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sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

of night owls & early birds

Kuroo x Reader

desc: Kuroo, your roommate and longtime best friend, likes you but he really dislikes your sleep schedule. alternatively, your crush gets up way too early and you “suffer the consequences.”

a/n: the irony of working on this fic at 5 am doesn’t escape me… but it also hasn’t assuaged my awful sleep patterns. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: school/general anxiety, crass/offbeat humor (jokes about planning your own funeral), idk if you’re scared of love don’t read this - it’s very fluffy.

wc: 3.6k

--- You’re screwed, you think, as a light flickers on just outside of your room. It illuminates the carpet underneath your doorway with a warm orange tint.

And though it shouldn’t make your heart jump into your throat, it does.

You’d promised, swore to Kuroo, that you’d be asleep by 2 am - and to him, even that was a stretch. But he should count himself lucky that you’d even agreed to his demands at all.

After all, he is well-versed in the world of night owls.

Kenma, though maybe not your kindred spirit, shares at least a couple of qualities with you. Kuroo likes refer to these “qualities” as crimes.

One of these crimes (and quite possibly Kuroo’s least favorite) is your god-awful sleep schedule. And you’re a repeated offender.

There was only so much nagging and bickering you could take before you’d cracked and told exactly him what he wanted to hear. In a flurry of words, you’d agreed to turn off your laptop, close up your textbooks and actually put your head to a pillow.

You also may have been bribed.

To sweeten this deal, Kuroo had promised to buy you pizza this upcoming Friday, given that you actually did get some rest.

But as you reluctantly lift your phone, the glass screen glowing a little too brightly, you realize that it’s already 5:30 am.

You grimace.

It’s Tuesday morning. Meaning that the repetitive beeping across the hall is Kuroo’s alarm.

Your lips press into a firm line. Most birds don’t even get up at such a godless hour.

You can’t help but wonder what it’s like to have a functional morning routine. Or a morning routine at all.

Leaning back in your plastic desk chair, you squeeze your eyes shut.

It stings.

You probably got so caught up staring at the blob-like words on your computer screen that, somewhere in the process, your body had forgotten how to blink.

And while the tension in your neck and shoulders is painful, it’s nothing in comparison to the festering guilt of not listening to your longtime best friend and now roommate (a suspiciously well-intentioned college boy who had somehow managed to win your heart over the course of this fall semester.)

Thinking back, working on your final English assignment at midnight wasn’t the brightest of ideas. It wasn’t even due for another week. But as due dates loomed, the impending fear of a bad grade had begun to burrow deeply within you.

If you could just pump the brakes on deadline anxiety, you wouldn’t feel so pressured to type incoherent sentences at odd and empty hours of the night.

And maybe Kuroo wouldn’t feel the need to coerce you into a firmer sleep schedule. Though you do find this caring habit of his to be inexplicably endearing.

Thus, the prickling feeling continues to infiltrate your restless mind and the brewing concoction of anxiety and guilt in your tummy makes you feel uneasy.

But before you can sneak into bed and tuck yourself inconspicuously under the covers, you hear a floorboard creak.

As if on instinct, you hold in a breath.

Kuroo isn’t one to forget about little promises. Of course, he’d want to know if you’d made good on your side of the deal.

Gently, you close your laptop and swivel your chair to face the door. You still your movements, keeping your body taut against the back of your chair.

More soft steps fall just outside of your room.

Your eyes can’t pick a place to land, so they choose to wander. And with a quick scan of your room, it doesn’t take you long to realize that your bedside lamp had been left on - an instant giveaway.

You begin planning for your funeral.

However, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t go out this way. You prepare yourself for death by interrogation or shame-induced coma.

Regrettably, neither options seem very interesting to you. If you ask politely, maybe your friends will engrave a portion of an epic poem into your gravestone just to make your passing seem more sophisticated. Yeah, that sounds nice and pretentious.

Okay, you might be overdramatizing things - Kuroo would never send you to your grave. But that doesn’t change the fact that your psyche likes to play tricks on you in the wee hours of the morning and that the eerie quality of the atmosphere somehow reminds you of a cemetery.

As you sort through who-gets-what on your will, there’s a not so sudden knock on your door. The soft tap makes your heart skip for two reasons:

The first being that you still haven’t gotten used to the fluttering in your chest from him being present all the time. Developing a crush on him (and suspecting feeling on his side) had made you a little jumpier over the past few months.

And the second had to do with the fact that you were actually going to have to talk to him about this. To apologize for being a bold-faced liar. It wasn’t clear to you whether you’d be teased or reprimanded. And honestly? You’re not sure which option would feel worse.

So you take a breath and steel yourself.

“Y/n?” A gravelly voice sounds from outside your room.

It’s tainted with sleep. You shiver.

There’s a preemptive sigh, “C’mon y/n, your light is on. I know you’re awake.”

You’ve been caught, so there’s no point in prolonging it.

“...You can come in.” You reply meekly, clenching and unclenching your fists.

The door cracks open.

That soft orange hall light floods into your room and directly into your eyes. With a squint, you try to fully visualize Kuroo. He’s positioned himself so that he’s leaning in your doorway with his arms crossed.

Before coming to grips with the situation, you scan the boy up and down. Amusingly, you realize that he has to duck his head just to fit underneath the door header - he really is tall. You have to wonder if he’ll ever stop growing.

Aside from his intensified bedhead (which doesn’t shock you) and the sleepiness in his eyes, he looks normal. But you must look positively spooked, because the moment he sees you, there’s a flicker of humor in his golden eyes… and an almost invisible smirk.

At least he isn’t angry. That fact alone allows you to let out the breath you’ve been holding in. Anger isn’t really a trait you’d ascribe to him anyway.

“It’s funny…” He wonders aloud, “I thought we’d agreed to something yesterday.” Kuroo brings a mocking hand to his chin in a thinking motion.

Your body naturally begins to shrink into your seat. You want to sigh, protest, explain yourself… anything to keep him from lecturing you. But, technically, you deserve this.

“I’m pretty sure you promised me you’d be in bed, asleep,” He emphasizes “by 2 am…”

“And” he adds, motioning evenly to your set up, “I highly doubt you’re up early just to get work done.”

You bite your lip while gripping and releasing the fabric of your sweatpants.

Kuroo isn’t a mind reader by any extent, but the body has a language of its own. Right now, your actions are murmuring signs of discomfort. And exhaustion, according to your dark circles.

Kuroo heaves out something between a sigh and a yawn before he takes another couple of steps into your room.

The sound of mattress springs and rustled bed sheets gets you to turn your head toward him, though you hesitate to meet his gaze.

He makes himself comfortable.

This is a familiar scene, Kuroo invading your space. Well, it’s less of an invasion and more of an unspoken agreement that the both of you can ‘come and go as you please’ in regards to bedrooms, granted that the “invader” knocks first.

Essentially, if Kuroo wanted company, he would find his way to you and plop himself on the edge of your bed. You would do likewise. The interaction could last 5 minutes or 3 hours depending on your mental stamina that day.

In a way, it mimicked your childhood - going over to Kenma’s and knocking relentlessly on his bedroom door until he finally let you and Kuroo tumble through the doorway together. The only difference now is in the way that you spend time together. Conversations become deeper a lot faster. Belly-laughs after a miserable day of classes are considered sacred. Study sessions are done shoulder to shoulder and with a myriad of disgusted faces when frustrated with a particularly tricky problem.

But this is different from your usual conversations. It’s sickeningly early, you haven’t slept a wink, and a tidal wave of stress from this entire semester is finally crashing into you.

“I’m sorry,” You start softly, fiddling with your fingers, “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about this expository essay I’ve been working on and my mind is totally numb. I’m so stressed out by all of these-”

“-Classes.” He finishes for you.

You swallow, bobbing your head softly in confirmation.

“I get it.”

And just by looking at him, you know he understands. For someone so laid back and put together, Kuroo’s eyes could speak a novel’s worth of emotion and information at any given moment.

“But you’ve already spent more than enough time on it.”

Have I really? Have I actually done enough? Because it feels like I’m failing. Like I can’t seem to finish what I’ve started. I can’t even complete this paper.

But at least Kuroo sounds resolute.

He’s stating a fact, not an opinion.

And he’s not trying to be unempathetic. He does get it, he really does.

But Kuroo also sees how hard you work already. And he knows all too well that there’s only so much work you can get done in one night. You’ve got enough on your plate even without your classes, so having the extra academic pressure is just the cherry on top.

“Mm,” you hum, “yeah, I guess you of all people would know.” You hunch over and rest your elbows on your thighs, using your hands to prop your head up.

He’d been there at your most and least productive moments. On days when you were cranking out a few thousand words and nights when you could only jot down a few sentences. Hell, Kuroo had even volunteered to help you edit and format it when the time came. What kind of person offers to do that before they’ve even been asked to?

It’s just another feature of his charm, you suppose.

But you still feel stuck. Like you’re a boat stranded in the middle of the ocean and you just can’t seem the muster up the strength to pull up the anchor. The anxiety lingers.

“...It just doesn’t feel like it’s ever enough, y’know?” You breathe out.

There it is. Finally out in the open.

And Kuroo hums thoughtfully to himself.

He’s been there.

Not knowing if the effort he put into his work was having any actual effect. Being unsure as to when he should stop taking responsibility for something. Putting work, classes, and people before himself.

It’s draining; a swirling spin-cycle of exhaustion.

But he’s also been learning that “enough” is subjective. So he decides to say just that.

“Enough is a pretty vague word, don’t you think?”

You blink.

Yeah, you suppose it is.

Hopefully this isn’t another one of his bizarre epiphanies - the kind that makes you think your brain is going to implode. Sometimes Kuroo could be a little too philosophical for his and your own good. But you humor him anyway.

Shifting in your seat, you give him a stiff nod.

Satisfied with your understanding, he proceeds with his thought.

“What I mean is that we probably have totally different definitions of enough...” he drawls on, “... and different standards too.”

“Okay...”

“What I mean is that-” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “-what’s ‘enough’ to you may not be ‘enough’ to me. And vice versa.”

Kuroo tilts his head back, brows furrowing in thought. He’s grasping for the right way to put it.

“Y/n, I think you’ve done enough. You’ve worked hard,” he points out, “and I don’t think I know anyone who deserves a break more than you do.”

That makes you pause. You lift your head up to catch his gaze - his eyes are already studying your expression. Something inside of you stops functioning because never have you seen such raw sincerity. Or maybe you have, but you’re only just now noticing it.

He gives you a gentle smile. It makes your chest ache.

“You mean it?” You half-whisper.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You’ve known this for years now, but Kuroo truly has a way with words. They had the ability to pierce like a harpoon or stick sweetly to you like warm honey. Even with a few (thousand) shitty jokes littered throughout your conversations, it’s only natural to be awestruck by him. By his ability to make even the most awkward of situations a little more bearable. How he subliminally knows how to soothe and temper you. You think he would make a really great businessman - he’s quite persuasive; a real salesperson.

One part of you wants to apologize to him again. Another part wants to jump up and kiss him. To tear up and cry in his arms with relief. You chalk these potential reactions up to exhaustion and hormones… but you don’t write them off entirely.

Because suddenly being 3 feet apart feels like miles. And your bed is looking terribly comfortable.

“Mind if I join you?” You ask, but you’re already moving from your seat.

He gives you an indifferent shrug - though he feels anything but.

“It’s your bed.”

Oh, you’re well aware of that fact. You can already feel heat rising to your face.

You stand up slowly, raising your arms to the ceiling in one final attempt to stretch. Then softly, you place a knee to the mattress and wedge yourself on the rest of the way until you’re sitting crisscrossed in front of him. He shifts his torso so that it’s facing you.

And now that you’re finally eye to eye, you can breathe.

He may be your crush, but you feel strangely comfortable in his presence. You always have. It’s part of what makes Kuroo... well, Kuroo. He embodies security while still pushing you out of your comfort zone. And for that, you’re grateful.

You break the silence.

“I really am sorry,” you echo your earlier apology.

You undoubtedly are. And you’re not sure why it feels like such a heavy thing to say over something as menial as a good night’s sleep.

“Hey, hey,” He soothes, reaching a hand over to ruffle your hair, “it’s no big deal, alright?”

You send him a half-hearted glare but it immediately breaks into a soft smile. His hand lingers for a moment longer than it should before he draws it away. You miss the teasing touch.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to maintain eye-contact, but even as you look away, you note that his eyes remain concentrated on you. You can’t tell if it’s you who has moved closer or if he has. Either way, those few inches of distance have narrowed by a decent margin.

“I honestly just wanted you to get some rest. You’ve had it rough and by the looks of it-” He scans your face like he’s trying to diagnose you with something.

“Hey, watch it-” You warn, narrowing your eyes.

You already know you look tired. Kuroo loves reminding you of that in his own little way.

He smirks playfully, continuing anyway.

“-You could really use the sleep.” Kuroo’s raspy voice trails off.

“But apparently even pizza isn’t a convincing enough strategy.” He gives you a lopsided grin.

You shake your head, “Oh no, no, the pizza was very convincing.”

He scoffs, “Was it, now?” Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, “Because you seem very awake to me.”

“Can’t we just blame this on the paper, please?” You sigh.

He furrows his brows in contemplation, “Hmm, no. I don’t think so. This is partially your fault.” A rather underwhelming response.

“A small part.”

“I’d say it's fifty-fifty.” He reasons with a raised eyebrow.

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “Okay, you can quit whatever-” You gesture to his expression, “this is.” He always managed to pull the strangest faces and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh.

He snorts, “Oh? I thought you liked-” Kuroo gestures to his own face, “whatever this is.”

His voice has a curious edge to it. Some might even call it flirtatious.

And you go quiet.

You can’t help but stare at him. His messy hair, his barely parted lips. The fact that Kuroo just woken up and somehow still looks this attractive to you is so annoying. So frustrating.

And words are failing you.

It was an innocent comment. He’s just messing with you like he usually does. Maybe this has all gone a little bit too far. You should probably just say good night (or good morning) and rest your eyes.

Yet you can’t shake the feeling that this could be the perfect segway into addressing your relationship.

At literally any other time of day, you might be more rational. You could reason with yourself that this is quite literally the weirdest time to bring up your feelings for him. But something in you needs to close the literal and figurative gap between you two. And, for some indecipherable reason, it has to happen right now.

Whatever the outcome, you trust that Kuroo will always be your safe place.

So you throw caution to the wind.

“Actually, Kuroo…” You begin, staring at your hands which are placed neatly on your lap. “I really do.”

His eyes snap to yours.

This time it’s Kuroo’s turn to go silent in contemplation. Taking in a steady breath becomes an act of labor.

“You… really do what?” He asks slowly, grasping for your intended meaning.

Your heart pounds.

“I really like you.” You clarify.

It isn’t at all eloquent, but it’s sincere. You’d once heard that honesty came easier late at night, but you had no idea that it applied to early mornings as well.

But you finally make sense of the words that just escaped your lips. Panic arises. In an attempt to hide, you bury your face in your hands. You wish you could put the words right back into your mouth.

“I-” You take a deep breath, “I think I spoke without thinking.” Is all you allow yourself to mumble.

You no longer trust yourself with words.

Your face, your whole body really, feels like it’s on fire. Humiliation begins to wash over you in red hot waves… but you startle when a pair of hands meet your wrists.

You lift your head.

His fingertips are warm and worn. Still decorated with calluses from his years of volleyball back in high school. You want to question why the world has withheld this touch from you for so long.

He lures your hands away from your face, grasping both of them gently. For a sensation so new, it was somehow strikingly familiar. A thumb is meditatively tracing small, slow circles in the middle of your palm.

You gawk in disbelief… and as you scan his face, you catch a hint of pink on his cheeks. You can’t say anything though - your own face feels like it’s just become 1000 degrees warmer.

“I kinda figured you might,” Kuroo breaks the tension rather… bluntly.

Of course he did, wait what?

“But the thing is…”

Is this some sort of rejection? Is he just letting you down gently? Is that why he’s holding your hands like they’re as fragile as fine china? Then why is he looking at you so sweetly, so tenderly-

“I wanted to be the one to say it first.”

You start planning your own funeral again.

However, this time, emotional whiplash will be your stated cause of death. At least it’s a more unconventional way to go out.

“I- uh,” you swallow, “w- what did you just say?” It comes out as a stammer.

You’re squeezing his hands a little too tightly. When you recognize your modest death grip around his fingers you loosen your hold.

Kuroo smiles, his eyes crinkling slightly.

It’s nothing like that cunning smirk that you find annoying, yet so adorable. It’s also not one of his full-scale grins. It’s far too simple and reassuring. You almost don’t trust it.

“Well, in short, I like you too,” He re-explains, searching your face for a reaction, “but... I’d hoped to tell you that over pizza on Friday.” Kuroo looks away.

If you weren’t already gaping over his personal confession, you would probably be laughing at this new side of Kuroo. He looks unmistakably bashful.

It takes you a second to recover, but you finally open your mouth to respond...

But you’re cut off by Kuroo, once again. His softened expression is long gone. And, much to your dismay, he’s suddenly shifting himself off of your bed.

“It’s just too bad you didn’t keep up your end of the bargain. I guess that means there’ll be no pizza… no movie… no me.” He slowly releases your hands, knitting his brows together to feign sorrow - it looks hilariously forced, but you’re too worried about the warmth leaving your fingertips to care.

He’s teasing you like you’re his best friend.

And that’s because you are.

So then why does it feel like something’s changed? Like he’s daring you to make the next move?

Before he can pull away and leave, you tug at his hand which draws his whole body toward you.

Your heartrate spikes through the roof. When’s the last time you’ve been this close to someone? To a guy? A guy who’s shown actual living, breathing interest in you.

And he’s in your face.

Close enough that his scent, his cologne, is drowning your senses. Close enough that his breath is fanning faintly against your cheek. Close enough that you know there’s only one thing left for you to do.

Before you can think to hesitate, your lips are brushing up against his.

Intuitively, he brings his hands to your face, closing any extra distance.

Kuroo’s thumb feathers over your cheekbone, stroking it tenderly. His lips apply very little pressure and it’s unbearably delicate, but it fills you with an indescribable warmth. His lips linger just long enough for you to detect the mint from his toothpaste - he can probably taste the cinnamon tea you’ve been sipping on over the past hour. As far as kisses go, it’s reserved, but perfect for this distinct moment.

Plus, you figure, this is just the first of many longer, more eager kisses - though you can’t imagine being more breathless than you already are right now.

But you can hardly get another taste of him before those warm hands on your cheeks are prying you away. He stares. You stare back. His eyes are brimming with something warm and full. You immediately choose to label it, “affection.”

And in a much lower voice, Kuroo murmurs, “Let’s save this for later.”

You scan his face, wondering if he’s actually serious. He gradually makes his way off of the bed and onto his feet and before you can protest, Kuroo is speaking again.

“You-”

He leans down and gingerly lifts your chin with his fingers. The gentleness of his touch almost makes you flinch, but you somehow manage to hold it in the road. Though now you’re really at a loss for words.

“-need to get some good rest.”

He places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

You still feel it after he pulls away. After he closes the door. After you’ve laid you head down on your pillow in shock.

How does he expect you to fall asleep after all of that?

---

extra: this is dedicated to Izzy - our sleep schedules may be jacked up, but i’m pretty sure it’s a blessing in disguise if we’re taking our time zones into consideration. thanks for making me laugh & for not stealing my quarter of the braincell.

and to my precious friends and followers - thank you for being patient with me. it’s hard to post or even write at the moment, but i’m steadily pushing myself toward a better mindset. i appreciate your comments, likes, and the fact that y'all even bother to check out my works in the first place. i’m working on it.

also happy birthday, Tetsu. you’re a real star.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo

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damienthepious · 3 years

Text

tuesday vibes are Cuddle Sleepily

To Be Inside Your Arms

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Post-Episode: s02e36-41 Second Citadel - The Battle at World's End, (literally directly post. so like. yeah), Early Relationship, Sleepy Cuddles, Awkwardness, (they're trying), Literal Sleeping Together

Summary: They went somewhere to talk, but that talk is honestly going to have to wait until they aren't so completely drained.

Notes: I've had this idea for a while, to the point where I tried to start it like... five different times. I literally have like Five different half-paragraph openings for this exact pseudo-conversation, and this one FINALLY stuck. They're all... very new at this. Also? Yes, I know we just finished s3 and here I am writing DIRECTLY post s2 content, but consider: I Want To.Title from the song Parallels by Big Thief.

Lord Arum brings them somewhere safe, after their duel, after their song. It is a small structure, nearly impossible to distinguish from the plants surrounding it until Arum points it out, pressing on one particular knot in the wall of thick, woven-together vines and prompting a hidden door to swing open for them and reveal a small, cozy sort of space.

Rilla helps Damien out of his armor after they close the door of the little bark-walled hut behind them, and they clean off the worst of the grime, the tears, the mud, the blood. Rilla sets Damien's arm properly, and the lizard pretends not to keep a concerned eye on them as he starts a fire in the clay hearth, putting water to boil for tea. Rilla splints her poor ankle as well, batting Damien's hands away when he tries to help, and when she finishes she sighs with such weariness that it cuts through to Damien's heart.

Arum frowns, then, watching Rilla's face, the purpling shadows beneath her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, and then the monster extinguishes the fire before the water comes to a proper boil.

There is a pause before Rilla notices, which is even more damning evidence of her exhaustion than anything else.

"What, change your mind?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I did, in fact," Arum rumbles, looking away. "We won't be needing the tea to accompany our conversation. There is no productive conversation to be had while the both of you are in such sorry states."

"S-sorry?" Damien manages, his voice going high, and the monster's frown deepens, the frill at his neck raising just slightly, in anger or whatever else Damien does not know.

"You are both injured, and you are both clearly well past exhausted. I would rather hold a conversation with creatures more lucid than the both of you will currently be."

Damien blinks, entirely uncertain what Arum's sharp, uncomfortable tone and his deeply deliberate avoidance of eye contact indicate, but Rilla folds her arms over her chest with something like a smile ghosting across her lips.

"If that's your way of saying that you're worried about us, that's very sweet of you."

Arum growls, still looking away as he pokes at the hearth to ensure that the logs aren't going to reignite. "Don't be absurd," he says quickly, and something in Damien's chest skips at the transparency of the denial.

"Okay," Rilla says soothingly, smiling a little wider. "Right. Entirely selfish reasons, then."

"Entirely," the monster says, still looking away.

"I imagine that you are rather exhausted yourself, Lord Arum," Damien offers.

"Yes, well," Arum straightens, huffing in a way that reminds Damien of a bird ruffling its feathers. "Any day during which one nearly dies or averts an extinction event is bound to be somewhat draining, and each of us have experienced at least one of those two since the sun rose today."

Rilla snorts a laugh, and then- another expression crosses her face, far more serious.

"Thank you, by the way," she says, and Arum immediately winces. "I don't… I don't know that we would've made it out of there, if you didn't tell me... just, thank you." He turns towards her with a rising snarl, but Rilla's smile is awkward and uncertain, and the sight of it makes the angry rattle in Arum's throat stutter off.

He swallows, and then looks away again, his tail flicking. "Don't... don't thank me for- for giving you a chance to clean up the mess that I made, Amaryllis," he mutters, and then he shakes his head as she opens her mouth to retort. "And this is- precisely what I meant. We can argue over culpability and injury and morality in the morning, if you have not changed your minds by then, takatakataka."

Rilla scowls more deeply as Damien considers Arum's phrasing, noting that the lizard only suggested that they might change their minds. Apparently, Arum does not imagine that his own feelings are in danger of any such shift.

"Fine," Rilla relents, "fine, fine. Okay. Sleep, then. Is there a bedroom tucked in here or are we just gonna pile up on the floor?"

Arum turns with a grumble, presses a hand against a wide leaf that Damien assumed was simply part of the wall, and the flora swings aside, showing another smaller room.

Rilla grabs Damien's uninjured arm as she passes him, pulling them both along together to follow the lizard.

"Okay?" she murmurs, her eyes cautious, and Damien's heart aches again with fondness, with appreciation, and he squeezes her hand in return.

Arum pretends not to hear them, reaching to light a small lantern with a flick of the wrist (Damien is unsure, precisely, if the monster is using some magic, or if he is simply deft with some small tool Damien cannot see) and then turning to frown in the vague direction of their clasped hands.

"I suppose this will have to do, for the moment," he says, and Damien struggles to bury a smile.

The bed is- not exactly a bed. It appears to be as much grown as the rest of the structure, low to the ground, woven from soft living leaves, with a silk sheet puddled unceremoniously across the bottom half. Damien sags at the sight regardless, his body preemptively relieved at the mere idea of rest, and beside him Rilla exhales an entire lungful of exhaustion herself.

Arum's lip twitches, almost a smile, and then he gestures towards the bed. "I suppose I should... leave you to it, then." He pauses, flicks his tongue in the air as two of his hands brush at his cape and the other two fold stiffly behind his back. "Sleep... sleep well."

Damien's heart twists, sinks, and when Arum glances back towards him again he realizes that he must have made some small, unhappy noise. Rilla squeezes his hand again, more gently.

"Unless you would prefer I stay," the monster says quickly, and then he glances away. "This part of the swamp is not particularly dangerous, but of course I would understand if you should require a- a show of good faith, or-"

"I'd just rather have you here," Rilla says, and the monster snaps his mouth shut.

"I... yes," Damien agrees, his voice feeling small. "I know it has been rather too full a day to finish with a... a negotiation of our positions, together, but- but at the very least, I think, we have agreed that we- we would like to try. To try to- to be, together. If it would not trouble you to-"

"I did not wish to press past your own comfort." Arum winces, makes a rumbling noise in his chest with his frill fluttering, and then he takes another step closer. "That's all. If this... if you do not mind my presence-"

"Oh for Saints' sake," Rilla mutters, and then she simply turns and tips herself over like a falling tree, bouncing to land on the bed with a heavy sigh. "C'mon, already," she says, her eyes already closed as she scrabbles with a hand to snatch the sheet and pull it closer. "Whole point is that we're fucking exhausted, and I'm too tired to pretend that I don't want the both of you where I can reach you, even if we haven't put words on it yet."

Damien's heart swells, Rilla's breathy, lazy, slipping-towards-sleep voice so familiar and safe, even in such a strange place. Arum takes another step closer with a small laugh, his frill settling and his own eyes full of something that Damien recognizes after a moment as fondness. Damien bites his lip, as if that will do anything at all to stifle the size of his emotions, and then he reaches a hand out to help Rilla untangle the sheet.

She grabs his wrist and pulls, though, and Damien doesn't have the presence of mind (or the inclination, truly) to resist, and he stumbles sideways to collapse beside Rilla, yelping as he goes. Rilla mutters wordlessly, tugging Damien closer with one hand and pressing her head into his shoulder, and Damien could not suppress his smile for the whole of the world as he curls his arms around her, settling helplessly against the softness of the bed.

He glances up, over Rilla's shoulder, and Arum-

The amount of desire in Arum's vivid, violet eyes knocks the breath from Damien's lungs. He stares down at them, his hands still fisted tight in the fabric of his cape, his frame held so carefully still, and then as Damien catches his gaze he exhales a breath, his tongue flicking in the air.

Rilla makes another grumbling noise, stretching her other arm - the one not clinging to Damien's back - out across the bed, in the vague direction of Lord Arum, though her eyes do not open again. Damien laughs lightly, and then he meets Arum's eyes again.

Arum hesitates, frill fluttering again, but then Rilla makes another, slightly angrier noise, and Damien draws his hands soothingly down her back with another breath of laughter.

"I very much doubt she will let either of us rest, Lord Arum, unless you come join us," he says, keeping his tone teasing and light, and Arum laughs as well.

"She is... rather stubborn," the monster mutters, fond again, and Rilla finally cracks an eye open to glare at him. "Alright," he shakes his head, "alright."

He follows the grasping direction of Rilla's other hand, slipping onto the bed on the side opposite Damien and letting her draw her palm down his bicep, down his forearm before she grips his scaled hand and squeezes with a contented sigh, finally settling against the softness beneath them.

"Better?" Damien murmurs, his lips close beside Rilla's temple, and she sighs again, nodding slightly.

"Stubborn," Arum murmurs again, draping himself out on the bed beside Rilla, but when he leaves a careful degree of space between them, Rilla rolls closer. She presses her cheek against his shoulder, then tugs his hand to settle over her heart with an impatient huff. "Amaryllis-"

"Shush. We're sleeping. Want you closer. Manage feelings in the morning."

Arum glances over her head with a raised eyebrow, and Damien smiles helplessly, and then he- he decides that Rilla is right. He shifts closer as well, folding himself along Rilla's back and wrapping an arm around her so he may do as he wishes, and curl his hand around Rilla and Arum's own, clasped by her collarbone.

Arum exhales, shaky with a hint of a rattle at the back of his throat. "Ridiculous," he mutters unconvincingly, and then with his free hand he reaches and tugs up the sheet, arranging it to rest properly over all three of them before he settles.

It feels... easy, Damien realizes with some surprise. The complication, the tangled web woven between all of them, the friction and lack of understanding and the fear (or worry, at the very least); it will all return with the morning, Damien suspects.

Right now, though. Right now, in this moment, in the haze of exhaustion but with the assurance that they are all three of them together, whole, and safe, finally safe- that they are willing to look each other in the eye and speak their hearts, that they may rest upon each other, may tangle their hands between them-

It feels easy, to brush his thumb across Rilla and Arum's knuckles, twined together. It feels easy to let the weariness carry him deeper, closer to slumber, tucked warm beside his forever-flower and Lord Arum.

With time, Damien thinks, and with patience, perhaps they might make all of the troubles between them feel easy, as well.

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #sir damien #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #i'm [scream] all the time basically #rebageles appreciatem

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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AU where Nie Mingjue's mom is good friend with Madam Yu so he's the one that has an arranged marriage with Jiang Yanli

Some of Jiang Yanli’s acquaintances among the well-born young ladies of the cultivation world whispered about how much of a shame it was that Madam Yu got into that big fight with her dear friend Madam Jin during the latter’s pregnancy, a fight that very nearly came to blows and led to the dissolution of a long-lived friendship, the abandonment of a promise made in childhoood; you could have had Jin Zixuan as a fiancé, they sigh, and isn’t he so beautiful?

Beautiful, yes, like a star in the sky. Too high for someone like Jiang Yanli to reach: she’d heard about Jin Zixuan, the way he sneered at girls with low cultivation or poor face values, girls like her, and she didn’t deceive herself to think that things would be different if he’d stayed engaged to her the way Madam Jin sometimes too-loudly still hoped he would be.

It was too late for Madam Jin’s ambitions, though. Jiang Yanli had a fiancée, and he was nothing to be ashamed of, even if he was seventh on the list of most desirable young masters rather than third.

Nie Mingjue was tall and handsome, a powerful cultivator who was fierce in appearance and temperament – fire amid coldness. Maidens trembled to approach him, even though he was the only one on that list who was a sect leader in his own right; whoever married him would immediately become the undisputed Madam Nie, and never need to worry about a cruel mother-in-law, though of course there was always the man’s own temper to consider.

Jiang Yanli wasn’t worried about any of that.

He’d always behaved very properly towards her, bringing gifts and speaking formally and never once losing his temper even when she’d been recklessly mischievous; he was only five years older, but that made a difference when you were young, and she’d been extremely annoying as a child. She’d been fifteen the first time her mother had deliberately withdrawn her servants, leaving them alone together.

Jiang Yanli had almost convinced herself by then that he didn’t really want her, that he’d only accepted the marriage as a means of being filial to his departed mother’s final wishes, but then he’d taken her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a searing hot kiss to her palm that made her blush.

“Your mother would like us to settle this marriage sooner rather than later, but I don’t agree,” he said, in his straightforward way – blunt, often tactless, but always honest, and the more examples she saw of marriage, her mother’s, Madam Jin’s, the more she appreciated it. “There’s going to be a war soon, and it’s not yet sure who will win and who will lose.”

Unspoken was that Nie Mingjue himself was the most vocal advocate for that war – Wen Ruohan had murdered his father – and that it was only the fierceness of the Nie that kept the Unclean Realm from being Wen Ruohan’s first target. If she married Nie Mingjue now, she risked being drawn in.

“And when the war is over and won?” she asked, feeling unusually daring, even emboldened by the appreciation in his eye – not of her looks, nor her cultivation (she didn’t flatter herself unduly), but of the future they might make together. “What then?”

His stern, angry face relaxed, just for the briefest moment, into a smile – he had dimples, who knew? – and his hand squeezes hers. “I don’t know you well enough to say whether or not we would be well matched, but a good marriage is a vow, something to strive towards, not something you get handed to you. I would be proud to have you as my wife, if you would want me as your husband.”

That was what her mother wanted most, Jiang Yanli knew – more than political advantage (the Jin would be better, given their proximity, wealth, and absence of another heir, although Nie Huaisang, charming child that he was, was hardly considered a serious threat by anyone), more than anything.

She wanted her daughter to have what she’d never had: a marriage to someone who would devote himself to her.

Jiang Yanli smiled and squeezed his hand back. “I would, very much.”

In the years to come, she would make her way to Qinghe through dangers unnumbered, fleeing the destruction of her home; he would be there to welcome her, a distant and formal greeting that respected her status and would have upset her if she didn’t know it was his way – it wasn’t until the very end of the evening, when he was escorting her to her room, that he pressed his lips to her forehead and promised to help avenge her parents, his stiff and awkward way of saying that he was relieved that she was safe.

She would be waiting by his beloved baby brother’s side for news of the war, bursting into tears of relief when he sent word that Wei Wuxian had been found, that he’d joined the Sunshot Campaign under his command, the combined armies Nie Mingjue led by now universal acclaim; he would rant to her, confiding in her his concerns about Wei Wuxian’s newfound demonic cultivation, and listened seriously to her assurances that she knew his character best of all; she would spend weeks by his bedside as he slowly healed from the injuries he’d suffered during Wen Ruohan’s final defeat, understanding without words that he quietly resented how those who would soon be his sworn brothers had left him out of their plans, admiring how he put those feelings aside in favor of forgiveness and forging a new path forward with both of them.

She would accept his offer of help in rebuilding the Lotus Pier; when Jiang Cheng, prickly as ever, questioned his motives, he’d said that his bride deserved a proper home to be taken from, and had made Wei Wuxian laugh for the first time in months when he’d told him preemptively there would be no corpses allowed at the wedding, no matter how they might match the color scheme. He would tell her about his rages, about the Nie sect’s cultivation, the risk he ran of an early death, and the possible solution his sworn brothers had come up with for him; she would spend her days studying how she might best help him herself.

When the rumors began to circulate about Wei Wuxian, it was not just Jiang Cheng who defended him; it was an unquestioned hero, a man known to be just and upright even to the point of rigidity.

“They trust you because they know you’d put righteousness above family,” Jiang Yanli said, standing by his side – his way of reminding the world to watch what it said, because she would be Madam Nie soon enough and he would permit no slight against her – and she was close enough to feel it when he laughed. It was a rare sight, though more common in these days without war; she’d even convinced him to stop nagging Nie Huaisang about his saber practice more than twice a week, and Nie Huaisang had been so over the moon that he’d written her a poem comparing her to a goddess (it hadn’t been very good, but she appreciated the effort). “A-Xian knows it, too. He says we should come ourselves to Yiling to satisfy ourselves; he trusts you to be fair.”

“I appreciate the faith,” her soon-to-be husband said, shaking his head. “They’ll still accuse me of bias in his favor, on your behalf – and they may be right.”

“But they won’t question you,” she said confidently. “We can still fix this.”

(And then one day she heard music –)

#my fic #my fics #mdzs #nie mingjue #jiang yanli

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livia-dovehallow · 3 years

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Could you do for your celebration something with little Eugenia Lightwood maybe when Sophideon found out they were expecting, or something cute with her when she was a lil baby pleaseeee

This ended up being longer than I anticipated... but hopefully that’s not a bad thing! Please enjoy this Sophideon + their daughters fluff <3

Girl Dad - Sophideon (ft. Barbara & Eugenia)

Characters: Gideon Lightwood, Sophie Collins, Barbara Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood

Time: 1881-1882, London, England

“Barbara Margaret Lightwood!” Sophie barked from the doorway. Her one-year-old daughter froze in her bassinet, her fruit-filled fists leaking through her fingers. She stared back at her mother with wide brown eyes and an angry scowl. “Do not throw that peach.”

In defiance, Barbara launched the peach across the table where it landed in Sophie’s cup of tea. Barbara began to cry, then, when she went to put her fist in her mouth and found that her peach was no longer there. Sophie forced herself to calm down. She pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled deeply.

“Whoa,” came a deep voice behind her. “What happened here?”

Gideon stepped forward and plated a sweet kiss on Sophie’s cheek before moving toward their daughter. Barbara raised her arms toward her father; her sticky fingers latched on to his shirt the moment he lifted her. Her small face was drenched in tears. “She is having a morning,” answered Sophie with an aggravated sigh. “I can’t possibly take it today. I don’t know what is wrong with me. Perhaps I need more sleep.”

Gideon bounced Barbara in his arms and cooed soothingly. The little girl hiccuped and sniffed all over his shirt, but she had begun to calm down with her father’s comfort. Gideon looked over at Sophie as he bounced her, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you not sleep well last night, love?” he asked. “You snored like a sailor so I thought you’d slept quite well.”

Sophie scowled. “I do not snore.”

“As if,” Gideon laughed boisterously. This made Barbara giggle. “I love you Soph, but you snore horrendously on occasion. Especially when you were—“ he paused, a thought visibly occurring to him. “When you were pregnant.”

Sophie blinked at him in shock. “I’m certainly not pregnant,” she stated, though she was unsure. Was she? It was not out of the realm of possibility. They’d discussed having another child plenty—Barbara was certainly lonely. The only other children in the family besides her were Charles and Jesse, but Charles did not like to play with Barbara and Tatiana had adamantly refused to let her son around any of his cousins or uncles. “Right?” she added, with a questioning look at her husband.

Gideon recovered from his pondering at his daughter’s whimper. He gently patted her back while bouncing her as he looked at Sophie. “It’s possible,” he wondered aloud. “We haven’t exactly been avoiding another pregnancy as of late.”

“Oh dear,” Sophie breathed. She leaned against the frame of the doorway and buried her face in her hands. “I’ve been snapping at Barbara all morning and it isn’t her fault.”

Footsteps grew closer to her. Sophie glanced up through her fingers and found her daughter’s small face peering back. Gideon said nothing, but smiled gently. Sophie moved her hands to cup Barbara’s face and kissed her head. “Mummy’s very sorry for getting angry with you,” she told her. “Will you please forgive me?”

Barbara smiled and nodded, her tears dry on her face. Sophie wiped them off with a gentle brush of her thumb. “I love you so much, my precious girl,” she said gently. Barbara smiled bigger.

“How about I ring my brother and see if he’s willing to watch Barbara for a bit? We can see the Brothers and find out if you’re pregnant or ill.” Gideon turned his body so he could see them both, his wife and daughter. “I hardly think he would say no. Look at her little face.”

Barbara giggled and patted her still-sticky fingers on her father’s shirt. Sophie couldn’t help but smile back. “Are you sure?” she asked him, wary of making a fuss about something that may turn out to be nothing after all.

Gideon nodded. “I’m sure,” he stated confidently. “Gabriel adores Barbara. I truly don’t think he requires any reason to see her.”

Barbara’s eyes lit up. “Uncle Gabe!”

Sophie laughed at Gideon’s betrayed expression.

“Barbara!” Gabriel called from the top of the stairs the moment they walked through the doors of the Institute. Sophie watched with amusement as Gabriel launched himself down the steps and came to a screeching halt before his brother, who he ignored in favor of the small child in his arms.

Barbara squealed with glee and reached out for her uncle, who took her gladly. He squeezed her tight, a bright smile across his face. Sophie had to admit it was quite nice to see Gabriel genuinely happy these days. “I suppose this means you wouldn’t mind looking after her for a few hours?” Sophie questioned. Gabriel glanced up at her. “Gideon and I must drop into the Silent City for a bit and we’d prefer to keep Barbara here where she feels more comfortable.”

Gabriel’s expression fell a bit, his eyebrows furrowing just like his brother’s did. “The Silent City?” he repeated, ignoring Barbara’s grip on his hair. “Is something wrong?”

Gideon shook his head. “Not at all,” he said to his brother calmly. “Just some preemptive health check. We shouldn’t be too long.”

“All right,” Gabriel said with a suspicious look. He turned back to Barbara and his smile returned. “Of course I don’t mind looking after her.”

Sophie felt relieved. “Thank you,” she told him, and gripped his arm. “I know it’s short notice so I am thankful.”

Gabriel smiled. “We’re family.”

The Silent City always spooked Sophie. She had not grown up Nephilim so she’d never had a need to become used to Silent Brothers, let alone ever been permitted to visit the Silent City prior to her Ascension.

Come to think of it, Sophie had never been to the Silent City until she fell pregnant with Barbara. Gideon had insisted from the moment she woke up vomiting.

Now, she ventured into the city from its Highgate entrance hand in hand with Gideon. She still felt unnerved by the silence but was no longer afraid. Jem was here and she was not afraid of Jem.

Gideon and Sophia Lightwood, rang a monotonous voice in her mind. Sophie peered steadfastly into the hazy darkness. A cloaked figure approached them: Brother Enoch.

“Brother Enoch,” Gideon replied politely with a bow of his head. “We apologize for the sudden visit, but we had a matter of importance we seek assistance with.”

What is the matter of importance? Brother Enoch replied. Sophie lifted her chin.

“There is a possibility that I may be with child,” she explained evenly. Gideon squeezed her hand. “We are not certain, however. We’ve come to seek an answer.”

I see there is something, said Brother Enoch. A further examination is required to determine your answer.

Sophie swallowed a lump of anticipation and follow the Brother further into the Silent City. A gentle hum filled the otherwise soundless corridors—even their footsteps made no sound despite not bearing Soundless runes. Gideon’s hand on the small of her back reassured her, however, and calmed her nerves.

The group entered a small, dimly lit room. In the center was a single large stone, meant to serve as an observation seat. Sophie settled herself in and breathed slowly.

Have you experience any unusual ailments similar to those of your first pregnancy, Mrs. Lightwood?

“Irritability,” Sophie admitted mournfully.

“Snoring,” added Gideon thoughtfully. Sophie scowled at him.

“Other than that,” Sophie continued, “not a thing that has been too noticeable.”

Brother Enoch did not respond but continued his movements; slow and precise, in the air over Sophie. She closed her eyes and laid back. It wouldn’t take long for Enoch to come to a conclusion, but she was so tired.

I am impressed you were able to detect this so early, said Brother Enoch, removing his hands and returning them to his front. You are, in fact, with child, Mrs. Lightwood. I suspect you are only six to eight weeks into your pregnancy.

Gideon let out a sudden whoop of happiness and Sophie smiled brightly. “Truly?” she wondered aloud.

Yes, I am certain, answered Brother Enoch. Congratulations to you both. It is too early to tell if you are having a son or a daughter, however. If you’d like, you may come back in several weeks time to learn.

Sophie nodded. “It’s all right,” she said, happiness flooding her body. She turned to Gideon, who looked so happy he may cry. “Son or daughter, it doesn’t matter. Right?”

“Right,” Gideon confirmed, his voice strained from trying to remain calm. He looked up to Enoch. “Thank you, Brother Enoch. This is truly wonderful news.”

**Ten Months Later**

“Genia,” Gideon cooed desperately at the infant screaming in his arms. “Hush, darling, you’re all right.”

“Is Genie sad?” Barbara questioned. She stood at Gideon’s side, her head barely reaching the tops of his knees. She’d been glued to her sister’s side from the moment she met her, curious to see this new member of the family who cried so much.

Gideon smiled despite his growing fatigue. “Babies cry for many reasons,” he told his firstborn. “Right now, she is crying because she is tired.”

“So why does she not go to sleep then?”

Gideon chuckled, still bouncing his newborn daughter. Eugenia appeared to have been born with lungs of steel. “She needs to learn how to that, Babs. That’s why Mum and I take turns holding her at night; so she can feel safe and happy enough to sleep.”

Barbara nodded. She was in her own nightgown preparing to sleep when she heard her sister’s cries and followed Gideon into the nursery. Her dark hair was tied up to keep her cool in the summer heat and it made her look so much like Sophie. “Don’t cry Genie,” she said after a moment, her small face gentle and kind. “Papa says we are safe.”

Gideon knelt down beside her and kissed her head. “That is right,” he said to her. Barbara leaned closer to her baby sister and kissed her cheek, wet with tears. Eugenia began to calm, her screams settling into fading whimpers. Barbara smiled brightly.

“I did it, Papa!” she exclaimed quietly and with wide brown eyes.

“Yes, you did,” came Sophie’s voice. She strode into the nursery and smiled, tired. “You are a wonderful sister, my darling, but it is also time for you to go to sleep.”

Barbara nodded and skipped to her mother’s side. “Goodnight, Papa! Goodnight, Genie!”

Gideon blew her a kiss. “Sleep well, all right? Listen to your mum.”

Sophie lifted Barbara into her arms and hugged her close. Barbara rested her little head on her mother’s shoulder. “I love you,” Sophie said to Gideon.

Gideon stood, Eugenia beginning to finally fall asleep in his arms. He looked at all three of them, his girls, and felt more at peace than ever before in his life. This was his family; his to love, his to protect, and his to love him in return.

“I love you, too,” he whispered. “All of you.”

Thanks for your request! I had so many ideas that I had to force myself to pick small pieces of each to create flashes of memories. I might expand more on all these wonderful prompts!

Join the celebration! It’s my birthday!

#maggie answers #kind anons #sophie collins #gideon lightwood #barbara lightwood #eugenia lightwood #gabriel lightwood #the last hours #tsc #maggie's birthday celebration

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normal-thoughts-official · 3 years

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When/how do you think Ragnor and Catrina realized camille was being abusive towards Magnus?

Btw, I love u❤

fantastic question anon, i love YOU! i think that depends on a couple of factors. i think people who have already been or know people who have been in an abusive relationship are more likely to notice the warning signs, and/or to interpret stuff like the person pulling away as a sign of abuse. whereas people who haven't lived through it and aren't informed on it might not even realize what's going on until before it's over, and even be angry

so because we live in a hell world and catarina is a black woman, i think she is more likely to notice the warning signs than ragnor is, because black women are more likely to be in abusive relationships than white men. i'm not saying catarina herself has been in an abusive relationship necessarily but presumably her family has plenty of black women and she's also more likely to also be friends with other woc and marginalized ppl than ragnor is because again, hell world. so she has a higher chance of having been in a similar position before, although of course that's no set in stone rule and ragnor's circle of friends does seem to have a lot of marginalized ppl (and i hc him as aroace which makes him queer which puts him in an entirely different position than a straight white man and probably means something about the relationships he builds, but anyway) BUT my point is, i think catarina is more likely to notice earlier

i think ragnor is pretty perceptive tho, and also that they are pretty close and talk a lot, so i think once catarina noticed she would have talked to ragnor, and it wouldn't take ragnor long to realize that she was right

so okay when would they notice? i think that's always a slow process but i'm pretty sure their suspicions would first arise when magnus started to ditch them and stuff like parties and outings because of camille. first of all, i don't think that's like magnus at all, and second of all, there is an obvious difference between "i'm in the honeymoon phase" and "sorry, i don't think it's a good idea, my partner might not like it" or even "yeah! that sounds great!... just let me ask my partner about it". big difference

so that already has catarina in particular very wary of her because magnus is not the kind to ditch his friends because of a partner and the way he's acting about this is weird. so, she decides to keep an eye and maybe even put this to the test by making a surprise visit and invite him to a party like, right then doijadiosaj and she takes him out and she notices that magnus is Out Of It and he seems even a little... tense and scared and almost paranoid. and like, this is relatively at the beginning of their relationship so she wouldn't have been Horrible about it yet but at the beginning the person expresses enough control and discomfort with these things for you to be kind of uncomfortable even if you don't really realize that it's because you're Scared Of Hurting Your Parner

so THAT gets catarina really worried, because if magnus can't relax because he's afraid of camille's reaction, and worse, if he doesn't REALIZE that's why, that's the reddest a flag can get in such an early stage of their relationship. she tries to talk to magnus about it but magnus is the king of deflecting and basically waves her worries off. which just makes her more worried, but what is she supposed to do? she knows that pushing will only makes things worse and make it easier for camille to turn magnus against her and cut their ties. so, she lets it go and pretends that she buys his excuses. that's probably when she also talks to ragnor. ragnor probably had noticed that something was off but he hadn't really thought that it would be something super bad, and i think he'd still have his doubts about it, but well, he has that on the back of his mind now. and besides, he trusts catarina's judgement and he can admit when she is more qualified than him to assess something. it's why their relationship works

the first time they say anything is probably when magnus tells him about some fight they've had. probably because magnus told camille that he was upset about something she did - like idk, making fun of him in public about a topic that's sensitive to him. and like magnus wasn't even mad at her, he had never mentioned that whatever joke she made was off limits or related to a sensitive topic, he just wanted to communicate and let her know that it had hurt him, and she pretty much Exploded at him. and somehow turned it all around so it was magnus' fault for accusing her of trying to hurt him on purpose when that's not what magnus did, and now magnus pretty much wanted advice on how to apologize and let her know that he loves her

so catarina and ragnor try to subtly poke holes in her logic and show him that he has nothing to apologize for, without straight up being like "she's manipulating you" because Kids, That Does Not Go Well. and it makes magnus... heartbreakingly confused in that way abused people get when the logic they have been being shoved under shows cracks that would mean something too awful to even imagine

and catarina is a fucking wreck because at this point, she is sure of it and it makes her relive... so much trauma of other people she's seen go through that and lost and/or her own relationships if you want to go with that. and she doesn't want to lose magnus or have magnus go through that but she doesn't know what to do and she KNOWS that next step is magnus pulling away from her and ragnor no matter how careful she is

she probably gets the rare Comforting Hug from ragnor once magnus leaves and she also talks to dot and maybe elias? you know, their other friends. and they have a Catarina Comforting Day and hear her stories and cuddle and you know, try to make her feel better. and eventually they try to devise some kind of game plan so they can try to help magnus get out of this

it all goes to shit of course when they have the rare outing with camille, and camille is Obviously Refusing To Interact With Them If She Can Avoid It which is classic abuse thing - sure, i'll go see your friends, but you have to choose between interacting with them and me, so really you don't actually get to see with your friends because you'll feel bad that i'm isolated and eventually seeing your friends will feel either pointless or nervewracking cuz it feels like juggling your relationships. and if you want to see them without me i am going to act like you have something to hide and i'm a victim

anyway! so they notice that and they try to undermine that tactic by, you know, interacting with her a lot. so camille switches it up and tries to pick up a fight, and lo and behold, she succeeds - i know ragnor doesn't look like the kind of guy who loses his temper easily but i think when you push his buttons he is VERY bad at hiding it and half a snappy comment is all camille needs to lash out at him and play the victim. she's good

so that's when their plan gets fucked and everything goes to hell because then it's just too easy for camille to isolate magnus from his friends with really just a few tweaks to the previous tactic i mentioned - "are you really picking them over me, magnus? you're gonna keep hanging out with them when they are so rude to me, probably tell you all sorts of things about me, try to get you to break up with me? can't you see how manipulative they are? how they're trying to turn you against me? why do you insist so much on seeing them when you know how much that hurts me?"

and done

catarina and ragnor probably fight after that because god DAMN it, she fucking tOLD him that they had to be careful! and she's been swallowing all kinds of shitty comments from her but ragnor just had to fucking lose it at the first provocation, didn't he? and god knows how long it'd take for them to reach him after that, because camille is already preemptively making him think that they are trying to manipulate him to break up with her out of jealousy so he won't listen to anything they say directly. and she's right, of course, and ragnor is out of his depth and doesn't UNDERSTAND how these things go and how much this slip up will affect them in the future

i like to think that ragnor apologizes to her and catarina probably... has a breakdown because fuck she is worried and she is reliving way too many nightmares here. and ragnor is actually very tender and hugs her and apologizes and kisses her forehead and tells her that he's going to fix it. and he actually swallows his pride and apologizes to camille just to try and turn this thing around, but, well. the damage is done. and really, there is only so much friends can do when dealing with something like this. at the end of the day, they did all they could

and from then on they try their best to be there for him and pull magnus out of the camille-created isolation, but there's only so much they can do, and it's up to magnus to notice and get help to get rid with her. they'll always try to be his support system, but well. it's hard

and of course eventually magnus does get rid of her claws and catarina, ragnor, dot, elias etc., are all there for him when he does. and he probably feels guilty because he pushed them away but really they are just so RELIEVED that he's finally free of her. and him and catarina probably get a teary hug full of apologies for things that aren't their fault, and they try to make up for lost time by spending as much time as possible together now. especially because i think that it also hurts catarina to have her friends pull away - she obviously yearns for family, for closeness, i don't think she does well with people pulling away from her, she wants the kind of closeness that comes from routine and she used to have that with magnus and the rest of the immortal squad, you know? and magnus knows that, so, he tries to compensate

and eventually they start to heal their relationships, but magnus still has a long way to heal himself, but well. he'll get there. they are together and all

#sh #shadowhunters #magnus bane #catarina loss #ragnor fell #camille belcourt is an abuser #brotp: comfortable shoes #brotp: my dear little cabbage #immortal squad #abuse tw #racism tw #misoginy tw #misoginoir mention #ask #anonymous #meta #kinda #camille's trash party #i have always wanted to be The Camille Angst Blog is it finally happening pls say yes

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glassworkspiderlilies · 3 years

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every ribbon you used (to tie yourself to me)

Genshin Impact | Albedo & Rhinedottir, Albedo/Lumine | AO3 Summary: A life is created within a flask and learns to be human. A shooting star from another world falls to the earth. There are words for such things, and for when such things come together. And when they fall apart. (Sometimes, even when a Prince and a Princess meet against the odds, they do not get idyllic ever afters.) Notes: approx 9k words. another albelumi fic that i basically speedwrote to ride the strength of my albedo feelings before xiao drops bc i don’t trust my own fickleness!! aka...will i abandon my sad good boy for one (1) sad rudeass boy....:'(

“Look at her, touching his cheek to make a truce, her fingers cool with spring rain; in thin grass, bursts of purple crocus—

even here, even at the beginning of love, her hand leaving his face makes an image of departure and they think they are free to overlook this sadness.”

—From “The Garden”, by Louise Glück

Albedo’s first memory is, of course, of his Master. His vision is filled with her when he is newly born, and though the sight from within the flask is a little distorted, he knows the hands that created him. Much later, when he gains the knowledge to formulate opinions, he will describe her as stern and severe, but at present, scant moments after his birth, his Master smiles at him with something that might be affection.

Otherwise, Albedo does not remember much of his early, early life. Still so new to existence as a whole, it was a long process to just learn—to learn to learn. He starts from the very basics on how to function like a human being, especially once he outgrows his flask. By all appearances, he is a human, and the differences are minute, or simply indiscernible by humans proper.

To breathe, to eat, to talk, to move. The constant asking of questions comes much later, when he becomes an actual thinking being—and that is when he earns his name too: Albedo, the stage of alchemy in which change begins. Rhinedottir is exceedingly patient with him, never once growing angry at the crawling slowness of this entire process.

She knew, and still knows, what it means to take responsibility for one’s actions.

Once Albedo becomes—properly situated, he takes to learning anything and everything with a voracious appetite. This appears to please his Master as she teaches him everything she knows—and her knowledge never seems to run out. She seems to have an answer for everything, though she does not always give them to him so readily, preferring that he come to his own conclusions with less guidance now that he can think for himself. Eventually, she starts asking him questions, knowing he does not have an answer. He learns to formulate his own theories and conduct his own experiments in order to find them, and such projects take anywhere from a few scant minutes to several years. Both of them are rarely working on only one thing; there is always some study or another in progress, and Albedo does not think it remiss to think that Rhinedottir is pleased to have another being keep up with her. His Master has had other students before, he learns, but none whom she could impart her knowledge to so fully, for various reasons.

It is a joy, for a very long time, to live his life like this. There is simply so much, to do and see and hear and figure out. But as the months pass, then years, then decades…life begins to grow monotonous.

It is not that he begrudges it overmuch—Rhinedottir still has things to teach, orders to give, and expectations to be met, which only increase in difficulty. Still, he comes to recognize a certain dullness in his pattern, and he cannot fully ignore this knowledge now that he is aware of it.

Nevertheless, his routine has been as such for so long that he does not even consider the possibility of it changing.

But it does, one day, when the sky lights up in a brilliant blaze of solar gold and electric white, and a shooting star plummets to the earth.

It is a phenomenon that even his Master has never seen in all her years, so it is inevitable that they go searching. The landing site of the mysterious star is not so far away according to Rhinedottir’s calculations, which furthers the imperative nature of their search—for how could they pass up such a golden opportunity for an absolutely unprecedented study? Albedo feels excitement beat warm in his chest, primarily owed to his Master’s enthusiasm. It is a new expression on her, this anticipation, which he finds fascinating; it is exceedingly rare that he is able to observe new facets of his Master. Even after all this time, there is still much he does not know about her, and she thus remains one of the greatest mysteries in his life.

Neither of them make any fantastical preemptive guesses as to what they might find from such an occurrence, but they do consider unusual possibilities—though logically, the basis will likely be rock Yet despite their openness of mind, they are not prepared to find what they do: an unconscious young girl, dressed in foreign white clothes, curled up in the center of a scorched crater.

Rhinedottir, usually always so sure of herself, checks her coordinates again to make sure there is no mistake.

“Well,” she says finally, moving closer to the figure, “This is unexpected, indeed.”

She tries to wake the girl to no avail. Albedo half-unpacks their supplies to take out his sleeping bag, unzipping it and laying it over the strange girl in attempts to keep her warm. After she is neatly tucked in, the two of them set up camp a little ways away, so as not to startle her overmuch with strangers looming over her when she does wake.

The girl opens her eyes as they are making dinner for the night, the slight rustling of the sleeping bag alerting Albedo and Rhinedottir of her wakefulness. They watch from the distance as she sits up, slow and lethargic as if every bone in her body hurts. She turns her head to the side a little then looks up to the sky, not yet spotting them, coming to the realization that she is in an unfamiliar place.

A small sound escapes her, like an aborted sob, hopeless and despairing.

It is at that moment that the wood in their fireplace pops, and her head swivels around at the loud noise. She throws herself back when she spots them, a sword suddenly in her hand, her stance combative; she says—something, her voice sharp and demanding, but they do not understand whatever language it is that she speaks.

Rhinedottir raises an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of a weapon from thin air, but puts out her hands in a placating manner to show that she means no harm. The girl glances at Albedo, who inclines his head towards her in greeting and continues to stir the stew that is beginning to bubble.

Her sword disintegrates from her grip as she does so, much to the alchemists’ surprise. To her credit, she seems to work out the situation fairly quickly, and slowly makes her way to the fire. It is not so much trust but logic that wins out—given their already laid out camp, if they had wanted to do her harm, they would have done so earlier when she was unconscious. She does not miss the sleeping bag that had been draped over her either, and brings it with her, saying something that might be a thanks when Albedo reaches out to take it.

Gingerly, she sits down, drawing her knees up and crossing her arms atop them as she stares into the flames, then looks between Rhinedottir and Albedo. She says—or asks—something, but neither Master nor student can understand her, and they reply so in Teyvat Common. She furrows her brows and tries again, as if testing whether or not they are pretending, a lengthy monologue spilling forth. But after a while, they notice that the sounds and syllables change every so often, and realize that she must be trying other languages as well.

But no matter how many she knows, it becomes apparent that she does not know Common.

Her distress grows as they fail to recognize sentence after sentence, and she eventually falls quiet, looking close to tears before she buries her face in her arms. Rhinedottir is nevertheless even more fascinated, for even though they cannot communicate at present, it is evident that the girl is something extraordinary.

Albedo too, is curious, if perhaps in a different way. There is something—familiar, about her situation, something that he thinks he might be able to understand. He finds himself reaching out a hand, lightly touching her arm to draw her attention. She raises her head, blinking as she focuses on him, her eyes both wary and despairing.

He points to himself, then enunciates his name very slowly.

“Al-be-do,” he says, and then, pointing to his Master, “Rhine-do-ttir.”

The girl’s lips purse, and he repeats himself several times, until finally she puts a hand to her chest and stares him straight in the eye. He does not think he mistakes the brief flash of gratitude before she speaks.

“Lu-mine,” she says, and Albedo smiles.

Lumine has nowhere else to go, of course, and so it is a given that she travel with them. She seems alarmed at first when they pack up their camp, but is relieved when Albedo holds out his hand, and tilts his head in question.

She doesn’t take it, but she nods and follows after them.

She is merely a silent shadow for some time, trailing along and watching them perform their experiments, both combined and separate. It is interesting that she raises her brows at the alchemy, yet does not seem entirely surprised at the art.

Even so, she is not dead weight. She is an able fighter, a fair huntress, and surprisingly, a decent cook. For the two alchemists whose meals tend to be the same time after time and primarily focus on nutritional value only, her cooking skill may perhaps be the most valuable skill that she can offer.

Lumine’s most interesting skill, however, is solidly her fighting prowess. It’s the sword-summoning she had done that first night that draws their attention the most, initially, the weapon appearing out of thin air and disappearing the same way. She seems confused by their fascination with it, but patiently performs it a few times for their observation.

The three of them soon form a comfortable routine. Lumine does not speak again for quite some time, and while the alchemists are intensely curious, they give her the space that she needs. There is no point to rushing her.

When she does finally begin to warm, however, it is Albedo that she begins drifting closer to. It is likely because he looks to be of the same or similar age, and compared to the forbidding severity of Rhinedottir’s countenance, he is much more approachable.

Rhinedottir watches, the first time that Lumine engages Albedo first, bringing him an apple and making a questioning noise. He blinks at her, looking at the fruit in her hand.

“Apple?” he asks, and she tilts her head at him.

“Apple?” she repeats, very slowly, adjusting her mouth around the sounds.

“Apple,” Albedo repeats, also very slowly as he touches the fruit, understanding now what she is trying to do.

“Apple,” Lumine says back, with the proper accent, her lips quirking up in a smile.

She says something more, then, and of course he does not understand, but she gestures to various things around her, then points back to herself. She taps two fingers to her lips, then holds them out to him, and then gestures between them both.

“Ah,” Albedo says, smiling back, “Yes, I will teach you.”

Rhinedottir watches this all, and wonders about the results that will come out of this union.

Lumine is a quick learner, picking up the basics of the language in a few scant months. In return, she begins teaching them a little of her own language—the one of her homeland, they learn much later on—but the accents and conjugations are much harder to get down, so utterly different from Common as it is.

Albedo takes to it far better, as he practices it more, fascinated by this new thing to learn given to him outside of his Master’s expectations. Lumine is inordinately pleased once he starts to string sentences together properly, and Albedo finds that he enjoys her pleasure.

In any case, they finally start to learn Lumine’s story from her in bits and pieces. She and her twin brother, Aether, spent their time traveling different worlds, but at some point, they had been blocked by some unknown god, and cruelly separated. The last she saw, the god had sealed her brother into a small red prison, and then done the same to Lumine.

When she woke up, she was here and stranded, without much of her previous powers.

Now, with enough language finally at her disposal, she can finally ask the question she has wanted to since the beginning, though she knows the answer by now.

“Have you seen him?” she asks, and Rhinedottir shakes her head.

“No, child, my apologies,” she says, and despite expecting this, Lumine’s face falls a little before she composes herself.

“I see,” she says softly, looking down.

She hesitates before she speaks again, meeting Rhinedottir’s eyes with determination, and without fear.

“I will leave you one day,” she says, and Rhinedottir smiles faintly.

“We all leave one another someday, child,” she replies, and Albedo glances at her, then at Lumine as well. “But you will stay for now, will you not?”

Lumine looks up at the sky for a moment before answering.

“Yes. I will.”

The years continue to pass less dully. Lumine picks up more and more of the common language, Albedo continues to pick up more and more of hers. She also learns a bit of alchemy during this time, enough to play assistant to the two alchemists proper if necessary.

And—also during this time, she consents to have tests and experiments run on her, in attempts to understand her better and perhaps find a way to regain her past abilities. Though she shows a little apprehension at first, the tests turn out to not be even remotely fearsome; she drinks potions and has her movements observed, and though the potions are not tasty and the physical regiments are sometimes rather strenuous, the tests are almost boring.

It is Albedo who does most of the testing and observing and compiling of research on Lumine, later bringing his notes to Rhinedottir for review. His Master is content to let the two youths spend more time together as she focuses on her own work—and anyway, unbeknownst to them, she is conducting her own new study. Albedo has grown much since his creation, and she tracks each minute difference—which have grown more steadily now—with precision. Lumine still has many unfathomable mysteries about her, but even so, Rhinedottir can see the changes about her as Albedo teaches her the names of various flowers and words like “grace”, “strength”, and “gentleness”.

In return, Lumine teaches him the words for “happiness”, “kindness”, and “warmth”.

These children know not what it is they are doing, Rhinedottir thinks, as she watches Lumine trace letters onto Albedo’s bare palm, but oh, she does, old crone as she may be.

And so, she watches, and does nothing to encourage or deny them.

Albedo cannot yet recognize what the slow molten, seeping feeling is that is growing inside of him, only that it reminds him of rubedo.

Lumine has an inkling of where the path of her feelings could go when she looks into Albedo’s sky blue eyes, but pushes it aside, for she cannot afford to take it.

He is not meant to share the secret of his birth—or rather, creation—carelessly, but Lumine is not just anybody, and nor does she seem particularly surprised by this revelation when he eventually entrusts her with this knowledge.

“Soil is the origin of alchemy, and the basis of all life,” he explains, using Lumine’s native tongue, for he likes the way her eyes shine when he does so, “And chalk, spotless soil, is the substance which primal life is molded.”

She hums, musing over this new information.

“And stars?” she asks, “What about stars?”

Albedo purses his lips, thinking.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “And it may be too difficult to be able to study, when one is so land-bound.”

She chuckles a little, tilting her head back to look at the sky.

“My first memory is of the sky,” she says, “And the light. So perhaps Aether and I were born of stardust. You said, didn’t you, that the day I appeared, I had looked like a shooting star?”

“It was a brilliant sight,” Albedo says, with a nod, “Neither Master nor I have seen anything like it, in all our years. Hmm…chalk and stardust…I wonder what could be created by the two combined?”

Lumine glances at him, eyebrow raised, but he is not looking at her nor thinking about the implications of what he’s said, hand to his chin in deep thought.

“Well, we are here,” she says after a pause, her tone light, “A child of chalk and a…potential child of stardust. What will you call us?”

He looks at her then, responding without hesitancy.

“Remarkable,” he declares, smiling.

Lumine’s eyes widen at his response, and then she throws her head back and laughs, bright and delighted.

“Yes,” she says, “Yes, remarkable indeed.”

There is a market happening in the nearest town, and so Rhinedottir sends Albedo and Lumine on an errand to pick up things they usually cannot get so easily. Normally, the three of them camp out when they can, and head into civilization only if strictly necessary—they cannot conduct the bulk of their experiments in such quarters as an inn. Of course, they must make exceptions when the weather turns for the worse, and there are no caves or such shelter to bunker in. But neither alchemist is overly fond of human interaction, and they avoid it to diminish various complications.

In the past, picking up supplies was a task Albedo had never thought much of previously. But now, with Lumine by his side, he finds that the errand has a new color. They peruse the market, Lumine looking around with more curiosity than he, and Albedo watches her take in the sights and wares. Since the time she has joined them, they have not had many chances to go into towns, and none so far had a market as lively as this—apparently due to some celebration going on.

Just as he is musing what kind of festival might be happening this time of year, he realizes that Lumine is no longer by his side, and has to backtrack a little to find her stopped in front of a taciturn stonecutter’s stall. Her fingers have half-lifted a pendant from his display closer to her as she scrutinizes the stone.

The man’s necklaces are no expert things, their focus mostly on the stones themselves with a chain looped through them, though some are a little more interestingly caged or bound with metal. The rather intimidating stonecutter himself does not push them to buy, and merely watches them with keen eyes as they browse.

“It is a good stone,” Albedo supplies as he steps closer, and Lumine looks to him. The stonecutter smiles faintly as well, pleased that someone is able to recognize its true worth. “I did not know you were interested in such things.”

“It’s the color of your eyes,” Lumine says simply, and Albedo blinks in surprise. “I’ll take this, sir.”

The man’s smile deepens as the transaction is completed, his visage not so frightening like this.

“If I may ask…” Lumine says, just a touch hesitantly, “If I…gave you a stone, could you make another pendant of it, like these?”

The man raises an eyebrow, but gestures for her to show him. She reaches into her pocket, then drops the stone into his palm. The stonecutter’s eyes shoot up when she moves her hand away, and Albedo also blinks at the multicolored facets of a kind of yellow diamond he has never seen before.

“…Best take it to a master,” the man says, but Lumine shakes her head.

“I haven’t the time,” she says, and Albedo blinks at her, unsure why she says such a thing, “Nor do I want this to turn into something too…flashy.”

The stonecutter hums, then shrugs, reaching for some tools, and they wait as he fiddles with the gem. In a few moments, he has it bound up in a simple cage of silver wire, and a chain looped through a little opening. Lumine smiles with satisfaction when he hands it back.

“How much?” she asks, and the man shrugs.

“No need,” he says, “Got to see something incredible. Not every day you get to see a stone like that. I’d like to ask dearly where you got it, but I shan’t.”

Lumine smiles, and pays him for the chain anyway.

They complete the rest of their task with quickly; Lumine says nothing more about her purchases, and Albedo does not ask.

It is Rhinedottir who notices something remiss with her when they return to their camp in the outskirts.

“Oh,” she says, “It is time, then?”

Lumine’s lips thin, her expression mulish as she tilts her head down a little.

“A few more days,” she sighs, not looking at her. “But no more.”

Albedo attends to his chores, and pretends not to know what they are speaking of.

It is a parting gift, the necklace she had made.

She drops it into his palm the day she leaves, looking apologetic. Albedo knew this day would come, of course, but it does not lessen the sting.

He stares at the pendant while Lumine says her goodbyes to his Master.

“You’ve come a long way,” Rhinedottir says, her gaze piercing, “Do you finally feel welcome in this world?”

Lumine glances at Albedo before looking back to the older woman.

“Perhaps,” she says, “But the red god did not call us Outlanders for nothing.”

Rhinedottir shrugs.

“Then make your place,” she says simply, “And you will be an outlander no longer.”

Lumine purses her lips in thought. But she is in no place to consider this with the depth that it needs at present.

“Thank you, Madam,” she says instead, “For your care and teachings all this time.”

Rhinedottir simply cackles and waves her hand before making her way back to the camp, so that the two youths may speak alone. There is no parting gift for her; she has no need for such sentimentality, and she has already been given the greatest gift by being able to observe and test and research this fallen star of a girl.

Lumine turns to Albedo, and the two are silent for a while. Then, she reaches out to take the necklace from his hand, and gently loops the chain over his head.

“Will you stay upset with me long?” she asks quietly.

Albedo looks down at the brilliant stone of the pendant against his chest, turning it this way and that in his fingers. It sparkles in different colors as it catches the light.

“Of course not. It is not—your fault.”

She smiles a little at that.

“Ah, but I am undeniably the cause.”

“We have known since the beginning that you would leave one day, to search out your brother. I must simply confess that I…enjoyed our time together so greatly that I no longer thought of that fact so consciously.”

He finally looks at her, and her breath hitches for a second. They stare at each other for a moment before she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the other necklace she had purchased at the stall, holding it out to him.

“Will you do the same for me, please?” she requests, and he complies.

He steps closer to put the chain over her head, and does not step away when he is done.

“I enjoyed our time, too,” Lumine whispers, her eyes gentle, “More than I thought possible, after I fell to this land. Thank you, Albedo, for…for bringing me back to life.”

He blinks, unnamable emotion welling up inside him, and he does not know what to do.

Lumine reaches out to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing gently across his skin, and he sighs as he leans into her touch.

“Do not forget me,” she murmurs.

“I will not,” he promises.

She smiles, and steps back, his skin cold when her hand leaves him.

“Goodbye,” she says.

“Goodbye,” he echoes.

He grips the pendant as he watches her go, and cannot help but wonder—

If finding those necklaces at the market spelled her departure…if she had not seen them, if he had not received this gift, would she have stayed a little longer?

He mopes afterwards, though he does not know it for what it is. Albedo is ashamed to say that he is unable to properly notice his own behavior until his Master snaps him out of it.

Rhinedottir does not do so in a scolding manner—rather, she brings it up lightly, with amusement.

“Tell me,” she says, her attention more on the bottle in her hand, as she shakes it and considers the changing color, “Do you know what it is you feel?”

He realizes he does not. There is an emptiness inside of him, not exactly great and yawning, but palpable and difficult to ignore. It is heavy even as it is intangible, and though it feels so much like a stone within his chest, he cannot take it and toss it away.

He is not miserable. With Lumine’s departure, his life has simply returned to its old routine with him and his Master. It is not even as dull as he remembers, and he is still glad to be by his Master’s side, learning and working alongside her. There is still value that he finds in his experiments, and meeting his Master’s high (and rising) expectations.

Except—every so often he cannot help but wonder…where is Lumine now, and how is she doing? Has she managed to find clues to her brother’s whereabouts, or has she found him entirely?

At night, Rhinedottir watches her protégé’s face furrowed in deep thought as he reflects upon himself. It is a difficult thing to do, but Albedo has always performed admirably, and this is yet another part of his growth. Distantly, Rhinedottir thinks that for the everyday person in a similar situation, what Albedo is currently experiencing is meant to be part of a rose-colored period in their life.

But she, he, and the one in his thoughts…well, none of them are everyday people.

Rhinedottir tucks a hand under her chin as she muses, ready when Albedo turns to her.

“Master,” he says, perfectly calm, “Is this loneliness?”

Only a faint upward twitch of her lips confirms the correctness of his answer.

“Albedo,” Rhinedottir says, “You have grown up well.”

He blinks, unsure of where this is going. Her praise never comes lightly, and she is not a warm person to give such compliments undue. This acknowledgement makes him…apprehensive.

“And yet, this is only the beginning,” she adds, and Albedo furrows his brows.

Rhinedottir turns away to prevent further discussion. Even with Lumine gone, there is still his Master. Though he has determined what loneliness is, he has not yet realized what it means to be alone.

He has grown well, and continues to do so—but this is not the first of hard lessons, nor will it be the last.

Change comes again some years later, in the form of a letter, delivered to them by the hands of a hilichurl.

It is Albedo who receives it. He’d been trying to observe the unique patterns on its mask that he has not seen before, but when it spots him, it calls out to him. His name is mangled, yet still recognizable, but despite the address the hilichurl is wary and holds out the letter as if it thinks it will be the last thing it does.

But it completes its mission; Albedo takes the envelope gingerly, nonplussed at this sudden, unexpected interaction.

The hilichurl scampers away the moment Albedo’s fingers close on the paper and secures it.

“Master,” he says, when she ambles up beside him, having noticed this interaction from afar, “Have you ever seen the like?”

“No,” she says, her voice absent as she stares at the envelope in his hand. “Open the letter, Albedo.”

He obeys. Inside in a single folded sheet, with a single line in careful print.

I’ve found my place.

“I see,” Rinedottir murmurs.

She looks thoughtful but says nothing else, merely looking to the sky before walking back to their camp.

Albedo stares at the letter, at the familiar handwriting, at the emptiness of the remaining space. He should be glad for Lumine, and gladder still that she has managed to notify them that she is alive and well.

But the fact that it arrives to them after all this time, not from her directly but in the hands of a hilichurl of all things…he knows how to read the letter for what it is.

A severance.

Her place is elsewhere, somewhere out of reach, some place that he cannot understand.

(And yet…to turn the unknown into the known…that is what he does.)

Albedo stays out for a long, long time, until the sun sets, and his fingers turn cold.

Rhinedottir watches as her boy stands outside in the wilderness and navigates through heartbreak.

When Albedo comes back to the fire to warm his hands, she smiles a little at the resolution set on his face. He has nothing to ask her.

Yes, she thinks.

Soon, she will have nothing left to teach him.

Albedo wakes one morning with his Master nowhere to be found.

Her tools are gone. Her notes are gone. Nearly every trace of the fact he had been traveling with another person is gone.

All she leaves behind is a note, a recommendation later, and the Opus Magnum, the ancient alchemical manuscript which she had so carefully protected during their travels.

He reads her note with trembling hands.

Albedo, when you have put your own affairs in order, go to Mondstadt. Find my old friend, Alice, and give her the recommendation letter. Complete your final assignment.

He surveys the camp once more when he is done, still in disbelief. His Master, Rhinedottir, suddenly gone from his life with nary a warning. He had feared such a thing before, that if he had failed to complete the assignment he’d been given, she would leave him—she had threatened to do so before often enough, as a motivator. But he had and has done everything she has asked, met every expectation and even beyond.

He had not thought that the opposite too could be true, that she would eventually run out of things to teach him, and leave him thus. What she deems her final assignment had not been delivered in any unusual manner the other day. The truth of this world…he had thought like any other task—that she already had the answer, and would watch over him like always as he struggled to reach the same enlightenment.

The sun is already high in the air but the morning is nonetheless dark. He cannot move. The routines he performed with his Master are gone, because his teacher is gone. Nothing is the same. He does not know how to adjust.

Albedo reads her letter over and over again, until he finally reads the recommendation letter she has left too. It is an impersonal detailing of his abilities and accomplishments—so like his Master, and not at all unexpected, and yet he feels emptier having read it.

“Master,” he whispers, “Is this what true loneliness feels like?”

It is more debilitating than he could have guessed.

He watches the sun rise and fall, rise and fall. He does not eat or sleep.

He does a study in hunger, in dehydration. In inertness. He presses his cheek to the ground and watches ants and beetles traverse the dirt. He is not looking to die—though he would not be able to die in this manner to begin with. But nor can he bring himself to move.

And then, one day, a sunsettia plops onto his head.

And then another, and another. He peels his eyes open and looks up to see a hilichurl retreating to a safe distance. It watches as he slowly rises to his knees before running away fully.

If he recalls correctly…it is the same one that had delivered him Lumine’s letter, the one with the unique mask patterns.

Lumine.

Do not forget me, she had said, and he promised that he would not. But he confesses he did, for this snatch of time where he could not think of anything at all.

Complete your final assignment, Rhinedottir had said, and as her loyal student, his compliance was inherent. But that is not the path is he currently on, nor attempting to be on.

…There are still things he has to do, wants to do.

Albedo eats the sunsettias slowly, and then goes searching for more when his stomach settles. The hilichurl does not appear again, but the reminder was enough. His studies in stagnation are done; they do not achieve what he actually wants to achieve.

Logically, he knows, but pulling himself back together is still slow going. He takes one step at a time, and begins going through the motions of the everyday life he had shared with his Master. It becomes familiar again in due time, and he realizes, perhaps, that Rhinedottir had prepared him for this for quite a long time. He has everything he needs, including the routines, even if he is alone.

The rest depends on him.

For the first time, he cries. He does not realize he is doing so until the tears drip off his chin and onto the back of his hand. It is a curious feeling; a part of him marvels at this new, uncontrolled response, the force of his feelings so overwhelming that he cannot contain them.

“I am still learning, Master,” he whispers, and wipes the tears away.

When you have put your own affairs in order, Rhinedottir’s letter had begun, and so he shall begin to do so.

The first order of business: to once more find the shooting star that had fallen to the earth.

It takes a few months, though even that is sooner than he expected. He spends that time simply roaming…and attempting to communicate with hilichurls. Not all the encounters go well—he cannot always get close, and sometimes even if he can, it results in battle. He does not know how to begin learning their language, but he can observe their culture. He seeks out the shamans and brings food to showcase goodwill, shows Lumine’s necklace to them if he is able to establish communication. Albedo cannot tell if they understand, but he tries anyway, and continues to try.

It pays off.

After many other failed attempts, this group of hilichurls exclaims after looking at the necklace a bit, and gestures wildly for him to follow. They lead him to a field of sweet flowers, and at first, Albedo takes this to be another misunderstanding, sighing.

But then he sees the Ruin Guard ambling towards it, and the figure perched in its hand.

The Guard stops in front of him, and Lumine’s face is expressionless as her eyes meet his. The Guard lowers its hand for her to step down, and he sees that there are also apples and sunsettias in its palm.

These she gives to the hilichurls, who exclaim in delight, carrying off the fruits immediately. The Guard itself ambles away slowly once its hand is empty.

“You’ve been kind to them,” she murmurs, watching the hilichurls go. “Thank you.”

“Lumine,” he breathes, his voice hushed.

“Albedo,” she says back, turning to face him.

For a moment, it feels like they are meeting for the first time again, though now they already know each other’s names. Like him, she looks the same as she did all those years ago, and yet much has changed since then.

“You’ve been looking for me,” she says, her voice flat, “Why?”

“I felt I was in danger of losing you,” he replies, not at all offput by the coldness of her attitude, “So I came to keep my promise.”

Her expression changes at that, a flicker of pain flashing across her eyes.

“I am not the girl you once knew,” she tells him.

“And yet, my life’s purpose is to turn the unknown into the known.”

Her brows furrow at his response, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards.

“This is not for you to know.”

“All knowledge is worth having. If you will not share it, I will attempt to discover it myself, in due time.”

Her lips thin with displeasure, her eyes bright with anger. He tilts his head a little as he scrutinizes her.

“You let me find you,” he says gently, “Why?”

Lumine tenses and does not answer him.

“You are afraid,” he continues, and she begins stepping back, her eyes wary, “…And you are lonely.”

At that, she hisses and turns away as if she will leave him entirely, but he reaches out to grab her wrist.

She stills at his touch, and does not pull away.

“How funny that I should feel the same,” Albedo says, with something of a self-depreciating laugh.

Her head whips back to look at him, and the two stare at each other before she finally sighs, the tension draining out of her body. She looks…small, like this. Terribly so.

“Madam Rhinedottir left you,” she says, her voice defeated.

“Yes.”

“You almost died.”

“That is not true, though I was indeed indisposed for some time.”

She raises her eyebrow at that, and he gives her a sheepish look. There is not much more explanation he can give about that, and Lumine shakes her head.

“I did not send that letter so that you would come find me.” she says, her voice distant.

“I know. But why did you send the letter?”

She hesitates before responding.

“…I…thought you would rather know, than not.”

“Ah—a kindness then.”

He smiles a little here, tilting his head just a little teasingly, and her face softens against her will before she turns her face away.

“If…you wish to view it as such.”

A few heartbeats pass before they speak again.

“Are you still searching for your brother?”

“…Yes. But so far, it has been fruitless. I suspect I will only see him when the dust settles. In the meantime…I’ve discovered something else I cannot walk away from.”

“And will you tell me what it is?” he coaxes warmly, but her response is icy.

“Do not ask of me such a thing Albedo, when you are not here to stay.”

He pauses, deliberating whether or not he can answer otherwise to hear her answer, but he will not lie to her. Her lips quirk up at his quietude, but her expression grows melancholy after a moment.

“There is something you cannot walk away from as well,” she says, and he nods.

“My Master’s final assignment is to find the truth of this world,” he says quietly, “I…wonder if I will be able to see her again, when I do.”

Lumine blinks, faintly surprised, though she says nothing on the subject.

The two fall silent then, looking at each other. Albedo is still holding onto Lumine’s wrist, though neither of them comment on the matter.

After a while, Lumine sighs, and reaches out a hand to touch his cheek.

“Albedo,” she says, switching to the language of her homeland, “I confess it is good to see you. But it was not…a good choice.”

He blinks at her and leans into her touch, holding her gaze.

“I wanted to see you,” he says simply, and she shivers to hear the language from him in return.

“Do not do this again. The next time you find me, I will kill you.”

He smiles a little at that.

“Then when it is time for me to die, I will come to you.”

She frowns, and drops her hand as if burned.

“Ah, so you intend to make me do it,” she says, shaking her head. “You are cruel, Prince of Chalk.”

“It is not about making you do it. It is about having a reason to do so.”

She looks at him sharply, her eyes and posture demanding. But he smiles, and says nothing more. The bargain for this information is not something she is willing to make at present.

“Don’t come,” she hisses.

“I will, if I must. You have already made the declaration.”

Her jaw is clenched at his refusal, her body trembling slightly, and it is another moment before she speaks again.

“…Then if you must come, at the time, if I am nothing like you remember, if I am no longer who I say…you must be prepared to do the same. You made me a promise. Do not forget me. Me. As Lumine. Do not let a stranger kill you.”

He tugs off one glove, and holds out his hand.

Slowly, she takes it, intertwining their fingers. Hers are warm as his are cool.

“So once more, we make an exchange,” he says lightly.

She blinks at him, then peers at his neck. She reaches under his collar and tugs out the pendant she had gifted him so long ago by the chain, the yellow diamond still glittering as brilliantly as ever. He reaches under her scarf to tug out hers, the blue crystal still beautifully clear and luminous.

Lumine sighs, and leans her forehead against his.

“You make this difficult,” she mutters.

He chuckles.

“Master used to say that if it was easy, you were not learning.”

Her lips quirk up into a wry smile. After a while, she squeezes his hand, and does not let it go when she steps back.

“Go,” she sighs, “This is hard enough already. Do not make it harder.”

He looks at her, then lifts her hand to press her knuckles to his lips.

“Until death unites us, then,” he says, and lets her go.

She does not say goodbye this time, and he does not turn back. She watches him, until he is out of sight, gripping the pendant hanging in the center of her chest so hard it hurts.

Mondstadt welcomes him with open arms, and his skill is so far beyond what everyone else is used to that even without the recommendation letter, he could have easily made a place for himself. Even so, he is new to the city, so to make him Chief Alchemist is too hasty still.

He does not mind; he does not need a position at all, so long as he is still allowed use the resources that they have.

Instead, he accompanies his Master’s friend, Alice, and her little daughter Klee, on various adventures to better acclimate himself to the country. It is very different than traveling with his Master; Alice is rambunctious and destructive, attentions everywhere all at once with whatever new thing catches her interest. Klee watches her mother with big eyes and a wide smile, and listens with rapt focus whenever Alice sits her down to teach her how to make bombs. (Surely that is not conventional, but…Albedo has not exactly lived a conventional life, and does not have “normal” parenting to compare Alice’s to.)

It is chaotic, and yet he does not wholly mind. It is a new experience to consider.

And yet…in three years, Alice too is gone. She leaves Klee with Albedo and the Knights of Favonius, and then she and her partner are gone in a flash, into the depths of the world.

Klee holds Albedo’s hand tightly when her parents leave with nary a backwards glance, and he squeezes it gently back, understanding her feelings. They are similar—an absent mother and an absent Master, the ones left behind and lonely, their abilities just a little too much for Mondstadt’s walls.

He and Klee sleep side-by-side that night, and for a little while to come. But the little girl handles it better than he, ultimately; she is perky and bright within a few days, pouring her attentions into crafting new bombs and terrorizing the fish in Starfell Lake. (He mitigates this where he can, but…Klee’s shenanigans become commonplace and well known amongst the Knights as they all pitch in to watch her.)

During their travels, Alice had said they were now a family, and that Albedo could call her Mother, if he so wished. But he did not, and the word stuck oddly when he tested it.

But as for Klee…it is not so strange to call her little sister. She had already endeared herself to him early on, with an unprecedented affection so whole and pure and innocent. Despite his lack of previous interaction with children, he does well in caring for her, and he cannot help but marvel a little at the responsibility of watching over another life like so, perhaps a little like the way his Master had when he was brought out of his flask.

They are, perhaps unexpectedly, a good pair. With Klee, Albedo learns about a different kind of contentment, and comfort. There are nights, after Klee has had a nightmare and Albedo simply cannot sleep, that they sit together and watch the stars with a hot drink, or go out to catch fireflies. Together, they forget to be lonely.

“Albedo,” Klee says sleepily on one such stargazing and hot-drink night, nestled up beside him, “I’m really glad that you came to Mondstadt.”

Albedo strokes his sister’s hair, and smiles tenderly.

“Thank you, Klee,” he murmurs, picking her up with great care to put her to bed, “I’m very glad I did too.”

Regardless of previous misgivings, Albedo gains two titles, aside from the one his Master left him, very quickly: Chief Alchemist, and Captain of the Investigation Team. He is truly a Knight of Favonius by the time this happens, with even his bladework adjusted to better suit their style.

Besides Klee—and Sucrose and Timaeus, whom he has taken under his tutelage in the past months—he still primarily keeps to himself. He is satisfied with the relationships he has, and is not interested in cultivating too many new or deeper ones. The work that is required for such things…it is troublesome.

The official assignments required from him by the Knights are, quite frankly, easy, just barely requiring five percent of his energy. But this suits him just fine, as it allows him ample time for his own pursuits.

His life in Mondstadt is colorful, and though here too he forms his routines, there is never a dull moment—especially with Klee, and two students to teach.

Albedo wonders if something like this was the reason his Master sent him to Mondstadt. He is…happy here, in this gentle and free city.

He wonders if, as they had traveled the world just the two of them for so long, his Master had been, too.

He is not in the city proper when Stormterror attacks, but he hears about the Traveler the moment he returns. The knights on duty inform him that the young man and his floating companion had been taken to see Jean in her office, and then the group of them had headed out again afterwards posthaste. Albedo walks towards Headquarters with renewed curiosity, but expects he’ll hear more about everything in due time, and simply goes to his workshop as usual.

There is a knock on his door a little while later, and he calls for whoever is on the other side of the door to come in. He is observing the color change of a potion in his hands, and turns only when it has settled into the proper pale shade.

When he finally looks up from the bottle, he nearly drops it in surprise.

A young man in foreign clothes stands next to Jean, about the same height as Albedo, if perhaps a touch taller. He is slim, his long blond hair tied in a braid, his golden eyes open and curious. A small fairy-like child floats next to him, but Albedo’s focus is on the Traveler, and blinks as he takes in his visage.

They are not identical, but nevertheless, Albedo knows him for who he is.

“Good afternoon, Albedo,” Jean greets, “You must have already heard the stories, but this is the Traveler, Aether, who I’ve deemed an Honorary Knight of Favonius for his assistance. His companion is Paimon.” She gestures back and forth as she introduces everyone. “This is Albedo, Chief Alchemist and Captain of our Investigation Team.”

“Hiya!” Paimon says, waving cheerfuly while Aether dips his head politely in greeting.

“Hello,” Albedo returns, finally settling down the bottle into a rack. “Thank you, for your service to Mondstadt. What brings you here to see me?”

“He is looking for his sister,” Jean explains, and Albedo keeps his face impassive. “I was hoping that he might sit with you awhile to tell you about her, and you could sketch her likeness for some missing person posters?”

“Ah,” Albedo says. “Yes, of course. I will clear some space.”

“Excellent,” Jean smiles, making to leave. “My thanks, Albedo. And—Aether, Paimon, please get some rest afterwards. Arrangements with the inn have been made, and they are ready to accommodate your stay for as long as you need.”

Aether bobs his head again, murmuring a thank you, and in the next moment it is just the three of them.

Albedo is curious about the floating child, but…he puts this aside for now, clearing some notes off a stool for the Traveler to sit. He does so gingerly, looking around the workshop with fascination. Paimon floats, of course, but she moves this way and that in excitement.

“We heard that you’re really great at drawing—Paimon can’t wait to see a master at work!” she exclaims, and Albedo smiles wryly.

“I hope I will not disappoint,” he demurs, as he moves around to locate his materials.

“Thank you, for agreeing to do this,” Aether adds, hesitating a little on the words. “I’m sorry—my mastery of the language is…not so good, yet.”

Albedo prepares the proper paper and pencils, then glances at him sidelong.

“You speak it well, but would you prefer to use a language more comfortable to you?” he asks, and watches Aether’s eyes go wide with shock.

A heartbeat passes, and Aether rises from his seat—

And slams Albedo into the wall by the collar, his hands fisted into his shirt.

It is an aggressive action, yet not one fueled by violence, but desperation. Aether’s eyes are begging as they well up with tears, and his entire body trembles. Paimon watches with her hands over her mouth, completely taken aback by this turn of events and unsure of what to do.

“Where? How?” Aether chokes out, his voice raw, “Tell me—you’ve met her, haven’t you? She taught you. There is no one else left besides she and I who know this tongue.”

“It was many years ago,” Albedo says, putting his own hands gently over Aether’s. There is already a lot understood in that statement; neither Albedo nor Aether are quite human, and neither are quite willing to reveal such personal secrets so openly just yet. “The last I saw her was in a nameless flower field, when I was on my way to this city. I know not what she is doing, nor where she is now. I am sorry.”

Aether loosens his hold, breathing ragged, and steps back.

“I am sorry too, for my reaction,” he says, running a hand through his hair, still distressed. He paces a little, unsure of what to do with all the adrenaline thrumming in his veins. “It has been…quite some time, that I’ve heard our language, and from someone other than Lumine.”

“No harm done,” Albedo assures him, though he suspects his back will be a little sore.

The two regard each other for a moment, and Paimon looks between them.

“Will someone please explain what is going on?!” she demands, and Aether rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“He…knows a language I thought was lost,” Aether says, then pins her with his gaze. “Paimon…you can’t mention what happened here to anyone else, I mean it. Please.

“Wha? Paimon doesn’t get it, but…if you say so. It’s unfair to leave Paimon out, though!”

“I’m sorry,” Aether says, ruffling her hair. “I’ll…explain to you later. And I’ll buy you more Sticky Honey Roast.”

“Yes! Alright, Paimon will do whatever you say!”

Albedo smiles a little, and motions for Aether to sit.

Neither are sure how much to reveal, and also in front of Paimon, so they go through the motions of the situation. Aether describes Lumine in vast detail, and though Albedo does not need it, it is fascinating to hear of her through the eyes of her brother, and match his words to what he knows.

By the end, Paimon marvels over the final drawing, and Aether goes quiet over the portrait. It is a remarkable likeness, down to the way she holds herself and the gleam in her eye.

“Thank you,” Aether murmurs, and Albedo knows he means more than just for the drawing.

“Alright then! Let’s go to Good Hunter now!” Paimon cheers, and flies off first without waiting for an answer.

Aether lingers, as expected, handing back the sketch with reluctance so that it can be copied.

“You may have the original, once the posters are produced,” Albedo tells him, and Aether smiles.

“My thanks,” he says, then hesitates before continuing. “Please…could we meet up again? I’d…like to speak more to you, about…a few things, really, but about Lumine especially. And...I cannot express how much it means, to be speaking this again.”

“I may be difficult to find,” Albedo admits, “But if you can get word to me, I will make time. I would like to speak to you, as well.”

Aether’s smile is brilliant, and he leaves the workshop in a mood just as bright.

Albedo watches him go, and wonders what to tell him, and how much. He looks at the sketch in his hand, unsure of the result of putting up these posters will be. There may be a danger in that it is too good a likeness.

She had said…not to look for her. The next time you find me, I will kill you. But surely that did not apply to Aether, whom she was looking for to begin with all the years.

He sighs deeply and wonders—

Lumine’s goals, and the truths she has found…what are they?

A thousand miles away, underground, Lumine stares down into a pit she cannot see the bottom of, gripping her blue pendant tightly. She holds it over the edge of the abyss, then loosens her fingers, the stone swinging freely.

After a moment, she sighs.

She retracts her hand, holds her fist to her chest.

She slips the chain back over her head.

#genshin impact #genshin lumine #genshin albedo #albelumi #rhinedottir #homunculus albedo #abyss princess lumine #kreideprinz #fanfiction #genshin impact fic #good luck to everyone rolling!!#i pray xiao comes home

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starlightsearches · 4 years

Note

Hey! Could you write about a heated argument between Hux and a reader? And make it really angsty - but with a good ending?? :3

Secret Admirer

Absolutely! I hope you like it 😊

Requests are closed for now ✨ ( I think I have 4 or 5 more requests that I still need to finish? Once those are done, requests will be open again 👀)

Armitage Hux x Reader

Warnings: Language, and some angst 😏

The flowers are already at your workstation when you arrive with the general, too early for anyone else to be awake, let alone at work. Someone must have left them the night before. Hux seems just as surprised as you do, so you can cross him off the mental suspect list, but he watches you closely to see how you’ll react. Reluctance wells up in you as you move to your station, and a part of you wonders if you can simply ignore the gift; and by extension make Hux ignore it too.

Your relationship with him is new, and fragile. In fact, relationship might be too strong a word. Was there even a word to describe the connection you had developed? Occasionally making out in his office and eating meals together at odd times when everyone else was sleeping didn’t exactly scream commitment. And you weren’t really willing to have any conversation about what you meant to him, either. Why ruin a good thing?

“Flowers?” he asks, peering over your shoulder at the arrangement, and you nod noncommittally, moving them to the side to begin your work for the day.

“Who are they from?” He’s still behind you, leaning in close, and he smells so damn good that for a moment you freeze. It’s addicting, strangely so, and brings back too many memories: the edge of his desk cutting into your hips as he pressed against you, the feeling of his hands running over every part of you, so urgent it seemed like he might die if he stopped, the gentle thrum of his pulse as you pressed passionate kisses into his neck. That same smell overpowering your senses.

“I don’t know,” you clear your throat and your mind, shaking off the scent of cigarettes and leather, trying to focus on your work.

“There’s a note,” he says it casually, but his eyes are razor sharp as you reach for the small piece of flimsi tucked between the blossoms. Your eyes scan over the words written, searching for a name. After a minute, you fold the paper closed again, slapping it down on your desk.

“Well?” he’s irritated, and not in the fun way—where he pins your wrists behind your back and kisses you hard in whatever storage closet is closest.

“There isn’t a name,” you say, hoping pointlessly that he might still drop it if you’re uncooperative enough. Little chance of that.

“What does it say?” he asks again, and you give up, handing him the note. It’s not very long, but he stares at the paper for minutes, reading the words over and over again, and with each repetition his brow furrows more. The only three words that matter anyways are tacked on at the end. Your secret admirer.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say preemptively, hoping to curb whatever anger he might be cultivating, “they’re just flowers.” How does one even get flowers onto a First Order ship? Just thinking about the kind of planning that would take—the credits that it would take—makes your head hurt. If you had known that this was how your morning would start off, you would have planned to be here earlier. You could have thrown the stupid flowers away before Hux ever saw them, and banished the whole incident from your mind. Then again, if you hadn’t seen him looking so surprised, you might have foolishly assumed they were from him.

“Who do you think it is?” he asks, throwing the note back on your desk. He’s trying to look uninterested, but you can tell that it bothers him by the way he adjusts his gloves, in the rigidity of his posture. He’s all tensed up, mentally tabulating every person you’ve ever talked to, evaluating the threat.

“I don’t know,” you say, inching the flowers ever closer to the edge of your desk, trying to distance yourself from the conflict as much as possible, “and I don’t really care. If they wanted me to know, they would have put their name on the note.”

“Maybe a security droid caught them in the act,” he says, reaching for his data pad, “I’ll check the feed-” you cut him off, stopping his hand with your own.

“Don’t do that,” you say. There’s something edgy about the contact in its complete lack of intimacy or passion, and you let go immediately, like you’d been shocked. “If the person who sent me these wants me to know who they are, they’ll tell me.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t care.” The cracks are appearing in his apathetic demeanor and he’s dripping with irritation, not at the so-called secret admirer, but at you, for some reason. Like this is your fault.

“I don’t understand why you do,” your voice sounds too angry, even to your own ears, and you wish you could take the words back, but they’re already gone. General Hux stops for a moment, and you think that there might be genuine hurt on his face. You had tried so hard to avoid any conversation like this and now it seems it’s happening anyways, only much, much worse.

“It seems I shouldn’t,” he says, and any trace of emotion is gone, replaced with indifference again. He walks away without so much of a backward glance, and you wilt in your seat, staring down the arrangement with loathing, just barely resisting the urge to pick it up and throw it against the nearest wall.

The rest of your day is somehow worse than the already-terrible start. You try to stay focused, but your eyes keep wandering to the flowers, rekindling your rage, which dissipates every time the general passes by and is replaced with a swimming guilt. By the time your shift ends, you’ve planned at least fifty ways you could get rid of the flowers, each more violent than the next. You take them with you to your chambers—ready to rip apart each blossom one by one and shove them in a waste receptacle—but by the time you arrive, you’ve lost all of the anger that had been consuming you. There was no point in destroying the flowers; you weren’t angry at them, or at your secret admirer. You were angry at yourself. For hurting Hux, for letting him think that you didn’t care about him when in reality you cared too much.

You’d have to apologize, and sooner rather than later. Your stomach rolls with nerves, but you set the flowers down anyways, forcing yourself back out of your quarters and in the direction of Hux’s office. There’s no guarantee that he’ll be there—it is rather late—but you’re determined to find him. If he’s not in his office, you’ll have to check the bridge. And his quarters. Fuck, at this point, you’d check the trash compactor if it meant getting rid of the regret threatening to swallow you from the inside out.

Lucky for you, he’s in the first place you check, looking over some new stormtrooper helmet designs with Captain Phasma. He doesn’t look up at you when you enter, finishing some comment about the placement of the filters, and your nerves reach a fever pitch. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Did you need something?” he asks, and you don’t realize that he’s speaking to you, his eyes still latched onto the design in front of him.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, General, but I was hoping to speak with you,” you trail off, waiting, but neither of them respond, and you’re forced to continue, “… alone?” There’s a moment of silent communication between the captain and Hux, and you’re wondering if you should leave, maybe quit your job and move to a different ship. Stars, this is embarrassing. A lifetime later, it seems, the captain stands, stalking past you to the exit, but the cold black gaps in her helmet stay trained on you. It’s impossible to know what the captain is feeling, but you can be pretty sure that she knows about you, and what you did, and that she doesn’t approve. Shit.

The door slides closed and you’re left alone, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact. To make matters worse, the general seems wholly unaffected by your presence, if not a little annoyed.

“Was there something that you needed?” he asks again, and you force yourself to move, taking the seat across from him.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you begin, wringing your hands so hard it’s like you’re trying to remove the skin, “about this morning. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you, and I shouldn’t have said the things that I did.” You wait without breathing, watching him for any kind of reaction, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t give. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve told yourself that you just wanted to apologize, you know that’s not true. You want him to forgive you, and you’re not prepared for the alternative.

“What am I to you?” he asks after an eternity, and you let out an unsteady breath, trying your hardest not to get your hopes up. What kind of a response is that?

“You’re my commanding officer?” you say, even though you’re fairly certain that’s not the answer he’s looking for. You’re not about to give him everything right now, though, if he’s not willing to return it. Making the apology was already difficult enough.

“No,” he says, standing, leaning over the desk on both his hands. Stars, he looks good from that angle, distractingly good, and you practically have to peel your eyes away from his jawline, the way it flexes in frustration as he repeats the question, “what am I to you? What is this … thing that we’ve been doing? What are we?” Here it is, finally. Your chance to make things right. Earlier this morning, you would have preferred to give Commander Ren a hug from behind if it meant avoiding this conversation with the general, but now it’s your only hope.

“I don’t know, really,” you begin, biting your lip, “but I don’t want it to stop. And I’d really like it to be more. If that’s what you want, of course.” You spit the words out haltingly, waiting for his response. He stares at you for a moment, expression blank, eyes fathomless, and your heart drops out of your chest, the sting of rejection bringing tears to your eyes, threatening to spill over. Great. Crying on your way out of his office would be the perfect end to the galaxy’s shittiest day.

“I feel the same,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear, and you leap from your seat before you can stop yourself, pulling him in for a kiss, feeling your heartbeat explode out of your chest. He smiles against your mouth, and you do too, hardly able to believe it. He feels the same. He wants you.

He breaks the kiss to move around the desk, pulling you into his arms. It’s the first embrace of its kind—free of lustful hands and bruised lips—but it’s definitely your favorite. This is what you always wanted, to be held like this. Everything else had been a consolation prize, and now—lucky you—you get both.

“Do you know why I didn’t care who sent the flowers?” you ask, your words muffled against the front of his uniform and he chuckles at the sensation, relaxing his grip only slightly so that you can look up at his face.

“Why?” He’s still trying to shelter his emotions, but he’s unsuccessful, the smile he has refusing to leave. You’ll never get enough of his joy. You’ll never create enough of it, but this is a good start.

“Because I already knew it wasn’t you. And you’re the only one I want.”

#candle-anon #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #armitage hux fanfiction #armitage hux oneshot #my writing #requests

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letthewhispersunfold · 5 years

Text

“I think she’s missed you”

“Good stretch, little one! Are you excited for Daddy to get home?” She whispers to her belly, running a hand delicately over the bump.

She was pregnant. Almost seven months, and today the little girl in her belly could not seem to stop moving. The belly she sprouts isn’t too large yet, but is still very noticeable. She suspects that the squirmy baby in her tummy is waiting for Harry to get home, usually his voice is the only thing that can soothe the little girl to sleep when she is especially active.

Pregnancy had done many things to her body, some things she had expected, other things had taken her completely by surprise.

She obviously expected the most noticeable thing of pregnancy. The growing belly. She longed to feel the full weight of her little girl growing inside her, wanting to feel the squirms and kicks as the pregnancy progressed. But she didn’t expect the growing skin to be stretched painfully taut, with the angry purple stretch marks that protested the growth. Sometimes the little girl would give particularly hard jab to her ribs, successfully knocking the breath out of her. All of these things were manageable, however, because of Harry. He caressed the swell between her hips often, many times just to say hello, but he also aided in rubbing the coconut scented stretch mark cream all over, giggling excitedly when his little girl stretched her foot into his palm.

She knew that her breasts might grow a little fuller in preparation to feed her baby when she finally gave birth, and she didn’t mind the fact. She needed some new pretty bras anyway. But she didn’t expect them to hurt, or grow two cup sizes. None of her shirts fit anymore, and even the smallest brush or nudge against her chest sent pain ringing throughout her body. Again, Harry helped. He insisted on taking her out shopping to buy new maternity clothes, she needed new jeans and stretchy shirts, and then new bras. But Harry was a menace. He pulled things off the rack that sent her squawking in disapproval, especially when it came to lingerie.

“Harry!” She would hiss at him, pulling the hanger out of his hands and throwing it back on the rack, huffing in discontent, “I can’t wear that!”

“Love,” he would respond, “You’re pregnant, not incapable of wearing nice lingerie. Please just try it on.”

Later, it was Harry huffing in discontent. After he led her to a private fitting room and demanded her to model all the clothes for him, she came out in a lacy number that pleasantly surprised him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearing his throat, while stuttering at his beautiful wife half naked in front of him. He didn’t expect to get a hard on in the maternity store.

She expected to have some mood swings, with all the new hormones rushing into her body, but she didn’t expect different emotions to flood her like the turn of a light switch. Some days, she wanted nothing to do with Harry, the smell of his cologne or sound of his voice leaving her with extreme nausea and a headache. Other days, he was the only person to assuage her needs.

Today was one of those days.

She missed her husband. She hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

Well, she had technically seen him every day. They slept in the same bed every night, and he always without fail would kiss her and the bump before he walked out the door every morning for work.

But she hadn’t really talked to him in two weeks, they hadn't had a date in forever and rarely ate dinner together anymore. She was starting to feel extremely lonely.

She knew she couldn't blame Harry, and she didn't. He worked day and night to provide for her and their little girl, but damn it if these pregnancy hormones didn't make her want to blame someone.

It especially hit her hard when he missed an ultrasound appointment. She knew Harry had marked it in his calendar, and that they had made plans to meet at the doctor's office, but it was when she was waiting on him for more than a half an hour she knew he wasn't going to make it, because he was never that late. She tried not to dwell on her growing disappointment, instead finding joy in hearing her baby's heartbeat and giggling over the new pictures. She called Harry from the car afterward, because it didn't occur to her until then that something might actually be wrong that's keeping him from the appointment. When he answered, he was completely distraught and infuriated with himself at the news.

“I'm such a horrible father,” he broke down into the phone, sitting in the hallway right outside his studio, “She's not even born yet, and I'm already letting you both down. Baby, I'm so sorry, I've just been so busy and exhausted trying to get everything done before she comes, you know I wouldn't-”

She interrupted him then,

“Honey, I'm not angry, I know things have been out of control lately with work, I'm just a little disappointed. We miss you.”

He choked out another sob when he heard her gently in the phone. The woman he committed his life to forever is far too forgiving and understanding of his bullshit. The rage he felt bubbling in his chest at himself overflows.

He vowed to make it up to her.

But when he got home at 10:30 that night with his shitty attempt at an apology with her favorite flowers, he found her already snuggled up on her side of the bed with a hand on her tummy, snoozing peacefully. He wanted to cry again at the sight, and tears finally flooded his eyes when he found the new ultrasound photos laying on his pillow.

That leads them to today. She woke up to the flowers and a sweet note promising to be home early, and she spent the rest of the day giddy with excitement. An hour before his expected arrival home, she takes a shower to ensure that she would be soft and clean from her deserving husband.

She steps out of the shower onto the squishy bath mat, and grabs her fluffy robe. Her post-shower routine soon follows: she brushes her hair, smooths her legs with her mango body cream, washes her face, and brushes her teeth. Soon after, she puts on a pair of pretty pink lace panties, after she had sat on the bed for support to wrestle them on. The closet looms in front of her, as she dreads finding a top of hers that will compliment her shape and leave her feeling comfortable. Tears spring to her eyes as she steps into the large walk in closet, all of her clothes look rough and uncomfortable. Instead, she quickly turns to Harry’s side of the closet, and smiles with closed lips. His clothes are home. She chooses an old, soft flannel, one that had gone through the wash hundreds of times. It was her favorite flannel of his, she loved to see him wear it, and she loved to wear it herself. She doesn't even try to button the warm fabric when she manages to get it on.

“If daddy leaves his tits out on stage most of the time, I think we can leave ours out around the house, what do you think baby?” she murmurs to herself in a giggle.

Just as she shuts her closet door, her ears perk up as she hears a lock in the door from downstairs. A grin involuntarily plasters her face, and she begins to run for the stairs.

As he puts the key in the lock, he makes sure to open the door slowly, to avoid any loud creaks or noises that would wake his missus up in case she was asleep. He turns around and shuts the door behind him softly, but before he can take his shoes off and hand his jacket up on the coat rack, he hears the footsteps running down the stairs. Before he can process what is going on he looks up to see his very pregnant, half naked wife come barrelling down the stairs. A grin plasters itself on his face as he opens his arms and engulfs his wife in an embrace.

“I missed you,” She whispers into his chest breathlessly.

“Oh honey, I missed you too,” He kisses the top of her head and smells her rose scented shampoo, inhaling deeply.

“No, I missed you H,” He looks at her in confusion but when she grabs his neck and forces his lips to her he understands.

She missed him like that.

One of Harry’s favorite perks of his wife’s needs was that at times she was absolutely insatiable and horny almost all of the time.

Harry couldn’t complain. Having sex all the time with the love of his life who was carrying his child and looking stunning while doing so? He was definitely forced to increase his stamina.

She breaks the kiss and looks at him with lustful eyes, “Come on!” and turns around with her hand in his, as she begins to run up the stairs.

“Love!” He squawks, “Please be careful! Don't move so fast.” She stops halfway up the staircase,

“Harry, I’m pregnant, not incapable of going up the stairs.”

“I don’t want you to slip and fall, just be careful okay?”

She’s out of breath by the time they make it to their room. Huffing uncontrollably, she drops Harry’s grasp when they reach the bed. She plants two hands on the comforter and swings her legs up over the mattress, rather ungracefully, and lands on her back with a thud. Harry grins at her lopsidedly.

“Harry!” She wines, reaching her arms out to him and squirming on the sheets.

He quickly toes his shoes off and discards his jacket, and he is able to stay in his right mind long enough to take his belt off preemptively before he joins her.

“C’mon honey, rest up against the headboard, please?” He is always worried about her comfort, grabbing two pillows and propping them under her neck and back as she readjusts. He knows that with all of the weight gain from her pregnancy she has been experiencing intense back pain, he doesn’t want to exacerbate it if he can help it.

He returns his lips to hers, and as they kiss languidly he moves to remove her (his) flannel from her shoulders.

As the kiss gains in intensity, Harry redistributes his weight over her. He grabs her legs and wraps them around his waist, plants one hand by her head to support himself, and rests the other lovingly over her growing belly. Right as he goes to pull away to rid himself of his shirt, she lets out a groan, and not one from pleasure.

“Oof!” Her hands fly to her belly, and she squeezes her eyes shut as it seems the wind is knocked out of her.

Harry immediately sits up, not sure of the discomfort she is facing, and his eyes widen immediately in panic not quite sure if he’s done something wrong.

“Love? Are you alright?” He tries to keep the tone of his voice even, but he’s sure he’s not doing a great job.

She finally opens her eyes again, a grimace on her face.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” She looks up at him, reaching out for his hands and placing them on her swollen stomach, “Just feel. I think she’s trying to kick a rib out of place.”

He lays his hands against her warm and taut skin, and feels his daughter wiggling and moving around under his touch. He can’t help the smile that reaches his face, but he knows that this is the movement that is bringing his wife so much discomfort.

Harry couldn’t imagine holding the weight of a child in between his hips, rearranging his organs with every movement.

“Someone is active today,” Harry murmurs, a small smirk on his face.

“Yes, I think she’s missed you,” His wife responds. Harry’s face immediately crumples and his shoulders slump, reminded of his shortcomings recently as both a husband and a father.

“No no no! Wait, Harry! I- I didn’t mean it like that! Well, we do miss you but...” She struggles to sit up, grasping each side of his face in her hands, “I just… fuck!” She cries out, tears welling in her eyes. A sob rattles through her body.

“Honey, honey it’s okay…” Harry whispers gently as she cries into his neck, “Hey. Look at me please? Take a couple of deep breaths, I don’t want to stress you and the baby out.”

“I’m sorry,” She responds, face full of panic, “I didn’t mean–”

“Please don’t apologize,” He cuts her off, “I should be the one apologizing.” He presses a quick kiss to her temple.

“How was the appointment yesterday?” He forces her to look into his eyes.

“It was good,” She breaks out of his grasp to lean over to the bedside table and grab the day old ultrasound photos, “The doctor said she’s doing great and looking healthy, her heartbeat was so strong H.”

He smiles at her, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She knows that he’s internally beating himself up for missing the appointment.

“They sent me an audio file of her heartbeat, remind me to play it for you later, yeah?” She tells him softly and he nuzzles his face into her neck.

“Okay,” he responds, “I love you so much, doll.”

“We love you too,” she kisses the side of his head, pulls his face from her neck and guides his lips back to hers.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles #original writing #harry styles blurbs #harry au #harry fic #harry styles au #harry fuff #harry blurbs #harry imagine

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tsipasce · 4 years

Text

Same Difference, ch.03

A/N: so two cute idiots walk into a tea shop...

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 04

AO3 | Fanfic

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shiiiiiiit. She thought as she shakily sipped the tea she had just made. It had been an hour or so since she escaped, and the gravity of the situation once again settled on Nanami’s shoulders. She realized just what it meant to have left her purse in his car. If it had just been her phone and cards, she could go and replace them, but what really concerned her was her I.D. If there was any sensitive information he was after, he was certainly going to find it on there. “He knows my address…” she realized aloud.

No amount of SleepyTime tea would be able to fix this. I’m doomed...

It was getting late in the day and without any of her cards or phones, she was stranded in her apartment, waiting for the worst. However, she did have some old pots and pans lying around. It’s not the strongest metal, but it’ll at least make a lot of noise if they’re broken and give me time to escape if shit hits the fan. She broke down the metal objects and reformed them into a considerable amount of deadbolt locks on her front door and windows. As she went to check how things looked outside, she saw it: It’s that same damn car.

Nanami immediately shut her blinds and had a mini freak-out. Why in the world did I think they wouldn’t follow me? Fmllll.

Freaking out wasn’t helping, so she decided to refocus and calm herself by planning and researching her would-be opponent. If he decided to make good on his last threat, she at least needed to know who she was up against. She pulled out her laptop and remembered she was able to check her phone notifications through it. There were no notifications and for the first time she was glad her inbox was so dry. Clearing her mind, she tried to remember details that would tell her who she was up against.

“Overhaul”. That’s what the driver seemed to call him. Is that his villian name? Nanami figured it was worth a shot, assuming she’d probably find some petty criminal’s rap sheet. Though if she was being honest with herself, he was much more intimidating than your average delinquent. She pulled up Boogle and searched the name. She unfortunately got her answer.

… You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

It was then that all of the hints she had missed before came crashing down as she saw the words “yakuza” and “Hassakai” plastered on her screen. She had to be the unluckiest woman alive, she was thoroughly convinced of that now.

After taking a personal moment to scream into one of the throw pillows on her sofa, Nanami decided to press onward in the hopes of finding out about his quirk. He hadn’t been able to use it yesterday, but she was sure he would try again if given the chance. This piece of information was much harder to find, but not impossible. A couple gruesome articles later and she found what she was looking for. The article read “ His quirk is suspected to involve the disassembly and reassembly of anything that he touches at a molecular structural level upon touching the target with his bare hands.”

She reread, and then reread it again. And again. This is impossible. “That’s my quirk.” Though she had to keep it a secret most of her life, she suddenly felt almost angry that someone else had it, that he had it. She hid her powers, always being careful to understate her quirk, then here comes this asshole using it without a care in the world. The more she thought about it, the more she began to question whether she was angrier at him for owning it, or at herself for rejecting it. Before she could make the existential breakthrough, the Dr. Nanami Watanabe part of her brain brought up the obvious question, rousing her from her thoughts:

“How in the world do two people that aren’t related have the exact same quirk? Has that ever even happened before? What does this even mean?” she had to ask herself aloud. I have to talk to him, she realized, grimacing at the thought.

It would be incredibly dangerous given who he is, but as it stood, he had all her information—probably more considering his connections—and she couldn’t talk to anyone else about it and risk getting them involved. Besides, for whatever reason, he wasn’t able to use it on me the last time. Maybe it was just a fluke, but I have to at least try and find out. Considering this, his behavior (well, some of it) began to make sense. If she were a yakuza boss and found out someone else was walking around with your very specific, and possibly very destructive quirk, she’d probably want to have a talk with them too.

Cautiously looking out the window, the car was still there. It was a long shot, but she hoped they had her phone in front of them so she could send a civil invitation to meet from a distance. She reopened the phone messenger on her laptop and began to type. Nanami had written a lot of serious messages in her life, but this one definitely took the cake.

After rewriting it a couple times she settled on a riveting, final draft:

Dear Overhaul,

I know who you are. Let’s chat.

*send*

Looking at the message, she commented dryly “I should’ve just dropped out of med school and become a writer. Great work, Nanami *facepalm*”. After a message like that, she was sure he’d think she was an idiot and she wouldn’t blame him one bit. He may not respond, but at least she can say she tried. If he agrees, then there’s a slight chance we could come to an understanding and he won’t merc me on sight. Maybe.

Just as doubt was about to rear its ugly head, three dots appeared.

Nanami’s eyes were glued to the screen in anticipation while her ears were still straining to hear if there was any commotion outside her door. The dots disappear.

“Tomorrow at 8AM.” The text read. She wasn’t sure if it was the man himself, but it didn’t matter. Death threats or not, she didn’t wake up that early on a Sunday for anyone but the Lord himself.

“No can do. Tomorrow, noon, at Matcha Mastery” She replied. If anything went down, she at least wanted to get one last fix from her favorite shop.

The three dots appeared and reappeared at least 4 times. Whoever was responding was being careful about what they wrote.

“Fine.”

Or not..

And just like that, she had a date with the devil for tea.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sleeping was near-impossible that night. Though she had set a time and place, there was also little stopping him from sending in a couple of his “colleagues” to make a preemptive strike. Thankfully, the night went by without incident, the mysterious car having only left at daybreak. After checking her locks one more time, Nanami set an alarm for 11:00 AM and passed out.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The alarm blared and she woke up with a start, the anxiety from the day before bubbling up to the surface. After going through her usual routine, she went to her closet and stared blankly. She had never been more confused as to what to wear, it was a meeting with a class B villain, after all. Do I wear a sensible pantsuit or a dramatic gown with a fur coat made of dalmatian puppies? Thinking it best to be as inconspicuous as possible, she went for a third option: her favorite sleeveless black turtleneck, some high-rise jeans with a black leather belt and black leather boots. Putting her hair into her signature ponytail, she checked her watch, “11:45, just enough time to walk there.”

Though she’d made this walk a hundred times, today it felt excruciatingly long. She’d say it was like marching to her own execution, but thought it best not to speak something with such a high probability into existence. Five minutes later and she had arrived.

There were only a few other people in the small shop, but she thought it best to sit upstairs in one of the private rooms. She put in her order and headed upstairs to wait and mentally prepare. Enough privacy where they won’t be able to hear our conversation, but public enough that I can call for help if things go south, she plotted internally. Just then, her order was called, and she headed down the stairs. As she took the last step she heard someone else come in and looked towards the door to see him there. He hadn’t noticed her yet and went to order. For a moment, she observed him from afar. He wasn’t wearing his signature mask or jacket, but donned a simple black mask, button-down shirt and slacks with a gray tie instead. She was surprised at how different he looked. Speaking of surprises, he was actually being very courteous to the staff, What a stark contrast to the guy that threw me in the back of a car yesterday… She commented inwardly. Nanami was so focused on her thoughts she didn’t realize that her stare was being returned. She quickly snapped out of it and looked away, feeling a tinge of embarrassment lightly stain her cheeks. He subtly raised an eyebrow, but his expression stayed otherwise the same.

Not wanting to lose her air of confidence so quickly, Nanami poised herself and walked confidently over, reaching past him to get her order, his eyes never leaving her. Without a word, she turned on her heel, returned to the private room upstairs and waited, her heart racing after having been that close. A few minutes later she heard someone walking up the stairs and braced herself for the encounter. Overhaul calmly walked into the small room, sat across from her, and stared. It seemed as if neither of them knew how to start the conversation which she found surprisingly comforting at first, but then she remembered why they were there in the first place.

They sat in that heavy, awkward silence for what felt like an eternity, neither one of them breaking eye contact. Nanami usually wouldn't be this hostile right off the bat, but after their encounter yesterday, she made an exception. His gaze was intense and still borderline homicidal as he studied her, but she knew she couldn't afford to show signs of weakness and look away. While focusing so intently on his eyes, she could swear she saw a tinge of curiosity. Hm. I can work with that. Truces have been made on less, right? She convinced herself, deciding it was time to put a knife to the growing tension. "Alright, let's chat." she began confidently. His eye twitched ever so slightly at this and she could tell he was still contemplating less pleasant, nonverbal forms of communication. "Why were you following me yesterday?" "No. That isn't how this is going to work. I'm questioning you." He replied sternly, almost cutting her off. "You can think that, but I'd like to remind you what happened the last time you tried to corner me with questions. How's your stomach feeling, by the way?" Nanami asked innocently, though her face was smug. At this she could see his face shift to a look of disbelief, then quickly regress to anger and a bit of embarrassment. She could tell he wasn't used to being talked to like this. She was skating on thin ice, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy watching him react. The silence continued and Nanami sipped her tea, raising her brows at him expectantly. Not being able to use his quirk to shift the balance, he came to terms with the fact that he'd have to answer her at some point. "On Friday you were snooping around Hassakai territory, accosted one of my subordinates. Then you proceeded to destroy construction site materials. It's not odd that I would have to investigate such a suspicious character." He stated matter-of-factly as he crossed his arms over his chest, sure of himself. Nanami looked around dramatically, gesturing, “Am I in the Twilight zone? That's not at all what happened. I didn't accost anyone or destroy anything, I saved him by--" she abruptly stopped, thinking it best not to confirm what he may or may not know about her quirk. Or is it “our” quirk? Gross. She then continued " I saved your subordinate and I get thanked by almost being kidnapped? Make it make sense." "If that's true, then explain how you did it. In detail." He replied, but it sounded too much like a dare. She knew what he wanted to hear but was afraid of the consequences if he got his answer. Overhaul decided to take the initiative and provoke a demonstration out of her, since the explanation was taking too long for his liking. After glancing around to ensure they were alone, he took a napkin, and wiped down her mug. Nanami was watching him intently now. He began removing his glove and she reflexively flinched at the movement, remembering the threats from yesterday. He noticed and moved slightly slower, before removing it completely. He then took her mug, examining it.

A germaphobe who has to touch things to activate his quirk, huh? No wonder he's so grumpy. Nanami thought.

Just as she was about to ask what he was doing, he raised the mug between them and disassembled it, the particles now in free fall. Before Nanami thought, she reacted, placing her hand beneath the soon-to-be mess, catching and reassembling the particles at they fell. She looked at the now intact mug and realized she had done exactly what he wanted. Crap. She hesitantly lifted her gaze to meet his and saw a hint of... wonder? Is he happy about this? She wondered, but the rest of his expression was that of suspicion. "Explain." He commanded in a low voice. She knew it was too late now. No amount of strategy would get her out of this explanation. "I.. I researched you—I mean your quirk— last night, and well… it's the same as mine. Exactly the same." She added the last part clearing her throat, now looking down, her mind going a mile a minute at the declaration. He paused a beat before responding. "It truly is a virus." He said with disgust. Say what now? Nanami had a couple of ideas as to how he'd react, but this was not one of them. "Pardon?" "Quirks. They are the virus of this generation." He continued. Still puzzled, but curious, Nanami prodded, "You mean, literally or in some philosophical, villain-y way?" "Both. Everyone has ascribed to the label of either hero or villain, intoxicated by their own delusions of grandeur. All because they've been given powers by a virus derived from rats. It's filthy." "No, no, no," Nanami mentally switched gears to become Dr. Watanabe, " while I agree hero and villain complexes can be dangerous in equal measure, and they might be a ‘moral virus', quirks are not biologically viruses. They're hereditary mutations," she stated confidently. "Well, you don't look like one of my relatives." He replied plainly, sizing her up. They both knew he had a point. " I.. I can't explain that. But it's widely known that quirks are hereditary." " Known or theorized?" " Science doesn't work that way. Even things we're almost 100% sure of are still sometimes considered theory. Doesn't make it any less true." "One, I know how science works. And two, it also doesn't make it 100% true. You can't ignore data just because it contradicts your beliefs." At this Nanami thought for a moment before deciding they needed to refocus and come to terms on a truce. "Well. What now? I can't have you tailing and threatening me with abduction." "And I can't have someone with my quirk walking around, ready to be weaponized by my enemies…How can you assure me you won't be a problem?" Is he throwing me a bone? "Look, I'm a semi-law-abiding citizen just trying to live a relatively quiet life, and I have no hero license. I haven’t the reason nor the means to cause trouble." "You already have. Yesterday I was...” He cleared his throat, “…unable to execute my quirk." Geez that sounded like it hurt to say… Nanami thought. He continued, "However, you were able to utilize yours against me. There is an imbalance and it must be rectified." "But I have no idea how that happened. It was a fluke!"

" You can't be sure of that." He stated, and she knew he was right. Just as she was afraid of coming the negotiations would come to an impasse, he continued, "But I can. Let me study you." Her eyes shot open wide at that suggestion, " And lock me away in whatever yakuza hideout cell you've probably already constructed for me? No, thank you." "So you're not the least bit curious as to why something you claim is hereditary behaves like a virus? Why you were unaffected by overhaul yesterday?" "You were going to disassemble me??" Nanami asked in disbelief, though her professional and personal curiosity were indeed piqued at the prospect of researching their shared quirk. He looked confused and answered as though she was the weird one," Of course. I was going to overhaul your arms and then return them to you once I knew the threat had been neutralized." " You were going to ‘return my arms’? How considerate of you." She said sarcastically. "But still, the answer is no." "So you're not curious?" He pushed, knowing the answer. "No. I mean yes! But I'm not going to become a lab rat." Just then, an epiphany struck her. It would be a long shot, but it was her best shot at a truce and to get her questions answered. She had to at least try.

"But I would be willing to become a lab

partner,

" she said, raising her eyebrows, hoping he would accept the proposition.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, we could work together to figure this out. We’re both looking for answers so our goal would be the same, I’m a whole ass doctor, and I can tell by how you remove your gloves you at least know basic lab practices. All you have to do is guarantee you won't harm me or anyone I associate with. I should be able to go about my life without worrying about what you might do to me... Do we have a deal?"

He paused thoughtfully, and she could tell he was genuinely considering the proposal. He looked her in the eye, searching for any signs of deception until he finally spoke, "Under one condition," She was both relieved he was going to accept and afraid of what he could possibly ask of her. " You must work in my lab under my supervision. I will also monitor you and your communications."

"Yes to your lab. No to monitoring." Nanami shot back without hesitation.

He looked vexed, and countered, "You must never speak of our arrangement, and we will have mutually agreed upon check-ins."

"... Deal."

" Good."

Nanami knew better than to offer her hand to a germaphobe and instead opted to start their partnership out on the right foot. She gracefully rose, casually brushed off her pants and walked around to his side of the table. Looking at him seriously now, she began " If we're going to be partners, let's do this properly," she then bowed as she would to any new colleague, " I look forward to working with you, Mr. Overhaul."

He was silent, and Nanami was getting nervous, not knowing how he would respond. He stared at her a beat. She couldn’t see it, but he was pleasantly stunned. Recognizing her consideration, he rose in a similar fashion and returned her gesture, "And I you, Dr. Watanabe."

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