#I’ve also got other ideas and projects rotating at the back of my mind that I’d love to make a reality | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alluringjae · 3 years

Text

until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

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

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

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

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

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

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

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

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To my temporary replacement,

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

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

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

Good luck!

Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How can I make her come around then?”

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

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

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

“How about the second way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A win he didn’t feel good about.

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

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

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

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why were you so cold?

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

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

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

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

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

Boom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

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

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

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

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

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

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

“Over there.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

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

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

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

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

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

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

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

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

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we start over then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

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

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

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

777 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 3 years

Text

Silver Lining [Chapter One] Treacherous Sunset [Eustass Kid]

The midday sun cast an eerie red gleam across the surface of the water as the Titania cruised across the New World in search of riches and fame. The ship’s captain, an infamous pirate from the West Blue, stood on the deck and stared out at the ocean as the waves crashed against her massive boat. It was a quiet day, but despite the ease clouding her mind, something was amiss.

The soft patter of booted footsteps alerted Sirena that someone approached, and turning her attention to them, her sharp eyes narrowed.

“This had better be important,” she sneered.

The cabin boy paled. His breath came out hot and thick as he panted in exhaustion.

“T-there is a flagship on the horizon, ma’am. It appears to be sailing a jolly roger,” he stated.

Sirena grinned; the expression did her gorgeous appearance no justice. She hadn’t been in an intense naval battle in a while.

“Fetch me the spyglass,” she ordered.

The cabin boy raced back into the belly of the Titania as ordered, and upon returning, his captain was facing starboard towards the ship in the distance. The helmsman stood near the wheel, awaiting orders.

He handed it to her and watched as she peered through the lens.

As stated, there was a pirate ship in the distance. Sirena made note that the flag was one she had not seen before. The skull had red hair resembling flames and wore what appeared to be square-shaped goggles on its forehead. She hummed in wonder but dismissed it.

“Gather the crew,” she ordered.

The cabin boy knew they were in for a fight. Before he ran to execute her orders, his captain halted him.

“And bring me my monster,” she added.

His eyes widened. Was it necessary to bring Corvina out? She was nuts. Not to mention her moods changed on a whim. He huffed, knowing there was no way to change his captain’s mind. But why did he have to manage the monster? Rushing into the ship, the cabin boy heard the helmsman announce the Titania’s change in direction, straight for the pirate ship.

He hurried down into the brig to the first cell and looked inside. On a cot sat a pale woman with dark hair and pointed ears. She stared at the bracelets around her wrists with uninterest, paying no mind to the cabin boy as he searched for the key to her cell.

“We’re taking on a pirate ship, and Captain Sirena needs you,” he mentioned.

The woman looked at him. Her red-ringed eyes held no concern for the situation. He wasn’t sure how she stayed calm; he was sweating. Undoing the lock on her cell, the cabin boy tore back the door in a rush.

“Please hurr––”

A loud noise pierced the air, interrupting him, and the Titania shook; a cannonball must have struck near the ship. The woman hummed and stood up.

“And my weapon?” She asked.

The cabin boy grunted. He had forgotten about it.

“I-it’s in the workshop. I’ll take you to it,” he suggested.

The woman nodded and followed him from the brig to the upper deck. The rotten scent of gunpowder burned her nostrils, and she grinned. Her ears made it easy for her to hear the pirates on the deck shouting and the howl of the cannonballs as they tore through the air. The cabin boy led her to the workshop, a spacious room filled with weapons and tools for various projects; her favored weapon, two scythe blades tethered together by a long chain, sat amongst them, hung on the wall like a trophy. She took them down, wound the chains around her arms, and turned her eyes to the cabin boy.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” the woman said with a grin. Sirena kept her locked up for so long.

Her bloodlust was intense. The cabin boy could feel it rolling off her in waves. For a moment, he feared she might cut him down too, but she snorted and strolled past him, rushing onto the upper deck. The cabin boy stayed behind in fear and hid.

Coran hummed as she wandered out from the workroom and looked around. The Titania was tethered to the flagship by hooks, and the crew had engaged the enemy on their deck. Her keen ears twitched as she heard the sound of a war raging around her, a sound she was too familiar with. Coran crossed onto the enemy ship over the ropes and witnessed an exciting sight; her captain was in hybrid form using her Zoan type powers to slaughter the enemy.

Six long necks with a snarling head on each of them snatched at pirates, taking even her own to their deaths.

How exciting, she thought.

Sirena wasn’t the type of conqueror who relied on her Devil Fruit to win battles. She was plenty strong without it. Someone must have angered her; she was bleeding profusely from wounds all over her body. But who caused them? The Terror of the Sea was no match for whoever this monster was.

A scream of pain and anger poured over the deck, and Coran watched in shock as two of Sirena’s heads came off; their severed necks slumped lifeless at her waist. A tall, muscular man with bright red hair stood before her; weapons floated around him in a strange display. Was he a Devil Fruit user? She licked her lips in eagerness.

Coran raced towards the said man, leaping into the air with her blades ready to strike, but someone intercepted her and blocked them, tossing a swing at her head. She raised her leg and kicked off their stomach, landing on her feet with a grunt.

“You managed to dodge that better than most,” a man wearing a white and blue striped helmet stated.

Coran tucked back her hair and pointed at her ears. “I heard you coming.”

“Are you a Devil Fruit user?” He asked.

She grinned. “I am, but these are genetic.”

“Shame,” the pirate uttered.

He dashed at Coran and swung his arm. The blade attached to his gauntlet almost took off her head, but she slumped to her knees and barely avoided it, turning her weapon on him from behind. But she, too, missed; he was fast.

Standing up, Coran dropped slack in the chain and spun the blade, launching it at the blonde. As she expected, he turned and dodged it, but she was quick to counter as she leaped into the air and brought her weapon down, to which he blocked; his other gauntlet came up and knocked her to the side.

As she yanked the chain, the blade came back and sliced into the man. Blood leaked from the cut and stained his blue top.

“That was unexpected,” the masked blonde grunted.

Coran laughed. “You haven’t seen any––”

Her eyes grew wide as she watched the blades on his gauntlets begin to rotate.

What in the hell?

The pirate launched at her, and Coran did her best to block or escape his strikes, but to no avail. Her skin stung as he cut her. She didn’t want to rely on her Devil Fruit, but she had no choice; his movements were too erratic for her to follow. As she activated it, her blood shaped into four long tendrils with sharp ends and struck at him; the tendrils shaped into a whirling sphere as he put distance between them.

The pirate hummed. “You manipulate blood.”

Coran wasted no time on the details and used her power to launch high-speed blasts at him. The blonde ran around the deck, escaping her onslaught the best he could, but some of the shots hit him.

“Keep running,” she boastfully laughed.

Halting some of the projectiles in the air, she snapped her fingers, and a volley of needles shot out, piercing everything around them, including her crew. Coran eagerly licked her lips; too bad this game had to end.

“Corvina,” a voice screamed.

Coran turned and saw Sirena on her knees; the man with red hair had severed each of the six heads and stood over her, his mechanical hand raised above her head, ready to crush her. The woman’s sharp eyes narrowed at her.

“Kill him,” Sirena ordered.

Her sudden outburst gave the blonde pirate the opening to plunge his blade into Coran’s side. She gasped in pain and fell to her knees; her power over the blood faltered, and it came raining down onto the deck. She clotted the fluid around the wound, but she was far too dizzy to stand. Perhaps she got a little carried away.

“I can’t continue. I’ve reached my limit,” Coran mentioned.

The pirate hummed.

“Do you expect pity from me?” He asked.

Coran shook her head. “I expect a quick death.”

He took a look around. “Your crew has surrendered.”

For sure, they had; the ones alive tossed their weapons on the deck and fell to their knees. Coran laughed.

“Line them up,” she heard the red-head shout.

He must be the captain.

The blonde hummed. “Kid feeling generous.”

He grabbed Coran by the arm and jerked her onto her feet, pulling her over to the lineup where her captain was sitting. The pirate tossed her down beside Sirena and continued to round up the crew of the Titania. Around ten had managed to survive, more than she expected.

“You are useless,” the woman snarled.

Coran ignored her and turned her eyes on the man with the bright hair. She was right to assume that he was the captain; he was also the monster that tore Sirena up. The said man stood in front of them, painted lips curled into a grin.

“You’re all extremely fortunate,” he declared. “I’m going to let you live, but under the idea that you now take orders from me.”

Was he serious? Not all pirates took prisoners; the few who did were in desperate need of members.

The woman beside Coran burst into laughter.

“My pets won’t take orders from you. They are mine and mine alone,” Sirena argued back.

Kid aimed a flintlock at her. “I didn’t ask.”

“I am a captain; a conqu––”

The gun went off with a loud bang; its bullet pierced her head and killed her instantly, sending spurts of blood across Coran’s face.

“Does anyone else want to follow her lead?” Kid asked.

No one said a word.

“Move the trash to the other boat and sink it,” he ordered.

Coran watched as someone hauled the body of her former captain away, another one down. She sat and listened to Kid bark orders to the crew, then stood as a pirate with a Glasgow smile rounded the survivors up. Her legs trembled in exhaustion, but she was in no position to make complaints; she was again a prisoner.

As the ship floated away, she saw the infamous Terror of the Sea, crucified to the mast of her boat as it sank beneath the merciless waters in the New World.

#one piece fanfiction #eustass kid #kid pirates #dark themes #kid x oc

19 notes · View notes

subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Hypothetically,

Ao3, MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic Intrulogical, Platonic Logince

It is about! Damn! Time! That I wrote some Intrulogical! Also, y’all already know my stance on platonic logince,,,, guys they ARE best friends i’m sorry I don’t make the rules.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending). mentions of stuff like autopsies and nuclear explosions in the context of like experiments- they do stuff in The Imagination, basically. Panic attack (?). Hurt/comfort. Pretty heated kissing; It’s more intense makin’ out than I usually write but it isn’t anything explicit at all, don’t worry! ADHD Remus and Autistic Logan. Cursing- like So Much Cursing. Mentions of space, deep sea, etc. Food mention.

Word count: 6,769

There was a conundrum.

A., Logan needed to use the Imagination. B., He could not use it on his own, considering that he was Logic. C., Roman was nowhere to be found. The answer to what was frustrating Logan at that moment would be all of the above.

To be clear, he didn’t like going into the Imagination. It was simply the only suitable place to perform his ‘experiments’. His very necessary, very distracting experiments. But, as stated, Roman was God-knows-where doing God-knows-what.

Logan sighed at the door, as though it was the inanimate structure’s fault. The cracks gleamed obnoxiously bright, golden light pouring out from behind the door in a somewhat eerie manner. It was a nonsensical, unrealistic, completely insignificant place, and he wanted in.

Logan was contemplating asking Janus for help (lies took imagination, right?) when, out of nowhere, an arm was thrown around his shoulders. Literally an arm, disembodied and oozing sick-smelling blood onto the carpet. Ah. Wonderful.

“Hello, Remus,” he pulled the appendage from around him, holding it at arm’s length (no pun intended, dammit).

“Hi!” Remus took his arm back and reattached it with a disturbing crunch, a grin stretching his face. He sidled up to Logan, imitating the side’s stance in front of the door.

“Can I help you with something?” the logical trait tilted his shoulder away from where Remus had pressed against him.

“Not unless you’re willing to get really messy- but I can help you!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re implying.”

The Duke rolled his eyes, promptly flinging the door to The Imagination open. An encompassing energy radiated into the common room, corrupting the usual neutrality of the space. It didn't last long before Remus grabbed Logan’s wrist and dragged him along through the entryway, movements as sporadic and fast-paced as everything else about the creative.

“It’s not very logical to just stand there staring at the door all day, in my opinion. I dunno what you need Imagination for, but whatever it is, I can help! My half is much more interesting, anyway.”

“Oh,” Logan blinked, narrowly ducking his head under a branch as he was pulled forward, “Thank you, I suppose.”

He politely didn’t mention that he doubted Remus’ capacity for helpfulness. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

The door from the commons was quite a walk from the darker half of The Imagination, but at the pace its owner had them going they were there in minutes. The border was marked with tangles of densely thorned shrubbery, which parted for them, as if they sensed the approach. Logan just barely avoided snagging his shoe on one as they passed.

There was forest, twisted and shadowy, for only a minute. After that, they were in a city, with tall buildings and winding streets and dark alleys. Another switch, they came into what seemed like an amusement park. Nothing was consistent in theme, and none of the scenes held up for more than a minute or two. Remus shook his head and tisked. With a snap, a good portion of the ever-changing scenery was erased, leaving blank white space. The Duke turned to look at Logan with a satisfied smile.

“Ta-da! What do you need?”

Logan blanched for a moment, surprised at Remus’ willingness to completely delete Imaginings without a second thought. It usually took Roman ages to find a spot that he was okay with giving up on for Logan’s “projects”- which he always had thought was a little silly, seeing as he could bring it back when they were done. The change of pace was a pleasant one, though, so there was no need to dawdle for long.

“I need a miniature fully-functioning model of our solar system. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Oh, totally,” Remus waved his hand and the request appeared suspended in the air, spread out to be the size of a dining table. All was accounted for- sun, moons, eight planets plus pluto- orbiting and spinning around each other. Imagination, by nature, had no real limits, but the detail was still a sight to behold every time. Logic smiled, surveying the set-up, before gesturing to the edge of their blank section.

“Thank you for the help, you may go.”

“May I now?” Remus conjured a seat for himself, staring at Logan with his chin resting on his hands, “You’re not even going to tell me what this is for? That’s just rude.”

Logan glanced up from the tiny earth he was inspecting, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“You are welcome to stay, if you wish, but your brother usually leaves at this point. He says my experiments are-” he summons his notebook, “‘Bore-ifying’, which I assume is a portmanteau for ‘boring’ and ‘horrifying’.”

“Roman’s a big baby!”

Logan shrugged, not disagreeing, and resumed his careful observation of the tiny model earth. Remus made no move to go, wheeling his chair even closer. The scientific side carried on before his new audience of one, hovering a hand over the little planet. Abruptly, it stopped spinning. Logan made a gesture with his hand that magnified the model significantly.

The results were immediately catastrophic. Logan jotted a few observations down in his notebook, watching closely at the ways torrents of wind ripped up trees and buildings. In the back of his mind, he was faintly impressed by just how well-rendered ‘Dark’ Creativity’s earth was, down to the individual humans, brutalized by the storms.

“Whoah, what the fuck?!”

Logan looked up briefly to see Remus craning his head over the destruction of the stilled planet. His eyes were wide and bright with curiosity.

“Oh- I should probably explain. I come here, usually, to run some improbable scenarios as a sort of stress-reliever. Specifically, this one is what would happen if earth stopped spinning on its axis. As you can see, due to the earth no longer rotating at its usual speed, the wind would continue on at-” he cut himself off abruptly, sensing the beginnings of a ramble, “I’m sorry, I’ve been told that I have a tendency to ‘go off’ when a subject particularly interests me.”

Remus rolled his chair even closer, looking much like an excited animal (more so than usual, anyway).

“Well then, go off! Don’t leave me hanging! Is that really what would happen, just if it stopped?” He gestured enthusiastically to the way that the oceans had begun to crash against and consume shorelines. He looked interested- genuinely interested.

Logan bit back a smile. He didn’t have to be told twice.

It was one of those particularly restless nights. For no foreseeable goddamn reason, Logic’s mind had become alight with enough half-formed thoughts and barely sensible ideas to fill a very, very weird book. The Imagination did wonders when he got like this, but it usually wasn’t two in the morning when he needed to use it. That wasn’t to say the circumstance was unheard of, but all times prior he could push the urge to investigate away with the reasoning that he could just ask Roman in the morning, and that the Creative side needed his ‘beauty sleep’, as he called it. There wasn’t anything he could do about that, was there?

Tonight was different. Logan could hear the occasional snap or tear or cackle from the room across from his. Remus’ room.

It had been less than a week since The Duke let him use the darker half of the Mindpalace, and that was pretty much the only meaningful interaction they’d had in as many days. They weren’t close, Logan wasn’t even sure if they were friends (not that he was a good judge of that, given the first time Roman referred to them as ‘besties’ he had all but cried), but Remus was at the very least an option. He was also unlikely to mind, given that he was already awake and had exhibited excitement previously.

Logan made up his mind after yet again failing to fall asleep. Quietly, he opened his door and took the few short steps across the hall, raising his fist. Remus’ door was open before his second knock.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing, coming knocking at this hour?” he didn’t even try to whisper, accompanying his statement with an over-exaggerated wink. Logan didn’t waste his time trying to shush the side.

“Good evening, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-”

“You know I don’t mind your ‘interruptions’, Twunk-y Megamind!”

“-But I was wondering if you would… Help me, again. I seem to be having a hard time getting to sleep, and I think that getting out some of my ideas could help.”

Remus’ face lit up dramatically.

“Oh hell yes! Are we gonna blow up more planets?”

“Something like that,” he kept his voice monotone, disguising the relief and hint of pride at such a positive reaction.

“Well, come on!”

Logan let himself be dragged into Remus’ room, barely having time to make note of the surprisingly organized layout before he was pulled through a sleek black door.

“But you have to tell me about it,” he ordered, twisting them through narrow paths in his half of The Imagination. Logan suppressed a smile.

“If you want to hear it, then I’m happy to.”

Without warning, they stopped the breakneck pace that Remus moved at. The trait seemed appeased with their surroundings, though as far as Logan could tell it was just another piece of ever-shifting ominous landscape.

Remus snapped his fingers. The scene remained intact.

“Sorry,” he glanced around nervously, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Can’t get ‘em out. I’ll get it, I just-”

“It’s no trouble.”

Logan rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t like using his ‘abilities’ much, as every side had some set of special skills, and all of them were much too ostentatious. But they were helpful, at times. He waved a hand, gesturing carefully so that he didn’t dismantle any more of The Imagination than was absolutely necessary. With a small stutter, the landscape shifted to a blank slate.

When he looked back up, Remus’ expression was not unlike that of a Cheshire cat.

“What was that?”

“I am Logic, therefore it follows that I am the antithesis to any Imagination creations. It’s very easy to erase them with just a bit of rationality.”

“No clue what a lot of those words meant, but it’s still cool that you can destroy shit.”

Laughing was unbecoming, to say the least, and so the logical trait tended to avoid it at all costs. The snort that escaped him was entirely involuntary.

If Remus noticed the noise, he said nothing about it. He was too busy bouncing from foot to foot, expectantly waiting for instructions. Logan cleared his throat of the outburst and clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s start with something simple…”

At his request, Remus would construct immaculately detailed creatures, settings, and models, watching gleefully at the ordeals Logan put each one through. They tested various and progressively elaborate ways to sink populated cruise liners, they simulated the effects of falling from the Empire State Building, dissected approximations of obscure marine animals (a shared special interest of theirs, apparently), and any of the other unrealistic questions that occurred to the typically rational Logic.

The only way to get such questions from his mind, he’d found out a long time ago, was deconstructing them one step at a time, to see them in their full ridiculousness.

It was also, he was coming to realize, incredibly fun.

Before the two knew it, the already late hour had turned unreasonable. Logan blinked owlishly at his watch, distracted from the tiny supernova that he’d created.

“Oh, I must have lost track of time,” four in the morning. Four in the morning!

“Aw, does that mean we’re done?” Remus whined, yet he still began unmaking his small star system.

Logan was suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his eyelids and a rubbery feeling in his limbs. God, was he tired.

“I’m afraid so. I really should’ve gone to sleep hours ago.”

“Fine,” Remus dragged the word out with a groan, “But let me know next time you wanna fuck with space, or deep sea stuff, or anything like that.”

Next time.

As much as Logan adored Roman, there was something very nice about having the more grim brother help him out with these experiments. For one, his creations were often much more accurate to the real world- likely because gore and destruction were that much more impactful when they were realistic. For two, he actually seemed to enjoy the work.

Logan’s deliberation was brief.

“I will.”

As it happened, the night spent delving into dozens of ideas had purged Logan’s need to use The Imagination, for the time being. Clearly, Remus was not patient enough to wait for him.

He popped up, unannounced, in Logic’s room.

“Lo!!!”

The trait in question fell out of his office chair in a very undignified way. Not that there’s a particularly dignified way to fall out of a chair, but if there was, this definitely wouldn’t have been it. He ‘ate shit’, as the saying goes.

Out of pure embarrassment, Logan made no move to get off the floor.

“Hello, Remus,” he greeted, “How may I help you?”

The Duke laughed raucously, sprawling into the now-unoccupied chair and leaning over him.

“You’re a riot, Dork,” then, added with glittering eyes, “Did you break anything?”

“No. Given that I am metaphysical, I’m not sure that I have bones.”

“I have bones!”

“Are they your bones?”

“They are bones and they are in my possession, yes.”

Logan let the subject drop and repeated his first question.

“Right, I forgot! I have an idea for an experiment!”

Logan thought that, despite his mild humiliation, it would probably benefit the conversation if he wasn’t lying on the ground, so he stopped doing that. Brushing mostly imaginary dust from his clothes, he shot Remus a bemused look.

“That’s nice. But I was asking you why you were here.”

The Duke’s face fell, almost imperceptibly.

“I thought you’d wanna know, because of what you said last time. Isn’t this, like, a thing we do now? You know how shit works, and I know how to make that shit, and then you can tell me about it!”

Oh.

“Remember when you were talking about radiation the other day? You can’t just say stuff like that and then not expect me to want to try it out, so really this is on you. It’d be dumb not to let you in on it.”

Oh.

He’d been listening to that rant? Moreover, he’d remembered it, and now had his own ideas and follow-up questions about it?

Logan felt light-headed.

“You’re probably too busy with work, huh? I guess my explosions don't have to be accurate, if you’re set on being boring,” Remus’ tone was nonchalant, but he was obviously lingering for attention. Logan then remembered that words are a thing, and people use them to communicate.

“No! I mean, yes- I mean, I’m not busy. I can join you, I- I’d like to, even,” the intelligent side heard a small voice in his head, his own miniature Virgil, screaming- what the fuck was that, get it together, Jesus, because he, despite what his fellow sides insisted, was absolutely nonfunctional when trying to form a friendship.

Remus didn’t seem to notice or care much past his own cheer.

“Cool!” he, yet again, wasted no time in seizing Logan’s arm and yanking him away, “I wanted to see what would happen to animals and plants and stuff bunches of years after lots of radiation! Do you think they’d mutate? Get all twisted and fucked up so that they aren’t even recognizable as, say, a dog?”

Logan considered the question as he was led through the Mindpalace.

“Well, nothing would be able to live there at all. Additionally, anything within a little under a mile of the nuclear fallout- depending on a few variables- would be completely incinerated upon impact.”

“Like, flesh-melting incinerated?”

“More like vaporized. The fireball would burn 10,000 times the heat of the sun.”

Remus went starry eyed, bringing them to a halt a mere five feet from the door.

“I wanna see that,” he waved his hands around at their surroundings, “Can you do the white-out thing?”

Logan, much less hesitant than last time, obliged. A small smile escaped him at the wondrous look on The Duke’s face. It was another form of expression he didn’t particularly care for, but containing his emoting was more trouble than it was worth by now. He couldn’t find it in him to care much either, for once.

“Where do we start?” Remus prompted.

“You tell me. I will help you make it as accurate as possible, and provide any insight that you want, but it is your idea,” and he wanted to hear more about those ideas. Odd and violent, mesmerizing and clever. There was so much that he wanted to hear about, to talk about, to puzzle out together.

Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to share such interests with. Maybe, despite how deeply he cared for his ‘family’, as Patton called them- maybe it was never.

Remus chattered as he worked, disrupting the train of thought. Logan almost tuned it out- after all, everyone had grown perfectly used to The Duke’s rambling- but he caught himself. That was hardly how he should treat the side that was so strangely considerate to him, wasn’t it?

Logan listened from then on. He began to add on to the conversation, corrections and elaborations and actual questions, because he actually didn’t know some of it. He didn’t regret the choice.

By the end, Remus and Logan were sitting together in the smoldering ruins of their make-believe test town, exchanging notes for different variables they could use in the next trial. They only stopped when Logan was abruptly summoned away by Thomas. He excused himself, a bit apologetic, promising to visit again soon.

As he helped Thomas (with what really should have been a simple task, honestly), Logic wondered briefly about the origins of the hollow feeling that grew in his chest. Something distracted, longing, and unfamiliar.

And then the oven caught fire, and the only thing he felt was annoyance with the man that he was somehow a component of.

So, that was that- Logan and Remus were friends, now spent regular time together, and shared interests. By all accounts, it was a simple and obviously positive development.

But then there was Roman.

“What’s wrong with my work? You’d really prefer whatever edgy 12-year-old DeviantArt account nonsense that he thinks up?”

Logan set his book down with a sigh and looked over to his doorway, where Roman stood with his hands on his hips.

“Come in, Roman, and thank you for knocking,” he snarked. The Creative side made a vaguely sassy noise, trotting right in and flopping backwards onto the bed. Without closing the door, the monster.

“I thought that building your Weird Science contraptions was our thing.”

Logan made a show of standing up and manually shutting his door before responding.

“You don’t like my ‘contraptions’, as you call them.”

“Yeah, but I still made them for you! Because we’re friends, but I suppose you’ve forgotten all about that!”

He really should have expected the melodrama. And yet, Logan had lived in a delusional world where he didn’t care about the most Extra being on earth.

With an eye roll, Logic dropped down beside Roman on the bed- though he wasn’t half as flamboyant about it.

“I can have more than one friend.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be your favorite! We’re supposed to hang out together! Do the friendship bracelets I made mean nothing to you?”

He flung his arm across Logan’s chest, a ‘friendship bracelet’ clearly visible on his wrist (a loose usage of the term, given that it was a solid gold band with inlaid sapphires, because of course it was).

Logan held up his arm as well, showing that his (silver with inlaid rubies) was still very much in use, despite his distaste for jewelry.

“We hang out plenty. It wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings by spending time with your brother. My reason for doing so is that he seems to take active enjoyment in building and learning about these things with me. He also makes very good conversation, in regards to the more, ah, eccentric experiments.”

Roman tossed his head to the side to watch Logan with narrowed eyes. After a pause, he linked their arms at the elbow.

“Yeah, you would think that. You’re secretly just as much of a weirdo as him.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh please, I can barely keep up with a word that either of you say,” Roman headbutted Logan’s shoulder in what was likely another of his odd displays of affection. He let his head rest there for a minute, a rare instance of peace before he inevitably resumed talking.

“Anyways-”

“Anyway,” Logan corrected.

“Anyways, if you nerds wanna talk about your weird, creepy experiments, then I guess that’s fine. But he isn’t allowed to co-opt anything else that we do together that we both actually like- no making fun of movies together, no Crofters jams, and no poetry-slash-rap battles.”

“Of course not, Roman. You will always be my favorite person to disagree with.”

“Love you, too,” Creativity bumped him again, then sat up to stretch. Logan snorted a laugh and considered shoving Roman off the bed, watching as he raised his arms up and straightened his back. Before the trait had the chance, unfortunately, his friend was already standing.

“Leaving already? Weren’t you just going on about spending time together?”

“Nah, that was all I wanted to yell at you about for now. I’ve gotta go help Pat with dinner.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“Thanks, I won’t.”

“I hate you.”

“Ditto.”

Halfway out the door, Roman threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and whatever you two end up doing, do not give me the details. Please.”

Okay, finally, that really was that. Friendship established, blessings given, the end. A simple symbiosis.

Logan was thinking about the practical uses of medieval torture devices? Remus. He wanted to see exactly how long it would take your average healthy adult to succumb to drowning? Remus. Logan wanted to just rant, about anything and everything, his brain moving a mile a minute? Remus. They spent an inordinate amount of time together.

Occasionally, when he didn’t even have the energy to converse, he would sit down with a book in the commons when he knew Remus was there and let the trait’s never ending word-vomit wash over him. It was an odd sort of intimacy, but that fit within the theme of their dynamic. Like he said, simple symbiosis.

And that was when the not-very-platonic fondness grew. And Logan, to his own surprise, allowed it to.

After deep consideration he had seen no reason not to; Remus wouldn’t judge him, not ever. It put a name to the hollow longing that occurred whenever he, eventually, had to get back to work and part from their talks.

He hadn’t sorted out what to do about the feeling yet, but he felt no urgency.

Logan’s book lay forgotten in his lap, that morning being one of the quiet ones as he reflected on his unfamiliar emotions. It was almost nice, letting such affection curl up in his chest and settle there.

His contemplation was broken by a sharp jab to his shoulder.

“Are you listening to me?”

He tilted his head at Remus.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“What were you thinking about?” his eyes lit up, very obviously hoping for it to be something disgusting. Logan glanced away, given that he didn’t even like eye-contact in the best of circumstances.

“Nothing important. You have my attention now.”

Remus rolled his eyes with a huff, apparently genuinely irritated.

“Well now I forgot what I was saying.”

“Let’s backtrack: what were you talking about before?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fine, we can talk about something else.”

The irritation had grown to something unrecognizable to Logan- frustrating, given how closely he tried to study body language. He felt a stab of guilt as Remus stood up from his spot.

“It probably didn’t matter. I’m gonna go annoy Janus.”

“Oh,” Logan’s voice was small, “Alright, then.”

He was already gone.

That was… concerning. Not to mention bewildering; Remus didn’t just pass up opportunities to talk! He didn’t just leave, not even when he wasn’t wanted! Logan really hadn’t thought his zoning out would earn such a reaction.

But he was far from perceptive about emotional problems. There was no way to know if it was anything to throw a fit over. For all he knew, it was just an off-day. He couldn’t always expect his friend to be rambunctious and energetic, even if that was a big part of his personality.

The issue would likely resolve itself.

The issue did not do that. It did the polar opposite, speeding from mildly concerning to downright frightening at a whiplash-inducing pace.

Remus barely asked questions and almost never offered insight, as he usually did when they spent time together. In fact, his contributions had become rare and unenthusiastic enough that he could have passed as neurotypical, however disturbing the thought was. And that was when they did end up spending time together, which was becoming less and less often, much to the dismay of one significantly smitten smart side.

Something was very clearly wrong with Remus. Not the demented, destructive, mildly endearing and unhinged sort of wrong. It was the wrong sort of wrong.

Logan was hesitant to confront him outright. After a couple weeks of careful consideration, a more subtle solution occurred to him, as he idly flipped through a very graphic murder-mystery late into the night. Something bloody, and awful, and very much Remus’ taste. He set the novel down, knowing full well that his friend would be wide awake as he made his way across the hall.

“Remus?” he knocked at the side’s door, wearing a smile much wider than he usually liked. He was more than willing to express exuberance, if there was even the slightest chance that it would be infectious.

The door decidedly did not fly open. Rather, after a good deal of wrapping at it, Remus slowly pulled it back and poked his head out.

“Oh. Hey.”

Logan didn't dwell on the concern that reaction brought. He had something that would cheer Creativity up, of that he was sure.

“I have a test tonight- it’s going to be very messy,” he began, searching the impulsive trait’s eyes for any signs of interest. There was the slightest glint, but not much more.

“So, you want me to make stuff for you?” His speech was monotonous.

“Yes, that was the idea. It’s going to be gory.”

Hardly a reaction. All Remus did was open the door the rest of the way to allow Logan inside. Clearly, he had underestimated just how poorly his friend felt.

“Alright, I’ll set it up for you. Just don’t take too long, I was actually hoping to use my part of the Mindscape today.”

Logan nodded, very taken aback. He couldn’t ignore the slight hurt at the cold, dismissive tone (the irony of that wasn’t lost on him).

They stepped foot into The Imagination and immediately Remus stopped, destroying whatever had been in front of them- which was usually fine, it was just how he operated, but normally out of enthusiasm, not apathy. Maybe this was more than could be fixed with some blood and guts.

“What do you need?”

Logan conjured a tiny notebook, giving a tentative smile. Still, he was giving this plan a shot.

“Operating table,” one appeared before him, sleek metal with rolly legs, “A standard set of surgical tools,” he looked up to gauge Remus’ interest, but his expression still hadn’t changed as he continued to create, “A human corpse, and then we can get started.”

With a wave, a perfectly generic body fell onto the table, but Logan’s attention remained on The Duke.

“Great, have fun, let me know when you’re finished.”

Logan faltered, watching him turn to leave.

“You- you aren’t going to stay and do this with me?”

“You want me to?” Remus crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Logan with a gaze that could (figuratively) wilt flowers.

“I- Yes? If you aren’t at all interested right now, then I can save this experiment for another day?” Yeah, this wasn’t working, but Logan had no backup.

“No, no, don’t wait for me, you’ve already got everything you need, right?”

“I mean- technically, yes, but it- it wouldn’t be the same.”

Remus cackled, sounding quite like the cartoonish villain that he often acted as. It hurt to listen to.

“So that’s what this is about! Let me just fix you up, then!”

He snapped, and a blank humanoid form appeared at his side. It tilted its faceless head curiously at Logan, who recoiled.

“Not good enough? Is a hunk of nothing too unrealistic for you?” he snapped again, and the being suddenly transformed to match its creator exactly.

Nearly exactly: it wore an enthusiastic grin, eyes wide and sparkling, rather than the steadily building fire that raged in real-Remus’ eyes. It spoke in a disgustingly cheery tone.

“Wow, tell me more! Show me that again? What happens when you do that? You’re just so interesting, Lo!”

Remus watched the creation, a look of one part pride and a million parts resentment.

“Is that what you want? It’s just like me, but without any of the hassle of being another person that you have to deal with! And this one, you really can get rid of whenever you want, isn’t that great?”

Logan looked between the two, a fearful understanding creeping up his spine. There was something he was missing here, wasn’t there?

“No,” he muttered, half to the fake-Duke and half to the real one.

“No?” Remus spat, circling his mirror, “No, of course, you’re so right. This isn’t nearly enough.”

He made an elaborate gesture, and about a dozen more Creativities appeared, surrounding them. Logan stumbled back from them, nearly tripping on the operating table that they’d previously made. When he looked up, the real Remus was approaching him with an expression that fought its way between guilt and indignation. It was all at once heart-wrenching and frightening.

Logan tried to right himself, tried to look unaffected and certain of himself, as he raised his voice. He would not let this go a step farther, despite his confusion.

“Stop,” and with that, a wave rocked across The Imagination, and all was erased. In the aftermath he stood before a teary-eyed Remus (just the one, though), uncharacteristically looking like a stiff wind would knock him right over.

“What’s wrong? I gave you what you wanted!”

Logan reeled.

“Why would you think I wanted any of that?”

“You wanted an experiment, I gave you one! You wanted a willing audience, I gave you twelve! But I guess I just get everything wrong, right?”

“You know that isn’t true,” Logan felt choked, his words clumsy. It was foreign and horrible and disgusting, but he’d trudge through it all if it meant fixing whatever he’d done wrong. It couldn’t have just been him losing focus once? Could it?

“Oh, of course, I do just enough to be useful. So I’ve got that right; I’m a good utensil. Is it so much to ask that people would care about me, not just what I can do?” he posed a rhetorical oozing with vitriol, but it quickly evaporated into something much more desperate, “What if it’s my fault? It was my idea, I wanted to help. I don’t know why I thought you’d care past all that, did I give you a reason to? I can’t remember. It might make more sense that way, if I were the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Logan was running out of time to fix this, watching Remus curl in on himself, barely keeping from falling to the floor. He had no clue how The Duke had reached the conclusion that he didn’t care about him! They spent nearly all their free time together: sitting next to each other just to have the company, throwing each other tricky and often troubling questions to answer, constantly toiling away at things in The Imagination. Sometimes, they didn’t even need to talk, they just worked together in rapt silence; Remus did the creating and Logan arranged his work just so, and- Wait. Wait. Wait.

Logan didn’t need to talk, or touch, for that matter. Perhaps it was a mistake to presume the same for such a needy, affectionate, boisterous side?

No, not perhaps, it was a huge mistake. A major fuck-up, if you will.

He’d thought, if the blunt side had needed such comforts, surely he would initiate it? He hardly shied away from anything, except, well.

Except. Feelings.

God, he was the dumbest smart person in the world.

“Oh, Remus…”

The Duke’s head jerked up, continuing his back-and-forth of desperation and rage.

“I don't need your pity!”

Logan sighed, twisting the end of his tie in frustration.

“That isn't what I'm offering,” he took a breath before continuing, linking the words together so it would come out right. “I'm so sorry, I didn't take into account how you would interpret our interactions. I thought it was obvious that I cared for you, that I didn't need to say it outright. Clearly… I was wrong. So, if you need more than what I previously expressed- which I'm now realizing was very little in the eyes of someone who is not me- then I am happy to provide that for you.”

Remus was shaken, a good deal of his ire slipping away. Whether that was good or bad remained unclear.

Before it could be overthought, Logan crossed the remaining few feet between them and brought his arms around The Duke in his loose approximation of a hug. The trait froze, but he didn't pull away.

Physical affection, check.

“I value your companionship more than I'm entirely sure how to verbalize. You understand me in a way that most others don’t seem to. While your ability to make detailed creations is very helpful, it is hardly the only thing I appreciate about you.

“For one, you make me laugh. A lot. More than I'm used to. Additionally, you can easily match the pace with which I speak, or change topics! And, you are so much smarter than you make yourself out to be,” Logan finished the spiel with a smile, genuinely proud at his ability to articulate such… sentimental things, with relative ease. Words of affirmation, check.

He snapped back to attention when Remus brought shaking hands up to Logan's chest. For a moment, he worried that Remus would shove him away. The fears dissipated when all he did was bunch the front of Logan's shirt in his hands and hold on tight.

“Do you mean that,” his volume was low, “Or do you just want me to calm down?”

Logan tightened his grip around him and, following a motion that he'd seen Patton employ many times to great success, he rubbed up and down his back.

“I understand that it might be hard for you to trust me, but I promise I'm not lying to you. I would have to be pretty awful to do something like that, wouldn't I?”

Hesitantly, Remus nodded against his collar. A good sign, but there was one thing left he had to say.

“And- If you need further convincing- then you should know. I love you.”

Remus stilled. He then unfisted his hands from Logan's shirt. It was an anticipatory second before he threw his arms around the logical trait and finally returned the hug. His hold was crushing, and it was the most comforting thing that Logan had ever felt.

They were okay.

“I'm sorry I-”

Logan didn’t let him finish the apology.

“Don't be. You didn't know how I felt, because I hadn't communicated it in a way you understood. That is hardly your fault.”

Remus nodded again, remaining much quieter than he’d probably ever been in his entire existence.

They held each other for longer than either would like to admit, speaking softly.

“Thanks,” was muttered against Logan’s shoulder.

“Of course. Just so you know, I'm more than willing to do this again whenever you need reassurance.”

“It might be a lot,” his tone was turning more mischievous, more him, “Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Absolutely.”

Logan hardly minded having an opportunity to gush about Remus to Remus. Not to mention, the physical affection was even nicer than he'd imagined it being. And oh, had he imagined it.

Remus' face returned to his usual ever-present zeal, and he ended their hug to bounce in place.

“Great! I'm good now! We can get on with that autopsy you wanted to show me- there better be buckets of blood!”

Logan shifted his weight.

“Maybe we should save that for another day.”

“Oh,” Remus' face fell the smallest bit, “Okay.”

Logan was quick to amend:

“By that I mean, I have something better in mind.”

Remus curled himself up in Logan’s lap, his eyes barely focused on the TV as the side carded his hands through his tangled mop of hair. Final Destination 3 played on the television (he had assured Logan that they didn't need to see the first two, and he was mostly right), serving as an excuse for the two to drink in each other's company.

It was right in the middle of a particularly graphic rollercoaster scene that Remus took Logan's hands from his hair to hold them, twisting around to face him.

“Is something wrong, Remus?”

“You told me you loved me,” he stated blankly.

“Yes, I did.”

“I didn't say it back!”

“No, you didn't,” it hadn't been the most important matter at the time, really. “You don't have to say it. It's perfectly okay if you don't feel the s- Mmph!”

Remus smashed their lips together, holding the sides of Logan's face (disrupting his glasses in the process) and pulling him forward harshly.

Logan, for less than a second, was floored. And then Remus tilted his head to deepen the already heated kiss, and the situation properly clicked. Logan reciprocated, slightly uncertain in his movements, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist.

Remus smiled against him. He nipped at Logan's lower lip with sharpened teeth, eliciting a very embarrassing yelp. Logic let his lips part in response as his thoughts grew fuzzier by the second.

The (somewhat clumsy) open-mouthed kiss lasted right until they absolutely had to break, separating for air. Neither moved very far, letting their foreheads rest against each other and all but panting for breath.

“I love you so fuckin' much, nerd,” when Remus spoke, their lips brushed ever so slightly, “Just so you know.”

“I picked up on that, yes.”

“A little clarity never hurts, right?”

Logan chuckled at the reference to his own sentiments, but the sound was abruptly cut off when Remus kissed him properly again.

When they broke apart, he explained how 'stupid-cute' that laugh was. And Logan, only half-joking (since when did he joke at all?), said that he’d have to do it more often.

Banter came easily to them, despite the raw undercurrent that still laced their conversation. Although, neither of them had ever found it difficult to talk; talk about the first thing that came to mind and the last thing that would come to anyone’s mind, talk about exceedingly simple nonsense and topics so intricate that they wound up sounding like nonsense, just talk.

So things would stay mostly the same. They would ramble to each other when no one else could stand to hear such disturbing things. They would sit, working side by side, running through plans and ideas and results at rapid-paced speech. They’d speak, and they would listen, when even their closest friends couldn’t manage such patience.

Only now, sometimes the rushed words might turn soft. Now, all that ranting might be more substantial than anyone would at first see. Now, they’d still listen, but leaned close together, gazes impossibly fond.

But then, on occasion, they would find that there were things far more fun than talking to do together.

@shrimp-crockpot

353 notes · View notes

amanda-glassen · 3 years

Text

The Wonder Years: Part 8

While getting ready for her first school dance, twelve-year-old Olivia starts a path toward discovering who she is truly meant to be. Parts 1-7 can be found under the the tag #alex and liv: the wonder years

Thank you @ghostwritingcabenson @imaginaryoperagloves @cabensons @oliviaswifey and my lovely anon for all of your really sweet comments and tags.

Cover courtesy of my tumblr wifey @ghostwritingcabenson

Seeing the brightly colored frozen yogurt shop put Olivia at ease because it was the setting of some of her best childhood memories and now she was going to experience it with her girlfriend.

Olivia did as Jamie had done for her mom and opened the car door for Alex. That small act of chivalry earned a big smile and a ‘thank you’ from Alex, which made Olivia feel as if she had butterflies in her stomach.

“Babe, why don’t you take Alex inside?” Jamie suggested. “I want to stay out here and talk to Ollie.” Uh oh.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Serena gestured for Alex to follow her. “We can get first pick of the toppings.”

“Yeah!” Alex said excitedly. “I want chocolate chips and chocolate brownie bites.”

“Is everything okay?” Olivia asked, worried that Jamie had a suspicion that she and Alex were hiding something.

“Everything is fine,” Jamie responded. “This is a good talk, I promise.” She pulled a twenty dollar bill out of her wallet and handed it to Olivia.

“Cool! Twenty bucks!” Olivia folded the money and put it in her pocket. “Thanks, Jamie. I was saving up to buy a－”

“It’s not for you, kid,” Jamie interrupted. “It’s for you to treat Alex.”

Olivia tried to hide her disappointment. “But my mom always pays for frozen yogurt.”

Jamie made a failed attempt at stifling her laughter. “Think about it, kid. What’ll score you more points, you paying for her frozen yogurt or your mom paying?”

“Me, I guess,” Olivia groaned. “There goes my new bat.”

Jamie shook her head and wrapped her arm around Olivia to guide her toward the entrance. “I have so much to teach you, Ollie.”

Alex and Serena were already choosing their toppings when Olivia and Jamie entered the frozen yogurt shop. Olivia noticed that her mom had gotten their usual and she was eager to get the same－chocolate flavored frozen yogurt with Oreo crumbles, gummy worms and Fruity Pebbles－a tradition in the Benson household that they had named Dirt and Worms.

“Mom, I’ll pay for me and Alex,” Olivia told her once all four cups of frozen yogurt were on the counter and ready to be weighed.

Serena took her debit card out of a pink and white polka dot Kate Spade wallet. “It’s okay, baby, I’ll get it. Save your money for that bat you’ve been wanting.” Olivia noticed her mom and Jamie exchange glances and she hoped Jamie could read her mind because she no longer had the slightest idea what to do. “On second thought, it’s probably not cool for your mom to pay for you on your first date.”

“I got this,” Olivia tried to say as smoothly as she could while she pulled out her twenty dollar bill and placed it on the counter.

“And I’m getting yours,” Jamie told Serena. “You already paid for dinner. We’re supposed to be in an equal partnership here.” After Alex and Olivia’s cups of frozen yogurt were paid for, Jamie inserted her card to pay for hers and Serena’s.

“I paid for us to eat at Hot Dog On A Stick, not some expensive restaurant,” Serena reminded her. “That’s all we had time for after Barnes & Noble and GameStop.”

Jamie picked up their frozen yogurt cups and carried them over to the table. Olivia figured she should do the same for Alex until she saw Alex already eating brownie bites from her frozen yogurt. Better not take that away from her. “I learned an important lesson today, Ser. If I value my life, I will never attempt to take one of your fries. Is it the same with frozen yogurt?”

Serena scrunched her nose. “Yours is vanilla with strawberries, blueberries, and bananas. No wonder you want to steal some of mine.”

Within seconds of sitting down at the table, Olivia’s phone started to vibrate. It was a text from Elliot confirming he'd be at their secret meeting, but Olivia didn't want to risk her mom seeing a message from her dad come through so she decided to put her phone in her pocket.

"What's this big science project about?" Serena asked them. "I've never seen an assignment have that effect on Olivia."

Olivia was in the middle of chewing a gummy worm, so she was grateful when her quick thinking girlfriend decided to answer. "It's the end of the year project which is worth 25% of our grade. Mrs. Rodriguez is supposed to give us more details on Monday, but my brother had her class three years ago and he said she lets her students pick the topic. Sometimes that's harder because the possibilities are endless. She also doesn't like us to pick partners because someone could get their feelings hurt if they aren't picked, so she puts us in alphabetical order. If she does that, it's fine because I'll get to work with Olivia. Alphabetically there's no one in between us. We should start brainstorming, Olivia."

The last thing Olivia wanted was to think about a science project that wasn't due for another month, but her girlfriend’s enthusiasm was contagious and the project was the only thing keeping her mom from asking questions about what was actually on her mind.

Olivia felt her phone vibrate again, except this time it wasn’t a text from Elliot or any of her other friends. It was another message from her dad that read, “Hey Sport. Wanna get some pizza tomorrow?”

“Who’s that, baby?” her mom asked her.

“Just Elliot,” Olivia said nonchalantly. “He’s asking if I’m still coming over tomorrow to watch the game. I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Olivia was grateful that the bathroom was a single stall so nobody could follow her in there. She pulled out her phone from her back pocket immediately after locking the door behind her and started to respond to her dad. “Yeah can we go to Another One Bites the Crust? That’s my favorite. I can meet you there at 1.”

She waited two minutes before another response came through. “Daddy/daughter day tomorrow at 1. They have those rotating basketball hoops outside. Bring your A-game.”

When she returned to their table, a feeling of guilt hit her hard and suddenly. She occasionally hid things from her mom like when she didn’t tell her she had a girlfriend, but this was the first time she had actually lied to her. It was the worst she had ever felt in her entire life and she knew that lie was only the first of many that she’d tell her mom that weekend.

Serena asked Alex about her siblings and Olivia heard Alex talk about her older brother who was fifteen and nice to her and her younger brother who was almost nine and kind of annoying. Olivia loved to hear Alex talk about her home life and her friends and her favorite movies and TV shows, but that night her mind was on her dad and how much fun the two of them were going to have the next day eating pizza and playing basketball.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” Alex asked Serena.

With Serena distracted by Alex’s question, Jamie took it upon herself to attempt to steal a gummy worm, but her attempt was soon thwarted by Serena gently smacking her hand. “Hey! Nope. Hands off my worms. If you wanted gummy worms, you should have added some to your frozen yogurt.”

Olivia handed Jamie a couple of her own gummy worms. “Here, Jamie. You can have some of mine. I have a whole bunch.”

Jamie took the worms and held them up to show Serena. “Unlike you, your kid actually shares.”

“What can I say?” Serena smirked. “My kid is better than me. That means I’ve succeeded as a mom.” She held Jamie’s hand on top of the table before turning to Alex. “Sorry, Alex, before we were so rudely interrupted by my gummy worm thief, I was going to tell you that my brother Kyle is two years younger than me and my sister Lexie is one year younger than me. The three of us are really close, like best friends. Kyle and I live in the same building, but Lexie moved back to California after college. She lives in Santa Monica now.”

“Lexie Benson is your sister?” Alex asked, wide eyed and completely in disbelief. “Lexie Benson, the YouTuber? I’ve seen every single one of the videos on her YouTube channel! She does these really funny videos where viewers can request what era or theme they want and she does these in-character spoofs about－” Alex started to blush. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. She’s your sister so you know all about her channel and her videos. Wait, I think I’ve even seen you in some of them!”

“Yeah, she’ll force me every time I go out to Santa Monica,” Serena smiled at her. “And don’t apologize for getting excited over something. I’ll tell Lexie about you next time I talk to her.”

“Babe, your phone,” Jamie told her as she looked down at Serena’s phone and noticed an incoming video call.

“It’s my mom,” Serena groaned. “If I don’t answer, she’s going to keep calling.” She swiped across the screen to answer. “Hi, Mom. I’m out right now with Olivia, do you mind if I－”

“Where’s my grandbaby?” Mrs. Benson interrupted her. “I want to talk to her.”

Serena handed the phone to Olivia. “Hi, Grandma!” Olivia said excitedly. “Wanna see my girlfriend Alex? She’s having frozen yogurt with me. Me and her went on our first date tonight.”

“Hi, Mrs. Benson,” Alex said after scooting closer to Olivia. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You’re adorable!” Mrs. Benson responded. “And so well mannered. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alex. So, tell me, how is my grandbaby on a date? Does she hold open the door and pull out your chair?”

“She’s a perfect gentleman and she’s so cute and sweet and she got me a rose and frozen yogurt tonight,” Alex beamed. “I like Olivia so much.”

Olivia felt butterflies in her stomach and she wanted nothing more than to kiss Alex if they were alone. “Doesn’t Alex look like a princess?” Olivia asked.

“She looks like Princess Grace,” Mrs. Benson told her granddaughter. “She could be a classic Hollywood starlet. And you look so handsome and grown up, my darling grandbaby.”

“Jamie cut my hair,” Olivia said excitedly.

“Jamie,” Mrs. Benson said in a teasing tone of voice, hoping Serena would hear. “Tall, dark, and handsome, herself, the one woman I would consider switching teams for.”

“Mom,” Serena groaned and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh when her mom put her head down on the table in embarrassment.

Olivia handed the phone over to Jamie. “Hi, Melanie. You’re looking beautiful as always. Where are you? I can see the sunset behind you. Are you on vacation?”

“Oh, no, I’m just on our rooftop,” Mrs. Benson said nonchalantly. “Didn’t my daughter tell you about the beach house in Malibu?”

Serena took the phone from Jamie. “I have to go now, Mom. Alex has to get home soon.”

“Not so fast,” Mrs. Benson told her. “Since you neglected to tell me when your spring break was, I looked it up on Columbia’s website and saw that it’s the week after next. I’m booking your flight to LAX. You can bring Jamie so I can finally meet her in person and my grandbaby can bring her little girlfriend and before you object and say you had something planned for my grandbaby, I will save you the effort and say nothing you can plan in that gloomy state you insist on living in is as much fun as the kids will have at the beach and at Disneyland.”

“Disneyland!” Alex said excitedly. “I’ll ask my mom if I can go as soon as I get home.”

Olivia’s dream of riding the teacups together and buying Alex a pair of sparkly Minnie Mouse ears could finally come true. “Please, Mom. Please can we go? I’ll do anything.”

“Don’t be the bad guy, Serena,” Mrs. Benson told her daughter. “I can hear how happy the kids are.”

“It’s 9:45 over here, Mom,” Serena said in a frustrated tone of voice. “I have to hang up now so we can take Alex home. Bye, Mom. I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Serena set her phone on the table and then turned to face Jamie. “One thing I hate about smartphones is that you can’t angrily close them when you wanna hang up on someone. Nothing gave me more satisfaction as a teenager than hanging up on my mom with my pink bedazzled Motorola Razr phone whenever she nagged me about something like she is right now. She completely undermines my parenting every chance she gets. What if I had something planned for Ollie?”

“At least you knew how to use that phone because, apparently, you can’t use this one,” they heard Mrs. Benson say. “I’m still on the line, Serena. I’m booking your flight and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Olivia looked across the table at her flustered mom and at Jamie who was trying to contain her laughter. The short interaction with her grandma had made all of her negative feelings go away. Tomorrow, she’d spend the afternoon with her dad and, as long as they could convince Mr. and Mrs. Cabot, she’d soon be at Disneyland with the love of her twelve-year-old life.

#cabenson #baby cabenson #alex and liv: the wonder years #serena benson #law and order svu

15 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

Text

Resol’nare - Part Nine

A/N: OH...HEY. Let’s all pretend that I didn’t just have like a three week creative crisis and just dive back in, shall we?? (I’M VERY SORRY.)

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian arrives on Nevarro to meet with Navina again, hopefully to trade information that could be valuable to them both. But before she joins him he receives a call with some concerning information. When she does finally get there, things come to a head. Quickly.

Warnings: Language, violence

Word Count: 5k

Nevarro.

A dry wind blew across the arid lava fields, his cape whipping behind him as he focused the lens of his visor on the horizon. He had already scanned the other three directions before setting his gaze East. So far though, there was no sign of a ship or speeder anywhere. Another harsh gust of wind tore through the open landscape, accentuating its emptiness. Nothing. He sighed, changing the lens back to its default setting. Crusty flakes of ash covered clay tumbled over the cracked ground and clung to his boots. The Mandalorian hadn’t been waiting long, and Navina wasn’t late yet, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Where is she?

He shifted his weight, leaning against the lowered ramp of The Promise. Pulling his comm device from his pocket, he pressed the speaker button to check that it was still operational and was met with a crackling static sound that proved it was. She just hasn’t tried to contact me. Tucking it away again, he told himself that it was only because she hadn’t landed yet, not because she was involved in any sort of trouble.

His concern hadn’t come from nowhere though, and it wasn’t entirely in regards to the woman’s safety. She can take care of herself. The prickling feeling in the back of his mind had more to do with what he didn’t know about her than what he did. And there’s a lot. Shortly after arriving on the volcanic planet, before he’d even had the chance to check in with Cara Dune, he’d received word from Boba and Fennec back on Tatooine. Curious as to what would warrant the call when he’d last seen Fett only a few days prior- Fennec had been out on one of her missions- he answered quickly, pressing the button to activate the holo screen on the ship’s main control switch.

The blue light flickered and took shape, projecting the man’s image there in the cockpit. “Fett,” the Mandalorian greeted him with a nod. “What is-”

The man’s gruff voice cut him off then, waiving the need for any pretense, which the Mandalorian appreciated. “I’ve got something you need to hear, Mand’alor.” Fett tilted his chin down, his stone solid gaze trained directly at the holo as he spoke. He continued without waiting to be asked, Fennec stepping into view beside him. “Got a hit on that name you asked about. Harsa.”

He blinked, Navina’s face flashing in his memory as she told him her father’s name. That was fast. “I thought you said you hadn’t heard the name?” He tilted his head as he asked.

“I hadn’t,” Boba confirmed. “Still haven’t.” What? “It wasn’t me who came across it, and it isn’t the father, Gavil.”

Head moving back and forth he felt nothing but confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I came across the name Harsa on a syndicate raid, Mando.” Fennec’s clear tone filled the space as she clarified. “Ixon? The scum I was… interviewing when you were here last?” He nodded and she raised one eyebrow, a look of self-satisfaction still lingering on her face at the way she handled that quarry. “He gave up the location of a Black Sun hideout on Corellia after some light persuasion.”

“And?” He still wasn’t sure where this was headed.

“And when I got there, the place was mostly abandoned. Found a few ledgers, stolen credits.” She scoffed. “Cowards run like rats in Coronet City.”

They do. It had been a long while since the Mandalorian set foot on Corellia or Coruscant. His bounties kept him mostly within the Outer Rim, and he didn’t miss the crowded streets or the types of people they were filled with.

“I was lucky enough to catch one of them though, one of their poor excuses for bounty hunters.” She clicked her tongue. “No accuracy, no skill, and as it turns out,” she grinned. “No loyalty.” That’s why they don’t work for the Guild. “One I caught? Duros. Sang like a little bird. Told me everything I wanted to know. Including who he was working with and what he’d been hired to do.”

Though he was glad to hear that she and Fett were making more progress in cleaning up the galaxy’s garbage, he was still confused about exactly how this raid related to Navina’s name. “Fennec, I’m not sure if I-“

“Just wait,” Boba’s serious, gravelly tone was back. “We wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t worth the trouble.”

He knew that to be true. While Karga enjoyed talking just for the sake of conversation, and Bo-Katan’s routine check-ins could be used to set any clock, Boba and Fennec only made contact when absolutely necessary. Which is almost never. He leaned back in his seat, clenching and unclenching his right fist atop his thigh. “Go on.”

“Turns out this fine gentleman I spoke with had orders to plant a tracking device on a target so that his partner could hunt them down and take them out in a different location. Team job,” she explained, her eyes suddenly looking down as she fumbled with something off screen. Looking back up, she raised her hand, a bounty puck lying flat in it. “This was the target, Mando.”

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he watched her activate the holo puck, Navina’s image flickering to life, her name listed in several languages below her rotating likeness.

“Not the Harsa you were looking for, Mand’alor.” Fett inclined his head towards the puck in Fennec’s palm. “Someone’s looking for her though.”

“Any idea who?” There were endless reasons as to why someone would hire an assassin or a bounty hunter, he knew that first hand. But if he knew who it was that wanted the woman dead, he might be able to reason out the why.

Fennec let the puck go dark and lowered her hand. “Well, you see that’s where things get very interesting.” They were interesting enough already. “Ixon isn’t- wasn’t- a very high ranking member of the syndicate, so he didn’t have any names for me.” Not surprising. “But what he did say?” She folded her arms over her chest. “It was a Mandalorian that hired Black Sun.”

“A Mandalorian?” Not even the helmet could hide the shock in his tone. Aside from the fact that paying someone else to do their killing for them was not at all the Way of the Mandalore, it was as unnecessary as one of his kind hiring a personal bodyguard. “Why would a Mandalorian need to hire an assassin?” They wouldn’t. Navina may be a skilled fighter, but the simple fact that she was not entirely covered in beskar put her at an extreme disadvantage when it came to fighting someone that was. Especially if she didn’t even know it was coming.

“An excellent question,” Boba nodded. “And one I think you know the answer to.”

“Discretion.” Whoever it is doesn’t want anyone knowing it was them. Most people contracted their dirty work out because they were incapable of doing it themselves, but he knew that there were others who were just seeking to keep their own hands clean. A sudden thought materialized and immediately took the form of a question. “Are all of our people accounted for there?”

He needed to know if this was an isolated incident; if Navina had garnered this target on her head because of choices she had made, or because of who and what she was...and who she knew. He needed to know if the rest of the covert, the rest of his kind, were safe or if whoever was hunting her down was also tracking other Mandalorians. Perhaps most importantly though, he needed to know if he had to be suspicious of anyone within the covert’s walls. Mandalorian history was full of infighting, different sects and cells with varying beliefs and loyalties often waging war on one another to claim more power and reputation. I won’t let that happen under my watch.

“Just talked to the princess herself, Mand’alor.” Fett grumbled, his upper lips pulling into the snarl it seemed he reserved specifically for Bo-Katan. “According to her, everyone is safe and she’s called for a full sweep of the facility to be sure there are no threats to your growing hive.”

Relief washed through him, and he was glad not only that Bo-Katan and her people were there to keep the others safe, but that at least for the moment it seemed that this was more a matter of personal vendetta against Navina Harsa and not against Mandalorians or their allies in general. It was short lived however, Fennec chiming in once more to remind him that the tracking device was likely still active if Navina hadn’t already been found and killed. “If they haven’t found her yet, Mando… she might be leading whoever is looking for her straight to you.”

He had ended the transmission thanking Fett and Shand for calling with the warning, hoping that Navina would arrive soon and that he’d be able to find and disable the tracker before it caused trouble for him. Or costs her her life. Though his first thought had been that she could be a danger to what he was trying to do for the Mandalorian people, his next line of thinking went in another direction. What if she was targeted because she’s meeting me? What if just knowing me, talking to me was what… Another fact about Mandalorian history that he had learned since becoming the owner of the Darksaber and the title that came with it, was that while the majority of Mandalorians accepted the wielder of that sword to be their rightful ruler, there would almost always be outliers in opposition who would see a different Mand’alor on the throne. He sighed, wondering if it would get worse once they had actually begun to retake the planet, when the throne was even more tangible and real and tempting. One thing at a time.

Scanning the landscape one more time, he tapped the button on the side of his helmet to cut through the hazy fog that hung low over the volcanic ground. At first he saw nothing, but then a wave of air was displaced overhead, and looking up he saw a small ship, maybe half the size of The Promise, beginning its landing maneuvers. That must be her. Tipping his head back, he watched as the craft wobbled upon entry into Nevarro’s atmosphere before the reverse thrusters were engaged, the hull of the ship leveling out, its descent slowing as it got closer to the ground to give him a clear look at the vessel. Dank farrik.

He was immediately reminded of the Razor Crest after he’d trusted the Mon Calamari dockhand on Trask to repair it following the crash landing on Maldo Kreis. Not that I had much of a choice then. Couldn’t get off the platform the way it was. He wondered if there hadn’t been similar circumstances for the woman and her ramshackle ship. There were outer panels that flapped where they lifted away from the rivets that were supposed to hold them in place, shoddily executed patchwork and second hand replacement parts making it almost impossible to imagine what the ship may have looked like when it was new. If it ever was. Cocking his head to the side as the engines powered down, he wondered if it wasn’t something that Navina or her friend had cobbled together themselves from spare scraps of retired ships.

There was another disturbance overhead, the hot air moving as though another ship were trying to cut through to land, and he shook all thoughts of her ship’s provenance and original model number away. He needed to stay vigilant, be on the lookout for whoever it was that was following Navina. The airlock hissed as she lowered the ramp on her ship, the steel plank stuttering jerkily as it dropped then freezing its motion with a grinding sound just shy of reaching the ground.

“Kriffing piece of-” He heard a metallic thunk that he would have wagered anything on had been made by her boot striking the mechanism that operated the entrance ramp, the door groaning on its fastenings as it plunged down to close the distance. “There.” Swinging her braid with a huff, the woman appeared in the opening. She wasn’t wearing any of her armor, her bulging bag slung across her body. He did notice the sunlight glinting off of the kal at her waist and recognized the shape of the blaster strapped to her thigh beneath the gray shawl she wore though, the woman seeming to put more stock in being well armed than well armored. In her case, it made sense, and he realized that if she did know someone was after her, she would only stick out more if she was wearing the beskar helmet and the thin plates she’d collected over the years.

Hopping down from her ship, a cloud of ash rising as her boot soles hit land, she waved one arm and called out. “Hey there, Mando.” Turning, she hoisted the ramp up manually and gave it a forceful shove to slam it shut.

In the same instant that the hefty door clicked to lock, the enhanced audio receiver in his helmet picked up another distinct noise; the nearly silent sound of a ship entering the atmosphere. The tracker. Snapping his attention skyward, he adjusted his visor lens and located the incoming gunship. It’s weapons already charged from what he could see, it would be within shooting range in a matter of seconds. Eyes flicking down to the woman still struggling to close the ramp, he realized that she hadn’t noticed the very imminent danger that she was in. And he didn’t have time to warn her.

Acting on instinct alone, he lunged forward extending his left arm and deploying the whipcord from his vambrace. She turned to face him as the cable wrapped around her body, eyes widening in shock as the restraint tightened to trap her arms against her sides. Sorry.

“What the-“

Her assumed string of swears and expletives was cut short by the zip of the line as he swiveled his wrist, the mechanized cord reeling itself back in. Overhead, a dark shape hovered above the clouds. Navina finally glanced up as the hum of the attacking ship’s guns announced their intent to fire. The expression on her face as she looked back down at him was a mixture of confusion, anger, and fear, adrenaline pulsing from her that he could almost feel himself. Hang on.

Again, there was no time to warn her before he acted, punching his fist hard to pull Navina as far from where she stood as possible. She nearly flew through the air to close the distance, the Mandalorian whipping his body around just in time to stop her momentum by throwing his arms wide and catching her in them. The instant he had a solid grip on her, he bent his knees and pushed off from the ground, jetpack igniting and lifting them both out of harm’s way just as red blaster fire streaked through the sky to hit the ship that she’d been aboard only minutes before.

He didn’t look back, focused instead on locating the enemy, already grabbing for one of the thermal detonators attached to his belt. But he didn’t need to look back to know the exact second that the enemy’s blast hit, her body stiffening noticeably as the explosion engulfed her ship, the sound of her incredulous gasp close to his ear. He didn’t need to see it on her face to understand what she was feeling. I hope there wasn’t anything… He recalled the moment he had found Grogu’s ball in the rubble where the Razor Crest once stood. I hope nothing she cares about was destroyed.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, he rose higher until he was close enough to one of the ship’s engines to toss the detonator into the turbine. Reaching down, he unbuckled another two of the spherical explosives, shoving them in after the first before diving back towards the ground. He hadn’t been able to retaliate right away when Grogu was abducted and his ship, their home, decimated. But I can now. His weapons ignited, tearing the engine to shreds and causing the ship to drop like a lead weight, falling hard and gaining speed.

The heat at his back as they plummeted was satisfying, but his thoughts quickly returned to the woman in his arms as they both touched down on the ground. Bracing for the impact of the destroyed ship’s impending crash, he tucked her head against his shoulder. Tilting his head down, he shielded as much of her with as much of himself as possible, widening his stance to lower his base as the ground rumbled underfoot. Charred debris rained down, a few smaller pieces bouncing off of his armor like fiery hailstones, and he kept her sheltered until he heard and felt them stop falling. As soon as it was clear, he released her, stepping back once he was sure that she was steady on her feet.

“Are you hurt?” He knew that he needed to check the ship’s wreckage to see if the assailant was still alive. But he wanted to make sure that she was physically alright before he did.

Mouth agape and expression completely stunned, she took a breath and then another, staring at the space where she’d landed her ship and seeing only a burnt out crater in its place. “I...I’m...no.” She answered, blinking rapidly before giving him a quick shake of her head. “You… how did you-”

Now’s not the time. Without another word he pushed off from the ground again, flying through the smoke plumes towards the torn and twisted remains of the enemy ship’s cockpit and main hold. Looking through the windshield, he saw the slumped form of a man in dark goggles, the tell tale tattoo marking him as a Black Sun member visible on his neck above the collar of his shirt. From what the Mandalorian could tell, the man was still breathing, simply unconscious, and the lack of movement among the rest of the wreckage paired with the absence of a second body in the co-pilot’s chair led him to believe that this was a solo operation. It usually is. He could count on one hand how many times he’d hunted with a partner, and he knew that most bounty hunters and assassins worked that way, too.

Finding the hatch to open the cockpit, he tried to peel it open but it wouldn’t budge, the hinges bent and damaged in the crash. Swearing under his breath, he drew his blaster and shot three times at the lock until the door fell inward. Kicking his boot down through the door, he opened it fully, dropping into the ship to extract the man who had just fired on Navina. In another circumstance, he may have let the man suffer the consequences of his actions and let fate decide whether he walks away from the flames. But then he’d be loose on Nevarro. If this trouble was somehow linked to him, which it was, because Navina was only there to meet with him, then he owed it to Cara and Karga and all of the people there to clean up his mess. And I’m sure Fennec will have questions for him. Slinging the tall but thin man over his shoulder, the Mandalorian climbed back out through the opening he made for himself, jumping from the top of the wreckage. The jets strapped to his back roared to life and he ascended as a fuel tank exploded right below him. That was close.

His next priority was checking that The Promise hadn’t suffered any damage. The blast seemed to have been a direct hit, so he wasn’t overly concerned. But it’s my only way out of here and it’s… He frowned as he landed. It’s not home but it’s… He sighed. It doesn’t matter. The ship was fine, far enough away that it hadn’t even been hit with any rubble or debris. Good. He dropped the man he was carrying in an unceremonious heap, an audible crack coming from his arm as it made contact with the hard ground, ignoring it as he turned back in the direction he’d left Navina in.

She was walking cautiously through the field of burning metal, her face streaked with soot and her blaster drawn. As soon as she saw the man crumpled at the Mandalorian’s feet, her face pulled into an angry scowl. “Kriffing scum!”

She coughed as she inhaled the thick smoke, and he realized that if not for the filter in his helmet he would be having the same difficulty breathing. We should get inside. She stumbled closer, and he could see the shake in her hand as she pointed her weapon at the figure on the ground. Don’t- He was about to reach for her to stop her from shooting the man, despite how badly he knew that she must have wanted to. She didn’t make him do that though, opting instead for a swift, hard kick as she stowed her blaster. Lifting her eyes up to the eyeline of his visor, she shook her head. “How did you kn-”

Another cough cut her short, and he flipped open the cover on his vambrace, tapping in the code to unlock and lower the ramp. “Go inside,” he shook his head and gestured at the black smoke. “You shouldn’t breathe this in. Go.”

He stooped down to lift the unconscious assassin from the ground, hoisting him over his shoulder again and followed Navina up the ramp into the main hull. As soon as he was in, he punched the switch on the wall to seal the door behind them. The air circulation system kicked in with a whoosh as the airlock clicked shut, and before he said anything else, the Mandalorian opened the locker where he kept three slabs ready at all times. Shoving the limp man into the frame of the slab, he held down the button that released a gust of super chilled carbonite to freeze his captive, then shut him away in the locker for transport to Tatooine. He’ll answer for what he did. He was certain that Fennec would squeeze every drop of information out of him and then make him sorry that he ever agreed to work for the Black Sun.

“Hey.” The curtness in her tone made him wince as he turned to face her, but it was understandable. “Are you going to tell me how you knew that was going to happen?” She crossed her arms defensively and he could tell that she was trying to keep her composure.

“I was tipped off by one of my people.” He nodded at her. “I had asked about your father, but they came across your name instead.” Pulling a device from the cabinet below the weapons locker, he went on. “Found a bounty puck on you in a syndicate hideout, and found out that someone had you followed.” Switching the small object on, he pointed it at her bag.

Pulling the satchel away from him, she stepped back. “What are you doing?”

Lifting the device, he explained. “This will find and disable any tracking devices on you so they can’t send backup.” She still seemed hesitant, and though he wanted to be sympathetic and give her time to process what was happening, he knew that they didn’t have that luxury. “Look, I just saved your life and I don’t even know who I saved it from.” Or why someone’s after you. He recalled the way that his subconscious had convinced him to trust her the last time they were together, and though he still didn’t understand why, he felt himself leaning into it again. “So you’re going to let me check you for tracking beacons, or I’m going to make you let me.”

She swallowed, not out of fear but frustration, glaring up at him, then begrudgingly held out her bag. “Fine.”

He swept the device over it, the thing beeping loudly over one of the pockets. “There.”

“What? There’s nothing in-” She dug her hand into the pocket, then froze, pulling it back out with a tiny silver circle between her fingers. “Dank farrik, what the… how-”

The Mandalorian took it from her, dropping it on the floor and crushing it with the heel of his boot. “Someone must have slipped it into your bag while you were distracted.” He raised the scanner once more, making sure that there weren’t any other trackers or bugs planted on her person. Satisfied that there weren’t, he stowed the scanner back where he took it from and straightened up to face Navina again.

The anger and defensiveness were gone, the woman instead displaying concern. “I need to contact Firo.” She shook her head. “That… The Flare, it… that was his ship and I…Osi'kyr! Firo. I need to make sure he’s… that he and his family are safe. What if-”

“Alright.” He held up his hands. “Alright, you can use my holo screen. It’s in the cockpit.” She pressed her lips together and nodded, clearly worried. “It… my contact? They told me that it was only your name that was on record.” If that makes you feel any better.

He didn’t wait for her to respond, simply nodding at the ladder that led to the ship’s controls. She climbed wordlessly with him right behind her, and within seconds he had the holo up and running, allowing her to make contact with her friend. If I thought the kid was in trouble I’d… need to see him, too. There were things that The Mandalorian needed to ask her, but he knew that nothing would be accomplished until her mind was put at ease over the people she cared about.

Once she was satisfied that no one else would be in the crosshairs meant for her, she apologized again to the shaggy haired, amicable man that he had seen pick her up on a stolen speeder when last he was on Nevarro. He insisted that he didn’t really care about his ship, that he was just glad that she was safe, his relief genuine. Ships are replaceable. He looked around at the switchboards and panels that surrounded him. People aren’t. His eyes fell to the vacant seat that was still waiting for Grogu to occupy it. From what she had told him last time they spoke, she knew that all too well.

As she wrapped up her call, she visibly relaxed, no longer on the verge of hyperventilation from smoke or worry, but still a little on edge. Rightfully so. Someone just tried to- a Mandalorian tried to have her killed. One of my... The idea felt wrong to even think, but he had to ask. “Navina?” Her sharp eyes locked with his, again giving him the feeling that she could see through his visor even though he knew that was impossible. “Do you have any idea who would have,” he sighed. Just tell her what you know. “It was a Mandalorian. The person who put the hit out on you? They were… Do you know why a Mandalorian would be after you?”

To his surprise, she actually let out a dry laugh. “Mando, if I kept track of everyone who… everyone that I made an enemy of I’d never get any sleep.”

He was sure that she was right, but it wasn’t what he’d asked. “That wasn’t an answer.”

She frowned, rubbing at a smudge of black ash on her forehead. “No, it wasn’t.” Looking down at her lap, she let out a breath. “I…” she clamped her eyes shut. “Yeah. There are a… a few Mandalorians who might be...who want me-”

“Tell me why.” It wasn’t a command, regardless of how it came out. “Please, tell me why. I,” he paused, wanting to be sure of his word choice so that she would understand his line of questioning. I want to make sure that no one that I am responsible for was responsible for this. As the Mand’alor, it was his responsibility to uphold peace and hand out punishment to those that would threaten it. But she doesn’t know that I’m… He wanted to trust her like his brain was telling him to. But he didn’t want to be wrong, not at the expense of the rest of the covert. She hasn’t sworn the Creed. “I want to be sure that no one in my covert, my Tribe, was behind this.”

She opened her mouth then shut it, furrowing her brow before smoothing it out again, and he knew that she was trying to be just as careful in choosing her words as he was, the two of them playing a precarious game of strategy as they got to know one another. “I’ll… I’ll tell you about the Mandalorians I’ve…” She sighed, her eyes landing on the signet on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you about the Mandalorians I’ve made enemies of, if you tell me something. Like last time.”

He thought for a beat before answering, something in the way that she was eyeing the Mudhorn crest that he wore giving him pause. But that’s how this works, right? Give information to get it? “Alright,” he agreed. “Go ahead.”

As though she’d been practicing the question since the second she pulled away on that speeder three weeks ago, it rolled right off of her tongue to fill the quiet cockpit. “Are you in possession of the Darksaber?”

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker @commanderlola @greatcircle79

18 notes · View notes

aelaer · 4 years

Text

The Blood in My Veins: Pt 4

Heyyyy I'm back. Now that one of my big fic projects is done/being rolled out I can concentrate on getting this finished (as well as other prompts). Here are the earlier parts if you can't remember what happened in this long-running prompt fic, since my last update was like, the summer.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Prompt (via @ironstrangeprompts that I can’t tag for whatever reason qq): Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

The Warnings: Okay guys, I want to cover all bases for this part and all parts henceforth. The bad guy I've written here really really sucks. He's a complete asshole. Part of his assholeness can include behaviors such as racism, sexism, homophobic remarks, religious bigotry, and overall just being a terrible human being. This terrible human being is not a typical representative of his nation/culture and is very thankfully fictional. There's plenty of Canon-Typical Violence around, too. All of the above are not be in this specific part but could be in future parts (I'm writing this as I go so I truly don't know, I just know he’s a dickwad). I didn't know this section was gonna happen until I finished Part 2, for instance, otherwise I'd have put a note at the beginning. I'd consider the fic a heavy teen fic, if you're looking for a rating, so it shouldn't get to graphical violence beyond what you'd see in high teen rated content. Also, there's going to be Medical Procedures in the future, though more clinical rather than graphic. Hopefully that covers everything, please ask me anything if you have a question.

I always put these longer writings on tumblr into "read more" cuts, but the mobile app does not always work correctly if you're looking at the original post from my tumblr, so I apologise for the length if you're on the app and viewing the original and said cut is not working. Still unbetaed, all errors are mine.

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

Part Four: Seeing Red Again

Another three days passed with little change in Stephen’s schedule. He went for his sleep shift at 12:30 a.m. New York time, and was woken up by one of the others between 5:20 to 5:30 a.m. It wasn't enough time for even two full complete sleep cycles, but everyone there—perhaps with exception to Steffen Baar, who was a chemist—had gone through grueling schedules during medical school and residency. So they were, in some ways, used to it.

After waking up, he had fifteen minutes to shower, shave, and change into the clothing about his size, provided for by his captors. From there, he then got to work. His sleep shift ended about three hours before dinner came—about 8:30 a.m. New York time—and a small snack arrived at what he assumed was this place's midnight, but was 2 p.m. according to his watch. Breakfast came twelve hours after dinner, at 8:30 p.m. in New York, and he went to bed again half an hour after midnight. Apparently while he slept, another snack break came for those awake.

The one small blessing in all of this was that the people holding them realized the power of caffeine and provided black tea and coffee every time they brought them food. He didn't think there were any cameras in the showers or toilets, either, which was—hopefully true. There was nothing obvious and, truth be told, he didn't really want to look much further for evidence.

Throughout his waking day, Stephen largely helped prep samples for blood analysis. He tried to strategize with Summer about how to best utilize their resources, should a surgery be required, but they had little to go on. They had yet to receive better X-rays of their patient—of Tony Stark, which still baffled Stephen—so much of their planning was about logistics.

"Doctors in the United States are required to complete a surgical rotation in their third year of med school," Stephen said, "so Jada will know basic surgical procedures. Do you need to do the same in the UK?"

"Yes," Summer answered. "All doctors go through the two-year Foundation Programme which always includes training in general surgery. So Dr Mahajan will be able to assist us as well."

"They can serve as our nurses and techs," Stephen muttered. "But what about Dr Baar?"

Summer pursed her lips together. "No medical training—but I would rather have him on hand than not. If we said we can't use him…"

Stephen grimaced and nodded. "Point. He can certainly hold a retractor." He blew out a breath. "We'll need a heart-lung machine. Those aren't easy to come by."

"None of this machinery is," she pointed out, jutting her chin to the advanced machinery scattered around the room. "I don't think that will be an issue for us. Whoever these people are, they have resources."

He pursed his lips together. "We also need an anesthesiologist."

She paused at that and sighed. "Yes. Yes, we need one of those. Unfortunately, I think we're going to be working with someone on their team if the surgery happens."

Stephen made a face. "What makes you think that?"

"When they first showed me the X-rays, I told them I would need another surgeon for the spinal area—you—and an anesthesiologist. They only spoke about finding me a surgeon, so they must have their own medical team that includes one."

He sighed. "Of course they do. He better be competent."

Summer shrugged. "Not much we can do about it. And there's not much more we can plan on this hypothetical surgery until I have better X-rays."

And so that ended that discussion and, three days later, there were no changes on that end. No new X-rays had come in, so both he and the other surgeon were stuck helping prepare samples and input data. And Stephen hadn't been so bored in years.

One wouldn't think that being captive would be boring, especially if one was doing medical work during that time. But when said medical work was repetitive lab work he hadn't done since med school? And doing it for about fifteen hours a day for three days straight with no music, no reading, no nothing to help bring some distraction or variety to his work? It was absolutely mind-numbing. A small part of him wasn't entirely sure if he could survive like this for—how long did Jada said Stark had to live without a cure or intervention? Two months? He couldn't do this for two months. He was going out of his mind after three days.

It was about halfway through his shift on the fourth day that he regretted ever thinking that he was bored.

He was typing up results from various tests performed by Jada when the door to the room was suddenly slammed open. Startled, Stephen immediately turned towards the sound, only to see five men enter, all of them with guns pointed to the rest of the room. Beside him, Jada immediately threw her hands on top of her head, and he quickly followed suit.

"Come quietly! Do not fight!" said one of the men. Stephen couldn't even begin to guess his accent; maybe it was Eastern European? Russian? Former Soviet bloc in Asia? Somewhere in that rather wide region of the world, which wasn't particularly helpful information considering there were some twenty to thirty countries there.

Summer was the doctor currently asleep, though looking over his shoulder, Stephen saw that she had woken up to the sound and was pushing herself up. But he couldn't look at her or the other doctors long as he was grabbed by one of the men and forced to walk. The gun the man carried quickly negated any ideas of retaliation.

They were led down a hall; he could see Steffen, Meera, and Jada in front of him, all being led in the same rough manner he was going through. The walk itself wasn't very long, perhaps a minute, but to Stephen it felt like every second was dragging. Despite his best efforts, his heart was starting to race at this new development.

The man with Steffen finally stopped in front of a door and unlocked it, then shoved the chemist inside. Within seconds, Stephen was at the door and being pushed forward himself. He took a quick look around, as much as he could without moving much: a large room with concrete walls and no windows, just like where he and the other doctors were being kept. Cot in the corner. Table with a computer and covered in bits of wires and electronics that he couldn't begin to label. Two other men armed with enormous guns—some sort of automatic rifles—and then one man who was crossing his arms and staring at him and his fellow doctors with a look that immediately put Stephen on edge. This man, this man radiated the air of a person in charge.

And then there was him. The famous Tony Stark, or Iron Man as he was calling himself these days. He looked like a former shadow of himself, being several pounds thinner and bearing a sickly pallor that Stephen immediately noticed, even during these circumstances.

A look of surprise was upon Stark's hollow face, but even as Stephen focused more upon him, it was quickly replaced by the cool anger of a man biting his tongue.

All five doctors were maneuvered to face Stark in a line before being forced to their knees. Stephen bit his lip to hold back a grunt of pain from his knees hitting the concrete floor.

"You say you are 'calling my bluff' with your medical team," said the man. He pushed himself off the wall and passed out of Stephen's line of sight. "Here they are." He started at Stephen's right as he went through the doctors. "Steffen Baar, chemist." A step closer. "Jada Ferguson, hematologist." Another step, and he heard Doctor Mahajan inhale sharply. "Meera Mahajan, pathologist."

Another step, and the man was behind him. To Stephen's utter horror, he felt cold metal press against the back of his head. "Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon." The metal then left his head and he heard another step. "Summer Weston, cardiothoracic surgeon." Another step, and he could see the man in the corner of his eye again, this time on his left.

Tony Stark kept his lips pressed in a tight line as their captor went through the line. When he finished, the billionaire swallowed and looked at them all. "Good job keeping me alive this long, docs," he said.

"Not good enough, Stark," the man snapped. "Their solution is only a band aid. They give you but a few more weeks. They are called the best doctors in the world, and they cannot yet make a cure?"

Stephen forcefully held back his retort regarding the man's utter ignorance. It was an outright miracle they found any sort of solution as quickly as they did to delay the spread!

Stark, it seemed, agreed with him, and had no such reservations with holding back. "That's insane, Yusifov. It takes teams of doctors months, if not years to create what you're looking for."

He couldn't see it, but Stephen could almost feel the sneer from their captor, this Yusifov. "In that case, you don't need this many doctors, do you?" A couple steps and he was again behind Stephen, further to the right. "I'm no doctor, but as far as I can tell, these two both look at blood and try to fix the problem. Neither of them fixed it, not fully. So who do you want to keep, Stark? The black American or the Indian Brit? One less woman won't make a difference."

Stephen dared a glance to his right when he heard quick breathing. Doctor Mahajan was visibly shaking and starting to hyperventilate; to her right, Doctor Ferguson was quiet, but her lips trembled and tears pricked her eyes.

Stark stepped forward, and several guns rose at the action. He stopped but held his ground, raising his hands. "Don't do this."

"Why not?" the man retorted. "You refuse to work because you are dying. They have failed you and one will pay the price. Perhaps both; they are both from lesser races."

As Stephen processed the fact that he heard a comment like that in fucking 2010, Doctor Mahajan's breathing accelerated into full on hyperventilation. His medical mind noticed it immediately.

But another was quicker to the draw. "Breathe through your nose, Meera," Summer said lowly. "Try to inhale for one-one thousand, then exhale through pursed lips. You can—"

"Shut up!"

Doctor Weston was smacked on the back of her head hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor.

And Stephen snapped.

Now, if one were to ask Doctor Stephen Strange, he would by no means consider himself heroic or noble. His role as a doctor was one of service, but even within his relatively short time as a neurosurgeon, he had already gained a prestige that recognized his rising star and already people in the medical community were considering him in the top ranks of neurosurgeons. Soon, demand for his expertise would be large enough for him to have the option to turn away those who weren't worth his time, and he felt not a lick of guilt for that. His skills were valuable.

But to hear this brute of a man first throw slurs at two of the most brilliant women—no, the most brilliant doctors—in their fields followed by an outright assault on the other caused a protectiveness Stephen hadn't felt since his sister's death to completely overtake him. He saw red.

He leaped up at Yusifov in a fiery anger, no particular idea in mind except stop him from hurting anyone rushing through his head. At this point there was little thought, only adrenaline and a near primal fury running through his veins. It wasn't like him to be so hot-headed; he was a man who kept his cool under the most stressful of circumstances. But perhaps several days of poor sleep combined with the stress of the situation finally got to him. When he thought about it in the aftermath, even he would admit he had no idea what he was thinking.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision he would come to regret.

In one moment he managed to knock the pistol out of Yusifov's hands and punched him in the face. He recognized screaming, shouting, fighting in the noises behind him, but he was focused on his own target.

Stephen hit him twice more before someone threw an arm around his neck and dragged him back and began to choke him. He clawed at the arm, which did nothing, but then he aimed his heel down right to the sensitive part of his attacker's instep. The man grunted in pain and the grip around his neck loosened.

A shot shattered through the enclosed space, causing Stephen to freeze in surprise—and that proved to be his downfall. He saw Yusifov raising his pistol just before he was whipped across the face with the weapon. The hit threw him off balance and he fell to the floor and lay there for a second, stunned. He felt wetness on the side of his head.

As Stephen attempted to push himself up, a kick to his back sent him back to the floor. An involuntary grunt of pain escaped him. He closed his eyes, pausing for breath, but was given little time to recover as he was grabbed by both arms and dragged up to his knees. From his new position, he could see the rest of the room once more, and Stephen's heart skipped a beat at what was before him.

There were several alarming sights: Tony Stark on his knees just like him, nose bloodied. One of the gunmen near Stark with a screwdriver sticking in his neck and very much dead. Summer in the corner of the room, holding a shaking Meera against her chest.

And Doctor Steffen Baar on the ground, bleeding out from his stomach as Jada desperately tried to stem the blood flow with her sweater. The red dripped through the fabric and onto the concrete.

Stephen felt ill. He instinctively reached forward towards Steffen, to try and help, but the grip on his arms tightened and kept him in place.

Stark was the one to speak first. "Let them help him. I won't fight further. I'll do what you ask."

Yusifov came back into Stephen's line of sight as he stepped in front of him, though his gaze was on Stark. He said to the engineer, "You killed one of my men. A life for a life—that is fair, wouldn't you say?"

"He did nothing," Stark hissed, pulling against the hands that held him down. Stephen could see the men pull him back and tighten their grip in response. "And he's needed. You wouldn't have brought him here otherwise."

"He didn't do anything," Yusifov agreed, then turned to Stephen. "This one did." He then sent a sharp kick into Stephen's stomach, causing him to double over in pain as far as the men holding him allowed. He almost missed the next statement. "And I should kill him for it. But the surgeon will be needed. The chemist, though? He failed to make a cure for your ailment with a month of time, and you don't have much longer to live, Stark. The chemist failed, and at this point, he's a waste of medical resources."

Then Yusifov nodded at one of his men, and he grabbed Jada by the arm and yanked her up to her feet.

"No—please, no, don't do this!" she shouted as she was dragged away from Steffen. Their captors ignored her and Yusifov walked up to the wounded man. He aimed his pistol at Steffen's head.

"Don't do this!" Stark shouted.

A shot rang through the room. A loud sob came from the corner before it was muffled. Stephen's ears rang, half deafened from the sound. His stomach churned; he felt like he was going to vomit. He hung his head and closed his eyes, trying to breathe slow breaths through his nose.

All he could smell was blood. He forcefully suppressed his gag reflex.

Stephen missed whatever conversation came next, too busy trying to calm his breathing, trying not to throw up, and not having the energy to make out the words beyond the ringing in his ears. But then the world was moving as he was pulled to his feet and shoved out of the room, leaving behind Tony Stark and the body of Doctor Steffen Baar.

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

I was stuck on what I wanted to do with this part with a handful of ideas and consulted my beta for ideas. She suggested death which I wasn't even thinking of because I'm very bad at killing off characters. I blame her fully :P

Tag list (just let me know if you want to be added/removed with a comment - still not on AO3!): @sobeautifullyobsessed, @tashacumberbitch, @babywarg, @nishtha3012, @ragingstillness, @walkin-in-the-cosmos (I think the reason I can’t tag you is because you’ve flagged your tumblr for sensitive media, possibly), @lafourmii20, @asexualchemist, @iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife, @oo0-will-of-the-wisp-0oo, @animefanfreak45, @rulerofthefandomsnow, @killaspyglass, @renlybaratheon-tyrell, @symmetria42, @kay-lock-key-lock

#tony stark #stephen strange #avengers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu #prompt fill #my writing #my fanfiction

29 notes · View notes

fondnesses · 4 years

Text

roscoe’s notebook post

A while back I said I was going to write a post about the way I use notebooks for writing projects. This is the first of several posts about Writing Process I’ve been tossing around in my drafts for a little while as a result of conversations with friends, so bear with me.

I. Love. Notebooks. I genuinely would have to deeply overhaul my whole Process of writing anything on the longer side if I were to go paperless; I find physical paper pretty invaluable when I’m outlining, brainstorming, and researching, and I still probably write ¼-⅓ of all my actual content on paper first. (That proportion used to be a lot higher, but I’ve gotten better at being productive on a computer in recent years, which is great.) I’m a very visual person, so notebooks really help me visualize my ideas, story structure, etc. It’s very helpful to be able to use arrows and diagrams and physically strike things through, and the tactility is really soothing to me. If I show people my notebooks or talk about them, I often get a response like “this is so organized”, which is sort of true, but I have to stress that it’s “organization for a disorganized mind”; I can’t misplace ideas or notes if it all goes into the same physical object, vs. electronic notes, which are much more, like “Did I say that in a voice memo? PM it to myself on Discord? Leave it in a desktop sticky note? Write it directly into the Google Doc? Who knows! It’s lost to time!”. It’s very much an ADHD management strategy.

It helps that I’m a very neophyte stationery hobbyist and appreciate any excuse I have to use my pens, but I also will go off at any opportunity about how helpful I find them for writing projects, which is why I decided to just make a post about it. Right now I mostly use them for (fan and original) fiction projects, but I used a notebook for a very similar purpose when I was working on my undergrad thesis, and I have a slightly different but equally necessary-to-me approach to notebooks I use at work.

My typical structure for a notebook that’s devoted to one project only looks like this:

I always leave the first couple pages blank so I can go back and retroactively index bujo-style. I don’t always actually do the index, because sometimes I get too lazy, but I like having those blank pages there to give me the option. I also usually put epigraphs/inspo quotes on the first page.

After that, there’s often (but not always, I’ll talk about it) a couple pages at the start where I’m frantically jotting down loose brainstorming ideas before they've coagulated into a story structure. Just, like, vomiting into the void.

Stemming out of that, I usually write out about like 5-10 pages of outline-style notes in chronological order, laying out all the main story beats and charting out the story trajectory. This will inevitably get revised and rewritten many times, but I find the process of writing these wide-angle synopses really useful for dislodging ideas, making connections re: thematic threads, etc. from my brain.

I’ll devote a couple pages after that to specific things like "sex scene brainstorming", "random scene ideas/minor details that don't have a clear place in the outline right now but I'll turn to for inspo later" [this is what I refer to as “bits” in one of the later photos], "page where I just outline the Motifs And Themes", "research notes", "to-do list", "stuff to check on a second pass", "things to put in the a/n and AO3 tags", etc.--the specifics vary with the story.

Then, I skip ahead to approx. halfway through the notebook and cordon off the rest of the pages to be “free writing” space, AKA writing of actual content rather than planning, with the expectation there will be no internal organization and I’ll transcribe to laptop as I go. Writing on paper feels less binding than typing something on a computer; it’s like a little secret kept with myself, and it doesn’t need to go anywhere or be seen by anyone if I decide I don’t like it. Setting aside pages in the back half of the notebook means that, as more things come up re: planning, I can go back and add those in the rest of the pages that were intentionally left blank. This is how I avoid (for the most part) having the whole thing be a jumbled mess where there’s no separation between the notes and the actual story writing; I learned this the hard way via the first notebook I’ll show you in a second. I’ve recently gotten really into using Muji sticky note tabs to label any pages/sections of particular import that don't want to have to refer back to in the index and would rather just flip to instantly.

I do use notebooks that aren’t specific to any one project, but those are much less organized and less worth sharing.

Before I look at more recent stuff, here are some selections from my notebook for the project that got me into writing longfic, my Golden Kamuy canon divergence AU (with apologies for the bad photos, my phone’s camera is trash). I worked on this from Sept 2018-July 2019. It was a learning experience in a lot of ways, and notebook utilization was one of those. I’ve always used notebooks for keeping track of writing projects, as I said earlier, but before this it was largely without much organization or structure; just total chaos. Having a physical notebook became really important for this project because it was a sprawling multichapter story with rotating POVs and a lot of historical research. I also learned a lot about what not to do with a notebook, personally, or at least things that don’t work so well (for me). This was a college ruled spiral-bound Decomposition Book, for the record.

By the time I bought a notebook for it I already had a (very basic) plot outline in mind, so I wasn’t doing that very initial ground-zero brainstorming in here; I was copying out of my phone’s notes app, basically, and then going from there.

This is one of the first pages in this notebook; I wanted to visualize the relationship web between the four central characters in the story in terms of how they feel about one another. The two colours correspond to the POV characters (Sugimoto in orange, Ogata in pink), and I used this colour-coding throughout the notebook with highlighters, etc. to keep track of information that was more relevant to one character than the other. Tsurumi and Yuusaku aren’t POV characters, but they’re prominent in the story and their presence impacts the central relationship between Sugimoto and Ogata, and it was helpful to me to map out the emotional ecosystem, as it were.

(There are coffee stains all over this, because I wrote the vast majority of the story in coffee shops because I didn’t want to be around my roommates, lol. This is part of why I never do fiction writing in notebooks that are too nice, I get neurotic about needing to keep them tidy. I can’t use ones that are too shit though, either, so it’s a bit of a narrow window. I’ll talk more about brands and paper quality etc. later.)

As you can see, this is the first page of many I set aside specifically for jotting down different pieces of historical information relevant to my story. It’s about fictional characters who are members of an army division that existed in real life, and both the canon and my fic involve a high level of attention to detail with regards to which divisions were present for which battles, etc., as well as general historical details specific to the Russo-Japanese War setting--what did people eat in the trenches? What did they do to fill time? How did they get through the winter? What did third party observers have to say about the conditions? What were the specs of their weaponry (particularly important because one of the POV characters is a sniper and gun nut)? I did a lot of reading (and watching of antique gun collector Youtube videos... the things I do for love, eh), and it came in handy so many times, because it turns out it’s much easier to write trench warfare slice of life if you have factual details to pull from when you don’t know what to do with a scene! Imagine that!

This is the first of three “grid outlines” I made; this is a way I sometimes like to visualize a story outline all on one page, with the columns representing chapters and the squares within the columns representing sections/scenes within the chapters. As you can see, early on I was hoping to get this done in five or even FOUR chapters (whatmakesyouhaha.mp3), with POV switches happening internally within the chapters. This proved to be unwieldy for many reasons, so I revised the outline:

Here I’d come to terms with the fact this story was going to have a lot more chapters than I’d planned, and I rearranged things so that it would happen in ten, with each chapter belonging to only one POV character. This also needed revising later, and in the end the story looked a bit more like this (though it did in fact end up being twelve chapters, but only because Chapter Ten was like, 12k, and needed to be split in two chunks):

I must have remembered to bring my fineliners to the coffee shop this time, lol, because as you can see it’s properly colour-coded this time. This outline was made when I was already four posted chapters into the fic, which hopefully gives you a sense of the way in which I am sort of a planner and a pantser; I can’t get into a longer project without an outline, but the outline inevitably changes many times throughout writing and I often end up with a finished product that looks pretty different from what I was intending. My creative M.O. as always is Do The Maximum! Amount! Of! Work! Possible!

This is what a “free writing” page looks like, for me. In this notebook I didn’t set aside any specific spaces for free writing so it’s strewn throughout the notebook in a really disorganized way and I was constantly flipping through looking for bits I’d written and forgotten to transcribe, and I decided to be more organized in future as a result of that. If something’s crossed through, that means I transcribed it. As you can see, they’re often small sections, sometimes just a coupled decontextualized sentences. About 3/4 of what I write in a notebook makes it into the story, I’d say; some of it never goes anywhere, and that’s OK. I have less of an issue killing my darlings if they never make it off the paper page.

A very brief, top-down chapter outline, where the goal was not to get too bogged down in details and just to visualize the beats and pin down what they’re trying to accomplish. Chapters for this fic typically ran about 6k, and five or six scenes per chapter was pretty common, so the average scene length was about 1-1.25k words/scene. IDK why I called it storyboarding when I didn’t make drawings. (Margin numbers are to keep track of word count, since I was using a daily word count tracker while writing this.)

This page was, as titled, for keeping track of the various balls in the air when I was about 2/3-3/4 of the way through the story and really feeling the pressure with regards to tying up the various loose ends. This was... a struggle. I hadn’t ever written anything longish (this fic ended up just under 70k) that had an action plot before, let alone a canon divergence scenario where I had to engage with and explain away various canon plot elements so I could maintain the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

Now, I mentioned earlier that I learned various “things not to do” with my notebooks while working on that project. One of those lessons I learned is to be more realistic when assessing how big a project is likely to get, not least because I RAN OUT OF PAGES around the chapter 9-10 mark. In my defense though, that’s because I’d never written anything even half this long! But I know better now, and try not to be in denial. Finishing the notebook early was a way bigger problem than I’d anticipated, and was part of the reason the last few chapters took several grueling months to finish. The issue was that I needed to be able to use a notebook to maintain my workflow--attempting to do it only on a computer was dismal--but it seemed silly to start a notebook of a similar size to the one I’d finished (80pg, approximately B5 dimensions) when there was no way it would need that much space, especially since the reference pages, like the historical notes, didn’t need to be transcribed over. I was also pretty broke at the time and didn’t want to spend money unnecessarily, lol. I tried to get by using a Moleskine Cahier for a month or so because I had one lying around, but it was horrid; it was too small to be used comfortably, it wasn’t spiral-bound so it wouldn’t lay flat, the ghosting is terrible and I hate the way Moleskine paper feels, etc. Eventually I caved and went to Muji and bought a 30ish page A5 with closer to lay-flat binding, and I finished the story in there. I would take a comparative pic for you of the relative notebook sizes and include some of the scene staging diagrams, etc. I put in there, but I can’t find it :(

So I learned that specs really do matter, and it’s okay to be picky if the pickiness is going to make the difference between actually using a notebook or not. Things that are important to me in my notebooks:

Ruling (gotta have ruling, I can suffer through grid but blank or dot is a no-go)

Size (I can’t use anything smaller than at least a medium-large notebook, I find it claustrophobic and get miserly about page space)

Binding (twin ring is my preference because it looks and feels better than a classic spiral but has the same comfort of use with regards to bending the pages back to suit workspace size and laying flat with ease)

Paper quality and colour (I don’t like anything too slippery/smooth or with too much visible ghosting, and I strongly prefer an off-white paper to bleached paper--part of why I don’t use Decomposition Books anymore, the paper is scratchy and it’s too damn bleached!)

Pagecount relative to size of project

Portability (in non-COVID times; anything bigger than a B5 wouldn’t fit in the satchel I used to bring to work at my old job), etc.

But everyone’s taste is different in this respect, and the only way to figure out what works for you is through trial and error, I’m afraid. I also suspect I’m more neurotic and particular about the sensory experience of using a notebook than most people are, but I yam what I yam.

Now to talk about the notebooks for my current projects, where I’ve refined my approach somewhat. I’ve included less photos for these because they’re ongoing WIPs I don’t want to spoil completely, but I’ve tried to include some outline-type stuff to give you an idea.

My big bang fic is in the very ugly twin ring notebook on the right; I got it at a dollar store by my house because I needed something to work in and didn’t want to wait for an online order, but it’s been very serviceable for my needs. The paper isn’t even bad. The bigger notebook (B5) is my Sangcheng fic.

I wanted something with a lot of pages for this, because I knew it was going to be a long story, and for some reason the fact it’s smaller than my usual preference doesn’t bug me (I think it’s an A5?); it just fits this story, somehow. I’m not sure exactly how many sheets are in here but I’d guess about 150.

Because this notebook has upwards of 100 sheets, I made a lot of use of sticky-note tabs to label high-priority pages. The colour coding of these doesn’t mean anything, it was just whichever ones I had at hand at any given moment. These are those tabs from Muji I mentioned, I’m really obsessed with them--the shape makes them so much less obtrusive and more practical than conventional squares/rectangles OR flag shapes, IME.

My big bang story is nonlinear, so, similarly to what I did with colour coding for the two POVs for my GK fic, this story has two main colours corresponding to whether a given section takes place in the “before” or the “after” portions of the timeline, with blue as “after”, yellow as “before”. This is what the most current version of the outline looks like in there:

If you squint, you can see the alphanumeric notes in the top right of each section entry; I gave them each a code like “A3″ or “B5″ corresponding to their position in the story sequence (so, it goes A1, B1, A2, B2, etc., through to B9 and then the epilogue). [Unintentional that this schema overlaps with notebook size labeling and so is kind of confusing in the context of this post.] At first I was just keeping track of the sections via the highlighted titles, but it got confusing because I’d write down “Wedding” or “Yiling” in my notes and then refer to the notes later like “but there are multiple marriages?? and multiple scenes in Yiling??”. Stuff gets struck through with a straight line if it’s been written in a more-or-less complete form and crossed out with a squiggly line if it’s been cut from the outline or made redundant.

As I said earlier, I started out all the initial brainstorming for my Sangcheng fic in its notebook, instead of brainstorming it in someone’s DMs/my notes app/a voice memo/etc. and then transcribing it into the notebook in a somewhat more organized fashion, which is how my stories usually start out. Because of this, the first five-ish pages are basically just stream of consciousness rambling where I was trying to jot down every disconnected thought I had about the story concept. I don’t have photos for that because it’s too spoilerific for later developments in the fic, but I can show you some of the stages the outlines went through, once I was able to corral those initial notes into a story structure:

All the chapters in this fic have their own highlighter colour, so when I started trying to make sense of my initial brainstorm notes I just went through and highlighted stuff in the colour of the chapter it would make the most sense for, and then transcribed things more-or-less in chronological order into the relevant chapter outline. I later ended up rewriting all the chapter outlines AGAIN to refine them and divide them internally by the individual scenes, which makes them a lot more legible and less wall-of-text-y. They look like this now, with about four sheets per chapter:

Because this fic is on the longer side, I have some pages that are just for keeping track of other story elements, like this, where I refer back to whatever the fuck the “themes” are supposed to be whenever I forget what this fic is about:

It’s all about the visionboarding... Anyway, that’s most of what I have to offer, since most of these two notebooks is Forbidden Content.

With regards to brands/supplies, I really like this Kokuyo Campus Wide notebook that I’m writing Sangcheng in, it’s pretty perfect for me. I also like the B5 Muji twin rings, but those only come in 30 sheets, so I wouldn’t use it for anything above a ~20k project. The B5 Maruman Spiral Note 6.5mm ruled/80 sheet is another good one, though I wish it was twin ring instead of spiral. As you can tell, I like Japanese stationery brands because it’s easier to find decent paper quality and minimalist design without shelling out $$ than it is with American/European brands, at least IME. I like Rollbahns too. But honestly, I can usually find pretty serviceable random notebooks that aren’t brand-name from Asian dollar stores; it’s really not something where you need to shell out tons of money.

#notebooks #writing #idk how to tag this!

28 notes · View notes

pigtownchronicles · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2.4 - The Broker

The phone call on Monday had been cryptic:

“Brokerage,” a rather deep voice had said on the other end of the line, after Barry dialed the number he’d been given.

“Yes, hello. My name is Barry Gersholm. I was given a card with this number to contact a Mr. Ian Miller.”

There was a bit of silence. “Who gave you the number?”

“A fellow named Hugh.”

“Are you buying or selling?”

“Excuse me?”

“Buying or selling?”

“I guess...I’m not sure? I was told that I...uh...had some assets that might be valuable. Selling, I guess?”

A little more silence than before. The man asked him for his name again, gave Barry an address to write down, didn’t repeat it, and then hung up.

It was not the sort of business contact Barry was used to dealing with, but then, nothing about Hugh, or Depot, had been anything like he’d expected. The more he thought about it, though, the less likely it seemed like something he ought to do. He had no idea who this person was. If he told Dennis where he was going, he would have a conniption--taking a drug dealer up on a possible job offer with a third party, without knowing anything about what they did? Was he an idiot? Maybe he was, he thought, but at the same time, it was exciting. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d taken a risk--an actual risk, barebacking while on PrEP didn’t really count, not that Dennis could know about that either. That evening, he thought about telling him, but didn’t. Tuesday morning, at the office, he spent all day trying to figure out how to get out early. He had never been good at believable excuses. Richard checked in with him again, and his smarmy fucking demeanor made him want to be there even less.

“Hey Richard, I’m gonna take off early, get a little work down at home this evening,” he said, “I got a doctor’s appointment, hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, any meetings you might miss?”

“Nothing on the schedule.”

“Then no problem. Oh, but in exchange, you have to promise to come out with the rest of the team on Friday. I want us to have a little party, you know, to celebrate our near completion of the project.”

More likely, it was to celebrate his own promotion, but Barry agreed to go. If nothing else, it would be beer he didn’t have to buy on a Friday night. Around three-thirty, he packed up his stuff and left the building, and about ten to four, he arrived at the address that had been given to him. It was a rather dilapidated house, looking like it had survived a few rezonings in its time--on one side was a liquor store, and on the other, a little string of businesses being run out of repurposed buildings like this one, until they ran up against a sizable apartment building that took up the rest of the block. Unlike those other little shops, this one didn’t seem to have a sign anywhere around it, but the address was right. He walked up the steps, gave a knock on the door, and after a moment, it opened up, revealing a rather tall fellow in business casual, maybe a bit younger than Barry was. “Barry, right?” he asked. It was the same voice from over the phone, but in person, he was putting off a little more charm.

“Yeah, you must be Ian,” Barry said, and the man nodded as they shook hands.

“Come on in, let’s have a chat.”

Barry followed him into the living room, which still felt more like a living room than the meeting room it might be used as. There, sitting in a sagging armchair, was Hugh. Ian sat in a second armchair, leaving Barry the couch in front of them both. He gave a little nod to Hugh, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. If he’d been suspicious that they were selling drugs before, he was almost certain of it now, and he wasn’t sure this was the sort of move he wanted to make. Best to go through the motions, though. He pulled his resume out and handed it to Ian, who set it aside without looking at it. “Hugh and I have been talking about his impression of you on Friday, and I asked him to join me for our chat today, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Barry said, “I suppose I just feel a bit in the dark about all of this. What exactly is it you do here?”

“The growth in this part of the city over the last year has opened up a number of possibilities that would have been unimaginable before,” Ian said, putting on a tone not unlike half the tech startup gurus who were rotated through his office for various seminars each year, “I have found myself in a rather fortuitous position, to be able to offer folks the ability to take part in a commodities trade unlike anything that has been in existence before this.”

Barry nodded along, and then decided he didn’t quite feel like nodding. He was being sold a line of bullshit already. “That all sounds very fascinating, but it doesn’t tell me anything--I’ve been in sales long enough to know a pitch when I hear one. Just be straight with me.”

Ian looked over at Hugh, and gave him a look that could have meant a number of things, part shrug, part curiosity, perhaps.

“I’m a broker, as it says on my card. But what I buy and sell isn’t anything...physical, exactly. I’m in the business of buying and selling emotions, experiences, pasts and futures. Livelihoods.”

“Sounds like drugs.”

Ian gave another one of his little shrugs. “You sound like that’s what you were expecting, but no. I know Hugh has many hustles, but this isn’t drugs, not exactly. Like I said, I’m merely a broker, trying to help men find their way to happiness. Everyone has things they don’t like about their life, of course. But to someone walking down the street, perhaps that life you have is exactly what might make them happy. You in turn, might desire aspects of another. My services and skills help men like this connect, and make one another happy. To give each other the assets that they no longer appreciate.”

“That...what does that even mean?”

“Here, let me show you something,” Ian said, picked up a remote control, and turned on the TV hanging on the wall.

Barry recognized the location--it was the couch where he was currently sitting, but instead, a rather slender, twinky fellow was sitting there. “I’ve tried to gain weight all my life, I guess. I’ve always just had this strange desire to be...fatter. I can’t really explain it. I know I should be happy with how I look, but I’m not,” the young man said, “Can...you really help me?”

The video cut to the young man lying on a table in a sterile looking room. It looked like hyperlapse, what came next, but it was too smooth. The man’s body began to swell, packing on weight while he laid there, seemingly in a matter of moments. He went from a lean 170 to well over 300 pounds, and after the strange transformation, the video cut back to the couch, where the...new man was sitting, grinning with delight.

“How are you feeling? Adjusting well?” Ian’s voice said from off screen.

“Fuck, I’ve never felt better man, I finally...feel like I have the body I was supposed to have. I know that sounds a bit sick, but I can’t thank you enough.”

Ian paused the video, and waited a moment while Barry digested what he’d just witnessed. “That’s just one of many, many testimonials I could show you. Some changes are physical, like this young man. Others want a different persona. Others want a different line of work, a different past, a different family. Anything that you want to sell, I can try and find a buyer to connect you with, or if not, I’m also happy to take unwanted aspects in exchange for payment.”

“I...that’s unbelievable.”

They watched a few more videos, and either Ian should have been in Hollywood doing special effects, or he was telling the truth. Hugh slipped in then, and made a pitch. “I could see that you wanted another chance there at the club. A younger body, carefree, able to dance the night away, resilience and vigor and all of those wonderful things. You, in turn, have a respectable career, a husband who you seem at odds with. But those things could be an asset to someone else, and you, in turn, could have what you wanted on Friday night.”

Ian had gotten up for a moment, went to a glass display case on the wall, pulled a little jar from it, and returned to where they were sitting. He tapped a small bit of the powder out from inside the jar, and made a small line on the coffee table. “Here, this isn’t the real thing, but I’ve managed to...synthesize, some of what I do downstairs for folks. If you want a little taste of what I can offer you, try this.”

“So it is drugs.”

“It’s an emerging product line, still in development. I merely want to help you fully understand what I can offer you. I assure you they’re completely safe. The effect only will last a few minutes.”

A bit suspicious, and thinking it would probably be just a little bit of coke, since all of this had to be a very complex ruse, or scam, or...something. He took the hit anyway, because he felt like he deserved a little coke for listening to this bullshit, but what happened when it hit him was unlike any drug he’d experienced before.

He wasn’t...in the house anymore. He was in a club. What club didn’t matter, what did matter was the pounding of the music, the throbbing energy in his body, and when Barry looked down at himself, it wasn’t...his body he was looking at. He was slender, and young, and vibrant, with a...sizable bulge in the front of the skimpy underwear he was wearing with nothing else. But he wasn’t there to look at himself, he was there to dance, and vibe, and it felt like he could do this forever. The euphoria that washed over him wasn’t from a drug, it was the sheer thrill of that moment, and just as he grasped it and held it, believed it, it was gone--and he was sitting on the couch again, eyes tearing up slightly, while Hugh and Ian watched.

“Now do you understand? That could be you. For real.”

“I think...I think I need to go,” Barry said, wiping his eyes. That had been....too exquisite. Too tempting. He needed some distance to think about this.

“No worries, my offers are always open ended. You take the time you need to come to the decision that would make you happy. You wouldn’t be the first to walk away from it--sometimes, knowing what you could have is enough to make you appreciate what you already possess. I’m merely offering you the possibility of something else, alright?”

Barry retreated back to his car, and just sat in the silence for a while. He could feel it, the pulse of the music in his bones again...but was that really what he wanted? It would be pleasurable, sure. Fleeting, maybe. But what was really missing from his life didn’t seem like something that could be bought and sold. But then, what if it could be?

***

Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

#pigtown #age regression #drugs #hallucination

14 notes · View notes

ryqoshay · 3 years

Text

Tri-Arame: A Break? No Way!

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: ~2k Rating: G Time Frame: Sometime during the 2nd trimester of their 2nd year? Later? Story Arc: Stand Alone

----------

Author’s Note: How many detours will I take? How many WIPs must I start before I can finish one? Will I ever finish any of the works I started over the last couple months? Only my µ’s muse knows.

Anyway, this chapter was born entirely out of a single comment from myon as we discussed the new songs for the Nijigasaki girls. I don’t want to spoil it entirely, so I’ll include it in the followup post.

Also, the girls of R3birth have not made their anime debut, so they will not be appearing in this scene. Perhaps I may come back and make changes later if they are introduced in the second season.

Summary: It’s time for everyone in the Nijigasaki School Idol Club to have a new solo! And Yuu is going to help them all.

----------

Movement at the edge of Ayumu’s focus caught her eye and she looked up.

“Are you alright, Yuu-chan?” She asked the twin-tailed girl beside her under the kotatsu.

“I’m fine.” Yuu offered a smile that was nowhere near its normal power.

“You’ve stayed up late every night this week.” Ayumu reminded. “It’s fine to take a break.”

“A break? No way!” Yuu shook her head. “I need to help you guys.”

“I believe Ayumu-san and I can take care of anything else tonight.” Setsuna joined from her spot opposite Ayumu. “We’ve made a lot of progress thanks to your help, Yuu-san.” She smiled, though Ayumu noted even hers was not as brilliant as usual.

The three girls had been working together for hours since arriving at Ayumu’s place after school, breaking only for dinner. The project was a pair of new solo songs for Ayumu and Setsuna for an upcoming Live being planned by the school idol club. Although, together may have been a little bit of an overstatement, as Ayumu and Setsuna had each been primarily focused on their own song while Yuu assisted as needed.

And on the topic of Yuu’s assistance, she had been helping the rest of the club as well all week. Thus, all the late nights. She had actually ended up staying at Rina’s, Shizuku’s, Karin’s and Kanata’s places after missing the last train the first couple nights and not bothering the next two. Tonight, it was Ayumu’s turn and they had invited Setsuna to join them.

“Are you sure?” Yuu seemed more than a little dejected.

Whatever Setsuna was about to say in response was interrupted by a yawn. “Mm…” She ended up humming and nodding after.

“It seems we should take our own advice and turn in as well.” Ayumu decided. “We can continue later this weekend. But for now, you and I need to rest up for tomorrow, Yuu-chan.” She reminded her friend of the plans they had with her parents. “Or today, actually.” She corrected, noticing the clock on her headboard.

“I suppose.” Yuu sighed and crawled over to Ayumu’s bed before pulling herself up and under the covers.

“I’m sorry, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu suddenly apologized. “I got so wrapped up in our work that I completely forgot to set out a futon for you.” She stood and moved to her closet to retrieve the bedding.

“I’ll help.” Setsuna assured, sliding the table a little to make room before getting up to retrieve a pillow.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Ayumu stepped over to her plushie display and grabbed the pink rabbit before turning and handing it to Setsuna.

“… Right… Thank you.” Pink dusted the raven-haired girl’s cheeks as she accepted.

----------

Ayumu opened her eyes to an unfamiliar sound. Soft, almost imperceptible scratches sounded from somewhere in the room. Then a sound she recognized; a page being turned. She sat up and immediately spotted Yuu setting the table, scrawling away at the paperwork for the songs they had worked on last night.

“Yuu-chan?” She murmured, keeping her volume down as she realized Setsuna was still sleeping behind Yuu.

“Mm?” The girl with green tips looked up from her work, set a hand down for support and twisted her shoulders around to face the redhead. “G’mornin’ Ayumu.” She offered a smile that was barely more energetic than the prior night.

“How long have you been up?” Ayumu asked, sliding out of bed, stepping over Setsuna and making her way to her normal spot at the table.

“Dunno.” Yuu admitted. “I dreamed up some good ideas for almost everyone and needed to get them out on paper before I forgot it all.”

Ayumu couldn’t help smiling. She loved Yuu’s unwavering support, even when it lead to hyperfocus and nigh-all-consuming obsession. And while she wished Yuu would take better care of herself, she had long since vowed to do what she could to fill in where needed when it came to her health and wellbeing.

“Are you going to be alright coming along with us today?” She asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Yuu nodded. “I love hanging out with you and your parents. I can take a nap afterward.”

Well, at least she recognizes she needs more sleep. Ayumu conceded to herself.

A knock came at the door, followed by Ayumu’s mother’s voice. “Are you girls up? I’ll have breakfast ready in a moment.”

The sound caused Setsuna to stir, so Ayumu was no longer worried about waking her.

“We’ll be out in a few.” Ayumu responded.

“Oh, Setsuna-chan, good morning.” Yuu greeted the other girl as she slowly sat up and yawned.

Setsuna stretched. “Good morning, Yuu-san, Ayumu-san.”

“Good morning, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu added.

“I had a bunch of new ideas,” Yuu continued “though we probably can’t fit them all into just these songs, and probably shouldn’t try, but maybe we’ll be able to use some in the next set? Anyway, take a look at it later today and let me know what you think.” She held out a stack of sheets.

“Thank you, Yuu-san.” Setsuna accepted and slipped the pages into her bag.

The three then rotated through the bathroom to wash their faces and get ready for the day.

----------

ScarletStorm: Ayumu-san

UeharaAyumu: What’s up Setsuna-chan?

ScarletStorm: I wanted to contact you privately so as to avoid possibly embarrassing Yuu-san.

UeharaAyumu: Yuu-chan?

UeharaAyumu: What do you mean?

ScarletStorm: I believe she mixed up some of the paperwork for our songs.

ScarletStorm: A lot of it, actually.

Oh? Ayumu crawled over to the table to check what was left there. Sure enough, much of it was for Setsuna’s solo.

UeharaAyumu: That appears to be the case

ScarletStorm: I can stop by later tonight so we can swap them.

UeharaAyumu: No need to make a special trip

UeharaAyumu: We’ll see each other again Monday morning

As soon as Ayumu sent the second message, she realized what Setsuna was probably going to reply.

ScarletStorm: I was hoping to work a little more on it tomorrow.

And there it was. Yuu wasn’t the only workaholic when it came to school idol things. Ayumu laughed lightly to herself and shook her head. She was about to agree and set up a time to meet when a different thought occurred to her.

UeharaAyumu: Perhaps we can use this opportunity to help each other?

UeharaAyumu: Look at what the other has done from a different perspective and maybe do some editing or offer some advice?

UeharaAyumu: A little like what Yuu-chan has been doing for us, but we both have different perspectives than her

UeharaAyumu: And each other

ScarletStorm: That’s a great idea, Ayumu-san!

ScarletStorm: It will a little like our Shuffle Festival from a little while back.

ScarletStorm: Actually, no, not really.

ScarletStorm: We’re not covering the other’s song, just helping them write one.

UeharaAyumu: Well there’s no reason we cannot add a little of our own influence to the other’s song

UeharaAyumu: I’ve always admired your style, Setsuna-chan

UeharaAyumu: So I wouldn’t mind seeing what influence you might have on a song that I might sing

UeharaAyumu: Then on the other side, I would like to see what I can add to a song of yours

UeharaAyumu: And on the topic of the Shuffle Festival, I actually kind of hoped I would end up with CHASE! instead of Kasumi-chan

UeharaAyumu: Yuu-chan still likes to play it on her piano every so often and I can’t help humming along when she does

UeharaAyumu: After all, it was the song that inspired me to become a school idol and her to join and restart the club

There was a noticeable pause before Setsuna began typing again. Then another pause. And another.

ScarletStorm: Thank you, Ayumu-san.

ScarletStorm: That song has always meant a lot to me.

ScarletStorm: As such, I am very happy to hear that you and Yuu-san continue to enjoy it.

ScarletStorm: That said, I also enjoy your style.

ScarletStorm: However, I believe Emma-san was a better pick than I for covering Yume e no Ippo.

ScarletStorm: At least she was then.

ScarletStorm: My time with Ayumu-san and Shizuku-san in A・ZU・NA has allowed me to experience many more facets of being a school idol than I would have otherwise on my own.

ScarletStorm: You have allowed me to expand my knowledge and skills of being a school idol.

ScarletStorm: It would be an honor to sing a song in homage to Ayumu-san’s style in exchange for her singing one in mine.

Ayumu smiled.

UeharaAyumu: I’ll let Yuu-chan know we’re trading notes for a little while when I check on her later to make sure she’s taking the break she needs

UeharaAyumu: And speaking of breaks, don’t you be staying up to late working on my song

UeharaAyumu: Both you and Yuu-chan have a bad habit of overworking yourselves and it makes me worry about you

Scarlet Storm: Thank you for your concern, Ayumu-san.

ScarletStorm: I will be sure to go to bed at a decent time tonight.

UeharaAyumu: Alright

UeharaAyumu: See you at the station Monday morning

ScarletStorm: Yes, see you then.

----------

“Wha~?” Kasumi exclaimed, planting both hands on the table and leaning toward two of her seniors on the other side. “Ayumu-sempai and Setsuna-sempai are trading songs?”

Ayumu laughed lightly. “Just trading some influence in style.”

“And learning new ways to look at our songs,” Setsuna added excitedly “how we share them with our fans and ultimately grow as school idols.”

“Kasumin wants to grow as a school idol too!” Kasumi whined. “Senpai!” She turned toward Yuu. “Help Kasumin make her songs even cuter!”

“Yuu-senpai has already helped you a lot, Kasumi-san.” Shizuku pointed out from beside the ash blonde. “I believe what is being suggested here is a little different.”

“It sounds more like our recent Shuffle Festival.” Karin observed.

“That’s what I thought at first as well.” Setsuna acknowledged.

“But what Setsu and Ayu-pyon are doing is trading influence on creating songs, not just covering the other’s songs.” Ai spoke up.

“Exactly.” Ayumu agreed.

“Sounds fun. Ai’m in.” The blonde grinned.

“I would like to try something new as well.” Rina stated flatly. “I would like to discover new ways to connect with my fans.”

“Hmmm…” Emma considered “I enjoyed singing Ayumu-chan’s pure song during the Shuffle Festival, but I wonder how it might feel to sing a cool song like Karin-chan’s or a dramatic one like Shizuku-chan’s.”

“Or a cute one like Kasumin’s?” Kasumi asked.

“I think everything Emma-chan sings would end up being cute.” Kanata’s voice was slightly muffled by her pillow before she turned her head. “Wouldn’t you agree, Karin-chan?”

“O… of course.” Karin didn’t seem to have expected to be asked such a question.

“What kind of influence would you want to have on your song, Kanata-san?” Yuu asked.

“I already get inspiration and influence from Haruka-chan.” Kanata drawled.

“Well, this all sounds like a lot of fun.” Yuu continued. “But if we’re going to overhaul everyone’s songs, it’s going to be a lot of work. But…” she leaned over retrieve a sizable stack of sheets from her bag “I came up with a ton of new and random stuff once Ayumu and Setsuna-chan revealed their idea to me. Take a look and see if anything gives you ideas. I’ll be happy to help wherever I can, as always.”

Seven hands reached forward to take random pages and several discussions broke out among the group.

Ayumu glanced at the twin-tailed girl beside her. Looks like it might be another sleep deprived week for Yuu-chan. She worried silently. Maybe I’ll take a night in the middle of the week this time. Oh. Setsuna-chan and I are pretty far along with our songs, so maybe we can all take a break that night. Perhaps an anime movie night, so long as we limit it to only a few episodes and not an entire series.

Someone said her name to get her attention and Ayumu was taken from her thoughts and into a discussion about a possible lyric change. The next couple hours were filled with excitement and anticipation as the girls of the Nijigasaki School Idol Club began looking at their songs in a new light.

----------

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#YuuAyuSetsu #Takasaki Yuu #Yuki Setsuna #Uehara Ayumu #Tri-Arame #Love Live Nijigasaki #fanfic

3 notes · View notes

zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Home Front, Mission 8: Peter’s Fitness Montage

Fitness, not fighting

PETER LYNNE: Hello, listeners. It's me again, poor old Peter, still stuck in a projection box at the Princess Louise Theater. And since you last heard from me, I have faced my greatest survival challenge yet. Oh um, speaking of, you're going to be facing a few challenges yourself soon, courtesy of yours truly. So um, why don't you start warming up now? A few stretches, running on the spot, whatever gets your juices flowing, as the bishop said to the personal trainer.

Um, yes. Anyway um, in case you've forgotten, the auditorium here is absolutely packed with zombies, but keeping a movie on the screen distracts them. So there I was, looking through the cinemas digital archives for something nice and long, and I found a playlist of every single Rocky movie for a Sly Stallone fan marathon. Except the playlist got stuck and I've been watching Rocky movies on a loop for eight days straight, listeners. I've managed to stop the playlist around the tenth run-through of Rocky III.

I fear I might have gone a bit peculiar. I spent the whole morning on comms to Janine waxing lyrical about Mr. T, but - but it has given me a great idea for a workout, and you'll never guess. It is boxing. Plenty of fisticuff-related entries on my list of Ministry exercises. First, though, a song that'll help you with your warm-up. I'm going to put on some music you can dance around to and really get your blood pumping, and if I am very lucky, maybe I'll finally get “Eye of the Tiger” out of my head.

PETER LYNNE: Welcome back, friends. Now I know we're all quite tired of being stuck indoors. Oh yes, although uh, Runner Five, if you're listening, I gather you've had a change of location recently. Locked down in a camping shop, Sam said. Could be worse. [laughs] I mean, you could be me. But let me tell you, my cinematic ordeal has given me the perfect lens for viewing this lockdown. See, we need to not think of it as being trapped, oh no. We can think of this as one extended indoor fitness montage. We are just in that part of the movie where we have to hunker down, crank the volume, and get our pulses racing!

So let's keep our warm-up going with some more push-ups, because if they worked for Rocky, they're gonna work for us. [paper rustles] Right, here is our official technique courtesy of Ministry guidelines. First, I want you to get down on all fours with your arms just over shoulder-width apart, then straighten out your body, supporting yourself on your hands and also your toes. Now lower yourself to the floor and push yourself back up again. Now if that feels too difficult, that's fine. Don't be afraid to support yourself on your knees and lower legs instead of your tiptoes. We are going to try one whole minute of push-ups or as many as you can manage. And go!

Excellent. Don't get carried away. Tortoise and the hare, all of that. 15 seconds down. Don't rush. Take your time with each push-up. That's beautiful. Exactly what we want, I assume. Halfway there. Feel the burn, as the old cliche goes. Never quite understood what that was supposed to mean. Uh, 15 seconds left. Oh, you can taste the finish line now! And five, four, three, two, one, and rest. Done.

All right, well, you should be all warmed up. I'm actually going to do a few push-ups myself in the next music break and you know, feel free to rest or you can keep going along with me. Frankly, I'm finding this music by going through movie credits and I want to be distracted when Cats III comes up next. So stay put, everyone. Your pal Peter will be back after this.

PETER LYNNE: Well, my friends, I have a shameful confession. I'm actually starting to miss the Rocky movies. Even the really bad ones, which is something of a tautology, but it just goes to show a person can get used to anything. I mean, Janine told me to emphasize our goal today is fitness, not fighting. Abel runners always do their damnedest to avoid conflict, and rightly so. If you do end up in a scrap, you need to be able to dodge as well as hit, so before we get to the hitting, you are going to practice a move called the side-to-side hop. Not a classic dance move, but it'll help you hone your evasive reflexes.

So to do this, we start by balancing on one foot with your knees and your arms bent. Then you hop to the side like you're jumping over an imaginary line that's between your legs, landing on the ball of the opposite foot. So try that for me. And absolutely fair, if you've got any knee problems or if that's painful, you can just do a grapevine or sidestep instead, totally fine. Okay, now we just keep hopping back and forth across that line, but as fast as you can. See if you can keep that up for a solid 45 seconds. I promise you will find that deceptively challenging.

And we are going to start now. There we go, but don't get carried away. You've set yourself a high bar. 15 seconds down, 30 left to go. Probably starting to feel what I meant now. 30 seconds down. You can pretend that you're dodging punches or - or lunging zombies. There's - there's one on the left. There's one right. Duck, duck, move! And five, four, three, two, one, and stop hopping.

Brilliant work! Right, so that's got our fancy footwork in the bag, and that means we can [metallic bang] Um... Did you... did you hear that? Uh, well no. No, you didn't. And well, of course, no, me neither. Um... It's gone. That's... Okay. I'm going to put some music on so that we can all pretend that that just didn't happen. Uh, you all take a break and relax or um, you know, bust out your best dance moves. Oh, but uh, seriously though, uh, don't overdo it. Because when we get back, it's going to be time to, uh, really get the workout going. Okay? All right.

PETER LYNNE: Okay. Well, that's quite enough of that one. Yeah, that - that song always reminds me of a bad breakup. I can't actually remember which. [metallic bang] It's back, and that was - that was definitely louder that time. See, um, I've been hearing some not really great things in this booth, listeners. Sort of... shuffling from behind the walls. You know, I think... something might be crawling around in the, uh, ventilation system. But uh, I mean... I mean, there's definitely not going to be enough room in the ducts for-for zombie. That would be... I mean, unless it was just a half of a zom. Oh God, what if it was just like that? Just like the front half, just like some sort of fleshy gingerbread man just like rolling itself down there, looking for a way out?

Um... yes. Okay, I'm, I am quite scared, actually. Uh, there's nowhere to run in this booth, but we still have exercises like this, which I find are a fantastic distraction. You see, I can immediately pretend that I am a seven foot tall beefcake training to take on whatever that is. Good God, that sounds pathetic when I say it out loud.

Okay, we're gonna have to move on. Um, punches, ladies and gentlemen. [paper rustles] First, you're going to need to adopt a Ministry-approved fighting stance. Hold your fists up in front of you. You have to have your dominant hand held back, and that's protecting your face, and the other hand is extended in order to attack. So plant your feet diagonally, shoulder-width apart, with your knees just slightly bent. Your dominant foot goes to the back. Right, we're going to start with the basic jab. You punch out with your lead hand, rotating your arm so your knuckles end up facing up and your shoulder moves forward. So we're going to do one minute of jabs. If you'd like some variety, feel free to alternate your stance from time to time and then you end up leading with the other arm.

Ready, set, go! There we are, perfect! More aggression, get the anger out. 15 seconds down. You can try imagining a bullseye. Aim right for the center of the target. You could even imagine an actual bull's eye and aim right for the middle of its face. Great. Halfway down, just keep on beating that bull in the face. I don't know what it did to you. I like to imagine that it's taunting me. I don't know what sort of names it's come up with, but they were hurtful and I think it mentioned my mother. 15 seconds left. We're so near the end now, we're gonna get that bull. I'm gonna move away from the bull. You can imagine whatever you like. Jab! Jab! Five, four, three, two, and we're done.

Good, very good. It's important, though, with zoms of course, punching has to be your last resort. But in the meantime, as a way to get your frustrations out, it's not a bad go-to, eh? I'm gonna do a bit more of it myself in this next break and uh, if you guys want to keep jabbing alongside me, well, all things considered, wouldn't really mind the company.

PETER LYNNE: Right there, kiddos, time to get comfortable. Here's a genuine piece of advice. Now like I said, punching zombies has to be your last resort. I have seen more than a few tough morons get infected themselves from undead blood in their knuckles. All men, by the way. Shock, horror, I know. So if you do ever find yourself boxing a gray, remember, if you don't have gloves - and that's what you want - at least wrap your hands in cloth or gauze. Your aim is only to knock them down or away so that you can run.

So to that end, we are now going to try some punches with a bit more juice behind them than the jab. These are our hooks and uppercuts. So back in your boxing stance, one arm back, one arm forward. So the uppercut, you keep your feet grounded, bend your knees and rotate your body with the direction of your lead arm. So you're pushing off of your lead calf and punching upwards with the lead arm, releasing your rear heel and feel that rotate outwards as you go. So try that all together. It should feel like you've got the power coming through in that punch. Great, okay.

So now the hook. Back to the stance. Now you shift your weight to your lead foot whilst swinging your lead fist in an inward horizontal arc and moving your shoulder forwards. So try that. You can imagine just knocking a zombie's head off with this one, right off of his shoulders. Great, okay. Now we are going to try a full minute of mixed jabs, hooks, and uppercuts. Dealer's choice, so go wild, switch them up, swap stances occasionally. Get ready, and go!

Excellent, we're off to a flying start. Look at you, you scrappy little thing. 15 seconds down. Imagine you're fighting a big scary zombie version of Ivan Drago. You know, that's the um, the-the villain from-from Rocky IV. Why am I telling you? You know this. Keep going. Yes, lay into him! One, two. More! Halfway there. You've got him on the ropes. And of course, he's gonna get stronger and come back at you, and it'll look like you're down. but you're not down, you're back up! And it's 15 seconds. He's now almost down! Yes, you've got the upper hand now. Finish it off! Five, four, three, two... Oh, and it's a knockout! Surely not! They've won the belt and the title! Oh, good job, people.

Yes. Now I might have gotten a bit carried... [metallic bang] Okay, that one was... that was loud. See, there's um... so there's this air vent right by the projector and I can see a shadow moving under the grill. See, the reason I worry is that there's a, uh, there's this broken open vent in the toilet and so if that thing comes through that whilst I'm sleeping... Okay. Listen up, people. I am going to go and confront the monster. Fear not for old Peter. I am not totally unarmed. I have this mop. Perfect. I'm going to put on some music first. You can rest or... you know what? Actually, throw a few more punches in the break if you feel up to it. Can't hurt to know you champs are fighting alongside me, eh? [laughs] Okay, on three then, I suppose. One, two, three, and off we go!

PETER LYNNE: Well um, hello again, everyone. So that one did not turn out exactly as I expected. Turns out wasn't a zombie at all. That was actually just a scrawny little fox, and it must have come in through the window, sniffing after... I mean, I guess rotting flesh? I don't know why it would want that. But got itself lost and just came shooting out like a bullet when I opened the vent in here. It's just, uh, it's actually just sitting in the corner now. It looks friendly enough. [fox screeches] Maybe not. Right. Okay. That's your side of the room now. Completely understood. I've probably got some food around here somewhere, actually.

Tell you what. Um, I actually do need to thank you, listeners. Might sound silly, but without you, I actually might not have worked up the courage to open the vent. That would have meant this little fellow would have starved to death instead of coming out to occupy half of my room. Hey, hello. Yes, that's you. Catch this. Here we go. [laughs] Somebody's a fan of old, old cinema hot dogs. That makes two of us. Please don't tell anyone.

All right, listeners, I'm going to go and find more scraps to feed to my new roommate here, and it really is sometimes better to make friends than fight, especially when your rival's got those big teeth. Don't worry, I'll be back very soon. And in the meantime, stay safe out there, champs. You know, I'll be rooting for you. Oh, and uh, if anyone knows how to um, delete a movie playlist, could you try and get in touch somehow? Honestly, it is amazing the things you miss when they're gone.

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf8 #peter's fitness montage #zr transcript

2 notes · View notes

meangirlsx · 5 years

Text

Lydia calls Barbara and Delia “Mom” for the first time headcanons

Barbara:

When Lydia calls Barbara “Mom” for the first time, she doesn’t really think about it

She’s just calling to Barbara in another room and it slips out

“Hey, Mom?” instead of “Hey, Barbara?”

The same way you accidentally call a teacher “Mom,” or something along those lines

But as soon as she realizes what has come out of her mouth, she freezes

She has no idea what to expect

And she almost can’t believe she’s really said it

Adam is standing with Barbara

(Which figures, since the two of them always seem to be together)

They just start tapping each other

They can’t believe it, either

They walk into the room Lydia is in still tapping each other

Now it’s closer to gently hitting each other

Then they set eyes on Lydia and just stop

Barbara and Lydia lock eyes

Lydia starts to blur because Barbara’s eyes are filling with tears

(Can ghosts cry? They can now.)

But Lydia can’t see the tears and she’s just embarrassed

She starts to apologize

But Barbara is having none of that

She just rushes over to Lydia and wraps her up in her arms

Lydia thinks it’s the tightest hug she’s ever been part of

And she’s okay with that

She hugs back just as tightly

And she starts to cry, too

“You really are like a mom to me,” Lydia tells her

“I think that’s the highest honor anyone’s ever given me,” Barbara replies

Then she glances back at Adam, who’s also in tears and not trying to hide it at all, then back to Lydia with a smile

“You’re like a daughter to us.”

And she pulls Lydia into another hug

Then she whispers in Lydia’s ear, “You’re better than I could have even dreamed of.”

After another minute, Lydia says, “Our family isn’t normal. It’s messy, and it’s weird. But it’s ours, and I love it. And I never want to lose it. I never want to lose you.”

“Well, I’m dead, so you’re super stuck with me.”

And Adam just gasps and cheers, complete with fist pump, because Barbara finally made a Dad joke

After that, Barbara takes any opportunity she can to sort of up her Mom factor

Lydia needs some motherly advice? She’s on it

Lydia’s not feeling great? She will take care of her like no other

Lydia needs help with her homework? She and Adam tagteam and do the best they can

Lydia just wants to break something? Great, they have a whole attic of old hobbies and projects just waiting to be destroyed

Lydia won’t admit it often, but she really likes that she can call on Barbara for all these different things

Sometimes Barbara will just sit and watch while Lydia does homework in the living room

Lydia usually doesn’t mind because she really does like having Barbara around

Occasionally, though, she’ll get a little annoyed and say something

But also occasionally, she’ll have her mind totally in a book or worksheet and won’t think and she’ll just groan, “Mom!”

And Barbara’s heart just swells because even when Lydia is annoyed, she still views Barbara as a mom

Delia:

When Lydia calls Delia “Mom” for the first time, it’s a little different

Lydia’s on the phone talking to a classmate to arrange working on a project together

“Well, I was going to hang out with my mom tonight. Could we do it tomorrow instead?”

She hangs up and comes back into the living room where she and Delia have been setting up for what’s become their regular movie night

(It was Delia’s idea, but Lydia was actually pretty excited about it)

(They rotate between showing each other movies they want to introduce each other to and agreeing on a movie)

Delia is just staring at her with her mouth hanging open and in a partial, shocked smile

“You’d rather hang out with me than your friend?” she asks

“I mean, we were going to be doing homework, anyway...but yeah. I love our movie nights.”

Then Lydia gets all quiet

And she adds, “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Delia’s heart is already melting

Then she replays Lydia’s phone call in her head

And she realizes that Lydia said her mom instead of her stepmom

She gasps

Lydia looks at her with big, confused eyes

“If we lived anywhere else, I’d say you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

“You called me your mom!”

“Yeah?”

“Not your stepmom. Your mom.”

Lydia lets out a quick breath, almost like a single laugh

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

Delia makes some comment about how her life coaching must have worked

Or how the little sayings got through to her

(Actually now that I think about it, maybe she doesn’t use them anymore because they’re from Otho and she hates Otho, now?)

And Lydia immediately tells her that it wasn’t her life coaching, it was just her

She cared and she tried even when it was hard

She never gave up on Lydia or wrote her off as not worth it or too weird

And that means the world to her

Delia basically tackles Lydia in a hug

And of course she cries, too

They manage to sit themselves down on the couch as Delia cries, still hugging Lydia

When Delia has stopped crying enough to speak, she says, “I always wanted a daughter.”

Lydia smiles, and Delia continues

“You are nothing like the daughter I always imagined. And I couldn’t be more grateful for that. You’re—”

Before she can fill in the adjective she wanted to say, which was going to be “perfect,” she starts crying again

When she can speak again, she says, “You’re so weird, and that makes you so special and so strong. I could not be more proud to be your stepmom.”

Delia sniffles, then really looks deeply into Lydia’s eyes

“I was supposed to be the life coach, but you inspire me.”

Lydia had told herself she wouldn’t cry, but that breaks her

This time it’s her pulling Delia back into the hug

(Delia will tell Charles all about it later, and he’ll just sob as she tells him, then go find Lydia and hug her without any explanation until he’s released her)

After that, Delia relishes every moment she gets to put her life coaching to use with Lydia, but now she happily calls it “momming”

Lydia thinks it’s kind of stupid but it makes her laugh

General:

These ladies would literally die (again, in Barbara’s case) for Lydia

They are true ride or dies in mom form

They love her with their whole hearts

Barbara and Adam love to talk about Lydia when she’s not there

They talk about how proud they are of her

They’re proud of how she’s doing in school

They’re proud of her photography

They think she’s really blossoming socially

They like to discuss the people Lydia talks about from school

They also like to theorize about who Lydia might be crushing on or what it will be like when she starts dating

They, along with Beetlejuice, love to help her set up the best haunted house anyone has ever seen every Halloween

Delia takes to getting involved at Lydia’s school

She’s great at helping run events and she makes friends with other moms which makes her so happy

They all love to talk about their children, of course

Delia won’t tell the other moms, but she thinks she and Lydia are closer than any of the other moms are to their kids and she’s really proud of that

And she’ll take any and every excuse to talk about her to anyone

She also 100% does follow through with her promise from the show timeline and helps Lydia build a darkroom

They don’t build it in the attic because that’s where the Maitlands reside

But with their new home being on a large piece of land, Delia asks Charles if they can build an extension off the house to turn into Lydia’s darkroom and Charles is more than happy to accommodate it

Tag list: @sophiascaruso, @mars-bars-stars, @reader-ships, @anxiousankylosaurus, @msmith74, @broadwaymusicaltrash, @you-thinks-wrong-romeo, @theatricalwriter, @be-more-heidi-hansen, @peachy-jolly, @g1ngersp1ce, @trumancheerleadermaui, @dancewyou, @percabeth15, @coral-cat-iris, @madameboxhead, @elaineygrace, @theolwebshooter, @ohsomightykeyboard, @vampireamango

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice broadway #lydia deetz #barbara maitland #delia deetz #delia #delia beetlejuice #adam maitland #charles deetz #Lydia deetz headcanons #Barbara Maitland headcanons #delia deetz headcanons #Adam Maitland headcanons #Charles deetz headcanons #Beetlejuice headcanons

379 notes · View notes

tirednotflirting · 4 years

Note

"I knitted you a jumper" with bach lashton (ashton is the one knitting obvs)

meghna you are the loml and this was so fun to spend the afternoon on, esp after trying to write these two again for AGGGGGES and coming up with something. so i hope you enjoy this <33333

can be read here on ao3 bc it’s like 3k bc i kinda ran away with this lol

Luke could pinpoint the exact moment the need for a hobby like knitting must have jumped into Ashton’s mind.

He always tried his hardest to wake up by late morning on his days off so his whole day wasn’t wasted away on sleep and could instead be spent running daytime errands or lounging about with Ashton. They had both nestled into each other’s homes pretty permanently in the last few months, their closets and grocery favorites split pretty evenly between Luke’s apartment and Ashton’s little hideaway. (Though Luke has to admit that his heart still flutters any time Ashton calls his little place home.)

It’s also pretty typical that his days off always begin with lazy cuddles beneath warm sheets before one of their stomachs starts throwing a tantrum for breakfast or Ashton decides it’s coffee time. But on one particular morning in late September, Luke wakes up alone, his arms reaching out for a warm body beside him only to find the sheets pushed toward him and the space cold, evidence that Ashton had been up for more than just a quick run into the bathroom. Luke sits up and lets the sheets fall to pool around his waist, his chest bare and cold without his human space heater to keep him cozy. His lips drop into a pout as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and he reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s just before noon but he doesn’t remember Ashton mentioning anything about morning plans.

He drops the phone back onto the bedside table he’s claimed at the home Ashton’s taken up residence at since his “death” earlier in the year. It still never fails to astound Luke how Ashton’s careful way of living has been enough to keep the public believing the whole thing but some days he finds himself thankful for it. He knows their paths likely never would have crossed without it. Well, that and the fact that apparently Luke’s grocery store friend Calum turned out to be a childhood friend of Ashton’s from back home in Australia.

(The two of them had had a good laugh about the whole ordeal about a month or so into this thing that Ashton and Luke have had going since their initial meeting. Sometime in early summer Ashton had mentioned that the friend that owned the place was going to come over for dinner and Luke can only imagine how funny the face he made must have been upon seeing Calum walk through the front door.)

Luke wanders into the closet and pulls on one of Ashton’s jumpers before wandering out in the direction of the kitchen. His favorite mug sits on the island and he smiles after realizing it’s already filled, the color indicating that Ashton added the cream and sugar for him already. He lifts the mug to his lips and takes a sip while glancing around the room since he still hasn’t spotted Ashton. But then some movement just beyond the window tells him where to find his boy.

He pushes at the sliding door that leads into the backyard, Ashton’s massive garden taking up most of the space. Ashton stands in the middle of all of the plots that once held all kinds of summer fruits and vegetables. Even from the door though, Luke can tell that something is wrong. Ashton looks like he’s having an argument with himself but also just looks a bit sad. Luke leaves the back door open (every day they get closer and closer to the point in the year where the weather will no longer allow the fresh air in the kitchen and they’ve been trying to take advantage of it while they can) and wanders over to where Ashton stands, his arms crossed and forehead wrinkled.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Luke greets him, his voice still scratchy from sleep. Once close enough he presses a kiss against the creases in Ashton’s forehead and he feels them relax just the slightest bit beneath his lips. “What’s bugging you?”

Ashton sighs defeatedly and lets his arms unfold to wrap around Luke’s waist, his head dropping to his shoulder. “I picked a very summer oriented hobby. And now I don’t know what I’m going to do until spring.”

The concern Luke had noticed in Ashton’s face makes sense now. Ashton liked to stay busy, he went a little crazy without a project (the years of working in TV seemed to have left that effect even with the way he had found a way to escape that world). The back garden had been a great answer of where to expend all of that energy and their climate and location really wouldn’t allow it again until the spring. He was right.

Luke lifts his free hand to play with the grown out, faded black curls at the back of Ashton’s head. “How about some house plants? We’ve got great light in the living room here and at the apartment?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton shrugs against Luke’s chest. “Just isn’t the same as getting to spend all day out here, I guess. But I could give it a shot.”

Luke lifts his other arm to wrap around Ashton’s shoulders, careful that he doesn’t spill his mug. Ashton lifts his head from his shoulder and Luke finds himself pouting at the sad look in the hazel eyes across from him. “Don’t worry, Ash. You’ve got such a creative mind, you’ll figure out something.”

A small smile pulls at Ashton’s lips. “Mm, yeah, you’re right,” he starts as he lifts his face to press his lips against Luke’s cheek. “I’m going to go get what’s left from the green bean plants and we can do them with dinner? And would you mind unlocking the front door? Calum said he was going to stop by with a package from my mom.”

“Sure thing.” Luke drops his arms from around Ashton and lifts his mug for another sip. “Gonna make more coffee too. You want another mug?”

“Yes, please.”

Luke heads back in the direction of the house, his mind wandering with ideas for house plants he remembers his mom keeping around growing up as suggestions to share later. He stops just before reaching the door and turns back toward the corner of the yard that Ashton has made his way over to. “And don’t forget your hat if you’re going to be out here much longer.”

“Of course, love.”

Luke smiles, the domesticity of all of this hitting his heart for just a moment, and makes his way back inside to refill the kettle.

It’s a few weeks into November when the boxes arrive at Luke’s door.

Ashton’s family had been visiting for the week and Luke wanted to make sure they had proper family time so he had made the choice to stay at the apartment in between shifts that week. He had come over for dinner to meet everyone earlier in the week but after that had left them to reconnect at the house.

He had just woken up about an hour earlier when he hears a knock at the door. There’s no one there when he goes to open it but there are probably close to ten small packages (why they couldn’t have all just been in one big one is beyond him) all addressed to Fletcher Hemmings.

(When Ashton started using the name to get orders delivered to Luke’s place, the brightest blush had painted it’s way across Luke’s face in an instant.

“What?” Ashton had questioned, honestly. “Hardly anyone really knew my middle name anyway and it’s so much less suspicious showing up at your door if it’s got your last name on it.”

Luke spent the rest of the week with the thought of sharing a last name with Ashton on a constant loop.)

He knows he needs to finish getting ready and head off to the hospital soon, so Luke texts a picture of all of the boxes sitting on the kitchen counter to Ashton with a few question marks and finishes his normal run through the apartment searching for his scrubs (the turquoise ones, of course, since it’s Friday) and makes a coffee before heading down to his car.

His phone starts ringing as he’s parking at the hospital. Luke smiles at the selfie of Ashton kissing his cheek before sliding his thumb across the screen and lifting the phone to his ear. “Doing some early holiday online shopping, are we?”

“Ha, not exactly. But the family has just headed off the airport so I’m going to head over and make sure everything got delivered, if that’s alright?”

Luke smiles softly as he hits the lock button on his car and heads toward the entrance of the hospital. “At some point you’re going to have to realize you can give up on this whole asking permission to come over. Ash, you literally get packages delivered there and have a key, of course you can come over.”

He hears a dramatic sigh on the other side of the line. “I know, I know. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Bright and early, as always,” Luke says while holding his ID card to the door to get the automatic doors to open up. He heads down the hall in the direction of his department, waving to those he passes with a smile. “You think you’ll be down for a sugary breakfast? I’ve had French toast on the brain all week and I want to hear all about your time with the family.”

“Yes absolutely, but I’m going to pick up some fruit on my way over. Balance is everything.”

“Alright, Mr Healthy. I gotta go,” Luke says while sliding in behind the desk and setting his bag beside his chair. “Love you, drive safe.”

“Have a good night, babe. Love you too.”

Luke smiles as he clicks out of the call and sets his phone down before tapping quickly at the keyboard to log in for the night. Behind him he hears someone clear their throat. “You know at some point you’re going to have to introduce us to this sweet man of yours. You know everyone would just be complete heart eyes like yourself if you brought him in one night.”

Luke rolls his eyes while turning to face Alex, the surgical resident that’s been on rotation in their department for awhile. “Fine, I’ll bring my guy in when you bring Jack by to hang out for the day.”

Alex laughs as he pulls out a couple files he must have been digging for out of the cabinet against the wall. “Oh, please, Jack absolutely does not have the kind of sense of humor that I can bring into a pediatrics department. Or at least not while I’m still working here.” He opens another cabinet and shifts the papers around in his arms to accommodate the growing pile he’s creating. “We can just double date sometime.”

Luke smiles and tries to hide his disappointment at the fact that there’s a zero chance of that ever being a possibility. “That would be fun.”

“Have a good shift, Luke,” Alex calls as he wanders back down the hall. “Tell all my favorites that Doctor Alex is bringing cookies tomorrow!”

“Will do!”

Luke wanders back into the break room then to make the first pot of coffee for the night and feels his phone buzz in his pocket while he rests his hip against the counter while waiting for the pot to fill with water. It’s a selfie of Ashton, his hair pulled back into a small bun, holding various bags of produce with a smiling Calum in the background.

He remembers Alex’s heart eyes comment then and feels a blush across his cheeks as he replies with a string of fruit emojis and the story of the conversation he’s just had.

Luke is used to arriving home after work to a sleeping Ashton against his pillow. Usually he’s wearing one of his t-shirts and it makes him feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy and just generally lucky and in love. So he’s surprised when he gets home at 8am to find Ashton sitting in the middle of the couch, his legs folded up beneath him with a pair of knitting needles in his hands and what appears to be a long scarf stretching out onto the floor.

“Hey, love, what are you up to?” Luke greets as he walks into the living room after dropping his bag onto its hook. Luke lets his hands drop onto Ashton’s shoulders as he moves to stand behind him, his thumbs rubbing circles at the tension pretty much always present between his shoulders.

“Well, a while back when I started having that crisis about what hobby to pick up for the winter months my mom suggested I try knitting,” he starts, his voice slow and a little distant as he obviously lets most of his concentration stick to the task at hand. “And she sent me some beginner’s materials and it turns out I don’t suck at knitting and it’s also quite fun. So I ordered a bunch more and now everyone is getting hats and scarves for the holidays.”

“That’s so lovely, Ash.” Luke smiles. Because genuinely, it really is. The living room at the house was filled with various house plants that Ashton had taken a liking to when Luke walked him around the gardening store on Facetime in October but he had been a little worried about Ashton having something a bit busier to occupy his time with. “So all the boxes were like, yarn and stuff?”

“Exactly. Though that’s all in the car now since I didn’t want you accidentally catching a sneak peek at the materials for your present. I want it to be a surprise.”

Luke jumps over the back of the couch to sit beside him. He wraps his arms around Ashton’s middle, out of the way of where his hands work, and presses a kiss to his temple. “I can’t wait to see it. Or wear it. Both, I guess.”

Ashton takes a second to finish his row and then sets his work aside. He turns to let his legs fall across Luke’s lap and drapes his arms across his shoulders. “I’m glad. I’m excited to make you something.”

As he takes in his boyfriend’s tired eyes and smile (it’s obvious this new activity might have gotten him up a bit earlier than usual), Luke can’t help but lean in to press their lips together for a moment. He feels Ashton relax more into his arms and the lucky and in love feeling starts flooding his mind again. Luke pulls back but lets his forehead stay pressed against Ashton’s as they giggle at each other for a moment.

“French toast time?” Ashton questions once they pause in their laughter.

“Please.”

The feeling continues to float around in his brain as he watches Ashton cut up fruit while he flips the bread on the griddle. Though really, he thinks, that feeling has probably been taking up most of his mind since the day they basically wandered into each other’s lives.

“Would you hate me if I give you your Christmas present early?”

Luke looks up from his spot in front of the fire to find where Ashton stands in the doorway of the living room, his hands holding something wrapped in bright red tissue paper. He checks his page number and makes a mental note before closing his novel and setting it aside. “Of course not, I love presents. Though the last part of yours is still in the mail so if you wanted this to be an exchange, we’ll need to wait.”

Ashton beams, his eyes bright and happy. “No, no. I’m okay to wait for mine but yours is done and I want you to have it right now.”

Luke smiles and he pauses to take a sip from his first coffee of the morning. “Well, I would love to have it then.”

Ashton wanders across the room and takes a spot on the floor beside him and places the package between the two of them. Luke tugs at the ribbon wrapped around the paper and gently rips at the tape to pull it open. As he realizes what’s inside, his lips fall open just a bit, from shock or joy or both he’s not really sure. “Ashton, I-”

“I knitted you a jumper,” he says, his voice quick while his fingers nervously play with the edge of his sweatshirt. “And it was a little daunting and probably a little bit beyond my skill level with this but you like jumpers and I wanted to make you a jumper.”

The smile on Luke’s lips continues to pull across his face as he lifts up the soft, baby blue jumper that Ashton made with his own two hands and Luke specifically in mind. His heart feels so full, like it’s going to burst out from his chest and across the room. “Love, this might be the kindest thing anyone has ever given me. I’m like, never going to take this off.”

He watches Ashton relax some then, his smile shifting from eager into something more fond. “Well, you may want to wash it every once in a while but I really appreciate the enthusiasm. Also try it on now. I want to make sure it fits.”

Luke hands off his mug to make sure he doesn’t knock it over and Ashton takes a sip while Luke unfolds the soft garment and pulls his arms through the sleeves. It fits like a dream, which especially surprises him since Ashton never asked to take his measurements. Though he supposes he could have just been taking a tape measure to another one of his jumpers at some point in the last month.

Luke sits up then and scoots closer to Ashton until he can pull himself halfway into his lap and wrap his arms around his neck. “Thank you, Ash. You’re perfect. I love you so much.”

Ashton pulls him closer toward his chest and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I love you too. Glad I can keep you cozy with my crafting.”

Luke laughs gently before he straightens up, moving to stand. “Alright, now it’s my turn to show you my love and appreciation in the best way I know how.”

Ashton pulls a face that’s a mix of confusion but also something suggestive, and Luke only rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m gonna make the second pot of coffee.” He winks down at where Ashton still sits on the floor as they both start laughing.

Ashton reaches a hand up for help off the floor. “Man of my dreams, you are.”

And as they wander into the kitchen, Ashton hopping up onto the counter to keep his bare feet off the tile floor, Luke can’t help but agree.

#lashton #lashton fic #it's bach au !!!! the boys are back #also the way i have like a completely different plan for jalex in this au but wrote that scene and then was like eh they can stay #so we are ignoring our own continuity errors here at tirednotflirting #meghna thank you so much for having such great and wonderful ideas #and being just so lovely and smart and the absolute best #i love you to pieces #okay this is probably enough here now lol #reveriesofawriter

11 notes · View notes