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iam93percentstardust · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt: Stony, animal transformation

I realized about halfway through writing this that you probably meant a spell or something but I wrote shifters instead and I really liked what I had so I kept going. Sorry it’s a lot crackier than you were probably expecting; you can blame @maguna-stxrk for that

As always, everything I write is also available on ao3

“No.”

The first time Tony met Steve Rogers, he was both delighted and irritated. Delighted because hey! Captain America is another cat shifter! And that means that Howard was wrong and Tony is, in fact, like Captain America (in some ways at least; in others, that remains to be proven).

“I won’t do it.”

And irritated because Captain America is another cat shifter.

“You can’t make me.”

Tony knows that there are cat shifters out there who are perfectly friendly and like being around other cats. He is not one of them. There are multiple reasons why he and Steve clashed on the helicarrier and only one of them is Loki’s staff. Tony’s breed is highly territorial and everything in his tower is his and he doesn’t want another cat in there rubbing up against his stuff. But there Fury is, insisting that the entire team move into the tower.

“I don’t want them there,” Tony says flatly. That’s not entirely true. He doesn’t really want any of them there but he’s willing to put up with them. The only one he really truly genuinely doesn’t want there is Steve.

It’s probably a good thing none of the rest of the team is here to hear him complaining about them. But, well, they should know better than to expect friendliness out of him. He’s not friendly. He’s majestic and aloof and not in the mood to have anyone else around to see him when he’s not being majestic and aloof.

Fury eyes him. Tony doesn’t know what kind of shifter he is—he keeps that kind of paperwork on actual paper, ew—but he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s something sneaky and devious like Fury himself (probably a snake. Tony hates snakes).

“Stark, the ways I could make you do what I want—”

“—are all against the Geneva Convention,” Tony finishes smoothly. In his reflection on the table, he realizes that the tuft of hair behind his ear isn’t lying flat. He licks the back of his hand and reaches up to smooth the hairs back down.

“Stark.”

“Fury.”

“We are running out of options—”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

“—for Clint.”

Tony shuts up. Sighs. Glances through the window of the conference room where he can see Clint leaning against the wall, stuck in partial shift since Loki and the invasion. His golden tail is tucked between his legs, his ears are drooped, and he flinches like a kicked puppy (not an inaccurate description) every time someone walks by.

“How bad is it?” he asks.

“People don’t want him on the helicarrier,” Fury says. “He makes them nervous. His pack bonds were broken when Loki took him, and with Coulson—well.”

Yeah, that. Dog shifters like Clint rely on pack bonds, even those formed between non-dogs. Tony’s always been more of a loner so he can’t really imagine what Clint is going through but judging by the way Clint looks, he can guess it isn’t easy.

“They’ve all been briefed on what it’s like living with a cat, even Rogers, and they know about your idiosyncrasies in particular.”

And that’s the crux of the matter. “I don’t want him there,” Tony says quietly.

“He’s not the same breed—”

“But he’s got the same instincts!” He sighs frustratedly and almost runs his hand through his hair before he realizes how much that’ll mess up his hairstyle. His tail lashes agitatedly behind him, instincts urging him to claw, to bite, to protect his home from the invader. “Why can’t it just be Clint?”

“Because where Clint goes, Natasha goes. Besides, Clint needs the pack bonds, which means he needs the whole team.”

Tony hisses, crosses his arms, pouts. “Fine,” he says eventually. “But I don’t like it.”

And then, before Fury can feel too smug in his victory, he keeps aggressive eye contact and knocks Fury’s water glass off the table, darting away before he can hear more than the bellow of rage.

“I don’t want you here,” Tony says, ears laced back irritably. It’s the first time he’s come across Steve in the tower so far and of course the man (well, actually he’s shifted into his cat form right now) is lying in Tony’s favorite sunbeam. The nerve of some people.

The single eye that Tony can see slits open and stares at him for a long moment. In the next moment, a ripple comes over the cat and then Steve has partially shifted back, stretching lazily as he yawns. “Okay, Tony,” he agrees.

“You’re in my sunbeam.”

“Okay, Tony.”

“I want you out of it.”

“But it’s such a nice sunbeam.”

“It’s mine.”

“We could share it.”

Tony lets out an offended yowl. They can’t share it. That would defeat the purpose of it being his. Steve stares at him for a long moment and then stretches again, muscles rippling in interesting ways that make Tony want to knead them for—no. No kneading. No accepting the interloper.

“Come on, Tony. It’s sunny and I want to nap. We can share the sunbeam,” Steve says around another yawn before flopping over onto his side, still mostly human. Tony wants to bite his tail. But… he does want a nap. And this is favorite sunbeam. And he shouldn’t have to find another one since there’s no way Steve will be leaving this one (sadly Tony has not yet figured out the right strength the armor needs to move him).

He carefully lays down, putting several inches of space between him and Steve. Almost immediately, he can feel the effects of the warm sun on him, pulling him under into a light doze. It’s not enough to fall asleep entirely, not when he can still feel Steve at his front but then Steve starts to purr and oh, that’s kind of nice. He hesitantly lets out an answering purr of his own. Steve’s rumble grows louder and almost without meaning to, Tony finds his hands kneading the ground contentedly.

But that won’t stand. It can’t stand. He conceded ground on the sunbeam because it and Steve were warm and that was clearly a mistake because now Steve is standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee from Tony’s favorite coffeepot out of Tony’s favorite mug as he talks to Natasha.

And this injustice cannot stand!

“Mine,” he hisses, fingers shifting into extended claws, ready to tear into Steve for daring to drink from what clearly belongs to Tony.

At his hiss, Natasha’s skin ripples until she’s scaly and blending in with the cabinets. Smart of her to stay out of his way. Few things are worse than a territorial cat and even someone as lethal as Natasha would hesitate to face him when he’s like this, even though Steve gives her an amused look and says, “Really?”

Steve takes another sip out of the mug. Tony’s hiss turns into a full-throated growl. “Tony, you have to learn to share.”

“No.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Mine.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Steve doesn’t sound very impressed. Or even particularly intimidated, damn it.

“It’s my mug, it’s my favorite mug, you have to give it back,” Tony says, eyes tracking the mug as Steve lifts it to his lips again—wow, they looked kind of pink and pretty in the morning—no, focus. “Give it.”

“Alright,” Steve says agreeably and holds the mug out. “Here you go.”

Tony’s tail lashes and he hisses again. “You know I don’t like to be handed things.”

“Oh right,” Steve says, sounding remarkably unconcerned. “Too bad then. Guess you’re not getting your mug back.” He takes another sip from the mug—Tony’s mug.

“No,” Tony whines, drawing the word out so that it has at least eight additional syllables. He flops over onto the kitchen table, rolling around mostly so that he’s treating this situation with the hysteria it deserves but also so that he can scent mark the table, which currently smells of the rest of the team and not like him.

“Tony, stop being overdramatic,” Natasha orders, apparently deciding that she doesn’t need to blend in with the background anymore. “Steve, stop being a shit and give him back his mug.”

“No,” they both say petulantly.

She pulls out one of the many, many knives she keeps on her person. Tony hurriedly rolls off the table. Steve quickly puts the mug down and pulls out another one. Immediately, Tony darts to his mug—all his, no one else’s—and cradles it to his chest.

“That’s better,” Natasha says smugly and stalks out of the kitchen.

Tony waits until she’s gone and Steve has filled his new mug. Then, as Steve busies himself with cooking his breakfast, he slowly, cautiously reaches out and bats Steve’s mug off the counter. He gleefully sprints out of the kitchen to the sound of Steve’s outraged yowls, clutching his own mug close.

“Clint says you’ve been working too long,” Steve says, surprising Tony so much all the fur on his tail stands straight up.

“Fuck,” he spits. “I have a heart condition, you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees like the asshole cat he is. “But I don’t think I’m going to give you a heart attack just by sneaking up on you. Not my fault you were in a zone.”

Tony grumbles wordlessly under his breath. It’s true that he’s been in a zone for the last couple hours or so, something that he achieves only through kneading or inventing, but that’s no reason for Clint to be concerned.

“Why do you care if Clint says I’ve been working too long?” he asks. Steve picks up one of his screwdrivers and spins it between his fingers before setting it back down. Tony immediately picks it up as well and rubs his cheek on it to cover it in his scent again. Steve shoots him a mischievous grin and promptly moves further away to do the same thing to a different screwdriver. Tony resigns himself to losing another couple of hours to scent marking everything once Steve is gone.

“I don’t,” Steve says, now rubbing up against one of the armors (and no, Tony is not thinking about how good Steve looks like that). “I thought we were doing a great job of ignoring each other. But he says it’s been more than twenty-four hours, which means it’s time for a break.”

“Says who?”

“Pepper, apparently.”

Tony winces. Okay, yeah, he can ignore pretty much everyone except for Pepper. She’s important.

“So you’re… what, here to drag me upstairs for dinner?”

Steve shakes his head and holds up a bag in his hand. “Thought I’d offer to split a bag of catnip with you.”

Huh.

“Huh,” Tony says out loud. He eyes it suspiciously. “It’s not laced with anything else, is it? You’re not going to take me to knock me out and take me to Medical.”

“Just pure catnip.” Steve opens the bag and Tony’s eyes dilate at the intoxicating scent. “Why, do you need to go to Medical?”

Tony thinks of the two cracked ribs he suffered during the battle yesterday that he’d wrapped himself. “Nope,” he says blithely. Steve’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t argue. “Are you going to judge me for straight up eating it?”

“Are you going to judge me for doing the same?”

“Fair,” he says and holds out a hand for the bag. Steve upends it and dumps half in Tony’s hand, watching without judgment as Tony stuffs half of it into his mouth.

And when Tony comes back from his catnip-induced high to finds himself fully shifted, Steve’s own shifted form wrapped so tightly around him that his short tabby fur is mingling with Tony’s longer white fur, there’s no judgment there either, just Steve purring and purring and purring.

“Why do you do it?” Tony quietly asks Steve one night. Some animated movie is playing on the screen but Tony doesn’t think anyone is actually paying attention to it. The rest of the team is busy sleeping together in a cuddle pile in their shifted forms, Clint’s golden retriever spooned by Thor’s panda, Bruce’s owl perched on top of Clint with his head tucked under his wing. He can’t spot Natasha’s chameleon but he can smell her so he knows she’s there somewhere. He and Steve are sitting apart from the rest of the team, studiously ignoring them. It had surprised him when Steve hadn’t gotten down there to join them—tabbies tend to be more social than other cats—and instead chosen to curl up next to him on the couch in his partial shift, but to his shock, he isn’t complaining about it.

Idly, Steve twines his tail around Tony’s twitching one and purrs, relaxing him until he’s a puddle on the couch. “Nat said it was a good way to get your attention.”

“What, picking a fight with me?”

“Tony.” Steve gives him a long look and then leans over to lick his ear. It should make Tony stiffen, run away, groom over that one spot until he no longer smells of Steve anymore. It doesn’t. It just makes his ear flick curiously. “I never wanted to fight with you.”

Oh.

Suddenly, Tony’s brain is sifting through every interaction he and Steve have ever had, looking at them in a new light. Okay, and yeah, now that he’s thinking about it, he can see that this has all been Steve’s clumsy, well-intended attempt at courting him. And maybe he’s never really thought about Steve like that before but he’s thinking now and what he’s thinking is that when Steve isn’t stealing his things and laying in his favorite sunbeam, he actually really likes Steve.

“You’re not very good at this,” he informs Steve.

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression.”

“Natasha gave you bad advice.”

“I’m pretty sure she did it on purpose to stir up trouble.”

“She’s worse than either of us,” Tony agrees. “Now, hold still.”

“Wha—” He leans over Steve and licks at his ear, carefully grooming him. Steve purrs beneath him, eyes half-closed with pleasure. Tony’s own eyes drift shut as his heart beats a rhythm to the tune of mine, mine, mine.

“Hey, babe,” Tony says, coming up behind Steve. He drapes himself across Steve’s shoulders like the affectionate cat he is, giving a very sharp grin to the young socialite who has been holding onto Steve’s hand for the last minute. Doesn’t she know that that’s Tony’s? “I was wondering where you got off to.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve replies, relaxing now that Tony is here. “Got stopped by Miss—I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

Tony knows Steve well enough to know that that’s absolutely not the case. He’s just saying it to irritate her. But she doesn’t know that, especially because none of them are allowed to be in partial shift for tonight’s gala—Fury’s orders—and Steve’s shifter form is a closely guarded secret. So she doesn’t know that Steve’s just following his instincts as a cat. Tony does though, and he smothers his laugh in Steve’s shoulder.

“Whithers,” the girl says, irritation bleeding into her tone.

“Pleasure,” Tony says, making no attempt to hide the fact that he thinks it’s the opposite. He twines himself around Steve so that he can reach his lips for a quick kiss. “If you don’t mind, I have to borrow Steve here. Although, I really don’t care even if you do mind. See, he’s mine and I don’t really like it when people touch what’s mine.”

And then, before her face can do much more than register shock, he bats her champagne glass out of her hand.

#alle writes #alle answers #stevetony #if you like please consider reblogging #Anonymous

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yulje-fam · 3 years ago

Text

Of Fears and Heartbeats.

Summary: In a quiet living room - under the light of the moon - Jun-wan comforts U-ju and tries to put his fears to rest.

Relationships: Kim Jun-wan & Lee U-ju [Uncle & Nephew Familial Relationship]

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Mentions of death (fear of death, death of a pet, etc.)

Disclaimer: I don’t own “Hospital Playlist”!

Ao3 Cross-Post: “Of Fears and Heartbeats.” by RandmWriter

It was a little past two in the morning when Jun-wan woke to the sound of crying.

It took him a second to shake off the last vestiges of sleep, and another to register where he was and what he was hearing.

Ah, right.

He was on Ik-jun’s couch. It wasn't the first time he’d been in this particular situation. After all, Ik-jun’s emergency surgeries didn't care about the time of day - and just like tonight, there were times when no one else was available to watch U-ju.

Wait, U-ju-

Jun-wan bolted upright so quickly his vision faltered for a moment, but that was hardly his primary concern. After all, he had finally realized just who it was the quiet sobs were coming from - and he practically willed his eyes to adjust to the darkness faster. His head swiveled quickly as he swung his legs over the side of the couch, but he didn't have to look very far to find who he was searching for.

Even in the sparse light of the moon filtering in through the window, Jun-wan could see U-ju's figure in his bedroom doorway - one hand clinging to the doorframe while the other rubbed futilely at the tears streaming from his eyes.

Something in Jun-wan both softened and ached at the sight.

"Uju-ah," he called out gently. It wasn't a tone he often used, but for his nephew, he'd gladly make an exception.

Jun-wan could hear U-ju's sharp intake of breath at the call of his name, but the young boy made no move to pry himself from the doorframe. Jun-wan tried again.

"Uri U-ju," he began, gesturing with one arm to beckon U-ju towards the couch. "It's alright. Come here."

And apparently that was all the convincing he needed.

U-ju relinquished his hold on his bedroom's doorframe and padded softly towards Jun-wan, who - for his part - tried to keep his expression as gentle and encouraging as possible. When his nephew was finally close enough, Jun-wan kneeled in front of the young boy - trying to be level with him as much as possible.

From his new vantage point, the older man could finally see the child's face. Immediately, Jun-wan felt sympathy lance through him at the sight.

U-ju, he knew, had never been a handful. The young boy was never one to throw tantrums or demand attention - and it appeared that even when scared to tears in the middle of the night, it still wasn't in his nature to make a fuss. U-ju cried quietly - sniffling and hiccuping every now and again, but not wailing or anything even remotely close to it. The tears on his cheeks shone silver in the moonlight, but before U-ju could move to wipe them away, his uncle beat him to it.

As gently as he could, Jun-wan reached out to wipe away his nephew's tears - smiling at the young boy with the same warmth that was reflected in his eyes. He knew he wasn’t the most comforting person in the world, but for U-ju, he would certainly try.

"Something scary must have woken you up," the surgeon whispered, his thumb brushing away what little moisture remained on his nephew's cheeks. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

U-ju debated the question for a moment, before nodding slowly.

"Daege samchon," the young boy began, and Jun-wan couldn't keep the small smile from his face at the nickname. It seemed his "Uncle Snow Crab" title was here to stay.

U-ju took a deep breath before finally asking,

"Will my heart always keep beating?"

To say that Jun-wan was startled would have a been a massive, massive understatement. Why in the world was U-ju worried about that? He knew his nephew was smart and perceptive, but an existential crisis was the last thing he expected from a boy of his age. He definitely had to clarify.

"What makes you ask that, U-ju?" Jun-wan queried - concern coloring his words and his expression.

U-ju worried his bottom lip for a few moments before taking a deep breath.

"Mo-ne's dog just died," the young boy whispered, gaze trained on the floor. "She asked her appa about what it means when something dies, and he told her that sometimes when dogs are really old, their heart stops beating and they die."

U-ju raised his gaze to meet his uncle's, and Jun-wan could have sworn that something inside him shattered when he saw the tears gathering in his nephew's eyes.

"Daege samchon-" U-ju choked out through the lump in this throat, his voice small and terrified. "What if my heart stops beating? I don't want that to happen, b-but I don't know how to c-control it!"

It seemed that voicing his fears was the final crack that broke the dam of his composure, because as soon as he finished, U-ju burst out into tears. The silent sobs of before were long gone - replaced by cries born of bone-rattling fear and confusion.

Jun-wan wasted no time in gathering U-ju in his arms, picking up the small boy and hushing his cries. He sat down on the sofa with his nephew in his lap - rubbing his back in an effort to offer as much comfort as he could. U-ju buried his face in his uncle's neck - sobbing and hiccuping and so, so vulnerable that Jun-wan hugged him all the closer.

Neither of them knew how long they stayed that way; but after quite some time - with Jun-wan never faltering in his efforts to soothe his young charge - the young boy's wailing cries quieted until all that was left was an occasional hitch in his breath.

Once he was certain that the child was calm enough to listen, Jun-wan began to speak.

"Uju-ah," he whispered. "Let's go get you a glass of water, alright?"

Minutely, the little boy nodded his assent from where his head was nestled in the crook of his uncle's neck.

With movements that spoke of practiced ease, Jun-wan hefted U-ju into one of his arms and stood - settling the child on his hip. U-ju didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around his guardian's neck, before settling his head on the older man's shoulder.

A trip to the kitchen and a glass of water later, Jun-wan returned to the sofa and settled his nephew back in his lap - but not before quickly grabbing something from his medical bag at the foot of the couch. The water, thankfully, helped get rid of the unpleasant hiccups, and helped settle U-ju's breathing.

A beat passed before the elder of the two spoke.

"Uju-ah," Jun-wan said, tone soft and gentle. He let the cadence of his voice settle lightly - letting his words flow, as if he were telling his nephew a story. "Did you know that I've spent so many years studying the heart?"

At his words, U-ju lifted his eyes to meet his uncle's, who quietly wiped away the tears on his cheeks. The sight of one of his favorite adults - bedraggled and rumpled as he was, haloed by the silver light of the moon with the kindest smile on his face - was enough to quiet the worst of U-ju's fears. Enough for him to be able to focus on his uncle's words, at least.

The young boy nodded minutely, so Jun-wan continued.

"It's my job to help people when their heart is having trouble - and one of the things I've learned and I've seen again and again, is that the heart-" he gently settled the tips of his fingers on U-ju's chest, and the little boy followed it with his gaze. Jun-wan smiled. "-the heart is stronger than you think, U-ju."

U-ju lifted his gaze to meet his uncle's, and Jun-wan could see the hope shining in his nephew's eyes. His own eyes softened, and he continued.

"You're young, U-ju - and I know your heart is in wonderful condition. As long as you take care of your heart - as long as you eat properly and exercise and avoid all of the bad things - then you can rely on your heart to be strong."

Ever so gently, Jun-wan took one of his nephew's hands and settled it on his chest, just over his own heart. U-ju was silent - enraptured - as he stared at his hand that was resting on the older man's chest. Not a second later, he felt his guardian's hand settle warmly over his own - pressing his fingers firmly into the fabric of his uncle's shirt.

It only took a moment before he felt it.

A heartbeat.

U-ju could feel it reverberate though his fingers - the steady thumping, strong and sure. It was here; it was real. Tangible, concrete, and indisputable proof of the heart's quiet strength.

U-ju couldn't help but sigh quietly in awe. Jun-wan's eyes softened.

"I'm much older than you are, U-ju," Jun-wan whispered, kind and gentle. "But my heart is still strong, isn't it? Can you feel it?"

U-ju nodded quietly.

Jun-wan smiled, before using his free hand to grab at what he had pulled from his medical bag when they had gotten U-ju his water. With practiced ease, Jun-wan settled his stethoscope into place - releasing his nephew's hand. U-ju's fingers found the stethoscope's diaphragm, and he inspected it with a quiet awe and curiosity. His uncle had shown him his stethoscope before - but it was only now that he began to realize the significance of the apparatus.

Jun-wan let his nephew examine the instrument for a few more moments before he spoke.

"U-ju-ah," he began. "If you're still worried and afraid about your heart, would you like me to check it for you?"

His offer was met by a ready nod from U-ju, who was more than glad to have another layer of reassurance.

U-ju watched as his guardian pressed the end of the stethoscope to his chest - listening intently. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his uncle's visible focus; his appa had a similar 'doctor face' too.

He waited a few more moments as his guardian moved the stethoscope to different points on his body, before Jun-wan finally lowered the diaphragm and fixed U-ju with a smile.

"It sounds perfect, U-ju," he said - and before the little boy could blink, his uncle removed the stethoscope from his neck, and offered it to him.

His guardian's smile was as kind as his voice.

"Would you like to hear your heart for yourself, U-ju?"

It would not have been a stretch to say that U-ju was awed at the opportunity before him. Taking the stethoscope reverently in his hands, the young boy carefully positioned the tips of the instrument into his ears, and watched as Jun-wan pressed the diaphragm just above his heart.

In all his years on earth, U-ju had never heard something so extraordinary.

He hadn't expected the sound to be so strong. And oh, he could hear it; the lub-dub all of his children's books had talked about - now echoing in his own ears. He was wonderstruck; his fears fading in the face of his awe, leaving him infinitely lighter and calmer.

His uncle really did know just what to do to make everything less scary.

Gratitude filling him to the brim, U-ju moved his gaze from his chest to look at his guardian - and he was met with the softest expression he had ever seen on his uncle's face. There was so much affection - so much love that shone clearly in his eyes that U-ju suddenly found himself speechless at the enormity of it.

Jun-wan grinned at the wonder in the young boy's eyes, before raising an amused eyebrow in question.

"So what do you think, U-ju? Your heart sounds very strong, doesn't it?" he asked, to which his young charge nodded - the awe never fading from his eyes.

Jun-wan silently held his palm out, and U-ju - ever smart and perceptive - carefully removed the stethoscope from his ears and placed it in the doctor's waiting hand. The older man set the instrument aside, before fixing his gaze on his nephew - meeting the young boy's eyes.

He still had one last thing he wanted to say.

"Listen to me, alright, U-ju?" he began - his voice kind and warm, as it always was for his nephew. "There's no need to be scared. You can rely on your heart. As long as you take care of it, you can trust it to be strong. And no matter what happens, I will always be here to help."

With a quiet solemnity, he let the pads of his fingers rest on U-ju's chest.

"You can trust your heart, U-ju-"

He pressed his hand to his own chest; a promise.

"-And you can trust your daege samchon to protect it too."

For the third time that night, U-ju couldn't help the tears that rolled down his cheeks. But they were different tears now; the kind that felt like healing rather than hurt, and that washed the pain away with it.

And as he'd done countless times before, Jun-wan wiped the glittering tears from his nephew's face, with as much gentleness and affection as he could offer.

Once his uncle finished wiping the moisture from his cheeks, U-ju rushed forward to envelope the taller man in a hug - nestling his face in the crook of his neck. Jun-wan froze in surprise for a fraction of a second, before he heard a small voice whisper.

"Saranghaeyo daege samchon," U-ju said quietly, as he closed his eyes and hugged his uncle tighter.

Not a moment later, U-ju felt strong arms wrap gently around him - sheltering him in a warm embrace.

"Saranghaeyo uri U-ju."

And as a tranquil peace washed over the pair - each of their breaths coming easier than the last - U-ju allowed his uncle's steady heartbeat to lull him to sleep - quiet, safe, and secure.

—

If Ik-jun found the two of them asleep on the couch the next morning - Jun-wan hugging U-ju to his chest protectively as his son's tears finally dried on his cheeks - he certainly made no mention of it to his friend.

And if he refilled the snack drawer in Jun-wan's office after leaving him a bottle of his favorite coffee - well...

He certainly didn't mention that to him either.

—————

Author’s Note:

Hi everyone!! 😄

So this is my first contribution to the Hospital Playlist Fandom! 😄 This story was inspired by this tweet (https://bit.ly/3jHCJD2), and because U-ju and his Uncle Snow Crab deserve more moments together! ✨

This is my first time writing for any KDrama or KPop fandom, so I sincerely apologize if I got any of the terminologies wrong! Please feel free to point out any errors, and I’ll do my best to fix them! 😄 Also, I really apologize if any of the characters came off as OOC! I’m more than happy to hear any constructive criticism you might have (and I’d really appreciate it if you could phrase it as nicely as you can, if possible!) 😄

Lastly, all feedback is loved and appreciated! Please feel free to tell me which parts you liked, or how the writing can be improved!

That’s all! I hope you all have a wonderful day, and stay safe everyone! 😄✨

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who-even-needs-marbles · 4 years ago

Note

I don’t know if you’re still interested in prompts, but in case you are… This may be the most phone-it-in prompt ever, but I thought your “Jaskier gets paralyzed” headcanon looked angsty and wonderful, and I keep hoping you’ll do something more with it. Maybe write us a scene or two from that ‘verse?

Hi anon! I know this took really long but life just be like that, good newn is that once I started writing this I decided to write the whole thing! So if all goes well that will be on my ao3 once I finish it.

This takes place somewhere around chapter 4 and 5 (yeah it’s going to be a long one) just after Jaskier woke up. He got stabbed in the head but Yennefer and Geralt managed to save him, what they didn’t realise at first is that brain injuries almost always have lasting affects, this time making it that Jaskier, the once so alive bard couldn’t even get one real word out of his mouth.

___________________________________________

The mumbling wouldn't stop, Jaskier was just making sounds and acted like he was actually saying something, like he was still flailing his arms around and using every tone he could to get his point across. But he wasn’t. By the gods he was barely moving. His eyes were dancing and he was producing sounds but it meant nothing. The poet lost his words, he lost the life he had. It would take years for him to even walk again- let alone dance around the tavern enchanting everyone with a voice like honey. If he’d ever got to do that again. Brain injuries have disastrous results. He knew that, but he’d never seen it from this close. He never expected Jaskier to end up like this.

He’s met people who were blind, deaf, couldn't feel their left arm or just lost their sense of smell. Never someone who seemed almost fully paralised, not even knowing that they were.

He just kept mumbling, he just wouldn’t stop and it didn’t take the sorceress and the witcher long to realise that they needed to tell him, before he found out himself while they couldn’t do anything but watch. They needed to say something, anything to at least comfort him. He needed to say something and not just watch, Jaskier needed him but the words were stuck in his throat, stuck like they’ve never been, like the tightest screw in the world's heaviest tower.

“Jaskier'' Yennefer seemed to be able to talk. It made Jaskier snap out of his ramble session and look at her. She walked closer and grabbed his hand. Slow and ever so careful. Like it was made out of glass. Slowly lifting it off the bed into the air, letting their conjoined hands rest in the air. She looked at him contemplating what to do. Letting her violet eyes rest on the blue ones across of her.

Even the great Yennefer of Vengerberg didn’t seem to find the right words, or maybe even the heart. She always was brutally honest when it came to things like this. She’s a smart liar, only twisting the truth, but not fully lying.

She redirected her attention from Jaskier’s eyes to his hand. And the blue colour filled with confusion followed. She slowly let go of his hand. Not putting it down, but slowly taking her support away from his arm. And just before she let it fully go she told him something.

“Try and keep your arm up.” Confusion filling his eyes until she let go and the arm fell right back onto the bed, blue eyes grew wide and looked at Geralt, his words still stuck, and back at Yennefer, her violet eyes full with everything he needed to know.

He needed to lift his arm. Jaskier couldn't figure out why it fell when Yennefer let go, he didn’t know what was even happening. He felt okay, besided the thobbing pain in his head he felt okay, so why did his own bloody arm fall?

He just needed to lift his arm. Lift it like he’d always done. Using his upper arm to lift the rest. He’d do it. They were just fucking with him, he was just fine. This was just one of Yennefer’s sick jokes.

Just lift it.

1.. 2.. 3 -

Nothing.

Why not?

His heartbeat started picking up, along with his breathing. He could still do it. He’d been out for a while, his body probably needs some time. His eyes grew smaller, more concentrated and a little angry. He tried again, and he kept trying but nothing happened no matter what he did. He tried, and oh god he tried but nothing happened.

“What happened?”

But all he got were two worried looks. Why didn’t they answer him? They always answered him, and if they didn’t they wove him off, they didn’t start a group therapy session where he spoke while they just looked at him, worried.

“Answer me!”

Still nothing. Why? Why not? In Melente’s name WHY!

“Jaskier”

“Geralt tell me! What’s happening!?”

“Jaskier, I need you to listen.” Geralt’s breath got caught in his throat “You’re trying to talk right?”

“Trying? What do you mean trying? I-”

A hand got a hold of his own, Geralt's hand to be exact. The witcher brought their hands closer to his face and placed a gentle kiss on the bard's hand before looking him in his blue wide eyes.

“You’re not saying anything.”

It hurt to tell him that. It hurt that he wasn’t okay. It hurt that he didn’t even realize it. Oh he hated how he needed to tell him how bad it had gotten. Geralt needing to tell his beloved bard all that he loved doing. How he wasn’t able to do the things he loved most. Talking, singing, dancing, playing, writing, he didn’t know where the list would end. For as long as he knew Jaskier he was talking and moving and full of life. Now there was a man on that bed, paralised from his neck down and unable to string together the words he used to be so good with. And now he even had to explain it all to him.

He had to bite through the piercing eyes that were wide with fear, and confusion.

“You’re not saying anything. Not words, just tones. You can move your eyes right? Blink twice for yes”

Jaskier wanted to scream, scream until every word came back. He tried to answer, but just like his arm, his mouth wasn’t working with him. Just how he thought that he was moving his arms at first, now that he listened -really listened- he heard the notes escaping. How it just sounded like low grunts, how it didn’t even sound close to the voice he once had. So he just blinked twice. Geralt would find a solution, he always did. He just had to get through now.

Geralt sighed with compassion. “Do you remember what happened? Once for no, and still twice for yes.”

Did he remember? He dug through his memories, trying to find an explanation for why and how he ended up here. He tried to find it but he didn’t remember himself getting hurt. He remembered the Nilfguaardian threat and how he swore he wanted to help. How he found a way that didn’t involve getting a sword and smashing every black soldier he saw. It wasn’t safe, he knew that, but as long as no one caught him he’d be fine. He needed to pull a big stunt. He needed to be out in the open to get to the Nilfguaardian commander tent, steal the plans, and leave, act like a lost bard, having no idea how he got there. He remembered the plan, but not the execution. Like the day never came to light. Like he fell asleep the night before the big day, and woke up like this. In a condition he just couldn’t put his finger on and with the most terrible headache ever.

“Jaskier. Do you?”

He blinkt once.

“We were going to resist Nilfgaard. I found you struggling with a higher soldier, possibly a commander. I tried to save you-” He hadn’t let go of his hand, but now he squeezed a little harder. A comfort after he choked on his words. And Jaskier forgot, just for a split second that he couldn’t squeeze back, and swallowed the lump in his throat when he remembered again.

Yennefer decided to step in. Realising that Geralt couldn’t find the words he needed. “He stabbed you in your head, Jask. I’m sorry. You even died for a while, but your spirit hadn’t left yet, so we managed to save you. You woke up for a few seconds, after that you fell asleep for the whole week.”

He wanted to make a snarky and clever comment. Just a little something to say that he’s okay, even though he isn’t. To bite at Yennefer and have her bite back. To show Geralt how good they could get along and how their comments could be turned into the best theatre show on the whole continent.

A try won’t hurt right? It was just a dagger in his head, and he survived that. He survived and he’d always pulled through everything. He had to try, for this wasn’t a life for a bard.

“Well at the very least I’m-”

“Jaskier.” Geralt said. Eyes closed and lips moving in no particular shape. Testing the words before saying them. “Please, stop.”

“Unfortunately I’m going to have to agree with him” Yennefer said, her stoic and direct self. She wasn’t always like that, but she knew when not to show your emotions. He just hoped that she was in fact hiding them, instead of not caring about him at all. “You’re still not saying anything and this hurts us Jaskier. We will find a way but for now, just stop talking, please.” At least he knew that she cared now, but he still couldn’t believe them. How could they just give in? He was going to be fine, everything will return to normal after a drink, some food, and a good night’s rest. Right?

He didn’t know how his plea was heard, but Geralt knew him all too well. Decades of friendship and love making sure they knew each other all better than anyone else on the continent. Knew what the other was thinking when not a word was said. He sat onto the bed, only letting go of his hand to pull him into a hug. One he could not return no matter how hard he tried. He liked the feeling of Geralt being close though, so he didn’t complain. He just had one question, one question Geralt might even understand without actual words.

He would be okay right? This would pass like it was nothing right? “Right?”

He got pulled even closer. His arms still stupidly limb and his neck only staying up because Geralt was holding it.

“I’m sorry Jask.”

The thing was, he knew that he was right. A voice deep inside of telling him that he wasn’t okay for once, but he still chose to ignore it. Ignore Geralt, ignore Yennefer and ignore that voice, because this couldn’t be true.

It just can’t go like this.

“I’ll fix you Jaskier, I promise” He whispered, only pulling him closer. “Just make this easy for us, please”

He didn’t want this. He wanted the life he had back. And yet,

here he was.

Because he thought it was a good idea to fight against that stupid emporer. Because he just felt the need to fight it all. To give up the life he had for one of heroics and heartbreak. Not just following it, but being in the centre of it all.

Only he planned for his heart to break.

Not for him to break his friend's heart.

Not for him to lie there not being able to do anything. Not being able to get up and deal with it in some way.

He didn’t know when the tears started to roll but he knew he was crying. Sobs escaping his throat and they still didn’t sound like his sobs. They sounded lower, like his throat was full of snot from the world's worst cold.

What a shitty way of the world to show him that the heartbreak he oh so romanticised isn’t great. That isn’t worth the one song he might not even be able to write. This wasn’t worth his heroic story he didn’t even get to write until the end.

“I’ll stay with you, Jask, I’ll get you through this.” He’d lie if he didn’t feel a kiss on his hair. He liked it, liked the feeling of still being something to someone. Liked the feeling of Geralt caring for him. “I’ll help you, Jaskier.” His sobs only got louder and he wanted to pull himself even closer to Geralt’s chest, hide in the safety and the warmth of the person he loved most. “I’ll help you through.” He whispered before placing another kiss in his hair. “I promise.”

Geralt didn’t know how long he’d been holding Jaskier, but he knew that they were there for a long time. He held him and pulled him as close as he could, afraid to lose him if he even as much as looked away. He knew that Yennefer left after a while, he wasn’t sure if she grew bored or couldn't take it anymore. Either way he was alone with Jaskier. And he kept crying until his eyes were swollen and red. He didn’t have a lot of energy anymore, even Geralt could see that, but he still wouldn’t go to sleep. He could understand why, sleep always felt like it made things real. Sleep made sure that the next morning you could see what really happened. He knew how tempting it was to tell yourself you were okay, that you’d be just fine and that no one needed to worry their asses off.

It took him long enough to accept Jaskier’s help when he needed it, telling him that he didn’t need help. Not even when stabbed, poisoned, beaten, yelled at, kicked out, or to put it simply, when he was hurt and not okay. Jaskier would always patch him up, no matter how loud he told him that he didn’t need it.

He knew he was probably off way worse, if not dead had Jaskier never helped him.

He mostly realized that in the mornings when that freshly stitched up wouldn't sting as much as before. How he did lose a lot of blood in hindsight. And how he did sometimes need someone to tell him that he wasn’t the monster they made him out to be.

That’s why he didn’t need to think for one second when he found out that he wasn’t okay for once. He already stitched him up before of course, but not like this. Not in a situation this hopeless. But despite the bad view on the future he wouldn’t leave him. Not the man he loved, not the man who helped him through all those bad times.

“I love you, Jaskier.” He got a hold of him and held him upright, looking him in those red swollen eyes. “I love you.”

He saw the other man look up, his eyes just a little bit less sad than before he said those three little words. Geralt gave him one of his most sincere smiles, smiles only meant for Jaskier and no one else. He could see that Jaskier wanted to talk, wanted to say those words back, but he also saw that he gave up without even really trying. Probably feeling just as tired as he looked. Instead he saw him try to smile, which still seemed hard, but he also still seemed to have some sort of degree of control over his face. His lips still didn’t seem to work with him, but his eyes did. Telling him the words unsaid.

“Thank you, I love you too.”

They sat like that for a while, stealing a few more seconds together before Geralt spoke up again.

“You should sleep.”

And with two blinks he lowered him back onto the bed. Only keeping his hand on his cheek, softly brushing his thumb over it. “I’ll be back when you wake up.”

And with those words he saw his eyelids close and heard how his breathing slowed. He still stayed like that for a while, not really wanting to leave his side. But after a while he did. He got up and took one more look at him before he really left the room.

One more glance at him before the real strom settled in.

#geraskier #injured jaskier #hurt jaskier #geraskier fic #asks #paralised!jaskier

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persephonesfill · 4 years ago

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i’ll never make it alone

a/n: part 2 to oh! darling, although it’s not necessary to read that fic in order to read this one. already posted on ao3, just felt like posting it here too bc i crave validation

summary: Tony and Steve bond over a sleepless night.

rating: T, just for a few swears and mental health

warning(s): mainly hints of characters exhibiting PTSD and panic attacks, but hopefully nothing too triggering

The tower was too quiet. Steve never thought he’d miss the roar of train cars passing through Brooklyn or hearing the daily hustle and bustle of the city. New York had been the city that never slept, even in Steve’s day.

Sleeping through the war had been easier than sleeping in the tower, he decided, staring up at the stark white ceiling from the comfort of his bed. Trains to tanks. Hustle and bustle to screams and moans. The war had taught him to fear the quiet moments. There had been no respites or breaks for them, and if things were going too well, it was only going to go to shit later. It had been a fact of life then, and Steve believed in it now.

Goosebumps sprouted like weeds on his arms as the air conditioning kicked on. He tried to ignore it, he really did, but ever since coming out of the ice, he had a hard time staying warm. Steve wasn’t anemic by any means, and yet, even the slightest breeze could set him off.

“Hey, JARVIS?” he asked, the words sounding clumsy in his mouth.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” came a smooth, distinctly British voice, which, according to Tony, was not in the ceiling.

“Could you turn the air off in my room? Please?”

The AI sounded puzzled. “Are you sure, sir? It’s quite warm out.”

“Please,” Steve repeated. His stomach twisted into a knot. What if JARVIS said no? How would he be able to explain anything to a being who had never known real life and the anguish that came with it?

“...As you wish, sir.”

The air went off with one swift whoosh.

Steve inhaled and closed his eyes. A super-soldier could survive off of less sleep than the average human, but that didn’t mean he liked being sleep-deprived. But the air had already worked its magic. When Steve closed his eyes, all he saw was black water glinting like glass in the sun; An icy abyss calling his name. Cold crept into his lungs, frost coated his skin, and there was that familiar burn only ice could give you, engulfing his blood—

His eyes shot open. The beat of his heart echoed in his ears, sounding too close and too loud. Sleep was going to be a long way off. Throwing his blankets back, Steve sat up and sighed.

“Just one night,” he said to no one in particular. “I just want one night.”

“If you’d like, Captain,” JARVIS said, startling Steve. He didn’t know that the AI could speak unprompted. “Sir is currently in the communal kitchen if you want company.”

“Sir?” His brows furrowed. “Stark?” His panic momentarily forgotten, Steve slid out of bed completely, not really sure where he was going. A session in the gym with one of Stark’s super-soldier grade punching bags sounded swell, but if Stark was in the kitchen, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to seek him out and talk about...something.

He and the tower’s resident genius were on their way to becoming friends. Maybe. Possibly. They were close to becoming whatever came before friends. Most of Steve’s friends hadn’t insulted him and offered him a place to sleep free of charge in the same breath. But Tony Stark was a genius; maybe being eccentric was a requirement.

“What’s he doing up at—“Steve glanced at the clock, “two in the morning?”

“Sir believes that sleep, and I quote, is ‘for the weak.’”

Steve snorted, his mouth turning into an unwitting smile. Eccentric, indeed.

Mind made up, Steve made his way to the kitchen, a blanket wrapped securely around his shoulders. The air was still going full blast outside of his room. Steve gritted his teeth and pulled the blanket tighter around him. “I’m never running out of shields,” he thought.

The elevator ride to the communal kitchen was over all too quickly, and Steve was greeted to the sight of Tony fluttering from counter to counter. Oddly enough, Tony didn’t look out of place in the kitchen, despite having heard many, many horror stories of his past attempts at cooking.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve said in greeting, hovering on the edge of the threshold.

Tony paused mid-flurry and gave him the smallest of smiles. There was something fragile about it that had the edge of broken glass.

“Hey, Steve,” Tony said, nodding at him. “Nice blanket.”

The blanket had been a gag gift, courtesy of Natasha, of course, of Steve in his full USO regalia.

“I had it custom made,” she had said with a smirk, which for Natasha, might as well have been her beaming with pride.

“Thanks,” Steve said, and the conversation died just as soon as it had begun.

Tony started to fidget in place, the silence growing unbearable. Despite living together for three months now, awkwardness still clouded their interactions outside of the battlefield.

“Um,” Steve began. “What are you doing up?”

A shadow passed over Tony’s face, but as quickly as it had appeared, Tony broke out into a grin, and it was gone. “Innovation doesn’t have a curfew, Rogers. Don’t tell me a sketch has never kept you up?”

Steve blinked. “You know that I draw?”

“Of course I do,” Tony said, resuming his motions around the kitchen. “You leave your sketchbooks all over the tower.”

His cheeks burned. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

“Please, you? Inconvenience me? You’re talking to the king of inconveniences. Besides,” Tony shrugged as he measured out a few tablespoons of what looked like fresh ground coffee. “You’re good.”

“Thanks,” he said. He was getting all kinds of compliments tonight. “I was in art school before…”

“Everything,” Tony finished.

“Everything,” Steve agreed.

A silence fell over them again. Tony dumped the coffee grounds into a silver Moka pot and set it on the stove.

“You know why I’m up,” Tony said, leaning back against the counter. “But what about you? What’s keeping you awake?”

Steve weighed his options. He could tell Tony the truth, tell him that his brain was fucked, tell him how he couldn’t stand the cold without picturing himself plunging to his death.

Or, he could lie.

“It’s too quiet,” he blurted out. “The tower,” he gestured around them. “It’s...quiet.” That was close enough to the truth, at least.

Tony, thankfully, didn’t laugh at him. “I thought soundproofing the walls would be a good idea. Don’t know too many people who enjoy city life for the noise.”

“I grew up by the tracks,” Steve found himself saying. “It wasn’t the best neighborhood, but it was one of the only places that would rent out to the Irish.”

That was one of the strangest parts of the future. In Steve’s time, the Irish, along with the Italians and the Jewish had been second-class citizens. A step of above people of color, in the eyes of bigots, but only just. All of them had been an afterthought in the collective consciousness of WASP America.

“I knew that,” Tony said, his voice going low. The Moka pot bubbled away on the stovetop, the rich smell of coffee, hitting Steve’s nose.

“You seem to know an awful lot about me,” Steve said.

“Your buddy, Howard, thought tales about his old war pals were appropriate bedtime stories for a child.”

Steve frowned. A bitter note had seeped into their conversation that always occurred whenever Howard was brought up in Tony’s presence. Steve may have known the man during the war, but that didn’t mean he was the same man who Tony had called “Father”. During the war, Howard had always been loud. Flashy. The most conspicuous person in the room.

“That man wouldn’t know the meaning of subtlety if it whacked him over the head with a frying pan,” he remembered Peggy saying, her crimson lips pursed in distaste as Howard chatted up an SSR secretary.

“Why a frying pan?” Steve had mused.

“They’re sturdy, for one,” she had said, matter-of-factly. “And quite hard to miss.”

Steve remembered the secretary had slapped Howard upside his head after one too many risqué remarks. In hindsight, Peggy was right, not that Steve ever doubted her. A frying pan would have been just as, if not more, sufficient.

That man had apparently settled down and raised a child who was staring at him with something dark and dangerous pooling in his eyes. Steve would have to tread carefully.

“As smart as he was, he didn’t have much sense, did he?” he said with all the caution of someone approaching a stray animal.

Tony’s posture lost some of its rigidity. “No. He didn’t.”

Silence again. If someone asked him, he couldn’t tell them why, but at that moment, Steve wanted to hear what Tony had to say. About anything. About everything.

“Stop lurking in the shadows like a creep,” Tony said. “Unless you’re trying to do a Fury impersonation, then by all means continue. You’re missing the eyepatch, though.”

Steve huffed, but even he couldn’t hide his amusement. The thought of Fury sitting in the dark with a fuzzy blanket draped over him instead of his usual leather duster made for a decidedly less intimidating picture. And if Tony was joking around, then the danger of mentioning Howard had passed. Steve entered the kitchen completely and took a seat at the island right across from where Tony stood.

“You’re drinking coffee at two in the morning?” he said, arching a brow as Tony took the now whistling Moka pot off the burner.

“Not coffee,” Tony corrected. “Marocchino,” he said, placing a can of cocoa powder onto the counter.

“Still has caffeine,” Steve said, mainly because Tony was so easy to rile up.

“‘Still has caffeine’,” Tony mocked, his voice going up a pitch. “That’s what you sound like. Don’t you chastise me, Rogers.”

Steve chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “My apologies,” he said. “Must be an important project.”

“All of my projects are important,” Tony said. He pulled a glass out from under the island, paused as if he were pondering something, then pulled out a second glass.

Steve drank in every sure movement of Tony’s as he dusted both glasses in cocoa powder, and carefully poured the steaming espresso and milk into each cup. He sprinkled more cocoa over the top of each glass with a flourish before pushing one towards Steve.

“Drink up, Cap.”

Steve gingerly grabbed the cup and blew at the steam.

Tony held his glass in front of him. “Toast?”

“What are we toasting?”

“To sleepless nights,” Tony said, sounding perhaps more serious than Steve had ever heard him. “And the things that keep us up.”

As Tony looked at him with those dark eyes of his, his glass aloft, he realized this wasn’t Tony Stark, CEO. Tony Stark, son of a legend. Not even Tony Stark, Avenger. This was Tony Stark without a mask.

“To sleepless nights,” Steve echoed. Their glasses met with the lightest of clinks. Steve’s fingers brushed against Tony’s as he pulled his drink away. It was nothing, really. Barely a glance. And yet a light jolt zipped through his fingertips and left him feeling unsettled.

If Tony had also been shocked, he made no mention of it, instead downing his espresso with gusto. Steve watched the bob of Tony’s throat, feeling hot beneath the collar. The coffee was already getting to him, and he hadn’t even taken a sip yet.

Steve took his espresso like a shot. The coffee surged through him, driving away the cold that had settled into his bones. The cocoa was sweet and creamy on his tongue. Of course, Tony wouldn’t waste money on the cheap imitation stuff made with powdered milk.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” Tony asked, his eyes twinkling.

Steve burst out laughing, maybe the first genuine laugh he’d managed since coming out of the ice. At that moment, ice and the cold were the furthest things from his mind.

“Even better,” he said, perhaps too earnestly, but that was between him and God. “I wouldn’t mind a refill.”

Tony’s answering smile was blinding. His eyes were all crinkled in the corners, the way they did whenever Tony was truly happy. Not that Steve spent a lot of time memorizing Tony’s smiles.

The tension from earlier had (hopefully) disappeared for good.

“He should always smile like that,” Steve thought. Tony’s smile could drive a blizzard away.

They sat there for the rest of the night until the sun crept over the horizon, flooding the kitchen with light and something warm and golden had curled in Steve’s chest.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel #mcu #stony fic #stony fanfic #my fic #my writing #imperialstark fic #imperialstark writing

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years ago

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ASoUE REWRITE - Season 1; The Miserable Mill - Part i.iv

⇢ Klaus x Reader⇠

[not my gif]

A//n: Thank you all for being so patient and understanding. I'm sorry I couldn't get this to you sooner and that it's so short. I got stuck in one spot and then I began the Eddie Kaspbrak rewrite and it slipped through the cracks. I do hope to continue this series and I have also figured out your special talent! If you previously knew it to be running, I have made changes back under chapter "important" and updated it, feel free to check it out if you'd like! Thank you for taking time to read this authors note and i hope you enjoy this chapter! Love you guys!! ♡♡♡

+++

Klaus sat timidly in the waiting room of Dr. Orwell's office, his fingers absentmindedly twirling the severed left temple of his glasses. His eyes darted around the room worriedly, trying to decipher all the strange shapes he saw. A poor choice of words as he couldn't actually see very well, the lenses of his glasses were hopelessly cracked and it was lucky - a word so rarely used in the lives of the Baudelaires - that the glass lenses hadn't come apart as he wore them.

Phil, who was sat upright next to Klaus, was happily humming a little tune. He was completely oblivious to the boy's troubles, as usual.

In an attempt to calm his racing mind, Klaus turned to the hope of reading, as he always did. He picked up one several magazines, the only choice out of the selection that lay organized on the coffee table, that wasn't some form of optometry piece. He picked it up to examine it, and quickly found his hopes stamped out when he saw the title:

Dreadful Pennies: RARE WORLD COINS and VALUABLE ODD COINS. The article of which I will spare you, advertised an analysis of coin trends, featuring the latest coin prices. Klaus had read hundreds of books in his life, and several of these books were of little interest to him. But this particular issue did not grab his attention so much and perhaps if he were bored, not worried, he would opt to pick it up and give it go, but the time simply wasn't ripe and he discarded the magazine distastefully on the coffee table.

It was at that moment that the dull thud of a pair of three(?) footsteps echoed across the room from the small landing of steps. There stood Dr. Orwell, cane in hand - which had solved the quick mystery of three footsteps - and she gave Klaus a knowing look.

"Klaus Baudelaire," she drawled, and Klaus gulped.

He stood up in her presence, recognizing her as the woman he and his sisters saw pacing in the window when they first arrived.

"You're Dr. Orwell?" He stammered.

She stepped forward into the lobby and nodded.

"Yes, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I was on my lunch hour. Looks like somebody broke their glasses."

Klaus felt a nudge on his shoulder.

"See?" Phil said. "Perfectly friendly."

Klaus removed his glasses and held them in his hands.

"Well, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." Dr. Orwell said.

"Actually, you catch the most flies with manure." Klaus pointed out.

"Aren't you smart?" Dr. Owell stated, a twinge in her voice. "It's just an expression. A fancy way of saying you're more likely to get what you want by acting in a sweet way, than in a distasteful way, like vinegar."

Dr. Orwell reached over and grabbed Klaus by the hand suddenly and pulled him away to the stairs.

"Wave goodbye to your friend." She ordered.

Klaus, who had stumbled over the coffee table as he was being so rudely dragged across the room, squinted at the Phil shaped blob in his blurry vision. His head whipped back and forth between the doctor and Phil in panic.

"Goodbye?"

+++

Violet, Sunny, and Y/n sat at the very same table at which they met, waiting for Klaus to return. Night had fallen and their shift was long over, they sat at the table, the room illuminated by candles. Sunny, who had a particularly exhausting day, had fallen asleep on a mess of blankets next to her sister and her friend.

"He should have been back by now," Violet thought aloud.

"The handful of workers I've seen go to the optometrist usually take a while. I'm sure he'll be back any minute," Y/n assured, though her own confidence was beginning to waver.

It had been a little longer than most.

Phil, who also sat at the table with a deck of cards, looked to the young sorrowful girls and gestured to his game of solitaire.

"Why don't you ladies play a game of go fish to pass the time?"

The two girls looked at one another and then at the optimist, shaking their heads.

Violet looked out at the moon, wishing for her brother's safe return.

"Violet?"

In response, she looked to Phil. "Hmm?"

"That's not a window," Phil pointed out gently.

Just as soon as he had said it, Jimmy began drawing more details of the moon in chalk. And Violet saw the illusion disappear before her very eyes.

She turned her attention to the flickering candles that sat on the table and the two friends sighed in worry.

"Lights out," Phil said quietly.

Phil leaned down and blew out the candles, extinguishing all light from the dorms. Violet and Y/n were now feeling as lonesome as ever despite each other's company.

Violet looked to her sleeping sister and smiled weakly. She was still fast asleep on some cushions that Violet had made into a little bed for her. She pulled the blanket up further around her sister and gently stroked Sunny's soft head fondly.

A muffled pair of footsteps captured the attention of the two young ladies. It had come from outside the door and both Y/n and Violet's ears perked up when they heard the wooden door creak open. A phrase which here means, the two girls' attention was brought to the door, eager to see if the person opening it was Klaus Baudelaire. Their ears did not move in any way.

"Klaus!"

The girls rose to their feet when they saw their beloved friend and brother standing in the doorway alive and well. Well, the term "well" is an inadequate word for this situation, meaning it is a poor choice of words for how the only boy Baudelaire was. "Well" would be a good choice of words if you were describing the quality of a good soup, not a fantastic soup but a soup that followed the recipe just enough. The point is the Baudelaire boy was not well, like a good hearty soup, but he was alive and that was what the three girls had been hoping for.

Violet and Y/n rose to their feet and greeted the boy eagerly at the door.

"We were worried. You were gone so long." Violet said.

"Your glasses are gone, are they still being repaired?" Y/n asked.

Klaus didn't utter a word, nor did he ever look the girls directly in the eye, but right past them. Like they weren't there. Naturally, this worried Y/n. In her time at the mill, she had seen several people go into the eye building and come out acting strange. She did not mention this to the Baudelaire sisters because she knew they were already worried and there was no sense in worrying them further unless he showed signs. Unfortunately - a word I'm afraid I will use many more times in the Baudelaire and L/n story - Y/n did see the same signs in Klaus. He kept to himself, and he had the same faraway look that had chilled her to the bone several times.

"What was it like inside the eye? Klaus?" Violet asked.

With the same faraway look, he began walking slowly and sluggishly towards his bed. Violet followed him worriedly, trying desperately to pull any words, any at all, put from her brother. Y/n stayed rooted to the floor, watching sadly as she saw the same patterns emerge in her friend. Klaus finally stopped at the end of his bed and turned around to face the girls. He was smiling.

"You're smiling," Violet said uncertainly.

"I'm happy to be here, sir." He said finally.

Y/n felt the final punch to the gut, and she frowned. Nobody punched Y/n for real of course, but the emotional toll she felt at her friend's condition felt as if someone had. Violet was feeling very similar at that exact moment.

"What? I'm not Sir, I'm your sister. While you were gone, Sunny, Y/n and I heard Sir talking to Charles. He said he made a deal to cover something up." Violet continued even as her brother laid down for the night. "There's something bigger going on here."

Jimmy and Ceasar rolled over in their neighboring bunks and began sushing Violet. Y/n finally left her spot by the front door, timidly she stepped around the bunk to face Violet, who was sitting in the chair that sat up against the wall.

"Violet?"

"What?"

"Maybe we should turn in for the night? I know you must be very tired, and I'm sure Klaus is too. To tell you the truth, this behavior isn't that uncommon from what I've seen here at the mill. But it does always seem to wear off in a day or two, perhaps if we let Klaus get some sleep, and you too, we will all have a clear mind to regroup in the morning. Does that sound okay?"

Violet thought about this for a moment, like she wanted to argue though she knew there was some truth to Y/n words. She looked back to her brother sadly, and she spoke to him soothingly.

"Would you like to do that, Klaus? Would you like to go to sleep for now?" She asked.

"Yes, Sir," Klaus said and closed his eyes as easily as one turns off a light switch.

Both girls frowned and looked to one another curiously.

"I know this must not be easy," Y/n said grabbing Violet's attention. "I am worried for him too, but as I said, I have seen this behavior before around here, and it always goes away at one point. I'm sure it must be something Dr. Orwell prescribes, everyone always seems rather tired after visiting her, I'm sure that must be the case."

"Maybe you're right," Violet sighed, looking anxiously at her brother. "But I can't help but feel like something is wrong. Am I crazy?"

Y/n looked at Violet sympathetically. She shook her head.

"No, Violet, I don't think you're crazy. I must admit, I do not understand why he is calling you Sir, but I'm sure there must be some kind of explanation."

"But what could possibly explain that?"

"I don't know, Violet. I'm sorry, I wish I did."

Violet sighed, and she frowned when she saw Y/n yawn. She stood to her feet.

"I'm sorry I've kept you up all this time, thank you for waiting with me."

"Of course, I was worried about him too and I'd hate to leave you and Sunny by yourselves. And there are no worries, you didn't keep me from anything, I like you guys and while the circumstances are not great, I'm glad I met you guys." Y/n smiled sweetly, and even Violet felt a small smile tug at her own lips at her friend's kindness.

"We like you too, Y/n. Thanks for all your help."

"Of course, what are friends for?" Y/n yawned once more and she turned, eyes on Sunny behind her still curled up on the pillow. "I'm sure Sunny will be happy to hear Klaus is back and to get to bed. I know I'm eager."

Violet nodded, and Y/n stepped aside to let her through. She gently picked up her sister and placed her on the top bunk before climbing up the latter and situating herself. Sunny had been so tired, she had barely noticed she had moved. Y/n took her spot on the bed across from Klaus, and Violet bid her goodnight.

"Goodnight, Violet."

"Goodnight, Y/n. Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams, Violet." She said, her eyelids already growing heavy. "I'm sure tomorrow will be a much better day."

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

#asoue rewrite #klaus baudelaire x you #klaus baudelaire x reader #violet baudelaire #klaus baudelaire #sunny baudelaire #malina weissman #louis hynes #presley smith #asoue #a series of unfortunate events reader insert #a series of unfortunate events imagines #a series of unfortunate events x reader #the miserable mill #part four #the miserable mill part four #dr. orwell #catherine o'hara #asoue y/n l/n

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hattywatch · 5 years ago

Text

J. Vesey - Love Songs Companion Piece

Originally posted by knosi

Author's Note: This is a companion piece to Love Songs. I don't think anyone needed or asked for this, but here it is, because when I was writing the first part, all I kept thinking was Kevin getting the photos of her dress and immediately texting Jimmy, so this is what you all ended up with. This is for @HockeyandTaylorSwift while she's off her feet for a while. Send her some love! Excuse the formatting, I did this in HTML

He doesn't get it. Doesn't get why she's crying, doesn't get why this is such a big deal, doesn't get why he's in a suit he hates and a tie he'd rather shove back in his closet, doesn't get why he's dropped a small fortune inside a $7 card from Target, but he knows it's the right thing to do… and there's an open bar. So here he is, sat in a pew in a church with no air conditioning with his best friend and his best friend's cousin, who he's had a crush on since puberty.

There's probably 100 other ways he'd rather spend his Saturday.

When she sniffles, Jimmy can’t help but look over. He wants to roll his eyes, but he also wants to kiss her, so he settles for safe, leaving his gaze on the bride and groom- who are reading their vows off of the little index cards in their hand.

Kevin chirps her and if he was waiting for an opening to talk to her, this is it. Jimmy leans in before he can stop himself, always caught in her orbit, "What are you even crying for? Shouldn't you be happy?" When she rolls her eyes, he wonders for a second if he's crossed a line, made her upset with him, but she catches his eye once more and gives him a watery smile while she blots at her tears so he's probably okay.

Cocktail hour is spent stood at a table, eating fancy cheeses that sound nicer than they taste, listening to Kevin and his cousin chat about nothing in particular. He interjects a few times when they bicker, taking her side over Kevin's, always. Finally everyone is funnelled into the main room for the reception.

Kevin's been scoping out this pretty bridesmaid since the second she walked down the aisle hours ago and it's all about to come to a head. "Well, I'm going to go make my move. My cousin is over at the bar," he points,"if you wanted to suddenly find your balls, man," he pats Jimmy on the shoulder sardonically. He hates that Kev's a little right, so he sneers but lets him walk away unharmed.

Jimmy eyes the table full of escort cards in the corner and scoops up his and hers, tucking them into his jacket pocket. Kevin can go get his on his own, since he wants to be a prick. It's probably time to take advantage of the open bar, and really, (y/n) is already over there, so two birds one stone and all.

In a moment of bravery, marked by clammy palms and a little bit of heartburn, he sidles up next to her at the bar. His hand gently slides along the smooth skin of her lower back, exposed by her dress. She looks over, and appears surprised to see him there. He's come this far, so he leans into her ear and plows through the best he can.

"Hey, use your powers for good and get me a beer. I don't want to wait in line." She still seems a little shocked that he's there, but orders his beer anyway. It's not until he sees her throw a flirty smile at the bartender that he realizes he may be cramping her style and regrets it all, suddenly remorseful for taking Kevin's advice.

He doesn't think she knows where she should be, considering he has her table assignment in his pocket, so he leaves his hand where it lies and directs her towards their table, praying silently she can't feel the sweat on his palm and trying to figure out something to say. He's better at this in a group, but now all her attention is on him and it makes his skin prickle self consciously.

"I grabbed yours too," is what he finally comes up with when he gets her to their table. Ivy league education and he can barely talk to the girl he likes. Pathetic.

"Thanks," she says to the floor as she finally kicks off her ridiculous heels. He wants to keep talking, make her laugh and smile and stay by his side all night. He's not sure what he could say that would have that effect, but it's probably not what he says next.

"Why do you wear those things if you can't even handle them for an hour?"

He's not sure why he's always ribbing her. Probably because she always takes his joking in stride, always knows when he's kidding even though he stays stoic. She gets his humor, gets him, he thinks and his chest tightens unhelpfully.

(Y/n) sits back up and clinks her champagne glass against his beer, unaffected by his question.

"Because they make my ass look fantastic," that has him choking on his beer and he relaxes, drops his guard and unclenches his jaw. She makes him laugh, comfortable and loose, when usually he holds his emotions close to his chest.

She isn’t wrong about the heels, and he thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind that she may be flirting with him. Surely that's carte blanche to take a peek when she stands up. He’s not completely sure though, so he lets her drink her champagne in peace and watches Kevin.

It must be nice to be Kevin, he thinks. Kevin doesn’t have a self conscious bone in his body- loud and unapologetic. He’s dancing like an idiot with that bridesmaid from earlier. Jimmy’s envious. He just walked right up to her, probably even said something stupid like, “Hey, I’m Kevin,” and now they’re like old friends, close on the dance floor. He’d never be able to do something so bold. Jimmy can’t help it, he’s always been a little more reserved, shy even- especially when she’s around.

Not when he’s on the ice, though. He feels confident there at least.

He wishes he could take off his skates and helmet and not simultaneously undress himself of his confidence. He can feel her gaze on him. She’s sitting there, gently sipping from her flute, he doesn’t suspect that she knows he can feel her stare.

She's been around forever. He remembers when they were young, hanging out in the bleachers hip to hip watching Kevin skate around, cheering for the older boy's team. He remembers when he hit puberty, suddenly becoming more self-conscious around girls and slowly realizing that he liked her differently. It was warm and it started somewhere around his chest and dripped down his whole body, heating him up and tying his tongue. Whenever she came around he always lost his edges, stumbling over himself.

The beer is settling his nerves a little, so he bucks up and says what's on his mind. "I don't get this whole thing," he waves his hand around, at the room in general.

She looks confused and rolls her hand on her wrist, asking him to continue.

He breathes deep, relaxing at the idea of a normal conversation. This he can do, he's good at having opinions, good at engaging in a little debate, not so good at being cool and smooth, but he'll work with what he has.

"Seems like a lot of pomp and circumstance to prove you love someone." She laughs and that's not exactly the response he was expecting, but he'd play the fool forever if it meant he'd always get to see her like this, eyes scrunched and nose crinkled, smile spanning her face.

"Jimmy, sometimes when two people really like each other they just wanna shout it from the rooftops." He rolls his eyes, but she looks like she really believes it. The way she’s looking at him right now, he’s pretty sure he could be convinced to make his way to the rooftop with a megaphone himself.

Kevin sinks down next to her, sweaty and breathless, "I think I'm in love," his eyes are still focused on the bridesmaid. She knows what she’s doing, peering back at him flirtatiously as she dances with the flower girls. (Y/n)'s eyes shine with the knowledge that she's won.

"Case and point, my friend."

He honestly just needs a minute. Sitting here with her is overwhelming. She's too much: too beautiful, too funny, too sweet, and probably too perceptive. She has to know he's different with her around, less cool, less calm, and less smart. So, he finishes his beer and -like everything he does in life- coats himself in a thin layer of sarcasm, "Had about enough of you softies," before getting up and heading over to the bar. He doesn't turn back to see if she's watching him, she probably forgot the second he walked away.

The bartender knows his order and hands him another beer, but looks past Jimmy for something else, "Where's your girl?"

Jimmy likes the way that sounds, so he can't bring himself to correct the innocent bystander that she is not, and will likely never be, his girl. So he does what any mature person would do and lets himself pretend. "Her feet hurt. Heels, ya know? Lemme get her another champagne?"

He throws a twenty into the tip jar before he heads back to the table, high on the idea that anyone could picture them as a pair.

He intercepts her and Kevin on their way to the bar, and doesn't miss how her eyes size him up with appraisal as he hands her the drink. Kevin on the other hand is less impressed. "Dude, hello?" Jimmy's still floating on the fact that (y/n) was clearly pleased with him as she takes small, delicate sips of champagne so he allows his usual banter with Kevin to shine through as he shrugs at his friend, "Bar's that way. Cheers, bro."

He catches sight of her smile going wide behind her glass as Kevin huffs away. If his chest inflates, that's his own little secret.

He doesn’t get much time with her after that. It leaves his heart feeling a little cold inside his chest. She’s up dancing with some of the other people from their table, smiling friendly and big, clearly a little tipsy, arms moving a little too wildly to be strictly sober.

When the music gently lowers and the emcee’s voice booms through the speakers for the first dance, everyone surrounds the dancefloor with their cameras out and she somehow ends up next to him, right in front of their table. It’s only a few bars into the song that he hears the sniffle, and he can’t help it, he doesn’t want her to cry, but it’s undeniably funny how soft she is.

"Would you stop crying? You're a mess, kid." Blaming his next move on a combination of the beers he’s had and his heart breaking while watching her cry, he puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side.

She gets tense for a fraction of a second, but one hand swings around his waist and the other comes up and wipes at her tears as she asserts that she’s “fine.” It’s less than convincing. She looks around as the DJ invites the guests onto the dance floor- probably for Kevin, but he’s wrapped up in his own little world with that bridesmaid he’s been following around like a lost puppy all night. Jo, Jimmy thinks her name might be, but he’s a liar if he says he’s been thinking about anything other than the girl tucked under his arm for the past few hours.

They start playing that Elvis song, he hates it. The Righteous Brother’s version of it is better, almost passable. He has no plans on making his way onto the wooden dance floor, but she sighs, and he feels it since she’s still snug against his body and he’d do a lot of dumb things to make her smile.

He’s clearly lost his mind as he nudges her with the arm that is wrapped around her shoulders, “C’mon.”

She follows him, eyes scrunched in skepticism, but he doesn’t have to pull her much, her body belies her combative words- already leaning into him, to his delight. “Jimmy stop, you hate dancing, you don’t have to.” He can tell her heart’s not in it, and she’s been dancing all night at this point, so what kind of man would he be to let a pretty girl stand on the sidelines.

"It's fine (y/n). Three minutes won't kill me. Just turn off the water works, yeah?" She scoffs but promises to try.

When she places her hands on his shoulders he gets chills from his head to his toes, feeling the warmth of her hands through his button-up and he's so, so sure that she can see his ears grow red. If she does, she keeps it to herself and he's appreciative.

The only thing on his mind is that he wants her to smile again; at him, for him, because of him. So he gets grumpy, she always gets a kick out of that. "God, I hate this fucking song." That does it, she lights up, eyes peering up at him from around his chest, she's so small.

"You're a spoil sport, Jim." He rolls his eyes and tightens his hands around her waist. She sighs again and he almost removes his hands from her, thinking he offended her in some way, but he follows her gaze to Kevin.

"Kev's gonna kick me out of our room tonight isn't he?" He looks over and laughs, because she's definitely correct, and there's only one possibility swimming around his mind, and he's tipsy enough that he doesn't hate the idea of it.

"Yeah, yeah definitely. That's a good assessment."

______

She’s unsure for about a second and a half after he asks if she wants to share his room. Realization starts to dawn and it’s not like she has much of a choice. So she huffs into the shuttle that takes them from the reception to the hotel and stands a little too far from him in the elevator and stares at the floor, suddenly shy like they haven’t known each other forever, haven’t had Mario Party nights in Kevin’s basement all piled into sleeping bags on the floor.

He slides the key into the door and she starts unpinning her hair before the green light comes on. “I really appreciate this, thank you again. Kevin’s a douche.” Jimmy laughs because he’s been on both sides of this situation before, but he’s happy he’s here to help. The second she’s inside and he starts to rifle through his duffle bag, she sees the problem.

“I don’t… damnit!” she’s mostly talking to herself, but he’d be rude not to answer. When he turns around to head towards the bathroom to change she’s unclasping her necklace and taking off her earrings and he feels like he’s intruding on a private moment.

“What’s wrong?” He’s not really good at this, but he thinks shes on the brink of tears, eyes tired and getting glassy as she gently lays her jewelry onto the dresser.

“All my clothes are back in my room. I just want to go to sleep. This is the worst,” he’s sure she’d stomp her foot in a tantrum if she could, frustration furrowing her forehead.

“I brought extra clothes, (y/n) it’s fine,” in reality he didn’t bring much in the way of extras; what he traveled in, his suit, a pair of shorts to sleep in, and what he planned on going home in tomorrow, but he hands over his clean shirt and sweats and pushes her gently towards the bathroom.

He starts turning down the bed and realizes that it’s not a viable solution to the problem he’s got on his hands, so he turns around and starts pulling the cushions off of the pull out couch and rearranging the desk to make room; honestly who even uses it- waste of space.

When she comes out of the bathroom drowning in his clothes, he has an entirely different problem on his hands. He didn’t think he’d have such a visceral reaction to her stood there in an old Harvard Hockey shirt and some dopey llama pajama pants an aunt bought him for christmas years ago. The fact of the matter is that it hits him square in the chest and takes his breath without his permission.

She managed to get most of her makeup off; she looks a little rosy from the scrubbing. Her hair is piled up on top of her head and his pants are rolled at least 4 times around her waist, but the legs are still far too long. It’s not like she needs them, his shirt is longer than the dress she just took off. He immediately realizes the error of his ways when he starts that train of thought, so he grabs the one pair of shorts he knows is in his duffle bag and heads straight into the bathroom to throw some cold water onto his face.

After brushing his teeth and a few deep breaths, Jimmy exits the bathroom in only his shorts; he didn’t pack any extra shirts, so he hopes she’s okay with his bare torso. He throws his suit into a heap on the floor and drops down on the pull out couch, it squeaks under his weight and he knows it’s going to be a long night sleeping on this thing.

When (y/n) hears the squeak she stands up out of the armchair in the corner where she was scrolling through her phone, “Jimmy, no. You’re like 12 feet tall, you can’t sleep on that thing.” She gets up and walks over to him and pushes against his bare shoulder. “Move, I’ll sleep here.”

He laughs at her trying to muscle him out of the way, she doesn’t look happy about it, but that just makes him laugh harder, and maybe flex a little bit more if he's honest. “Go lay down. You must be exhausted from all that crying you did today.” That does it and she sniffs and turns on her heel to the bed.

“I take it back, you deserve whatever that does to your back, you bully.” That just makes him laugh again.

She tucks herself into the bed and throws two pillows at his head. He catches them both and she settles in, “Thanks, Jimmy. I owe you one.” He turns off the lamp and tries to get comfortable, “Anytime.”

______

Jimmy lies there and listens to her steady breathing, he's been tossing and turning for about 30 minutes and he can't figure out what's wrong. The couch is more comfortable than he thought it would be and he's exhausted, so he's not sure why he can't succumb to his heavy eyelids.

He rolls over and scrolls through his phone, somehow finds himself meandering through her Instagram. It's not the first time it's happened, but it feels a little forbidden since she's in the same room, barely 10 feet from him.

He scrolls back slowly, careful to not double tap anything on accident. It's his favorite photo. A throwback, her and him with a bunch of their friends from high school at some beach party they organized for Kevin graduating and going to college.

It's too vivid when he thinks about it. Earlier that day he was sat in the locker room listening to Brian go on and on about (y/n). It made his stomach turn the way he talked about her, getting into her pants at prom, one last hurrah before he goes away to school and maybe gets drafted. Jimmy never really liked him (and he never ended up getting drafted, so jokes on him). Everyone else seemed to like him alright though, especially the ladies. So, he kept his mouth shut, shoved his pads into his bag and pushed his feet into his sneakers before getting out of there as quickly as he could.

Later that night she's stumbling over to him after a few wine coolers, calling him Vese, like she's his coach. He turned her down, figuring he'd rather not have her explain that she had a real date a few months down the line, rather experience the heartbreak sooner than later. He didn't even end up going to prom, just the thought of her wrapped around Brian was enough to have the bile rising in his throat.

Jimmy's not stupid, knows they're grown now, some may even use the word "adults." Brian's name has never fallen from her lips once. She's clearly single since she came to this wedding with only Kev. Then he thinks about Kevin and Jo, how they're probably wrapped up together a couple of rooms away and thinks back to how Kevin so lovingly put it a few hours ago, maybe he'll work on finding his balls.

After he makes this life altering revelation he has a much easier time rolling onto his other side and slipping into sleep.

What feels like minutes later, the sun filtering through the curtains he hadn't quite drawn all the way closed wakes him up. She's gone, he thought this might have happened, have her leave like he dreamt the whole thing, with nothing from the last night to hold onto.

When he gets up to use the bathroom he discovers he's wrong. She's left her dress and shoes from the previous evening behind the door and a quick check of the dresser shows she left all of her jewelry as well. He assembles the couch back together and sits to check twitter mindlessly.

The mechanical lock turning alerts him to her return. In conjunction with all of his clothes she borrowed last night, his hat sits on her head, hair curling wildly out from under it. But it's when she wordlessly shoves a coffee into his hand he knows he's toast, made worse by the fact that his order is perfect.

His slightly hungover brain isn't capable of higher functions quite yet, so he reaches out his fist, "Best. Wedding date. Ever," and immediately feels like punching himself in the face with the same fist she's nudging hers against. Luckily she smiles and looks pleased overall, so he doesn't beat himself up about it too much.

______

The invite has been sitting on his fridge for months. When he got it he rsvped right away, checking off 1 and mailing it back to Brady. It's only now that he thinks he maybe should have waited, found a date to bring. Kevin was smart, he rsvped 2 and would call an audible as time ran down, and now he has Jo. Fuck.

He calls Gracia directly. "I don't want to be that guy, but could I maybe bring a plus one? You can say no, I just-" he doesn't even get the rest of the sentence out before she tells him he's a dick, but of course he can bring a guest. She had allowed for wiggle room because she figured he might change his mind, Kevin was bringing a date so she assumed Jimmy would as well. He's so glad Brady's marrying someone like her, so chill and down to earth, never the drama queen.

So he text her. The last time he saw her was out somewhere with Kevin, they made stilted conversation until they warmed up to each other again and cheered on the Pats on the flat screen behind the bar.

Playing as cool as he can he comes up with: Brady gave me a plus one to the blessed affair… wedding date part 2?

He puts the phone down on his coffee table and expects he may have to wait a while for a response and busies himself trying to queue up HBO to binge some Game of Thrones in the meantime.

Turns out he's wrong, she responds within minutes.

Y/N: Obviously. When?

His heart almost bursts with a combination of excitement and relief. After telling her that it's next week, she follows up with a barrage of questions he has no feasible answer for and she says she'll figure it out.

She must talk to Kevin, because he gets a text halfway through the next episode of Game of Thrones from Hayes. It's just the two eye emoji about 50 times in a row. Jimmy ignores it and throws his phone back on the table.

He doesn't get a text from either of them for the next few days, and thinks nothing of it. Finally into the weekend Hayes texts him.

Hayzie: You're welcome bro. Just remember she's my family. Consider this your shovel talk.

Jimmy has less than no idea what the hell Kevin is on about, until his phone buzzes with a notification from (y/n) half an hour later.

Y/N: Can I show you the dress I picked and you tell me if it's okay? Kevin said I should show you so you can make sure it matches your suit?

Instantly his palms get sweaty. He replies as coolly as possible, trying to retain some level of chill despite how very not chill this whole thing feels.

I mean, I’m not really good at that sort of thing, but yeah.

He thinks that's okay. Don't expect him to be much help, but definitely send any and all photos, he's not trying to miss out on that opportunity.

The pictures pop up in quick succession.

Three photos, a front, side, and back view appear in their text thread and he sends out a silent prayer, thankful that the messages app doesn't alert the other person when you save a photo. After quickly studying them and deciding that she can wear literally anything she wants, when and wherever she would like, he opens his thread with Kevin and sends him two little rocket emojis, hoping he gets the point.

All that blue fabric glowing bright against her skin. It looks like she's all made up and his heart thumps at the idea that there is a slim possibility he is the cause of it. The slit up the thigh shows that she's wearing the same heels from the last wedding and as he scrolls down he can agree that, yes, they do indeed make her ass look fantastic. It makes him feel like a creep, but at least he’s an honest creep. When he gets to the side view, he catches a glimpse of the cut outs along her ribs and dry swallows.

He needs to figure out a game plan.

First things first, he tells her that it looks great, and then he peels himself off of the couch and into his bedroom to dig through his closet.

Here's the thing. Jimmy hates wearing nice clothes and would probably only own one suit if he didn't need them for every game day, so he's lucky his closet is full of bespoke suits. Picking out a light grey one, his favorite if he's honest, he suits up and leaves the top few buttons open, trying for casually disheveled, praying it doesn't look too Miami Vice.

He's not dumb, he hopes that this is her flirting, but he's too nervous to get optimistic about it.

As he fixes his hair in the mirror he starts typing out a reply. Nothing he's writing is coming off right though, all seeming like he's fishing for compliments, so he just sucks it up, takes a photo, and sends it before he can back out.

Do you think this will work with a blue tie

He waits face down on his bed, feeling every inch the self-conscious, pubescent teenager he's acting like. Each second that ticks by making his skin burn hotter. She's probably busy, is what he tells himself in the way of calming his nerves. The speed at which he reaches for his phone when it vibrates counters the aloofness he's aiming for, though.

It's just a string of thumbs up emojis, and he feels more than a little foolish getting his hopes up like that, thinking he'd be able to decipher any intent through a text message.

He needs a nap.

Awesome. See you Saturday?

If this is how he’s reacting to photos, he is a dead man come Saturday. He doesn't wait for a response before turning his phone off and putting a pillow over his head, hoping the emotional rollercoaster he was enough to pull him straight to sleep.

______

Jimmy knows they’re supposed to meet at Kevin’s, but he thought about it and decided the best way to make her aware of his intentions would be to go pick her up and be more direct in his pursuit. He gets up early and decides to go for a run, it calms him down, makes him feel serene and in control which is just what he needs today.

The phone rings three times before Jo picks up, “Hey Jimmy, Kev’s in the shower, what’s up?” He likes Jo for Kevin, she’s got the same wild streak, but she’s tenaciously focused and comes from the same kind of big, close family that Kev does. They’re a good match.

“Oh, what’s up? I was just calling to get his cousin’s address. I’m going to pick her up instead of meeting over by you guys. Do you know it off hand?” He wasn’t really prepared to have this conversation with Jo and it’s throwing a monkey wrench into his plan because he knows she’s going to tease him about it mercilessly, all in good fun of course.

She makes an oooooh noise, like the canned crowd on a sitcom during a kissing scene. “Jimmy, I didn’t know you had it in you! I’ll text it to you now. What’s the plan, James? Can I help?”

Sighing, he’s not sure if this would have been better or worse if Hayes had answered. “Help what?” Jo snorts, “Let me help you get your girl!”

That makes him straight up laugh, “Jo, please, your only job is to keep Kevin’s mouth shut.” She cackles, “I can think of some ways to keep him otherwise occupied, if you know what I me-”

Jimmy cuts her off, “It’s been great chatting, just uh, send me that text, see you later!” he hangs up as fast as possible. She sends the message through with enough winky faces that it fills his whole screen.

He feels like he’s going to prom, if he could imagine what that would have been like, combing his hair in the mirror and gelling it. He probably brushed his teeth two or three times this morning because he forgot he already did it. Before he puts his jacket on, he sprays a little cologne on his neck and closes his eyes before grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

He didn’t realize how close she lives and he’s there within fifteen minutes. After walking through the lobby and taking the elevator to her floor he stops in front of her door, takes three deep breaths, checks his reflection in his phone’s camera, and knocks.

The door flies open and she huffs, curlers in her hair and still in her pajamas, "I'm sorry Mrs. Dennehy. I can't look for Bootsie right n-," he smiles, "You are not Mrs. Dennehy."

“Nah. Definitely not,” he walks right past her and into her space, hoping he looks more confident than he feels. "That's a good look, (y/n). I mean… I liked the blue dress better, but I don't know much about fashion," sarcasm is the only thing he knows to calm his nerves and make him feel in control. He’d be worried about her reaction if she were a different person, but he knows she gets him and the worry leaves as quickly as it enters his mind.

She gets right up in his face, so close he could count her eyelashes, and pokes him in the chest with one pointed finger,

"How the fuck do you even know my address. I thought I was meeting you at Kevin's?" There's no feasible way he can explain that he's trying to court her without simultaneously throwing up in her living room, so he goes truth adjacent.

"I asked Kev. I figured we could go over there together. Him and Jo are still in the mushy honeymoon stage and I love him, but I really want to throat-punch him when I have to witness it firsthand." It's not not a true statement.

She nods in agreement, and he can feel the relief wash over him like a cool breeze. When he sits on her couch she tells him she won't be much longer and heads down the hall to the bathroom. His phone is absolutely exploding with messages from Kevin, and he silences it and puts it back in his pocket, standing and walking around the living room looking at the photos on her walls. He hears her heels clacking against the floor a few rooms away, but it's her voice that has his ears perking up.

"Vese?" He hates it. Brings him right back to that night on the beach and he hates the way it makes him feel. Like he has to reject her all over again, keep the distance and get comfortable in the bucket of undateable men in her life.

"I hate when you call me that." Women he's trying to court shouldn't call him that, that's reserved for teammates and coaches and friends at the bar.

She's a ball buster and she smiles sideways at him "Yeah, but it always gets a reaction." She spin so her back is to him and sweeps all of her hair forward over her shoulder, "Can you clasp the top of this please and then I'm ready to go, I swear!"

He does as she asks against his own better judgement. His hands pressed against the nape of her neck, baby fine hairs tickling his fingertips, and it's he can do to keep from leaning down and pressing a burning kiss on her neck.

Fuck him, this is going to be a long night.

______

He knows more people at this wedding, so he’s feeling a little looser, a little more comfortable. It also helps that she’s officially here as his date and not just forced to talk to him out of politeness, she has to like him on some level to sit through this by his side, on her own free will.

She’s crying again. She’s crying again and he can’t even stop himself from laughing at her; they haven’t even finished the ceremony yet and she’s patting at her eyes, fanning them to keep the tears from ruining her make up.

"You cry at everything, huh?" She elbows him hard in the ribs, and he lets out something between and laugh and a grunt. He’s head over heels.

Walking from the ceremony to the reception is eventful, to say the least. They follow Kevin and Jo, Jimmy giving a meaningful glance over at (y/n), so she knows just how clingy they are wrapped up in each other, driving his point from earlier home.

He’s almost jealous, but then (y/n) trips over what is possibly nothing on the sidewalk, he does the gentlemanly thing and throws a jibe her way before helping her right herself.

"You're a fuckin' hazard in those shoes. Look at you."

The smile that slides onto her face is dangerous, "Yeah but they make-"

"-they make your ass look fantastic. I know." He doesn’t realize the error of his ways quite yet, so used to trading good-natured barbs with her it never occurs to him that present company might have a problem with him being so brazen about it.

Kevin pulls himself away from Jo long enough to join the conversation, "Keep your eyes off my cousin's ass, Vesey." Flashing with embarrassment at being caught, all he can muster out is a weak fuck you, but it sends her and Jo off into peels of laughter and that’s enough for him.

______

She and Jo are a mess, sobbing all over each other before the wedding even really gets started. The first dance has them crying as he and Kevin hoot and holler with some of Brady’s other friends, they obnoxiously tap anything they can against their drinks to get Brady to kiss his bride. That sends the girls into another tizzy, crying about true love or something to that effect.

There isn’t a better wedding date. He’s sure of it. She pulls him out of himself, dragging him around the dancefloor by his tie until he gets too warm and tucks it into her bag, the lamest way he has ever marked his territory. She leads him through all the standard wedding line dances, and a few rounds of Shout, lowering softly down to the floor and screaming loud on the way back up. He’s never had such a good time at a wedding and he knows it’s because of her, glowing in the sea of people on the dance floor with her bright smile and laughter.

When the DJ starts calling all the ladies to the middle of the dance floor amid that Beyonce song, Jimmy’s heart stops. There’s no way that what happens next wasn’t planned. He sees it in slow motion. The bouquet leaving Gracia’s hand in a perfect arc straight into (y/n)’s hand. Her fingers curl around it and she cheers with the other girls, before sitting down on the lone chair on the dance floor, looking positively stricken as she watches the men line up for the garter toss.

Jo is cackling.

Jimmy’s not really one to be involved in these types of things, but he doesn’t want her to take is absence on the dance from as a direct insult, so he heads to the floor with the rest of the guys, no real intent on catching anything flung in his direction.

Kevin has to be in on it; he certainly wasn’t vying for the chance to slide a garter up his own cousin’s thigh. That asshole uses his ridiculous reach to knock the garter down straight into Jimmy. After Jimmy plucks it up off of his shoulder, Kevin is pointing at Jo nodding and laughing while she holds her phone camera up high, catching the whole ridiculous spectacle on video.

Every other guy must hate him, he’s sure of it, as he receives various pats on the back and comes to term with the idea of what’s about to happen. It’s not that he doesn’t want to rake his hands all over her body, he just imagined way less people around if he ever finally built up the courage to do it (and by some grace of God she allowed him to). He’s absolutely sure it’s Gracia who wolf whistles, she can do that loud one through her fingers, and he’s positive all of his friends are douche bags, even the bride.

Jimmy stares at the DJ, feigning attention as best as he can. He knows what he has to do, drop down on his knee and slide his hands up, up, up under her dress, placing the garter as hight around her thigh as she’ll allow. He thinks Taylor Swift is playing, but the only thing he can hear clearly right now is the thumpthump thumpthump of his own heart in his ears.

She sits looking up at him, so sure of herself and smiling like always, like he’s not about to have a massive coronary episode. His hands are shaking and his knees feel weak as he kneels down and her eyes follow him, smile never wavering. She drops one foot into his hand and he takes a moment to curse Kevin under his breath. It’s all he can do to smile reassuringly at her, hoping it doesn’t look as manic as it feels.

Taylor Swift starts singing about her dress she wants to take off, and his mind definitely can’t go down that road with her bare expanse of leg under his hands. He’s slid the stupid, lacey garter over her bare foot and up her smooth calf before stopping and placing it chastely on her knee, feeling her goosebumps as his hands brushed back down over her shin. Jimmy is a gentleman first and foremost and he’d rather not have an audience the very first time he’s invited under her dress.

He can hear Jo’s cackle before a “High-er! High-er!” chant starts and he knows she’s to blame. (Y/n) laughs above him and he wishes he could be the pinnacle of cool right now, but he’s about to combust. She leans in close to him encouraging, his hands still wrapped around her calf. "Our friends are idiots," he sighs.

"They really are, but they're not going to let you out of this, Vese," she says his name like a challenge as she wiggles her foot, and he’s never been one to back down.

It takes all of the courage he can muster as he lifts her dress. Circling both of his hands around her knee; they push the garter up her thigh in tandem, centimeter by centimeter as slowly as he can drag it out, not sure if he’ll ever be allowed this opportunity again. Doing his best not to think about his clammy hands brushing across her cool skin, he hopes she can’t feel it.

Time drags as slowly as his hands until he hears her sharp intake of breath when he gets high on her inner thigh and he stops, not wanting to be fresh, but wanting to prove to her that he’s up for whatever the challenge in her voice was asking for. He stops the motion of the garter as her eyes widen, figuring he’s taken this far enough.

Not wanting to let go and face the awkwardness that will surely linger once the bubble around this moment pops, he slides his hands all the way down her leg. Never wanting to let go of her fevered skin, lest he never get another chance to touch. Her eyes look wild and he knows everyone is clapping, but he feels like dying as the dance floor slowly fills back up as he offers her a hand out of the chair and back to their table, but she leaves him there, practically sprinting away from him towards the bar.

______

Kevin can’t even contain himself when he sits down. “That’s gross Jim. That’s my cousin,” Jimmy’s head bounces as he drops it down onto the table between his arms. “This is all your fault.” Hayes literally chokes on his laughter and slaps Jimmy hard on the back.

“You’ll figure it out man. You guys are made for each other,” Jimmy’s not convinced.

Clearly she’s not either, since she spends the rest of the time until dinner arrives dancing with Jo. She has no choice but to sit down next to him when dinner is served, but visibly jumps every time their elbows brush and Jimmy’s worried that he’s taken it too far and made her uncomfortable.

He’s frustrated. She was the one who told him to keep going, he would have stopped right there on her knee, but no, she goaded him with her smart mouth and shrewd eyes and he went against his better judgement and he’s furious for giving into his baser instincts. He pushes the dinner around on his plate, no appetite to eat much of anything.

He can feel her at his side, staring at the dance floor and sighing, it doesn’t look like she’s hungry either, her food sits cold in front of her. He follows her gaze to Brady’s grandparents dancing; they’re the only people on the dancefloor and he can see her wistfully following their movements and sniffling. Kevin nudges him and tilts his head towards her while raising his eyebrows and the beginning swells of Unchained Melody start up.

He doesn’t really believe in fate, but it certainly is quite the coincidence.

"C'mon hotshot," he stands up and dries his sweaty hands in his pockets, a trick his older cousin taught him before his first boy-girl dance in middle school. He’s shocked when she nods, smiles, and stands up to follow him.

Jo yells out, 'Get it girl!' and you’re seriously going to have to talk to Kevin about his woman.

He gently rests his hands on her waist and sways with her, "What gives? Sick of seeing me cry?" Her hands land on his shoulders, before she stands up on her bare tip-toes and winds her arms around his neck, pulling him close. His chest gets tight and it’s hard to draw in a breath with her standing so closely.

He can’t possibly let her think for one second that he doesn’t want to be exactly where he’s stood right now, wrapped up in her arms. "Nah. It's our song," his grip at your waist tightens as he realizes the implications of what he’s said and how heavy his words feel sitting in the space between them, so he clears his throat and adds on, "Tradition," like a coward.

Her smile stretches across her face and he feels like he’s laying in the sun, bathing in her brightness. His heart is flying that he’s still allowed anywhere near her and didn’t ruin everything they had worked towards with the foolish bouquet toss. He spins her under his arm and pulls her back, as close to himself as he can, not willing to let her go for the rest of the evening.

High on the dancing and wedding and endorphins, he kisses her cheek without thinking about it as he drops her at her apartment after the wedding. He’s too scared to see her reaction so he walks back to the elevator with his whole body on fire, and hopes the hallway is too dark for her to tell his ears are a hot shade of crimson during his retreat.

That night he lies in his bed, scrolling through the photos Jo snuck of them dancing, beatific smiles on their faces and close enough that no one would suspect that they didn’t belong to each other.

______

The ball hooks to the left and he drops the driver onto the patch of astro turf and grabs his water, stepping back and watching Kevin drive one 200 yards, straight as an arrow.

“You’re not focusing, Vese. Your long game looks like shit.” He knows this.

“Just distracted lately,” picking up the club he plants his feet to the ground and rocks back and forth, getting his stance on an even keel before back-swinging with straight arms and following through. It hooks to the right this time. “Fuck.”

Kevin laughs at him, diggin in his cooler for a beer. “You gotta sort your head out man. Nut up or get over it. You know her, you’re going to have to make the first move, she’s not gonna do it.”

Jimmy takes the beer Kevin hands him, “I thought asking her to be my date to my best friend’s wedding and putting a garter on her thigh was pretty clear,” but Kevin shakes his head no.

“Bruh,” Kevin tilts his head to the side as if to say, don’t be a fuckin’ idiot, “Jo said she insists you’re just friends. Just figure it out so I can stop talking about you possibly banging my cousin. It’s getting kinda gross.”

He sees Kevin’s point; he still thinks Kev’s an ass, but he sees his point.

______

Obviously Kevin and Jo decide it’s time to take everything into their own hands.

Barely three weeks after Brady's wedding and he goes out with the two of them to a bar for some beers and food, maybe catch a little of the Sox game. It's a nice chill night and he enjoys the time away from his own thoughts mulling around, wondering how far he’s dug his own grave. He hasn't heard from her since the wedding and he thinks he may have fucked it all up, a beer and some food that's not on his usual diet plan helps.

Jo's sitting across from him, next to Kevin and going on and on about this baby she just pulled out a picture of. "He's so cute just LOOK at him!" Kevin is showing no fear at the clear and present baby fever, so Jimmy can tell he's actual facts in love. The kid’s cute; a little blond boy, rosy red cheeks, and at this rate Kevin and Jo will probably be showing him one of their own in a few years.

"His dad was my first boyfriend. He took my virginity at prom and now he has a BABY! I am old. I can't." She shakes her hand, palms out to demonstrate just how much she just can't. Jimmy's uncomfortable at best and not entirely sure where this conversation is going. Kevin smirks through the whole damned thing though. He feels like he’s not in on the joke.

The little bell above the door alerts him that someone new has entered the bar, but the Sox are turning a double play so he doesn't look over to see who Kevin's waving at.

When Jo's eyes light up with mischief, it becomes pretty obvious who's walking their way.

She slides in next to him and he smiles at her, unsure if she was in on the whole set up or not. Taking into consideration her matching confusion, he'd guess not.

"Didn't know you were coming, (y/n)!" She smiles down at him but her brows are still confused, scrunched together on her forehead. He slides over to make room and hands her a menu, which she starts to look over.

Jo can't keep herself still, practically vibrating out of her seat with frenetic energy. "We were just talking about the old days. Feelin' a little nostalgic." He suddenly knows where she’s going with her elaborate set up and his skin prickles, hot and cold.

"I was just telling the boys how I lost my v-card at prom to my first boyfriend. He just had a baby! How far we've come." (Y/n)'s knee is bouncing up and down and he can see that she's a little irritated at the conversation at hand, eyes glued to the menu refusing to look up.

"I wouldn't know about that Jo. Where's the waiter?" By the grace of God, he appears and everyone orders. It's silent after he leaves for approximately 30 seconds before Jo, apparently having forgotten every social cue she's ever learned, bulldozes the conversation right along, "You didn't lose it at prom?"

Jimmy wishes a lot of things; wishes he focused more in business class, wishes he was a little nicer to his siblings growing up, wishes he picked a different color on the Jeep he bought last summer. But, right now he wishes he could punch Jo right in the mouth.

"I didn't go to prom, actually," (y/n) answers, completely avoiding the question, but it makes his ears perk up.

Yes she did.

"Yes you did," he's blurted out before he can control his tongue. "You went with Brian."

She looks at him like he's on concussion protocol, "I think I'd know if I went to prom or not. My memory isn't that bad, Vese."

He controls the flare of hurt he feels at the nickname, "I hate that and you know it." She smirks, but otherwise ignores him; he doesn't miss Kevin and Jo looking on like they're an exhibit in the zoo.

He turns to her on their side of the booth, "No, you did. I heard him at hockey practice. He said he was asking you." It isn't something he'd easily forget- the stinging rush of jealous hearing Brian say he was asking her, paired with a hot flash of anger hearing him talk about her like another conquest. She squirms under his heavy gaze a little, but looks him in the eye when she answers.

"I mean, he did ask. But I said no." The waiter chooses the perfect time to interrupt the conversation, dropping plates down in front of everyone. Jimmy wishes he could punch him in the mouth too.

Kevin and Jo take the opportunity to make the flimsiest excuses he's ever heard to leave the table. They're probably better off without onlookers, honestly.

She's ignoring him having an existential crisis right beside her, watching the game and drinking her water. He can't let it go though, has to take his chance now before he doesn't get another.

"I, uh, really thought you went with Brian." The ‘why didn’t you’ is implied He can't look directly at her; she's like the sun- lighting up his world, he just hopes he won't get burned getting too close for his own good.

When she turns her gaze on him, she looks a little predatory. He likes it. He turns all the way towards her to give her all of his attention, the length of his thigh presses up against hers, "I didn't want to go with him. He was kind of a douche."

"All the girls liked him, though," Jimmy picks up his beer and rolls the cold glass between his hands, hoping to cool himself down. It was so long ago, but he feels like he has to know. He just wants to hear that she didn't like Brian, never liked Brian, didn’t even see him as an option.

"Yeah, the dumb ones," she grins at him before stealing fries off of Kevin's plate, slowly growing cold in his absence. Jimmy sighs, feeling relief crash his body like a wave.

"I wanted to go with someone else. I asked, but you know…" she shrugs. Maybe she really did ask him to prom because she liked him. His body stiffens at the thought of all the wasted years if that’s actually the case.

All this waiting and his stupid false nobility, not giving her the choice. He feels like a heel, "I guess I was pretty dumb back then too."

She doesn't let him wallow into himself and presses her thigh against his to get his attention, before shoving another of Kevin's fries into her mouth. "I mean, you went to Harvard, so how dumb can you really be, James."

"So," Jimmy stops and sighs, he has to tell her. "This is embarrassing, but," he can't go one more day with her thinking he told her no because of anything to do with her when the fact of the matter is that he was an idiot. Still is an idiot.

She puts her hand on his knee patronizingly, patting it gently, "You weren't shot down asking someone to prom, so how embarrassing could it really be?" Her smile is a little sad but it doesn’t reach her eyes and he can’t compute much with her skin on his.

"Touche, but for the record- I only said no because I figured you'd rather go with him. I just didn't want to get my hopes up only for you to change your mind when he asked you." By the time he’s done with his confession her jaw is on the floor and she seems genuinely surprised by his revelation.

Her eyes look a little watery but the smile reaches them, "You're right, Vesey. You are dumb." He knows his face matches, feels his heart go soft and mushy under her attention and he wants. Obviously that’s when Kevin and Jo return, because they’ve been nothing if not completely inconvenient in every aspect of his love life.

When dinner is over and everyone is getting up and ready to leave, he isn’t ready to say good night. They worked through a lot, but he’d be disappointed in himself if he didn’t have the courage to lay everything out on the table in front of her to accept or reject.

He grabs her wrist before she can get too far, thinking as quickly as he can, "I'm going to have another beer, wanna stay with me?" He doesn’t want another beer, just wants an opportunity to talk to her without four extra eyes peering into their conversation.

Everyone says their goodbyes and Jimmy heads to the bathroom. He washes his face in the sink and gives himself a mini pep-talk before walking back out to the bar. She’s sitting on a barstool waiting for him, "I didn't know what you were drinking or I would have ordered it for you."

"Oh, no. I'm good to go. I just wanted them to leave so we could talk alone. Is it okay if we go to my place?" She nods and hops down, following him out the door and into the warm summer night.

______

"Don't the Rangers pay you enough to live in a building with an elevator?" Jimmy laughs and she huffs and puffs, feet thudding up each step behind him. He lets them into his apartment, grateful his cleaning lady stops by every two weeks to tidy up.

She sits down on the couch and he sits next to her, probably too far in her personal space.

"I really wanted to go with you." There. He said it. It’s out there in the open. She just looks at him, wide eyed, so he continues to explain himself.

"If I had known you didn't want to go with Brian, I would have said yes when you asked." He looks down at his hands, wringing them and forcing the words up his chest and out of his mouth. "I know it was so long ago, but I just feel like I want you to know that."

She isn’t giving him much in the way of a reaction, staring at him with her head tilted sideways, with all of his words out there in the open, before a wide smile splits her face and puffs up her cheeks.

"You like me." He can barely look at her without feeling flames of embarrassment lick their way up his spine, and he hopes she won’t hold this over his head for the rest of his life.

He can’t even stutter out a response to her before she’s cutting him off, "No. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. You like me." It’s inevitable, this is the turning point of their relationship. She’s right and he has to be honest about it, no matter how it will change everything for better or worse. He bites his lip and nods.

"Yeah. I just… you know how I am. With feelings and stuff," it takes everything in him to talk about, what he feels is, his biggest shortcoming. He hates addressing feelings. He’d rather keep his distance with snark and wit and sarcasm, never letting anything close enough to affect him. But here she is, wormed right into his chest next to his heart. She could tear him open and destroy him if she so chose.

She’s intent on destroying him straight away it seems, because as he’s about to continue his poor explanation of his feelings. she closes the distance between them and kisses him hard on the mouth. She backs away when their teeth clash and laughs awkwardly.

"So aggressive," he laughs and wipes at his lip. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest at her nonverbal confession, "Slow down, we have lots of time now."

"We really don't though," he just about loses his breath at that, not sure how he’s going to get back in her good graces, "I have to be up in the morning so I don't have all night, Vese. Some of us have been patiently waiting for years."

"Yeah, some of us have been," he leans over and closes the space between them this time. He kisses her slowly and he’s sure if she’d let him, he’d never stop.

_____

Jimmy cries more than he expects when he sees her. She cries way less than he expects too. Everyone is surprising him today, but he thinks he has the best surprise stashed firmly up his sleeve.

When it’s finally time, he pulls her close, the new metal band on his left finger cold against his skin. She looks up at him in her sparkly, white dress.

"Vese," he smiles when it rolls off of his lips, happy the nickname can finally be something that binds them instead of making her feel so far from him like it once did.

"It's Mrs.Vese, actually, James," she snarks up at him, her arms around his neck and nails gently scratching the base of his skull like she knows he likes. The music swirls around him and Jo is happily engaged in flash photography behind his wife, definitely catching his love-sick smile for later blackmail.

"I can't believe you chose this song for our first dance," she pulls him into her as Elvis croons on about wise men and fools, "you hate this song."

He does, it’s true, but it’s brought them together against all odds. He’s overwhelmed with love, so he gives in and kisses her, closing his eyes against all the flashes going off around them. "I really do. But you like it, and I love you."

#jimmy vesey fic #jimmy vesey imagine #love songs #hockey fic #hockey imagine #buffalo sabres fic #buffalo sabres imagine #hockey rpf #companion pie #writing #long post

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voyager-into-the-unknown · 5 years ago

Text

An Afternoon in the Garden

This is my very first fanfic. It is Plance fic, of course, with a brief mention of Kallura.

Comments and reblogs are always welcome.

“An Afternoon in the Garden” by truegryffindorforever2

Lance had roamed the corridors of the Galaxy Garrison’s Science Division for three quarters of an hour, searching for a particular petite young scientist. He was determined to find her before he lost his nerve.

“You’ve got to do it today, you coward,” he said to himself. What would Hunk think of him after what he confessed over breakfast this morning? He would never forgive himself if he chickened out. After all, he was a Paladin of Voltron. He had faced down Galra soldiers, giant robeasts, space pirates, bloodthirsty alien monsters, and even a space mall cop. He could do this.

She wasn’t in her usual place, working alongside her brother in the robotics department, nor was she in her own office, writing code on her laptop. He didn’t find her assisting her father in one of the engineering laboratories either. There was one more place he had to check before leaving, which was Colleen’s hydroponics lab. He approached the door, noticing the holographic poster advertising the upcoming Garrison Ball. His heart began to beat faster and his palms began to sweat. Maybe he could talk to her tomorrow...

“Hey, Lance!” He nearly jumped out of his skin. There she was, round glasses perched on the end of her little upturned nose and thick, unruly brown hair crammed into a messy ponytail. (When had it gotten so long that she could do that? How would she look with her hair down around her shoulders? Her eyes were so pretty...how would she look without those glasses on? Stop staring, he told himself.)

“Uh, hi, Pidge. I was just looking for you actually. Need any help?” She was carrying a tray of little green seedlings, suspended in a nutrient solution.

“Mom has been in a meeting all afternoon, and I promised her I would check up on her experiments. There’s another tray exactly like this one that needs to be moved to greenhouse three. See it over there?”

“Yeah. I’ll get that for you.” He picked up the tray and followed her into the greenhouse.

“These are ready for 12 hours of simulated radiation from a type G2 star,” she said putting her tray down under the designated sun lamp. Lance placed his tray of seedlings next to hers.

“Trying to see if these will grow in earth-like conditions, right?”

“Yep. Now I need to check on the growth of the tomatoes on aisle seven, and I’ll be done here. What’s up?”

“Well, I was wondering about something. Did you see all of those holos reminding everyone about the Garrison Ball?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a holo to remind me about that. Mom has been nagging me to go shopping for a new dress every day. She expects me to go to the ball whether I have a date or not.”

“But you don’t have a date yet, right?”

“Look, if you’re just came down here to make fun of me too, Mom already does that.”

“No, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Well, there’s this girl I really like, and I want to ask her to go to the ball with me, but I am afraid to do it. Help me, please.”

“Don’t tell me that you are afraid of being rejected. That never stopped you from asking out girls before.”

“It’s more than that. This girl means everything to me. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Um, you know that Keith has already asked Allura to go to the ball with him, and she said yes, right?”

“This isn’t about them. I got over my crush on Allura ages ago.”

“Oh, really?” Pidge raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, if this girl you like is so important to you, you should just tell her how you feel about her.” She crossed her arms and stared at him as if to challenge him.

“It’s not that easy. If I ask her out and she says no, it might make things weird between us. She might not want to be around me anymore.”

“But what if she says yes?”

“Then we will start dating, and I will inevitably say or do something stupid and she’ll break up with me and then she won’t want to be friends with me anymore and I won’t be able to handle it. I can’t lose her. She’s one of my best friends in the entire universe!”

Pidge smiled up at him, her cheeks slightly pink, and her eyes full of hope. She smirked and said, “But suppose you say and do stupid things around her all the time, and she still loves you anyway.”

Lance groaned. “Thanks, Pidge. That’s the way to boost my self-esteem,” he said, and then sighed. “I’m hopeless.”

“Well, maybe you came to the wrong person for advice about dating, since, according to my mother, I’m the one who’s hopeless. She makes fun of me all the time for having a crush on a boy that barely even realizes that I’m a female, and who flirts with every pretty girl he sees right in front of me, as if I don’t even exist!”

Lance gaped at her, speechless. Could it be? Was he imagining things? He blinked. There was a long silence, as Pidge stared at him, her face red with anger.

Lance stood with his feet apart and fists on his hips. “Do I know this boy you like so much? He sounds like he’s kind of a jerk.”

Pidge turned away from him. “He’s not a jerk,” she said in a small voice. “He’s actually really sweet, and clueless.” She sniffled. Was she crying? This boy had hurt her, and at that moment Lance wanted to punch him, whoever he was. “Do I know this guy? What’s he like?”

“Tall.” Pidge sniffled a bit as she wiped her eyes.

“Tall? Pidge, compared to you, every guy is tall. Give me something to go on here.” She laughed quietly, then turned to him. She took off her glasses to wipe away the last of her tears, then seemed to brace herself, as if to face a new challenge or to do something foolishly brave.

“Um, okay. He’s a great pilot. He’s a daredevil...fearless, or at least he pretends to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I know he gets really scared sometimes, but he always overcomes his fear, especially when someone he cares about is in danger. He loves his family and friends so much that he wouldn’t hesitate to protect them by putting his life on the line to keep them safe. He would even do that for a total stranger if it was the right thing to do. He’s saved countless lives. He’s a real hero.”

“Wow...I...” Lance began. “He sounds like an amazing guy.”

Pidge looked up at him with shining eyes. “He is, but he often doesn’t realize it. He’s fun to be with, and has a great sense of humor. He always makes me laugh when I least expect it. And he’s kind. He has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I know, and he desperately wants to love and be loved in return. And the saddest thing of all is that he sometimes thinks he doesn’t deserve that kind of happiness.” The tears rolled down her cheeks once more, but she made no effort to hide them this time. Even though Lance knew his own eyes weren’t dry, he moved closer to her, lifted her chin, and brushed away her tears with his thumbs. Her golden brown eyes were so big, he could have gotten lost in them. He felt a pang of jealousy directed at this boy that Pidge apparently had a crush on.

“I’ll bet he’s totally ugly though, am I right? Probably looks like the back end of a weblum or something.” He wiped his face on the sleeve of his uniform.

Pidge giggled. He grinned at her. “Eh, not really. I’d say he’s okay-looking.”

“Okay-looking?!” Lance said in mock offense. “I imagined your Mr. Perfect as being some drop-dead gorgeous guy. You know...like me.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and they both laughed.

“Well, some girls thinks he’s handsome. I guess I think he’s at least kind of cute.”

“Kind of? Just how cute is he?”

“As cute as a yalmor.” Lance cackled, then eventually frowned, remembering something she once said. There was a long silence between them.

“Lance?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Yeah, that usually takes a while.”

“Hey!” Lance cried, pretending to be offended, but then he grinned at her.

“I didn’t say that he was smart,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I never said that the guy I like is smart...especially when it comes to figuring out when a girl likes him.”

“Well, if he’s so slow on the uptake, maybe you should just tell him exactly how you feel about him.”

“Hmm...no. I think the guy should make the first move.”

“Sure. But do you know how terrifying that is?” Lance began to ramble, without thinking. “Even if the girl I lo—like says yes, she might make fun of me for being such a hopeless romantic. She’s already one of the people I care about the most in the entire universe. I’m afraid if we start dating I will ruin our friendship because, let’s face it, Pidge. I’m an idiot. I’m bound to do something stupid.”

“I know you will, Lance, but if this girl is really worth it, then that’s a risk that you’ll have to take. It’s like my father always says: If you worry too much about what could go wrong...”

“You might miss your chance to do something great,” he finished. It is now or never, he thought. Do it now, before you lose your nerve.

“Pidge,” he began, then stopped. “Meeting You was the greatest thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. You are my best friend. You make me laugh like no one else can, and you make my head spin with how incredibly clever you are. You’re courageous and kind, and honestly I think you are as beautiful as you are brilliant, and that is saying something because you are one of the smartest people I have ever met. Will you go to the Garrison Ball with me?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” she said with a lopsided grin. She was teasing him, of course, but Lance panicked, once again fearing rejection.

“Pidge!”

She giggled. “Of course, I will go to the ball with you...I just wanted to see the look on your face when—“

Lance didn’t know what she was going to say next because he cut her off with a loud whoop, and then picked her up in a tight hug. “That’s a yes, then. You are actually going to go on a date with me.”

“Yes, I am actually going to go to the ball with you, Mr. Perfect.”

He set her down, beaming at her. “Then that boy you have a crush on—“

“Is you. It’s always been you, ever since we were cadets,” she said softly, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the lips. Lance leaned down and kissed her back, feeling her fingers ruffling his short, messy hair as he held her in a warm embrace. Kissing her was as thrilling as flying, and his heart raced just as fast as it had the first time he flew Blue Lion. She had been clinging to him with urgency then as well. They deepened the kiss, and his heart beat even faster, like the first time he flew Red. He realized that in that moment he was the happiest he had ever been. It was better than being accepted into the Garrison, better than becoming a Paladin, even better than being chosen as Black Paladin (not that he fantasized about that...much.) He would have hoped to stay like this forever, cradling her slender body in his arms, and kissing her with such tenderness until...

“Katie? Are you down here, sweetheart?”

Lance and Pidge immediately broke their kiss and sprang apart from each other. Pidge mouthed the words “It’s my mom!” She smoothed her rumpled lab coat.

“I know!” whispered Lance frantically, as he finger combed his hair, but it stood up at odd angles anyway. Both of them were blushing as red as Colleen’s tomato plants.

“There you are! Katie, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Oh! Hello, Lance.”

“Mom! Um, we were just down here, um...”

“Watering the plants,” said Lance, trying to finish her statement.

“Lance, dear, this is a hydroponics garden. The plants are watered all the time. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were up to something. Anyway, Katie is going on a trip to the mall with her mother. I’m helping her pick out a new dress for the ball, whether she likes it or not. She thinks that because she can’t get a date that I will excuse her from going—“

Pidge interrupted her mother. “Mom, I have a date.”

“More than a date,” Lance added. “She’s got a boyfriend.” He draped one long arm around Pidge’s narrow shoulders in an all-too-familiar way to emphasize what he was saying. Pidge gave her mother an impish grin.

“Boyfriend?!” Colleen sputtered, clearly in shock.

“Yes ma’am. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to tag along with you two lovely ladies on your trip to the mall. I need to rent a tuxedo.”

#plance #pidge #katie holt #lance #colleen holt #flirty robot #vld lance #vld pidge #lance mcclain #voltron #vld #kallura

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7team7 · 5 years ago

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SasuSaku Month Day 6: Sharp Edges

Title: a paper crane for a paper heart // rating: T (warning: major illness, angst) // Sakura is very sick. Sasuke wishes she would just get better, so he folds one thousand paper cranes. // ao3 link

A/N: Inspired by the book “Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes”, it was one of the first books to ever make me cry as a kid. My mom was a teacher and she used to read it to her class and she gave me to book later. Based on a Japanese legend, making a thousand origami cranes is said to make a wish come true.

---

“And then you fold this part over like that, and you have a crane! Well, yours is looking like it could use some work, Sasuke-kun. Make sure to fold it so you have clean, sharp edges. Like mine.”

Sasuke hated this. He didn’t see the point in this. He didn’t know all of the details, but Sakura was very, very sick. Even dying. The fact that they were folding cranes while she sat in her hospital bed said it all. He grew more frustrated by the day; she should be back at school, at his house for dinner, at the gym, at the sweets shop—anywhere but here. He yearned for their younger days when they daydreamed about the future and folded paper airplanes full of hope instead of cranes weighed down by tragedy. The hospital made Sasuke exceedingly uncomfortable, but he’d be damned if he missed even a moment of what could very well be Sakura’s final days.

And Sakura, ever the curious one, ever the optimist, took the experience as a time to learn. She was a great patient, allowing a million tests to be done on her for research purposes, asking all sorts of questions because she was genuinely interested in medical practice. When Sasuke asked her why she kept prodding the nurses for more information instead of relaxing in her bed, she just smiled at him and replied, “I’ll need to be prepared for my future career, right?”

If it were anyone else, Sasuke wouldn’t humor them, but this was Sakura, and he’d do anything for her. Really, even fold as many paper cranes as he could manage. Even when she was napping, which was becoming more frequent as her strength left her little by little, he folded. This side over that, taking care to make sharp edges. Nothing but neat, clean cranes would do.

---

Once, he was so distracted while fiddling with a half-finished crane, he gave himself a nasty paper cut. He had been staring at the tiny form on the hospital bed, consumed by his thoughts of a future without her when he sliced a thin line clean across his palm. Stupid cranes. Stupid sharp edges.

He hated how that phrase said by her soft voice kept ringing in his head. That’s what Sakura was: pink, soft, warm. If someone was all cold and sharp edges, it was Sasuke.

When he wasn’t with Sakura, it was more apparent than ever. He snapped more easily, got less sleep, zoned out when others spoke to him. His mind was always on Sakura, Sakura, Sakura. It felt pretty twisted: he had always felt happiest with her, but her condition made his mood incredibly sour. The only person he had ever felt comfortable enough with to talk about his feelings was Sakura. But he couldn’t burden her with his fears and grievances, not when she was the one teetering between life and death each day. Sasuke’s heart hurt so much, he sometimes felt like he was dying too.

So he kept folding, if not to just have an excuse to stay by her side without speaking. He wasn’t sure what he could even say to her at this point. His mother had already tried talking to him about the stages of grief he already seemed to be experiencing, like anger and denial, but he just walked away from the conversation to go visit room 707.

It had been a month since that talk and she hadn’t attempted to reason with him since. After he came home from the hospital that day was the first time he had allowed himself to cry in a long time.

---

Sakura’s illness scared him even more because it seemed devastatingly similar to Itachi’s. His beloved older brother was sick for a long time before he couldn’t hold on any longer. If the same thing happened to Sakura, Sasuke wasn’t sure what he could do to keep himself together. She was such an integral part of his life; losing her would be like getting half his heart scattered to the wind.

He loved Itachi deeply, but differently; their relationship was something he was born with and could always count on to be there, no matter what he did. Itachi would love him always. But he made the choice to love Sakura everyday, instead of pushing her away like he did in the past. She was the first to offer comfort when Itachi died, even when he lashed out at her. She had helped him to restore a sense of normalcy, but he couldn’t return the favor.

But where had he gone wrong? He couldn’t take any of it back now, even if he was hurting. Maybe if he had made different choices in the past, he could’ve protected her from something, anything. Maybe they wouldn’t be in the situation they were in now. He felt so helpless. What was the point in having her by his side, knowing her, loving her, all in the past when she was about to be ripped away from his future?

---

Even as his thoughts walked themselves in circles, he couldn’t imagine a life without Sakura, no matter the situation.

So he kept folding. Sharp edges on all the cranes: big, small, patterned paper, plain paper. Lots of pinks and greens. A part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, if he had wished hard enough and folded enough cranes back then, his brother would still be with them. So he would keep trying for Sakura.

---

When she first showed him the stacks and stacks of papers for the cranes, he asked her what she was going to wish for. She laughed at him, “I can’t tell you! If you tell someone your wish, it won’t come true.”

Even though she was smiling, Sakura didn’t bother asking Sasuke what his wish would be. They both knew what Sasuke was going to wish for and it was breaking their hearts.

He kept folding.

---

He was quite proud of himself and ready to show Sakura when he finally reached the last crane to fold. He swung by room 707, just to find the bed empty. His stomach dropped and he immediately thought the worst.

“Where is she? Where is Sakura?” he started shouting to no one in particular. He started to panic when no one answered and he slid his back halfway down the wall with his head in his hands. Was she...? Why didn’t anyone tell him? They knew him since he was here almost everyday, they had his phone number after he insisted on being added to her emergency contacts list.

A kind nurse hurried over from the counter, “She’s not here anymore. I guess it all happened too quickly for anyone to let you know.”

Sasuke thought he was going to vomit.

“They moved her to a different unit this morning.”

“A different unit? So she’s not...dead?” his voice cracked and saying the word out loud nearly made him choke. “She’s okay for now?”

The nurse smiled gently at him, “I think she’s going to make a full recovery. The esteemed doctor Tsunade came to town yesterday and it turns out she’s been doing years worth of medical research related to Sakura’s illness. She’s going to be able to help Sakura.”

Sasuke didn’t realize how much he had been shaking until his knees gave out and he fully collapsed to the ground. “Can you tell me where she is? I have something to give to her.”

The nurse took pity on the kid and told him, even if protocol might say otherwise. Young love was really something.

---

Sasuke rushed up the stairs to the fifth floor, going through what felt like an endless maze of stark white, fluorescent lit hallways. His heart was pounding, nearly drowning out the sound of the hospital’s endless conversations and crying and beeping equipment.

He finally rounded the corner to face a huge pane of glass. Sakura. It had to be her, there was no one else with that hair. But he couldn’t get a clear view, a blonde woman he had never seen before was talking to the many other doctors, who he recognized as Sakura’s doctors, in the room. It almost looked like she was teaching them something. Even reprimanding them. Was this the doctor the nurse downstairs had told him about? Sasuke didn’t care who was in there, as long as they could make Sakura healthy again. He took a seat across from the window so he could still glance inside while folding.

Just one more. One more crane with meticulous sharp edges, and he could make his wish. The paper he chose for the final crane was a beautiful floral pattern, all pinks and greens and the feeling of spring and hope. A new beginning, a new life.

“Hey kid,” a voice called. Sasuke looked up from the crane to see the blonde woman poking her head out of the door to Sakura’s room. “She keeps asking for you so hurry up, get in here.”

Sasuke scrambled to get out of his seat, nearly dropping the crane in his haste. As soon as he reached her bedside, Sakura sat up. It had been a while since she could do that on her own. She smiled with more brightness than he had seen in a long time and said softly, “Dr. Tsunade is so smart, I’ve learned so much.”

“And I’m going to be fine.”

Sasuke didn’t trust his voice at the moment, so he wordlessly presented the thousandth crane. Sakura carefully took it from his hand to place it on the bedside table, next to the very first one he made with her. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.”

His heart felt like it was made of paper: it had nearly been torn in half, but it was going to be all smoothed out soon enough. What mattered was that his was still beating along with hers.

One thousand paper cranes, one wish.

One boy and one girl who would do anything for one more day together.

---

A/N: Who would I be if not a writer who includes happy endings every time (even if it is kind of deus ex machina ish lol)!! Hope you still liked it

After I wrote this I realized I could’ve gone with something inspired by AKB48’s 365 Nichi no Kamihikouki/365 Days of Paper Airplanes, so I added the paper airplane part in the beginning. I really love that song :)

something fun is coming tomorrow so please look forward to that!

#ssm19 #sasusaku month #ssm19d6 #my writing

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merritidings · 5 years ago

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Character Questionnaire: Merrinyn Delorsath

BASICS -

1. Height?

5′5″. (She is of average height. At least in her former settlement.)

2. Eye colour?

Black. (It’s actually dark blue.)

3. Do they need glasses?

No. (That doesn’t stop her from wearing one whenever she feels like it.)

4. Scars and birthmark?

None. (It’s hard to get scars when you’re always far from the action, drowning in books. She did get a paper cut a few days after leaving her old settlement, settling for the surface to learn more about this part of the world, though that amounted to nothing more than a few minutes of annoyance.)

5. Tattoos and piercings?

None.

6. Right or left handed?

Right-handed. (For a time in her youth, she instead she was ambidextrous. That was until she figured out the word she was looking for was “amphibious”.)

7. Any disabilities? Physical or mental.

None. (She can’t pronounce the letter “R” if it’s in the last syllable of a word, as in “wafer” or “paper”, ending up either mispronouncing it as the letter “W” instead, as in “wafew” or “papew”, or accidentally speaking in a British accent. Don’t tell her I told you this. She’s very sensitive about her rhotacism.)

8. Do they have any allergies?

None. (...though she once almost died after eating crab. That was most likely due to improper cleaning of the food. It never happened again. Strange.)

9. Favourite colour?

Seafoam Green. Or blue. (She also likes pink.)

10. Typical outfits?

Whichever works, really. I prefer clothing that would not impede my mobility over clothing that’s all for show. (She used to wear simple sleeveless, collarless, pants-less garments made of coral, see below, until she moved to the surface-world where a kind old lady gave her common clothes for free because she looked “cold” and “very naked”. Still, she tends to rip out the sleeves and collars and even pant-legs of her clothes whenever she feels like it, usually when she’s near the water and there’s no tedious socializing to be had.)

11. Do they wear any makeup?

No. (She does, but only rarely and mostly during “special” occasions.)

12. What weapon do they use, if any?

Between my magic and my staff, I can be quite the formidable fighter. (She isn’t. She has also been thinking of acquiring a trident recently. Three pointed tips are better than one blunt head.)

PERSONALITY -

13. Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

Neither. I dwell in between optimism and pessimism. Nothing is ever absolutely positive or negative. There is also the middle, and there I thrive. (Technically, she’s more optimistic, considering she’s always optimistic that each day holds new things for her to learn. She does get pretty pessimistic when things don’t go her way, though, especially if she becomes obsessed with learning about something and her progress somehow gets impeded.)

14. Are they introverted or extroverted?

Neither. I am an ambivert. (Mostly true, though she leans more towards being an introvert, as she spends more time being an introvert, with all her research and reading; however, she doesn’t get drained as much when she has to be an extrovert, though she tends to avoid opportunities where she has to be one.)

15. What are their pet peeves?

When someone interrupts my research on anatomy by slaying the creature I am to observe. *very audible sigh* Brutes... (She also can’t stand people who can’t wait in line, even though she herself hates lines.)

16. What bad habits do they have?

Someone once said I’m terrible with making friends, though to be fair, I’m here to study and learn, not to make friends. (She spends way too much time with her books and research and not enough time connecting with real people. It’s uncertain whether this is because she’s such an obsessive sage or it’s just a triton thing.)

17. Do they have any phobias?

I fear nothing. Fear only exists when one does not understand something. I seek to understand everything. I do not fear. (Insects, especially flying insects, specifically cockroaches. She thinks they’re gross and they always have the high ground when it comes to the element of surprise. She’d probably like them if they were larger, though, since she’d at least be able to keep them from entering her orifices without permission. Oh, and falling from great heights. She hates that.)

18. How do they display affection?

I don’t. Affection is unnecessary. As long as you are useful and efficient, you are. (She really doesn’t. At least, she doesn’t know how to. Even her compliments are awkward and strange.)

19. How competitive are they?

Competition is good as motivation for personal growth, but only when it motivates a competitor towards personal growth. (She isn’t as competitive as others are, though it’s mostly because she’s a triton and tritons don’t really consider surface dwellers as competition. At least, that’s what she believes.)

20. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

No response. (It differs on a daily basis, more like it adds up, but she doesn’t take to it like changing herself because she doesn’t like herself. It’s actually more of changing something here and then something there to unleash the full potential of her existence. Like having eyes that see better in the deepest dark or gills that can allow her to safely breathe in any environment. It’s alteration in the spirit of evolution, not alteration because of emotions.)

21. Do they have any obscure hobbies or routines?

Is collecting forks an obscure hobby? (It is.)

BACKSTORY -

22. What are the names and ages of their close family members? Parents, siblings, etc.

My father’s name is Mernes and my mother’s name is Erryn. I have one older brother, Jharvas, and no other siblings.

23. Is their family alive and are they still in contact with them?

Yes, they are all alive and well. My father and my mother live together back home while my brother has also set out to, according to him, find himself. I’m certain he’s simply pursuing the vampire woman again. Men have never been quite as smart as us. (Her brother is indeed with a female vampire but he’s not pursuing her. They’re working together, trying to make a life with each other.)

24. Where are they from? City, nation?

I’m from the sea, the depths of which no surface dweller may survive. (Her settlement is within the oceans east of Hegaehend, far east. They call it the City of Sh'lafijn, though others simply refer to as Marai.)

25. Did they have a childhood best friend?

I had childhood friends, though I don’t think it wise to select from them a singular best. (She does. Her name was Dhorimyn. They’ve lost contact over the years. The last she’s heard of her, Dhorimyn had left their settlement for parts unknown.)

26. Have they had any pets?

I had a pet shark named Kadita. (They’re dead now.)

27. Did they grow up rich or poor? What were their living conditions like?

We used to move a lot when I was but a young girl. It took my parents a while to settle down in a place of our own. We were neither rich nor poor. We were in the middle.

28. What is their educational background?

I went through formal schooling, learned from the greatest mentors of my settlement, and grew into a fine sage. I learned more on my own than I did with anyone. (She’s not kidding. Her curiosity actually led to her amassing more knowledge about things outside of their settlement than the “greatest mentors” of their settlement, which were the only 10 triton scholars of their settlement.)

29. As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up?

I always wanted to be a scholar, and now, here I am. (At one point, she also wanted to be a kraken. She thought having more limbs would be efficient. She was three.)

30. What advice would they give to their younger self?

If I ever, for some strange reason, meet my younger self, I would simply tell her to continue swimming towards her current path. She will become me, and I am the best she can ever be. (We’ll agree to disagree.)

31. Growing up, were they ever bullied or were they the bully?

I was never bullied. I never bullied anyone. I just didn’t have the time. All my focus were on my studies and my research. (She was bullied. For being too absorbed in her studies. She was often referred to as the “teacher’s suckerfish” by the other children. To this day, she still thinks it was a compliment because “a suckerfish assists its host by feeding off of its parasites.” She wasn’t wrong.)

32. Who do they look up to/who is their role model?

No response. (She currently doesn’t look up to anyone, especially since she’s out of the sea and she takes to surface dwellers as subjects to study, not mentors to put on a pedestal. She used to look up to an older mentor from her settlement but he died after trying to “befriend” a female shark as a male shark, so that was that. It’s a long story, and it’s not what you think.)

PRESENT -

33. Do they currently have a place of residence?

I rented a small place for me and my...friends in Arx, at the Whale Water Port. It’s close to the water, plenty of fish, and has access to several libraries and universities. It’s the best place for me here on the surface. (Remember the kind old lady who gave her free clothes because she looked “very naked”? That became her landlady. It’s a good place for someone living “alone”.)

34. What is their most treasured possession?

My most treasured possession? I suppose the letter from my late colleague could fill this role. For now. At least until I find the answer to his question, and I will. Eventually. (She’s not as into possessions as most people are, so having a treasured...item isn’t on her radar. That should change once she gets a particular trident, though, and maybe a particular cloak and a particular decanter to boot. Maybe.)

35. What is their drink of choice?

I don’t drink that much, but I seemed to have developed a taste for the drink called Bilgewater. It reminds me so much of home. (Bilgewater is of course the bluish-brown, sometimes jet black, concoction that's made by soaking the inner organs of various sea creatures soaking in a fermented brine and then running them through a sieve to remove the bones and viscera. It's usually on most tavern's menu for at least 5 copper pieces, or you can ask your friendly neighborhood fisher to brew you one for the same price. The only real side effect of this drink it that the lingering taste of rotten, brackish seafood remains on the palette for a few hours.)

36. Which king/queen are they loyal to, if any?

None have sought me out yet, so I’m loyal to none. That should change if any reach out and we find ourselves agreeing in our principles. (So long as she get to do her research, she’s not very picky on a monarch to side with, but only if completely necessary. She’d rather not get drawn to unnecessary conflict if they can avoid them.)

37. Have they ever killed anyone?

No response. (In every attempt at progress, there will always be a casualty or two. Maybe even three. It is rarely intentional, however.)

38. What was their last promise and did they keep it?

I promised my brother I’d stay with our parents, keep them safe... (She could not keep that promise.)

LOVE -

39. What was their first kiss like, if they’ve had one?

It was...wet. And pretty sloppy. The things we do to satiate our curiosity, right? (Of course it was wet. She was underwater. It was mostly sloppy because it was their first kiss, and her “research” partner was understandably nervous, especially since she secretly liked Merrinyn. They never spoke of it again, mostly because Merrinyn concluded that it was not a fruitful experiment and Dhorimyn decided to keep her secret her own.)

40. Are they in a relationship/have a love interest?

Love is an unnecessary distraction that I cannot currently afford. (She is too busy with her research to consider a relationship, any kind of relationship, at the moment.)

41. Have they ever been in love?

Like I said, an unnecessary distraction. (She has not, though she believes she has.)

42. Have they ever had their heart broken?

No response. (Numerous times: When her pet shark Kadita passed away, when her older brother Jharvas left them in pursuit of a vampire, when she slowly lost contact with Dhorimyn, and when her favorite mentor died to sharks while in the form of a shark.)

SPIRITUALITY - 43. Do they follow a god, if so who?

I don’t follow gods. I don’t have faith in them as much as others do. I only have faith in myself, in what I can see, and in what I can prove. (That said, she does appear to admire both Habbakuk and Melora, especially the latter whose stories and lore she views as quite inspiring.)

44. What do they think happens to them after death?

I cease to exist and my body decays to join nature and the sea. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.

45. What is their spirit animal?

A kraken. Definitely a kraken. (She’s more like a dolphin, but okay.)

#romtask #character development

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pastelbatfandoms · 5 years ago

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Get to know My Character

Taking this for My AHS Apocalypse Character.

01. What does your character’s name mean? Did you pick it for the symbolism, or did you just like the way it sounded? Her name is Helena and yeah I suppose I picked it for the symbolism. Her name does have the word HEL in it after all. 02. What is one of your character’s biggest insecurities? Are they able to hide it easily or can others easily exploit this weakness? Her Boyfriend/Future Husband Michael Langdon would definitely be a weakness other’s could use against her. Also Michael unintentionally does use her love for him to his advantage. Also fear of dying and becoming a Spirit again,to Haunt and nothing more. 03. What would be their favorite physical trait about themselves? Her Red hair,her figure that she definitely uses to her advantage. 04. What are their favorite traits about their lover? (one psychological and one physical) Just ONE?! ok...

Mentally Helena loves not only Michael’s Deviousness but his Innocence as well that few people,save for herself and Ms Mead,get to see or even understand.

Physically? I mean he is The Anti Christ he’s meant to be Beautiful. While he was younger he had an almost Angelic Beauty to him as he got older he exuded Charm and Sexuality.

05. Are they sexually confident or more of the shy type? Helena has never been particularly Shy,though she used to let Michael take the lead,once he was comfortable,often until she came back from Hell. 06. Do they have any hobbies that their lover finds unusual, odd, or otherwise annoying? lol No hobbies but,I suppose being Bratty or Obstinate when he’s trying to be Authoritative to others in The Santaury,or in general,peeves him a bit. And does not go unnoticed,usually resulting in a Punishment once they are alone. 07. Is there a catchphrase or sound that they tend to make a lot (likely without being aware of it)? Not that she knows. 08. What is, perhaps, their biggest flaw? Are they aware of this or oblivious to it? Is falling for The Anti Christ a flaw? I suppose that’s a matter of opinion. Falling for Serial Killers on the other hand... 09. Do they have a favorite season? What about a favorite holiday? Christmas? lol probably Samhain tbh. But they don’t Celebrate in Traditional ways. Being a Spirit for so long Helena doesn’t really notice the changing of the seasons until she becomes Human again and even then she doesn’t care to notice it much,though she does like The Sun,something She misses after The Apocalypse.

10. Is your character more feminine or masculine? Feminine all the way but she can still kick your ass or kill you. 11. What is something that would make your character fly into a rage? Losing Michael,Michael being hurt,also she is the Jealous type,as is Michael,so him flirting with someone else,whether it’s to Manipulate them or not,does rub her the wrong way. Usually resulting in Angry late night Sex. Which isn’t always a bad thing...

12. Is there some particular talent, skill, or attribute that they simply could not give up? I mean being able to talk to the living and have them see her while a Ghost was a perk. (and vice versa) As well as Generally being a Witch and The Demonic Powers she received while in Hell.

13. What are your character’s sleeping habits? Heavy or light sleeper? Blanket stealer? One that always rolls onto the floor? Pushes their lover onto the floor? Sleep talker or walker? They are both Light sleepers. Helena is not used to sleeping much since she didn’t have to while dead. Also who can sleep with all those Do Gooders and White Witches trying to kill you. 14. Do they live alone or with family? How do they feel about their family/roommates? Helena lived in The “Murder House” as it was coined years ago,so she’s always been around a lot of people,though I suppose LIVING isn’t the right word. When Michael brought her back Helena moved in with him and Ms Mead. 15. Is there a certain person in this world that they cannot stand? The very mention of this person’s name makes them tremble with anger or fear. Her Ex,Dandy Mott. But when that someone is responsible for your Murder you tend to hold a grudge. Helena used to be scared off him especially when she descended into Hell,the first time,and had to relive her Murder over and over again. Until Michael came to get her and Disintegrated Dandy for good.

16. Is your character the athletic type or more of a couch potato? What are some sports/games that they like? lol Neither. She keeps fit on The Hearts of her Enemies ;) 17. Does your character have dreams of getting married and/or having children? Yes and Maybe. Though I think Michael is more keen on Adopting. We’ll name her Sabrina... 18. What kind of home would they want to live in? Where would they place this abode? Somewhere Regal like a Mansion,A Castle or a Sanctuary. 19. Would your character be the kind to get into fights? (physical or verbal) Would they be a good fighter or cave in rather easily? Only if she were standing up for Michael,Lucifer ect.. or if someone said something she didn’t like and she was in a mood. Helena is an excellent Fighter now.

20. Does your character like animals? What are some of their favorite animals? Would they want pets? What about mythological creatures? Not be stereotypical but she really likes Snakes and Crows,as well as Raven’s. Her favorite Mythological Creature is The Cerberus.

21. What is one of your character’s biggest fears? How would they react when dealing with this fear? Helena has pretty much faced her fears. They’ve both Loved and Lost and Loved and Lost again.

22. What kind of tattoos, piercings, birthmarks, freckles, and other such unique physical features do they have? Helena’s features are quite normal,though she does have an Otherwordly Aura around her that only Magnifies once she Descends into Hell the last time. Also The powers that Lucifer Bestows on her can make her eyes glow and turn more Demonic. Helena is also more seductive and alluring once her and Michael reach adult hood,or Michael does anyway.

23. What is your character like when it comes to school? What subjects are they good/bad at? Do they get in trouble a lot or are well behaved? lol School they are well past that. She was very good in school and well behaved until she met Dandy,though she was still Book Smart. Dandy wouldn’t have it any other way. 24. In their own words, how would your character describe what their lover is like? What isn’t he like?... I will be making a A-Z Head-canons for what Michael is like Sexually,so stay tuned for that! 25. Is there something traumatic from your character’s past that greatly affects them even to this day? Her Death (Both when Dandy killed her and when The Coven did) The things that happened to her in Hell. 26. What is their lover like sexually? How do they feel about their lover’s quirks, needs, etc? ^^ See above. 27. If your character was going to get arrested, what would be the most likely reason for it? Killing Someone.... 28. If your character became a celebrity, what would they be famous for? A Model or a Famous Psychic/Tarot Reader. 29. What is one of the most courageous things your character has ever done for a loved one? Died for them. 30. When it comes to the arts (music, film, theater, etc), what does your character like? Anything Retro or Vintage (like from The 1920′s to 80′s) Classical Music or anything with a Dark Ambiance. After discovering TV again Helena recently fell in love with The Craft,Interview With a Vampire, (because Lestat reminds her of Michael),Dusk Till Dawn and AMC’s Freakshow (it reminds her of simpler times) She also has a weakness for Slasher Films. 31. Would your character be the kind capable of killing? Would they enjoy killing or only use it when necessary or, perhaps, refuse to kill no matter what? Yes and Both. 32. If your character’s lover offered to take them out on a dream date, what would they want to do? Just alone in there room,the two of them,or taking a stroll talking about anything & everything,including The end of the world. Michael is very curious. Followed by Ritualistic Sex that evening. 33. If your character wanted to be alone, where would they go? Helena rarely likes being alone as she was alone for far too long as a Ghost. But when she does need her down time she prefers practicing her Spells in The Woods alone at night or in her Darkened room with a glass of Wine while reading an Erotic or Historical Romance Series. 34. Does your character have favorite foods? (breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, snacks, etc) Not really. She prefers a good Home cooked Meal like Ms Mead or Constance used to make but she isn’t picky. 35. Is your character afraid of death? If they got to choose how to die, how would they want to go? pffft been there,done that. Twice. 36. Does your character have any medical conditions? Are they serious or minor? Do they affect their day to day life? No

37. What are some of your character’s pet peeves? What are some things that annoy them or disgust them? Being Disrespected,being made Jealous.

38. What kind of weather does your character like? Cloudy skies, rainy days, sunshine, etc? Again no Preference.

39. When people look at your character, is there some assumption they might make about them just by appearance? Is that assumption correct? Anything anyone assumes about her now is absolutely Correct. Except she is not being coerced into anything she says or does.

40. Does your OC have any guilty pleasures they enjoy? Hobbies, past times, music, etc that they wouldn’t want known by others? Already kind of answered this one. read Question 30. 41. Does your character’s family affect your character in any way? Her real Family are all dead. Her Surrogate Family mean the world to her though. Dead and Living. 42. Is there anything in your character’s past that they regret, haunts them, or they wish they could change? being taken advantage of by Dandy. Killing without a purpose or end game. 43. Does your character have a switch that changes aspects of their personality whether they are around friends, family, etc. Is there someone who gets to see their true self? Michael,Constance and even Lucifer always get to see her True Self. Though she can be a bit more on around Lucifer. 44. Is there a particular event that would emotionally devastate your character? Having Michael die in her arms would be traumatic,the way she died in his. 45. Is your character the kind to hide their true emotions or do they wear their heart on their sleeve? Depends on who it is.

46. What is some random affectionate thing that your character always does to their lover? They are not one’s for PDA but if Helena can tell Michael is getting worked up she’ll go over and gently squeeze his hand or put a hand on his shoulder,calming him with Magic. 47. Is your character outgoing? Would they be the leader of the friend group, or the quiet one that gets dragged along? Outgoing now for sure. Helena’s done being told what to do. Which doesn’t go over very well with Cordelia or Lucifer. She’s very much a leader,but will share the spotlight. 48. Is there anything in particular that would ignite your character’s jealousy? Or does your character not get envious? Um Obviously Michael being Flirty with someone else,especially a Follower. 49. What is something that your character has nightmares about? Are these frequent? Do they heavily affect your character’s mood? ^See Dandy. 50. If your character confessed love to their crush, boyfriend, girlfriend, etc, what would they say? She has or rather Michael just sensed it and told her he loved her too. Followed by a Passionate Kiss. It didn’t take long,they are destined after all. And have always been together in one form or another.

#ahs apocalypse #My OC #ahs fanfiction #michael langdon x oc

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jennycalendar · 6 years ago

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very really married (14/15)

read it on ao3!

i'm just going to pretend that i didn’t almost forget to post this extremely important update today. that’s what’s going to happen.

The moment Giles realized what the Codex said, he felt as though some final, vital part of him had shattered. Losing Jenny had always been an inevitability, but losing Buffy—he couldn’t contemplate it. This bright, brilliant child who stared death in the eye and laughed on a daily basis…he could not lose her too. Not so soon after he had broken Jenny’s heart.

He would check his translations, he decided, even as the earth shook and broke under his feet. He would check and double-check and triple-check and demand answers from Angel, and he would not tell Buffy about any of this until he had found a foolproof way to keep it from happening.

Everything in the Codex comes to pass, said a thoroughly unhelpful voice in the back of his head. Giles leaned against the checkout desk and stared at the semi-wrecked library, dazed by how rapidly it all seemed to have fallen to bits.

Giles threw himself into research. Buffy came in, the next morning, and he could barely register her presence through the haze of cross-referencing and recataloguing and attempting to repair the damage done by the earthquake on top of everything else. He was on autopilot, thinking only in terms of conjugations and typos and misprints—maybe the Codex meant fall, not die? Fall was more general, certainly, and could mean anything from death to the loss of Giles’s good opinion—but no, no, it translated to she will die—had he calculated the date incorrectly?

“Rupert,” said a voice. “Rupert.”

“Quite busy,” said Giles, not looking up from his books. “Library’s closed. Come again later.”

“I’m playing the wife card,” said Jenny firmly.

That made Giles look up. “Please don’t,” he finally managed.

Jenny flushed, ducking her head. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah. I guess if you’re living in a hotel, you don’t really get to play the wife card anymore, huh?”

“No, Jenny, I just—” Giles exhaled, frustrated. Why on earth couldn’t she have done this before Buffy’s impending death? “I am under a lot of stress,” he said. “I don’t think now is the time for you to—to reenter my life.”

“So I’m a stressor?” Jenny looked a mixture of indignant and hurt.

“You are someone I love who I hurt very deeply,” said Giles, “and I am terrified I will hurt you again. Please, Jenny, I-I am in no condition to even attempt at tactfulness—I am tired, and I have quite a lot of work to do—”

“I know,” said Jenny. “I thought that maybe I could help.”

This took Giles aback. “I’m sorry?”

“Buffy checked in with me today, and she said you seemed pretty seriously out of sorts,” said Jenny tentatively. “And I knew it had to be pretty bad if Buffy was concerned enough to check in with me about it, and—and the only things I could think of that might upset you enough to keep them secret all had to do with death and destruction and—”

“Buffy is fated to face the Master,” said Giles.

Jenny blinked. “The who now?”

“The Master,” said Giles unsteadily. “He is a very powerful vampire who trapped himself underground a very long time ago, and he has taken a particular interest in Buffy since her coming here. I discovered a prophecy yesterday that suggested—” He swallowed, then shook his head. “That explicitly stated Buffy would face the Master, and that she would die tomorrow night.”

Jenny studied him for a long moment. Softly, she said, “I’ve never once seen you so undone.”

“How can I not be?” said Giles helplessly. “She’s my—” He didn’t quite know how to describe what he felt for Buffy. Slayer seemed too clinical a term, suddenly; he would have been able to send his Slayer to die without hesitation. “I care very deeply for her,” he said. “And she is only a child. Sending her to die at the hands of a master vampire is, is something I could never do.”

“Your predecessors didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it,” said Jenny a little coolly.

It was then that Giles realized that Jenny had almost certainly read the same Watcher diaries as he had. Not only had she found out of his calling from a secondary source, she had received her only information about it from callously indifferent, utterly detached idiots, all of whom had prioritized their mission over love, family, and the life of the girl they had been charged with protecting. “I am not my predecessors,” he said. “I have no intention of letting a little girl die for the sake of the world, not if I have any way of stopping it.”

Jenny nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. Then let me help you.”

“Are you sure?” said Giles uncertainly. “You said you wanted distance—”

“Yeah, well, I think I can put that aside until we figure out how to stop this prophecy from going down,” said Jenny, giving him a small, tired smile.

Not for the first time, Giles was struck by how very remarkable Jenny was. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Jenny hesitated, then reached out, awkwardly squeezing Giles’s shoulder. Giles, who hadn’t been touched since the nightmare incident, couldn’t suppress a startled gasp, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You weren’t lying about…everything, were you?” she said. “Not about—not about hating computers, or, or liking tea, or—”

“Loving you?”

“Yeah,” said Jenny.

“I lied about being a Watcher, Jenny, but that is the only thing I lied about,” said Giles quietly.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though Jenny might kiss him; her eyes flitted down to his mouth, and she leaned in very slightly. But she seemed to think better of it, letting her hand drop and stepping back, and Giles found himself longing for the days when she would grab him and kiss him just to make a point or make him squirm. “Let’s, uh, get back to the Buffy thing,” she said somewhat loudly. “Where did you get the prophecy from?”

“Angel, actually,” said Giles.

Jenny looked startled. “Seriously?”

“Yes, he, he was very helpful,” said Giles awkwardly, raising his hand to straighten his glasses. “He did save my life last week.” Jenny drew in a sharp, pained breath, and he blinked. “Are you quite all right?”

“Your hand,” said Jenny.

Giles raised the hand in question, remembering belatedly that he had sustained a rather bad burn from his attempts to shut off the gas valve. But there hadn’t been time to doctor it properly—there never did seem to be time for that sort of thing. “Oh,” he said, and grinned a bit sheepishly. “Quite a lot better than it looks, actually. I can hold a pencil—”

Jenny looked as though she was about to cry. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah. Um, we should—we should really start in on the research. Can you maybe call in Angel and see if he can help us out?”

“Certainly,” Giles agreed, both bemused and concerned by Jenny’s reaction. The burn certainly would be healing better if he’d paid proper attention to it, but there truly wasn’t time to do such a thing when one was focused solely on the care and keeping of one’s Slayer. “If you could double-check my translations?”

“Sure,” said Jenny. “Sure,” and picked up the Codex, hurrying it out of Giles’s office. Giles watched her go, feeling a rather confusing blend of emotions, and then turned back to the phone. Angel wouldn’t be able to go outside till sunset, but calling him at least gave Giles something to do.

Angel arrived only a few minutes after sunset. Upon seeing him, Jenny stiffened, but her eyes were wide with an almost childlike curiosity. “Angelus,” she said.

Angel turned, studying her thoughtfully. “Ms. Calendar,” he said. “Buffy mentioned you, once or twice. You’re Giles’s wife?”

Jenny hesitated. Then she said, “My family’s kind of the reason you have your soul.”

It was a mark of how surprising the news was: Angel looked visibly taken aback. “What?”

“I, um, moved to Sunnydale to watch you,” Jenny hedged. “Technically. I feel like I should tell you because literally everyone else knows at this point and it feels weird for you not to? My family really wants to make sure you’re perpetually suffering. It’s kind of their thing.”

“Is that your thing too?” Angel asked carefully.

Jenny seemed to seriously consider the question. “I feel like I don’t know you well enough to make that assessment,” she said.

This seemed to satisfy Angel. “Okay,” he said. “Well. Nice to meet you. Giles, is this why you called me down?”

“Actually, um,” Giles picked up the Codex, now triple-checked by both him and Jenny, “there is something else about which we needed to inform you.”

Angel directed a slightly wary look at the Codex. Smart fellow. “Okay,” he said again.

Jenny stepped forward, placing a quiet hand on Giles’s elbow. “Um, Rupert and I have gone over the Codex…quite a few times,” she said. “And we—should I tell him?”

“I think that would be best,” Giles agreed. He wasn’t sure if he had the emotional energy to break the news to another person.

Gripping Giles’s elbow as if trying to support herself, Jenny continued. “We went over the Codex,” she said, “a-and we came across a prophecy regarding, regarding Buffy. And the Master.”

Angel stared blankly at him. Slowly, he said, “You’re not trying to tell me—”

“The Master will rise,” said Giles unsteadily, “and tomorrow night, the Slayer will die by his hand.”

Angel’s expression didn’t change. “Check it again,” he said. “It’s got to be wrong.”

“We’ve spent the last five hours checking it against all of Rupert’s prophetic volumes,” said Jenny quietly. “If we’re wrong, then so is this entire library.”

“There’s got to be some way around it—”

“Some prophecies,” said Giles, “are mutable. Buffy herself has thwarted more than a few of them. But there is nothing in the Codex that does not come to pass.”

“Then you’ve been reading it wrong,” said Angel fiercely.

“I wish to god we were!” Giles shouted, completely and finally losing his temper. “But there is no other way to interpret it! Tomorrow night, Buffy will face the Master, and she will die!”

“Have you—” Angel began, but the rest of his words were cut off by quiet, unsteady laughter.

Giles looked, horrified, over Angel’s shoulder. He knew that laugh, though he had never heard it in quite that cadence, and his stomach dropped when he saw Buffy standing in the library doorway. “So that’s it, huh?” she said. “I remember the drill. One Slayer dies, the next one gets called. Wonder who she is.” She turned to Giles, eyes almost too bright. “Will you train her, or will they send someone else.”

“Buffy,” said Jenny softly.

“They say how he’s gonna kill me?” Buffy’s voice broke. “Do you think it’ll hurt?” Angel moved forward to hold her, but she jerked back before he could reach her. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted at him, then turned accusing eyes on Giles and Jenny. “Were you guys even going to tell me?” she asked.

“We were looking for a way to stop it,” said Jenny.

“Here’s how,” said Buffy, shaking. “I quit.”

“It’s not that simple,” said Angel.

“No, I think it should be,” said Giles.

Buffy, Jenny, and Angel all turned to stare at him. “Rupert,” said Jenny, a warning note in her voice. “Remember all those prophecies we checked? Buffy’s supposed to be the only one—”

“I think I’ve had rather enough of this,” said Giles, not really to anyone in particular. “I think I am thoroughly bloody sick of having to live in a world where the people I care about are put deliberately in harm’s way just by virtue of cosmic chance. And I think I am entirely done sitting passively by and letting it happen.”

Buffy looked suddenly frightened, anger and misery forgotten. “Giles,” she said. “What are you—”

“Buffy, you are not going to face the Master,” said Giles. “Don’t worry yourself about it. It simply is not going to happen.”

“But you said—”

“I don’t care what I said,” said Giles. “If it comes to pass, it will come to pass no matter what we do about it. The least I can do is make sure I have done everything I can to stop it from happening.”

He couldn’t quite understand why Buffy didn’t look comforted, or why Jenny had gone ashen, or why even Angel looked a little concerned. All he knew was that preparations needed to be made, battles needed to be fought, evil defeated—

With a sudden sob, Buffy raced from the room, not looking back.

Giles didn’t have time to worry himself about what Buffy thought of him. He had plans of his own to finalize. “Jenny, thank you for staying, but I believe I would like to be alone right now,” he said. “Angel, the same applies for you. If you would just—”

“Rupert,” said Jenny, a warning look in her eyes. “If you’re about to do something stupid—”

“I am going to research,” said Giles, because it was true. He needed all the information he could to go after the Master.

“Then I’m going to help,” said Jenny. “That hasn’t changed.”

“I can help too, if you want,” said Angel uncertainly.

“This is married-couple stuff,” said Jenny flatly. “Thanks, thought.”

Angel got the hint. Quietly, and without protesting, he left the library.

“Wow,” said Jenny. “Buffy really picked a good boyfriend, huh? That guy takes directions like nobody’s business—”

“If you’ll look online, Jenny, I think I shall turn to my books,” said Giles loudly. He didn’t really feel like making conversation when Buffy’s life was at stake, and especiallywhen Jenny was smart enough to figure out what he planned to do from only a few context clues.

Jenny hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay,” and hurried to the computer.

They spent the entire night researching, and then some. Jenny called in sick the next day, and napped in Giles’s office when Snyder came around to ask Giles, in accusatory tones, where exactly Ms. Calendar was. Giles caught up on sleep only when he began to feel dizzy, and only in short fifteen-minute naps; he was a strange mixture of anxious and driven, and couldn’t bring himself to sleep for longer.

They heard over the intercom about three students found dead in the AV room, but by this point Giles was too tired and too resigned to mysterious deaths to really take much notice of it. It did sting, however, to notice that Jenny’s reaction was similarly minimal, save for a small flinch and an indrawn breath when it was revealed that Willow had found the bodies.

Buffy came in around sundown, wearing an oversized leather jacket over a long white dress. Prom was that night, Giles realized. Somehow, she looked older and harder than he remembered; the news of the prophecy seemed to have aged her beyond her years. “Hi, guys,” she said.

“Buffy,” said Giles. “Good. Stay here with Jenny. You’re not going down to fight the Master tonight.”

“Who else is gonna?” said Buffy simply. All the vindictive fury of the night before was gone, no sign of it remaining.

“I am,” said Giles.

Buffy didn’t look at all surprised by this pronouncement. Jenny, however, did. “No, you’re not—” she began hotly, storming forward.

“You’re right,” said Buffy. “He’s not.”

“There isn’t anything you can say to talk me out of this—” Giles objected.

Lightning-fast, Buffy moved forward, landing an uppercut to Giles’s jaw. Right about then was when everything went black.

Giles came to with Jenny slumped against his side, a bruise blossoming on her cheek. His jaw stung. Looking around, he saw that Buffy was gone, and he felt a rush of complete and utter panic. “Jenny,” he said, shaking her. “Jenny—”

“Rupert,” mumbled Jenny, nuzzling into his side.

“Jenny, Buffy is gone,” said Giles thinly.

That woke Jenny up. “What?” She blinked, then raised a hand to her bruised cheek, wincing. “Shit. She knocked you out, and then she said she was going to go down before anyone else got themselves hurt, and I said I wouldn’t let her, and then—uh.” She winced again. “That’s when it gets kinda fuzzy.”

“She’s going to get herself killed,” said Giles, already standing up. Jenny tugged, hard, at his arm, and he shook her off. “Don’t try and talk me out of this,” he began, crossing the room to grab a broadsword.

“Rupert, you’re going to get yourself killed—”

“Hell of a way to go, isn’t it?”

“You’re scaring me,” said Jenny. Her voice broke. “Please. We need to figure out what to do about the apocalypse before we go running off after Buffy.”

“I’ll let the children handle the research,” said Giles. “You can stay with them and supervise. I need to—” He swallowed. “I need to find Buffy.”

“And what happens if the Master takes you down?” Jenny demanded. “You’re the only other person with supernatural experience—”

“Go find Angel, then,” said Giles flatly. “I’m sure you can talk him into saving the world for Buffy’s sake.”

“Rupert—”

“Jenny,” said Giles. “This is my fault. I am going to go fix it.”

“How the hell is this your fault?”

Giles stared at her for a long second. Then he said, “I don’t know, but I think I should like it to be,” and turned to hurry away.

“Okay, genius,” said Jenny, and grabbed his arm, harder this time. Giles turned, a retort at the ready, but all intelligent thought left his mind when he saw the way she was looking at him. “It’s clear to me,” she said, “that there is absolutely no talking you out of this idiot idea, because when you get an idiot idea in your head, you cling to it like it’s one of your precious volumes. But I am not letting you charge down there without thinking—”

“Try and fucking stop me,” said Giles, attempting to shake her off. It didn’t work quite as well this time.

“Let me finish, asshole!” snapped Jenny, cheeks red. “I am not letting you charge down there without thinking, so I am obviously going to have to come with you.”

Just like that, Giles’s fury was gone. “No,” he said. “Jenny, no, that is out of the question—”

“It’s not up for debate,” said Jenny fiercely. “If you’re going down there, I’m going too.”

“You’ll get yourself killed—”

“What, and you won’t?”

“I can’t lose you,” said Giles, his voice breaking. “It’s bad enough to know I’ve broken your trust, Jenny, I cannot lead you to your death—”

“What’s going on?” said Xander uneasily.

Giles and Jenny turned. Xander and Willow were standing in the middle of the library. “We came to tell you that the faucet at my house started running blood,” said Willow, “but, um, it looks like you two are…” She squinted at Jenny’s bruised cheek, then at Giles’s jaw. “Trading punches?”

“No, that was Buffy,” said Giles without thinking, then winced. “A-and anyway, we really must be going—”

“Where is Buffy?” Willow asked, a note of worry in her voice.

“Somewhere,” said Giles. “Don’t worry about it. Jenny, why don’t you stay with the children and brief them on the situation?” Before Jenny could respond, he finally managed to shake free of her grip, hurrying out of the library without looking back.

He heard running footsteps behind him, and turned, infuriated. Sure enough, Jenny had sprinted out of the library after him. “No,” she said. “You are not getting off that easily. First of all, lead me to my death? As if I would follow you anywhere! If anything, I’d be leading you, because you clearly don’t even know where you’re going! Second, you are not throwing yourself into a suicide mission just because you feel like I’m never gonna trust you again, because that is so fucking stupid and you seriously need to get your priorities straight. Third—”

“She’s just a child, Jenny,” said Giles, a catch in his voice. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into, and she’s down there all alone.”

“I can’t—” Jenny scrubbed a hand across her face, shaking. “I can’t lose you,” she said. “Do you get that? I can’t lose you on the same day the Master kills Buffy. You’ve been the one constant in this fucked-up town, and if I lose you—”

Giles stepped forward, almost unconsciously. Jenny looked up at him, eyes bright and wet.

“Wait,” said Xander from behind them. “Wait. Buffy went after the Master?”

It suddenly and unpleasantly occurred to Giles that the time they had spent arguing was time during which Buffy might have already gotten herself killed. “Yes,” he said. “She did. And Jenny and I are going to go down and find her.”

Xander didn’t relax. Neither did Willow. “Do you guys seriously think that’s a good idea?” she said.

“Well, I definitely don’t think Jenny should come with me,” said Giles, “but I think I’ve wasted enough time trying to talk her out of it, and lord knows that is a futile endeavor.”

“We’ll go and get Angel,” said Jenny. “He’ll know how to get us to the Master. You kids need to research anything and everything that might lead us to where the Hellmouth’s gonna open up.” Her eyes were on Willow when she said, “I trust you know your way around the library?”

“What if you guys get killed too?” said Willow, voice wobbling.

“Counterpoint: what if we don’t?” Jenny stepped forward, pulling Willow into a tight hug. Over the top of Willow’s head, she said to Xander, “And if you follow us down there, I will kill you myself. Capisce?”

Xander didn’t look very happy about this, but he nodded. “You guys better bring her back alive,” he said.

Giles didn’t know how to make that promise. “Come on, Jenny,” he said instead. Without a word, Jenny let go of Willow, falling into step with him as they hurried out of Sunnydale High.

They arrived at Angel’s apartment in record time, thanks to some utterly reckless driving on Jenny’s part, and burst in without knocking. Without preamble, Jenny informed Angel, “Buffy went after the Master.”

Angel blanched. “He’ll kill her,” he said, horrified.

“That’s what we’re intending to stop,” said Giles matter-of-factly. “You know the way to the Master’s lair, I assume? We’ll need someone to take us there.”

Angel hesitated, studying Giles. Then he said, “You love her, huh?”

The Rupert Giles who had left England with thoughts of an obedient, dedicated Slayer would have balked at such a foolish question—or perhaps he might not have. Perhaps, Giles thought, this sort of love might have been in him all along, whether or not he had known it. “Very much,” he said.

Angel seemed satisfied with this. “He’s underground,” he said. “I can get you there.”

The tunnels were dark and dank, and Giles couldn’t stop thinking about how terrible a place this was for bright, brave Buffy to meet her end. Buffy had been nothing but light and youth, and the thought of her rotting away in some moldy enclave—

“Hey,” said Jenny, very softly, and he felt her hand slip into his, their fingers entwining. Belatedly, Giles realized that he was crying, and scrubbed hastily at his face, doing his best to regulate his breathing. Lord, and in front of Angel—

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Okay,” said Jenny, bumping her head against his shoulder. “Well, maybe the hand-holding isn’t to help you.”

Giles wanted rather badly to appreciate the possibility of a reconciliation with Jenny. He wanted rather badly to return to the time when it was Jenny’s leaving that had had him absolutely miserable. Then, at least, all the people he cared about had been alive, and there had been no chance of anything but that—

A bright light shone from a tunnel up ahead, and a ripple passed through the air. Instinctively, Giles knew what had happened; dropping Jenny’s hand, he ran.

“Giles, it’s too late, he’s gone up!” Angel was shouting after him, but Giles was running down the slippery tunnel, turning the corner, clambering down and into the Master’s lair and Buffy—

Buffy was lying, facedown, in a pool of water. Giles half-fell down next to her, pulling her clumsily out and into his arms. She was cold and wet, her hair falling in lank tendrils around her face, and she wasn’t—and she wasn’t—

“She’s not breathing,” said a voice that didn’t sound anything like his own. He could see Jenny and Angel scrambling to reach him, and turned his attention back to Buffy, her eyes closed. She had been so still and calm, when last he saw her. Always, she had been loud and lighthearted, never carrying herself like she was battle-worn. God, had he been foolish—thinking that her destiny didn’t weigh on her, thinking that she didn’t take it seriously, what had he been thinking? Buffy, dead—Buffy, dead and gone—

“Not breathing,” said Jenny, “does not necessarily mean gone for good.” She pointed to Angel. “We’ve got a walking, talking example of that right here.”

“The prophecy—”

“Fuck the prophecy,” said Jenny fiercely. “If she drowned, then there’s a chance. Do you know CPR?”

“Yes,” said Giles dizzily. “Yes, I—” He removed his jacket, setting Buffy’s—setting Buffy down on it as gently as possible, and was reminded of a time, months ago, when he had done just this in a science laboratory. He would do anything to protect this girl, he knew, and he knew that she could beat incredible odds— “Prove me wrong,” he whispered, and began the compressions, counting clumsily. He felt certain that he wasn’t strong enough, precise enough, enough—

Rescue breath. One, two.

“Shut up,” he heard Jenny saying to Angel, and he tried not to think about Jenny, or Angel, or Buffy, or the apocalypse around them, or how much time he might be wasting, trying to bring back a dead girl just because he loved her—

Rescue breath. One, two.

And what would he tell her if she was alive? That he loved her? He felt sure that she would laugh it off, and the thought of her laughing it off—of her laughing—made Giles smile, despite himself. She would laugh it off, and then she would give him that bright, sweet grin, and something would solidify between them—something not quite Watcher-Slayer, he supposed, something more along the lines of—she had a father, he knew, but—

Buffy coughed, and spat up a rather impressive amount of water all over Giles’s sweater vest.

“Oh my god,” said Jenny, and laughed, punching Angel’s shoulder. Angel winced. “Oh my god—”

Giles pulled back, taking Buffy’s hands in his. Buffy blinked up at him as if not quite sure who he was, coughed again, then sat up, staring at Giles with wide eyes. “Giles?” she said in a tiny voice.

“Buffy,” said Giles, and almost started crying when she pulled him into a crushing hug.

After that, the apocalypse really did feel like nothing at all. The Master was defeated, the Hellmouth beast retreating back from whence it came (Xander would inform everyone, proudly, that he got a good few hacks in with Giles’s battle-axe), and Cordelia Chase had somehow managed to destroy a respectable number of vampires with a rather expensive car—along with some school property, but Giles was off the clock and really didn’t care all that much anyway. He had more important things on his mind.

“—and then I flipped him through the roof,” Buffy was informing Xander and Willow, who were listening with rapt, adoring attention. “But you guys saw that part, obviously. I’m pretty sure almost everybody saw that part—Giles, you saw me flip him, right?”

“I did see you flip him,” Giles agreed, grinning. “You did excellently tonight.”

“Aww, you’re just saying that ‘cause I died,” Buffy teased, leaning into Giles’s side with cheerful ease.

“Absolutely not,” said Giles emphatically. “Never assume I praise you for anything other than your stellar achievements.”

“You know what?” said Buffy to Willow. “If this is how he acts after I die, I’m gonna die every day for the rest of my life.”

“Um,” said Willow, “logistically—”

Giles took this moment to tuck his jacket a bit more securely round Buffy’s shoulders. “I won’t have you catching cold,” he informed her. “That long in sewer water—it’s a wonder you’re not ill already.”

“You’re such a helicopter Watcher,” said Buffy, snuggling into the jacket. She buried her hands in the pockets, then stopped, a strange expression on her face. “Uh, Giles?” she said. “You, uh—want your jacket back?”

“Keep it,” said Giles. “Just till you’re a bit drier—”

“No, Giles, I really think you should take your jacket back,” said Buffy, and directed an extremely significant look first at Jenny, then at the left-hand pocket of Giles’s jacket.

“Wh—” The penny dropped. Wincing, Giles took the jacket back, took out the ring box as subtly as he could, then firmly tucked the jacket back round Buffy’s shoulders. “You still need to stay warm,” he said.

“It’s totally ruining my look!” Buffy protested.

“As you would say to me, deal,” said Giles, smoothing down Buffy’s hair. She grinned. “I really would have gone down there in your stead,” he informed her, grateful that the loud music of the Bronze muffled his words from the rest of the group.

“I know,” said Buffy, and her grin softened into the trusting little smile that, a very long time ago, Giles had seen directed at Jenny. “You did come running after me.” She reached forward, hugging Giles. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder. “You’re the best Watcher I’ve ever had.”

“The bar was set rather low, then, wasn’t it?” Giles quipped, hugging her back.

“Shut up,” said Buffy, pulling back to just keep smiling at him.

“Hey, uh, Buffy?” Angel was shifting from one foot to the other, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Um—if you’re not too busy—there’s a nice song on, I thought maybe—”

“Why, Angel, are you asking me to dance?” said Buffy, sounding positively delighted by the concept. She hopped up, giving Angel a big, smitten grin before turning back to Giles. “Love you,” she said, as easily and effortlessly as if she hadn’t had to think about it at all.

Giles found himself a bit overcome and had to polish his glasses. Buffy didn’t seem too surprised by this. “I—I love you too,” he said, though he supposed he didn’t really need to say it for her to know it. There wasn’t much else that could have motivated a Watcher to fight against a recorded prophecy.

Buffy’s smile was just as bright and sweet as Giles had imagined it to be—more so, in fact, now that he was seeing it. Tucking her arm into Angel’s, she let him lead her onto the dance floor.

“You know what?” said Willow. “Let’s cut a rug. Xander, you wanna come dance?”

“Uh, Will, I don’t know—” Xander began.

“Not with each other,” said Willow, rolling her eyes. “It’s gonna be a fast song soon!”

Xander considered, then grinned, following Willow into the crowd.

It took Giles a moment to realize that this left only him and Jenny. About to stammer out some excuse and head home alone, he opened his mouth, but was cut off when Jenny held out her hand. “Dance with me,” she said.

Heart pounding, Giles stood up. “All right,” he said, and took her hand, following her lead.

There was an empty space by the refreshments, and that was where Jenny draped her arms around his neck, looking up at him with all the affection he had been so afraid of losing. It left him all but speechless. “So you were a total stubborn idiot tonight,” she said. “Really reaffirmed some pressing questions.”

“Oh?” said Giles.

“Yeah,” said Jenny. “It was kinda hard for me to picture you as a Watcher till I saw it in action, you know? All those diaries I read had Watchers as self-serving bastards who talked about their Slayers like commodities, and that just…” She trailed off. “That didn’t fit with the guy I fell in love with,” she said. “But this night really, really does.”

Giles stared at her. Slowly, he said, “I don’t—I don’t entirely follow—”

“I love you, Rupert,” said Jenny, and oh, Giles had never dreamed hearing it from her might ever feel like this. Now he understood why she had looked at him like he was a treasure, after Angel; the head-to-toe feeling of being loved, of being known in one’s entirety and still being loved, was overwhelming. “I was so scared,” she said unsteadily, “that you made yourself up as some kind of a cover story. And it made so much more sense than this sweet, annoying, ridiculous librarian just falling into my life completely by accident.”

“I never lied about the important bits,” said Giles quietly. “I never could.”

“I know that now,” said Jenny, giving him a small, wobbly smile.

The slow song had transitioned into a fast one, but they remained swaying quietly to the music, Jenny in Giles’s arms. Jenny Calendar, well aware that her husband was a Watcher, somehow looking at him with just as much love as she had when he was just a clumsy librarian. Giles couldn’t comprehend how lucky, how happy he was.

“And I would never dream of lying about loving you,” Giles whispered. He needed to make sure she heard it, properly, with no secrets or hurt separating them. “I—I don’t know how I can possibly express—all the things I want to tell you, now that I can—”

“So save a few for tomorrow,” said Jenny, her smile widening. “We’ve got more than enough time for you to butter me up.”

Giles let out a watery laugh. “More than enough time?”

“All the time in the world,” said Jenny.

“Wait,” said Giles. “So—”

“Yes, Rupert, I want us to get back together,” said Jenny, looking up at him with that exasperated amusement that he had missed so much. “What does it take to get that through to you?”

“Possibly a formal dissertation,” said Giles, not very seriously, which made Jenny start giggling as he leaned in.

There was then a series of very loud cheers. Well aware that the children were almost definitely watching their reconciliation, and that he was most certainly going to be teased by his audience if he continued the kiss he had initiated, Giles…was distracted by the flutter of Jenny’s eyelashes, and her slowly-spreading smile, and kissed her anyway.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Cordelia was saying to someone in the background. “Those two are weird. But they’re at least weird together, you know? Less trauma for the rest of the dating pool, probably.”

“Cordelia, please shut up,” said Buffy.

Jenny broke the kiss, resting her forehead against Giles’s with a happy sigh. “I love you,” she whispered again.

Giles felt as though his sheer, dizzying joy might send him flying off into space. “I love you too,” he whispered back, struck with the knowledge that he got to say those words, and mean them, for as long as their marriage lasted.

That line of thought reminded him of something important. Keeping one hand on his wife’s waist, he fumbled in his pocket. Jenny looked somewhat bemused by this. “Rupert, what—” she began, and then stopped, breath catching in her throat, as Giles opened the ring box.

“Wait,” said Cordelia. “But they’re already married!”

“You’re a little behind the times, sweetie,” said Xander, and attempted to pat Cordelia’s shoulder. Cordelia stepped very hard on his foot.

“I can’t really go down on one knee,” said Giles, giving her a small, apologetic grin. “Partially because I feel fairly certain I fractured my kneecap in the sewer—”

“—after this, we’re going to the ER,” Jenny informed him in a somewhat wobbly voice, directing a shaky smile at the engagement ring.

“—yes, of course, dear, but please don’t detract from my point,” said Giles.

“Are you seriously correcting me in the middle of this?” Jenny asked, raising her eyes to Giles’s—and oh, her eyes were full of love.

“Of course,” said Giles, his grin becoming more smitten than nervous. “It’s rather our MO, isn’t it?” He removed his free hand from her waist, using it to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She turned her face into his hand, smiling back up at him. “Jenny, I love you,” he said softly. “No part of this arrangement was what I ever imagined, but I don’t think I could ever have anticipated falling into the life of such a terrifying, stubborn, bitingly intelligent woman completely by accident. It’s me who’s the lucky one, darling.”

Jenny preened. “You can say that again.”

“And I want to,” said Giles. “And I will. Every day, and every week, and every month, and every year. Jenny, will you—” He stopped, realized the problem with proposing to the woman he had already married, and rather wished (for the first and hopefully last time) that he had listened to Cordelia Chase’s snide side commentary. “Um.”

“Take your grandmother’s engagement ring and not divorce you till death do us part?” said Jenny helpfully, looking very much like she was trying not to laugh. “Because I will definitely do both of those things.”

A very long time ago, Rupert Giles might have cared about the fact that proposing to his fake wife in the middle of an American high school prom was absolutely not what the Watchers’ Council would call respectable. A very, very long time ago, he might not have grinned, tears in his eyes, as Jenny donned his grandmother’s engagement ring, draped her arms back round his neck, and kissed him like it was their wedding day, the children starting up a new round of cheering.

“Are we seriously cheering on a couple of newlyweds deciding not to get a divorce?” said Cordelia. “Someone better explain this to me at some point.”

“She’s right,” murmured Giles, pulling back just enough for his lips to still brush Jenny’s as he spoke. “This whole affair is horribly unromantic.”

“Just my style,” Jenny whispered.

Giles smiled, soft and slow. “Mine too, I think,” he said, and leaned in, tenderly kissing his wife.

#fic #very really married #SO NOW ALL THAT'S LEFT IS THE EPILOGUE !! WOW #full disclosure i did in fact spend much too much time reworking the ending...i felt it was not sappy enough

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not-a-statement · 6 years ago

Text

Chasing ghosts. Chapter 3

Sorry friends for overdosing your dashboards with this stuff, but I’m too excited to hold it back anymore.

This chapter really did kill me while writing. I somehow tried to reflect my own feelings in it as well as to put observation of my friend who has currently lived through a very messy situation.

Anyway, chapter under the cut, critics and suggestions are always appreciated.

Welp, it’s time to go to dead.

New York, NY, October 7-11, 2024

Nights seemed to be the hardest to live through. Not literally - in a physical way - but maybe a little bit in that way too. Just a bit…

Every morning he felt numb. No such things as work, clothes or breakfast were present in his area of interest. And it seemed that those things were long gone for a while then. Only his memories, smells from the past and lingering sensations of light touches that were unlikely to happen again were orbiting him every day from the moment of awakening…

Unlikely to happen again? Light touches? Ding-fucking-Dong, you bloody idiot. Stop thinking of it like you’ve been married for a lifetime and then your wife moved to her gram-gram’s place at the “Fluffy Clouds Acres”...

Yeah, you have other suggestions about how to live on with a giant hole instead of heart?..

He wanted to feel himself a victim. Longed for sympathizers of all kinds queuing up to his bed, big baskets full with fruits in their hands, “Get well soon” cards, soothing phrases on their tongues - that he was every right to feel what he felt, that he deserved her and she made a very big mistake picking that bastard to be her husband…

You know what would be more honest? If somebody brought you some poison instead.

Or at least whiskey…

Would you knock it off already? Where’s your smart part when it comes to distinguishing seeds from chaff? Do you honestly think that all your feelings are of a value? Don’t be ridiculous - your own sister? For real? You actually expected everything to work out?

Shut up…

It was Monday morning, Dipper had to get prepared to leave for work - he’s finally got a position. Kind of. Same duties, another ton or two plus to his salary - at least it was something, right? At least an excuse not to spend all of his time in this god forsaken flat all day long.

But he was still laying in his sister’s bed, inhaling her scent that somehow managed to stay in the pillow. What a pathetic view it was…

Not as pathetic as his kitchen exterior though. The day prior - as for all other days - there was loads of booze and Dipper was too lazy to bother himself with throwing out the garbage so there was lots of empty bottles laying and standing here and there, empty cigarettes packs, Chinese food boxes - a perfect decorations for a hopeless bachelor’s place.

Sloppily cooked breakfast, coffee as dark as New York’s midnight sky - state’s one. The city itself was living 24 hours so the illumination was enough to make a barrier between nighttime dreamers and traces of light casted by long gone celestial giants billions of human lives away from our sinful rotten asteroid.

Perhaps it was the other way around in New City. Probably the view was breathtaking with all the stars in the sky to count, crispy countryside air to bath in…

Warm and gentle hand of beloved woman to squeeze, cascades of her hazel hair to admire and fiddle with…

Dipper stumbled upon the battalion of empty bottles causing some of them fall clinking resentfully. The sound was enough to make his head ache and cast a grimace of displeasure on his face.

So that’s the plan, huh? Drink until you find a ball of snot instead of your liver?

Pffft...as if

Oh, I get it. Not your problem, right? It’s ten-years-later-Dipper’s problem…

He had to take control over the situation - find a better job, start doing some kind of sport to get fit, maybe find a woman. Anything that will help him get over his misery and make this voice nagging at the back of his mind go…

That’s a great plan - so many details. Hey, why don’t you get a job in NASA? With your ability to make plans like that we will land on Mars twenty years earlier than estimated.

Or at least by then he had a simpler task to tackle - get dressed and step out of this flat to start a new day that’s unlikely to be any different from the day before. Only task he could possibly do without failing.

As for making detailed plans - that’s an important concept, Dipper had to admit. All this abstract thoughts and ideas about new job and sport - they’re important nevertheless. But if one just postulates such things they’re unable to lead anywhere. Dipper as one who used to be the master of bajillion steps checklists for any occasion - to win Wendy’s heart for example - knew for sure that if he wanted to make any progress he needed to think and plan deeper than that.

What Mabel used to tease him about pretty often was a very useful ability. Staying organized, understanding each step and possible alternative breakpoints and handling possible exceptions. For an average person this way of thinking could play good if they keep it in balance with other aspects of their life. But Dipper was no average person.

He was...Dipper. And that meant that balance was off the table.

Good or bad, Dipper and Mabel complemented each other in so many things that one of them wasn’t whole without the other. And that same balance in Dipper’s vigorous activity of his brain was introduced by his sister, with her emphasis on feelings, emotions, and her own particular angle of view.

But when he found himself alone he started to crumble. His brain was acting like a locomotive rushing at maximum speed risking to go off the rail at any moment. Nerves gone acute and at the same time emotions gone blank.

He tried - God knows he did - to live on his own, to give way to his emotions, tried to find that different point of view, based on feelings, yet to no big avail. Every attempt ended at the start point, all theories were in contradiction with one another and ended up crumbled.

The only thing that helped in letting all go was alcohol.

Only having drunk a glass or two of bourbon he used to start looking at all what was happening differently. After half of bottle he used to start feeling.

He was feeling pure pain caused by disappearance of his most beloved person, his second half from his life. Of the girl, who somehow managed to make him falling for her so hard casting thousands of butterflies in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine when she laughed and making him completely numb when she cried. Mabel Pines, that one and only girl in the world for whom he was ready to jump off the cliff on a gigantic robot with nothing but his bare hands, for whom he was ready to endure any level of his own pain just to keep her safe and protect her. He’s never loved anybody as much as he loved her. And never will.

He was feeling anger. What did this smug douchebag know about Mabel? Was it him who lived with her for the whole life? What he can possibly give her? I don’t remember him breaking through Bill’s traps to set her free from that bubble prison. Not to say he wasn’t one who crawled through SWAT squad to clear Stan’s name. Heck, I bet he couldn’t even handle gnomes - probably would shit himself and bail with his tail tucked. And is he ready to cover her with his body in case something threatening her? Is he capable of doing anything that slick faggot from Wall Street?! Who is he to separate us?!

He was feeling fear. Mabel is alone out there. Where will you be when she needs you, huh? You saw what world could have in store twelve years ago. Do you think anything changed? Do you think that Bill won’t return? Or even if he won’t who said that he’s the only one? You’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, haven’t you?

On Tuesday that fear dimmed his eyes to almost unbearable level. What’s the matter? Why your hand with a lighter clenched in it shakes so hard?

Shut up…

On Wednesday he took an illness day off. He was feeling rather bad physically but that wasn’t the matter - he was just really scared to leave his flat. For the whole day he kept wandering within it - from his sister’s bedroom to the kitchen and back - rushing constantly to his computer typing request after request or scribbling some incomprehensible gibberish in his journal - the same that Mabel gave him as a birthday present. Yet another bottle was opened not long after lunch time, because he couldn’t bear that day staying sober.

The next day - on Thursday - in the early morning he woke up at pretty much the same spot he ended falling the night prior - behind the sofa in the living room. His face felt swelling, knees and elbows were harshly scratched at various places - perhaps he would find some furniture items at same poor condition. His journal was lying on the sofa, its first dozen pages or so covered with all kind of theory snippets or logical fact chains - anything he could come up with in order to keep his brain working consistently and not having it exploded. Some of his notes made no sense at all, others reeked with insanity. He had to keep working, had to grasp that tiny bits of his mind floating on the surface of the blindingly dark ocean consisting of repelling visions, predator’s muzzles and never ending sound of some woman crying.

Also there was one more thing swirling through that ocean - a phrase carelessly spoken by Zach on Saturday.

On Friday night the week before Mabel was bombarding her brother’s phone with invitations for him to come over to Turner’s and have a dinner together. He missed her beloved brother and probably was acknowledging the fact that in such conditions a modest family dinner was the only option for them to spend some quality time together instead of nights full of movie marathons and pizza. It’s what people do, don’t they? When they become adults…

But if Mabel was feeling a bit melancholic because of that blunt bogus of an activity, it came to no comparison with what Dipper might’ve felt that exact second he appeared at Zach’s door. He either would leave within an hour tops or get drunk as swine. So it was better not to come at all to prevent such bad consequences.

But having to turn his sister down over a phone for yet another time wasn’t any less painful. Hearing her voice changing from cheerful one to upset, because of whatever excuse he could come up with - working late, having an extra task, needing to stay up until late night home because of an important article he had to finish. Or hearing her playful teasings about him having a secret date with ladies and reminders to leave a tie on the knob which would make him laugh uncontrollably adding more more pain. He couldn’t stand it. That’s why he decided to take a decisive action.

He turned off his cell phone. And spent a long time sitting on a bench near to Brooklyn bridge with a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag, staring at his device’s black lifless screen as if trying to soak its void up.

Void and darkness. What are they? The absence of life, light, benignancy. Absence of everything - only vast and pure nothingness. Why can’t I adapt it? To feel nothing, to throw this piece of plastic into the river, to come home today, grab my bag and jump on the first flight to Oregon. Cut all ties with Mabel, simply disappear from her horizon. Wouldn’t that be better?

It sure would’ve been easier.

But the only response the phone’s screen could give the reflection of the autumn afternoon sky with glimpses of upcoming dusk rather than comply with Dipper’s inner desires. So only thing he was left with was whiskey again.

Its taste was already a rock solid number one in his rating of favorite tastes. In mixture with tobacco smoke. Nevertheless that blend taken in serious doses were casting an instant portal to the morning after.

And what it had in store were regrets and sorrowful thoughts about what he’d done and what a jackass of a brother he was. So the phone was turned on, Mabel’s number typed his thumb hovering over the green button was given an order to hold it back no more.

There was a beep. And then another. And another.

After 6 beeps Dipper started having second thoughts about how 9 pm on Saturday might’ve been not the best time for late apologies but then his phone slightly buzzed and he heard someone’s deep morning breathing on the other end.

“Hi, Mabes, I...um...” he started timidly trying to soften his hoarse hang over voice “About yesterday...I’m really sorry I couldn’t call you back...my battery died and I had to stay late so I walked home and hit the hay the moment I entered...”

He let out a clumsy chuckle scratching the back of his head.

Telling lies, are we?

Shut up.

“So...yeah...I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday to your place...um...maybe will try the next Friday? Mabes?”

He heard a male voice giggling through the receiver that sent cold wave to his abdomen.

“Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t want to interrupt your monologue.”

Zach. That bastard…

“Oh...hey, Zach...” he wasn’t ready to stumble upon Zach in such condition. “Um...would you mind passing phone to Mabel?”

“I wish, bro, i wish” Dipper clenched his fist hard enough to make his knuckles go white “But Mrs. Turner is still watching whatever bright and pleasant dream she’s watching”

Was that scoffing? Mrs Turner? As if he won her and now showing it off. Fuck, as if he thinks he took my wife…

Wouldn’t be much of a fallacy, huh?

I told you to shut up.

He needed to somehow play it cool. Put aside his own twisted feelings and think of what’s better for Mabel - if she found out about his hostility towards her husband and linked it with his constant denials to come for dinner that would be really bad.

“Okay, ahem...” he cleared his throat before continuing “Can you maybe ask her to call me back when she’s awake then?”

“No problem at all. But, you know, I can tell her myself...”

“No no no, better if I tell her what I wanted to tell, thanks. Um...okay, b..”

“Oh, how things are going on your side, Mason? Haven’t heard from you for ages.”

Oh, son of a...why by name?

“Good, good. Yeah, so...”

“Heard you’ve got promoted. Got a position?”

“Well...um...not exactly, but...I’m working on it. Yeah, sorry for early ca...”

“And how’s the money? Do they pay you enough?”

Oh you impudent chuffed fuck.

Tell him.

“Enough for me, thanks. Well, okay I...”

“Look, we have a vacant position at stock exchange. Consultants are paid good and respected, so I thought maybe...”

“I’m not keen on idea of selling people something I don’t personally believe in, thank you.”

Shit, that was bad. Didn’t mean to sound so harshly.

He started it.

Shut up.

He heard Zach laughing on the other end. Damn, even insults are not working for him. He’s got his walls built solid.

“Why so determined? Believe me, after first salary when you start buying yourself some big men toys like cars you won’t say such immature things.”

Yeah, yeah. Teach me how to live my life, bitch.

“Well, if I were you I would think about it, Mason. I’d take it as an honor to help my family member.”

“Yeah, okay, cool. Um...” Come on, say something polite to end this “Have a nice day, Zach.”

“No it is? Okay, whatever you say. You’re a good man but you’re sometimes being silly, Pinetree.”

Dipper’s heart skipped a beat and he felt thunderstruck. All his muscles tightened. Given he was slouching, it seemed that his body’s fulcrum had shifted slightly above the rib cage.

“What did you call me?” asked Dipper his voice hardly above whispering.

“What? Old mocking nickname? Sorry, didn’t mean to...”

“What. Did. You. Call. Me?” repeated Dipper louder.

“Oh, c’mon, man. I’m sorry, for real, I...”

Can it be?..

I can’t see why not

No, that’s impossible. No, no..

Well, he told you she was sleeping, but do you trust him?

Mabel…

“Where is she?”

“Who? Mabel? Man, I told you she is leisuring...”

“Pass her the phone”

“Look, she’s really not ready to talk to anybody right now, you how she is. Man, like for real - I’m sorry if that upsets you, it wasn’t my inten...”

“Shut the fuck up, Zach!!!” Dipper growled, he could feel himself drowning in unimaginable paralyzing horor. “Where is my sister?!”

“Hey! Watch the language, pal!”

“Where is my sister?!”

“Piss off!”

“Where is Mabel?!!” Dipper broke into shouting. His breathing was heavy and ragged, he could feel his blood rushing to his head almost setting tips of his ears on fire. His face also grew unbearably hot.

“You know the address, you mental piece of human garbage!!! Come over and see where it leads you!!!”

His mind was rushing billion miles per hour. The boiler in his locomotive of a brain was about to blow up. Blood was pounding in his ears, he could literally feel his blood vessels filling up with pure adrenaline, he tasted metal in his mouth and there was something more with that taste. It was...was it?..

Wait, what does sulfur taste like?

He wasn’t listening to Zach’s shoutings on the other end of line anymore. He was paralyzed by that unaccountable fear. He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t move - every tiny little cell of his body wasn’t answering his commands. It was a trap, he knew that. A blurred burning trap with spurts of flame dancing before him, licking his calves sending anguishing sensations to his muscles and to his brain. There were lizard’s eyes with narrow pupils everywhere, he couldn’t see them, but he was feeling watched by them. He could feel their glares cutting him like it was a straight razor, he could feel cold fingers digging through his head, twining around his eyeballs. And there was a voice - a woman was shouting his name. It was familiar but nontheless it was demanding razor to push deeper and deeper! Cutting him in two, then in four, then…

Deeper!

“DIPPER!!!”

In a heartbeat he was back into Mabel’s room in their Brooklyn flat; her was dragged him out of that horrifying vision. He was kneeling before the bed, clenching bedcover with his right hand and his cellphone with his left. He was breathing through gritted teeth loudly and heavily.

What was real out of all that?..

The only thing - her voice. A concerned voice of Mabel still calling his name, in which he could hear that she was on the verge of breaking into tears. She was scared - perhaps he and Zach woke her up with their banter and scared her a lot. And his heavy breathing distorted by the transmitter apparently wasn’t helping at all.

Keep it together, Pines, keep it together! Shake off this nightmare and tell her that you’re safe, that you’re fine.

Are you, though?

Yes! I’m fine, I’m totally fine!

But what about B…

He’s dead!!! He’s long gone!!! Mabel’s safe, she’s not dragged away from me into another dimension! She’s here, she’s actually relatively close.

I need to catch my breath. Okay, one in and one out...here we go…

“Dipper, please! Say something! Say something to me!” he could practically see the first teardrop rolling down her tender rosy cheek. “Dipper, I’m begging you!”

“Mabes, I...” at least the voice is...yep, it’s mine “I...my battery...it died so I had to walk home and...”

“Bro-bro, what are talking about?”

“I was staying late...so s’why I couldn’t...couldn’t come to dinner...yeah...I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Dipper. Please tell me that.”

“Yeah, I am...Totally, Mabes, totally...”

“Are you sure?”

He gulped nervously listening to his unsteady breathing.

Telling lies again? Way to g…

“Yes, Mabel, everything’s well I swear” he tried to sound as calm as he could “I...s-sorry for waking you up.”

And he ended the call.

Splendid, my man.

Is that so hard to do? I said shut the fuck up. I need a drink.

***

On Friday he finally made it to work. Dressed in a black hoodie covered in stains of various food and sauces, worn out unwashed trousers of same color he was kind of a ghost to everyone else in the editorial office - no one would bother themselves waving him hello or even noticing him. He was sitting at his small desk in the open space surrounded by stacks of papers and office supplies. Obviously he forgot to take his laptop with him as well as his wallet. For some reason only valuable thing he had then was the most inappropriate one - his driver’s license, which was laying on the desk with his cellphone with already cracked screen.

Time was approaching lunch but food wasn’t even in top ten of his priorities. Frankly he could hardly remember when was the last time he actually consumed something apart from alcohol and cigarettes. Was it that morning? Or the morning before? And does a peanut butter and jelly toast count as food?

All that was in the background of his mind at that moment. The main screen of his mind was displaying various footage soaked with anxiety; each minute a bunch of viewers were collectively advising the main character on the white screen to take right turn or left or to head straight. And footages were constantly changing.

For the first time fear and pain started blending. Only one component was left…

“Pines!” a familiar voice called out for him. At least someone noticed his presence.

Paul Hempstead - the chief editor of essays department - was slowly approaching his desk, scanning through a stack of papers in his hands slowly.

“Good to see you again. Caught a bad cold?” he switched his attention from papers to his employee.

“My god” he gasped “What happened to your face?”

“I fell” Dipper said with colorless voice not even raising his eyes to look at editor.

“Right, you fell” as if taking a hint responded Paul “Okay, I won’t ask. I have a job for you. Are you going to lunch? I’ll explain while eating.”

“No, I’m not going” Dipper’s voice still wasn’t displaying any emotions.

Looking bewildered Paul stared at him as if thinking of whether or not he’s likely to ask any other questions about reasons. Dipper stayed motionless looking right before him into the void.

“Yeah, you’re right. Better right here” the editor fished a paper out of stack in his hands and laid it before Dipper. “A letter from a concerned mother. Her son’s getting oppressed by his scholl mates - he’s part of a certain subculture so his mother wants us to make it sound to the society. The letter is for gist, I wanted you to go there and find all the details. I assigned a photographer to them - he will be going on Monday. Your task is for today so we have our fresh essay on Tuesday. It’s in Huntington - you’ll be done in 3 or 4 hours.”

“Okay” followed a similarly lifeless answer.

Hempstead was expecting for something more verbose.

“Ho-o-ka-y” he slowly echoed stretching syllables “There are bus routes but car is easier. Works for you?”

He waved his hand at Dipper’s driving license.

“I don’t have a car”

“Oh. That’s wise, probably - such a big busy city...You can take a shared car. There’re lots of them on every corner. What do you say? Besides that way you’ll clear your evening.”

“I forgot my wallet home.”

Paul started losing hope.

“That’s a misfortune...Look, you can go to accountants and ask them for a prepayment. In fact...” He fished his wallet out of his trousers pocket and laid three 100 dollars bills before Dipper “Here, you’ll return on a payday. Just take your time to prepare, you know - go home, take a nap, change and all...”

Dipper lowered his eyes to look at the money and nodded slightly.

“Thank you Mr Hempstead” and added after second or two: “Can I go now?”

“For sure, Pines, for sure. Just don’t forget - deadline’s on Tuesday”

Not waiting for a response Paul rushed further down the aisle.

Dipper gave that money a look one more time, then grabbed it and his belongings from his desk and headed for exit.

When he was already at the door his phone buzzed. Even not looking at the screen he was already imagining her cute face, how she bit down her bottom lip waiting for him answer and twisting on of her locks.

This time he decided not to make the same mistake twice. He took his phone out of pocket, cleared his throat and tapped the green button.

***

He was standing naked and wet after taking a shower before the mirror in his bathroom examining his reflection. His cheeks started sinking, right cheekbone was bruised after he met wooden floor with it. He stopped caring about his hair long ago, there were scattered spots of messy stubble here and there. His shoulders were hunched even more than he remembered.

For the past two months Dipper got used to an idea that he wouldn’t see anything good in his reflection but every time it was really important to him to examine his appearance carefully. He still harboured some hope that eventually an alarm in his brain would break out he would start working on at least the simplest plan for recovery.

Not to say it wasn’t happening any time.

He was still feeling saturated after eating some fried eggs with bacon as soon as he came home from work. Even 6 hours of sleep he plunged into as soon as he laid down didn’t manage to drain that feeling but regained his somewhat mental and physical forces a bit.

He’s already failed Paul’s task, cause it was 9 in the evening and there’s no point to drive anywhere. That meant that he was in need to find some distraction to prevent his mind from once again spiralling down into anxiety and crimson blur.

Maybe I can use some fresh air. Like go to Central Park or cinema - anything but once again play ghost at the river’s embankment.

A vision appeared before his eyes - that one, that refused to go away for almost two months then. He was with her, hand in hand slowly moving across the park paths, he gently squeezes her hand, then lets it go only to hug her shoulders with it, she smiles, lays her head on his shoulder, their steps become slower, more relaxed…

Dipper downed a full glass of whiskey. The amber liquid started warming his chest, his stomach. It was such a false warmth that if he closed his eyes he could feel it as a light breeze, stuck between tree trunks in the heart of the park. He could feel it as her warm and gentle hands caressing his chest, so tiny and tender compared to sizes of her sweater…

Not exactly registering he downed another glass.

This is insane. You are! You can take her back, you can’t explain her anything! You can’t give her anything but your warmth!

Wouldn’t that be enough? Is there anybody who can give it to her?

No. NO!

No one can do that! No one will protect her but me!

Another glass downed.

Only I know her that much! Only I saw what this unfair world full of violences can do to her!

Another glass.

I fought demon for her! And I won! I saved my Mabel! My sweet, lovely Mabel.

Another.

What if he lives?

Impossible. He perished.

Yeah, but what if he survived?

He started drinking straight from the bottle.

What’s the matter? Are you scared? Oh, you should be. What were you thinking - you’ve jumped from that cliff once and that’s it? So you can sit around, having your time?

Shut up…

He knew there’s a car outside. And he’s got the keys. Also he knows what lies in his bottom drawer covered with kitchen blankets.

No, you shut up and listen. You abandoned her. Left her so that clown now can do whatever he wants. Do you know who he is? Have you spent a spare second studying what kind of man he is?

Shut up.

He tried to walk steadily and failed. A brass knuckles in his right pocket - a gift from Gruncle Stan - and bottle of whiskey in left hand weren’t helping in balancing at all. He got into a shared vehicle. If only he could start the engine…

Bravo! Just perfect, my boy! Guess what - you’ve got fooled! How hilarious is that?

Shut up.

He turned the engine but the impulse died instantly.

Our Big Master Dipper - a threat to all monsters and demons…

Shut up!

Another turn. And one more...Come on!

…a famous mysteries solver got fooled by some pathetic equilateral one-eyed…

SHUT UP!!!

PINETREE!!!

The engine roared coming to life. Dipper accelerated steering the car to the north-west away from the city - to a small countryside place in suburbs called New City.

#chasing ghosts #pinecest #not a statement at all

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jessieliveblogs · 6 years ago

Text

Aces in Hockey

Written for the prompt: Total au! 2.9k (Ao3)

Four was quiet by nature. He was a classic former victim of child abuse: strong, silent, enigmatic. He didn’t mean to be. He didn’t try. Any first-year psych student could tell you about the conditioning environment in his formative years to make him like this. And more than one first-year psych student had.

He was allowed to be quiet on the ice.

Not during actual play, obviously. He was the captain – constantly making calls to his team and conferring with coaches. But he stayed out on the ice after practice, letting everyone else go shower in the locker room as he made lazy circles on the ice. It was a calming cool-down, reminding him of times when he would spend hours on the pond just to be out of the house. He’d skate circles until his feet were way past aching and chew up the ice far past what was safe. He no longer had to worry about falling through the ice in the rink but there were other dangers.

“Please tell me your dramatic brooding is coming to a close. We do need the ice, you know.”

Four kept his head ducked, concealing the slight smile that he could feel quirking his face.

“Just because I’m the strong and silent type doesn’t mean every one of my actions is brooding,” he answered before turning to the voice.

She stood just inside the door on the ice. She was half-dressed in her skates and hockey pants but she hadn’t put her pads on yet, standing there in Under Armour and a backwards snapback pulled over head. He was glad to see she looked more teasing than genuinely angry: a recent development he was more than happy about.

“Well now I just feel lied to,” she said. “You think every young-adult book and movie in existence would just lie?”

Four shook his head, his chuckle probably too low for her to hear. He knew she knew he was laughing anyway.

“I still have twenty minutes before your practice, Tris,” he reminded her.

“No, the ice crew has twenty minutes before my practice to fix this mess your team left us.” She crossed her arms in an intimidating display no one who was that small should pull off. “But they can’t do that until you get off the ice.”

Four sighed, skating toward her. “I don’t know why none of them could tell me that.”

Tris backed up to let him through the door, following him out. “They’re all afraid of you. Duh. Remember the dramatic brooding I mentioned?”

Four leaned against the wall, putting on his skate guards, and watched Tris as she did the same. “Not you, though.”

Tris looked over at him, balancing on the blade of one skate. She smirked. “What do I have to be afraid of?”

He smiled back.

This easy camaraderie between the two hockey captains was not always so easy. They started out in pre-semester barely acquainted yet antagonistic.

It was August and Four had been doing his same slow circles on the ice when this tiny, angry girl stormed onto the ice.

“Hey hot-shot! You mind getting off the ice? Your time ended an hour ago.”

Four skidded to a stop, more confused than anything by this interruption. “So?”

She dramatically rolled her eyes. “So, it’s my ice time now. Move.”

Four assessed her. Slight build, powerful looking legs. Figure skater?

“You can have this half,” he offered, diplomatically. “I’ll stay on the other side.”

She looked furious. “Are you an idiot? We need the whole rink! What do you think we’re trying to do here?”

He was even more confused now. “Who is we?”

“The women’s hockey team!” She seethed. “I know there’s a sexism problem at this school – and in sports as a whole – but I would think that the captain of the men’s team could at least acknowledge that the women’s team might need to practice, too.”

“Oh!” He would never have pegged this small girl for a hockey player. He’d seen them play but he was sure he’d never seen someone this small. “The women’s team don’t usually practice this early.”

“Well, we do now. And if you’d bothered checking the rink schedule, you’d know that.”

Four looked at her some more. She wasn’t wrong: he shouldn’t be on the ice this long after their time ended. But he didn’t like the way she talked to him.

“Does your captain know you’re out here?”

She seemed to grow three whole inches.

“I am the captain,” she told him, her voice low and dangerous.

Four’s eyebrows shot up. He gave her another once over. “You’re Prior?”

“Tris,” she said by way of a yes. “So you have heard of me.”

He had. A sophomore being voted captain was incredibly rare. She’d been the lead scorer last season, earning herself a hat trick in the playoffs. Four himself had seen it happen. But he couldn’t reconcile this tiny angry girl with the fast and ruthless number 6 he’d seen play last spring.

Well, maybe the ruthless part.

He took off his glove, extending his hand to the diminutive captain. “I’m Four.”

She took his hand, squeezing roughly. “I know who you are, Tobias Eaton.”

He looked squarely into her eyes, squeezing her hand back so he could feel her knuckles grinding together. “It’s Four.”

Tris didn’t flinch. He actually thought he might see the beginning of respect behind her eyes.

“Get out of my rink, Four.”

And he had. They had a grudging respect for each other since that day, calling each other on their bullshit and supporting each other’s teams through the season. Four was a fifth year Criminology student and managed to hold onto the captaincy in his final year. Tris, too, had held onto her title and Four suspected she’d keep it until she graduated. What could be said? They were good at their jobs.

Despite the grudging respect, Four wouldn’t have thought of he and Tris as friends. Not until Tris invited him out for trivia night.

“It’s just my brother,” she’d said, rolling her eyes. “I invite him because he’s smart and I’m in it to win, but he’s awkward around girls. Will you come and be a buffer?”

“Come with you and your friends?”

Tris had snorted. “You’re my friend too, doofus.” And then she’d punched him on the shoulder.

So he’d gone to trivia night.

It wasn’t as awkward as he’d feared. He hadn’t really spent time with anyone since his best friend, Zeke, had graduated last year. The problem with a 5-year degree is that all of your friends are done in 4. Luckily, it seemed Four now had younger friends.

He knew Tris’s friends, Christina and Lynn, from the women’s hockey team. He only knew their numbers, of course, and had never spoken to them, but they could all fall back on hockey discussion if there was a lull.

Caleb Prior was a completely different story.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in total egalitarianism but the state of equity is completely dependant on the will of a nation’s constituents, and the arc of apathy in this nation in particular will drive us to total corruption. Socialism is a pipe dream, and without financial equity, the opportunity of total egalitarianism is just not feasible.”

Four threw back the rest of his whiskey. “Right.”

Trivia hadn’t even started yet and Caleb had ranted about six different political issues he felt were of the utmost importance. He also had mentioned that he was a Libertarian no less than 15 times.

Four eventually understood why Caleb was there when the trivia started. He may be a pseudo-intellectual – a pretentious blowhard who tried too hard to seem smart – but that definitely lent itself to him knowing a lot of menial shit.

And, for whatever reason, Caleb had decided Four was his new best friend.

“I just don’t get it,” Caleb had said, hair a little more disheveled than when he’d come in. Four had discovered early that he got more tolerable the more he drank so he had kept buying Caleb sea breezes. “I never got it when Beatrice wanted to play as kids. What’s so great about hitting things with sticks and getting hit by bigger people who also have sticks?”

Caleb was the only person that called her Beatrice. Her teammates called her 6. Everyone else called her Tris. But Caleb seemed to have that family privilege.

Four shrugged. He’d started responding to Caleb’s questions halfway through trivia which only made Caleb talk to him more but Four was drunk enough not to care.

“Why do people want to be gladiators?”

“Well, historically, the Roman gladiators were actually sold into it through the prison system or as some kind of raid against Christianity–”

“Fun,” Four told him, deadpan. He took another shot. “Glory.”

“But no one remembers the specific gladiators,” Caleb shot back, almost smug. “We remember the politicians and scholars of that time.”

Four snorted. “What use is glory once you’re dead?” He asked. “Back in ancient Rome, women would buy vials of the sweat of their favorite gladiators to wear around their necks. That kind of devotion is what real glory really is. And it can help you while you’re alive, even.”

Caleb reeled back, impressed. “There’s something to that argument.”

Four raised his glass in acknowledgement, shooting it back in one.

He hadn’t meant to get that drunk which meant when the party at the bar broke up, and Caleb had left, Tris treated him with simultaneous guilt and annoyance.

“Jesus Christ, I know my brother is hard to put up with but was this much alcohol intake really necessary?”

Four chuckled, much looser around her than he normally would be. “He’s not so bad.”

This only seemed to alarm Tris. “Oh God, it’s worse than I thought. Come here.”

She slung Four’s arm around her shoulder and started frog marching him out. He’d been more drunk before. He figured he could probably walk under his own steam without embarrassing himself. But he let himself be manhandled because a) Tris may be tiny but he knew she was strong enough to handle his weight and b) it was a good excuse to be close to Tris without all the gross implications that would normally come with Four intentionally getting close to her.

This had been a problem for him for a while. He had a crush on Tris – of course he had a crush on Tris – but he couldn’t have crushes like normal people. Because crushes come with expectations of follow-through. And Four could only follow-through so much.

What he could do though was enjoy the movement of muscles beneath Tris’s skin as she maneavoured him. That he could enjoy a lot.

She dropped him bodily into the passenger seat of her Prius and it became a game of Tetris trying to fit all of his limbs in the tiny space. Four pretended to be more drunk than he was so he wouldn’t have to do any of the work. He wasn’t proud of it. But it was funny to see Tris struggle.

She didn’t seem to have any reservations about touching him – grabbing his thighs and shoulders in a perfunctory, practical way. He appreciated that but he was curious about it. He knew now that they were friends now but he also might have thought that they had… maybe… been flirting a little bit. Was he reading things wrong?

Sober Four might have ruminated on that. He might have anguished over it, brooded over it, considered it thoroughly before dismissing it entirely.

Drunk Four did no such thing.

“I probably could have done that,” he told her as she herself collapsed into the driver’s seat. “I’m not that drunk.”

Tris snorted as she started the car.

“I’m too drunk to drive my bike home,” Four corrected, grimacing. He hated leaving his bike overnight. “But I can move my own body.”

Tris raised her eyebrow at him, not looking away from the road. “Then why didn’t you?”

Four shrugged, his body doing this weird tilting thing in his slump. “You were doing such a great job.”

Tris snorted again, but this time she was smiling.

“I actually had a question about that,” he continued, his brain vaguely yelling in the distance.

“Oh?”

Four nodded, pulling himself more upright. “We’ve been flirting and stuff, right?”

Tris’s head jerked back a little, a subtle sign that she was surprised he’d brought it up. “Yeah. Yes, we’ve been flirting.”

“Right.” Four nodded. “So did you manhandle me so impersonally because you were being respectful or because you’re not attracted to me?”

Her surprise was more pronounced now. “Uh…”

Four waited, staring beningly at the side of her face while she drove.

She seemed to puzzle over this question for a while before slumping in her seat. “I’m not sure what answer you want. Because my answer is a little of both.”

Four nodded again. “That is pretty close to the answer I want.”

Tris looked over at him in a double take before looking back to the road. “It is?”

“Yeah,” Four said, slumping into the seat again. “For one, it’s honest. And I like honesty.” He lolled his head to look out the window. “But also I’m asexual so I’d rather you weren’t sexually attracted to me. That would make things easier.”

The voice that had been vaguely yelling at him was now very present in the middle of his forehead. Intellectually (or as intellectually as he could be in his drunken state) he knew there was very little risk in coming out to her. She’d basically admitted the same thing. Well, she hadn’t – she could just mean that flirting with him meant nothing and she wasn’t attracted to him, even romantically. Maybe he didn’t think this through. Maybe that’s why the voice was yelling.

Because he’d never come out to anyone. Not to any girl, anyway. Not anytime it mattered. Zeke knew but only because Zeke had helped him figure it out. No one else knew.

He’d had crushes but he’d let them go, not bothering to take things further knowing he could never go far enough. This thing with Tris felt a little more high stakes. For one, they were both captains of their respective teams that worked very closely together. Four had spent more time with Tris over the past year and a half than anyone else he went to school with. It would be super awkward if things didn’t work out between them.

But also, he had feelings for Tris. Real feelings. It felt high stakes because he’d graduated from casual crush sometime last spring. He was in full-on-infatuation land now. He’d get through a rejection but it would be ten years, probably, before he put himself out there again.

He definitely shouldn’t have gotten so drunk. He shouldn’t have agreed to come out with her in the first place. He should have just pined his way to graduation. That would have been better, probably.

All of this internal turmoil happened between breaths. Between him speaking and Tris asking, “Things like dating?”

Four’s nod was strained, already regretting his entire life and feeling more sober than he’d felt before he’d even left for trivia night. “Things like dating. And the whole ‘asexual’ conversation.”

“Oh, you mean the conversation where people ask if you’re a plant? And that’s if they’ve even heard the word ‘asexual’ before. Usually it’s ‘what’s that?’ and ‘You’ll grow out of it.’ Or, my favorite, ‘All women feel like that but you have to have sex if you want to get a boyfriend.’”

Four blinked. “Yeah.”

Tris snorted. “Yeah. I’m familiar.”

Four sat up, slowly. “So we don’t have to have that conversation.”

“No. I would rather we didn’t.”

Four watched Tris drive. Her cheeks had pinked slightly but she was smiling, softly.

He waited until she’d parked outside of his apartment. He hadn’t known she knew were it was.

“I’ll see you at the rink?”

Tris turned to him, smirking in full force. “Yes, you will.”

And she did. She barged onto the ice during his post-practice cool down, as usual, but instead of yelling at him, she smiled.

“Let’s go out.”

Four could feel his mouth start to spread in a grin. He bit it down. “Like a date?”

“Like a lot of dates,” she answered. She needed to crane her neck to look up at him but her confidence and her presence made her fill up the whole room. “Be my boyfriend. Let’s be that cliche. The captain of the girl’s and boy’s team are boyfriend/girlfriend. It’ll be gross. We have to.”

Four’s stomach jumped at the word ‘girlfriend.’ He’d given up a long time ago on ever having one of those.

“Well, if we have to.” He grinned.

She grinned back, reaching up (and up and up) to cup his cheek. “Can I kiss your face?”

“I would love for my girlfriend to kiss my face.”

Which was a good thing too because he had to do most of the work to bend down to her. Her lips were soft and undemanding.

Which was exactly what he hoped the rest of their relationship would be.

#fandomacefest #Divergent #Divergent fanfic #Tris/Four #This is so far outside of my norm I couldn't even post it on main #how wild is that

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