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krys-loves-otome · 2 years ago

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A Second Glance, Part 4

Rating: Teen (the entire work is marked as Mature, so read the rest at your own risk)

Pairing: Hideyoshi x Preg!Reader

Summary: A look into the aftermath of Chapter 3. There's also a flashback scene at the beginning.

Warnings: Pregnancy, references to and going into light detail about a past character's death, Nobukatsu also has a potty mouth on him so if foul language is something that bothers you, it's here too.

Notes: Adding in a few more people to Nobunaga's family tree as IkeSen canon makes it a little sparse. Added in his nephews Nobukatsu and Nobutaka (who were originally two of his RL sons, but made nephews for the sake of this story) and his little sister Oichi with her daughter.

Part 1 || Part 3

Read A Second Glance all in one place on ao3!

My Fanfic Masterlist

And many thanks to @tsundere-mitsuhide and @scummy-writes for beta-reading for me!

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"Thank you for visiting with us, [Name]. It was a pleasure to meet with you again."

Warm rays of spring lit up the flower gardens Nobunaga was sitting in alongside his younger sister, Lady Oichi. He had decided to visit her when she had written to him about her new daughter. He also decided to drag you along for the ride. You both had been too busy to see each other lately, so he claimed the trip for your benefit as well, to cure your loneliness of the time spent apart.

Though the sentiment was nice, you couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of jealousy (and some other feeling you didn't have a name for then) when you see the usually demonic and ruthless conqueror giving all his attention to the bouncing infant on his knee, letting her touch his cheeks while she giggled and babbled away happily.

"Thank you for inviting us, Lady Oichi," you say, watching as the smirking uncle and his little niece engaged in a fierce staring contest. "I'm surprised he responded to your letter so quickly."

Oichi laughed. "Just Oichi, dear, please."

She glanced at her older brother, a wistful look in her eye.

"Truth be told, I am glad we get along as well as we do. He will never admit to it, and he will call me a silly brat until we both have gray hair and wrinkles, but he has always been there for me when I needed him. He always cared even if he does not always show it."

Oichi frowned.

"Ever since the falling out at Father's funeral, I have not seen much of my other brothers and sister, since I chose to support Nobunaga. We haven't spoken much since then."

"How many other siblings do the two of you have? If I may ask?"

"My brother hasn't told you?"

"It's… never really come up in conversation."

She paused to think.

"As far as I'm aware, two brothers and another sister still live, aside from myself. All of them are older than me while they are all younger than Nobunaga. The most I've heard from my family outside of Nobunaga… was when our sister's sons had reached adulthood recently. I am considering visiting them so they can meet their new cousin."

"Good luck, if you decide to do so." You say, "At least to help patch up those relationships."

"Thank you," Oichi smiled, "I am glad my brother has found someone as kind and reassuring as you."

The heat in your cheeks flared lightly but you smiled along with her nonetheless. Nobunaga smirked, reaching across to bring you in closer to him.

Morning light and chipper birdsong strained Mitsuhide's eyes and ears, not helpful in the least for his pounding head. Though he was fortunate to have a fresh set of clothes and some strong-smelling tea coursing through him, it did little to alleviate his fatigue and overall mood. His feet dragged only a little bit on the hallway floor.

"Good morning, Lord Mitsuhide," Mitsunari, fresh as a spring daisy, greeted with a small nod.

"Morning," he returned half-heartedly, running a hand through his hair, "I'm sure you've heard that Hideyoshi called this emergency meeting because of what happened last night?"

"Yes, I've heard." Mitsunari frowned in thought, "Lord Hideyoshi asked me to look after Lady [Name] so suddenly last night, I didn't have much of a chance to ask him what was going on. All I know is what Lady [Name] knew of the situation."

"Well, the short of it was that there were assassins sent in the night. At least two of them, in fact."

"Two assassins? Lady [Name] had said you had killed one of them."

"The other was lurking nearby. My vassals found him and interrogated him."

"The first one could have had information as well," Mitsunari said, "Why did you-"

"I find men who wander around with unsheathed blades quite uncouth. Especially around unsuspecting little mice and monkeys."

Mitsunari blinked and cleared his throat.

"Then, what did you discover from the other assassin? The one your vassals caught?"

"He was under orders to capture Azuchi's castle chatelaine. Preferably alive but it wasn't a guarantee."

"Do you know who sent him?"

"Not him directly, but his… I guess we'll call him his 'dearly departed comrade', had an Oda insignia on his sword."

"An Oda insignia?" Mitsunari's eyes widened, "but that would mean-"

"Yes. Playtime with the Oda is over, I'm afraid."

"Over Lady [Name]?"

"She seems to have gained their attention without us noticing it. Lucky little Miss Popular."

"But, why?" Mitsunari asked, worried, "Why now? As far as I was aware, the Oda didn't acknowledge her existence, outside of Lady Oichi."

"It is a mystery. Someone must have noticed something was up, especially with Hideyoshi still sitting on his hands."

Mitsunari sighed, looking out at the chirping birds in the nearby trees. A chilly breeze ruffled their feathers, soon snuggling closer together for warmth in their nest.

"…It's been months now."

Mitsuhide gave a sad smile, to no notice of his companion.

"Grief is one of the hardest burdens to bear. Some just have a harder time letting it go than others."

"We can't keep holding it off forever."

"It's still in Hideyoshi's hands, whether we like it or not."

"Can't we just-"

"I've already tried with a threat to sweep the chatelaine away to my own castle. He… didn't take the threat too well." Mitsuhide laughed quietly, "he might have punched me then."

Mitsunari pursed his lips, frowning in thought. He looked Mitsuhide directly in his eyes.

"Would you have taken her if the chance was before you?"

Mitsuhide said nothing, still keeping his smile in place despite Mitsunari's hard stare. Only the bird chatter filled their silence.

After a beat, Mitsuhide chuckled quietly.

"It's getting late. Let's not keep our dear Hideyoshi waiting."

With a reluctant nod, Mitsunari turned away and entered the meeting room. Mitsuhide was slower to follow, watching the dripping icicles in the trees.

"The fox stealing the wife away while the husband sleeps?" he chuckled, his sad smile returning for a brief moment before his usual beguiling smirk took its place, "it’s a silly notion, Mitsunari. A story meant for children to warn them of the villains of the world. It couldn’t happen in real life, after all."

He turned away, facing forward. One of the birds flew away from the nearby nest, gliding into the distance.

Two identical sets of carnelian eyes glared at each other, the fire of anger hotter than any swordsmith's forge. A low guttural growl broke the silence along with a cup slammed on the table, splashing steaming tea.

"Why did you interfere, Nobutaka?!" snarled the scarred man before a poised man with long black hair tied in a low ponytail. "I almost had that bastard monkey! If you had just-"

"Murdering Hideyoshi was not part of the plan, Brother." Nobutaka said calmly, sipping his tea with furrowed eyebrows, "Our only goal in Azuchi was to capture the castle chatelaine. There was no need for bloodshed."

The scarred man, Nobukatsu Oda, huffed bitterly, scratching furiously at his short black hair.

"Why do you care so much about a castle's caretaker? What's so special about a wench that arranges flowers and sorts dainty napkins all day?"

"The fact that she was Uncle Nobunaga's chatelaine is curious. He never had one before, and then she suddenly appeared, as if from the heavens one day."

"Maybe he was really impressed with her decorating skills." Nobukatsu said sarcastically.

"Maybe you should learn to pay more attention," Nobutaka steepled his fingers, his glasses' chain glittering in the sunlight.

"Is it not strange that a woman with no social standing or noble heritage suddenly has the attention of not only Uncle Nobunaga, but his vassals and allies in Oshu and Mikawa? Even his enemies speak well of Uncle's castle caretaker. I find the matter quite intriguing."

"Are you really holding back on killing Hideyoshi just because of some woman you find 'intriguing'? That butt-monkey is still standing in our way of clan leadership! He is also the one stopping us from claiming what rightfully should be ours: Uncle Nobunaga's domain. What in all hells are you waiting for?"

"To see what the monkey does."

"…What?"

"Listen to me, Nobukatsu." He looked straight into his brother's eyes. "The fact that Hideyoshi is stalling for time is also peculiar. He could take the domain for himself, reaping the benefits and no one would bat an eye. But, he hasn't. He also refuses to relinquish it to anyone, Oda or otherwise. So, if he doesn't want to hand Azuchi over to anyone nor does he take the rule for his own benefit, why is he sitting on his hands, wasting everyone's time?"

Nobukatsu was quiet, grumbling as he tried to process his younger brother's implications.

"He's… waiting for the chatelaine… to do something? Since you keep bringing her up, she has to be important for some reason."

"You're catching on." Nobutaka chuckled, "I'm impressed."

"Enough mind games, snot-face. What are you getting at?"

"Again, Hideyoshi, as well as many others in Uncle's circle and outside of it, speak favorably about the castle chatelaine. Hideyoshi refuses to move forward with surrendering Uncle's domain or taking it for himself. My theory is that the chatelaine is carrying Uncle Nobunaga's child and that monkey is waiting to seize the child and name him as Uncle's posthumous heir."

"Wha-What gives that bastard the right to do that? He shouldn't interfere with-"

"Did I also mention that the chatelaine was named an Oda princess?"

"By who!?"

"Uncle Nobunaga, before his unfortunate passing."

"But, she wasn't related to any of us. She didn't wed him or was a named mistress. Hells, Uncle Nobunaga was never married so he couldn't have mistresses to fool around with."

"How quaint of you," Nobutaka continued, "but rumors have spread regardless. Other nobles claim the chatelaine an Oda princess, but can never substantiate their claims, other than what they heard from sources in Azuchi's castle, not from the clan itself."

"So, let me get this straight. You're saying that Uncle Nobunaga possibly knocked up his chatelaine and now Butt Monkey Hideyoshi is gonna try and claim the brat as Uncle Nobunaga's heir after he's already dead because the chatelaine has some fake princess title?"

"That's my theory on the matter."

"It's bullshit."

"I did not ask for your opinion."

"It's bullshit he thinks he can name some random bitch's accident as heir. Is there any proof the little punk's even Uncle Nobunaga's spawn? You did say the chatelaine was 'spoken of highly' in Uncle's circle. Could have screwed one of his vassals and claimed it was Uncle who did it. Could be Butt Monkey's kid for all we know."

"No one will know unless a child suddenly materializes, if my theory is correct."

Nobukatsu grumbled again, glancing out at the dripping icicles.

"So what do we do now, since you're so insistent about not killing the monkey."

"Right now, we wait to see how Hideyoshi responds to our little… message. Hopefully he's not dead, no thanks to you."

"I still think he's better off dead than you doing this song and dance you keep doing. Easier that way."

"I'm trying to be civil, to go about things the right way. Unlike you who bludgeons his way into getting what he wants."

"At least I'm getting results while you sit on your ass drinking tea and playing Go all day. Heh, it's no wonder I'm twenty minutes older than you; you had to sit and think about being born before the midwife pulled you out."

"And you're a crude, boorish oaf who has no patience for anyone." Nobutaka deadpanned "You're a terrible general with a short temper as well."

"And you're lucky you're my brother, else I have half a mind to cut out that tongue of yours."

"Oh, I feel so loved and appreciated in your presence, dear brother." Nobutaka stood, "now get out of my sight. Your entire existence disgusts me."

"Your face disgusts me."

"Your insults are as poor as your provinces."

"They're still bigger than yours."

"Get out of my castle before I throw you out myself!"

"That, I'd like to see." Nobukatsu laughed, standing up, "Go ahead and throw me out, you weakling brat!"

"My lords!" a voice spoke up in the doorway, a servant with a scroll in his hand, "a message has arrived from Azuchi."

"Hopefully good news," Nobutaka spat.

"I'm afraid not, sir," said the servant, handing over the scroll. "Lord Hideyoshi was quite displeased with your threat, as it were."

"Who cares what he thinks," Nobukatsu snorted, "Most aren't exactly itching to be taken out by assassins."

"At least we know he's still alive enough to be irritated." The younger brother read over the message, his eyebrows furrowed. "He also says to not threaten him or Azuchi's safety again, else he will have to take 'drastic actions.'

"Be more than what he's currently doing," Nobukatsu sighed, "now what?"

Nobutaka crumpled the paper in his hand and threw the ball into the fire behind him.

"I think if you want something done right, you'll have to do things yourself. I'm going to Azuchi to see that insufferable primate and Uncle's beloved chatelaine."

"What, to prove your pet theory right?"

"There's a reason the monkey keeps holding Uncle's legacy hostage. If he freely won't give it to us, I say we should go and take it from him."

"Great idea, I'm going with you."

"No, you're not."

"Someone has to save your scrawny ass if a fight breaks out."

"I'm more than capable of protecting myself, thank you."

"No, you're not."

"Says you."

"Says me who has saved your ass more times than he can count, which is pretty high."

"You just want to come along to impale your sword on someone."

"Would you rather I impale you instead?"

Nobutaka sighed.

"Fine, but no killing while we're in Azuchi. This is going to be a scouting mission of sorts. No bloodshed."

"Only if they provoke me first."

"As if that's a difficult task." he sighed, sending his servant away, "whatever will keep you quiet."

Nobutaka stood now, taking his tea cup and walked out of the room as his brother took the opposite direction.

"Azuchi and Uncle's legacy will be in the right hands soon," he said quietly, tightening his hold on his cup, "no matter what stands in my way. No stupid monkeys and certainly no upstart chatelaines will stop me from gaining what’s supposed to be mine."

Cooled tea slid between his fingers, his cup having cracked with the sheer strength of his grip. He threw it against the wall, a satisfying crash resounding in the otherwise silent halls.

Light puffs of smoke floated away into the evening sky, the stars just starting to turn visible. Hideyoshi closed his eyes, sitting on the veranda, the coming night chill not seeming to bother him. He leaned back, feeling every joint voice their discomfort.

With a sigh and another puff on his pipe, he finally noticed you standing a little ways away from him, bundled in a warm haori and holding another dark green one in your hands, neatly folded. Hideyoshi coughed loudly, frantically trying to put out his pipe, erratic smoke puffs escaping his mouth.

"[Name]!" he choked, "What are you doing up? Didn't I already tell you about good sleeping habits starting-"

"Yeah, last night," you said, "right before Mitsuhide gave me a week's worth of nightmare fuel."

"…Nightmare fuel?"

"A-anyway," you continued, "I didn't know how long you were going to be out here, so I brought you a jacket."

"You didn't have to, [Name], I would have been fine without one."

"It's still cold out, Hideyoshi. I'm… We're worried about you. Me and Mitsunari, that is." You handed it to him, standing at his side. "And… they're, they're worried too. We all are."

After a minute's pause, Hideyoshi reluctantly put it on, hiding his hands in the sleeves.

"It's still late," he said, "and it's been a long day. I won't be much longer, promise."

"…Can I stay just for a little longer?" You asked, "They… they've been getting restless lately, especially at night."

"Well, we certainly can't have that, can we?" Hideyoshi sat up straighter, pulling one side of his haori open. "If you're staying, I'm keeping you warm while you're out here. No buts, missy."

You smile and laugh, accepting his offer of shared warmth. You take careful, slow steps on the shallow stairs. Hideyoshi's arm reached out to steady you as you descended. Once you were settled beside him, his arm encircled your shoulders with a comfortable amount of his haori covering you.

"Warm enough?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you."

He nodded, turning his gaze back to the darkening sky, the stars becoming clearer and brighter.

"It's funny," he said quietly, "holding you like this to keep warm, it reminds me of my early days of serving Lord Nobunaga."

You looked up at him, hoping this was the famous story from your time, of Hideyoshi and Nobunaga's sandals.

"I was… young and overly eager to please him, as he had given me my second chance at life. I was about to do anything if it would please him."

He paused while you waited in anticipation, watching his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment.

"Including… putting his sandals in my kimono… to warm them for him."

You snickered while he sighed.

"It was a long time ago, [Name]."

"I think it was sweet of you, thinking of his comfort like that."

"He laughed and called me a stupid monkey."

"It wasn't stupid at all!" you giggled.

"Now you're just being nice, [Name]," Hideyoshi grumbled.

You snuggled in closer, pulling your shared haori closer.

"…I dreamed of him last night," you said softly, frowning, "I think he was trying to warn me."

"Warn you?"

"He tried to but… there wasn't any sound in the dream," you paused, "save for one. When… when he was struck from behind and…"

You shivered. Hideyoshi held you closer.

"I should apologize to you," Hideyoshi said, clenching his fist. "iIf I had been faster, stronger… I could have reached you sooner. Hearing you scream like that, fearing I was too late… seeing Lord Nobunaga falling to the ground… I didn't know what was happening anymore… just that I was seeing red."

"Hideyoshi…"

"You… you were clinging to him so tightly, refusing to let him go. I… I held both of you in my arms, his blood was coating both of us… I… I was ready to kill Masamune and Mitsuhide for trying to separate all of us… and Ieyasu because he was touching you… to remove you from us… I … that day still haunts me."

His eyes were hard, lost in the memory of that day. It had been hard on everyone, the hardest to the two of you. A hollow victory with the biggest loss to all involved. You reached for his hand, both of your chilled fingers seeming to bring him back to the present. He gave an apologetic smile.

"See, I really have kept you out here too long. Your hands are frozen!"

He slipped his arms out of his haori, giving his remaining warmth to you while rubbing his hands over yours.

"C'mon, let's get you inside," he insisted while standing up, "I'll make you some tea and we'll get you some warm covers to sleep under. Four should be good. Or would five be better?"

One hand over yours, the other at your back to keep you steady on the steps, Hideyoshi held you securely despite his frigid fingers, making sure you safely made it onto the landing first, making you temporarily taller than him.

You turned towards him, his nose and cheeks red from the cold, sure to be matching your own, much to Hideyoshi's dismay.

Before he could climb to your side, however, you leaned towards him, touching dry and cold-chapped lips together with his. The tobacco still lingered on him, you noticed.

Hideyoshi froze, eyes wide open in surprise. When you pulled back for air, though his cheeks were warmer, his eyes, once again, filled with sadness. He let out a breath.

"Inside, [Name]," he left no room for argument. "Now."

#krys's adventures in fanfiction #a second glance #ikemen sengoku #hideyoshi toyotomi #mitsuhide akechi #mitsunari ishida #cw: pregnancy #cw: references to character death #cw: language #it's been 84 years #or more accurately at least one year #but it's finally got a new chapter #I'm so happy #now watch it be another year before the next chapter comes out #oof

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lygattxsyl · 3 years ago

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Luthor.

The name was there, innocently written on a form. Oblivious to the reaction he had just provoked. Images from another time, almost from another life flashed before her eyes, bringing with them a familiar feeling in her chest. Kara still struggled to identify exactly what she was feeling when she thought of Lena Luthor. There was this pain so characteristic of a heartbreak but also so much warmth. Almost a fondness for a woman that she hadn't seen for at least ten years.

Despite all these years, the imprint left in Kara's heart by the Luthor had not disappeared and she was pretty sure that it would be a part of her for the rest of her life.

Kara had accepted it, had made peace with the fact.

But now, the Luthor name was hooked with another one and worn by a kid.

Kara looked up from her list and, without really realising it, observed the children gathered in the station. Looking for some familiarity in one of them.

Green eyes, lustrous black hair, a brillant smile. It was a mini-Lena that she was looking for and she didn't find her.

A sigh escaped her lips. Ellie Luthor-Spheer also had to look like her father and she felt stupid for forgetting it.

She had to say she didn't really want to think too much about Lena's partner. She was happy for her, of course she was, but part of her still swallowed a difficult discovery.

A nudge snatched her from her thoughts.”

“Why are you so gloomy? Kids day is your favorite.”

Alex. Of course.

“Nothing.”

She didn't believe it herself but a small audience was waiting for them. Kara clapped her cheeks under her sister's curious gaze before advancing towards the kids, smiling brightly.

- - - -

Ellie, she was going to learn it quickly, was indeed her mother's daughter.

The morning had passed quickly, followed by a quick lunch, and after playing a little, the children had been invited to participate in an obstacle course mimicking firefighter training under Kara's supervision.

She loved to see them so focused, there was something so touching about their efforts to surpass themself. She also appreciated when one of them accepted her help in case of struggle. She did not fail to finish the course with them and trade a highfive after the cardboard flames had been knocked over by the garden hose.

One of the kids, however, didn't seem ready to accept any help.

Noticing the little brunette who couldn't climb a ladder, Kara approached slowly.

“What's up, kiddo?”

A pair of brown eyes turned to her.

“It's okay. I can do it.”

The frowned brows and a determined pout were saying one thing but the slight tremor that ran through her said another.

Kara quickly understood the problem. For her age, the girl was a bit on the shorter side, and the obstacle asked her more effort.

“Are you sure you don't want me to help you ?”

She would probably get there on herself but there were other steps to go and fatigue would accumulate. By accepting a helping hand here, she would finish the course more easily.

With pursed lips, the girl seemed to think for a moment.

The striking image of somenone Kara knew far too well. Or had known.

“If you help me, that will prove them right.”

It had been said in a whisper, as if the child was not sure expressing it was a good idea.

“What do you mean ?”

“Betty and Jo. We're in the same class. They said that I wouldn't make it. Ms. Ryan helped me too at gym and they laughed at me.”

The rest was easy to understand : she wanted to prove them wrong.

“What's your name ?”

Kara was so sure of herself but she asked just in case.

“Ellie.”

The resemblance was in the details. A dust of freckles traced brown skin on the nose, the pout was typically Lena, the eyebrows and shape of the eyes too. Where they could have been green, the iris were a warm brown. Long black hair were tied in a ponytail.

“It's never bad to ask for help, Ellie. You know, we are a squad for a reason. It's because there are several of us that the firefighters can save people. By helping each other, we go further. Betty and Jo will understand it one day. And I'm sorry if they bothers you with that but they're not what's important here. Isn't it more important to pass all the obstacles even if you need a little help? You want to finish it, right ?”

A smile appeared, initially shy. Two dimples then formed and Ellie nodded firmly.

“Can you push me a little ?”

Oh this is bad.

The Lena Luthor charm was apparently hereditary.

Fondness blooming in her chest, Kara did exactly that.

- - - -

Five came and with them, the parents.

After the obstacle course, the activities had been quieter and Kara had been used as a pillow a number of times. Mostly by her niece, Esme, which did not fail to make her stick her tongue at her sister, because of course auntie Kara was the best, but also by little Ellie. The approach had been timid at first but she was now tucked under her arm, all smiles, while she was talking about her favorite cartoon character with Esme.

Until this very important discussion was interrupted by a squeal.

“Mommy.”

Kara wasn't going to lie, she had imagined Lena as a mother one or two times. She had never doubted that she would make a good mom because she loved with all of her heart.

Seeing her pick up Ellie to hug her, a few kisses landing on the girl's head, was not so surprising. She seemed soft, softer than she had ever been, and still so beautiful. Freer too, as if part of the weight on her shoulders had been lifted.

“Auntie Kara.”

It wasn't the first time Esme called her but it took Kara a while to look away, afraid that Lena may disappear if she shifted her gaze.

“Mama waving at you.”

As to prove it, she pointed to her mother who, hidden behind the truck, waved frantically.

“What, Alex ?”

Kara articulated exaggeratedly without a sound.

Her sister did the same, gesturing to the entrance.

“Lena's here.”

No shit, Sherlock !

Kara felt herself roll her eyes. Talk about a warning.

“Come on, mommy, you have to meet her.”

Oh boy. What Kara would have given to hear the siren ring. She would have cursed it too.

Lena had followed in a fond chuckle that stopped as soon as green met blue.

“Lena.”

Kara's smile was way too big, her feelings barely bottled up in her chest. With excitement, a little voice repeated the name in her head again and again, as if to make up for all the times she couldn't say it.

Surprised, Lena needed a little more time, but she smiled too, that secret smile Kara could swear she was the only one to see. Double dimples, eyes shining, and that bashful head tilt.

“Kara. Small world, isn't it ?”

Like every time her name rolled on Lena's tongue, Kara felt herself melt.

And Kara wondered : what do you do when you see the love of your life again ?

You take your chance, her heart whispered.

You let her go, her head replied.

#supercorp #supercorptober2021 #supercorptober #kara x lena #supercorp fic

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rikalovesrice · 3 years ago

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My Thoughts on Trollhunters : Rise of the Titans

WARNING : ALL THE SPOILERS IN THIS REVIEW

Mmmmm. Okay. So I just finished the movie. I’m fatigued as always so this’ll be a bit of a mess lol. Gotta spew the thoughts while they’re still fresh, y’all know how it is.

Right out the gate, I definitely want to talk about the things I loved.

The animation was, of course, phenomenal and gorgeous!

Voice acting was incredible as always

MUSIC SLAPPED

Douxie. I just loved seeing Douxie again and honestly kept my eyes trained on him for most the of movie lol

OK DOUXIE AND NARI SWITCHING?? BODIES??? Definitely didn’t see that coming and I legit started screaming lol

Nari in Douxie’s body is the most precious, chaotic, and wholesome thing like holy cow that was so adorable LOOKIT DOUXIE CROUCHING AND CRAWLING AROUND ON ALL FOURS WITH THOSE NOODLE LIMBS OF HIS I CAN’T --

We called Nari’s mind control and Douxie trying to reason with her!

In the very few scenes they were together, Douxie’s love and affection for Nari really came through. You could really feel how much he cared about her. ALSO THAT TENDER HUG AND NARI’S LITTLE HAPPY SQUEAK MY HEART NO--

Loved Barbara. Always love Barbara.

Walter and Barbara getting engaged

Nomura back in action

Claire being the powerful sorceress she’s become

Loved seeing Aja, Krel, and Varvatos all together again.

NARI VS SKRAEL WAS ALL SORTS OF EPIC AND CRUSHING EMOTIONS.

The way Douxie yelled Nari’s name and ran to her after she died and the remnants of her magic falling all around him, like she was saying goodbye, just *UGLY CRYING*

It was so cool to see Charlie out of his den and flying about like the mighty dragon he is

Loved the Guardians of Arcadia pulling Excaliber out together.

All the gang all going after Bellroc together

YES JIM MY BOOOOOOY

BLINKY DIDN’T DIE

Aarrgh I love you so much

Stuart, what a bro!

We saw a hint of mercy in Bellroc towards the end.

Toby’s death... That was a huge curveball. Jim might as well have cut my heart out with Excaliber as he sobbed over his best friend.

Uh.....um....and.....Er...what else........ .___.

..........Alright so.......It’s about to get a bit brutal from here on out as I talk about the things I didn’t like at all. And the really sad thing is, at least to me, the cons far outweigh the pros in this movie. Because I’m actually having difficulty picking out things I enjoyed, they were so few and far between...which really sucks.

So here we go.

Gosh, where to begin... I guess I’ll go ahead and say this : I’m really disappointed.

Like as I’m here typing this, I’m just thinking, “...That was it? That was the movie?? The big finale???”

So much of this movie just felt....unnecessary. I hate to say almost like filler. The entire intro re-caping the series really wasn’t needed. And then Toby went and restated it all again when he was being interrogated. The pacing, oh my gosh...Guys, the pacing in this movie was not good. The action started and it never seemed to stop. There wasn’t a single moment of rest, of levity, of our characters just being themselves, getting to know each other, being friends outside of the battle. No Reckless Club Segment. No fun, just... I mean Claire and Aja didn’t speak to each other at all. Douxie and Toby hardly interacted. Steve was turned into a gross male pregnancy joke. Jim and Krel barely spoke. Douxie and Aja had nothing to say to each other. Even Aja and Krel didn’t have any moments together. The list goes on. The whole movie was just go, go, go. And it’s so frustrating because there was time for it but it was poorly executed.

Like was the whole break-in to the Chinese Trollmarket really necessary?? Guys, I really found myself not caring. I didn’t care to see this random side quest involving an insignificant new troll character and a Trollmarket that had little to no bearing on the plot. Did I love seeing Charlie, Archie, Blinky, and Claire? Of course! But these scenes were so pointless. So needless. They could’ve written other ways for all our heroes to go after the chronosphere (Maybe we could’ve had Zoe for crying out loud). But instead this vital artifact was the hands of a character we don’t know and don’t care about in a place that turned out to have basically nothing to do with anything.

Deaths. The deaths in this movie. Because of the pacing in this movie, there wasn’t nearly enough time for the emotional impacts to sink in. Nomura? Gone and the only ones mourning her are Aaarrgh and Douxie, who barely knew her. Walter’s death was handled better since we got to see Jim and Barbara actually having a moment to mourn him. The weight of Nari’s death was singlehandedly carried by Douxie, but even that was over before it started. The immense gravity of Toby’s death, which really got to me, was also short-lived to make way for an ending that...I don’t know.

ALSO DOUXIE JUST??? BEING OKAY WITH HIS FAMILIAR, THE ONE WHO RAISED HIM AND WENT THROUGH SO MUCH WITH HIM FOR CENTURIES, LEAVING HIM FOREVER TO BE TRAPPED IN THAT DUMB TROLLMARKET WITH CHARLIE LIKE???

“I hope he’s happy.”

WHAT. THE. EVERLASTING. FRICK.

Douxie’s reaction objectively doesn’t make a shred of sense. Geez, it’s almost like Douxie was expecting Archie to up and leave him someday to be with Charlegmane. Just...what???

What also frustrates me so much is how this movie undid so much characterization and development that happened in Wizards. Or more like all that development didn’t even matter.

What was the point of Steve’s arc in Wizards if he was just going to be reduced to...this?

I was so excited to see Douxie really being a Master Wizard. To see him lead the Guardians of Arcadia alongside Jim. To see him in action as Successor to Merlin and Protector of this Realm.

But no.

Douxie, who had such an incredible arc in Wizards and a character who’s come to mean so much to me in my life, was nerfed and sidelined.

And then time restarts and I can’t help but wonder why any of this mattered at all. What the heck was the freaking point of the suffering, the loss, the pain, the growth, enduring and overcoming so much, the friendships and family spanning across three shows... All gone. Starting all over. Undoing everything, except what Jim went through. As much as I love Jim, I didn’t think he’d be the only character I’d be getting closure for at the grand finale of this entire franchise. But that’s what happened and I really hate it.

Just...all in all, this movie wasn’t satisfying. Not to me. It had its good moments. But not nearly enough. The comedy was misplaced and fell flat. The climax was sorely anticlimactic and didn’t hold a candle to Eternal Knight. The writing, the direction, characterization...For some reason it was all lost and confused and none of it felt right and so much didn’t make sense.

I’m not at all upset with the writers, though, because they still pulled through and did what they could. When the movie did something right, it was beautiful. The things I loved about it I truly adored. No, I’m not upset in the least bit with any of the creative team.

I’m upset with Netflix. I’m upset that Wizards was robbed of the seasons it should’ve had. I’m upset with big cooperations stifling creators. I’m upset that this’ll be it. This is the ending we got and nothing can be done about it.

Aaron did say there’s every possibility for the franchise to continue in some capacity, and I’m hoping for that someday. Because so much, too much, has been left unanswered. So much left to be explored that couldn’t. But until then....I guess this is it. This is what we get.

Now, I want to remind everyone that this is my own personal experience with the movie. These are all my opinions. If you enjoyed every second the movie, that’s wonderful! And who knows how my thoughts will change upon another viewing. But in the meantime, Rise of the Titans really missed the mark for me. I wanted found family badassery and fluff. But nope. Just fighting and heaviness and no payoff. It’s such a letdown...a real shame.

But yeah...Thanks to any and everyone who read to the end of this haha

I still love Tales of Arcadia. It’s a series that has blessed and inspired me so much as an artist, writer, and as a person in general. I do want to keep making ToA content for a while. Cause this movie isn’t the end. Not my ending, at least.

I’ll continue to hope for more Tales of Arcadia in the future (a Douxie spin-off series please Lord pleaaase). We shall see. Until then, fics and fanart fixing this mess galore haha

Until next time everyone! God bless!

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wolfisblank · 1 month ago

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Okay I want to share thoughts on the new routes. This got long

Spoilers for all new routes in Slay the Princess - The Pristine Cut

First I just need to say The Princess and the Dragon was so fucking fantastic holy shit I literally can't stop thinking about it. Definitely my new favorite route, Razor shunted FIRMLY into second. It really reframes how I view the chapter 1 Princess and her psychology in general. I was so on-edge the whole time. The Long Quiet is SCARY (and awesome-looking I <3 monsters). And also I love that Princess. The banter you have with her while you share a mind is honestly adorable, and she's so forgiving if you are kind to her in turn. I've always been fond of Spectre as a character because, despite being dealt an awful hand and killed so readily, she has the potential to be so kind. If you treat her with kindness she treats you kindly in turn, and it's sweet. Same goes for this Princess. Also I thought that sequence where Nightmare removes her mask and the flashes of the Princesses' perspectives in the Shifting Mound segment were aesthetic but this route implies that the princess just. doesn't see as much color as us? Or well, "color". What's up with that... And iirc this Route is the only route in which The Princess directly refers to herself as "Princess". Not like the ch1 "you can call me Princess" if you ask her name. Not a title of "The Princess" like how The Narrator refers to her. She thinks something to herself like "okay Princess, you can do this," like "Princess" is her name. Which I think is neat.

Happily Ever After fucked me UP- There was always this. undertone. in The Damsel. The way Smitten talked about her and the way The Narrator and Hero became annoyed and mildly unsettled by the fact that he's thinking this way about someone he doesn't really know. And the way he tried to talk to her directly a few times, despite knowing she couldn't hear, was interesting. I wanna clarify that it was not an overwhelmingly present undertone, and it was mostly just for jokes in paths outside Deconstructed Damsel. It didn't ruin the route or clash with the tone or anything. I already really liked The Damsel route and Princess pre-update, it was one of my favorites. It's kinda the point of the route that you don't really know her, which makes for a good parallel to Thorn, and that could be its own post. But the undertone was there, particularly in the Deconstructed Damsel path. They didn't need to expand on it to "fix" anything. But I'm SO GLAD THEY DID IT because it was SO GOOD. Moment of Clarity is still the route that fucked me up the most for DID-related reasons (could also be its own post tbh. Moment of Clarity analysis from the perspective of a system host. but anyway) but Happily Ever After is a solid second in which route unsettled me the most personally. Smitten's behavior in the lead-up and the third chapter(/"epilogue") itself was super unnerving and definitely made me view him differently. The way the Princess talks, tries to make peace, tries to do as she's told, scrambles to apologize and fix things at the slightest sign of upset from Smitten, is so... familiar as an abuse survivor. I haven't fully explored the route yet because tbh it's a bit heavy for me. She's just like me fr and so on. I got the good ending first - the one where you get her out of there and you dance and it's wonderful - and I loved it. But I'll probably save exploring that route for a particularly good mental health day because it's a little too good (not a criticism). It's so thematically interesting. It's really well-written, the way a toxic relationship is portrayed as a perpetual state of playing house, trying to find things to do in ways that don't upset your partner and scrambling to fix it when things inevitably do... and the subtle ways the Princess shows her fatigue and unhappiness without allowing herself to truly process and feel it, the emptiness and longing she feels upon the last torch going out... Also the small things, like when you leave with her, you can offer her agency. Ask her what SHE wants, OFFER your hand (and by extension the CHOICE on whether or not to take it). Good stuff. Also the way The Narrator shuts down and resigns Himself upon seeing what a world of stagnation would look like is really interesting (and funny tbh. love to hate that guy). You can talk to the version of Him in the mirror and tell Him about having seen a world where He saw stagnation and gave up and He's just like Well of course there's one version of me among the millions that is delusional. Like okay dude

I don't have quite as many thoughts on The Cage. Which is a shame because it's cool and interesting. The other new and updated routes were just SO GOOD that I haven't dedicated as much time to thinking about it, and I should. The way Paranoid and Skeptic negotiate with each other and The Narrator about trying to find a way to make cutting the chains make sense is interesting. Paranoid was like... incidentally very right about how this place works and how the world and Princess are warped around our perspective of her, but Skeptic calls him stupid for it. And he does sound kinda sound really off the mark unless you have context from the ending of the game. The way The Cage Princess thinks about the world is very interesting, and it makes sense. Because every chapter up until this point has followed a similar pattern, she's resigned herself into believing this is a perfect time loop, where everything always plays out the same (with only minor differences). Even when you try to prove her wrong, she warps it into something that fits her perspective. It's interesting how she's given up like this. It parallels Happily Ever After in a lot of ways too. You deny The Princess her freedom after it seemed so close, and the route has themes of feeling a lack of agency in a seemingly stagnant world and what that can do to someone. Also Cage's design is just cool.

Pristine Cut is really good 👍

#caw.txt #slay the princess #sorry if this is a little disorganized/incoherent I'm tired as shit #and also if I explained anything poorly or forgot to mention anything then sorry to myself lol

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praphit · 2 years ago

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Black Adam: the psychopath we need right now

Of course The Rock belongs in a comic book cinematic universe. What the hell took so long?!

There are a bunch of characters I think he could have played well:

Deathstroke.

The Winter Soldier (imagine The Rock growing out his hair:)

Apocalypse (no way that movie sucks with The Rock in it)

(I can’t stop laughing at this GIF, and J.Law’s “Oh, Shit!” face.

The Rock could have played a jacked Professor X (tired of only being the brains)

Or he could have simply played himself. I’d buy that when Batman is in trouble he runs to The Rock.

But, he's perfect for Black Adam!

A long ass time ago, there was a lil boy, born into slavery, in a Middle Eastern country called Kahndaq. Him and his people were slaving away trying to locate a mystical crown made of Vibranium... sorry, I meant Eternium... or was it Krytponite?? Doesn't matter.

This crown has the power to... unleash hell on earth or something. Which... why would anyone want to do that? If you're a bad guy, I get ruling the earth or even destroying the earth. But, to bring a literal, demonic, Hell on earth, doesn't seem productive for anyone... except for Hell. But, anyway, this lil boy, one day, says to himself "Slavery sucks! I want to be free!"

If only it were that simple to be free, kid (though according to Ye, it is).

Some ancient wizards show up and grant this boy powers. They have a habit of doing this.

Why?! Is it just me, or does giving children the powers of gods seem stupid? But, who can tell wizards anything??

This now super-powered, young boy finds his father (The Rock) in peril, one thing leads to another, and SHAZAM!

Black Ass Adam is born!

Buuuuuut, he has a bit of a temper, so he has to be locked away, until the movie comes out.

It's now the present day, and Black Adam is here to protect his people... eventually. He's kind of a psychopath. I mean that in the nicest way possible. He's a charming psychopath tho... well, not really. I mean, The Rock is charming AF, but.... I guess we'll crown B.A. with the same charm as the actor playing him; why not??

But, he needs help from some "friends" (I use that word loosely):

Cyclone

Ant Squasher or Musher... or something

Dr. Strange Fate

And The Winged Black Man

( I think I may have mixed up a name or two in there, but it doesn't really matter)

These weirdly familiar characters are able to annoy B.A. enough to convince him to limit his anti-hero murdering spree long enough to save the day. Although, I kinda think he enjoyed the killing more than saving the day.

This movie has everything you'd want:

super-powered freaks, a video game level of action and explosions, evil labs, zombie vibes, some tomb raider action, demons/end of days bs, international politics, the funny fat guy, the strong and smart single mom character (in the credits, she's (a Middle Eastern woman) named ISIS... I know these comic books were written a while ago, but... still kinda bleeped up), it's got tear-jerking self-sacrifice, and some Lord of the Rings vibes.

What more could you want??!

All held together by the cornerstone, being The Rock!

Whew! That's some good sex right there!

However :) There are some issues.

For one, if you suffer from comic book/action movie fatigue, then don't go anywhere near this movie. It's not trying to be anything else but that.

This movie is a Thanksgiving gravy dump of CGI. Is that a good or bad thing? - depends on your tastes, I suppose. This is some of the easiest money The Rock had ever made. CGI did all of the work. In fact, CGI had to work harder than ever to make The Rock look weaker (pre-powers). Dwayne Johnson doesn't even have all that much dialogue. He doesn't need to be the straight man in a comedy duo. Doesn't need to be in shape.... of course he’s in ridiculous shape, being The Rock, but he didn't NEED to be. Shoot, the powers of CGI even squeezed Pierce Brosnan (loved btw) into spandex.

The CGI does get bad though, towards the end. Like, not She-Hulk bad, but in the same ballpark.

There's a lot of slomo. NO, I MEAN A LOT! It's like someone discovering a new IG filter for the first time, and they always feel compelled to use it. Enough with the beautifying filters already! You know damn well you don't look like that. You're not fooling anyone:)

The Rock, though his people all seem to have Kahndaqian accents, he does not. C'mon, Dwayne! Be an actor! On second thought, I'm now picturing The Rock using this accent throughout the whole film, and in my mind, it turns into a comedy. So, I'll take that criticism back.

It's also a lil long. I wish they would have used the extra length to make this movie less dreary. I mean, I had fun with it, but... DC still hasn't learned how to balance out their tones yet (though James Gunn should be able to help that moving forward). Idk what's in Marvel's secret sauce, but if they had produced Black Adam, part of me wouldn't have felt like it needed a strong drink after watching.

There were two messages driven home by ISIS (still feels wrong to call her that):

1) "Hey, outsiders! Stay the bleep out of OUR business!" - that message, I agree with.

2) Black Adam is not a hero, but he's the ANTI-Hero that they need.

Idk, people. I get that sometimes you've gotta murder people (not the best message for the kids, but whatever). But, don't we have enough anti-heroes?? If everyone is an anti-hero... what's an anti-hero? You know?? I mean Black Adam murders more people in this movie than "the bad guy". He murders more people in this movie than Michael Myers murders in "Halloween Ends".

At what point in the sport of killing, does one become a villain??

That being said, I get it, and I like it!

Considering the slavery of their people. Considering people coming at you with guns. And considering demonic forces rising up against you (not like you can take demons to court) - yeah, sometimes, you've gotta kill people.

If you're looking for a dumb comic book action flick (for the kids? - sure), fueled by revenge - The Rock delivers.

Grade: B-

They also fixed the problem (at least I personally have had) with characters that are way too powerful. He wasn't dull. I mean his character kinda is, but... throw in The Rock as a heavily (and I mean HEAVILY) flawed character, and you've got some entertainment. I hope Marvel is paying attention concerning Captain Marvel 2.

Let's give Capt a functional coke and drinking problem, and make The Rock her bartender, and we'll have a less dull winner.

#BlackAdam #dccomics #johnpraphit #praphitproductions.com #Marvel #DrFate #TheRock #dwaynejohnson #Praphit #MovieReviews

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verycharismaticdragon · 3 years ago

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I have already written about one scene in SHL that changed its meaning due to the context surrounding it (“A-Xiang, do you think I’m crazy?”); today, I want to analyse a few more scenes that stick somewhat close to their novel counterparts and yet do not leave the same impressions, for various reasons.

To start with, there are several scenes that, despite portraying things that did happen in the novel, feel out of place in the show – because of the changes implemented to events before them. The most jarring example of this, I think, is Long Que’s death – when he asks Zhou Zishu to help him along and Zhou Zishu gives the sword to Wen Kexing instead.

(the rest under cut. this got a bit long!)

Now, in the novel, it is indeed Wen Kexing who sends Long Que off. But he does it entirely of his own volition, offering his assistance even before Zhou Zishu can reply to Long Que’s request; he is collected and respectful as he suggests his method, and quick to execute it once Long Que agrees. The important thing is: it’s fully Wen Kexing’s own choice to take on that responsibility.

In SHL, however, Wen Kexing is in a completely different state of mind during this scene. He is visibly shaken and overwhelmed, barely responding to Zhou Zishu throughout the sequence. When Long Que asks Zhou Zishu to cut the chains and end his life, Wen Kexing does not even try to participate in conversation – so to have Zhou Zishu suddenly tell him to do it… first of all, it feels odd for Zhou Zishu to relinquish responsibility given to him like that; but even odder for him to place it on Wen Kexing’s shoulders when the latter is clearly already distressed. And I can’t see any other explanation for that oddity other than trying to make the scene align with the way things went in the novel, but with the entirety of previous sequence changed, what is the point of suddenly trying to backpedal into source material there?

A less severe example is episode 31’s scene in the Ghost Valley, with Wen Kexing and the maid who, while combing his hair, accidentally pulls it. In the novel, the maid’s frightened reaction serves to reiterate Wen Kexing’s reputation in the Ghost Valley, as well as to highlight the contrast with how he was treated ‘outside’ by Zishu and others. But in the show, Wen Kexing is repeatedly shown to be softer on Xi Sang Gui’s girls than the rest of the ghosts, and there are even scenes where they personally entreaty him for protection – so the maid’s reaction doesn’t feel like it fits with the way things were presented before, even though the scene itself was pulled directly from the source material.

Another way a few scenes changed in adaptation – which might be an effect of the show format, but still – is that they were not giving ample breathing space.

Look, having events tightly packed, happening one after another or even at the same time, is good for creating tension and hooking the audience. But it can also leave the viewer with a kind of care fatigue – because they don’t get enough time to process and absorb emotional moments before some new thing comes up. Ironically, this lessens the impact of those scenes!

Two that particularly stood out to me on this front were Wen Kexing’s rain scene, and New Year’s celebration scene.

In the novel, the rain scene is focused, from beginning to the end, on Wen Kexing’s feelings. Given how important these events are to his character – this is when his motivation fully stabilizes, the point after which he is fully devoted to the relationship – it very much makes sense. The scene is played off Gu Xiang as someone Wen Kexing can be honest with, but it’s still centered on him.

In the show, however, there’s a secondary plotline going on at the time – Xi Sang Gui’s capture – and Gu Xiang finding Wen Kexing is not just her bringing him an umbrella. While Wen Kexing sits on the bridge, getting soaked by the rain, Gu Xiang pleads with him to save Xi Sang Gui – which he, caught up as he is in his own grief, completely ignores. This divides the audience’s emotional attention – you sympathize with Wen Kexing’s pain, but you also sympathize with Gu Xiang’s pleas… which breaks up the singular focus this scene had in the novel, diluting its impact. The novel scene hits so much harder – because there’s nothing else to snatch your attention away, you can only live through that moment with Wen Kexing.

The New Year’s scene is treated similarly by the show – the joyful, domestic sequence cuts off abruptly with Zhang Chengling discovering injured Han Ying on their doorstep. As if the characters aren’t allowed to have a good time without everything going wrong immediately! (This isn’t limited to the New Year’s scene, but became especially obvious during it because of how close the beginning of the sequence sticks to the novel.) Because of that, even scenes that should be enjoyable... instead feel like the sword of Damocles is hanging above characters’ heads, to fall any second with no warning. (Looking at you, episode 31.)

In the novel, however, the New Year’s chapter is self-contained, without any other events cutting in. Not only that, but the next chapter, while bringing up the plotting happening outside, also doesn’t immediately throw the main characters into action. In other words, when the characters get this reprieve, so do the readers.

Other than that, there are also a few instances of meaningful lines from the novel being repurposed casually, stripping away their significance.

“Closed friends of generations deceive each other. Newly met strangers entrust each other with their lives,” is dropped glibly by Wen Kexing in episode 8. In the novel, the same line – “Sworn ties between the great houses were no more than lies and treachery, and yet, strangers who met by chance could survive by leaning on each other” – is a conclusion to an emotional scene, Zhang Chengling learning about Zhao Jing’s treachery and Zhou Zishu comforting him. Moreover, it actually encapsulates the core of the relationship between the main found family!

Another example is the line “Others can say such stupid things, but you can't,” said by Zhou Zishu in episode 14 about destroying his martial arts to save his life. And the show immediately moves on afterwards, but the same line in the novel – “Others don’t understand, but do you not as well?” – is a midpoint of its own scene.

Of course, the thing about those lines is that perhaps they simply could not work in the show's context. After all, in the show, the main family aren't strangers who only came together by chance – their 'previous generation' were all part of the same group. And the scene which underlines WenZhou's easy understanding and Wen Kexing’s willingness to respect Zhou Zishu’s choices... would probably stand out too much, considering, uh, everything about the show’s finale.

————

+ addition 06/17/21

- TYK/SHL comparisons masterpost -

#tyk shl comparisons #tian ya ke meta #word of honor meta #tian ya ke #tyk #faraway wanderers #word of honor #woh #shan he ling #shl #i do wonder if my impressions of those show scenes as someone who read the novel first align with those of show-only or show-first crowd #id be interested to hear about it

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leahseclipse · 4 years ago

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Daily surprises

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: Everyday, Spencer finds a new book in his bag, as he begins to look forward to it when the event has been occurring for a while.

Requested by @writing-in-april

A/N: I really liked writing this request!!! it really was cute asF!! Thanks for proposing that April, the fic u wrote for me last time was amazing (as ALWAYS), so I hope that you’ll like this one.

And uhh sorry about the books parts, I don’t know any of the books- I literally googled the summaries-

Word count: 3.8k

Books have always been a passion of mine; I have always been fascinated by how words can make the reader feel, how each reader can have a different opinion about them, different feelings, every reader is different when it comes to the fact of the opinion they have about the work.

They had always been a sort of shelter to me. I usually had the habit (and still have it) to comfort myself in them, they’d be able to express feelings like no one could, allow me to learn about various things, subject, build an opinion on a subject I had never thought of having an opinion, debate or even mention before.

I had been collecting more and more of them through the years, to the point of having an apartment that could be mistaken as a sort of tiny library.

My books are literally everywhere, in my shelves, on my couch, on the low table, under and on chairs, even at my desk, and in my bag.

I always carry around one or two in my bag (of course, if they both don’t contain a lot of pages to the point of weighing a ton when combined together), in case I happen to have free time (which happened to become rare when I had begun working at the FBI), and have nothing else to do but read.

It also happened to be a passion I've been sharing with another person, more known as y/n.

She had first mentioned that she didn't happen to read a lot, but eventually appreciated reading, which I was more than happy to hear, considering all the books I knew and how much it meant to me.

Clearly, she didn't expect me to know a whole library in my brain when she happened to ask if I could recommend a few; but she always liked to hear me rambling about them.

She had eventually begun taking a liking to reading again; often asking me about books I've read, talking about her opinion on the book she had read, which would often be followed by an endless rambling from me, being much longer than what she had previously explained, or even expected when I had begun sharing my opinion as well.

It was nice to have someone else to talk about books with, without feeling I could possibly be disturbing them.

Most of my colleagues would either stay there until I'd be done, they knew how much I appreciated talking about these to them; even if the majority of the team wasn't much interested, they were just being polite and respectful by staying.

Now that I talk about it, I probably should have apologized for all of the times I had rambled for a large amount of time when talking about the four books I've read in a day.

They're pretty much the main subjects I talk the most about, if, of course, I exclude Star Trek, Doctor Who, and the many subjects I throw facts about all day long from the long list that includes all of the things I'm interested in;

...which would take quite a while to detail its entirety, since I probably would take the time to explain each of them as detailed as possible, without letting any word behind, as my brain would constantly send me as much information as it contains...which again, means, a lot.

But, even if my passion about them is often difficult to keep for myself without having the need to ramble an essay worth long about them, I try not to begin to talk about it, or mention it, except if someone else does.

That became rare…as I often end up talking more than intended each time.

Reading can sometimes lead me to fall asleep quite later than I planned before even taking the book itself.

Having the ability to read fast has often led to many nights with little sleep, considering how many books I can read in a short amount of time.

The aftermath of it isn't pleasant, as it results in more fatigue on top of the one I already have because of how late I'd stay up when working at the bureau.

The feeling I had this morning when I had woken up happened to be one of the side effects of a long and endless reading session I had done the previous night.

Little did I find out after thinking about it for a bit that I'd probably be regretting it at the end of the day, if not earlier.

Even if my body was telling me to stay in my bed considering how tired I was, work couldn't allow me to do it, unfortunately.

It only took a quarter of an hour in order for me to get ready, as I already had been crossing the door to leave my apartment without having the time to think about doing it.

The rest of the morning wasn't as busy as it usually would be; only paperwork for the previous days, nothing too complicated.

But because of the short night I had, the coffee trips have been quite numerous after a while.

A short conversation had occurred later in the day between y/n and me when she had gone to peek over my desk, curious to why I had been going in and out of consciousness; and leaving a lot to take refills.

I didn't mind her asking at all, on the contrary, I had been waiting for an opportunity to talk with her; but as I didn't want to disturb her, I just kept glancing discreetly at her from time to time, hoping something to talk about would awaken a future conversation.

After a while, I noticed that she had left the room, just as I had the thought of something situated in my bag.

I had soon taken it in search of what I've been looking for, as I suddenly happened to be quite surprised as I found a book that I didn't remember putting the night before, any other day, or even this morning before leaving my apartment for work at all.

‘The Collector, John Fowles’

It was a surprisingly good choice, and the person who had put it there either had good taste or personally knew my preferences; or even both.

Who knows.

Even I would be explaining it to myself, and not to anyone; I’d prefer not to engage myself in that; as it could last up to an hour considering the length, and all that is to explain in order to understand the moral, and the motives of whatever is in the character’s mind in the book; so...a lot.

“Withdrawn, uneducated and unloved, Frederick collects butterflies and takes photographs. He is obsessed with a beautiful stranger, the art student Miranda. When he wins the pools, he buys a remote Sussex house and calmly abducts Miranda, believing she will grow to love him in time. Alone and desperate, Miranda must struggle to overcome her own prejudices and contempt if she is to understand her captor, and so gain her freedom.”

The resume of the book had simply begun automatically playing itself before I could even lay my eyes on the back cover; as I had read this book more times than my two hands could ever count, and you know; because of the eidetic memory thing, even if I had read it only once, I would have remembered it anyway.

I remember reading it for the umpteenth time around last week, precisely on a saturday, at 11PM. As long as I can remember, I apparently had nothing else to do but read, and absolutely not any other book to pull out of the shelf, except that one.

Even if I had strictly- no idea -of who could have truly placed it there, except y/n-, I still had appreciated having this work as a possible distraction, or a way to pass the time if I eventually happened to have no idea of what I could do next, in case I didn’t have any work left to do.

As I raised my eyes to the desk in front of me, I happened to meet with y/n’s eyes just when she had happened to stare at me as well.

“What’s that book genius?”

“Oh, that? It’s the collector, from John Fowles. I like this one, but- is that you who put it there?”

“Yeah...why?”

“I uh- no particular reason! I just uh...wonder why it’s there…?”

“Well, read it, and you’ll see.” She said, as she stood to go god knows where.

“Read it? But I’ve already read-” I hurried out, but she had already gone out of the room, shooting me a smile before disappearing in the corner of the door. I stood there for a good minute, as I decided to open the book and read a bit of it as she previously told me to before leaving without even giving me an answer. She always liked to be mysterious, that’s kinda the reason I fell in love with her for.

It really took a while so I would get a number.

She had slid it in one of my file just when she had left the building to go home, I swore I didn’t even have any breath when I had attempted at catching her before she has gone to her car, and if I hadn’t decided to go, one minute later, she would have been on the road, and I doubt that calling people on the road would have been safe and clever for me to do it.

It might have been a bit “mean” to do that as some would say, but we always had the habit of doing that, way before we started dating. We’d always let the other try to guess what the other meant, what he wanted to say, it all was a game, a sequel to the story that would occur later, all of these discussions, secrets, have been a preparation, and kept for what happened right now.

It all was thanks to her, because if she wouldn’t have given it, I doubt that I would have gathered the courage too soon. Probably in 10 years or so, if not.

As I still was in my lecture, a bright blue paper with an inscription written in black ink had brought my attention, which led me to read it.

“I know you’re surprised, yes, it’s in a book, and yes I could have told it to you in person, but I find it better in a note, you can keep it and carry wherever you want. It's also better as a note, and, in a book, because you had always liked books, which became the passion that has made us grow closer. This book was the first one that started a conversation between us, I don’t remember the day, but you probably do. This note might be confusing, but I wanted to do that, because at least, you have a reason to finish the book, because you might have another surprise soon. -yours truly, y/n”

The note had even ended with a heart; she’d always write one at the end of her texts, even a small word sometimes, it probably was an habit of hers, I don’t really know, we never mentioned it once, as I didn’t mind at all, I really liked the attention.

Well, I pretty much like everything she does, whether she’s talking to me, talking to someone else, or doing whatever thing. I always like to see her around; I tend to get more relaxed when she’s with me; she always talks with me, and tries to know about what I do, even if I often noticed she probably didn’t understand a single word of whatever I rambled about.

Among all of the subject she was at ease with, books happened to be one of them, she’d always participate actively, as most of the subjects included in the books would often inspirate her, push her to talk more than she usually would with other subject, or even in general, I’d help her find her words, participate in the conversation by argumenting, agreeing with her opinion, sharing my opinion so that we could compare them and argument once more about the differences, I’d also initiate the conversation by switching to another book when we’d have nothing else to talk about the book, or if one of the details in the book would make me think of another one.

Our discussions would often last hours, we wouldn’t even realize the amount of hours we’ve spent talking until one of us would think to look at the time.

Even if I liked every single moment we’d spend together, if I had to choose one (a temporary, as I always change my mind on which moment I prefer as I again like every single one), It’d be our numerous discussions about books, I had and would never grow tired of it.

As much as I like to hear her talking, I often let myself get distracted by her, to the point of having to be “woken up” from my thoughts by her when I happened to not pay attention.

Because in these moments, all that matters is that I get to hear her voice, her smile as she passionately talks about what she likes, she way she always talks while moving her hands around, when she looks at me while I talk, when she touches my hand with the tip of her fingers to take the book situated in my hands.

She made me get more and more excited about the moments when I’d reach for a book in my bag, or somewhere in the drawer of my desk.

Especially when she had begun picking my interest by telling me she might propose another book the next day...or so?

I don’t think I’ve been more excited about reading a book again before now.

Who would have thought someone would have such an effect on me on a subject I admire before y/n arrived in my life? I’ve never been so passionate about something other than books before her.

My waiting (that had seemed like an eternity) had only lasted till the next day, not long after my arrival at the bureau.

I hadn’t expected it, but the book had happened to be situated close to my keyboard, which after thinking, was obvious, if I’d take account of the numerous trips we both had done throughout the morning due to various reasons concerning either paperwork or matters of previous cases.

I had taken a seat on the desk, quite empty for a while due to, again, the trips, as I had glanced at the surroundings, only to see a few members of the team, busy doing whatever task that was in front of them.

‘Great Expectations, Charles Dickens’

Again; fairly surprising, but quite a good surprise to discover, as I hadn’t seen it for a while before today.

The edition of the book present on my desk was one of the original versions of it, The cover had a black color, along with the title and the author written in large letters under the title of the book, both just on top of an illustration representing a woman holding a bouquet of various types of flowers, behind it, the outfit she wore was visible; a white embroidery, with a grey-ish and black necklace on top of it, which was situated around her neck. The illustration was displayed in the shape of a large square, almost taking the rest of the bottom of the cover, as a space was present after the closure of the white border around the illustration.

My eyes wandered around the cover, as I switched sides, ending up on the back of it.

“Considered by many to be Dickens’s finest novel, Great Expectations traces the growth of the book’s narrator, the orphan Philip Pirrip (Pip), from a boy of shallow dreams to a man with depth of character. From its famous dramatic opening on the bleak Kentish marshes, the story abounds, with some of Dickens’s most memorable characters; Among them are-”

I wasn’t able to finish the rest of the summary, as a familiar scent had caught my attention, two arms embraced my shoulders.

“You didn’t say hi today. I’m gonna begin to think you don’t love me anymore.” She had said, in an obvious playful tone that had taken some time for me to understand as it was, only a joke.

“Sorry, I’m married to someone, my work.” I had said, before the feel of her lips on my left cheek interrupted me; as, before she could go, I turned my face, stealing a kiss from her.

“Is that your apology?” She asked.

“If you see it that way, yeah.”

“Then I accept your apologies;”

“I’m glad, I couldn’t bear to see you in such a state that would make you sad, all because of me.” I talked in a dramatic tone, which seemed as if I was doing a play, but she had laughed at it, so, turns out that my ‘play’ had been worth it after all.

“Have you opened it yet?”

“No, I only read the summary. Why, is there something there again?”

“See by yourself.” She said, gesturing her hand in the direction of the book, as I opened it per request.

When my eyes fell on the first page, I had expected to see the page on which the title and the author are written in black, but instead of it, a picture that had apparently been printed in a matte paper was taped on the page.

The picture had contained a picture of me, reading a book while I was sitting on the floor, against the wall, of what seemed to be my apartment, the book I was holding seemed to be the same ones I was holding in my hands.

“When did you take that? I never saw you taking your phone when we were together.”

“That’s because you never pay attention to your surroundings when you read. A fire could happen in the apartment and you wouldn’t even notice it until you’d smell the smoke.”

“No, you’re lying, I do pay attention…sometimes.”

“See? You admitted it yourself. The tone of your voice when you reached the end of the sentence even said it for you.”

“Yeah but, did I...do something wrong or…?”

“No, nothing wrong. On the contrary, your focus was so strong that I was able to take the picture. So, that’s a good thing, do that more.”

“Now that you told me that, I’m gonna pay more attention, you might attempt to kill me behind my back.”

“Yeah, I might kill you if you keep saying that. I’ll kill you with a bad book, I’d be a shame to kill you with a good book, I might damage it.”

“You care more about a book instead of possibly committing a murder on the one and only love of your life?”

“My one and only love is tea, you know it.” She said, as I faked being offended. “Come on, I’m kidding. But, if you keep insinuating that, I’ll care more about the book. So, if you don’t want me to kill my one and only love, behave on your best.”

“Okay, behave on my best.” I said, tracing the outline of the picture with my index. “Even if the thought of seeing myself in that picture is kinda weird, I’ll keep it. Thanks for it, I’ll read it, well, if...I get to finish the work on my desk.” I said, as we both glanced at the paperwork on the desk.

“Yeah...I, uh. Yeah. I don’t want to...sadden you even more, but you should check your mails, there...might be more.” She said, as she tapped my shoulder before leaving, the smile on my face dropping as I came to the realization.

“I guess the reading session is getting postponed then.”

The week had really been full of a lot of surprises (if I don’t count the case we had, of course), she had pulled out books I haven’t read for years; books that I had wanted to read, but never got the time for; or even books I’ve never read, but she had surprisingly matched my taste well, as I ended up liking them more than I thought I would before even starting the book.

To my surprise, we had gotten to have rest for once after the busy week that cancelled all of our plans in a snap.

I haven’t even realized that it already was October 31st today, the work had completely gone over everything else that made up my thoughts, to the point that I haven’t thought of the book y/n had chosen today.

She’d always put it either on the top of my desk where I could see it, or in my bag, but after a minute or so of searching, I didn’t see it.

The only book that I could see was in my bag, a copy of ‘The Narrative of John Smith by Arthur Conan Doyle’, I had always left it there, it was one of my favorite books, I had never gotten anywhere without it.

‘Maybe she forgot about it today. It happens.’

We had a small party like we usually do (when a case doesn’t interrupt us, of course), and various small events had been organized.

As I had been looking around, my attention had been snatched away by a hand slightly tapping my right shoulder, as I turned around to see y/n.

“Missed me?”

“Yeah, I did.” I said, as I brought her closer, and brought my lips to hers, as we exchanged a brief kiss. “Where have you been?”

“I was with Penelope, just for a bit, because if you didn’t see it, she wasn’t around either.”

“Wasn’t she? Oh, apparently not.” I said, as I saw her coming in, walking in the direction of Emily who had called her.

“What were you thinking about?”

“You, and books.”

“Oh, talking about books, did you notice something?”

“Something? Uh, no. I haven’t seen one, except the book I always carry.”

“And what is it?”

“The Narrative of John Smith, why?”

“Well, you just noticed something. The book you just saw is the one you were looking for.”

“But, I had it yesterday, and all of the days before. I-I don’t get it.”

"In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s October 31st today; the date the book was published by the edition you own, it even was the first book I laid my eyes on when we met.” She pointed out.

“...you just reduced my IQ to 60 in a minute.”

“Oh, did I?”

“Yeah, I knew it was our anniversary, but never had I thought that this book was involved.”

“Now you did, and you better remember it, and never forget to carry it.”

“I would never.” I said, as I gently put my hand on her cheek, as she suddenly raised herself on the tip of her toes, kissing me before I even got the time to think of it.

“Happy anniversary Spence.”

“Happy anniversary y/n.”

#Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Spencer Reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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foodieforthoughts · 4 years ago

Text

Sand and Stars - Chapter Seven

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+, character death, angst, blood, gore, mentions of war, military technicalities (thread with caution)

A/N: This chapter was very difficult to write as I hadn’t written about losing a loved one before. But the entire experience of delving into the psyche of someone who is troubled by such loss was heart-breaking. I also took some inspiration from the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet. Also, I know I include army warfare a little bit, the references is only limited to what I know from media, I’m sorry for any inaccuracies.

As always, @thelastsock was the helpful beta with her wonderful ideas. I love you for being with me while I write this series.

*gif credit to owner

<Chapter Six

Title: Chapter Seven

Darkness. Pain. Screaming. Olivia groaned as she tried to move. Her head throbbed along her temple, the helmet feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds. She opened her eyes, wincing at the light and heat that assaulted her. The shrill ringing in her ears making it difficult to concentrate on the next step. Wet sand and soil caking her skin as she tried to rub her face into some semblance of painless clarity. Her leg. The pain getting more intense as her leg swam into focus. No obvious injuries, maybe a fracture.

She blinked her eyes slowly, taking in her surroundings and finally registering what had happened. A straining wail sounded from the wreckage of their chopper. Gary. She pushed herself on her hands wincing as pain shot up her shoulder. She glanced at her arm; a piece of metal was sticking out from it. With a trembling hand, she took a deep breath and pulled the metal shard out, tears brimming in her eyes as blood oozed out from the gash running in rivulets and soaking her sleeve. She applied pressure on her wound, pressing her eyes shut as she tried to breathe through her pain.

Another painful wail sounded from the side of wreckage, making her grab onto the broken blades of the chopper sticking out from the sand to steady herself. She dragged her feet on the soil, stumbling to reach where her Sergeant was.

When she rounded the body of the Little Bird, she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing. Odd angles and red. So much red. Schmidt pinned under the tail. Blood spurting out his mouth with every breath. His leg was being crushed by the metal wreck and his arm was twisted in an inhuman angle with crimson liquid matting his entire body. Olivia fell to her knees next to her friend, sobs leaving her lips and tears streaming down her soiled cheeks.

“Gary, hey, hold on.” She unclasped the belt of his helmet, pulling it off and throwing it away.

Schmidt took a shuddering breath when Olivia took his hands in his. “I-I don’t…”

“You won’t,” She interjected, understanding exactly what he wanted to say. She lied. She knew he was going to bleed out and she wouldn’t be able to help. She blinked away the welling tears and looked around trying to spot anyone in their vicinity. The faint sound of gunshots came from a distance. “Someone will come looking for us.” She tried to speak with confidence, but her voice was faltering as Schmidt’s grip loosened in her hand.

“My wife…my kids…” He stuttered, blood beginning to flow out of his nostrils. “Tell them…I will always…love them.”

“You tell them that yourself, Gary. You hear me?” She grabbed at his fatigues, fisting them in her blood covered hand. “You are not dying.” She could hear his breath coming out short as he gasped for air.

Gary elicited a mixture of laugh and a cry, tears streaming down the side of his face, making a trail on his dusty skin. “C’mon Red…we know…I’m short of time.”

Liv held onto his hand again desperately trying to will him away from the clutches of death. She watched with hazy eyes as her friend held onto the last thread of life, gasping in air and spitting out blood. Her mind pictured the time she had met his wife and his children; how his life partner had made Olivia promise she’d keep her husband safe. Her heart ached as she watched her best friend, her family, slipping from her hands.

The unmistakable rumble of a Humvee’s engine soared Olivia’s hope to save her friend. Over a rocky sand dune, the beige metal vehicle rode up and made its way towards them. She laughed at the realization that they were her men, coming to save them.

“Gary…” She began, only to look down and be met with the vacant eyes of her Sergeant staring blankly up into the sky. There were no more shaky breaths leaving from his unmoving lips, his body laid limply, and his hand slipped from hers. “No, no, no.” She stuttered her words, trying to shake him awake.

“Sergeant!” Her men's voices mixed into one another as they called out. She offered no resistance as they hauled her up by her shoulders and hustled her into the back of the Humvee.

Everything was a clouded haze after that. She had watched as Gary’s lifeless body was slid in the tight space between them. Sloan called out to her from beside her, but Liv’s voice seemed to have gotten trapped in her throat. Someone had closed Gary’s eyes for which Olivia was thankful. At least now she didn’t have to look into his eyes and be met with the disappointment in failing to save his life.

***

Sy paced in front of the gate, glancing at his watch and back to the road. He had been informed at the camp about the situation. His heart was racing, he hated not knowing. He expected the worst, always, but not knowing who was coming back in a body bag had him on edge.

As the whirring blades of the Medevac came into view, so did the vehicles making their way towards the gate. He stepped to the side as the metal barriers were opened, letting the cars enter the compound. Everyone rushed to the injured team; bruised and battered soldiers climbed out of the cars. Sy spotted Sierra who was clutching her bleeding shoulder, two other men drenched in blood being helped to the helicopter. When he saw Olivia stumble out of the back of the Humvee, his heart dropped.

Liv looked like she was walking in a daze. Her arm was covered in blood, soil and sand matted on her face and she limped when she walked. Sy gently placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention to him.

“Liv,” He said cautiously. When her eyes met his they looked lost, distant and far away.

“I’m okay.” Her brittle voice cut through Sy’s heart. She nudged his hand away from her shoulder and limped her way towards the building where the infirmary was housed, not even glancing behind as the Medevac team lifted off from the ground.

It took Sy hours before he could visit Liv alone. He couldn’t have abandoned his duties as a Captain while people under his wing had been injured and killed. But he kept a tab on her by asking Sloan about her whereabouts. Liv had gotten herself bandaged and had chosen to retire to their quarters. It was late in the evening when he was finally done with calls with his superiors and with briefing the team.

Sy stood outside the door to the ladies quarter unsure of what lay ahead. He knocked sharply on the wooden door. When he got no response he pushed the door open, hinges protesting the movement as he peered inside the dark room. He glanced at the two empty beds on the opposite side which possibly belonged to Sloan and Sierra. BJ had asked permission to let Sloan stay with him tonight and Sierra was at the base in Baghdad which left Liv alone in the room. He stepped inside tentatively and spotted her on the bed shoved right at the corner of the room.

Liv was hunched over with her wet hair falling over her shoulder, shielding her face from Sy. The sleeve of her t-shirt was rolled up with a white bandage covering her arm, a crimson patch in the middle of it. He closed the door behind him and slowly walked towards her. Droplets of water fell from the ends of her red locks, pooling on the floor next to her feet.

Sy debated whether he should sit next to her. He understood very well everything she was going through. He had lost buddies in combat; the first time was always the hardest. He wanted to comfort her and make her understand that this is the life they chose for themselves.

“It should have been me.” Her voice was barely audible, little over a whisper. Her hands covered her face with her elbows resting on her knees. “It should have been me, Sy.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” He brought his hand to place on her shoulder, but she flinched away. Sy felt dejected but he withdrew his hand away. “We all signed up for this. We know what there is to lose.”

“I should have been careful. I should have done something to save him.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“Liv,” he started, braving to put his hand on her shoulder yet again only for Olivia to abruptly stand up. Her eyes blazed red, puffy with the tears. Her lips quivered as she stared at him, clutching her arm as the bandage was painted with more blood seeping from the wound.

“Just say it, Sy, say it was my fault.”

Sy stood up as his hands balled into fists. He wanted to be Liv’s confidant, but she was pushing him away. “It wasn’t.” He replied sternly, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You stop berating yourself. You are a soldier, Liv.” He blamed it on tiredness for he did not mean to sound condescending. He quickly understood his mistake, his face softening as Olivia took a step away from him. “Liv,” he pleaded, extending his hand towards her.

“It should have been me! Gary’s death is on me!” She screamed with fresh tears running down her cheeks. “He has a family. He has…people waiting for him. And I…I-” her shoulder shook as ripples of sobs gripped her. She covered her face with her hands again, shielding herself away from Sy’s eyes.

This time Sy pulled her against his chest without hesitation. Liv tried prying herself away from him, but he held her strongly against his body. She gave in soon, burying her face in his chest and soaking his shirt with her tears. He ran his hand through her hair soothing her and shushing her.

“There’s no one waiting for me back home. No one to cry if I die.” She mumbled between her sobs, sniffling and gasping with the onslaught of grief. “Gary had a family, Sy. What will… what will I tell his wife?” She grasped at his t-shirt, desperately trying to cling to the last hope of sanity.

Sy held onto her like she was the most fragile being on this planet. He tightened his arms around her, wanting to shield her from the world and its sadness. He wanted to take away her pain. He would take it upon himself if he could. Sy rocked her lightly, whispering words of comfort as well as he could. He could not comprehend how bruised her soul was to think no one would cry for her if she died. A cold shiver ran down his spine even thinking about it.

After a long time Sy carefully turned her in his arms. She opened her puffy eyes, fluttering them slightly. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” He ushered her towards the bed and gently sat her down. She laid down on her side, curling up in a ball with her hands wound around her chest. He pulled the thin blanket over her, tucking the ends beneath the mattress. Sy caressed her cheeks with his hand, wiping away the tear stains on her cheek.

He didn’t want to leave her alone. She was vulnerable and had dropped all her guards down. She was too stubborn to ask for comfort, but he could sense she hankered for his solace. Sy understood under the strong-willed demeanor, Liv wanted to be defenseless. She peered at him with half-lidded eyes without uttering a word.

Kicking his boots off, Sy climbed on the bed to lie beside Liv. He gathered her in his arms, letting her shelter in the bend of his elbow. He pulled the blanket over their bodies, draping an arm over her torso. He entwined his fingers in Liv’s hair, running his fingers along her scalp. Liv dozed off not a moment later, holding him close to her like she was afraid to let him go.

Sy kept drifting in and out of sleep with every stir of Liv’s body. She whimpered in her sleep in the middle of the night with the onslaught of nightmares entering her mind. Sy whispered words of comfort in her ears, running his hand soothingly over her back. Sloan had returned at the early hours of dawn looking like she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep either. But when she had spotted Sy cradling Liv against his body, she had excused herself and left them alone again.

***

It hadn’t been easy for her to cope with the loss of her friend. Olivia had watched with tear filled eyes as they had loaded up Gary’s trunk to be sent to base. She had grazed her fingertips over his name tag sending a silent prayer to where he now rested. It was only when the Humvee had rolled out, Liv had caught sight of Sy watching her from his post.

That night she had felt like her entire being had shattered into a thousand pieces. She had lost loved ones before, but watching someone die in your arms, her best friend, had terrified her. She blamed herself for it.

If only I could have been alert. If I hadn’t failed to save him. If…

There were so many ‘ifs’ circling in her mind, she laid awake every night thinking what she could have done otherwise.

Sy had decided to give her some space. He had been quiet and allowed her to heal in her own time. She was grateful for that. She just wasn’t ready to break down in his arms again. She was afraid if she let him get too close to her and if she were to lose him too, she wouldn’t survive.

It had been fifteen whole days since she had last stepped out into the field. Her leg had been healing, her stitches still fresh, for which Sy had ordered her to stay at camp. She had waddled around the compound, finished paperwork for the men and worked out to release the mixture of anger and sadness bunching up inside her.

She had thought she would be able to handle it but glancing at the hilltop where she had held her dying friend, had brought everything back to her. Sy had looked at her, his eyes covered with his shades, with his mouth pressed into a thin line. He had accompanied them for their mission to receive the food truck, something he hadn’t done before. She had maintained her distance from him, choosing to stay with her own people. It had felt odd being on the ground when she was used to soaring high above everyone else in her chopper.

Back at the camp, her leg throbbed from walking on the uneven terrain. She winced as her hand grazed over the bandage on her sore calf, still hurting from the gash she had taken from the debris. Olivia took in a sharp breath as waves of nauseating pain crashed against her sleep deprived mind. She sat down on the steps of the building, gently massaging her throbbing muscle to ease the pain.

“You okay?” Sy sat beside her on the steps. Involuntarily she felt herself scooting away from him. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to gain from keeping him at arm’s length. He was being gentle, understanding, sympathetic, everything she needed right now. But something stopped her.

“Yeah. Just a little sore.” She refused to make eye-contact with him.

Sy seemed to have gotten the message as he scooted a little to the side. From the corner of her eyes Liv noticed Sy let out a sigh, rubbing his beard with his hand. It was weeks ago when she had felt his arms around her, locking her in his embrace, making her feel safer than anyone ever could.

“Are you sleeping alright?” He asked, adjusting his gun beside him.

“Yeah.”

“Are you telling the truth?” His voice was stern, and he turned slightly to look at her. She knew her words betrayed the reality, the bags under her eyes were evidence of her tired, sleepless nights. But even so, she nodded her head.

Another sigh left his lips. “Liv, I know you want to be strong, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m worried about you. I want to be there for you.” Sy reached his hand out and placed it over hers. Giving a gentle squeeze he pleaded, “Just let me in.”

Liv allowed herself to glance at him. His eyes were soft, worry marked with wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. He held sincerity in them, a hope that formed a crack in the wall Liv had built around her.

“Sy,” They were interrupted by his Lieutenant. “We need you in the office.”

Sy nodded at them, bringing his gaze back to Liv. He gently smiled at her, bringing his hand to her face. “I’m here for you.” He whispered before standing up and walking inside the building. She watched as he strutted towards his office, talking to his Lieutenant and discussing their matter at hand.

That night, Liv stayed awake in her bed. The chatter outside their room was dying out as midnight approached. Sloan was passed out on her bed; gently snoring while being wrapped in her blanket. Liv glanced at the empty bed that had belonged to Sierra. She had gotten severely injured in the attack. In the days Liv had stayed at the camp, she had a SAT call with her comrade about her corporal. Sierra had been sent home after the surgery she had to endure from the bullet wounds. Liv had been relieved to know she was at least alive.

When the lights cut out at midnight, shrouding the camp in darkness, Liv sat up in her bed. Sy’s words kept ringing in her ears. She didn’t want to push him away. She wanted a safe place. She wanted to feel something other than pain.

And so, she stood, outside his door in the dead of the night. She stared at his door, debating whether she should just return to her bed. She wasn’t even sure if Sy was in his room. With a timid knock, Liv stood with her arms hanging by her side. Her heart picked up a pace as she counted the seconds in her head until the door cracked open.

Sy had a scowl on his face when he opened the door, which eased as soon as he noted Liv standing outside his door. He watched her with a softened gaze as she took a step forward.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Her voice trembled as she spoke. She gulped, fearing he would drive her away.

But he did not push her away. He extended his arm open, tilting his head slightly and a gentle smile on his lips. “Of course.”

Liv buried her face in his chest wounding her arms around his frame. Sy closed the door, holding her firmly against his body, circling her with his arms. He rested his cheek against her head, letting silence fill in the space that didn’t require words.

Liv could feel it then. Her walls being broken brick by brick by Sy. She felt safe, warmth seeping into her heart as he held her close to him.

Chapter Eight>

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#Captain syverson #Captain Syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #captain syverson angst #tw:character death #tw: angst #henry cavill #Henry Cavill fics #henry cavill fanfic #sand and stars series

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spacedaddymando · 4 years ago

Text

All Heart and Beskar : Chapter 2

Synopsis - A bounty hunter turned bounty, you find yourself as the assistant to one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy, and his little green child with big ears.

A/N - This is long!! I’ve written and rewritten this chapter all week because there was just so much I wanted to do! I hope you enjoy it, and please leave feedback if you want!

Warnings - 18+, descriptions of violence and death.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

[7.7k words] Chapter 2 - Long Days, Dark Nights

dar’manda - Not Mandalorian (used in this context that the character is no longer Mandalorian). Udesii - Calm Down Hut’uunla - Cowardly

Mando had apparently gone to check your ship the morning after and couldn’t salvage anything from the burnt wreckage of your ship. That news had made you cry more. You think you must have spent the first week crying in the uncomfortable cot in the ship before you convinced Mando to buy a mattress when docked in Nevarro.

You’d been living with Mando and the kid for 4 months now. It had taken Mando a while to trust your partnership. A lone wolf for the majority of his career he was unsure of how it would work long term. Short term partnerships suited him better but there was something about watching you hunt the bounty that changed his mind. The two of you worked together seamlessly.

You also took a while to fall into the Mandalorians routine, but once in it you never wanted to leave. Mando ran a tighter schedule of bounty hunting than you had. Early mornings and late nights with little rest time took a while to get used to. In the beginning you were asleep as soon as your head hit the thin pillow in the cot, exhaustion wearing you out. Mando however never seemed to feel the fatigue. A few hours here and there were enough to recharge the Mandalorian.

You found yourself becoming more and more intrigued by the armored man with whom you now lived. You’d catch small glimpses of skin, a sliver of wrist here or a peak of his neck there, but never more than that. Mando was stoic and guarded. His armor just added to that. By contrast you were the opposite, talkative and loud. Where Mando covered up, you relished in not having too. Often walking around in the shirt he gave you on the first night and a pair of pants. Mando never made an indication that it bothered him, having you walk around half naked all the time, but you could never tell what he was thinking under that helmet.

After a couple of weeks you noticed that the ship's heating stayed on for longer, and a warmer blanket had been purchased. So you figured that he didn’t mind, and maybe even enjoyed seeing you dress like that. You both slept on the same bed but in shifts, often you’d go first, while Mando would fly you away from whichever planet you were on before coming down to eat with you in the hull.

Mando became more talkative as the days passed. His modulated voice became your favourite sound as he asked questions about your previous life as a solo bounty hunter over bowls of soup. Conversations were still brief but Mando would let you chat to him about anything and everything.

Mando had taught you how to fly the ship after one of your hunts went wrong and Mando had to fly you into hyperspace whilst you held a bunched T-shirt to his rib cage to stop the bleeding. You had argued that you would have figured it out eventually ‘as you did have a ship too once’. Mando had held off originally as it was the one part of his life you hadn’t gotten into. The quiet hours away from you in the cockpit, whilst you slept, allowed him to get lost in his thoughts.

Now the pair of you sat in the hull of the ship, the child asleep in the cot. Mando had been cleaning his blaster when you woke up, and you settled across from him to clean your knives. The silence between you was comforting, just the groans of the ship flying through hyperspace could be heard.

Mando watched you polish your knives, visor fixed intently on your hands. You worked the cloth into the flat part of the blade, buffing out any smears or stains until it shone in the dim light of the hull. Mando sat with his arms resting on his knees, back pressed against the ship's wall. He looked relaxed, or at least the most relaxed you’d ever seen him look.

“Where did you get them?” His voice broke the silence between you.

“My uncle made them.” You placed the knife in your hand back in its leather sheath. You turned the sheathed knife in your hand, carefully checking the leather for any damage.

“What are they made from? I’ve never seen you sharpen them.”

“Beskar.”

Mando moved towards you, reaching across the hull to grab the knife that you hadn't got round to cleaning yet. Your eyes flickered up to watch him. He picked it up carefully, turning it over in his gloved hands. He paused, contemplating, holding it in front of his visor. He tapped it against the vambrace on his left sleeve, a sharp singing note rang out. “So it is.”

You watched him, hand subconsciously tightening around the knife still in your possession.

“Where did you get the beskar from?”

“My Dad.”

“And where did he get it?” Mando’s voice was level, but you knew his body language well enough by now to know he wasn’t feeling what his voice portrayed. His shoulders were stiff, and the grip he had on the knife was tight.

You bit your lip, unsure of whether or not to give up this piece of information to Mando. Despite all this time, this felt too vulnerable to share.

Before you could reply Mando spoke up. “Did he steal it?” His voice was accusatory. You snapped your eyes to his visor.

“He didn’t steal it.” You swallowed. “He died. My uncle made me them out of something he owned. Something that would be useful to me.” You looked away, fiddling with the knife in your hand.

“That doesn’t answer where the beskar came from.” Mando leaned in, the soft light glinting off his helmet. He placed the knife down gently on the floor. “Tell me.” His voice was commanding, but softer than it had been.

“He..um.... was dar’manda.” You spoke softly. Mandalorians who had lost their way, their creed, weren’t favorably looked on by true Mandalorians. “He lost his clan. They shunned him, but he kept his helmet and….when he died my uncle melted the beskar down into these knives for me.”

“Why?”

“Why did he get shunned?” Mando nodded. “He showed his face… to my mother. Before they got married. She saved his life. He didn’t want to live without her, and he couldn’t bring himself to kill her…. So he left.” Mando scoffed.

“Hut’uunla.” Mando’s voice was low, his hands curled into fists. Your mandalorian was good enough to understand what he had called your father. Cowardly.

Anger wells up in your chest. “He was not a coward.” You spit at him. “He couldn’t kill my mother because she was pregnant.” Angry tears burn your eyes, you unsheathe the knife slowly. Anger burned in your chest, white hot and red. You toyed with the knife between your hands, contemplating your odds against Mando.

Mando watches you. He sat as still as a statue. He can feel the anger rolling off you, you had a wild look in your eye. You looked every bit the dangerous bounty hunter who he’d come to know.

He raised his hands, palms open and towards you. “Udesii...calm down...I apologise. That was cruel of me.” You were still angry but you knew better than to try to fight Mando. Even with two beskar knives.

“He wasn’t a coward, Mando. He risked his life over and over to protect us.” Your voice was quiet and thick with sadness. “He risked everything to save my mother.”

“I am sorry….” Mando trailed off as you interrupted him, holding a finger up to stop him from talking.

“No you’re not. You reacted how any Mandalorian would. It is not the way.” Your tone was sharper. Of course Mando would have reacted like that. No Mandalorian abandons his clan. No Mandalorian shows their face.

“Still he was your father.” Mando sat back against the wall, legs stretched in front of him. He crossed his arms across his chest. Silence washes over the ship again.

You start to vigorously clean the other knife, wiping the cloth up and down the blade in fast but rhythmic strokes. Usually this process would help calm you down, help to erase any stress but not this time. You could see a slither of your reflection in the blade, your eyes were glassy with angry tears and your cheeks looked flushed. You chewed on your bottom lip. You blinked back the tears in your eyes, refusing to cry anymore in front of Mando.

“How much Mando’a do you know?” His gruff voice broke the silence again.

“A small amount.” You forced yourself to meet the emotionless gaze of the visor. You wished you could see his face. “My dad only ever used it in small phrases.” Mando nodded.

“How did he die?”

“He was a rebel fighter. From Alderaan.” You took a deep breath. “He got killed in the clone wars.” Mando stayed silent for a moment, helmet slightly tilted to one side.

“And your mother?”

“Dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She was ill. Nothing could help her.” You smiled weakly. “She was a wonderful woman but I’m glad she is no longer suffering.”

“The rest of your family?”

“Dead. They were killed when Alderaan was destroyed. My mother and I had left to find a healer.” You huffed out a short, callous, laugh. “Some tragic backstory huh? What about you Mando?”

“Parents dead. I was saved by Mandalorians. I became a foundling and now I’m here.” His answer was abrupt and emotionless.

“We’re more alike than I thought.” You smiled sadly at Mando. The angry tension between you both faded. Mando’s shoulders visibly relaxed as you placed the other knife back in it's sheath. You waited a bit before asking him another question. “Have you ever taken your helmet off?”

“Never.” His reply was short, not cold, but short enough to signal he didn’t want to discuss further. He got up, armor chinking softly. “Get ready. We’ll be landing in an hour.”

You went to get up, legs buzzing from lack of use, and you staggered forward. Mando steadied you, his gloved hand was warm through the sleeves of your top. You blushed, a different kind of warmth spread through you. “Oh...thanks.” He nodded but didn’t release his grip on your arm.

The ship jolted, dropping out of hyperspace, catching you off guard. You fell into Mando’s chest. You braced your hands against his beskar chest plate. His hands moved to hold the tops of your arms. You looked up at him, craning your neck to meet his visor. Neither of you went to move, choosing to stand still watching each other. One with wide eyes, the other hidden behind a mask. Your heart was beating fast, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“I really am sorry about your father, and your mother. I shouldn’t have said those things.” Mando’s voice was soft and quiet. You two were so close you could just make out the baritone of his actual voice. You felt something tug deep inside you. Oh maker.

“It’s okay.” Your voice was a breathy whisper. Your cheeks felt hot under the unwavering stare of the visor. “I… uh…” you trailed off, unsure of where you wanted to take that sentence.

Mando cocked his head to one side. You were sure he was studying your face. Again you wished you could see past the helmet.

Mando moved one of his hands, slowly sliding it up your neck. You held your breath, not wanting to move an inch and break the spell. The warm leather of his glove stroked across your skin sending shivers down your spine. Mando let his hand tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, softly tugging. You let out a small gasp. Mando lowered his head slowly toward you.

The cool beskar of the helmet is what you registered first. It was icy compared to your flushed skin. You jumped slightly, before relaxing. A Keldabe kiss. You closed your eyes, and allowed yourself to lean into him. You let out a shaky breath. You lifted one of your hands from his chest and rested it gently against the side of his helmet. You opened your eyes and stared into the darkness of the visor. You wanted to see his eyes. You wanted to see him.

The touch was innocent enough. No more than a friendly Mandalorian greeting, but it was so much more than that for you. You never wanted to move. Mando’s thumb was stroking up and down the side of your neck, coaxing the muscles to relax.

Mando moved first. Lifting his head and moving his hand from the back of your neck to cup your cheek. He softly ran his thumb over your cheekbone. Oh Maker…. Whatever fondness you had for the Man who saved your life had just tipped over a metaphorical cliff edge into a full blown crush. And you hadn’t even seen his face.

Mando broke away first. Stepping away from you, dropping his arms to his sides. His helmet looking to the floor. “We need to land.”

“Do you want me to fly?” He shook his head, he was about to speak but you cut him off. “Let me fly. I’ll quickly get ready and then you can sort the kid out.”

Mando’s head tilted to watch you, considering your offer. A low came grumble from the helmet. “Fine. He needs to be fed.” With that he turned and disappeared up the ladder. You let your shoulders drop as he disappeared. You felt over exposed and emotional. With a long sigh you stripped off your clothes and stepped into the fresher. A quick, hot shower helped clear your head. Reluctantly you turned the water off, and walked back into the cool hull of the ship.

You bent down to your bag and pulled out your winter clothes. This next bounty was hiding out on Maldo Kreis. Thankfully Mando had made you buy winter clothes when you’d been on Coruscant for a different bounty. You got dressed into your underwear, chucking the towel in the direction of the ‘fresher.

You were sitting in your underwear in the cot tugging on some thick socks when Mando descended the ladder from the cockpit. He stopped when he saw how little you were wearing.

“Sorry!” Came the modulated voice.

“It's fine...er.. could you turn around please?” Mando turned away from you, and you jumped down out of the cot, turning to grab your thick, fur lined leggings.

“He should be in the tavern in town.”

“Okay, is he alone?” You pulled on an undershirt, tucking it into your leggings.

“No. I don’t think he will be.”

“Great. And he’ll definitely be in the tavern?”

“I hope so. I don’t want to trawl this stupid ice planet.” You laughed. Mando hated all extremes of temperatures.

“Neither.” You bent down to lace up your snow boots. You finished getting ready, strapping the knives to your thighs, and walked over to the ladder. Mando turned and watched you. You felt a small flash of warmth as his visor followed your movements across the hull. You smiled at him.

“Where’s the kid?”

“Asleep. I’ll lock him in the ship.” You nodded and climbed the ladder and opened the door to the cockpit.

The little green gremlin child of Mando’s was inches from pressing a button on the console when you stepped over the threshold into the cockpit.

“Don’t touch that! Come here trouble!” The kid froze in place, turning its big eyes around to you. You gathered him into your arms, just as tears started to form. “Oh no baby, it's okay. I’m not angry.” His little mouth quivered so you cuddled him closer, Mando would probably kill you if you made the kid cry.

Settling the kid back in his chair, you sat in the pilot seat. Maldo Kreis loomed in front of the cockpit window, a formidable icy planet. You tapped in the coordinates to the only big town on the planet, hoping that would be where your bounty is hiding.

As you sat in the chair, your mind was in a whirl. What had Mando meant by that? It was so soft and affectionate. You tucked your legs up on the chair.

The keldabe kiss was a sign of affection between couples. You frowned. You weren’t a couple. You wracked your brain for more information on the Mandalorian greeting but couldn’t come up with anything useful. The way Mando touched you left butterflies in your stomach, and a wetness between your thighs. The gentle caress of his leather clad fingers turned you on more than you were willing to admit.

Flicking a few more switches on the dashboard of the ship, you began the descent into the atmosphere. Frost began to appear on the edges of the windows as you descended. Maldo Kreis’ landscape was mountainous and rocky. Snow covered every inch of the planet and there were barely any trees or vegetation. Flying low to the ground you found a place to conceal the ship. Mando liked to land the ship away from towns if he could. It helped with protecting the kid. It was only a small ridge of rocks but it would hide the ship from the harsh winds that whipped around the planet. You lowered the Crest as gently as you could, the old ship groaning and creaking as the landing gear came out. Once down you powered down the engines but kept the heating system running. The kid would freeze otherwise.

The door to the cockpit opened with a soft hiss, and Mando walked in all decked out in his armor. The kid babbled at him incoherently as Mando scooped him out of his seat. You double checked the ship's security systems, before slipping out of the chair, following the Mandalorian down the ladder.

Mando was settling the kid in the cot when you jumped off the ladder, swaddling him in blankets. You watched him take care of the child, smiling softly at how gentle Mando was with him. “I’ve left the heating on.”

“Thank you.” Mando didn’t turn to look around at you, but his voice was affectionate. You blushed. You could hear the kid babbling away to Mando, and low mumbles of Mando talking back. You felt your heart squeeze watching them both.

Turning to the weapons cupboard, you slipped on your knife belt, and sheathed your knives into the holders. Mando soon appeared by your side, as you contemplated taking a blaster, staring into his extensive collections of weapons.

“Here. Take this one.” He reached in and passed you a small blaster. You took it carefully, double checking the safety, before tucking it into the waistband of your leggings.

You walked back to your bag on the floor, pulling out your warm fur lined coat. Tying your hair up in a ponytail, you shrugged the coat on, the soft fur tickling the back of your neck. “Are you ready?” You asked Mando, as you pulled on some gloves. He nodded.

The kid sat in the cot, covered in warm blankets. You smiled at him, both placing a soft kiss on the top of his head. “Be good, little one!” He smiled up at you, little hands making grabbing motions at you. You gave him your finger to hold, as Mando said goodbye. You chuckled at the image, two fearsome bounty hunters saying cute goodbyes to the big eared green creature who you both adored.

Mando clicked a button on his vambrace, and the cot door slid shut with a click. “Let’s go.” He walked towards the ramp, clicking another button to lower it. Freezing cold air rushed into the hull, so you pulled the hood of your jacket up over your head, fastening a button to keep it in place.

Mando strode off the ramp, with you scurrying behind him. He still didn’t quite realise that you had to walk two steps for every one of his. Stepping off the ship, you were blinded by the bright white light of the snow. You held your hand up to your face to shield your eyes. You could only see white snow for miles. The ramp creaked and groaned behind you as it closed, a lot louder than normal in the dead quiet of the snow. The wind was blowing into your face, the cold making your eyes sting and water.

“Town is ½ a mile that way.” You gestured to the right a bit. “I saw it as I landed.” Mando started to walk in that direction. You walked behind him, using his body to shield you from the wind. The untouched snow crunched beneath your feet. You smiled remembering a memory of snow fights with your dad as a kid.

Bending down quickly you gathered a handful of snow into one gloved hand, compacting it into a ball with the other. You glanced up. Mando was still walking ahead of you, unaware of your plans.

Splat!

The snowball hit the Mandalorian square in the back. You giggled as he turned to face you, the dark gaze of the visor studying you. “Did you… just throw a snowball at me?”

You froze. Oh no. Mando was so serious, you didn’t know if he’d even understand what a snowball fight is. You hang your head, and mumble a yes.

Because you’d hung your head, you didn’t see him lean down and grab a handful of snow, until it hit you square in the chest. The force of his throw, making you stumble.

“Ooof…. hey!” You laughed. You reached down and grabbed another handful, lobbing it back at his head. It hit his shoulder.

“Missed.” Came the low rumble of his voice, and it sounded like he was laughing. “Come on, lets keep going.” He turned and walked on. You jumped after him, jogging slightly to catch up.

“I didn’t know Mandalorians did snowball fights.”

“Good target practice.” You grinned at him, happy that he indulged your little game.

The town soon loomed into view. Mando paused, taking out the bounty puck. A faint red light was flashing, and the ever familiar beeping could be heard. “Hopefully he’s still here.”

“There’s nothing for miles.” You add, trying to remember the landscape around the town. “The east side of the town has a port, and then it's just mountain ridges and flat tundra for miles and miles.”

The town walls are dark and crumbling, no guards are at the outpost, so you both saunter into the main square. There’s not much in town, it's small and half abandoned after being favoured by smugglers. The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, and you could see fires flickering in the windows of some of the houses. The streets were covered in a grey/blown slush from people walking through to the only tavern in town. Mando checked the bounty puck, it was blinking softly. So he’s here somewhere.

Mando paused a little way down the street. “I need you to go in first. Scout the area, and let me know.” He handed you the earpiece comms link. You slipped it on. “Can you hear me?”

His voice sounded in your ear, deep and rich. You felt a flash of warmth pool in your stomach. Oh maker…. You nodded your head, trying to clear your head. You’ve used the comms link a lot, and each time you have the same reaction to his voice. “Good. Go on in, I’ll wait here.”

You slip inside the tavern, the stark contrast of temperature brings a small flush to your cheeks. You tip your hood back, just enough so you can see, but not enough to take it off and expose the comms. The bar of the tavern was softly lit by candles, and a big hearth fire blazed in the centre. Pots of chowder bubbled away as they hung over the fire, a Mythrol cook was standing close by, wearing an apron smeared with food.

You walked over to the bar, assessing the rest of the tavern. Groups of people sat huddled around tables. A pair of Dyplotid’s glanced in your direction as you came in but they went back to their cards. The barkeeper smiled as you walked in.

“Ah...hello. What can I get you?” His voice was gravelly, his skin old and weathered.

“Just a mintea. It’s cold.” He let out a chuckle.

“First time here?”

“Hmm, yes. Didn’t realise it’d be this cold.” You pulled out a bar stool and settled in, resting your arms on the table. The barkeeper placed a mug of mintea down in front of you. You wrap your hands around it, the heat permeating through the gloves.

“What brings you here?”

“I needed to rest. I’ve been flying for a while. I’m on my way back to Coruscant.” The lie slipped easily off your tongue. It was nice to be off the ship. Maldo Kreis was in the outer rim, and the journey to here had been long. Longer than you had anticipated. Especially as Mando’s ship doesn’t do anything above hyperdrive, which although fast is still slow in comparison to your old ship.

He nodded and then turned to chat to one of the other patrons who had come up to the bar. You took another glance around the room. You couldn’t see anyone who resembled the bounty.

The comms link crackled in your ear, and Mando’s soft voice filled your head. “Are you going to sit at the bar all day while I freeze out here?” You can hear the amusement in his voice. You glanced out to your right to the window, you could see him leaning against the wall outside. His pauldrons and helmet were covered in a light dusting of snow. You smirked.

You tap your chest twice, just above your heart. It was a signal you and Mando had come up with to signify that an area was safe without having to use words. Mando pushed himself off the wall and walked into the tavern.

More people looked up when he walked in. Larger than life, and in a full suit of armor, he commanded attention. He glanced over at you before walking to a booth at the back of the room. The bartender’s eyes followed him as he moved.

“A Mandalorian.” He said, not to anyone in particular. Then he glanced at you. “A friend of yours?” You shrugged, not wanting to give anything away. He laughed, a deep throaty laugh.

You smiled at him, relaxing a bit now Mando was inside. Mando would contact you if he needed you. “How long have you been here?” You took a sip of your mintea, the warmth of the hot liquid spreading in your body.

“All my life. Never left.” You raised your eyebrows, you couldn’t imagine a life stuck on one planet. “Haha, not everyone gets to travel the galaxy girl.”

“Some people need to hold down the fort at home.” He nodded at that.

“Exactly. Who will take care of all the lonely, single travelers if I don’t?” His voice was soft, and he looked you up and down. You met his eyes, they were dark and glittering under hooded eyelids.

You took another sip of your drink. When he spoke again, his voice was different. It was harsher than before. “So I’ll ask again, what really brings you out here?”

“I told you. A rest stop on my way back home.”

“Nothing to do with that Mandalorian over there?” He lifted his chin, gesturing to the back of the tavern, to the secluded corner Mando had placed himself in.

You shook your head instead of answering. He raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, I don’t believe you. He hasn’t stopped staring in this direction since he entered.”

You feel a blush creep into your cheeks, just as a knot of anxiety coils in your stomach. Something is wrong. You smile at the barkeeper. “Can’t blame him for staring.”

You place the mug back on the table, and move one of your hands down to your leg. You tapped your knee twice with your thumb. Another little signal to Mando. You then lift your hand and fish into your pockets for some credits. “Thanks for the drink.” You chuck them down and start to slide off the stool.

The barkeeper keeps his eyes on you. You notice the Dyplotids’ raising out of their chairs. Shit. Shit. Shit. You curse internally for letting yourself be fooled. You remain calm, tugging your hood up over your head, pretending to be getting ready to leave. You turn to flash a smile at the barkeeper. He watches you, eyes flickering to you and then the Dyplotid’s behind you.

“They’re following you.” Came the low voice of Mando in your ear again. You make no movement to acknowledge his voice as you walk out onto the street. “There’s an alley to your left. I’ll follow in a minute.”

You spot the alley. It’s darker than the Main Street but not enough to hide in. Dammit. You slip into it regardless, hearing footsteps crunching on the snow slush behind you. You keep walking. Where is Mando? The alley comes to an abrupt end with the outer wall of the town looming above you. You stop and turn.

You were met with the faces of the Dyplotids. Four eyes each stare down at you, dark and angry.

“Who are you?” One hisses.

“A nobody.” You reply, praying that Mando appears soon.

“Some nobody being friends with a Mandalorian.” The other speaks.

“What do you want?” You glare back at them. If you acted quickly you’d probably be able to take them. Your fingers twitch, brushing the hilt of your knives.

Before they could answer, two blaster shots rang out. The Dyplotids fell forward, two giant burning holes in their backs. You glance up to the top of the alley. Mando was standing there, lowering his blaster.

“Let’s go. He’s not here.” His voice came through the comms link. You walked over to him, while he waited for you. His visor fixed on you. He held out the puck. The light was off and it was silent.

“Thank you for saving me.” You looked up into the dark visor.

“You’re welcome.” You could hear the modulated voice, and the deep rumble of his real voice in your ears. You stared at him, transfixed at his voice. He let out a small snort. Arrogant dick was probably smirking under the mask. You shook your head, trying to shake yourself out of your delusions.

“What now?” You sidestepped him and started to walk down the street. Mando fell into step beside you.

“We need intel on where he could be. I am not traipsing the whole planet.” His voice was only coming through the comms link. Practically you knew it was to help maintain a low profile, but subconsciously you hoped he never stopped, you could listen to him all day.

“There is a port with landspeeders for hire?”

“Too expensive.”

“Well it's either that or walk.”

“He won't be far from the town. There’s nothing for miles.”

“That’s what you think. There might be something out there and we won't find it on foot.” Mando was often too stubborn. “I say we go to the port. Leave it to me.”

Mando gazed down at you, you folded your arms across your chest. You could be stubborn too, and you had a plan.

“Fine. But you pay.”

“Fine.” You looked around for a sign to the port.

“It's left.”

“I know.” You huffed.

The walk to the port was short. You didn’t see any other townsfolk, which was odd considering the altercation back at the tavern. Maybe people are scared?

A ferryman stood next to a couple of old landspeeders. You could hear Mando mumbling about a waste of money in your ear. You ignored him.

The ferryman looked up. “What can I do yous for?” He grunted.

“I’d like to hire a landspeeder.”

“Yeah. And where are you going with it?”

“I fail to see how that’s your business?” You questioned back.

“Hurrmph.” Came the grunted reply. “My ‘speeders, my business.”

“You can’t argue with that logic.” Mando’s voice rang in your ear. You wanted to elbow him, but thought better of it. You looked back at the ferryman, he was another Mythrol. His blue skin barely visible through his hood.

“I need to see Salvius.” Might as well go big or go home.

“What if he don��t wanna see you?”

“He’s expecting us.” You swallowed. You felt Mando stiffen beside you.

“Oh is he? What does he want from you?”

“Now that is none of your business.” You quip back dryly. You could feel that coil of anxiety growing in your stomach. What if he’s bluffing and just takes you into the middle of nowhere?

“It's gonna cost ya.”

“Name your price.” Mando huffed next to you.

“1000 credits.” You balk at the price.

“No. 550 and that’s it.” Panic tinged your voice. Shit.

“750. Or no landspeeder.”

You caught Mando’s hand moving to his blaster holstered on his hip. Please don’t do it.

“I suggest you take what the lady offers.” Came the soft hiss from the helmet. The Mythrol stared at the Mandalorian.

“Or what?” Mando didn’t give him the courtesy of an answer before he blew a hole in the centre of his chest with the blaster. You jumped with the loudness of the bang.

“FUCK MANDO!” You cried as the ferryman's’ body crumpled to a heap on the floor.

“I didn’t trust him.”

“No shit!” Your heart was pounding. Mando whipped round to glare at you.

“Your plan was stupid.” A small twinge of anger hit your chest.

“At least I had a plan.” You spat back.

Mando stared at you for another second before bending down to grab the landspeeder keys from the Mythrols’ belt. He jumped into the closest one, starting the engine. You clambered in after him. He placed the puck on the dashboard, using it as a sort of navigator.

Mando drives fast. Probably too fast. The cold air whooshed around the vehicle, chilling the exposed parts of your face. You hunker down in the seat. Mando’s helmet dipped towards you, before turning back to face the land ahead. His hands pushed a few buttons on the landspeeders dashboard and hot air was suddenly blowing into your face. The small gesture was sweet, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I forget you feel the cold more than me.” His voice was sympathetic.

“Thanks.” You were going to make a comment about how you don’t have a beskar'gam, or iron skin, to protect you but you left it.

The landspeeder sped over the flat snow, mountains rising up on your left. You were travelling further and further away from the ship. A small pang of guilt tugged your heart at the kid being all alone.

A red light caught your eye. The puck was flashing.. “Stop!” You grabbed Mando’s sleeve.

“What?” He slowed the landspeeder.

“The puck!” You scanned the area. A small glint of light caught your eye. “There up on the ridge.”

Mando turned to look. You knew he was scanning the area through his visor.

“Do you see anything?”

He grunted in acknowledgment. “There’s a group of people.” You strained to see what he was seeing, but your eyes couldn’t make out anything against the snow.

“Do you think they’ve seen us?”

“Definitely.” Mando started the landspeeder again. “They have the higher ground. We can’t get to them until nightfall.” You glanced up at the sky, the clouds were so thick you couldn’t make out the sun.

Mando zoomed over towards an outcrop of rocks and hid the speeder behind it. He kept the engine running. “We’ll have to wait here.”

“We’ll stick out like sore thumbs.” You gestured to your dark snow clothes, and his dark grey beskar.

“That's why we’re waiting. We’ll be more disguised in the snow at night.”

“What about heat sensing?”

“I have a plan.” You snorted. Great. You settled back into the seat, tucking your knees up. Might as well rest for a bit.

When you woke up your face was pressed against Mandos' right pauldron. You blinked in the dark. There was some sort of pressure on your leg, on the inside of your knee. You glance down, Mando’s leather clad hand resting there. It was so casual, the way it was draped over your knee, giving you better access to his arm to sleep on. Mando felt you stir.

“Are you awake?” He squeezed your knee, so softly that you weren’t even sure it happened.

You hummed a response, lifting your head from his shoulder. The landscape was dark around you, barely any light from the moons filtered through the clouds. Mando lifted his hand, making it easier for you to sit up. “They’re still up on the ridge.” You glanced up, you could make out a soft glow of orange. “They lit a fire.” Mando confirmed your thoughts.

“How many?”

“A few.”

You exhaled softly. “Think it's Salvius?”

Mando shrugged. “Potentially.”

“What’s the plan?”

The plan, as it turned out, was for you to roll in snow to reduce your heat flare. Mando apparently didn’t because ‘his armor doesn’t get warm, or show up on infrared.’ You didn’t quite believe him but felt like starting an argument about it was worthless. The second phase of the plan, after Mando shoved snow down the back of your top a little too zealously, was to sneak up to the ridge and scout out the people.

You were shivering as Mando led the way towards the ridge through the snow. You stuck close to his back, head down, following his fresh footprints in the snow.

As you walked you let your mind wander. Something has changed between the pair of you. Sure Mando has touched you before, he’s helped with injuries or fastening up jackets but the past few touches felt different. They felt softer, kinder, more personal than the other times he’s touched you. And the keldabe kiss? What does that mean?

You were so lost in thought you didn’t see Mando stop, and you collided into his back.

“Watch where you're going.” He mumbled.

You looked around. The landscape was dark and grey, the sky was also dark and grey, and the man you were following was dressed in dark grey colours. You could just about see your feet. Mando carried on walking. The terrain beneath your feet got steeper, and more icy. You must be nearing the top of the ridge. Mando held his arm out, you stopped. His visor was fixated on the campfire.

“Somethings wrong.” He murmured.

“What?”

“There’s more than I thought.”

You glanced across at the campfire. The hike up the ridge had gotten you pretty much level with the campfire, although you were about 200m to the right of it. You couldn’t make out individual shapes, just a dull orange glow.

“The fire is low.” Mando nodded next to you.

“They have lots of boxes. A land cruiser as well.” He glanced around, and then at the puck strapped to his chest. The red light was blinking. “This will be them.”

You looked around you, trying to make out surroundings. You and Mando were on a rocky ridge that jutted out from the main ridge line. A steep cliff fell away in front of you, the bottom of it cloaked in darkness. The campfire sat on another ledge. To get there you’d have to climb.

“Is it worth it?” You were only asking due to the landscape. Neither of you had an advantage here. If anything it was a foolish mission.

“Yes.” The response was abrupt.

A noise to your left, caused your heart to race. You froze as Mando whipped his head around. A voice sounded in your ear. “They’re behind us.” No shit.

“Have they seen us?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

Mando didn’t get a chance to respond before a blaster shot rang out, narrowly missing your head. Mando pulled you close to him. “Stay close.”

You pulled the blaster out of your waistband, quickly clicking the safety off. You couldn’t see anything. The clouds were thinning slightly but they were still covering the moon.

Another blaster shot rang out, you hid behind Mando. You felt one of his hands wrap around and rest on your hip, keeping you close. He lifted his blaster up and fired off into the dark.

You heard a few cries as he shot a few people. Mando staggered backwards as a shot hit his breastplate. He let out a low groan at the force. Blaster shots were ringing out all around you. You fired aimlessly into the dark, praying that you hit someone.

You glanced up at the sky again, a gap was appearing in the clouds, faint moonlight filtering through. You looked around Mando, 12 people stood blasters firing at the pair of you. You aimed and got two of them, they fell down with a thump. A blaster shot whistled past your head, and you ducked back behind Mando.

The clouds parted and the moonlight shone down onto the ground. You aimed your blaster again, hitting 3 more people in the chest.

You fired your blaster again, but before you could pull the trigger, searing pain ignited on your leg. You looked down. A shot had just skimmed your thigh leaving a burning hole in your leggings and melting the leather of your knife holder. Your flesh was burnt and blistered. The pain took your breath away, and you cried out. Gritting your teeth you fired back in the direction of the shot, before falling to the ground groaning. The moon disappeared again, plunging you back into darkness.

Mando ran over to you, shielding you with his body again as you quickly packed snow onto the wound, trying to numb the pain. The blaster shots were becoming less and less frequent, until they stopped altogether.

Mando spun round and dropped to his knees. “Are you okay?”

“My leg….” you groaned. You didn’t want to be a baby but, stars, it hurt. Mando’s hands fluttered carefully over the wound, unfastening your knife holder and peeling your burnt leggings away. You hissed in pain.

“Sorry. I have to get a better look.” You clenched your hands into a fist, digging your nails into the palm of your hand. Mando placed a hand on your knee, to stop you twitching whilst he got a better look. “It doesn’t look deep. We need to…”

Before Mando could finish his sentence another shot rang out, hitting him square in the back. He fell forward onto you with the force of the blow, crushing your leg under his armor. You cried out in pain. Mando pushed himself off, whipping around, blaster drawn and firing behind him.

Moonlight lit the ridge up, illuminating the bodies of the attackers. Blaster shots rang out, the noise echoing off the rocks. You turned over onto all fours, pain stabbing through you. Breathing deeply you stood up on shaky legs, grabbing your knife from the floor. This time the assailants pressed closer, moving towards you and Mando.

Once up you pulled out your other knife. Waves of pain throbbed through your leg. But before you could adjust your balance, a blaster came crashing down into the side of your shoulder, knocking you back to the floor. You rolled with the movement, before springing up as fast as you could. You hit out with one of your knives at your attack, managing to cut his shoulder. He hissed, and pulled out a dagger, lunging at you. You sidestepped his movement, and he fell slightly, off balanced. You took the opportunity to jump on top of him, knife sinking into the side of his neck. Easy. He tried to grab you as you both fell back into the snow, but his strength quickly faded. Ripping the knife out you turned, just as another man lurched towards you.

You rolled out of his way, narrowly avoiding his weapon. Jumping up again you stand ready to attack. He turns and jabs out at you with a knife. You dodge it, before diving in to stab at his exposed chest. Your knife glances off his rib cage, leaving a small cut through his clothes. A hand grabs your wrist as you pull back, pulling you to him. He twists one of your arms behind your back, the muscles in your shoulder screaming at the angle. You kick upwards with your boot, colliding your heel with his balls. He bends over, loosening his grip just enough for you to wriggle out. He tries to pull you back but you stab him in the arm, just enough for him to release his grip entirely. His eyes shine with anger as he glares at you, before running towards you, knife out. You duck to the side and swipe his legs out from under him. He falls into a heap, and you leap on top of him, yanking his head up. You slit his throat. You feel him shudder beneath you as he bleeds out. You stand up, leg shaking with pain.

Your victory is short lived. Turning around you’re met with three faces. They stalk towards you, and you scurry backwards. One goes in for a jab and you block and catch his chest with the edge of your knife, just as another dives at you. You step backwards.

You hadn’t realised how far you’d gotten to the edge of the cliff. As you step backwards you feel ice and rock crumbling away from beneath your feet. You glance back at the men inching towards you, and then towards Mando who was fighting off 4 men. You don’t see until it's too late. One man steps forward and shoves you. With nothing to catch your fall you slip. You cry out. You can hear Mando screaming your name.

You’re weightless as you fall through the air. You hit the ground with force, for a split second all you can feel is pain, and then everything is silent and dark.

#the mandalorian #mando x reader #mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din x reader

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haliyam · 4 years ago

Text

interim (v)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 4

Hi again! Forgive me for this chapter and the next few ones, guys. I offer you this art I commissioned and an itty bitty happy-for-a-millisecond Zeke/Reader oneshot in the meantime 😪 (Please notice this I am so happy with it)

As usual, Reader default name Lucy is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background and family name. But feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension!

Chapter 5

“Why are you helping me?”

You grit your teeth, peering over at Zeke as he lets go of your foot. He was helping you stretch, seeing as you’re too fatigued to do it yourself, not to mention you’re covered in a heated blanket and he’s put hot towels over and under your limbs.

He ignores you, like he’s been ignoring you since he entered your room with all of these items, asking instead whether you wanted help or not. Like he’s been ignoring you since you arrived as a guest at the Yeagers’.

You don’t really like Zeke, and you’re sure he doesn’t like you either. You’re six, after all, with all the confidence the world can offer a child in your position, and he’s twelve, with all the arrogance of a boy already training to become the Beast Titan when the war in the South is over.

That’s why his help is so strange. And without Mrs. Yeager forcing him into it, too? It’s suspect, and you’re not even sure you know that word yet.

“Why—”

“Shh,” Zeke hisses, looking very displeased about having to respond in any way while you glare at him. When your brows unfurrow and you continue to stare at him expectantly, he rolls his eyes. Still, he finally speaks again. “Why are you like this, anyway? Aren’t you Magath’s new star would-be candidate?”

You were, until the ideology tests began. You don’t know they’re called that, but you’ve been doing terribly at the written exams which ask why Eldians are the dirt between the toes of real humans. Your answers show a well-read knowledge of Marley-sanctioned history, but distinctly lack the Eldian shame that comes naturally to your classmates.

This is concerning to the program and to command in spite of your potential, so it’s up to your instructors to beat that shame into you by keeping you running for far longer than the others, leaving you out of meals, or shortening your breaks and then making you stay behind so you can do everyone else’s grunt work, especially after you dared to look Captain Magath in the eye the first time your class fell in to formation after the first round of exams. And every other time since, like an idiot.

“Not anymore,” you answer, struggling to keep his gaze. You don’t really want to talk about this with someone who now must only wait to inherit his Titan. It makes you feel small, and nobody in Marley should have that authority.

Zeke wrinkles his nose. “That’s not an answer. It just seemed like you were doing great… and now you’re a baby that has to be coddled?”

Your glare returns, shame be damned, but the pain that suddenly pulses through your body as surely as your indignation quickly drains it. Your pride and your strength are depleted for the day, and you need to save what remains for tomorrow, when you have to face the instructors again. And besides—Zeke has already seen how weak you are. What’s the point? Tybur pride will do nothing for you now.

You lower your gaze for once. “Are you going to tell the captain?”

Zeke stares at you. “No? Why does Magath hate you now, anyway?”

You know why. Because you’re still a Tybur, and you refuse to be nothing. Even if nobody knows it. Even if you feel like nothing right now.

Zeke sighs again—a concession of his own, though that is unknown to you. “Fine. Just... my grandparents will get worried if they hear you crying because you can’t sleep.”

“I wasn’t crying,” you lie. Your body hurts so much that you haven’t been able to stay asleep for very long. You just didn’t think he could hear you crying.

“Sure,” he scoffs. He’s lied, too. It’s difficult to hear much noise inside your rooms from the hall—but you did pass him on the way to the bathroom with those puffy eyes just a little while ago. “Just make sure they don’t see you as pathetic as you look now—they already have enough to worry about. If you have to be pathetic… only do it in front of me. Understand?”

You still want to glare at him, but somehow, his words are almost as much comfort to you as the towels he’s heated for you. You don’t know the last time you let your guard down since the Warrior program began for your class, and you’re so tired. His words, however cold, warm you in your newfound frailty.

“Okay,” you murmur in defeat, relaxing in earnest. Your eyes are slowly starting to close.

“Hey!” he snaps within a whisper, quickly reaching for your shoulder and shaking it. You’re too sleepy to notice his reluctant concern. “Don’t fall asleep wrapped up in all this. It’s just a few more minutes, and then you have to go to the bathroom and put this ointment on your muscles like I told you. Remember?”

You do your best to widen your eyes and shake your head awake. The effort ends with you groaning in pain, but you eventually manage a nod. “I’ll stay awake,” you promise. When he sighs again and pulls the seat out from next to your desk to sit at your bedside, you murmur something else.

He frowns at you. “What was that?”

“I’ll stay awake,” you repeat, “but will you tell me a story?”

Are you surprised that Willy is coming to visit? Yes and no. Over the years, Willy has perfected the art of making his presence in your life known while somehow remaining completely absent. The nature of the new Lord Tybur’s existence in your world became immutable the summer after that fateful one, after you came crying to him and to Lara when you could no longer bear the loneliness of ignoring your friends’ letters for an entire year. Willy’s response, as with everything regarding Mila, was to turn away and change the subject. It was Lara who couldn’t resist your tears and confessed it all to you—what father told Willy hours before he became Lord Tybur, and then all she learned when she devoured him.

The new Lord Tybur was furious. It was only the second time in your life you had ever heard your brother so angry—but he never stays that way with you or with Lara for very long, and wouldn’t you have discovered the truth after thirteen years anyway? In true Willy fashion, he only smiled days later and expected you never to mention it again. The fact that you have, many times hence, is part of why your relationship is so frayed. That and his tendency to appear, shower you with affection, and then shrink at the first sign of trouble. After all, how can anyone expect you to love a man who can’t bring himself to stand up for you?

Your resignation to this is mostly what keeps you from worrying too much the next morning, when Zeke leaves for HQ and you elect to join the Yeagers for market day. Part of it is guilt—apparently you and Zeke now consume much more than you did as candidates, and you want to make sure that you’re paying your share—and part of it is that you still feel ashamed for letting Zeke see you act the way you did last night. You still have to take care not to groan outwardly when you remember how you shrugged him off when he tried to be a friend, or how much you practically wailed into his chest. Never mind how you hid behind him from Mila when he let you, like the coward you are.

“You’re so pathetic, Lucy,” you mutter to yourself.

Standing not far from you by a vegetable vendor, Dr. Yeager glances over his shoulder. “Hmm? What’s that, Lucy?”

“Er—nothing, Dr. Yeager. I was just thinking to myself,” you smile sheepishly. Drawing closer to avoid getting jostled by the crowd, you search over his selection. “Oh! That’s… a lot of potatoes. You don’t need to avoid other items on my account. I’m happy to pay for my share.”

Dr. Yeager chuckles. “No, no. You know how much Zeke likes them. And don’t worry, Lucy, I can carry them.”

“No,” you say slowly, exchanging a look with the vendor when Dr. Yeager gives his smaller basket a faithful pat. You reach for it instead, tugging a little when he stubbornly refuses. “I’m taking these. You can carry some of the fish, but I’ll be taking most of the baskets. Hand them over and I’ll bring these to Mrs. Yeager.”

Dr. Yeager sighs. “Very well, Lucy. But only because I know how much you like carp from our friend down the road.”

You grin, and he lets you take his basket so you can fill your much larger one with (apparently) Zeke’s potatoes. As you part ways so he can go and buy you fish, you set out to find Mrs. Yeager. She should be waiting outside a little cafe not far from the market—Dr. Yeager likes doing most of the groceries nowadays, and Mrs. Yeager’s one very important task is to buy the household’s favorite seasonal dessert: grapes. Unfortunately, the best grapes in the zone market are sold by an old man who has a bit of a crush on her, and he doesn’t like seeing Dr. Yeager if he can help it. Or Zeke. Or you.

That should be her only task, which is why you’re surprised when you find her with a man and a basket full of cured meats when you arrive.

The truth is you almost miss her, if not for the sweet sound of her amused chuckle right as you decide to head inside to find her. Walking around the man blocking her from view, you approach. “Mrs. Yeager?”

“Lucy!” she waves.

Her raised brows tell you she wants you to meet someone; evidently, the man carrying most of her baskets along his arms, wearing an apron over a button-down and slacks with his sleeves rolled up. You turn toward each other at your name, and after a blink or two between the two of you, you realize that the man’s shock is more familiar than you first realized—probably because it’s your second time bumping into each other this weekend.

“Lucy?” he gawps at you.

You give him the same look. “Kellan? What are you…?”

He follows your gaze to Mrs. Yeager, and the way it dawns on his face is enough for you to trust that this is another funny coincidence. “Oh—” He gestures to her, “I was just helping, er…”

“Mrs. Yeager,” you help him.

“Right, Mrs... You’re Mrs. Yeager?” he asks, glancing at her. It’s clear he’s seen her unmistakable red armband, but it’s not polite to ask which child earned you Honorary Marleyan status.

Mrs. Yeager is accustomed to his curiosity, which he soon realizes along with his manners with an embarrassed flush that makes you smile. Luckily, she takes over for him with a pat on his arm. “Kellan here was helping me with the meats I bought from his family’s shop. He was just telling me that he’s studying to be a doctor, and I thought, what a coincidence—but it seems you two already know each other! Isn’t he handsome, Lucy?”

Such a pointed question. You and Kellan meet each other’s gazes with mutual embarrassment.

“You really don’t have to answer that,” Kellan laughs nervously, which helps you snap out of your stupor and look at him. You suppose he is handsome, even with his dark hair mired in sweat and slicked back today. He’s tall, taller than Zeke and maybe even Reiner, with a strong nose and gentle eyes that watch you hopefully in spite of his words.

The Warrior program and boarding school means no one has ever looked at you like that before, and the novelty has excitement blooming in your chest. Maybe a slight pink on your cheeks, too, which you try to hide with a smile.

“I think so,” you say, his gaze and then his shock making you feel a new kind of brave. “And I have bumped into him a few times. ...Sorry again about yesterday.”

“That’s all right. Bumping into you isn’t so bad,” he says almost smoothly, very nearly matching your courage until he remembers Mrs. Yeager and, as such, his embarrassment. “...You know, because Mrs. Yeager bought so much. I’ve never seen my aunt so thrilled.”

You’ve never been this thrilled either—attractive boys were a constant topic for your peers at boarding school, but then you’ve never had the chance to meet one. You still haven’t. Kellan is an attractive man, a few years your senior and hardly a boy. And you aren’t a liar. He’s very pleasing to look at, especially when his eyes search yours so intently.

“Of course,” you say, trying not to look nervous when you take a step closer and reach for the baskets he’s holding. “Well, thank you for helping Mrs. Yeager. But I can take those.”

Kellan withdraws the arm holding her basket, giving you a once-over. “What do you mean?”

“Lucy is our guest at home,” says Mrs. Yeager, who looks far too pleased with herself. “Even if she refuses to let us carry our own things.”

“Please,” you feign a sigh. “I haven’t kept up with some training for nothing.”

Kellan looks confused as he glances between the two of you, but he’s determined when you meet his gaze again. “Lucy,” he begins, “remember that bookstore I mentioned yesterday? I was thinking—did you want to drop by after this so I can show you which books you can start with?”

“Really?” you ask. Perhaps you were hoping to see him again, make a friend or two at campus, but you didn’t think your encounters could actually move past hello and goodbye. But Mrs. Yeager was right. He is handsome, dark-eyed and tall, and the idea of more of those shy smiles is a flattering one. “Well… I’d like that. But I wanted to bring these home first. And aren’t you helping at your aunt’s stall?”

“I can take a break,” he says easily, smile growing just a little more confident. “And I can help you bring these home! You shouldn’t be carrying all these yourself. Er… If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Yeager. And I’d just have to change quickly. Been out here since early this morning.”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Yeager answers for you, giving you an openly suggestive look. You pretend not to see it, but stifle a smile yourself.

Politely averting his eyes to spare you the embarrassment, Kellan reaches for the basket on your right arm, and for a moment you understand the Dr. Yeager of a little while ago. But you’ve never experienced anyone’s chivalry before, excepting Bertholdt (and he was an angel to just about everybody and he was twelve). You can suffer Kellan’s for now.

“Thank you,” you say reluctantly. “But only that one. I have my pride to consider, you know.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, readjusting the baskets along his arms. When he shifts them all to just one arm so he can wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his damp hair glistening slightly, you imagine the tales you’ve read of countryside romances at the school library and remember to swoon a little. When he catches you looking and glancing away, Kellan smiles.

“Where to, ladies?”

You find Dr. Yeager with your carp, and he is just as pleased as his wife to have another helper no matter how much he claims he can take another basket of his own. Your fears of Kellan’s talk of med school bringing out unhappy memories in Zeke’s grandfather come to nothing when Dr. Yeager expresses interest in the university system nowadays, and you’re happy to listen to the men converse about Kellan’s plans for specialization on the way home.

“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Yeager says when you arrive, hurrying to unlock the door, and the three of you file into the house while she keeps it open. To everyone’s surprise, the door to the kitchen is already ajar: Zeke and Porco are sitting at the table, poring over folders together in silence. It seems they didn’t hear you come in.

“Good morning, you two,” Dr. Yeager’s surprised remark shatters their deep focus, and both of them spring out of their seats. They immediately turn the folders over and stack them next to a small paper bag.

It’s Zeke who relaxes first. “Grandpa,” he greets, casually nodding at each of you until he spots Kellan coming in from behind you. He doesn’t notice himself straightening up to his full height.

Before he can ask, Mrs. Yeager beams at the sight of Zeke’s guest. “Porco! What a nice surprise. You rarely come to visit.”

Porco’s suspicious brow slackens into a smile for her. It’s almost sheepish, and if that’s the case, is it really Porco? “Sorry, Mrs. Yeager.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Things have been really busy.”

“What are you two doing here?” you ask, rubbing your arms as you set the baskets down by the counter. You join them standing by the table at Dr. Yeager’s urging. “I thought you worked Sundays.”

It is Porco, because he snorts, only a little more politely since the Yeagers are around. “We were supposed to, until our Warchief realized he left work at home.”

Zeke shrugs helplessly. “It slipped my mind. I hardly ever bring home work.”

Porco remembers that you were the one in a hurry to leave HQ two days ago, prompting Zeke to forgo leaving the files in his office when Boy Wonder decided he would accompany you home, which is seriously stupid because you don’t really need any more babysitting. But then the two of you did pass by the family bakery and Mr. Finger—so he decides to stay quiet for now.

On that matter, anyway. He gestures to Kellan, who is quietly helping Mrs. Yeager unload the baskets. “Who’s the guy?”

You shoot him a reproachful, wide-eyed look. “Porco—!”

“This is Kellan. He’s studying to be a doctor, a few years ahead of Lucy,” Mrs. Yeager interrupts. She hardly knows him and she’s already proud of him, it seems, pushing him next to you by the table. He apologizes when the surprising force of her shove has him bumping into you.

“Right.” You steady him with a hand on his upper arm and are unsurprised to find muscle there. “Uh, Kellan helped us bring the groceries home. We’re heading out in a bit so he can show me some textbooks I can study ahead of time, regardless of which professors I get.”

“Textbooks?” Porco repeats with a chuckle. “Since when do you study, Blanchard?”

“Since a while ago, Galliard,” you say pleasantly, even with your teeth gritted, wondering if it’s possible to burn alive with embarrassment while hoping Porco catches alight himself. When the new Jaw only continues to look amused, you sigh. “Kellan, this is Porco, and that’s Zeke.”

You could announce their last names, but everyone in the zone knows who the Warriors are, and Kellan already seems uncomfortable. You hope it’s not because of Porco’s remark and consider throttling the man.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kellan says anyway, politely offering his hand.

You hold back when Porco shakes it. It goes on for a little longer than you expect and their knuckles are paler by the end of it, but you suppose that’s better than nothing, which is exactly what Zeke gives when Kellan extends a hand to him next.

“The pleasure is ours,” Zeke says in lieu of doing anything else. He’s smiling, one hand in the pocket of his uniform while the other holds half the stack of folders. “Kellan, right? You’re pretty persistent, huh?”

Kellan presses his lips together as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Zeke stares at him a little longer before he chuckles. “Nah.”

You’re not surprised. Zeke always takes his time warming to people, if he ever does. When he meets your gaze, his amusement softens into something a little more natural.

You smile back, unsure why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden when Mrs. Yeager comes up from behind you. “All right, Kellan, thank you for accompanying us home. Now, off you two go.”

You survey the kitchen counters with a grimace. The groceries still need sorting. “But Mrs. Yeager—” you and Kellan start in unison, and then exchange glances. His light laughter is a little more than charming.

“Ugh,” Porco mutters, echoing more than just his own sentiments.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Yeager says before you can notice. She rounds the four of you to pat the shoulders of Zeke and Porco. “I’ve found two new helpers in your stead. You can spare a few minutes, can’t you, dears?”

Kellan looks to Dr. Yeager. “But—”

“We can handle it,” Zeke cuts him off, but he’s decidedly ignored the man, waving at you instead. “Do what you need to, Lucy.”

“Thanks,” you beam at him, feeling oddly silly. Like a child playing adult as Kellan opens the door for you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, kids,” Porco calls out. He chuckles when you glance over your shoulder to shoot him a deadpan look, only to find Zeke giving him the exact same one once the front door clicks shut.

“What?”

“I’m sorry about that,” you say as soon as you leave the Yeager household and head down the steps toward the street. You glance back at Kellan, waiting for him to follow. “Zeke and Porco are nice when you get to know them. And vice-versa.”

Kellan nods, looking at you. “You seem close.”

“Yeah,” is all you can say. When you don’t say more, he doesn’t pry.

He asks to drop by the market again so he can pick up his things and an extra shirt, and you walk in relative silence until you reach it.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, open palms pressing at the air as if you’ll disappear the moment he leaves. It’s cute from someone so much taller than you.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he does too before diving back into the crowd.

You adjust your armband as you back into a nearby building and watch the coming and going of Eldians through the tightly-packed throng. Long ago, during your first foray into one of the zone’s open air markets, you were disgusted and confused. Only your growing regard for the Yeagers and the thought of Zeke’s sarcastic surprise at the little you knew of the world had kept your mouth shut.

Over the years you came to accept it as part of this temporary home, and market day a time when Eldians could happily interact with familiar faces and keep one another apprised of their trials amid life in the zone. The strong stench of the place became a reminder of this affection you could only find within a community, one completely nonexistent in the grand, empty gardens of the Tybur estate.

The first summer after you left showed you that to Eldians outside of Marley, the Liberio internment zone—a place you still consider a prison for people you care about, where stepping outside its gates to look for a pharmacy when those in the zone have nothing more to offer can end in a beating—is paradise. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, but it’s your world. The world that the Tyburs have allowed to flourish.

Alone with your thoughts, you find yourself nervous. Why is Willy coming here? Only Mila was ever permitted to come and visit you—but that was when father was still alive.

Perhaps if Willy sees Liberio, the place that raised you...

You find yourself hopeful. Maybe it was father all along. Maybe Willy isn’t a coward after all.

“Sorry about the wait. Lucy?”

Kellan stands before you, hair no longer damp but brushed down a little more properly. The apron has disappeared in favor of a new button-down, the strap of his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

His sleeves are still rolled up. You like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile, readjusting the purse at your side. “Ready to go?”

Kellan nods, and is much more talkative now that he feels more presentable around you. He apologizes for his silence earlier—his own scent was bothering him, and he was embarrassed—and he starts to tell you about university as soon as you ask.

The bookstore he mentioned is a little far from the Yeagers’, but it is useful. Many are secondhand, but the store is vigilant about keeping only those published in the last five years. It regularly gets donations, perhaps from sympathetic Marleyans, though how they would know about it you can only wonder.

Kellan advises you as to the best books when it comes to basic medical subjects, which are what you’ll be taking up in your first year. In spite of Porco’s little joke, you’re eager to get started working toward that degree. General List’s words may hang over your head, but now that Willy is coming to Liberio, you have time to wait to tell him instead of putting off writing Lara about it.

“Wow,” Kellan remarks, once you’ve bought everything. “You really are serious about this.”

You glance up at him with a frown you can’t help. “You thought I wasn’t?”

“It’s not that,” he says at once, holding the door open for you as you leave the shop. He offers to take the books off your hands, but you hold the pile to your chest, waiting for his reply. “No, it’s more—I thought I was the only one who did this kind of thing. Study ahead of the year if I can.”

You relax somewhat at his words. “You do this too?”

Kellan nods, and when he reaches again, you let him take half your books. “My friends made fun of me, but I mean to become a physician. There aren’t enough Eldian doctors to attend everyone in the zone, and… I want to help.”

“I see,” you murmur. Suddenly, Kellan seems a lot more charming than he is already. “I bet you’re at the top of your class or something.”

Kellan only smiles, and you blink at him.

“Are you?”

He looks embarrassed about it the way you know most men in your life wouldn’t be. “One of my professors said if I wasn’t Eldian, I might have been offered a scholarship.”

“That’s amazing,” you say, a mix of admiration and pity swirling in your stomach. You wish you could help him. Do more for a man like this.

“Yeah, well…” Kellan shrugs, but he easily replaces his bitterness with a smile when he looks at you again. “You have a good study ethic yourself. You’ll do great.”

You can’t help but laugh at that one. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like passing the state exams was a fluke.”

“You wouldn’t be here if it were.” It’s his turn to frown. “None of us Eldians would.”

You wish that were true. Of course, you took the exams as Lucy Blanchard, and for all intents and purposes Willy had nothing to do with your results. You studied ridiculously hard to earn your grades and the state exam score—it’s just difficult not to wonder when Lord Tybur has always known what you were up to.

“Look.” He stops, moving to stand in front of you. “I know we just met, but—I don’t like hearing you say that about yourself. Okay?”

You can only smile. You haven’t known Kellan for half a day, but you don’t feel like challenging him the way you would the others if they said that to you. It feels like he deserves more than that. “Let’s just say I was always the more sports-oriented type. But thank you.”

Kellan looks at you as though he thinks you might say something self-deprecating again and he’s ready to gainsay it. When you don’t, he nods with approval and looks ahead. “Uh, so I was thinking…”

“What is it?”

“My friends study with me nowadays on university grounds. We’re allowed to, and the university library does have some books the store might not. The cafeteria has great food we don’t have in the zone, too.”

He glances over at you, and when you continue to wait for his point, he asks, “Do you want to study with us, maybe tomorrow afternoon? We have lectures to attend this summer, but I can maybe… pick you up afterward? The permit office will let you if you show them that you’ve confirmed your slot. If you want to,” he adds.

His offer is surprising and exciting and daunting in equal measure, because of course someone wanting to spend more time with you is nice, even if you’re ambivalent about meeting new people. Of course, the new people you met at boarding school knew you as Lucy Blanchard, the daughter of some Eldian servant for the Tyburs, and they were Marleyan to boot. Kellan’s friends are Liberio Eldians too. Maybe they’ll be just like him.

“I do want to.”

His uncertain expression immediately lights up. “Great,” he beams. “Will you be at the Yeagers’ tomorrow?”

“Uh… yeah,” you answer, after some thought. You’ll be at HQ most likely, but you can always leave ahead of Zeke. “Just tell me what time you’ll arrive and I’ll have my permit ready by then.”

“Okay,” he says, pleased. “That works.”

You exchange smiles, and he walks you back to the Yeagers with a more relaxed silence than when you left. He hands you your books once you’ve unlocked the door to the house.

“I really have to get back to my uncle’s, but…” He scratches the back of his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, right? Maybe… four?”

“Yeah,” you grin. When he waves, disappearing down the street, you hurry back inside toward the dining room. But it’s empty, with everything sorted in the kitchen. The Yeagers have left a note on the dining table about going out on a Sunday date, apparently presuming you would be out all day, but there’s another note from Zeke on the folded paper bag he and Porco brought home earlier.

Crybabies only, it says. You thought it was part of Warrior work, but you open it and find a few jars of your old favorite fruit jam.

“Tch,” you chuckle, fishing out the jars and storing them, but you take Zeke’s note and bring it upstairs with your books.

You get started on a simple lunch soon after. You want to re-wrap your new books in time for tomorrow afternoon, and make a note to replace Mrs. Yeager’s roll of plastic entirely since you neglected to buy your own. Once you get your permit for tomorrow, it’s still early enough that you have time to visit Mr. Finger, especially since you forgot to yesterday, and you end up sharing his dinner. You were embarrassed about dropping in when he was cooking, but he’s happy for the company, especially while Pieck is away.

To your relief, there are no guards in plainclothes outside the Yeagers’ when you return, and Mr. and Mrs. Yeager are in the living room chatting quietly between them. You greet them and hurry upstairs before they can ask you about Kellan, and allow yourself to linger in the bath when your reflection on Kellan inevitably leads to Mila and the night before.

Given how angry she was yesterday, you already know what she would say to you if she found out about any man like him. Not that you have ever considered sharing your life with anyone, but surely she would accuse you of trying to find some way out of your duty again, even when she knows that the family made sure—

The doorknob turning to no avail rattles into your thoughts. It must be Zeke, since you share a bathroom, so you hurry to get out and get dressed into your pajamas again. Once you’ve brought your things to your room, you give his door a knock.

He opens it pretty quickly. It seems he wasn’t expecting you, because he looks surprised to see you still drying your hair with your towel. On his part, he’s still in his uniform—just without the coat and the belt, one side of his shirt unceremoniously tucked out of his pants. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile, more pleased than you should be. You feel like you’ve been waiting to see him all day. “Was that you? I’m done with the bathroom.”

“Ah. Thanks. I’m still finishing something anyway,” he nods, and leaves the door open when you don’t immediately turn and go.

You follow him inside, flopping at the edge of his bed while he goes to his desk again. “What are you working on?”

“Warrior stuff.”

Something must have him in a mood, but there’s no use poking him at this stage. “I saw the jam. Thanks for that.”

Zeke turns away from his desk, his serious countenance lingering just a little before it finally falls away for mischief at the reminder of his little gift. “Like my note?”

“No. And only because it means I’ll have to share it with you.”

“Heh. Yeah, sorry—just putting off turning in paperwork I should’ve gotten done before.” He sighs, obviously trying to settle down, at least until he seems to recall something else. He glances back at whatever he was writing, his pen swaying noisily between his fingers as it hits his desk. After a beat, he slides his work a little further away from him and asks, “How was the date?”

You’d almost forgotten about that. “Oh—it wasn’t a date,” you say, and realize how strange it feels to be discussing a boy with Zeke. “Kellan is just helping me study ahead of the semester.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, like a promise. You don’t care to mention that you’ll spend time with Kellan and his friends tomorrow afternoon. That was implied, right?

Zeke shrugs, sitting back against his desk chair. “When did you get so fond of studying, anyway?”

You shoot him a dirty look. “The way you and Porco tell it, it’s like I didn’t know how to read.”

“No,” he laughs, making the denial sound a lot more like affirmation, “I just mean you hated it. Before Bruning knew who you were, you were in the running for either the Jaw or the Armor for a reason.”

You peer at him. When Zeke only lifts a brow, challenging you to deny it, you click your tongue. “I guess. But I didn’t inherit anything, so what was I supposed to do? I was never interested in the varsity teams… not that they would have let me join as Lucy Blanchard. And I wanted to be useful somehow. I mean, actually useful.”

“I know,” Zeke says, watching your fingers lightly pinch at the hem of your pajama top in frustration. It’s almost amusing how your tells haven’t changed a bit, but he can’t deny that it’s endearing. “Well… I’m glad you’re doing something apart from getting me in trouble for once.”

Your jaw drops. “I never got you into trouble for that long, did I?”

The two of you meet eyes for a moment, knowing the answer to that, but you both choose not to bring it up. He wouldn’t put you through that memory again.

“I don’t know,” he grins. “How long did I stand there getting an earful when you glued Nickel’s belt together?”

You stare at him, genuinely trying to remember—before you burst into laughter, hand over your mouth in sheer horror at the memory, as though you can’t fathom ever having done such a thing. Zeke is shaking his head, trying not to smile, when you finally calm down enough to present your defense. “That—that was Pieck’s idea!”

“No, Pieck said she wanted to do it. You actually did it.”

“But it was funny,” you grin. “And Nickel deserved it. Besides, I paid for that too.”

“Yeah…” Zeke’s smile falters. He remembers. You had been about this close to being force-fed the glue you used that afternoon, when you found one of Magath’s fellow instructors asleep in his office. “Nickel deserved everything that came to him.”

He remembers what you looked like when they found you, busted lip still stubbornly set in a line, trembling as Pieck shed silent tears when Magath dragged Nickel out of sight. But then your foot nudges his leg, pulling him from his reverie so he remembers what you look like now. Not a bruised or bloody memory that still wakes him at night sometimes, covered in sweat, but Lucy in the flesh, with a knowing expression on your pretty face. Zeke supposes he’s just as easy to read when you know his tells, too.

“Well... sorry about that anyway,” you say. “Pieck had a name for my brand of stupidity for a reason.”

Zeke knows what you’re doing. He grants it to you with a sigh. “No sense of self-preservation.”

“That. Don’t worry—I’ve developed one since then. Or Pieck’ll really give up on me this time.”

You give him a smile, as if he’s the one who needs comforting when it comes to that night. Why did he have to bring it up? He would put his foot in his mouth if that didn’t remind him of Paradis—of his most recent nightmare. The thought of everything you don’t know makes him feel like an ocean separates the two of you all of a sudden. Like you’re here, and he’s still on that island, a blade jammed into his maw. He shivers.

You lean a little closer, elbow on the footboard. Of course you’ve noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Leaving his pen on the desk, Zeke moves over to sit next to you on his bed. If nothing else, he can at least shorten the distance in one way.

He has a lot to tell you, Paradis foremost of them all. He knows Pieck must have said something, but he’s managed to avoid the topic so far.

He has a lot to ask, too—what was normal school like? Did you really not have any friends? You seemed to make easy enough friends with that Kellan character.

Zeke looks at you like he wants to say something, and then gets as far as opening his mouth before clearly thinking better of it.

“It’s Pieck.”

Alarmed at his tone, you inhale sharply. “What about Pieck? Is she all right?”

He was holding his breath himself, but he relaxes with a chuckle.

“Yeah. She’ll be back with the Panzer Unit in less than a week.”

“Oh! Good,” you say, but then stare at him, obviously catching the lie in his old answer now. But he sees it when you shift priorities (Pieck was always one of them)—you’re clearly excited to have her home earlier than she promised, but the why of it is giving you pause. “So soon?”

“Yep.” He shifts away so that he’s moving up his own bed, at least until he catches you giving him a disgusted expression. You can’t stand it when someone still in their out clothes wears them to bed, and he knows that very well. That earns you an eyeroll, but you’ve had so many arguments about it at this point, many of which began with well it’s my bed and which ended only because he couldn’t stand hearing you talk any longer, that Zeke only sighs and practically vaults himself off his sheets so he can grab a change of clothes before you can start.

He makes a twirling motion with his finger when you look, and you turn to face the wall. This must be the quickest that Zeke has ever grabbed or changed his clothes outside the rush of Warrior training as a kid. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly conscious with you in the room. It’s just you.

“You know it doesn’t count if you don’t shower, right?” you ask.

Zeke makes a snorting sound as he climbs back onto his bed in a shirt and a pair of pajamas, even if he feels like he’s twelve wearing the whole get-up right now. This time he ignores you until he’s got his back against his pillows and the headboard, legs stretched out over his blanket and his arms crossed over his stomach. “Do you want to know why Pieck is coming back soon or not?”

Your turn to roll your eyes. “Fine.”

Smiling triumphantly, he pulls out one of his pillows and tosses it on the empty space next to him. You wrinkle your nose at him, but he did give you the clean pillow when he’s given you the other before, so you let yourself fall forward on your stomach and rest your head on your arms, both crossed over his pillow. Your hair looks warmer than usual against the light of his lamp as you peer up at him. “So?”

Zeke looks away and shrugs. He shouldn’t be telling you this. But if his room isn’t safe for secrets, then where is? “One reason. Lots of movement in the south these days.”

Between the old Southern borders of Marley and Ulodana lies its new Southern territories, swept off the board by Marley and into its net in years past through the efforts of the Warrior generation before yours. Mr. Ksaver’s, to be exact, before they started training children. You had heard of minor attempts at guerilla warfare within those former nations in their bid for freedom, but little else. After your summer excursion with Mila, you began to distance yourself from news of the world when it came to Marley’s expansion, the Warriors’ activities especially so. Ignorance was better than guilt back then, but Zeke doesn’t know that.

“The South… you quelled a small rebellion there, right?”

“Yeah, but…” One of his hands drums near your pillow, tugging once at its corner as he asks, “You don’t know?”

“The Tyburs aren’t told everything.”

“Fair enough. Between the two of us,” he says, giving you a meaningful look you return with an earnest nod, “a couple of the leaders escaped into the eastern peninsula. Who knows what support they’ve gotten since then?”

You take a deep breath and hum as you exhale. “...That explains why General List reached out to me.”

“List? He’s the one who called the meeting with you?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Didn’t the commander say he was there?”

“He doesn’t tell me everything. So have you decided?”

You almost look amused. “You know I can’t move without Willy’s say-so.”

He shrugs. Needless to say he doesn’t care all that much for the new Lord Tybur, who sounds just as absent as your old man was back then. “I meant what do you want?”

When your surprise at his question starts to fade, you lower your gaze at his quirked brow, slouching a little. “I don’t know. List wants me to… ‘be the new face’ of the Foundation. Distance it, myself from the regime so we can build headquarters abroad and bring in intelligence. That way we can bring more Eldians into the safety of the organization, but...”

“What?” Zeke snaps, sitting upright all of a sudden, but all the reasons you shouldn’t do it skid to a halt behind his teeth when you recoil in surprise. He pauses, clearing his throat, and reaches up to scratch behind his ear instead. “...would your brother put you in danger like that? What about Tybur non-involvement?”

You scoff, eyes narrowed at nothing you can see here. “That’s not what the general thought. He only said Willy wouldn’t do it to Mila.” Zeke grunts at her name, and you shake your head. “I mean… maybe it’s moot. She would never give up control of the Foundation.”

“Yeah... Maybe.” Maybe it’s enough that you’re ambivalent. General List is one of General Calvi’s close allies, and he’s well-known in certain circles to get what he wants. But even he can’t change the century-old tradition of Tybur ‘neutrality,’ even if part of Zeke is curious to see if Mila Tybur or Hulbart List would win in a battle of wills.

He sets that aside when he catches a distant look in your eye. He’s only ever seen one reason you’ve looked like this. Or two. “She didn’t drop by again today, did she?”

You shake your head. “She had Foundation business yesterday. She must have gone from the city last night the minute she left here.”

“Then what is it?”

You look at him, and now he knows what it is. “I just… ugh,” your eyes fall to his sheets. “I don’t know. I was so pathetic yesterday. I wish I—I wish that I could have said something to her.” Your voice is quieter when you add, face flush with embarrassment, “I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”

“This again,” he says at once. It was difficult not to cut you off from the get-go. “Have you forgotten already? If you have to be pathetic…” He reaches over to graze your chin with the curve of his index finger, tilting it forward so that you meet his gaze. “You can be pathetic in front of me. Understand?”

His soft smile is the same as it was in the hallway yesterday. Warm still, like the solid expanse of his chest when you wept in his arms, but suddenly his finger beneath your skin feels hot. Tingles where he touches you. Like your face, now that he’s looking at you like that.

That’s not right. Zeke is either an annoying jerk who should shut his face forever or all comfort, blankets tucked up to your nose after a grueling day of work and a warm bath; a good night’s rest. Wrapped up in a hot blanket, the murmur of his voice lulling you into a deep and restful sleep. Not standing over a precipice with only the whim of the wind behind you or the rush of blood pounding through your ears without warning.

This is not the Zeke you’ve wanted back for the past six summers.

His touch scalds you—or maybe the memories you keep closest to your heart, as if any closer, any longer and it might burn them away forever.

You tremble, but not with pain, and decidedly ignore it as you stare at him, forcing a slight wince on your mouth. You hope he doesn’t notice you gulp. “That was probably more impressive when I was a kid.”

Zeke lets his jaw drop—it must have been a while since anyone denied him their awe—but he only laughs, so deep and hearty you feel his mirth in your own chest, before he flicks a finger at your nose. “You little ingrate. That was supposed to be touching!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grin, a little too widely for your own good. Batting away at his hand, you sit up and slide off his bed. You’re strangely hyperaware of the way you gulp again once your feet find your slippers. When your eyes meet, he’s pretending to be cross with you. Maybe you like it better that way.

“But thank you,” you say, rubbing an arm. “Really.”

Zeke only nods, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as you head for the door. “Lucy—you still coming to HQ tomorrow?”

You glance back only once you’ve got your hand on the doorknob. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” he says, but he looks pleased. “All right, get out. Distracting me from work and then telling me I’m not impressive anymore…”

“Spend more time with the kids. They still think the world of you. Good night!”

Zeke could probably chuck a pillow at you when you give him a little cackle before shutting his bedroom door, but he lets you escape with your dignity intact.

At any rate, he’s in a much better mood when he gets back to work.

////////

If you're worried about Kellan, you can click the fic list link on my bio for spoilers. (assuming you haven’t already read the other oneshots ahahha)

The flashback at the start of the chapter (as well as the others in the next few chapters) is something of an edited excerpt from a long-ass oneshot I wrote detailing Lucy’s childhood from before she left the Tybur estate, going through her Warrior training, and until a little after the time Lara inherited the War Hammer which I was/am debating with myself about editing&posting maybe after finishing the sequel fic to this which occurs during the Mid East-Marley War. I wondered if I should keep flashbacks out except for 2 crucial flashbacks toward the end of the story, but I’ve been sad about the dumb leaks post-139, having this feeling of ‘what’s the point of all this then if it all ends in that’ (even if this will be canon divergent), and I decided I would like to show the most important bases for Lucy’s relationships with at least Zeke and Pieck before she left, plus editing this in made me happy, so yeah.

Also! I know Zeke was a sweet little boy... but he was alienated by his classmates when he did poorly at first and burdened with expectation his whole life. No doubt that alienation shifted to sudden praise, admiration, or jealousy as soon as he became a candidate, and my hc is it made him a cynical kid when it came to others his age and even older people. Of course, he does eventually learn to be more charming (or annoying) and does have friends (as much as you can have friends in his position and with his life view), but that to me is why he’s like that at 12. Mr. Ksaver is exempt from this obviously as he completely trusts the man.

Another note: This is tagged zeke x reader because it’s in 2nd person POV, but also zeke x oc because reader or Lucy has a set background and family name. If you've gotten this far in interim I'm sure you already know what that is. XD So... please don’t send me hate or frustrations about why she looks like she does in the commissioned art I linked in the top of this chapter. Her family name necessitates that she’s white, I'm sorry. I hate having to say this but I'm not white either, or white-passing or w/e, but as I said in my note in chapter 1 I want to write a Tybur OC. If you’re going to send hate about me making a Barbie doll to complete Zeke or whatever I’m just going to delete it. Lucy is much more than that, in fact Zeke is not an entirely positive force in her life though they may appear to implicitly understand one another, and I have an entire background story and development for her that I‘m excited to write and share. I’m (not) sorry if me taking the time out from that to commission art that makes me happy grinds your gears. Of course I hope that readers will enjoy what I've written for myself but if you don't like it, just click away please. I won't be responding to complaints about that from here on out.

Anyway, thank you as always for reading! Would love to hear what you think. Of the flashback, of Kellan, of Zeke, of Lucy's blatant denial of certain things (I love and hate this), whichever! (Also can you tell I love Porco? He notices everything. Or almost everything.)

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link4eva · 4 years ago

Text

Kiro’s Rhythm Date Translation [CN]

Hey, y’all! A quick note before you begin reading, I do not know any Chinese at all so Google Translate is the real MVP here. I’ve just taken the time to write down what comes out and changed some words here and there to try and make it make more sense. So apologies for the amateur translation in advance lol. This is just mainly to get the gist of the date before it eventually releases on the ENG server. Hope you enjoy it!

*Spoilers ahead for future content!*

[First Part]

After typing the last word of the report, I hit the enter key hard with my hand and then let out a cry of joy from my heart.

MC: It’s finally done!!!!!

Kiro: You’re finally done!!!!

Almost at the same time, Kiro, who was sitting on the sofa, took off his headset and threw it aside, raising his hands and cheering along with me. The next moment, his twinkling eyes looked at me.

Kiro: MC, let’s go out on a date! I thought for sure that this weekend would be spent working, but it seems that God still cares for us!

He didn’t wait for me to answer, he had already taken a few steps and sat across from me, holding the back of the chair and looking at me expectantly.

Kiro: Let’s go to the cake place that just opened up recently, I want to try it.

He held up his fingers and began to count the deliciousness of his thoughts. I cleared my throat and interrupted his daydream mercilessly.

MC: That’s it! The sunny weather is so nice, shouldn’t we go out and exercise? Savin asked me to supervise you. Recently, you’ve been slacking on your exercise regime to write songs. So...

Kiro: ...I knew it.

He lowered his head and sighed heavily but the happy smile returned in the next second.

Kiro: Let’s just exercise. Life lies in exercise and to enjoy life is to exercise with Miss Chips!

He told me to wait in a tone of voice I had never heard before and got up to change his clothes. I also went to change into sportswear that I had left at his house when we exercised last time.

Putting on my shoes and standing in the hall, I picked up the baseball cap and put it on Kiro’s head. I helped him straighten his messed up bangs.

He led the way down the hallway, but his toes tapped the ground like a beat as if he couldn’t wait.

MC: Make sure you don’t get recognized when we’re out later.

Kiro: Don’t worry, I promise to complete the mission!

Kiro obediently agreed. Before leaving the house, he turned his head and waved at Apple Box lying on the sofa.

Kiro: The task of housekeeping is left to you. We are going out!

I don’t know if Apple Box understood initially. To my surprise, he seemed to understand and replied with a “Woof!”.

[Second Part]

The weather outside was just right. The breeze that is blowing is warm on my face, almost as if it’s driving away the fatigue caused by the long days of work.

I followed Kiro and jogged forward aimlessly. From time to time, he slowed down and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me, humming as if he had just written a song.

Kiro: MC, are you tired?

As soon as I met his gaze, he couldn’t wait to inquire again and the thoughts in his eyes couldn’t hide.

MC: Although I am a bit tired, I can hold on for a while!

Kiro: Ah, that’s it, but-

He suddenly stopped halfway through his words and a trace of worry flashed across his face. I looked and stopped teasing him for the time being.

MC: Actually, it’s not impossible to rest for an hour or two.

Hearing these words, his eyes lit up.

Kiro: Then let’s rest for “one or two hours”!

He grabbed my hand and walked happily in one direction. The warmth of his palm matched the warmth of his eyes.

MC: Where are we going?

As soon as I asked, after turning a corner, a familiar street appeared in front of us. Tall and lush trees stood, exquisite old-fashioned buildings scattered. There were bustling young men and women and the smell of honey and coffee permeated the air.

--Isn’t this the street that has been very popular recently?!

I immediately caught on to what he was doing. I was amused but also a little annoyed.

MC: Have you planned the route in advance?

Kiro nodded, showing a natural smile.

Kiro: SInce I’m coming with you, of course. I have to plan every step in advance! There is a shop here where you can pick the toppings to put on a chiffon cake. The most popular one is raspberry.

I don’t know whether it was affected by Kiro’s vivid appearance or by the sweet fragrance in the air, Savin’s image slowly came to mind.

MC: It sounds really delicious!

Kiro: Alright then, let’s go! I have already made a reservation!

In a few seconds, I put aside my worries and joined him among the crowds on the street, enjoying the break.

It was a perfect moment, but all of a sudden, an unexpected guest stopped in front of us.

[Third Part]

Reporter: Excuse me, both of you! We are randomly interviewing attractive couples! Can you answer a few questions? *The translation came out as “high-value” so I’m going to assume it means “attractive”.*

The moment I saw the camera, I was already in front of Kiro, looking at this fashionable, young man with vigilance.

MC: Sorry, we’re busy at the moment. You can interview other people.

Reporter: But other people don’t fit the original intention of our “Feast for the Eyes” program! Only a few minutes of your time!

Reporter: Huh? Why does this man look a bit like…?

I had a bad feeling and I stretched out my hand to hold Kiro’s cuff. The next moment, the reporter slapped his thighs one by one--

Reporter: Yep! It’s Kiro!

His voice isn’t loud but it still draws all the eyes around us.

MC: You’ve got the wrong person! Let me trouble you!

I resolutely denied his claim before everyone could react. I immediately pulled Kiro into the crowd and quickly slipped away.

Kiro: (pouting) Why do we always encounter such things when we go out on dates?

In addition to the loud voices behind me asking, “Where’s Kiro?”, there is also Kiro silently complaining.

[Cut to Kiro’s house]

After hurriedly “escaping” back home, my highly elevated heartbeat finally began to calm down.

MC: Safe at last…

Kiro: I didn’t eat anything this time but I burned a lot of calories.

MC: Probably because God is standing on Savin’s side, we can do nothing but accept it!

Kiro: But I don’t want to accept it…

Kiro plopped on the sofa and hugged Apple Box and looked up at me with a sad pair of eyes.

Kiro: Alas, why can’t he make this world just for the two of us! *I had to change some of the wording here. What came out originally was kinda wonky.*

I looked at my phone and found out that what happened just now did not arouse any attention. I felt secretly relieved. Kiro saw this and looked out the window and saw the sun. He sighed.

Kiro: It’s so rare when the weather is this nice. We finally had some time together… It’s a pity not to do anything.

MC: Then let’s do something we can do at home. Perhaps watching a movie?

Kiro: Movies… Are there any good movies recently?

Although he appeared to be uninterested, he still put his head down and browsed the newly released movies with me.

Before I had a chance to look, a furry head squeezed between the two of us and pushed Kiro aside.

Kiro: Apple Box, don’t make trouble… Wait, what are you biting?! Ahh! Let go of my game controller!

Kiro swooped forward and Apple Box dodged swiftly. In the hot pursuit of Kiro chasing Apple Box, he accidentally bumped into some things.

The screen that had just stopped at the movie interface suddenly switched and several dynamic virtual characters appeared. As if drawn to this, Apple Box blinked his beady eyes and looked straight at the TV screen.

Kiro quickly grabbed the other half of the game controller from Apple Box’s mouth and clicked it angrily. Little brains.*I don’t know what “little brains” is haha.*

Kiro: I finally caught you, bad guy!

Apple Box, whose “toy” was suddenly taken away, looked at Kiro innocently. He wiggled his ears aggrievedly. I was softened by his eyes and I reached out to rub his head.

MC: Apple Box, you must be a good boy and not be so rowdy.

Apple Box: Woof!

As if he understood, Apple Box shook his head obediently and his fluffy fur rubbed against the palm of my hand. He then turned around excitedly and wagged his tail at the TV screen.

Kiro and I looked at the dazzling picture on the screen at the same time. The characters on it also writhed in time.

Kiro: Miss Chips, let’s play a motion sensory game!

MC: Why don’t we play this? Sports and leisure combined are great!

Talking in unison, we both laughed out loud. After deciding what to do, Kiro and I sat down on the carpet in front of the TV, choosing a game that we could play for a while. He put his head on my shoulder, expressing his opinions from time to time.

Kiro: I think this game is good! It’s fun!

Kiro’s breathing on my neck was ticklish and I shrank my neck. I watched the screen being manipulated to jump up and down to escape. The character retreated into himself.

MC: This feels too difficult. Let’s look at the next one.

Kiro: It’s not that bad! I set a world record in only one attempt!

He raised the corners of his mouth as he spoke, his expression extremely proud. Although he knew that as KEY, he was skilled at all aspects in the game.

MC: Well, then this game is not challenging for you…!

As if I had seen myself in the game, I decisively switched to the next interface.

Kiro: Eh? I don’t seem to have played this game before…

I was overjoyed when I heard this and made a decision almost immediately.

MC: Then let’s play “Just Dance”!

This is a very popular music and dance game recently. Players can choose different dancer characters to play as. Players have to imitate the people on screen and dance in order to win.

Because this game is simple and easy to use and, and has many popular songs, it has been popular all over the world after it’s release.

MC: Now both of us are novices. This is equal ground!

I gave a controller to him, nodded and said in a serious tone. Kiro raised his chin slightly with a smirk.

Kiro: So, MC, do you want to challenge my status as KEY?

MC: I won’t give up easily!

After that, the game begins.

[Fourth Part]

If I could go back in time by just 10 minutes, I definitely would’ve said something different about the game being “equal grounds”.

MC: What! Jumping wrong again!

The movements the two of us were doing were obviously strange at first. But after a while, we became one with the dance.

MC: Why am I always slow!

Kiro: Don’t worry! Treat this as a novice level and then adapt slowly from there.

MC: Then this newbie level is too difficult for me…

I was bitter. I felt as though my hands and feet were rebelling against me.

Kiro: It’s not difficult as long as you master the basics. For example, this movement here. As long as your hand is raised to this position, you will be guaranteed to pass.

He gestured for me to do the movement that stumped me just now, and I followed suit.

MC: Like this?

Kiro: Almost.

He walked up to me, grabbed my wrist and raised my head, then tilted my head to the other side.

MC: Is this it?

I followed his instructions and turned into ten twisted poses. I found the smile on his face grew wider and wider and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Kiro: Puff hahaha, MC, you are so obedient!

MC: KIRO!

I became annoyed at once. I reached out to try and mess up his hair but he leaned back and dodged me smoothly.

Kiro: I was wrong! I was wrong! I was wrong!

MC: I won’t let you get away!

I kept tickling the sensitive skin on his waist. Kiro dodged from left to right and wrapped me in his arms. He is like a koala. He has me locked firmly in his arms, making it hard for me to move.

Kiro: Haha, so you won’t be able to tickle me!

There was a bit of pride in his laughter and his hot breath after exercising clung to my back, even in my chest. The rhythm of our heartbeats can’t be concealed. My heartbeat somehow increased.

MC: I, I won’t do what I did before again. Let go of me first, or how else can we continue playing the game?

Kiro: Well, alright.

He released his arms, looking reluctant, but turned his attention back to the game again.

Kiro: So this time we will warm up with the easier songs and then challenge each other with the more difficult ones!

I didn’t know what Kiro’s “simple difficulty” meant until the melody of a familiar foreign nursery rhyme played from the speakers. But soon I put the matter of nursery rhymes aside and danced awkwardly with the little dino on screen.

With the cute and cheerful melody, everything becomes more fun. Compared with the previous song, Kiro danced such an overly cute dance. It was a bit strange.

He stared at the screen earnestly, making movements while humming his own jumbled lyrics to the tune of the music.

Kiro: (singing) I’m a little dinosaur~ little dinosaur~

His blonde hair puffed up by the hairband also jumped along with his movements. A sweat bead from his forehead “ticked” off and fell onto his collarbone hidden by his collar.

MC: Obviously I am the little dinosaur!

The “perfect” floating above the screen made my previously annoyed mood become more excited. The magic of the game is to make people forget all their troubles. When I’m with Kiro, these simple dances turn into the simplest happiness.

After the song ended, I watched the rating jump up to four stars. I couldn’t help but hug Kiro and cheer.

MC: Ahh, it’s four stars! Only a little bit short away from getting full stars!!

Kiro: See, that wasn’t so hard for you, was it?

MC: Sure enough, it’s not difficult to master the trick you taught me!

I confidently picked the next song to “conquer” but suddenly saw a familiar name.

MC: Huh, there is this song?

It was a song from Kiro’s latest album. I quickly turned to look at him. However, Kiro frowned slightly while staring at his song, his expression a bit solemn.

Kiro: This song was licensed to them. But I feel that it’s a bit awkward to dance to my own songs in the game.

Seeing him acting unlike his usual self, I felt a sense of curiosity. Even though the “highly difficult” sign made me a little worried, I still pressed the confirm button decisively.

MC: Let’s dance to this song. I want to see if the original dancer can beat the game!

Meeting his gaze, Kiro hesitated for a second and quickly gave in.

Kiro: If you want to dance, MC, you can, but this dance is very difficult. Don’t force yourself to.

MC: Hmm!

Accompanied by the “START” character flashing, the intermingled sound of the electric guitar and keyboard sounded. Kiro held the controller and imitated the people on the screen, raising his hand to make a pose.

Boom--

The powerful drum beats go straight to the heart. Kiro’s face is very serious and every movement that he executes is in rhythm with the music and is full of power.

He stepped barefoot on the carpet, clearly wearing ordinary sportswear, but he seemed to be standing in the centre of the stage.

And in this small living room, me being the only audience, got to “exclusively” enjoy this performance. I don’t know if I should watch him wholeheartedly or if I should continue to clumsily dance with the animation.

While I was lost in thought, I accidentally tripped over my left foot with my right. Seeing that the hand that was swung out was about to hit Kiro, I withdrew it quickly.

I was hit with an elbow

MC: Ouch!

I squatted down, clutching the area I was hit, and buried my head between my knees.

Kiro: MC? What happened?!

He squatted down worriedly in front of me with his arms open. It looked like he wanted to hug me to comfort me but was worried that it would be bad so he stopped midway.

Kiro: What’s wrong? Is your leg cramping?

MC: Just now, I…

I shook my head, thinking of the silly thing I did just now. My ears and face were beet red. Before I had time to explain, Kiro put one hand behind my back and one hand under my knees and lifted me up.

MC: Wait! I can walk by myself!

He denied my protests and placed me gently on the sofa in a few large strides. He slowly lifted up one of my feet and carefully pressed the tight muscles of my calf with the pad of his finger.

Kiro: Does it hurt? Tell me if it hurts.

I forgot to respond. Seeing that I wasn’t saying anything, he slowed his movements down again and became more gentle. The sunset shining from the outside hit the top of his head forming a very gentle glow. It gave me the urge to rub it.

MC: Kiro, I’m fine. I didn’t hurt myself by forcing myself... I was just watching you…

The more I talked, the quieter I became. The temperature of my cheeks rose. After all, it would be too embarrassing to explain that I hit myself while dancing!

It was silent for a few seconds and Kiro finally laughed out loud.

Kiro: I didn’t expect my Miss Chips to be so honest. Now, just look at me.

Kiro raised his hand in a squatting position, and I found myself looking into his gentle blue eyes. When the music hit it’s climax, the drum beat gradually grew faster and got closely intertwined into an airtight net as if the soul is enveloped in it. *Wording was a little weird here. I think it’s supposed to be a heartbeat but the kanji for heart (心) isn’t in the original text.*

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Like my heartbeat right now, it's so strong that it’s about to beat out of my chest. Kiro seemed to see right through me and stood up. He supported the back of the sofa with one hand and held my wrist with the other to prevent me from escaping. When his nose came up to meet mine, he rubbed it.

Kiro: MC, I’m curious…

Looking at my bewildered and embarrassed face, he suddenly gave a sly smile.

Kiro: Is the rhythm of your heartbeat the same as mine right now?

His eyes were full of warmth and gentleness. His words were like a poet writing lyrics, a sorcerer chanting a bewitching spell.

Kiro: It is the same as mine. Everytime it beats. It only beats for you.

The breath that belonged to him slowly approached, the music continued playing in the background, and the game on screen kept showing “miss”.

The rhythm of our heartbeats has already been in sync with the beat and sweat. *This last part here was a little wonky with the wording*.

[END]

(Here is the link to his "Strawberry Invitation" call after the date!)

#mlqc kiro #mr love kiro #mr love #mr love game #mr love queen's choice #date translation #i wanna dance with him #i want him to dance for me #and shake dat ass

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

Text

Something Held | Feeding Habits Update #8

Hi all!

Not me not realizing it’s been 3 months since I posted a Feeding Habits update hahahahahaha. Today let’s chat chapter nine, SOMETHING HELD. This also marks the last chapter in Harrison’s POV so prepare to say goodbye to this icon! TW: body horror, mental illness, trauma

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline, excerpts & a little reflection on making difficult decisions that my not particularly benefit the book but benefit you as the writer under the cut because this update is GIGANTIC.

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed):

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites

Scene Breakdown

Scene A:

It has been two weeks since Lonan found Harrison at his shared apartment with Suzanna and things are getting strange. Lonan and Suz are getting closer, Harrison is getting more distant and slowly losing it. One morning, Harrison wakes hearing Lonan and Suz’s laughter, and crawls to the kitchen to investigate. When he reaches them, Suz is evening out Lonan’s hacked haircut and they’re both sobbing.

Scene B:

Shortly after this bizarre encounter, Suzanna steps out of the apartment for a breather because her son is sort of terrifying her! So Lonan and Harrison double-team to clean up Lonan’s hair shavings. Harrison begins eating the hair while Lonan stares and they have a conversation about the state of their friendship.

Scene Ba:

This scene is gross and confusing! More hair is ingested. My god.

Scene Bb:

After the above ordeal, both boys rinse off because they’ve been rolling?? around?? in??? hair?? but also?? things don’t stop being a little gross

Scene C:

An air of calm finally settles over the apartment. Lonan brews earl grey tea for him and Harrison to share and Harrison asks if he abandoned Lonan in the final chapter of Moth Work. Lonan doesn’t really answer this question so Harrison continues on his confused, but finally lucid (one-sided) conversation, admitting he understands he burdens his mother, who still has not returned. They circle back to the question of abandonment and Lonan answers Harrison the way he wants to be answered (yes), and this is a moment of freeing, where he feels some sort of responsibility in this irresponsible new life he’s led in NYC. They sort of agree to be friends again.

Scene D:

The boys head into the city to find Suzanna, heading to a bakery near the Hudson River. Lonan drives in his used car, a strange experience since Harrison has not seen him drive in years. Taking the opportunity, he searches through the car and finds a map in the glove compartment. The map is erratically scribbled over and it takes him to moment to realize this is Lonan’s map and the first indication that Lonan, who he has assumed is this stable, perfect person, is not as unscathed as he seems.

The boys pass the waterfront and Lonan nearly crashes the car into an oncoming truck. Harrison regains control of the vehicle tucking them into a side street. Shaken, Lonan apologizes for the mess he’s created both physically from his nosebleed and between Harrison and his mother, which gets Harrison a little antsy because he doesn’t like the suggestion that he’s going to leave. Lonan clarifies, stating he won’t if that’s what Harrison wants.

Scene E:

Later, everyone is back at home and Harrison wakes up to a Lonan-less bed. He gets up to investigate the strange dripping coming from the bathroom and opens the door to find Lonan precariously teetering over a sink filled with water. Harrison, concerned, moves him away and tries to ask why Lonan is presumably going underwater, but doesn’t push. They both stand on opposite sides of the bathroom until the sun rises.

My process:

Honestly, writing this chapter was a huge up and down. The first half of it came much easier to me, but the rest was a literal hellfire to get through. I think I was incredibly fatigued with writing in Harrison’s POV as I’d been writing it since June (I finished this chapter in either December or January). This book has been a pain in the ass to write despite me liking what it is, and I really think it being the only place I’ve physically “gone” since the pandemic makes it even harder to write. I felt claustrophobic in Harrison’s POV since I’ve been writing it for half a year, and in a lil ~breakdown~ my beautiful sister reminded me of something she’d previously told me, “it's not about what works, it's about what you want”.

Let’s chat about this for a sec! I think I was watching a Harmony Nice video on her “hard-to-swallow” self-care, and she basically outline (I’m paraphrasing here) that it’s critical we care for ourselves in ways that might not necessarily be easy to do. Honestly, leaving Harrison’s POV is one of those hard-to-swallow self-care things I literally had to do because my mental health was not happy with me! Y’all know my boys are very close to me, and I’m not picking favourites but Lonan is 2500 times easier for me to write with at the moment. I think Harrison’s situation and how he deals with it is much too similar to mine but in a way that is difficult to place (Lonan and I are unfortunately similar but in a way that is easier for me to understand about myself!). From the beginning of writing his POV I’ve been in Struggleville, but kept pushing through hoping the next chapter would be “the one”. Not to burst my own bubble but there is no such thing in the state of mind I was in! I was pushing myself to find something that doesn’t exist because my brain was really not equipped to do what I needed it to do. I really, really did not want to quit on Harrison’s POV, but I had to, not because I don’t like him (he’s my baby) but because I needed a moment to myself. I felt way too seen in ways I don’t really know how to address in myself, so writing him was horribly frustrating at all times (my fault, not his).

My characters really do live in my head rent-free lol. They live in there! They take up space! They take up energy! They take up concentration, and resources I need for myself! Empathy is so integral to my process, that I give a little part of myself in everything I write. This is a blessing because I really get to dig my heels into the mind of another person, but a curse because I’m not a machine (and sometimes I forget that). It is a lot of emotional energy and labour to give everything you have to fictional people. I don’t think an artist needs to be tortured to create good art (this is not it!) but I never truly practiced this well? In my attempt to be empathetic, I was torturing myself a little bit, not going to lie!

So to combat this, I decided I needed a change. Hence, this chapter is imperfect and probably needs some stuff added to it, and while I’ve only written little of Lonan’s second POV, I’m feeling a lot better! It’s nice to get “outside” in a different place lmao this is so sad (pandemic writing things).

Excerpts:

I wrote the beginning of this in a livestream I hosted on my YouTube channel! There’s also a shoutout here to my dragon tree Lisa <3 miss u boo

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves the stove on while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna moulds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically.

This is the very next paragraph!

At first he assumes they’re laughing. The sun nearly rising between other high rises, blotting his room with dawn. This is not a surprise. They are probably making pancakes out of buckwheat and discussing the hilarity of whole grains. They are probably laughing at store-bought cherry preserves. Too sour. Their cheeks puckered. But then the laughs get louder, and the sun rises higher and it’s not laughing at all, but gasping.

Here’s Harrison crawling!! is this straight out of the exorcist probably!

Harrison’s instinct is to crawl. As if his smallness against the ground will stop anyone from hearing him, even before he unlocks his door. On hands and knees he shuffles from his bed to his doorframe, edges the door open with his shoulder. On hands and knees he hikes through the hallway, the gasping getting louder, shuffling until he sees them. Lonan sitting on one of the kitchen stools, a grocery bag wound around his throat. Suzanna clacking scissors in two hands so their blades ping in the sun. Her fingers loped around his hair, knuckle-deep, the blades snipping, the gasps growing, them both sobbing, the hair falling, the sun stalking, their bodies rocking. Harrison takes it in from his crawl. Experiences it all on his knees.

So this excerpt seems really you know, normal:

They clean up the hair. Harrison with the dustpan, Lonan with the broom. Harrison still kneels. Lonan still cries. The only thing that has changed since crawling into the kitchen is that Suzanna is taking a walk around the apartment complex. She needs air. Room. If she cries long enough, a cigarette. So Lonan sweeps. Harrison collects. This repeats.

The kitchen smells of nutmeg. Freshly grated from a whole club over espresso, Harrison imagines. He smells this as he tracks Lonan with the dustpan, hovering its open belly for clippings of hair. And Lonan is so compliant, brushes cuttings of himself onto the plastic surface so Harrison can trash it. As Harrison looks on from his knees, Lonan diffuses in sunlight, the window illuminating only his edges. A body so familiar Harrison knows exactly where it flares with light or absorbs it. A body with skin like mulberry silk. A body he could recreate in charcoal with his eyes closed. His archangel translucent and luminescing.

Skip this excerpt if you don’t want to read about Harrison eating hair!! i’m sorry!

Harrison picks a bundle of fallen hair from the dustpan. It’s airy from being recently shampooed, smells faintly of pear, maybe even ginger. This hair, touched by a woman, or a few women, and cut by one, or a few, in different contexts. Eliza’s hands deveining the roots, and then Suzanna’s, trying to fix them. So Harrison eats it. That bundle like a toothpicked cube of cheese. He puts it in his mouth and swallows.

Lonan watches like he’s unconcerned. He watches this feral animal—Harrison must be something feral, starved of something and ravaged by that hunger. Chewing mouthfuls of hair like that will quell of him of what is missing, if there even is anything missing, something unidentifiable in this bland circuit of New York City, this time-loop of sonhood, this fresh start a dousing of flatness. As Harrison eats, he understands he consumes that something like it’s holy communion, reuniting with that something by absorbing it. And still, that hunger moves him, from finishing the dustpan of hair, and closer to Lonan.

“Do you think I’m a bad friend?” Harrison asks, wringing the corner of his lips clean from loose hairs. From this perspective, Harrison on his knees collecting hair, Lonan’s eyes look bluer. Maybe their saturation has nothing to do with the angle, but Harrison feels this is true; his eyes are so crystalline, they are temptingly edible. Like two plump blueberries. Or a matching set of clear glass marbles. Harrison swallows. He repeats, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

Lonan swallows, adjusts his grip on the broom. “We’d have to be friends for me to answer that.”

“Aren’t we?”

And here’s the rest of this scene!

“You’re my mother’s friend,” Harrison says. “She trusts you.” He crawls closer to Lonan. “You’ve got secrets. Rituals. Tell me her favourite finger-food and who she wants to marry.”

“I don’t know your mother that well.”

Harrison wraps a handle around Lonan’s ankle. A muscle there jumps like a dolphin breaching the water. He’s memorized this plane of skin, could rebuild it from single grains of sand while blindfolded. He furls his hands across its surface, unfurls.

“You garden with her,” Harrison says. “You share a plate for dessert.”

“She’s kind to me.”

“You cook her breakfast.” Harrison tugs on Lonan’s ankle, knowing it won’t raze him, knowing he’ll come down anyway. “You know the exact temperature she drinks her coffee down to the last digit.”

“I’m trying to be hospitable.”

“You’re trying to be a son.”

Lonan kneels. Crouching so they’re huddled over each other, so it’s nearly impossible to distinguish one body from the other, which one sinks, which one rises.

“My mother’s only got one son to live with,” Harrison says, his voice thin from a clogged throat. He reaches for Lonan’s scalp, scrapes a line down the centre, now an even plane of cropped hair. “And it isn’t me.”

“You’re unstable,” Lonan says, burrowing his face either into a cabinet or Harrison’s shoulder—neither can tell. “You won’t let yourself have friends.”

Farther, toward the tile they go, a pile of hair scattering. “My mother wants me to forgive you by replacing me with you.”

“She’s grieving,” Lonan says.

Harrison loses his hands. He doesn’t know where they disappear to, if he touches skin or tile. “I haven’t died,” he says. Skin or tile. Skin or tile.

Here’s an excerpt from scene C ft. this memoir bit from the time I was shocked that this university I visited had real FANCY teabags:

Lonan brews tea. Earl grey, from a tin. Harrison doesn’t know why he expects it to come from a bag. An individual paper sachet, or if he’s lucky, one of those fancy ones woven from nylon. But it’s from a tin. Two teaspoons into the bottom of a single mug they pass back and forth, wordless at the kitchen table. Strung in the bathroom, Harrison’s t-shirt hang-dries, nearly figure-like, an unfilled phantom. He tugs a throw around his shoulders and stares at his hands. Each crest of cuticle. Each bulb of knuckle. Each maze of fingerprints.

He is material. This is fact. Not just outlines. He’s got skin that goes pinkish when pinched, a pulse that juts from his wrist, two eyes that burn at the scent of lavender, ten fingers. But as he holds his hands up, studying them in the faint moonlight, it is difficult to believe his tangibility. In the city, he has lived as a haze. Fogging over grocery stores, eateries, nondescript. Fresh start has always implied an air of zest, a zing that should have fueled him to plant roots in this restart. But Harrison is rotten, aphid infected, overwatered, underwatered, then not watered at all. He flexes his fingers. He pops the joints. He tries to press his pinkie to the back of his hand. But none of this brings him back to himself. His hands continue feeling like someone else’s. His body invisibly marred in some way he can’t reverse, disconnected in retaliation.

Harrison reflecting on his relationship with his mother:

Suzanna has never left him alone this long, and to her detriment. He imagines her now, living the life she always should’ve lived, the life she lived before he crosscut his way to her most important thing. She’s probably at a salon, having her hair twirled with a round brush, making dinner reservations at some place always too expensive for two (extra points if it has a French name, more if she has to wait a half hour before getting a table). When she talks to her stylist, she doesn’t mention a son, but plans to travel up the west coast, all the way into Canada if she’s feeling adventurous. She’ll buy crime novels she’ll never read at duty-free, reapply a lipstick that cost her a paycheck in the reflection of a hand-dryer. After the salon, she’ll meet a woman at a wine bar, converse about children, and still not mention a son. Suzanna’s singleness will be a celebration.

The boys finally trucing it out <3

When Harrison finally opens his eyes, Lonan is staring at him. His eyes two reels of the Pacific. They cycle in blue. So much of him has changed, and yet he is still the same. Beyond the haircut, Lonan isn’t that much different. He can’t be much different. But as Harrison searches, splaying his palm on the wet table, he knows this is untrue. Lonan is hollower than he was last summer. A little more haunted. They have this in common, then.

“Can we be friends?” Harrison asks. With his pinkie, he finds himself writing against the damp table just as he did Lonan’s scalp not too long ago. Lonan’s gaze follows each loop of each letter, Harrison’s steady left hand.

Lonan is consumed studying what Harrison has written, where each letter connects in near-cursive scrawl. After a moment, he nods, once, twice, and then reverts to staring at the table’s new inscription. On its surface are two words: something held.

The boys in the car like old times <3

Lonan drives. This is strange because Harrison has not seen Lonan drive a car in over a year. Usually, Harrison takes the wheel, but tonight he guides them through the city, in search of Suzanna. His car is clean. This isn’t unexpected. A cherry-coloured hatchback that rattles whenever he makes a left turn. It smells vaguely of cotton air-freshener and the undercurrent of cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” Harrison pokes at the plastic nob for the radio, and it crackles to life. Synth and electric guitar pulse in 4/4 time.

“I bought it used.”

They’ve agreed to get to know one another while they search for Suzanna. Another restart, some attempt at an honest hour. As Lonan changes lanes, Harrison pokes open the car’s glove compartment. A tin of nicotine gum falls on the mat. A hot pink feather pokes from underneath the driver’s manual. Harrison hauls out both, runs the feather along the gum tin, then the back of his hand, and then Lonan’s cheek. When that rouses nothing, he unlocks the tin and removes a slit of gum. Right as he’s about to pop it in his mouth, Lonan says, “I wouldn’t eat that.”

“Why?” Harrison asks. “Did you lace it?”

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

Harrison puts the gum back, and then the feather. He sticks his hand farther into the glove compartment, feels around until he drags out a map of the state, bilgy and half torn. He unfolds it, careful to avoid the rips, and flattens it against the dashboard. Almost immediately, it wilts against the cold, faded from time in the sun. It’s been marked up. Half with pencil, half with a red ballpoint pen. After a few minutes, Harrison understands the previous owner’s route. Or at least he does at first. Following the red pen arrows, they started at Long Island, then reached Manhattan. Then a much longer arrow takes him from Manhattan to Geneva, and then Buffalo. And then the red pen circles, once, twice, three times, four times, and what is in the centre doesn’t even have a city name. What it does say is HELP, in all-caps, each letter then melting into an illegible scrawl. Harrison sees bits of words: Luke, woe, hands, clay, guard, stray, each wobbly and disappearing into the other, becoming cities of their own, destroying others. He tries to understand the route, but the farther he pours over the map, recircling each line with his finger, the more lost he gets in the ink.

“Is this your map?” Harrison asks. There is no proof that it is. Even the handwriting is all wrong. Ragged. Confused. Desperate. Not like Lonan’s careful, hesitant print.

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

“But is it your map?” Harrison asks again. Gently, he creases the paper and then slots it back into the glove compartment. Outside, they pass three convenience stores in a row, a flock of couples emerging from a bowling alley, tipsy and cradling leftover deep dish pizzas and mozzarella sticks. They pass two more convenience stores before Lonan finally answers.

“I was confused,” he says.

“This is more than confused,” Harrison says. “It’s disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbed.”

“But something is wrong with you.”

Lonan slows at a crosswalk. A group of teenaged girls whisk by in glitter and lip gloss.

“Yes,” he says.

This is Harrison trying to stop Lonan’s nosebleed after their bizarre swerve which I think is kind of <3 tendy <3

Harrison reaches for him. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other reared toward the red stream. His touch is tactful, so faint his fingerprints wouldn’t even be left behind, but still, the dabbing with his jacket’s hem is enough to redirect the blood’s flow from Lonan’s upper lip to the cuff of leather. The radio is still on, garbled like an unmassing of crepe paper lanterns.

This is the final excerpt for this update that takes us to the very end of the chapter! Harrison has just found Lonan supposedly head-first in the sink and though he asks at first why he is doing that, takes an alternate approach as the chapter closes:

Harrison gets up, his knees popping like gnawed bubble gum. He decides he will handle Lonan at a distance, if he chooses to handle him at all. Like a timid pet owner trying to tame their suddenly-rabid yorkie. Like a friend not trying to tip the full glass. To let its contents film at its surface, but never spill.

Somewhere in the apartment, Suzanna probably listens to them. If Harrison didn’t know her better, he’d imagine her pressed neatly against the door, waiting to hear the shuffle of their bodies or the tang of an argument. Instead, he imagines her at the kitchen table, gripping a glass of water for so long, half of it evaporates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Harrison says, stepping back until his spine hits the counter’s lip. He curls his fingers under the granite. Looks toward the window, now a faint periwinkle. Lonan heaves. His fingers caging his face, an animal restrained. They stand there until the sun rises.

So that’s it for this gigantic update! I have like four short stories to update you on so I hope to be back soon!

—Rachel

#writing #writerblr #amwriting #writeblr #fostered #mothwork #writingupdates #feedinghabits

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nerdypanda3126 · 4 years ago

Text

City of Love

Happy Valentine's Day and happy birthday @crescent-woods! I'm your @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Secret Admirer! 😁

The prompt that I chose was: "They both host foreign exchange students who are dating, and end up getting dragged along on their dates and fall in LoOoOve"

Or rather, that prompt chose me because this thing took off and ran with me trailing along behind and hoping I can keep up 😅 I hope you like it!

As a side note: because there's a bit of a language barrier, there will be minimal French used throughout with definitions provided in the end notes, but the characters are speaking English unless otherwise mentioned.

Read on Ao3

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Marinette paced by the door of her apartment, waiting for her new roommate to arrive. She had offered to go to the airport to pick her up, but the woman—Tikki, that was her name—had insisted she could find her own way. Marinette was clutching her phone, waiting for the inevitable call. Paris was confusing, after all, for those not familiar with it, and it was so easy to get lost, and what if she couldn’t make it?

Just as she was starting to bite her fingernails, there was a knock at her door and Marinette ran to it, flinging it open to find a small woman—shorter than Marinette, even, which was quite a feat—in a bright red sundress with black polka dots and a huge sun hat big enough that the brim flopped over her face. When the sun hat tipped up, Tikki had gorgeous, wide blue eyes, and a black pixie fringe with red feathery highlights peeking out.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked, out of breath from carrying her bags up the many stairs to the apartment. Marinette nodded and Tikki squealed, dropping her bags to the floor, all fatigue seemingly forgotten as she swept Marinette up into a hug. She smelled like something sweet, although Marinette couldn’t place it. Some sort of pastry, maybe? She started yammering in rushed English, her sprawling American accent making some of the words run together in Marinette’s ears.

“I just know we’re going to be the best of friends! I’m so glad I made it, those streets are so windy, you know, windy, like—” she made a motion with her hand, like a snake, back and forth—“but there was this nice man who pointed me in the right direction and—oh, désolée!” When she slipped into French, the tiniest hint of her accent remained. “J’ai oublié, this is supposed to be immersive, n’est-ce pas?”

Marinette was taken aback, but smiled at the mashup of language. “C’est vrai,” she agreed, “but English is fine for now.” She stooped to grab Tikki’s bags for her, but Tikki smacked Marinette’s hand away and picked everything back up herself. Marinette almost giggled at the ridiculous contrast between the tiny woman and the wealth of luggage she’d brought. Tikki was stronger than she looked, though, because the weight didn’t seem to bother her a bit.

“Your room is this way,” Marinette said, gesturing as she walked, intending for Tikki to follow her. On the way, she pointed out the kitchen and the bathroom they’d share. Tikki ooh’ed and aah’ed enthusiastically at everything, then squealed again when they got to the room Marinette had laid out for her and instantly dumped her bags on the bed and opened the curtains to let the sunlight stream in.

In the smaller space, the scent surrounding Tikki was more concentrated and Marinette finally placed it. Cookies. Tikki smelled like chocolate chip cookies. It pulled Marinette back to living above the bakery with her parents. How was she the one that was homesick? Tikki was an entire ocean away from her family and would be for the next few months.

Although Marinette's homesickness was rather the point of her signing up to host a foreign exchange student for the fall semester. She'd spent the spring semester looking for busy places to go so she could draw or study; her apartment was too quiet when she was used to living above a bustling bakery and with her parents. But it was her first year at University and she was determined to make it work. When she pulled herself out of her thoughts, Tikki was still looking out the window with absolute awe written across her delicate features. She started when she noticed Marinette watching her.

“Everything is so pretty here!” she gushed. “How do you say it? Jolly?”

“Joli,” Marinette corrected kindly, emphasizing the ‘ee’ sound at the end.

“Right, c’est trés joli.” Tikki repeated carefully with a flounce of her hands. “I want to see absolutely everything.”

Marinette did giggle at that. She supposed Paris was pretty, when it wasn’t something you saw every day. Tikki’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“I was planning to take you out to lunch, if you wanted to go? There’s this little place—”

Tikki flopped her sun hat down on the bed and unzipped one of the smaller bags to pull out a crossbody purse and a pair of black flats. She ruffled the short ends of her hair, fluffing them on top where they’d gotten flattened by her hat, unfolded a pair of sunglasses and set them on top of her head like a headband, and grinned at Marinette.

“Allons-y!”

***

Luka tapped his foot along with the music in his earbuds as he waited for the exchange student he’d be hosting to get off the plane. No thanks to Juleka, he had a picture to go off of and that was it. Although he assumed this guy had a picture of Luka and would be looking for him, too.

He flicked through his phone absent-mindedly, keeping one eye on the gate. Juleka had been texting him the entire time, asking questions he couldn’t answer and telling him to be nice. This was all her idea; quite frankly he was a bit anxious about the whole thing.

He was expected to chauffeur this guy around the city and show him all the French culture and, as Juleka had so kindly pointed out, “It’s not like you have anything else going on.”

“You need to make friends,” she’d wheedled near the end of the spring semester, shoving the brochure in his face.

“Friends that are forced to hang out with me and then leave after a semester? Yeah, sounds awesome.” He’d ripped the brochure out of her hands and thrown it back at her, but she didn’t give up.

“Come on, all you do is go to that stupid club and whine about not being in a band yet! You should be breaking out of your shell, isn’t that what Uni is all about?”

“I don’t have a shell,” he’d muttered as he stuck his earbuds in. Juleka had rolled her eyes at him, but picked the brochure up from the floor and left it on top of his music theory book. She’d given him a pointed look as she flounced out the door.

And then she went and signed herself up as a host for the fall semester anyways without telling him, somehow making it his job to pick their new roommate up from the airport. “Because you’re the one with the motorcycle,” Juleka had reasoned. And of course he had to stay in Luka’s room with him, because “he’s a guy, and so are you.”

Whatever. It was one semester. How bad could it be?

The guy who matched the picture ended up being the last one off the plane, and Luka wrapped his earbuds around his phone before stashing it in his pocket. As Luka’s new roommate strolled up, he had one bag on his shoulder, one rolling behind him, as if he were on vacation instead of about to stay in someone else’s home for the next few months. He was a head shorter than Luka, with russet skin and sleek black hair, pulled back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. He took one look at Luka, adjusted his bag on his shoulder, and walked towards the airport door.

It took Luka a second to process what had happened before he was jogging after a great view of the guy’s shoulders straining against his teal T-shirt. What the hell was his problem?

“Hé! Attendez,” Luka grabbed at his backpack and the guy turned with an unamused frown deepening by the second. “Uh, salut?” Luka stuck his hand out for a handshake, but deep brown eyes underneath heavy black brows just flashed down to Luka’s hand, then back up to his face.

“Anglais?” he asked, drawing out his ‘s’ the slightest amount. Luka nodded. “Cool. Look, I’m only here because my girlfriend had her heart set on ‘Paris,’ okay?” He rolled his eyes as he made air quotes and pronounced it “Pari.” He shrugged, adjusting his bag on his shoulder again in the same movement. “I’m not here to make friends, I couldn’t care less about discovering your culture, and I don’t plan on being around much. So, thanks, but no thanks, you know?”

The way he was pronouncing his “th” as a soft “t” and the subtle lilt to his voice, added to the consistently drawn out sibilants gave him a serpentine accent that made Luka pause before he realized what he’d actually said.

“Your girlfriend?” How was it that this guy had just shown up in the country—with a bad attitude, no less—and already had a girlfriend? A scowl started to pinch Luka’s face although he had little motivation to stop himself. No way he could be friends with this smug little shit.

Said smug little shit nodded, although his shoulders shrugged along with the movement, making him look like he was a cobra assessing whether to strike or not. “Tikki. We’ve been long-distance for a while. Pen pals, you know? Decided to come here, meet up, see the sights. She’s a bit of a Francophile, you know what I mean?”

Luka blinked at him. He’d joined a foreign exchange program, flown who knew how many miles, would be staying away from home for months… for a girl? He hadn’t met yet? Was he insane? He shook his head in sympathy and shoved his hands in his pockets. “All right, well I’m Luka.”

“Yeah, I gathered. Are you gonna show me the way to your place, or what?” He turned again and started back for the door. This time Luka was able to keep in step with him.

“You got a name?” Luka asked, only slightly irritated by his apparent dismissal.

“Not a French one. How about you just decide on something and I’ll answer to whatever.”

“How about ‘ass’?” Luka grumbled.

“What was that?”

“Sass. I said ‘Sass,’” Luka amended quickly.

He stopped again and leveled a look at Luka, narrowing his eyes to little more than dangerous slits. “Weird, but sure,” he said finally, adjusting his grip on his bag again. “So are we walking or what?”

Luka dug his keys out of his pocket and flashed the lights on his bike. It was an older model Yamaha; sporty, reliable, slim enough to wind through the narrow streets of Paris on deliveries, with an extra seat behind the driver for the times Juleka needed a ride. He’d bought it used and kept good care of it, other than the fading midnight-blue paint job. And the brakes. And the sputter it made when it started up. He'd meant to get that into the shop sometime soon.

For the first time, Sass cracked a smile. “Now that I can work with.”

Translations:

désolée: sorry

J’ai oublié: I forgot

n’est-ce pas: is it not

C’est vrai: it is true (that's right)

Joli: pretty

c’est trés joli: it's very pretty

Allons-y: let's go

Hé! Attendez: Hey! Wait

salut: hi

Anglais: English

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #mlb fic #lukanette #lukanette endgame #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #marinette and tikki #luka and sass #human kwami #fic title: city of love

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