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anyasathenaeum · 1 year ago

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Elysium (Dad!Vash fic) - Chapter 2

A/N: Hello again everybody! Here is chapter 2 to my Dad!Vash fic that I randomly got inspiration to write. This chapter is a heavy-duty angst platter, make sure you read the warnings because this gets kinda dark and real sad. There's hurt/comfort in there too, though. And she's a chonker at 6.4k words. Anyways, enjoy! This chapter was cross-posted to AO3 here.

Story Summary: Vash the Stampede remains in hiding after the disaster of Julai city. In the year since the disaster, you and Vash have had children and are living a quiet life in town, until one day, the arrival of bandits threatens to rip away the life you and Vash have built together. What will Vash give to protect his family?

Warnings: Reader is AFAB in this work, referred to using she/her pronouns and "Mama" by the kids, explicit and graphic descriptions of guns, blood and violence, the children are included in the angst and violence so please proceed accordingly

Chapter Wordcount: 6.4k

Chapter 2: Calamity

Darkness surrounded you. There was nothing you could see or smell or feel near you that could tell you anything about where you were.

'Vash... Oh, Vash...' You thought to yourself over and over, 'I'm so sorry. Please... be okay.... please, find us.'

It had been complete and utter chaos before either you or your children could react. The three of you had been happily playing together in the living room of your home when you suddenly heard the front door open and shut. You thought none the wiser of it and called out when you heard the door close.

"How was town, my love?"

However, when you received no reply, you immediately knew something was wrong. Before you could even turn your head, you saw little Rem and little Nicholas's eyes go wide and Rem screamed out "MAMA!" before you felt something hard connect with the back of your head and you plunged into darkness. You never even had a chance to look at the person who had attacked you, but given the fear in your children's faces, it wasn't somebody you knew.

Eventually, the darkness that had surrounded you for however long you'd been unconscious for began to recede, and you began to hear snippets of conversations happening around you.

"-ou think this was a good idea?"

"The bastard had it coming for showing us up like that!"

"If you're sure, boss."

You could make out two distinct voices - the first sounded uncertain and nervous, wobbling slightly as the person spoke, while the second sounded aggressive and irritated, as if trying to justify their decision. If you had to guess by the sounds of the voices, and the fact that the word "boss" was used, this was a conversation between a subordinate and their higher-up. Were these the individuals responsible for your kidnapping? Your children's kidnapping?

With a quiet groan, you slowly opened your eyes, your head throbbing painfully where you were struck when you were knocked out as the light shone in your face. As your vision adjusted to the light, you began to look around, trying to determine where exactly you were. It was a decrepit building, long-abandoned by the looks of it. The walls were faded and the wallpaper peeling, all the windows were cracked or shattered and scratched up from the sandstorms the building had weathered. Piles of sand lay in empty corridors that stretched endlessly, the glaring suns shining down through cracks and holes that had been made with the passage of time and lack of care given to the structure. As you began to look around, you put the pieces together of where you were - the abandoned school house that rested on the outskirts of town. You were laying on the ground, your hands tied together behind your back and your ankles bound together with rope.

"Hmm? Boss! She's up!"

You heard the first voice call out, and as you looked up, you saw a particularly nasty-looking bandit's face come into focus, smirking down at you.

"Ah? Well, well, well, good morning, Missus Saverem! About time you rejoined us in the land of the living!"

"Maybe if you or your goons hadn't hit me as hard, I would've rejoined you sooner," You snapped at the bandit, glaring at him with a look that certainly would've killed him were it possible.

"You've got some fire in you, haven't you, doll? I guess that's why your husband chose you, huh?" The bandit chuckled coldly, and you felt your heart sink in your chest as the bandit brought up Vash. What did he have to do with all this?

Before you could retort, a small sound caught your attention - a terrified whimper. You quickly looked towards the source of the sound, and you felt a combination of emotions flood your veins. Fear. Helplessness. Rage.

The source of the sound: your children.

Rem and Nicholas were laying not too far away from you, both of them bound exactly as you were. However, in addition to the ropes binding their arms and legs, there were pieces of fabric tied across their mouths to silence any potential cries or screams that would alert people to the situation. Nicholas was squirming like crazy, trying desperately to free himself from his bindings, while Rem was looking at you, the fear she was feeling unmistakably visible in her eyes, tears coursing down her little cheeks. She let out another terrified whimper as she tried to cry out to you.

"Release them!" You shouted at the bandit leader, your rage blazing through you, "They're just children! Let them go!"

"Hmm, I don't think so," The bandit leader replied coolly, a heartless chuckle escaping him as he snapped his fingers at his subordinates. The other bandits present came over to where Nicholas and Rem were laying and picked them both up, causing them both to wriggle uncontrollably and let out muffled cries of terror.

"Leave them alone! Put them down!" You screamed, your voice borderline pleading for the safety of your children. You had never felt so helpless in your life, unable to reach your babies, unable to protect them. They were mere feet away from you and felt more out of reach than they had ever been before.

"Move 'em. As we discussed," The bandit leader commanded, and his henchmen swiftly headed towards the outside of the building.

Before you could scream out again or even think, a burning pain erupted in your head as the bandit leader grabbed your hair and pulled hard, his face getting way too close to yours. The grin on his face made you want to beat him to a pulp, pure unadulterated hatred coursing through you. You let out a pained hiss, refusing to cry out as the man pulled your hair.

"We're following 'em, doll."

Another pained sound escaped you as he pulled on your hair ruthlessly, and you struggled as you tried to escape the bandit leader's grasp, but to no avail. The bandit leader simply laughed at your pathetic attempt to free yourself of him, and you found yourself being dragged by one of your arms through the sand and across the floor of the abandoned building. You winced as you felt sharp, broken tiles scratching and tearing your skin, but you bit your lip hard to keep yourself quiet, refusing to allow the bandits and your children to have any inkling of the pain you were feeling. You refused to give in. For Rem and for Nicholas.

By the time you were dragged outside, your legs and arms were torn and bleeding in multiple places, but you refused to so much as glance at your many wounds. You could hear Rem and Nicholas's muffled screams as they no doubt caught sight of you bleeding, and you quickly looked over to where your children were laying in the hot sand, both looking at you with eyes wide with terror.

"I'm okay, babies," You called to your children, your tone as gentle and soothing as you could possibly make it, "Don't worry. Mama's alright. They're just scratches."

Nicholas continued to thrash aggressively, still fighting his bindings with every ounce of energy he could possibly muster as he tried to get to you, regardless of the hold that the bandit had on him - a truly stubborn spirit, much like his namesake. Rem, however, lay in the sand calmly, just gazing at you and studying you carefully for any sign of distress. When she heard your words, she relaxed, no longer crying out through her gag, instead just focusing on you and keeping her eyes on you.

"That's right, my love," You called to Rem, smiling at her comfortingly, "Keep your eyes on Mama. I'm right here. Nick, love, stop squirming. It's okay. You're okay."

Nicholas immediately stopped when you spoke to him, his wide eyes looking up at you incredulously, as if surprised and slightly insulted that you should tell him to stop fighting. Had the situation not been what it was, you would've laughed - little Nicholas was proving to be a lot more like Wolfwood than you had ever anticipated. Your choice of name for him could not have been more appropriate.

As you looked at the bandits holding you and your children hostage, you realized that none of them were looking at you or Rem or Nicholas anymore. All of them were looking towards the town, and when you followed their gazes, you saw exactly what they were looking at; there was a figure a little ways off, somebody walking towards the group. You didn't even have to catch sight of their features to know who it was, your heart beginning to thunder in your chest.

Vash.

***

Vash didn't really remember how or when he got to the path leading to the abandoned school house. All he remembered was the feeling of his heart shattering in his chest when he found your wedding ring, the children's broken toy, and the note left behind as indication of your whereabouts. Endless questions raced in his mind as he took off running towards the place where his family supposedly was. Were you and the children hurt? Were you alive? What would he find when he got there? Would it just be a trade-off? Him for you and the children? Or would he come too late to save you all? Would he find his family, all those he loves in the world, too far gone to save?

'Gods, no... please, no,' Vash thought to himself on repeat, pleading and begging any deity that existed that he hadn't lost his family the moment his peacekeeping nature made him interfere with the bandits. 'Let them be safe. I'll never ask for anything ever again. Let them all be safe. (Y/N)... Nicholas... Rem...'

Your faces swirled in Vash's mind, all three of you smiling, laughing with not a single care in the world, just as you had this morning, the same morning that felt like it was a different lifetime now. You... his life partner, his best friend, his spouse, his soulmate and better half. Nicholas and Rem, the proof of your and Vash's love, half of him and half of you embodied, his babies that he loved more than life itself and would sacrifice anything for. All three of you... his reasons for still living.

As Vash approached the abandoned school building, he could see figures coming out of it. He could make out Rem and Nicholas, tied up and hoisted over a bandit's shoulders as he carried them outside before laying them down in the hot sand. Shortly afterwards, another figure appeared, dragging a final figure behind it mercilessly. It was you, also bound, and from what Vash could see at this distance, you were bleeding.

A spike of white-hot rage went through Vash. How dare they hurt you? You hadn't done anything wrong. He was the reason to blame, not you. He should be the one being injured for his daring to interfere, not you. Thankfully, from what Vash could see, neither one of the children were hurt, and from what he could make out, you were saying something to them, smiling at them in a way that made his heart twist violently in his chest - you were comforting them. Vash's love and respect for you, although already endless and infinite, reached a new high as he witnessed you speaking and trying to reassure your children, even though you were hurt and undoubtedly in pain.

The bandits caught sight of Vash and looked over at him, all of them focused on him as he approached. He watched as you followed the bandits' gazes, and when your eyes landed on him, he saw them widen in recognition. Then, Rem and Nicholas looked over and saw him, and they began to squirm again and let out desperate, muffled screams. The sound of his children screaming for him through their gags made Vash feel like somebody had reached into his chest and torn out his heart and crushed it in a vice.

"Quiet, you brats!" One of the bandits shouted, and Vash watched as Rem and Nicholas both flinched at the shout and stopped thrashing, their eyes wide in terror.

"Don't you yell at my children!" You shouted in turn at the bandit, anger blazing in your eyes. Vash would've smirked at your feistiness had he not been terrified for your and the children's safety. The bandit in question seemed to be taken by surprise when you yelled at him, but the bandit leader just let out a bellowing laugh as Vash got close enough to become a concern.

"Glad to see you got my note, Mr. Saverem!" The bandit leader taunted, smiling coldly at Vash before sweeping his arm out dramatically, "As you can see, I think your luck has begun to run out."

Vash felt his heart racing in his chest as the bandit spoke, but he fought to maintain a façade of complete and utter calm, so neither you nor the children would be able to tell just how scared he was for all of you. He had a few ideas of how this could play out, and most of them were ugly, to say the least. His only goal was to protect you and Nicholas and Rem, regardless of the cost, and to get you all out of this situation as unscathed as possible.

"What do you want?" Vash asked bluntly, keeping his eyes on the bandit leader and keeping tabs on the others in his periphery. He continued to approach slowly until the bandit leader suddenly un-holstered his pistol and pointed it at him, the cold smile on the bandit leader's face only widening.

"That's close enough."

Vash, however, didn't listen, focused only on getting as close as possible to you, Rem and Nicholas, so that when things went down, he could quickly get over to you and get you out of danger. It wasn't until the bandit leader quickly pointed his pistol down at your head that Vash froze in his tracks. He could see the other bandits pulling out their pistols before pointing them down at Rem and Nicholas, causing the children to scream hysterically through their gags as they began to thrash crazily, the scene and sounds shredding Vash's heart in his chest. He bit his lip so hard that he could taste blood, refusing to give in to the stinging of his eyes, not letting the bandits realize they were pointing their pistols at the only things keeping him alive. It was tantamount to having a pistol flush up against his chest, right over his heart, and preparing to pull the trigger.

"Stop, stop!" Vash exclaimed, putting his hands up in surrender. "Please, just don't hurt them! Your fight is with me, not them."

The bandit leader let out a maniacal laugh, and when Nicholas and Rem continued to scream and squirm, he glanced at the bandits near them and snapped, "Shut 'em up! Now!"

Vash couldn't help but watch as the bandits pressed their boots into Rem and Nicholas's backs, pinning them into the sand and keeping them from wriggling, pistols still pointed at their heads. This only terrified Rem and Nicholas more, causing them not only to scream, but now to cry hysterically too, tears of terror coursing down their cheeks as their little bodies were pinned down.

"Please, stop! They're innocent!" Vash pleaded, watching his babies screaming and crying helplessly in terror as the bandits pinned them down. He could hear you roaring at the bandits to get their feet off your babies, and he watched you manage to get to your knees in a rage, fighting to get to your children as you hurled every possible insult you could think of at the bandits. The rage and terror continued to grow in Vash's chest as he watched the bandits mistreat his family. The final thread keeping him calm began to fray with every second that passed. He could feel his façade beginning to slip, his true emotions, his rage, his hatred, his desire to hurt those threatening you and the children beginning to take over.

The final thread snapped the moment after the bandit leader's pistol fired and the bullet lodged itself into your back as you fought to get to your children.

The force of the bullet knocked you forward into the sand, and Vash could only watch, stunned into silence, as blood began pooling beneath you as you lay motionless in front of Nicholas and Rem, their horrified little faces stained with sprays of your blood.

"M-Mayfly?..."

Red. That's all Vash could see. The red of your blood, mixing into the sand beneath you. The rage and hatred boiling over within him, driving him to the point of breaking. You were hurt, possibly dead, in front of your children.

In front of his children.

Vash didn't even register the pain of his skin cracking and shifting to allow his beautiful, feathered yet misshapen wings to begin bursting forth all over from him. His back, his arms, his torso, wings burst through his skin, feathers growing and covering his wings and body. His fangs, while present before, became prominent now as he snarled at the bandits. The beautiful blue of his iris was taken over by an ethereal, inhuman white as nothing but pure, unaltered rage coursed through him. He could no longer feel sadness or fear, no longer masquerading as a human. Vash was now a calamity, the embodiment of fury itself, set on destroying whatever lay before it.

The pure terror on the bandits' faces as they witnessed Vash's true form did nothing but feed the flame of Vash's rage, of his hatred, as neither you nor his children had been spared from the terror inflicted upon you by the bandits.

"S-Stop! S-Stop, o-or... or we'll shoot them!"

The bandit leader's voice was no longer cold and confident, but rather shaky, weak and filled with fear. He made the grave mistake of cocking his pistol and pointing it directly at Rem's head, her little eyes filled with horrified tears and a scream of terror slipping through her gag.

With unmatchable speed, Vash was gripping the bandit leader's arm so hard that the man cried out and dropped the pistol instantly. However, Vash didn't stop there, tightening his grip until he felt a crack and the bandit howled in pain, struggling to free himself of Vash's crushing hold.

"You hurt my family. You hurt my wife. You terrorize my children, and now, you threaten to kill them before me. You threaten to take everything I treasure most in this world away from me. For that..." Vash's voice was scarily level, echoing across the dunes of sand and filled with nothing but sheer venom, his glowing white eyes remaining fixed on the bandit leader's face, "I'm going to make you pay."

The bandits hovering over Rem and Nicholas scrambled backwards as they attempted to flee, screaming and hollering in pure fear and panic, but Vash's wings had extended and managed to wrap around them, before throwing them with inhuman force towards the abandoned school building. The sound of the bandits making contact with the solid walls echoed, and they both fell motionless into the sand, leaving the others running for dear life while the bandit leader remained in Vash's hold.

"S-Spare me! Please, spare me! W-We'll never step foot i-in this town again! I swear! P-Please!"

The bandit leader begged and pleaded pathetically, tears going down his face as he continued trying to free his now-broken wrist from Vash's grasp. However, Vash didn't let go, instead tightening his grasp even more and making the bandit leader howl in agony and bringing his face very close to the leader's, his voice still scarily quiet and level but still retaining its otherworldly air.

"You think you deserve mercy after what you've done?"

Before the bandit leader could even begin to process Vash's words, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped like a stone into the sand, going unconscious from a combination of pure terror and pain from Vash gripping his broken wrist, who had broken other bones, too, in his rage.

As the final threat went unconscious, Vash's gaze went to his family. He could see the twins, now freed of their bindings, kneeling by your side, shaking you with their tiny fists and screeching for you to wake up, tears pouring down their faces.

"MAMA! MAMA, WAKE UP! MAMA, PLEASE! MAMA!"

Both Rem and Nicholas's voices, begging you to wake up, broke Vash's heart. Thankfully, in this form, he could sense your heart still beating in your chest - you were luckily still alive. You were not yet lost to him or to your children. The bullet had missed anything vital, but you were still bleeding and needed help as soon as you could get it.

However, as Vash took a step towards your motionless form, the twins looked at him with pure horror in their eyes. Vash's heart plummeted as Rem and Nicholas clutched each other and began to scream at the top of their lungs, clearly terrified by Vash's form.

"Nicholas... Rem... my loves, it's me," Vash spoke softly, trying to seem less threatening, lowering his wings and approaching them slowly, "It's Papa. I'm your Papa."

But the moment he reached his hand and wings out towards you, Nicholas ran forward and placed his tiny body in front of yours, his arms outstretched as he looked up at Vash almost defiantly. His beautiful blue eyes, a mirror of Vash's own in human form, were still filled with fear and tears continued to slip down his cheeks, but his little voice was determined.

"No! Don't touch Mama! You'll hurt her! Go away!"

Rem bravely stood beside her twin, her own face filled with terror and fear as she looked at Vash in this form, but she stood her ground, protecting her mother and echoing her brother.

"Go away! Don't touch our Mama!"

Vash kneeled down before them so that he was eye-level with them, before closing his eyes and lowering his head, taking deep breaths as he tried frantically to calm himself enough to revert back to his human form. Slowly, his wings retracted and his feathers began to molt, his blue irises reappearing as he calmed down, allowing himself to let go of the fury and the hatred that had been coursing through him; the fury and the hatred that had died the moment he saw his children's terror directed at him.

Eventually, Vash was back to normal, and when he opened his eyes, it broke his heart to see that his children were still looking at him warily, clearly unsure if they trusted him despite recognizing him now as their father.

"My babies... my loves, it's me," Vash tried again, his voice gently pleading as his heart twisted in his chest painfully. "I'm sorry I scared you both. I'm not gonna hurt Mama, I promise. I'd never hurt Mama. But Mama needs help right now. We need to go."

Nicholas and Rem stood their ground, looking uncertainly at Vash before nodding and turning towards where you lay on the sand. Vash stood slowly and stepped forward to embrace the twins, but as he hugged them to him, the horrified shriek they each let out and the way they struggled to escape his grip broke Vash's heart in a million pieces then and there.

'What have I done?' Vash thought to himself as he let go of Nicholas and Rem immediately, seeing how his own children stumbled in an attempt to get away from him, scared of their own father. He hadn't accounted for the fact that snapping would've terrified his children to the point where they no longer felt safe around him. Letting them see him like that terrified them worse than anything else had that day. A soft sniffle escaped Vash as his emotions finally overwhelmed him, and tears welled up in his eyes as he moved towards you, scooping you up into his arms gently. Your head rested limply against Vash's shoulder, and seeing the blood staining your skin only worsened his heartbreak. He pressed his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut as a sob escaped from Vash's lips, his tears falling onto your cheeks.

How did this happen?

"Rem... Nicholas, come on. Please, my loves," Vash said softly, not even trying to hide his tears anymore as he looked at his children. "We need to go to the doctor right now. Mama needs help."

Nicholas and Rem stood away from him, but seeing how he held you in his arms, and watching as Vash began to cry holding you, the twins' fear seemed to lessen and they nodded, slowly following Vash at a distance as he took you to the doctor in town.

Immediately, the doctor jumped into action, his old eyes wide behind his glasses as he saw the bullet wound in your back and the scratches and cuts all over your limbs. Two of the nurses looked after Rem and Nicholas, examining them and wiping the blood and sand off their face and giving them lollipops for their cooperation while the rest of the team looked after you.

Vash, however, isolated himself in the tiny waiting room of the clinic, resting his head in his hands as he covered his face, his whole body shaking. Guilt, sadness, helplessness, heartbreak, fear, self-hatred, all of these emotions swirled within him as he fought to stay in one piece. Snippets of what had occurred replayed in his mind in an endless loop; the twins being pinned down, their desperate cries and tears of terror, you fighting to get to them and getting shot in front of them, the horror in the twins' faces as they watched Vash take out the bandits in his Plant form, the screams they let out when Vash tried to hug them, them protecting you from him...

"Mr. Saverem?"

Vash's head shot up as the doctor looked at him, his expression understanding and kind. He walked over and sat in the rickety chair next to Vash's, sighing heavily.

"(Y/N)'s fine. She's recovering now. Managed to get the bullet out no problem and stitch her up. But she'll need some tender, loving care for a couple weeks as she recovers. No lifting, no twisting, nothing that could pop a stitch or reopen the wound."

Vash nodded, letting out a breath of relief as the doctor announced that you would be fine. He ran a hand through his long, messy blonde hair, and replied shakily, "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it. Thank you for looking after her and my children."

The doctor nodded before frowning, "I believe I owe you an apology, Mr. Saverem. This incident was because I revealed your name to the bandit after you saved me from their beating me. I'm so sorry, Mr. Saverem."

"This isn't your fault, doc," Vash replied immediately, looking at the old man with a guilty expression, "It's mine. I couldn't even protect my own family."

"But you did, son," The doctor said, looking back at Vash with a kind smile, "You protected them. They're still here because of you. At least, that's what the twins have been saying. Although they still seem pretty shaken themselves, the poor little ones."

Vash bit down on his already-injured lip once more, fighting hard against the stinging behind his eyes again as the doctor brought up Rem and Nicholas being shaken. Their screams of fear echoed in Vash's ears, and a choked, strangled sobbing sound escaped from him against his will. The doctor placed his hand on Vash's back, rubbing it comfortingly as Vash finally began to fall to pieces.

Soft sobs escaped from Vash as he covered his face with his hands, his tears going down his real and prosthetic arms, his whole body shaking with every sob as his heartbreak overwhelmed him at last. The doctor stayed with him as he cried, not saying anything but just rubbing his back and offering what comfort he could. After a few minutes, Vash tried his best to pull himself back together and get his emotions under control, wiping his face and sniffling as he struggled to calm down.

"It's alright, son," The doctor spoke softly, his tone gentle and understanding, "You and your family have survived a terrifying ordeal. I'd be worried if you weren't upset."

The doctor stood slowly from his rickety chair, before disappearing back into the clinic for a few minutes. Then, when the doctor returned, there was a smile on his face.

"Your wife is awake. She's asking for you."

Vash's heart jolted in his chest as he shot to his feet, immediately following the doctor back to the room where you were laying, recuperating from being patched up. As he stepped foot into your room, you sat up in your bed and your eyes widened at the sight of your husband, his eyes red and puffy from his tears, the tear tracks still evident on his cheeks. You reached out towards him, wanting him to come to you so you could comfort him, hold him, reassure him that everything was okay.

Vash immediately walked over to you, his steps large as he urgently made his way to your side. He hugged you tightly, his body pressing against your own as he held you close. You could feel him shaking, and you squeezed him tightly to you as best you could without agitating your wound.

"Vash... oh, Vash, I'm so sorry," You mumbled immediately, hugging your husband with every ounce of strength you had in your body. "I couldn't protect them. Rem... Nicholas... I failed to keep them safe. They kidnapped us and knocked me out, and-"

"It's not your fault, Mayfly," Vash cut you off, his tears beginning to course down his cheeks once again as he saw how much you blamed yourself for this, "It's mine. I'm so sorry, (Y/N). It's all my fault. I stepped in when the-the bandits, they were attacking the doctor, and... and... they saw the picture I had of you and the twins. They went after you because of me. I'm so, so sorry. You got hurt because I couldn't protect you. Because I was reckless and stupid. Forgive me, (Y/N). Please... forgive me. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

You felt your heart breaking in your chest as Vash wept and begged for your forgiveness, and all you could do was tug him until he was curled up in your hospital bed next to you, sobbing into you as you held him close. You ran your fingers through his hair to soothe him, just as you had done over the years you had known him, pressing gentle kisses to Vash's face in an attempt to comfort him.

"I forgave you long before you could ever do anything needing forgiveness, Vash," You whispered to him, kissing his cheek tenderly as you held him close, "You don't need my forgiveness for this. You protected us."

"I... I lost control, (Y/N)," Vash admitted through his tears, sobbing into your skin as he does so, "I... I changed. I changed into... into..."

Vash was unable to continue, weeping harder than before as his memories replayed of those moments, of everything that happened when he was in his Plant form. However, in seeing his distress, you managed to put the pieces together as to what had happened.

"Your Plant form?" You finished for him, your tone gentle as your husband sobbed in your arms, inconsolable; all Vash could do was nod against you, his tears only worsening.

You couldn't understand why Vash was so distraught by the fact that he had changed into his Plant form, especially given that your entire family was safe. He had managed to protect you all.

As if reading your mind, Vash sobbed out, "T-They saw, (Y/N). Rem and Nick... they saw. I terrified them, (Y/N). They screamed when I tried to hug them afterwards, they-they fought to escape me. They wouldn't let me near you. They... they thought I'd hurt you. They're terrified of me."

The heartbreak, so evident in Vash's words and on his face, was enough to make you tear up. You knew that he loved Rem and Nicholas more than life itself, and that he would give absolutely anything for them. So to have them be afraid of Vash, afraid to let him hug them or be near them, to see him as a threat? Your heart ached for him worse than ever before.

"Oh, Vash..." You whispered softly, tears welling in your eyes as you held him close, just letting him clutch onto you and take comfort from you however he needed. "I'm so sorry, my love. But... I'm sure they're not terrified. You frightened them, yes, but give them time. Today... was a very difficult and scary day for them. They went through a lot, even if they weren't physically injured. Seeing you like that on top of everything else... must've just been the tipping point. Give them time, my love. They're in shock. They need time."

As you spoke to Vash, continuing your loving stroking of his hair, he began to slowly calm down, his sobs becoming little more than hiccups and sniffles as his head rested on your chest. You had never seen Vash so distraught before, and it both warmed and broke your heart to see just how much you and Rem and Nicholas meant to him. It was undoubtable - you three were everything to him. Eventually, Vash's exhaustion got the better of him, and you watched as his eyes, those beautiful, expressive eyes you loved so much, fluttered shut, and listened to his breathing evening out as he fell into slumber in your arms.

You studied your husband's face as he slept in your arms, taking in every single detail you possibly could. His face was still youthful, almost as youthful as when you had first met him, and his chin and jaw was covered in the stubble you had grown to love on him. You gently traced over each of his features with the tip of his finger, over his eyebrows, his eyes, swollen from all his tears, his nose, his tear-stained cheeks, his lips, his jawline, you were committing him to memory.

"Mama!"

A small cry came from the doorway, and as you looked up, you saw Rem and Nicholas standing there, both looking ruffled and shaken but otherwise unharmed. Your heart ached as you saw the look on your children's faces as they looked at Vash; their expressions were unsure, cautious, even slightly afraid. Both Rem and Nicholas shifted anxiously from foot to foot, as if deciding whether they were going to be brave enough to approach you while Vash slept in your arms.

You decided to press a gentle kiss to Vash's forehead before brushing a strand of blonde hair out of his face, and then looking back at your children, who were watching you carefully. When they saw that Vash wasn't a threat and that you weren't afraid of him, they approached your hospital bed slowly.

"Come here, my loves," You patted the bed next to you on the side opposite Vash, and to your surprise, Rem jumped up without hesitation. Nicholas, however, seemed more reluctant at first, until his sister jumped up. Then, he followed suit.

You pulled both of your children into a tight hug, feeling their little arms wrap around you as they snuggled in against you right next to Vash. You could see Rem and Nicholas studying Vash's sleeping form carefully, as if trying to make sense of what they were looking at.

"I know Papa became different today," You spoke softly to them, gazing at Rem and Nicholas as you spoke, "But he loves you both so, so much. You see, Papa is special. He has special powers that let him protect us, just like he did today. When he needs to protect us, he grows wings, so he can pull us into a big hug and hold us close."

You paused, before pulling your children into a big hug to drive your point home. Rem and Nicholas were both watching you with wide, curious eyes, taking in your every word. You took their little hands in yours and slowly had them trace over Vash's face, much the way you had done before they came in, as well as down his arms and to his hands. As they traced over their father's skin, you taught them about Vash's Plant form as best you could, telling them as much as you knew about it and what it meant. By the end of it, Rem and Nicholas looked amazed, and they gazed down at their father as he slept next to them.

"When he wakes up, Papa needs a big, big hug from all of us. Do you think you can give him that?" You asked gently, looking at your children.

Nicholas simply nodded, but Rem shifted on the bed and got closer to Vash as he slept, looking down at her father. She leaned down and pressed a little kiss to Vash's cheek.

"I love you, Papa. Thank you for saving us."

Her gentle whisper and the way her small hand rested on Vash's stubbled jaw made you want to cry, and you heard Nicholas mumble softly, "Thank you, Papa. I love you."

For the first time since your kidnapping, even if just for a split second, you knew that things would be okay. There was still a long recovery ahead of you, and your children would likely need some time to work through everything they had been through, but you would work through it together, as a family. Eventually, Rem and Nicholas fell asleep on your bed, too, tucked safely and happily in between yourself and Vash, curled up in a position identical to Vash's. You couldn't help but laugh a little to yourself as you gazed at the twins and your husband. Three of a kind.

"Mrs. Saverem? There was a letter addressed to you that was dropped off by the postmaster."

One of the nurses stuck her head into your room, and you nodded your head, allowing her to hand you the letter. On the envelope, you could see your name written out in familiar handwriting - one you hadn't seen in a few months and one whose owner you knew very well.

Wolfwood.

You quickly tore open the envelope and began to read its contents. You felt your heart drop into your stomach as you took in the words on the page.

"Knives is alive. He's out to destroy humanity. We need Vash."

#anya's athenaeum #trigun stampede #trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun #vash the stampede #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #eriks x reader #eriks!vash #trigun eriks

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phanfictioncatalogue · 9 months ago

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TABINOF/TATINOF (4) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three

2015 (ao3) - outphan

Summary: Dan and Phil are writing TABINOF.

A Break (ao3) - phangelica

Summary: Phil decides they need a break

a conversation about announcements and surprises (ao3) - PoisonedMind

Summary: They’re both sitting at the table, laptops and phones splayed out in front of them. It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room entirely, they’re in a vacuum, space, no sound able to travel and no oxygen to breathe.

because we are fools (ao3) - queerofcups

Summary: He realizes it calmly at first, and then suddenly with more clarity. He’s in love with Phil.

But he absolutely cannot be in love with Phil.

Boyfriends Without Benefits (ao3) - iihappydaysii

Summary: There's only one real bed on the tatinof tour bus and Phil's willing to share it with Dan. The problem? Dan's in love with Phil and Phil has no idea.

can you be sure there's gonna be more? (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: dnp go to their afterparty after their last tatinof show in the uk

Crash Barriers, Cold Night Air (ao3) - philsdrill

Summary: It’s a bumpy night on the tour bus for Dan and Phil, and Phil’s feeling a little sick. Through a trip outside to get off the bus, and a reminder of what dinner looked like, Dan takes care of Phil. Fluff.

defining a life by full stops and him (ao3) - zvyozdochka (paperdaisies)

Summary: The book is a window, of sorts, framing your life in neat margins and a mess of brainstorming sheets. It’s easier to see in from the outside, and memories that had faded into a comfortable, if bewildering, wallpaper, are cast into stark relief. You can see, in black and white, how two entities came to be danandphil, and you will be honest with yourself as you try to be in these matters: it is quietly terrifying.

drape me in your warmth (ao3) - deathlytireddan

Summary: "It's like...what if this is all we'll ever do?" Dan's eyes are anxious, nervous.

Obligatory tour fic.

dream (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: dan's only dream is to take the world by storm and change it

Deep Breath (ao3) - ahappyphil

Summary: Dan and Phil visit the Isle of Man to finish TABINOF

i can hear it now (like i heard it then) (ao3) - kay_okay

Summary: Dan watches Phil light up, and suddenly feels like everything's in slow motion. They're still making their way up 7th, Times Square’s persistent neon glow casting waves of pinks and greens and yellows onto the pale of Phil’s face like a projector to a wall. He's struck by his own memory, their own night up on the Manchester Eye, surrounded by another city dark and light at the same time.

He doesn’t hear a word of Phil’s story.

i quit my dreaming (the moment that i found you) (ao3) - phanetixs

Summary: Phil pulls back when Dan’s teary-eyed and staring at the ceiling. “Whatever you’re worrying about, don’t. We’ll be ok.”

Or, the end of TATINOF and its implications.

"I'm Filming You" (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: There’s a rumbling. A rattling. Phil isn't exactly sure where it’s coming from. It seems to just be all around him.

A fic about sleeping and teasing.

Lean On (ao3) - philsdrill

Summary: It’s halfway into the tour and Dan’s feeling a bit run down. When he doesn’t have the energy, Phil is a shoulder to lean on.

Llama Legs (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: After a short break, Dan and Phil are about to begin the next arm of their breakout international tour, TATINOF. The problem is, all good little boys have to have some form of entertainment during their break - and Dan has just began exploring his little-space. What happens when Dan doesn't listen to Phil and decides not to use the toilet before beginning a show, leading to a regression?

Looking After You (Like You Do For Me) (ao3) - DryCereal

Summary: Phil's sick. Not for the first time on this tour, but making sure he's okay will always be Dan's priority.

Love Me The Same (ao3) - reapingwithjoy

Summary: Where their driver during their US tour is fond of playing a love radio station while they travel at night. Dan kind of loves it.

Our New Puppy (ao3) - pasteldanhowells

Summary: Dan and Phil are about to go on tour in just under a few days, so of course Phil is shocked when Dan comes home with a small puppy in his arms. Phil knows they won't be able to keep it, not with how busy they're about to be, but that won't stop Dan from trying to convince Phil to let them keep him.

Perfect (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Phil is going to make TATINOF perfect-whatever it takes to get there.

Persuasion (ao3) - InsightfulInsomniac

Summary: It’s three am on the tour bus, and Phil wants Dan to come back to bed. All it takes is a little persuasion.

Ray of Light (ao3) - phanburnhamizzard

Summary: It's zero dark-thirty at an empty Mcdonald's somewhere in America and they crew has stopped in to get a bite to eat before going to sleep. Dan inadvertently says something funny and Phil gets hysterical. Dan wants no part of it, which makes Phil laugh even harder.

said it was love and did it for life (did it for you) (ao3) - deletable_bird

Summary: Dan is down on his knees the first time Phil mentions weddings with any seriousness

snapshots (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: little moments from a big tour

Spoons (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: During their American tour, Dan and Phil find their sleeping selves indulging in ways they haven't done in years.

The Perfectionist (ao3) - apoetacriminal

Summary: Dan and Phil were on top of the world. With the succesful release of their book and their upcoming tour, things couldn’t be going better for the pair. But with so much attention on him, the preassure to be perfect was starting to get to Dan. And The Amazing Tour Is Not On Fire, which should’ve been the best time of their lives, almost tore them apart

The stranger who loved me. (ao3) - Septic84

Summary: “Well, that’s nice I guess,” he paused, “but I have no idea who you are.”

“Haha, very funny,”

“I wasn’t being funny,”

“What?” I swallowed hard, “You don’t know who I am?”

“No, am I supposed to?”

The (Un)Dressing Room (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan and Phil take advantage of a little privacy amid the chaos while on tour for The Amazing Tour Is Not On Fire.

Too Tall For His Own Good (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan and Phil head off, spending their first night on the TATINOF tour bus. Dan offers Phil the master bed, but things don't go as planned.

Unspoken Rules (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: They have rules.

1. They don't kiss

2. They don't talk about it

3. They aren't exclusive

4. They don't get attached

5. It's over when the tour is

As long as they abide by the rules, no one gets hurt. Simple, right?

Up-Down Hills and Forgotten Pills (ao3) - philsdrill

Summary: A road full of hills and forgetting his pills isn’t exactly Phil’s idea of fun. Phil gets travelsick on the tatinof bus and Dan looks after him.

#phanfic #phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phan #masterlists #tabinof #tabinof masterlist #tatinof #tatinof masterlist

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sambinnie · 1 year ago

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1. Solstice again. Creeping from the still house into cool air, then a run to smooth waters where even the dogs and their walkers haven’t yet rambled. We swim in almost-silence for a while, like steady kayaks, with a chiffchaff serenading us and the last of the willow fluff dusting the surface of the water, fish occasionally glopping upwards to grab a passing insect.

Home to pick a posy for the table. I must not fall asleep as soon as I sit down. I fall asleep instantly.

2. This spring has been wonderful. Besides the puffs from the willows along the river, the chestnut trees drip sap onto the pavements so our shoes click with every pace, and the ducklings, goslings and cygnets gather around their beady-eyed parents. Dragonflies and damselflies drone over the river. Huge poppies have grown in the chaos of the garden, I assume where I threw the seeds from pavement poppies last summer, and bees roll around among the stamens like playing puppies. I drive past the supermarket and see several people tending to a horse in the neighbouring scrubland.

3. Have you finished Succession yet? This final series has been my favourite yet, for possibly obvious reasons — my stress levels were lower than my enjoyment levels for the very first time, so I could fully savour exactly how brilliant every single aspect is. Cast, crew, production, script — everything is perfect, and yet how hard to communicate why a programme about the world’s worst people is not just watchable but probably the best TV this year. This Vanity Fair clip with the director of the scene on Connor’s wedding boat is excellent and describes so well how TV like this is a kind of alchemy.

4. A brief sojourn to a foreign city, where the cathedral left me chilled but a record store was so exactly like the ones from my teens that I welled up and had to be pulled away. How do smells cut through all barriers and transform us so completely to our previous selves? I wanted to stay for hours and flick through every single album, and end up buying four, two I’d love immediately and two I’d hate, but would stick with because albums are never cheap, and the two that were harder work would become my favourites and stick deep in my brain forever. I thought myself too cool to be a Feeder fan at the time, but watching this video now I want to weep at how normal we all looked then, how clunky and average and awkward, how anyone who grew up in the 90s would recognise those bedrooms, that wallpaper, those lampshades, and how humans are so dumb to grieve things we didn’t even want at the time.

But sometimes, for brief moments, like when you are standing at the stove making lemon and courgette risotto and listening to Head Like a Hole at full volume, your teen self and the adult self you thought you might be meld perfectly and all is well with the world.

5. We read this book in bookclub recently, and I was struck at how we all struggled to verbalise our feelings about it. Was it good? Bad? Confusing? Funny? Unsettling? It was all and none, the live example of imagining a colour you’d never seen before. I was reminded of these two videos the algorithms had fed me, on Outsider Music and how audiences misunderstood the film of American Psycho when it first came out. Weirdness is so challenging, so aching and unsettling and new to brains which generally thrive on conformity and predictability. In the latter video, the film’s director Mary Herron says, ‘I have to always remind myself, sometimes I don’t get it, you know, when I first see something… particularly if it’s unfamiliar, it can be quite… there’s something uncomfortable or disturbing or it seems boring or like it does’t work, and it’s also because you’re just not attuned to it yet and it’s just sometimes you take time.’ Like those albums as a teen, the best, weirdest, most brain-engaging stuff often takes much longer to chew, but it’s almost always worth it.

6. (We also watched Mustang, which I recommend to literally everyone, although it does nothing to disprove my theory that all good woman- and girl-based films are secretly also horror films. But it’s brilliant, so please watch it if you haven’t already.)

7. I intend to make this tonight for the Solstice feast’s dessert. Happy summer, pals.

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thedreamyhummingbird · 2 years ago

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Berlin Lights - Preserving the Past

Today's romantic short story plays in Berlin in the 70s and features a group of eastern European students, a camera, leaking ceiling lights, floral wallpaper, a passionate redhead, protests, an old woman selling flowers and an one eyed cat with a missing ear. This vivid story was brought to life with the help of ChatGPT, an AI language model.

Berlin Lights - Preserving the Past

It was the 70s and Berlin was a hotbed of political and cultural change. Vlad, a eastern European student, and his friends had escaped their communist country and were living in the city, trying to make a new life for themselves. They were all hippies, living in a run-down apartment with floral wallpaper and a leaking ceiling light.

One day, while wandering the streets of Berlin, Vlad stumbled upon a quaint coffee shop. As he was about to enter, he saw a young woman with red hair sitting at one of the tables. Her name was Belinda van Dirke, and she was from East Germany. Vlad was immediately struck by her beauty and her passion for photography. She had the latest American camera and wanted to document the student situation in Berlin.

As Vlad and Belinda got to know each other, they discovered that they had a lot in common. They both loved the city, the freedom it offered, and the opportunity to express themselves. They spent their days exploring the city and taking pictures of the sights and people they encountered.

One day, as they were walking down the street, they came across a demonstration in front of a cinema that was about to be torn down to make way for a new office of the communist party. Vlad and Belinda decided to join the demonstration and document the event with their cameras. Their photos helped to preserve the cinema and other cultural buildings. They publish weekly in newspaper.

As the demonstration came to an end, they decided to head back to their apartment. On the way, they encountered an old grandmother who was selling newspapers and flowers. She had a cat with one ear and one eye, which caught Belinda's attention. She wanted to take a picture of the cat but the cat run away.

Back at the apartment, Vlad and Belinda settled in for the night and watched TV together. As they sat there, looking up at the leaking ceiling light, they realized that they had fallen in love. They knew that their time in Berlin was limited, but they were determined to make the most of it.

As the weeks passed, Vlad and Belinda's love for each other continued to grow. They spent every moment they could together, capturing the beauty and the struggles of the city with their cameras. And when it was time for Belinda to leave Berlin by train, she had a realization that she should stay in Berlin because of Vlad and for continuing to preserve the cultural heritage.

Belinda decided to stay and continue her work alongside Vlad, documenting and preserving the cultural heritage of Berlin. Together, they managed to save several other cultural buildings from being demolished, thanks to their efforts.

The old grandmother passed away, and one night after her death, while they were sleeping, a cat came through their broken window. It was the cat from the grandmother's store. It was skinny and hungry. They took care of the cat and it became their constant companion. From that day on, the three of them were inseparable and their love for each other only continued to grow stronger.

Source: Story created in Open AI's GPT-3 Language Model (ChatGPT) and AI-generated image made in Microsoft designer.

#berlin #photography #east germany #students #70s #culture #openai

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chloe-writes · 3 years ago

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Levi x Reader

Angst | Modern - Soulmate AU | 7k words

Summary : being dead since the 19th century, your 200-year-old house in the countryside had been sold to Levi Ackerman. He stumbles upon your old diary and reads it, only to slowly fall in love with you as he continues to read the pages.

Who would have known love could exist between two people separated not only by centuries, but also by death itself ?

" —in the next life, where there is no marriage, but where souls find each other through intimacy, may I attain true love. "

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Characters: Levi, Kuchel, Kenny, Hange, Erwin, Miche, Rod

Content Warning: cancer, implied domestic violence, implied suicide, misogyny

AO3: https://t.co/B7Jq6k5q0v

Note: I made the reader a feminist because I don't think there are much fics that include feminist political themes. Also, I usually use they/them pronouns for Hange, but I will be using she/her pronouns in this work.

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“Here are the keys. Enjoy your new home, Mr. Ackerman.”

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The real estate agent had an air of arrogance, one that Levi Ackerman couldn’t help but detest. Caught up in his own thoughts, Levi barely noticed how the man’s eyes were far too big for his head.

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Ah yes, real estate agent Rod Reiss, whose egotistic demeanor struck an odd contrast to his shabby appearance. That seemed to be an enigma to Levi. However, the Ackerman didn't care to figure out which of those two qualities was more irksome.

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He just wanted to get the transaction over with and move into his newly-bought home.

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The house stood tall with its Victorian style architecture, surrounded by a lush forest and lonely hills. The rural areas of Paradis were the last place on Earth he had expected to live in. However, this had been his mother’s wish since they had gotten the news that she had cancer—to grow old in a home she loved.

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Kuchel wasn't gravely ill, but Levi still wanted to grant her wish. An hour drive from here to his job in the city was a small price to pay in exchange for his mother’s comfort and happiness.

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The house seemed even lovelier than it did in the pictures. And Kuchel soon felt as though she had lived here for years. Levi had always been her son, but now she saw something new in him: he had grown into a man who was kind and sweet.

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The real estate agent seemed hesitant, but nevertheless, was still determined to speak up. “Also, keep everything the (l/n) family left behind. Their belongings come with the house you paid for. If I may have a say, put it up for auction. Century-old antiques cost a fortune!”

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“So we’d have to throw all that ye olden times junk away ourselves?” Levi mumbled more to himself than to Rod Reiss—who was now taking his leave after successfully selling the estate.

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Kuchel had always adored antiques, so she didn't quite appreciate her son's rude remark. “It isn’t junk! I even heard Kenny say there was a piano in the living room. Maybe you could get back into playing.”

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A comment was then heard from the mentioned uncle, Kenny, who was quite displeased with the lack of help in unloading their stuff from the van. “Oi, what ya waiting for, runt? Let’s get settled in.”

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“Keep calling me a runt and you’ll be sleeping in the attic, old man.”

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The castle-like detail of their new home felt like being part of the romance and history of a by-gone era. From the vibrant flowery wallpaper, to the steeply-pitched roofs. Levi didn’t mind the design though, it made him happy to see how this house had captured his mother’s heart.

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His only concern was the thick layers of dust which covered everything in sight; it was a depressing dirty grey—contrasting the elaborately decked out home that reveled in its bright colors.

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“Filthy.”

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There it was again, Levi’s obsession with cleanliness. Kuchel giggled at the thought, it had become an inside joke within the family. “Yes, filthy indeed. Just like your uncle. I had to put a handkerchief over my nose the entire ride so I wouldn’t smell the three-days-no-shower stench.”

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The subject of their conversation then appeared in the room, “No shit, I have been blessed with the misfortune of calling you a sister.”

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“Kenny, when was the last time you took a bath? And I’m not even trying to be offensive, you really do stink.”

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“Aight aight, I get your point, gonna wash up when I’m done cleaning. I’ll mop the kitchen and dining. Levi, you do the rooms and the attic.”

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Though the shorter man thought the division of tasks was unfair, he decided to remain quiet and nod in agreement.

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The attic was, by far, the most interesting part of the house, and much to his dismay, also the dustiest.

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Levi made his way through the junk, broken furniture, and trinkets. It was like reading the story of somebody’s life, he thought, as he gazed at all these things that had been used once, that had been part of every day in the house below.

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Someone had savored each page of the books on the shelf, or maybe someone used to watch the minutes of the grandfather clock tick with interest. But those people were long dead, or gone away, and now the oddments of their lives were piled up here, forgotten.

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It was a bittersweet thought.

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The man decided to start with the bookshelf that expanded across the wall. Halfway through dusting, he spotted something in the corner of his eye. It was a book with a gleaming golden spine, reflecting the sun’s rays that welcomed itself in from the windows.

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Levi was an apathetic individual by nature. He didn’t particularly care about things that weren’t his own business. But there was an odd vibe to the mentioned book; it was so inviting.

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A tingling in his bones warned him that he shouldn’t open it, but his curiosity placated him, driving him onward against his instincts.

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The dust beneath its aging covers represented how patient time was—how the book allowed dust particles to hide its golden touches until the waiting time was over.

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Without any further ado, he flipped it open. Eyes widening at realization, the book was actually a journal.

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(y/n) (l/n)

1821

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“What an ugly name.” Levi snorted, never really understanding parents and their poor naming choices.

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Dear reader, I dare you not to turn the page if you refuse to read of a lousy, miserable life. Yet, if you do wish to seek such knowledge even after warning, then must I say you are one nosy fellow!

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His interest in the book—or more accurately, his interest in the journal—immediately vanished as he didn’t want to snoop into a random dead girl’s business, into your lousy and miserable business.

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He reckoned it was going to be about boy problems anyway, which was what most women he knew in high school wrote about in their stupid diaries. And surely, that wasn’t any interesting.

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However, a thought abruptly entered his mind. In many ways, diaries chart unmapped territory, especially diaries of those who had lived in the past. Levi wondered what lives were like before—to get a sense of the attitudes, opinions, and beliefs that motivated individuals of a different era.

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Written on a regular basis, journals provide commentary on life as it is lived. And this sense of immediacy pulled Levi in and fueled his curiosity in reading about the past in a direct, unfiltered way.

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Making the final decision to indeed snoop into your business, he flipped the pages, eyes following the words of what seemed to be the first entry:

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12th of January, 1821

Last night at dinner, I tried to convince father that I am not meant for marriage, and marriage is not meant for me. My husband-to-be’s ignorance is only one reason in the long list of his shortcomings. Yet, there was no possibility in changing father’s mind.

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Today, I had been wandering in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning. The cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so somber, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor activity should be forbidden. But that did not matter, I needed to get away from that cursed household, even if the winter were to freeze me with its icy breath.

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“How melodramatic.” Though he pitied the misogynistic situation you found yourself troubled in, Levi couldn’t help but cringe at the thought that he was indeed right—it was about boy problems.

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The man took a peek at the outside world through the high windows, taking in the sight of the orange sunset.

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Kenny and Kuchel were probably waiting for him downstairs, wondering what was taking him so long when dinner was soon approaching. He closed your journal, and placed it back on the shelf.

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Letting out a tired sigh, he had barely started on the reason behind why he even came here in the first place. Cleaning the attic would have to wait another day then.

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At Kuchel’s check-up session two months ago, it was discovered that she was terminally ill, and her cancer was incurable. The only reason she was still taking palliative chemotherapy was for less suffering.

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Kenny had never prayed a lot. He hoped hard, he wished hard, but he didn't pray. Yet when he discovered his sister’s impending death, he prayed to whatever deity that was up there—hoping for her recovery even when there was nothing else to hope for.

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But hope is what keeps us going, right? Without it, the struggle against cynicism and loss of spirit would be greater than the slow, inevitable death of cancer. So Kenny held onto that little hope in his heart and supported his sister at every step of the way.

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Though, what he didn’t support was Kuchel’s decision of hiding the truth from Levi.

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“The runt is going to find out sooner or later. For fuck’s sake, you are dying. Don’t you think Levi deserves to know that? ”

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“First of all, stop calling my son a runt. Second, I will tell him. Not now, but soon.” The frail woman took a slow and long sip from her tea, eyeing her brother from the rim of the cup. She knew Kenny was right, but still refused to listen to his argument anyway.

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“Soon? When you’re already on your deathbed?”

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A pair of approaching footsteps were heard. Kenny immediately zipped his mouth shut while Kuchel greeted her son. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

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“Good morning.“

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“Ahh fuck it, I can’t take it anymore. Levi, your mother has something to tell you.” All attention quickly drifted to the tall male, who was annoyed by how his sister was skirting around the issue they had been discussing only a minute ago.

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The tension in the room grew thicker by each passing second, especially when Levi demanded to know what this was all about, “What’s going on?”

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“I’m just. Aah…” The frail woman’s dilemma had not went unnoticed by the two men. She was clearly buying time, “I’m just upset. Chemotherapy has been causing my hair to fall out. It’s just really upsetting… especially for an ex-model.”

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Part of Levi was relieved to hear that the news wasn’t as serious as he thought it would be, but he still couldn’t help but feel bad for his mother, “I see. Would you feel better if I bought you a wig?”

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“Yes, I’d very much appreciate that. Thank you, sweetheart.”

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Kenny rolled eyes at his family’s exchange of words, not pleased with Kuchel’s dishonesty.

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“If not today, I’ll get you the wig by tomorrow. I’m going now. See you later.” With that, the young adult left for his 10 am shift at work.

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“When are you going to tell him?” Inquired Kenny, choosing to speak only once he was certain his nephew was out of earshot.

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“When I am ready.”

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Hange fixed her glasses and wore a sinister grin, eager to annoy Levi so early in the morning, “Good morning, how’s my favorite sour face?”

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“Never miss a good chance to shut up.” He prayed that Hange would someday finally learn to appreciate peaceful silence, but clearly, today wasn’t that day just yet.

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“Now is definitely not a good chance to shut up. Someone has to be responsible enough to fill in the duty of annoying you.”

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“Makes sense. It does seem like the only aspect you’re capable of being responsible at.”

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“Okay, rude. How’s your mom-“ The bespectacled brunette had barely finished her sentence when Levi pinched her nose. “Ow!”

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“Here's your nose, I found it in my business.”

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Levi then shifted his gaze to the two familiar blond men approaching—who seemingly have heard the banter between him and Hange.

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Scratching his nose, “No, really, Levi. how is Mrs. Ackerman?” Miche hasn’t heard of Kuchel in a long time. since Levi refused to bring the topic up, so he was curious as to how she had been coping up with cancer.

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“I thought the years we’ve spent working together would grant you the knowledge that my mother’s name is Ms. Ackerman, not Mrs. Ackerman.”

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“My apologies.”

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The shorter fellow ran a hand through his black hair, letting out a sigh. “And about mom—she’s alright, though the more intensive course of chemotherapy has been kicking her ass.”

ㅤ

An awkward silence descended for a moment. Kuchel was always a sensitive topic, not to mention, Levi’s crass choice of words made the entire situation more uncomfortable.

ㅤ

Erwin finally decided to contribute to the conversation and break the growing tension, “I’m sorry to hear that, we hope her chemotherapy will be worth it in the long run.” The tall blond also cued for their small group to walk along to their respective desks, where piles upon piles of paperwork awaited.

ㅤ

Though Levi would never verbally admit it to his mother, he was starting to get attached to the rural landscape. There was a sense of serenity from the sight of swaying grasslands during his drive home from work. Maybe the countryside wasn’t so bad after all.

ㅤ

“I’m home.” He hung his coat on the rack and walked to the kitchen, where he assumed his mother would be. It was a rather amusing scene before Levi: Kuchel hitting Kenny with kitchen utensils as he tried to sneak a piece of meat into his mouth.

ㅤ

The frail woman’s facial expression turned from threatening to gentle as she heard her son’s approaching footsteps. “Oh, hello sweetheart. Did you just arrive?

ㅤ

“Yeah. Although I wish I had gotten home sooner to see more of Kenny getting assaulted with a spatula.”

ㅤ

A pair of eyes rolled in annoyance, “Not funny. And before I forget, there had been some sounds from the attic. Probably mice. Check it, will ya? I’d prefer you throw it away, but if you’d like a new addition to your small circle of friends, I won’t judge.”

ㅤ

“Hmm. just say you don’t have the balls to check it yourself.”

ㅤ

“Boys, please mind your language!”

ㅤ

Once more, the attic had an eerie abandoned feeling to it. The very clearness of silence drew an intense feeling Levi couldn’t shake off. The air around him hummed with an energy that was foreign yet nostalgic.

ㅤ

And there it was again, the familiar book resting on the shelf. Its shiny golden spine, a contrast to the dimly lit room. It was a mysterious journal really, seeming to know secrets he didn’t, inviting him to take another peak. After all, the unknown draws people in—

ㅤ

No. He came here for one purpose only. And that was to search for the source of the sounds. That and that only.

ㅤ

However, it doesn’t take a genius to recognize when someone is being pushed by a circumstance to do something. And for Levi, this was it. Destiny’s (or whatever you call it) interventions can sometimes be read as an invitation to explore.

ㅤ

With that said, the man abandoned his original purpose and flipped your diary open, picking up at where he last left off.

ㅤ

3rd of February, 1821

Elliott Dickens, the man I am expected to marry. The main reason why father wants me to wed him is because he is a duke in Marley.

ㅤ

I don’t even know a single thing about dukes! Except maybe for the fact that dukes are the highest-ranking title among nobles, and that they own large amounts of inherited property.

ㅤ

But I have no interest in them, their wealth, nor their corrupt practices. Moreover, I have no interest in moving away to Elliott’s hometown.

ㅤ

People are beginning to flock from rural areas to large urban locations like Marley. Though I cannot blame these people for wanting more job opportunities in the city, but I love it here in Paradis! I do not intend of leaving this province behind.

ㅤ

This is where I grew up. Every spot here is familiar history.

ㅤ

I know I can't own a prairie, a meadow, nor a mountainside. But keeping the beauty of Paradis a secret somehow makes it mine.

ㅤ

Only here may you see nature revealing herself in all her glory. A poet can write of it, a painter can paint of it, but neither can reproduce the same air of reality that sinks deep into the soul of the spectator.

ㅤ

Both my eyes and mind are delighted in this place I’ve known as home.

ㅤ

There was a pause, then Levi’s lips stretched into a smile. You were right. You convinced him that Paradis was indeed a place of solace.

ㅤ

It was refreshing to look across vast spaces of grassland, to lift one’s eyes with delight, to feel the peace that rests on lonely hills. Levi had only been living here for a short while, but Paradis was already starting to feel like home to him.

ㅤ

This is where he had learned to appreciate silence in a world that never stops talking.

ㅤ

His entire life, Levi Ackerman had fallen into a naiveté where he looked at the world based solely on what his physical senses can ascertain. But once he saw life through your eyes, through your own words, perhaps he was wrong.

ㅤ

The world perceived by our senses is different from the world perceived through our essence.

ㅤ

Perhaps Levi misjudged you, you weren’t as shallow as he initially thought you were.

ㅤ

Snapping out of his reverie, he started to look for the rodent Kenny was pertaining to. The man made a mental note to come back here and continue reading the journal… and to clean as well, since he wasn’t able to do that last time.

ㅤ

30th of March, 1821

Dear reader, I hope you had a lovely day, good for you because I did not.

ㅤ

Elliott told me, “Do you know when it is no misfortune for a young lady like you to lose her good name? It’s when a man like myself gives her a better one.”

ㅤ

What an audacious remark! Bold of him to say that to me when is last name is Dickens. I refuse to associate myself with a God-awful title that sounds like the filthy thing between a man’s legs.

ㅤㅤ

Forgive me Shakespeare, but I beg to differ from Romeo & Juliet: “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.” Everything’s in a name; and I refuse the lousy title of ‘Mrs. Dickens’!

ㅤ

The raven-haired man snorted, Dickens was indeed a horrendous name.

ㅤ

Over the past weeks, Levi often felt like a voyeur sneakily reading your private writings—spending a decent amount of his personal time trying to decipher your handwriting and piecing stories together from your diary.

ㅤ

Funnily enough, he roughly knew of your existence before; he never knew of your name and life, because you were an individual from an era he would never get to live in. Yet here he was, seemingly the only person to have ever known you in such an unfiltered way.

ㅤ

He liked it. He liked the feeling of being a confidant to all your secrets.

ㅤ

‘Mrs. Dickens’, a big no. I refuse to inherit that title, moreover, I refuse to marry him, and any other man like him.

ㅤ

I am convinced that a husband will only ruin me, for in this society, women struggle to shape a life and sense of identity outside of marriage.

ㅤ

So, I must seek wisdom and improvement from books, as knowledge is a tool to reinvent myself!

ㅤ

These recent feminist political movements have deeply inspired me, and I have decided to devote a great deal of time and energy to recording my thoughts on them in writing books and diaries. Women want equality in education, labor, electoral rights, and opinion in marriage.

ㅤ

My pursuit of knowledge is linked with feelings of self-worth. It is a quest to remodel myself, not so I could better serve the men in my life, but so that I could better serve myself.

ㅤ

A mind so deep and a will so strong could never have failed to give Levi a peek on these excursions over the domains of literature and feminism that reflect on your mental prowess.

ㅤ

With the more he flipped the pages, with the more he got to know you, he found himself squeezed under a new astonishment.

ㅤ

He liked it. He liked you.

He liked you to the point that he even refused to cleaned the attic. Because by dusting off, it felt like he was erasing your footsteps, allowing your final touches upon these dusty, old things to vanish, like there was no more trace of you in this house.

ㅤ

Levi sighed. He’d spoken about you to his mother. He told her about your hobbies, your adventures, and that you’re a wanderer who knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules in a misogynistic and unfair society.

ㅤ

He told her almost everything, but nothing about you being the dead ex-owner of this house... that little detail was to remain a closely guarded secret to himself.

ㅤ

”When will I meet her? This girl you talk so much of. I bet she’s a lovely lady.”

ㅤ

“Ah, about that… it’s just, I have no hope of ever calling her mine.”

ㅤ

“Why so? You’re a handsome and kind young man.”

ㅤ

Levi so badly wanted to tell his mother why he couldn’t introduce you to her. However, he didn’t want Kuchel to think he had a loose screw and needed his head for examination if he tried to explain this strange circumstance of romance—being in love with the dead.

ㅤ

“I better go and sort out my paperwork for tomorrow.” He tried, attempting to avoid the topic, but the older woman could see right through him.

ㅤ

She grabbed his arm just before he could leave. Kuchel looked like she wanted to say something important, yet the defeated look in her grey eyes seemed to convey that she had decided against it.

ㅤ

“Make sure to get some rest, okay sweetheart? I don’t want you staying up all night long again.”

ㅤ

Responding with a soft smile, Levi left the kitchen and made his way upstairs, leaving his mother to simply sigh in dismay at the fact that her son was clearly keeping something hidden from her.

ㅤ

But she couldn’t blame him though, she herself was keeping secrets too.

ㅤ

Levi found himself in the attic again, where there was a feeling of safety. A calm sanctuary, a dependable sense of home.

ㅤ

All these ye-olden-times junk, were filled with memories, filled with faded echoes that had ebbed and flowed into the walls over the years. Maybe that’s why the attic felt so homely. It was full of history and love.

ㅤ

Curiosity was difficult to satisfy; it was a force of nature that looked for answers even before asking questions. Curiosity had been unfairly maligned and characterized as a dangerous pursuit, as we were always taught that curiosity killed the cat.

ㅤ

But Levi knew better. Curiosity created connections. It cultivated wonder, inquiry, and delight. It sprouted the desire to try, test, and tweak.

ㅤ

He had been reading wisdom from a diary he formerly did not want to read. He had been finding beauty in places he formerly did not want to look in. And he had learned so much from journeys he formerly did not want to take.

ㅤ

It made him wonder: how much of our lives are just luck and good timing, and how much of it was actually choice? How could it be that tiny serendipitous events could change so much of us?

ㅤ

He felt like each choice he had made along the way was part of something bigger than himself. Fate has a funny way of intervening just when we think we have everything in order. And as he thought about all the events that led him to this place, it struck him: so much of life is just blind luck and random chance. With every twist and turn, our lives take us in different directions: you never know what's around the corner.

ㅤ

Levi understood that the world was governed by randomness. That's why he pursued his curiosity with passion, because he understood that chance favored the prepared mind.ㅤ

ㅤ

The short man rummaged through the attic, looking for more answers about you from outside the journal. He came across what seemed to be a pile of belongings, covered by an old, dusty cloth. Yanking it off, the sudden movement sent a vortex of dust into the previously stagnant air.

ㅤ

And there it was, a portrait of you.

ㅤ

It reflected the perfect image of your figure, with all the brilliant picturesqueness of your beauty. It was strange, the way in which you looked at Levi, looking so steadfastly at him through the medium of the oil painting. It’s like you were actually there, watching him with curious eyes.

ㅤ

The power of your beauty held him fast, seizing him and filling a gap in his essence. There was grace in your every feature; it sparkled in your deep eyes, lurked in the corner of your lips, and even in the rich tone of your skin.

ㅤ

It was nice to finally put a face to the name, Levi thought.

ㅤ

The more he got to know you, the more he realized that you tick in all the boxes for the qualities he never knew he wanted in a woman.

ㅤ

However, all of this was depressing. Because no matter how much he knew and liked you, he would never have the chance to call you his.

ㅤ

3rd of September, 1821

I always tell myself that I would rather be happy than be dignified. That I can live alone, and I need not to sell my soul to marriage.

ㅤ

But sometimes, my mind slips, gradually and subconsciously. And there is an involuntary mental process that conditions me to accept reality despite my desperate efforts to never give in to societal pressure.

ㅤ

Once dreams wrangle with reality, we must rub our eyes open and wake up. The heavy weight of my circumstances has yet to fully sink in, but I am certain of one thing:

ㅤ

I am to marry Elliott Dickens, duke of Marley.

ㅤ

Everything moves so fast. My life will rush from heaven to hell in two weeks, when the wedding will take place. And the future will always happen, no matter how much I try to run away from it.

ㅤ

The decision has been made, and I am going to be a new woman soon, I am going to be Mrs. Dickens. And I will be leaving everything behind, including this diary.

ㅤ

To write my heart out—it was freedom to a degree I have not experienced much of before.

ㅤ

But did that mean all my freedom had been used up? Because at the moment, I am unsure of what to write… How strange it is that when I feel most fervently, it is as though my hands and tongue are tied; I cannot express myself!

ㅤ

This is going to be the last entry, thank you for making it this far with me.

ㅤ

Last entry?

ㅤ

A sense of sorrow set deep inside him. The persistent feeling of emptiness practically had Levi forced into submission and taken hostage by it. All he could do was stare into space, letting it wash over him.

ㅤ

Was this it? Despite all your efforts, you still chose to marry the duke?

ㅤ

Then what was the point of writing? Wasn’t it for silent revolution? For feminism? For freeing yourself?

ㅤ

Or was it only meant for catharsis?

ㅤ

Maybe it was. After all, writing was meant for those whose thoughts wouldn’t fit their limited mind. So, you used the power of words as a tool to pour your soul on paper. And Levi knew that.

Levi did not think of you as future Mrs. Dickens, a soon-to-be aristocratic wife of a duke. To him, you were simply you. For he knew you better than anyone else could have. He knew you were just a lonely girl, waiting to be read by someone, hoping that you would make sense to at least one person.

ㅤ

He yearned to stay in this in-between place. Where he was both in modern times and in the past. Where romance existed everywhere and nowhere all at once.

ㅤ

And just as you had written these entries for him to read, he knew with unshakable certainty that in those little moments, even in a dream, were more real and better than anything he’d known.

ㅤ

How beautiful it was to replace the world inside him with someone else’s reality. The way you allowed him to look into your deepest fears and desires, your artful poems, your treasured secrets, your worst nightmares, and your most beautiful dreams.

ㅤ

Your writings unraveled emotions inside him, uncovered new parts of him that were hidden, and breathed a new him into existence with each word that was written.

ㅤ

It made him feel alive and vulnerable. It made him feel human.

ㅤ

It made Levi feel so much that sometimes he wished all your poems he were written for him, because his heart, with its hooks, was looking for something—or someone—to love.

ㅤ

It had been an awfully long day at work for Levi. Piles upon piles of documents never seemed to lessen. It also didn’t help that all he could think of was you, keeping his mind away from successfully accomplishing work.

ㅤ

He was just about to enter his car when a small bell-like sound from his phone was heard.

ㅤ

Clicking his tongue, he mumbled a quiet ‘what now’ out of frustration. It was a text from Kenny, which was weird since Kenny rarely contacted him.

ㅤ

KENNY

5:27 PM

“Where the fuck are you?”

KENNY

ㅤ

Frowning, Levi continued to read the message.

ㅤ

5:28 PM

“It's your mother. The doctor is here at home, but they say it’s likely she wouldn’t make it through the night.”

ㅤ

A heavy weight settled in his stomach. His heart pounded out of control.

ㅤ

Shit.

ㅤ

Kenny’s words kept playing on his mind like a broken record as he drove as fast as he could to get home, not caring about beating the red light. He mentally cursed at the fact that it took nearly an hour to get back to the countryside from work.

ㅤ

The sun dipped below the horizon—the fleeting colors of dusk beginning to fade away—indicating the end of another day, and the end of another life.

ㅤ

Upon parking the vehicle, Levi didn’t even bother closing the car door as he ran into the house and up the stairs.

ㅤ

Dread increasing with every step, he saw Kenny and a short lady—most probably the doctor—standing in front of his mother’s room by the end of the hall, as if they were waiting for his arrival.

ㅤ

Before the man could even yank the door open, he was stopped by the doctor. “I assume you’re Levi, Kuchel’s son? I’m Petra Ral, an oncologist from the specialist cancer team of your mother. May I have a minute?”

ㅤ

It took everything in him to not scold at the ginger woman. What could possibly be so important that it couldn’t wait after he’d check up on his mother?

ㅤ

Despite the glare Levi was shooting at her, Petra continued her words, trying to phrase her message in a concise fashion, “The cancer in her breasts have spread to her lymphatic system, her lungs, liver, and bones-“

ㅤ

“Just get to the point. So it’s incurable?”

ㅤ

“I’m sorry Mr. Ackerman. There’s nothing more we can do about it.” There was a brief pause. Heavily sighing, the doctor continued, “As you know, according to her latest consultations these past months, the more intense chemotherapy sessions haven’t been successful so we-“

ㅤ

“As I know? I wasn’t informed of this at all.” Levi shifted his gaze to his uncle, sending him an icy glare, “Kenny, you knew about this all along, haven’t you? That the cancer was terminal…”

ㅤ

“It was Kuchel’s wish that I had to respect.”

ㅤ

The younger Ackerman hasn’t even fully grasped the reality of his mother’s imminent death, and suddenly this bombshell was dropped on him? That he was kept in the dark all this time? He knew her condition wasn’t getting better, but he hadn’t expected death to be knocking on her door so early.

ㅤ

He took a deep breath and reached for the door's handle, emotionally preparing himself from what he would be witnessing on the other side.

ㅤ

Finally entering the room, “Mom,” Levi’s eyes had softened at the sight before him, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He questioned right away, wasting no time. There was no malice in his voice, only pain.

ㅤ

He knew why she kept this from him, but he still wanted to hear it from her.

ㅤ

It was a good thing that Kuchel had closed her eyes, for if she had seen her son’s sorrowful expression, she might not have answered. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure at work, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.”

ㅤ

“That’s irrelevant, you should have told me so I don’t have to take this all in just one night!”

ㅤ

A few heartbeats were spent in silence. Both of them knew this would be their last night together, and the thought itself had them struggling to look for the right words to say in their limited time.

ㅤ

There was a knot in her throat which seemed impossible to swallow, “Do you… do you forgive me..?”

ㅤ

That was it; that was Levi’s breaking point. He couldn’t keep his normally stoic façade anymore, the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks finally fell. He hurriedly knelt at the bedside and his arms clasped around her tightly. If hugs healed people, he’d hold her all night.

ㅤ

“Of course I do! I love you.”

ㅤ

She smiled tenderly, though it was the saddest smile she had worn.

ㅤ

“You have been a good son—the best even,” his dying mother said, “and all the love in your heart will help you along in the world.” One last rattling breath escaped Kuchel Ackerman’s lips as she was greeted by everlasting death.

ㅤ

He kissed his dead mother’s hand and wept bitterly. Then, he lifted his feet to leave her bedroom.

ㅤ

The rusty iron hinges of the door creaked loudly as Levi swung it open. He gave his uncle a knowing look: the look of grief.

ㅤ

“I see.” was all Kenny muttered as the younger Ackerman hastily walked away to his own bedroom.

ㅤ

He cried for hours, head under the pillow. And even in those hours, Levi could not find solace in tears. Overcome by weariness, darkness was finally kissing the edge of his vision and he surrendered himself to sleep.

ㅤㅤ

ㅤ

It was a strange dream. He saw his mother well and strong again, and heard her laugh as she always used to laugh when she was happy. And then appeared another woman—one with familiar deep eyes. It was you.

ㅤ

He was confused. Why? Why were you and his mother standing before him?

ㅤ

You stretched your arms out to give him a warm embrace. Levi didn’t care if this was all just a product of his imagination, he crashed himself against you, wanting to savor every second.

ㅤ

It was a foreign feeling to be in your arms. Foreign, yet so nostalgic, so familiar, so… right.

ㅤ

“I wish I were granted a good life, for life is a precious gift, almost too great to understand. Levi, thank you. Thank you for the gift of your love. It made me stay alive even after I am gone.”

ㅤ

His hug tightened as your words registered in his head. Whatever this was, dream or reality, he just wanted to hold you, to feel you. You brushed his hair reassuringly, continuing with what you were saying, “And to think that this earthly affection will only continue to grow in another life, throughout eternity. I can barely conceive of it!”

ㅤ

The man was speechless. He wanted to say something, anything, but not a single word came from him.

ㅤ

Levi shifted his gaze to his mother, silently searching for an explanation to this surreal circumstance. “Son, see what a charming girl you’ve won.”

ㅤ

He gazed back at you, nothing but sincerity in his eyes. All it took was one look, and both of you knew. He pulled you in and pressed your mouth over his, claiming your lips so soft.

ㅤ

So this is love, huh? And suddenly, Levi was just a man with the taste of honey upon his lips.

ㅤ

He awakens from his slumber, and the pleasing sight was gone. Kuchel was gone. You were gone.

ㅤ

Tears were running down his cold cheeks, yet his lips were warm. Wait, could that mean… could that mean that the kiss was real?

ㅤ

Glancing to the clock: 8 in the morning. It seems as though he had slept through the night, giving temporary rest to his embittered soul. Though, he knew that the grief in his heart would not let him sleep for the next days to come.

ㅤ

Recalling his dream, the man immediately got onto his feet with a specific destination in mind—the attic.

ㅤ

As always, the dusty particles in the air reflected the sun-rays, looking like pixie dust. He walked farther into the attic, recognizing it as a place of enchantment.

ㅤ

Although he considered himself a logical person, he believed there existed a kind of magic in the books placed on the shelf, particularly in your diary. Secrets are magic after all, and years upon years that they've been written down on a book that had gotten dusty with age has added to its power.

ㅤ

Between the aging covers—represented by black letters on sheets of paper—were voices from the past. Voices that reached into the future, into Levi's own heart, and echoed in the walls of his mind.

ㅤ

He pulled the familiar diary from the shelf that expanded over the wall, hoping that despite your farewell, there was still going to be another entry, another piece for him to read, and another kiss of comfort to his writhing heart.

ㅤ

It was as if someone had literally knocked on the door; but in this case, his heart. With heavy anxiety, he opened to the part where he left off. Levi was certain that whatever deity or god was up there, they surely heard his heart's desperate pleas. Because much to his luck, there indeed was another page left unread.

ㅤ

14th of December, 1824

To whoever is reading this: we meet again at last! It is the first time in years that I have visited Paradis and since I have picked up a pen to write in this journal. Yet, this will also be the last time I do so.

ㅤ

All I wanted was to live a life where I could be me; I had no need for material possessions, money, nor dowry. And in all of my intercourse with society, there was nothing that made me feel as if I belonged to it. I never understood people very well, and they never seemed to understand me either.

ㅤ

I write to understand myself as much as to be understood, but who am I kidding? Who else is ever going to read these personal writings other than myself?

ㅤ

Even my own husband would not lend me some of his minutes to understand me.

ㅤ

Elliott had not much affection for his own mother and sisters, then who am I to think I will make an exception to this behavior? Every nerve in my body feared him. Our servants were seemingly blind on the subject: pretending they never saw him strike nor abuse me. No one wanted to offend the duke by taking my part against him.

ㅤ

But dear reader, I married him.

ㅤ

Oh my poor heart, only death could release me from a life-sentence of agony in his hands! And the only regret I will have in dying is that it is not for love.

ㅤ

In the next world, where there is no marriage, but where souls find each other through intimacy, may I attain true love.

ㅤ

What?

ㅤ

Instead of the familiar coal-tar ink, the bottom half of the page was covered in splatters of blood—the ink of death. Levi’s breath caught in his throat as he tried not to tear at the sight. He wanted to look away, needed to bring his eyes away, but he couldn’t.

ㅤ

Flipping the next pages, it was all the same: empty. He knew what that meant.

ㅤ

You had long been dead, but he felt it was as if you had just died in his arms that night. “You too? How the fuck have you managed to reach so far inside my heart?”

ㅤ

The love you shared with him was liquid, not literally of course: you reminded him that sometimes you were a friend, sometimes a teacher, and sometimes, even a soulmate. Levi used to laugh at the idea of soulmates—a supernatural concept not intended for mortals. But when you bridged the gap between life and death, perhaps soulmates weren’t a silly thing after all.

ㅤ

You found solace in this diary, and he found himself in your memories. You kissed the words unto his lips and skin, and his heart always heard and understood.

ㅤ

a like & reblog would be appreciated <3

913 notes · View notes

kymbersmith90ff · 2 years ago

Text

Read All About It: Chapter 1

Summary: Using Twitter to ask an actual princess on a date may not have been Killian's best idea - until it was.

The credit for the wonderful banners for this story goes to @hollyethecurious and @itsfabianadocarmo. Thank you both so much!

Killian’s parents were stunned into silence by the picture on their son’s phone. They would never have believed him if it hadn’t been for the photographic evidence. After all, how often does one run into an actual princess on the streets of London?

“Well, I suppose we can forgive you this time,” his father told him, handing back the device. “Now, how about we eat before you show us around the city like you promised?”

Killian waited until he was back in the safety of his hotel room before he took to social media to post one of the pictures. He did a quick search first for the princess’s accounts before uploading his favourite shot with the caption:

Had a fanboy moment of my own this morning when I quite literally ran into @PrincessEmma in London. Thanks for being such a great sport.

It took him far longer than he would ever admit to compose the message that would accompany the picture Anton had taken. Once he was happy with it, Killian hit submit - sharing it first to Instagram, then to Twitter, and finally, on his rarely used Facebook page.

When he was finished, he flopped back onto his bed with the phone clutched tightly in his hands. He was acting like a love-struck teenager, and he needed to snap out of it. There was absolutely no way he would ever see her again, so there was no need for those butterflies to be present in his stomach once more. But that understanding didn’t stop him from setting the picture as his wallpaper before he locked the device and went to take a shower.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Killian was far more relaxed than he had been since his body had collided with hers. (And if it was because he’d taken himself into hand whilst thinking of the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest, then nobody else ever needed to know about that.) Killian dropped down onto the edge of his bed and reached for the remote to turn on the game. There was so little live football shown on TV in Vancouver, and it was something he definitely missed while he was busy working, so he always made sure to take advantage of any and all games he could get; when he was back home.

Killian left the TV on with the pre-game commentary droning away in the background as he pulled on a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt to order room service. His parents had made their excuses to go back to their room at around five, stating that they were tired from their early morning journey to London and all of the walking they had done when Killian had finally arrived. With no other plans for his evening, Killian found himself with plenty of time to kill. Room Service and football had seemed like the best way to end his day.

After calling down for steak and a couple of beers, he allowed himself to relax back into the small sofa in his room and turned his attention to his phone. Robin was also back in the UK, and Killian knew that if any of his friends would be watching the game that evening, it would be him.

As he hit the home button, his phone lit up to show hundreds of messages on his social media accounts. All thoughts of Robin and a friendly bet on the game disappeared as he took a moment to briefly scan through the posts. There were plenty of likes on Instagram; a few people asking who Princess Emma was and others answering for him (because clearly, some people couldn’t be bothered to read the caption); and a handful of random comments that he’d become incredibly used to over the years. His Facebook post was much the same but featured a comment from Robin that read:

Jammy git! Does she smell as pretty as she looks?

Killian didn’t bother dignifying that with a public response. Instead, he quickly closed out of the app and opened up Twitter. He briefly thumbed through the likes and retweet notifications to see if anyone caught his eye. There were plenty of replies to the image there too, but he wasn’t entirely fussed about those. Most of them were from fans, begging for his attention.

Killian was just about to close out of the app when he saw it. Buried amongst the many notifications was the one he was most hoping to see. She had asked to be tagged in the photo, after all.

Princess Emma had retweeted Killian’s initial post; and added her own comment to it.

@KillianJones1 You played that pretty cool for a fanboy moment. I was the one that was freaking out.

Killian wanted to squeal like the teenager he’d been slowly turning into all day. Not only had she noticed the tweet, but she’d also replied to it. When he clicked on the message in full, he noticed that she was following his account too. A part of him wanted to scroll through her following list to see if it was a recent development or if she’d been following him for a while now, but he held himself back from doing so.

This time, he didn’t even stop to think before he typed out his reply.

@PrincessEmma Not at all.I was the 1mowing U down in the street.I’m surprised U didnt recoil in disgust at how I was sweating in Ur presence

Killian hit send, then navigated away from the Twitter app before he could spend any more time analysing Princess Emma’s message. He really needed some sort of distraction, and it came in the form of his best friend and the football match on TV, so Killian sent Robin a quick message to see if he was watching the game.

Unsurprisingly, Robin was far more interested in Killian’s meeting that afternoon than he was in the football match taking place that evening. Instead of replying to his friend’s message, he’d obviously decided that a phone call was needed, as Killian’s phone began vibrating in his hand only seconds after his message had shown as delivered.

“You sly dog, you. I can’t believe you managed to run into Princess Emma in the middle of London! I spend more time there than you ever do, and that’s never happened to me before.”

Killian chuckled at Robin’s enthusiasm as he turned down the TV to better hear his friend.

“Well, what can I say? It must be my Irish charm.”

“I highly doubt that,” Robin snorted into the phone, “But whatever it is, I have to admit, I’m burning with jealousy right now. Tell me everything! What was she like in person? Is she as pretty as the magazines and TV make her look? Does she smell like sunshine and roses…?” Robin trailed off dreamily, and this time, it was Killian’s turn to snort.

“She’s incredibly beautiful in person, and she smells just as pretty as she looks.”

“Ugh. Is it treason to say she’s top of my spank-bank list?” Robin wondered aloud.

Killian choked on his drink as his mind briefly flashed to the mental images he’d conjured in the shower earlier that evening.

“God, I hope not.”

Robin’s sharp bark of laughter told Killian that he’d probably spoken the words aloud, and he flushed at that confession. His friend would likely never let him forget it.

“Moving swiftly on… who do you fancy for the game tonight?” he asked, quickly changing the subject and praying that his friend would let him.

There was a moment of tense silence before Robin finally said, “United all the way, mate. Who in their right mind would bet against them?”

When the game was finished, and Killian had left his empty dishes outside the door to his room, he made his way over to the bed with the intention of getting an early night. His parents were sure to come knocking as soon as the hotel began serving breakfast, and the last thing he needed was to be dragged all over London on only a few hours of sleep.

Killian quickly stripped off his t-shirt then slid into the king-sized bed wearing only his lounge pants. His hand hovered over the bedside table as the impulse to turn off the lights warred with the urge to check his tweets one final time. Knowing that he probably wouldn’t get any sleep until he had, Killian sighed heavily and diverted his hand towards his phone.

He wasn’t really expecting to find anything when he opened up the app - and he almost didn’t. It wasn’t until he headed to Princess Emma’s page that he saw the message which had been well hidden amongst his notifications.

@KillianJones1 Well,I can honestly say I’ve never met a more attractive sweaty person before in my life-And trust me,I make many a man sweat

“Fuck me!”

Killian ran a sharp hand through his hair as he read her message over and over again.

Was the Princess of Cambridge flirting with him… on Twitter?

#read all about it #captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfics #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfics #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #modern au #modern royalty au #modern actor au #kymbersmith90

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mysmegrace · 3 years ago

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Hi grace! Could I request some headcanons for the rfa members with a surfer MC who a beach-y lifestyle?

hi! this request is really fitting for the summer time, so why not? please forgive me if this sucks, i don't know much about surfing and i haven't been to the beach in two years lol. thank you for the request!

RFA with a Surfer MC who Enjoys the Beach Lifestyle

---

yoosung kim:

he's quite impressed to say the least.

he could remember being in elementary school, watching all the movies with surfers, and wishing he could be just like them.

it's also been cool to him.

though he could never do it.

hence why he begs you to teach him.

what would be better than being taught surfing skills by the girl he'll spend the rest of his life with?

one day in your late 80's, he could surprise you with a beach date and impress you with surfing skills better than yours.

at least, that's what he dreams of.

with your sweet heart, you agreed to teach him.

and after a little bit of surfing lessons and you beating his ass, you took him back to your apartment.

yet what greeted him were objects all reminiscent of the beach once surrounding him.

he could see your love of the beach and summer time in full view as he observed your apartment more.

though amazed, he was slightly upset.

with all the organic fruits and healthy treats, there were no chips or fried chicken in sight.

how did you survive like this, he thought.

but with all food options aside, it was nice to see something different yet so refreshing.

hyun ryu / zen:

he was in utter amazement.

of course his girlfriend was talented and graceful!

she's his girlfriend, after all.

after observing your surfing abilities, he tried to join along.

surely the few times he attempted surfing would be enough to impress you, right?

no it was not

he went underwater in a heartbeat.

yet with a little giggle, you helped him to shore to offer giving him a quick surfing lesson.

after taking a second to consider, he put his pride aside and accepted.

when everyone was packing up, he proposed to walk you home.

looking at the night sky getting darker by the second, you agreed.

once he caught a glimpse of your home after you opened the door to head inside, he was star struck.

he loved the theme of your house.

so much so, that he asked to check it out further.

thankfully to him, you accepted.

and he could've sworn he was in heaven.

though he wasn't invested in the beach lifestyle, he was living the healthy summer-like lifestyle as well.

how could his soulmate be so much like him, he thought.

and as he headed home for the night, he made plans to ask you if you would decorate your future shared bedroom just like how you had your apartment decorated.

jaehee kang:

you left her stunned.

she had only perceived you as a city girl, one not bothered by anything other than work and the occasional outing.

but after walking into your apartment the night you invited her over, she was proven wrong.

the home was decorated with beach-like objects, and gave off an overall summer vibe.

clearly you were someone who loved to bask in the rays of the sun on your off time.

no wonder why you were so relaxed, you were comforted with the beach scenery night and day.

questioning you about it, she said “do you enjoy the summer time?”

she knew it was a foolish question considering your surrounds, but she was still in awe nevertheless.

humming a yes, you brought up the idea of going to hang out at the beach someday.

to which jaehee accepted.

when that day approached, she came prepared with towels, sunscreen, or snacks.

yet confusion took over as she saw you bringing out two surf boards.

“do you know how to surf?” you asked.

she could see where this was going, and responded “no, you surf mc?”

you continued to throw her off guard with your interests and skills.

she loved how unpredictable you were, it always kept things exciting.

taking a short pause, you proposed the idea of teaching her how to surf with a smirk slowly crossing across your face.

without giving herself a minute to really consider it, she accepted.

how hard could it be.. right?

wrong

she was struggling.

how you made it look so easy was beyond her.

but nevertheless, it made for an entertaining time.

though she did come out with a few bruises, she’d do it again.

jumin han:

“you can decorate the penthouse however you’d like” he said.

so why was he so taken aback when he came home to your decorations, you thought.

the place was decked out in beachy themed wallpapers, items reminiscent of the summer, and lights that made you feel as if you were under the sun 24/7.

to say he hadn’t expected this was an understatement.

but he wasn’t opposed to the new vibe the house gave off.

in fact, he welcomed it.

mainly because it was something you created, but he also could use the new change in environment.

you had spoken about how being surrounded by these decorations had a calming effect on you, so surely it wouldn’t hurt him to be surrounded by them too.

intrigued, he asked you many questions.

how did you get introduced to this lifestyle?

how long had you been doing this?

there were simply too many to answer.

but you explained to him how the beach helped you cope with everyday life, how it made you feel best both mentally and physically, also adding in how you had enjoyed surfering.

hold on a second, he thought.

you knew how to surf?

you always had a way of impressing him when he least expected it.

que the income of questions about your surfing skills.

“i’ll show you the next time we go to the beach” you said in excitement.

and you did just that.

with jumin standing, watching from afar, you set off on your short surfing trip.

you couldn’t see much from the water, but you could’ve sworn you say a smile creep up on your loves face.

coming back to shore, he greeted you with a kiss.

“you’re incredibly talented” he told you.

maybe he’d be willing to try one day, you thought to yourself as you walked back home hand in hand.

saeyoung choi:

after everything the two of you had been through in the short time you’ve known each other, a vacation was well deserved.

there was much to celebrate.

the reuniting of twins who had been separated from each other since their teens.

the newfound relaxation that was present in the whole organization.

everyone could finally sleep well knowing the people they loved were safer than ever before.

setting up your area with the surf boards you brought, you offered for saeyoung to join you.

though slightly surprising, he was thrilled to find out how much you loved surfing.

he remembered some techniques he was taught during his time at the agency, and figured he could use some of those to beat you in a surfing competition.

mission failed.

you won by a long hall.

but you two had good fun, and that was all saeyoung cared about.

he could endure the teasing from his failure if it meant you were smiling.

though he had to admit that the surfing had tired him out a bit.

hence why he led you to some benches nearby, as he struck up a new conversation about you.

though the topic didn’t change much.

which led to your confession of your love for the beach lifestyle.

you had explained to him how you would find any opportunity available to rest near the beach and indulge in everything beach related.

he was in awe.

he loved how much you valued something so simple yet so beautiful.

it wasn’t something he knew much about personally, but he could sit there for days listening to your admiration for it.

and once you two arrived home from the vacation, he would surprised you with several things beach related.

the smile he was met with was something he could continue to live for.

---

i have to admit, i know very little about the beach lifestyle, but i hope i portrayed this correctly!

22:59 AST - 08/05/21

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yutahoes · 4 years ago

Text

Sakura

(Part Seven)

One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven

genre : Chaptered, Fluff,

pairing : childhood friends: soccer player! Nakamoto Yuta x single mom! Y/N

word count : 3.3k words

You’ll always be his Sakura.

@ailoveyuta @loona-4-eva @aiforyuu @2-3-t-i @cosmiclatte28 @url-lindo-sexy @nuoyipeach @aaasteroidsky @thisis-myname @yutazen01

Her smile that time in Osaka is still imprinted in Yuta’s mind that it haunts him even in his dreams. It was winter in their last year of their teens when Yuta begged Y/N’s mom if she could spend the holidays in Osaka with his family. Of course, his parents were also behind this and promised that they’ll take care of Y/N. And even if he’s just remembering it now, he still can’t believe that her mom actually allowed her to go to another country.

His parents quickly greeted her when she came to the airport, asking if she had trouble during the flight but she smiled at them answering them in fluent Japanese that made him proud. She seemed so natural talking to them, even calling them okaasan and otousan like they’re one family. “Yuta!” she called excitedly, arms wide open to hug him which he accepted. His parents were just smiling at him knowingly. “Bogoshipda.”

Who wouldn’t? The last time he saw her was the day she left for Chicago. No, the day before that. Although he and his mom sent them off, he refused to look at her that time. "I missed you too." He whispered that made her smile widely. Something changed about her. Is it because they never saw each other for years? Or because his memory of her is stuck in the last time they were together? Is it because they already grew up? Maybe it's because of Chicago.

His family had been welcoming to her and they were equally amazed that Y/N can understand and speak Japanese. Since it's just days before New Year, their house is full of people but they made her feel like she is a part of the family. "You should bring her to Osaka Castle." One of his aunts claimed that made Yuta nod.

"Why not bring her to Universal Studios?" Another asked and Y/N just nodded, looking excited. Yuta put his phone on top of the table. "Otousan, can you drive us to Hirakata Park tomorrow?" He asked which made everyone look at him.

Y/N was so surprised seeing a Cardcaptor Sakura exhibition that she squealed in excitement at the entrance making Yuta smile. This feels like the Y/N he knows. They kept on looking at the different artworks related to the anime she liked since she was young, even staying too long at some merchandise. "Should I buy that? Sakura is really cute."

Yuta chuckled. "You can't even eat that." That made her glare at him, pouting. But Yuta remembered that merchandise, even telling himself that he’ll save up to buy that for her birthday.

She was really happy to eat in a café that is inspired by the same anime. She kept on taking pictures saying that she'll show them to her mom. "I knew you'll love it here."

"Can I just live here?"

He laughed once again. "You can ask my parents to adopt you."

Y/N wrapped her arms on Yuta's arm that made him freeze. What's with the sudden skinship? "Shall I call you oniichan?"

He smiled at her then frowned. "No."

It was almost nighttime when they reached Dohtonbori. Tons of pictures were taken and she kept on running around, claiming that everything in Japan is pretty. "It's prettier when there are cherry blossoms. You should go back in spring." But honestly, he just wanted her to stay here until Spring. Or maybe for a long time.

Should he ask his parents to adopt her? But he doesn't want him to call her imouto.

The lights illuminating the whole area looked magical. Why does he like it more today than when he's out here with his parents? Why does the light look more lovely today? The cold breeze made him pull his oversized coat closer. Why is it so cold? Glancing at her, he realized that she may be cold as well. Does Chicago have a cold season like this?

Knowing that she's focused on looking at those little trinkets by the store, he went to another store to buy something. Her mom will kill him if she gets sick in this weather. Besides, it's going to be busier this time of the year. "Y/N." He called that made her look at him. He put on a white scarf around her neck, wrapping it nicely on her. "My Christmas gift."

She had to laugh at that, raising a snow globe. "And I was thinking of buying one for you." She turned her attention to the different snow globes on the shelf. "You should pick one, Yuta."

But he never looked at the snow globes. Instead, his focus was on her. The lights illuminate her, creating a picturesque background. The white snow falling gently on her, adding to the effect. He badly wanted to imprint that image in his mind. When did she become this pretty? When she turned to him, he lightly gasped. Why did he feel hot all of a sudden? Why can he hear his heart beating on his chest?

Y/N shook the snow globe with the Osaka castle inside then handed it to him. "I'll get you this, onii chan." It annoyed him. Why does she like using that word?

The whole week was full of preparations for the New Year and his relatives had supplied her with the rituals they must do. She helped in making mochi with his grandmother who seemed so fond of her. Even his grandfather, who is usually a scary man, smiles a lot because of her. She really fit well in his family. But not as his sister.

When the clock struck midnight, he realized what it was. She was playing some sparklers with his cousins, laughing along with them. Her eyes twinkling the same way they did when she was staring at those snow globes. Taeyong was right all along. He is in love with her.

Kareshi. It's a better term than oniisan. Something that he wanted her to call him right now. "Y/N, I…" But a ringtone stopped his words, someone was calling. "It must be your mom, you should pick up." The girl nodded, handing her sparkler to Yuta before heading inside the house.

God, what is wrong with him? Is he really going to confess to her? He must be out of his mind. Yuta just finished the stick of sparkler before heading inside to check on her. She was seated on the couch, smiling on her phone. "They are all so nice to me, eomma." She then smiled when she noticed Yuta. "We're going to the temple tomorrow with obaasan." Hatsumonde. It's a Japanese ritual that they had done since he was young and since she's here, his grandmother wanted her to experience visiting a shrine. "You want to talk to Yuta?"

The guy just shook his head, sitting next to her, but she pushed the phone to her which he reluctantly answered. "Eommeoni, annyeong." She sounded so happy talking to him on the phone but again his focus was on the door next to him who was playing the kendama, a Japanese ball and cup toy. "Please take care of Y/N." And even if she doesn't say those words, he knows he'll take care of her.

When she dropped the call, Yuta saw her phone wallpaper. A guy playing basketball. It looks like a photo taken. Is she dating someone? Did she mention anything about a guy in her letters? Is that why she's prettier? Is she in love?

The question was answered when they visited the shrine the next day. She is indeed prettier especially when she wore a kimono that his cousin let her borrow, little trinkets adored her hair. She looked like a native Japanese. A yome. But he shook his head. He can't be thinking of that.

They were getting their omikuji, him and her with another set of female and male cousins that are older than the two of them. When Y/N pulled her paper strip, his female cousin shook her head. "You'll probably get pregnant this year." She claimed that startled her. "Are you dating someone?" Y/N nodded.

"You two are already dating?" His male cousin asked, referring to her and Yuta. She shook her head saying that he's a schoolmate from Chicago. So he's really seeing the guy on her phone wallpaper. When Yuta opened his paper strip, his cousin just tapped his back. "You should have confessed earlier." But he just stared at the bad luck written on his paper.

His second regret. Why did it take a long time for him to realize these feelings?

It was Yuta's Summer Break when his parents gave him the airplane tickets to Chicago that surprised him. They had talked to Y/N and her mom that he's visiting. And although he doesn't want to go there, he was forced by his family. "You should at least tell her that you like her. Maybe it can change something."

The city was different and he felt really foreign, different than when he first came to Korea. "Yuta!" Y/N called, running to where he is and quickly hugging him. What is this girl doing? In front of all these people? "I skipped class to pick you up. Why can't you hug me?" He raised an eyebrow at her. Why is she so bold? Chicago is indeed different. Yeokshi Chicago.

He jokingly crushed her on his arms but she didn't laugh, which is odd. He felt her breathing on his neck, hot and hard. "I missed you, Yuta." It felt different. Maybe because they're in Chicago. He didn't pay that much attention to that especially when she introduced a guy named Johnny Seo. The person on her wallpaper. The guy she's dating.

Johnny is a really nice guy. He showed him what Chicago is while waiting for her to finish her classes. He made an effort to talk to him in Korean or English, sometimes in Japanese that he heard from her. He shared stories about her, the Y/N Yuta doesn't personally know. He knew what to order for her in coffee shops, even at restaurants. He speaks to her calmly, staring at her as if she's the only person who mattered in the world. And he knew, she's in the right place with Johnny.

It was Saturday when Johnny and Y/N brought him to The Bean. The weather was hot and there were a lot of people because of the weekend but Yuta didn't care. "You haven't been to Chicago if you didn’t visit this place." Johnny claimed that made the girl nod. They took tons of pictures, Y/N teasing that he needed to show it to his cousins.

Johnny offered to get them coffee, leaving the two of them in the park while still taking pictures. "Johnny is pretty nice." Yuta started that made her smile, nodding at him. "You never mentioned him in your letters."

"I don't know what to tell you." She answered quietly. "But I like him. So much." He wanted to stop her that moment, wanted her to not continue what she's saying or it will just hurt him. "He helped me a lot to quickly adapt here."

A bitter smile escaped his lips. The same way she helped him back in Korea. How dare she fall in love with another guy that way? But when Johnny came with their coffees at hand, he saw the twinkle in her eyes. The twinkle that made his heart flutter. She really does love Johnny. And who is he to take that twinkle away? Who is he to tell her what she can and can't do? He's just her friend. A very dear friend.

He drank his coffee watching as how the taller guy fixed her hair, smiling at her with a lot of love in his eyes. Bittersweet. That was what it was. It's hurtful yet romantic. And he can't believe that he will always remember Chicago with those feelings. Yeoksi Chicago.

Johnny loves Y/N. He's sure of that. And he honestly doesn't want to believe that it didn't work well with them. What really happened? Did she give up? Or is he the one who gave up? That was the question in his mind seeing Johnny in front of the two kids' school. He can still remember him but does Johnny even remember him?

Yuta can see the two kids going outside the gates and honestly, he was scared that they'll run to their dad. He shouldn't have come here today. Why did he even come here? "Daddy!" He heard Jae call running to his dad. Of course, he must have missed him so much that the younger guy even called him 'appa' last time. But he noticed Cherry stopping on her tracks.

She noticed him but he only smiled at her, planning to just go. He was about to enter his car when he heard the younger girl say, "Can I hang out with Yuta samchon?" That was when Johnny noticed him, Jae even waved at him excitedly. "He promised me that we'll go back to the library when he gets back from Spain." He did promise her. But her dad is here. Isn't she excited to see him again?

"Is it alright if Cherry goes with you?" Yuta nodded. He wanted to hang out with them anyways. "I'll just tell Y/N." Cherry just walked chicly to him, her eyes as dark as when he first met her. Why is she like this? Does she not like Johnny? Jae told Yuta that he wanted to hang out with his dad, even telling him to take care of his noona that he found so adorable.

Yuta bid farewell to the father-son, opening the backseat door for the younger girl. Cherry was just looking at her shoes when Yuta entered the car, starting the engine to drive her to the library she loved. "Samchon…" she called which made him look at her from the mirror of the car, humming as a response. "Can you buy me a cake today?"

It was a request he can't say no. This was the first time that Cherry asked him for something and he's somehow glad that it is just a simple thing. He parked in front of a pretty café, helping her get down from the car, and even opened the door for her. "You can order whatever you want." He urged, eyeing all the selections of different flavored cakes.

The girl pointed at a white cake with red cherries on top, making Yuta smile. A cherry cake. "Can you buy me the whole cake?" The guy just nodded. It's not bad to spoil her once in a while. He told the girl on the counter their order, handing him his card when she made another request, "Do you have candles?" Candles? Is it her birthday? Is that why Johnny is here in Korea?

He let the younger girl put candles in between the cherries of her cake. "Is it your birthday today?" He asked and she nodded casually that startled him. Why are they together? She should be with her parents. "Don't you want to share the cake with your brother?"

Cherry shook her head. "I always share everything with him. He and eomma never liked cherries anyways." He pursed his lips at that, she does hate cherries. Ironically, she named her firstborn with something that she didn't like. "And dad hates cherry." She was staring at the cake while saying those words in a hushed tone. Is she referring to the fruit or another thing? "Can you light it up, samchon?" Her eyes were moist, sparkling against the light, like she wanted to cry.

He held the top of her head, smiling. "Wait up. I'll just go get something." He said then stood up. "Stay here and wait for me. I won't be long." But she only stared at him in worry. Yuta handed her his phone, promising that he'll be back quickly. He crossed the street to get her some flowers then cursed himself for not knowing what color she wanted. Does she even like flowers?

To be safe, he followed the florist's advice in getting a white rose for 'his daughter'. There was a new expression on Cherry's face when he handed her the single white flower, an emotion he hasn't seen from her before. "Girls should receive at least a flower on their birthday." He reasoned out then lit up all the candles on the cake. She whispered something on herself as a wish before blowing the candles one at a time.

Yuta took away the candles then started slicing the cake. He placed one slice on Cherry's plate, even topping it with cherries on top. It was the younger girl who gave him his slice of the vanilla cake. "Do you want to do anything else? Ice skating?"

"Can we just go ice skating with eomma and Jae some time?" He nodded. She always thinks about them. "I'll just finish the book in the library today."

It is her birthday yet she's silently reading a suspense book while seated on a bean couch. Yuta just bought her some snacks and got a book to read so he wouldn't get bored. He would smile at her little gasps and remembered how Y/N would be like that while reading manga. Cherry is indeed a splitting image of her. It's crazy.

"Samchon," Cherry called, closing the hardbound book she was reading earlier. Is she done? That fast? "When you were young, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

He chuckled at that question. She is still a kid. "I want to be a soccer player."

"How about mom?"

Yuta glanced at her. "She wanted to be an illustrator." He remembered how good her drawings are and even pursue that passion until her college years. "But you know, your mom suddenly wrote to me one day and said that she wanted to be a mom."

"Can dreams change?" Cherry asked innocently. There's a certain air of maturity in the little girl that Yuta always forgets that she's just a kid. Now, she looks like a little girl who wonders about life.

Yuta nodded at the question. "What do you want to be when you grow up, Cherry?"

"A detective." That's a nice dream. Maybe that's why she likes reading all these Agatha Christie books. "When I become a detective, I will help children find their dads." That sparked his curiosity. What? "I wanted to find my dad."

"Johnny is your dad."

"He's not." She exclaimed which made Yuta wide-eyed. "Eomma got pregnant with me even before she married dad. She had Jae because she wanted to save her and dad's marriage." That was some wild accusations from a child.

Yet, it seemed rather logical.

It was a mystery to him why Johnny and Y/N broke up when he saw how much they liked each other. They had two children, isn't that enough reason to stay together? He remembered all the conversations with Cherry about her dad, how sad her reaction is, and how quiet her voice is when talking about him. The image of the younger girl who looked awkward seeing her dad flashed on his mind. She's wary of him. Not scared, not angry. She just doesn't look like someone who knew what she should do with her dad. She looked like she doesn't belong.

But then again, maybe it's just her.

Maybe he can help her. He can probably prove that Johnny is her dad. "Cherry, how old are you?"

"Eight."

'Seven years, turning eight' He can hear Y/N's voice in his mind saying those words. The same age as Cherry. The last time they saw each other was eight years. In Chicago. After that night.

"Samchon, do you know who my real dad is?"

Yuta gulped. He probably knows.

Fuck, he might just be Cherry's dad.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Eight

#yuta fluff #yuta nakamoto fluff #yuta #yuta nakamoto #nct fluff #yuta chaptered #nakamoto yuta chaptered #nakamoto yuta fluff

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bffsoobin · 4 years ago

Text

Dulce Periculum

➤ Halloween!au, highschool!au, (vague)80s!au, punk!yeonjun x reader, general horror, ghosts, fluff, angst

↳ when yeonjun’s best friend dares the two of you to spend Halloween night camping in the abandoned old school your whole city thought was haunted; you think nothing of it. After all, there was no way the rumors of spirits that would follow you home were true, and you really wanted the prize from winning the bet.

Warnings: general horror themes, breaking and entering, underage drinking and smoking, mentions of drug use, ghosts, mentions of blood, hauntings, creepy shit in general so don’t read if you’re sensitive/not a fan.

Word Count: 4,994

A/N: I hope no one is surprised that I wrote an actually scary Halloween fic 💀 this was so much fun and totally captured all of the things I really love the most! It also felt so good to write another long fic for Yeonjun since I definitely don’t do that enough. As always, I didn’t proof read or edit this, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway! (also pretend this gif is dark hair Yeonjun for the vibes)

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“Seriously?” Yeonjun lifted a dark eyebrow as he popped a potato chip into his mouth. You held out your hand to silently ask for one that he set in your hand with no hesitation. Your usually populated lunch table was eerily empty today, and even inside the walls of your high school, the chill of the October air had you leaning into Yeonjun’s body to soak up his perpetual warmth. Across the table, Johnny sat on the top of a chair, exaggerating his already insane height as he spoke down to the two of you.

“Seriously, man! The place is haunted. My cousin went there once a few years ago and-”

A laugh bubbled out of your throat at the sight of tough looking Johnny; donning his classic black leather jacket and silver belt chains, a half burnt cigarette glowing eerily orange at the end with a thin streak of smoke leading it’s way to the ceiling, visibly frightened over the idea of a haunted old school.

“You’re losing it if you think the place is actually haunted. Johnny. It’s just a town legend for gods sake. People just go there and get high and fuck. It’s called Grave Academy. You think that shit is for real?” You spat, disbelief soaking every edge of your voice. You loved a good horror story just as much as the next fucked up teenager, but there was no fucking way that half burnt building was actually haunted. Beside you, your boyfriend had reduced himself into a fit of giggles, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you until you were almost sitting in his lap. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, the cool metal of his lip piercing making your nose crinkle.

“I love when you act like that,” he whispered, gently biting at the lobe of your ear before laughing even more at the gagging noise Johnny had begun to project into the air. Yeonjun backed away just as suddenly as he had descended on you, taking his scent of mint and smoke with him.

“What’s your point, Johnny? Just tryin to scare us?” Yeonjun asked, balancing his chin on his palms as he stared lazily across the table again.

“The point is a dare,” Johnny began, leaning forward as if he were about to tell a secret only your ears could hear. “I dare you to spend Halloween night at Grave Academy. Then you’ll see how haunted that place actually is.” He took a long drag off of his cigarette, ignoring the pointed throat clearing of a cafeteria worker you knew for a fact smoked at least three a day while sitting in the parking lot. Johnny waved her off and reached into one of his jacket pockets, producing the worn leather wallet that he kept on him like a religious talisman. From its folds he produced a crisp, wonderfully green 50 dollar bill and held it between his fingers. Your eyes widened at the bill, and if it weren’t for Yeonjun’s hand on your thigh stalling you, you would have been launching yourself across the table to snatch it from Johnny. “I bet you,” his voice was muffled around the cigarette, “this 50 dollar bill and a six pack that the two of you couldn’t spend a whole night there without getting spooked.”

You and Yeonjun exchanged incredulous looks as Johnny continued to watch over the two of you.

“Well, yeah,” Yeonjun announced, standing so abruptly that the chair he had once occupied was sent skidding awkwardly against the tiled floor. He extended a paled, jewelry decorated hand across the table and waited for Johnny to meet it in the middle. As soon as their hands connected, the smirk on Yeonjun’s face widened. “It’s a deal.”

-----

Halloween of ‘87 brought along frigid whipping winds that cut to the bone. You and Yeonjun had layered up in all your warmest clothing but he still had to crank up the heat in his old car as the two of you drove to the abandoned school to meet up with Johnny. With your hands tucked underneath your legs, you grumbled, “it’s way too cold for this shit, Jun.” Still focused on the road, Yeonjun hummed in acknowledgement.

“Got another idea for how to make 50 bucks and get a free case of beer?” He finally glanced over to you, eyebrow arched in question as you pouted. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll warm you up when we get there.” Despite the chill of the air, a warm blush sprouted on your cheeks that Yeonjun only smiled at as he made the final turn before crunching the gravel of the parking lot under the tires. Johnny was already there, leaning against the side of his car with a freshly lit cigarette balanced between gloved fingers. Seconds after Yeonjun parked the car, Johnny was next to it in two large strides, leaning down and knocking on the driver’s side window. Yeonjun pushed the door open, forcing Johnny to step back instead of getting nailed in the legs with the heavy metal.

“Hello to you too,” Johnny grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest like a scolded child. “Nice of you to finally fucking show up.” Yeonjun laughed as he rounded the car to pop the trunk and haul out the copious amounts of blankets and pillows you had insisted on bringing.

“What, Johnny? Afraid out here all by yourself?” Your boyfriend teased as you scooped a pile of blankets into your arms. Johnny exhaled through his nose, throwing his hands in the air.

“Well fuck, Yeonjun. I don’t know, is it wrong of me to be afraid of the ghost of the little kid who literally got possessed and killed all of his classmates? Or the fact that all the kid’s spirits are stuck here? Plus, it’s Halloween so you know...the dead walk among us and shit.” He was shifting on his feet, taking intermittent drags from his cigarette as he spoke. You snickered to yourself, the weight of the blankets in your arms making your muscles a bit sore.

“Can we just get this over with?” You ask loudly.

“I would love to,” Johnny nods, patting Yeonjun on the shoulder and gently shoving him toward the old, slightly crumbling building. After the initial fire, the lot had been bought and rebuilt as a halfway house for troubled youth. The company ended up going bankrupt and the building was left to rot.

“If you two make it out alive, my money and beer are yours.” Yeonjun nodded as a gust of wind ripped through the lot, sending a complaint flying from your mouth as you glared pointedly toward your boyfriend. He took the hint easily, maneuvering his blankets under one arm and placing the other at the small of your back.

“See ya tomorrow, Johnny,” he waved him off easily, pushing you forward through the rusted, overgrown gate. You heard Johnny peel out of the parking lot just as you and Yeonjun stepped onto the first cement block of steps. An old sign hung at the top of the entrance, paint chipped off in large strips that have disintegrated with time. For a moment, you hesitated, your chunky black boots seemingly stuck to the surface under you.

“C’mon,” Yeonjun encouraged, walking up the next four steps until he wrapped his free hand around the tarnished iron handle. “Aren’t you cold?” He asked, prompting your feet to move behind him. You wouldn’t admit it to Yeonjun, but a slight feeling of anxiety was beginning to make your palms sweat. Producing a flashlight out of his pocket, Yeonjun readied himself to step into the building.

The door opened with a high groan, it’s hinges crackling underneath the weight of Yeonjun’s push. From your spot just outside the door, it was hard to understand the layout of what was once considered a grand building. Hiding slightly behind your boyfriend’s broad shoulders, all you could see was part of a staircase which surely had steps rotted away from years of disuse. A sudden fear for the integrity of the floorboards shot through you, and if you had had a free hand, you would have clutched it into the soft material of Yeonjun’s jacket.

Forever fearless, he took the first step inside the building and hummed thoughtfully.

“Well,” his dark mass of hair swished around as he looked side to side, “no ghosts that I can see.” You knew he was joking for the sake of your comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to rally back as you took a tentative step inside. From this point, you could see the interior of the entry hall in its full glory.

Wallpaper, which you assumed was once a gentle cream color, was peeling in jagged, messy strips to expose the inner structure of the house. A more recent addition, the various colors of spray paint from other visitors, struck a stark contrast with Above you, a dangerously loose looking chandelier hung. It was small enough, but still obviously made with a tough metal that had begun to fall down with the water-logged sagging and cracking of the plaster ceiling. The image of it falling down had your stomach churning. Maybe Johnny had been right.

Slowly, the two of you made your way inside, surveying the floors through the measly yellow light of the flashlight until you found a good spot to place your blankets. Although it was “good” in the sense that there were no massive holes in the wall or ceiling to expose you to the cold, you still felt uneasy. As you set to work laying down a thick patch of blankets to protect you, Yeonjun took a lap around the room to see what he could find. This room, like all of the others, had streaks of spray paint on almost every surface. Most of it was harmless, and it almost gave you comfort to know that so many other people before you had come here and made it back out alive. Not that anyone would miss you or Yeonjun if you didn’t. Another shiver, this one not borne from the cold, ran down your back. Once you’d made a successful little nest, you found the will to walk over to Yeonjun again.

He was slouched a bit, studying something with a surprising intensity. When you walked up behind him and slipped your hands under his jacket-mostly to warm your hands- he startled a bit.

“Did I scare you?” You teased, pushing your face into his back as you nuzzled up closer.

“No, just surprised. Can I steal the flashlight?” Pouting, you handed it over and resumed your snuggling in hopes that he would finally catch the hint. If you were going to be stuck in this creepy house all night you might as well have some fun. The vague thought of stealing a cigarette from Yeonjun’s back pocket crossed your mind, and your hand was well on it’s way until he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Just- look at this,” his voice was higher pitched, bordering a bit too close on surprised for your liking. Your mind buzzed as you slid to his side to lean into the point of interest. While you were making up the blankets, Yeonjun had been messing with what seemed to be an inconspicuous old blackboard, shut tightly due to years and years of misuse. Somehow, he had managed to slide it open, revealing a second layer of blackboard underneath. For a second, you were going to make a joke about skipping school and forgetting what a blackboard looked like- until you saw the writing.

Inside the ring of light casted by the flashlight, a sentence made of slightly messy, too close together letters stood.

“Don’t let him catch you.”

Neither you or Yeonjun moved as you processed the words.

“Jun,” your voice was wavering, choked over the tears building in the back of your eyes. “Maybe we should-”

“No, I’m sure it was just someone here before who messed with it. It wasn’t even that hard to push and there were obviously other kids here before us.” He turned on his heel quickly, putting your backs to the wall and taking your hands in his calloused palms. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold, but he still looked the image of perfection.

“Still cold?” He asked, eyebrow cocked as he leaned imperceptibly closer to you. All thoughts of fear vanished, replaced quickly by the heat that swamped you upon seeing the gleam in his honeyed eyes. You couldn’t ignore the way the black metal of his lip ring glinted in the low lighting.

“Y-yeah,” you confirmed quickly, tearing your eyes away from his lips just long enough to get the message across. Swiftly, he pressed his lips against your own, the cold brush of his nose skimming against yours making you giggle. He laughed back, using his hands tangled in your hair to keep you steady as he walked you backwards in a direction only he could see, deepening the kiss until you forgot that you were deep in the heart of Grave Academy.

----

Morning came surprisingly fast after you and Yeonjun had worn yourselves out to your heart’s content. When you woke up, it was to the soft sound of the fall breeze rustling what was left of the leaves on a nearby maple tree. In the stark daylight, the building felt like much less of a scare than it did last night. As you laid on Yeonjun’s chest, blankets piled high over your body for insulation, you almost felt at peace. Even the once ominous looking spray paint on the wall now made you chuckle as you read the curse words and artist tags that overlapped in a rainbow of colors. The movement stirred Yeonjun awake, his eyes blinking slowly until he finally adjusted to the daylight.��

“Hey,” he croaked, voice thick and full with a surprisingly restful night of sleep. “Feel up to a beer later? Celebrate our survival?”

You smacked his chest playfully out of reflex, silently reveling in just how easy this bet with Johnny had turned out to be. Your pile of protective blankets slipped down your back, exposing you to a rush of cold that made you frown.

“How about we get going? I’m starving.”

Yeonjun took no more convincing than that, fully motivated by the idea of food. It took almost no time at all to fold up all the blankets and make sure you hadn’t left anything behind.

“Oh, the flashlight!” You stomped your way back over to the blackboard where you’d left it, feeling much bolder in the sunlight. You pocketed the flashlight easily, tucking it away in the jacket that used to belong to your father. As you straightened back up, you came face to face with the same board that had almost sent you straight home last night, only to see that there was nothing written on it.

The blackboard stared back at you, totally blank. The cramped, messy words from yesterday night had completely vanished. Not even a trace of wiped off chalk stayed behind to suggest that Yeonjun may have erased the words without you noticing. A sick feeling washed over you, nervousness balling in the pit of your stomach until you felt like you could pass out.

“Y/N?” Yeonjun called, whining as the blankets weighed him down and his stomach growled. His voice snapped you out of your stupor as you quickly turned, striding toward him in confident steps to assume him- and yourself- that everything was just fine.

----

“Yeonjun,” you hissed, leaning across your desk to better catch his attention. He turned lazily, half asleep as a result of the 20 year old projector video. “Did you steal my pencil?” You accused, slightly annoyed that he would have the nerve to take one of the very few school supplies you still bothered to bring, even if just for show. His eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head.

“No, why the hell would I take your pencil? I stopped taking notes in sophomore year. Are you sure you didn’t just drop it?”

Violently, you shook your head.

“I already looked, Jun! It’s gone! I literally just had it!” Anger bubbled in your chest as you abandoned all reserve. Yeonjun’s eyes went wide with concern as the teacher turned toward you and shushed loudly.

You spent the rest of the day in an angered stupor, having to borrow a pencil from the nerdy kid who salivated over you every day in biology. It bothered you much more than it probably should have, but losing the pencil seemed to set off an odd emotion within you. You were many things, but you were never disorganized or forgetful. There was no way you simply lost the pencil.

----

Senior year crawled by and your missed days of school stacked up quick. You and Yeonjun wasted the days away, sharing cigarettes and liquor bottles until the day was over. On one surprisingly nice winter afternoon, the two of you went for a walk. The route was innately familiar, as you’d been walking it since you were both young children. As you curbed the corner near Mrs. Berger’s house, Yeonjun stopped dead in his tracks.

“Did you see that?” He asked, grasping at your forearm and making you slip a little on a patch of ice.

“Did I see what?”

“That- over there!” Yeonjun pointed toward a patch of bare trees laced with snow. There was nothing odd among them, but he was clearly convinced. “You don’t see that?” He hissed, an edge of fear in his voice that made you glance around for possible threat.

“No, I don’t. Yeonjun, are you okay?”

“Seriously, Y/N, now is not the time to fuck with me,” he pleaded, pulling on your arm harder. He was scared.

“Yeonjun, let’s go, let’s just go back to your house, please, you’re scaring me-”

“SHIT, go go go!” Suddenly he yanked you into the snow covered yard to your right to avoid the slip of ice as the two of you sprinted, hand in hand, not stopping for a second until you reached his home.

Chests heaving, you sunk to the floor with tears in your eyes. Yeonjun slumped into the couch, hand resting on his stomach as he tried to calm himself.

“It was-” he gasped loudly, “a little boy. He was wearing like-like a fuckin’ school uniform? Just standing there like a- a little demon. And then he started to walk, and when I realized he was coming near us I just fucking panicked.”

If you weren’t already breathless, the words would have sucked the air right from your lungs.

Don’t let him catch you.

----

You and Yeonjun had made a vow to never speak of that day again. Silently, you both had an inkling of what was going on, but neither of you wanted to admit it. Who would?

Two days later, the two of you sat in the parking lot of a fast food joint, passing a cigarette back and forth. Neither of you had slept more than a few hours, and you were starting to feel it as the pull of another tension headache came to wreak havoc. Yeonjun said nothing as you closed your eyes for a few seconds, allowing yourself to succumb to a comforting darkness. The pain began to subside as you let yourself tire, the steady sound of Yeonjun’s breathing lulling you even further.

Just as sleep began to invade the edges of your mind, a faint whisper sounded. You couldn’t quite make it out, so you just assumed maybe it was the way the wind whipped or your mind filling in some gaps. Just as you relaxed again, the whisper reignited, louder this time. You couldn’t make out the words, but the voice was childish and made your heart race. In a panic, you tried to open your eyes, but they wouldn’t budge.

“Y/N, why won’t you play with me?” The voice asked. “You came to visit and then you just...left me.” Fear wracked your body the longer you fought against the voice. You knew that you hadn’t fallen asleep. This was not a dream.

Suddenly, the face of a wide-eyed little boy crowded your vision. His eyes were piercing, upturned nose charming enough to distract you for half a second. But it didn’t take long to register the streaks of blood running from his hairline down to his chin, dripping off in thick drops. It was almost like you could feel them falling down, landing with a wet plop every time. A sick grin split his face, revealing a mouthful of blood just as dark and thick as the stuff running down his face. Your heart was hammering loudly, threatening to burst right out of your chest. Hot tears streamed down your face as you fought against whatever was ailing you.

“Don’t you want to play?”

Suddenly, like coming up for air from underwater, you were back to reality. The sunlight burned your already sore eyes, washing out your vision so much that you almost didn’t see Yeonjun hovering over you as best as he could within the confines of the car.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, gathering you into a tight hug as your body shook. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, wiping at the tears on your cheeks.

“I-I wasn’t asleep,” you sobbed, grabbing at his arms desperately. “It was him,” you choked out, shuddering at the thought of that demonic little boy whispering to you. Yeonjun swallowed harshly, slumping back into his seat with a shake in his limbs.

----

That night, you both skipped sleep. Yeonjun turned on all the lights in his bedroom and made sure that every single door to the outside was locked before you laid down together. On the small screened television a late night program played nonsense that provided welcome white noise. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t forget the image of the little boy dripping with blood. How he called you by your name and implored you to play.

“I think it’s the same,” Yeonjun finally said.

“The same?”

“Yeah, the same...the same kid. The one I saw outside, the one you saw. I think it’s the boy who-”

“Please don’t even say it,” you whined, burying your face into his shoulder. Deep down, you knew exactly what he meant. It was a million times scarier to hear it out loud.

The sound of the talk show host suddenly quieted, television shut off suddenly with a crackle of light.

“What the fuck,” Yeonjun groaned, getting up to check the outlet he had the unit plugged into. The plug was still secure in the outlet, giving no answer to the sudden end of your background noise. “Maybe the cable went out,” he suggested, dropping the subject as quickly as he began it. He wasn’t much for late night television anyway. On a normal night, he would have tried to make idle chit chat, or maybe even bite a few bruises into the column of your neck; but today he simply laid next to you and played with your hair.

In what first seemed like a stroke of luck, the television set roared back to life. Both of you sat up in alarm, confused at the sudden change, but you had almost no time to ponder it as the rest of the lights in the room cut, plunging you into a sick darkness. Immediately you cried out, indescribable anxiety crawling up your throat and leaving you speechless. Yeonjun tensed, selflessly guarding your body with his as the television flickered static patterns at you. A high pitched whine emitted from the speakers, prompting you to search the sheets for the remote until the sound stalled.

With all other sources of light drained, the television seemed to glow as bright as a full moon as scrolls of distorted text began to roll across the screen. They were a bit hard to make out, pixelated and cramped at first, but soon became clear as day in their full form:

YEonJuN, Y/n

WhY wON’t you PLAy WiTH ME?

YOU CaMe tO visiT mE, BuT yOu DIDN’t StaY.

I aM LOnEly.

i KILled aLl OF mY FriENDS.

Too stunned to react, you simply clutched onto Yeonjun’s shirt for dear life and squeezed your eyes shut in hopes this really all was some awful dream.

“Holy shit, Y/N, Y/N!” Yeonjun yelled, forcing your eyes open just to witness the sight of the same horrificaly thick and deep red blood you’d seen earlier begin seeping from the top of Yeonjun’s bedroom walls. Everywhere you looked, streams of blood stained his walls red, ruining the collection of poster you’d memorized. The room smelled so strongly of iron that it made you gag, the threat of puking right at the back of your tongue. The television began whining again, high and shrieking until morphing into the sickly sweet voice of a young boy.

“Don’t you want to play? I promise I’m nice.”

Upon recieving nothing for a response from either of you, the voice let out a sigh.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just have to force you to play with me.”

The television fizzled out again, plunging the room into temporary darkness as both you and Yeonjun shake with fear. As if nothing had even happened, the lights resumed their warm yellowy glow, exposing completely clean walls.

----

“You two look like shit,” Johnny laughed, picking at the soggy tater tots on his plastic lunch tray. He had recently dyed his hair a deep black, and the dye was still staining the sides of his neck and his hands. “On a bender?”

Yeonjun gave a noncommittal laugh, eyes downcast as you shrugged loosely.

“Jesus, some bad cocaine? Did you buy from Taehyung? I told you he’s the worst to-”

“Stop, please,” you groaned, a tension headache permeating from the base of your neck to the top of your head. “You wouldn’t even believe us if we told you.”

“Try me. I’ve gotten blow from all of Bangtan, they aren’t the most trustworthy all the time, especially that Namjoon guy. He charms you into thinking it’s good and then-”

“We did not buy blow from Bangtan!” Yeonjun exploded, drawing the attention of a few passersby.

“Oh.” Johnny blinked, shocked by his best friend’s sudden loss of temper. “What’s wrong?”

“Grave Academy,” you mumbled, laying your head on the cold tabletop as Yeonjun rested a steady hand on your back.

“Huh? You were there months ago.”

“Yeah, that’s the issue. We were there months ago and we’re both still,” Yeonjun paused, unsure of what to even say. “We’re still getting haunted.”

“You what?” The hurried scrape of his chair had you looking up again just as he crossed the distance until he was right next to Yeonjun. “My cousin...he- he had the same thing happen.” A sudden edge of sadness overtook his voice and your eyes widened.

“Really? D’you think this happens to everyone?” Desperation spilled out alongside your words although you tried to stop it.

“I think...I think that I’m definitely fucking with you.” Johnny laughed, standing back up to his full height as both you and Yeonjun deflated. “My cousin is literally insane. Always has been. So it was no surprise to us when he started ‘seeing ghosts’ and finally got himself carted away.”

“Fuck you, Johnny.” Yeonjun snorted, pulling you up with him as he left the lunch room in a hurry and waltzed straight out of the school.

----

“What do we do?” Yeonjun’s eyes were bloodshot, for once a side effect of nothing but lack of sleep.

“We can run.” You suggested weakly, picking at a loose thread on your sweatshirt. “If we stay here we’ll either get send to the looney bin or murdered. And no one will miss us here, anyway.” Yeonjun knew you were right, but the thought plagued him still. Would running away even help?

“I guess you have a point.” He surmised, glancing around the home that he had come to run basically on his own. Since the death of his mother, his dad had been reckless and absent, only sending enough money for basics in a manila envelope every few months. If he left, the house would be reclaimed by the town and no one would be any wiser to why the two of you left. Just your run of the mill high school dropouts.

“I’d rather run away with you than die here.” You added, shrugging again as you imagined some kind of perfectly twisted life traveling the country with Yeonjun, living day to day. “Maybe you can finally start that band and I can be your groupie,” you joked, running your hands through his greasy locks and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll start packing a bag.”

The next morning, you and Yeonjun said what little goodbyes you had to make. You visited Johnny, telling him an abbreviated lie about a cross-country trip that he bought well enough. If he suspected anything when Yeonjun hugged him for longer than he had in their entire friendship, he didn’t say much.

The two of you made a stop at the cemetery, bidding farewell to your respective parents, before climbing back into his old Chevy. It was kind of hard to believe that all of your belongings fit snugly into his trunk, but it made escaping that much easier in the end.

The town you’d grown up in disappeared in the rearview mirror, and as you held Yeonjun’s hand tightly between your own, you hoped that your misfortune would disappear too.

You would never tell Yeonjun, but even as you drove miles and miles away from Grave Academy, you could still hear the little boy whispering every time you closed your eyes.

382 notes · View notes

phanfictioncatalogue · 9 months ago

Text

Long Fic Titles (8+ Words) (4) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three

came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form (ao3) - templeofshame

Summary: Dan considers safety, the internet, and rules he wants to break.

can you be sure there's gonna be more? (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: dnp go to their afterparty after their last tatinof show in the uk

Cross your legs and hope for the best (ao3) - waterbearer_sun

Summary: Dan is sitting in a lecture, desperate to pee and desperate for Phil to be his.

defining a life by full stops and him (ao3) - zvyozdochka (paperdaisies)

every kiss suspending gravity (but only the lonely survive) (ao3) - whatdoiknowx

Summary: Dan and Phil apocalypse omorashi.

Yeah, I don't know either. Enjoy?

How To Find Your Missing Husband, or, The Amazing Crossover is Not On Fire (ao3) - N_Chu4Ever

Summary: In the year 2063, just as International Rescue finally recovers from the absolute mess that is the Hood's attack on Tracy Island, an event known as the Great Restructuring occurs. Multiple universes are merged together, a teen who is supposed to be dead is revived (and promptly adopted), Sportacus is there... and two longterm partners, famously described as 'actual soulmates', are torn apart.

Will Phil ever find Dan again? Or are they doomed to be separated forever?

I Can Feel Your Pulse in the Pages (ao3) - coldtea (orphan_account)

Summary: Phil is a writer who can’t seem to stop including Dan in everything he writes.

i can hear it now (like i heard it then) (ao3) - kay_okay

He doesn’t hear a word of Phil’s story.

I guess it's fine (it blows my mind) (ao3) - t_hens

Summary: things get interrupted when Phil's neighbor knocks on the door, but maybe the interruption can be used as a chance to discover something new.

I Know You Really Well (And Like You Anyway) (ao3) - abriata

Summary: At the time, Phil had rather liked the idea of playing matchmaker for two of his friends, especially when one of them was Dan, who seemed like he might like a little support in the dating arena.

In Phil's defense, he'd only known Dan about five weeks. He hadn't learned yet.

I'm gonna keep falling for you now (even if I keep falling down) (ao3) - t_hens

Summary: 'The first night that we met

We climbed up on your roof

You saw the sky light up the way I did right next to you

"We'll take it slow", you said

As we kissed inside your room

You saw the morning light the way I did right next to you'

i quit my dreaming (the moment that i found you) (ao3) - phanetixs

Summary: Phil pulls back when Dan’s teary-eyed and staring at the ceiling. “Whatever you’re worrying about, don’t. We’ll be ok.”

Or, the end of TATINOF and its implications.

lie with me (sew your heart to my sleeve) (ao3) - trademarkblue

Summary: You make me feel safe, Phil. I've never felt like that before. Safe like this. Not for a long time, at least.

A ficlet about comfort and new love.

Stacks of pancakes as tall as my love for you (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil loves pancakes and he loves Pancake Day but he isn't really in his usual mood for it when the day comes around in 2021. It's a pleasant and befuddling surprise when he finds Dan has taken on a surprise pancake project all on his own.

The city is so loud (but you drown out all the noise) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil's pack might have kicked him out for mating with a human, but his love for Dan was much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced before. It wasn't easy to adjust to living with Dan in his - now their - small flat in London, but Phil would do it again in a heartbeat. With Dan by his side, Phil was sure he could get used to all the weird things humans did.

Two Chains, Six Letters: On the Edge of 2020 (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: While spending Christmas with his family, Dan discovers an Instagram story that fills his mind with sensual possibilities. He can't wait to surprise his boyfriend on New Year's eve as they continue their ten-year-long tradition of beginning sex in one year and taking it into the next. Both men take turns surprising each other, and the end result leaves each of them speechless and supremely satisfied.

We balance each other out on the seesaw of life (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil had dragged Dan to Isle of Man after his return home from tour. The sea air would do him good (even if it gave him hobbit hair) and he could be surrounded by Phil's family (who were his family too). He hadn’t actively planned to drag him onto a seesaw on a playground but it turned out to be a precious moment all the same.

when it feels like nothing else matter, will you put your arms around me? (ao3) - commonemergency

Summary: “Sorry.” Phil says.

His father wraps his arms around him, and the embrace feels warm. It’s an embrace that he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s like when he was a kid and something scary happened and his father just held him like nothing could ever hurt him because his father was there protecting him.

“It’s okay.” His father quietly whispers into his hairline. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t know how to tell him all the things that he wanted to say, like: I don’t know how to stop my thoughts from spiralling out of control. What if the medicine makes it worse? What do we do if things don’t get better? How do I live in a world that doesn’t have my dad in it?

“Let’s just enjoy right now.” His father says, and he doesn’t let go of him.

when you are young, they assume you know nothing (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: After a misunderstanding at prom, Dan finds himself in a dilemma; should he fall into a summer affair with Phil, or should he make up with his boyfriend of 3 years, Blake?

Based on Taylor Swift's Folklore.

you look so good it hurts (in my favorite t-shirt) (ao3) - phantasticworks (steddieworks)

Summary: Phil is gifted with a "Mega Dilf" shirt. Guess who picked that shirt out?

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #fictitles #fictitles masterlist #longfictitles #longfictitles masterlist

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years ago

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Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever”

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Notes: Inspired by the Klaine advent drabble prompt "ache". So this is a story I started a while ago, but stopped after chapter 4 because it started to get a little too real. But I’ve started revising, and now I’m ready to finish it.

Chapter 1 (3197 words)

“God! That traffic was insane, wasn’t it?” Sebastian complains, pulling off the highway and onto the less congested road that leads to the heart of Manhasset.

Kurt mutters in agreement, but he barely noticed. His right temple has been glued to the passenger side window the entire trip. Eyes pointed skyward, he watched the clouds pass by as they drove, counted the trees, followed a flock of birds as they flew off to warmer climes far, far away.

Away from here, the way Kurt wishes he could.

“I called ahead to turn the gas on. And the electricity... ” Sebastian has been rambling about nothing for the whole hour and forty-five-minute drive, filling the tense air of the Navigator with verbal static. “We’re gonna want to air the place out for a few hours. The realtor told me it stinks like mold but that there isn’t any actual mold in the house. I hired two separate contractors to go through the place anyway and make sure. I wasn't going to take the guy's word for it. He struck me as a sandwich short of a picnic. I mean, you should have seen him, Kurt! He was wearing a purple paisley tie and brown loafers with a grey suit. And not like royal purple. That would have worked. But puce! Jesus Christ!” He chuckles. It bleeds into a nervous cough. “I didn’t say anything, but it would have been nice if you were there to give him some subtle pointers. Or not so subtle. You know how much I love seeing you in action. Oh, and we'll have to go over our insurance policy. I’m having a second independent appraiser… ”

“Are we there yet?” Kurt interrupts, preferring to focus on how the changing leaves mute the skyline than on a single word coming out of his husband’s mouth. Not that he could catch a one the way they’re sprinting off his tongue like lemmings off a cliff.

The trees soothe Kurt, smooth the rough edges of this bumpy ride. They grow differently out here than in the city: springing up in rows, displaying their fall colors, blending one into the other like an ever-changing river - red tree, yellow tree, brown tree, gold tree…

Their daughter Grace would call out the colors on their long car rides Upstate, conjuring rhymes where there were none. They roll through his memory in her singsong voice.

Green tree… uh... lean tree!

Kurt smiles, clutching on to the sound of her voice.

He's terrified of the day he'll forget what her voice sounds like.

“Just… uh… just a few more blocks,” Sebastian replies, his attempt at chitchat cut short by his husband’s impatient tone. Despite his infinitely expressive voice, Kurt only uses three tones nowadays - angry, impatient, and indifferent. Sebastian hasn’t learned how to avoid any of them, but he hates Kurt’s indifferent tone the most. “Not too far.”

“Good. Because I’m tired of sitting in this stupid seat.” Kurt switches positions, massaging his hip for emphasis. 'Tired of sitting in this stupid seat.' That's what he said. But he meant, 'tired of being stuck in here with you.'

And Sebastian knows it.

Sebastian turns down two streets that spiral together tighter and tighter until he and Kurt are locked in to their new neighborhood.

Locked in to their decision to move here.

“Here it is.” Sebastian pulls up to the curb at the point before the street turns into a cul-de-sac.

Kurt sits up slowly to accommodate his stiff spine and numb ass. Looking around, he sighs in frustration. “Here what is? There are five houses on this block. Which one is it?”

“Guess.” When Kurt sighs again, Sebastian says, “I’ll give you a hint – it’s one of these three,” and motions to the houses on Kurt’s right. Kurt rolls his eyes but turns to the houses closest. They all appear relatively identical – three floors with a pointed roof and a square porch, reminiscent of a gingerbread house. They probably have basements – a huge selling point in this vicinity. But they don’t call them basements Upstate. They call them cellars. Somehow, the word cellar is more refined, and therefore more acceptable than having a dull, run-of-the-mill, drafty basement.

Need that cellar so you can have the most expensive cabernet on the market on hand in case we need to drunkenly judge Sally Jones’s latest highlight fiasco.

“She should have gone with lowlights, Sharon. (sip) Haven’t I been saying that, Kayla? (sip) Haven’t I been saying that she should have stuck with lowlights? But only around her face. (sip) Ha-ha-ha-ha! Please, pass the brie.”

Kurt spent a good portion of his life living in a basement bedroom, so he’s not above the word. But he remembers a time back in high school when he thought that was the person he would grow up to be. He’d start out as one of the New York elite, then become an Upstate snob. When his kids (two of them – a boy and a girl) were grown and gone, he’d start an artists’ colony. He'd retire to a lighthouse, isolate himself in obscurity while being ironically jaded at the world.

Well, he's nearing forty, and he is jaded, but for entirely different reasons.

The house at the curve in the cul-de-sac is painted a sea green Kurt isn’t thrilled with. But that can be remedied with a bucket of paint and some elbow grease. From its position, it probably gets the bulk of the noon sun.

There goes their electric bill.

Kurt knows Sebastian doesn’t care about trivial things like finances, but just because they have the money to spend doesn’t mean they should shovel it out the window. Plus, there's their carbon footprint to think about. But more importantly, there goes his fair skin, which will freckle at every meal while he does nothing other than sit at the kitchen table.

No, thank you.

The house beside it is in a better position, slanted away from direct sunlight. But it’s painted a slate blue that comes across as too harsh considering the neighborhood’s neutral color scheme. Sebastian should know better than to see that house and say, “Yes. That’s it. That’s the one,” unless the inside looks like the Palace of Versailles.

The last house is also blue, but this blue borders on pale grey, a similar shade to his father’s house in Lima. A maple tree has grown through the pavement in front, shading the house and shedding its red-gold leaves all over the front yard.

And this house has a porch swing.

He and Sebastian used to talk about owning a home with a porch swing. It became a prerequisite for the home they wanted to retire in. Kurt pictured sitting on their swing side by side in the early mornings, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

Sebastian, on the other hand, talked about having sex on the thing and scaring the neighbors.

Same planet, different worlds.

“It’s this one,” Kurt guesses, gesturing to the blue-grey house. “The one with the swing. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Sebastian jokes but warily, afraid of what the fallout might be if Kurt doesn’t like it. Sebastian has been climbing a tenuous ladder to make his husband happy. One misstep and he'll plummet back to the bottom, with no certainty that Kurt will let him try to climb up again. It’s his own damn fault, Sebastian reminds himself as they get out of the vehicle. He did this to them, so he’ll let Kurt lash out, let him bare his teeth and his claws, let him dig in with both hands and rip.

Sebastian deserves it.

He leads Kurt up the walkway in silence, past the tree and the swing. He unlocks the front door and pushes it open, standing back so Kurt can be the first one over the threshold. Kurt takes his time, poking his head in first, then taking a hesitant step. This is an all-or-nothing moment for him. In his heart, once he walks inside, there's no turning back.

He sets his foot down, rests his weight on it, and a dozen memories come flooding back: the house he lived in with his mom and dad, the house he and his dad moved into when his dad remarried, the dorm rooms he suffered from high school to college.

The first night he spent in Sebastian's penthouse, the excitement of feeling like he'd found his true home.

The house he dreamed of raising Grace in.

In the end, they stayed in the penthouse for convenience. He regrets not getting her an actual house with a yard and a swing.

Like this one.

The irony.

The room lists, Kurt's head swims, but he wraps his arms around himself and doesn't let it show. He focuses on the here and now. He's taken a step. He just needs to take another. And another. Keep going. Keep moving forward, or else he'll crumple to the ground.

And Sebastian will rush to catch him.

Kurt would rather bury himself under the porch.

Kurt breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, relies on a cold and detached demeanor to help him instead of the strong arms of his husband.

This house has a different feel from the open floor plan of the penthouse they've been living in since college. It's cramped around the corners, with a lot more shadows and a lot less noise. Sebastian likes that better. He’s an Ohio native, same as Kurt. But unlike Kurt, he considers himself a country boy. Even though Sebastian built his identity around becoming a state's attorney like his father, he loved the quiet life: wide-open spaces, blue skies, unhurried, and just plain normal.

Kurt saw Ohio as a cage he couldn't wait to break free from.

Sebastian could have bought Kurt any house he wanted. In that vein, Sebastian feels like a heel for jumping on this one without consulting Kurt first. He reasoned that he'd been the one house hunting, not Kurt. So when a contact told him that the owner of this house, a house Sebastian had had his eye on for a while, was finally selling, it seemed too perfect, especially considering the timing.

Sebastian bent over backward to rescue it from escrow.

Kurt didn't want to leave the city, but it was full of too much pain for him to handle, too many memories, friends and acquaintances who had yet to hear the news, and those who constantly offered their condolences. Few people greeted him anymore without their smiles dropping and the words, “I’m so sorry,” coming out of their mouths, as if joy shouldn't exist around him anymore.

It made his head, his heart, and his soul ache.

Kurt loved New York City, but there was nothing left for him there but the constant hollow thud he felt whenever he saw something that reminded him of their angel Grace. School would be starting soon. All of her friends will be moving on to the fifth grade. But his daughter...

Life ended for her too soon.

“Here.” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s hand, but Kurt reflexively pulls it away, slipping his hands into his pockets to cover for his flinching from Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. “Let me show you why I think you’re going to love this house.”

Sebastian jogs up the stairs to the next level. Kurt follows a few steps behind. When he reaches the top, he sees three doors. They pass the first two without mention. Sebastian opens the last.

“Here.” Sebastian crosses to the opposite side and throws open one of two windows, filling the musty space with the crisp bite of autumn. “I thought this room could be your new studio.”

Sebastian knows him too well. The room is perfect. Even at dusk, it’s flooded with natural light. It looks out over the rooftops of the other houses, giving him a view of the surrounding forests and orchards stretching way past the highway. With a little TLC, it could look just like his studio in their penthouse.

Or he can turn it into something new.

Start with a clean slate.

“What are the other two rooms?” Kurt asks offhandedly. He doesn't need to.

He knows what the other rooms are.

There are only two rooms they can be.

“A bathroom and the master bedroom,” Sebastian answers, watching his husband stroll across the floor.

“So this would have been… ?”

“A spare? A guest room?” Sebastian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to find an easy groove to stand in.

Kurt frowns. No. It would have been Grace’s bedroom if she were still with them. Kurt was trying to get his husband to acknowledge that. Cruelly. But if she were with them, Sebastian wouldn’t have cheated, their marriage wouldn’t be falling apart, and they wouldn’t be running away from their problems.

“I guess I could put a foldout bed in here,” Kurt throws out as he estimates the space.

“You can if that’s what you want,” Sebastian agrees. “Or you’re just saying that to hurt me, which, if you are, you’ll be happy to know, it’s working.”

“I’m not saying that to hurt you,” Kurt eloquently lies. “I’m being practical. I’m not going to have easy access to the Vogue workshop if I live two hours away. If I expect to get a new line started, I’m going to have to pull long hours.”

Sebastian scrutinizes his husband, who’s doing his best to avoid looking at him. “You’re… thinking of starting a new line? You didn’t mention that.”

Kurt shrugs. “Did I have to?”

“No. I mean, I wasn’t sure that you would go back to designing so soon after.”

"After?" Kurt tilts his head inquisitively but still makes no eye contact.

"After... moving. There's going to be a lot to do here. I thought you'd give yourself a year. Maybe more." Sebastian answers so quickly, Kurt wonders if he'd practiced. They talk in code, this whole conversation a carefully choreographed tango through a labyrinth of knives.

Sebastian didn't mean after moving. He meant after the death of their daughter. Kurt practically spent every spare second he wasn’t designing for work designing with her. Kurt has been a designer since high school. Aside from music, it's his passion.

Sebastian feared Grace's death might sever those harp strings.

"I think you underestimate me. Besides, you’re considering going back to working in the city after… ”

Pivot, walk walk, close.

The dance changes. They switch places, and Kurt leads.

Kurt isn't talking about them moving or Grace.

Kurt means after Sebastian cheated.

Kurt only agreed to move out of the city and live in a house he's never seen to keep Sebastian away from the man he's convinced will become too big a temptation to resist the next time they get into any kind of argument. Granted, it took their daughter dying for Sebastian to cheat, but Kurt figures it’ll keep getting easier from now on to come up with an excuse.

Can't agree on where to go for dinner? Have a huge blowout over which cards to send out for Christmas? That's it! I'm sticking my dick in someone else!

“Anyway, I wouldn’t want to wake you by crawling into bed at four in the morning, not when you have to be at work at six,” Kurt finishes when he’s let that dig soak in long enough.

“I’m not going back to work for a while, remember? That’s what a leave of absence is. And even if I was, why would I mind you waking me?” Sebastian risks a grin. “In fact, I was thinking that it might be nice to get back to what we used to do in the mornings before work. I miss that.”

Sebastian holds his breath while he sees how that remark lands. He waits for Kurt to look at him. Kurt hasn’t been able to look at him, really look at him, since hungover Sebastian came home in a taxi the morning after, clothes ruined, their marriage officially in the gutter. Grace passed away six months ago, which means he’s been waiting for a while.

He’s still waiting.

“This isn’t all about you,” Kurt reminds him, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

Kurt didn't yell. But that doesn't mean he's not furious.

“I know,” Sebastian says softly. He rubs his cold hands together, wishing he could stick them underneath his husband’s thick, button-down sweater, and press his palms against Kurt’s skin. A year ago, Kurt would have squealed, “Bas! Your hands are freezing!” But he would have wrapped his arms around himself and held on, would have let Sebastian lean in for a kiss, would have fallen for the line, “Now that my hands are warm, maybe you can help me warm up a few other things.”

Then they would have made love on the wood floor with the door open.

If only he could make Kurt laugh the way he used to.

Then maybe Kurt would love him again.

But going by his husband’s expression, dreary as the olive sweater he holds closed with one hand at the neck, Sebastian knows that now is not the time.

“Is this what you need to make you happy?” he asks. If only it were that simple. If only a house, or a car, or a vacation could turn back the clock and erase everything that happened.

Erase everything Sebastian did, and bring their daughter back.

Kurt doesn't answer right away. He's not purposefully keeping Sebastian in suspense. He couldn't care less what's going on in Sebastian's head. This is his future he's considering.

He's going to take his time.

He circles the room, contemplating the echo of his footsteps on the roughly finished wood, debating whether or not it's a sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. If not, is it worth putting in the time to fix it?

He traces the path of sunlight as it travels across the wall. That brings a new detail to his eye - a torn corner of wallpaper above the open window revealing a word underneath.

Darling.

Kurt eyes it from a distance, tries not to pay too much attention to it in case Sebastian is behind it. It doesn’t look like it was written recently. It's more than likely part of the pattern underneath. But leave it to Sebastian to try to woo his husband back with something syrupy like that.

Something hopelessly romantic.

Something he thinks Kurt will fall for.

“No,” Kurt answers honestly, re-examining the fading wallpaper, the scuffed floors, the peeling ceiling. His gaze glances his husband’s face and settles on the dust-streaked window. He stares out at the sky, the clouds, the trees, the birds flying wild and free. He’s never going to be able to fly away like that, so he might as well accept this cage he's been given. It's what he's supposed to do, after all. “But it’s worth a try.”

He has little else left to lose.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #kurt hummel

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sunmoonandeddie · 5 years ago

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i don’t need a roof

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,496

summary: Bucky thinks he’s running out of time, and needs to make sure his girl knows she’s taken care.

warnings: Bad words, almost death

a/n: So this was inspired by this song from Big Fish the Musical. There are lyrics from the song in the dialogue. Also, this is the brownstone they were talking about. Also I’m so sorry if this hurts, but there is a happy ending.

Bucky was cold. In all the time that you’d known him (three years and four months, actually), he’d never once been cold. He’d always been your own personal space heater, even before the two of you started dating.

But as you held him in your arms, his head on your chest, you were struck with the fact that he was cold.

The HYDRA agents that were holding you had injected him with something a few days ago, some glowing liquid that made a weight appear in the pit of your stomach. But you could only watch as they injected it into his bloodstream. You were too weak to do anything, too weak to protect the love of your life.

When the agent holding you had let you go, letting your kneecaps hit the concrete floor with a thud, you’d rushed to him, holding him as close as you could.

You’d never seen him in so much physical pain. The super soldier serum was trying it’s best to keep up with whatever he’d been injected with, but it was like it set his blood on fire.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered as you rocked him back and forth, your head resting on top of his. You didn’t realize you were crying until you tasted the saltiness of your tears on your lips. It was all your fault. You were the reason that you two got captured, and had been held in this cell for at least a week.

At least they hadn’t separated you. You would’ve gone absolutely feral if they had even tried that, not to mention what Bucky would have done.

“Agent Twelve, on your right! Incoming!”

You turned to see a HYDRA agent with his knife in hand, ready to strike. You waited for just a second for him to get close enough, before ducking and sweeping out his legs in the same motion, catching his own knife in your hand and shoving it into his throat. “Got him,” you said, yanking the knife out with a wince.

The sound of someone choking on their own blood as they died was never one you could get used to.

This was supposed to be an in and out mission. An hour or two, tops, with minimal fighting.

But your intel was wrong, and you’d been led into the trap.

It felt like with every agent you took down, two more appeared. They kept multiplying, like bunnies.

“No, not like bunnies,” you mused to yourself as you fought off two more agents. “I like bunnies. These guys—” You grunted as you wrapped your legs around one of the guy’s heads, squeezing and twisting just as Natasha taught you to do. “These guys are fuckin’ rats!”

You could hear Bucky snorting on the commlink, and spotted him shaking his head in amusement as he took down three separate agents at once across the airfield you two were currently fighting on.

God, your man was fucking hot.

An entire year, eleven months, and twenty-four days together, and he still made you sweat like a teenager going through puberty anytime you saw him.

Which reminded you. You had your two-year anniversary in, like, six days. You knew that he definitely had something special planned, the secret romantic that he was. Fuck, you needed something to do for him. Despite the fact that he always said you didn’t have to, you wanted to. You wanted to make your man feel just as special as he made you feel.

Flowers. You could start with flowers. People were always so surprised to find that your boyfriend loved flowers, but he did. It was sweet. His absolute favorites were pink begonias, since they reminded him of his mother’s garden. Well, the flower box she kept on the window sill, since they didn’t have the space or money for a full garden.

What else? You couldn’t just get him flowers. Two years was a big deal! Especially considering the kind of people you two were! The both of you were stubborn as an ox and lacked communication skills. You were both used to doing things on your own, and dealing with issues without asking for help.

But that doesn’t work in a relationship.

You knew a lot of people thought you wouldn’t make it a month, and they were almost right since you two had your first fight at three weeks and a day, but then something happened.

Bucky stopped in the middle of the fight, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh came from his bones, and said, “I’m not doing this. I love you too much to let something as stupid as this ruin us.”

It had been the first time he’d said ‘I love you.’

And you hadn’t heard him at first and kept yelling, before abruptly stopping and staring at him like he’d grown two heads. “I’m sorry. What? You… You love me?”

And he’d simply nodded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I… I love you, too,” you said, clearing your throat as you shuffled your feet.

After that, you two decided to go see Donna, a couple’s therapist. You were both already going to therapy separately, but going together was an entirely new ball game.

And it worked. Sure, it wasn’t always smooth sailing, but it wasn’t like you were screaming and shouting at each other. You handled your problems like a team, because that’s what you were.

You could always get one of those little USO showgirl uniforms… As much as you hated Amazon, their Prime feature really was a godsend for times like these.

Or maybe you could pay a shit ton of money for someone to make it in five days or less, since you had money now. It’d be worth it, and there were thousands upon thousands of costume designers and seamstresses in New York City, the world capital of theatre.

And you still had that red lingerie he loved so much that you could wear underneath it…

“TWELVE!”

You shook yourself out of your daze just in time for a HYDRA agent to plunge a needle into your neck, black quickly overtaking your vision as you passed out.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasped out as you held Bucky that much closer. It hadn’t been hard for you to connect the dots once you’d woken up in the tiny concrete room, a steel door being the only way out. Bucky had been captured because he’d been trying to save your ass.

He grunted as he moved, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. “It ain’t your fault, baby doll,” he said, his hand grasping onto your forearm. “Stop blaming yourself.” He leaned his head slightly to the side so he could look at you, reaching up to wipe your tears. “Wipe that frown off your pretty face. ‘M right here.”

“Yeah, but—” You were cut off by him placing a finger over your mouth.

He took a deep breath before he spoke, his face pale. “Now, baby doll… I need you to listen real good, okay?” He waited for you to squeeze his hand in confirmation. “There’s a brownstone at 154 Hicks Street, Brooklyn,” he said, wincing with the effort it took to talk. “Now, I know it’s in Brooklyn, and you love Manhattan, but—”

Brows furrowed, you cupped his cheek in your hand. “Brooklyn is just fine, but what are you talking about?”

You could visibly see the cogs turning in his head as he carefully chose his words. “I already paid for it in full, so no need to worry about that. Sam knows where the keys are. And—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, cutting him off. “Why are you talking like this?”

His flesh hand reached up and cupped your chin, his thumb running over your bottom lip. “You always said you’ve never had a home, but you wouldn’t mind having one with me,” he said, his voice barely audible. “So I got you one. It’s got a garden and everything, so you can plant flowers and... and a peach tree. ‘Cause I know just how much you like peaches.”

“Then stop talking about Sam knowing where the keys are,” you chided. “You can show me the garden yourself.” You knew where he was going with this, but you didn’t want him to. You didn’t want him to say it, because then that might make it real.

“Baby doll, I don’t think I’m gonna make it out of here,” he said as gently as possible, his voice cracking. “So you gotta listen to me. It’s all paid for. Every penny. The papers are in my desk in our room, the second drawer from the top.” He took in a shaky breath, trying to hide the pain. “There’s a ring there, too. It’s yours, but I thought you might wanna live together for at least six months before I popped the question on ya.”

“Stop it,” you said, leaning your forehead against his. “You can propose whenever you want, but you gotta stop talking like that.” Your nose nudged against his as you tried to hold back a fresh wave of tears, though you were quickly finding that was impossible. “Stop talking like you’re not getting out of here, too. We’re gonna make it out of here, okay? And then you can show me the brownstone with the garden in Brooklyn. So stop talking like you’re going to die because you’re not.”

“My stubborn girl,” he said with a weak laugh, his smile watery. “I got you a home. For our two year anniversary, which...” His brows furrowed, his head cocking to the side a little. “I think it was four days ago?”

Sniffling, you grabbed his face a little tighter, leaning back so you could look in his eyes. “Don’t you get it? You’re my home.” Letting out a huff, you wiped a tear from his face. “In your face, I see a lifetime. In this place…” You pressed your hand to his heart, feeling the slow but steady beat under your palm, through his thin white undershirt. “I feel at ease.”

He looked at you like he wanted to interject, but didn’t, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Wallpaper peeling, paint wearing thin,” you said, teasing him a little about his age like you always did. “Here’s where I end and begin.” In his eyes, you could see all the trouble of his past, swirling in those brilliant blue depths. “I don’t need a roof to say, ‘I’m covered.’ I don’t need a roof to know I’m home.” You curled up on his chest, right where your hand had been. It was much nicer to be able to hear it as well as feel it. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine you were in your bed at the Tower, going to bed together like any other night. “There could be a single shingle dangling overhead. I don’t need a roof to make my bed.” Fingers running up and down his flesh arm, you tried to get him to relax. “Close your eyes, I’m still beside you. No goodbyes needed today.”

Thunder cracked outside, and if you listened close enough, you could hear the soft pitter patter on the roof. His breathing was starting to even out, and you didn’t know if it was because he was calming down or if he was actually starting to go.

“Hear what the rain says, know what it knows. After the rain, something grows.” Your fingers intertwined with his as tears ran slowly down your cheeks, and you squeezed softly. His metal arm wrapped around your waist, holding you between his legs. “I don’t need a roof to say, ‘I love you.’ I don’t need a roof to call you mine.”

If you got out of this, you were retiring, and you’d make him retire, too. You wanted to live a life with him without worrying about possibly dying before you got a chance to see him go gray.

If you had children, you wanted to be alive to see them grow up.

You’d give up being an agent. You’d become just a consultant, or you’d give that up, too. You didn’t care. You’d just be Mrs. Barnes for the rest of your life, and you’d be perfectly happy with that.

“I don’t need adventure in some far away frontier. I don’t need a roof to feel you near,” you said, starting to get choked up.

He was definitely fading. His vibranium arm around your waist was starting to go limp, his grip on your hand loosening.

A lump formed in your throat as you clutched onto him that much tighter. “All I need is you and you forever. All I feel is true and absolute.” You leaned back, holding his face in your hand.

His blue eyes fluttered open as he tried to stay awake for you, tried to fight the darkness overcoming him.

Your lower lip wobbled as you ran your thumb over a cut on his cheek bone. “I don’t need a legal deed to help me play my part. I don’t need a roof to hold my heart.” You leaned in and pressed your lips to his. “Stay with me,” you whispered against his lips, desperately. You could taste the mix of your tears and his. “Stay with me.”

But god, he was in so much pain. You could see it in his face, feel it in the way his grip on your hand readjusted, like it was taking up all of his energy just to hold on.

It probably was.

Swallowing down the sob that was threatening to come out, you said, “It’s okay, Bucky. It’s okay. I’m here.” You pulled his head to your chest, so he could hear your heartbeat in return. Your fingers worked their way through his tangled hair. “You’re my home, Bucky. It’s you. Please, stay with me.” But you knew he was close to the end, and the likelihood of him making it out of there was getting smaller and smaller with each passing second. “I’m here, love. I’m here.”

Your mouth opened in a silent sob as you felt him go still, your nails unintentionally digging into his arms. Small puffs of air were still coming from his nose, but his heart was maybe going at five beats per minute, if that. Your body shook as you rocked him back and forth, unable to let go.

The love of your life was leaving you. You were feeling him slip away in your arms.

“Bucky?” You whispered, almost afraid to speak at all. “Baby? Bucky, please… Please, stay with me.” Your voice cracked as you buried your face in his greasy hair.

You didn’t want a brownstone or a ring if you didn’t have Bucky. You didn’t want anything if you didn’t have him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, kissing his hair. “I love you. I love you. Please, Bucky. Please.”

The faint sound of footsteps approaching the door made you raise your head, and you steeled yourself, ready to fight back against the HYDRA agents that had no doubt been watching the two of you. The monsters were just waiting for him to die, and then they were going to take him from you.

Not if you had anything to say about it.

You tightened your grip around him, not bothering to hide your tears. There was no point. A lack of tears wouldn’t help you.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, and there was a pause.

Then it blasted open with a bang that startled both you and Bucky, who’s heart rate picked up just a little bit at the sound.

You cried out with relief as you saw Tony standing there in his full Iron Man suit. “TONY, HELP HIM, PLEASE!” You begged, urging him to take Bucky from your arms. “HELP HIM!” Sobs wracked your body as the man nodded, taking him without hesitation, and getting out of there.

Despite their past, Tony loved you, and had learned to love the super soldier by extension.

You sat on your knees, your forehead resting against the ground. “Please, please, save him,” you cried, your nails dragging painfully against the concrete floor. Your heart was in absolute shreds.

You had no idea who you were praying to, or even if you were praying at all. You didn’t know if he could be saved at this point, but you were willing to ask every deity you could think of.

“Twelve? Twelve, come on.”

Strong hands gently pulled you up, and you found Natasha guiding you towards the door. “You have to help him, Natasha,” you croaked, dazed and stumbling over your own two feet as you walked forward. “You have to save him.”

“I know,” she said quietly, her own voice thick with tears as she held you up, making sure you didn’t collapse in the middle of a HYDRA base. “We’re gonna try, okay? It’ll all be okay.”

You weren’t able to go to the brownstone with the garden in Brooklyn for three weeks.

You couldn’t leave Bucky’s side.

Tony had gotten him to New York City in record time, and had immediately thrown him into Doctor Cho’s cradle.

He was in there for thirteen days straight as his body fought the new serum, the cradle being the only thing keeping him alive. It kept his heart and other organs working, his brain functioning.

After two days of you sitting in a chair by the cradle, unable to do anything else but wait, someone wheeled in a hospital bed for you to sleep on. You’d actually been asleep when he woke up.

And then, when you finally did wake up, the first thing he said to you, his voice muffled by the glass, was, “How long has it been since you showered? You smell worse than Sam after the gym.”

The absolute asshole. He almost died and he had the nerve to get onto you about how much you smelled.

It had taken everything in you not to throw yourself at him. You scrambled off the bed, clinging to the side of the cradle as you looked down at him, frantically hitting the button to get the lid off. “Bucky,” you said, reaching down to touch his face. You almost pulled it back, afraid that if you touched him, he’d disappear.

But he simply pushed himself up onto his elbows with a wince, leaning his face into your hand.

“You almost died,” you said, letting out a weak laugh as you rested your chin on the edge of the cradle.

He looked up at you then, his blue eyes just as bright as they always had been, even if they looked a little pained at seeing you such a wreck. “We’re gonna have to talk to Donna about that, huh?”

A little over a week later, and he was cleared to go home with you. He was still weak—that serum did take a lot out of him—but he was alive. And according to every single doctor Tony brought in, there was no chance of him just dropping dead now.

And if they were wrong about that, they’d have you to deal with. And they all knew that the new Mrs. Barnes was no one to trifle with.

“You got it, baby doll?” Bucky asked as he followed you up the front steps. He had to take it easy, and you told him that he should consider getting a cane since it was still a little difficult for him to walk.

You were only half kidding about that, though. They still didn’t know if he still had the original super soldier serum in him after what HYDRA had done, but he was slowly gaining his strength back. Either way, you didn’t care. You’d love him with or without his super strength.

“Yeah, I got it,” you said as you slid the shiny gold key into the lock, turning it and opening the door.

The U-Haul truck was sitting on the street, waiting for you two to carry all of your boxes in, but that could wait.

You walked into the front foyer, taking in a deep breath. It was completely bare, but the furniture that you two had ordered while sitting in his hospital room together was in the U-Haul as well, ready to be arranged. Sun was streaming in through the large windows, giving a warmth to the house that you couldn’t find at Tower.

“Welcome home, baby doll,” Bucky said as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek.

Your eyes pricked with tears as your hands grasped his forearms, making sure he was there with you. A large diamond ring glittered in the late morning light on your left hand. “Welcome home, Bucky.”

#bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky reader insert

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nokomiss · 4 years ago

Note

How about: "I won't forget this." *Rolling their eyes* "Thats's the idea y'know." With Jaysteph?

The tragedy happened -- poetically, really -- in Crime Alley.

Two mid-class goons currently serving Two-Face were barreling down the middle of the street in a stolen armored truck, sideswiping anyone who didn’t swerve out of the way quick enough. Steph didn’t even know what the special occasion was -- it was both an odd month and an odd day, so maybe it was just Two-Face causing what chaos he could -- and Steph was the closest on patrol. She swung in, regretting her choice to leave the Compact behind, and tried her best to catch up with the armored truck.

“Any help?” she called over the comms. “O, can you do something about the traffic, maybe? These guys are not following the rules of the road.”

“Already there,” Babs said. “Red Hood is incoming.”

Steph managed to hook a line onto the truck just as Red Hood appeared on a really nice bike. Nice enough she noticed even when flying through the air aiming her body at a speeding truck.

She landed on top of the truck with more grace than she’d been hoping for, given her iffy relationship with gravity in general, and began to make her way towards the cab of the truck. “Hood, can you distract them?”

“On it,” Jason replied, and a second later the armored truck swerved wildly as a chain wrapped around one of its wheels. Steph kept her grip, and made her way unnoticed to the roof above the driver. She knew the glass was bulletproof, but that didn’t so much matter if the driver couldn’t see through it. She anchored herself to the top of the truck, then splattered two gooperangs on the windshield.

Instant chaos. The driver, just correcting from Jason’s attack on his wheels, lost total control of the truck as his vision was completely obscured. Steph gripped tightly to the magnetic gripper she’d anchored down. Her cape whipped around her as she tried to figure out where Jason and his bike were -- she definitely needed to bail soon, as the truck was aimed right for the concrete pillars supporting an overpass.

“Behind you,” Jason said through the comm, clearly seeing her dilemma, and Steph let go of her anchor as she felt the truck lurch over a curb.

She managed to somersault off the back of the truck like she did it every day, and caught onto Jason’s handlebars in a move she couldn’t replicate if she tried, but was so grateful that she pulled off. A half-turn and a twist and she was landing roughly in Jason’s arms like she’d planned it all out, and a second later the armored truck smashed into the pillar, front end crumpling like an accordion.

Jason pulled the bike to a stop, and Steph hopped out of his arms before offering him a high five. He grinned at the destruction they’d caused and high fived her back before they went to check on the goons, who were both groggy and easy to subdue. There were two dollar bills floating comically around them, like it was a cartoon, and Steph understood why Two Face had staged this particular robbery.

“Huh,” Jason said, catching one of the bills mid-air. “Who knew there were this many in circulation?”

“And in a city known for Two-Face’s crimes, even,” Steph said. “Like. What was the take, a couple hundred bucks?”

Jason pocketed the bill he’d caught, and Steph rolled her eyes at him. “What?” he said. “Batman takes trophies all the time.”

Steph could hardly argue that point, having spent more than her fair share of time climbing the giant dinosaur. “Thanks for the assist, this went way smoother than--”

She was interrupted mid-sentence by an ominous creaking noise overhead. She looked up, saw the cracks in the concrete, and grabbed onto Jason’s sleeve. “Run!”

They sprinted across the road, and watched in mutual horror as a broken slab of concrete, loosened by the crash, fell directly onto Jason’s motorcycle.

“Oh no,” Steph said quietly.

“Oh shit,” Jason said, and it was not the horror-struck tone of someone who had lost a prized possession. It was the horror-struck tone of someone who had fucked up majorly.

Steph looked at him. Jason pointed at the crushed metal that had formerly been a red motorcycle with a shaking hand. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“Gotham’s infrastructure really never recovered from No Man’s Land,” Steph said, patting him on the arm. “I mean, that was a really nice bike, but at least we caught the bad guys?”

“It was a really nice bike,” Jason said. “It also wasn’t my bike.”

“Yikes,” Steph said. She cautiously moved closer, but there were no more creaking sounds overhead. The bike was thoroughly crushed, though. She poked at a bent wheel with the toe of her boot. “Bruce’s?”

Jason nodded. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“I mean, it’s not like he can’t afford another one?” Steph offered.

“There aren’t any more,” Jason said. “And he fucking loves that bike.”

“How can there not be any more? It’s not like donut holes at the bakery,” Steph said. “It’s a motorcycle.” A Ducati, granted, and a definite loss, but… Jason was not taking this well. She wondered if he needed a hug.

“There were less than eight in the world. Seven now, I guess,” Jason said. He began picking pieces of concrete off the bike’s remains. “Come on, you have to help me hide the body.”

“Hide the -- you’re shitting me,” Steph said. “You love breaking Bruce’s stuff. Last month you took a picture of yourself next to the Batmobile you wrecked and made it the Batcomputer wallpaper.”

“Well, this is different,” Jason said. “Come on. I saved your ass, now you get to save mine.”

Steph couldn’t really argue with that, given that Jason had kindly kept her from splattering on the pavement. She began to move concrete chunks, and the more of the bike they unearthed, the worse it looked. Oil and gasoline smeared the pavement like blood, and the bike itself was mangled beyond recognition. The bright red paint was coated with concrete dust, turning it dull brown.

There was absolutely no way they were wheeling it away from the scene, and Steph could hear police sirens echoing down the street. They cleared off the rest of the concrete as Steph remotely called the Compact. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed Jason doing the same. “We can drag it over behind that pillar?” she suggested, pointing to one that didn’t have an armored truck smashed into it.

It was less than fifteen feet away, but it took all their combined effort to get the bike’s remains behind the pillar before the cops came. Steph hurried out, grabbing a broken tail light off the pavement and standing casually in front of her captured goons as the police cars careened around the corner.

The scene looked suspicious as hell, but the actual presence of a Bat at the crime scene -- even if it was Batgirl -- had the officers off-balanced enough that no one actually questioned the pile of rubble. Steph told them all the intel she had on Two-Face’s crime (not much, but she added enough details that it took a few minutes) while watching the Compact arrive out of the corner of her eye, and Jason managing to strap the Ducati’s remains to it without any officers actually noticing.

It was actually pretty hilarious, watching him struggle to shove mangled motorcycle parts into a net intended for a cartoonish capture of criminals on top of the Compact while trying to blend in with the night. He mostly failed, but luckily for him, Steph was a pretty great distraction.

“And in conclusion, what the heck, Gotham National Bank, what were you thinking? Gotta run!” she announced as soon as she saw Jason finish with the Ducati and climb into the Compact, and made a big show of firing her grappling gun and swooping off into the night like a proper vigilante.

If it hadn’t been for the one notable casualty, Steph would be having an absolutely stellar night.

She met up with him a few blocks over and climbed in the Compact, letting him continue to drive, as she had no earthly idea where one disposed of the body of a motorcycle.

Though, as he pulled up to an abandoned part of the harbor, she probably should have guessed.

They climbed out of the Compact and stood there, breeze ruffling their hair and the moonlight shining on the water. It should be a peaceful moment, but the smell of motor oil dripping from the Ducati ruined it.

“Tell me why this bike’s different?” Steph was so incredibly curious. Jason was not one to hide something to spare Bruce’s feelings.

Jason had his hands shoved in his pockets. They were both fully in uniform, though Jason was down to a domino mask. For some reason, Steph thought it was easier to share personal things while in uniform; it somehow seemed divorced from real life. Though for Jason the uniform seemed to be real life. He stared out at the water for a few more minutes, then finally said, “I had a picture of that bike on my wall when I was a kid. Like, before things really went to shit, I ripped a picture out of a magazine at the fuckin’ library, and snuck it home in my backpack. I didn’t know it was some rare thing, I just liked the color.”

“You do like your reds,” Steph said, for lack of anything better.

His mouth quirked up. “You sure you wanna go there, Purple Rain?”

She bumped her shoulder up against his-- well, against his arm, but the thought was there. “So you had a picture of a motorcycle on your wall. Very weird. Almost unseemly, for a boy to have an illicit picture of a motorcycle--”

“Wow, you just don’t stop ever, do you,” Jason said. His mouth quirked up, and then he glanced back at the bike. “Anyway. After Bruce took me in, I kept pestering him about getting me one, even though they were stupid expensive and impossible to find, because of there being only a handful in existence.”

“And obviously he got it for you,” Steph said, rolling her eyes, because Bruce could be called a lot of things, but stingy wasn’t one of them.

Jason shook his head. “Nope. I mean -- I guess, but not as a present. I guess he bought it symbolically for my sweet sixteen. Probably drove it to my grave, the melodramatic bastard.”

Steph opened her mouth and shut it again a few times, and then turned to stare again at the wreckage of the bike. “I mean-- wow. So he didn’t think to give it to you once, you know, you rejoined the world of the living?”

“I don’t know if you remember but things weren’t awesome between us then,” Jason said, a little testily.

“I mean, if you want to play that game, I don’t, actually, given that I was having my own post-death world travels at that time,” Steph replied in exactly the same tone.

Jason’s mouth tightened, then he let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I kind of forgot about that.”

“Well, I don’t bring it up in every conversation I have, so….” Steph nobly managed to not stick her tongue out at him.

“You’re a saint. And no, he did not give it to me once I came back,” Jason said, bringing the conversation back to the salient point. “I found it in the garage covered in a freaking tarp, and sometimes I borrow it.”

“Without permission, I assume.”

Jason nodded. “He’s never shown any indication that he noticed. Which, you know, for Bruce…”

“Is a miracle in and of itself.” Steph nodded back at him. “So basically -- Bruce bought you your dream bike when you were dead and you’re cranky because he didn’t actually give it to you, so you keep stealing it hoping he’ll notice.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds stupid,” Jason said.

Steph stared at him, hoping he’d get the point.

“It isn’t stupid,” he insisted.

“You’re all stupid,” Steph said. “So now you want to throw it in the harbor instead of just… letting Bruce know that you have been taking it? Nevermind that obviously he knows you’ve been taking it. I mean. Do you fill it up with gas every time? I bet not, and I bet it’s always full when you pick it back up.”

She absolutely was not speaking from experience with her own personal favorites of Bruce’s ridiculously awesome car collection.

“I--” Jason began, but then shrugged. “Shit.”

Steph surveyed the harbor again, then looked back at the wreckage. “You know, this is one way to deal with this, but… what if there’s a better way.”

Jason drummed his fingers on his thigh, clearly weighing her earlier words, then said, “I’m listening.”

Four hours later, they stood side by side again, this time in the Cave.

“Okay,” Jason said slowly. “Okay, I’ll say it. You are an evil genius and I adore you.”

Steph fluffled her hair cheerfully. “Glad to hear it.”

“This is-- I mean, I thought I was the best at getting under Bruce’s skin, but this is going to make him go ballistic.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “The point is not to make Bruce go ballistic. That’s just a happy little bonus.”

They were standing in front of Jason’s memorial case, which until very recently had held only his Robin uniform.

Steph had to say, the a good soldier plaque now felt far less serious, given that it was now describing the mangled remains of a motorcycle that had died in the line of duty. She even found a sharpie and added to the plaque, in the most cutesy handwriting she could manage so that it now read JASON TODD’s dream bike.

“It’s perfect,” Jason breathed. Steph had been unsure about what to do with the uniform that had been inside, but Jason had lovingly pulled it over the handlebars until the Ducati had become, in death, an honorary Robin. “I won’t forget this.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “That’s the whole idea, y’know. It’s a memorial. For memory-keeping.”

But then she reached over and took Jason’s hand in hers, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. “Sorry your bike died while you were helping me.”

Logically, Gotham’s poor infrastructure wasn’t her fault, but if she hadn’t needed an assist, Jason would still have his beloved bike. Well. Kind of. Would still be regularly stealing his beloved bike from his emotionally inept father, because they were both stubborn idiots.

Jason kept holding her hand, leaning in until their sides were touching. “At least it went in a blaze of glory.”

“And now it’s gonna live on forever in our hearts,” Steph said. She pulled up their joined hands and pressed a kiss onto Jason’s knuckle, ignoring the way he startled at the soft touch and focusing on the little smile he gave her. “Wanna hide in the dinosaur and watch Bruce’s reaction when he notices?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

#my fic #batfam #stephanie brown #jason todd #jaysteph #dcu fic #even robins #this is totally unedited sorry for mistakes #meowlerex

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goddesswritings · 4 years ago

Text

peacefall - the beginning | Sam Taylor

Title: : peacefall – the beginning

Pairing: AU Ghost!SamTaylor x OC

Summary: Y/n is a writer, and her books are pretty popular. She moves into a house in the country to get away from the craziness of the city. She wants to put all her focus on her next book. Weird things begin happening in the house. She discovers she has a ghost, and he has quite a past. They begin to bond, but he begins to see that she is hiding something big from him. Something that will impact her life.

Word Count: 3k

Notes: Beware, this story contains major character death.

Also listen to the song peacefall by Purity Ring and you may be able to get some og the headspace I had when writing this.

This is an old fic that I changed to Sam. Mind you, I have not seen Amazing Stories, so this doesn’t follow the actual episode, it more like uses the likeness of Sam Taylor and makes him into an ancient Victorian character for the purpose of this ancient story of mine.

Masterlist

********

“I have no true memory of meeting my parents for the first time. Of course not, I was just a babe, but I do know that they nurtured and loved me very much. Growing up, I never once questioned their love for me nor for each other, I just knew it was there.”

Recently, you moved into a beautiful old house. It was on the smaller side, with a narrow staircase that led up to the second floor, but it was perfect. The house had to have been built over a hundred years ago. It was filled with the most beautiful wood floors and moulding. Every room had some type of dark wood lining the walls and windows. Some of the wallpaper was peeling in a few of the rooms, but that was an easy fix. There were a few other things that needed fixing in the house as well. You knew the house had seen better days but were happy to be living in it.

There were two bedrooms, the main bedroom was located next to the bathroom. It had a nice row of windows on the far wall that showed the beautiful old neighborhood the house was in, as well as a beautiful little closet. The bathroom was pretty spacious for the small home, with a white clawfoot tub in the center of the room. You were in love with that tub the minute you laid eyes on it. Growing up, you’d always wanted a clawfoot tub.

The second bedroom was located at the end of the hall. There were only two windows in that room and there were two large trees that covered the sunlight from reaching the room. This caused the room to be a bit darker than normal, but you loved it all the same. You made that room into your personal office. You’re a writer. The room was the perfect place for you to work when inspiration struck. Especially because it allowed no distractions from the outside world.

Things were finally coming together for you. Your newest book had just been published and you’d finally saved enough to live on your own. You finally felt happy. You didn't have many friends or a boyfriend, but you were happy with yourself. Living alone would be good for you. It would allow you to focus and get a lot of writing done.

The first couple of weeks were quiet and nothing ever happened in the house. It seemed perfect, too perfect. You knew a house that old had to have some sort of past and you were willing to find out what it was. You were a naturally curious person.

Maybe a month into living in the house, things began to happen. Unimportant things would go missing and turn up in a completely different room. At first, you thought you’d just been moving the stuff and forgetting where you put it, but when a book you were reading disappeared when you explicitly remembered putting it on the bedside table, you knew something was going on.

At night there would be odd creaks that you hadn’t heard when you first moved in. One night you were sure there were footsteps in the hallway, but they were gone before you’d had a chance to investigate them. You knew what you heard was not in your mind. Even with this stuff happening, you were not afraid. You grew up in a haunted house, so it wasn’t new. Things just continued to happen for the next three months and you did your best to ignore them and just live life.

You were halfway done your next book when the notes for the book went missing. That didn’t make you happy, because it meant that whatever was doing it, was an intelligent spirit. You spent the entire day ravaging the house and trying to find the missing notes.

“This is not funny!” You yelled out while sitting in the middle of the living room, the house was a mess around you. After that, you swear you heard a laugh. This spirit just wanted to piss you off. This made you want to get some background on the house.

****

You had all intentions to learn the past of the house, but life got busy. You had to make an impromptu trip a few hours away to New York to meet up with your editor and agent. Both wanted to talk about your upcoming book and what they should expect in it. You have to say a good thing about being a writer is being able to keep your identity secret. You were able to live your life normally without having to worry about being recognized, it was great. Anyway, the trip to New York lasted about a week and you couldn’t wait to return home.

The house was quiet when you returned, eerily quiet. You didn’t know what to expect from the spirit in the house, but at that moment you were too tired to care. You were dying for a soak in that beautiful tub of yours. After placing your bags in the bedroom, you headed to the bathroom to start the tub. You filled it with some lavender bubble bath.

After the bath was started, you retreated to the bedroom to get ready. You tied up your hair up and changed into a blue silk robe. As you were headed back to the bathroom, you remembered to grab a glass of wine to help you relax. So you turned off the tub before heading back down the stairs to grab it.

Halfway down the stairs when you spotted a tall man standing in the living room. He was only there for a split second, but you knew what you saw was real. You shook your head and made your way into the kitchen. Pouring a glass of wine before heading back upstairs. Walking past the living room, you got chills, but cast it off as nothing. You made it back to the bathroom quickly and put the wine on the counter.

Just as you’d untied your robe, you heard your bedroom door close, you retied the robe and went out into the hallway. “Hello?” You expected a reply but got nothing.

You walked to the bedroom to find the door shut. When you tried to push it open, it wouldn’t budge. “What the hell. This is not funny at all.” You spoke and continued to push on the door. So you stopped and listened for any movement on the other side of the door but heard nothing.

Once again, you moved the door handle and it swung wide open, slamming into the wall. There was no one in the bedroom. Now you were beginning to get freaked out.

Shaking your head, you went back to the bathroom and started to remove the robe again. Letting it drop to the floor, you picked up the wine and stepped into the hot bath. You set the wine on window ledge beside the tub before finally relaxing against the warm porcelain of the tub. It had been a long time since you’d had the chance to relax like this. You closed your eyes and let the water relax you, you just let your mind wander.

You sipped the wine occasionally. It must have been fifteen minutes or so before you started to feel like you were being watched. Shooting up, you looked around the room, trying to find the source of the feeling, but as usual there was no one. This spirit seemed to be playing a lot of tricks.

After that you decided it was probably best that you retire to bed, because you felt like you were going crazy. Exiting the bath, you brushed your teeth, and changed into a pair of black shorts and a t-shirt. Then snuggled into your bed. You still felt like you were being watched but you pushed that aside and went to sleep.

You were sure you’d gone to sleep, but now you found yourself sitting in the living room. You were dressed up in a beautiful blue dress and it seemed you were waiting for someone. Two minutes later you heard footsteps and a gorgeous man entered the room. He was tall. If you had to guess, he was about six feet tall. He had the darkest brown hair that was perfectly set on his head. His face had a cute scruffy beard that fit him so well. Everything about him was cute and screamed innocence.

“I love that color on you, darling.” He spoke sitting beside you on the couch. His voice was attractive.

“Thank you. I knew you would love this color.” You spoke in the dream. You weren’t speaking on your own will. The words came out without permission.

“You know me all too well, my love.” The man leaned in to kiss your cheek, a light blush formed on your cheeks. “You know I love you so much, Annabelle.”

That’s not your name.

“Oh yes I do, and you know I love you.” That was when you realized that it wasn’t your voice you were hearing and the woman sitting on the couch was not you. You were now standing on the other side of the room. She resembled you a little bit, but she was not you. Her hair was a couple shades lighter than yours. Her skin a couple shades darker than yours.

“That is why I want to marry you, Annabelle. Have you given my proposition any thought?”

She smiled but there was something fake about that smile and it made you sick, “I have Sam. I have given it so much thought, but I am afraid of what my father will say. The other townsfolk. I am betrothed to Peter after all.”

A frown appeared on the man’s face, “I understand that your father’s approval means a lot to you, I really do. But don’t you want to marry out of true love, not an arranged marriage? You and I are in love and I think that is all you need to get married. Marry me Annabelle. Please?”

Annabelle didn’t smile, she looked annoyed at the man. “Sam, I cannot marry you. My father means everything to me, and I believe he knows what he is talking about when he tells me that Peter is the best for me. I am sorry, I really am.” There was no sincerity in her voice.

“Okay, I understand.” He sighed sadly, “Then I must inform you that I will be leaving town in a few days. I have a job opportunity somewhere else.”

Annabelle nodded, “I think that would be best, but I do not think you are going to get far.”

Sam looked taken back by her words, “Why do you say that?”

Something in her changed and she looked positively evil in that moment. She pulled something from behind her and quickly shoved it into his chest. It was a knife. She had just shoved a knife into the chest of a man who loved her. What?

This was seriously freaking you out.

Sam looked down to where the knife was embedded into his chest and then looked up at Annabelle. “Why would you do this? I loved you, I still love you.” His voice was soft.

She just laughed and pushed him to the ground, “I regret to inform you, my dear Sam, I never loved you. I am in love with Peter and have been since before I met you. You are just a pawn in my game. With you gone, I will be able to take everything you have.” This woman was making you sick. She dropped down to the floor beside Sam and gripped the knife. “I am not sorry for anything I did.” There was no emotion in her voice as she spoke. Before Sam could reply, she pulled the knife from his chest. “Goodbye Sam.” Those were the last words she spoke before shoving the knife into his heart.

You sat up with a start. You were absolutely terrified from the dream. That was no dream, it was a nightmare. When you buried your head into your hands, you realized you were crying. The dream scared you. You needed a glass of water. Pulling yourself out of bed, you noticed it was only four in the morning. Rubbing your eyes before getting up and making your way downstairs for water.

So, at 4:15 am, you stood in the dark kitchen leaning against the counter with a glass of water in your hand. Your mind was trying to make sense of the dream, but it could not. Why would you dream something like that? More importantly, why do you feel like that dream was more of a memory than a dream? You finished the water and headed back to bed. Unfortunately, you couldn’t get back to sleep, you just kept tossing and turning for the next two hours. Finally, at 6:30am, you decided to get up and work on the book.

Once again, you headed down the stairs to make a cup of coffee. Entering the kitchen, you stopped short when you saw something on the ground. It was the missing notes for your book. You shook your head and picked them up and started to go through the notes, a loose paper fell out to the floor. It was a newspaper article.

Town’s lady Annabelle Porter marries her long-time love Peter Lockwood.

You only read the headline, but it caught your interest. Especially since the woman in your dream was named Annabelle. Was this a coincidence? You were going to put the article aside for later. Right now, you needed coffee to wake up and you would figure this out later. Preparing a big cup of coffee and some toast, you grabbed the notes taking them up to the office. Some work needed to be done today.

You hadn’t even bothered putting clothes on, you lived alone. So, here you were, sitting in your cozy little office in some underwear and a t-shirt. Inspiration stuck shortly after taking a seat in front of the computer. There was no stopping you. Well that was until a creak of the wooden floor was heard behind you. Almost like someone was standing in the room. Quickly whipping around, you found no one.

“It seems that you like playing tricks on me spirit. Thanks for giving me my notes back.” You said aloud. You weren’t really expecting a reply, so it was surprising when a voice said ‘Welcome’ out of thin air. The most striking thing was that the voice sounded so much like the man from your dream last night.

“Uhhh okay.” This wasn’t the first time in your life that you were dealing with a ghost. You’d seen and experienced them all throughout life. This was just the first time that you had an intelligent exchange with one and it did freak you out a little bit. After that, the spirit didn’t say anything else. It got really quiet, so you got back to work.

****

You worked the entire day, only taking a few breaks for the bathroom and for food or drinks. The book was starting to come along. The house really seemed to give a lot of inspiration. Secretly you hoped to have another exchange with the spirit, but he was quiet after the morning antics. If you hadn’t known better, you would think that he left the house.

It was almost midnight when you decided to drag yourself to bed. You’d had a long day of writing and were starting to feel it all. Especially since you woke up around 4am. After brushing your teeth and using the bathroom, you climbed into bed. You were hoping you would have another dream. Maybe then, you can find out why Annabelle killed Sam?

At first, you had a bit of trouble getting to sleep, there was a lot on your mind, and you kept tossing and turning. You could not stop thinking about the dream from the previous night and the man from the dream that you kept seeing around the house. Was he the one haunting the home?

Two hours later you finally drifted to sleep, only to wake maybe an hour later to your covers being pulled down. Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes, too tired for this nonsense tonight. Before you could say anything, something or someone touched your leg. The feeling was cold yet inviting. You weren’t scared even when you knew you should be. Whatever was there stopped touching you right as you became aware of its presence.

“I know there is something here and I would really like it if you showed yourself.” You spoke into the dark room. Waiting for an answer, you received none. Sleep was closing in, so you just let it take over. You decided to deal with the spirit later. For now, you needed sleep.

PART TWO >>

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athenagc94 · 4 years ago

Text

This One Time in Atara - First Meetings

Me? Not writing a story where I live out my dream to romance Gust? Never. But it’s true. Here’s a story about how Albert and Gust first met in Atara. I plan on writing more stories of their shenanigans in Atara while they were younger (as they come to me). So please enjoy!

I’ll also post them here in AO3: This One Time in Atara

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh and this one time back in Atara,” Albert managed around a boisterous laugh, “Gust convinced the local Civil Corps members doing their rounds to join us for a game of darts. We made a little competition out of it to see who could wrack up the most points.” He took a sip of his hard soda and stifled another chuckle. “Well, we just about won the clothes off their backs. Though that might have been Gust’s goal from the get go. The one with the wing tattoo across his right shoulder was quite the looker. I think you got his number in the end, didn’t you?”

He winked at Gust as he pulled Sonia a little closer into the crook of his arm and planted a kiss on her cheek, then on her mouth. Gust grimaced at the overt display of affection. Did he have no shame? He turned away from them and traced the intricate basket weave pattern of the Round Table’s wallpaper. Beside him, Piper squeezed his hand sympathetically. It was only a minor consolation considering their present company.

Albert continued in blissful ignorance, “That was shortly after we met, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the story of how you two met,” Piper said as she took a sip of her red tea.

“Is it a good one?” Sonia added as she twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger.

Gust rolled his eyes. “That depends on your definition of a good story.” He ran his thumb back and forth over the bridge of her knuckles. How did Piper convince him to go on a double date with these two again? They were practically on top of each other and right in front of him and his dinner. “It’s rather depraved if you ask me.” He cut the man across from him with a pointed glare. “Much like Albert and his effect on women.”

Albert gave him a wounded look. “Low blow, I think it’s a pretty great story,” he said, “Gust here really helped me out of a tight spot. How could I not want to be best mates with him after what happened.”

Piper arched an eyebrow at Gust. “It’s not that spectacular,” he insisted with a languid swipe of his free hand, “Albert was being a fool and I didn’t want to get caught up in his shenanigans. That’s all. End of story.”

Piper snorted and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. He ducked his head to hide the heat burning at his cheeks. She turned back to Albert and said, “Well, now I have to know. What did he do?”

“Well,” Albert said as he shifted forward in his seat. A feline smile curved his lips that made Gust’s skin crawl. “All good stories start with a pretty...”

“It started with a sketch.”

All eyes turned to Gust in surprise. Even he was mildly surprised by his interjection. He planned to sit back and roll his eyes at Albert’s dramatic retelling, like he usually did, but a small part of him hated his side of the story. The last thing he wanted was to subject Piper to his bullshit. He cleared his throat and took a sip of his vodka and apricot juice.

“It started with a sketch,” he said a little more firmly, “and a bad case of creative block…”

☼☼☼☼☼☼

Gust settled back in his seat and regarded the sketch in front of him. He spent the last two hours outlining a simple two-story structure with crow stepped gables. He had yet to settle on where he wanted to place the windows. Should he go with a symmetrical design? Or make things interesting and only include windows on one side of the building? Which would Vera choose? He nibbled thoughtfully on the end of his pencil as he traced and retraced the lines with his eyes.

The answer was simple, wasn’t it? She’d say his design was shit and tear it in half.

So, he did just that. He ripped the sheet off his drafting table and tore it right down the middle. The shreds of paper landed at his feet, joining the rest of his discarded designs. He growled and combed his fingers irritably through his hair. Shit. All his designs were absolute shit. He knew it. Vera knew it. Everyone knew how much of a failure he was. At this rate, he’d never become one of the great architects of his time.

Maybe he should cut his losses and go home with his tail between his legs.

He wrinkled his nose at the prospect. He would never stoop so low. Portia was in the past and he wanted to move forward. He refused to go back and waste away in that backwater town. He would make it as a great architect, even if it killed him. Vera took him on as an apprentice despite the fact that he had a personality blander than stale bread dipped in water ー her words not his. So, she had to have seen some potential in him, right?

He huffed and reached for the sketchbook. He just had to keep working at it. He wouldn’t give up, not until his dreams became a reality. He’d show everyone. He flipped to a blank page and began outlining a new design. He only got a few short strokes in before ripping it out and tossing it to the side.

Then started again. Then again. And again…

Shit. Shit. And more shit. Why couldn’t he get it right?

He sighed and glanced around his bedroom. At the wads of paper littering his floor and the half-finished designs tacked up on the walls, so he couldn’t see the moldy wallpaper beneath. They mocked him. He could hear their whispers at the back of his mind, telling him he’d never be good enough. He snarled and swiped his shoulder-length hair into a low ponytail.

He needed a change of scenery and maybe some fresh air, but he had no desire to actually leave his dorm. His gaze fell to his window and the streaked panes of glass that hadn’t seen a rag in over a year. He could see the vague outline of the Atara skyline. He fell in love with all the different buildings that made up this fine city. It was one of the reasons he sought out Vera in the first place. He wanted to make his mark on this city with a design of his own.

He straightened in his seat as an idea struck him. Maybe he could… if he was careful, there wouldn’t be any harm in it, right? The Civil Corps couldn’t arrest him if he was just hanging out on a window ledge. He glanced down at the half-hearted attempt at a new design in his lap, then back to the window.

Fuck it.

He stood and pushed the window open. Its rusted hinges whined in protest, but it opened just wide enough for him to shimmy out onto the lip of stone that jutted out just far enough so he could sit comfortably. He settled back against the relief carved trim that decorated his window and turned to a new page of his sketchbook.

He admired the skyline with a faint smile, then took a moment to watch the people mill about in the streets below. The sweet smell of coffee and black tea wafted from the café below and curled up and around him like a blanket that warmed him to his core, despite the crisp autumn air outside. He hummed contentedly.

He loved this city. He never wanted to leave.

He used the buildings in front of him as inspiration as he began to sketch a new design. Something a little more angular that used a lot of geometric shapes and windows. It wasn’t like anything he’d designed before now, but the longer he stared at it, the more he liked it. It was something new. It was something innovative. He only hoped Vera would feel the same. He worked until the sky turned a lovely shade of pink and bled into the faintest of light purple. The color reminded him of the heather plants that grew in the gardens outside Vera’s home. His fingers itched to mix a paint color that matched it, but he resisted that urge. He needed to keep his mind focused on architecture. Painting for pleasure could wait until he made a name for himself.

A window slammed open and jolted him from his thoughts. He almost lost his grip on his sketchbook entirely, but managed to clutch it to his chest before it toppled over the edge. His lip curled in disgust as he turned to glare at the source of the commotion. A young man with dark hair, clad only in a pair of plaid underpants and long grey socks, scurried out onto the ledge and the window slammed shut behind him as soon as he cleared it.

“Come on, Moira, you don’t have to do this,” he drawled with a lilting accent as he rapped his knuckles on the glass, “I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. In fact, he’s welcome to join in the fun. I’m flexible and I know you are.”

Moira didn’t deign to respond and the young man’s shoulders slumped as he pouted and turned away from the window. He noticed Gust immediately and blinked at him owlishly. Gust mirrored his surprise, still clutching his pad protectively to his chest. He glanced down at his bare chest and then the tent in his pants. The heat burned at the tips of his ears as he stared pointedly at his face. The young man grinned at him fiendishly.

“Just another Wednesday, am I right, mate?”

Gust furrowed his brow at him. He didn’t even know how to respond to that. A normal Wednesday for him involved take out from the noodle vendor that set up shop outside his building and banging his head against the wall until inspiration finally struck him. And when inspiration failed, he drowned his sorrows with a few shots of vodka. If this was a regular Wednesday, he didn’t even want to consider what Saturday looked like for this man.

“Uh, actually, I…”

The man sidled down the ledge until he settled down beside him. He reeked of sex. Gust wrinkled his nose and leaned away from him. “”I live two floors down from you, but I was enjoying Moriaー you’ve met Moira, right? She’s this pretty young thing with big brown eyes and a mouth always painted red as sin. Anyway, I was enjoying her company this evening and...”

He paused and the corners of his mouth dipped into a frown. “Or at least I was until her boyfriend returned home early from class. Then she freaked out and suddenly developed morals or whatever.” He threw his whole body into the eye roll. “Now here we are, just two blokes sitting on the ledge of their building, shooting the shit.” He kicked his legs absently as he offered him a hand, “the name’s Albert by the way. Pleasure to meet you.”

Gust stared at his outstretched hand, utterly mystified by the entire situation. How… How was he supposed to proceed? Did he pretend this man wasn't just kicked out of a woman's dorm because she was cheating on her boyfriend? Was he supposed to ignore his bare chest and the tent that refused to go away in his pants? Was it too late to just ignore him? Probably. He squinted at him, but didn’t take his hand. “Gust.” He turned back to his sketchbook and continued, “now please leave me alone.”

Albert let his hand fall to his side. “Well Gust, you see, I would, but as you can see I’m currently on the side of a building wearing nothing but my underthings,” he snorted, “so, you’re stuck with me until Moira let’s me back in or you let me in.” He inclined his head towards Gust and hummed thoughtfully. “So, the ball’s in your court, mate.”

He went stock still at the mere suggestion. He wanted to use his window to get out of this? Never, not in a million years. He had no reason to help this sexual deviant escape the consequences of his poor choices. “Fuck off,” he mumbled as he dragged his pencil across the page, “I don’t have to help you.”

Albert hummed. “Very true, you don’t,” he said with a sigh, “I guess that means I have to wait with you and go into great detail about the various things Moira and I were doing before her boyfriend got here. Let’s see there was this one position where Iー”

Gust cut him with a glare. “If I let you use my window, will you promise never to speak to me again?”

Albert made a crisscross motion over his chest. “Cross my heart,” he said with a wide grin, “you’ll never have to see me again after this.” He winked. “Unless you like what you see. Like I was saying before, I’m flexible.”

Gust gave him another once over. He wasn’t unattractive, quite the opposite. He had a charming smile that showed off a shallow divot on his right cheek. His dark hair was tousled from the soft breeze and, he had to assume, the sex he just had. Not normally his type, but Gust didn’t see too much action these days. But he wouldn’t give this bastard the satisfaction of knowing he considered his offer for a moment.

He glowered at him and said, “Just get inside.”

Albert beamed and, together, they crawled back through the window and into his bedroom. Once his feet were safely planted on the ground, Gust turned and glared at the half-dressed heathen. He stood in the middle of his bedroom, hands planted firmly on his hips as he regarded the sketches on his walls with mild intrigue. His heart leapt into his throat.

Gust wanted to die. He forgot about all his shitty designs on the walls. He resisted the urge to jump in front of him and wave his arms wildly to distract him from his shame.

“Alright,” his voice cracked on the panic mounting in his chest, “you’re inside, now leave.”

Albert ignored him and peered more closely at the design hanging over his bed. An intricate layout for a botanical garden he designed when he first vied for Vera’s mentorship several years prior. It was the first and only design she ever complimented. And by complimenting, he meant an almost smile and a ‘it’s alright’, which was high praise coming from someone heartless and stone-cold like her.

“This is pretty good, more than good actually,” he noted with an appreciative tilt of his head, “are you an architect too?”

Gust blinked. “Uh, yes, I’m trying to be?” His brow furrowed at him. “Wait. Too? Are you an architect?”

He buzzed his lips and took a step back. “Construction management, actually,” he drawled with a wave of his hand, “but I’ve met my fair share of architects while tailing my mentor across the Free Cities. None of their designs look like these though. You’re pretty good.”

“Oh.” He scratched sheepishly at the nape of his neck. He turned and busied himself with grabbing a shirt and sweatpants from his dresser. “I’m alright, I guess,” he said as he tossed the clothes at Albert, “now get dressed, you look utterly ridiculous sporting around in nothing but your underwear.”

“Don’t be modest,” Albert said as he tugged the shirt over his head, “I know talent when I see it. I’d throw my hat in your ring if you wanted to make a living out of it.”

“Well, I’d need to get certified first,” Gust grumbled under his breath, “and who knows when my master will allow that. She hates my work.”

Albert nodded. “Well, when it happens, you should come find me,” he said as he shoved his hands in the pockets of Gust’s sweatpants. The soft grey fabric pooled around his feet, considering he stood at least a head shorter than him. “We’ll make a living of it, mate.”

Gust wrinkled his nose and said, “You agreed to never speak to me again if I helped you.”

He pursed his lips. “I did, didn’t I?” He shrugged and made his way towards the door, “well then, thanks for your help. As promised, I’ll never seek you out again.” He paused, hand on the doorknob and glanced back at him. “But if you seek me out again, I won’t turn you away. So, don’t be a stranger.”

Gust clucked his tongue. “Just leave.”

“You got it, mate,” he said, “thanks again.”

And with that, he disappeared through the door and Gust was alone again. He didn’t move right away. Instead, he glanced at the design above his bed, then the one next to it, and then the next, until he’d surveyed the whole room. Albert liked his work. Albert thought he had what it took to be one of the greats. Knowing someone felt that way, even if that someone was a half-dressed imbecile, was… oddly inspiring?

He turned back to his half finished sketch and smiled to himself. The wells of inspiration flowed freely through his veins and he already had a few ideas swirling around at the back of his mind.

He was convinced Vera would love them.

☼☼☼☼☼☼

“And that’s how Albert and I met,” Gust concluded with an indignant sniff, “see, he’s a depraved sexual deviant who drags me into his shenanigans.”

“Wait,” Albert started as he leaned forward in his seat, “you actually considered my offer to sleep with me?”

Gust scowled. Was that all he took from that story? Sexual deviant, indeed. He settled back in his seat and shrugged. “A pretty face is a pretty face, but then you opened your mouth and I quickly reconsidered your offer.” He leveled him with a glare. “I think I made a good call in the end.”

“I didn’t want you anyway,” Albert insisted as he toyed with the ends of Sonia’s hair, “you’re too grumpy for my tastes.”

“That’s a pretty cute story actually,” Piper teased. She elbowed Gust in the ribs and chuckled. He made a face, but it softened when Piper smiled up at him. He wrapped an arm around her and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. “It’s good to see you’ve always been a stick in the mud and that wasn’t a new development.”

“That’s not true,” Albert exclaimed, “Gust was a very charming individual when he wanted to be. Why, I remember this one time in Atara…”

#my time at portia #mtap #mtap gust #mtap albert #mtap builder

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