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eldritchaccident · 3 months

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Timing: Before the Egg Location: The Jones House Feat: @mortemoppetere & @eldritchaccident Warnings: Mentions of Past Child Death tw Summary: Emilio finds a weird painting and blames Gabagool

Having Teddy back in Wicked’s Rest was like applying a salve to an open wound. While their presence alone may not have offered instantaneous healing, it did bring relief, made things hurt less. Emilio had been diligent since their return, sticking close in spite of his restlessness, desperate to make sure that they were all right after all they’d gone through in Canada. It was a little bit of a ‘mother hen’ situation… but with the ‘hen’ in question being represented by an angry, poorly dressed, mess of a man who could only provide burned meals and short sessions of sitting still for comfort. He didn’t think it was anything close to what Teddy deserved, but he didn’t know how to be anything better, either.

So… he was doing what he could. He was ignoring the parts of him that were still jumpy and paranoid, pushing down the bits that ached, and focusing on the idiot in the bedroom who he loved so much it hurt sometimes. He scraped another burned attempt at a grilled cheese into the garbage, clenching his jaw in frustration. “Can’t even make a fucking sandwich,” he muttered to himself, putting the plate down and walking to the cabinet. “Goddamn idiot, always trying to…” He trailed off, raising his voice towards the other room. “I’m bringing cereal!” Something stupidly sugar-filled would probably take Teddy’s mind off the grilled cheese they’d been promised, right?

Grabbing a box, he tucked it under his arm and made his way to the bedroom, only to stop when something fell out of the cabinet. Taking a step backwards, he pulled it the rest of the way out.

It was… a canvas, from the looks of it. A dark painting splashed against the cloth, and Emilio tilted his head as he studied it. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully, tucking it under his arm. Making his way into the bedroom, he tossed the box of cereal in Teddy’s direction before holding up the painting for them to see. “This is the ugliest shit I’ve ever seen,” he announced. “Did Gabagool paint this?”

—

A deep breath and Teddy sprang into wakefulness with all the grace of a mouse in a trap. Arms, unbound. Legs, wiggling under a plush comforter. Head? Dizzy as usual, but relatively functioning. They were home. They were home. They were home.

The darkness had this effect recently. Any emptiness brought them back to that voided room, to the anxious days stretching out into aching weeks. The other casters (the ones who had apparently been good enough to be worthy of staying alive) were able to do something to them. A spell, or charm, or curse maybe.To slip anything more coherent than a babble from their mind, confusing and subdueing the ex demon until they were able to successfully get the daily minimal care out of the way. No way to fight back. Not even to touch.

An oddity, Teddy remembered thinking, that they wouldn't just kill them. But Kaliana’s revelation of a ritual brought it all together. Spellcasters, always so particular about the phases of the moon, the position of the stars. Maybe that's why Teddy wasn't very good at any of this. Too impatient for grand results.

The smells from the kitchen were far more welcome than the grumpy slayer might have guessed. It was a sign of familiarity, that they were anywhere but that dreadful darkness. Heavier, somehow, than the bottom of the ocean. The days had weighed on Teddy, shriveled at their appetite and left it a tired atrophied thing. But any food, even burnt food was better than nothing. Emilio was practically a Michelin star restaurant in their mind. But cereal would do too. It wasn't like Teddy was going to be able to eat much of it. Not without getting full after two bites, or secretly throwing it all up after making a show of eating properly so that Emilio wouldn't worry.

Truthfully, half the times Teddy called for their personal chef, it was more for the company. For the certainty that Emilio would be close enough to hear, close enough to touch within a few moments. It wasn't fair, to keep ripping him away from work like this, but Teddy cared about as much for fair as they did for food these days.

“Hnnm?” Emilio was coming in the room. He had something in his hands that wasn’t cereal. Teddy blearily sat up, an errant stitch tightened, pulling and pinching, causing a wince and a slow seeping of red to ooze from it. “Where’d you even get that?” The moment their boyfriend was in the room, there was a smile on their face, it only grew as he got closer. Didn’t matter whatever hell their body went through, Emilio was the balm they needed. “I’ve never seen that thing before. Maybe Gabs did, I don’t know.”

—-

“Easy,” Emilio murmured as he came into the room, concern pinching his features at the way Teddy pulled at their wounds with their movements. He used to be better at this, he thought. Back in Mexico, he and Juliana compared injuries like it was a competition. He remembered laying in their bed after a particularly nasty impalement, body stitching itself back together quicker than a standard human’s would have been capable of doing but far too slow for his own liking, and flashing her a shit-eating grin when she pulled up her shirt to reveal her own nasty scar. You’re being such a baby, she’d told him then. Who hasn’t been impaled? And they’d laughed, and they’d made jokes and, a week later when it was Juliana in the bed with a bite taken out of her midsection, it hadn’t felt like the world was ending.

But things were different now. And he knew there were a lot of reasons behind it, knew that the whole world shifted on its axis when you held the empty corpse of the woman you loved in your arms and begged her to stay long after she was already gone, but he still felt like his chest was full of broken glass and he didn’t know how to breathe without feeling it slice through his lungs anymore. He saw Teddy in that bed, new blood on their bandages, and he couldn’t fathom the idea of making a joke. His throat felt tight and his chest hurt, and it was always hard to breathe lately but for a moment, he felt like he was fully submerged in murky water.

It took him a moment to come back up for air. He tried not to show it, tried to keep his expression neutral and his eyes clear because Teddy needed him to be present, to be in control. He was useless when he got into his head, useless when he couldn’t focus on the injured person in the bed because his eyes kept darting to the long-dead corpse in the corner. And he’d been useless too many times already, hadn’t he? Useless to stop them from getting hurt to begin with, useless to keep Wynne and Nora from coming back from Ireland broken, useless to save the things that mattered most in Mexico. He needed to be in control. Everyone needed him to be in control. He knew that.

Emilio turned his attention back to the painting, gripping it tightly enough to hide the trembling of his fingers. “It was in the, ah, the armario. With the cereal.” He propped it up, shifting to stand in front of it so he could inspect it a little closer.

The background had been painted black, with a castle standing against the dark backdrop. Eyes glowed red from each window of the castle, and at the door, a grinning face with sharp teeth beckoned. Emilio snorted, taking a step to the side so Teddy could see it. “Definitely looks like something Gabagool would paint,” he scoffed. “He probably hid it there to freak us out. Just look at the fucking —”

He was gesturing with his hands, about to point out the stupid face in the doorway and the way it actually kind of looked like Gabagool in a funhouse mirror sort of way. His hand brushed against the canvas as he did so and, all at once, the shadows were around him. He stood at the foot of that castle, that grinning face moving from its position in the doorway. Surrounding him was a darkness that his slayer night vision couldn’t seem to slice through. That had never happened before, had it? Emilio would deny the way his heart jumped into his throat at the realization. “Fuck,” he whispered, hating the way his voice sounded. He took a deep breath, then another. He pretended there was no tremble in it. “Teds? Are you… here?” He didn’t know what answer to hope for.

—

There wasn’t much time between the glance they stole at the strange canvas, and the all too sudden and startling clatter of the frame hitting the wooden floor. Teddy swore they only blinked. Maybe looked down for a moment to adjust the gauze against the weeping wound, but— he was gone. “Emilio?!” Damn the pain, they were on their feet a split second later. Frantically whipping their head from side to side until their gaze once again fell upon the painting. Now laying face down on the floor.

“Emilio— baby where—-“ Desperately they called again, as if clarity was something you received only by asking for it. An already raging heartbeat ticked up exponentially with each step drawing closer and closer to the very last thing Em was holding. Well, that and the cereal. Which wasn’t scattered on the floor or anything so maybe it was— wherever he was. Teddy flipped the painting over, finally getting a good look at the darkened sky, the castle that just barely stood out against the shadows, and the vast distance it seemed to contain. Just at the door of the castle, they swore they saw something move, something—

In another breath, they too were enveloped. Teddy stumbled in the sudden inky dark, gasping for air as if they’d just been plunged into the deep end of a nearly frozen pool. The shadows clung to every inch around them, making the air feel more like molasses than oxygen. Wildly, Teds hands flailed about until they came smacking down against skin, and against a bowl of cereal that promptly learned some advanced gymnastics as it flew out of its wielder’s hand. “Em—?!”

—

The darkness was… strange. Emilio kept trying to blink it away, disliking the way it made the vast world around him feel impossibly smaller as it closed in. He’d never experienced a darkness he couldn’t see through; he found he didn’t like the feeling very much. He heard something shift next to him, a rustle of fabric and a footstep that echoed, and he tensed all at once, paranoia threatening to overtake him entirely. But the hand that slapped against him was a familiar one. He’d know it, even blind. The voice that cut through the darkness eased the racing of his blood in his veins to something more manageable, his breath shuddering into something slower. Teddy.

The cereal was knocked from his hand, and he let it go, let the plastic bowl clank against the hard stone floor. “There goes your dinner,” he said dryly, moving his foot experimentally. It crunched against the cereal that had spilled, and there was an odd sense of comfort in that. Whatever was happening, the ground was still there. The bowl that had fallen against it didn’t vanish after contact, even if he couldn’t see it. That was a good thing.

Reaching out, he took Teddy’s flailing hand and pressed it absently to his chest, letting the weight of it ease his still-racing heart. “Gabagool did this on purpose,” he accused, despite the fact that it had never actually been confirmed that the demon was the one who’d painted the picture. As far as Emilio was concerned, this shit was definitely Gabagool’s fault. “You okay? Didn’t get — uh — shoo… shaken? With the…” He gestured vaguely, unsure what to call the journey. “I can’t — I can’t see shit. Can you see anything?” The only faint light was coming from the window of the door in front of them.

—

How many times in the darkness had Teddy imagined him there? Imagined the way his hands felt in theirs, the way his voice would rumble out. Low, gravelly, and unmistakably Emilio. How many times had Teddy drifted between dreamlike states, half awake, half gone, sitting up in that chair, surrounded by shadows that bound and choked away all sense of self. Was that it? Was Teds still back there? Had the last week or so been real or just another delusion brought on by wishful thinking.

In the light, they could pretend. Could ground themself to here and now and with him, and with them, and with ground beneath their feet and a sun above their head. In the dark, it wasn’t so easy.

“Keep talking.”

A demand they didn’t call for often. Teddy knew that Emilio was more of a man of action than words, more often than not, they were happy to be the one spilling sound into the air. But not right now. They curled themself in after anchoring their hands to his shirt with far more force than the slayer might expect.

Warmth radiated from the other body, pain slipped from their skin to his, but could they really be sure this was real? The dreams had been so convincing in those days… weeks… however long Teddy was in that room.

“Please keep talking.” They begged, this time in Spanish. It wouldn’t make sense, not right away. Teddy still hadn’t told Emilio exactly what happened in Echo and it wasn’t like they’d ever been afraid of the dark before. But it never quite ate at them like this before. Didn’t pull them back, put them alone in a room, no contact from anyone for long enough to drive anyone mad. “I don’t want to be back there. I need to know you’re real, baby please, please, keep talking.”

—-

He felt Teddy stiffen against him and, for a moment, Emilio froze. He couldn’t see them in the darkness, couldn’t tell if they were okay or if something really had jostled their injuries further. What if they were bleeding out right here, against his side, without him knowing? Desperate hands found the back of their neck, trembling fingers settling against their pulse. It was there, but fast. Was that a bad thing? Emilio’s own heart sounded so thunderous in his ears that he couldn’t quite pick up on the sound of theirs.

Their voice broke through the darkness, and it was only a relief for a moment, because Teddy sounded afraid. They sounded small, they sounded terrified. Emilio wanted to rip the fucking world in two, wanted to tear down this stupid castle brick by brick. It took him a moment to understand what they meant, took a moment for the words to register. I need to know you’re real.

How many times had Emilio felt that same desperation? How many mornings had he spent looking at long-dead corpses rotting in the corner of the room, watching the world flash between Mexico and Wicked’s Rest? He tried to think of the things that made him feel more like himself when that happened, but… did anything? Wasn’t Emilio always stuck with one foot in the brutal past? He squeezed Teddy’s hand tightly, nodding.

“I’m here,” he assured them. “I’m real. It would be hard for you to imagine someone so handsome, hm? Come on. We walk towards the light.” He led them gently through the door, despite his instincts screaming at him that going inside the castle was a bad idea. The important thing, he thought, was getting away from the darkness. He could think easier when he could see, when he could double check Teddy and make sure that they were okay.

It was strange, the way the light worked; it wasn’t a natural thing. They were outside, and it was so dark that even Emilio couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Then, they stepped across the threshold, and they were in a lit foyer. How had none of the light spilled over outside? How did any of this work? Emilio blinked, though the sudden influx of light didn’t hurt his eyes the way it should have, either. None of it made any sense.

But there was no time to look gift horses in the mouth. He turned to look at Teddy instead, taking stock of them and bringing the hand not clasped in theirs up to cup their cheek. “See?” He murmured, quiet English. “It’s still me and you. Always me and you.” He took a moment to glance around the room they were in. The walls were made of gray stone, with cloth hanging from them sporting strange sigils. Still holding Teddy’s hand, Emilio inched towards one, tugging them along with him. With little regard for the fact that it was touching the painting that had landed him here in the first place, he reached a hand out to brush against the fabric.

“Feels… real,” he announced. “Not soft. Feels like — uh… that blanket Gabagool tried to make me use in the winter. The one that looks like a potato sack. Remember?”

—

If it had been a dream, it was a good one. Just the kind of thing they'd look for. Emilio, close enough to breathe in, the gentle vibration of his softer voice. The one he rarely used. With a cheek against his chest the man had become a heat sink. Flushed and frantic, Teddy had plenty to give off, like a reactor running on fear.

But he was here, wasn't he? And he was holding them, and the world felt a little bit lighter, even in the mud thick darkness. He'd always find them, always hold them, always me and you.

Teddy had not realized how tightly their eyes had been screwed shut. By the time Emilio had guided them across the threshold they hadn't even noticed the change until he spoke up again. Collecting their breath was more of a task than they bargained for. But not for the reasons they expected. The air here was less… heavy, but it was still stale. No wind had danced through these halls maybe…ever.

The light was welcome, even if it was unnatural. Set them at ease, or something close to it. Close enough that Emilio's hand pulled them the rest of the way. Dregs of panic still swirled in their stomach but it was quiet enough now that they could find words again. Start to think.

“... Canvas?” They finally responded, trying to remember that chilly night when Gabagool wouldn't give up his personal blanket despite Emilio insistently pointing out that Gabs, ‘has fur’ so he should ‘be more grateful’. It was a good memory. Funny. Little dimples on a long drawn scowl. Gabagool scurried up into one of the highest cabinets and made a nest with the comfortable blanket, only to toss down the wretched thing he offered the slayer. It was enough to make them smile, at least a little.

“Are we… in the painting then?” Huh. That was… new. Never fell into a painting before. Lots of weird shit happened around the Jones House, and considering Leviathan’s penchant for cursed objects, it was actually more surprising that it hadn't. But ah, life had its funny little quirks didn't it?

“Ah– Em– I…” Teddy looked down, brows knit close as they stared at their hands, intertwined. “It was the darkness. It was– too close. Too much like–” A vague gesture spelled out what Teds couldn't say. Back there. In the place where Emilio wasn't, even if that was not his fault at all. Teddy went there on their own, they walked into their own nightmare, and now they just had to deal with the aftermath. Fear of the dark was a small price to pay to get back home to him.

—

He felt them relax a little more against him and, in a strange way, there was something terrifying about that. To be a beacon to someone, to be a pillar for them to lean against or a blade to be wielded for their protection, it was only a good thing until it wasn’t. It was only something to be proud of until your light flickered, until the pillar fell, until the blade rusted and left that person without anything holding them up. Emilio tried not to think of Juliana and Flora laying crumpled in the floor as if the strings holding them upright had been severed all at once, though it was often hard to think of anything else.

These days, imagined images of Nora and Wynne in Ireland or Teddy in Echo joined them, the blank canvas his absence in those places provided allowing his mind to paint its own brutal picture of what the ordeals must have looked like. He’d failed everyone in his life in a single month, and it was through luck alone that none of them had their strings cut, too. How many more times would luck offer him a helping hand? The next time he failed them — because there was always a next time, wasn’t there? — it might very well be the last.

Teddy’s voice pulled him from the spiral, reminded him that he needed to work to make sure that next time wasn’t right now. Emilio pressed his tongue against the bottom of his teeth, letting the sharpness ground him. “Canvas,” he agreed with a hesitant nod. Did Teddy know more about this than he did? They had more experience with the magical, even if the spellcaster thing was still new to them. They’d grown up with demons and rituals the same way Emilio had grown up with blades and stakes. Maybe they could offer some kind of answer here.

“It was of a castle,” he replied thoughtfully. “And I think… it feels like we’re in one now, no?” He’d never been in a castle before, of course, but he imagined it must look something like this even with nothing concrete to go off of. There were more questions, of course — like how they’d wound up in a painting, or how they could get out of it — but having at least one answer was better than having none at all.

His movements were a little stilted as Teddy spoke again, hand still absently rubbing at the canvas hanging from the wall. “I know,” they admitted quietly. “I know, baby. But I’m here. Okay? Not going anywhere any time soon. We find a way out, you and me. Yeah? Like with the stupid blanket guy and Wynne. And when we get home, we can watch one of those movies. I’ll sit still for it and everything, hm? It’s okay.”

—

Inch by inch, Teddy crawled back to Wicked's Rest. Even if this castle was miles away or in some other dimension, it was home they were convincing themself was all around them. And moment to moment, it became more apparent. Easier, each second they spent out of the dark, easier still, each second they looked at him. Already going off and investigating clues. Picking apart this mystery like it was any other.

There was a slight hum of satisfaction as Teddy eased into normalcy (or as close as they were gonna get for a while) and back into simple appreciation. Their stomach still twisted and their heart still rattled its cage, but they could start to think, and start to joke, and start to find more to this magical endeavor than the strange shadows it spun outside.

“N-not too bad in here, honestly.” The cadence was still off, still working its way back, but Teddy fought most things with humor. Emilio had his blades, his hard won calloused hands and sharp senses, Teds had a knack for finding joy in the mundane and terrifying. “A-air’s a little stale but hey, at least you’re away from Gabagool here.” The badalisc was… probably not to blame for this. Probably. But Teddy would let the detective badmouth the little demon if it meant they got to see that angry dimple mix with the probably too sadistic smile whenever he talked about what he wanted to do to the tiny monster.

Easier to come back when home looked so familiar.

—

He watched them come back to themself, little by little. Not all of the fog behind their eyes cleared, but most of it did. And most of it had to be enough, didn’t it? At least until they got back to the house, at least until they figured this shit out. It ached a little, forcing himself to ignore Teddy’s uncertainty the same way he always ignored his own, but Emilio knew it was necessary. Right now, he needed to be useful. And the useful thing to do was find a way out of this stupid painting.

Teddy was telling a joke, because that was what Teddy did. They were good at hiding their insecurities, good at pretending to be okay when they weren’t. Sometimes, it worried Emilio. Would he know when they were really struggling? He was good at seeing through their facade, but what happened if they got better at hiding it from him, too? He wanted to say something, wanted to tell them that they didn’t need to pretend with him, but he kept staring at the wall instead.

“You just want to pretend you are royal,” he replied dryly, deciding to take the coward’s way out and lean into the humor. (Cowardice had always been what he was best at; his mother had reminded him of it often.) “Gabagool is probably messing with all of my things right now.” All… three of his things that he didn’t carry with him on his person at all times. “We have to get back there so I can bury him in the yard. Can’t let him win, right?”

Looking away from the wall, he turned his attention down the hall. Strangely, parts of the castle seemed more detailed than others; as if certain doors were just for show. Emilio hummed, pulling Teddy gently by the hand towards the most solid of the doors. “If I open this, do you think something eats me?”

—

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Eh.” Teddy shrugged, that mischievous smile wormed its way back to their face. “Leviathan predates all monarchies. If anything–” A step closer and Teds was practically right under Emilio’s nose. “–I'm a god.” As if to confirm their spirits returning, and their self declared deification, Teddy sprang up and draped themself over his shoulders. Careful to not put too much pressure on the detective's bad knee, but balancing just enough to be annoying.

“Can you imagine Gabs in a leather jacket? Hell, I'd fight him for that one. Rough on the outside, but all soft and comfy on the inside, just like someone else I know.” Draping turned into nuzzling, like a needy cat marking what they believed to be theirs. Strangely enough a bit of the fabric Emilio had been holding onto got in the mix. Which had the odd effect of smearing what looked like paint across both their cheeks. “Huh.”

“You are a tasty snack, so probably yeah.”

—

Their smile looked more genuine now, the weight on their shoulders a little lighter. Had Emilio made the right call in playing along with their joke, or was this part of the mask? He studied them for a moment, deciding he had to believe the former… at least until he got them out of this mess. With a fond shake of his head, he rolled his eyes and pressed his hand against their chest, playfully shoving them backwards a step or two as he ducked out from beneath their arms. “You’re something all right.”

The idea of Gabagool in his jacket had the detective narrowing his eyes, squinting up at the ceiling as if the badalisc might be watching unseen from outside the painting. (Or had the whole house been dragged in? How far did this go, Emilio wondered?) “I’ll kick him into the ocean for that,” he said, allowing Teddy to drape over him once more. He reached up, rubbing paint off their cheek and onto his fingers with a thoughtful hum.

Eyes darting up to meet Teddy’s, Emilio furrowed his brow. “What does that even mean?” He questioned, shaking his head again. “Whatever. I’m opening the door. If something tries to eat me, just stab it. Deal?” Trusting without confirmation that Teddy would agree, the hunter pushed open the door. It felt strange beneath his fingers — more like canvas than wood. But it opened all the same, spilling the pair into a large dining hall with a long, wooden table in the center of the room. It was a strange sight; a feast was set up, but there was no one in the chairs that surrounded it. There was something almost eerie about it all.

“Don’t eat anything,” Emilio warned lowly, paranoia crawling up his spine and settling on the back of his neck. “Stay close to me.” As if he needed to offer that warning to someone practically hanging from his shoulders.

—

With the clouds gone, Teddy could bring a little sunshine. As long as they stayed out of the shadows. Even if the light was wrong in the same way the dark had been. “What’s that Milio? I seem to remember you… calling out to my holiness quite a few times.” This was a much better topic. Especially because it gave them another avenue to stall on the conversation that still needed to happen. They would– they knew they had to. Teddy couldn't go around paranoid about every shadow or mention of family. And Emilio had every right to know. Even if it'd make him all stubborn and angry at the world.

“He can swim, you know.” The rivalry, not that either would call it that, was one of the funniest things to watch unfold. Especially because neither believed Teddy had seen them cuddling on the couch. “Starting to think you can't with all these watery threats.” A chuckle rolled through them as they returned the favor and cleaned off Emilio’s painted cheekbone.

“Means you’re hot, babe. Makes people hungry for more.” The exact way the food on the table was not. “....It'd probably taste like paint anyway.” undeniably, there was a little curiosity, but not enough for Teds to lick a doodle. Whoever or whatever created this place was pretty good, a decent mix of stylized and realistic. Rivaled studio Ghibli for how tantalizing it looked. All the more reason to avoid temptation. If anything, it was a lure. The anglerfish’s light, swaying in the deep.

“I haven't… Heard anything moving yet. Maybe this is…a still life?”

—

It was always amazing, how quickly Teddy could shift like this. It took Emilio so long to come out of his slumps, felt like walking through tar every time he tried to push his way to the surface. Sometimes, he hadn’t yet come back to himself before he was gone again, sinking back below the sea before he could steal a gasp of air from above. But Teddy was here, was making innuendos, was bright and bubbly and so wholly themself that it scared him a little. He couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was an act, couldn’t help but think that there was still something he was missing. “Ah, nothing I say in bed can be held against me,” he replied, knocking their shoulders together. If he were less of a coward, he would have asked. He would have pushed, would have prodded, would have tried to determine how much of this was a mask and how much was just Teddy. But Emilio was never quite as brave as he pretended to be. Not in matters of the heart, at least.

“I can swim just fine,” he replied, trying not to think of his mother throwing him in the damn lake, of the water rushing into his lungs and the desperation with which his limbs flailed as they carried him back to shore. Maybe Teddy had a point about the threats being a projection. “I’m not trying to kill him. You’d be all sulky if I killed him. I just want to piss him off.”

Emilio hummed at Teddy’s explanation, looking a little pleased in spite of everything. The food at the table looked… like food, though Emilio couldn’t tell much about it beyond that. There was no smell the way there should have been with a large, presumably freshly-cooked meal on the table. There was steam rising from it, but it looked unnatural, in a way; it didn’t flow quite right. Emilio approached the table, circling it cautiously.

Still life. He wasn’t familiar with the phrase, but he could use context clues to figure it out. “Maybe,” he agreed, glancing towards Teddy briefly. “Or maybe whatever’s here is waiting for us to let our guard down.” He reached out a hand, poking the meat in the center of the table. It felt canvas-like, too. When he pulled his hand back, there was paint on it. Emilio brought it close to his face, squinting. “We should go to the next room,” he announced, nodding towards the door.

—

As always, Teddy was the ocean. Their moods were as fickle as the tide. A wave away from the rip current pulling them back out to that distant dissociation. But as ever, Emilio was the sun warming their waters, the moon pulling and pushing until they evened out. More or less. Enough that they could pretend this mystery was fun, like they weren't jumping at shadows, ready to vault themself into his arms at the first sight of danger.

“Even if you say my name? I can't even hold that against you?” Sly smiles and winks were so much easier than speaking up. Then remembering on purpose and trying to put it to words. Cosmically, it was so silly. They were trapped in a painting, but because they were together it was manageable. It was okay. Teddy had been home for a week or more now, and the most they'd said about Canada was that it sucked. That would be where they left it, too, if not for the looming dread that they might have to go back. Emilio needed to know the context before they made that decision. Before everything would change.

“Aww but you always used to look so uncomfortable on my boat, ignoring the fact that we used to despise each other back then, you only moved in once I got the land-house. Tsk tsk babe.” A catty little part of Teddy's heart sure did love to see all shades of Emilio's grumpiness. The way it painted his features and how it differed from the actual grief and sadness that so often plagued the man. Grumpy was better because there was a tone of something else behind it. Reluctant amusement, overly covered by this rough and tough exterior he was shaped into. There was the briefest moments where that underlying heart showed through. Where Teddy got to see the real Emilio. Not what he thought he had to be. “You're just making it worse for yourself hon, give in to the Gabs and you will be rewarded.”

Teddy was glad to leave the dining room. The all too unnatural food gave the ex demon a deep sense of the uncanny valley. Perhaps because they were so intimately familiar with how a meal like this should bring people together, and not just in a trap.

Beyond the dinner table was another long hallway with a number of those not quite real doors. Leading out into this grand… ballroom maybe? It was wide, elaborately decorated, with two grand staircases leading up to a balcony that overlooked the dance floor. There were instruments that, despite lacking hands or people to play them, sang out a mournful waltz. All the more unsettling for the lack of dancers, and no shortage of feeling like they were being watched. “Ah, well…” Teddy clicked their tongue and swirled to the slayer’s side. “–care to dance, agapitós?”

—

Maybe he was so hyperfocused on Teddy’s mood because it was a better thing to focus on than the uncomfortableness of the situation they’d found themselves in. Emilio never did well with feeling trapped, and though the castle around them was vast, he felt the walls creeping in on him the same way he would have had it been a much smaller space. He figured it was because his mind couldn’t quite forget the smallness of the painting’s frame, the way he would have had to curl into a tight ball to fit against the canvas without touching the sides. He didn’t know how this sort of thing worked, didn’t know if he shrunk or the painting grew, but he disliked it either way.

It was far easier to focus on Teddy. On their demeanor and the way it shifted, on their words as he searched for any sign of unease. They were a good actor, but it was Emilio’s job to chase away their more suffocating thoughts, and he took that job seriously. Especially after the shit they’d been through in Canada, the shit he still knew only the barest details of. (Was it fair to ask for more? He didn’t tend to shower them with details when he went through something. But… that small voice in the back of his head remained certain that his suffering was less important, something he’d earned. He’d never quite known how to rid himself of it.) “Depends how you’re holding it against me,” he replied, because if Teddy wanted to flirt, he could do that.

“I looked uncomfortable on your boat because I was always there against my will,” he replied with a huff, though Teddy was closer to the truth. Emilio hadn’t liked the boat, hadn’t liked the feeling of the world as an unsteady thing beneath his feet. He’d found he much preferred his feet on dry land. “And I only moved in after you made me. You stole my dog, remember? If you’d stolen my dog on the boat, I’d have come there, too.” Though the boat was so much smaller than the house, and they hadn’t yet been what they were now when Emilio moved in. He wondered how different things might have looked if he’d moved in when Teddy lived there, considering the lack of extra space. Maybe he would have kissed them sooner. “I think we both know you’ll reward me either way.”

The dining room gave way to a hallway, which gave way to a room that was large and spanning. Emilio struggled to understand the purpose of it, brow furrowing. Instruments — some kind of place for entertaining? No furniture, though. His eyes were darting around the room for clues when Teddy spoke, drawing his attention back to them. It never seemed to linger anywhere else for long.

Dance. Was that what this was? A whole room just for dancing? There was something almost funny about the thought. “I think we both know I’d be bad at that,” he replied flatly, though he took their hand anyway. When was the last time he’d danced with someone? In the living room with Juliana, after their wedding? He remembered her quiet laughter, the way she’d elbowed him in the ribs. You have two left feet, love. He was probably far worse at it now that only one leg worked properly. But Teddy wanted to dance, and Emilio wouldn’t deny them that. “How do you think we get out of here?” He murmured beneath the music, as if the unseen forces plucking the strings might overhear. “Just… keep opening doors?”

—

“Ahh Tomato, Tomato.” Teddy repeated, using the same inflection twice. A lot of friendships they had either started that way or ended before they could get past the ‘demon acting nicely to get what they want’ stage. They were taught to weave the world around them to their whims. Leviathan couldn’t have anticipated anything else. Altruism wasn’t the thing that brought them together, it was curiosity and an amusing idea of raising a little lifeform. Was there a difference, they wondered, between performing niceness and being nice? Teddy never considered themself nice, nor kind. They couldn’t ever spot the line. So there always had to be another motive, right?

“Rewards come in all shapes and sizes, mi amor.” The caster winked and weasled closer. “Some much greater than others. Do you really wanna settle for less?” Even now, even with him. Wasn’t a single person left on earth they cared more about and yet— Teddy was still trying to pull him in a direction that benefitted them. Telling themself all the while it was for everyone. It was a good thing. But was it? Keeping smiles and such just so the negative never has a chance to poke through?

“Could always stand on my toes while I guide you around.” A chuckle rolled through their chest, giddier for the hand holding theirs. Teddy stepped towards the center of the room, slid a hand around the small of his waist and rested their head upon his shoulder. The music seemed to respond, slowing to a gentle song. Just enough to sway back and forth to. “No idea, never been trapped in a painting before. Don’t know the rules. Sometimes you have to play along, sometimes you have to do everything not to give in. Dad had a lot of cursed objects, but I can’t remember hearing about any paintings killing anyone.”

—

“Mmm, would like to smash tomato on your head right now,” Emilio replied flatly, the immaturity of the mental image it brought on tugging the corners of his lips ever so slightly upward. Teddy had a habit of making him feel comfortable enough to slide into someone he’d lost when bodies fell around him in Mexico, someone who might have died with Flora or might have died decades earlier with Victor. The silly, childish thing that his mother had hated had never quite gotten a chance to blossom before Teddy watered its roots ever so carefully. Other people had played a part, too, of course — Nora and Jade and Wynne and Xó — but Emilio felt so incredibly comfortable around Teddy. He wasn’t sure when it had happened.

They settled close to him, their warmth against his chest. His quiet huff that was half a laugh ruffled their hair even though he wasn’t really much taller than them. (He’d say he was, if asked; he’d called Teddy short more than once, despite only having an inch or two on them.) “Not up to me what kind of reward I get. You’re the one giving it to me, hm? Better make it worth my while, babe.” As if anything Teddy gave them was ever not worth his while. Emilio liked to think that they both knew that, liked to imagine that they were both so very aware of how gone he was for them.

After all, there weren’t many other people who could have calmed him in a situation like this one. If he were here with anyone else, he wouldn’t have been pausing to dance. He’d have been tearing open every goddamn door, bursting through the painting like a man on fire in search of water. But with Teddy’s hand in his, he let himself sway to the music. “Don’t want to hurt your toes,” he replied. “And my balance is shit, anyway. I’d take us both over.” That, too, felt like a confession of love; Emilio didn’t often admit his weaknesses to other people, even when those weaknesses were obvious ones. But Teddy got them all on display, all quietly stretched out.

—

“It’s just like fighting, love. All you gotta do is add a little flair.” In time with the tune floating through the air on unseen strings, Teddy swept their feet in, around, between his. Gently pushing into positions that mirrored the ones on the battlefield. Given new purpose and life. Allowed to blossom into something more than what made it. Step, turn, bow, step, sway. It wasn’t a fast dance. Deliberate, dedicated. Teddy applied pressure where needed, guided Emilio without words. His body (despite his protestations) was perhaps more prepared for this than he could have expected, at least that’s what it looked like to Teds.

Keen eyes and a memory so selective, saw the potential in the graveyard with the spawns, in the resort with the vampires, in the woods with whatever beasties Wicked’s Rest liked to throw their way. They knew the ways his body moved, what it preferred, what made it flinch and what made it jump with excitement. As ever, it was Theodore Jones’ job to illuminate the path to something… better.

To show the blade he was a man.

Words could only do so much. But a dance? Who knew? Maybe it was just what they needed to slay the slayer, to soften him up. To finally cut the tethers and shackles put in place by someone who may very well have thought they were necessary, thought they were important, but couldn’t possibly be farther from the truth. Emilio was more than the whetstone that shaved him down to a sliver of a person. He was more than the failures drilled into his head and the expectations weighing down his arms. He just couldn’t see it. So maybe Teddy just had to paint the big picture. Or accidentally get stuck in a canvas. That could work too.

A softer sigh pushed Teddy from Emilio’s shoulder, only just enough to take a good long look at him. “Maybe we just… enjoy it til something happens.” It was a bit romantic, wasn’t it? About as close as the pair dared venture. First date was a case, pretending to be a couple until the heat rose too high to handle. They did plenty together. Barely spent time apart since that blessing. But few activities that could be called a proper date. Between the lighting, the orchestra, the empty dance floor, and him, Teddy could almost forget that they were in their pj’s and still had a stab wound to tend to.

Instead, fingers traced along, doing more dancing than their feet. Right up until they found his cheek. ‘Til they could pull him in for a long kiss. Holding him there until they found themself gasping for air or floating on it. Couldn’t be too sure which.

—

Waiting for something to happen and enjoying the ride weren’t skills Emilio possessed, and the scrunched look on his face seemed to reflect as much. But Teddy was looking at him with eyes he loved more than anything, and his smile was soft as he looked back. He could try to relax for them; he could do just about anything for them. “I give it ten minutes,” he said. “And if nothing happens, I’m going to start seeing if the torches will set the walls on fire.” It was a bad plan, but maybe the painting would attempt to protect itself by dispelling them from its canvas.

Teddy pulled him into a kiss, and Emilio let them do it, responded with a tender hunger as his hands gripped their waist. Outside the castle window, the sun rose; as it did, the castle melted away around them. It was only when Emilio pulled back for a breath of air that he realized the ballroom had been replaced by their bedroom, the early dawn light peeking in through the window. The painting lay on the ground at their feet, quiet and unassuming. Emilio let out a huff, hesitantly kicking at the frame with his toe. “Well,” he said, “I guess we… figured it out?”

#wickedswriting #mortemoppetere #eldritchaccident

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paolojcruz · 15 years

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Ontario Gothic

REVIEWS : COMICS

A rootless cultural nomad reviews Jeff Lemire’s rural family drama The Collected Essex County.

Originally posted on the Multiply page of Sputnik Fantastik, November 2009

One measure of a truly skilled comic creator is their ability to make their readers care about people or characters that may be radically different from themselves. With the rural family drama of The Collected Essex County, Jeff Lemire doesn’t just meet this criteria; he positively surpasses it.

At its heart, Essex County is a nuanced but ultimately romantic saga about the landscape Lemire grew up in: the desolate farmlands of Ontario, in east-central Canada. More specifically, it’s about the ways an agricultural community is shaped by this harsh, unforgiving geography. Over the course of three main stories, and two loosely related shorts, Lemire gives us a sense of a close-knit small town, whose inhabitants’ lives are marked by shared traditions (hockey), fantasies (comic book superheroics), and the unpleasant secrets that lurk just below the surface of their rural idyll.

Lemire achieves this by taking full advantage of the medium. His rich, expressive linework is perfectly suited to a narrative built on the conflict between roots (the town itself) and wings (the urge to escape, or metaphorically fly away from it all). Page layouts are used to emphasize the vastness of an environment that looms over the cast, sometimes ominous, but just as often providing a comforting solitude. “Decompressed” six-panel grids allow small but crucial moments to linger, heightening the emotional weight of family secrets revealed. In scenes where dialog is kept at a minimum, close-ups often provide more hints at genuine resolution than any conversation could hope to achieve.

I’ll confess that that I kept expecting hints of magical realism, or maybe supernatural elements. Indeed, some of the recurring visual themes are positively haunting: the footprints in snow, and those seemingly omnipresent crows.

However, that just belies my own expectations derived from pop culture’s small town narratives: the everyday weirdness of TV’s Amazing Stories, the sinister hamlets that populate the Lovecraft mythos and Stephen King’s early work, or even just the oddball happenings in the Palomar stories of Gilbert Hernandez.

But there is very little that’s otherworldy in Essex County. Instead, Lemire hooks readers in with understated drama: a kid in a superhero costume dreaming up an elaborate alien invasion plot, as he longs to escape the humdrum routine of farm life; a failed hockey player dealing with senility, as past and present blur into a hazy miasma; a nurse compensating for a personal loss by making a difference in the lives of her patients. All of their stories are uniquely human, and yet integral to their connection with Essex County, the place.

For a reader like me – a perennial metropolitan boy who grew up in various South East Asian mega-cities, with no single “province” that my family calls home – Essex County would ordinarily be a difficult sell. To Lemire’s credit, he got me to care about a tale that is unapologetically pastoral by focusing on some of the most universal human emotions: loss, hope, a thirst for new experiences, or a sense of belonging. But most of all, Essex County is about the tension between holding on to a familiar past, and dealing with today’s unpleasant realities. That’s something even a cultural nomad can relate to.

#comic review #jeff lemire #essex county

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erismourn · 2 years

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oh my god i have a weird story about blood donation that I’m gonna put under the cut

so. i try to donate blood. i have a- blood which is pretty rare.

a month or so after I last donated, I received a very beefy letter from canadian blood services. i’m like ok this is weird. i open the letter. first piece of paper i pull out is like “good news! you don’t have syphilis!”

im like. ok. i mean i knew I don’t have syphilis. I’ve had sex with one person and she had no STIs because if she did they would have killed her due to being immunocompromised (she wasn’t even willing to kiss one of her other partners who had herpes - it was that serious. this is not a judgement btw I think that’s a safe choice, especially considering her other health problems). so as you might imagine i’m very confused

i read more of the papers. some of them are test results, which show I don’t have syphilis. I’m like. great. ok. we’ve established that I don’t have syphilis. why the fuck are you telling me this.

so it turns out! that THEIR EQUIPMENT flagged my blood as falsely positive for syphilis. this happens sometimes. they always do a second round of testing to make sure of the outcome. they ran more tests on my blood. no syphilis in there! we’re free of syphilis!

the rest of the letter states that I am now permanently banned from donating blood at canadian blood services because their equipment falsely flagged me as positive for syphilis. THIS IS APPARENTLY A LAW THAT HEALTH CANADA HAS. if CANADIAN BLOOD SERVICES equipment or a technician who works for them fucks up and flags you as positive for syphilis, falsely, you will be permanently banned from donating blood in canada. they basically told me that until the law is changed, I can no longer donate. wild!

#mads.txt #this is definitely up there with one of the weirdest things to happen to me i'll be honest

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seeminglyseph · 1 year

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I think like, “true crime girlie” or “murdino” or whatever is like. An evolutionary stage in becoming aware of the world around you, and it’s like absolutely 100% cringe and like. People’s real life tragedies aren’t a fandom, you don’t need to be involved. But. I think. The Netflix-ification of it is like when businesses realize what people are into and try to capitalize on it but it’s like “you can’t capitalize on murder.”

And Netflix documentaries are kind of questionable to begin with because they’re biased as shit and have like the most lacking information ever. They are popcorn entertainment documentaries. It’s very frustrating to be a documentary enjoyer and have like “oh good seven hours bullshit about nothing”

HBO used to make very good documentaries, now they are hit or miss. I mean I guess they’re always hit or miss, but I feel like the concept of a documentary has changed? Is that a phrase that makes sense? I feel foolish for having said that? But I also feel like sometimes the amount of information a person is intended to gain from a documentary is flexible, they aren’t supposed to be your primary source of information. They’re supposed to like. Let you know something exists, give you some important information, craft a thesis basically, make an argument and present the information and give you a way to form an opinion and seek out information yourself if you are so driven to do so.

But. Like. Sometimes it feels like “seek out more information yourself” has become. Uh. Not. A thing.

Maybe I just. Had a lot of bad experiences with people who got that like. Um. “If you go into the dark place your poor mind will be tainted, you must trust in me to protect you from that twisted evil information and give you only what you can handle to keep you from becoming like the Bad People.”

Which was kind of that SJW 2014 movement which matched my Catholic Trauma so well that I slid into the brainwashing like a good little puppet…

But I do live in a crime ravaged city in a neighbourhood in that city reputed to be deeply unsafe. Even if a lot of people getting into to true crime with my complexion are being extremely weird about it, it’s kind of reasonable to be aware of crime. Especially if you’re also aware of the part of true crime where you don’t sit there making excuses for police incompetence. Like.

I grew up in a household where I *did* get a Talk about how like. “We need the police, but if you don’t cooperate they can and will kill or severely hurt you because they have a lot of power over people like us” though in this situation “like us” was “poor” and “not a cop.” Similarly border agents and the TSA. My dad grew up even more poor than me, and was very sure I knew people in law enforcement could just like. Fuck my life up if they wanted.

He still had an absolutely unearned respect for the RCMP though, he really cared about those guys and like my research into true crime in Canada has unearthed a lot of “not my problem if I don’t look into it” and that’s pretty fucking infuriating? But there’s stuff that’s like. Maybe his position as a straight white man made him biased because the Salvation Army helped him as a kid and he has warm memories about them and then I’m like “they would absolutely leave me to die in the cold.” And it’s complex.

I dunno I don’t think I personally have had cause to interact with Mounties but I care about MMIW and related issues as a Western Canadian and like… Person With Morals I guess? And like. Boy howdy that’s a lot of. Uh. The history of the Canadian Police’s failure to protect and serve the Indigenous population of Canada is long and complicated and under told but at this time I am not equipped to tell it in a way that would be appropriate to the people who deserve their stories told with dignity and respect and outrage. But know in your hearts that if there’s a job that can be avoided the Mounties will avoid doing it and that is the mildest form of violence I can list here.

I suppose ultimately my point is that some people do it wrong, but. The only way for people to become aware of things is to learn and to research and to have sources. And sometimes it *starts* with My Favorite Murder and Dahlmer and bad Netflix documentaries. But it’s supposed to evolve into your own research and awareness of the world around you and an understanding of reality and pattern recognition of like. “Funny how so many people actually get away with these crimes because police don’t really put a lot of effort into investigating the deaths of certain people, and those murderers are aware of that.”

Who counts as the Less Dead? Who benefits from pretending crime happens differently than it really does? How many of these mysteries were open secrets long before they were solved?

But at the same time, we need something. Some system. ‘Cause people in general as a group are crazy. I live with people. We suck. We need rules and people to enforce them. It just would be nice if they didn’t also suck. Like damn.

#my life #stoned ramblings #true crime navel gazing #this is some serious ‘we live in a society’ bullshit #but I just have some thoughts #they are not well gathered so don’t judge them like a sourced and cited essay or something #but I think it is important people be aware #I just think people have too much of a habit of fandoming

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macaroni-rascal · 2 years

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What do you think of bashynska beaumont? I understand they’re the top junior team in Canada currently and with that comes some perks, and they seem like good skaters. But I’m honestly not seeing the hype. Sometimes it feel a bit too phoned in to me.

But you’re the expert here and I always love to gear your opinion because it just makes sense.

Hello! Thank you for the kind words! ☺️

They haven’t really been on my radar, to be honest. I just went and watched their RD from the Gdansk jgp to refresh myself.

I think they have some lovely lines, they both have great arms, can’t get a little messy in the feet/lower limb area. They can create a few lovely pictures but also have super awkward moments too. A few times during the program they did something that made my face screw up and go “oh no why?” (that spin thing they did, the lift position, a weird lunge moment, etc)

I think they are unbelievably slow, like skating through molasses slow. Because of that lack of speed I got very bored, and it allowed other flaws to come to light, like the ones I mentioned above. Also, it was a very generic program, without any moments to write home about. I think they have potential but they need to find their voice and for the love of god, they need more speed.

#konner talks skating

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

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The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Epilogue - The Look of Love

Masterlist; Chapter 31

Summary: Of dogs, proposals and other chaotic adventures. The end.

Warnings: Lethal doses of fluff; some hinted R-rated fun times; swearing.

Author's Notes: Well... this is it. The last chapter of the probably too long book that took me over a year to finish. It's been quite a journey and I'm grateful I took it and was brave enough to publish my work for the very first time.

I'm going to miss them, I know that for sure, so not saying no to some one-shots in near future... But for now, I hope you'll enjoy this last chapter. It's nothing too complex but I thought they needed closure so here it is.

Thank you to everyone who stayed from the beginning, to those who joined in between and those that stayed with me until the very end. Without you, your support, messages and existence I probably wouldn't have finished.

And thank you, Shet, for keeping up with my ramblings, weird plot bunnies, teasers at ungodly hours and just being there for me.

Enjoy the last hurrah (or something). And let me know what you think?

Life still sometimes felt unreal. Or, rather, the past year and a bit did. Because if years ago someone would describe the reality to the teenage version of you, she would laugh in their face. Or scoff and call it a pretty fairy tale. Nothing more, nothing less. Only, it wasn’t.

You parked the black Infiniti on your private spot in the courtyard and quickly crossed the distance to the building. Without thinking, you keyed in the code and pushed the suitcase through the door. Who knew business trips (missions) in Canada required so much stuff? With silent annoyance, you fished out the apartment keys from the overfilled messenger bag and waited for the elevator to arrive. There was no time to think through the short journey up or when opening the door to apartment no 4.

As soon as the lock clicked and the hinges creaked, you heard the unmistakable clatter of the dog’s paws on the wooden floors. You grinned, familiar reflexes helping you in lowering the bags and closing the door just in time as the black furball skidded around the corner into the hallway.

“Hello darling,” you cooed, kneeling to receive the impact from a comfortable position.

As the Labrador collided with you, he sat down and welcomed your embrace with an extensive dose of licking and wet nose. In return, you gave it a peck on the head and a few pats, smoothing down the fur and whispering sweet nothings.

Niki had entered your small family nearly four months ago, but both you and Neil knew that he belonged there.

And no, Niki wasn’t his full name. Nikola Tesla was. Named by Neil, naturally.

You bestowed a final quantity of pecks, kisses and hugs upon the dog and glanced at the cupboard below the hallway mirror. The notepad was still there, now filled with your and Neil’s writing. The pages majorly consisted of shopping lists, reminders, to-do notes and short letters to each other left in haste. The latest entry was made with Neil’s elegant handwriting:

‘Welcome home. There’s a gift for you in the living room. Text me when you arrive. Yours, N.

P.S. Last night, Nikola started munching on the copy of the Bible again. Beginning to think we should’ve named him Lucifer. Or Azazel’

You snickered, mind sending silent prayers to whoever decided to put Neil in your path. And make him fall in love with you. Somehow. As if on cue, the dog nudged your knee with his nose, making you drop the notepad and eye him warily:

“Dad says you’re the devil’s incarnate” Niki’s eyes lit up at the mention of Neil, tail wagging happily, “But I think he just hasn’t fed you well enough,” you added with a shrug and bent down to scratch him behind the ear.

Then the curiosity about said gift won. With purpose, you marched into the living room, eyes skimming over the usual mess of the space, cluttered with your books, albums, and everything else that you found the need for. Because neither of you was a lover of tidiness. You would rather maintain a manageable state of disarray in the apartment. And it worked. Even if sometimes it was particularly tricky to find whatever was necessary.

As your gaze fell on the table, you grinned. The enormous bouquet of white roses was certainly surprising yet more than welcome. The attached note was simple:

‘From your boys, who missed you greatly. Love xx’

It was gestures like those that made it impossible to have any regrets about the decisions you had made nearly a year ago. As you took out the phone to send the promised text to Neil, your heart flushed with warmth upon the sight of the home screen. A photo he sent you a couple of days ago – him and Niki sprawled out on the floor, smiling up at the phone camera. Neil had the halo of blonde hair around his head, Niki was in what you called the Batman pose – black triangle-shaped ears splayed on the floor over his head. The moment you received the image, you knew where its place would be.

“I’m back. Do you have any lunch plans?” you quickly typed the text and sat down on the sofa with a groan.

The unpacking and everything else could wait. At least a couple of hours longer.

When your phone beeped less than a minute later, you smiled. It seemed that old habits did indeed die hard, for Neil still replied to your messages with the speed of light. No matter whether he was in the meeting, lecturing recruits or otherwise busy with work, he always texted you back immediately. It was something you often teased him about while being equally charmed by the habit.

“You’re my lunch plans ;)” the grin only got brighter when you read the response, cheeks flushing pink at the influx of thoughts and memories.

Flirting never got old. Neither did everything it would bring you, the endless nights and tender afternoons. Or energetic mornings, placing blush on your cheeks and a sparkle in your eyes.

“That sounds… intriguing” after a second thought, you added 😏and hit send.

The rush of adrenaline could only be blamed on jet lag. And love.

“And so it should. Fave spot in an hour?”

Favourite spot meant the café you had met at. It became a regularly frequented destination after the return from Trondheim, both due to the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia and gratitude. But also because of the perfectly served coffee.

You glanced at the watch, noting the time and distance you’d need to cover. Manageable. A tiny squeak from below your eye line drew the attention before you could text him back. The dark amber eyes, looking at you pleadingly. What would lunch be without the youngest family member, huh?

“Perfect. I’ll bring Niki” you made a face at the dog and got up.

No time to waste.

***

The square was busy during lunchtime, flooded with white collars and black heels. The corporation chatter welcomed you from every corner as you led Niki to the table on the outskirts. The same one, naturally. With the force of habit, your eyes wandered over the scene, taking in the busy waiters, stressed clients and their business meetings taking place around the tables.

Every time you sat down in the café, memories were hard to control. It was always a similar variety of images and sensations. The grey of Neil’s suit that first day, the tone of his voice, the warmth of his hand, the blue of his eyes. Was it ever avoidable? Doubtful. Even the suggestion seemed like a joke because if Neil had to be described by one word, it would be incredible. And you should never turn your back on what seems too good to be true. Or so a dear friend told you.

Suddenly Niki leapt up, and the leash stretched, yanking your chair to the right by a centimetre. Before you could look up to acknowledge the cause, a familiar voice rang out over your head:

“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing around these parts?” Neil drawled out the question with a playful tint to the vowels.

A grin invited itself onto your face as you glanced up, effortlessly meeting the blue of his eyes. The desire to roll your eyes was still there yet not as strong. After all, the cheesy pick-up lines were easy to get used to. The lips curled into a soft smile, one hand reaching out to greet the dog, the other placed on the back of your chair. The hair tousled by the wind added a little bit more to the overall charm. He was infuriatingly handsome.

“Waiting for an idiot of a boyfriend, I’ve found myself,” you shrugged, scanning him from head to toe in an attempt to find a flaw.

That was a tricky job when faced with Neil dressed up in black leather and a dark green jumper. He waited for your appreciative nod before letting his fingers ghost up the curve of your neck. The sigh was unnecessary yet unavoidable.

“He’s a lucky man” Neil cupped your cheek and lowered down the voice to a whisper.

That meant the silly opening was over, and you have moved on to the sincere conversation. The profound ground, the foundation of the relationship itself. Slipping back into the role felt like a true homecoming. As if the act of coming back to the apartment was the prologue for the quintessence of your life. You leaned into his touch and dropped down the guard, allowing the feelings to paint across your features.

“And I’m a lucky woman,” you added, the smile softening as the simple honesty appeared on the tip of your tongue, “I’ve missed you” encircling your hand around his wrist, you pulled Neil down to get closer.

He yielded without a fight, leaning down to breach the space. Neither of you cared about the public, being used to curious and offended stares as you indulged in PDA on the streets of London and elsewhere. It seemed that along with the increase of confidence in your feelings for one another, you lost the ability to be concerned by what others think. Unless the other in question was Neil. Then it mattered a lot.

When he was this close, faces separated by mere inches, the flock of butterflies never failed to wake up, making your heart speed up and happiness soar. Because he was there, yours and within reach. And that was all it took to close the gap, enveloping his mouth in a hungry kiss. Soft lips, responding to yours in an instant, the familiar taste waking up the desire. Following the instincts, you buried your fingers in his hair, angling his head for better access. Neil let out a muffled sigh and opened his mouth under your prying tongue. That was your method of proving everything you ever told him, every sentiment and confession confirmed by the tender caress and the ravenous kiss. And then he responded in kind, teeth catching your lower lip and pulling at it softly to avoid bruises yet enough to make you want more. But it had to wait for the privacy of your bedroom.

When you broke apart with the heavy breaths punctuating the silence, Neil placed a kiss on your forehead and murmured:

“Quite right,” he nudged your nose with his, a happy glimmer in his eyes shadowed with uncontainable affection, “Had no one to kiss me like this for three weeks” his lips curled into a smirk as he straightened and sat down in the opposite chair.

In a flash, Niki was by his side, pushing his head into Neil’s lap and begging for attention. You grinned at the sight, feeling nothing but content fill every space in your heart. And then, just for the sake of it, you glared at Neil across the table:

“I sure hope so, sunshine” arching one eyebrow, you flipped the menu open with a flourish.

Another habit learned from the man in question.

There was hardly any reason to browse the coffee options since as soon as the waitress approached your table (and petted the dog), Neil ordered for you. You stopped putting up the fight about it and instead accepted the fate with an exasperated sigh and a fond eye roll. Because he always chose right and exerted the right to be smug about it.

It was a good half hour later, with many catch up conversations in between the jokes and shameful staring, that Neil took hold of your hand lying on the table and spoke up:

“Yesterday, I was giving a talk to the new recruits” he eyed you steadily, fingers running over your knuckles reassuringly.

Both you and Neil have been deployed to train the agents between missions following Stalsk. In his case, it meant lectures about physics or using years of experience to lead the rookies through more tricky operations from the past. Every single of those talks also meant another thing…

“How was it? Ladies and gents fawning over you as usual?” batting your eyelashes, you looked up at him flirtatiously in the best imitation of the looks you have seen him receive.

And it was always like this. Conspicuous ogling, amorous smiles, and excited whispers. More than once, you have heard the younger agents gossip about Neil as you passed them in the corridor. Sometimes the conversations died the moment you have been spotted. Others grew louder as if to challenge you and show that your position as the girlfriend of the most desired man in Tenet should not be taken for granted.

And it was not, permanent anxiety could not allow you that kind of luxury.

“... well yeah, but-” your stream of thoughts was interrupted by Neil, his face nothing but outrage as if you have been simplifying things, and he would not have it.

But it was too late, you had been triggered. A little, nothing too dramatic.

A scoff, a dismissive wave of a hand and off you went into a tirade you had long prepared:

“They’re so predictable. You can practically see their eyes lit up once they see you” you threw Neil another hungry look, taking note of the widened eyes and shock in his face “Wonder how many have gotten sexuality crisis because of those eyes and golden locks” taking the hand out of his hold to brush away the hair from his forehead and skim your fingers across his temples. If only because you could.

But Neil was having none of that pretence. He grabbed your wrist in one quick motion, pinning your hand to the table with an exasperated sigh:

“Very funny” the glare you received was everything but funny; you opened your mouth to protest but never got that far “What I wanted to say before you so rudely interrupted me is that afterwards, as I was packing my stuff, I could hear Ives pointedly tell them that I’m off the books so, quote, don’t fucking bother” Neil’s gaze had you frozen with the mind trying to process what he said.

It might’ve been obvious. But not to you. Not to someone who still found reasons to doubt their luck.

“Oh,” you let out a long exhale, never quite realising when Neil’s eyes softened or when your fingers laced up once more.

You stared at your hands resting on the table, head catching up with the reality as it often had to. Because it was true, it was happening. Neil was yours, exclusively. It was not a daydream or wishful thinking.

Being well accustomed to your moments of ‘silliness’ as he called it, Neil stayed quiet, watching you closely until he knew that it was safe to push on with the intended meaning:

“He’s right, obviously because no one could even dare compare with you” as his words broke the silence, you looked up and met his gaze.

Nothing but love and fondness. The blue pupils, sparkling with happiness and conviction, thumb running over your knuckles in unconscious motions. Yet there was one more question you had to ask:

“You sure about that?” the attempt at an intense glare got blown by Niki pushing his nose into your lap.

Obediently you scratched him under the chin, taking pleasure in the sensation of the short hairs under your fingernails and the weight of his head on your lap. You did not need that escape for long. Neil squeezed your hand once to draw attention and smiled when you glanced up at him:

“Yes. There’s only one person I’m planning to marry, and that is you” letting go, he pointed at you with unnecessary quirkiness and quickly downed the coffee before you could shake off the gesture.

There it was again, that subtle and smooth mention of marriage. Reminding you that Neil wanted it and had not abandoned the idea, deeming you inadequate wife material. Your pulse picked up as blood rushed into your ears. It was always like this. A mere remark had the potential to resolve you into a blushing, wide-eyed mess incapable of eloquent speech. Why? Because it was too good to be true. Simple.

With panic gaining strength, your eyes were drawn to the silver charms bracelet on Neil’s wrist. It was a gift from you for his birthday, the first one you celebrated together. You have chosen the charms to signify the things you loved about him and the cherished memories, hoping to add to the collection as time went on. So far, the pendants included the Norwegian flag (Oslo was hardly forgettable), a Labrador (newest addition), stars (you know, physics and… shit), the infinity symbol (aren’t we stuck in a time loop?) and, soppiest of all, a daffodil (wisdom, but also, you’re the one). Until the moment you presented the gift to him, you worried Neil would never wear it.

But he did. He only took it off for missions, offended you could think he would not want it. Apparently, it was the best present he had ever received.

Now your silence lasted too long for the next thing you felt was a gentle touch, fingers tipping your chin so you would have to meet the intense gaze. There was nowhere to hide. Blue eyes searched yours for answers, and then Neil found what he needed. He cupped your cheek once more and sat up straighter:

“I couldn’t care less about everyone else, and deep down, you know it” it was the quiet confidence in his voice that made the breath catch in your throat, “Actually, I was thinking, if you’d marry me, we could-” it was also why at first you missed what he said.

And then exhaled as your conscience registered the words. It was not exactly a question. But it was an assumption. An indirect query. What?

“… did you just propose?” cutting through his intended sentence, you dropped the spoon with a clink.

It fell off the saucer, dripping coffee over the wooden surface. But that was the least of your concerns. Fearing to do as much as breathe out, you waited for Neil to wake up from the confusion. He blinked twice and then eyed you tentatively:

“… maybe” another second of cautious silence before he followed it with a hurried explanation, “I mean, I wanted to for a while, but-”

You did not need to hear it. Not really. And there was nothing to debate. You barely registered the movement underneath the table as Niki clambered up to seek more attention. Bad timing.

“Yes,” you whispered the word with eyes closed.

Like one utters the birthday wish when blowing out the candles. Like a silent prayer by the altar. When you opened your eyes again, Neil was staring at you with slight disorientation written over his face:

“What?” his eyebrows drew together as they did whenever he was at a loss.

It was the sudden increase of happiness that made you keen to tease him. You eyed the remains of beverage in your cup and then looked up at him sternly:

“I said yes. Unless you’re taking it back, in which case I’ll slap you and pour that coffee on your head” in support of the threat, you raised the cup and tipped it experimentally.

A hint of a smile upon Neil’s lips acted like a trigger. You grinned, euphoric giggles rising in your throat and tinting the tongue. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Niki stare at you both with a blank gaze. Sure as hell, parents were acting weird. Not that, usually, they were normal, though.

Neil tapped your hand once, a familiar gesture proceeding something profound and important. You looked up in time to see him observe you with unhidden admiration. As if he did not believe you were real.

“Christ, I love you,” Neil whispered his confession with eyes shining brightly and a dazed smile on his face.

For reasons hard to comprehend, the moment felt monumental. Because this was it. It happened in a strange yet wonderful way. You effortlessly mirrored his smile and placed the cup back on the saucer:

“… I hope so” a tiny shrug to hide the extent of happiness coursing through your veins “It would be a terrible loss of a perfectly good coffee” you sensed more than saw Neil shift in the chair; instincts telling you what it could mean “Don’t you dare” extending a hand in the universal signal for ‘stop whatever the fuck you’re doing’ and glaring at him hard.

In the quiet of your mind, you could see it. Neil kneeling right there in the café, causing fatal damage to your sanity. People rushing to congratulate you. Photos being taken. Niki jumping up in the excitement of what he did not even understand. Worst nightmare.

When you looked up at him, Neil was quietly laughing at the horror visible in your face. He could read you like a book by now. And somehow, it was not scary. Breaching the dramatic impasse, Neil reached out for your hand lying on the table and sent you another soft smile:

“I’ll do it properly back in the apartment, and then we’ll celebrate...” the sparks in his eyes promised more than words ever could.

The only thing left was to do was to blush and- Again, what?

You let out another long exhale to ground the mind and sputtered:

“Wait... does that- does that mean you’ve got the ring and all?” your hands flapped around wildly, attracting your dog, who chose the moment to try jump up to the table.

At the last moment, before Niki collided with the table leg, Neil snatched him away and nodded energetically:

“Yeah,” running his fingers over your knuckles and the ring from Norway you never took off, “As I said, I thought about proposing for the last few months” his mouth curled into a crooked grin as he relived a particular memory, “Remember that day when you came back from Italy? And we spent the afternoon in bed?” the look Neil gave you was as far from PG13 as you could imagine.

But of course, you remembered. Two weeks in northern Italy, discovering a weapon’s dealer ploy by the Lake Como. And then home, coming back to find Neil cooking dinner. Only you never got to eat it that day.

“How could I forget” biting into your lip to prevent idiotic smiles, you whispered the answer.

Neil raised your hand to his lips and kissed it, never once breaking the eye contact:

“Well, that was one of the moments when I thought about it. You looked so beautiful, completely spent and utterly mine” another squeeze of palm and a response to what must have been a terribly stunned look in your eyes, “I remembered what you told me the icebreaker. So, despite knowing that nothing was going to change, I waited for the right moment. Exactly how you wanted”

A shrug. Because it was all so simple. And maybe it was.

You made sure he could see the whole spectrum of emotions in your eyes as you murmured:

“Neil… take me home,”

***

By the time you got home and dealt with the mess left there, you nearly forgot about what happened. Or that was about to happen. The specifics were even more complex to determine. You went about your tasks as always: wheel the suitcase to the closet, deposit the dirty clothes in the laundry bin and change into joggers. Because the consensus seemed to be that you would spend the rest of the day in. Celebrating. Which meant… fun. You allowed yourself one silly grin in the bathroom mirror before exiting into the hall. From the kitchen, you could hear the unmistakable sounds of Neil preparing Niki’s food.

The soft voice he used when talking to the dog was a fascinating discovery. The first time you heard it, you only managed to calm down enough to finish the work Zoom call and then promptly crossed the distance to snog Neil for around five minutes.

Now, as you quietly tiptoed into the living space, he had just placed Niki’s bowl on the designated spot by the wall and watched with a smile as the Labrador dug into the food with the speed of lightning. You enjoyed observing him in those moments of silence and stagnation. Whether bowed down over the complex notes and theorems or watching the dog snoring on the blanket, Neil seemed to you a shining beacon of hope. A home in the form of a person who always made you feel safe and grounded.

Too lost in the thoughts (and admiration), you never quite caught the moment when the man in question turned to you. Or when he crossed the space. The wake-up call was a gentle touch on your shoulder, making you look up into his eyes with a start:

“Think we were supposed to finish something…” Neil glanced at the red velvet box he produced out of somewhere with a confident smile on his face.

Oh. Shaking yourself awake, you mirrored his expression before leaning in to place a kiss on his temple.

“Right, yeah. Sorry” your face warmed up a notch as you felt the familiar surge of butterflies in your stomach.

Inexplicable tension filled the moment as Neil nodded, squeezed your hand once and started lowering down to kneel on the hardwood floors. Of course.

“You don’t have to do it with such a-”

Your protest got cut off at the end with a confused stare and a simple question:

“What?” Neil was now resting on one knee in what you always considered as the formal engagement pose.

While you were standing in front of him wearing nothing more elegant than a pair of old stained joggers and his t-shirt you stole months before. That realisation was the main driving force behind your frown and the one-worded response you had for him:

“Pomp,” popping the p with overt nonchalance, you eyed him sharply.

You knew Neil was set off from the second you saw the familiar sparks in his eyes lit up. No doubt you were in for a one in a million proposal there. A third one, in fact.

“Darling, love of my life-” the nicknames rolled off his tongue with ease coupled up with the extravagant way in which he opened the box.

An exasperated sigh there, bored shuffle here. And cutting in before Neil could make it somehow even worse:

“That’s what I meant” you frowned at the scene, pose hiding the feelings flowing through your body.

Nearly there. Because despite the banter and the desire to make this as lighthearted as you could, the importance was undeniable. With wonder, your gaze skimmed over Neil, his sparkling blue eyes, and a soft smile, kneeling at your feet. You took a deep breath.

“- will you marry me?” he finished the question with a slight tremor in his voice.

Yes. There was no other answer. There could not be.

The grin got out before words did, making you both exhale with audible relief. And then, perfectly choosing the moment to step in, Niki skidded down the length of the floor and collided with Neil. Face licks were the top priority there, seeing as dad found himself in the dog’s territory. Bursting out into carefree giggles, you could only utter one word in response:

“Obviously,” and then, for the sake of spite and chitchat, you added, “Sunshine, my beloved idiot, you,” finally, reaching out to bop his nose with your finger.

Followed by doing the same thing to the Labrador, still happily occupied with covering his owner’s neck and face with saliva. Upon your verbal attack, Neil winced:

“Okay, maybe I overdid it,” his face scrunched up in a second of thoughtful pause, “A bit,” the flirtatious wink completing the sentence perfectly.

“A little,” you breathed out the agreement before letting yourself look at the ring still held in its box.

A white opal stone was set within a circle of crystals, attached to a white gold band. You never did daydream about an ideal engagement ring, too worried it would either never happen or that it could spoil the expectations. Yet, if you had to picture one, it would look like this. A genuine smile lit up your face, making Neil beam in response. He waited for your nod before gently cradling your right palm between his hands and putting the ring on its designated finger. All thanks to your fiddling in the car, which resulted in moving the Trondheim ring onto the other hand.

Then Neil stood up (leaving terribly disappointed Niki on the floor) and wound an arm around your waist, pulling you close. And stealing the breath from your lungs, as usual.

“I really do love you, you know?” he nudged your nose with his, the wisp of air falling teasingly on your lips.

Following the intuition like a dance routine learned by heart, you placed your hand on his chest and returned the nudge with a playful smile dangling off the corner of your mouth.

“Mmmm, I’ve had inklings that you might” as Neil’s smile widened, you used the second of hesitation to entangle your hand and pull him closer, “I love you,” a whisper of something you did not need to say yet wanted to “Too” an addition drawing out a laugh from his lips.

And then you reached out for a kiss, raising on your tiptoes to cover his mouth with yours. Slowly gliding over his lips, tasting home, and fulfilling the needs as well as adding fuel to the fire that never died down anymore. Neil responded in kind, pulling you flush against him and submitting to your tempo. Your tongues found each other with ease, curling around one another, increasing the hunger flowing in your veins. As one kiss ended another began. And then one more. More. It was impossible to stop.

Neil’s hands moved down to your hips, gently guiding you backwards out of the room. You knew the destination without ever needing to open your eyes. An excited giggle rose in your throat and broke the silence, giving you both a pause to take a deep breath. Neil kissed you again, mindless of the way your hands wandered underneath his shirt and began the exploration of the already conquered territory. Yours.

It was once you crossed the bedroom threshold that you broke apart. The same desire, burning in your eyes, the hunger, exposed in the eager hands and heavy breaths. The giddy atmosphere almost palpable. Neil pushed the door close without a word and turned to face you. There was no need to speak as your hands found each other again. The familiar moves lighting up the spark, connected gazes showing all that has been said before and will be again. The wedding vows exchanged for the first time with the sanctity of love, underlining every motion and beat of the heart. Every sigh, shiver and moan demonstrated the ultimate truth - I am his, and he is mine. That simple.

***

An event of that scale was difficult to process. That is why you were not surprised, when as early as the next day, you started to struggle with pretending that nothing happened. Sure, the very morning (and waking up in Neil’s arms as always) was pleasant. As was breakfast and arrival at the London branch of Tenet hand-in-hand with your fiancé.

No one noticed the new ring gracing your hand during the debrief after the Canadian mission. Or when you led the seminar with recruits concerning the potentials of inverted nuclear weapons. However, when you missed the fifth target in a row during your weekly shooting range rendezvous with Ives, you knew that it would not be ignored.

You felt his glare before you saw it, weighting you down by at least a kilogram. Hesitantly shifting, you chose to put the gun down and lower the earmuffs, awaiting questions. And you were right:

“Okay, what’s wrong? Because you never miss a target like that” the accusatory tone made you turn to look at the soldier.

With the safe option waiting at hand, you arched an eyebrow and raised your right palm over the shoulder. The dependable tremors never failed you as the hand shook slightly on its own accord, helping to push the lie home.

“Oh, you know… this body ain’t perfect since a Russian soldier shot me in the-” feigning nonchalance, you watched as your fingers trembled.

And partially, it was true. Since Stalsk, you were much worse at hitting the targets, let alone a sharpshooter like before. Hence the weekly practice and hours upon hours of getting used to the weakness and trying to turn it into an asset.

But Ives did not buy this one dose of bullshit, increasing the ferocity of the glare he placed on you. Fine. You let out a long sigh before letting the façade drop from your face.

“Neil. He...” as your eyes got stuck on the engagement ring, the voice froze in your throat.

“What did the blonde bastard do this time?” you heard Ives put down the gun and looked up in time to see him eye you closely.

“He proposed. Yesterday. Over coffee in that cafe where we first met,” one word after another, you answered the question and met his gaze cautiously.

For reasons impossible to explain, you felt a rush of tension. It was as though once you had admitted the truth to someone else, it became even more real. And with it came the anxieties you long tried to hide.

Ives cracked a genuine smile, wordlessly reaching out for your right hand to look at the ring:

“Finally,” he gave it an appreciative nod before giving you a quick once-over, “What’s that look?”

Bingo. You heaved another sigh as the thoughts swirled in your head, too chaotic to be worth mentioning. And yet, this was probably the only chance. Slowly, you let your heart pour out its honesty:

“It’s just… I guess I’m shocked because I did tell him to ask me again when we don’t have world-ending prevention on our to-do list... I did worry he would change his mind” there it is.

You frowned as the truth landed in the silent room. It has been over a year since you had that first conversation with Neil about getting married. And you never did once doubt him or your relationship. Yet, anxiety with the mind of its own was not as sure. Occasionally adding sparks to the eternal debate and fuelling the questions. Because what if he would get tired of you? What then?

But he didn’t. Or, at least, it did not seem so. When you met Ives’s gaze once more, you could spot exasperation there:

“Are you kidding me?” exaggerating the question, he gave you a little disappointed headshake “He’s mad about you, completely committed. I’m wondering what took him so long” the meaningful look told you that the very next thing Ives is going to do will be asking Neil.

Without a second wasted, you knew you would rather not be present during that conversation. Not for the possibility of hearing something heartbreaking but for the lethal doses of awkwardness that would no doubt result from it.

“I think sometimes he doesn’t believe I want him like that,” you murmured using the companionable silence to speak your mind, “But then he’s an idiot,” the disclaimer added with a tight smile on your lips.

Both statements were true. Neil was an idiot, and you knew he still sometimes questioned your desire to be with him. Again, not because of distrust but, rather, a surprising lack of confidence that you never expected.

Ives shook his head, throwing out a remark with glaring disbelief:

“You’re really a perfect match,” and then, to lighten up the strangely sombre mood, he asked, “So… when’s the wedding?”

Thanks. It was the perfect opportunity to tell anxiety to fuck off and wander into the dream world you have not yet known how to navigate. Because it has only been twenty-four hours. A long way to go. It was your turn to glare at the soldier:

“Ives, I’ve only just said yes. Now there’s organising, paperwork and a shitload of decisions to take” the mere idea of how much you would have to deal with made your head spin, “We’ll send you an invite, though,”

“You better,” a final warning coupled with a wink.

Before you had to find an appropriate response, the doors to the shooting range opened with a bang. Both of you turned at the sound in time to see Wheeler step in with a weirdly enthusiastic spring in her step:

“Guys, you won’t believe it-” she never got to finish the sentence.

Ives snatched your right palm and raised it so that the ring was in Wheeler’s face:

“Our lovebirds got engaged” he looked at you proudly before throwing a cheeky smile at the fellow soldier, “Got you one better, didn’t I?” the challenge was clear.

That surprised her. You watched as Wheeler blinked twice, desperate to understand what just transpired. Then she squeezed your hand and smiled:

“Congrats”

You grinned back, returning the squeeze before asking:

“Thanks. What’s the news, boss?” the wince at the title was another reason to keep using it.

Because despite her dislike of the formalities, Wheeler was the leader of Tenet. And that was something you wanted to highlight on every given occasion. If only to irk her.

The joy from the usual banter did not last long, for she chose to drop the revelation without an opener:

“Anna and Jasper are dating. I just saw them making out in one of the empty rooms” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and you both bowed down to hear her better.

Wow. There was no denying the shock that passed through your system. Because you never saw that coming. And yet, it made sense if thought about at length.

“Oh,” the sound was all you could manage before taking out the phone from your pocket and adding “I’ve got to tell Neil,”

You could just about picture his face when he read the text you quickly typed out. Just as you sent the message, Ives mused out loud:

“Now that’s a love story for the ages. Forget about your little… thing already” he made a vague hand gesture towards you.

But your mind was elsewhere as soon as the phone buzzed:

“I didn’t see that one coming. Good for them tho” and then “See you at 5ish at home?”

“Yup. To both” grinning widely, you got as far as opening the work schedule before you got another text:

“Do you think now we can invite them to the wedding? Or is that too much?”

There was no logical explanation for that burst of laughter.

***

It was one of those painfully ordinary nights. Late work needing finishing, plus Neil participating in a teleconference past midnight meant occupying the dining table and him locked in the bedroom. Which was fine. Only, as you have finally managed to close the laptop and tick off the task list, the thoughts were not as keen to stop. A minute sat in perfect silence, listening to Niki’s snores, and trying to quiet down the brain was enough to let you know that it was not happening. At least not yet.

With a sigh, you opened the balcony door and slipped outside as quietly as possible. As soon as the air hit your body, you wrapped the cardigan tighter. The early May nights were often like this – not too cold and not warm either. Your gaze lazily swept over the familiar scene: the riverside, walkway, hundreds and thousands of London houses and skyscrapers piercing the skyline. The air was crisp with the night breeze, rustling the trees and blushing your cheeks. Propped on the railing, you let your head bow down for a moment, letting the swirling thoughts engulf you within their chaos. Tenet, danger, fear, Neil, wedding, future. It was all there and more. With only a week since the engagement, you did not have time to talk about the specifics of the metaphorical tying of the knot. But still, it did take up space in your head, endlessly painting itself as though a dream, impossible to be true. Let alone about to be your future. Surely you couldn’t get that lucky, right?

The answer from your brain got cut short with the sound of the door behind opening and closing. Then a warm wisp of air down your neck, bringing a shy small to your face and a sigh of relief to your throat. Neil leant down to place a kiss on the tip of your ear and moved to stand beside you. Shoulders and hips, touching, yet the space preserved to offer whatever you needed. More reasons to love him all there.

Even if lack of the shirt made your eyebrows draw together. A sight, sure, always. But not in this weather.

“What’s up?” he glanced at you; the tint of worry masked up with casualness to assure you would not put up a guard.

You allowed yourself a heavy sigh as a prelude to the answer:

“Finished work, started thinking and… here we are” a shrug, knowing he understood the issue and then added, “You can go to sleep though,” nudging him gently in the shoulder, you offered another smile.

Because it would be selfish to keep him here in the cold only for the sake of your stupid and rather pathetic issues. You knew the case was lost the moment your gazes met, and you saw the sparks in his eyes.

“Nah, think I’ll pass for now” that was the agent of chaos speaking, mouth curled into a smirk, tousled hair adding more of that boyish allure you adored.

There was no point arguing when he was that cocky. Instead, you breached the space to run your fingers up his arm and over the collarbone, watching as the moonlight played upon his skin and waiting for the shiver that always came. When your hand was just inches above his heart, Neil trembled. There it is. A satisfied grin appeared on your face as you quickly leaned back.

“You’ll catch a cold wandering around shirtless,” the note given in the best tone of chastising you could muster.

But the cold treatment was gone the moment Neil turned to you and deadpanned:

“I’ll take my chances if that means talking to you a little longer” a wink finished the sentence along with a hand squeeze, again subtly breaking the barrier.

You could barely stop yourself from facepalming.

“Christ, you’re such a charmer,” a glare had to do instead.

Neil shrugged, the expression very familiar. You knew what you had signed up for? You got it.

And you did know. Even if sometimes it was impossibly hard to believe.

Allowing the silence to settle upon the balcony, you inched closer to Neil and let your head fall on his shoulder. The storm was easing, and all you needed now was distraction and closeness. Finally, after a long pause, an innocent question wandered into the forefront of your mind and placed itself on the tip of your tongue:

“When did you know?” your voice sounded small as it rang out in the quiet space.

But there was no need to explain the meaning. You felt Neil glance down before he pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head and cleared his throat:

“New York, just before the kiss. Call it silly, but that moment seemed like one of those when stars align” he chuckled lowly, and you looked up in time to see the faint blush on his cheeks, “There you were with your beauty, charisma, humour, and wits. You fascinated me, drew me in and made me want to understand you. Every curve of your mouth, every gesture, silence, sigh, and desire” your gazes met, the earnestness in his eyes caught you by surprise as your breath hitched “And then I kissed you. I knew I could never forget how it felt” the punchline came with an honest smile and a quick pulse pounding in your ears.

Love. Love. Love.

You felt like bursting into tears and throwing your hands around his neck in the tightest of embraces. But instead, you cracked a grin and arched an eyebrow, taking pleasure in how Neil seemed incapable of looking away from you.

“My God, I’m marrying a poet,” nudging him lightly in the shoulder, you made sure to dramatise the tone best you could.

The answering smile was the reward you needed as Neil chimed in:

“And a physicist,” the faux seriousness lightening up the atmosphere and making you break out into a laugh.

“2 in 1, best deal around,” raising your voice with enthusiasm, you patted him on the shoulder before letting Neil draw you into the side hug.

With his response to the question still ringing in your ears, it was easy to relax and ease the strange anxiety. Because it meant he had a lot of time to change his mind yet never did. But you were not given too much opportunity to ponder about it for a long time.

“When did you know?” the emphasis made you look up straight into Neil’s eyes as he repeated the question.

You could tell that he was curious rather than just determined to make you return the confession. It was that revelation that prompted the simple request:

“Come here…” gently you tugged at his hand to make Neil embrace you tighter and put his hand on your waist; then a simple answer “Oslo” the corner of your lip curled upward as the memories flashed through your head.

No doubts about that. Even if at the time you were not so keen to admit it, if thought about in retrospect, it was obvious. Because how else would one even explain the way those days felt?

“Handiwork skills?” Neil wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, glancing down at his left hand clasped in yours.

The furious blush was inescapable. Right on track. Deflecting the shyness, you chose to squeeze Neil’s palm tighter and answer with stark honesty:

“That too” a wink to compliment the admission before you followed the more profound line of thought “But also how you looked at me, how you held my hand, how you kissed me. I could feel it there, during every second spent in your company” stopping to take a long inhale you almost got lost in Neil’s eyes, drinking every word you said “And I wanted more, of you, your words, and your presence. I never felt like that before” the conclusion fell between you with monumental silence even though it was nothing new “Sometimes it terrifies me” breathing out the addition, you got caught by the love in his eyes.

“Why?” and a tinge of curiosity.

That was the needed trigger to help you turn in the embrace and face Neil with your back against the railing. You did not need more than the dim city lights and the moon to make out the familiar features. And the gaze focused only on you. As though you were the centre of his universe.

“Because of the power you have over me. You can reduce me to shivers and consuming need within ten minutes of the right moves” with a small smile, you let your finger run up his arm and down the chest, feeling the warmth and relishing in the reactions he did not bother to hide.

Neil grinned as his hand slid down to your hip, thumb brushing the skin underneath the shirt:

“Ten minutes? I’d say five” the challenging sparks in his eyes told you that the course had been set.

And you might as well obey.

“Oh, so confident,” eyeing him sceptically, your hands wandered over his torso, getting braver in their exploration.

The hint of the heartbeat, the strong arms, embracing you in the cage of safety, the feel of home and happiness. As your courageous fingers skimmed over his ribs and curled around the belt loops, Neil raised his hand to trace down the slope of your nose, hesitating just above the lip line:

“Because I know you inside and out,” the confidence was infuriating even if earned, “I can’t wait to use that knowledge for better or worse,” as was the promise of much more in his eyes.

Feeling the impatience building up in your heart, you reached out to tangle your hand in Neil’s hair. Because if the past year taught you anything, it was that Neil had his weaknesses. Namely, you and…

“Says the man with hair pulling kink” tugging at the blonde strands forcefully, you observed with satisfaction how he swallowed hard, and his lips opened to let out a shallow gasp “That good?” the moment he seemed to become even more earnest, you let go and offered him your smirk in return.

The passing shock combined with a frustrated whine was undoubtedly worth it. However, it did not last long.

“You’re such a tease, my love” Neil bopped your nose before you could react and once more wound his arms around your waist.

“Learned from the best,” shrugging, you rose on tiptoes to take advantage of the proximity.

As your mouth pressed against his, Neil opened his lips to deepen the contact and pulled you closer. It was easy enough to forget about the cold and the world itself when kissing him. Because it always felt like so much more. Like a wordless exchange of love confessions. Like a morning full of hope for the life ahead. Like being understood and wanted. Like everything you did not even know, you were seeking yet found in the man with a dazzling smile and sea-blue eyes. Neil tangled his hand in your hair, smoothing down the strands and angling your head to get that perfect access. And then he traced the outline of your mouth his tongue before sinking his teeth into your lower lip and pulling at it lightly. You let out a quiet moan and laced your fingers on the nape of his neck. It was only when the kisses threatened to get a little too intense that you backed away with an apologetic smile.

There was still something you needed to say. Shifting a little to rest your hip against the railing yet still gaze up at Neil, you allowed the words to come through without hesitation:

“These days, I can’t sometimes believe this is real. I live this life, yet it seems so… dream-like” your smile widened when Neil covered your hand resting on the balustrade with his palm.

You never expected the evening to evolve into sincere conversations in the dark. However, you were not the one to ignore the opportunity when it came up. And the issue of realness and improbability has been long on your mind.

The look full of understanding told you that Neil, too, was grateful for the moment you have staged:

“I know what you mean” he nodded, eyeing you closely to assure you would notice the depth of feelings underneath “Usually I don’t think twice about it all, but then sometimes there are those… flashes when I stop and look at you… and I can’t believe my luck” another gasp; it was increasingly hard to breathe “It’s those mornings when you snuggle into my chest instead of getting up, the way your face lights up after that first sip of perfect coffee. The afternoons when I come back from work to find you cuddling Niki on the sofa. Hell, even those evenings when you’ve no strength to talk to me yet you kiss me as if your life depends on it” as his grip tightened, you fought with tears that welled up in your eyes, “That’s when my heart skips a beat, and I need to remind myself that I really am this fortunate” Neil perfected the delivery with a happy grin and raised your hand to leave a kiss on your knuckles.

A tear trailed down your cheek as you exhaled and whispered the only comment available after something of that scale:

“Neil…” it was half complaint, half love confession.

Just that. Just Neil. Using the language of instincts, your hand wandered up to his chest again, settling just over the heart.

A clear message. I love you. Your heart belongs to me.

“What? Tis the night for honesty” despite the cocky tone, his eyes softened as he observed you with silent awe.

Exactly how he just said. Your heart was thumping wildly, kicking up a riot for a cause you did not understand. Or, ever wished to comprehend in entirety. Instead, a simple question had to do:

“Is just… how?” feeling his heartbeat speed up with a steady rhythm, it was easier to find another breath.

And settle back into reality with the knowledge that it was happening. As the opal on the engagement ring caught the moonlight and glimmered, you closed your eyes, willing to extend the bliss as long as possible.

You missed Neil’s gentle smile. And the way his eyes lit up with uncontained happiness.

“You know what they say, do not search, and ye shall find,” he leaned in to whisper with pretend indifference.

As his lips brushed over the shell of your ear, you shuddered. The elementary statement was true to the bone, so much that it was difficult to understand.

But it was how it was always supposed to be. Love that just happened, instead of the one you expected. The unexpected evolution that took your life by a storm and had not yet eased. Perfect.

Your eyes opened, vision clouded with too many emotions to name and not enough words to say. But you had time. All of it.

“Pretty sure none says that,” so you cracked a smile, the exhilaration infectious and precious.

“They should start then” Neil shrugged as he placed a kiss on your temple and pulled you in for a hug.

Just so. Just like that.

Without thinking your arms went around his waist, tightening the embrace and helping you become enveloped within the feel of home. An inhale of the cologne and your heart slowed down to a normal tempo. As always. Neil propped his head on yours, softly swaying to a nonexistent tune. There was nothing to complain about. Nothing to fear. Only one day after the next in the best company you could imagine.

And so, you relaxed in his hold, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and gently scratching the skin with soothing motions. It could have been minutes or hours until either of you spoke again. Neil was running his fingertips over your back when he suddenly pressed yet another kiss to the top of your head and murmured:

“Thank you” it was filled with so much conviction that you had to lean back and meet his gaze.

As ever watchful and incredibly blue. Following the logic of the heart, you reached out to cup his cheek and arched an eyebrow:

“For?” the quiet felt too sacred to be broken with as much as voice raised above whisper.

First, in an answer you got a disarming smile, it was one of those that always reminded you that the fall was inevitable. Then, Neil searched your face for a beat before speaking:

“Taking a chance on me” the sincerity felt like a painful pinch straight in the heart.

Inevitable.

Once more feeling too close to tears trust yourself, you hid your face in his neck.

“Always, sunshine” as your throat constricted with the weight of feelings, you left a kiss above his collarbone “You too” a breathless addition.

He did not have to ask, you wanted to say it anyway. A deep breath. A calming inhale of the familiarity. And…

“For showing me what it should feel like”

Hands clinging to his body. Unknown peace filling every cavern of your heart that was not busy loving Neil. Future was not terrifying anymore. It was here. Right here.

Neil shuddered, moved by the cold and the undeniability of truth. His grip tightened, pulling you as close as possible. He did not need to answer. You knew anyway.

Only yours. Always yours. I love you.

A distant sound of a party turning up the speakers. Billy Idol.

A laugh. Happy tears mixing with the heartfelt pain. The foot tapping out a rhythm. Lips mouthing out the lyrics.

“Fancy that for our first dance?” earnest blue and messy blonde.

A giddy grin.

Hopeful.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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winterwrites23 · 3 years

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Strange reactions in Nations pt.2

More weird effects on Nations cuz Nations are weird lol. Here’s part 1.

Following their leader’s orders: With the analogy of the ship, the government is the captain of the ship in the control of the helm. The People is the wind while the Nation is the ship. Nations are instinctively loyal to their leader and because of that, it is very difficult for a Nation to go against their leader because when they are given an order, they are compelled to follow it. However, if the government is going in another direction than where the People is going, which is the wind, then the Nation has a higher chance of going against their leader. Disobeying an order is an excruciating battle of wills for a Nation, but with the help of the wind, they can force the helm of the ship to turn around.

People influencing Nations: As said in this post, Nations have the ability to boost the morale of their people and incite positive/negative emotions. But that also works on Nations. If a Nation is around a highly emotional crowd, like a football match or a riot, they will be affected by the people’s emotions. Older Nations have a better resistance to this effect compared to younger ones. It’s one of the reasons Nations prefer to live in the outskirts of cities.

Getting lost in memories: It takes time and focus to recall a memory, as seen in the other post. The older the memory is, the longer it takes to remember it. But sometimes, by watching a documentary or even going to a museum, a Nation can lose themselves in their memories. It’s not much dissociation and more like daydreaming cranked to 11. To snap them out of their thoughts, calling them by their Nation name will do the job.

Losing track of time: That’s a headcanon which I think is canon where Canada lost track of time at staring at something for hours and didn’t see the weekend pass. Because Nations live for so long, they sometimes forget to do tasks or work on their personal projects. Their government often need to remind them to do paperwork. It’s not like they don’t want to work, it’s just that... the perspective of time is much faster for humans than Nations. For Nations, it’s more like: “eh, I still got time. I’ll do it later ¯\_(ツ)_/¯”

Hearing their national anthem: While national anthems are mostly sung for patriotic reasons, any songs/poems written in reference to a Nation will always give the Nation a nice warm feeling in their chest. They just can’t help but feel the weight of the lyrics, knowing it came from their People. During the Olympic Games, an event already filled with strong emotions, Nations always get teary eyed whenever they hear their anthem at the medal ceremony.

Shift in personality: When there’s turmoil or strong divided opinions in the People, a Nation’s personality can be affected by constantly switching sides. It results in having headaches, but when it escalates to civil war, that’s where it can be harmful to Nations. They have trouble in agreeing on matters and are in constant existential crisis. The faint whisper at the back of their mind that represents their People’s voice becomes dissonant and very hard to ignore.

More headcanons

#hetalia #hetalia headcanon #nations are weird guys #nation lore

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purpleyellow · 3 years

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Hide & Seek

NCT 24th member / Dream 8th member

Bee’s Masterlist

“The two times Bee avoided Mark and the one she didn’t”

a/n: Feel free to share your thoughts with me. Requests are open!💛

Growing up, in general, is a pain in the ass, and Bee isn't the happiest about having to deal with it. She doesn't know if it's because of how she was raised, or if it's just her personality, but the girl cannot see herself as an adult.

You see, adults are supposed to manage five different tasks, have most things thought out, and try to handle everything that comes their way. Bee, however, wants to lay in bed at every minor inconvenience and wishes she could freeze time so she can digest what's happening.

She can see herself as those five-year-olds who pout, cross their arms and look away when you tell them they can't have ice cream for dinner. Just like she can see Jeno as those parents who bribe their kids to eat vegetables with a false promise of going to the ice cream parlor on the next day.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?" Jeno whispers to Bee midst the chaos in the van. The first time she successfully avoids Mark is when the members are leaving SM after a long day of figuring out stuff for the comeback. Things were only starting to come together, and the boy knows that if Mark and the girl don't figure out everything soon it's not going to be a fun process.

"I don't have anything to say" She mumbles looking out of the window. Jeno turns her head back to him before continuing.

"Maybe Mark has something. Or maybe he has questions"

"Good for him" She simply states. "I already said everything, so I'm not helpful to talk to"

"And you stand by everything you said almost six months ago?" He asks while trying not to laugh "You didn't think about it anymore? There, you said it and moved on"

"Yes, I stand by everything" She lies. Bee has relived every single conversation she has had with or about Mark especially lately, cringing at some stuff she said, making up better answers, and overanalyzing every little word even if they don't mean a thing. Jeno probably knows she does that, yet she's not going to admit that easily, because admitting means confronting the situation.

"Just maybe think things are exponentially worst when you're trying to avoid the topic instead of solving it once and for all" The boy mumbles and she rolls her eyes. Mentally thanking the manager who happened to pull up next to their building

Trying to escape that conversation as fast as possible, Bee holds onto the back of the seat in front of her, accidentally hitting Jaemin in the head, and jumps past Jeno, who frows as he watches her bolt out of the vehicle.

The girl only stops as she reaches the elevator because of the light feeling on her hoodie pocket. She had left her phone behind, throwing away all the work she just put into getting to her room without speaking with anyone else.

Walking back to the van, Bee keeps her head down to avoid making eye contact and waves off Renjun after he shared a proverb about people skipping a step only to return two. Honestly, he might have said something different because the meaning flew right above her head.

The manager, who had also left the vehicle to check on something at their apartment, throws his keys for her to catch and tells her to be quick.

Bee goes straight to the seat she had occupied and starts searching through the openings where the phone might have fallen from, ultimately deciding it was somewhere on the floor. Patting away underneath hers and Jeno's seat, she finally moves on to the row in front of them, getting scared by a light and the muffled sound of her phone ringing.

Almost like a miracle, she was getting a call from someone who might have saved her a couple of seconds of searching. Reaching out for the device, her smug grin turns to a frown as the name "Minhyung from Canada" shines on her screen. A confused noise leaves her mouth while Bee gets up from the floor, though her debating over either answering or not doesn't go very far due to said Canadian standing at the door of the van.

"I thought if I helped out find it, you would finally listen to me," Mark says, ending the call. Though, it seems like that was the only line he had rehearsed because after it they both stay in awkward silence, making Bee look down at the device in her hands before raising an eyebrow.

"Well, my hand touched it before the call got connected?" She, not as confidently, lies again.

Mark shakes his head adamantly "No it didn't"

"Do you have eyes on the floor?" The girl frowns trying to make that topic last longer but he doesn't fall for it.

"Yunhee," He says in a disappointed tone which Bee copies by saying "Mark"

Mark raises one eyebrow feeling rather playfully. "Mark Oppa?" and she rolls her eyes while planing an escape route.

The boy seems to remember what he was there for and scratches his head, suddenly bringing back the awkward mood.

"We should clear everything up, you know" His tone is back to uncertain surprising her by the sudden change and Bee feels her hands clamming up. She knows he's waiting for her to show any kind of reaction but for some reason, she cannot have any.

"Guys, I have to get the car back to the building. You can keep the conversation going at either of your dorms" The manager pops his head through the driver’s seat before climbing it. Bee hands him the keys and both idols slowly step out of the vehicle. Her mind is still blankly looking for a way to avoid listening to whatever the older had to say when the man magically says something that fixes all of her problems. "Actually, Mark come here, it's about 127's schedule tomorrow, something came up"

And she doesn't stay to listen as she bolts to the elevator that's taking her to her safe and Mark-free bedroom.

☆☆☆

The second time Bee avoids him, or gets saved by another person, happened a few days after the van accident when she rapidly types on her phone while running to the end of the hallway where the SM elevators are.

The sound indicating the doors opening on her floor catches her attention and Bee doesn't have to fully look inside the place to see Mark standing on the edge, ready to walk out of it. Almost without thinking, her feet make her turn left into another hallway and she instinctively makes her way to the room she had visited many times before.

Bee knows for a fact Mark is supposed to go to the studio she had just left, so the fact she can hear him doing the same route she is, makes adrenaline pump inside of her and the girl starts sprinting as fast as she can.

She finds it stupid how her brain suddenly read that moment as her being chased by something dangerous, but there's not enough time to let her process the situation. Instead, Bee barges through the door of Kun's studio and throws herself onto the space between the empty couch and the wall.

Crouching so she's hidden by the armrest, Bee simply says "I'm not here" before staring at the floor in front of her, making the WayV leader question why he's even surprised at that point.

A series of three knocks on the door makes Kun get up and go greet whoever had the decency to announce themselves before interrupting his work like half of his groupmates usually do. Keeping the door half-opened, he's half surprised by Mark standing a little distance away while seemingly sorry to be in that position.

"Hyung, my bad for coming here. But I was wondering if I could talk to Bee" The boy says scratching his eyebrow.

"I mean, of course, you can" Kun starts making the girl's heart drop "I'm not sure why you're asking me, though. And next time you see her, let her know I also need to speak with her"

"Oh, yeah. Sure?" Mark says uncertainly tilting his head and closing his eyes. He stares inside the room through the small space Kun allowed and sighs defeated "Sorry about it, I'll just go"

Waving to the boy, Kun waits for him to walk a little before closing the door and turning to the hidden girl. "You know we could see the top of your head, right?"

"Wait, he saw me?" Bee asks with wide eyes, supporting her head on the armrest and the boy rolls his eyes "Probably yes. The kid is just too polite to say anything about it"

Standing up from the ground, the girl sits on the couch to wait for a little before leaving the room. Kun takes the opportunity to throw himself back on his chair and interrogates her.

"Why are you avoiding Mark?"

"I stole his charger so now he's mad" She pouts looking at the ground making the older scoff.

"I'm not buying anything that simple. Don't think I haven't noticed you've been almost daily in our dorm instead of hanging out with your unit. We like when you visit but it became a little weird when we're not even there yet you still go hide inside our apartment"

"It's too complicated" She sighs craning her neck to check the clock "And I'm actually late for something, so you'll have to deal with my stupid high school problems sometime later"

"They're only stupid because you thought over them a million times and began downplaying whatever they are. You can't do that forever and you know it"

"Confrontation makes me cry, so I'll try my best to keep pushing it away" Bee smiles like something uplifting was said and stands up "See you later"

"Sure, good luck with your date" Kun smirks turning back to the table and checking on his work. Noticing she hadn't actually left the door he lets out a chuckle "Chenle told me about it"

"It's not a date. Chenle was literally invited to tag along" Bee rolls her eyes and he shrugs despite not looking back at her.

"Sure, have fun"

☆☆☆

Ever since Mark first showed his confusion over how things were going, Bee tried really hard not to make the situation awkward for everyone. She didn't want them to be extra careful around her, nor feel like this big dramatic thing was going on between the group. And to lessen her worries, the dreamies seemed to act the same they had always been.

There is the fact she isn't talking to Mark, but much to her surprise, the girl realized she never really relied a lot on speaking to him. Pretending everything was fine became part of her routine for that two weeks.

But just like Kun caught onto her distancing herself, a bunch of staff members also did. The choreographer who first introduced them to the routine asked her a couple of times if everything was okay, and the producer noticed the idol was out of the room the time she was finished, not really mingling like the rest of the boys.

Those two didn't really say anything about it, since she was still getting work done. That isn't the same for the management team, who not only saw her change in behavior but feared how much of that would be noticeable in videos and the overall dynamic of what they had waiting for the comeback.

"Bee, can I talk to you for a second" One particular manager called for her as she was resting on the corner of the dance studio.

Bee gathered her things in a pile on the floor and got up to follow him out of the room. The man had worked with NCT for a really long time, but he wasn't the closest manager to her, nor had ever taken care of her individual schedules. She knew whatever he had to tell her wasn't going to be very good.

"We don't want to intrude on whatever is going on in your life. But the moment it affects the group I'm afraid somebody needs to step in" The man sighs walking slowly next to her "If you're not feeling well, or something happened to make you not want to be around the members you need to act on it, or tell somebody so no one gets suspicious of it"

"I'll make sure no one notices it" She mumbles playing with her ring and rolls her shoulders "It's not something to be worried about though. Nothing really happened"

"We'll some people started to point out on Jisung's graduation video that you're often really quiet. Considering your personality it's nothing out of the ordinary, but you can't afford it pilling up and fans talking about it. We're aware of what that saesang said last year and don't think the company forgets easily if more fans start thinking you don't want to be in the group or doesn't belong in it, it's going to be a big problem"

"More people are talking about it?" Bee glances once again to the ring Renjun made her wear.

"It's a small number so far, but there are those who think that by Mark coming back and you being a little quieter, your place might be in another unit," He notices her gaze turning down and places a hand on her shoulder"Don't stress over it right now, just dedicate yourself a little more to the group and show you have a place in it. It should pass after some time"

Patting her, he reminds her to 'go back to normal before heading back to his work. Bee feels a slight headache creeping in and sneaks into a smaller room dedicated to vocal training, where she drops her body on a chair and closes her eyes to either sleep or try to gather some courage and face everything she has avoided so far.

The girl ends up doing neither because a few seconds pass and Mark pushes his head inside the room.

"Can we talk now?" He asks and without any energy left, Bee nods to the chair next to her for him to sit.

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fthunter · 2 years

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hiiiiii i’m mimi and it’s been a minute since i’ve rped so please be patient with me. but i am very excited to be here !! also this intro got away from me and is way too long so i apologize in advance ok.. but yes let’s plot maybe ??

( hwang hyunjin , cismale , he/him , twenty two ) $$$ — i'm pretty sure i just saw HUNTER SEO headed out of the estate . it's weird though … i didn't see them with their SKATEBOARD . i didn't know they left the house without it . i feel like i can never catch them ; they're always so busy … guess that makes sense since they're a PROFESSIONAL SKATEBOARDER . have you met them yet ? they live in MAGNOLIA LANE , so you might've missed them . i think you'd like them a lot , actually . i swear their aura is YELLOW , and that seems like your vibe . maybe you'll get lucky and run into them sometime . i can always tell when they're coming up the hill ‘cause they're constantly blasting SUGAR by BROCKHAMPTON … it's pretty much their anthem at this point , so if you hear it , you'll know they're around . y'know , the other day , i saw a tabloid with them on the front page that said " HUNTER SEO AND VANS TEAM UP TO GET KIDS NEW WHEELS DESPITE RUMOURS CIRCLING HIS RELATIONSHIP STATUS “ … do you think that's true ? guess we'll see what the neighborhood watch thinks !

BASIC INFORMATION

full name : hunter seo nickname(s) : hunt, h, seo preferred name(s) : hunter birth date : may 21st 2000 age : twenty two zodiac : gemini gender : cis male pronouns : he / him romantic orientation : biromantic sexual orientation : bisexual nationality : south korean / canadian ethnicity : asian

BACKGROUND

birth place : jeju-do , south korea hometown : vancouver , canada social class : born middle class, currently upperclass father : dae-min seo mother : soo young moon sibling(s) : older brother - leo seo pet(s) : sunni the german shepard previous relationship(s) : tba.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

physical strength : strong and athletic intelligence : hunter isn’t overly intelligent, he never did well in school and his grades were just good enough to get him to graduation. he knows a lot about sports, but that’s really it. language(s) spoken : english & korean . drive : yes ride a bicycle : yes play an instrument : very little guitar for campfire purposes

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

eye color : dark brown hair color : changes frequently depending on his mood glasses / contacts : doesn’t need them but will sometimes wear glasses without prescription for the aesthetic height : 5′11″ build : medium/strong exercise habits : literally cannot sit still, so he is incredibly active. his favourite way to workout is through physical activities like sports.

MANNERISMS

accent : hunter was raised from the time he was four in vancouver, his accent would be considered canadian but sometimes he will mispronounce things in both languages due to his korean parents having very little of the english language and always speaking korean at home and english everywhere else. quirks : drums on everything using either his fingers, pencils, cutlery or anything that can remotely resembles drum sticks, hums all the time, can’t sit still hobbies : anything active and athletic. he loves to go for bike rides with his skateboard under his arm habits : is always late, looses everything all the time nervous ticks : fidgets a lot, rambles fears : spiders, never reaching his full potential positive traits : free spirited, friendly, charming, witty negative traits : careless, flakey, can be inattentive

IMPORTANT / BACKGROUND

TW: car accident, death of a family member.

early life for hunter was pretty easy, he doesn’t remember living in south korea ( despite having visited several times since and hearing all the stories ). he was four years old when they moved, his parents taking them to start over in vancouver, canada. the family of four moved to a new country where they knew no one and had nothing. despite that, they figured it out rather quickly. his parents established themselves with a restaurant and the boys settled in school, making friends easily and helping their parents out once they were old enough.

hunter’s first love was skateboarding, it was something he did for fun with his friends after school or when his parents didn’t need him at the restaurant. he used his tips from helping his parents to buy his first board when he was eight. it was neon green and very tacky, but he loved it and took it everywhere he went.

hunter was a natural. it was talent combined with fearlessness that had the likes of tony hawk approaching him and giving him pointers. all things that helped him achieve skills and reach the professional level by the time he was thirteen. that was the same year he went to his first x-games and won gold. after that the medals and sponsorships kept rolling in.

however, he was still a teenager and attended school as regularly as he could. of course, things were a bit different -- he was a local celebrity. his popularity at school skyrocketed, which hunter took with stride. he had always been easy going. if he’d broken an arm or a leg, people lined up to help him out. if he missed school for a competition or to work in some aspect, other students had the notes he missed ready for him upon his return. but with the good always came the bad. some of his classmates grew jealous, spreading lies and rumours about boy. they couldn’t touch him, there were too many eyes on him all the time but they could verbally assault him. it never bothered the youngest seo.

all the attention, on the other hand, did influence his relationship with his brother. leo didn’t like that hunter was the golden child. that he seemingly had everything and everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. the older seo wanted nothing to do with his younger sibling. despite living in the same house, they rarely spoke. hunter couldn’t understand why his brother hated him, he didn’t know what he had done or what he could do to make things right. but he didn’t stop trying. that didn’t happen until later.

the thing was, hunter was likeable, he was an all around good guy. he cared about everyone, he was funny and charismatic, a bit of an air-head. like anyone he had his strengths and weaknesses. while he could charm a room, he was perpetually late. he had broken a few world records and achieved many firsts in the skateboarding world, but he had a hard time committing to anything and anyone. he never let anything phase him, but it also appeared like he didn’t have a care in the world.

tragedy struck one winter day when hunter was sixteen. he’d just gotten his license and a new car to go with it. he had convinced his dad to close the restaurant for thee afternoon and go for a drive with him. they’d driven out of the city, taking the winding roads of british columbia towards the mountains. hunter took a turn too quickly, slipped on a patch of black ice and they’d hit a transport tuck head on. he didn’t remember anything after that. he’d woken up in a hospital later on with everyone telling him just how lucky he was to be alive. his mother was weeping, his brother was nowhere to be seen and his father -- his father didn’t make it.

from there he began the long road to rehabilitation. hunter was put through rigorous physiotherapy and was told he’d probably never skate professionally ever again. but hunter didn’t like that answer. he refused to have this be the end of his career. he was sixteen years old, he’d just lost his father and the sport was all he knew. it was pure determination that kept him going.

the doctors quickly discovered there was nothing they could do to stop the young boy. he was going to skateboard again or die trying. he managed to do it, to heal enough to get back out there... but the moment he was at the park, board under foot but without his father ( his biggest supporter ) there to cheer him on.. he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t push himself off the edge, quite literally, and do the only thing he was good at, the only thing he knew. hunter became a shell of himself. he’d put his everything into skateboarding, then his everything into physiotherapy and then he had nothing. he didn’t know what to do with himself or who he was without the board and his father.

for two years hunter was a ghost, he’d given up on everything. including winning over his brother, who now had even more reason to hate him. hunter had to agree, he hated himself too. it wasn’t until his senior year, when he was cleaning out the spare room of the house so they could sell that he found a box containing his fathers old items from his university days. photo’s, yearbooks, diploma’s, hoodies. hunter had always known his father had spent a lot of his time volunteering, the man had spoken of it fondly, encouraging his own boys to give it a try. but. hunter had always just brushed it off, ignored it. amongst all the items was the proof, the pictures of his dad smiling brightly doing the thing he loved. hunter was inspired, in a last effort to feel close to his father once more he decided he would take up volunteering.

of course, he knew only one thing. hunter began to work with children from diverse backgrounds who held the same passion and got the same thrill he once did when it came to skateboarding. he began to work with kids like him, who could have lost it all but decided to keep going and fighting for what they want after hardships. he taught them to skateboard and to recover through the love of a sport, in doing so he found himself healing as well. he was back on his board and it was like he never stopped.

naturally, people caught wind of this -- hunter seo, the child prodigy of the sport was back. it was a lot of pressure but he took his time. one competition at a time, one win, a few losses and then on to win a gold medal at the olympic games. that was what really solidified his re-entry to the sport and had brand deals and support returning to him full force.

hunter seo was once again making a name for himself in the sport. no longer the amazing child prodigy, no longer the child of tragedy, but the top ranked male in the sport and household name ( well, if you cared about sports or were on social media that was ). part of his charm, however, is that despite everything -- he’s still the same hunter he’s always been.. just with a few more bumps and bruises.

WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

platonic ─── unlikely friends , other athletes he meets up with at competitions and events , a nice wholesome best friend & confidant , someone who will get high and talk shit with him , a party buddy , someone who is also as free spirited as hunter and they go on adventures together , neighbours , and of course any other form of friendship really

romantic ─── first kiss / first relationship / first love , a past or present unrequited crush from either side , exes on good or bad terms , friends with benefits , a one night stand

negative ─── someone who just doesn't click with him ( this is probably someone more uptight who can’t stand how hunter seems to not have a care in the world ) , friends who had a falling out , his biggest competition

#willowintro #once again i am apologizing because i rambled on about him too much #but also it's late so i'll probably plot for a bit and then interact first thing tomorrow <3

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kimabutch · 3 years

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It’s been months now but it’s still wild to me that so many people on tumblr only recently discovered that “fruit” is sometimes derogatory homophobic slang and started using it as a meme.

Cause like, I have such a distinct memory from a few years ago of sitting in a truck with a coworker and him rolling his eyes in disgust and referring to our city’s new rainbow crosswalks as “fruit streets.”

It was only one of several experiences at that job that made me feel less-than-ideally safe as a butch lesbian (and by far not the worst), and it’s not like he said it about me, and it’s not a term I’ve encountered much outside of the history of the “fruit machine,” the device that was employed to root out gay men from governmental/military positions in Canada in the 1950s-60s —

But it always reminds me that different people have very different experiences with slang and slurs, based on age/region/social groups, and what’s an old timey weird homophobic word to some might be, for someone else, a memory of feeling trapped in a truck for a full day’s work with a guy who felt comfortable being casually homophobic.

And none of this is saying anything against people who’ve used that kinda slang casually! I see the benefits of reclaiming those words. I just also feel like it’s good to talk about our different experiences with language, if only to better understand our own history and the diversity of our community in the present day.

#lgbtqthings #homophobia for cw #about me #reiterating that that was not like... a traumatic experience?#but it *was* eye opening for me

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brattyfics · 4 years

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Cape Disappointment | Part One

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Black!OC [Chantel Williams]

Summary: Miguel doesn’t rescue a damsel in distress because Chantel Williams is not a damsel in distress.

Warnings: None yet.

Chantel Williams was a lot of things. Quirky, witty, sarcastic. Condescending, impulsive, sometimes even chaotic. She could be all those things and more, but she refused to be anyone’s victim.

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m not a damsel in distress…” She chanted over and over in a low tone.

On the side of a low traffic road, snow raining down on her head, Chantel willed the words to be true. Unfortunately, she remembered very little of what her Papa taught her about cars, eyeing the confusing parts under the hood with frustration.

Papa was a school teacher but he worked as a shade tree mechanic on the weekends to be able to afford dance classes for little Chantel. Teaching was his passion through and through. He would talk her ear off in the car on the way to recitals or while she did homework on the bench in his workshop. Being a bratty kid, she learned to tune him out when the topic didn’t interest her and not for the first time she regretted not soaking up more of Papa’s wisdom before he passed.

If she had, maybe she wouldn’t be stuck on the side of the road with no solution in mind. Empty handed and no closer to fixing the car, she shuffled through the snow. It wasn’t much warmer inside the car despite the thick North Face coat she wore with a matching hat and pair of gloves. She was sure she resembled a wet dog as she shook the snow off, not wanting the ice to melt into water droplets that would surely sting.

Just a week earlier, she’d splurged on the fanciest new smart phone after losing the older model at a dinner party. Even with all its promised features, it was useless. No signal and no nearby WiFi networks to connect to meant she couldn’t call her sort-of-sometimes boyfriend for help even if she wanted to. She couldn’t even call a tow truck!

Pride.

Another one of Chantel’s many traits. She liked to think of it as a positive thing. It kept her from being desperate, saved her from being dependent on others for her happiness. No one else seemed to agree her pride was a good thing.

Among the naysayers was her sort-of-sometimes boyfriend, Adam. Pride was what had led her to take off from the Yurt they shared on their week-long winter break getaway to race back to her industrial loft in the heart of Seattle despite the weather advisory. She would never admit it to anyone else, but she realized her pride didn’t always serve her well.

If not for her bruised ego, it would have been funny that her car had chosen to break down a few miles north of Cape Disappointment State Park. It was where she had been staying with Adam. The yurt was too far away to walk back to in the snow but still close enough that it only made sense to stay there for the night once the car issues were resolved. She wasn’t looking forward to ending the night with him.

Remembering Papa’s belief in God showing up when most needed, Chantel sent up a quick prayer. She really hoped she wouldn’t have to wait long for someone else to come down the otherwise deserted road. Winters in Washington were fairly mild so she wouldn’t lose her extremities to hypothermia or anything crazy like that, but she’d certainly suffer by way of the shivers.

Any sane person was cuddled up next to the fireplace in their cabin with a bowl of chili, or participating in heat-inducing sexual activities in their yurt to keep warm, not on the road driving. It was only natural for her thoughts to snowball into all the types of un-same people she could run into.

Indigenous women from Washington and Canada went missing far too often on roads just like the one she had so conveniently broken down on. Chantel had a bad habit of researching everything there was to know about topics when they peaked her interest and she knew too much about human trafficking in the area to not feel a considerable amount of fear.

“That would be my luck.” She muttered meanly to herself, resolving that whatever happened would be her own fault.

It wasn’t like a whole lot of people would come looking for her anyway. She had a large group of friends in Seattle, but she kind of had a reputation for taking off without saying much. She hadn’t even told anyone about the weekend excursion to Cape Disappointment! The family she had left she wasn’t close to, and by the time Adam realized she hadn’t made it back home it would be too late.

Yellow headlights bathed the narrow road, the light blinding her the closer it got. Her hazard lights blinked red, signaling that she was broken down, but Chantel second guessed whether she wanted the help.

“I’m going to be a sex trafficking victim all in the name of independence. Way to go, idiot.”

Her fingers fumbled around in the gigantic backpack she’d been using as a purse for the weekend, hastily pulling at the zippers until she found what she was looking for. A purple taser she purchased on Amazon for a whopping ten dollars. She doubted it would stop anyone in their tracks, but it was better than nothing.

It turned out the man who knocked on her window wasn’t an axe wielding serial murdering rapist, or at least he didn’t appear to be. She tucked the small device into her side as the ridiculously handsome middle aged man with a salt and pepper beard smiled at her through the foggy glass.

He looked harmless enough, sporting a pair of smart designer glasses and what Chantel knew to be a really expensive cashmere turtleneck sweater underneath an equally expensive Canada Goose coat. She wasn’t shy about looking him up and down as she assessed the risk. What if the male model was a decoy?

His neatly manicured eyebrows twisted down in confusion and she thought it was one of the cutest things she had ever seen.

She rolled down the window with a nervous smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

She hated how breathy the words came out but he was truly stunning.

Tall, fit, well-dressed.

“Are you alright? It looks like you’re having some trouble.”

A gentleman.

“What would make you think that?” Chantel spoke before she thought it through, but the stranger didn’t seem to take offense if the amused smirk on his face could be trusted. “I’m kidding. Yeah, no. I’m not alright. The car was making weird noises so I pulled over and now it won’t turn back on. I looked under the hood but I have no idea what’s wrong.”

He nodded attentively while she spoke, watching her lips with interest. She noticed him staring and licked them.

“I don’t know how much of a help I’ll be.” His bronze skin reddened with the admission and she wondered if he was blushing or if the cold was getting to him. “I don’t know anything about cars but I can give you a ride wherever you want.”

She’d like a ride alright. In his cushiony truck that may as well have been a royal carriage considering the circumstances. Or on his handsome bearded face that she couldn’t stop staring at.

Chantel wondered if he could tell what she was thinking.

Movement caught her eye and she noticed an identical black SUV pulling off the road to park behind the one Prince Charming departed from. Her hand squeezed around the taser instinctively.

Was the sexy stranger bait to catch naive, unsuspecting girls?

“...but I’m sure we’d both rather leave it to the professionals.” He gestured back towards the dark truck and paused, noticing they weren’t alone. Her breath caught in her chest when four bulking men slammed their doors shut and started walking in their direction.

“I apologize. That’s my security team. I left without telling them.”

Hmm. A kindred spirit.

Who was he to have a security team? Was he telling the truth? Or just stalling?

She wanted to believe him. To trust that it was in human nature to help one another without some ulterior, sinister motive.

Did she even have a choice? How long would she have to wait on the next passerby? There was no guarantee they would be any better than the (so far) kind stranger and his friends.

Chantel Williams was a lot of things, but she was not naïve. With surprising coordination, she swung the door open, knocking the man back several steps. Her boots crunched as she landed in the snow.

“Back up or I’m going to tase you!” She warned, putting space between herself and the stranger while keeping an eye on the approaching men.

The corners of his mouth turned up as he fought back a smile.

Chantel scoffed. He wasn’t taking her seriously.

“I’m not fucking around!” She insisted, charging up the small device. The buzz felt more powerful than she remembered. The man seemed to think so too, changing his approach. He spoke in a soft tone. “Can we slow down?”

“Don’t patronize me. Just back up like I said. No, this way!” She ordered until he stood across from her with his back to his men.

Behind him, they speed up their approach but they could only move so fast in the snow. Following her gaze, the strange man looked over his shoulder and gestured for the men to stall at the front of his truck several feet away. One of them shouted at her to put the taser away from his position. He sported two braids and a cut in his brow. Chantel shouted back at him to ‘shut the fuck up’

Mr. GQ gave another signal and like he was the conductor of an orchestra, all noise ceased. Well, all external noise at least. Chantel swore she could hear the sound of her heart ringing in her ears.

“Hey!” He demanded her full attention. His hands were up in a defensive position. “What are you looking for here?”

It was a great question but she had no answer for him.

Trouble maker. Fire starter. Full-time agitator.

Chantel was that way even as a child, responding to normal adolescent teasing with violence. Sharp bites in the classroom or royal rumble style fights on the playground were her specialty in grade school. She made anyone stupid enough to provoke her regret it whether big or small, male or female. That wasn’t to say she was organized or calculating in her plans. She acted and dealt with things as they came.

She had no idea what the endgame was when she pulled the taser, but she had to stick with it. The crowd of onlookers made her feel more justified in her rash decision.

“I don’t think you really want to hurt me.”

“Now, what would make you think that?” Chantel asked incredulously. He didn’t know her from Eve.

She was even more steadfast in pointing the taser in his direction but he didn’t seem phased.

“When you want to hurt somebody, you don’t wait around or warn them. You just do it.”

“Are you suggesting I should’ve tased you?”

He shrugged as if they were discussing the weather.

“That certainly would have been more effective.”

Was he serious?

“I mean I still can. If you keep talking I just might.”

He had the gall to laugh in her face.

Hysterically.

And it wasn’t fleeting or sarcastic. It was genuine laughter from deep down in his gut. She hated how beautiful he was, even in the middle of showing blatant disrespect for her ability to harm him.

“Seriously?” She griped, fighting against the way her face muscles twitched.

Giggle box.

When somebody at church mispronounced a word during the announcements or when her aunt murdered a hit song, she giggled uncontrollably. Papa chastised her for it, but it couldn’t be helped. When the urge struck and she got that itch in her throat, she had to laugh.

So naturally, like two birds of a maniac feather they shared a laugh in four (and counting) inches of snow.

***

GENERAL TAGLIST

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus

MIGUEL TAGLIST

@thesandbeneathmytoes @taylortheeshowpony

#mayans mc #miguel galindo #miguel galindo x black!reader #miguel galindo x black!oc #miguel galindo x reader

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