#everything is so dreary and slow and my senses are going and the sun seems less bright the world less colourful the scents less strong

[miamicommune]

.

[missmouse25]

@fabian-vettel ok it turned out a bit short but honestly, it's just how i've been feeling the last little while with the change of seasons here in my hometown

~

the first warm sun you can feel on your face after a long period of cold

It’s been a long, cold and dreary few months. The rain coming down for weeks on end, stopping only for a few days before persisting. Like the clouds were fighting in a battle we didn’t know was being fought. Every day, I would drive down the roads, seeing the bare branches. These giants lining the streets without so much as a shirt on their backs. They stood through the lashing of the elements. Some even fell victim to the wind.

It was desolate. It was intimidating.

But now, everything is green again. Down into Campher’s Drift and all along Caledon. The trees have decided that winter is finally over and that spring must begin. The brightness of the leaves almost takes me by surprise. I hadn’t even noticed that they had begun to grow back. It’s as though one day they were missing and today they reappeared.

But once I’ve seen that spring is here, I see it everywhere.

Butterflies come into the garden, perching on the now blooming flowers. The geckos are creeping up the walls and into the sunshine - sunshine that seems to last from when I wake up till when I fall asleep. There are ladybugs around the pool and bees in the rosemary. Birds are jumping through the foliage, eating at the berries – I’ve even been lucky enough to see the flash of red underwing as a Loerie flies by.

It’s as though I’ve been asleep and dreaming for the past while. Life continued. I remember that it did and I was there to experience it. But looking back it’s as though through a haze. Like looking through frosted glass: you can see the shapes, the colours, the just of what’s on the other side but nothing is certain. Nothing is clear.

Now I am awake. Now I see everything in great detail. I hear every sound that surrounds me. I feel every breath of wind on my skin. There is a sense of serenity that holds me tightly and I never want it to let go. I would stay wrapped up like this for all eternity if I could.

And perhaps it’s not really spring itself that makes me feel this way. Maybe it’s the memories. Maybe it’s my own reminiscing that makes me feel so happy; content. Spring makes me feel the happiness of my family. Of being young and carefree. Of doing things I wouldn’t normally do.

I recall when I was younger trying to fall asleep and still feeling the slow rise and fall of the ocean’s waves from earlier in the day. All my memories feel like that.  A slow rise and fall of a time gone by but a time well spent.

But this is a new year, a new season. There are new memories to be made. New things to experience. I am stepping out of the cold of winter and feeling the sun shine on my face once more – ready to embrace whatever will come my way.

[redrobin-detective]

give lilies with full hands

“Ghosts at the cemetery, why am I not surprised?” Valerie grumbled under her breath as she glanced at the glowing dots congregating near Heavenly Gates, Amity’s largest cemetery. It was just after 5pm on a Friday; Valerie should be at home getting ready for a fun and relaxing weekend. Instead, she was speeding forward in the dreary pre-rain mist about to tackle a hoard of the undead. Her life was so strange and unfair sometimes it just fueled her hatred for everything ghostly.

As she approached the cemetery, she slowed down and had her ectoweapon up and ready to shoot. Instead of a fire fight, she found an eerie, unsettling quiet that sunk deep into her bones and made her unable to move. She just hovered above the cemetery and took in the full scope of the scene. The Fentons were here, hard as they were to miss but like Valerie, they were also frozen with unease. Mrs. Fenton kept fiddling with her weapons but couldn’t manage to lift it in a meaningful way. 

The fog hung heavily around the cemetery, clinging like wet paint dripping down an unfinished picture. She could make out the unnatural glow of several ghosts, a few of which she recognized. That annoying child pirate ghost none of the adults could ever see was sobbing silently, curled up in a fetal position on the ground as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. The biker guy and girl were cuddled into each other, leaned up against a grave looked scared and worn, flickering dangerously like static on TV. Val spotted Ember looking frightened and quaking looking like she wanted to run but was unable to. Her soft glow alerted Val that there was another ghost she’d initially missed.

The ghost was more shadow than anything, the fog moving through and from them. They were a swirl of greys and blacks in the approximation of a long cloak covering their face entirely. Pinpricks of bright lights shone from underneath the cloak’s hood. They bore down on Ember as if it were seeing deep into her soul and found her lacking. 

Phantom was there too, he looked almost normal compared to everything else going on so it’s not surprising she’d missed him at first. The fog dampened some of his ghostly glow and he was standing properly instead of floating. Like Val and the Fentons, he seemed unable to move. The heavy drizzle in the air flattened his normally gravity defying hair. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was a normal person standing there, albeit one with weird fashion sense who went a little crazy with the bleach. And if Phantom looked human in comparison then just what was this new ghost?

“Amber Jablonski,” The ghost whispered quietly within the cemetery but Valerie could hear perfectly well, as if were being spoken into her ear. From the shivers she saw come from the Fentons, they were experiencing the same thing. Ember moaned, something deep and agonizing. She fell to her knees as more of her glow faded. “An eager musician just making a name for herself in her small town. A performance at a barn had faulty wiring. The building caught fire and Young Amber was trapped by debris and unable to escape.”

The flame in Ember’s hair burst into brilliant blue flames before painfully sputtering out like a candle on the verge of going out. A wisp like ghostly hand reached out and tenderly ran a finger down the side of Ember’s face like a mockery of the tears she could no longer shed. “Cause of death was severe burns across her whole body and smoke suffocation at the age of 22.”

“Enough,” Phantom announced suddenly, stepping forward through the ghostly arm putting himself squarely between Ember and the wisp ghost. The dead rockstar barely noticed, her whole form trembling as she looked down at the cold earth with absolute horror. Val wondered if she was feeling the cold of the cemetery or the burning heat of an out of control fire. “You’re killing her.”

“She is already dead,” the ghost answered, “as are they all. They are but echoes of lives come and gone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to remind them,” Phantom said, looking more ghostly again. His aura flared suddenly and his eyes lit up like angry lightning bugs in a jar. “Death is sacred, it’s private and you’re using it to hurt them.”

“It is my duty, I am the Mortem Obire. I make the restless dead confront their own mortality, remind them of what they lost.” The ghost stared down Phantom who flinched but overwise stood his ground. “It is because of you, Danny Phantom, that I have been summoned to this realm. Your life essence has made these ghosts forget what they were. They flock to you, drawn to your vibrancy, seeking what they’d lost. The dead were straying from their existence, emboldened by your example, they were forging new purposes. I am merely correcting their assumptions to preserve the delicate balance that maintains the two worlds.”

“But death shouldn’t have to define them, I mean us,” Phantom pleaded. “They can grow if they want, experience new things. The end of life isn’t the end.”

“How very human of you,” the other ghost said breathily, an unnatural imitation of a chuckle. “Your death, if we can call it that,” the ghost said, “was born out of innocence and ignorance. Nature demanded the experiment fail but your naivety allowed for the flow of life and death to be disrupted. You looked at a machine you could neither understand or control and made the attempt anyway. Your hubris consumed you in the form of electricity, pain firing through your whole body as you screamed for a relief that never came. Your old body was obliterated and remade into the abomination you are now.”

Oh god, Phantom was electrocuted. He had lived his last moments as a human screaming and in pain. She knew he was vaguely around her age but it was one thing to know a kid her age had gone through that and another to hear it described. Without thinking, she lowered her weapons. 

“Yeah I know that,” Phantom said weakly. “I took out the power in the whole city for a few hours which I felt bad about afterwards. What’s your point?” His glow was completely gone, the wet humidity of the air clinging to him much like how it fogged up Valerie’s suit. The shadow of the sinking sun made his white hair look dark and the greens of his eyes had faded into a less unnatural blue/green. 

The only think remotely otherworldly about him was a faint pulsing glow coming from the center of his chest. It beat like a heart, a soft brightness that seemed to dispel the overwhelming feeling of death. Ember looked up from the ground, the pirate kid uncurled himself a little, biker guy and his girlfriend became a little more solid. They looked at Phantom with such awe and envy and grief it was almost painful to watch them stare at what they clearly lacked. 

“My words hold no domain over your heart now, child of two worlds,” the ghost wheezed, floating past Phantom. “But someday you will greet death properly, be made humble by it, and I will be there to remind you of how fickle and fleeting that precious life of yours is.” 

“I-” Phantom defended, glowing slightly with his eyes once more an ectoplasmic green. But now it was obvious to see how much more lively and present he was compared to the others. She still hates him, will probably still hunt him but while she knew Phantom was a ghost she knew, whatever he was, she couldn’t call him dead. Not with eyes so sympathetic and expressive and alive.   

“Be gone, all of you mortals, this is a place for the dead,” the ghost commanded. The ghost hovered over to the Box Ghost who had been shivering behind a tombstone the whole time and suddenly went still as stone. “Your compassion for them does them no favors. This is the price for their existence, the dead cannot and should not forget. That is their purpose and this is mine. This is not an end to their existence, merely a reminder.”

Valerie never thoughts she’d see the Fentons flee from a fight but still she watched as Jack and Maddie slowly backed up until they reached their garish assault vehicle. They fumbled for the handles, not willing to tear their eyes off the ghosts before climbing in and driving off. Phantom looked torn, grief stricken as he watched the mist ghost, the Mortem Obire, speak softly to the Box Ghost. He looked like he wanted to interfere, to place himself in-between again but his shoulders slumped as he realized the futility of the action. This was the nature of death and memory and the living were not to interfere.

He glanced up at her, wary and saddened before disappearing from view, going off to wherever it was he lived his life when he wasn’t causing her problems. Valerie swiftly turned her board around and sped quickly in the direction of home. This had left her a lot of things to think about, about Phantom, about ghosts, about what it meant to stick around once your number was up. 

But that was for later, for now she wanted to get out of chill before the rain started in earnest. She wanted to drink something warm, sit close with her father and feel their hearts beating in time. Valerie Grey wanted nothing more, in that moment, to simply breathe in and appreciate her life before it was taken and those happy memories used against her. She would not die full of regret for what she had missed.

[savagetrickster]

Stay with Me | BNHA

request:  Hi! Can I request a scenario where Bakugou thought that reader was starting to lose interest, but in reality reader is just really busy and doesn’t realize she’s treating baku differently and Bakugou confronting her about it then it ends with some fluff fluff. 💖 p.s luv ur work

anime | character:  bnha | bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 1949

themes/warnings: soft!bakugou, insecure bakugou,  college AU

a/n: sorry for not posting a fic in such a long time, I’ve been SO busy. so anyway, okay I kinda went little off-track and ended up writing the way it is shown below but i hope you’ll still enjoy reading this, though i have to say I’m not really fond of how it turned out. this fic has not been beta-ed so pardon me if you find any cringey error.

The city of Musutafu moved as sluggishly as possible for a city of its size and caliber. It was one of those days when the moon was mostly hidden behind the clouds.

Kirishima let his eyes roam the street outside. The inhabitants of the boulevard were constantly on the move despite being a Saturday; it was a startling contrast to the cafe they sat in where a comfortable nonchalance clung to every aspect of the little business.

The slow, sleepy music playing from the speakers.

The casual yet practiced movements of the baristas as they prepared the orders. 

The lazy, idling manners in the way the customers brought their cups to their lips. Carrying every bit of thoughtlessness and indifference in their actions.

Well, almost everyone but them.

A perplexed frown pinched between Kirishima’s brows as he turned his gaze away from the window beside them.

Bakugou Katsuki had been sulking at the window ever since he plopped into the seat across him. 

He had been sitting in brooding silence for what felt like fifteen minutes and the expression on his face hadn’t changed. If there were any at all, it was only that his scowl grew bigger.

“As much as I like hanging out with you, I have to say this is getting a little…weird.” 

Kirishima briefly flitted to the counter to see curious eyes on them, “My colleagues are starting to think we’re dating.”

Tonight was the fourth time Bakugou had come to find him right as he was knocking off from his part-time job this week. 

“Who gives a fuck about what they think?” Bakugou muttered gruffly,  finally looking away from the outside.  

Kirishima had known him ever since they met in middle school to know the scowl on Bakugou’s face was…well, his default expression. 

Long enough for him to tell at one glance that the scowl he’d been seeing on Bakugou’s face was different. This one seemed to come right out from the depth of his fierce vermilion eyes — Bakugou was upset.

And it was about you.

No matter how hard Bakugou tried to hide how much he was a sucker for you, Kirishima could always tell. 

Even though they had matured into college students, Bakugou was still the same stubborn guy who wasn’t the most comfortable displaying his affections openly.

Mere mentions of you would soften the scowl on his face, and the rough edge in his voice. It was easy for anyone else to miss the difference but it was obvious to Kirishima. 

His grumpy complaints about how clingy and touchy you are were one of their common topics in their conversations. The annoyance scowling in his eyes when he did was always subtly soft and warm. 

But something changed, as Bakugou had mentioned, in the recent two weeks.

Nights in his dormitory room were spent alone. He was so used to falling asleep and waking up, to the sight of you curling up right next to him.

The last time he saw you were from afar, watching you rushing off to somewhere. 

Dates with you, even as simple as a meal in the cafeteria was scarce. 

Your replies to his texts were late and sometimes curt. The usual ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ from you, if you didn’t spend the night with him, were no longer…usual. 

Sometimes his messages to you would be left hanging for days before you replied.

The tone when Bakugou was telling him about all these strange distances between them was nonchalant, but the scowl on his face told Kirishima a different story.

Kirishima tried to think of something to say, but all he could think of in the end was the same thing he’d been saying ever since Bakugou shared this with him.

“Stop worrying man, she’s probably just busy?”

Bakugou’s face carried a carefully blanked expression as he raised his eyes to meet Kirishima’s.

“…Or maybe she’s losing interest in me.” 

His arm was tucked between his pillow and his head as his other held his phone to his face. Vermilion eyes stared blankly at the quiet chatroom he shared with you, particularly fixated on your last reply to him.

Two days ago.

The gloom hung over his gaze these days were like the dreary seasons of dull, gray monsoons. 

The hopeful morning sun filtering into his room through the wooden window blinds above him was a startling contrast, and so was the lively laughter ringing out from the basketball court somewhere near the dormitory blocks. 

Probably some idiots shoving snow at each others’ faces, Bakugou thought seethingly as he clicked his tongue in annoyance at a particular spike of volume in the ruckus downstairs. 

It was Saturday and the morning was already—

His eyes flitted to the time written in the corner of his screen.

— halfway to noon.

A quiet sigh left him.

Like on Saturdays, he should be on the way to meet you for your usual brunch. Except things weren’t quite ‘usual’ anymore.

Bakugou released another sigh as he let his phone fall away from his face along with his raised arm, landing on the bed under him with a muffled ‘plop’.

His forehead ridged with a scowl. Just how did he fuck things up?

His memories sifted through the times he called you names and how you would still smile back at him like he was your whole world as if he didn’t just call you an idiot, a nerd, or a moron. 

A bitter taste of guilt entered his mouth.

Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed that you knew he was feeling affectionate when he did?

Perhaps you’ve grown sick of him? And realized that you didn’t need a shitty boyfriend who called you insulting names or would shrug off your affections as if they were annoyances.

His jaw clenched to his gritted teeth as a frustrated hiss slipped from him.

Shit, maybe he did fuck up afterall. Fucked up big time.

And he was probably going to lose you. Everything that made you…you.

The way you smiled at him with a loving, bright glint in your eyes as if he was the one who put the stars in the sky.

The sweet kisses you love to plant on his lips and forehead.

How your hand would hold onto his — small but warm with your love.

Bakugou felt his throat swell with the presence of forming tears as his heart twinged in his chest.

The idea of losing all that spurred a rush of panic in him.

Bakugou shot off his bed, put on the nearest shirt and jeans he could grab, and hurried out of his room.

The first place Bakugou thought to look for you was your dormitory but his worst fear made him hesitate at your door, with a hand hovering over its handle. 

In fact, he’d thought about doing this for the past two weeks but the wisps of doubts whispering nasty things wouldn’t let him.

His jaw clenched to his gritted teeth.

What if there was someone else— 

Bakugou shoved the unfinished thought aside; it was unbearable to even think about that possibility. 

His scowling gaze snapped to his hesitating hand and his lips instantly curled into a sneer to a spark of irritation within.

What was with him? He was starting to remind himself of Deku, hesitating outside doors with twiddling thumbs like a wimp.

He was Bakugou Katsuki and he should be announcing his arrival by bursting through one.

Man, you thought you could finally enjoy a good night’s sleep after countless of sleepless nights.

But no…nope. 

The heater just had to break down at an ungodly hour when you were still trudging through the last thesis for your project and you could find no other alternative places to work on them. 

Bakugou came across your mind but again, it was crazy late or more accurately, early to budge into your boyfriend’s room.

Like every other night, you’d been tirelessly working on it so you could finally submit the project you’d been assigned since two weeks ago.

It was the infamous final year project you’ve dreaded ever since you heard about it from your senior — dubbed as ‘the project from hell’.

And indeed, it was a project from hell. It seemed to suck out your very soul. The exhaustion weighing you down like lead ran bone deep, that even lifting your head off your pillow was such a struggle.

With a broken heater sitting uselessly in your room, you’d spent the whole night wrapped in your blanket, with the lingering winter chill prickling at your skin. 

So you couldn’t help sighing at the sudden warmth enveloping your body after spending the night shivering away under your blanket at the mercy of the dropping temperature.

Your arms found their way around the heat source.

You didn’t see the tender curl of his lips when you sighed blissfully and nuzzled into his chest or the softening glint in the usual fierce edge held in his vermilion eyes.

It was like nestling inside a warm cocoon that…

— awareness seeping into your groggy senses pried your eyes open.  

…breathed.

What or rather who greeted you lifted you right out of your morning grogginess and struck you with an overwhelming barrage of emotions.

“…Ka-Katsuki!” You missed him so much.

Along with how the shadows and sunlight filtering in from behind you fell across and highlighted his chiseled profile, there was something about the way his intense eyes looked down at you with his head leaning against an arm. 

This sight gave your heart a fluttery squeeze.

You weren’t sure why Bakugou looked so strikingly handsome like this — maybe it was because you haven’t seen him for awhile?

“When did you come in here?” Words started pouring out of your mouth. 

You’ve always wanted to vent and rant about the dumb project to Bakugou so there was too much you wanted to say, 

“Oh my god, you’ve no idea how much busy I was these few weeks-” but the brooding look that hadn’t left Bakugou stopped you.”…Katsuki?”

You’d never seen Bakugou look this down before, and it didn’t sit right with you.

You hesitated but asked anyway.“…What’s wrong?” 

The cloud that fell over his eyes told you that something was definitely wrong.

“…I’m sorry, (Name).”

You grew concerned as you tried to understand his unreadable demeanor. “What’s this about— ”

“Are you losing interest in me?”

Your next breath was caught in your throat at his strange question and the only thing you could do was blurt out a —“What?”

You watch him exhale carefully with a bewildered look. 

Bakugou didn’t even care how he looked to you now.

“Look, I know I’m a huge fuck-up as a boyfriend and you probably think I don’t care about our relationship cause I act like I don’t.”

There was so much to say, so much guilt brimming inside him. 

“But shit, I do care.”

He was desperate. 

He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t. He loved you but he was an idiot for not showing that to you. 

So he needed to let you know now.

His hand on your waist pulled you up to him and his eyes were pinned on yours.

Your mouth opened, then snapped close at the silent, blazing gleam in his gaze.

Your voice had fled at the way he stared at you. 

Longing and heavy with remorse.

“Stay with me,” His lips brushed lightly across yours as his voice cracked with an aching need.” …please.”

He kissed you and the world fell away.

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

A goddamn blaze in the dark

The first time Emily sees Sue, the first thing she does is drop a cup of steaming hot coffee onto the floor, slip on it and land flat on her back behind the counter. And then she thinks — Oh. Found you.

To be fair, even without the pesky niggling at the back of her head, very helpfully pointing out that this was the girl, her soulmate, the love of her life, her forever and beyond, the sight of Sue would have knocked her down anyways. What else are you supposed to do when a pretty girl, dressed in tweed, with her hair tied up in a braid, walks into the coffee shop where you work with that smile on her face? That damned smile that doesn’t ask you so as much as inform you that you’re going to be haunted by it in your dreams tonight? With 10 am sunlight filtering in through the sides, casting half of her features in sharp, glorious light, Emily might as well have just signed away her breath for eternity.

Lavinia bends, looks her right in her eye from above her. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

She wants to open her mouth to say something along the lines of – It's her! It’s her! What comes out, however is a garbled groan.

“Emily, buddy,” Austin rollerblades over to her, bends over her from the other side. “You gotta get up before there are complaints of unprofessionalism in the workplace.”

“Oh, because you’re the pinnacle of workplace niceties, I assume,” Lavinia shoots him a contemptuous look. “Only last week, wasn’t it? Those two young ladies in here fighting over who you were going to take to the mixer—”

“Guys,” she manages, before Austin can respond with something equally snarky, or god forbid, lascivious. “Is anyone minding the counter?”

And for exactly thirty seconds, the amount of time it takes Austin to slide over and ask for the orders of the disgruntled customers, and before she stretches out her arm and lets herself get pulled up to her feet, she hears a sweet voice enquire if everything’s quite alright back there. Emily closes her eyes, breathes it in, and wishes, not for the first time that hour, that she had her notepad near her to scribble a snippet of a poem that is now rapidly forming in her head.

*****

It is only sometimes that Sue looks at Emily and thinks that if Emily were to say the word, she would get down on her knees and hand over the entire world to her. Most of the time what she is thinking is goddamn it, Emily.

That’s what is going through her head as they’re kicked out of the lecture of the old man droning on about volcanoes. She can hear Emily giggling from behind her, and though her heart’s beating loud — the result of embarrassment and pure adrenaline — the sound makes her want to turn around and regard the idiot making it. So she does.

They’re alone in the deserted staircase; all the students, she guesses, are probably in that abysmally monotonous lecture. Emily leans against the banister, bent over at the waist from the sheer force of her mirth, and Sue takes it all in — her laugh, her gentle hands clutching at the wooden surface, and those intense, sparkling eyes looking right into hers. The next Goddamn it, Emily isn’t exasperated. It stays right there in her throat, accompanied by other, tender platitudes she’s never been brave enough to let herself say.

You’re beautiful. You make me ache inside.

(At night, Emily would talk to her about pressure, an acute force that demands to be released within her, and unable to help herself, the words — I think I know what a volcano feels like — would bubble up from her lips. And when Emily moves against her, a writhing mass of soft, bundled up wanting, Sue thinks she understands Pompeii a lot better as well; understands being frozen in time, brought to your knees by the sheer majesty of beauty and violence.)

*****

Listen, Emily has never claimed to be an expert on love.

(Austin has, on several occasions. Sauntered into the café, placed his elbow on the counter, and grinned roguishly. “Emily,” he’d started, once. “You know what the”—

“Is it that time of the month again?” Lavinia, who had been mopping up the floor, drawled. “Too much time since your last breakup but not quite enough that you can start going out with another girl and still maintain that image of the soft, sensitive manchild you’ve carefully cultivated. So you’re stuck in that weird limbo of no dates to go on, and subsequently are here to bore us.”

He’d chucked a tissue in her direction, continued smoothly. “As I was saying, do you, my dear Emily know what girls like best?”

“My sunny disposition?” she’d asked.

“No,” he replied flatly. “What girls want is someone who is cool. Indifferent. Somebody who displays absolutely zero interest in them. In fact—”

“That is horseshit,” Lavinia cut in.

Emily faux-gasped, continued leaning the espresso machine.

“Don’t you listen to him, Em. Girls like sweet, sensitive people who express an interest in wanting to get to know them.”

“I am an expert on women.”

“I am a woman!”

Emily half-listened to the sound of their bickering, and wished that she were a cat)

She considers both approaches briefly as she faces the girl, wondering why time hasn’t at least done them the decency of slowing down. It’s only polite, isn’t it, for the universe to cooperate when two eternal lovers meet. Emily has no justification as to why the universe should be so invested in the meeting of her and this woman who she’d decided was her intended, except it just makes sense.

(Intended. The word feels like it bears the weight of a hundred years. Like a woman back in the 19th century was whispering it to another woman she was in love with, as they lay in bed playing with each other’s hands.)

(It fits. She doesn’t care to find out why)

The girl opens her mouth. Emily holds her breath.

“You’ve got foam in your hair.”

The words — “It makes them bounce” — are out of her mouth before she can think. And then she wishes she’d picked up another cup of coffee in her hand so she could drop it on her head again.  

Thankfully, the girl laughs. Rests both her elbows on the counter and assesses the menu above Emily’s head. Emily doesn’t mind the reprieve from eye-contact. There’s something about looking right at this.... angel, for lack of a better word, that makes breathing cumbersome. And yet there’s another part of her that wants to raise her arms above her head and bounce like a little child, all “Hey! Look at me! It’s me!”.

(It’s a very strange day)

“What would you recommend?”

“Me?” Emily startles a little. Turns back to the menu, then back to the girl. Blinks. “That depends on your name.”

“How does my coffee order depend on my name?” the girl sounds amused.

Emily shrugs. “Eh. It’s a process. Can’t give away all my secrets.”

There’s prolonged eye contact, again, before the answer comes. “Sue.”

It rings in her head. Sue. Sue. Sue. There’s no prettier word in the English language. Saying it over and over in her head feels like a prayer. She tells Sue to wait a moment, and then turns to make her a caramel freakshow, all the while acutely aware of eyes on her. Her clothes are drenched in coffee, and she’d picked out the most faded of her t-shirts to wear today. God only knows what she looks like from behind.

The drink is her very best effort, though. Topped with the best slices of fresh fruit, and she’s made the swirls on the cream topping extra carefully. “Coffee for,” she pauses, pushes at the glass gently till it’s on Sue’s side, “Sue.”

“Can I ask what’s in this.... concoction?”

“My hear—” Emily knows she’s turning red, and desperately look away. “Um, coffee?”

Sue fumbles in her bag, and she wrestles with the urge to say — “Nevermind, it’s on me!” — which would not be the wisest. Emily hates the idea of taking money from Sue, that too, for something as measly as a coffee. Probably because she knows that if Sue were only to ask once, she would make her coffee every day, unprompted.

(She cannot reiterate enough – It's a very strange day)

When Sue steps away, Emily feels loss. It’s an unusual nudge to her sternum, a tingle in her hands that wants her to call Sue back. Before she has the time to dwell on it too much, Sue does.

“Do I,” she starts, frowning a little “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Yes.  

Yes.

I can’t explain it but we know each other somehow, the same way artists know their muses, and flowers know their bees, and my hands know how to write poems — and maybe a hundred years ago you and I were neighboring trees in the woods, or two seeds in the same tangerine; I’m pretty sure my knowledge of your existence was probably coded in my blood.

“Do you?”  

Sue seems to consider that for a while before shaking her head, and then walking over to take a seat by the window.

(And if she catches Emily stealing a glance every five minutes, she’s nice enough to not mention it)

*****

The day of her wedding is the happiest day of her life so far, and yet, the wedding has very little to do with it.

It’s a tiny, foolish fact that this is the first smile she sees on Emily after Ben’s tragic death, and yet, it makes her feel unreasonably pleased with herself. If her life were split into days she could see and touch Emily, and dreary days — the former were made significantly better if Emily smiled in them. Not to be dramatic, but the sun shines better, the skies glow prettier, and the ground is a little easier to run on.

Emily points out somewhere in the middle of their frolicking, for back of a better word, in the woods, that her dress is getting ruined. And then flings a flower onto her face. Goddamn it, Emily, she says, and then is struck dumb by the sound of her loud, exuberant laugh.

(And even quieter still when she holds the magnifying glass over the tiny piece of paper Emily had handed her earlier, the words washing over her like some tidal wave, drowning her in emotions too terrifying to admit. I held her hand the tighter, she reads and she smiles; Still in her Eye, the Violets lie, she reads and punctuates with a deep breath and when she reaches the end, the Sue – Forevermore, she’s aware of an awful keening in her throat, of the sob waiting to make its way out. Emily, Emily, her heart sings, and she is sure it will never shut up again)

She thinks of Emily the whole time, through the vows and the subsequent cheers, as they make their way into the house; thinks of her when Austin holds her tight and tells her that he loves her. A quiet voice, the sound of her guilt crawls up from inside her to tell him that she loves him too. She may be his in name, but her heart isn’t hers to give away anymore.

*****

Seven. That’s how many days she steals glances at Sue in the library before they talk again.

Monday, 9 am: The librarian’s just gotten started with her morning coffee, which means that Emily can sneak her own breakfast past her bleary eyes without being detected. She gets the books that she wants off the shelf, makes her way to her usual chair at the very back of the room and settles in. Her bag gets hooked to her chair by the straps, the tiny diary, her faithful companion, finds a place beside the humongous book, and the coffee sits next to her breakfast burrito. After the entire process is done, she stretches her legs, leans back, looks up and freezes.

Sue is seated on a nearby desk, staring at her.

Emily looks away, on reflex. Her heartrate’s up, and her palms suddenly feel clammy. She takes a deep breath, takes in the floor, and tells herself she’s seeing things. Surely, there’s no way the girl of her dreams also goes to her college and it absolutely isn’t possible that she’s sitting in front of her, in the flesh. She readies herself, looks again.

Sue’s still looking at her, now amused as well.

Well. There go her studies.

Tuesday, 8:50 am: Her plan is foolproof. There is no way she will be caught off guard again. She will be first to the library this time, and she will be prepared when Sue walks in, ready to impress her with her overall charm and chill-ness. There will — not — be a repeat of yesterday when she’d spent the better part of two hours hyperventilating, stealing secret looks or straight up going red every time Sue caught her eye and smiled at her.

The librarian hasn’t even started eating yet. Her head’s resting on the desk, and her eyes are tiny slits, when Emily runs in, makes her way to her own seat. Sue’s seat is empty, thankfully.

(Emily totally does not punch the air in celebration, startling a few other sleepy students)

She stretches out her arms, places them behind her head and waits.

And then jumps about a feet in the air when a hand brushes her shoulder.

There are multiple things happening all at once — the gentle hand resting on her shoulder for a moment, a hand whose warmth she instinctively recognizes as being a familiar one, despite never having felt it before (she knows it’s her. There’s no other option. Nothing else could make the skin at the back of her neck prickle in anticipation), a faint, teasing whisper of “I thought we weren’t allowed to eat in here”, and the realization that her plan has woefully failed.

(Why, then, does she feel so happy about it?)

Sue passes by, turning back once to shoot her a quick grin, and then settles into her usual chair, opening the book already present on the desk in front of her.

Emily’s jaw stays on the floor. The state of her heart stays up in the air.

Wednesday, 9:00 am: Sue opens the note Emily’s just chucked her, reads it, and smirks.

Emily waits. It had been an impetuous decision to scribble “Waffle?” onto a scrap of paper she’d torn out of her notebook, when Sue had looked at her earlier, but it’s alright. These are matters of the heart, and matters of the heart require at least 25 percent an attitude of ‘Ah, fuck it’, another 25 percent of run-of-the-mill stupidity, and 45 percent the ability to laugh at your own shenanigans.

Oh, and about 6 percent bad math.

She catches the crumpled-up note that comes sailing through the air in return and opens it up. “I was taught not to accept food from strangers”, is written in beautiful cursive, along with a smiley face.

(A smiley face. A smiley face!)

Thursday, 9:10 am: She writes — “You know, I am named after one of the best American poets, and your name coincides with the name of her ultimate love and muse. Some would say we’ve known each other a long time” — and slides it over to Sue, heart in her throat.

Twenty seconds later, the sound of Sue’s clear laughter rings out in the otherwise quiet place, and Emily is so enchanted she nearly falls off her chair.

(She hands off half of the breakfast burrito to Sue when she passes by to grab another book, and Sue’s grateful smile just about makes her day)

Friday, 9:00 am: The book she usually grabs to pore over is already sitting on the desk in front of her usual chair. After Emily’s done waving hi to Sue, and has settled down, she notices the tiny flap of paper poking out of the first page. Tucked in the corner is a tiny note.

“As an English major, this is your game, isn’t it? Using words to impress people? :P”

It doesn’t take her long to compose a reply.  

“First of all, how dare you? Second, is it working?”

Sue covers her face with her hands when she opens it. Emily counts it as a win.

Saturday, 8:50 am: The poor boy who has been sitting in the next row all week finally loses it after they’ve exchanged their fifteenth et of notes for the day.

“Can you people, like, just text like the rest of us, for fuck’s sake?”

When the rest of the people surrounding them nod in agreement, Emily sinks into her chair, catches Sue’s equally embarrassed gaze from across the room, and resists the urge to laugh like an idiot.

Sunday, 10 am: The morning’s been hell.

Austin had been panicking about some test he had on Monday, and so she’d come in to help out at the café, early morning. Between quizzing him on his flashcards and making sure every customer had a full cup in front of them, Emily completely lost track of time until Lavinia dragged her apron off her.

“What?” she’d asked, bewildered.

The clock was pointed out to her.

(No, she does not leave an outline of her body behind when she dashes out of the café. There is, however, a mad moment when she’s pretty sure her legs are scrambling with her body still at rest. It is pretty comical nonetheless)

From the entrance she sees a couple of things on her desk, and is a little miffed. Clearly, somebody else has claimed this prime spot with a vantage point from where she could stare at the most interesting woman in the world all day. And yet, she approaches it, because the chair is empty.

The book catches her eye first. It’s a copy of Hope is the thing with feathers by her namesake, and it’s got a note with a familiar handwriting peeking out of the top. She reads, delighted, a haiku about fruit and tenderness that’s been scribbled on it. And then she gets to what’s lying next to the book — what seems to be a sandwich, wrapped carefully in foil. She touches it. It’s cold, as though it’s been waiting there a while.

The smile on her face is definitely a permanent fixture now, she decides, as she walks over to where Sue is sitting and pretending to not look over. Her heart’s tripping over with delight, with gratitude with something tender that she’s absolutely sure she hasn’t felt before. Hope is the thing with feathers, indeed and it is perched in her soul. She pulls out the chair next to hers, and sits down.

“Thank you,” she says, quietly, and swears to god she can hear the entire table go Fucking finally — before Sue shoots her a small smile.

*****

“Only you would show up at a party looking like a raccoon,” she tells Emily, exasperated.

(And enamored. And besotted. Emily makes an adorable raccoon)

“I’m not here for the party — I’m here for you,” Emily shoots back, defiant. “As long as I can still see, I wanna look at you.”

And oh, there it is. There’s the Emily she knows, saying words that slide into her chest as easily as their hands go together. Words are Emily’s deadliest weapons, and she wields them to inflict sheer havoc.

Isn’t that just it, though? Emily has no idea. No idea what it does to her to have her this close — with their foreheads pressed to each other’s, their noses a whisper away, with Emily surrounding her, taking every one of her senses and carving her name on them. Sue feels a hand on her hair, then on her cheek, and knows she’s this close to losing any bit of self-control she might have had.

She steps away, composes herself, and thinks, Shakespeare was right. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

*****

“You might as well have ditched us,” Lavinia grumps.

“What?” Emily blinks, momentarily distracted from whatever text she was in the middle of shooting off to Sue. “Oh.”

“Not cool, dude,” Austin chimes in from the other side. They’re smushed into the couch together, planted in front of the screen where some 80s movie is on. It’s a weekend, which means movie nights filled with chicken wings and some dreadful drink that Austin’s invented that he calls the Faustinator, because.... reasons, apparently. And Emily’s just now realizing that she has no idea what the movie even is because she’s spent most of her time texting Sue. “You’re texting your sweetheart lameass cringy shit.”

“How do you know what I’m texti— Austin, stop reading over my shoulder!”

(She conveniently ignores the sweetheart thing. It’s easier than the alternative, which would be to dwell too much on the possibility of Sue being her sweetheart, and Emily being Sue’s and oh — she can feel herself smiling again.)

“Believe me, it isn’t easy on me,” he snarks. “Two months of talking our heads off about Sue, Sue, Sue and free drinks for Sue, Sue, Sue and pining over—”

“It has not been that long!”

“Lavinia?” he asks.

“Two months, two weeks and four days,” Lavinia tells her, flatly. “That’s how long we’ve had to hear about how you know her and that you’re convinced she is the love of your life.”

“I do.... know her,” she trails off, uncertain. It’s one matter to think it and feel it, like she’s felt the absurd familiarity in her bones every time she hears Sue’s voice, or Sue touches her skin, and sets it on fire. Another matter entirely to set about explaining it. Plus, other, unrelated things, like how reading Emily Dickinson’s poems feel like a friendly little nudge someone’s giving her, an inside joke, or why sometimes she feels so, so much that she would burst if she didn’t write that very moment.

“She walks you to class most days from the library.”

“And she’s been coming to the café every other day, and listening to you rant about random things,” Austin chimes in.

“Didn’t she write Emily a couple of poems as well?”

“Hey, that’s,” she starts, pauses, smiles. “Yeah. I, uh, told her nobody had ever written me anything before, and she — she’s really sweet.”

“Honey,” Lavinia says, gently, “the woman’s in love with you.”

“Oh-kay!” Emily jumps up from the couch and announces her intention to get more popcorn. And the pokes her head out from around the corner, and asks, in the tiniest voice.

“Really?”

Two chips come flying in her direction, and then they can’t stop laughing.

*****

There’s a kind of truth in the life she lives when she’s alone; no one to defer to, no one to explain to why she doesn’t want children or why, even after a couple of months of a blissful wedlock with Amherst’s most eligible ex-bachelor, the smile slides off her face as easily as the fruit punch in her parties off the plates. And then there’s the second kind that has to be dragged out of her — with heaving breath and shaking hands and salt dripped out of her eyes. Honesty that scalds and tears up her inside as it makes its way out of her.

(It’s a particular bit of irony in the fact that Emily is both the cause, and the only one who ever gets to witness the fallout, of the second one)

“Emily, I love you.” she says, like Emily’s put her arms down her throat and is ripping the words out of her. “I love you, and, and I felt you in the library — because you’re always with me.”

There’s a moment of complete, utter silence, when she stares at Emily and Emily stares back at her and the space between them is filled with the distance of lies and fury — and then they crash together. It’s an impossible push and pull, and Sue feels, for the first time in weeks, this complete surrender, abandon of all inhibition. Love tastes like Emily, and it feels like drowning and sounds like the tiny noise Emily makes when they part, like she can’t stand to be away even a second longer. All of what she knows about love is Emily.

If Sue could write, this is what she’d put down on paper: the feel of Emily’s neck beneath her hand, the way she melts when Sue wraps an arm around her. This yearning to be closer, the hunger to consume and the reluctance towards stopping. She wants, so badly to do Emily the same honor of immortalizing her in the form of words — she deserves it. The world deserves to know how she felt about this.... miracle, this angel in her arms. More than anything else, Emily deserves to know how Sue feels about her.

She turns to her side, kisses Emily’s hand once, twice. “I will never let go of you again.”

*****

Life is an endless sea of pain.

“Emily, she’s just a girl,” Austin tells her, then immediately flinches as Lavinia whacks him on the head.

Emily wipes away the moisture from her face with the sleeve of her favorite oversized hoodie, sniffles, and sticks her spoon in the tub of ice-cream again.

“Not to pry,” Lavinia starts, hesitantly, “but we still have no idea what happened. You came running into my room a week ago and haven’t stopped crying since. I guess — I guess we just want to know what’s up.”

Emily sighs. “It’s Sue.”

Austin blinks at her. “Yeah I — I mean, we know that.”

She thinks back to Sunday morning when she’d come upon her favorite restaurant while out on a run. The sight of Sue, sitting there with some.... dude. It was a cozy booth, and the way the guy seemed to be smiling in Sue’s direction couldn’t be construed as anything but romantic.  

“A date?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re telling us this is because you thought Sue was on a date?”

What wasn’t clicking? “Sue was on a date. There were flowers on the table and everything.”

“And that’s why you haven’t been returning her calls or texts? And have expressly forbidden us to tell her where you are when she comes into the café, like, everyday?”

Emily shifts. “Yes?”

Lavinia whacks her on the head.  

“Ow,” Emily groans. “What’s with all the violence?”

“Oh, stop it, you big baby. Now,” she took a deep breath, and Emily knew instinctively a huge lecture was incoming, “let’s examine the facts, shall we?”

“Is there any point in refus—”

“No. So, you like this girl, and it seems like she likes you too. But you refuse to do anything about it, like, you know, maybe admitting it to her. Then, you come upon her having lunch with some random dude and you assume it’s a date, and then freak out about it and cut her off.”

“But I’m pretty sure it was a date!”

“Fine! Okay! It was a date! So what? You expect her to hang around waiting for you to get your shit together, what, forever? And what if she doesn’t like you, god, Emily! I—”

“Okay, okay, wait!” she cuts in, holds up a hand to gather her thoughts. “I — I get what you’re saying, okay? I really do.”

“I know I have no right to be angry. She doesn’t owe me anything — I just. I dunno. I thought we had something. But even if that wasn’t the case,” she scrambles to add, “I guess I’m just taking pre-emptive action. To not get hurt. I can’t stick around and watch her fall in love with someone else, okay? I just. I can’t.”

Austin pats her on the back, and she sinks into his arm. This, of all things, is true. There are a multitude of things in life she has had to bear, and that she has borne, but this — watching Sue slowly fall in love with someone else, would be unbearable.  

She has another spoonful of ice cream. “I’m being an asshole, aren’t I?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Lavinia agrees. “But give yourself a break — you’re in love. It turns everyone a little bonkers.”

“It’s fucked.”

“No!” Austin and Lavinia tell her, together, before Lavinia continues, “Listen, I think you should talk to Sue.”

“Pretty sure she hates me now.”

“If she does, then go and face it. Honestly, though, I think you owe it to her, and also to yourself, to explain your side of things.”

“I’d literally rather die.”

“Then go do your dying in the fucking library. It’s almost ten, anyways.”

*****

She can still feel Emily’s teeth on her collarbone, can still wrap an arm around herself and trace the marks Emily’s fingers have left on her, when Sue announces that she’s trying to write a poem.

Emily throws off the sheets from her body, and turns so their heads are close. Sue’s sitting at the end of the bed, wrapped in sheets herself, eyes closed. She opens them when Emily’s nose nudges against her cheek.

“You are?” she asks, hand already playing with Sue’s hair, and Sue nods. “What’s it about?”

Sue cannot stop herself rolling her eyes. “Guess.”

“Is it,” Emily asks, teasingly, “about me?”

“Maybe.”

There’s a delighted gasp from her paramour, and she can feel a small kiss pressed to her temple. “I want to read it.”

“Only when it’s done.”

“And when will it be done?”

She turns to look right at Emily now. “I’m not sure it ever will.”

When Emily kisses her — every time Emily kisses her, Sue adds a line to the poem in her head. She’s running out of words to express joy, passion and beauty, at this point.

“The romance of it all,” Emily remarks, pretending to swoon. “This way I will live on through your words as well, after I die.”

Sue frowns, feels her lips automatically pull down at the corners. “No talking about death.”

“But we will die, darling,” Emily explains, patiently. “I can only hope that I die first.”

“How — how dare you?” she asks, indignant. “I’m going to try my very best to be the one to go.”

(That one spurs an argument that goes on four rounds before either of the participants admit defeat)

“How about,” Emily starts, ponderously. “Whoever dies first comes back around the next time and finds the other?”

Sue can’t stop the smile. The thought is so whimsical, it drives their previous non-argument right out of her head.

“You think we’ll come back someday, years after our deaths?”

“Try and stop me,” Emily declares, fondly. “Susan Gilbert, I will always — always find you.”

Sue closes her eyes, feels Emily’s lips ghost over her cheek and tries to imagine the thought of the two of them, years from now, sitting side by side, hand in hand. Breathes deeply to stop the sudden onslaught of tears the image evokes.

“My foolish sweetheart,” she says, after she’s composed herself. “I love you.”

This is what she’ll put in words — Emily next to her, head tilted downwards, turned towards her. In about a minute, she’ll start complaining of the blood rushing to her brain, and Sue, exasperated, will tell her to sit straight. She’ll write about the light that falls on the edge of Emily’s nose, the one crooked tooth all the way in the corner, the tiny scar on her brow. About the way their hands lock into each other’s, how there’s a space on her neck made perfectly in the mould of Emily’s head — two girls, sitting next to each other, together into an eternity, and beyond.

*****

The first time Emily sees Sue after a week-long absence, she’s just run into the library and crashed into a nearby bench, thus bringing down a student, two books, and herself. She gets up almost immediately, sees Sue staring at the sight of her, wide-eyed, and thinks — Oh. Found you.

There’s an empty seat next to Sue, and on the desk lies an apple. Emily approaches her, and touches the back of her shoulder lightly.

“Can I sit here?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Sue answers, not looking at her. “Can you?”

Emily has to bite at her lip to keep in the wild laughter that threatens to erupt. It’s not just the quip, either. It’s Sue — seeing her after these many days of zero contact feels like a drug, and she breathes it in, greedily. She pulls the chair out, and sits down on it.

“So,” she starts, then trails off.

“So,” Sue mimics, not unkindly.

“It may have been brought to my attention that I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”

“Only a bit?” Sue raises an eyebrow, leans back where she’s sitting.

Well. “More than a bit,” she amends. “I’ve been an idiot. A dumbass. An utter fool. A rake. A rogue of the highest order.”

Sue tells her she agrees. Then — “You wanna tell me why?”

“I saw you and, um, some guy. On your date that day over at the Plantain Leaf?”

Sue stares. For the longest time. “You ghosted me for a week because you saw me out to lunch with a guy? Emily that is so—”

“I know!” she says, then gets shushed by the people sitting around them. She consciously lowers her voice when she speaks next. “I know, Sue. I was being an asshole, I just — felt complicated about.... things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah. Like — feelings. And stuff.”

She sees Sue stifle a smile, and feels a little bit of life come back into her hands.

“What about your feelings?”

“Well,” Emily says, pauses, then comes out with a masterpiece of an explanation, “I have them.”  

Then covers her face with her hands, because why? It hasn’t even been ten minutes, and she’s already started messing things up.

“I mean — I have feelings. For you.”

She chances a look up at Sue, after a minute of that incredibly earth-shattering revelation, and stays held in place by the intensity of her gaze. Sue’s eyes are soft, large, and Emily wants to do something stupid, like bury her face in her hands again.

“You do?” Sue asks her, in the tiniest voice possible. Like she can’t believe it. Like Emily has done an awful job of wearing her whole heart out on her sleeve the past couple of months.

“Yeah,” she replies, and finds her voice is equally tiny. “Good ones.” The kind that have me convinced we knew each other a couple decades ago, that I have heard your voice in my dreams all my life, that I’ve been waiting for you for turn a corner and walk into my life this whole while. And if not this time, I’ll wait a couple decades more for you to love me back. “And it’s okay if you’re dating that guy, I just — I thought you should know. That’s all.”

Sue lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m not dating Sam.”

Oh.

So turns out Emily had been holding her breath.

Ants are crawling all over her body. To combat them, Emily picks up the object nearest to her, which happens to be the apple.

“Is that for me?”

Sue nods. “You owe me the six sandwiches I got you this entire week,” she adds, teasingly.

Elation fills Emily until she imagines she’s probably floating a few inches above the ground, buoyed by this tiny admission of caring on Sue’s part. Whoever had said all those things about love had been right. It really was.... something different altogether.

“You’re telling me you sat here and read Emily Dickinson all week, waiting for a girl to show up?”

A light blush lights up Sue, and she leans forward a little bit. “Not just a girl,” she tells her, seriously. “I waited for Emily, who was named after this poet whose work I’ve really come to like. Emily, who I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with.”

Oh dear God.

They’re closer together now, their heads almost touching; Emily imagines them in a world of their own, separate from the rest of this library. She pretends to scoff.

“What? You don’t think a lot of Emily?”

“I think I can write better,” she declares.

“You think you can—” Sue starts, then lets out a laugh. “Emily, shut up.”

And then they’re suddenly kissing, and each and every cell in Emily gathers somewhere near her chest to rejoice together, every beat of her heart falls and arranges in the shape of a song, and time just kind of. Slows down. Pauses. Stops.

Emily thinks she knows what a volcano feels like, now. When she’ll go home, later, she’ll sit at her writing desk, pen down a poem about lovers and hands and two women sitting with their heads close together; maybe put in a fruit or two. And tiny pieces will come together in her head, just like the ones in her chest that crumble every time Sue looks at her.  

But right now, she closes her eyes, feels poetry on her lips, and it is good enough.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #21: Bright Green

Words:  ca. 5,500 Setting: Solarpunk AU Lemon: no Content:  Angst, nudity

It had been a long time since Anna had seen an Old-World style city. Overhead, there loomed shiny steel towers with sparkling windows that let one peer into identical dreary offices. Her eyes were drawn downwards towards the blurred wide streets that passed by. Quaint vehicles in similar styles passed by in a myriad of vivid colors. Large billboards- readable even from the train- held a dazzling array of advertisements for every thing imaginable. There were even little strange delights that one might see in a glance, like a tiny restaurant or little saplings.

Anna took in the delightfully strange view and couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to live here. But then, maybe it would be like living in a tourist location. Was this a tourist location? She supposed that it must be, considering how dedicated it seemed to be to replicating the Old World.

Anna pulled out her smart device, and her legs began to bounce. Today was her first day at the new archive she had been transferred to, and there was no way she was going to come unprepared. Not that she was quite sure how she would, but re-reading the email and texts couldn’t hurt.

Today would be the day and everything would go great. This, she felt sure of. She had been transferred because of her specialty, and everyone else there would be similarly skilled. They could even become new friends that bonded over the materials being archived! Yes, this would be amazing.

——————–

The train slowly chugged to a halt. Anna glanced at the display and determined that yes, this was her stop. She got up, gathered her things, and braved the first step onto the platform. With her destination in walking distance, the nerves almost seemed to be louder.

Would she be in a shiny steel tower? A dingy underground tunnel? Some mix of the two crammed in a nook? 

Her question was quickly answered as she laid eyes on the archive building. A squat thing, compared to the skyscrapers next to it. Wide, shaped similarly to an octahedron and made of sun-bleached bricks that were at some point tan. The roof was similarly simple, black and flat- likely with an access. Completely old-fashioned, but more something you would find outside of a city.

Anna grinned when she approached the sliding glass door and saw that the carpeted entryway appeared to be lit by some green light. Her first thought was to wave her hand under it and stare when her hand did indeed change color. Okay, this place was already great.

Behind the front desk stood a brown-haired woman who appeared to be reorganizing its contents, with a book next to her. Anna, in turn, stepped up and greeted her potential new friend and colleague.

“Hey there, I’m Anna!”

The woman looked up.

“Oh, hello, my name is Belle.”

“I’m sorry, it’s a little early now. We’re not currently open to the public,” she said.

“Wh- oh! No, no I work here. Or well, I work here now, today’s my first day,” Anna replied.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” said Belle.

“No no, it’s okay.”

“Okay well, do you want me to show you around?”

“That would be great, thanks!” 

“Here,” Belle gestured behind her towards a room that seemed more brightly lit than the rest of the archive, “this is the office we have.”

Anna stepped over the threshold and very nearly swooned. The room itself had a large, rectangular central table that held veritable mountains of Old World artifacts. Aside from the straight-backed wooden chairs tucked under it, there were also cozy armchairs in a corner with a table. Said corner appeared to have the materials to make several different types of coffee. That would definitely be appreciated.

“Oh wow…”

“Isn’t it amazing? I just love all the things that people used to write. Here! Look at this old newspaper!” Belle shoved a random yellowed old paper at Anna.

“Woah, slow down!” Anna shouted, on the verge of laughter.

She then looked at the headline proper, trying to make sense of the words in her face.

‘West Point cadet earns Soldier’s Medal for his dying act’

Anna blinked. She had a suspicion that people being dead was not what Belle was referring to, but boy if that wasn’t unfortunate. More than unfortunate, tragic even.

“Wait, what? That’s not nice at all.”

Belle’s eyebrows raised as she checked the headline and blanched. She then casually placed the newspaper back without breaking eye contact.

“Well, most of them. Some are just terribly sad.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“You think it’ll become relevant to some historian?” asked Belle.

“Oh, totally. People are crazy for anecdotes about people from the past, especially if they’re sad.” replied Anna.

After their initial discussion, the two got to proper work. The items would not catalogue themselves, and someone had to make sure that no visitors were lost or messed up the organization. That was what Anna enjoyed the most, the feel of ancient objects beneath her hands, and the scent of aged papers and books. There was nothing quite like it.

——————–

“See you tomorrow!” shouted Anna as she left, waving to Belle.

Once outside, she felt alive again. The fresh air felt delightful in her nose, though the brightness from the sun compared to the archives burned momentarily. Working there would take some getting used to, especially with the sheer lack of windows. 

What was with the Old World and their decidedly bipolar stance on windows anyways? The walls seemed to either be all windows or just forgo natural light. What a weird place, and wow it must be weird having to be a building inspector in such a place.

Dazed with thoughts of her surroundings, Anna very nearly missed the desperate looking gorgeous woman. 

‘Wait, what?’

Her brain screeched to a halt as she took in all of the elements of what was going on. Panicked pacing. Repeated running of fingers through hair. A vehicle. A woman that made Anna’s heart clench just by looking at her. A woman that needed help! She stumbled a bit as her legs were still somewhat frozen instead of moving to help.

When she approached, Anna could hear the woman murmuring to herself, “No, no, no, no…”

Anna cleared her throat and said, “Heya! You look g- like you need help. Yes. Is everything okay?”

The woman looked at Anna and said, “No, not particularly.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Anna.

“My car won’t turn on. I fear that I won’t be able to get home now,” she replied, biting her lip.

“Oh! Why don’t you take the train until someone fixes it?” 

The woman blinked a few times. “The train?”

Anna smiled and said, “Well yeah! I mean, how else do you get around?”

“With a car?” said the woman.

‘Oh. They were called cars.’ “Ah. Yes, I guess- yeah. Yeah that would make sense. But you’ve taken the train before, right?” asked Anna.

“I actually haven’t. Guess I just never needed to before,” she replied.

“Oh! Well, why don’t you do that? That should get you home!” said Anna.

  The woman fidgeted in place for a moment, with a look of discomfort that flashed across her face. “I uh, wouldn’t know how.”

“That’s okay, I could help you,” said Anna.

“Really?” something like gratitude emanated from her, though Anna wasn’t sure if that’s what it was.

“Yes. Really. I won’t let the train monster eat you.”

“The what?”

——————–

Anna sat on the train right next to the woman to whom she definitely felt no attraction. Said woman had the demeanor and timidity of a newborn fawn, and was very nearly attached to Anna’s elbow. Not that Anna minded, or that anybody else would notice. Her posture was so perfectly rigid that it was wholly possible that she might have become a statue in the interim.

“So, what’s your name?” 

The woman started, then said: “My name? Oh, it’s Elsa.”

“Hey Elsa, mine’s Anna.” 

“Anna huh? Well, I thank you for all of the help. Truly.”

“It’s no problem at all! Do you need help again tomorrow? Cause I can do that. Not that I would, if you don’t want me to.”

Elsa let out the tiniest giggle. Anna very nearly died on the spot. 

“I would be most grateful, but I’ll be okay.”

“You sure? I mean, we left your car back there.”

“Oh yes, that was not mine, per se.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, no you have to understand. Cars in the city are not only self-driving, but rented from a communal pool. It decreases the amount of waste.”

“…Huh, I wouldn’t think that. Y’know, with this being in the style of the Old World.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t. But you have to remember that the city is modernized, even if the style is old.”

“Yeah, I guess that’d make sense, huh.”

“Mmhm.”

Elsa smiled at Anna, who promptly realized that she needed to check her smart device. Her cheeks burned as she dug around beneath her seat. Eventually, she was forced to emerge when she realized that Elsa had stood up.

Elsa waved daintily at her, as she took a shaky step away from the seat.

“Well, this is my stop.”

Anna couldn’t help but feel disappointment well up in her chest. “See you, then.”

“I hope so. We’ll probably see each other tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

And it did. It really, really did.

——————–

Anna took two steps, fell onto her bed, and screamed into the pillow. Her mind raced with possibilities and hypotheticals that had opened up that day. She could barely hold still and kicked her legs. It occurred to her that it might be somewhat of an overreaction, given that everything that happened was today.

She swung her legs off the side, hyperventilated, and dialed her best friend with shaky hands. There was no way she could sit still, not now, not with these possibilities!

“Maren. Maren you’re not gonna believe this!” Anna practically squealed.

“Believe what? Gee Anna, you’re excited. See a pretty girl out there?” replied Honeymaren. Anna could almost hear the smirk.

“YES!”

Maren laughed and said, “Yeah? How’d that go?”

“Oh. My gosh. It went amazingly! I helped her, and she smiled, and she laughed, and oh gosh Maren, she was super pretty! I think we could actually be friends!”

“And you’re gay, Anna.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“I’m happy for you. Hope everything goes well with the woman you just met today.”

“Stereotypes, Maren! They exist for a reason!”

“Heh, yeah, I guess they do.”

Anna spun in a circle and told Honeymaren about the rest of her day. She felt on top of the world, nothing could stop her. She had a job, she had a friend, she had a new one! Dizzy with excitement, she lay down and laughed for a long while. 

She went to bed that night truly happy.

——————–

Anna did not expect Elsa to get on the train one morning. She expected even less for her to get on the train, and beeline directly next to her. But  there they were, sitting on the train together in silence. 

Elsa didn’t say anything, but her posture relaxed the most miniscule fraction when she reached the seat next to Anna. Maybe she just wasn’t a morning person. Regardless, Anna definitely was not against this update.

Though they occasionally saw each other after work and spoke, it was rare for Elsa to ride the train afterwards and a non-occurrence in the morning. Well, until this morning. Maybe there was some emergency?

Anna sat quietly, contemplating what might have happened. When Elsa did not make the first move, she decided to. Someone had to.

“So uh, morning train?”

“Yes, there’s less people and it’s easier than sitting through traffic.”

Anna glanced out the window at the smoothly flowing vehicles, and at the packed train compartment. The train was definitely easier than cars, and by far faster.

“I getcha. Not a big people person, are you?”

“No, not really. I prefer to be by myself normally.”

“Huh, really?”

Elsa’s fists tightened by her sides. “Yeah.”

Anna didn’t press further, but decided that if Elsa deemed her good enough to suffer for, that made everything worth it. The small crush she had nursed on Elsa when they first met had bloomed into something of far greater magnitude the longer they knew each other.

Was Elsa even gay? She certainly gave off Ice Queen vibes. Heck, she didn’t even like people! But Anna hadn’t seen her with anyone else or heard her mention a significant other, so maybe there was a chance? And, even if Anna had no chance, she still wanted to be friends with Elsa. From what little she did know, Elsa seemed like a good person and someone to be around.

Maybe the key was patience. After all, it wasn’t like her job was in danger or that Elsa was going to get killed by an axe murderer. And there were those things known as honeymoon feelings, right? When you first meet someone. Yes, she would need to be patient, and let a proper relationship develop.

These were the things she thought about as she walked into the archive that day. Belle smiled knowingly at the bounce in her step.

“Did something good happen to you?”

“I’d say! You ever wonder what The One would be like?”

“Oh! Have I ever! Those types of stories are my favorites. Why, do you think you’ve met them or something?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure, but I think, maybe? Yes? I hope?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” “Uh, yeah!”

Anna found that Belle was very much a kindred spirit in the type of books that they liked. That, especially when it came to fairy tales and the tropes contained within them. Who didn’t love a good story with true love and maybe some chopping of things? No, seriously, there was a lot of chopping. Would Elsa have to chop something off of her?!

‘Now you’re just being silly,’ she thought.

Though it didn’t quite translate into being a love expert, it certainly felt exciting to discuss the traits that Anna would want in someone and have to reciprocate. Healthy relationships and healthy pining was very important, according to the stories. Well maybe healthy wasn’t the word, but Anna liked to be healthy!

After that day, Anna found herself to be in an agreeable if unspoken contract with Elsa. In the mornings and afternoons, they would ride the train together from and until Elsa’s stop. Sometimes, they would chat and others, they would sit in silence. Eventually, Anna felt the comfort of them just sitting together twice daily. 

——————–

Anna lay on her bed, grinning like a fool after getting off a call with Elsa. There was a heady rush that she felt every time that they communicated, and this was no different. That was a lie, this time was different. This time, she and Elsa had agreed to go get something to eat in the city. The city! She was beginning to get used to such a place.

They were getting food together, since Elsa had been appalled to find out that Anna had never eaten a chocolate milkshake before. Anna, for her own part, felt deeply excited for two reasons. The first being chocolate. The second being that she was going on a pseudo-date with Elsa, unless it was just getting food between friends? Regardless, they were going to do something together that took time out of both of their days!

Maren said Elsa was totally head-over-heels for her, but she could never be sure. Some people were just like that with close friends, and what if she made it weird by accident? No, she would be patient and watch for signs of interest from Elsa. Big ones that were hard to miss, like asking huskily to kiss you.

That’s what people did, right? It was a point of ongoing contention, but she could burn that bridge when she got to it. Until then, she just had to get ready for their milkshake date. There was no way it could go wrong, considering it had two of her favorite things in the world: chocolate and Elsa.

Until then, she just had to bask in the giddy excitement, which would probably give way to anxiety soon!

——————–

No way she should have agreed to getting milkshakes in an Old-World style city. What was wrong with her? 

‘Oh, just the world’s biggest crush. It’s fine.’

Anna breathed heavily, and then took another breath for good measure. Instead of going back home on the train, Elsa wanted them to go in a car because that was the best way to reach the place. A car! What sort of archaic, unwalkable city required those to go any deeper than several blocks away from stations? They even drove themselves! It would be terrifying, it would be odd, and it would be one of the most exciting things she had ever experienced.

If she had ever been in a car, it would have been a long time before, when she still lived in such a city as a child. If not, then this would be her first time. Would there be exhilaration that required her to cling to Elsa? Would there be danger as the AI malfunctioned (or perhaps, functioned too well) and spun them into danger? Oh, the possibilities!

When she arrived at their designated meeting spot, Anna spotted Elsa stood next to a lime green car. 

‘I wonder how common cars that shade of green are.’

“Hey, what’s up? Sorry I’m a bit late, got held up by this dude.”

Elsa raised a brow, “Oh?”

“Yeah, I know, right? He was all ‘I want to see this artifact’ and I was like ‘No, that one is sensitive’. And then he got super mad because it was apparently more valuable to him than anyone in the world (which is totally false), and stormed off.”

“Artifacts?”

“What? Oh yeah, I’m an archivist.”

By this point, their conversation had moved to the inside of the car. Anna marveled at how simple but close-down the car was, not to mention its slowness! What a delightful if strange electric machine. She didn’t think that she’d start using them over the train, but they didn’t seem to be as much of deathtraps as in the Old World.

“Wow, you must see all sorts of crazy things.”

“Oh nah, not really. It’s mostly papers and stuff. Rocks too, there sure are a lot of old rocks that people used.”

Elsa shook with a silent laugh. “Rocks are very useful, I don’t know why you’d disparage them.”

“I’m not! I’m just saying. Say, what do you do, Miss Stinker?”

“I’m a building inspector. I make sure that everything’s up to code, and that places aren’t just massive hazards waiting to kill people.”

“Wait, seriously? That has to be rough in a city like this.”

“It has its moments. You’d be surprised at how many people try to be exceptions and then get mad when they’re shot down repeatedly. I don’t even want to start about the people who’re hired specifically to bother us until we let things happen.”

“Wow, that’s incredible. And you do this every day?”

“I mean yes, but a lot of it is emails and meetings. It’s rather dry, I’d imagine, compared to what you do.” “Girl, what I do is the definition of dry and dusty.”

“True.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence that lasted until they arrived at the restaurant. There, Anna noticed that she had accidentally placed her hand on top of Elsa’s on the ride. She carefully retracted it before Elsa could notice, red tingeing her cheeks once more. Elsa couldn’t be that observant, right? She was looking out the window the whole time!

Anna decided to not bring it up and get out of the car. The building they were in front of seemed interesting. It continued the tradition of having massive windows and a fairly drab interior, though she supposed that a checker-patterned floor could be worse. It also had a humongous parking lot, which made sense but also, why?

Inside, Elsa picked out an available booth and sat them down, where they would then be able to obtain the fabled chocolate milkshakes.

As they waited, Anna noticed Elsa seemed more fidgety than normal. Which was to say that she was fidgeting at all, given that she typically had the fidget habits of a statue. Maybe she was sick or something?

Finally, Elsa broke the tension just as the milkshakes arrived. Anna felt awed in being able to bear witness to the thick, chocolatey goodness that had been delivered to them in large cups. She took a large sip and realized that Elsa ambushed her. Verbally.

“Anna. I think that,” she took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her pants, “I think that I like you a lot. More than like, I think.”

Anna horked up her milkshake, froze, and attempted to process what Elsa had just said. Elsa was in love with her? The milkshake was delicious. And Elsa was in love.

She trembled and said, “Does that mean I can kiss you?”

“Yes.”

With the consent given, she threw herself at Elsa and kissed her hard. Well, first they bonked their noses painfully together. After recovering, they were able to have the long kiss that Anna had longed for.

——————–

Everything seemed wonderful, Anna felt that things were on the up and up. Nothing seemed like it could go wrong, and that’s what worried her. 

She was currently curled up on her bed, thinking about all the ways things could go wrong. The ways she could make things go wrong, intentionally or otherwise. The ways that she and Elsa could fail to communicate.

She thought of how lovely things could go, and how right it could all be. The ways everything could go near-perfectly, and being able to  keep good communication in order to prevent problems before they became wretched.

It was hard not to think about Elsa, especially now that they were dating. Dating! Gosh, if nothing else, she made it this far. Now she just had to keep it up.

First though, she and Maren were going to have a girls’ night out, as a celebration.

——————–

It occurred to Anna that Elsa must have never left the city if she had never taken the train. That would explain her general tenseness where there had been a considerably lessened amount before. This time though, they headed back together to where Anna lived.

Anna supposed that an arcology would come as a complete shock. The style of such megastructures would be like nothing Elsa had ever seen. Would she become even more frightened, or would she grow curious? It would remain to be seen. More importantly, she would see the state of Anna’s apartment. They would spend time together, wander, and even sleep together. After all, she only had the one bed and didn’t mind.

When they arrived, Anna nearly burst into giggles at how Elsa stood agape at the structure. Before them lay a giant, sprawling ziggurat-like building, with open-air projections that allowed the sun to shine into the streets below. Upon every terrace stood out the green of gardens and creeping vines that curled down the sides and framed the large windows. The surrounding field was filled with tall flowers and a lake fed by a waterfall that began at the end of the terrace rivers. Anna could even see a few animals peeking out of the brush, where they would normally not be disturbed or otherwise unafraid of humans.

Elsa let out an awed breath.

“Wow…”

Anna linked hands with her, intertwining their fingers.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Now you know how weird it feels for me to go into the city.”

“It is. Thank you for showing me your home, Anna.” 

“What? No, sorry, I live in an apartment here. That’s how it works, y’know?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.”

“Want to explore or do you just want to go straight to my room?”

“I think,” Elsa swallowed and looked around, “I think I’ll explore the unknown.”

Anna nodded firmly and pulled her into the crowd.

——————–

Both Anna and Elsa lay on Anna’s bed, laughing hard. They were enjoying the other’s company after a long day of exploration. Anna cuddled up to Elsa, hugging her. Oh, that was bliss.

Eventually though, Elsa propped herself up on her elbow.

“Hey Anna?”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

“No, not at all, why would you even ask? I mean not that you shouldn’t, just that I thought it was implied.”

“Er, no, I meant bath. The bath, in your bathroom.” “The bath? Wait, why?”

“Because I feel dirty, given how much we sweated outside. Plus, my job requires me to be presentable and not smelling badly.”

“Oh, well in that case, go right on ahead. Be my guest!”

“Okay, thank you so much.”

“But! One caveat.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“You have to let me join you.”

Elsa took pause, and stared. Then she asked, “Could we even both fit?”

“What? Oh, totally. The baths here are huge,” replied Anna.

“Well in that case, I accept your caveat.”

“Awesome!” Anna exclaimed, and pumped her fist.

Anna felt utterly giddy. Being able to take a bath with Elsa? That would be amazing, and they could help each other wash off and do all sorts of loving things in there like hug, and cuddle, and rub shampoo into the other’s scalp.

She would also see Elsa naked, and though they had been dating for a while, it would still be odd. And yet, maybe not, for they had always maintained a strictly romantic relationship. Seeing Elsa like that would simply be a cherry on top of her lovely personality and amazing looks clothed.

Elsa’s mouth had once more slackened when she saw what exactly a bathroom looked like in the arcology. Fitting with the theme, it seemed more pretending to be a miniature lake than a bathtub, with a ‘waterfall’ showerhead.

Anna went ahead and prepared the water for them to enter by the time that Elsa regained her senses. In a similarly short time, she also stripped naked and jumped in.

That was what sparked Elsa enough to move, or so Anna suspected, considering the beet red that her face had turned. Nevertheless, she too stripped and they relaxed in the bath together.

Just as Anna had predicted, they performed all the important rituals of being in a bath with another person, and better yet, the bath stayed warm. There was always a risk that the ambient temperature cooled the bath to something awfully tepid.

What Anna had not predicted was how soft Elsa was. All of her was soft, from her skin to her hair. She felt amazing and Anna loved it. This moment of tenderness struck her so, in that she forgot all her troubles and simply enjoyed her time together.

Afterwards, they lay down in fuzzy bathrobes to a greatly restful sleep.

——————–

One day, they had thought to perform a bonding activity at Elsa’s home. What could go wrong when revealing your backstory to another person in a show of the deepest trust? At least, Anna thought, blackmail seemed rather low on the list of Elsa’s priorities.

Besides, it was only fair that intimate activities be performed intermittently at the home of either, for both were the homes of both. That said, Anna had a preference for her apartment, and she had the distinct feeling that Elsa did too.

Anna sat with her back against the wall and rubbed a soothing circle into Elsa’s back with her fingertip.

“So, do you want to go first?”

“Sure.”

Anna leaned forward and said, “Okay, go.”

“Well, when I was a child, I had a younger sister. Can you believe that? She was just like you. It’s uncanny, really. But my parents split up in a  nasty divorce while we were both still terribly young. I lived with my dad from then on.”

“For real?”

“Yep,” Elsa said, and then smiled. “Your turn.”

Anna winked, “Well, my parents did the same thing. I actually used to live in the city as a really little kid. Anyways, I don’t really remember my dad since I lived with mom.”

They both stopped for a moment, as that processed.

“Anna?”

“Yes, Elsa?”

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Iduna, why?”

Elsa blanched, and gaped. “My mother. Her name. It was also Iduna.”

Anna stared, and said, “Wait. Isn’t the age gap between us…?”

Elsa nodded, and then stood up.

“I think you should go.”

“Wait, Elsa!” “No I just,” Elsa’s eyes flickered, “I need time to process this.”

“Okay. But we’ll meet up soon, right?”

Silence.

“Right?”

“I think I need more time than you think.”

Anna’s heart sank as she tried to process what just happened. 

“I understand.”

“Thank you, Anna.”

Anna walked back to the train, her chest pounding, brain half-numb and half-empty in equal measure. This wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to know Elsa was her sister? They never had a chance to know, why did it have to be incest?

She knew how the people in the Old World felt about it, how taboo it was. Did the modern Old style cities carry the same values?  If they did, she may well have lost the game. Would Elsa ever look at her the same, with anything other than embarrassment or shame?

She felt uncertain, and that scared her more than anything. 

The ride back home felt the emptiest she had ever taken in her life.

——————–

Anna cursed herself, and cursed her mother. She squeezed the pillow as she sobbed at the unfairness of it all. Everything had been going well; curse the thought of revealing secrets that could ruin all!

——————–

The train ride to her job felt different now. Elsa no longer rode the bus with her every morning. The sky itself seemed greyed, and the steel towers seemed more like the jagged teeth of a monster that would eat her soul. The vehicles seemed like biting insects, squirming their way to every sensitive spot in the city. Soulless worker bees bustled their ways in identical offices and there was a complete dearth of little things, for they were little after all.

She barely noticed the train stopping, and found no joy in the green light of the archive. Even Belle seemed to notice her despondency, and came over with a sympathetic hand.

“Is something wrong?”

“Belle? I think fate actually hates me.”

“That bad?”

“Mhmm.”

“I don’t think it does. Maybe that wasn’t The One, and if it was, well the concept is silly to try and obtain in real life.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right, but it hurts.”

“Yeah, love is hard like that. But you’re a fighter, Anna. You’ll make the right choice.”

Anna let Belle pat her shoulder as she pored herself into her work. Maybe she could wait easier for Elsa’s response if she wasn’t focused on reality. The past stayed the past, but the future had a tendency to slip up close when one didn’t pay attention.

She could accept it if Elsa couldn’t handle the idea of accidentally committing incest. She could.

Then why did the thought hurt so bad?

——————–

Maren was the next person to give advice. And by advice, she came very close to punching Elsa’s teeth out for hurting Anna. Anna only barely was able to talk her down, though she was admittedly afraid herself to explain that the issue was actually that of an incestuous relationship.

But they were no longer taboo, not everywhere. Why then, was she so hesitant? Why did it consume her thoughts, the accident, before the revelation. Why should such a revelation consume her thoughts? It seemed odd, it seemed wrong.

If ignorance was bliss, then she begged for blissful ignorance to return to her.

——————–

[Elsa]: Meet me at the roof of the arcology at sunset.

[Anna]: Okay.

——————–

Anna stood nervously on the tip of the ‘pyramid’ by the viewing rail. There was, in fact, a platform for the express purpose of people being able to safely view the sunset from the top. Now she just had to wait for Elsa to show up.

Finally, she saw Elsa’s head emerge from the staircase, and the shoe that had lodged itself in her chest tingled with nervous butterflies. The relief that Elsa had even chosen to talk at all though, was like a bucket of warmth over her head.

Anna gave a wan smile and said, “Hey, I was waiting for you.”

Elsa smiled with her eyes and said, “Thank you.”

They then stood in silence for a while, gazing at the sunset, before Elsa said:

“I thought about it. Really, truly.”

“And?”

“And…” Elsa glanced at her, “I don’t think I could stop.”

“No?” Anna’s mind near melted from the shock and relief, and she fought to stay standing.

“No. Anna, I love you more than anything else. And I don’t think us being born to the same parents should occlude that, when we didn’t know each other before.”

“I love you too. Oh gosh, I thought you would- I didn’t- Elsa, ohh. Oh Elsa, I can’t express how much-” Anna gibbered, on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry that I gave off a bad impression. It’s just that, well, incest is weird in the city. And I was wholly unprepared for the idea that I somehow engaged in it.”

Anna nodded. “I’m sorry if I was at all pushy about it, I just felt scared. To me, the concept of true love meant that even as siblings or not, we still fell in love and doesn’t that mean anything?”

“It does. It truly does. I’m glad to be back here with you.”

Anna smiled and pulled Elsa in close, facing the sunset. As they stood, she moved in and murmured into Elsa’s ear:

“Welcome home.”

[kashimos-hajime]

fragrance | a.h.

summary: Plato said, “The god of love lives in a state of need. It is a need. It is an urge. It is a homeostatic imbalance. Like hunger and thirst, it's almost impossible to stamp out.”

WARNINGS: LMAO SMUT (18+), oral (m!receiving), swearing, drinking, nervous and awkward y/n and hotch heehee pairing: college!aaron hotchner x fem!reader word count: 4.8k

a/n: lmao so i watched a tiktok of THAT SCENE in love and human remains so i am legally obligated to write what inspired me. ok but @venusbarnes,,, it happened,,,

part of the bitter end universe but not required beforehand to read this. takes place in their second year of college

In retrospect, you know you’re freaking out over nothing.

You just showered, changed outfits twice, tried to fix your hair, inspected your makeup constantly since you’ve finished, and tried to figure out a way to call it off to pass the time.

Why are you even worried? Ever since you’ve gotten off the plane, which, in itself, is a step you cannot backtrack since you are merely a college student with limited funds, your knees have been weak and you feel like you don’t really have a stomach.

Why? It’ll be fine.

You’ve been over Aaron for two-and-some-months years, now. The distance did you good, did you both good. Namely, you’re quite damn sure you don’t feel anything for him anymore besides the occasional flicker of irritation, the excited burst in your stomach, the absolute terror of seeing him again.

How has he changed? It feels like it’s been so long.

You glance at the clock.

9:55

You said 10AM. You have five minutes at the most to get yourself together and just run down the staircase, shove yourself into his presence before your nerves can tell you to turn back. Taking a deep breath, you look at your reflection in the mirror one last time before heading to the desk and grabbing your wrist watch. It’s worn down leather is soft to your touch and you feel an overwhelming sense of calm overtake you.

This will be fine.

As you fasten it to your wrist, you glance at the face. Time seems to tick by slower as you pull on your ankle boots, swipe a finger over your lip, and grab your room key. As you descend the cold stairwell, memories grasp at your consciousness, tease you, but you push them away and instead focus on putting on foot in front of the other, focus on gathering the courage to stand in front of him again.

Before you know it, you’re opening the door and walking over to the pacing figure you only know to be your best friend. His hair is still long, but he’s wearing a leather jacket, so that’s new, and he’s frowning to himself.

And it makes you smile, because that’s him. Aaron Hotchner, master frowner, broody boy. His hair is still long, his eyes still so dark. He hasn’t changed.

God, what will you say to make him laugh?

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you say without thinking.

“George? And here I thought I was John,” he replies just as quickly, matching your tone and your entire heart lurches into your throat as your smile grows stiffly.

Crap. 

And that’s when you realize that, quite frankly, that convincing yourself that you’re over Aaron Hotchner is going to be a lot harder than it looked at first.

You’re fighting the urge to let the whole facade drop, but you can’t because this is Aaron, your best friend you haven’t seen in forever and although you’re so fucking happy to see him, you know everything is easier said than done.

He’s just your best friend, and you’re… you’re… feeling great. Your stomach is a bundle of nerves but that’s because you’re excited to spend time with him. Right?

“So, where to?” you ask, feeling quite exposed as he looks at you strangely. “I’m starving,” you say, an overwhelming need to explain causing word vomit to spill out of your mouth, “so, I was thinking we could get some breakfast, first. I’m in the mood for anything really.”

“Oh,” he says. “I have a place in mind.”

“O-okay. Lead the way, then. It’s kinda chilly out, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah. Do you needa grab another coat?” he asks as you step closer and they begin to walk to the door. He opens it for you and as you slip past him, your entire system shuts down. Your mind heads straight for the gutter, vivid images, voices, feelings from your dream flashing through your head.

Cheap beer, smoke, sweat, and a cologne you can’t forget.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“N-no. I’m okay. Are you, uhm, are you going to be okay in just that jacket? It looks great, by the way.” Are your hands shaking or is that just the swelling throat and the hard lump in your gut’s fault?

Shit. Holy shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

“Thanks, and, uh, no. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

You nod and smile shakily. “Great. It’s just… I’m really glad to see you.”

He stops for a moment, stares as if he knows or maybe you just feel naked in your own skin, and then matches your timid smile. “I’m really happy to see you too.”

Right. What did you say again about nerves?

[TWENTY HOURS EARLIER]

“You guys better behave,” Aaron sighs. “I’m not gonna be responsible if I have to deck Carter.”

“Woah there, Hotch,” his roommate comments, sliding off his bed and slinging an around his shoulders. “You have a girlfriend.”

“We’re on a break, actually.”

“I thought you don’t believe in breaks.”

“Well, we’re just talking things out with the long distance thing. It’s not like when she was in high school. She just needs to adjust to her first year, and we’re still talking. So, it’s more like… an intermission before we resume after mid-terms.”

“So, you’re single.”

“Technically, but I’m also not looking,” he retorts, just in case his roommate tries to set something up behind his back, but the guy merely shrugs.

“Whatever you say, Hotch-o.”

He scowls, getting up and running a hand through his hair before grabbing his jacket off the hook. “I’m just trying to say that Y/N’s been there for me since before you guys and before Haley.”

“I get it,” his roommate, named Earl, says as he flips the collar of his varsity jacket and grabs the room key. “She’s like a sister to you, right?” Aaron doesn’t say anything to that and Earl doesn’t prod him any further as he grabs his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hotch. I’ll spread the word to the guys. They won’t try anything.”

“Yeah, thanks, Earl.”

“I’m heading to class, but it’s the bar tonight, right? You’ll pick her up from the airport?”

“Yeah.” The door opens and closes with a click and Aaron lets out a sigh, turning away from the mirror so he can stop pretending he’s trying to fix whatever Earl thought was wrong with his appearance. He just wanted to stay busy so his friend could leave him alone to his messy thoughts.

He had received your last letter on Monday, confirming your flight for the Thanksgiving weekend. You’d be here with him and his friends for three days.

It wasn’t his idea, nor yours. Sort of like… a mutual epistolary understanding that enough is enough and one of them should just… go.

You had volunteered for that. You had always wanted to see Harvard’s gorgeous campus, according to your last letter.

Aaron runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He has one day off to catch up on the work assigned, get ahead of the reading, and just relax before his friends drag him off to hang out until the sun rises for an entire weekend. He’s sure you’ll love it. You’ve always loved staying out at night where it’s light, watching the sunrise and going to sleep to it.

Despite everything, you enjoy the solitude the night, the contemplative silence of it. Just like him. 

He can’t wait to see you again.

Sitting in the RA office and watching time tick by, he can’t help but feel like something is chaining him down. A heavy weight sits between his shoulders and he stares at the clock for what feels like a short eternity, unable to focus.

The day is slow in its passing, and a growing, unwanted hollowness begins to fill his soul as he half-heartedly finishes his criminal causation theory assignment, reviews for the quiz on Tuesday, and reads the next chapter on the foundations of the criminal justice system. He doesn’t really pay attention to any of it, though, and he feels like his head is stuffed with cotton as he gets up for the first time in hours and stretches, glancing at the time.

Your plane is supposed to land at 6:30.

It’s 6:00 now, and he was supposed to eat dinner before going to pick you up.

Shit. He’ll just have to eat at the bar.

Gathering his books and papers into his bag, he slings it onto his shoulder, trying to ignore the cold sweat clamming his hands up just as the phone in the RA office rings. It’s so jarring her starts, turning to the device and his heart pounds in his throat as he goes to grab it. Duty to the job means he has to, even if he might be late. You’ll understand, right?

“Hello, Resident Assistant speaking,” he says with a sigh.

“Hey.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Student Services was kind enough to reroute me.” A car beeps behind you and he frowns, holding the phone closer to his ear as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder to sit more firmly. “I’m calling from an airport payphone, but bad news. My flight got delayed, so I can’t come to the bar tonight. I’ll be arriving, like, dead in the morning. Two or three AM.”

“Damn. The boys will miss meeting you,” he says, unable to help the unhappy but forced smile. It comes across as a grimace but he hopes you appreciate the effort. It’s what you’d say if you were here.

“The boys?” you echo, amused. “Well then, tell the boys that they’ll have to wait until morning.” More seriously: “I’m really sorry, Aaron. I was so excited to see you tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s—it’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Sunflower.”

“Sunflower?” you repeat and Aaron feels his throat shrink to the diameter of a needle. “You don’t call me that unless you’re genuinely sorry about something bad. Like, death-bad.” Then, a bright laugh that shouldn’t bat away the dreary disposition overcoming him, but it does. “Aaron, it’s not that important—just one night. Look, let’s meet up at 10AM in the hotel lobby tomorrow morning and make up for it, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. See you in a bit, Hopscotch.”

“Bye.”

He heads to his room, your voice echoing in his head. Freshening up with a splash of cold water and a rake of a comb through his hair, he explains the situation to Earl as they head down to the bar near campus where some of the other guys are already drinking.

“That’s too bad. Would’ve been nice to meet her.”

“Tomorrow, Earl. She isn’t cancelling.”

“I know, but y’know, it would’ve been fun to beat her in darts.”

“You’re awful at darts.”

“Bigger opponent pool. C’mon, cheer up, Hotch. It’s just a delayed flight, you said so yourself.” More grumpy silence. “Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up. First shots are on me.”

.

His cheeks flushed with heat, he grabs at the shot blindly and throws it back, laughing as his friends get on the dance floor. The bar seems to haze before him. The darkness is pierced by blue lights and red as the shadowed patrons swing to and fro on the floor. Everything is gauzy, edges blurred as the lights flicker and filter through the crowd. Aaron slouches against the booth, smirking at the way Earl’s trying to lay the moves on a girl who merely walks away and he flashes a sympathetic thumbs up before his friend simply rejoins the rest of the guys on the floor.

Everyone had chipped in to buy him round after round in order to get him to loosen up, and it’s hard to admit, but it’s worked. Everything is ethereal, and he feels like he’s floating through life.

He wants to dance, but he doesn’t think he can stand on his own two feet, to be honest. His entire world is tipped and the silly smile on his face isn’t going to disappear any time soon as a figure makes her way through the crowd, making her way towards him. It catches his eye, the way she moves around people, keeps her head held up.

He can’t quite see her face but even then, he knows that he knows her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks before he can stop himself, like he isn’t in control of his mouth. He gapes as the woman sits down beside him. Her skin smells like sweet fruit and the sting of tequila as she slings an arm around his neck, and his entire stomach flips as she leans over, her arm bent and her fingers playing with the hair by his ear. “You’re not… you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Why not?” she asks, twirling hair around her finger as she gently trails her other hand down his chest. “You don’t want me here?”

“No, no, I’ve missed you, I just—” Her palm runs lower, over his stomach and further. His head whips towards her and he catches the sweet, dulcet notes of warm vanilla spice shampoo. It calms him, sweet in his sinuses and he watches her indistinguishable face. Despite not seeing quite clearly, he knows she’s beautiful with an unintentionally seductive smile, a tentative charm to her movements.

The hand stops and a heat burns through his chest, following the trail she’d carved into him and he feels blood drain from his head so viciously it leaves him lightheaded.

“Just what?” she asks quietly, yet still so loudly over the pub’s pounding music and he groans softly, head tilting back.

“Shit. I just didn’t expect you here. I should introduce you to my friends—” He wants to get up but finds his entire body moving through molasses. He can barely lift a finger and, through the blurred streams of the conscious and the subconscious, he knows he doesn’t really want to.

He doesn’t want to share.

“Oh, then let’s go.” Her hand lifts but, like a flash of lightning, his fingers wrap around her wrist and keep her firmly against him. “Aaron.” Chastising this time, like he’s a housecat, and she, the exasperated owner. Fingers thread through his hair as he grins at the woman.

“I’m not keen on sharing you right now,” he admits, eyes falling to lips that press into a wondrous smile. “I don’t feel keen on sharing you ever.”

“Is that a fact?” she asks, and he nods, his nose brushing against hers as she leans down to kiss him. Her mouth is warm ecstasy, like cider on a cold winter day that burns through his blood, and his heart is beating everywhere at once—in his throat, in his fingers, between his legs. Fingers card through his hair as his hand finds the curve of a hip and he pulls.

Immediately, as if sensing his intentions before he even thinks it, the woman swings a leg over his hip and straddles him, the dress riding up luxurious thighs and he chuckles to himself as her hands find his neck, thumbs brushing over the sharp cut of his jaw. Her mouth opens against his, breathing into the next ferocious kiss again as his hands trace the shape of her, the swell of her legs, the cool heat of her skin against his burning hands.

“What do you want from me, Aaron?” she whispers, leaning in close enough that he can feel her lips against the shell of his ear, and then down his neck. He gasps, breath catching in his throat as her hands gently squeeze his throat as if reminding him of her previous question but he can’t quite speak. She kisses down past his collarbones, pulls down the neck of his shirt teasingly and peppers kisses to the skin that she can reach. Her fingers are pressing into his pulsepoint, the other hand travelling down his waist again and he knows she can feel it, the hard bulge pressing up between her legs. 

She trails back up again, her kisses teasing the corner of his mouth and he turns, trying to catch the elusive minx only to delight in her light laughter when she pulls back.

“Tease,” he mumbles, eyes shut tight and only then do her lips find his again just as fingers pull at his belt buckle and he sucks in a breath as she glances down with him, curiously running her knuckles gently along the curve of it. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows down his gasp and he hears her chuckle. As if he’s a mere bystander to his own actions, Aaron watches his hands trail up the sides of her and slowly find purchase on her shoulders.

With the gentlest of pressure, he pushes down, and it’s like she melts between his hands, legs sliding, entire body sinking as his legs open wider to welcome her. Her breath is warm as she unzips his jeans, fingers prying his boxers down until they brush against it, pulsing and hard against his abdomen.

“Jesus,” she whispers but he hears it so clearly, her breath teasing the tip as fingers wrap around his dick. A strong, warm tongue follows, from the bottom to the tip, tracing the vein and every single ounce of oxygen leaves his body when she goes down on him, endlessly warm and wet. Hands wrap around what isn’t in her mouth and his fingers find her scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as his head hits the wall behind him.

Swallowing tightly, a lopsided smirk crosses his face and he lets out a soft sigh when she tilts her head, takes him in until she’s gagging on it. His hips twitch but a hand against his pelvis stalls him, a firm pressure that makes him open his eyes and look down to see her already staring back at him. Eyes dark, lips shining in what light there is, he nearly loses it right there as she swallows him down, making his entire body clench. His jaw tight, he lets out a hissed moan and the hand not on her head grabs his thigh, trying to stave off the desire to fuck her mouth.

The bass beat of the pub beats in his head as the hand on his hip finds the hand on his thigh, traces the tense veins along the back as her head slowly draws up, teeth grazing, tongue flat against his cock.

And then, down again, heavy breaths against his navel through the nose, and he’s in fucking bliss as the woman just goes on and on, deeper and deeper and when she gags, it almost makes him lose his already ill-tempered control because her fingers dig into the back of his hand, the other one squeezes the base of his cock, and stars explode behind his eyes as he chuckles breathlessly, blindly to the ceiling.

A ringing splinters through his skull as he groans, the need to thrust growing too powerful but she squeezes his hand, telling him to stay still without ever lifting her mouth off his cock. He can hear it, the sounds of her wet mouth rising and falling, sucking and licking and fuck, if he’s not going to come down her throat—

Her tongue drags along the underside of his cock as she pulls away, hollowing out her cheeks and dragging her fingers up his painfully hard erection, through the wet slick her mouth left behind and she pulls herself up, back bending underneath his hand, chest pressed flush against his and he can taste her again; the sweetness of vanilla, the sweat the pub brings all its occupants, the desire that fizzles so wantonly against his tongue.

“Am I still teasing?” she asks, lips brushing against his chin before he’s lifting his head again. Her hands run over his chest, find the planes of his shoulders, the cord of his neck, and he chuckles, squeezing his waist as she climbs into his lap again, sits squarely so that his erection rubs against her stomach. He bites back a groan and her smirk tells him all he needs to know.

“Seeing as you didn’t let me finish…” he trails off, just as humorous and she laughs, mouth ghosting his, and he almost reaches for it before she’s drawing back, always just out of reach. Never his. Never. “C’mere.”

“You’re no fun,” she mutters, but her smile betrays her faux displeasure and as his hands down and under her dress, skirting along the waistband of lacey panties, he chuckles huskily. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. And do you know how much I want you? How much… how much I need you?” His fingers hook on the waistband and begin to tug just as she cups his face and leans down. His eyes flutter shut and everything seems to melt away as her breath tickles his nose and he grins, pulling down, down, down…

“You could show me, if you’d like…”

Her laughter is the only thing he can hear. Well, that and…

And that ringing—

Holy shit, what is that ringing?

Opening his eyes, there is nothing. Reaching blindly in the darkness, his hand collides with his alarm clock and he slaps the button, turning it off as he groans, turning the digital numbers towards him.

5:45AM

When did he get back? God, his head is pounding, and… he has to get up. Shit. His thoughts are a disorganized mess as he gets up, throwing off the blankets and it’s only then he’s painfully aware that he got… more than excited about his dream.

His dream that’s fading from his memory the longer he’s awake that he can barely remember any of it. Iit was at the bar last night? When did he even get back to the dorm? 

Swinging his legs off the bed, he flicks the light on the nightstand, spotting a glass of water with a dissolving alka selzter tablet and a note. Grabbing it, he squints against the light as he reads the messy, uneven scrawl.

Stayed by your side all night because you sulked and got hammered. Like blackout drunk. Even outdrank me, buddy, which is fuckin impressive.

Wake me up for breakfast. I’m drunk.

Goodnight. And you’re welcome.

-E

Shaking his head, he downs the water despite how much his head throbs at the movement before he gets up and awkwardly palms the front of his boxers, trying to ignore how much it physically hurts that he’s not doing anything about it.

He needs to shower and take care of this.

Grabbing new clothes, Aaron glances at his snoring roommate and curses his routine of waking up so damn early. He collects his toiletries, and as he heads for the shower, he tries to think back on his dream, but it’s dissipating quicker by the second.

It was definitely at the bar, he thinks. Something about… he doesn’t know but something smelled and tasted sweet. What was I even doing at the bar?

Well, by the erection against his thigh, it’s safe to assume what he was dreaming about.

The question is more about the who.

.

Your eyes fly open and you lurch up on your bed.

Your whole body is burning as the remaining wisps of your dream begin to fade and you glance around yourself, disoriented. You could’ve sworn you weren’t in your bedroom for a second, but as you glance around, you know you are. You’re no longer in that dark place with blue lights that swung, figures blurry. That someone who was crouched in front of you, you think, is gone and his hands which had pulled your legs apart with gentle hesitation hadn’t left scorch marks, but they might as well have.

The sensation still lingers.

God, it feels like you haven’t slept a wink and as you slowly wake, your body rebooting, you become more filled with dread. Sighing heavily, you rub at your eyes and touch your cheeks, trying to remember what you did before sleeping.

I showered, went straight to bed. Didn’t go out… then… What’s happening? What was I even dreaming about?

It’s only then you become acutely aware of between your legs. The soaked, uncomfortable sensation, the strange tightness of your thighs.

Holy fuck. And about who?

Running a hand over the cold sheets, you shiver and get up, grabbing the unopened complimentary mini bottle of water you’d gotten from the plane from your bag.

As soon as you take one sip, you’re chugging it down, trying to alleviate the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, slipping down your back. You feel oily and strangely empty, your heart racing as you toss the empty plastic into the trash can and head back towards the bed, reaching blindly for the light switch. Turning it on, you glance at the clock. 5:47 in the morning.

Charming.

In less than five hours, you’ll have to be heading down to the lobby and facing your best friend.

Why does that thought suddenly fill you with a terrible concoction of nerves, nausea, and cold shivers?

Trying to grasp the last remnants of your dream, you head for the bathroom to splash some water on your face and change your underwear, too bone-dead tired to even think about showering. Then, you head back to bed to try to get some sleep, but the heat seems to be more than skin-deep because despite the amount of splashing and patting of freezing water against an exhausted face, a terrible, sinking feeling twists your gut, making your knees weak.

What on Earth were you even dreaming about? You can’t even remember now except you feel utterly exhausted in the wake of it and the only hint of the content is the slick between your thighs.

Your sleep-addled brain eventually convinces any part of you still awake to just try to sleep, and as you slip into the covers, the faint but entirely unique scent of cologne, beer and smoke clings to your senses.

[THE PRESENT]

Really, it should be okay. 

The hotel isn’t too sketchy, the lobby smells vaguely of lavender and cinnamon from one of those bath shop candles, and he shouldn’t be worried.

Why is he worried? His guts have been in knots since he’s woken up, his head feels like it's been dunked in water for hours and everything is swimming as he sits in the lobby, his palms sweating. Maybe it’s the hangover, but it feels heavier than that. Yes, his head is hammering, but there’s a strange upset in his gut, too.

Must’ve been something about that dream he can’t quite place. Just thinking about it makes his head beat even harder.

But, you had said ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock.

He looks at his wrist watch.

9:57

Time seems to be passing so slowly that he’s not sure the seconds even tick by as his knee begins to jiggle, his hands run flat against his jeans. When he can’t take the nervous ticking inside his chest, he gets up to pace, eyes darting to the staircase where you’d be coming down from.

Is he nervous about seeing you or excited? Is it both? Neither? Something else?

Aaron thinks he’s going to throw up. What if it’s awkward? After all, years between the last visit and now—in the summer, somehow they always just miss each other or there’s money problems or some other plan—things are bound to change.

It’s nerves. It has to be.

The door opens and he turns around to see you there, walking over to him with a dark jacket over a green shirt. It clashes wonderfully and you’re smiling like the sun lives in your heart and you’re smiling at him.

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you tease, gesturing to his leather jacket.

“George?” he repeats easily, too easily. An overwhelming flood in his chest and you arch an eyebrow, grinning still, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “And here I thought I was John.” Your smile only grows and he feels like he can’t breathe and that’s when he knows he’s fucked.

As you adjust your own jacket, compliment him on his, and ask where he wants to go for breakfast, Aaron can’t help the terrible ache in his chest.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Shit.

He opens the door and you walk by, the smell of shampoo invading his entire space and he reels back, blinking. His breath hitches, his entire body stiffens.

Warm vanilla spice.

Oh, shit.

a/n: so, uh, sex dreams for the win? to be decided ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) dont forget to reblog if u liked loves ❤️ 

TAGS: @withyoutilltheendofthismess @thebriarpatch @joemazzello-imagines @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @sera-wonderland @pity-mee @duvetsandpillows @roses-and-grasses @stainedpomegranatelips @angelsbabey @sansonnette @xxlovingfandomsxx @rachelxwayne @kingandrear @simsvetements @emery--nicole--morrison​ @genevievedarcygranger @mooneylupinblack​ @sercyan​ @forgottenword

[cheeriecherry]

Space Between [9/9][Shouta Aizawa x Reader x Hizashi Yamada]

EraserMic x F!Reader

Part 9/9

Warnings: brief descriptions of blood and violence, but nothing graphic. A little bit of fluffy shit at the end

You sense the impending darkness before you see it. No light shines through your closed eyes, nothing reminiscent of sun or fluorescence.

When you finally muster the strength to open your eyelids, the world around you is far from rewarding. Red shines off the buildings and structures around you, giving them some sense of form, though you can’t decipher where the dull colour is emanating from.

It looks like you’re back in the city, standing right where you were when Akuma took hold of you, but...everything is empty. Hollow. Cold. No people take up the streets, no sounds of voices or passing cars, not even wind or warmth from the sky.

You wonder for a moment if you’ve lost your hearing, but shortly realize you can hear the crinkle of small stones beneath your shoes.

Where am I? You wonder, whirling around where you stand.

The small movement nearly crushes you with a wave of vertigo, and the sudden onslaught of what feels like lead in your veins. It weighs you down, encouraging you to stay where you are.

Am I dead?

No, you think. You can still feel your heart beating in your chest, slow and wet and heavy. It feels wrong somehow, fluttering against your ribcage, while your mind supplies that you should be panicking, should be scared, wary, hysterical. It contrasts too harshly with the steady, even pulse.

You’re too calm.

You should be running, trying to find a way out.

But...you can’t find it in you to care.

You’re dying, a voice whispers in your mind, unfamiliar and separate from your own thoughts. You need to get out of here.

‘How?’ you try to say, but all that comes out of your mouth is a sickening gargle, followed by a series of phlegmy coughs. The pressure within your chest dawns on you then, another thing that you should find yourself concerned about,

But you don’t care-

MOVE!

The voice shouts in your head, briefly startling you forward a couple steps.

Your foot catches on the edge of the concrete, and you tumble forwards, crashing hard onto the sticky sidewalk. You stay like that for a moment, letting the cold tar seep in between your fingers, trying to catch your breath.

Maybe if I just rest for a while…

Something in you wants to stay where you are, let yourself breathe for a moment, let yourself rest. You can carry on in a moment, right? It’ll be okay if you sit there for a couple seconds…

Right?

How did you beat this? You ask in your mind, recalling how your old partner had fought against Akuma’s power. How he had faced her without an ounce of fear in his eyes, even as her tar sank further and further into his body. How he had remained steadfast and absolute until the very end. Even while her quirk was sapping the life from his limbs.

Surely he’d seen this place where you now sat? This lightless, lifeless world, devoid of hope?

How did you get out?

The pressure in your chest increases, and you gasp momentarily for air. 

Even hallucinating, your death was going to be slow and painful, sickening, dreary, dark, alone-

The second you shut your eyes to blink back tears, the feeling of a hand on your head lights your senses. It’s fleeting, the barest of touches, but it’s gentle and warm and offers you the briefest of respites.

When you open your eyes, no one stands before you. Not Shouta, not Hizashi...no one.

You’re alone.

Alone.

I’m going to die alone.

A laugh bubbles out of your throat, foreign and unsettling in a silent world. It’s cold and empty, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. Even as the laughter turns into sobs that wrack your body, you can’t do anything to appease it.

I’m letting her kill me. Why am I letting her kill me?

You tuck your knees up against your body, finding a more comfortable spot on the ground. 

I was stupid to think I could ever beat this.

The tar on the sidewalk soaks into your pants, chilling your legs and making them ache.

How am I supposed to get out of here, as I am now? I’m weak, and angry, and lonely, and alone-

You glance down at your hand as something tickles across your fingers. You feel, more than see, a swath of warm air cascade up your arm, prickling the hairs as it dances across your skin up to your shoulder. It dances around your neck a couple times, shivering your hair all about, before it blows directly in your face... and then goes still.

You breathe deeply, taking in the small comfort. It smells like…

Like the sheets on the bed you share with Hizashi and Shouta. Like the leftovers in the microwave, that you warm up at midnight for them. Like Shouta’s shampoo when you hide your face in his neck, and Hizashi’s cologne that’s rubbed off on his shirts you steal...

...it smells like home.

You open your eyes to the darkness again, when the leaves on the ground begin to crinkle ahead of you. You watch as they dance across the ground in circles, a little whirlwind just a couple feet ahead of you.

If you could get to it…maybe…

You scoot forward a little, your limbs shaking as you make your way towards the abnormally sentient breeze. You’re barely getting enough oxygen as it is, but the smallest of your movements spur on another bout of wet, sickly coughs.

The wind, however, twirls around you once again when you come to rest beside it, offering you another split second of peace. With your eyes open this time, you can see the slightest flecks of gold that float within it, shimmering faintly, no bigger than specks of dust.

And you’re less surprised when it takes off ahead of you again, then pauses to wait another few feet down the walkway.

You continue the little game of chase for several rounds, until your little piece of hope rounds the corner of a building and disappears from your sight.

Don’t leave, you beg silently. Please! I need you, I need-

Laughter echoes from around the corner. Bright and happy, a laugh you’d heard countless times over the years, achingly familiar in the best of ways.

Hizashi.

Without thinking, you push yourself to your feet and stumble forwards. Your lungs are burning, screaming at you to slow down, take a seat, rest, for the love of god, please just let me rest. But you continue forwards, cold and shaking, starving of oxygen, tired and battered and covered in tar.

This time when you meet your little hope again, and it tangles around you, you can hear the faintest of sounds. Distant yells of voices, car alarms blaring, the wind in your ears. 

The sounds of home.

The cluster of smells and gold dust and comforting sounds dashes forward yet another time, though it does not slow as it previously had, instead maintaining a steady pace while you tumble after it. Longer steps, a faster pace, faster, faster, faster, until you’re sprinting and panting, and you can hear the life of everything you left behind.

You barely even notice as the world around you shifts, tilts, brightens, as light reappears in the sky, and then-

----

You pinch your eyes shut as white light glares across your face, instinctively rolling to the side.

Rolling?

When did I get on my back?

You flail around for a moment, trying to catch your bearings, until your palm collides with what you assume is the ground. It’s sticky and thick, and for the barest of second you wonder if you’re still under Akuma’s control.

But when you blink your eyes open, readjusting to the regular brightness of daytime, you happily realize that no, no you’re not under her control anymore. You’re covered in her tar from head to toe, but you’re warm and you can breathe.

You made it. You won! You-

“Give it up, Eraserhead! Your little pet is dead, there’s no use fighting me. No one escapes me. No one!”

The voice that had been the cause of so many nightmares for so many years, chilled and grating and cruel, now sparks nothing in you but anger and hatred. White hot rage, a demand for justice.

She wont take anyone else from me ever again.

You push yourself to your feet, a task you’re glad has been made significantly easier now that you’re not under the influence of Akuma’s quirk, and turn towards where she stands.

Just in front of her, pinned to the ground under her heel, is Shouta. Your Shouta. Akuma’s tar soaking into his uniform, reaching his skin, soon to fill his lungs-

Without thinking, you dive at her.

Her surprise is evident, a brief expression of disbelief on her porcelain face, before you both crash into the pavement, the back of her skull taking the brunt of the impact.

You’re up in half a second, ready to fight her, and it takes several ticks for her limp body on the ground to register in your mind. Unmoving, unseeing, broken and lifeless. Blood seeping from the back of her head, pooling slowly in an uneven halo around her.

She’s dead, you realize. She’s dead, and you killed her. You killed Akuma.

You’re not entirely sure what you should be feeling right then. Relief, maybe? The woman had tormented you for years, made your life a living hell, and now she was gone. Pleasure? Vengeance achieved? Guilt over taking the life of another person? Fear over what the public would say if they found out?

The world moves slow around you, fragmented into still images as you stumble over to Shouta and collapse to your knees beside him. His breathing is shallow, but as Akuma’s life drains from her, so too does the tar enveloping your boyfriend’s body.

You rest a shaky hand on his cheek. “Shouta,” you rasp weakly. “Shouta, open your eyes?”

His eyelids quiver for a moment, before he squints away from the sunlight, turning his head so his face lies in your shadow. His dark eyes are unfocused for several seconds as he regains his bearings, and they widen by an alarming fraction when his gaze finally settles on you.

“Y/N-”

He tries to sit up, wobbling slightly on trembling arms. He ends up pitching sideways, straight into your chest, but you’re unconcerned. He seems to be relatively unharmed, no blood or signs of open wounds, not even a bruise. So you simply wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly against your body, reveling in his presence.

Even as police cars and emergency vehicles race up, and other heroes begin to appear on the scene, you keep him safe against you; and he seems content not to move, for the time being.

----

The next couple days are hectic. Police reports, hospital check ups, various news outlets trying to get into contact with you for an interview. Hell, even rebooking your missed therapy appointment is a bit of a bother.

Your doctors understand, of course, it couldn’t be helped that you had to miss your time slot, but a little piece of you feels guilty for not being in tip-top shape. You’re working on it, though.

You’re working on being more lenient with yourself, and trying not to be angry when you have a bad day. “It happens sometimes,” your therapist says, “even when you aren’t recovering from something traumatic, you can still have bad days. It’s okay to not be in good form all the time. It’s how your body and mind tell you that you need to rest a little and recuperate.”

Words that you’re only just starting to believe.

Shouta and Hizashi have been helping as well, neither one of them drifting far from you when they have the option. They’d been taking alternating days off for the past half-week, making sure someone was home with you at all times. You might have felt a little suffocated by the action if they’d done it before the attack, but now you’re glad you don’t have to be alone.

You still find yourself jumping at loud noises, peeking around every corner, and stirring in the night from unpleasant dreams, but you find it’s a little easier to deal with when you have a warm body to curl up against and stick your cheek on.

It’s a little easier to deal with, when they shower you in love and affection.

Despite the repercussions of everything still lingering, of still being tightly strung from several years of trauma, you’re...happy. You feel more like yourself than you have in a long time. You can feel the distance between you and your old life closing, and the space between you and Shouta and Hizashi is as slim as it once was.

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your blond partner’s gentle voice drags you out of your thoughts. You glance at him with a warm smile, away from where you’d been staring out the open window.

“Yeah,” you tell him honestly, “I was just reflecting, is all.”

“That’s a good thing, I hope,” Shouta rumbles from the doorway to the kitchen, balancing three mugs of hot liquid in his grip.

You and Hizashi both reach out towards him, taking your respective drinks, waiting for him to settle beside you before you take a sip. You lull into a comfortable silence, with a shoulder touching one boyfriend, and your knee brushing up against the other. You know things will have to go back to normal eventually, but for now, you’re content to enjoy the company of the two people you love most in the world. 

And who knows, in a couple of months, maybe you’ll feel ready to join them out in the field again.

-END-

[mtab2260]

Okay, I desperately need to rant about Apocalyptic Natasha Romanoff in this episode of What-If and I've decided to do it here over Reddit. Screw me.

First off...

Holy Fucking Shit! That was bloody AMAZING!

Second, I'm basically going to be explaining my excitement and jumping on the ceiling about each scene she was in, but also pointing out a few things as well.

(This feels like a Guardians of the Galaxy reference. No?)

I absolutely love this line because it says so much. In the main timeline, Steve had no clue about her Russian Vodka Family (as I've seen someone call it). In that timeline, I don't think she told anyone, not even Clint. But in Peggy's timeline, that Natasha clearly had to have opened up to Peggy which just shows how close those two had become during the year following the Battle of New York. Natasha Romanoff isn't an open person with anyone, in any timeline— even with Clint, the person she literally sacrificed herself for so he could live.

That says a million words I can't explain.

I also love the fact that the filter on Apocolypse Ultron World is dreary and it dulled out all the colour, and the sun's missing too. But in this shot, you can see hints of the sun shining through. It represents the hope Natasha saw when she saw them. The colour on Peggy's face and hair pop out. It automatically feels less dark and hopeless.

Also, I don't care what anyone might say this line is what sold Natasha that Peggy was an ally and that something was going on that she didn't yet understand. At the mention of Alexei, she just knew.

However... I must point out there are a few inaccuracies with this line. Actually, this entire line doesn't work.

Not really.

As because, up until ghosty Red-Skull said it on Vormir, Natasha had no clue what her birth father's name was and Peggy getting the serum instead of Steve wouldn't change that. So if she didn't know, there's no way she could tell Peggy.

And for the second part of that line... up until the events of Black Widow (the movie), Natasha was still lying to herself that their family in Ohio wasn't real— that it was just a mission and they were all just roles, nothing more.

But, I will say, maybe in that universe she and Peggy had a talk about it and Peggy make it clear she was a bloody numpty for thinking that and it was real regardless of the reason they were brought together. That could've happened in that universe. It's been made clear that those two traded stories with each other as her Nat knew about Steve, yet, main-timeline Nat didn't know about Peggy until she saw him staring at her photo. So who really knows.

But regardless, I still let out a jump of joy at this line because the What If series is letting the Russian Vodka Family be real!

Not that it wasn't real, but you get what I mean— anyways, onward!

This scene... oh my gawd... bloody-hell it's fucking terrific!

I cannot say how fucking overjoyed I am that when it came down to it, fucking Natasha Romanoff and bloody Clint Barton saved the entire bloody-fucking multiverse!

The (and I quote some random asshole) "Useless Avengers", saved everything ever known while also being the only survivors in an entire universe.

Let that sink in.

IT'S FUCKING AWESOME!

Like...

Holy Shit That's Awesome!

(I need more adjectives)

That's Bloody Insane.

I don't care how tacky they may be, I fricken loved these slow-mo arrow shots. And with the mirroring of Clint's (albeit fucking stupid) sacrifice coming full circle and to a close is outstanding.

Which brings me to my next point, that's kinda also this point too.

This point is part II we'll call it.

I

Am

So

Fucking

Happy

They

Didn't

Forget

About

What

Clint

Meant

To

Nat

And

Also

Just

Plainly

Forget

About

Clint

'Cause that would've sucked. I would've sued Marvel if that happened.

This scene. These two shots.

For someone who hides behind fake smiles and witty remarks, these shots show exactly what she's thinking at that moment and it's amazing. You can literally see the absolute peace on Nat's face that they did it, they ended Ultron, she avenged Clint's death, she avenged everyone's death, it was over. And hey look, Yelena, they didn't even need one of the big ones to do it!

But also look, see what I said about the filter— Natasha's hair actually looks fiery red instead of vibrant brown. Also, SUN!

Moving on...

I don't really have much to say about this line, but I fucking loved it, and serves the dude right.

She Has A Very Valid Point.

The pure amazement and life in Natasha's eyes and face is everything.

She saw everything she ever knew nuked and murdered because a robot spent five seconds on the internet and yet here she was now in a clusterfuck war full of life. Life that was at war with each other. But an alive war nonetheless and that's all she cares about at that moment.

Natasha and Clint being best buds part threeeeeeee........

On come on we all know what was going through Natasha's mind at this moment.

PAYBACK BIATCH!

Seriously I just love this short little bit. And the fact that Loki took over the world in a week, yet, this Natasha took him out with a kick and a small poke says things.

It's awesome.

As heartwarming as this scene was, I was hoping for more and truthfully it's a load of bullshit.

I don't care whatever the fuck Nick Fury has seen in his days, he did not know about the multiverse and if he wasn't happy as hell to see her on that Helicarrier then he was suspicious as hell as to who was this Natasha Romanoff imposter was. I'm sorry, I refuse to believe otherwise. No one's first thought after they've seen an alive version of someone they buried in the ground is—

"Oh, you must be Natasha just not my Natasha. Yeah, that makes sense."

Yeah, no.

Also... might I again remind you EVERYONE ON HER PLANET WAS FUCKING NUKED TO DEATH?! Did everyone seem to forget about this?

The first time we've seen Natasha Romanoff cry (almost cry) was Fury's death in The Winter Soldier. That's proof enough for how much Fury meant to her.

So the first person in like over a year (probably) she sees that she recognizes (besides Thor) who she also knew for a fact was dead— her reaction should've been more than a smirk. Especially if it was someone she cried over when they died. The line the two Natasha's share after Peggy's "I've got the shield. You've got the sword." line proves that different universes don't change a person's personality. So her seeing Fury again should've been a helluva lot more emotional for her, hell, for the both of them.

It probably should've gone something more like...

"Natasha...?" A very familiar voice behind her breathed. It wasn't one she's heard for over a year but she recognized it immediately. She froze— which was not a thing she did, ever, but it was only truly hitting her now that not everyone she knew was dead anymore. That the Steve Rogers over there was, in fact, alive. That the Nick Fury behind her was alive. That hundreds, millions, billions of other people were alive.

Natasha turned around slowly like her limbs were stuck in the gallons of maple syrup Cooper put on his pancakes.

"Fury—" She choked, honestly too overwhelmed to say anything else coherent. The tears in her eyes stung as she didn't let them fall.

Nick's one eye narrowed, he was pissed. "Who the hell are you?" He questioned, voice threatening. "I know you ain't Natasha Romanoff 'cause she's dead. So who are you?"

She was sure she just stared at his face probably for a full minute but she didn't really care. It was really nice to see and hear another face and voice.

Nat took a much-needed breath. "I know your Natasha is gone, the giant baby-man cape dude said so. I'm not her. I'm from somewhere else. But I am Natasha Romanoff... and it is really good to see you, Nick..."

Ah, shit the tears fell.

But maybe it was worth it as his eye widened and some form of recognition or some sliver of understanding set in. It was honestly hard to tell through her blurry eyes.

"You're aware none of that makes any sense, right?" He asked, voice much gentler now. Fury looked over her outfit and very dirty/beat-up appearance. "And I take it wherever you're from didn't have showers either? Because I can smell you from here." His nose wrinkled as he smirked.

She knew he was trying not to gag.

Natasha choked out a wet laugh. "Not for like a year, they kinda got all nuked from a psychopathic robot."

She was pretty sure that was the first time she'd ever seen Nick Fury actually shocked.

Okay, yeah so basically something like that.

And the reason I kept saying over a year is because Clint lost an arm and was honestly ready to die. He did die. After a year of being almost the only person on an entire planet and losing Laura and the kids, he hit his breaking point. In the five years of the blip he definitely became close to his breaking point, probably was about to hit it before Nat showed up, and that was with half the universe gone and he was alone without Nat. It could honestly be longer than a year, it probably was much longer, but then I started thinking about food and how much food would actually be safe to eat— or actually there. It was a matter of time really until both starved to death honestly.

And the shower thing, it's honestly impressive anyone could stand near here and not pass out. Like seriously if everyone is dead, I doubt any showers still worked— let alone be standing.

Anyways, I do have a couple problems with this episode despite how much I loved it.

Going back to the "EVERYONE ON HER PLANET WAS FUCKING NUKED TO DEATH?! Did everyone seem to forget about this?" part I mentioned earlier.

It seems no one outside of Nat actually seemed to acknowledge that everyone was dead. That Natasha, previous to their arrival, was the only living thing in that universe and that was it. You would think even Peggy would show some care or sympathy or some consoling words to her so-called BFF. If not that at least recognize the truly apocalyptic scene around her and look at it with disbelieving eyes. For someone who has so much compassion, she seems to have none in this case. Or at least she didn't outwardly show it. Which is completely fine. But it just bothered me no one seemed to really think about it all.

Another thing:

This isn't really towards the episode per-say but I'm just really fucking pissed about it.

It's great— no sorry— it's absolutely amazing that Apocalyptic Natasha is now in a universe that was thriving with life. It's awesome and she deserves it.

HOWEVER....

Are you fucking serious that out of all the universes that Natasha died in, you put her in a one that ALSO has a STILL DEAD Clint Barton???

SERIOUSLY?!??!?

I've said this what, three, four times now— Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton are more cursed than FitzSimmons. Because at least FitzSimmons always find their way back to each other in the end, Nat and Clint always just find the other fucking dead.

I swear, how the other doesn't have PTSD from heights now is a bloody miracle.

Anywho:

That's my entire rant on this week's episode. If you actually read this all, one, I'm so sorry for wasting your time, two, wow— congrats.

Also, I really need to see someone make a fic about Apocalyptic Nat seeing Laura and the kids for the first time again, and also for Coulson too.

[drxwsyni]

Petrified (pt.3)

Yandere Erasermic x f!Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: is this what they call a slow burn?? i promise the intense yandere stuff goes down soon...-ish. i’d like to have a new part out every week or so, give or take a few days. we’ll see how it goes, but for now enjoy the new chapter!!!

ALSO WE REACHED 200 FOLLOWERS LAST NIGHT THANKS Y’ALL, YOU’RE AMAZING

(5.8k words)

Warnings: reader experiences mild anxiety

If there was ever a time in your life when you felt like you could finally take some well needed rest, it was now.

It wasn’t like you had a choice though, your nurse making it very clear that you weren’t cleared for discharge yet. Therefore another long bout of unconsciousness was the only option you had whilst in the dreary hospital room, and waking from it felt much more pleasant than you anticipated.

Your sleep schedule appeared to be unaffected by the recent events, something you were grateful for. It had you up on this fine Sunday morning at precisely 8:12 am, according to the time on your phone. Unfortunately, you neglected to bring a charger with you to work on Friday. So when your abandoned belongings were retrieved from that dreaded alleyway, you were still left with relatively nothing to keep you occupied. The phone was running on a steadily declining 14% battery life, leaving its use to be minimized to an expensive clock.

With nothing to pass the time in that regard, you simply observed the world coming to life outside your window. It left you the chance to go over the past 48 hours in peace, and you specifically regarded the strange development from last night.

It wasn’t something you hadn’t already been over multiple times in your head, but you still couldn’t manage to wrap your mind around the motivation that was fuelling Shouta and Hizashi to propose such a request. Concern over your health did explain some of it, but the extent of the actions caused by this concern was not at all equal to the reasoning.

Regardless, you’d already accepted to fulfill their strange request, so there wasn’t much that overthinking the situation would do to benefit you at this point.

_____

Breakfast came at around 8:30 am, effectively pulling you out of your wandering thoughts. It was simple enough: eggs, sausage, toast, a side of bland oatmeal and a tall glass of water.

The nurse left you to your own devices after that, telling you that for now it was a matter of continuing the same treatment before any more judgments could be made.

This wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t growing increasingly bored by the minute due to the lack of distractions. So when the sound of a certain voice hero’s conversation could be heard on the other side of your door not long after breakfast, it served as a great relief to the mind numbing atmosphere.

Not a moment later and you heard the familiar rapping on the wooden frame, before the blond pushed it open and entered.

“How’s my sunshine doin’ this morning? Ya feelin’ any better?” Hizashi was dressed in casual clothing with his hair down. In addition, he appeared to be holding some sort of shopping bag in his right hand.

You watched as he made his way towards the right side of your bed, responding to his worries. “Well, the rest definitely hasn’t gone unnoticed. My head still hurts but they’re giving me some pretty powerful meds for that thankfully.”

You figured he would sit down in the armchair, but instead he opted for settling on the edge of your bed again. “Ya sure you got enough shut eye? I can come back if ya need to snooze a lil’ longer.”

His open compassion for your health was comforting, albeit a little insistent, but it made for a relaxing atmosphere for now.

“I don’t think I could sleep anymore no matter how hard I tried, thanks for the concern though.” You gave a warm smile, sensing that he was almost stressed over your wellbeing, unnecessarily much in your opinion.

The blond brought the bag up to rest on your lap, and vaguely you could make out the contents for a brief second.

“Well, Shou’ and I figured you didn’t have all that much to live off of since being admitted, so I went and grabbed ya some essentials on the way here.” He gestured to the bag, to which you hesitantly reached for.

He continued, “I wasn’t quite sure what my favorite listener needed, so I just bought a lil’ bit of everything.”

You peered into the opening, seeing quite the assortment of toiletries. Picking up the packet of cleansing facial wipes, something you desperately needed, you continued to peruse through the items. Smaller things like high quality travel sized tissue packets and floral scented lotions were settled aimlessly at the bottom.

One thing that did catch your eye was a small stuffed black cat, wearing a white frilly dress. You took the plushie out of the bag for further inspection, also singling it out for just being cute.

“Shou’ picked that out. Sent him some photos from the gift shop downstairs since he’s not a mornin’ person. Thought it’d keep you company until ya get outta here.” You looked up at Hizashi, seeing him smiling warmly at the thought of something so wholesome, and you couldn’t help but do the same.

“It’s adorable, thanks…” For a moment you sat in the feeling of being cared for so well, something that you didn’t have much time to receive given your lifestyle. However, that sentiment was quickly overshadowed by the circumstances you were in, particularly with this man.

Once again, your body became riddled with grief over the fact that they’d spent not only their time, but now their money on you. Not that you didn’t understand that Hizashi was genuinely concerned for you―nobody could miss that. It’s just there was no reason for it as far as you were concerned.

The two had done more than enough as it is, and the overkill only made you feel worse. “...I just―I can’t help but feel bad that you spent so much on me. I’ll pay you back completely, it’s the least I could do for how much you and Shouta have invested in me so far.”

That’s what you said, and you meant it completely. But you knew that the voice hero wouldn’t stand for it, so you could only hold onto a string of hope that he’d at least let you compensate for half of the valuables.

He almost let out an amused laugh at your worry for the state of his finances. “Look, I know ya mean well, baby. But this stuff costed no more than pocket change. After all, can’t have you bein’ neglected in this place after going through all that trouble to get ya here.”

“Can I at least pay back half, just for some peace of mind.” He was more stubborn than you initially thought, just another trait of his you were growing used to.

“Not gonna happen, sunshine! But there is one thing ya can do…”

The blond pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket, unlocking it swiftly. He handed it to you, the screen appearing to show a page for new contact information. “Go on and type in those digits of yours. We’re gonna need a way to contact you if some new info pops up about the case from Friday night.”

You glanced at his awaiting expression before silently agreeing, typing in your phone number.

“Also, we gotta work out when that dinner night is happening. Can’t have you runnin’ off on us before then.”

He was right, the only way they were letting you make up for their generosity was oddly by letting them provide you more of the manner. It was your only option, so you settled with the new belongings and finished typing in your contact information.

As if to make sure you didn’t give him the wrong number, Hizashi sent you a quick text of a sun emoticon. You took the opportunity to save his information to your phone.

Just as you did, the screen turned black and wouldn’t come back to life no matter how many times you pressed the power button.

“Outta juice?”

Your eyes darted to Hizashi, who moved to rummage through the bag. He pulled out an object you somehow managed to completely miss: a phone charger.

He began unwrapping the cord from its casing, getting off the bed to find an outlet.

“The police ended up havin’ to go through your bag to file everything as evidence. Shou’ was there when it happened, told me to grab a charger cause you were missing one before I left this morning.”

Just another expensive item you wouldn’t be able to compensate for. It’s like he wants you to feel bad for being so helpless.

“Thanks…I’d be pretty screwed without you I guess.” You didn’t want to keep going on about the regrettable feeling that was all too persisting, seeming as it didn’t matter much anymore.

He handed you the end of the now plugged in charger, letting you hook your phone up to it. “No worries, actually I―”

The same nurse as last night had interrupted his train of thought, making her presence known before entering.

“Good morning Yamada sir, checking up on my patient I see?” She didn’t let him respond,  “Well, I hate to break it to you but I’m going to have to steal her for a while.”

He regarded the nurse with a smile. “‘Course, I’ll talk to you later, songbird.”

The blond gestured some finger guns in your direction as he spoke, walking out of your room.

Regardless of the circumstances, you thought, at least I have someone coming to see me. That’s what I get for throwing myself into work and not making friends I guess.

You let the nurse close the door all the way, silently awaiting the slew of information about to be sent your way.

_____

It would seem at this point the only stimulation outside of examinations was in the form of boring phone games, and your newly acquired, and insistent, hero companions.

One of which was currently posted in the armchair, waiting for you to finish eating dinner before you told him about the exciting day you had. Shouta, reserved as ever, kept on his phone until then.

You finished up as soon as possible, the silence eating away at your psyche due to its growing awkwardness.

“How was your day?” Simple, the only thing you could think of asking, great for breaking the silence.

The erasure hero looked up from the screen immediately. “Good, actually. Still haven’t heard anything from the station.”

Remembering that fateful night wasn’t something you particularly wanted to do, but for now it had to be dealt with. “I doubt much will come of it, not exactly like what was going down wasn’t obvious, so no need for an investigation, right?.”

“Probably...any changes with yourself?”

You knew well enough that like his partner, Shouta seemed genuinely interested in your health. The difference was that his way of conveying this was much more...intimidating.

The look he gave you demanded a response, even if the question was harmless enough.

“Ah―not really I guess. I’m here until tomorrow morning for sure, but that’s about all they’ve said.” You wouldn’t know if he was pleased with the response if you didn’t catch the slight nod he gave.

“Well, it’s not a bad thing. You could certainly use the rest.”

Now that’s something you could agree to, but you’d still rather do so in the comfort of your own bedroom.

“Listen, as much as I want to keep you company, my students are expecting graded essays back tomorrow morning. I’m afraid I can’t stay any longer.”

While you did appreciate his presence as a change of routine for a short while, it was only to an extent. You’d be lying if you said the atmosphere didn’t feel heavy while he was around, even if just a little in times like these.

“That’s no problem, I’d hate to keep you from your work.”

He slowly stood up from the armchair, “Hizashi will probably visit tomorrow morning. He’s got the day off so he’ll likely stick around as much as possible. Just tell him to leave if he’s annoying you.”

You watched as his eyes drifted to the stuffed cat resting on the bedside table next to the bouquet, the sight influencing a tired smile.

“You should try and get to sleep early―oh, one more thing.”

Like his partner had done earlier today, he reached for his phone, handing the unlocked device to you. Having done so already, something he was also aware of, you silently typed in your information.

“Don’t be afraid to send one of us a message if you need anything.”

You returned the phone to him, “Right, thanks for stopping by Shouta.”

As he exited the room, you were left with feelings of confliction over the whole ordeal. It was strange―having someone being concerned about your wellbeing was nice, but something, you couldn’t quite place what, was getting in the way of your gratitude.

The two men were clearly busy people. Hero work, on top of being teachers, would more than suffice as something to occupy most of their time. When it comes to dealing with victims, you’d assume that for the sake of efficiency a hero would just drop you off at the nearest hospital and then be on their way.

And yet, for reasons still incomprehensible, the presence of the strange duo was something you couldn’t shake off. Perhaps it wasn’t intentional, but the reality left a peculiar underlying feeling of...suspicion?

It was too soon to say, and frankly it’d be rude to judge them after they’d been so kind to you. However you’d always been someone who falls on the more overstrung side, and neglecting the situation by simply ignoring it was not something you could do.

_____

It was just as his partner had foretold―the next morning you had once again been graced with the presence of Hizashi.

You noted how he was awfully chipper for being up at 8:20 am on a Monday, but like the couple other odd traits of his, you chose to disregard it.

Especially since this person also came bearing quite the appetizing breakfast.

“The nurse said ya didn’t have to eat the hospital food if someone brought you a meal instead. Thought you’d appreciate somethin’ homemade so I whipped it up before leaving.” This time he was seated in the armchair, likely because there wasn’t enough room on the bed with the table that was positioned over it so you could eat.

The meal consisted of―somehow still warm―scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, fruit, and a side of blueberry pancakes. All in all, it was delicious, and you didn’t quite think it was something he could just ‘whip up,’ but you’d let that slide. You thanked him profusely for it before regarding just how little you’d been informed of things since coming to the hospital.

“I didn’t even know that was allowed to be honest. They don’t tell me much aside from whether or not my condition has changed.” You tried to talk in between bites, not wanting to let the warmth dissipate by waiting to have a full conversation.

“Funny you say that cause she also told me you’d be cleared to leave by the end of the day. Looks like the hit you took wasn’t too serious.”

Well, you would’ve appreciated being the first to receive this news. Isn’t there like a doctor-patient confidentiality thing to keep others from knowing stuff like that?

Regardless, it was still good news. The hospital room was starting to drive you a bit crazy.

“That’s good to hear, thanks for letting me know.” You quietly continued your meal while Hizashi went on about similar things―cases that were like yours, his opinions of the hospital staff.

If there was anything he was good at it was filling the silence, and you supposed this was where his relationship with Shouta came in handy. Not that his partner didn’t seem to mind talking, it was just he wasn’t the most energetic when he did so, whether he knew that or not.

In general, the two of you quickly realized that there wasn’t much to discuss, given how you’d been holed up in the tiny room for the last few days―it didn’t really allow for the most exciting news.

He asked you about a few work details of your own occupation―how long you’d worked there, if you liked your coworkers―menial stuff mostly. By then you had long finished breakfast, and it would seem that the blond had no intention of leaving, much like his partner warned you of.

So, you listened patiently while he went on about this and that. Sometimes trailing off into hero stories, other times bringing up his work as a teacher.

In general, you had no problem listening to him go on. You’d speak up here and there, but not for long as he’d quickly resume with whatever topic he’d fixated on for the moment.

One would think it’d be annoying, and perhaps this was just a result of some form of exposure therapy that made it bearable, but it was enjoyable hearing him ramble.

Yet, good things only last for so long.

It’s not that you eventually found the endless discussion boring, rather the developing behaviour was due to you still recovering―even just in the slightest―from recent events. You didn’t even notice it, but gradually your eyes were becoming heavy, and the sound of Hizashi’s voice was becoming more and more distant.

Embarrassingly, he was the first to pick up on it.

He was mid sentence when he caught you nodding off. Rather than being offended, the blond actually found it endearing.

Instead of alerting you just yet that he’d taken notice of your behaviour, Hizashi silently stood up out of the chair, walking over to the windows of your room.

Your half-lidded eyes just barely picked up on the movement, vaguely seeing him pull the blinds closed before coming back to your senses.

“Oh god, I didn’t mean to―you weren’t boring me I promise. I just-”

“Relax, songbird. It’s my fault, ya must still be a lil’ done in, no worries.”

Naturally, you felt terrible. He was acting like he didn’t care, anyone would be offended at this point.

It was excruciatingly awkward, and you desperately tried to collect your thoughts. “No, no it really was interesting, you can keep going if―”

“Stop it, sunshine.” He started towards your bed, which you instinctively shrunk into. You always defaulted this way, panicking immediately in the face of little to no danger. But Hizashi wasn’t dangerous, you told yourself. He continued, “I should’ve known you weren’t better yet. Still not sure how but you really managed to wear yourself out, didn’t ya?”

He pushed you back down into bed by your shoulders while he spoke, continuing to pull up the blankets you discarded earlier.

“I’m gonna head out so you can get some more shut eye, yeah?”

“Um...o-okay. Yeah, I guess…” You inwardly cringed at how small your voice sounded, but to be fair it wasn’t like you could exactly help it.

It was confusing, how he acted so indifferent to the unspoken insult that you gave him by nearly falling asleep. Was he acting?

Hizashi moved away, heading towards the door, leaving you somewhat comfortably tucked into the hospital bed.

“Get some rest, ‘kay sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah, thanks.”

You heard the door click shut as he left, the room falling into silence amidst the now dim lighting.

Okay...what the fuck.

Devoid of any distractions in your proximity, the hard thumping in your chest was more than clear. At times like these you didn’t even realize any growing anxiety―not until the ordeal was over and you were left with the aftereffects.

The attention to it was only drawn more when you processed the increased rate of beeping coming from your heart monitor.

The last thing you wanted to do was bother the poor nurse taking care of you. Steeling yourself, you took deep breaths, focusing your attention on calming down. It worked soon enough, leaving no need for medical intervention.

You noted that getting like this always drained you of energy―mentally and physically. Heeding Hizashi’s orders, it was easiest now to try and sleep off the anxiety.

You can think about whatever just happened later, maybe when your not still hospitalized.

_____

You were stirred awake by a gentle hand on your shoulder, lightly shaking your resting form. Eyes fluttering open, you observed the dedicated nurse you’ve seen time and time again leaning slightly over you.

“Miss (l/n), I have an update on your condition.”

That was more than enough to give you motivation to pull yourself from the jaws of sleep. You sat up slowly, although it was your best attempt at doing so quickly.

The nurse continued, “Well, it’s good news. You’ve been cleared for discharge. Your condition has improved considerably, so you can continue the rest of your recovery at home safely.”

You needed to hear no more, immediately looking around to find your bag that had been delivered to you from Friday night. Still, you figured that this deserved a response.

“That’s really great to hear, thank you for taking care of me...also, where are the clothes that I came here in?”

“Oh yes, they’re in your bag.” You watched as she reached underneath your bed―no wonder you couldn’t find the damn thing.

The nurse settled the bag next to you before continuing. “Here you go, miss. I’ve prescribed some pain medication for your head injury. Directions for consumption are on the label...and I believe that’s it.”

You rifled through the bag, retrieving your clothing from the bottom.

“Oh, one last thing actually. Now, this is only a recommendation, but given your health it would be beneficial if you were to remain home for the rest of the week. You can go to work if you’d wish, but it may slow your remaining recovery process.”

“I’ll have to think about that one, but thank you for letting me know.”

She turned off the heart monitor before removing the clip on your finger. The IV had been removed yesterday, so there was no need for attention in that department.

“Perfect, you can get dressed and gather your belongings. Please speak to the receptionist at the end of the hall―right before the elevator―so you can pick up the prescription before you leave.”

“Sounds good.” You offered a warm smile to her, and she politely excused herself from the room.

You got changed, clothing appearing to have been washed at some point while you were asleep. Somehow you managed to pile all the things Hizashi brought you the morning before into your backpack, and you threw the shopping bag into the garbage.

It was nice to finally stretch your legs for longer than a few minutes to use the washroom, although your muscles did feel somewhat weaker now.

Slipping on your jacket and bag, you exited the room, closing the door behind you. The receptionist’s desk had been exactly where the nurse said it would be, and you handed over your information to the man behind the counter. He left for a moment before returning with a paper, your prescription printed on it with an illegible doctor’s signature. You thanked the man before heading to the elevator and stepping in.

Nothing was more enticing at this point than returning to the comfort of your own home. The thought of your bed waiting for you was enough to have you drooling, being so done with the unfamiliar setting of the hospital.

The elevator chimed, signalling it had reached its destination of the ground floor. The doors slid open and you stepped out, heading straight for the front entrance.

At least you were, until you collided into some poor unsuspecting human standing in your path.

How many times are you going to embarrass yourself before the day is up?

The person had caught you by the shoulders, stabling the both of you. You were quietly trying to apologize while, painfully so, you lifted your head to assess the damage.

You weren’t sure to be thankful or not, but you were met with a familiar gaze.

“You really shouldn't keep your head down like that all the time. Are you okay?”

Shouta looked down at you with a stern yet concerned look. He didn’t exactly back away, rather he continued his hold on your shoulders as if you were going to fall over any second. Hizashi also stood close by his side, and therefore close to you.

The sudden proximity had your head spinning, blood quickly rushing to your face.

“Ah―yeah. I’m fine.” Your response was pitifully sputtered out, and gently you moved back, out of his grasp.

“You headin’ out? Shou’ and I were just comin’ to check up on ya.”

The blond regarded his partner, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll drive you home, have you eaten yet?” The erasure hero didn’t seem to be asking permission over the matter, but you still forced yourself to give them your take on it.

“You don’t have to do that, I was just about to call a cab. And I have stuff at home for dinner, so I honestly can’t impose on you two anymore.”

“Aw, but we're already here sunshine. It’s no problem, c’mon.” The blond flashed a warm smile before moving to place a hand just beneath the nape of your neck, guiding you to the front entrance alongside his partner.

You were beginning to grow frustrated with the way the two acted, disregarding your wishes so casually. Sure, they weren’t doing anything inherently wrong―just helping a poor civilian get home―but that wasn’t what irked you.

They were too insistent, and it was making you uncomfortable. Clearly they either didn’t notice, or simply didn’t care.

Heroes or not, you couldn’t just let them do whatever they want.

But...would they be offended if you got mad? They’re just trying to help, so what’s the big deal? It’s not like you would have to deal with it much longer, surely you could put up with a bit more of their pushiness.

...Just endure it a little more, you’ve already done enough damage anyways.

It was growing dark out, the sun having just set over the horizon. The crisp air hit you hard as the automatic doors slid open, being equally refreshing and shocking to your system.

An involuntary shiver wracked your body, and you felt Hizashi’s hand slip to your shoulder, gently pulling you closer to him.

It made your stomach churn ever so slightly, but you pushed the feeling down.

Shouta walked in front of you two, presumably leading you to their car in the parking lot. Approaching it, you weren’t surprised to see the expensive looking exterior, and were even less surprised to find an equally luxurious interior as the erasure hero opened the backseat door for you.

You offered a quiet ‘thanks’, removing your backpack and slipping in. The door shut with a heavy thud, and you waited for the two men to enter the vehicle while putting on your seatbelt. It smelled of pine inside, likely due to an air freshener somewhere that you couldn’t see.

They stepped inside, immediately turning on the heat. Shouta was given the responsibility of driving tonight.

“We can grab you something to eat on the way home, I know a couple good joints around your area.” Hizashi seemed quite invested on the topic of good food, but you had to turn him down at least once today.

“Oh, no thank you. I’ve actually got a frozen dinner that I made last week that I was gonna heat up.” You felt the car start to move, grateful to be getting home faster than you would’ve by cab.

For the first time in a while, the blond actually acknowledged and accepted your opinion. “Alright then. Hey, did the nurse lady have anything new to say ‘bout the whole passing out thing?”

“Surprisingly not, guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

Yeah, because they didn’t know why you were so tired, or how getting the crap scared out of you was the final driving force that night.

“That’s good to hear. I take it you’ll be staying home for the rest of the week to rest?”

Once again, you noted the tone in Shouta’s voice that was a little off-putting. He was asking a question, one that you had the freedom to answer however you see fit. But the lowness, sounding like a warning rather than a simple inquiry about your future actions was all too present.

It made you nervous.

“Well...I’m definitely going to take Tuesday and Wednesday off. But I’m already feeling good so I won’t bother to cancel for the rest of the week after that.”

You could only anticipate the disagreement in silence. And disagree they did.

“I’m not too sure that’s a good idea, sunshine. You went through a lot, its best ya hold off for a while.” You could hear the passionate concern in Hizashi’s voice, but it did little to deter you.

You briefly glanced outside, thankful that your apartment wasn’t too far from the hospital. “Maybe, but the end of the week is always really busy, and I usually handle evening shifts anyways. It wouldn't really be fair on my coworkers to bail for that long.”

Without skipping a beat, Shouta replied. “It’s not fair on yourself to put unnecessary strain on your body.”

Well, he’s not wrong, but that’s not the point.

“I can handle it just fine, besides it’s still a few da―”

“‘Zashi told me you fell asleep while he was there today. That doesn’t sound like handling it to me.”

Confrontation had never been your strong suit, even less so when it was directed at you. His words made you want to disappear into thin air, or have the backseat swallow you whole―anything would do at this point. You felt the shame from earlier today resurfacing, despite the internal fight you put up to contain it.

You were a little over halfway home.

“I was just a bit tired. Nothing a nap c-couldn’t solve.”

This time the blonde spoke up. “We’re just thinking ‘bout what’s best for you right now. And with the way things have been...maybe working so soon ain’t the greatest idea.”

The atmosphere was weighing down on you, thick with tension likely only you could feel. “The nurse said that it was okay to work if I wanted, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Is that all she said?” Your eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror, Shouta’s hard gaze meeting yours for a moment before you shied away.

God, this man is relentless.

You could lie, it might make this easier. But something told you that they would know if you did. They were pro heroes after all―didn’t they train to detect stuff like that?

“She said working might slow the recovery process, but I think two more days is more than enough time to get better.”

The two men exchanged looks mixed with annoyance and doubt, which you would’ve seen if you hadn’t had your head down, incessantly picking at your nails to distract from the bubbling anxiety you felt.

“Songbird, if the nurse said to stay home then you should listen to her. Going back to work ain’t gonna do ya any good.”

What could you say to prevent this from getting worse?

“She recommended staying home, I don’t have to listen to her.”

“Even though you should?” There was that tone again.

There was a silence in the car that felt like it lasted for an eternity. Clearly both of them were thinking the same thing, Shouta was just more insistent over it, much more insistent.

“What I should do is take responsibility as an employee. I’ll be okay by the time I have to go back.” Somehow you managed a response, despite feeling yourself physically shrinking back into the seat with every passing second.

Judging the surroundings, you were about one minute away from your apartment. One minute away from freedom.

You heard the blond sigh, “We know you wanna work, just promise you’ll think about staying home this week, give us some peace of mind?”

If that’s what will get them to stop hounding you over the matter, then whatever.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

The car pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex. You would’ve jumped out at full speed and ran into the building to escape the tension at this point. But that would be rude, and you didn’t want to look like a lunatic. And even if you didn’t care about that, the car doors were locked.

“We better not have to bring your unconscious body to the hospital again, especially if it happens because you thought going back to work was a good idea. If you think we’re worried about you now...well, this would be nothing compared to what would happen if you pass out again. Understand?” Shouta glared at you in the rearview mirror as he spoke, creating more than a lasting impression of his warnings.

You swallowed dryly, “Of course, thanks for the ride.”

Another moment of silence, then the click of the car doors unlocking sounded.

You opened the door, grabbing your bag while stepping out, trying not to trip over yourself in the rushed panic you were in.

Rounding the vehicle, you started towards the entrance to the complex.

“We’ll catch ya later, sweetheart!” Hizashi’s voice boomed after you, having the car window rolled down.

Out of courtesy, you turned back around, giving a small wave and a smile before stepping through the doors.

In a haze, you shuffled back to your apartment, pulling the keys out of your jacket pocket. You locked the door as soon as you stepped inside, chucking your bag on the floor in the entryway.

You didn’t even bother to heat up dinner, knowing the nauseating feeling in your stomach wouldn’t allow for sustenance at this time. Instead you showered, taking the time to massage your scalp in an attempt to relax.

Sliding into your pyjamas, you found that eating still wasn’t an option, but drinking likely was.

Not alcohol, but herbal tea―it always seemed to do the trick.

The exhaustion set in quickly after you’d gotten only halfway through the cup, so you retreated to the comfort of your bed. You knew the feeling was a mixture of coming down from a stress induced high, the tea, and your still recovering system.

It served as plenty of foundation to knock you out the second your head hit the pillow. This time, you welcomed the inevitable unconsciousness with open arms.

End of Part 3

_____

taglist: @tjhonoluluprezstitch626 @shinsous-eye-bags @roseloverofpastels

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 73 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Courtney committed a fireable offense when she lost Miss Fame’s sketches.

This Chapter: Bianca rides in on a white horse, and Violet says yes to cake.

***

BIANCA: I need Courtney’s address

ADORE: Why

BIANCA: Because she seems upset and she’s not answering and I’m worried

ADORE: What did you do?

BIANCA: NOTHING

BIANCA: I don’t think

BIANCA: Something probably happened at work

BIANCA: ADORE. SEND THE ADDRESS FOR FUCK’S SAKE

BIANCA: I WILL CUT YOU OFF BITCH

BIANCA: Adore, please.

ADORE: Fine! But if she’s mad, that’s on you

BIANCA: ACCEPTED

ADORE: Just to warn you, it’s a real shithole

BIANCA: Alright, alright, just please send the address

*

Even though Bianca felt like a little bit of a stalker just showing up at her place like this, she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do. Courtney had cancelled with those few cryptic messages and then gone radio silent. Bianca knew her well enough by now to be certain that something had gone wrong, since just hours earlier, she was sending sweet messages about how much she couldn’t wait for them to be together.

She tried calling her a few more times from the car, but there was no answer. Finally, standing in front of the crumbling brownstone, she had to come clean.

BIANCA: Look, I’m sorry for taking drastic measures, but I was really worried…

BIANCA: I’m outside your building

Seconds later, her phone rang. She answered, heart filling with relief. “Hi baby-”

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice sounded broken and raw, and it was immediately clear that she’d been crying. Bianca could feel her heart in her throat, head suddenly racing with all the possibilities of things she may actually have done wrong. Had she really fucked this up so quickly?

“I was worried about you, so I thought…” Bianca bit her lip, afraid to even ask if she was the one who had upset Courtney like this. “Are you gonna let me inside?”

There was a pause, a few beats, the sound of sniffling.

“I just...I kind of don’t want you to...see it.” She sounded choked up again, voice small and soft.

“Angel…” Bianca couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief. It didn’t sound like she was angry, at least not with Bianca--just ashamed of where she lived, which Bianca could understand. “Do you think I’ve always lived in a penthouse?”

“No,” Courtney admitted after a pause.

“No,” Bianca repeated. “Not by a longshot. Please let me in, I need to see you. I just want to talk.”

A few minutes later, Courtney appeared, opening the door from the basement level. Bianca raced down the narrow steps and swept her into a hug, trying not to fret too much about the way she hung limply in her arms.

She followed her inside, and while she’d been prepared for something small and substandard, based on everything she’d heard so far, this was far worse than her fears. A tiny basement unit, dank and dark with exposed pipes and what looked like the world’s oldest sofa bed. It was also clearly an illegal sublet with no kitchen--only a metal, industrial sink with an electric kettle and micro-fridge below.

Besides the bed, there was little furniture. Her closet appeared to be two wardrobe boxes, and a few other boxes were stacked next to the bed to create a makeshift side table. Bianca took it all in, wondering exactly how she ended up in such a dismal place.

But now was not the time to ask about that, not when Courtney looked so utterly miserable. Even in the dim lighting, Bianca could see that her eyes were red and swollen. She followed her to the sofa bed, sitting down gingerly beside her (and holy shit was that thing uncomfortable) and taking one of her hands into her lap.

“Tell me why you’re so upset, angel, please.”

Courtney took a shaky breath, fresh tears filling her eyes. “I did something...really terrible today.”

“Did you kill someone? Do you need me to get a shovel?” Bianca asked, and she was rewarded with a hint of a smile as Courtney shook her head.

“No, but…” Every trace of smile disappeared from her face as she said, “I bet Miss Fame is gonna think this is worse.”

“What happened?”

“I accidentally left an envelope with a bunch of her sketches in a cab.” A tear rolled down her reddened cheek.

Bianca’s eyes went wide, understanding why Courtney was so distraught. Fame rarely sketched anymore, but when she did, she was as attached to the original work as if it was a piece of her own body. She immediately went into problem-solving mode, trying to think of things to mitigate the damage.

“Have you tried calling the cab company-”

“I don’t know which cab company it was, I didn’t get a receipt and I can’t remember no matter how hard I try,” Courtney cried. “But I did call, I must have called a hundred different companies, but...I think they might be gone.”

“Okay-”

“It’s not okay! Her sketches, her original sketches! How could I have done that, I’m so dumb, I’m so bad at that stupid job!” More tears poured down her cheeks, sobs heaving her chest.

“Hey, come here…” Bianca pulled her in, hushing her softly, a hand rubbing circles into her back. “I know, I get what a big deal it is, but it sounds like you did everything you could. And I promise you, it’ll be okay-”

“How?! How will it be okay?! I’m gonna get fired!” Courtney exclaimed, and Bianca had to bite her tongue, the word ‘so?’ nearly slipping from her lips.

“Okay, well...let’s say you do get fired,” Bianca said slowly. “I don’t think you will, but if you do...would that be so bad? It’s clearly not your dream job.”

“But I need it. I can’t get my new work visa without it. It’s been months and I still don’t have the answer and-”

“You don’t have a work visa?”

“Not after March. I have an attorney who’s working on it, but he keeps running into problems and he’s already charged me so much and I don’t know-”

“Hold up. Galactica hired you, but they’re not handling your immigration issues?” Bianca asked.

“Well...Violet told me not to tell Miss Fame, so I...I was afraid to bring it up with HR. But I got the number of an immigration lawyer from Miss Fame’s contacts, and...it’s all just so expensive. He keeps asking for more money, and I can’t-”

“Wait a second.”

Bianca was no immigration expert, but she knew two things: 1, getting a work visa for an entry level administrative job was nearly impossible and 2, it was actually impossible without the full support of a sponsor company.

“Whoever that lawyer is, they’re a total fraud. Don’t give them any more money, okay?”

“Oh god.” Courtney moaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “Why can’t I do anything right?!”

“This isn’t your fault,” Bianca assured her. “You trusted a professional and they took advantage of you. They could be disbarred for that. And as for the sketches...stop beating yourself up. Yes, she’s going to be angry, and upset, but things happen. People make mistakes. I’ve made plenty, believe me.”

“Like this?” Courtney asked, eyes skeptical.

“I once dropped my boss’s wife’s passport off a subway platform.”

“Did you get fired?” Courtney asked.

“No. But I did get yelled at for a solid hour. Maybe two. It wasn’t a good day. But...I got through it. And you’ll get through this.”

“Maybe. But I just know I’m gonna fuck up again. Everything is...I don’t think it should still be this hard, not after 4 months. Miss Fame even said that, earlier today. I’m not new anymore, I should know better. I should be better. What’s wrong with me?!”

At first, Bianca said nothing, simply wrapping her in an embrace. She knew that Courtney was finding the job stressful--anyone in their right mind would find that job stressful. But the fact that it was this bad...Bianca felt guilty for not noticing sooner. She rocked Courtney slowly, letting her fall apart in her arms, whispering comfort into her ear.

After a while, when she sensed that Courtney was cried out, sobs slowing down and some of the tension finally melting away, Bianca pulled back and took her by the shoulders. She paused, considering for a minute if she really wanted to get involved before saying, “Maybe this isn’t the right job for you.”

“Well, I don't have another offer, so...oh, god, what am I gonna do? Is the visa thing really bad? Am I gonna get deported?”

“No,” Bianca said with a smile, shaking her head decisively. “I’ll take care of your visa. Don’t worry about it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet, but there are options. I promise, okay?” Bianca kissed her cheek softly, up near her ear, lips lingering on her tear-stained skin. “I’ve gotten pretty attached to you, so you leaving the country would be a huge bummer.”

Courtney finally seemed to relax, letting out a small chuckle, resting her head on Bianca’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to leave you either. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, angel.” Bianca squeezed her hand tighter, lacing their fingers together. “Does that mean you want to come home with me?”

Courtney nodded slowly, squeezing Bianca’s hand back. “Yes please.”

“Good.” Bianca tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And, um...okay so, remember when you said that Christmas music makes you want to go to the beach?”

“Yeah…” Courtney tilted her head, puzzled.

“Well I may have booked us a little...getaway. Just for a few days. So you can have some sun and relax and get away from this dreary weather.”

“Where?” Courtney asked, eyes wide.

“Puerto Rico. It’s not that long of a flight, so-”

“But I thought you had to stay and work!”

“I can work from there.” Bianca flashed her a charming smile, adding, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did. I’m…” Courtney took a deep breath, clearly overwhelmed, and then glanced over to where a beaten-up duffel bag lay on the floor. “I guess I need to pack some other clothes, although I’m not sure I have the right stuff here...”

“There are stores in San Juan.”

Courtney laughed, shaking her head and wiping her eyes. “I’m never gonna get used to the way you live.”

“You will. And that’s a promise,” Bianca said. “So will you come with me? Our flight leaves tomorrow at 2.”

“Yeah, of course! I just need like 20 minutes or so to pack.” Courtney’s mood already seemed to brighten as she began pulling boxes out of a stack against the brick wall.

“Of course, take your time. Mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Oh. Uh...yeah, sure. It’s uh...out that door and down the hall, on the right. I share with Fred, but I think he’s at work right now, so-”

“Who’s Fred?”

“Um-”

“You know what, I can hold it,” Bianca assured her, crossing her legs.

“I’ll be fast, I promise,” Courtney said, pulling a pair of sandals out of the box and tossing them to the floor. “And B...thank you.”

“For what, sunshine?”

“Everything.”

***

“I’ll get to the dishes in a minute, mom!” Gigi closed the door behind her, looking around her bedroom in an attempt to remember where she had put her earpods. She crouched down, digging through her backpack. Symone had made her a playlist of music she had to listen to over the holidays, and if she was gonna be put on Cinderella duty, she might as well make it productive.

It felt strange to be home; the smells, sights and sounds were all exactly the same, while she couldn’t help but feel different, like she had grown up in the weeks she was away.

Some of her friends had reached out when they had seen on Instagram that she had returned to L.A, but she hadn’t responded yet. She was an adult now, with a real job, not a college kid that could mess around and do all the things she used to, hanging out in the skate park suddenly so lame and childish compared to all the things she was doing in New York.

She had spent the day in her mom’s studio, watching her work like she had done so many times before, her mom excitedly asking about what clothes she should make her, and showing her all of the sketches she had done while Gigi was away based on the pictures she had sent.

Gigi couldn’t wait to wear her mom's creations, the outfits more chic than anything she had seen in the multiple designer stores she had now been in. Sutan’s words that her style was her edge ones she had really taken to heart.

“There!” Gigi exclaimed triumphantly, pulling her earpods out of her backpack. She grabbed her phone, and was just about to get to the kitchen to do the dishes, when she saw that she had gotten a message from Symone, a massive grin spreading on her face as she slid back down to the floor, leaning against her bed to respond, her chores completely forgotten.

***

JINKX: Hey honey. Just want to make sure you made it home from the airport okay.

JINKX: I read it was snowing a ton.

JINKX: Plus you know, I haven’t heard from you in almost 4 hours so I miss you like crazy.

JINKX: ;-P

ALASKA: Haha, I’m fine. At a bar right now catching up with the bro.

JINKX: Tell him hi for me

JINKX: xoxo

ALASKA: <3

***

It was Christmas Eve Day, barely past dawn, but Courtney was already awake. She’d slipped from the bed as quietly as possible so as not to wake Bianca, padding over to the big picture window to watch the golden sunlight reflecting off the buildings, admire the light dusting of snow on the trees in the park. She wasn’t used to thinking of New York as pretty, but from up here, it really was.

“Hey...good morning…” Bianca said, her voice rough with sleep, just the way Courtney loved most.

“Good morning.” She turned around, giving her a slightly apologetic smile. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nahh...I guess my body just doesn’t want to sleep without you.”

“I love it when you’re cheesy,” Courtney giggled.

“Oh yeah? Plenty more where that came from. What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Just...checking out the view. It’s pretty amazing.” Courtney turned and headed back to the bed, suddenly missing Bianca’s warmth beside her.

“The view over here isn’t half bad either,” Bianca told her with a wink.

Courtney giggled some more, crawling toward her across the mattress. “Happy Christmas Eve…”

Their lips met in a sweet and tender kiss, Bianca’s hands cradling her face.

“Speaking of which...how do you feel about opening one of your presents now?”

“Really? Already?” Courtney asked, eyes lighting up.

“Well, it’s kind of useful, so I think it makes sense.” Bianca got up out of the bed, pulling a huge box wrapped in silver from her closet.

Courtney sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly as she ripped open the paper to reveal a gorgeous pink Fendi suitcase, covered in what had to be custom crystals. Her mouth fell open.

“I figured you could use it for our trip. You know. I’m all about practical gifts.”

Courtney couldn’t help laughing. The suitcase was anything but practical...but it was perfect, like it was designed from Courtney’s wildest daydreams.

“I don’t know if I have enough to fill this,” Courtney said, running her fingers over it, watching the way the stones glittered in the light.

“Well...that’s cool, I could use the extra space myself.”

Courtney raised her eyebrows. She’d seen Bianca’s packed suitcases, two giant Louis Vuittons and a large, matching carry-on, nearly ready to go.

“You need more space? We’re going for a week...what are you even taking?!”

“More presents,” Bianca said, dimples deepening.

“Oh my god…”

***

Violet chewed on her lip; sorting through Google images really not where she excelled. She was looking for pictures of Raja at the Met Ball, slowly combing through what she could find since her emails to Max and Pearl had gone unanswered. It was annoying, but expected. Pearl never missed out on the chance of ignoring her emails, and Max was british so he completely ignored both phone and computer the minute he left the office, so she was on her own.

“Violet?”

Violet looked up from her station at the living room table to see Sutan head peek in through the kitchen door, his phone against his shoulder, the glasses in his hair betraying that he had been working  as well even though it was Christmas Eve. “My mom’s asking if you like klappertaart?”

“... Excuse me what?” Klappertaart? Violet had no idea what that was. It wasn’t unusual for either Raja or Sutan to get a bit confused when they bounced between Indonesian and English, their sentences sometimes mixed up, but that didn’t sound Indonesian at all. “Is that German?”

“Dutch, actually,” Sutan smiled. “Remind me to educate you on the thrilling saga of Indonesia's colonial history some day.”

“Ah,” Violet felt a brief stab of shame, that information seeming like something she should have known, though she had barely even been aware that Indonesia existed before she had met her boyfriend.

“So?” Sutan walked fully into the room, leaning against the doorframe, his black pants tight in the waist, and Violet couldn’t help but admire him for a second. “Klappertaart?”

“I still don’t know what it is.”

“Oh fuck, right” Sutan’s eyes widened, and Violet laughed as she heard a noise from the phone, Murni clearly picking up on her son’s swearing, Sutan quickly putting the phone against his ear.

“Ya Bunda, ya ya, maaf,” Sutan grinned, walking over to the table before putting the phone down so he could continue talking.

“Klappertaart is… It’s a cake, that’s…” Sutan paused, clearly looking for his words. “There’s coconut and… Know what, excuse me.” Sutan held the phone up again, Indonesian falling from his lips as he talked to his mom and Violet had to hide a smile, Sutan clearly never considering what was in this mysterious klappertaart.

“There,” Sutan pulled away, “It’s a coconut cake with almonds and raisins, and we usually have it for Christmas.”

“Huh,” Violet ran over the ingredients in her head. It was incredibly nice of Sutan’s mom to ask if she liked the menu, and there weren’t any of the ingredients that she hated, though warm raisins were disgusting, but she was pretty sure she could get away with picking them off, so there was no reason to create a scene. “That sounds lovely.”

“Great,” Sutan smiled, bending down to give her a quick kiss before he returned to his phone call.

[apollos-son]

✎ . . . ❝Sail Away,❞

Rating ; 15+

Pairing ; eventual poly ot8 ateez

Genre ; adventure, fluff, heavy angst, fantasy

Tags ; ateez pirate au, violence, blood, magic, mythical creatures, au of the past

A/N ; some events in this series will be based loosely on events that have occurred in ateez mvs that go along with ateez's story. I say loosely because I'm not reciting what happened in the mvs, I'm taking some of the events and twisting them in an interesting (I hope) way. There are tags that will be added later on, and in specific chapters there will also definitely be trigger warnings, however if there does happen to be anything triggering in chapters that I have mistakenly not labelled with a trigger warning - please let me know so I can add a warning.

Summary ; Kim Hongjoong is a hero reborn, brought back from a war he inevitably died in to defeat the darkness that once left his home, his family and the rest of the world in ruin. It's up to him and his companions to prevail over the most challenging of evils. Will they be able to do it? Or will everything crumble to pieces?

I know this is unlikely but I do ask that you do not copy my work under any circumstances. Do not repost, translate or use my work without permission. Thanks :)

-> The origin chapters

<- previous chapter • next chapter ->

Chapter 1 ⇢ ❝The World Left In Ruin.❞

It was a disaster. Everything that could've gone wrong.. it went wrong. They thought that this would be an easy battle. They thought they would emerge victorious. The preparations, the plans. It all meant nothing now.

There were too many dead bodies to count. Some were scattered individually, showing a soldier who danced alone, on their own paths. Others were in groups, clusters, showing soldiers who were afraid of this beast. Deeply afraid. Rightly so, she thought as she gazed over them. A battle had been lost. Not just a battle, the war had been lost.

。

She wiped the dirt off of her face as she collapsed to her knees. This was the temple, the place where she watched over the humans. Those old walls that had cracks etched in from years gone by, the overgrown plants that were evergreen. Beautiful. Sitting here now, with these eight bodies, the bodies of the heroes, she finally realised something. Destiny realised that it wasn't over yet. This world and that which remains within it was not yet doomed. Her fingers clenched around the cloth cloak that draped over her small body. Yes, she was weak and yes, using the last of her power would prevent her returning to Earth but it was the only way. Her eyes met the cold, dead ones of Kim Hongjoong and she heaved a long, defeated sigh.

Her only hope. Their only hope.

。

[three years later]

Soft brown eyes slowly flutter open, a sense of dreariness and haziness flooding over his body. Everything ached. It felt like hell. His limbs hurt, his head hurt. It took him a while to really see over his surroundings. Where... Where was he? The place was huge, ancient and yet it had a sense of charm that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He wipes his eyes with the palms of his little hands and he tries to stand up. He couldn't remember a thing. Why he was here, what happened before this point, he couldn't even remember his name.

Clumsily, he made his way over to a little pool of water that sat in one of the four corners of the room. He gazed down into the liquid and saw a faded reflection of a pretty boy staring back at him. Blue, fluffy hair, clear skin and beautiful brown eyes. His hands made contact with the cold stone that sealed the water off from the rest of the temple. A voice called something from the distance. Calling out the name of someone.. "Hongjoong"

Reluctantly, he followed that voice, down one of the corridors that the temple had. He observed the walls, every little crack and every little dent. That voice grew louder "Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong," it sang, as though the name were a sweet melody. "who is that?" he thought "who is this person? Who is Kim Hongjoong?"

The corridor came to an end abruptly. His eyes widened at the sight before him. There were pillars towering over him and gaps between each of them. The fresh smell of air and salt wafted through as he finally got a look at the outside. It was beautiful, but.... it was also nothing but water. Water that stretched as far as the eye could see. No matter which way he looked at the openings,, no land was in sight.

Then, a piercing light came from the centre of the room, causing the boy to shield his eyes away hastily. A mosaic that was stretched across the floor in the centre also lit up. "Kim Hongjoong," the same voice chimed. "Kim Hongjoong, you must hear my call," it repeated.

"Kim... Hongjoong?" The boy replied croakily "I don't know anybody by that name," he said. The voice paused "who are you?" it asked. The boy's brows furrowed and he spoke unsurely "I have no clue,, I just woke up here, I don't remember anything,"

That was the big question, who was he? The light in the room seemed to only glow brighter at his response. "fallen hero,,," it insisted "you are our only hope... the fate of the world rests in your hands,"

Stubbornly, the boy shook his head "m-me? A fallen hero?? But I have no recollection of my past, how can that be?" he asked In desperation. His white button down flowed in the slow breeze and his tongue ran smoothly across his cold lips. The aching that overcame his body had subsided, but only by a short amount.

His eyes drooped closed, his head hurting still yet the pain blossoming through it seemed to slowly but surely fade with every inhale and exhale. His arms extended from each side outwards, taking in the wind and the sun from the outside. Embracing it. Nothing hurt anymore. He was truly alive. It was a feeling like no other. To feel every part of his body again. To feel like himself again. But, who was he? The person standing here, inhaling the vast ocean's salty scent was not the hero the voice called out for. So why did he follow? Questions without answers. Questions that needed answers.

He felt his eyes flicker open again, and the light was gone. Like it was never there. In its place, however, fluttered a golden butterfly. A small creature that held innocence and beauty within its being. The little butterfly perched upon the boy's finger when he reached out to touch it. Its perfect glistening glow was captivating. Warm brown eyes inspect the little insect carefully as it's pretty wings twitched. "what's a small thing like you doing in a place like this?" The boy asked in a soft tone, obviously not expecting an answer.

Wait.. Was it just him or was the butterfly twinkling more than a butterfly should..? Then, before his very eyes, the butterfly seemed to fade away; almost as if it was melting. Now nothing but sparkling dust remained on his fingers. As he rose his hand up to inspect the glittering powder, his hand was set ablaze. With a small gasp, he shook his hand vigorously but the flames merely danced around his fingertips, burning with passion.

。

This new power that surged through his body, he couldn't quite understand what it was. He had spent a while experimenting with it, creating flames, creating plant life, creating light and, perhaps less excitingly and more concerningly, destroying certain things that he touched. It seemed that he had the power of creation and destruction at his fingertips, yet he couldn't quite use it at his will. That was evident by the amount of flowers blooming around him and the amount of plants hugging at his feet. How curious.

The sun's bright light soon fell as the boy experimented continuously with this strange oddity now available to him. It was entertaining, sure, but he felt lonely. The moon's silver luminescence shined down on him as he sat between one of the gaps of the sturdy pillars in the room that was open to the ocean. It was too dark to see a thing elsewhere so it left the small boy to gaze up at the stars.

He still had no idea who he was or how he got here. "Kim Hongjoong" was the only person he knew of but,, he wasn't certain if he was Kim Hongjoong for sure. For now then... Until he gets a solid answer, he'll call himself "Hong"

Hong kicked his legs out a little bit and shivered lightly. His thin clothes weren't really shielding him from the night's cool air. He glamced at his left hand and pressed his lips together, until a flame shortly blazed over his palm. The warmth of the flame soothed him, as his eyelids grew heavy, calling for him to enter a slumber.

Slowly, Hong lowered himself until he was flat on his back, his hands up in the air so he could watch the red and orange embers flare at his fingers. Something then came to mind, what was he to do in this place? Eventually, he'd starve to death, correct? So... He had to figure out how to escape, there must be land somewhere else. For that moment, though, he let himself fall into a slumber. He let those thoughts and those worries drift away for now.

。

Startled, Hong awoke with a start. Something had hit his face. And it was more prominent then a bug or a drop of rain. He sat up and stretched his arms out above him and looked around. To his left, a small scroll of paper sat. That must've been what hit him.

His small hands twitched as he reached for the crisp piece of paper. It was rolled up precisely and wrapped in a red ribbon. Maybe,, just maybe, this could explain to him what was going on. He hastily unravelled the paper and scanned it. His look of hope quickly faded into something that resembled confusion. Words were etched into the paper elegantly, though most of it appeared in a language Hong couldn't quite recognise. Only one part stood out to him. The name. "Park Seonghwa," he whispered. His index finger traced the name in the italic handwriting and sighed. Two names, without meaning.

He stared at the writing for a while, trying to decipher what it was saying. But he could never get past the first sentence, which was clearly written in Korean. "We were written in the stars, by Destiny herself,"

His mind seemed restless, but the sun had not even come up yet. He was using the small light source that the moon gave off. His eyes lifted to stare at the many stars. "written in the stars... what does that mean?" he asked himself solemnly. A small crackle of fire came to his attention and he looked down again only to realise that he was burning the aged paper. "No!-" he squeaked in desperation but before he could do anything, the paper had burnt to a crisp.

Not long after though a figure appeared beside him. A gasp left his lips in shock and he moved himself back, away from the figure that was laying unconscious on the floor. Did,, did he do that? Surely not, that couldn't be possible. He looked over the figure for a moment, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Park... Seonghwa?" he queried quietly.

When the figure's eyes opened abruptly to reveal a pretty blue, Hong gasped again. He had the urge to reach out and touch the person's face, but restrained himself from doing so. "who.. are you?" The figure, that upon closer inspection seemed to resemble a man also, asked with a sense of weariness in his voice.

"I.. don't really know,"

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

Lil taglist:

@atiny-piratequeen @ningnings-plushies @btsheadquarters7 @catboy-dia

[kazuharem]

“Promises of Forever” ↠ Lucien x MC [SMUT]

AO3 Link: here 

Pairing: Lucien x Female MC

Part I of the “Forgive and Forget” Series. This is “Forgive”

Part II: here

Warnings: Contains plots from chapter 13 and 16 -> basically the plot of Lucien’s Rainy Night Date

Description: Lucien’s POV from “Rainy Night Date” + lovemaking

Word Count: 10,660 (oops)

Genre: Angst, Smut

Summary: “When the daylight comes, I'll have to go. But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close"

Author’s Note: I started playing this game back in March, missed out on this karma, and is very bitter/frustrated by that fact. I don’t think I’ve ever fallen so hard for a 2D man, but here I am. I wrote this fic because there weren’t enough discussion about this date, which I think showcases Lucien’s true feelings. Especially when he gives the paper crane back to the MC. My horny ass just decided to throw some lovemaking into this scene. Ending is inspired by the lyrics of Maroon 5′s “Daylight.” Every line that I took from the actual date/plot will have * in front of it. I hope you guys enjoy it. ALSO LUCIEN DESERVES ALL THE HAPPINESS IN THE WORLD. I SAID MY PIECE. 

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Here I am staring at your perfection In my arms, so beautiful The sky is getting bright, the stars are burning out Somebody slow it down This is way too hard 'Cause I know, when the sun comes up I will leave, this is my last glance That will soon be memory

And when the daylight comes I'll have to go But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close 'Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own But tonight I need to hold you so close Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

I never wanted to stop Because I don't wanna start all over, start all over I was afraid of the dark But now it's all that I want, all that I want, all that I want

How did it come to this, Lucien asked himself as he pressed himself to the side of her building, watching as reporters rushed at her, like piranhas after the scent of blood.

*“Producer! What’s your answer on your program’s ex-consultant’s remarks at the press conference?” One shoved a mic into her face. Lucien winced, but held himself back from going to her rescue. His appearance would only make the situation worse.

*“We heard that you and Professor Lucien are not only co-workers, but also neighbors. Anything to share about him?” Another reporter jogged next to her.

“Yeah, aren’t you two neighbors? So you must be close!” The crowd clamored around her, and Lucien clenched his fists.

*“We heard that you two are inseparable. Could you please…” The reporter’s voice asked eagerly, and her eyes squeezed shut.

He watched as her lips pressed into thin, white lines. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to get to work. Can you please stop asking me these questions?” She finally said softly, with an undercurrent of hurt, thinly veiled, but Lucien heard her all the same. The world seemed so dreary despite the colors, and Lucien knew it was because of her mood.

The poor security guards struggled, trying to clear a path for her so she can enter the building. Kiki and Anna appeared, extending a hand towards her, and pulled her to safety within the glass doors of her company. The world faded into shades of monochrome once more and it was then that Lucien exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

How did it come to this indeed?

It was supposed to be a simple task, a mission he could’ve accomplished with a flick of a hand. It was supposed to be easy. She was incredibly innocent and quick to trust; all he had to do was show her a little bit of kindness. And yet, Lucien found himself bewitched by her, getting his eye sliced open to prove to Black Swan that he was still on their side. That had been nothing more than a mere inconvenience for him. And yet, when the grunts had attempted to capture her, he failed to accomplish that simple of a task and instead, had let her escape. Lucien recalled the look in her eyes as she bravely held the pen-the very one he had endearingly given to her-to her neck and crimson blood leaked from her neck. That look had destroyed him. Only she was capable of such a thing. If she asked for Lucien’s heart, Lucien would’ve willingly torn it out and present it to her on a silver platter. Except for the fact, Lucien’s lips flitted into a wry smirk, he had no heart. His heart had belonged to her the moment she showed him the true brilliance of the world, the indescribable colors that had changed and wreaked havoc on everything he once knew. And Lucien had willingly allowed her to do so. Black Swan may have saved his life, but this woman, this woman who had entered his life in an explosion of colors, this woman had saved his soul. And in that sense, she had saved his life as well.

Falling in love with her wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. Those who knew him, knew him to be ruthless, emotionally detached, and ever-so-cold. But from the moment his world exploded into a vibrant myriad of colors, he was hooked. He had found himself wanting to see her every moment of the day, a message or call from her would allow a fond smile to spring up unbidden. Lucien remembered the poisonous jealousy he had felt when he attended one of her company dinners and her coworkers had asked her who was the most important person in her life. A little drunk and giving in to the green-eyed monster, he had confronted her only for her to tell him that it was him. The relief he had felt at that moment was ridiculous, like a tsunami of emotions flooding his entire system. He remembered gritting his teeth and clenching his fists at the sight of the officer who had shyly given her that ginkgo bracelet. He remembered the utter panic he felt when he found out she was in the hospital because of a stupid trick Black Swan had attempted to pull off and later, he remembered feeling the stifling frustration when the LFG CEO had barred anyone from seeing her. And Lucien remembered trying to focus on his research but hearing the idol singer’s bright voice float through the thin walls.

“Miss Chips! I brought the newest video game! Play with me!”

He had hoped she would refuse, but to his surprise, she had readily agreed. And he had tried so hard to ignore the sounds of happy entertainment before giving up and angrily leaving his apartment. That had been the moment he had realized that, that simple, oh-so-easy plan was not so easy after all.

How? How could it have happened this way?

When did he start feeling these irritating emotions that made his chest clench so painfully?

Was it when he took her to the New Light Library to help her with materials for the show and he had blurted out, *“Will you teach me how to love?”

Or was it when he had gifted her that gardenia and they had decided to take care of it together?

Or maybe it was when he had taken her to a firefly exhibition and she had defended the poor firefly struggling weakly to survive, saying that all life should be respected?

Was it when they went to the aquarium together and he had warned her, but she had refused?

Maybe it was when he had to go to Denmark, and she had followed him, getting sick in the process but had clung so desperately to him?

Was it because she had been the only one who had cared about him, about his birthday, and worried so excessively over his happiness?

Lucien had tried so hard to push her away, but every time she would come back, worrying when he got sick, calling when he didn’t respond to her messages. He had lived his entire life knowing only the cold shades of black and white. But with her, he was able to see the glorious pastels of a rainbow after a storm, the vibrant reds of the Canadian maple forest, the cerulean blue of the sea, the brilliant golden flashes of fireworks, and the warm orange flickering of the lotus lantern they had sent down the river together. She had been the one who had turned his birthday, which had been countless anniversaries that reminded him of the tragic events from his childhood, to something he actually wanted to look forward to every year.

He didn’t know the answers to these questions, but when Hades had tried to capture her for his foolish RESET plan on the day of his press conference, Lucien realized that for the first time in his life, he felt fear. Fear of losing her. Fear of her being in pain. Fear that someone saw the dazzling purity of hers and tried to use it for dark and polluted gains. For the first time in his life, Lucien had something to lose. Something so infinitely precious to him that it was more important than his own life. And yet, this woman had been hurt by his own hand.

Pain was not a foreign concept to Lucien. Being in Black Swan, it was readily available. He had utilized it upon his enemies, upon those who had cast doubt on him, and upon himself. But none of it could compare to the pain he had felt all those sleepless nights hearing the broken sobs of the woman he had hurt so deeply. For the first time, Lucien truly understood what a deadly weapon pain could be.

And now…

Lucien looked at the still clamoring crowd of reporters lurking around the entrance of her building and clenched his fists. Because of him, her life was upturned once more.

He had been keeping a close eye on her after he brought her from Hades’ dreamworld, fearing that Hades would discover the way out and go after her again. His hunches were right after discovering Hades’ minions lurking about her apartment community. He had disposed of them quietly, of course, but the reporters were a different story. Lucien knew she had been working late nights just to avoid the reporters.

Which was why Lucien was now sitting in his car, in the parking lot of her building, waiting for her to get off work.

Fool, a voice whispered inside his head, but he ignored it. He was currently the only one who could possibly protect her. As jealous as he had been with Gavin, Victor, and Kiro, he appreciated the fact that all three of them had protected her. But now, Gavin had gone somewhere, Victor’s whereabouts were unknown and couldn’t be reached, and he didn’t know what Helios was planning after abandoning his image as Kiro.

The dull gray lights suddenly morphed into a muted yellow and Lucien looked up. She had appeared at last.

He got out of the car silently and walked towards her. She checked her phone and let out an exhausted sigh, rotating her shoulders.

Show no emotion, Lucien reminded himself. He grabbed her arm and pushed her into his car before she even had a chance to react.

“AH!” She exclaimed in surprise, preparing herself to fight.

*“It’s me,” Lucien spoke softly to prevent her from struggling. She froze the moment she heard his voice and turned, wide-eyed, to look at him. Lucien forced himself to look straight ahead. “Fasten your seatbelt,” he commanded quietly, before starting the car.

She gritted her teeth, *“Why do I have to go with you? Where are you taking me?” She demanded.

Lucien clenched the steering wheel. Hearing her voice-albeit angry-reminded him that she was alive and breathing. And sitting next to him. *“To your place,” he answered her question passively, trying not to give light to the murky emotions that swirled within him.

She fell silent and he drove on. The way home never seemed so long, and the traffic lights were not helping, stopping them at every intersection. But Lucien was secretly glad; the longer he spent with her, the more content he felt. Even though she was still angry at him, Lucien cherished the time spent with her.

He could sense her eyes watching him, questions as clear as day on her face. When he couldn’t take the stare any longer, he met her gaze through the mirror. As if struck by a live wire, she immediately dropped her eyes. Lucien noticed how her fingers clenched white against the seatbelt and he gripped the steering wheel to prevent himself from doing something he shouldn’t (like grabbing her hand and smoothing out her tension). He hated himself for causing these reactions in her.

*“I came out to tell you not to go out for a while, unless you have to,” Lucien broke the silence quietly, his voice slightly hoarse. The reporters should stop bothering her after a few days.

Her eyes flitted to him in surprise, *“But I need to go to work! Don’t worry, I won’t tell the reporters anything,” she added hastily.

Silly girl, he mused silently, you misinterpret my intentions yet again.

*“Do you think I came all this way just because I was worried you might blab to the reporters?” Lucien asked aloud, pressing his lips together thinly.

She lowered her eyes, ashamed, and they fell in silence once more.

Nothing more than acquaintances, Lucien thought to himself bitterly. There used to never be awkward gaps of silence between them, but now silence permeated every possible space between them. She was only sitting next to him, but she felt oceans away. It was clear that she felt uncomfortable, with the way she was twisting her body away from him. And it was all his fault, Lucien supposed, getting stopped by a traffic light yet again. Her finding out who he was, however, was inevitable. And in that sense, Lucien thought that she should know earlier before she had completely given her heart to him. That way, she could still keep a bit of herself intact.

After stopping at the last traffic light before her apartment community, Lucien broke the silence once more, *“Anyway, don’t get caught up in any unnecessary danger,” he reminded her again.

*“You as well!” She piped up immediately and Lucien felt his heart clench.

Still worrying about me, my little fool. Worry about yourself first.

Instead, Lucien grated out a laugh, *“Who do you think can hurt me?

How ironic, Lucien sneered at himself, the only person who could ever hurt him was sitting right next to him.

They had finally reached the gate and Lucien rolled down his window so he could greet the security guard. *“Hello,” he said politely, smiling warmly.

The security guard’s eyes widened when he realized it was Lucien.  *“Professor Lucien, worked late today? It’s been a while since I saw you!”

*“Yes,” Lucien replied evenly, “I’m dropping her off at home.”

*“Haha, you are still so close!” The security guard teased, and Lucien saw her look away hurriedly, fingers clenching on her seatbelt again. Lucien nodded, still smiling as he drove away. His smile faded when they had reached the entrance of her apartment building.

They had arrived at last. It was time to say goodbye once again.

Lucien reminded her again without looking at her, *“Keep in mind everything I have told you tonight.”

She huffed at him, *“I know what I’m doing,” and opened the door in her haste.

Lucien reached over and she stiffened immediately. She tried to push him away, but Lucien held her wrists.

*“Let go of me!” She glared fiercely at him and Lucien’s chest tightened in response.

*“Are you that afraid of me?” Lucien whispered. She stopped struggling at those words and stilled. It was then that he realized belatedly that he had said his thoughts aloud. Lucien looked away, unfastened her seatbelt, and leaned away from her when he was done. *“You forgot to unfasten your seatbelt,” he informed her quietly, internally struggling to keep his emotions down.

*“…Thanks,” she said grudgingly and got out of the car. She took only two steps and turned around.

*Lucien rolled down the car window slowly, “What is it? Did you forget something?”

*He couldn’t read her expression as she shook her head. “You, not me,” she exhaled and continued. “All those things you left in my apartment; I’ve packed them up. Wait here, I’ll bring them down.”

*“Are they heavy?” Lucien managed to ask. This entire scene was funny as if they were going through a breakup, but Lucien didn’t laugh, couldn’t laugh.

*“No. I can manage by myself,” she replied curtly, placing heavy emphasis on “by myself.”

Lucien pressed his lips together and watched as she walked away, away from him, just like she did the day she found out who he really was. And then again on the day of the press conference. 

Did my little butterfly already fly away?

He had no time to linger on his thoughts, however, as he soon noticed two men in black seemingly appear from darkness and look up in the direction of her balcony. He cursed under his breath. Hades. They were probably there to observe her movements and report them to Hades. He shouldn’t be seen by them, otherwise Black Swan will know of his betrayal. And she must not come out at this moment. Scowling, Lucien pulled out his phone.

*<Rest early. Just mail it to this address.>

After sending the message, he started his car and took note of how there were two additional men in black tactical gear near the entrance of her apartment. Hmm STF, he thought to himself. Interesting. He drove off, circling behind another apartment complex as to not draw attention to himself. It was late, she should rest anyway, given how exhausted she had looked when Lucien had picked her up. And she seemed to be well protected for now. He knew Hades’ men wouldn’t try anything with STF agents around. For now, it was safer for her that he left. And he needed to figure out how to deal with Hades.

Two days later, a package arrived for him, but he had no time to open it due to all the work he had. He sent her a simple, “Thanks,” but he had gotten no response from her. Lucien had checked up on her occasionally; but after a few days, as he had guessed, the reporters stopped bothering her as the city slowly dissolved into mild panic over how the virus had developed. His worry about her safety decreased when he had noticed that she had STF agents following her, but that didn’t extinguish the longing inside of his heart.

The days slowly morphed into weeks and Lucien had been quite busy. Hades had not made things easy for him, but Lucien didn’t mind the workload. Every step he made in his progress was a step towards her happiness, her safety.

After working straight for twelve hours, he stood up and stretched. On his way to the kitchen, he accidentally kicked the box she had sent up. He looked at the box for a moment before making the decision to open it. He peeled the tape that bound the box shut and the box revealed its contents. With growing despair, Lucien glanced at the variety of books and movies that he had lent the girl. Each title brought a special memory. The last things in the box were paper cranes strung up in long lines, cushioning the books and DVDs. He touched the cranes tenderly, smiling as he recalled the day she had taught him how to fold these cranes. He had pretended to be bad at the task, causing her to huff at him.

*"Seriously, are you pretending not to know how?” The girl frowned at him as she watched his fingers fumble with the piece of paper.

*"No one has ever taught me this before,” Lucien admitted sheepishly.

She straightened her shoulders proudly, *"Well, better late than never! This teacher has full confidence in your talent!”

Lucien smiled at her confidence. *"In that case, I will await your instructions.”

Under her careful tutelage, they had made many paper cranes that afternoon. *Lucien fondly unfolded each of the cranes carefully, remembering that she had written a wish inside one of the paper cranes. She had whispered it while writing it down and he had overheard it, pretending he didn’t.

It was a wish about them.

*Does that wish mean nothing to her anymore?

Lucien sighed and refolded the cranes. Perhaps he should be thinking like her, letting the past dwell in the past, he mused sadly. But despite his thoughts, he found himself hanging the strings of cranes up.

*The light outside the window shone down upon the cranes and the raindrops outlined the gray and dusty memory. The pouring rain couldn’t wet these cranes, but somehow, one of them had faint blots on its wing. He reached out and gently held it in his hands. It was the crane in which she had written her wish. Lucien swallowed, trying to keep the choking emotions from surfacing.

*“I wish Lucien and I forever…”

The rest of her wish was blurred by tearstains. But Lucien knew the rest. It was the same as his. Every single time she made a wish-be it on the candles of his birthday cake, or the glowing lantern, or this simple crane-all her wishes had aligned with those of Lucien’s.

Lucien caressed the crane, *when he suddenly saw a dazzling figure in a cream-colored dress in the midst of the gray rain. His eyes widened. She had appeared like a mirage, the manifestation of his thoughts and longings.

*Lucien frowned, Silly…How did you end up here?

Without a second thought, he *grabbed an umbrella by the door and hurried out into the pouring rain. The clattering rain drowned his accelerating heartbeat.

*Lub-dub, lub-dub...

So engrossed was she in her task, that she didn’t see Lucien approaching her. He held the umbrella over her, and she looked up in surprise.

*“Why have you come looking for me?” Lucien tried hard to quash the happiness in his voice. She didn’t respond and continued to stare wide-eyed at him. Lucien spoke up again, *“Why didn’t you call ahead?”

*“I…” her eyes skipped from his, *“I just want to return something, then I’ll be on my way,” she mumbled.

“What is it?” Lucien asked as he reached out to her to pull her closer under the umbrella. She shrank back, but slipped. Before he could even form thoughts, Lucien’s body reacted. He hurriedly grabbed her before she could fall and wrapped his arms around her. A sigh left his mouth that was lost in the rain as he felt her familiar warmth and smelled her comforting scent. She was safe.

In her panic, she tried to push him away, but Lucien gently took her wrists. They walked silently with the rain beating down on them. Lucien could feel her gaze on him once again. She raised her hand only to drop it back to her side. Lucien cast a glance at her, *“What is it?”

*“You’re getting wet from the rain,” she murmured as a dusty-rose colored her cheeks.

Lucien chuckled, and couldn’t help teasing her, *“Someone else also got soaked.”

Her cheeks reddened further as she looked down at her feet. She seemed to be at an internal struggle with the way she kept gripping her purse. Her eyes kept scanning around, as if looking for an exit route.

Lucien pretended not to notice and led her gently to his front door. *“Didn’t you have something to return to me? You’re leaving already? Come in,” he invited.

Stay a little longer. Please, Lucien pleaded silently.

She hesitantly walked through the door and ruffled through her purse. *“I’ll just leave this here,” she said softly, producing a DVD and setting it gently on the counter.

Lucien glanced at the title and his heart clenched. It was a film he had recommended her, and she had promised to give him a film review.

*“Wait a moment,” he managed to say, stopping her before she could leave him again. Lucien picked the disc up and came closer to her, caging her between him and the door. He kept trying to find reasons to stay with her a bit longer, just like he had done so at the end of the press conference. But this time, Lucien decided to let himself be a bit selfish. *“You still owe me something, right?”

*“Wh-what?” She stammered nervously. He saw through her purpose. She had obviously wanted to deliver the disc and leave as fast as possible.

*“A movie review,” Lucien answered, holding the disc up.

*She lowered her head guiltily, but Lucien lifted her chin, searching her eyes.

*“Or does our big-time producer not even have time to watch a movie anymore?” he asked. She didn’t answer, but he saw through her anyway. Lucien’s lips curved into a tiny smile. “This is a good piece of work,” he coaxed gently.

*“But I don’t want to take it back anymore…” she mumbled, biting her lips. Lucien saw her scan the living room and her eyes landed on the paper cranes. A wave of sadness swept across her face and she closed her eyes.

*“You can finish watching it here,” Lucien offered.

*“ …I’m running late for the last subway,” she refuted weakly.

Lucien almost laughed, “I’ll bring you home when it’s over.” He knew she wanted to end everything between them, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. Lucien decided to be the bad guy once again to save her the trouble. *“Or, do you want to keep owing me this movie review?” It was easier for him to do the dirty work.

With no room left to argue, she nodded resignedly and Lucien’s heart soared triumphantly.

He handed her a towel for her to dry off and went to set up the movie. She sat down stiffly on the couch and Lucien sat by the window.

What are you doing? Lucien chided himself as he watched raindrops glide down the window. He could feel her eyes on him again. Breaking his gaze away from the window, he turned to look at her. *“It’s starting,” he reminded her gently when the opening credits ended. She hastily turned her attention toward the screen.

Lucien watched her. He had chosen this specific piece because it served as another warning: he was not who he said he was. Throughout all their time spent together, Lucien had given her countless warnings only for her to dismiss them and run back into Lucien’s arms. And if Lucien was being honest, he didn’t want to let her go either. The longer he spent with her, the further the line between Lucien and Ares blurred, until Lucien didn’t really know who he was either. But now, he had one purpose. To keep her safe. It didn’t matter if he was Lucien or Ares. Around her, he was simply a man wanting to protect the person most important to him.

After a while, she turned to look at him again and their eyes met. Flashes of sadness, surprise, and longing ran across her eyes. Silence filled the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or stifling like it had been last time.

Lucien paused the film. *“Is the movie not good?” He asked softly after a while, not wanting to break the pregnant pause.

She shook her head silently. Before she could answer, however, she sneezed suddenly.

*Lucien sighed and got up, bringing her tissues. He shrugged out of his coat to cover her small shoulders. “How do you still take such poor care of yourself…?” The words left his mouth, exasperated. Embarrassed, she shuffled in her seat. Lucien brought her a cup of hot tea and she inhaled the fragrance. Her lips touched the back of his hand as he tried to cover the mouth of the mug. Electricity ran from where her lips had touched his hand and left tingles up his entire arm. “Always in such a rush…” he said fondly. “It’s still hot, wait a bit before drinking it.” He was unable to keep the affection out of his voice.

She stiffened and Lucien knew she heard the tenderness of his words. He berated himself. “Why are you being gentle to me again?” She whispered brokenly, squeezing her eyes shut.

There was no going back now.

*“A very interesting question,” Lucien finally responded, “But, before answering you, I also want to clear something up.” He moved slowly until he was sitting next to her on the couch. Ignoring how she curled into herself as he approached, he asked the question he wanted to know from the very beginning. “Each time I push you away, why do you keep coming back to me?” Lucien felt the tiny flutter of hope within his chest.

Could it be?

She didn’t answer, but Lucien dared himself to hope. And for the first time, he felt he wanted to bare his soul to her.

*He leaned in closer to her when suddenly the paper cranes broke from the ceiling and landed around them. Slowly, he found the crane that contained her precious wish and pushed it into her hands. “That’s my answer,” he said finally. He let her see him for who he truly was for the first time. He continued, “But the process of achieving this takes time and patience.”

And there it was. His heart and soul and all the feelings it contained for the woman in his arms were all laid out in front of her.

There was a small gasp before she dissolved into tears.

*“Liar… You said you didn’t see it,” she accused him tearfully, hand holding onto the crane.

Lucien pulled her gently into his lap as he enveloped her in his arms, his heart finally feeling full after a long while. She clung to him just as tightly, her arms encircling his neck. “Silly… *Do I need to peek to know what you’re thinking?” He whispered against her hair.

*He pressed his lips against her neck, a silent promise of his answer to her question. He wanted to be selfish for once.

She tugged at his tie, lifting his head and she leaned in. “Kiss me properly, Lucien,” her soft breath brushed against his lips.

Lucien acquiesced. Their lips met, soft like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. He tasted the salt of her tears, but the sweet nectar of her lips overpowered everything. Lucien was hopelessly and irrevocably addicted.

They broke apart slowly, breaths still mingling. *Lucien held up his hands, just like he had when he accompanied her on her quest to find the truth. *“This represents two choices,” he began softly, gazing into her eyes.  “The right is to finish what you came here to do. To return the disc and leave, ending everything between us. The left is to pursue the path you want. To act upon these emotions between the two of us, but the path ahead is unknown. It could be dangerous. Even I don’t know what lies ahead.” He offered her a choice; whatever she decides, Lucien would be willing to go along with it.

*Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his left hand just like she had back then. She looked defiantly at him, eyes shining with confidence. “I choose this. I will not run away.”

*“And if this choice brings you harm and turns your life upside down? You’d still choose it?” Lucien repeated the words he had spoken to her long ago.

*“Yes, I most certainly do,” she answered, leaving no room for argument. A warmth in Lucien’s heart blossomed and swelled. This woman! She came into his life in a whirlwind of color and always acted differently from Lucien’s every expectations. Lucien had never met anyone like her, and he knew that he never will. She was the only one.

*Lucien laughed and closed his left hand, clasping their hands together tightly. “I understand your choice.”

For tonight, Lucien decided to let himself pretend that the woman in his arms belonged to him and only him. That there wasn’t anything or anyone against them. That she wasn’t in any danger. That there was no Black Swan, no plot to overturn the world, no viruses, no pain, and no fear. That they were the only ones in this world and the only thing that mattered. That they were simply a man and a woman in love. And Lucien decided it was time to put his thinking and all his worries on hold. It was time to finally give in to the emotions that had been slowly consuming him. For once, it was time to let his heart lead instead of his head.

He leaned in to taste her sweet lips again, licking at the seam. He was granted access as her fingers danced along his collar to pull him closer to her. “Lucien…” the sound of his name on her lips spurred him on, igniting a fire that blazed in his stomach. He traced the inside of her lip with his tongue and was rewarded with a soft moan.

Her fingers worked nimbly on his tie and deftly unbuttoned his shirt as he mapped the crevasses of her mouth with his tongue. She moved to straddle him and he ran his hands down her body until he reached her thighs, where he gripped them to wrap them around his waist. Cupping his chin, she pressed herself to him, lips moving desperately against his.

Just for tonight, Lucien promised himself as he reached up to her face, brushing her hair back softly, just for one night.

He ran his fingers through her hair as he assaulted her mouth, biting, sucking everywhere he could reach. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and slipped her hands inside. Lucien shuddered at her touch, her fingers tracing fire and leaving sparks across his chest. He pulled away to stare at her. “I think I’m at a disadvantage here,” he pretended to frown.

Her laughter was infectious as it rang through the air. “Then you should catch up,” she quipped, bright eyes sparkling with mirth, cheeks ablaze with pink. She looked so beautiful that Lucien had to literally bite down the urge to take, to claim.

“So I shall,” Lucien breathed, fingers playing with the hem of her blouse. Still staring at each other, she slowly raised her arms and Lucien tantalizingly dragged the fabric over her head.

Lucien’s breath caught. She was dressed in a white lace bra that cupped her breasts enchantingly. A pink flush crept up her body and Lucien’s gaze changed. She shyly averted her gaze when she noticed how dark Lucien’s pupils had become. Lucien reached for her, crashing his lips against hers. “Mm!” She gasped against his unrelenting mouth. Lucien picked her up and stood up, causing her to squeak out a surprised, “Lucien!”

“As much as I’d like to have you right here, I think I’d prefer to have you on my bed,” Lucien’s voice was low, hungry. “Also people might see and the idea of sharing you is not particularly appealing to me.” He walked purposefully towards his bedroom; her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Despite his heated words, he took care to set her down gently on the bed, removing her skirt when he did so. He knelt on the bed to kiss her again, hands making quick work of her bra, and leaned back on his feet to look at her.

She swallowed hard when she met Lucien's heated gaze as he cupped her breasts. A small moan bubbled from her throat. Lucien watched, enraptured, as she closed her eyes and arched into his hands. His thumbs flicked over her nipples and he squeezed them gently, causing her to gasp softly. Beautiful. He was utterly captivated by this amazing woman in front of him. He bent down to suckle at her collarbone as he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, nipping her skin when he felt her nipples harden. He ran a hand down her stomach and teased a finger along the band of her panties, smiling against her neck when he heard a sharp intake of breath. Pressing a soft kiss against her neck, he let his lips travel upward and lightly nipped at her ear. 

“Mm,” she leaned into him, “Lucien…” she sighed his name, setting his heart and body aflame.

“Yes…” Lucien whispered as he leaned down to devour her lips, “Keep calling me, I want to hear you.” He kissed her deeply as he cupped one of her breasts, his other hand pressing her closer to him. He sucked at her collarbone and a scarlet rose blossomed beautifully.

“Lucien…” she moaned, arching as she pushed herself into Lucien’s warm hand. The sweet sound sent fire coursing through Lucien’s veins.

“Yes, beautiful girl…Just like that…” Lucien sighed as her hands pulled his neck down in an attempt to be closer to him. She leaned back on her elbows to look up at him and Lucien gazed at the sight from the foot of the bed, awed. Half-naked, hair mussed, lips swollen, she was truly a sight to behold.

They stared at each other, heated gazes meeting, acutely aware of what was going to happen, what they were about to do.

She bit on her lip as he shed his shirt and made his way back to her. They met in a fiery kiss with Lucien nipping at her lower lip. She moaned in his mouth and he swallowed her sound. Her sweet noises of pleasure were for him and him alone. He moved down to her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the heated skin and felt her swallow. 

He nipped at her collarbone and kissed a path through the valley of her breasts. He kept his gaze on her as her breath hitched as he slowly moved his hands up her waist, making her moan breathily. “Beautiful,” he whispered, his breath sending a cool puff of air across the trail of saliva he had created and she shivered. She held her breath as Lucien descended on her breast, his violet eyes never leaving her face. Lucien took her nipple into his mouth, making her moan sweetly. He swirled his tongue around the nub, making a satisfied hum when it instantly hardened at the stimulation. He brought his hand up to tend to her other breast. She moaned lowly, arching her back, her hands landing in Lucien’s hair. He bit down and felt her fingers tighten in his hair, earning her a hiss of pleasure from Lucien. “Beautiful,” he proclaimed, letting go of her breast. He trailed his tongue down to her stomach, to her belly button and pressed another soft kiss there. Lucien traveled further down, making her breath hitch in her throat.

She swallowed hard, her breath quickly becoming short and staggered. She had never felt like this before. The way Lucien looked at her and touched her, worshipped her. He made her feel beautiful, made her feel like a goddess. He never had been one to be shy with his affections. But this. Even though she could never guess what Lucien was thinking, she felt his love through his touches, his kisses.

Lucien traced the band of her panties with his tongue. He kissed the apex where her thighs met through the lace material of her panties and felt her shudder. Smiling, he closed his teeth on the band and very slowly, gently, he tugged. “Lift yourself for me,” he breathed, sending puffs of warm air across her skin, which raised goosebumps instantly. He hooked a finger around her panties and she obliged, raising her hips so that Lucien could take the material off. Tantalizingly slow, he dragged her panties down her hips, down her thighs, down her calves, and finally over her feet. Kneeling between her legs, Lucien gazed up at her. “Beautiful,” he voiced, wonder lacing his word. Her breathing quickened as she noticed how hungry Lucien's gaze was. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her knee, kissing a trail up to her thigh. He let his tongue trace over the skin of her inner thigh, his hand sliding up to do the same to her other leg. She trembled, needing his touch, she was so aroused. Tentatively, he kissed closer to her slick heat. Meeting her gaze, he slowly licked a stripe over the most sensitive part of her. He watched as she arched off the bed with a breathy moan, hands grasping at the bedsheets. 

“Lucien…”

“Delicious,” Lucien murmured, his mouth on her, sending a wave of pleasant vibrations. He committed all of her actions and reactions to memory. Lucien loved the way she reacted to the simplest of touches. He loved the way she moaned his name, perfect lips parting in breathless pants. He loved the way she trembled. He loved every little sound that came out of her mouth. Wanting more, he lapped gently at her heat.

“Lucien-“ his name on her lips was a shaky moan.

Smiling, he let his tongue trace lazy circles around her sensitive nub, making her whimper with pleasure. He didn’t tear his eyes from her face as he sucked on her folds, tongue picking up her sweet juices. Her breathing was starting to become short pants and Lucien slid his tongue inside her. She keened at the sensation, fingers tightening around the bedsheets. Lucien started to pick up his speed, licking more roughly, sucking harder.

“Lucien…. oh…. ah…mmm….” she cried as her eyes closed at the sensations, head lolling back. Every sound she made sent fiery waves through Lucien’s veins. He increased his speed, tongue going further, harder. She was close, Lucien could feel it in the way her legs tightened, her toes curled, and the way she clutched at the sheets. “Lucien-please…” She pleaded, and Lucien doubled his efforts. Her moans were getting louder as his name left her lips in breathless pants. 

“It’s alright, beautiful girl. You can release,” Lucien coaxed, pressing his tongue on that sensitive little bud. “Let go.” 

With a choked moan, she came apart, back arching and her thighs tightened around his head, toes curled in pleasure. Lucien admired the way her stomach muscles contracted and her breasts bouncing slightly and quickly committed the sight to memory. He didn’t want to miss a single detail. She was breathtaking in her pleasure, pleasure that Lucien had given her, and Lucien didn’t think he had seen a more beautiful sight. Without any hesitation, he slid two fingers into her and put his mouth back on her, making her whimper. Allowing her absolutely no time to come down from her high, he began working his fingers and mouth. Fingers curling inside of her to find her sweet spot and he grinned in triumph as she mewled loudly, muscles involuntarily clenching around his fingers. “Please…” the cracked whimper sent fire straight through Lucien’s body and he growled softly, increasing his efforts to make her fall apart again. “Luci-Lucien…I Oh!” Indiscernible sounds made their way out of her parted lips. 

"Come for me once again, butterfly," Lucien whispered, fixated on her as she threw her head back, mouth open with silent cries. "Come for me," he coaxed, fingers moving more urgently as he worked his tongue. 

"Lucien-I... I'm...Oh... Lucien please!" 

"Yes, come for me..." Lucien urged, followed by a soft nip of her sensitive bud as he curled his fingers inside her. With a shuddering moan, his woman fell apart beautifully once again as Lucien watched in rapture. The undulations of her body as she trembled before him from the full force of her orgasm. So tantalizing. So beautiful. Lucien didn't think he had ever been this aroused before. He pressed his mouth against her heat, tasting her tangy nectar as she shuddered around him. Withdrawing his fingers from her, he leaned back onto his knees, and while gazing down at his beautiful girl, he slowly ran his tongue over his slick fingers. She swallowed hard as a bright pink flush painted her cheeks when he popped his fingers into his mouth, sucking hard to clean them. She gazed back at him, chest heaving as her breasts bounced lightly from her exertion, looking like the prettiest picture of perfection. Lucien felt a sense of pride in his beautiful masterpiece. 

"Lucien..." she struggled to catch her breath as she weakly sat up. He leaned down and pressed a heated kiss against her parted lips. She moaned into his mouth when she tasted herself on his tongue.

“I’m not done with you just yet, butterfly,” he whispered, catching her as she collapsed against him. 

“Then you better take your pants off,” she demanded.Laughing breathlessly, Lucien leaned back to unbuckle his belt. Slowly, he unzipped his pants, eyes never leaving her face. Her hands joined his as they removed his pants and underwear together. He kicked the garments off the bed and kneeled between her legs. Slowly, Lucien palmed himself, still maintaining eye contact. He was already hard from pleasuring her and so he stroked himself roughly. “Like what you see?” Lucien’s voice was hoarse.

She eyed him, “Very much so,” And with saying that, she licked her lips.

Lucien chuckled but it died in his throat when she tentatively reached for him. He groaned when she wrapped her hands around him. She stroked him gently and Lucien swallowed thickly, throwing his head back with a low moan. Her touch was electrifying, carrying tingling sensations all over his body. Lucien whispered her name, hips gently bucking into her warm hand when he couldn't help himself. Another moan made his head tilt back once more as she caressed his tip with a soft thumb, spreading the leaking moisture all over. Lucien closed his eyes and began to lose himself in the sensations of her warm hand. He felt her lips on his throat and he shuddered when she bit down on the skin, sucking hard to make a red mark.

“Mine,” she breathed, tongue lapping against the mark.

“Yours,” Lucien replied, gazing at her with such tenderness that she felt like crying. He leaned forward and pressed her into the sheets gently, his hands coming up to frame her face as he rested his weight on his elbows. “I belong to no one else but you.”

“Lucien…” she whispered his name, tears springing to her eyes, “I love you…” Her confession was hushed, but her words pierced Lucien’s heart as well as his soul, shattering the walls he wrought up to keep out the world.

Instead of replying, Lucien kissed her fervently, putting all his emotions into the kiss. Silly girl, he mused silently, why would you love a person like me?

But that was just the kind of person she was. Doing the unexpected, the unconventional. She abided by no rules except her own. It was the thing Lucien admired most about her. And he had promised himself this one night...

And for this one night, he allowed himself to love this woman, the way she deserved to be loved.

Kissing her deeply, Lucien ran his hand down the length of her body, caressing every inch of her until he reached her dripping arousal. Dripping with need for him. And only him. That thought filled Lucien with wholly satisfaction. That he is the only one to see her, touch her, hear her, taste her like this. He slipped his fingers within her wet folds as she moaned into his mouth.

“Lucien…” she choked out his name in a breathy whine.

“What is it, butterfly? Tell me, what is it that you want?” Lucien’s voice was rough. He increased his speed and sucked at her neck.

“You…I want…you,” she moaned breathlessly as her thighs clamped around his hand.

Well, if it’s what she wants… Lucien thought he ought to deliver.

He slowly extricated his fingers from her, making her whine shamelessly at the loss of sensation. “Just a minute, butterfly,” he said hoarsely as he reached for the drawer.

Her arm came up to stop him. “No…” she panted, “I want…I need to feel you.”

The outburst made Lucien pause, his eyes widened in surprise.

She tugged at his arms, “Please, Lucien…I need you,” she implored. The way she looked at that moment should be illegal, Lucien thought to himself. Her hair was messy, her eyes were blazing with want. And Lucien would be the bad guy if he didn’t give her what she wanted.

He propped himself back onto his elbow and stroked himself urgently with his other hand. As he aligned herself at her entrance, he searched her eyes. “Are you sure?” His voice was strained, but he had to make sure she was absolutely sure about this, that it was her decision.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. “Absolutely,” she breathed against his lips before pushing her hips to meet his. In a swift movement, Lucien entered her. For a moment, it felt like he was home. She moaned, arching to meet him as their lips crashed.

Lucien pulled back and thrust into her, trying to find the spot that had made her unravel so beautifully. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing him in deeper. Lucien growled, a low sound in his chest, as he adjusted his hips and was rewarded with the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

“Lucien!” She whimpered, rocking her hips to meet his thrusts, arms clenched tight around his neck.

“Keep calling me,” Lucien panted, speed increasing as their passion built. “I need to hear you.”

“Lucien…Lucien…” His name was a chant on her lips like it was the only thing she knew how to say. She was so tight and so perfect around Lucien as if made for him and him alone. Doubling his effort, Lucien pressed his thumb against her sensitive bud. “Lucien!” Her nails dug into his back and Lucien relished in the sweet pain, thrusting harder. He knew she was close with the way her thighs clamped around his waist and the way her walls tightened around him.

“Come for me,” Lucien commanded breathlessly, thrusting relentlessly into her, his thumb circling her nub. “Come for me, beautiful girl, I want to see you undone.”

One more thrust, and she exploded as waves of pleasure washed over. She tightened around Lucien and a choked gasp fell from his lips. Breathless and quivering with pleasure, she sank into the mattress, still clinging tightly to Lucien.

Lucien knew that in that moment, if the world ended right then and there, he wouldn’t have cared. He paused slightly to press his forehead against hers before continuing to thrust into her, his movements getting more urgent. She shakily cupped his face as she slotted her lips against his, silently urging him to chase his own pleasure. Lucien didn’t need any more heeding as his hips jerked frantically. His brows knit in concentration and his lips parted with effort. Lucien grunted as he felt her tightening around him once again.

“Lucien…Lucien…” she blabbered against his lips, entirely incomprehensible.

Lucien swallowed her every pant, every moan as he reached between her legs once more. He wanted to see her in the throes of passion as he came. 

“I love you,” she panted, “I love you.”

It was those words that made Lucien utterly fall apart. He tensed as his hips stuttered to a stop, spilling heat within her. His body shuddered from pure bliss as he slumped into her arms, breathing harshly against her lips. Stars erupted behind his closed eyes, the most brilliant and vibrant flashes of gold danced in his vision. His actions coaxed another release for her as she climaxed around him. The feeling was indescribable, and Lucien thought that if he were to leave this world, he'd absolutely have no regrets.

Trembling, she fell back against the bed, pulling Lucien down with her. He took great care not to crush her and laid down on his side, his arms encircling her waist. Their pants mingling together until they weren't sure who was exhaling and who was inhaling. They gazed at each other, still breathless, still connected. He could hear both of their hearts beating in time, synchronized thudding to a beat that was unique to only them. Lucien had never felt more complete. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.

“Lucien, I love you,” she breathed, staring deep into Lucien’s eyes.

He leaned in to kiss her, lips conveying the words of his heart, the words he was unable to speak out.

I love you too, my little butterfly.

Moments passed, the two of them were content to lay in each other’s arms. After a little while, Lucien gently extracted himself from her, prompting a soft whine. He pressed a finger against her lips, shushing her, “Let me clean you up. I’ll be right back,” he promised. 

True to his word, he came back with a towel which he used to wipe her down carefully. She opened her arms invitingly when he was done, and he obediently fell back into her arms. Shifting slightly, he maneuvered them so that she was laying on his chest and he pulled the blankets around them.

“Are you tired?” He asked gently as he stroked her hair.

She shook her head, “Can we talk?” she asked shyly, voice muffled by his chest.

Lucien smiled, “About what?”

She shuffled so she was looking into his eyes. “I…want to know…about Black Swan,” she said hesitantly. “About how and why you joined. And…about Ares…”

Lucien simply nodded, unsurprised. He knew this conversation would come up sooner or later. “Are you sure you want to have this conversation now? It’s not exactly a happy story.”

“I want to know,” she bit her lip gently.

“Alright,” Lucien agreed without hesitation, “Where would you like to start?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, obviously not expecting Lucien to agree so easily. “How about…how you came to join Black Swan?”

Lucien’s lips pursed in thought, “Well, there’s not much to it,” he finally said. “A car accident happened when I was seven. It took away my parents and left me in critical condition. People from Black Swan found me, saved my life, and I’ve been with them ever since.”

She digested this information, “And…Ares?” she hesitantly said the name.

“Ares is the name I use within the organization,” Lucien told her gently, “I’m sure that you’ve noticed by now, that we prefer Greek god names.”

“But…” she dragged out the word slowly, “You seem like two different people when you’re…Ares and when you’re Lucien.”

Lucien sighed, “Ares is me. Lucien is also me. Ares and Lucien are one and the same.” There was a bitter tone in his voice.

She was silent for a few moments. “Maybe that’s true,” she murmured, “But I know you would never hurt me. And that includes Ares.” The last part was full of confidence.

Silly girl, Lucien sighed internally, “I did…certain things when I was Ares…Because of that, I have a certain image within Black Swan,” he started haltingly. She nodded like she understood. “I approached you as Ares pretending to be your version of the ‘Lucien’ that you know. I needed to get close to you so I could accomplish my mission. But…I failed.”

“How?” She asked him quietly.

Lucien chuckled, “What do you think? It’s all because of you, silly girl. I’m supposed to bring you to Black Swan, and I’ve had all these opportunities to do so. And yet, here you are.”

“Did you…get hurt?”

“Can you please worry about yourself for once?” Lucien tweaked her nose and sighed.

She wrinkled her nose, “I don’t need to worry about myself because I have you protecting me,” she smiled. “You said I’m an asset to you.”

“Are you always this trusting?” Lucien asked, exasperated.

*“You told me you would ensure my safety. And that you don’t engage in worthless endeavors. I thought that was because I am the Queen. But now like you said, I haven’t been taken to Black Swan, so what is it that you’re protecting me from? Why would you protect me from Black Swan when you’re a member of Black Swan?” She raised her chin, challenging him.

She had seen right through him. Lucien’s lips curved into a small smile.

His fingers traced gentle circles on her waist. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he murmured. “You should know…I never intended to lie to you, but my intentions were never good to begin with,” the last part of his sentence was a little quieter, as if Lucien were talking to himself.

“What changed?” She asked curiously.

Lucien heaved a self-deprecating sigh, “You,” he said, simple and straightforward. She looked at him, confused. Lucien cradled her face gently and smiled, “You did. You changed everything. You turned all of my plans inside out and my world upside down.”

Her brow furrowed, “Me? What do you mean?”

“You brought color into my world,” Lucien said simply, leaving her to wonder what he meant by those words. Before she could respond, he continued, “*You taught me all the beautiful things, like folding a paper crane. You showed me how beautiful a rainbow after a storm could be. *I used to not fear death, but I started fearing it only after I met you. And because of you, I want to live.”

Her eyes turned watery, “Lucien…”

“What?” he sighed, brushing his thumbs on her cheeks, “Why are you crying, silly girl? It’s all true.”

She sniffled, “I’m not crying,” she said hastily.

“Alright,” Lucien chuckled, pulling her closer and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “You should sleep, it’s late.”

She pulled back to gaze into his eyes. “You’re going to hypnotize me, aren’t you?” Seeing his startled expression, she smiled wryly, “You were never this open with me before, something must be up.”

“Do you regret it? Your decision?” Lucien asked instead.

“Of course not,” she replied firmly, “I’m just glad that precious memories like these exist. And you can protect these precious and happy memories for us.”

“I know you made your choice,” Lucien started hesitantly but she shook her head at him.

“Lucien, I made my choice, but you must have your reasons. I’m choosing to believe that your reasons must have something to do with protecting me. And if it’s because of that, then I’ll allow you to do so. I respect your decision and your choices, just like you did with mine. And right now, I’m happy just to be able to be in your arms like this,” she gazed deeply into his violet eyes. “Being able to create these memories with you is enough for me. I shouldn’t be any more greedy and wish that I can cling onto these memories as well.”

Lucien’s breath caught in his throat. “Do you trust me?” His voice was low, full of unspoken emotion.

She nodded without hesitation. “I do. And I trust that you will come back to me.”

Lucien swallowed hard. “Then I will cherish and protect these beautiful memories,” he vowed hoarsely.

She beamed, and it was still the single-most bright and dazzling thing Lucien had ever seen. “Good.”

“Aren’t you afraid of me? And…the dark part of me?” Lucien finally voiced his worries.

“Lucien,” she smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Just like you said, Ares is you. But it is only a part of you. Ares is not completely Lucien, nor is Lucien completely Ares. Everyone has a dark side, why should you be any different? I love and accept all of you, including Ares. I’m not afraid because of that. We may have different viewpoints and we might disagree with one another, but I’m not afraid of you. I was afraid, however, that all these memories we created together meant nothing to you. That they were all just part of the plan. I was afraid that your feelings weren't real. But now, I know how you truly feel about me and my fears couldn't be further from the truth. Your dark side is only a small part of you, but I love the whole you. As long as you’re Lucien or the part that is ‘Lucien’ exists, I will love you. And you already said earlier,” she touched the mark she had made earlier on his neck. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” Lucien promised, voice thick with raw emotion. His heart swelled. He didn’t think he could love this woman any more than he already did, but she had proven him wrong. Again.

She smiled with satisfaction and leaned in, “I love you, Lucien,” she breathed across Lucien's lips, setting Lucien’s heart aflame.

He was going to do everything in his power to keep her safe. To return to her. So that the next time, they meet, they can love each other openly without fear. And that was a promise Lucien fully intended to keep.

“Wait for me,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I will,” she replied steadily.

There was a sigh of relief and Lucien tucked her under his chin, holding her close. “Sleep,” he commanded quietly, “It’s late.” He pressed his lips tenderly against her forehead, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her back.

It was amazing how comfortable Lucien felt with her body against his, lying in his arms. He had not been this relaxed in a long time. She made him feel whole, as if she completed the missing part of his heart. 

And maybe you are, Lucien thought to himself, smiling as he occasionally pressed kisses to her temple, the person at the end of my red string. My little butterfly.

When she had finally fallen asleep, Lucien looked at the slowly brightening sky. His heart tightened. He wanted to freeze this moment forever. The pink-tinged sky didn’t grant his request and instead brilliant hues of orange and red started spreading across the sky, as if taunting him. He didn’t have long before they had to part. Slowly, Lucien eased away from the sleeping girl. He put on the clothes strewn around his room and tenderly dressed her, taking great care not to wake her. He caressed the light purple mark on her collarbone and smiled sadly. It was time. He picked up the girl gently. A bright white light flashed around the room.

They reappeared inside the girl’s apartment. Lucien carried the sleeping figure to her room and tucked her in. He then took out his phone and sent a message to her phone.

<Thank you for returning my disc to me. We had a bit of wine while you watched the movie so you can give me that film review. You got drunk and I brought you home. *Next time do not come to see me without notice. Take care of yourself. -Lucien>

He leaned forward and brushed her bangs back softly to press a soft kiss against her forehead.

“I promise you,” he whispered, “I promise we’ll go fly a kite when spring comes. I promise to celebrate all my birthdays with you. I promise to ensure your safety. I promise I will always come back to you. I promise that we’ll be together. I promise that I belong to you, and to only you.” He repeated all the promises he made her. “Wait for me, butterfly.” He hooked their pinkies together and kissed their linked fingers softly. “I promise.”

He then placed a tender, final kiss against her lips and breathed out the words that had been hidden under his heart for so long. “I love you.”

Lucien stood up and walked to the door silently, before turning around to take one last look at her. She was sleeping soundly. The gentle sun of the early morning cast a soft pink over her, a beautiful but cruel reminder that told Lucien he was out of time. The night he had promised himself had come to an end and now it was morning. It was time for him to go.

He had set a glass of water, along with two painkillers on her bedside table. There was also a paper crane standing guard. It was the one with her wish.

*“I wish Lucien and I forever…”

Underneath her wish, Lucien had added a set of words. Another promise.

*“For every forever that you wished for, I’ll be there.”

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

For more of my work: 📖

[maemi324]

Seasonal

Hey there friends!  As I am posting this it is my Birthday! I’m a whole 25 years old.  I.FEEL.ANCIENT. But I decided to post this blurb that came to me, talking about seasonal depression, which is hitting hard as it’s starting to get cooler and becoming fall. To be clear, this is just my experience with Seasonal depression, everyones is different. It’s something that affects me, and many others, in different seasons, so I hope this little blurb will give you some form of joy- regardless of whether or not you have the depressions.  It was actually kind of hard to write, but I got through it! Warnings: Talk of seasonal depression, numbness the like.  Only been seen by one other person, and only edited by me. So I probably missed some stuff. Let me know what you think!

The day was cool and dreary, overcast that hung in the air. Cloudy days themselves weren’t bad, but the cool breeze nipping at the previously warm air kept you inside, scrolling through your phone. 

It was a myriad of posts, those glad for the cooler weather and excited for the spooky holiday on the rise. You huffed a small laugh as the skeleton song popped up onto your page for the umpteenth time in that hour alone.

Even still, it was hard to see a constant reminder of the bleak months ahead as you tried to push it from your mind. But there was no fooling your body, or your mind. Seasonal depression was starting to kick in, and kick hard. The fucker never played fair anyway.

You were so tired, arms heavy as lead as they shook, a feeble attempt at keeping your phone from falling out of your grasp. Your mind was filled with the overcast clouds, no room for anything but sleep. You went to bed tired, you woke up tired and had the hardest time staying awake.

You leaned back further into the couch you were sitting on, looking onto the wall that held the crystals you gave to Keigo. Even with the sun gone, there was still enough light to show a few gentle prisms.

Though the colors were pretty, it didn’t alleviate the frown on your face. You had read that getting up and doing things would help you wake up or at the very least stay awake. Active, but simple things, cleaning up your bedroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready for the day. 

How could you when your arms refused to lift for most things, hands feeling too smooth to actually grip, not that you had any product on there to cause said sensation. Whenever you got up, your knees felt like they were jello, though you got from place to place. Was it just in your head? Of course it was, but getting out of your head was the hard part.

You turned to look over at the end table beside the couch, only then remembering to turn on the happy light you were advised to get. You weren’t entirely sure it actually helped, it didn’t mimic the sun's golden hue, despite how bright it was, it maybe made the room a bit warmer. But it was still such a cold light, much like hospital lights that made your eyes ache after a while. 

You pass another video, someone putting up fake skeletons whilst what you assumed to be a friend ran about in cheer for the cooler weather once again. You refrained from making any snide remarks in your head, it wouldn’t be fair to ruin their happy time. After all, Your summer could be their fall.

Your eyes gazed onto the clock. It’s only nine am ??! It was hardly close to lunch time even.

Irritation flashed within you, stomach gurgling in agreement. You hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, though you knew you should have. Food currently had no taste, no matter the amount of spices you added. It didn’t matter what was made, it never filled you and your stomach raged on. 

You shuffled further into the blankets you covered yourself with, your tank top and shorts hardly keeping you warm, but you refused to wear pants, they just got tangled in the blankets and felt so constricting. You glanced to the kitchen, a glare on your features as the usually wonderful treats in there mocked your current state of taste bud. 

You focused back onto your phone, ignoring your stomach for yet another random haul a user got for Halloween. Your eyes slowly began to fall closed, the music in the video, despite its energy, lulling you into a sense of...calm.

Thunk!

Your heart hammers hard against your chest, eyes wildly glancing around for the noise source.

Instead of monsters clawing from the grey shadows of daylight, you were met with sweet honied eyes.

“Well hello to you too angel” His voice hid none of his amusement, his hand held out towards you. You looked down to his hand only to find your phone. You must have dropped it at some point.

You took the phone from him, setting it on the coffee table and wrapped your arms around his neck. “ Keigo…” you cooed sleepily, “ You’re home for Lunch a bit early.” 

You pressed kisses to his cheek and neck, trying to ignore that empty feeling growing back to life.

“Early? Nah, right on time, it’s noon babe. You fell back asleep it looks like” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you so you were standing with him. He looks you in the eyes, searching for something.

“Yeah, I guess I did” you murmur, eyes averting his gaze. He’d known you were having trouble staying awake, that the change of seasons really hit you hard. He seemed to have found whatever he was looking for as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips and let go. 

“Well, I guess that just makes it more of a surprise, speaking of surprises!” he turned to the coffee table, rummaging through some bags. With a chirp of victory, he hands you a take out box filled with your favorite, (F/food). “ I brought your favorite back home with me” 

You couldn’t help but smile, though it didn’t feel forced, it didn’t feel like you were emoting quite right though your genuine happiness was there. He sat down on the couch with you, leaning into your side as he flipped on his phone for something.

A soft beat came first, followed by the gentle plucks of a guitar, sounds you usually associated with summer time music. You glanced over at him, brow raised in a silent question. 

He was already opening his take out, a smirk on his face

“Sorry dove, it was just a bit too quiet” was all he said.  “Hardly a quiet moment with you Keigo” you teased, “ But I can’t say I dislike your choice in mood”  “My sense of mood is never wrong angel!” 

You ate relatively quickly, wanting to spend more time with Keigo than focusing on the food, which did have just a bit more taste than anything else you had eaten. 

He talked to you about his day so far, nothing too crazy that he couldn’t handle. 

The relaxed tune you had been listening to turned into something a bit more fast paced.

It was a favorite between the two of you, the song you danced to at the bar, the night you had your first kiss on the beach. He stood up, offering his hands to you, “ Come on, it’s our song love bird!” It might have been corny to have a song but you couldn’t care less. Not with that smile that lit up a room, a laugh so sweet you could eat for dessert.

So you took his hands, his wings fluffed up in excitement. He took off his visor, and placed it on you, your vision becoming slightly yellow tinted. 

Oh it made so much difference

Everything looked and felt a bit more...alive. There weren’t any dull sensations of haze and endless numbness. You grabbed his hands again as he pulled you in.

It was hardly a masterful thing to fawn and coo over, but it had you laughing as he spun you around, his feathers having moved the coffee table out of the way. As you would spin out, he’d do something entirely and fantastically goofy, waving his hands in the air then pulling you back in. All to make you giggle and laugh as he hugged your back to his chest, blowing raspberries on your neck. 

“Keigo!”  “Oh what? Did I spin you too slow, so demanding my dove” and he spun you out again with an extra kick of some sort of energy. 

The song came to an end, and you were all red in the face, heart beating hard, but it was welcome.

“You utter goof” You giggled, pushing his visor off of your eyes, the change dented your happy mood, but only just slightly. 

“Your goof” he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek.  “So, I noticed you liked the visor? It is pretty stylish if I do say so myself”

You flopped back onto the couch, nodding, “ Yeah, they look real good on you. But it was nice, things just looked...better” 

Did the color really change your outlook so much? 

“Well, I was doing some late night browsing and found that sometimes glasses that are yellow tinted or block blue light can help with your seasonal grey time blues” a feather brought over a small bag, hiding between the food bags, and placed it in his hands.

“So I thought...these might help, whenever we can’t just dance the blues away” His cheeks turned a slight pink as his wings flapped awkwardly at your lack of response. 

He’d gone out of his way to get you these special glasses, just so that you could feel better. 

Your eyes watered slightly, getting back up from the couch and walking over to him. You placed both hands on his jaw and pulled him down for a tender kiss that he gladly reciprocated. “ You are entirely too sweet for your own good Keigo. I love you, thank you...thank you so much” 

He unfolds the glasses, placing them gently on your face. 

“I love you too song bird”

[lady-divine-writes]

Faith, Hope, Love (Rated PG)

Summary: On Christmas Eve, centuries ago, Crowley catches Aziraphale performing numerous acts of breaking-and-entering. The reality? A bit more heart-wrenching. The outcome? Mildly humorous. So he decides to lend a hand. (2669 words)

Notes: Written for @potterheadandsherlocked . I used a real German painter from the approximate time period as inspiration, and points to the possible origins of a certain Christmas legend. XD

Read on AO3.

A small village in the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, 16th Century

 A silent night.

No clouds, but a howling wind.

A full silver moon, throwing shadows on the ground.

Between them, a figure glides, moving about the houses in the square, keeping to the walls and peeking in the windows.

He opens the doors a crack and sneaks inside, a pack on his bag so laden with packages it should slow him down.

But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t so much as press his feet into the snow so he leaves no prints behind.

Cloaked in red and white, covered in feathers like an upright standing dove, the figure flies from house to house, dipping in and out so quickly he appears as only a blur between blinks.

An ephemeral streak against the dreary landscape.

The figure reaches the final house – the smallest of the lot, leaning with every breeze that blows. His hand reaches for the knob, ready to give it a turn, when a secondary figure creeps up behind him – one without his gift for secrecy.

“Hello, Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale’s hand jerks away from the door in surprise. “Do you have to keep doing that every time you see me?” He peeks behind him, glares into poison yellow eyes.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Well, well, well, isn’t this a sight.” Crowley smirks, arms crossed over his chest, though that’s hard to tell in the outfit he’s wearing. “Breaking into houses on the holiest night of the year? Tsk tsk, Aziraphale. If you wanted to fall so badly, you could have just come talk to me.” I would have talked you out of it, he thinks bitterly.

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Aziraphale hisses.

“You could have fooled me. I’ve been watching you – running in and out of these houses with that pack on your back, full of ill-gotten goods. And …” Crowley leans back, his smirk growing, eyeing up and down the blood-red cloak the angel has on, shielded by his wings curled around his body. “What on Earth are you wearing?”

Aziraphale’s right eyebrow shoots up on his forehead. “You should talk. What poor creature did you mutilate to make your get-up?” He snickers as he looks down the demon’s body at the shaggy jacket and trousers he’s wearing, reminiscent of a muskox, horns included, fixed to the hood, and … Aziraphale’s brows draw together. “Are there … hooves on your shoes?”

“There are indeed,” Crowley says, overly proud since he knows he’s being made fun of. “They’re quite useful for walking through all this ice and snow.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the door. “I’ll bet. Now, if you don’t mind …” He gives the door a shove, ready to resume his work, but it’s stuck. He pushes again. It seems to push back, actively resisting. That’s when he realizes …

“Crowley! Stop holding the door shut!”

“Nope. Not until you tell me what you’re doing.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. But it’s been a long night. I’m bored.” The demon sniffs. “Amuse me.”

Aziraphale sighs. He doesn’t have the time nor the patience for this. But it has been a long night. Aziraphale could retaliate – blow the door off its hinges, knock Crowley down the mountain to boot. But neither is worth the effort in the long run.

Plus, he runs the risk of waking someone up.

“If you must know,” he starts haughtily, “I’m not stealing anything. I’m giving.”

“And what are you giving, angel?” Crowley’s voice becomes softer – not just in volume, but in tone. It makes Aziraphale want to mirror it.

“Hope. In the form of food, warm clothes, a few toys for the kids.”

“Ah, I see,” Crowley says, his soft tone turning sour, and Aziraphale is sorry he let his guard down. “Church attendance low in this town or something?”

Aziraphale sighs again. “Something like that.” He’s not necessarily offended that Crowley would boil everything down to that. God doesn’t happen to be one among his favorites. But for Aziraphale, it goes farther than humans occupying the pews in the rundown shack of a church outside town. It was put there by the same people who force these people to work from sun up to sun down with little to no compensation so why should they attend? And since that’s been happening, keeps happening generation after generation, why should they have faith at all that the Almighty is going to fix that for them?

No, Aziraphale doesn’t care that only three people here still attend church every Sunday, or that they’re the only ones here who pray. He cares that very few people in this town want to go on living, that more and more men risk the dangers of the ice and cold knowing that they won’t return.

Betting on it, in some case.

That’s what concerns Aziraphale more than anything.

He wants these people to have something to believe in.

He needs them to see that there’s a brighter future ahead.

“How many houses have you been to tonight?” Crowley asks.

“I … I don’t know. About two hundred? Maybe three? I started at the bottom of the mountain after sunset …”

Crowley tuts. “Why don’t you use a miracle? Do all the houses at once? Unless …” He tilts his head, eyes Aziraphale dubiously “… you don’t want Heaven to know what you’re doing? Do you?”

“This doesn’t happen to be one of my official assignments, no, so I thought it best not to bother Heaven.”

“But why not? They’d give you a commendation, right? Or don’t they think giving food and toys to poor people is worth a miracle?”

“Whether they do or not isn’t the point,” Aziraphale says, hoisting the sagging pack on his back, hoping Crowley will take the hint and leave him to it. “Sometimes it’s nice to do things without someone else looking over your shoulder.”

Crowley nods. Then his eye widen. “Oh. Should I … should I leave then? Do you want to be alone?”

Aziraphale stares at the bizarrely shaggy demon, balanced expertly on two hooves, a bit too much on the nose for Aziraphale’s taste, and smiles. “No,” he says with a muted chuckle. “That’s all right. Stay, if you’d like. I’d appreciate the company.”

“All right-y then.” Crowley beams, all too pleased, and Aziraphale begins to wonder if he made the right decision inviting him along.

Oh, well. Too late now.

Aziraphale turns back to the door. The warm comfort of Crowley’s body presses against him as the demon prepares to follow him inside. Aziraphale’s smile, which had been absent most of the night, blooms. What a comical duo they must make to outside eyes, he thinks. But what on Earth will he tell people if they get caught? Aziraphale can pass himself off as Saint Nicholas, of course, but Crowley? Will the mortals believe that he’s Aziraphale’s tall, gangly pet? Some kind of malformed reindeer, perhaps?

They’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

He opens the door slowly, thanking God when the wood doesn’t creak, the hinges don’t whine. There hasn’t been any rain since the snows set in and the doors have been dry as bone. With not a single soul awake, the square is still full of conversation, the houses spreading gossip that can be heard for miles with every wind that blows.

Crowley steps into the house behind him, catching the door when Aziraphale lets it go and closing it, careful not to make a sound. With the door shut, they should be plunged into darkness, but there are so many cracks and holes and uneven corners, pricks of blue moonlight shine through. Inside the house feels more like an ice box than a home, the coals in the stove having long since given up the fight at keeping the place warm.

“This poor family,” Aziraphale mutters as he puts down his pack and sets to work. “A mom and two children, one crippled, father gone. How they manage to keep food on the table, I can’t understand.”

“Sounds like a miracle.” Crowley strolls the small living area, examining the nothing this family owns but this two-room hovel, the lot of them huddled together in the next room, fast asleep.

“I wish it was,” Aziraphale says, unpacking a box of oranges, another of walnuts, sacks of sugar and flour, small pouches of molasses and peppermint, and a brown burlap wrapped side of bacon. Then he sets out some brightly painted wooden blocks, a toy train, a set of eight water colors, a soft doll with real yarn hair wearing a pretty blue dress. Crowley watches the angel pull more and more items out – a few warm blankets, trousers, shirts, and shoes, marveling at its capacity.

“That’s some bag.”

“Made it myself.”

“Any alcohol in there.”

“A bottle or two. Mostly for use as medicine, for good moms and dads.”

“Party pooper,” Crowley grouses. “Probably the shite stuff anyway, ain’t it? Knowing angels ...”

“Hell---hello?”

Aziraphale and Crowley look at one another, both of them wide eyes and rigid spines. The first to his senses, Aziraphale spins around quickly, curling his wings around himself, hiding his face behind long, white feathers that make him appear to have grown a beard.

“Hello, little boy,” he says in a huskier version of his voice, one that makes Crowley choke on his tongue. “What’s your name?”

“H---hans,” the boy stutters, creeping out further into the moonlight. “Hans von Aachen.”

“Hello, Hans. And what are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I heard voices. I’m the man of the house, so I came to investigate.”

“Are you now?” Aziraphale says fondly, sadly, since this man of the house can’t be older than ten.

His lack of nourishment makes him look eight.

“A-ha.” The thin boy looks up at the angel in awe. “Are you … Saint Nicholas!?”

“Why, yes,” Aziraphale lies confidently since he’d intended on going with that explanation all along. “Yes, I am.”

Hans gasps. “I was hoping you’d come! My momma, she says that she would pray and pray and pray for you when she was my age, but you never came! But here you are! Oh!” His hands flutter in excitement. “I should go get her! Tell her the good news!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale glances over his shoulder at Crowley, subconsciously asking for help. Crowley is better with children than Aziraphale, after all. Luckily, Aziraphale hadn’t encountered one till now. “That wouldn’t be …”

“Don’t do that,” Crowley steps in. “No need to bother her. She needs her rest.”

Crowley’s voice attracts Hans’s attention. When he lays eyes on the demon towering above him in his shaggy suit with hooved feet and a hood of horns on his head, the boy’s paper thin skin goes pale.

“Who … who are you?” Hans asks in a shaky voice, pointing a fearful finger at Crowley’s face.

Crowley looks to Aziraphale for an appropriate response. But since the angel doesn’t seem to have one, Crowley decides on one for himself.

It gives him a wicked giggle, too.

“I’m a demon!” Crowley growls before Aziraphale can stop him.

Hans’s breath catches in his throat. “B-but … why would Father Christmas be traveling with a demon?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, unamused, “why would Father Christmas be traveling with a demon?”

“I’m …” Crowley hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead, but he recovers quickly “… I’m here to punish all the bad boys and girls! Stuff them into baskets and take them down to Hell for an eternity of punishment!”

Hans gasps again, stumbling backward, literally shaking with fear.

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale mutters.

“You’re not a bad little boy?” Crowley asks, slinking towards Hans, tilting his head left and right in jarring ways. “Are you?”

“Oh! Oh, n-no! I’m not … I’m not bad! I pr-promise! I swear!”

“Leave him be,” Aziraphale says, taking a snarling Crowley by the shoulder and pulling him back behind him. “Don’t worry, dear Hans. My traveling companion won’t hurt you.”

Hans nods, but he continues to look unsure. He takes a step towards Saint Nicholas, but the hissing, spitting demon keeps him away.

“Wh---what can I do to make him leave?” Hans asks timidly, but in Aziraphale’s eyes, with great courage.

Crowley stands up straight, gazing thoughtfully at the little boy worrying his lower lip with gapped teeth, the two up front too big for his mouth. “Does your mum keep any alcohol in the place?”

Aziraphale puts a hand to Crowley’s chest and pushes him towards the door. “Just run along to bed, Hans, and go back to sleep. And for being such a good boy, such a responsible young man, I’ve brought presents for you and your family. You may open them in the morning.”

“Oh thank you, Saint Nicholas!” Hans cries, jumping up and down with a joy that overwhelms his fear. “Thank you so much!”

“And remember!” Crowley calls after him. “Don’t tell a soul you saw us! Or I’ll be back next year with the basket!”

“You’re a horrible demon!” Aziraphale says when the boy has squirreled himself away, back onto a straw-stuffed mattress with his mother and brother, a touch of angelic magic seeing him off to his best ever dreams, and a new thick wool blanket covering the three of them.

“Well, duh.” Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s sack, ties it at the top, and tosses it over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

***

Soho, Christmas 2019

“How do you like your present?” Crowley asks, pouring himself a glass of the rare red vintage Aziraphale acquired for him through less than angelic means.

The acquisition is an integral part of the gift.

Buying Crowley a bottle of his favorite wine isn’t any fun. He can do that for himself. Hiring an ex-member of a cartel to steal it from a local mob boss, just to have both gentlemen cornered in a dark alley and arrested seconds before they’re about to take one another out however?

That’s another story.

One that Crowley reads over and over with every glass he pours, every sip he savors.

“It’s lovely,” Aziraphale says, pushing wrapping paper aside and opening the book Crowley gave him. He flips through the pages, focusing mostly on the plates and not the words just this once. He stops on one page that Crowley had bookmarked with a red satin ribbon. The plate on this page features a lesser known painting by a famous 16th century artist, of Saint Nicholas and the demon Krampus, huddled by the dusty grey hearth of a creaky, hole-infested matchbox of a house, laughing over something the viewer may only speculate about. But unlike similar paintings of this stolen moment, it’s the demon that looks fondly on and the saint that seems to have a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. The painting is so finely rendered, so intricately detailed, it could be mistaken for a photograph if not for the handful of visible strokes signifying otherwise.

Aziraphale searches for the signature, his suspicions confirmed when he sees the name etched along the bottom in gold - Hans von Aachen.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” Aziraphale hovers delicate fingertips above the image – the first painting Hans ever sold. It rescued him, his mother, and his brother from that ragged shack, brought his whole town out of poverty. “But please, tell me one thing?”

“Anything.”

Aziraphale lifts the book, displaying the painting for Crowley to see. “How did that whole Don’t tell a soul you saw us or else! thing work out for you?”

“I’d say it worked out rather well …” Crowley slides onto the arm of the sofa, bumping his husband’s shoulder with his hip “… if it gives people hope. Faith. Something, anything, to believe in. Don’t you?”

Crowley leans down, lips puckered, fishing for a kiss, and Aziraphale, chuckling at his ridiculous, shaggy demon, lifts his chin to give it. “I guess I can’t disagree.”

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 14, Part 1

Warnings! Asphyxiation, child endangerment.

Link to next part at the end. (From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 14

Oh.

Shit.

Zadkiel grabbed Adam. His hands engulfed the boy’s shoulders. Had he always been this tiny? Focus, focus -

“Adam, reality will listen to you. You are in control. Anything that you believe will come true.” Desperation tried to worm into his voice. He held it at bay. “Listen to me. You can hear me talking, right? That means there’s air. You can breathe, you just have to believe there’s air. Come on now.”

Spacedog was hollering. Adam clutched the dog to his chest, painfully tight. His arms were as pale as death.

Zadkiel made a strangled noise. He pulled Adam into a bear hug and dived.

Proxima Centauri B rushed up to meet him. He was breaking most laws of physics right now. He punched through the atmosphere, and didn’t bother to slow his descent as they streaked to the ground, miles of hard earth and marbled mud coming in fast -

Zadkiel burned through the alien sky, flaming like a meteor, and pasted himself on the rocky landscape.

His one safety protocol was to make sure Adam landed on top of him.

With a small explosion, Crowley and Aziraphale were flung apart like rag dolls.

Spacedog wriggled free and tried to lick Adam’s face. The space helmet got in the way. Spacedog pushed it into Adam’s cheek and frantically licked the glass. He whined, a piteous, unbroken sound.

The sprawled bodies did not move.

Then Adam’s face gave a twitch.

“Stop that, you silly Spacedog.”

Spacedog yapped his head off and ran around in circles.

Adam flexed his fingers, experimentally. They still held the Book.

Crowley and Aziraphale realised they had escaped being discorporated. To their dismay, this meant they had to move. They managed to roll over and flop towards Adam and each other. Sitting up could wait.

“You alright, Adam?” Crowley said without moving his lips.

Adam got the gist, even with none of the consonants. “Yeah. Thanks. It’s cool that you did that without being in a rocket.”

“Hell yeah,” Crowley managed.

“I’m so sorry, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said to Adam, just slightly more coherently than Crowley. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“He’s fine, children bounce,” Crowley said, his eyes closed.

Aziraphale tutted. “You’re incorrigible,” he said. Or tried to. It proved a little too difficult in his current state.

Crowley cracked an eye open. “Did you say I’m ineffable?”

“In. Corri. Gible.”

“Good. We don’t use that kind of language in front of the kid.”

Adam sat up, wincing. Spacedog leapt into his arms and tried once more to mash the fishbowl helmet into his face.

~*~

When they’d all recovered a bit, they took in their surroundings.

Crowley had been to the Grand Canyon. Proxima Centauri B was like that, but stranger. Its winding rock tunnels and quarries were an odd, half-melted brown. The sun was low in the sky, either setting or rising, no-one was sure. It was a shockingly pinkish-red, in a night sky tinged a deeper, richer purple than any twilight on Earth.

Crowley tried to appreciate it. It was home, now. And presumably, forever.

Perhaps he just wasn’t in the mood. They were all a bit on-edge. Aziraphale kept sneaking glances at Adam to check he was still breathing. The damn green dog seemed perfectly at home, but that just put Crowley in a worse mood.

He skulked at the back of the group, hands in his pockets. Aziraphale fell back and stood beside him.

“You changed back,” he said, nodding to Crowley’s outfit.

“Eh, yeah. White was never my colour.”

“I suspect it isn’t mine, either,” Aziraphale said, softly.

Crowley’s gaze slipped over the brown and blue and gold of him.

“No. You’ve a bit more character than that,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled up at him from under his lashes. There was a flicker of intent to that look. Heat crawled up Crowley’s neck.

Adam giggled nearby as Spacedog swam laps around his head. They turned to watch him.

“Do you think he’s still the Antichrist, out here?” Aziraphale said.

“Is that a, strand the King of Spain in outer space, is he still a King, kind of thing?”

“I suppose that’s an interesting question. Although I meant it more in a, does he still have his powers out here, kind of thing.”

Crowley’s eyes lingered on the frolicking dog. He sighed. “I think he probably does.”

Aziraphale looked grim. “Poor old Earth,” he murmured.

Crowley shook his head. “If we’d just got on the portal and not let him yammer on about the dog…”

“I didn’t think,” Aziraphale said, sadly.

“Me neither. And I’ve got no excuse. Beelzebub briefed us on that hellhound for an entire Thursday afternoon.”

They watched the boy and dog in silence.

“I suppose it is the Earth that will still - ahm. Be affected by his powers?”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s no chance he’s brought Armageddon with him?”

They stared at each other. They peered at the sky. No sudden rains of blood or other omens appeared.

“Nah, reckon it’s probably still going to happen on Earth.”

Aziraphale looked miserable.

Crowley put a hand on his arm. “Hey. All we could do was get out.”

“I know.”

“Don’t torture yourself.”

Aziraphale mustered a weak smile.

They watched Adam rooting around for a stick to throw for Spacedog. He found a sturdy one right at his feet that was the right size and hurled it across the marsh. Spacedog took off after it, yipping. It was unclear how, in the helmet, he was going to bring it back.

“There isn’t any wood on this planet,” Aziraphale said, carefully.

Crowley nodded glumly. “Guess that confirms it. Reality still bends to his will.” He thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, I doubt this planet has much of an atmosphere.”

“Mmm, yes. That should have been our first clue.”[1]

“I think a regular child would have frozen to death while he was floating in space.” And/or exploded. Crowley felt he’d seen something like that in a film once.

“...This wasn’t a very child-friendly plan, was it?”

“You’re just noticing this now? We kidnapped an eleven-year-old from his parents.”

“You talked me into it.”

“Of course I did. Demon.”

“A temptation worthy of a commendation,” Aziraphale said, with only a trace of a scolding.

Crowley turned and slipped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck.

“They’ll have to put it in a cannon and fire it into space. Hope it reaches me in a few thousand years.”

Aziraphale chuckled. It was a wonderfully warm, wry sound. It always sounded like he knew he was getting away with something. Crowley watched the tips of his hair stain pink in the alien sun.

Suddenly, Aziraphale’s face fell.

“Crowley, we don’t have to teach him maths, do we?”

~*~

Half an hour later, the euphoria wore off.

Adam trudged across the squishy, marshy ground, investigating his new territory. Spacedog trotted at his heels. Aziraphale and Crowley stood and kept an eye on him from a distance. It was nice, like an amiable family walk across a muddy field in late September.

And then, like an amiable family walk across a muddy field in late September, the mood soured. The mud that had been fun to tromp through sunk through the soles of the walking shoes that were supposed to be waterproof. The rustic landscape grew dreary. That cow had a mean look in its eye.

In other words, it dawned on Adam that he hadn’t eaten for hours, the alien planet all looked the same for miles around, there was a shocking dearth of cinemas, sweet shops or comic books in this area of the galaxy, he would never see his family again, and he had very recently almost died. Also, he forgot to bring snacks.

A suspicion had brewed at the back of his mind for a few hours now. It bubbled away, growing, gaining certainty. Now, grubby, cold and hungry, it was time to ask.

“Are you two actually aliens?”

Aziraphale and Crowley were having a murmured grown-up conversation behind him. They stopped. Their faces went blank in the way grown-up’s faces went when they were thinking how to lie to him.

“Perhaps it’s time to drop the pretence,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley frowned. “It’s not like the truth is any less weird.”

“I dislike lying, on general principle.”

“I’m in favour of lying, on general principle. Let’s compromise and say nothing.”

“You know full well that would be a lie of omission. Don’t think I’m going to start falling for tricks like that after six thousand years -”

“Would you both just stop talking?” Adam said loudly.

They shut up.

“You’re always talking rubbish and I don’t understand it.”

Adam frowned. He held the Book under one arm. For a moment, he heard its pages rustle.

“My whole life is just everyone talking rubbish at me, all the time. Nothing anyone’s ever told me made any sense. Like the stuff about how I was going to destroy the world. And then you two, with the alien stuff. I just believed it because everything was so weird, it’s not like aliens could be any weirder. The only person I’ve ever met who seemed like they properly knew what was going on was that woman back in the car. She’s the one who left me this.” He hefted the Book in his arms. “I’ve got more proper answers from this than I’ve got from anyone, ever.”

“What is that?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him.

Adam’s arms tightened around the Book. Spacedog leapt in front of him and growled.

Aziraphale blinked and halted. Crowley held out an arm.

A chill wind picked up.

“That woman was the only person who seemed like she wanted to help me and tell me what was really going on, and she said I shouldn’t leave. She said it was a mistake to leave. And I didn’t listen. And you zapped her away.” Adam pointed at Crowley.

Crowley inched backwards. “Hang on, I was under a lot of stress…”

“And you grew wings and flew around that bookshop. Aliens don’t do that. You didn’t look like an alien, back then, you looked more like…”

Adam stopped.

“I shouldn’t have come with you,” he muttered.

Aziraphale and Crowley stared at each other.

“You remember you forced us to bring you, right?” Crowley pointed out. “Just saying.”

Aziraphale frowned and nudged him.

The wind whipped at them. Adam was only in a t-shirt. He wasn’t cold.

“I want to go home,” he said.

It was not the lament of a lost child. The words resonated around the landscape. Aziraphale and Crowley felt them down to the bones.

A whirring pulse sounded from high above them, faintly. Nobody glanced up, but a prickle of warning ran up their necks.

“I don’t have to be here. You said reality will listen to me. She said the same thing. In this book.”

An emerald-green spotlight shone down on Adam. The wind became a roaring gale. It whipped Adam’s t-shirt. He stared down Aziraphale and Crowley through eyes that were suddenly dark under the livid green light.

Crowley squinted into the sky.

He said, “What.”

Aziraphale kept his eyes on Adam. Carefully, as though the boy were a skittish animal, he raised his hands towards him.

“Adam, we were not honest with you. I apologise. It is our fault you are in this mess. There are forces at work that it was too difficult to explain to you. You see -”

“Angel, you should take a look at this,” Crowley interrupted.

“Not now, Crowley!”

“Aziraphale, it’s a goddamned flying saucer.”

Aziraphale looked up.

A round, whirring alien spacecraft hovered in the sky above them.

“What,” he said.

Adam stood in the disco-glow of the green spotlight. Furious pulses of wind flapped down on him. He met Crowley’s eyes with a long, hard stare. Spacedog’s hackles rose.

Crowley blinked first. He edged back, one hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

The flying saucer whirred and spun. In a series of loops, it meandered down to the surface of Proxima Centauri B. It let out a gust of steam as it settled like a soggy cake.

A door opened in its side with a hiss.

A ramp descended, and three aliens got out. Two of them were green. The third was a small hump with wheels and an egg-whisker sticking out of it. It quickly got stuck in a marshy patch and made some angry distress noises that the other two ignored.

Adam stood like a king greeting foreign dignitaries as the remaining two aliens walked over to him.

“Hello,” he said.

The alien leader, who had a face like a duck,[2] approached first. “Adam Dowling?”

Adam squinted up at her. The spotlight was still blinding. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“All right, sir. I believe you called for a taxi service.” The alien looked slightly put out to be used as such, but she hid it well. “We’re here to take you back to Earth.”

“Erm,” Crowley said. “Hang on.”

Everyone ignored him, to his relief. He had no idea what he would have said next.

Adam followed the aliens back to their saucer. The slightly taller alien helped the pepper-pot alien back up from where it had tipped over in the mud.

“Wait - Adam -” Aziraphale called.

Crowley put an arm around him. Neither moved to follow. Without speaking, they conceded that this was going to happen whether or not they found it plausible.

The three aliens shuffled back up the gangplank. The round, beeping alien left a long streak of mud as it trundled inside the spaceship. Adam and Spacedog walked behind them.

A scrap of paper flapped loose from inside the Book. The wind carried it directly to Aziraphale. He caught it reflexively.

Adam reached the top of the gangplank and vanished without a backward glance. The spaceship door sealed shut.

The spaceship made a Whomm Whomm Whomm noise and floated into the air. It wobbled a bit, and then streaked into the stratosphere, leaving a green comet trail behind it.

The howling gale abruptly blew itself out. The planet’s surface was deafeningly quiet.

Nothing broke the calm but a tiny green speck in the sky, already winking out of sight.

---

[1] When you only breathe out of habit, you stop thinking about things like oxygen.

[2] “Ducks,” Crowley almost blurted, as a Pavlovian response.

(Link to next part)