#i know he keeps the blank head in his satchel

[homeorthodontics]

[megwritesriddles]

Sweeter Than Fiction ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 7 - Queening / Face-sitting. Spencer meets Reader when she starts working at his local library and he's quickly in over his head. After he goes snooping for information on her online, he finds out a dirty little secret, she writes fanfiction.

Tags: Face-sitting, Oral sex (f receiving), Fantasies, Masturbation, Pining, Friends to lovers, Love confessions, Sub!Spencer, Autistic!Spencer (implied ig?), Both Spencer and Reader are NERDS, Set somewhere between seasons 1-3.

Word count: 4.6k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Surprise!! I changed a couple things on my kinktober due to lack of inspiration so here's an unexpected extra Spencer fic!! This is soooo long and the plot is so self-indulgent and ughhh but he eats you out so...!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

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Spencer had never felt like this before, he hadn’t really had the chance to. Crushes had never really been his thing, having been significantly younger than his peers all throughout his education and being staunchly focused on his career ever since. He had physical attractions here and there, like an occasional reminder that he really was just a fallible human man as much as anyone else, but never any true feelings, nothing he ever wanted to try to pursue in a serious way. It wasn’t simple for him like it was for someone like Morgan, in many senses of the word. Not only was he just not socially skilled enough to pursue relationships, whether casual or otherwise, with any success, he also had a large set of difficulties that he would carry into any relationship. He was quite touch averse, not that he didn’t desperately crave it all the same, which could easily cause issues in any physical relationship. He also had a lot of emotional baggage, from his mother, from his job, from his bullying. He felt a mess emotionally and didn’t see the point in trying to bring in another person to see the mess in all its glory. So he kept to himself. He wasn’t completely without experience, but every experience he’d had was marred with difficulty and complication, none of it ever lasted. He was reasonably content to keep to himself.

Until he met you. He’d been visiting the library nearest his apartment since he moved to D.C. for work. One day he walked in and you were sitting behind the desk, all bright-eyed and excited. The attraction to you had been immediate, he’d found you to be beautiful, he liked the way you dressed, and he liked your sweet voice as you spoke to the customer in front of you. He thought it would end there, that he would silently find you attractive from afar but remained more focused on other things. Cursed to stammer nervously at you whenever you scanned his books, but never say more than necessary. For a long time, that’s all it was, until he was taking out a book that, unbeknownst to him, was a big favourite of yours.

“Oh my goodness, my favourite” you chuckle as you pick up the book from his pile. “This book is amazing, you’ll love it, I’m sure,” you smile brightly as you scan it onto his card. His fingers twitch where he rests them on the edge of the wooden counter. He hadn’t been prepared to talk to you, but it’s nicer than most things that catch him unprepared.

“Y-yeah? Uh… great,” he swallows, drumming his fingers on the counter as you scan the rest of his books, mostly textbooks. 

“Well, if you have any taste that is,” you tease. He laughs back stiffly, his mouth feeling dry. 

“I uh… like to think I do…” he smiles awkwardly.

“You’ll have to tell me what you thought of it,” you hand him the books and his brain blanks for a moment. You’re inviting him to speak to you some other time, to have an actual conversation. He moves jerkily, taking the books from you and packing them into his satchel. You smile kindly and wave to him as he leaves. “See you soon,”

The way his mind is spinning from that simple conversation, he knows that this is something different. He collapses onto a bench outside the library, taking a deep breath. Why is his heart racing? Is this what butterflies feel like? He rubs a hand through his hair, messing it up. When the anxiety fades away, he’s left with a warm feeling in his chest. You want to speak to him again. He flips open his satchel and pulls out the book you’d said was your favourite. It’s classic literature, something he’s been meaning to read for a long time now, but has somehow never gotten around to. He devours the book in mere minutes, thanks to his impressive reading speed. It’s an amazingly compelling tale, with feminist undertones that were ahead of their time and he feels he understands you just a little better by knowing you like this book. He packs it back into his satchel and stands, heading back into the library. The queue to your desk is a few people long, but he joins it anyway, fiddling with the strap of his bag. You don’t make much small talk with the people in front of him in the line, making it feel all the more special that you’d spoken to him. He reaches the front and you smile, but tilt your head in confusion.

“Forget something?”

“The book was great,” he blurts, and you look even more confused.

“What?”

“The book, the one you said was your favourite, it was phenomenal, and surprisingly progressive for its time! Having those sorts of sentiments about a woman's role in a marriage in the 18th century, while seeming slightly archaic by today's standards, must have caused quite a stir at the time, especially coming from a female author. British law in 1764 actually suggested that women–” he doesn’t realise he’s rambling until you cut him off.

“Hold on, you read it already?” you look disbelieving. He smiles sheepishly. “I only lent it to you, what?” you glance at the clock on your desktop screen. “15 minutes ago,”

“I can read very fast,” he mumbles, looking at the scuff on the toe of his shoe for a moment. You giggle.

“Yeah, clearly,” you study his face. He goes quiet, eyes flickering over the small decorations you had scattered across your desk as a means of personalising your space. “You were saying?” you prompted softly. He looked up at you in wonder, no one had ever requested he resumes an info dump, usually, he was told to shut up and looked weird, but you seemed to wait with genuine interest. Perhaps that was the moment that he was well and truly done for. He steps aside so that the person behind him in the line can get their books scanned. He talks at you for almost a whole hour, getting lost in tangent after tangent as you work. You occasionally pipe in to ask a question or make a comment, but you seem happy to listen. Suddenly, your already beautiful appearance becomes more like that of an angel or a goddess to him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life. He leaves the library after you excuse yourself for your lunch break. Once he gets home, he sits down on his couch, smiling dopily. Then, it slowly dawns on him that he’d just stood there and rattled on about various topics that he had no clue if you even had any interest in. He buries his face in his hands and groans. Has he already ruined things with the first person he’s ever felt anything genuine for? It was bound to happen eventually, but this soon? He goes to bed miserable that night.

Fortunately, his misery had been for nothing. The next time he visits the library, you’re there, all smiles at him like usual. When he comes to return his previous book haul (yes, maybe he hasn’t used the returns box since you started working here, what of it?), you greet him, asking if he has any more facts for you. At first, he thinks you’re mocking him, but the genuine smile you give tells him otherwise. He scrambles through his mind for something interesting to tell you, feeling less than a genius at this moment. He settles to ask what your favourite animal is, then spends the next several minutes telling you all the nichest information about that animal he could think of. This time, you start to talk too, though instead of spewing facts, you’re telling him personal anecdotes, or about new books the library has got in. The next several times he comes in, you end up talking for long periods of time. You never interrupt him when he rambles and in return he allows you to ramble too, not bothered by the slightest if he has to listen to you for hours. He’d do it happily. Things escalate over time, and he realises the two of you have truly become friends. The thought excites him, as he is closer to the object of his affection, but also because he doesn’t have all that many friends outside of his work. With you, he has somebody to talk books with, and that means the world to him. You text daily, though they’re not particularly long conversations, just whenever something comes up that you think might interest the other. You’d originally given him your email address and he’d explained that he didn’t use email. He felt completely silly, but you’d just shrugged it off and given him your number. Despite that, he still keeps the piece of paper onto which you scrawled your email address, tacked up by his seldom used computer. Just in case.

The team at the BAU tease him relentlessly when they find out about the ‘sweet girl from the library’ that he texts everyday. Any hint of him interacting with a woman, they latch onto like rabid wolves, but when the texts from you keep popping up on his phone now and then for weeks, they absolutely won’t leave it alone. They all know he likes you, even if he’s been very careful to not reveal this fact and they tease him about it. He’s just glad you’re never there to hear it, as he might just die from the embarrassment. One week, while staying back from a case due to a mild cold, he sits in Garcia’s office and watches her work while he does his own. She had insisted he come keep her company, and he hadn’t quite dared to tell her no. He’s scribbling down some notes about the latest crime scene photos they’ve been sent through when Garcia receives a call. It’s Morgan, asking her to run a check on an email address that may potentially belong to an unsub, to see what kind of accounts can be linked to it, and if there’s anything untoward and potentially warrant-worthy. He watches over her shoulder as she types the email address into a program, which spits back out several accounts all over the internet. He rolls his chair over, watching curiously.

“How do you do that? Is it for FBI stuff only?” he asks nervously, twirling a pen around in his fingers. Garcia laughs and glances over her shoulder. 

“No, you can find programs to do this in various places online,” she answers, highlighting accounts of potential interest. He nods, still watching over her shoulder, working his lip between his teeth. He tries to convince himself that he’s not going to do it, even as he asks Garcia to write him down one of these websites. She gives him a knowing look but obliges. He keeps telling himself he won’t do it, and that it’s creepy as he gets the train home, but as soon as he’s in his apartment, he heads for his computer and boots it up. He searches up the site that Garcia recommended and tells himself one last time that he isn’t going to do it, before copying your email address into the search field and hitting enter. He waits as the website loads the results, glancing at the door to his apartment as if you’re going to burst in and tell him off. Oh, how he wishes you’d be in his apartment one day, or he at yours. He’s never really wanted to share a space before, but lately, everything he does he imagines what it would be like to have you there. Your arms around him as he cooks, your head on his lap as he watches TV, your body against his in the bed. The website finishes its search and he takes a deep breath, investigating the results. There are various common social media websites, accounts with academic journals (which he appreciates you for), and a couple of other sites he doesn’t recognise. He clicks on the first and furrows his brows. Fanfiction? He supposes that you are a voracious reader like he is, and you mentioned liking to write, but never admitting to what you wrote. This was it then, was it? Your secret writing? It wasn’t that secret, the account was registered in your name, all the works listed being for books and media that you talked about often. You had quite a decent following, at least in his eyes, you were no celebrity, but you had a decent collection of comments and likes.

He starts to read, beginning with your most popular piece. He digests it in moments, his cheeks burning bright. It was pure pornography. Well not purely, there was quite a well-woven storyline behind it, but the focus was undoubtedly the filthy sex scenes. He loosens his tie, feeling hot. He double and triple checks that this is definitely your account, but it clearly is. He’s feeling a little disbelieving, you had just always seemed so innocent to him, but he supposed the two of you had never discussed sex in any way. Spencer would have combusted if it had ever come up. He inhales the rest of your work, getting unreasonably hard in his slacks as he reads. He’s impressed by the skill of your writing, but more than anything, by how delicious your imagination is. It’s like you’ve plucked every fantasy he’s ever allowed himself to have out of his brain and written it up with beautiful flowery language. He doesn’t know half of the characters that you’ve written for, but it doesn’t matter to him, as he imagines the two of you in their places and it works perfectly. Almost like it was written with the two of you in mind. He discards that thought, but not before noticing that you’ve been writing a lot more in the past few months you’ve known each other. He notices how many of your stories centre around a more submissive male, a favourite trope of yours seeming to be having the female partner sit on their face. He imagines you sitting on his face and groans aloud, having to palm his bulge through his slacks. He imagines you’d be like the protagonists in your stories, dominating but kind. He reaches into his slacks to stroke himself, not something he does often, but something that has certainly been more frequent lately. His eyes skim a passage of one of your stories as he tugs at himself, picturing your face between the words. He cums harder than he thinks he ever has because this feels that much closer to the real thing. Once he’s done, he sits catching his breath, staring at the mess on his hand and stomach. He thinks he should feel ashamed, but he’s still aroused, terribly so. He wishes he could show you what you do to him. Before he can stop himself, his aroused brain much less intelligent than he usually is, he makes an account on the site with his name and leaves a comment on your most recent work.

“This was the hottest thing I’ve ever read,” 

He sends it and sits back, wiping the rest of the residue off his stomach. As the haze of arousal lifts, he realises what he’s done. Panicking, he tries to delete the comment, but there’s no option to. He swallows, taking a deep breath. It’ll be okay, he tells himself, if she ever notices, I’ll pretend I was just being sarcastic, teasing her for writing this kind of thing, not genuinely rocked by it. However, his phone is already ringing. It’s you. You never call. You couldn’t have seen the comment already, could you? He seriously debates not answering, even as he’s desperate to hear your voice. Against his better judgment, he picks up the phone.

“Am I speaking to SpencerReid1981?” you chuckle over the phone, your voice teasing as you recite his username. His plans to pretend he was mocking you go out the window the second you talk. He can tell you have one over him by the confident tone in your voice. You’ve had one over him since the day you first met. 

“Y-yeah,” he relents, seeing no way out of this now. What would the chances be of another Spencer Reid born in 1981 having commented on your fanfiction? If he wasn’t so nervous and lingeringly aroused, he could’ve told you. He decides to just be earnest. “You’re a really good writer,”

“How did you even find me on there?” you scoff, laughing gently. He blushes, glad you can’t see it.

“You don’t want to know,” he mumbles. There’s a moment of silence.

“So… you found it hot, huh? What part?” he chokes slightly on his spit, going bright red, you can probably tell, even through the phone.

“Don’t make me say it,” he squeaks. You hum softly on the other end.

“Oh come on… you started all this,” you coax. He’s silent for another beat, you hear his laboured breaths on the phone. 

“The- when- when she uh… sat on his face,” he stutters out. You smirk.

“Really?” you stretch out the last syllable in a playful manner. “You a big giver then?” you say it to tease him, expecting him to sputter and deny it, to beg to change the subject, but he doesn’t.

“I– I would be for you,” you both go silent, you in shock and him in fear of your reaction. You’re dumbfounded that he would ever be so direct with you. It’s been clear to you for a while that he has a thing for you, you’ve caught his lingering looks on your lips or your thighs, the way you’re able to fluster him, but you’d assumed he’d dance around it forever. He’d just essentially admitted, leaving it hanging in the air.

“Come over,” you answer simply, hanging up the phone before he can ask questions or change his mind. Spencer feels completely dumbstruck by your words. Come over? His legs are carrying him to his door before he can think about it. He grabs his bag and his coat and hurries to his car. He’s never driven so fast in his life, he’s only been at your place once, to drop you off after your work, but the way there is memorised like the back of his hand anyway. He worries in the back of his mind that he may get a speeding ticket, but any fine is worth it for you. He’s sprinting up the stairs of your apartment building, his long frame moving nimbler than ever before. He reaches your apartment and knocks at the door.

You answer the door, dressed in some loungewear and he suddenly realises how real this all is. He stands there staring, unable to do anything else, even as you greet him and tell him to come in. You have to take his arm and pull him inside, your hand on his arm lighting him on fire. But he’s shy again, he needs you to take control of this because he has no clue what he’s doing here. He’s never done something like this before, and he's never been so reckless. Did he even lock the door when he left home? You look so beautiful that everything could be stolen from him and he wouldn’t bat a lash. He fidgets, looking anywhere but your eyes. You’re talking to him but he can’t figure out what you’re saying, his brain feeling like mush. He tries his best to pick out some words from the pleasing hum of your voice. You’re saying something about your bedroom. He connects the dots when you start to pull his arm.

“Wha- wait, what are we doing?” he asks, his voice shaking. You freeze, tilting your head.

“What do you mean what are we doing?”

“I mean– uh– I wasn’t really– are we…?” he stammers, his fingers fidgeting. 

“Don’t you want this?” you frown, worrying you’d misread this somehow, even though he’d come rushing over here. He stares at you, eyebrow twitching. You move closer, gently smoothing your hand up his arm. He closes his eyes, losing himself in it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, even though he’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to. Whatever it is, if it’s preceded by you touching him like this, it must be good. He follows you like a puppy as you guide him to your bedroom. You place your hands on his chest and he whines, somewhere deep in his throat. The feeling is just so overwhelming in all the best ways. His eyes are wide staring down into yours as your fingers twist, gripping his sweater vest. You lean up, touching your lips to his and he’s whining again. He kisses back, his hands finding your hips, hovering. Your hands are raking through his hair.

“Lie on the bed for me,” you mumble between kisses. He shivers.

“Are you going to sit on my face?” he asks bluntly, needing to know if he’s getting what he’s been thinking about non-stop since earlier this evening, probably even before that. You chuckle at his candour, he’s always been like this and it’s endearing that he’s no different in this situation.

“That’s the idea,” you grin, tilting your head to the side to press closer as you kiss him. He shuffles toward the bed and you push him back to lie down, disconnecting your lips to pull his sweater vest off. He looks up at you pleadingly until you lean down to kiss him again. You straddle his stomach, his hands lie awkwardly at his sides. His breathing is erratic and his fingers fiddle nervously with the material of your sheets. “You okay?” you ask between slow wet kisses.

“Just nervous… I don’t– I can’t disappoint you and I– I don’t really have a lot of experience here,” he admits, his lips pressing needily against yours between words. 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll take care of you,” you promise, he nods against you. Even he’s surprised by how much he trusts you. You pull back, watching as he stares up at you, his eyes practically black. He’s panting heavily. You pull your shirt over your head, feeling his hips buck under you as your breasts come into view. He’d always known every inch of you would be perfect for him, and he was right. He was a genius after all. You move just enough to shed your pyjama pants, taking your underwear with them. You stuff your panties into Spencer’s slack pocket with a wink. He takes a shaky breath. 

“Thank you,” he exhales, eyes drinking you in. You giggle, shuffling up to straddle his chest. He swallows loudly, his mouth watering from the little glimpse he can get, craning his neck. “I’m so… glad we’re doing this,” he whispers. You chuckle again at his behaviour. You stroke his hair gently and his eyes flutter. He usually hated unexpected touch, but everything you did was blissful.

“Ready?” you ask softly. He nods, eyes fluttering back open, determined to get a glimpse of you that he can commit to memory. 

You lift up and shuffle yourself over top of his face. He gasps like he’s just seen God. You, spread open above him, glistening with want. He grips tightly at the sheets, trying to keep himself grounded as the heady smell of you fills his nose. He leans up and places a gentle, experimental kiss on your folds, whining as he does so. You hum softly, leaning forward to brace yourself against the headboard. Puffs of breath wash over your core for a moment, before Spencer leans up, flattening his tongue and laving it against you, up and down, slow and steady. You can tell he’s still finding his way, so you let yourself enjoy the gentle pleasure. You sigh encouragingly as he gets acquainted with the area, exploring it with the tip of his tongue. Never in a million years would he have guessed that you tasted so good. Though he was new at this, he knew anatomy well and knew the spots he’d be looking for. His tongue finds what he assumes to be your clit and he gives it a soft kiss, feeling your hips gently buck. Success. He swirls his tongue carefully around it, not wanting to overwhelm you. Your sighs increase in volume. Spencer takes a chance, lifting his hands and wrapping them around your thighs, pulling you down so you’re more seated on his face. You gasp slightly and he smiles, eagerly returning to his work. His tongue laps at you hungrily, getting into a rhythm. He breathes through his nose, not wanting to stop what he’s doing for even a moment. The taste of you gets stronger and stronger against his tongue as you approach your peak steadily. He groans at the taste. Your hand snakes down into his hair, gripping his long locks to keep yourself anchored. You moan above him, your head lolled forward against the headboard. As he starts to focus his tongue more pointedly on your clit, flicking gently like he read to do in a book once, your hips rut slightly. 

“Suck it,” you pant. He doesn’t register your words for a moment but when he does, he happily complies. His lips close around the little nub and he sucks carefully. Your hand tightens in his hair and you wail in pleasure. You grind yourself down onto his face as he suckles at you gently. You both know what’s coming and while Spencer is thrilled he could get you there, he almost doesn’t want it to end. It’s as if you read his mind. “Don’t stop,” you whine, your eyes squeezed shut, nails digging slightly into his scalp. He pulls you closer to his face, focusing all his efforts. He switches fumblingly between licks and sucks, but it seems to be working nonetheless as you become louder and louder. “Oh! Spencer!” you cry out, your whole body shuddering. He almost comes in his pants at the sound of it. “Ooooh!” you wail, reaching your peak. Your body tenses and then releases, going limp with bliss. His lips stop moving and he stares up at you, waiting for your next move. “Oh, that was amazing Spencer,” you sigh, sluggishly moving down his body until your faces are level. He licks his lips, gazing at you adoringly. You reach up to wipe his wet chin with a small smile.

“I was okay, then?” he chuckles nervously, his hand coming to your waist, a little unsure.

“What do you think, genius?” you tease, kissing his temple. He sighs and flutters his eyes closed. Everything had happened so fast, he wasn’t sure what this meant for the two of you and your friendship, so blinded by lust when he got over here. But you were kissing down his jaw and neck, not indicating that you were kicking him out, and he felt a little better for it. He notices that your lips are straying quite low, over his chest and stomach through his shirt. His eyes flutter open and his breath hitches as he sees you gazing seductively up at him.

“Wha–?” he stammers as you start to unbuckle his belt.

“Returning the favour,” you smile, pressing kisses where his shirt had ridden up. He moans softly, his brain starting to turn to mush once more.

“God, I love you,” he gasps. You both go still for a moment as his words sink in. He can’t believe he just said that, especially right now, with your head hovering over his crotch, even if he desperately means it. He opens his mouth to try and fix this but you beat him to it. You press a kiss just below his belly button.

“I love you too,”

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xoxoxo

[scribbling-punk]

The Contract - 15.

Kara arrives for her first day at L-Corp over an hour early, eager to impress her new boss and the colleagues that she hopes will be friendly towards the newcomer in their midst. Unfortunately, though, she’s a little too early for the security guard’s liking and he point blank refuses to let her into the building.

“No credentials, no entry,” he merely says over and over again, scowling at Kara.

“It’s my first day, I don’t have credentials,” Kara states as politely as she can. “So, you see, I need to get inside to get them in the first place, ya know?” She chuckles lightly and attempts to be charming, “it’s a catch 22, right?”

“Sure seems that way.”

The guard is unmoved and Kara kisses her teeth.

She’s a good person and she doesn’t agree with being rude to people who are just doing their job, but this guy sure is testing her. She grimaces and looks up at the sky as the heavens open, holding her satchel above her head in a weak attempt to keep herself dry—to look somewhat decent on her first day.

“Isn’t there anyone you can call to confirm my story?” Kara tries again, “I mean, there’s gotta be someone who’s expecting me to be here and I—”

“Not my job. Move along, Ma’am.”

Kara’s eyes narrow and her tongue pokes into the side of her cheek. Okay, now he’s bothering her.

“Okay, first of all, not a Ma’am. Second of all, I was hired by Lena Luthor, you know, the CEO of this whole company.” Kara gestures towards the building with her free hand, “and I’m sure she would love to hear all about how,” she pauses and leans closer to read his badge, “Phil left her new assistant to stand outside in the rain.”

“Ma’am,” the guard, Phil, sighs, “Miss Luthor is the one who makes the rules and I’m not putting my job at risk just because a stranger has promised me they’re supposed to be here.”

“But, I—”

“Is everything alright here?”

Kara spins on her heel and falters at the sight of Lena Luthor beneath an oversized umbrella.

Read chapter 15 of The Contract early on Patreon.

The first chapter has now been added to AO3.

[ughkat]

focus on me | l.r.h

part eight

part seven here

tutorluke! x fem!reader

a/n: { part 9 plot twist coming soon...}

cw: tutor x student, angst

not proofread

-

Monday

The hum of an air conditioning unit mixed with sporadic clicks of my professor's keyboard filled my dull classroom on a particularly gray morning. The weekend flew by, my overthinking and dissociation eating the time away.

"I'll see you on Monday."

The message flashed repeatedly in my mind for the past fourty-eight hours, trying to dissect the tone and intent. I rested my elbow on the desk beneath me, leaning my cheek into my hand. I absentmindedly tugged at loose threads on my hoodie sleeve, my eyes stuck in a daze on the blank white board in front of me. I wondered if Luke was actually going to show up, if I should just leave after class despite his assurance that we would see each other. My teeth met my bottom lip, I chewed anxiously as I questioned if I even wanted to face him, my nerves turning into insecurity.

I didn't want to imagine the stupidity and embarrassment I would feel if I stayed after class waiting for Luke, for him to end up not showing. My pen tapped the desk quickly, my hands finding anything to fidget with. My eyes darted to the clock, noting the ten minutes left of class and began to feel uneasy. My stomach was in a knot, no matter how much I tried to convince myself I was being dramatic, I couldn't help but panic.

Everything will be fine. He's a man, with a life. You have yourself sick over nothing. You're being ridiculous. This is stupid. He's not mad at you. Everything is okay.

I reassured myself frantically in my head, taking balanced breaths as the end of class drew closer.

I jumped slightly in my seat, the brief dismissal bell catching me by surprise, despite my eyes being glued to the clock. My classmates made their way to the door, ignoring my professors thrown in final words as they cramped the walkway. My thumb being chewed by my anxious teeth, unaware of my approaching teacher.

"Happy Monday." He grinned warmly, placing a brown leather satchel over his shoulder. I smiled softly at his friendly manor, nodding slightly at his greeting.

"Right." I muttered, returning the smile as he made his way out of the classroom, leaving me to myself. I glanced behind me at the door, peering out the small window in the middle of it, trying to get a peek at any approaching people. A heavy sigh left my lips, turning around and slumping in my chair with frustration. I shot a look to the clock. 11:02.

"If you're not here in eight minutes, I'm leaving." I muttered to myself quietly, crossing my arms tightly against my chest.

As if he heard me, the door latch behind me clicked abruptly, opening gently. I sighed deeply, keeping my eyes in front of me as I listened to the nearing footsteps on my left side.

From my peripheral, I watched Luke's careful frame pull a chair from the desk adjacent to me, turning it around and straddling it. His arms crossed on the back of the chair, only a few inches from my seat.

My eyes darted to the side, meeting his stern look briefly before returning them to my bare desk in front of me.

"Good morning." He spoke deeply, the silence in the room mixed with his low tone intimidated me more than I had anticipated

"It's not morning." I blurted out softly in a stutter, my obvious nerves making me sound like a fool. Luke chuckled through his nose, looking down at his hands crossed before him.

"What's the matter?" He hesitated before speaking, though his tone was genuine. I glanced at him, his expression softened. My eyebrows furrowed slightly, a part of me in disbelief that he truly wouldn't know why I was tense with him.

"I don't know..." I shrugged, "I guess I felt like you were avoiding me." I shook my head as I spoke, listening to how ridiculous I sounded speaking my paranoid thoughts out loud. Luke sighed deeply, his eyes leaving mine.

"I didn't mean to." He began, adjusting himself in his seat. My face twisted slightly at his choice of words, though I stayed quiet as he continued to explain, "I don't think you could understand my reasoning for any of this." He brought his thumb and index finger to the corners of his eyes, scrunching his face with frustration. I shook my head, uncrossing my arms slowly.

"What does that even mean?" I scoffed. Luke sat up in his seat, placing a hand on the desk in front of me.

"It's just... My problems. About this." He motioned with his hands at the two of us, "They're too big for you." My confusion on grew the more he spoke, though I could only infer that he was calling me too immature or unintelligent for his thoughts on our situation.

"I'm not an idiot, Luke." I turned to face him, looking at him sternly.

"Y/n, that's not what I mean, you know that." He shook his head with purpose, his face still scrunched with stress.

"I don't, though. I don't know what you're trying to say." I exclaimed at a quiet shout, tossing my hands up with frustration. Luke wiped an anxious hand over his face, letting out a deep sigh.

"You." He leaned an elbow on the desk, his pointer finger centimeters from my face. His words warm against my skin, "You're not good for me." He spoke deeply. I made a face of confusion. I was beginning to get deja vu.

"Luke, we talked about this already." I watched his expression closely as he spoke.

"No." He interrupted me, "I need you... More than this." He motioned with hands to the room surrounding us, "This, meeting only in secret and during sessions thing isn't working for me. I need you. All of you. All the time." He rambled.

"...What are you saying?" I spoke carefully, tilting my head. Luke's eyes met mine.

"I'm going to end up having to choose between you, or my job." He breathed. I slowly began to understand his words, realizing we were on the same page about our feelings towards each other. I agreed, I didn't want to just see Luke in private. I wanted to go out with him, be public with him, show him to my friends. I needed him. However, I knew he would choose his career over a crush.

"I'm sorry." Was all I could muster. My frustrated eyes shot down to my hands in my lap, I began to feel choked up with frustration and anxiety. Luke frantically scooted closer, placing a hand on my knee.

"Hey." He soothed, "This isn't your fault. It's mine. I was unprofessional." He murmured.

"Why is it wrong?" I argued, "I'm not some stupid kid. I know what I'm doing. Who cares if you're a tutor. Why is this wrong?" I ranted angrily. I believed every word I said, I felt that it was unfair that two consenting adults couldn't form their own relationship, due to one of them working at the school the other attended.

"They can't bend the rules for just us." Luke sighed. The silence was deafening. The two of us sat tense, gathering our thoughts.

"I don't know what to do, Y/n." Luke spoke pathetically, his tone desperate. He looked uo at me through his lashes with obvious disappointment. I hesitated speaking my mind, biting my lip before my words escaped before I could think.

"What if I drop out..?" I spoke quietly, avoiding eye contact with the man beside me. Luke craned his neck forward, leaning in closer.

"What?" He asked in disbelief, praying he misheard me. I swallowed the lump in my throat with a sigh.

"If I don't go here, they can't get you in trouble for being with me." I spilled. Luke furrowed his brows, his mouth slightly agape.

"Please, don't be ridiculous, Y/n." He whined, "Do you hear how stupid of an idea that is? That's your solution? Drop out of school?" He pressed, his tone full of caring anger.

"What else is there, Luke?!" I spat, "We just cut each other off, act like we never met? Is that what you want?" I exclaimed.

"Of course not!" Luke stood from his seat, matching my tone, "But, Y/n, I can't think of anything else logical to do!" He annunciated with his hands.

"I don't even like school, there's no point in me being here anyway." I griped, sinking into my chair.

"You're being ridiculous." Luke scoffed, "Do you see where you are? Do you understand the privilege you have to be going to this school? How many people would kill to be in your position? Yet you wanna give it all up for me. Listen to yourself." He raised his voice, speaking dramatically with his hands. I shook my head with anger, yet mentally agreeing with every word he spoke.

The tension was cut in half by the unexpected and premature arrival of my professor, entering the class ten minutes early. The cold vibe in the room was obvious, my professor giving both Luke and I a look as he entered.

"Afternoon." He smiled suspiciously, making his way to the desk, "Everything okay?" He spoke, noticing the lack of instruments in mine and Luke's arms.

"Uh, yeah." Luke forced a chuckle, "Focused on listening to some classic guitar songs today, took a little break from playing." Luke quickly came up with a lie, I couldn't tell if my professor bought it.

"Great." He nodded, opening his laptop to tend to his own work. Luke glanced to me, both of us telepathically asking each other what to do, but both leaving the question unanswered. I looked to the clock, noting the five minutes left, and decided to free myself from the extra stress of waiting. I gathered my bag, giving Luke a final look as I stood up.

"I will see you tomorrow." I exaggerated my words, looking at him deeply before exiting the room.

[acourtofthought]

Because I follow the "Elain Archeron" tag, Tumblr will occasionally make recommendations on my feed and some of those happen to end up being posts written by E/riels.

One of these suggestions mentioned that Elain and Az are well suited to one another due to their quiet and reserved natures and I had to shake my head because, what?!

The Elain in the Night Court who talks softly, has hands that shake around Az, is quiet and reserved is the Elain still experiencing the effects of trauma which we know she still has because she herself confirmed it in SF.

The Elain from before:

She had come alive here, and her joy was infectious. There wasn’t a servant or gardener who didn’t smile at her, and even the brusque head cook found excuses to bring her plates of cookies and tarts at various points in the day

Elain had taken charge of planning and finding me a last-minute dress, and … it would only be for an evening.

But I tried to smile, if only for Elain, who flitted about the room, personally greeting each guest and dancing with all their important sons.

Two in the morning, and yet the party was showing no signs of slowing. / Elain was laughing among a circle of beautiful friends, flushed and brilliant. Nesta had silently left at midnight, and I didn’t bother to say good-bye as I finally slipped upstairs.

Elain, to my surprise, had a horse, a satchel of food, and supplies ready when I hurried down the stairs. My father was nowhere in sight. But Elain threw her arms around me, and, holding tightly, said, “I remember—I remember all of it now.”

“We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays.

Order them to leave now.” “I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

“My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.”

Does that seem like a reserved and quiet female or does that seem like someone who, while kind, takes charge and is the life of the party? Someone who comes alive when in the right place?

Does the Elain of the Night Court seem to be the center of everything that's going on or does she seem to fade in the presence of the others?

And if that's not convincing enough:

“Elain is overwhelmed by crowds.” “SHE DIDN'T USE TO BE THAT WAY". Nesta swirled her glass of amber liquid. “She loved balls and parties.” The words hung unspoken. But you and your court dragged us into this world. Took that joy away from her.

Feyre then tells Nesta she's "readjusting" and sure, Elain isn't a total shell, she's doing her best to make a life for herself but she's definitely not the vibrant person she once was.

We are told point blank that the Elain in the Night Court is different and it's clearly not a good thing.

Show me a scene where Az ever happily wandered around from person to person making conversation in a social setting outside of the IC. Show me a scene where he's happily chatting up even a single person outside the IC.

Show me a scene where people are eager to do things for Az because he's such a pleasure to be around.

Feyre wonders if Az gets some of his information from "stone cold manners" but there's never any proof of it happening and even if it had, having manners in order to spy on someone isn't the same as actually enjoying the interaction.

The fact is that Az and Elain do not have similar personalities and any connections people are trying to make is based off Elain as she is after very recent and extreme traumas.

It's a problem in this fandom that I often notice with certain groups and something they seem to do with both Gwyn and Elain.

They think Gwyn can't be interested in Az because she started SF in a low place. They look at Elain as she is in the NC and have based their entire opinion of who she is off that.

They fail to realize that ACOWAR, ACOFAS and SF are poor representations of who these two females actually are (as who they are in those books are who they are because of trauma). They fail to consider who they'll be once they've fully overcome their traumas.

Gwyn isn't going to shy away from males forever.

We've already seen growth from her in SF and she's only going to continue healing. Thinking that it's going to take too long for her to overcome what happened to her and therefore can not go on to have a happy relationship before the series ends is a disturbing mentality.

And thinking that we're not going to eventually see the return of the Elain who took charge and convinced others what to do with smiles alone, who thrived when surrounded by friends and non friends (just people in general), who loved balls and parties is a bit odd because that's the Elain who is canonically the happiest we've ever seen her to be.

And if there is the acknowledgement that we will see the return of that Elain but someone still believes she'd be well matched with Az who Cassian tells us "likes his space", it's possibly the strangest thing of all.

Sure Elain and Az are physically attracted to one another, that can not be disputed.

However what also cannot be disputed is that the Lucien who easily makes friends wherever he goes and enjoys parties, who prefers to avoid violence is an exact match for the happy version of Elain who easily makes friends, enjoys parties, and is bothered by cruelty.

Someone can prefer the opposites attract trope but it's completely false to claim that Elain and Az are similar in personality.

But regardless of what tropes we prefer, in the end what someone wants to see won't matter because SJM doesn't seem to prefer opposites attract and she's the one calling the shots.

[the-forests-blessing]

Chapter 6

When Lukas and Dewey make it back to their hotel for the evening, Lukas stops in front of the open entryway that leads into his dark, silent room. The only light he left on in his hotel room is the small table lamp on his work desk. Its dim orange light brings nothing but a sense of peace, as well as a feeling of familiar loneliness. Lukas makes his entry into the room slowly, feeling like he’s being drained of his energy with every heavy step. Dewey trots into the room without a second thought and hops up onto the bed, sniffing around the neat covers, most likely catching the scent of housekeeping. 

     Lukas sets his bag on top of the desk and pulls the chair back before plopping down into its hardwood seat. He drags it back towards the table with a tired sigh and reaches into his satchel for his notebook. Opening the fancy black leather cover, he quickly flips through the pages until he reaches his little sketch of the forest entity.

     Taking up his quill, he dabs its thin tip in ink before hesitating above the blank page. His attention briefly flicks back to his shadowy sketch. The drawing shifted his mind, teleporting him back to the moment he tripped over the tree root. The way his heartbeat skyrocketed in his chest when he made eye contact with the shadows brooding glare. The strange glow of those illuminated irises followed his mind just as they followed him through the heart of the dark forest. His hand twitches at the picture his mind paints and, with no further hesitation, he quickly writes the title of this passage, “The Admin”.

     After he’s reached that point, he’s stumped again. Lukas rests his cheek in his palm, gazing down at his sketch once more. There’s so many questions racing in his mind, all of them revolving around the mysterious entity that apparently prefers to hide within the forest's darkest shadows. He wonders how long this man has lived there. If he’s truly human at all or in fact some sort of ancient mob. Whatever he is, Lukas is dying to know more about him, and the history of his existence. Why the town apparently fears him, yet an Allay, a being of pure radiance, seemingly adores him…

     Lukas can’t get over the way the little blue creature fluttered around the Admin’s unmoving form with a happy trill. It seemed excited to see him, yet the Admin himself stood there, unfazed by his Allay’s bubbly actions. Lukas barely had a chance to blink at him before he was being teleported out of the forest and landing into the dirt outside the tree line. He’s still confused as to the whereabouts of his sweet berries and Dewey’s mouse toy. He suspects, by the way the little Allay played with the fake mouse, that perhaps it is within the happy little spirit’s possession. The thought makes Lukas smile, so he goes back a few pages in his notebook and doodles the Allay holding Dewey’s play toy. 

     He takes a careful glance back at his now sleeping ocelot, smirking at the sound of a quiet snore coming from the large spotted cat who resides on the bed. I’ll see if I can get it back for him. 

     Lukas goes to bed just before midnight that night. With his head in the pillows, he lay on his side, eyeing the distant tree tops through the open windows. The stars flicker in the night sky, their glow drawing his memory back to the glowing eyes in the woods, and how badly he wishes to see them again. The memories keep him awake. When his eyes are drawn closed, he sees them in the darkness. The glow of the Admin and his Allay is the last thing Lukas sees before finally falling asleep.

     The dawn of the new day brings Lukas back to the trees once more. He doesn’t look at the signs anymore, finding the warnings to be nothing more than a useless waste of materials. That, and they’re ugly. The adventurer walks right past them, his expression strong with determination. He walks through the forest without looking back. 

     Before bed, he’d spent his last remaining hours devising a new plan while he sketched in his journal. He’s going to walk into the Admin’s woods and demand (ask politely) the man to grant him access to explore this uncharted part of the forest. Even if that just looks like him speaking nonsense to a bunch of trees for a while, it's still worth a shot. He’ll walk in and speak his heart out. Surely this Admin person will be more inclined to hear him out if he’s aware of Lukas’ true intentions? 

     Logically, it should work. Unless the Admin doesn’t understand speech. Lukas isn’t quite sure. He’s yet to get a real chance to utter a full sentence to the entity. 

     The blond walks across the forest floor, this time without paying any attention to the birds, plants, or any other forms of life that could be residing within the shrub layer and canopies. His well rested gaze is glued to his path ahead of him, keeping a calm and collected mind as he travels closer and closer to the thick blanket of fog. For the first time in days, he decided to take the first route he familiarized himself with. The fallen log, the large mossy rock, and soon enough, the blanket of fog.

     He stops before he gets to that point. Grasping his satchel’s strap, the blond lifts his head up, gazing upon the thick, dense layer of eerie mist. The forest waits in silent anticipation for its intruder to make a decision. The fog lay at its heaviest, completely shrouding the mighty conifers that reside within its protective layer. He took the day off from visiting the forest yesterday in hopes that the woodland and its shadowy resident would perhaps calm and give him a real chance. But… the entire forest has fallen still. It’s been waiting for his return. The silence an invitation, beckoning his ocelot curiosity further into the fog. 

     Radar’s words echo in his mind, “Why are you going in there? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?”

      Lukas scoffs at the reminder. Radar is a kind fellow, one of the few BeaconTown offers, but Lukas can hardly see any reason to take his warnings seriously. Either these people are making up some wild stories regarding the “danger” they say there is, or Lukas is having a completely different experience here in Beacon’s forest. That being something Lukas has a hard time believing, because what on earth would make him so special? He wishes he got more information from Radar, but considering the scholar's overall anxious demeanor, he doubts he would have gotten more out of him. At least not without a full on interrogation which Lukas definitely isn't the type to commit. 

     Okay. No more hesitating.

     The fog is all encompassing. Lukas’ eyes narrow as he eases his way through, attempting to focus on his surroundings the best he can. Surprisingly, he finds himself running into trees; stopping and turning him around and then again- confusing the author and making him second guess his directions. Okay… it definitely wasn't like this before, he thinks as he twists his body, looking all around him, struggling to find his way forward. The fog is thicker than it ever has been, purposefully misleading him in some sort of twisted game. He continues to run into trees or large shrubs that block his path. Frustration claws at his mind, the blond now walking at a much quicker pace. Tree after tree, he grits his teeth and huffs. “Where is it…” he whispers, searching for the entrance. 

     He spends a good three minutes wandering through the fog, confused and most definitely becoming distraught the longer he spends lost. He finally comes to a stop and looks around, really considering his options here. Then, something catches his eye. The blond walks over and squats down by a tree, gazing upon a mossy patch that climbs its trunk. The moss on one side has little specks of glowing white in it, almost reminiscent of dew drops being touched by the sun, except there is no sun here. That, and the rest of the moss on the tree looks just like any ordinary moss. Lukas looks from the mystical side and onward, noticing more of the speckly flora on trees or laying on the forest floor. 

     Lukas is quick to follow it. Keeping his guard up as he follows the path of moss. Eventually the fog layer begins to darken and, in a matter of seconds, Lukas can begin to make out the shadowy shapes of trees returning to his vision, no longer ghosted over by the dense layer of mist. He exits the fog and finally finds himself standing within the heart of the ancient woodland. 

     Darkness shrouds the forest. The ever present fog now lingers in the depths of the trees in a much thinner, easily manageable layer. 

     Lukas sighs his relief. Finally back on track.

      Now all that’s left to do is put his plan into action.

     The novelist takes a few big steps into the Admin’s forest and, with a deep breath, forces himself to find the confidence. 

      “Hello?” He calls out, then immediately cringes. He quickly recalls he’d made the same mistake searching for the Allay, that exact thing being one of the mistakes that landed him back out on the tree line. Lukas quickly shakes his head and takes another step forward. “I uh– Don’t exactly know how to communicate this to you but,” he begins, looking around the shadowy trees. “I just wanted to ask if I can explore these woods? I really want to study this place.” He continues to look around, especially making sure to twist himself around to his backside just to make sure he isn’t being watched from behind. 

      Nothing yet…

      Lukas scratches awkwardly at the back of his head, unsure if he should continue speaking or simply just wait. Choosing to stay silent brings an uneasy tension that Lukas can’t feel comfortable with, so he continues to say, “Well… I guess if you haven’t teleported me out yet, then that must mean it’s okay–” he says as he takes one measly step forward.

      Poof!

      Lukas falls face first into the dirt on the outskirts of the forest. Immediately this ocelot is pulling himself up and baring his teeth. “That’s IT!” The bristling blond makes no hesitation to storm back into the woods. He doesn’t even take the time to brush the dirt off his hands and knees. His usually pale face has turned bright pink with frustration and embarrassment, fuming his way back through the trees. “I am not giving up that easily. Nuh-uh. Nope. Not me.” He grumbles with his temper boiling over. Albeit a bit out of control as he storms past the tree line, no longer thinking of consequences. The leaves nor the pine cones beneath his heavy feet stand a chance and once he arrives at it, neither does the fog. 

     Lukas makes his way into the dense fog layer, surging through it with little to no issue, almost as though the density of its presence earlier were just a test. A test to see how daring he is to return. When Lukas bursts through the fog, he immediately snaps at the forest around him.

     “What’s your problem!? Huh!? You keep throwing me out and for what!? What did I do? Ever since I’ve come to this stupid town it's been nothing but bad encounters left and right! Yet here I thought, oh, forests! I love forests! So I come in here to get away from all the craziness back in BeaconTown, just to find myself being teleported by some— some Admin guy or whatever, pushing me out of the same woodland that those weirdos back in town tell me I’ll die in if I enter! Well I’m waiting!” Lukas crosses his arms with an exaggerated huff. “You gonna live up to those ridiculous signs out at the tree line and kill me, or are you just going to teleport me back out without giving me a real chance!? B-because I’m not going to stop coming back just because those fools back in town tell me I have to. So they can deal with it, and– and you can deal with it too.” 

     While there is no reply, there is an eerie silence that suddenly surrounds him. The forest is completely still, as if in shock with Lukas’ outburst. The branches above him rustle with what little wind arrives. His indignation fades into caution, flicking his gaze around the trees; taking a single step back toward the wall of dense fog.

     His body comes to a startling halt as he bumps into what couldn’t possibly be a tree. Lukas’ heart leaps up into his throat. He slowly looks down to the dirt, spotting what appears to be a massive shadow looming over him. His entire body freezes up, his eyes gleaming with a mix of skepticism and fear.

     Slowly, Lukas turns and looks up.

     Overshadowed, yet visible in the biome's dim daylight, stands the brooding entity that brings fear to the hearts of the local townspeople. The Admin’s glowing eyes glare down into his own, imposing and very unamused by the open challenge.

     There is no motion, the Admin has finally revealed himself to our author.

     A handful of seconds tick by, all Lukas can do is take in all that he sees in this single moment.

     Round cheeks and dark facial hair speckled along his strong jawline and chin in a way most masculine. He bores a glare that could make the most sensitive hearts weep.

     Only then his heart begins to race. 

     The Admin has pitch black sclera's and illuminated irises to match that deep, midnight blue of his skin. He spots a scar on his top lip, then another that splits his eyebrow. The more Lukas searches, he finds more than just those two scars. The Admin’s features are embellished by old nicks and poorly healed gashes, all of them a soft turquoise to stand out against his shadowy complexion. Dark freckles peek through the rough surface of the Admin’s skin. His hair is blue too, a few shades darker than his skin. He’s dressed like a wild man with a touch of humanity, sturdy and powerful with his massive, almost cozy looking shaul. His hair is an unkempt mess, yet glossy and healthy looking. He spots a twig, and a few tiny leaves of foliage he doesn't quite recognize. 

     The entity.. this.. Admin, is an unmoving wall between him and the town he’s visiting. Lukas fails to see now that he is completely at this creature's mercy. He’s confident in the fact he hasn't been teleported out, yet he’s worried for that same very reason. Perhaps he pushed too far?

     The Admin glowers from above. Lukas backs away with a single step. He opens his mouth to speak, only to snap his lips shut as the Admin's massive form bends down to his eye level and glares only inches away from the trespasser's face. His gaze is trained on Lukas’ every subtle movement, only to initiate an invisible hold that keeps the man's arms down at his sides.

     The Admin clenches his massive fists; his nose flares with a deep inhale, then a sharp huff. His expression gives nothing but a predator's aggression, though he’s silent. Their eyes remained locked, unwavering.

     Lukas isn’t sure if it’s mysterious or creepy that nothing has been uttered.

     To the Admin, all this is, is another human who has no idea what he’s dealing with.

     Lukas’ voice shakes with uncertainty as he finally stammers out, “U-uh.. hi…” He speaks quietly as if there was a tightening pressure squeezing around his neck. The Admin's eyes only narrow further, the glare so cold and menacing, yet… strangely alluring. The author can't take his eyes off them. “What an incredible glow…” he speaks, mesmerized by the illuminating irises. “How do your eyes glow like that?” 

      He doesn't give much time for the Admin to respond before he's trailing his gaze down the rest of his massive, foreboding form. “And so tall…” Lukas uproots from his spot, curiosity building his confidence and carrying him to walk slowly around the forest entity, making a thorough examination of everything there is to him. The Admin turns with him, keeping his guard up and never allowing his back to be turned towards the trespasser. Lukas hardly seems to notice. “So many pouches and straps, what do you carry in those? And that armor..” 

     “Is it all made out of leather?” Lukas stops and asks, looking at the thick sturdy chest armor and shoulder pads. Lukas drops his gaze, examining an old, tattered dark flannel button-up shirt beneath all that hefty gear. Lower, there's all the extra pockets he keeps on him, oddly reminding Lukas of his own adventure gear. He wonders if he keeps specific things in those like Lukas himself does, yet the specifics in question tend to be extra inventory or snack space for the blond while he's scouting a biome. Surely a forest dwelling person would make use of extra pockets the same.

     The author now looks down upon the legs and feet, noting the knee guards and the straps wrapped around his strong looking thighs, and the heavy steel-toed boots that look like they could use some replacing… He's got more of those leather straps holding them together. Lukas finally stops his analyzing and looks back up to the man’s continuously upset expression. Lukas tilts his head a little bit, waiting for the Admin to respond with an answer to any of his questions but… it never comes. 

     Instead, Lukas opens his mouth to speak again, only to interrupt himself with a sharp gasp as his entire body freezes, his arms being pinned and locked against his sides and his legs squeezed together whilst an invisible force clutches him, keeping him from moving. His heart rate escalates quickly as shock and uncertainty encompass him. The blond attempts any form of movement just to find himself entirely immobilized everywhere below his head. Instead, all he can do is look upward and watch as the Admin takes a heavy step closer, keeping him pinned beneath that sharp glare. 

      Okay… Maybe I shouldn't have challenged him.

     Suddenly his satchel is peeled off his body, Lukas watching in mixing shock and awe as the Admin floats his belongings over to himself and begins to use his powers to pull one item after another out of his bag. Lukas is absolutely baffled. “H-hey wait! You can’t just-!” The Admin snaps his glare back to the author and immediately Lukas closes his mouth shut. Instead, he’s forced to watch the Admin shuffle through his belongings, starting with the few ecological study books he borrowed from the library. 

     The Admin flips through each one, seemingly taking his sweet time with it too because he takes breaks flipping through the pages to scan some, then flip through more. Lukas is… absolutely speechless at what he’s witnessing. The Admin’s form hasn’t budged at all since he took Lukas’ satchel off him without so much as lifting a finger. He’s got all of his belongings floating around him and is capable of flipping through individual pages of paper at the same time. “How are you doing that?” He can’t help but ask, yet he garners no response from the silent entity. The Admin ignores him, and all Lukas can do is stand there and digest the scene playing out in front of him. 

     The last book snaps shut loud enough to make Lukas flinch. The Admin flicks his gaze sharply back to him as he pulls another book over and lifts its cover. Lukas immediately interrupts, “Hey hold on a sec! Those are my private work journals. You can’t just-” The pages continue to flip without a care. Lukas would sulk if he could. “You know it’s not polite to just start… going through people’s belongings like this.” Lukas glances away with an annoyed expression when his jaw is suddenly grabbed and forced to look back in the Admin’s direction and–! Lukas’ head flinches back as an object is shoved in his face, his teal eyes blinking as they focus in and… recognize that leaf from a few days ago. The one he’d plucked from the stem and watched as the life inside it faded. He’d placed it back in his journal for safekeeping…

     Lukas’ gaze falls, feeling hot with embarrassment at the hypocritical wording he’d chosen. “I.. Uhh.. I’m sorry about that.” He looks back up at the Admin with a look of guilt, finding the midnight blue man’s expression unchanged, looking as grumpy as ever… “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting a full on inspection of all my personal belongings. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I don’t think I have anything too incriminating; It’s just my work bag.” Lukas goes silent once again as he watches the Admin. The man finally moves, but only to reach down and open the pocket strapped to his thigh, floating the leaf in and shutting it away. 

     Lukas is once again met with something being shoved in his face, this time it being the journal itself. His eyes don’t linger on it, glancing away awkwardly and mumbling, “that’s you..” in regards to his messy sketch of the shadowy Admin. “I was going to dedicate this journal to the forest here, since it’s one of the last remaining biomes I need to study for the encyclopedia I’m working on.” He watches the Admin’s gaze narrow on him, this time staying trained on him in what Lukas assumes is an expectation for more explanation. “It’s my job. Or well, my dream too.”

     The man in front of him doesn’t seem all that moved by his response. 

     Suddenly, Lukas feels something… strange. The blond tenses, his brows furrowing as he focuses on the uncomfortable feeling of having his inventory being searched. Searched, in a way that no human, monster, or animal could ever possibly do. The inventory is a subspace that each individual person has exclusive personal access to that could never be tampered with by any other person, unless the individual in question is killed and their inventory is exposed, with no one to belong to anymore. This is… 

     “H-how are you doing that?” Lukas blurts out again, becoming even more confused and desperate for understanding. “No person can look through another's inventory like that!” The blond protests, only to pause, his expression falling into a look of disbelief when he comes to an unbelievable realization. “Are you a god?” He slowly draws out, looking straight back into those glowing, turquoise eyes. “O-or some form of high deity? B-because this–” Lukas looks down to his still frozen form, “those powers-” he looks up to his floating belongings. His intrigued gaze returns to the massive man in front of him. “...What… exactly are you, Admin?”

      The Admin, of course, makes no move to respond. Instead he stares at Lukas, his gaze unwavering and glued to the author’s own curious eyes. Lukas watches with piquing annoyance now as the Admin turns his head away and continues going through his belongings. Lukas is floored with this experience so far. Honestly? He feels rather ridiculous having not drawn to this conclusion sooner. There’s no way an entity of this stoic stature and powerful form, wielding magic no less, isn’t some sort of deity. Not even the world's most powerful mobs have powers of this particular caliber. And to be so reserved, showing little to no emotion while doing it. 

      But how is it possible? Are there more like him? …What's a god doing living in the forest like this?

     Lukas is awestruck, all whilst he is still quite frustrated with his continuous lack of understanding. 

     Another object approaches him now. Another book, that of which Lukas immediately recognizes is his dictionary. The dictionary is held in front of his face, flipping through pages until it lands on one towards the back of the book. A blue glow locks into a specific word. 

      What.

      More page flipping.

      Are.

      …

      You.

      …

      Doing. 

      …

      Here. 

      Lukas blinks at the page before the book is snapping shut and leaving, just to float back along with his other belongings, watching as all of them are piled back into the satchel and the bag is thrown. Lukas gasps as the hold on his body relents just in time for him to catch his book bag. “I-I just wanted to explore and.. And to research the forest here. I’ve been all over the world; fifty-six biomes and I’ve never seen- or heard of anything like this forest.” Lukas looks up to the Admin, searching his eyes for any shred of emotion… but there is none. Lukas’ eyes drop down to the forest floor, searching his mind for more words, yet he’s finding himself stuck on something. Why did the Admin use his dictionary to finally respond to him? 

     “You…” Lukas begins, slowly looking back up to the deity, clutching his bag close to his chest. “You don’t talk… do you?” He asks with a hint of curious worry in his tone. As expected, there is no response. The Admin just stares down at him; Lukas can feel the judgment which keeps him rooted to where he stands. 

     “I… I don’t understand.” Lukas rests his chilly hand against his forehead whilst he shakes his head, then draws it back into his styled hair, trying to wrap his mind around it all. “The hunters back in BeaconTown warned me about you. The signs warned me about you. I was told you were going to kill me, yet…” Lukas sighs heavily, clutching his satchel close. “You saved me.” He finally says, then looks back up at the deity who continues to bore an unhappy expression. “That’s also why I’m here, is to thank you for that.”

     Lukas’ gaze rests on the Admin now. Finally having full control of his body again, he’s able to take a single step forward, only for the deity to take a single step back. Lukas stops, then hesitates. 

      There’s something… wrong here.

     In the beginning, Lukas truly thought he’d over stepped his welcome by coming back to the Admin’s forest with a heated temper. The deity looked reasonably upset with him, which Lukas at the time figured was a response to his uncontrolled outburst, but now… He isn’t so sure that’s the case. The Admin’s expression hasn’t changed at all during this lengthy encounter. The deity is a blank slate, and Lukas is inclined to wonder why. 

     Even with such an intimidating exterior and stubborn attitude, Lukas doesn't feel threatened. If the Admin wanted him dead, he's confident the deity would have killed him by now. Instead, he keeps his distance, and part of Lukas feels as though the deity is just as uncertain about him as Lukas is for the Admin. So why is everyone scared of this guy? 

     The sound of a familiar happy trill sounds behind him. Lukas turns and the Admin looks up, both watching as a bright blue glow flutters through the trees and enters the trail the two men stand within. Lukas’ expression brightens immediately, holding his hands out to greet the Allay as the spirit flies over. “Hello there,” he says and the Allay, jovial as ever, approaches Lukas with a lively chime, fluttering around his form, then flutters to the Admin, lighting the shadowy man up. 

     Lukas watches the moment closely, this time really getting a look at the man’s otherworldly features. With the knowledge now that the Admin is a god of some sort, Lukas takes in his appearance in an entirely new light. The dark, shadowy blue skin. There’s a dark shade that permanently stains the upper half of his facial features, shadowing his eyes. The Admin makes no move to greet his Allay, but his eyes do briefly follow its movements around him, hardly moving his head to do so. 

     Lukas feels his cheeks warm the longer he stares, only for the warmth to strengthen when the forest deity snaps his eyes back to Lukas, causing the blond to tense and awkwardly avert his gaze. Lukas’ attention is caught by the Allay returning to him, appearing before him with one of the missing objects from the other day. The little spirit’s eyes close in a joyful gesture as it shakes Dewey’s rattle mouse in its tiny blue hand. Lukas smirks, amused. “So that’s where his toy went. I had wondered about that. What about the sweet berries? Did you take those too?” Lukas asks with a knowing tone. 

     The Allay opens its eyes and blinks before doing a gesture of what looks to be an awkward head scratch. Adorable, the author thinks to himself with a fond smile. “It’s okay if you did, just warn a guy next time alright? Then I can bring an extra bag for you too.” The Allay seems delighted by this response, doing a happy spin and nodding, holding Dewey’s toy mouse close. 

     Jeez… Lukas had intentions of getting Dewey’s toy back from the Admin, but now seeing where it's gone, Lukas doesn’t think he has the heart to take it from the little spirit. Not with how happy it looks. That and he can’t imagine there’s many toys to play with out in the forest. Not unless Admin is capable of conjuring up something like that from thin air. 

     Speaking of–

     Lukas looks up and, to his dismay, notices now that the deity has turned and begun silently walking away into the trees. Lukas’ heart sinks just as he begins to quickly step forward. “H-hey wait! Where are you going?” He calls after him and before he could get another step closer–

      Poof!

     “Oh!” Lukas lands back on the other side of the fog. He stumbles a bit, but this teleportation has been far less clumsy than any of the others before. The blond asserts himself quickly, looking back at the fog from which he came. He didn't send me back to the tree line this time… The last time he was teleported, he felt nothing but frustration and anger fueling his drive to push back into the fog and give the Admin a real piece of his mind. This time though… He feels quite at peace with the progress he’s made today. 

     He finally got to interact with him. He’s learned so much! Yet… so little at the same time. If anything, he has more questions swarming his mind like restless bees now more than ever. 

     As for now… Lukas thinks it may be best to call it a day and to not push his limits. The way back to town through the woods is somewhat grueling though, especially with how regretful Lukas is with a major part missing from their first real interaction together. Lukas, the fool, never even introduced himself. The blond briefly cringes, holding his face in his hands as he walks over pine needles and cones back to the forest entrance. He’d been so caught up within the moment, he didn’t even think to properly introduce himself. To a god no less! No wonder the Admin was so guarded! Lukas couldn’t even spare him his own name, being too entranced in his prolonged moment of awe. 

     “I’m so stupid,” he winces. “What kind of first impression was that? He must think I’m crazy.” Well… he wouldn't be wrong to think that if he did, considering Lukas lost his temper and shouted at a god. Of all things to lose his cool at, it just had to be him. Lukas sighs. Maybe tomorrow, he can make a proper, professional approach. 

     When he gets back to BeacInn, he greets Dewey with treats and loads of new information. The ocelot is relieved to finally hear some good news come from his owner, considering how much the world has been against him recently. Dewey purrs and kneads the blanket, bumping his head against Lukas’ in a proud show of affection. 

     After that, Lukas immediately sits at his work desk and busies himself in his writing, only to have his attention grabbed by a grumbling ocelot again. The jungle cat pawed at Lukas’ pants leg to get his attention and once he has it, he uses his nose to bump a treat towards the author, reminding the man that he too needs to eat before investing himself in his work for the rest of the day. Lukas sighs, knowing Dewey is right and gives him an appreciative head scratch. “Okay, okay you're right. Let's go find something to eat.”

     It's amazing how little mind Lukas pays to the townspeople walking around. Socializing was something he'd hoped to better himself at when he got to BeaconTown, but for obvious reasons, that idea was of little importance and placed in the back of his mind. He's quiet and elusive when talking to others, keeping to himself in a way that fits him right in with the rest of the town's citizens. He doesn't want to last long out in the town's open streets. The last thing he wants right now is to risk a run-in with a nosy hunter. 

     Thankfully, that wasn't the case today. Lukas returns home and does the healthy life essentials like eating and bathing. After a short shower, he ends up staring at himself in the mirror, searching his complexion, thinking back to the Admin's own. All those scars on his face.. Lukas can't help but stare at the nick on his chin he got a few years back, right in the beginning of his adventures. Back when he was still so new to the world which awaited him. He gently runs his fingers over the scar, wondering how the Admin got his. There was too many to count. So many untold stories behind that silent deity. He wonders how he'll ever communicate properly with him, because dictionary use is a bit too time consuming. 

     Lukas lingers on the thought for quite some time. All the way back into the living space where he stands at the window and gazes out upon the trees. 

     After some extensive thinking… he thinks he knows how to approach the Admin with a conversation. He just hopes that the deity will be in a talking mood the next time he sees him.

[cyberrat]

90th Batch Of Fics: 2nd Fill

Hanzo/Cassidy – Off Limits AU – Hurt/Comfort; torture mention; body mutilation mention – It's starting to look up a little, right?

---

“Ssshhh,” Hanzo soothes. His expression is still relaxed, his eyes looking a bit glassy like he’s far away in his head. “I’d like to take it off and make sure all the connection ports are clean. Some readings come back as orange. It might be feeding into your current distress response.”

He is tapping something, the very tip of his nail making the faintest metallic sound that has Cole’s wild gaze move down to his left arm. Hanzo has popped open the panel in his forearm without him realizing. True enough on the tiny screen visible are quite a few orange and one or two red dots indicating that the connections aren’t as clear as they should be.

Anxiety seizes his chest tight again as he wonders and shies away from thinking about it too much, what they did to his arm while it hadn’t been attached to his person.

They’re all sick fucks here in Deadlock. He wouldn’t put it past anybody if they-

“Can I take it off?”

Hanzo’s question cuts through his thoughts before they can start spiraling too much and feed him with the more gruesome fantasies he can come up with. His first instinct is to be petty and tell him ‘no’, but with the lurking beast of his arm feeling not like his own and who-knew-what-shit-they-did, he finds that he suddenly doesn’t want it attached. Not now.

“Yeah. Thank ya kindly,” he drawls, voice hoarse and sounding exhausted even to his own ears. He’s just talking to fill the space that is left open by Hanzo’s blank scent. But, close as they are now and with the worst stink coming off of Cole gone, he can somewhat make out a few notes, though they are very muted. So no scent blocker patches; just Hanzo having figured out how to keep a tight reign on himself.

Cole looks down, watching as Hanzo expertly places his fingers at a few strategic points, presses down and twists. The pressure of his arm disconnecting skitters like fingernails up Cole’s spine, though not in a comfortable way. He makes a bit of a face but he looks down and stares at his stump and the arm in Hanzo’s hands and realizes that the panic that should be present is notably absent.

Hanzo first takes a look at the port side of the arm in his grasp, then the ones on Cole’s body. He helpfully lifts his stump a little so the overhead light might catch the innards better. He doesn’t know what Hanzo is or isn’t seeing that is swaying him but he decides to start with the detached prosthetic for now.

“A second.”

Cole watches as a clean towel is spread on the tiny space of floor in front of the toilet and into the adjacent room, his arm very carefully put down on it before Hanzo gets up and moves further into his room. He crouches down behind his bed where Cole can only see his head and shoulders as he searches for something before finally coming back with a rolled up satchel which he unfurls. Inside are multiple tiny wrenches, tweezers, screw drivers and the likes, as well as fine cloths and things that look like very long Q-tips.

The sight is weird but he can’t quite make out as to why that is until Hanzo is halfway through very carefully and very professionally cleaning Cole’s arm ports.

“I see you got a few new aces up your sleeves,” he observes despite himself. He thinks that maybe he should stay angry at Hanzo – it’s his right, he supposes – but he’s too tired and frankly too old to hold much of a grudge. At least for the moment.

He just feels… used up. Old and fat and crippled, slumped on a fucking toilet, watching a much younger, much hotter, much more competent Alpha clean up his messes that he’s always dragged along with him and never had the wherewithal to fix.

Well fuck. Apparently he’s just banged up enough to completely drown in self-pity today.

Hanzo, not knowing about anything of what is going on in Cole’s head, glances up. For the first time their eyes really meet since he’s been in the Gorge, even if just for a split second before he glances off again.

“I suppose so. I thought it necessary to apply myself to some new life skills.”

Cole tilts his head a little like a large, inquisitive dog as he mulls those words over. What was that supposed to mean?

“Necessary,” he repeats in a low rumble. Hanzo ducks his head and just focuses on his work. All Cassidy can see are the very tips of his ears that turn red. In embarrassment? He sits there, rolling the words and Hanzo’s reaction around in his head and as much as the logical part of him tells him that it can’t be right, the exhausted emotional side insists that Hanzo learned it because of him.

There is no other reason, after all. So he must have learned it with Cole in mind. So he’d be able to take care of him in the future. So he’d be able to take care of him when he went and took him along out of the Gorge because surely by the end of his stay Cassidy would be obsolete anyway what with a younger, hotter model right there getting trained up to take over his place anyway.

A sudden wave of fierce affection floods him with warmth. He reaches out, the blunt, square tip of his index finger lightly brushing against the very tip of Hanzo’s ear. It’s a fine point of contact and the younger Alpha doesn’t flinch. He tilts his head a tiny bit to flick those dark eyes over Cole’s slumped body, then settles on his face, studying him with another unreadable expression.

He does not react one way or the other, does not mention the light touch on his ear. They’re no longer flushed anyway.

Hanzo carefully puts the cleaned arm back down on the towel and Cole pulls his hand back to himself to no longer touch the younger Alpha. The situation is still odd, but the atmosphere around them doesn’t really feel as oppressive anymore.

The young Alpha’s voice sounds different as well when he says: “I am done with the arm. May I take a look at the other port?” He inclines his head toward Cassidy’s stump as if there had been any question as to what he meant.

Cole is surprised to find it easy to offer up his arm. He’s leaning forward, elbow braced on one meaty thigh and wiggling the stump below it invitingly. “Knock yerself out, sweetheart.”

The endearment slips out and Hanzo’s hands pause for a second in reaching toward Cole’s stump. He glances up and looks at Cole’s face again. There’s the finest softening at the edges of his constant, severe frown and maybe even a smile hidden in the corner of his lips, almost completely obscured by the whiskers of the beard he’s slowly growing in.

Damn but he’s pretty.

[wellthebardsdead]

Clockwork heart pt16

Part 15 here

———

Wyrm: *finally snapped back to reality after a long rest with Taliesin & Kaidans supervision, now seated in the bee and barb twisting a piece of paper in his hands as he loses himself in his mind*

Kaidan: *gently nudges him* hey, come back to me, you okay?

Wyrm: *looks up at him with a sad, blank expression to his face as he shakes his head*

Kaidan: *nods with a sad understanding in his eyes* aye, im not surprised, you’ve had a rough few days…

Taliesin: *walks over placing breakfast down in front of the dunmer* just eat what you can okay?…

Wyrm: *looks up at him and nods as he tucks in, mainly just poking around at his food and taking a few nibbles here and there* …

Taliesin: *sits down and stares at him with concern but doesn’t push him to speak knowing it’d only serve to make him remain non verbal* We’ll, head off for winterhold once you’ve eaten.

Kaidan: aye, it’ll be a 3 day journey from here, but the faster we get you home the better…

Wyrm: *pokes the yolk of his egg making it pop onto the toast* I should have never of left home… I thought nothing could be worse than Ancano but I was wrong… papa was right. *sniffles* he’ll be so disappointed in me…

Taliesin: I? No he won’t Wyrm, you couldn’t have predicted any of this happening to you, none of this was your faul- Ancano???

Wyrm: *blinks up at him* you know him?…

Taliesin: I? Well? Yes, he’s a well known member of the dominion, he’s the reason I became a justiciar in fact I- what do you mean, worse?

Wyrm: … *rubs his side with his hand nervously, easily picking up Taliesins positive disposition towards Ancano and worried he might leave him if he tells the truth* he… I… he gave me these dwarven gauntlets I wanted in exchange for talking with me. I didn’t want to speak with him at all but he promised I could keep them if I just conversed with him but… he’d come into my room at night and he’d be rough with me, then he’d kiss me, and from there all our talks turned into him putting his hands on me, it felt? Good but… bad, very bad… I don’t know how to explain it but- he scared me a lot an-

*glass shattering as Taliesin grips his cup a little too tightly with anger and a sense of betrayal that someone he’d looked up to could behave in such a disgusting way*

Taliesin: *jumps a little in surprise at himself but remains composed in his anger and tone* …and Hes still at the collage I take it?…

Wyrm: *visibly jumps at the glass shattering and shrinks in stature as he goes non verbal again, fearing he’s upset Taliesin* … *nods sheepishly*

Taliesin: … *looks to Kaidan* …

Kaidan: *nods back at him in a silent understanding, both of them recognising the threat Ancano poses to their already vulnerable companion* You don’t have to worry about him friend… We’ll keep you safe from him. He comes near you and we’ll make him regret it.

Taliesin: For his sake. He’d better be gone by the time we get there…

Wyrm: *blinks and calms down realising Tali isn’t upset with him, just quietly nods and resumes eating his food all the while taking in the space around him as his mind settles*

???: Aye, he’s convinced he murdered some poor dark elf. But when we went to check all we found was scrap metal.

???: scrap metal?

???: mm, like Erm, from those dwarven ruins I think? They looked like the junk you’d find at the pawned prawn.

Wyrm: *ears pricking up hearing the conversation* huh??? *looks over to see a couple guards at a table talking to one another*

Guard 1: maybe he shot one of those dwarven automatons then and it simply wandered away?

Guard 2: I thought that as well, but he said the dunmer had a ‘metal arm’ and a ‘glass eye’. Pfft. Dumb cat really must’ve been high on skooma.

Wyrm: *quietly gets up and walks to them, Taliesin & Kaidan both watching but not interfering, just being present* u-um excuse me?… I-I think I might be the dunmer you’re talking about. *reaches into his satchel and pulls out his broken mechanical arm*

The guards: … *both drop their tankards in unison*

*a few minutes later*

Wyrm: *hugging onto taliesins arm for both emotional and physical support as they enter the jail, following a guard as he leads them to a cell with a strange blue khajiit inside of it*

Guard: oi, Inigo, you have a guest. *opens the cell door and walks off letting the group enter*

Inigo: *looks up, ears immediately tucking back as his eyes rest on the pretty pearl eyed young dunmer* I- y-you!

Wyrm: *sheepishly steps in, Taliesin being sure to keep him tucked behind him just a little* h-hello?

Inigo: come to kill me at last then have you?…

Wyrm: wh-what?? N-no I just w-want to ask you some questions! I- what- *looks up at Taliesin for help already feeling like he’s lost any type of control or understanding in the conversation*

Taliesin: *smiles at him comfortingly before looking at inigo* Let’s start from the beginning, how do you know my companion here and why would he want to kill you?

Inigo: I- you don’t remember me?! I killed you! Or I tried to at least! I shot you!

Wyrm: I’m sorry I-I don’t know or remember you. *holds up his arm* b-but I think you broke my arm instead of actually shooting me?

Inigo: I?… I didn’t hurt you?

Wyrm: I was covered in scratches and some bruises when I woke up in Helgen but nothing life threatening but, my arm was being held together by the string I used for the elbow joint, all the gears were missing…

Taliesin: *ears tucking back, already deciding he doesn’t like inigo* May I ask. Why. You shot him? A confused dunmer covered in frost bite walking barefoot across skyrim?

Inigo: I was on skooma at the time… I was not all there in the moment and once I realised what I had done, I turned myself in, when I came back he was gone.

Wyrm: you must’ve knocked me off balance th- oh- *blushes a little as Taliesin tucks him back behind him further in a protective manner*

Taliesin: *clenching his jaw as he takes in inigo’s posture and tone, trying to decide if he’s being honest with his remorse* and you were just, waiting here, for him to turn up and get revenge on you?

Inigo: Yes! I felt terrible for what I did! I feel terrible for what I did! But nobody would believe me! I had to pay them to keep me in this cell! I had to repent, I need to repent…

Taliesin: … *looks at kaidan* what do you think we should do?… I don’t want him around Wyrm. Not after he tried to kill him.

Kaidan: …I’m no saint myself, I’ve done a lot of things I regret, and I’m a recovered addict as well… I think a man trying to better himself is a man worth sparing. But… I think it should be up to our little dragon.

Taliesin: … *looks down at Wyrm* what do you want to do?…

Wyrm: *peers out from behind Taliesin again* he can come with us?… if he wants to apologise for breaking my arm then he can help me get home and maybe retrace my steps some more…

Taliesin: I- no. I’m putting my foot down absolutely not-

Inigo: *ignoring Taliesin, now focused entirely on Wyrm, ears pricked forward and eyes tearing up* I-I fight with you?? Or die defending you??

Taliesin: …

*a few hours later*

Taliesin: Ground rules. You do not speak to Wyrm without my permission. You do not touch Wyrm without my permission. In fact don’t even look at him without- HEY WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!

Inigo: *ignoring him and helping Wyrm with his pack* thank you for letting me join you friend! I promise to be on my best behaviour!

Wyrm: th-thank you inigo!

Taliesin: *rubbing his face* oh gods why does no one listen to me?!

Kaidan: *pats him on the shoulder* at least you’re important in your own mind~

[mollymagician]

New chapter of Translation of the Dream is up.

(Finally 😬)

They walked along the river. The wind was cutting. Hob mourned the fact that he’d launched out the door with a mystical fucking banana peel in his pocket but left his hat and gloves behind. Dream walked silently beside him, looking like he didn’t feel the cold at all and somehow simultaneously like the most resigned of human popsicles, hands jammed into his coat pockets and collar turned up against the wind. Hob wished again for his gloves, at least, for a completely different reason.

They walked in silence another half block farther before Dream blurted out, “I wished to. Apologize.”

Hob looked at him, feeling the confusion plain on his face. “What in the world for?”

“For what happened that day. At the pub.”

“What, for making me think I was having a complete mental break?” Hob asked. Dream made a small distressed noise, drowned out as Hob plowed on. “Forgiven. Or for embarrassing a dickhead who was harassing my staff? No apology necessary for that, mate.”

“Hob.”

“Earned you free drinks for life as far as I’m concerned.”

Dream’s expression was pained. Hob knew he could inspire that look on just about anyone when he really got going with the razzing, but this had an extra edge it it. Dream huffed impatiently and it curled away in the chill like dragon’s breath. “It was wrong of me. To…lose my composure. I promised I’d never again…” He looked away out over the glinting dark water and hunched down further into the shelter of his woefully inadequate coat.

Hob lifted an eyebrow. “If that was you losing your composure, I’d hate to see what happens when you get properly pissed off.”

“Yes,” Dream said quietly. “You would.”

Okay, then. Hob’s mouth clicked shut and he looked straight ahead down the pavement. He was wildly out of his depth, here, and he knew it. But. He’d spent so much of his life already throwing himself into things without knowing if he would ever touch bottom, so why start now?

“Make it up to me,” he said.

Dream’s eyes flew to his face, wide and blank.

“You wanted to apologize? Make it up to me by telling me what it was I saw.”

They’d stopped walking, he realized. Dream turned to face him, gaze locked to his. It was the longest stretch of unbroken eye contact that they’d shared and Hob felt it like a charge up his spine. Whatever it was Dream was looking for, he must have found, because after a moment he tipped his head to the side and said, “This way.” Once again Hob was following.

They crossed into a narrow lane between the nearest two buildings, thankfully out of the wind. The way opened into a small common yard between three blocks of flats, shabby but clean. An elderly fountain stood in the center, looking like it had been dry for a long time. Someone had perched a pair of candles in tall glass holders on the edge, burned down far enough to stay lit in the wind that occasionally still made its way into the sheltered space.

Dream folded his gangly frame to sit on the edge of the fountain and Hob did the same, gazing around them curiously. They were alone. The windows around them were mostly dark, a few reflecting flickering late-night screen glow. He wanted to ask. Which one is yours? You know the way to my door, can I know the way to yours? The curiosity burned like a coal, but he knew better.

Dream puffed out a breath, curling steam, and said, “I can make things. Real. When I draw them with my hands.”

Hob blinked.

Dream reached into his battered satchel and drew out his sketchbook. Flipping it open, he took up the pencil that was jammed in like a bookmark and began to softly sketch. “I discovered that I was had the…ability…when I was young enough to be foolish but old enough to know it was strange. Keeping the knowledge to myself was, perhaps, the least foolish thing I have ever done.”

It was the most that Hob had heard him say at one go, as though the words had been piling up as they walked together in silence, and now he had a queue waiting to work it’s way out. It was easier to mark, now that there was more of it, how oddly formal his speech was. He spoke like he moved, as though every word needed to be set down carefully, or something would break. Hob watched his fingers guiding the pencil in careful strokes over the paper. The streetlights were too far, it was too dark in the faint flickering light of the candles to see what he was drawing. “How…did you figure it out?” he asked, slowly.

“I drew a raven,” Dream said. “And it flew off the page in front of me

“Oh,” Hob said. Of course, I hate it when that happens was right behind it but he beat the words back with a mental stick.

“I saw her…I supposed it to be a her…outside my window. Nearly every day. She must have been nesting nearby. I thought she was interesting. I’d never seen one marked before like she was—“ he gestured with his opposite hand at his own chest, the first nearly casual movement Hob had seen him make—“with white banding her chest. I drew her, one day, as carefully as I could. I wished I could…” He stopped, and the pencil stopped. Hob watched him stare down past the paper, into the dark at his feet.

“I wished I could be with her, somehow. I wished I could be free like she was.”

The way he said it made something curl nervously in Hob’s gut.

The soft scratching of the pencil picked back up again. “I’ve learned how it…works…over the years. It’s easier when the image is. True to life. But.” Hob could see him turning the words over in his mind. Keeping the knowledge to myself whispered back through his mind, and he almost jumped in, almost told him to stop, that he didn’t need to know. But it would have been an enormous lie. He did need to know. He’d never burned to know anything the way he did this. Not knowing would drive him completely mad.

Dream said, “There has to be. A desire. To create or have the thing. I can intend to make a thing I do not want, but it won’t work without the desire to have it. Or. To gift it. To someone.” Now Hob could see what he’d drawn. It was a poppy, he realized, perfectly rendered in spare, clean lines. Dream dropped the pencil and let it roll into the gutter of the book. Long fingers touched the page, were still for a moment, and then there was that strange little gesture. Even this close it was hard to follow.

Dream lifted his hand and held the flower out, offering it to Hob with a look as though he expected to be bit.

Hob took it gingerly in one hand. Scarlet, heavy with pollen. Real. The page was blank.

“Christ,” Hob whispered. “That is…incredible.”

Dream’s expression softened and his gaze dropped his knees. “I suppose you could say so.”

“You suppose?” Hob sputtered. “I just…you…” He blew out a long, long breath, until he was empty, then drew it back in through his nose. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dream replied, softly.

“Yeah.” Hob toyed with the poppy. “So, what, does this run in your family? Your da knew how to talk to animals or…?”

For a long moment the only sound was the distant din of traffic from down the street. “Perhaps. I don’t know,” Dream said, slowly. “I do not know my biological parents.”

Of course, Hob thought. Christ. He wasn’t sure his gob could handle being any more smacked this evening, but he had the sinking feeling that they weren’t done. Bracing himself, he said, “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

Dream opened his mouth, struggling with his words again. Hob just barely caught his lips trembling and almost regretted prodding, but what was done was done.

Dream asked, slowly, “Do you recall the name Roderick Burgess?”

[nug-chuohku]

Reflection of Your Image - EB VS SZ Drama Track 

Part 3

~ Clashing Skulls ~

【 Outside Chuohku City Hotel 】

Ryuko: "-FUCKER!"

Balling his fists, the animator prepared to strike back at the incoming punch from the purple and green haired man. Before the two could collide however, their respective teammates clung to their limbs and clothes, pulling them apart.

Maki: “Ryuko, this is no place to raise your fists!”

Yano: “Y-Yeah Asato, what tall-ass said!”

While Ryuko seemed to struggle and writhe in the arms of his older brother, Asato was much quicker to calm down. Although his eyes conveyed a rage that neither Yano or Kensaku had seen, Asato appeared much more unbothered than the yakuza who wanted nothing more than to cave in the farmer’s face. The young man uncharacteristically brushed off his teammates as they loosened their grips, so Asato could stare at his raging rival.

Asato: “...You want a fight?”

Both ECO BooN men looked surprised at their leader as he pulled his hypnosis microphone out from the satchel that hung from his belt and held it out.

Asato: “Fight me. Use your words. Prove that you’re not a coward.”

Instantly those words it set off the white haired man as he miraculously snapped out of his giant brother's grasp and whipped out his own microphone. With a snarl Ryuko shouted out.

Ryuko: “I’ll show you who’s the real coward!”

Maki: “Ryuko, stop that this-”

Shuu: “Let him go sensei.”

The smaller man grasped onto Maki’s sleeve with a surprising amount of strength. Despite how much the professor wanted to protest, the detective pointed out an important detail in a disappointed sigh. A short ways away, the other team leaders, Hisoka and Nobuo seemed to be preparing to duke it out with their microphones and speakers materializing behind each of them.

Shuu: “Look, all the team leaders seem to have a need to blow off some steam. Just let them at it, m’kay?”

Solemnly, Maki nodded. At least they were choosing to use their microphones to settle their disagreements… But would there be consequences for the fight, he wondered.

Asato:

Yet again here you are, all bark no bite

Couldn’t do your damn job so you start a fight

So come on, here’s your chance

Quit that shit, get in stance

Use your mic to prove your worth

So I can plant you in the earth

Make use of that oxygen you’re always wasting

Come on Ryuko, don’t keep me waiting

Unprepared for the verse, Ryuko staggers back. As he’s forced onto one knee, he can only grit and bear as Asato continues his relentless attack.

Asato:

Don’t die on me now, we just got started

Not the first time you’ve been bombarded

You’re just a aphid in my field

Nothing more than a weed

So give up on your dreams, you aren’t winning this battle

Ryuko: “Rrrgh… Shut up, shut up, sHUT UP!”

Ryuko:

Think again you piece of shit

It’s you who will submit

Gonna to wipe that look off your face

When I trample you, erased

Nobody will ever know your name

Just some farmer with no game

Who do you think you are getting picked for the stage

Get back to Toyama and stay in that cage

Silently, Asato seemed to grit the lyrics coming at him. No comment, no expression. His blank face simply glaring at Ryuko who doubled into his lyrics.

Ryuko: “You want some more, huh?!”

Ryuko:

A cage? How about a grave?

It’s what you get for acting brave

My temper might be a pain in the ass

But it’s the thing that proves that you’re outclassed-

Ichijiku: “Enough!”

Cutting through the courtyard, all the hypnosis microphones seemed to snap off and dissipate when a woman’s voice roared through the temporary battlefield. All the men snapped their heads in the direction of two women standing at the entrance of the hotel, the taller one with a pink ponytail appearing as the source of the shouting.

Ichijiku: “Nothing but barbarians… Officer Ietsuna. Take care of the ECO BooN and Sazanka Zombeez leaders. I'll handle the other two teams.”

Riyeko: “Yes ma’am!”

Following Ichijiku’s instructions, the brunette stalked over to the two teams she was ordered to confront with a small crew of uniformed women behind her. At the sight of the women approaching, Ryuko was quick to threaten with violence, now that he had his weapon strangely nullified.

Ryuko: “Huh? You want to fucking go? I’ll fucking beat your ass once I’m done-”

Riyeko: “No you fucking aren’t! Shut up for one second, you prick!”

Not expecting that response from an officer, Ryuko was effectively silenced. The shorter brunette officer then led herself and a small group of female officers over to the two quarreling groups. Her amber hues pierced through each member, before settling on the two leaders with their now nullified hypnosis microphones.

Riyeko: “Fucking morons the both of you.”

Ryuko: “What did you-?!”

Riyeko: “This is expected of you, Ryuko Umemoto. Kadenokoji-san warned us that your were the most likely to start throwing punches.”

Ryuko: “H…How do you…?”

The Zombeez appeared shocked that this woman regarded their leader so casually. None of them expected the casual, vulgar tone from an officer, especially towards their leader who looked completely flabbergasted by the situation.

Riyeko: “However, we are disappointed in you Asato Rikiya. We were hoping your typical demeanor would prevent you from acting irrationally, but you have surprised us.”

Her gaze drifted to her brother.

Riyeko: “Right, Yano?”

Yano: “Y-Yes ma’am.”

The response earned a strange look from Kensaku pointed at Yano, but he kept silent as Riyeko continued on.

Riyeko: “I’m trusting you boys will accept this act of mercy from Kadenokoji-san. Do this again and you may not be so lucky. Got it?”

It was brief, but straightforward. A warning to the two teams to stay out of trouble until the competition started. Once the two teams had nodded with shame, Riyeko seemed to sneer at their submission (something not missed by the ticked off Ryuko) and sauntered back to the rejoin with Kadenokoji’s team.

Maki: “To think a woman like Ichijiku Kadenokoji would be the one to stop us…”

Shuu (mumbling): “Ramu-chan was right, they do have a canceller. And say...Isn’t the pretty pink lady a person of interest?”

Maki: “Sorry? What did you say?”

Shuu: “Oh, nothing! We can talk about it later. For now…”

Grabbing his team mates, Shuu smiled at the two Umemoto brothers.

Shuu: “We should go! Right?”

Maki: “Indeed.”

Shrugging Shuu off, Ryuko let out a soft growl before looking at Asato.

Ryuko: “Tomorrow you’re going to lose, farmer brat. Say your goodbyes to your family, hm?”

Asato didn’t bother to respond, only glowering at Ryuko with a nod. With that, Ryuko scoffed at the purple haired man and walked away.

Kensaku: “So, that was the yakuza guy who harassed your family?”

Yano: “Yeah, that was the guy. I only saw him a couple times when I was visiting his house years ago. Grandma Rikiya really pissed him off everytime they came around.”

Kensaku: “Heheh, sounds like her… Say, Yano? Do you know that officer?”

Yano: “Huh? Oh! U-Uh it’s uh… Compli-Whatever! I’m tired, let’s go already!”

Kensaku: “Well, that was a weird response. Whatever, come on Asato-kun.”

Asato: “...yeah.”

Asato paused for a moment, watching as each team dispersed from the courtyard and into the hotel. Ryuko, seething in rage. Hisoka, pale as a sheet and trembling. And finally Nobuo. Unlike the others, he seemed unaffected by the conflict and in fact, more confident than ever. Looking down at his own boots, Asato wondered:

Asato: "What should I be feeling right now?"

The End

To be continued in EB V.S. SZ DRB Drama Track 2…

[alphabet-mafia-member]

MU'RAWA - A AVATAR TWOW STORY

- I'm working on introducing Neteyam's side of the story, really looking forward to it;

- I plan on making this one a slooooow burn, I love those, hope you guys don't mind;

- As always, I'm taking suggestions and head-ups;

Check part one here!

II - TSWAYON KERUSEY (First day)

You absorbed the intricate details of his attire and appearance: beaded trinkets wrapped around arms and neck, hair loose, leg guards and a cummerbund made with the same leather of the riding visor. His arms were not like the Metkayina’s, but you could see he was strong.

He was tense, but his hands were outstretched by his side. He wanted to appear harmless, which seemed impossible to you. He was imposing in his way, even if he resembled his mother, you saw the honour and leadership of The Rider of the Last Shadow himself in his eyes.

— Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us. — Tonowari’s voice brought you to reality. — Treat them as your brothers and sisters. Now, they do not know the sea, so they’ll be like babies, taking their first breath.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 

Your First Breath ceremony took place amidst your goodbyes. Ronal guided you to the shore, all the friends and the ones you called family sat on the sand, watching you intently.

“Breathe, from here” Her hands landed on your core, guiding you through deep breaths and long pauses between them. “Your heart is slow. You are ready”

Each step you took into the sea made you feel lighter, mind going blank as Ronal took you to the deep, clear sand. It was hard to keep your eyes open, but the view from underwater was worth it. The sunrays danced with the waves, multi-colored plants swayed to the rhythm of the reef.

Ronal let go of your hands, making simple gestures. She pointed to her chest, raised her hands, then touched your shoulders, and pointed downwards. You nodded.

As she swam up, your heart started beating faster, fear nudging into you. You grew restless, the ocean seemed to weigh on you. You felt trapped, helpless.

Ronal outstretched hands retreated several times, and you took the signal to start swimming up. Each arm stroke gave you a sense of relief, a new strength, and a will to make it through. You broke the surface, inhaling deeply many times, the blurry vision cleared again, and you focused on the Tsa’hik’s blue eyes.

You could not help but laugh straight from the chest. The Tsa’hik gave you a small smile.

Before the sun could reach its peak, your family had left, and you stared for hours at the horizon. There was a pang in your chest as you watched them leave. Ronal stood behind you a

“You will become Metkayina now. A child of the reef. You were born again today, now you must grow with us.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You held your head high, but your eyes were pools of uncertainty. Neteyam missed his home already, the reef was bright and loud, but he found solace in knowing he was not the only one wanting out of this situation.

The chief went as far as implying his family would be useless! And that made you shrink even more within yourself. Have the reef people treated you as less, too? The mere thought made his shoulders tense.

With the dust settled, Neteyam took in his surroundings, and now could properly understand your presence. You weren't one of the chief's children, your for made that sure, you walked with them anyway. You carried only a few of their bags and satchels on your shoulders, and that made sense. Olangi people were used to riding and walking over the plains and rarely relied on their arms.

Your legs, however, were strong, and many trinkets adorned them, strapped tightly to ankles, calves and thighs. He watched you walk, from afar. As Tsireya bounced over the woven walkway, you were deep in thought, forehead wrinkling, steady steps.

Their tent was rather close to the woven pod given to you on your arrival. You hadn't much to yourself, so a large shelter was not needed.

Gently placing their belongings on the floor, you exited on Tsireya's tail. Glimpsing the son's yellow eyes on you again, your own glued to the floor as you went out as fast as possible.

— Tsmuke… Am I… Am I like a baby to the people?

— Why do you say that? Did sa'nu…? — Tsireya halt her steps, wide eyes staring at your nape. Your name left her mouth in a strangled breath.

— No, not the tsa'hik. I don't want to feel the shame of being useless… — Your eyes dart back to the family, crouched down, many words being muttered in their circle.

You missed Ote'we. If you asked him that, he'd tell you Eywa cradles all her children the same, sea or land, young or old. You had your First Breath, you waited patiently for your next step… However, it seemed to take too long.

— I want to go diving. After my tasks.

Tsireya looked at you with a mix of concern and understanding in her eyes. She reached out and gently placed her hand on your arm, offering a reassuring touch.

— Kea, tsmuke, — she said softly. — You are not useless. You have a purpose, just like everyone else.

As you gazed back at the family, Tsireya continued, her voice filled with warmth and encouragement.

— If you want to go diving, then let us go together. — A glimmer of hope sparked within you as you listened to her words.

The weight of self-doubt started to lift, replaced by a sense of possibility and determination. Tsireya's support meant everything to you, and you realized that you were not alone in the reef.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The golden rays of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink as you stood knee-deep in the crystal-clear waters, a familiar sense of anticipation coursing through your veins. A gentle breeze whispered through the shore.

With each passing day, you had dedicated yourself to swimming and diving, immersing yourself in the embrace of the water, taking a deep breath, you dove into the cool depths, the water enveloping you like a second skin.

Tsireya watched you from afar, smiling, her form gracefully following the current. "I race you" she signed. Eyes wide, you tried to refuse, but she already had taken off, heading to the pools on the edge of the reef.

As you went forward, a surge of energy pulsing through your limbs, each stroke more precise and powerful than before. The movements that once felt foreign and clumsy now flowed effortlessly, as if you had become one with the water.

There was no resistance, and even if Tsireya was a few strokes in front of you, you could say it could be a fair game. You felt elated, arms strong, legs quick. As she reaches the finish line, both rise to breathe, a laugh erupts from your chest.

— Ma tsmuke... — You took her shoulders, exhilarated — I did it!

You take a deep breath and submerge yourself in the water again. You feel the familiar pressure as your body adjusts to the depth. As you swim, you remember the days when you struggled to keep under, and couldn't dive without Tsireya's assistance.

This game of yours was a celebration, of how far you've come and the connection you feel with the Great Mother. On the seabed, a stunning shell catches your eye. They match the one in Tsireya's headpiece, and you smile.

You would weave this memory into your Song Chord.

Thank you for reading, liking and sharing! It means a lot to me!

If you like it better, this story will be posted over AO3 under the same title.

Check next part here!

Eywa ngahu livu.

[fancylances]

OC Kiss Week / Day One / Dance

pairing: Nikolai Dragos/Yevgeniy “Geno” Kazimir - Ravnica D&D OCs ockissweek

.

Geno still hasn’t told him where they’re going.

The thief has been like a puppy with pent-up energy all week, when Nikolai has had a moment between meetings and missions to see him. Won’t tell him what’s up, other than Nikolai had better be free in two days. Nikolai goes through his schedule with Petra and the rest of the office, makes sure that the Taskforce won’t need him for anything, but can’t promise—especially not in the Tenth District—that nothing will come up.

But two days have gone by, and no Gruul asshole has half-demolished a building that needs brought back up to code, no overnight Rakdos idiocy that needs cleaned up. And, for once, Nikolai’s schedule is completely free.

His Dimir boyfriend has him by the hand, pulling him through an alley off Tin Street—his grin taking up nearly all of his big, square face. Nikolai frowns, eyeing everyone they pass with learned suspicion. Geno had told him to ditch his usual full Azorius armor, and Nikolai feels practically naked without it. His unoccupied hand clutches his badge from deep in his satchel; an anchor.

“Ta-da!” Geno says finally, and Nikolai’s eyes snap up to the door in front of them. It looks like any other backdoor, just like the dozens of others they’ve already walked by. Nikolai’s mouth pinches further into a confused frown, but Geno’s enthusiasm is absolutely infectious. The justiciar chuckles, hardly any nervousness to it at all.

Geno steps up to the door and raps his knuckles there in a series of coded taps. A similarly-coded reply, to which Geno knocks three more times. The door opens, and Geno pulls Nikolai in.

The place is dark and it smells. Like it’s been recently cleaned, but it still smells like a club. Not the disgusting flesh-ripping sort of Rakdos fare, but a place where there’s normally music, and dancing, and the close movement of bodies. Nikolai lifts an eyebrow at Geno, who looks like he’s just given him a long-awaited gift and expects a reaction in kind.

“Uh,” Nikolai says brilliantly.

“I promised you I’d take you dancing, remember?” Geno says, filling in the blanks and refusing to drop his grin. 

The door closes behind them, and Nikolai sees Elias—one of Geno’s shitty little Dimir friends that Nikolai had met the night he arrested him—who winks and heads for one of the backroom doors before the justiciar can pin him with a thousand questions.

“I remember,” Nikolai says, letting Geno lead him to the middle of the dance floor. “I just thought…”

“What, you’d rather go find a club where everyone’s sweaty and drunk and shoulder-to-shoulder?” Geno asks, knowing his boyfriend all too well (based on the way Nikolai goes sickly pale at the thought). “C’mon, I’ll teach you how.”

There’s a noise behind them, and Nikolai turns to see a small four-piece band setting up. He somehow goes even paler.

“Genya—”

“Don’t worry,” Geno reassures him, and he takes Nikolai’s hands and places one on his shoulder. “They’re cool. Trust me.”

And Nikolai is sure that some Dimir memory magic will somehow be involved, which he balks at—but honestly has a hard time focusing on much more than the way Geno’s big hand feels in the small of his back. The thief winks, squeezing Nikolai’s other hand in his own, and then the music starts.

Nikolai is truly, honestly terrible. He can’t keep time, despite Geno leading him. He’s too stiff, barely bends at the knees, and trips twice on Geno’s feet.

Despite all of that, Geno laughs and smiles and motions for the band to pick it up.

“Just forget about them,” Geno whispers, leaning in close. “Forget about the Azorius, the Taskforce; forget about Ravnica for just one second. Just feel the beat and follow me.”

Nikolai closes his eyes and breathes. Feels Geno’s heart beating against his own chest like the drums echoing in the empty dance hall. And he lets go, for fucking once.

“Okay—” Geno breathes. Taps his foot, bounces slightly on the balls of his feet. Quietly, just under his breath: “Okay. Three, two, one—”

And on the next beat, Geno swings Nikolai into the dance right on cue. Nikolai gives a tiny, helpless little yelp—but he doesn’t resist. Doesn’t dig his heels in and refuse on principle (the principle that he’ll look like an idiot, make a fool out of himself). Nikolai lets himself be led into the fast-paced trot step that Geno launches them into.

The two of them weave their way around empty tables and chairs, sweep right past the band in a blur. Geno gently steers them. Nimble in a way he looks like he shouldn’t be. He keeps their hands knotted tight, spins Nikolai once and only lets go of his waist one time as they reach the far end of the room and Geno unfurls his grip. Nikolai unspools and snaps to a stop at that zenith of momentum. Fingers locked, both at arm’s length.

Nikolai finally cracks a smile. Helpless against the giddy grin and the laugh that bubbles out of him. Geno smiles to match, and he pulls Nikolai sharply back in. They launch back into their quick, long-stride step. Cutting the proverbial rug.

“Where the fuck did you learn to dance?” Nikolai asks over the noise of the music.

Geno turns them, guides their dance effortlessly. “Gotta blend in,” Geno answers vaguely.

A dangerous little smirk strikes Nikolai’s mouth (he nearly treads on Geno’s toes, but the taller man moves almost like he can read Nikolai’s movements before he makes them; like he can read his mind).

“Blend in where?” Nikolai asks.

“Rich people have a lot of shiny shit,” Geno replies. “Rich people throw parties, and parties have dancing. Gotta blend in,” he repeats.

“So you can steal their shiny shit?”

“Hey, you catch on fast,” Geno says. And he winks. Just that little move makes Nikolai’s heart catch, sends a shock through his whole body (like being thrown in ice water; he shivers and moves involuntarily closer).

They stop suddenly, and Nikolai doesn’t have time to wonder why. Geno drops him. Or so he thinks, for a terrible second, as he sinks backwards. Nikolai yelps again, throws a hand around the back of Geno’s neck and tenses for impact—but finds that Geno hasn’t dropped him after all. He’s sunk him into a low dip, still holding tight to Nikolai’s hand and waist. Leaning in over him, grinning knowingly.

Geno’s chest is heaving, drawing tight breaths and hovering over him—curls dangling into his eyes, a sheen of sweat on his brow—the gorgeous cut of his smile across his square face.

Nikolai can’t help himself, and pulls himself up into a hard, needy kiss. 

Geno nearly drops him.

But once the shock of the moment passes, Geno pulls them both out of the dip and reciprocates eagerly. The band keep playing as the Azorius justiciar and the Dimir thief dance their way through open-mouthed kisses in the empty hall.

[sanddusted-wisteria]

A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 13: Nebula

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Also on AO3

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

The builder climbed the stairs to the roof a little quicker than usual, excited to show Qi their latest find. “Hey, Qi!”

“Hello. You sound more energetic than usual tonight.” The builder plopped down next to him.

“Yeah, I am! I gotta show you this…” They took the large satchel off their back and opened the flap. They reached in and out came a helmet, its visor a shiny, opaque gold. They pressed it into Qi’s hands. His eyes widened.

“Is this…?!” The builder laughed, reaching back into the bag and pulling out a large, wrinkly garment. The thick plastic crinkled as they unfolded it out.

“A real-life, bonafide spacesuit, straight from the ruins. The second I found it, I just knew I had to give it to you.”

Qi’s head snapped up. “You’re giving this to me?! You…you’re sure?”

“Well yeah,” the builder snorted. “What else can I do with it?”

Qi turned back to the suit, inspecting it from all angles. “It’s in immaculate condition…even better than the one I already have…” He met the builder’s eyes. “Thank you. So much.”

“You’re welcome, bud. What’s up with the other one?”

“Well, the one I already have is mostly intact…except for the sizable gash in the back midsection. The materials for these suits are too complex for anyone to produce nowadays, making it impossible to repair. That bars me from conducting studies on the suit’s life support systems, which is frustrating. But no longer!”

“Can finally toss the old one, huh? You really gotta clean out your lab,” the builder muttered, recalling the avalanche of relics waiting to be unleashed from Qi’s cabinets.

“What? Nonsense. None of the relics in the research center are in poor enough condition to discard, including the old suit. Besides, that one houses…personal significance, so it will never be discarded, regardless of wear and tear.”

“Personal significance?”

“Yes. It was a gift from my grandfather. And perhaps the sole reason I am here in Sandrock.”

“Lemme guess, that one was found in Sandrock, too.”

“Indeed. It was found during the old relic rush and sent to Vega 5. Specifically, my grandfather’s lab.”

Qi went silent. He stared at the blank visor of the helmet, thumb idly running along its edge. “I…owe a lot to my grandpa,” he murmured.

The builder said nothing, their gaze urging him to go on.

“Do you know how I started my work in astronomy?” They shook their head. “It was on my fourth birthday.

“My parents let me stay up late for the first time, an exuberant occasion for any small child. Apparently my grandpa had one last present for me, but he couldn’t give it until very late at night. I pestered him all day to tell me what it was, but he refused to say anything.

“When the time came, close to midnight, he told me that we were going somewhere. It was a very long walk away. We climbed so many stairs and crossed so many streets that I lost track of where we were. I started to complain when my feet grew tired of walking so much. But my grandpa urged me on, still keeping our destination a secret.

“Eventually, we emerged at the highest point in Vega 5. The hull of the old starship had long been ripped away, so it’s practically the only part of the city that gets any natural light. I was still annoyed at walking so far that I was staring at my shoes, dragging my feet. …Then my grandpa told me to look up.” Qi let out a deep breath and turned his eyes to the stars.

“Can you imagine?” he whispered. “How mystified my child self was to see the great cosmos for the first time?”

I don’t think I need to imagine, the builder thought. The softest of smiles played on his lips. Moonlight and starlight danced across his glasses and the darkness of his eyes, looking almost like another night sky. They felt a swell of warmth, despite the chilly air.

“My grandpa took one look at my face and must’ve realized my life’s calling at the same time I did. He told me about what Vega 5 used to be, how the Old World’s spacefaring ventures flourished before the Day of Calamity, how to properly observe the night sky… All of it enthralled me.

“After that, my grandpa and I would return every so often, and he would tell me about what was in the sky that season. And then when I met Mint, we would sneak out at night sometimes to stargaze. That was one of the first catalysts for my pursuit of science.”

The builder could only continue to stare at the utterly foreign serenity on Qi’s face. Even if they had anything to say, that sight alone would have wiped it all away.

“You know…” He turned to them, and suddenly they were staring straight into the infinite depths of that second sky. They felt a stutter in their chest. “I never really knew why I let you stargaze with me that first time. Or why I let you keep coming. Usually I prefer solitude in everything I do, work or otherwise.” He closed his eyes. “I think it’s because…subconsciously…I missed those nights. Sharing the stars with good company. First with my grandpa, then with Mint, and now with you.”

Good company.

The builder’s heart was pounding. “Well…I’m glad you let me share that joy with you,” they murmured, trying to keep their voice steady. “It’s always nice. Even if I’ve had the worst week ever, I can always come here. It’s so…grounding.”

Qi’s face brightened again. “I can say the same. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a social engagement like this in a long time.”

The builder found themself completely enraptured by the sight, the ever-stoic Qi gazing right at them with the stars in his eyes and such a gentle smile on his face. A smile that they brought to his face. Something warm and wonderful simmered deep within their core as their expression mirrored his.

A moment passed as neither of them said anything more. The builder finally tore their eyes away from Qi’s, when it became too much to keep looking. “Well,” they whispered. “It’s late. I should head back. Thanks for telling me…about everything.”

“Of course,” murmured Qi, just as quietly. “And thank you again for the relic suit. It’s most invaluable.”

The builder was barely cognizant of anything in the real world after that. Their feet simply took them down the stairs and towards home without needing to think. Their hands simply opened their door and worked their toothbrush and pulled the covers over their body, all without a single input from them.

All the while, thoughts of dark eyes and soft smiles and starlight clouded their mind, trailing them from the shadows of the town to the shadows of their room.

Not even the oblivion of sleep could banish them.

Not that they would ever want to banish them.

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

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[sugarfeemaster]

Ramona Flowers- Bruce Yamada

Scott Pilgrim- Vance Hopper

~~~~ Monday, October 16th

Its 6:40 in the morning.. school starts at 8 and the bus I take comes at 7:40 but here I am. Dressed, freshened up, and waiting. I mean what's the possibility he taking morning shift- I nodded a bit off to sleep but.. [there he was again. He zoomed pass me in the mall? Who cares about scenery. He boardslide down the escalator rail and rolled into a store. I darted down the escalator trying to keep up with him. When I did, he was standing infront of a door.. My front door??] *Ring* I sprung up from the kitchen table, wiping the sleep from my eyes and darted towards the door.

There he is.. in all of his glory. His hair was more proper and had on less formal clothing.. brown baggy pants, untucked button up, red sweater vest, dark brown bomber jacket, and a mail delivery satchel. "This is so surreal" I muttered. "Uh hey Lord of the rings guy. Are you.. Griffins Stagg?" Bruce read off the package. "No it's, uh, Vance Hopper. Griffin is my nerdy little brother" "Oh, well good running into you, enjoy your novel." He handed Vance the package and dropped his skateboard.

"W-Wait!" Bruce pause and look back at me. "Aren't you the dude in my dreams?" "Thought we went over this already?" Bruce replied. "So you know! Isn't that strange?" Bruce shook his head no. "There's just a really convenient subspace highway in your head. It's like three miles in 15 seconds." I gave him a blank stare. "It this something they dont teach you in American schools?" "Im from France actually.. I gotta fairly obvious accent? Just elaborate I just woke up" I tried to play it cool. "Okay so it's like.. rapid transit? Subspace highways?" I thought of how to relate to it for more conversation

".. like when you hit the walls in pac-man to go on the other side of the maze?" "Ummm no, it's really nothing like pac-man" I let out a small 'oh'. Its too late to slam the door in his face and order another book. "Crap, thanks for stoppin me. You gotta sign this and I gotta go." Bruce took out a clip board and pen from his mail bag. I leaned against the door frame and crossed my arms "But if I sign you'll leave~" I flirted "Im still on the clock handsome, a good face aint that worth losing my job" he chuckled. Driving me crazy "It's not my fault technically. You skateboard through my head, literally. So that's why im fuckin obsessed with you, the least ya could do is let me go out with you"

He blankly stares at me biting the pen.. way to fuck shit up Vance. Now he thinks you're some low-life stalker "I didn't say obsessed, your obsessed.. with my headspace subway" How am I this much of a fuckin loser. I got the looks all I had to do was flirt, now I gotta skip school to blow my brains out. "I totally race around in your mind all day huh doll? Whatever helps you sleep at night and sign this clipboard" I took the clipboard and he gave me the pen. What if he's into losers "So.. four o'clock?" I signed my name.

"Make that six, I got baseball practice. Meet me at the field." "Heh.. how could I forget. Im alright with that" I handed him the clipboard and pen. I watched him skateboard down the street till he turned down a block. "And when you get back home from your daye with whore boy, I'm expecting you to bring me back some twizzlers. Red not black" "You sneaky little rat!" I turned to face Griff. "(Boys settled down.. im still tired)" we looked towards the couch. "(Sorry mama)"

I was working on this AU during the summer on wattpad 👀

[capsensislagamoprh]

A few nights later, well past midnight, Christophe made his way into the main room, a long list of details scrolling in his head. The Swiss man considered the ceiling. It was tall enough, and did look like it could be used to brace his unique party trick, but he wanted to be sure. He had plans. Pausing, Christophe blinked as he was once again struck by an unusual sight. A particular dark clad figure sitting stock straight, head bent over books as he did what appeared suspiciously to be school work. The steel case tapped the table as Christophe moved to sit at the other end, his gaze curious. Otabek looked up sharply, his dark framed glasses causing his eyes to be illuminated by the single light he was working with. It gave the stoic man a studied air, reminding Christophe of a business mogul or some high end fashion ad for college students. It was an interesting look. He wondered if Yuri had ever seen it.

"Didn't know you wore glasses," Christophe offered as a way of greeting.

"Only for long bouts of reading," the younger man answered.

"Interesting." The case clicked open. The last time the portable pole had been used it had sustained some damage from a particularly exuberant dance routine. A few of the connection points were threadbare, and while he didn't want to admit it, he might have to retire this one soon. Ah, but there was a new model available, and wasn't that the silver lining!

They sat like that, companionable in silence, for some time. Christophe polishing and preening the pieces, making sure they worked correctly, Otabek carefully writing meticulous answers for something online. He had to admit he was curious. "What are you doing?" he asked casually.

"Homework."

No words minced. How very on brand for the young Kazakh. "For what?"

Otabek lifted his head, turning his gaze to Christophe. His blank expression revealed nothing. 

"School."

"Haven't you graduated already?"

"Higher education. For my degree."

Color Christophe intrigued. "Oh? That's forward thinking. What are you going for? I mean, what degree." Best not to give Otabek any way to short answer him. While he was unfailingly polite, he had been hanging out with Yuri, and you just could never tell how much of the Russian spitfire would rub off on him.

"Medical."

Christophe stopped his menstruations. Medicine? Well, now he was fascinated. "What type?"

"I am not sure. Right now I must pass the basics. Perhaps sports therapy, or an orthopedist."

It was so matter of fact. Such a done deal that no matter what path the young man chose, he knew Otabek would manage it with calm dignity. It made him want to shake the stoic demeanor, see what came loose.

"Are you coming to the bachelor party?"

"No."

No? NO?! Christophe looked bothered, confused and affronted. "Why not?!"

"I am tasked with keeping Yuri occupied so that the rest of the adults may have their fun without him becoming overly excited."

Without Yuri becoming overly aggressive, he meant, and Christophe knew it. It would be a shame to not have the young man there. He'd not been able to get him on that pole, tried several times the last time it came out, but Otabek had refused staunchly .

"Shame," he said casually. "It's going to be fun."

"I am assured both the events will receive glowing reviews from those who recall it."

Christophe felt himself hitch mid smile. Was... was that shade? Oh, sweet giddy Freya, that was shade! How intriguing! He had to find a way to get a reaction like that out of the Kazakh in a more public setting. He needed witnesses! Looking over his portable pole, he considered just how to accomplish this. So deep into elaborate plots was he that it caught him by surprise when Otabek stood. His books were closed, laptop tucked neatly away in a black leather satchel. He disappeared down the hall with nary a sound, returning without the school things. Instead he held a handful of washers, a few screws and a universal tool. "Here. These should help."

Christophe took the items, looking them over. Without a word, Otabek helped him fit the parts to the stripped connection points, stabilizing the pole. Then the young man stood, gave a polite goodnight, and disappeared into the room he shared with Yuri, the door closing silently behind him.

One way or another Christophe was going to get him on that pole. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. Someday. It would be good for him. But for now, he had a stag party to finalize.

part 1

[imnayeonjaem]

1978. | track one: the one who sat beside me

"an angel. a real life guardian angel, right before hongjoong’s very eyes."

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked. <- previous | 1978 masterlist | next -> character(s): kim hongjoong, park seonghwa tags: first meetings, awkwardness, angst, emotions, unsupportive father, leaving home, the tiniest drug reference, smoking, explicit language word count: 3.2k summary: the time hongjoong left home for seoul, only to find a friend in the man who sat beside him..

you looked me in the eyes and said “it doesn’t matter what they think, i’m always by your side in the end;”

× November, 1972 ×

Hongjoong had been on his feet for three hours.

He had a funny mindset about the whole thing: stay on your feet, keep walking forward, each step forward is another one you are not taking back.

He wasn’t sure when his weary legs had finally decided to cave in, but not before long he found himself slumped down on a bench on the side of the road. Three hours was a really long time, but it wasn’t as though he was keeping steady track of it.

With a huff, he pulled his bag up onto the space beside him and dug through until he found his flask. It was just water, but in the back of his mind he wished he had a kick of soju in it; Hongjoong knew that was a bad idea though, he needed to remain sober and keep his mind clear at all times.

Closing his flask after one swig, he gazed around at the bustling city and took in every ambient sound he heard, letting it overwhelm his senses for a little while.

Taking a one way train to Seoul was a risky move.

Hongjoong didn’t really know what he’d even find here. Perhaps he was itching for a fresh start. A clean slate on which he could fashion a new life for himself and let bygones be bygones.

But as he sat on the bench and slowly put the flask back in his leather satchel, he came to realise that he couldn’t make something of nothing.

And in effect, Hongjoong had nothing.

The satchel, a half-empty flask of water, a cassette tape, ₩30,000 in cash and an old acoustic guitar in a worn out case, resting against the bench to his left. He hadn’t even brought any extra clothes or toiletries with him.

Hongjoong gazed at the guitar case and chuckled to himself: he truly did have his priorities straight.

The laughter was short-lived as a frown swept across his face. When he thought back to how his parents felt when he bid them both goodbye - the tears in his mother’s eyes and the certain look of disappointment on his father’s face - it filled his chest with cement and clouded his brain to the point he could feel his own eyes watering.

“I need to go and explore what’s out there for me, ma,” he had told his mother, holding her in his arms and gently rubbing her back. Behind her stood his father, sharp eyes fixed solely on him with his lips thinned out to a gossamer thread. “Everything will be alright.”

The words had died in his throat as he watched his father turn his back.

Hongjoong had had his mind made up for a while, it was just knowing when to leave. He supposed there was never going to be a right time, a perfect time, and that thought had been plaguing him from the moment he got on the train.

Idly, he dragged his fingers across the top of the guitar case, his attention on the never-ending traffic that continuously flooded his vision.

He didn’t even notice someone sitting down beside him.

“That posture’s no good for your back, y’know.”

Hongjoong shifted at the voice then looked left. Beside him, a man had just put a cigarette between his lips and was lighting the end.

“U-Um..”

The stranger held out the open box to Hongjoong, to which Hongjoong silently shook his head. The man shrugged, “Please yourself,” and tucked the box back in his pocket.

Hongjoong stared at this man as he blissfully took a hit of his cigarette and rested his elbow on the back of the bench. Silence settled like mud on cobblestones. Hongjoong slowly took his eyes off the stranger and turned back to the traffic ahead.

Flicking off some embers, the man tilted his head towards Hongjoong. “You new around here?”

Hongjoong was startled, ultimately. He brought his case closer to his side and nodded. Never in his life had someone initiated a conversation quite like this, and so he was struggling to navigate small talk in a way he was familiar with.

The stranger ran a hand through his hair then extended it across the bench, “Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong snapped his head back to the man. His eyes flickered between his hand and his face. “Hm?”

With a laugh, he said, “My name is Seonghwa.” His arm was still outstretched, an invitation for Hongjoong to shake his hand.

Hongjoong cleared his throat and eventually did so. “Hongjoong.”

“Hongjoong? Well, nice to meet you.” They retracted their arms and Seonghwa took another hit. “So.. Hongjoong. What brings you to Seoul? Where are you from?”

“Anyang-si,” answered Hongjoong.

“Ah! I’m from Jinju myself,” said Seonghwa. He took another puff and exhaled. “Moved to Seoul about a year ago, attending university here. What about you?”

Hongjoong swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and straightened his back. That posture’s no good for your back, y’know.

“Uh- um-” Hongjoong hid his lips and looked askance. He wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to continue this conversation, or relay his life story to a man he’s just met.

In the seconds it took for him to ponder whether or not he should lie, Seonghwa sensed his hesitation and stopped himself from prying. “Y’know, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Your life, your business. Just thought I’d come and keep you company is all. You seem a bit lost and tired.”

And in four sentences, Seonghwa had successfully crashed Hongjoong’s brain into a wall.

Gazing back at the smoker, Hongjoong properly studied his appearance for the first time since he sat down.

Dark, long-ish hair, slightly curled at the bottom, black button-down shirt and a pair of trousers. He wore a trench coat over top and a pair of dress shoes.

A stark contrast to the thrifted band shirt and skinny jeans Hongjoong was wearing.

If there was one thing Hongjoong could say about Seonghwa, it was that he was very.. put-together.

So, what the fuck is he doing talking to me of all people?

The question seemed to translate from his incessant staring to the point Seonghwa looked back and sighed. “I get what it’s like. To be on your own. To not have any direction. To not know what you’re doing with your life. I spotted you from the other side of the road as you basically fell onto the bench. I recognise that kinda-” He gestured vaguely to Hongjoong. “Listlessness. You’re looking for something new.”

Hongjoong blinked a few times. Never before has he been psychoanalysed in this manner.

The static expression on Hongjoong’s face made Seonghwa grin faintly. “See?”

“..Shit,” breathed Hongjoong. For some reason, he started to feel a huge weight being lifted off his chest. He gripped his guitar case. Tears began to fill his eyes again. A lump was forming in his throat.

“I just wanna say.. If you need any help, I’d like to help out.”

Hongjoong had never expected this when he first arrived in Seoul. This was unprecedented to his mind.

“Are- are you sure?” he blurted before he could stop his train of thought.

“Sure!” Seonghwa replied, all too genuinely for Hongjoong to comprehend. “You’re in need of a good meal, a drink, and I’m guessing you’ve got nowhere to sleep tonight?”

Hongjoong shook his head, probably of all sense at the same time. This outpour of consideration and willingness to help him had caught him so off guard. Was he actually about to take Seonghwa at his word? Doubt gradually began to settle in.

“Well, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa stood up, dropped his cigarette and crushed it under foot, “I know a good ramen place just around the corner. Join me for lunch?”

Hongjoong gazed up at him, absolutely dumbfounded. The sun provided the most jaw dropping backlight against Seonghwa’s head. An angel. A real life guardian angel, right before Hongjoong’s very eyes.

“Okay,” was all Hongjoong said. He stood, then put the strap of his guitar case on one shoulder and the one of his satchel on the other.

“Alright then!” Seonghwa smiled. “Follow me.”

He walked off, but Hongjoong stayed rooted to the spot for a few seconds. Everything had happened so fast, and he didn’t exactly know what he was getting himself into. Should he even trust Seonghwa?

Seonghwa came to a stop in the middle of the street and looked back. He gestured in the direction of the ramen shop and said, “You coming?”

Hongjoong took a deep breath. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into.

He started walking. Seonghwa grinned. They eventually began strolling side by side.

Hongjoong was absolutely going to take that risk.

you, who sat beside me my goddamn guardian angel you gotta know what it means to me to have you in my world..

× April, 1973 ×

“Happy Birthday!”

Seonghwa was never really one for surprises, less so on his birthday.

But, he couldn’t hold back a charmed smile as he stared at the cake Hongjoong lovingly made for him, sitting proudly on the table with a single lit candle in the middle.

“You know by now I’ve never been much of a cook, but.. I hope at least my baking’s alright?”

Seonghwa’s smile grew and he let a chuckle go. “No, I remember from the time you managed to set off this block’s fire alarm.”

“Hey!” Hongjoong swatted his arm playfully. “I got it under control, didn’t I?”

“Sure thing, Six-String.” Hongjoong’s mouth clamped shut at that nickname. “Now, what am I wishing for?”

Folding his arms, Hongjoong shifted to one foot. “I’m not supposed to tell you what to wish for, that’s not the point of making wishes!”

“I know, I know, just..” Seonghwa’s eyes flitted around the room, as if willing some divine intervention from somewhere. “..Throwing the question out there.” He leaned closer to the candle as Hongjoong shook his head. Closing his eyes, Seonghwa made one wish before blowing out the candle.

For my 21st birthday, give Hongjoong the big break he’s always deserved.

As the smoke quickly dissipated, Hongjoong’s cheering filling his ears, Seonghwa opened his eyes and stood up straight.

“Now-” began Hongjoong, “shall I go put on some music while we cut the cake?” He was already lifting the cake carefully off the table to take it into the kitchen.

Seonghwa headed into the living room, “Sure. I’ll put on your demo.”

Hongjoong was lucky the countertop was directly in front of him.

When he turned back, about to humbly protest Seonghwa’s proposal of putting on his demo of music, he noticed Seonghwa already heading over to the cassette machine and picking up his tape.

Lifting up the lid, Seonghwa popped the tape inside and closed it, then pressed play.

Hongjoong immediately hid his face as his demo started. It was just a silly little tune, one he wrote about a year prior and recorded on his father’s cassette machine when he was at work. The chords filled the space of the living room, and not long after, Hongjoong’s soft vocals followed.

Seonghwa subtly nodded his head along to the melody; it was probably the hundredth time he had listened to this song since the first time Hongjoong was confident enough to share it with him.

It was about a month into them knowing each other. They had slowly become friends over a few drinks and a few trips to that same old ramen place on the corner. Eventually, Hongjoong came around to tell Seonghwa what the guitar case and the mystery cassette tape in his satchel were all about.

Seonghwa knew nothing about the industry and had no experience in music theory or instruments, having studied chemistry at university. That didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate Hongjoong’s music, and he had accrued a vast collection of vinyls over the last couple of years, ranging from soft rock to alternative to the more experimental. Hongjoong recognised many of them, and had delighted in sharing some listening sessions with Seonghwa over the past few months.

The chorus kicked in as Hongjoong put a slice of cake onto a plate.

“God, this song is just- It’s just got something in it, y’know?” said Seonghwa as he tapped his fingers on the side table.

Hongjoong snorted. “Well, for the record, I did not lace it with anything, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa lifted a brow, utterly amazed. “I’ve said it before, Joong, I’ll say it again, you could go places with this..”

Hongjoong paused. He set the knife down on the side and took a deep breath. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.” The insecurity in his voice won over so fast. He rested his hands on the countertop and sighed.

“And I’ve meant it every single time, don’t think I haven’t.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes. There was never any doubt in Seonghwa’s conviction, not by a long shot. It was always just Hongjoong’s belief in himself. The industry was so saturated, filled to the brim with skill and talent, and Hongjoong never once believed he could make it by even the smallest margin.

The song continued to play. It was the first time it ever made Hongjoong cry after hearing it.

He sank to the kitchen floor, drew his knees close to his chest and sobbed.

Seonghwa pivoted on the spot at the sound of his fall then ran over to kneel beside him. “Hongjoong..?” He rubbed Hongjoong’s shoulder in an effort to comfort him. “Hey, come on, it’s okay..”

“I gave up so much when I left Anyang-si-” Hongjoong cried, wiping away his tears with his sleeves. His breathing was shallow and he sniffled every couple of seconds. Seonghwa frowned, then moved to sit beside him properly. The song was still playing.

“I know.. You took a risk not many would take!” Seonghwa tried to laugh, but it didn’t lighten the mood at all. He drew back to sincerity and wrapped an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulder, letting the moment lie for a few seconds until Hongjoong spoke again.

“I keep thinking about my mum.. And dad.. I see my ma’s face.. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there, in front of me, crying her eyes out and I can’t-” Hongjoong choked on his words and stared at the floor.

Seonghwa glanced over at him. He took a breath, trying to think of the right words or, whether words were appropriate at all.

“I couldn’t let anything or anyone hold me back,” Hongjoong continued, lifting his head. “I guess I was being stubborn and selfish..”

Seonghwa interjected then, “Hongjoong, it is not selfish to follow your passion. Music is in your heart, it’s in your soul! Even when you first arrived and you had no idea what to do, that was the one thing you were sure of. It is your parents' job to love you and support you and they didn’t do that.”

Hongjoong swallowed the lump in his throat. “..Ma supported me. She often enjoyed listening to me playing the guitar.” He smiled to himself in reminiscence. “She was just scared. She was scared of me leaving home by myself and going somewhere I had never been before. I think she would’ve wanted to come with me,” he chuckled through his tears.

“And your dad?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “He didn’t like it. He’s always been under the impression that me getting into rock music was a bad sign. I never knew what he was talking about. I still don’t.”

Seonghwa exhaled. “Have you spoken to your parents recently?”

Hongjoong nodded faintly, “I reached out to ma a few weeks back. I sent her a letter. She replied and..” He wiped away some more stray tears and sniffed. “It was nice.”

“Reach out to her again,” said Seonghwa, nudging him a little. “If she really does support you, don’t let go of that. Don’t be scared of that.”

Hongjoong gazed over at Seonghwa, then knitted his brows as it suddenly dawned on him. “My God-” He covered his eyes with his hands in disappointment. “It’s your fucking birthday, what am I-”

At that point, the song had come to an end.

Seonghwa chuckled, “Don’t worry, it was good to have this chat, allow you to get some feelings out in the open.” He quickly embraced Hongjoong then got up off the floor. Hongjoong followed suit. “Now, let’s eat this cake before it goes bad.”

“Yes, let’s- oh- the song ended,” Hongjoong remarked, glancing over at the machine.

Picking a bit of frosting off with his finger and licking it, Seonghwa ran back over to the machine, “Good excuse as any to play it again!”

“Seonghwa!” Hongjoong called. Then he laughed. A lot. Heartily. “Whose birthday is it again?”

“It’s mine!” announced Seonghwa. “And for my birthday, I wanna play one of my new favourite songs, is that alright with you, Six-String?” he teased, looking back at Hongjoong with a glimmer in his eyes.

Hongjoong pouted and glared, though it wasn’t serious in the least bit. “Don’t tell me that was your wish,” he joked, knowing full well it wasn’t, and that Seonghwa wouldn’t tell him any different.

“Sure, sure..” Seonghwa replied, waving his hands in mock-dismissal. He pressed play again. Something shifted in the room.

Not exactly, Hongjoong, but close enough.

Seonghwa smirked.

Hongjoong enjoyed the slice of cake.

your words are always in my head i never will forget how did i deserve your wisdom trust me, i will always sit and listen oh, dearest friend, i cherish you no matter what, oh dearest friend, i cherish you

× November, 1973 ×

“..Seonghwa.”

“..Hongjoong.”

“It’s happening. It’s fucking happening.”

“It sure is, Six-String. You’ve made it.”

Hongjoong scoffed at him. “Okay, don’t go that far..”

Seonghwa nudged him. “You have made it, my friend.”

Hongjoong glanced over at him. His eyes glazed over and they began to well up with tears. “..Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Seonghwa pulled back, eyebrows raised, “For what?”

“For being the one who sat beside me. For taking me in and not caring about what people might think.”

For the first time in a while, Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong properly.

Nothing had changed in the year since they first met. They’d had their ups and downs, but through it all, Seonghwa stuck by Hongjoong’s side. Hongjoong was here for a reason. He gave up so much to come to Seoul and realise his dream and Seonghwa could do nothing more than admire him for his strength. Passion. Skill. Creativity. Perseverance.

Hongjoong had been through it all to make his dream come true, and Seonghwa had willingly been by his side every step of the way.

To understand that Hongjoong had kept such a thought locked up in his head made his throat close up. “..Hongjoong-” He almost choked on the name. “It doesn’t matter what they think. I am always by your side in the end.”

Hongjoong felt the first tear fall. “You’ll be at the gig next Saturday, yeah?”

With a chuckle, Seonghwa stood up from the bench and turned back to him.

“Hongjoong.. I’ll be backstage.”

Hongjoong’s heart stopped in his chest. He stood up beside Seonghwa and exhaled.

Seonghwa stared back at him and poked his arm. “Join me for lunch?”

That made Hongjoong laugh. “Sure thing.”

As they started walking away from the bench, Seonghwa quickly paused to say something important.

“Oh, and by the way.. Happy birthday.”

Hongjoong smiled. They walked side by side.

It was a new beginning.

taglist: @bikerjongho | @viviixlyy

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