah! Okay? It’s a bit more information than I had been expecting. I mean, I’m your soulmate and you’re my soulmate’s-” She places the book back in her lap and places a palm on her forehead, collecting her racing thoughts. Her voice was soft and her eyes cast downwards when she spoke again “It’s just that I know how you feel. I’m not my soulmate’s soulmate either.”

Another piece to the puzzle.

“He told me years ago, when we were still teenagers. I’ve always suspected he’d find his partner. Actually, I expected it. It just hit hard when it actually happened. It’s just difficult, I've been dealing with all this for so long.”

There was something in her voice, the way her eyes seemed glazed over, the way she lost herself in deep thought, the way her hands tremble as if she could break down right here, it was all Tae could do to keep from crying. This whole situation wasn't fair, they didn't deserve this. Especially not her.

“This is all new to me. I thought you were just ignoring me because you were already in a committed relationship, not because...” his voice died out as he realized what he was saying.

Not because you weren't my soulmate, too.

Her face contorted in what seemed like guilt or empathy for just a split second.

“I had no idea about Jungkook. To be honest, I wondered why he attached himself to me from the beginning, but I figured he was just friendly.” He was only half-joking.

She let out a genuine laugh and shook her head as if to say “that’s ridiculous, you idiot.”

“I just always assumed soulmate’s came in pairs.” He finished. Her giggles died down to a small, sad smile.

“Me too.”

After a moment of thought, she looked him in the eyes with sternness.

“I need you to be honest with me. How often have you seen him since you two met?”

“He’s scheduled at least six meetings with me.”

There was a flash of melancholy that crossed her face.

“He told me he was working overtime.”

She didn’t seem surprised, just a bit sad while she nodded her head and eyed the hardcover in her hands. Tae wanted nothing more than to reach over and hold her hand, to comfort her as much as he possibly could. But he knew that would be inappropriate, considering the current situation. So instead he studied her. Her mannerisms, the details of her face, the way her hair fell, the curve her neck that peeked out through her oversized nit sweater, the color of her fingernails, the twinkle in her eyes, the way the light from the window hit her features just right, making her look like a perfect muse for a painting. She was ethereal. And he was falling hard.

Taehyung searched her face as he contemplated confessing his feeling for her. To some extent, she probably knew. But she didn't know how he’s gotten but a wink of sleep since they met. She couldn't know that he can’t bring himself to bear the thought of never being able to be with her. There was no way for her to know how weak she made him, how he feels like sighing when she so much as speaks his name. She couldn't know. He felt like such an idiot, falling for someone he’s had a handful of words with. Then, he remembered his own soulmate-paired parents and the story of how they met. “Love at first sight,” his mother would always tell him, “It was like a light switch that could never be turned off. It was immediate and felt so natural, like breathing.” His mother had always been a hopeless romantic, that's where he got it from.

He took a moment before taking the chance.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night we met at the restaurant, Y/n. I’ve wanted so badly to see you but something inside told me that I’d never be able to get over you if I saw you again. And I was right. You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

She finally let out the breath she’d been holding. She looked overwhelmed, which was understandable.

She met his gaze and for the first time, it felt like she’d actually seen him.

“Taehyung,” Her voice was filled with sympathy when she reached over to ever so gently place her hand on top of his own, alighting his skin.

“I think the first step is breaking the news to Jungkook.”

—

*Two weeks ago*

Jungkook sat at the tiny little not-so-busy cafe with a warm coffee in his cold hands. The weather had been getting so chilly lately. He instantly thought of you and how adorably whiny you get when your cold.

He grinned fondly as he plans a sweet little movie night, with lots of blankets and warm snacks as the fireplace crackles. He just wants to snuggle up with you while watching horror movies.

He brings the coffee to his lips once again as his thoughts snap back to the current situation.

His company had given him free rein over the cover of his new album. It was the first time he’d have full control over the aesthetic points and he was ecstatic. He had so many ideas rushing through his head constantly ever since he heard the news.

So many ideas, in fact, that he thought it’d be best to meet with a professional to find the absolute right path to go down. He didn’t know if he’d get another chance like this so he had to make it count. It had to be perfect.

It took about two minutes to find the perfect person for the project.

He was a well-established freelance artist that had worked with many different celebrities before, and his portfolio was amazing. Jungkook was impressed immediately and made the first call.

Which turned out to be the best and worst decision of his life.

He heard the bell to the cafe ring softly but paid it no mind as he was so lost in thought.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

At the sound of his name, he looked up to find the most handsome man Jungkook had ever seen. Dressed in all black except for the leopard print coat he had slung over his broad shoulders. His hair was a dark silver styled in loose waves, longer at the nape. Several piercings adorned his ears and he sported a plethora of rings with a simple silver coin pendant necklace. The man had already moved to take a seat in the booth across from him.

“I’m Kim Taehyung, we spoke over the phone? Good to meet you.”

It was all Jungkook could do not to scream.

What the hell? What the hell? No. No way, this can’t be happening! No! This isn’t real!

Taehyung hadn’t been paying too much attention to Jungkook’s silence, going ahead and pulling out different works and sketches from his bag to show Jungkook as references.

“From what you told me over the phone, I kind of went ahead and made a few rough drafts, you know? This one, I think, is my favorite.”

Taehyung pushed a piece of paper with beautiful different colors on it. Jungkook had to blink away the tears from his eyes. Jungkook’s eyes couldn’t even focus, they darted around the vicinity.

“Come on now, it’s not that good. Don’t cry.”

It was so good, so good. He’d literally never seen anything like it before. This was the first object he was able to focus on in what felt like hours at this point.

“I- I’m sorry I have to g-go. Um.. I’ll uh.. call you.” Jungkook new he looked absolutely insane, slamming his laptop and packing up in a panic.

To his surprise, Taehyung hadn’t looked angry at all, just confused.

“Oh, okay. So rain check, then?” He asked.

“Y-yes, rain check.”

With that, he ran out of the building, with a migraine unlike anything he’s ever had.

That night he had told you about Tae. He’d felt your heartbreak but had convinced you to stay, yet again.

Right before you two had fallen asleep that night he made you a silent promise.

He would make this work. He’d find a way to keep you from leaving, and to keep you happy.

—Two days later—

He made a phone call to Tae. They rescheduled their meeting. He kept it as professional as he possibly could. But he felt it, the pull of the Bond. He would have given anything just to touch Tae.

But not you. He won’t give you up.

He wondered how Tae so seemingly effortlessly hid how much he wanted Jungkook. I mean, he must be hurting so much, too. Jungkook felt a pang if guilt.

This was a mistake.

He shouldn’t have rescheduled. He should have gone with another designer for his album cover. He should have deleted Tae’s number. It would have been less painful for everyone involved.

But that’s easier said than done. Ever since he met Tae, it was almost like he couldn’t breathe if Tae wasn’t there. And seeing him again just solidified the fact that everything is so much... so much brighter when Taehyung’s near.

Jungkook is completely hooked.

That’s why Jungkook kept seeing Tae. Throughout the next week or so he scheduled so many meetings with the beautiful artist.

He told you he was just working extra hours.

Jungkook he fell deeper each time he saw Tae. The meetings became less and less professional and more personal. Jungkook learned Tae was from Daegu, that his parents were farmers, that he is the oldest sibling, that he can sing, and that Tae had the most wonderfully weird sense of humor.

However, each time Tae would crack a joke and send him one of those lovely smiles, Jungkook’s heart would clench in guilt.

Tae reminded him of you. The same odd, sarcastic sense of humor. The same bright smile.

He kept thinking how betrayed you’d look when you found out about these secret meetings.

“Hey, Tae, I have someone I’d like you to meet. I think you’d like her.”

If only he knew back then how right he was.

-Present-

Jungkook sat at his desk finishing up the editing for his new single. He’d felt so guilty due to all the time he’d put into meeting Tae behind your back. He planned on taking you out tonight to compensate. But that was before he got the text that made his heart drop.

Please meet me as soon as you can. I’m at the little bookstore on the corner. It’s important.

I’m with Taehyung.

He didn’t bother shutting his laptop or even grabbing his bag when he rushed through the door of his office.

He had the most gut-wrenchingly terrible feeling about this.

--

Taglist: @ourwhispersbecomeouranthems @fantasyjoon @ally22042000 @ireadfanficsonthisleavemealone @embrace-themagic @lexi-tries-art @ccmemoirs @just-call-me-trash-can

[juchumice]

Green Notebook

‘HOW THE FREAK DO YOU WRITE ROMANTIC STUFF FREAKING FREAKING FREAK SHOW KICKS A CAN DOWN THE ROAD AND IT SPIRALS A MILLION GAJILLION MILES AWAY ARRRRGH!!!’

Shouta frowned at the chicken scratch on the page. 

There was no particular reason Shouta was sitting here with Yamada’s notebook in hand and… ahem, invading privacy. But in his defense, it was a complete accident that he had noticed this little dog-eared green book lying innocently on the floor beneath Yamada’s desk. By now, Shouta should have grown accustomed to knowing what belonged to who, and the lime green of the object that forced Shouta to squint could belong only to one person. So, he was absolutely dumbfounded that he didn’t initially recognize the notebook. 

Everything was scratched with a hurried hand, as if the owner had far too many thoughts in his head and had to force it out onto the page before he promptly exploded-- which Shouta couldn’t help but think was very very possible. Each page was messy. Strange, full of convoluted text that dizzied his tired eyes. 

On one side there were several notes, completely unrelated to the topic of heroes. Some names sprinkled around, some tips on speaking, and apparently a chalked up script in some way, announcing, ‘PRESENT MIC’S PREMIERE!!!’ in blocky bold letters. Who Present Mic was was completely lost on him. 

Then, on the other side, there were several sketches of various designs. Some were long and arching, others were thin and scraggly, but in total they all seemed… very artistically untuned. Yamada must have been bursting with his “DJ energy” (he spoke to Shouta about himself using those exact words-- it was not funny) when he was doing these, and several more pages of more logos of different shapes and sizes revealed exactly how fevered Yamada was. Then, the logos disappeared, replaced by blank paper. 

God, even looking at Yamada’s writing was giving Shouta a headache, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as speaking to the DJ himself. Yet, this erratic nature, both sadistic and tender, Yamada had towards his possession fascinated Shouta to no end. Apparently, there were many gentle words scrawled in it: chalked up messages of encouragement to himself, recollections of memories, a love letter that never got finished. All of these should have been lovingly taken care of and tidied neatly… but the actual state of the notebook refused to reflect any of that. Instead, it looked as if it had been dropped in mud puddles, thrown against walls, bitten by dogs, and left to rot in a dark cabinet for at least a week. Several grease stains dotted the pages, leaving Shouta to chalk up a picture of Yamada writing frantically while shoving noodles down his gullet. Disgusting. Too many pages had folded corners, and the marker used to color or highlight was far too garish and heavy that it bled through everywhere else. 

If anything, it was just mess, mess, and more mess. 

But, Shouta’s own masochist curiosity led him to continue till he was at the apparent page regarding the writing of ‘romance.’ The corner of this particular paper looked to be folded a minimum of six times. As for the contents itself, many words weren’t readable as the chicken scratch just declined to pure obscurity. The red marker that criss crossed like a murder scene across the page wasn’t helping either. 

‘I HATE WRITING!! I HATE WRITING!!!!!!!!! UGHHH!’ read Shouta. His brows pinched in, admittedly warranted confusion. Who knew smiling loud Yamada was so negative at times… or he was being far too dramatic as he usually was. Judging from the sheer amount of everything written in capitalization, Yamada was always dramatic in there. 

Apart from the loud sentences Yamada had sputtering around, there was an actual semblance of organization for several seconds. Here, the writing appeared neater, less tight, as if he finally gave them the rest to breathe. The words were organized into sweet little paragraphs:

‘I KNOW YOU DON’T KNOW ME WELL, AND I DON’T KNOW YOU WELL, BUT, HEY! THAT’S OKAY, BECAUSE WE STILL HAVE CHANCES TO GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER BETTER!’

Sweet jesus, please stop writing like that. 

‘I KNOW THIS SOUNDS REALLY REALLY STUPID, BUT IT’LL BE AWESOME IF WE WERE FRIENDS, YEAH? YOU’RE CHILL AND FUNNY AND…’

Here, it looks like Yamada waited a bit too long. The ink blotted thickly around the ‘D’ of ‘AND’, burning a hole into the page. But, despite the absolute wrecked appearance that this splatter of ink did to the paper, Yamada continued to barrel on. Shouta couldn’t help but be reluctantly concerned for Yamada’s wellbeing at this point. All those chemicals from stained ink couldn’t have done well for his lungs.  

‘WE’VE BEEN SITTING NEXT TO EACH OTHER FOR AWHILE, AND I HAVEN’T SAID ONE THING TO YOU!!! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT SUCKS?? I MUST BE THE MEANEST PERSON ON THE PLANET RIGHT NOW, AND YOU LOOK REALLY LONELY NEED A FRIEND INDEPENDENT ALL THE TIME, AND IT WOULDN’T HURT TO GET TO KNOW YOU.’

The page crinkled in Shouta’s hands as he reread that particular paragraph once more. Sitting next… was Yamada talking about him? That made particular sense, considering Yamada’s assumption of the mysterious ‘you’ being ‘lonely’. However, coming on strongly was an understatement for what Yamada was writing. In fact, it was overwhelming as the next paragraph described the many positives that he attributed to Shouta. It was worrisome. Shouta’s face as he surfed the continual contents took on a rather unappealing flush. Flattery was uncommon, and the sudden discomfort he received from this overpool tempted him to close the notebook and just pretend like it never existed. At this rate, Shouta might assume that Yamada was infatuated with him--

‘AND I THINK I LIKE-LIKE YOU.’

Crap. 

The flush on his face now resembled a particularly nasty sunburn. Was this supposed to be a confession letter? Was Yamada, a student he barely knew apart from usual interactions, genuinely infatuated with him? Shouta continued reading, just to make sure, but the next paragraph was scribbled out by a wicked black pen. The words that were just barely discernible appeared to just be Yamada attempting to justify this crush on ‘A DUDE I DON’T EVEN KNOW THAT WELL.’ At least Yamada was somewhat self aware. 

Shouta attempted to scour the other pages for more, but it was back to silly doodles and miniscule notes that he suddenly didn’t care about anymore. It could be that Yamada wasn’t talking about him... Trying to mollify his growing distress, he flipped back to the page with the confession and double checked if there was anything to even suggest--

Yup. There it was. ‘AIZAWA SHOUTA.’ His name in these bold chicken scratch letters that he was only now getting accustomed to. Points to Yamada for being brave, he supposed… and while Shouta was (Not really? He wasn’t entirely sure himself) incredibly flattered, he just… didn’t know Yamada enough to even contemplate a crush, much less a relationship with the other. Besides, his life was much too unstable at the moment to focus on such things. Then, there was also the fact he wasn’t very interested in it at all. 

His hand came to rub at his red face, hoping it’ll die down and cure his racing heart. This was all right. It was uncomfortable, but he had no worries. He could just replace the notebook where it was and act as if the contents were never swallowed by him. 

The clock on the wall read 15:50. Had he really been in the classroom for this long? It was stupidly fortunate there was no one around, but at the same time, he was one of the few that would continue sticking to his chair after classes were over. So, it was the opportune moment to just slide the notebook back to the floor. Shouta was just about to shut it when the door slid open.

“GIVE ME A SEC, OBORO! I SWEAR I LEFT IT IN--” Yamada turned to lock eyes with Shouta, who stood there absolutely hating the world. Yamada’s loud voice died on his lips, leaving his usual charismatic self absolutely dumbfounded for something to say. Several emotions were immediately discernible in clear order: Surprise. Neutrality. Suspicion. Hard contemplation. Realization, and finally, it settled on absolutely horrendous and blushing panic. 

“I read what you wrote about me,” was the first thing that left Shouta’s stupid mouth. 

“Yeah?” Yamada squeaked. The renowned hero student with the matching vigor to the celebrities on television suddenly became this giggly school girl. It was incredibly strange. Discomfort and concern drenched Shouta from head to toe. 

“And I don’t feel the same way.” Might as well get it out before they were forced to do anything he didn’t want to do. 

It was then the blush that tainted Yamada’s face deepened, and he lowered his gaze to the floor. Fortunately for the both of them, his eyes were covered by those frustrating sunglasses he always wore. When he spoke, it was strained too light, “OH. YEAH, I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU TO, HAHA! THAT’S COMPLETELY ALL RIGHT, YO! SERIOUSLY, I--”

“Stop talking.” 

That got Yamada to shut up quick, but his eyebrow did twitch in irritation.

Shouta had to do this… delicately. Delicate wasn’t his style, but he felt bad. Guilt was a heavy thing, and the green notebook in his hands weighed him with the burden of the world. “I didn’t mean to look through your stuff, and you’re… annoying.”

Yamada’s fists tightened. 

Okay, not the right words. 

“Not annoying, I mean…” Shouta attempted to replace this heaviness in his chest with air. “I don’t know this friend or romance thing and I really shouldn’t have read what you wrote. That wasn’t right… but even though I say some pretty… bad things, what you wrote about me was really nice, and that should mean something. And… I think… you’re pretty cool too… even if the marker you use makes me eyes bleed.” Silence. The quiet he would consider blissful was suddenly grating. “And your designs were nice,” he tacked on lamely. 

“Thanks,” Yamada mumbled, uncharacteristically quiet. Shouta couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 

What was Shouta doing? Grr… He knew he was a terrible kid, but he didn’t know what to say next. Words would be insincere, and all he knew to offer up was a ‘sorry’ on a plate. Action. Action, that was what heroes were for right?

“Just because I don’t know you well or feel the same way, doesn’t mean… uhm… it can’t happen? It’ll be nice if we… can maybe talk more or something?” he said wobbly. He was on a dangerous tightrope. Admittedly, Yamada was annoying sometimes. But, that particular adjective applied to everyone he knew, even friends he had in the past. But, judging from what he had read in the notebook, Shouta now knew Yamada was wickedly creative, hopeful, and always filled to the brim and boiling with energy. Sure, maybe Yamada was distractible, messy, and carefree, but everyone in the world had those ticks to them that kept them ticking. So… that was something. 

Apparently, Yamada was less than convinced by those trembled words. Instead, he approached, snatched the notebook from Shouta’s hands, and grated a little, “Yeah, no thanks. Don’t really want to hang out with someone who tells me to shut up.”

Shouta cursed under his breath. “That-- I really didn’t mean that. I’m really really sorry, I’ve never talked to you and no one’s ever confessed to me before so, I really don’t know how to act. But, you… sound cool… I’m sorry.”

It was then that Yamada unleashed a groan, a little harrowed chuckle breaking past his lips. “Man,” he said, “I’m WAY too tired for this kinda stuff.” Tucking the notebook, the whole root of their current interaction, under his arm, he made his way for the door, but before he stepped through the threshold, he gave a half hearted suggestion, “How about lunch tomorrow? If you hate me, then we won’t have to talk ever again and I’ll get over you. But if you don’t, then… I dunno, we’ll see from there, yeah?” 

Shouta could only nod hollowly. He considered apologizing once more, but Yamada was gone before the words could bubble in his chest. The door was shut, and far away, he could hear Yamada’s yelled greeting to Shirakumo.