#so please accept my exhaustion as mere titles

[sardonic-sprite]

110! (No its not THAT many, math fandom)

462,690... i may have a problem...

I have published fics for MCU, Agent Carter, LOTR, HP, and PJO/HOO, with shorts or co-written things in other fandoms and like... not exactly crossovers but based off or featuring another work? But the overwhelming majority of my stuff is Batman

Safe and Warm, Adopt A Rescue!, Wayne Men Which Robin Quiz, Blood and Water, Hot Mess. I... do not understand why 😂

I respond to everything bc secretly I am not a sprite, I'm a TinkerBell and die without attention /j

Ahahahahahahaha. I have 3 MCD fics so... pick your fave? (bane, And Lead Me Homeward, Requiem)

Almost never, but I've certainly had ideas that I've personally found compelling. The only one I've published is a Batfam/Miraculous one which is in a holding stage until I figure out what the FUCK is up with one fandom

Lmaooooo. A few people were SUPER pissed about bane, but even they were nothing to the hellfire set on me for introducing TimSteph to the Celeb Batwaynes universe.

I find it viscerally disturbing, so no.

Not to my knowledge. Maybe I should be better about watching, but I don't have the energy.

Yes, actually! I've had 2 fics translated into I think Chinese? (Wayne Men Robin Quiz and Should Have Said)

I have indeed! I'm working with Q on 2 right now, I've worked on many with SK, and I'm working on another with an ao3 friend

Hmmmm. My interactions with romance have been spotty for about a year, but for some reason I *never* get squicky from writing TimSteph or DickBabs, so Imma say them.

I mean, I'm that bitch who's convinced she'll write every idea if I have to bargain with Death itself, but idk, there's definitely fics that I keep skipping over when I need to write updates for stuff.

I've been told dialogue and characterization, and I agree. They're also the funnest. Apparently I'm really good at fluff? Which? What? Idk, it's the fluff that gets the kudos so I just sit back and laugh about it bc so much more attention goes to the whump and angst.

D e s c r i p t i o n s. I'm a conceptual, not visual, thinker, so I tend to have introspective description rather than physical description. Which leads to a whole lot of "cloud room syndrome" I'm trying to get better tho.

I do it where I can! Q helped me a TON for pricless bc the Arabic being Arabic was crucial to the plot. For other fics, it honestly depends how much is going to be said in the other language. I'm only copy-pasting so much.

Uhhhhhhh technically HP, but the first published fic is Batman

I 👏hate👏choosing👏favorites 👏 😂 Fr, tho, whatever fic I've most recently published is liable to be my fave when you ask.

Ig this question is just tags? So let's do @aroacepanorientedopentoexplore @pevensiechase and @thisiswhereikeepdcthings

20 Questions Writer Tag Game

Wasn't tagged by anyone, but saw this and wanted to do it.

How many works do you have on AO3?

28 (gonna be 29 this week though)

What’s your total AO3 word count?

319,633 words!

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

If you include my wattpad phase, then DC, Marvel, lotr, Ninjago, Harry Potter, Marauderers. But currently, DC (mainly batfam). But I'm slowly getting sucked into danny phantom

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

My School’s Local Mafia Boss Sometimes You Have To Find Your Own Genes Phone Alarms Can You Deduce Where I Am Now? With A Flashback

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Always. Unless they're stupid comments or comments i just can't with. I love responding to comments. I've had soo many lengthy conversations in the comments with some good pals. I don't mind talking in the comment section of my fics as long as they're good conversations and not mean.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

uhhh *goes to search* I guess Pluviophile? I don't write many angsty endings. Although there is this wip fic which absolutely destroys the characters. Can't wait for that.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? 

I don't write 'em. But I want to sometime in the future. Oh wait, unless you count my wattpad fics. I wrote an (incomplete) fic about dick and wally and shuri and peter meeting and nearly destroying the multiverse together with vines and crack humor. I actually liked the plot I did not like my author's notes. I was cringy back then. Genius, but cringy.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Three or four. I forget. They either insulted my characterization or got way too emotional for something that is fictional.

Do you write smut? If so what kind? 

I don't.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

Yes. *sigh* My wattpad one. On wordpress i think? Idk. Don't really care. But I would if any were stolen now on ao3. I will be pissed.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I would love to!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

Yes! With Vibey I'm currently working on a tim getting kidnapped fic and in some future a DEH batboys AU. With Sprite we're doing one (or maybe two) of one of her series. With Tristi I did At The Drop Of A Hat and hopefully another in the future. With Cyg, I've done Capture, Grok and 4 Times Jason Hid His Trauma + 1 Time Tim Helped Him.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don't ship. I used to. Lots and lots. When times were simpler. But rn, my only ship is from a small but an absolutely awesome Muslim fiction book called Love From A To Z. Love those two.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? 

Lemme look. Okay, there's a whole document inspired by this fic called Living Dead Boy by Terranpheum, and there are some good moments I planned, but I abandoned it cuz I noticed that I didn't actually have a plot and it was just little moments.

What are your writing strengths?

Plot, ideas, outlines, dialogue, emotional rollercoasters, little bits of casefics, humor, angst, family fluff. Yeah. Oh and semicolons. Just a bit. And when I actually try, descriptions. But I have to be in a specific mood and the wind has to behave a certain way for that to happen.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action and fight scenes. I had to employ Cyg's beta help for that. Torture I think. I want to get better at writing torture. Angst. It is both my strength and weakness.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Absolutely yes. I'm starting to use it at every chance I can. The next fic is gonna have some good ones. I'm so into it that I gave Sprite entire lessons on Arabic words and phrases. She can attest to that.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

DC. The fic's roaming around on tumblr here somewhere.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

A published one? My School's Local Mafia Boss. Because I've just... it's my first series. It's been going on for a year. I've made so many good friends in the comment sections and on other platforms and... some really really close friends. Who are just... so awesome. I can't describe /srs

No pressure tags: @wakkoroni @sardonic-sprite @tristicorde @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego @uncertainwallflower @cygnusdoesthings

[genericpuff]

This isn't meant to be a hateful ask, but you should probably stop saying you've 'fixed' Rachel's art whenever you redraw comic frames. At first, I could see why your posts were titled that, considering they were just edits made onto a frame, trying to keep in mind the style of the comic alongside it (and let me say, you absolutely nail colors when it comes to your gLOw series, I use your notes for my own art all the time). But it seems like for your more recent posts, you're redrawing panels in your own style and saying that you've 'fixed' the frames. I'm not saying that you can't do that, redraws are a core part of the LO community. But it feels as if you're putting Rachel's art style down in favor of your own. For example, your recent post. Smaller necks and 'googly eyes' (big eyes with small pupils) are usually apart of LOs more cartooney style, they aren't something as bad as LOs men's shoulder to head width, or awkward hand and feet positions, etc. The point I'm trying to make is that you should probably start titling frames you redraw in your own style as that, a redraw, not 'fixing' someone else's art style

EDIT: oh god I totally went off with this, BIG apologies for the essay dump in response to a very simple ask, it's just a topic I'm very passionate about and am willing to talk about at really extreme lengths. I appreciate your takes on this even if I do disagree with them, I just don't make shit easy and I apologize for that 😖 😂

Oookay, so I'm gonna try and answer this as best I can, with as little curtness as possible, because I know you're asking it genuinely, but please understand that this is a topic that comes up a LOT in artist/LO spaces and I'm sorta exhausted with having to talk about it. Often times because it's approaching the argument with a very misconstrued idea of what 'style' is.

Ironically enough, before I get into this, I actually do have a post queued up for tomorrow already that's called a 'redraw' because unlike the panels I'm assuming you're calling out, I actually painted the upcoming ones for tomorrow entirely from scratch. I'm still trying to replicate the LO style, of course, but it's not trying to remain quite as faithful as my edits tend to be because it's meant to be a redraw in the true sense of the word like you're referencing. My edits are often just a normal layer on top of the original that I paint over, which is what the last few posts have been. My redraws are drawn from the ground up, backgrounds, faces, poses, etc. often times with the goal of re-compositing the scene entirely. The ones from the last couple days were not drawn from the ground up, simply altered over the originals - but the unfortunate reality is that some of them simply can't be accurately edited entirely due to the original composition being such a visual mess. That includes this one which was a struggle to edit faithfully without my own anatomical stylizations bleeding into it due to how janky the original was (IMO). Like, the original panel didn't even "look like LO", it's godawful, and it's a stretch to say I'm dissing Rachel's "style" when I'm fairly certain Rachel didn't even draw any part of that original panel, it's INCREDIBLY obvious two different people from her team drew it and there's no way of knowing whether or not Rachel was one of them. I did not touch Hades because he's not the problem with the panel. Hades as you see him in that panel is exactly how he was in the original, I merely tried my best to edit Persephone to look more consistent with Hades and less creepy.

Disclaimers over, let's get on with this.

So here's the thing - if it were a simple matter of "style", I'd agree wholeheartedly with you. I'm not about pitting artists against one another, we're all different people with different takes and inspirations making our own thing.

However, there's a difference between style and execution.

With full disclosure, I do not accept the argument that because LO has a more "cartoony style", then it's "fine" for it to very blatantly lower its quality in technical execution or turn into a cheap copy of what it once was. LO was never 'cartoony', it was more akin to storybook art, like something you'd find in old Disney concept art pieces or in children's illustration books. 'Cartoony' as in 'not realistic', sure, but definitely not cartoony in the way most people envision it or market it (like what you'd see in legitimate cartoon shows). The use of color was vibrant and had thought put into it, compositions were dynamic, lineart was only used where needed to create depth, and overall, there was a vibe to it that many of you can still recognize, it's what a lot of my blog talks about.

When I do these panel "fixes", my goal isn't to go "hey, my style is superior to Rachel's! Fuck Rachel!" Far from it. My goal is to analyze what made the original LO art so special and unique, and help preserve those elements in newer panels through key elements such as color choice, glow layers, composition, texturing, etc. many of which are elements that are outright missing from S2 of LO onwards.

Because, full bluntness, LO has zero effort being put into it anymore.

LO never had perfect anatomy and it's always struggled with creating a cohesive visual narrative, but it hid its issues well with a good balance of color choice, mood/tone, and lineart-less rendering. It wasn't meant to be some hyper-realistic comic, what set it apart were the colorful panels and vignettes and use of 'cutout' style backgrounds and foreground elements.

Stuff like this:

I have spent literally hours dissecting LO's art style, researching and hunting down its brushes, crawling the best and most recognizable color palettes, drawing and redrawing old panels in attempts to replicate Rachel's style and techniques as best I can. I'm not doing all that just to try and be like "I can do it better", more so to preserve what once was and could have been. Because I genuinely miss how old LO looked and so do many others. It's my own way of participating in a fandom that's being torn apart each week by the new episodes that only seem to further degrade the comic's original presentation and why people liked it.

Trust me, if I wanted to just draw LO in 'my style' as some sort of self-gratifying flex (because everyone in the art world nowadays thinks the only point in creating art is to have a "style" that they can pit against other "styles" as if styles are collectables like fucking Pokemon lmao), you wouldn't even recognize it.

THIS is my "style", y'all. The only elements that I've purely taken from LO is the background and how I did the lighting effects along the side but everything else is my standard 'style' when I draw anything that's NOT LO, especially with my own comics and my day job.

"Style" is not a tangible thing, at least not in the way people nowadays tend to define it. Style is an accumulation of everything that's influenced an artist over years of practice, learning, refinement, and mastery. It is not something any one person can 'own' nor is it something that can or should be 'fixed' in and of itself. Just like how Rachel has adopted elements of her style from inspirations such as Glen Keane and Mary Blair, I've gotten my stylistic inspirations from anime, manga, video games, and other webcomics. Our styles and why we create art and who we create art for are completely different.

I have zero issue with Rachel's 'style'. At its core it's actually freaking gorgeous, when she puts in the effort. Not even just LO, take a look at her even OLDER art that's still available to sift through on her DA:

The issues I'm bringing up have to do with the execution of said style, how it's blatantly obvious Rachel doesn't put any effort into the art anymore and often has her assistants picking up the slack in a very disorganized manner that leads to disjointed, bland, weird ass art that often can't even maintain consistency between SINGLE PANELS, like this:

The magic is gone. These are not reflections of Rachel's capabilities in the slightest. She is far capable of so much more, this is beyond being a 'stylistic choice' and falls more under the implication of laziness or lack of care.

What's wild is that she's outright stated that she's "streamlined" the LO creation process to make it easier for new assistants to acclimate - which would be fine, if it weren't for the fact that 'streamlining' shouldn't mean 'downgrade'. There are plenty of ways to streamline the LO art style that can still retain the original charm of LO that drew people to it in the first place without cheapening it. It's not like LO is the only webtoon under strict deadlines, Rachel has more assistants than most working for WT and yet everyone else on the platform seems to only improve in their comic's production workflow and its presentation whereas LO has only declined.

(The Kiss Bet, 2019-Present)

(Tower of God, 2014-Present)

Not every comic needs to make improvements this drastically, and technically LO didn't even have to make improvements in its original execution - but it's so far gone in the other direction that it begs the question, "Why do other creators and comics with less prestige and as many or less assistants compared to LO seem to make such bigger strides in the technical execution of their work?" Regardless of whether the style is erring more towards anime or cartoon or realism, 'style' doesn't make up for poor technical execution and lack of consistency. That's the same energy we get all the time from newcomers to the craft who reject any form of criticism towards their technique and understanding of the fundamentals with "THAT'S JUST MY STYYYYLE". Even many animators who predominantly work on cartoon productions still understand their fundamentals and utilize them in the creation of stylized pieces of work. This isn't even me questioning how much of the fundamentals Rachel knows because, again, she clearly has understanding of it in her older work, she just seems to have stopped caring or isn't doing a proper job directing her team.

I criticize the stick necks and googly eyes the same way I do the inconsistent body types, refrigerator shoulders and same-face syndrome because they're all things that are detracting from and lowering the quality of LO's art as a whole. They didn't always shade whites in the old episodes of LO, but they did often tint them to make them less jarring against the more vibrant colors. They didn't always color in the irises back in 2018/2019, but at least when they were just solid black pupils, they were actually drawn EQUALLY, vs. the solid pupils nowadays which feel like they're each on their own schedule and are never the same size or facing the same direction. They didn't always draw perfect necks and faces, but nowadays it feels like the heads are being stuck on sticks and attached to separate bodies that aren't even consistent with the characters' body types. All of these things are issues, there's no 'hierarchy' of problems, they're each a part of a much bigger lackluster whole.

When it comes to my own panel fixes/redraws/whatever you wanna call them, if they don't look enough like Rachel's 'style', that's either because we're failing to recognize what makes Rachel's art unique due to it being so watered down over the years, or because I'm just not doing a good enough job replicating it. Undoubtedly a little bit of both. I'm still 'adjusting' to a workflow that accommodates the LO style and how it looks. It's not exactly easy to just jump from one style (my style) to another without my own usual biases bleeding in (trust me, I'm not happy that there are people who know my usual art style who can still 'see' it in my LO art, because that completely defeats the purpose of what I'm trying to do lmao)

All that aside, we can't pretend that S1 LO's signature style is still being executed to its fullest potential in S3.

If I can be really brash here, there are WAY more egregious panel 'editors' out there who straight up are drawing stuff legitimately just in their own style. And they're still all great in their own right and get to the point of what they're trying to say even if they don't fit what you would define as a "fix". Don't bug me about mine.

Rachel's style in and of itself is gorgeous and unique. It's the lack of effort in the execution as time goes on that is the topic here. I can never hope to fully achieve that 'vibe' that so many people miss about 'old' LO because that was all Rachel and I can never fully capture the spirit of her work because it's hers, it's the accumulation of everything that's inspired and influenced her in her artistic journey.

What I can do is point out and design alternatives to the many errors, inconsistencies, and technical issues that tries to get it closer to that original look and feel of S1 LO that better reflected Rachel's original efforts. It's what it could potentially look like if modern LO art wasn't so disjointed among its scattered assistants and rushed with as little visible effort possible. It's what could have been if it didn't feel like Rachel has essentially given up.

Does it really matter how I specifically word my posts between 'edit' and 'redraw' in this context when both things are attempting to accomplish the same goal?

[amistytown]

Power Over Me (Leviathan x GN!MC)

Leviathan x GN!MC as Lord of Shadow and Henry; MC is referred to as Henry but remains gender-neutral. I enjoy the TSL lore in Obey Me and wanted to write a bit for it. I initially had an alternate ending in mind, but I decided to save it for another idea I might write at some point. Tried to keep Levi in character while giving him and the story a slightly different feel since it takes place in a fantasy world. Also listened to Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy on repeat while I wrote this so chose to title it accordingly. Hopefully, it turned out all right. Trigger warning for mentions of blood and self-deprecating thoughts. Mostly some angst with fluff. As always, sorry for the typos that I may have missed, and thank you to everyone who takes the time to read. I appreciate it!

Lightning illuminates the throne room, the Lord of Shadow watching the rain batter the windows, gaze sullen. A storm rages outside, mirroring the flood of emotion bursting forth to drown him in misery. Though he can only hold himself accountable, allowing his envy to fester and take possession of his heart in a moment of weakness. He regrets the letters he frantically wrote in his jealously, the heated words exchanged between you, and your pain forever engrained into the parchment, the ink smudged by your tears, which now lay in pieces at his feet. He considered to make the journey to you, begging for your forgiveness, but he knows he’s undeserving. Instead, he mourns the loss of your friendship, the loneliness left in its wake burning him from the inside out as he cries into his hands, his tortured sobs lost to the thunder roaring above.

The doors swing open, light spilling in from the hall. He recoils at the intrusion, anger welling and threatening to spill over, his patience worn thin. A growl dies in his throat, eyes widening at the vision before him, so beautiful and precious his entire being aches with longing. Slowly, he takes in the sight of you, engraving every detail into his memory. Your windswept hair and the raindrops trickling down your face, clinging to your lashes and following the curve of your lips as you smile sweetly at him, staggering into his arms.

“Henry,” he whispers into the nape of your neck, daring to embrace you and revel in the feel of your body against his; your skin cool and soft, and your scent rich, intoxicating him. He’s certain he’s not worthy of your compassion, yet he can’t bear to turn you away, selfishly clinging to you and delighting in the fact you lean into him, your arms winding around his waist to pull him closer. My Henry, he thinks, tightening his grip, afraid he’ll lose you again if he’s not careful. “I’m sorry. I’m so so—”

You grow limp, legs buckling under your weight.

Fear engulfs him, heart lurching as he supports you, catching your hand in his. “Henry?” he whimpers, noticing how your chest heaves with each breath, and the way your brows knit in discomfort, a low groan slipping past clenched teeth. “Henry! What’s wrong? Tell me, please.”

“I ran into a bit of trouble on the way here,” you manage, laughing pitifully. “I didn’t realize . . .” Your fingers fumble to unclasp your cloak, and he swallows thickly at way lay beneath. Blood soaks your blouse—a sickening shade of red—the fabric sticking to your back.

“You didn’t realize?” he cries, incredulous. “Henry—”

“I just wanted to see you.” Your voice wavers, head lolling to the side. He calls to you, shaking you by the shoulders, desperate to keep you beside him. However, your eyes close, grief overtaking him when they don’t reopen.

“You’ll be okay,” he reassures, robes billowing around his ankles as he rushes down the corridor, gently cradling you to him. Guilt plagues him, reminding him how pathetic he is, especially for hurting you and putting your life at risk; how could he act so recklessly. You’re the light to his darkness, breathing life into his world, and he can’t accept losing you—his happiness—your love dispelling the shadows that once consumed him. He never knew a truer friend, and he’s positive there’s no one else who could play such an important role—you’re irreplaceable. There’s plenty of time to atone for his sins, tonight he needs to make sure you live to see the morning.

“I’ll take care of you, Henry. I promise.”

Time comes to an agonizing standstill.

The Lord of Shadow remains at your side, hoping and praying you don’t succumb to your wounds. He watches you closely, frequently checking your pulse and finding comfort in the steady beat of your heart while you sleep, looking deceivingly peaceful in his bed. His focus is on you, never straying from his true friend’s wellbeing despite his inner turmoil, which threatens to tear him apart at the seams. You keep him together, and again he’s at your mercy, owing you his life for all you’ve given him—his hero—his Henry. He hurt you, but you came to him and offered him forgiveness, willing to sacrifice yourself to save your friendship. How can you care about him with such ferocity, a brooding reclusive lord who’s unworthy of his title? No matter the days spent apart, you return to him, accepting him into your life without hesitance, and he can’t help welcoming you back with open arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he mutters. “I’m terrible. A worthless—”

“You’re not.”

For an excruciating second, he wonders if he imagined the glorious sound of your voice, and an anguished sob escapes him, tears clouding his vision. You stare up at him, eyes heavy with sleep, and a lazy smile on your lips. He’s dreaming, he reasons, shaking his head in disbelief. Then your hand is in his, familiar and warm; he shivers at your touch.

Gasping, he pulls away. “Y-you . . .”

“Forgive me,” you say, so understanding—so sweet—your kindness unfathomable. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“N-no,” he stammers, head spinning. “I’m sorry.” Tentatively, he reaches for your hand, fingers quivering as he entwines them with yours. “I’m sorry.” His tears come faster and harder, shamefully hot on his cheeks. He’s unable to articulate how sorry he is or how his very soul painfully throbs at the thought of hurting you—losing you—wishing he could turn back the clock. “For everything.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay,” you soothe. “I’m sorry, too.” Sitting upright, the blanket bunches at your waist, and he can see where the bandages peek out from beneath your shirt, the skin bruised, making him wince. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I’m the reason you’re hurt,” he chokes out, averting his gaze. “It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s not your fault.”

You’re wrong, he wants to say; however, he refrains.

“I don’t blame you,” you continue. “Look at me, please?”

He shouldn’t. Surely, he looks foolish, a mere hostage to his emotions. Nevertheless, he spares you a glance, wondering why you regard him so kindly—lovingly even—causing his heart to flutter.

“It’s not your fault.”

Not his fault? His mind tells him differently; it’s a sea of dread and uncertainty that washes over him in waves, dragging him under. The sincerity of your words is difficult to ignore, and, in that instance, he decides to trust you, finally breaking the surface. “Henry,” he murmurs, hugging you to him, arms wrapping around you protectively as if to shield you from the world. His tears wet your hair, body trembling, and you hold him, letting him come undone in your embrace.

“I wanted to see you,” you say, setting him alight. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering on your own.”

“Henry—”

“I know you’re struggling. It’s okay. I’m here.” You rub his back, resting your head on his chest. “I’ll always come when you call.”

“You’re the truest of friends, Henry. I fear I’m not worthy . . .”

“Of course, you are. I’ve never known a truer friend than you, my lord.”

“I can’t help worrying someone will steal you away. It’s selfish of me, I know. Though I feel so inferior in comparison. Sometimes I think you’re better off without me.” When he learned you met with the Lord of Corruption, his insecurities grew, fanning the flames of his envy. Why choose him over his brother? The Lord of Corruption could provide you with more than he can give. The rest of his brothers, too; they could care for you—protect you—unlike him. You’re here with him though, leaving his brother behind at a moment’s notice, and you did come when he called, eager to please. He wants to return the sentiment. “I can’t articulate how important you are to me. I . . . you’re so special, Henry.”

“No. No one compares to you.” Your praise captivates him. “All I ask is for you to trust me. Talk to me so I can help you. I accept you, all of you, and that’s not going to change. I love you as you are.”

“Love me?” he breathes.

“Yes, I love you.”

A simple but genuine vow of love. He stills, terrified he’ll faint in your arms as he hides his face, heart racing. The cynical part of him says it’s too good to be true, but he knows better—he knows you. He’s envisioned this moment, and it’s far sweeter than his fantasies, your love a beautiful feeling that sweeps him off his feet.

“Have you slept?”

He sighs, mouth unbearably dry. “No.”

“Come to bed. You should rest.”

“Henry! W-with you?”

“You say that as if it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed,” you tease.

“You’ll be the death of me.” Although he complains, the bed dips beneath his weight as he settles beside you, reaching for your hand. “Is this, okay?”

“It is.” Shifting onto your side, your hand tightens around his, a flicker of pain twisting your features.

He tenses, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“I’m all right. Better, thanks to you.”

He can see the exhaustion in your eyes, the dark circles beneath them, and the stiffness of your movements, betraying the smile you wear for him.

“Who hurt you?” he asks.

“No one you need to worry about. Not now.”

Unsurprising. You’re his Henry, besting him and his brothers on multiple occasions; anyone who chose to challenge you is a fool. Yet, your blood flowing freely, covering his hands—the ungodly stench—stayed with him. He clearly recalls your lifeless body, and how the color drained from your face, the heaviness of his heart breaking when he believed he lost you twice in one day. You looked so fragile then and do now, trusting him at your most vulnerable. Hatred for the one who dared to harm you runs deep and for himself for not protecting the one he loves.

“I thought I lost you,” he admits, inhaling sharply. “I-I . . .”

“You didn’t. You won’t.” You catch his tears as they fall. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I love you, too.” His declaration is quick and clumsy but true; he’s loved you for so long.

Caging you in his arms, he hovers over you, peering down at you shyly. His body shakes with every beat of his heart, ears ringing, but he admires you, gaze affectionate and a light blush dusting your cheeks. He’s scared. He’s scared of losing you most of all, trying to muster half the courage he knows you possess. “I love you, Henry,” he says softly, clutching your hand, his lifeline. Closing the distance between you, he catches your lips in a tender kiss, the magnificence of it sending a rush of blood to his head. He forgets how to breathe, dizzy on the taste of your love, and collapses next to you, questioning if he died and ascended to the heavens. With you by his side the future is much brighter, and, for once, he looks forward to what it brings.

[eligaxy]

Wind

☆ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 : Venti x gn!Reader

☆𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 : near death experience, you’re confused asf about everything, bad writing cause i suck, spoilers for the we will be reunited quest!! And also for venti’s backstory, venti is serious for once (yes it’s a legitimate warning🤚)

☆𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 : Some angst, some fluff? Idk bye🤨

☆𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 : "It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask." (2.8k words)

♪𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 : i’m an idiot simp, i did this in one sitting and half asleep, english isnt my first language BLA BLA IM SORRY FOR MY POOR WRITING BUT HAVE THIS

basically you don’t know if you can trust venti or not, head says no, heart screams yes

Also, I was listening to stormterror’s lair ost while writing it, just because its fucking amazing, you might wanna listen to it too

I’m nervous to post this?/&:! This is the second fic i’ve ever finished in my whole life

i love venti and he’s hot in his god outfit i don’t make the rules

KAY ENJOY <3

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"Please, anybody... Just help me."

Saying you were exhausted would have been an understatement. After reuniting with your sibling, you had been frantically searching for clues about khaenri'ah and ways to Inazuma. With no luck, you couldn't find any traces of Dainsleif or of your twin. The ruins had been sealed and you had no idea what happened to the inverted statue or the corpse you had found there. Desperately, you clung into every little information you had, you would have turned every rock on this archon damned continent if you had to, which is what led you into those ruins near Guilli plains.

Walking along the destroyed buildings your eyes caught sight of a dandelion and you froze. You missed them so much, why couldn't they go back home with you? All you ever wanted was to be by their side why, why were they running away from you?

You remembered your travels, the moments you shared together, their protectiveness over you, the fondness in their eyes when you smiled at them. You remember the times you got hurt and healed one another with your now missing powers. You remember sleeping by their side and being grateful to the universe to let you keep your ray of sunshine everywhere with you. How ironic.

What had they meant 'once you reach the end of your journey' ? What does that even mean? Stupid twin, if they knew you were here the whole time, why hadn't they come to you? Why were they always leaving just when they were within your grasp? Why? Did they know how much you missed them and how much your heart broke when you finally saw them? Did they?

You only realized you were crying when a small gust of wind had your wet cheek react to the cold, breaking your train of thought. Wind.

The wind is everywhere, you think, free as a bird, always accompanying every citizen of this world, never truly alone. With this in mind, you resumed your exploring, slower this time.

A sigh escaped your mouth. You didn't want to admit it, but the wind did comfort you a little. Almost as if he was here. God of freedom and of the breeze, he was more a singer than a protector and you couldn't bear to think about him. Was it true? What Dain said... Did he destroy this nation? Was he the cause of the scenery that still haunted your nightmares up until 500 years later? Your brain simply couldn't accept that Venti, your Venti, you catch yourself thinking, could have made such an act of wrath. He was the epitome of freedom, why would he take the very thing he based all of his existence on from mere mortals? Barbatos simply couldn't be afraid of being overpowered, he didn't even care about power. All he wanted was freedom and happiness for his people. Surley this couldn't be right?

But then again, who were you to deny the wipe out of an entire nation? The gods did it. They were afraid that Celestia would be overthrown by the pride of humankind, the destruction of khaenri'ah by divine beings was a fact. There was no misunderstanding about this. That was the one thing you were sure of. So why did you feel like crying even more now?

The mere thought of a gentle soul such as Venti committing innocent people to an eternity of suffering didn't sit right with you. Even when his dearest friend Dvalin had turned against him, he didn't try to stop him, didn't even ask the dragon to save him. He healed and helped him, gave him a choice.

'What is freedom if demanded of you by a god?' was the same person that asked this question the same one who committed mass murder? Genocide?

Did the little wine-lover bard you had grown fond of destroy all hopes and light your kin had?

You remember that night when he freed Stanley from his burden, freed his and his friends' spirits. You had marveled at his action, in that instant he was a god, and he definitely hadn't struck you as a murderer. You remember that look of silent pain and grief in his eyes when he sang the tales of the nameless bard he had taken the appearance of. You knew he trusted you enough to share his story, something so personal, you could almost feel the war that took down the tyrant of Mond. Oh how much you cherished that evening, treating him to some well deserved dandelion wine afterwards, his favorite, and asking him to sing you more about the time where was nothing but the spirit of a breeze.

Your heart broke a little, remembering his rosy cheeks and drunk smile, you wish you could talk to him, ask him what happened. What did he do, was he really as dangerous as you had been told? If so, then why did you feel so good around him? Why did you feel like you could give hi-

You stopped walking upon seeing a ruin guard up ahead in the distance. You're so stupid, you think. Feeling this way is not gonna get you anywhere, especially with how the bard had been missing for a few weeks now. Ever since you had last seen your sibling.

Where was he, where was he wandering off to? You walk towards the disabled ruin guard, not really paying any mind to it, still thinking about the god you longed to meet with. If you could see him, what would you even say? Would he even answer your questions? Why did your stomach feel so light and funny when you thought about seeing him, why aren't you angrier?

You're almost at the killing machine's level now, so lost in your thought you don't notice the five other similar robots hidden behind a wall next to it. You notice them only when it's too late and you've already turned them on while thinking about examining them and collecting their serial numbers. When you hear the familiar tick of the mechanism turning on, you internally panic and think about running away only to calm down moments later and think to yourself that you can simply beat it and take what you came here for. Even if you are emotionally and physically tired, you can manage, you think.

That was before hearing five other consecutive ticks right after it, and all around you.

Turning around, your gaze falls upon the small army of field tillers. Fuck.

Paimon wasn't with you today, you had asked for some time alone which she hesitantly accepted, so you couldn't ask her to go fetch help. You would have been worried if you had all your capacities but with the state you were in, you were wondering how you were going to survive this fight. You were alone, none of your companions with you, and deeply weakened by the busy day you had and the few hours of sleep you had managed to steal away from the night. Was it today you would meet your doom, with all your questions and uncertainties unanswered?

You tried your best to fight with the strength you had left, but quickly grew desperate after what felt like hours of efforts to swing your blade and being able to only take one monster down out of the six. It didn't help that you got injured along the way, their blows becoming harder and harder to dodge. After being thrown on the grown for the third time, you understood you had at least two broken ribs and that your shaking legs would soon fail you as well.

Fear crept upon you, you would die here today, alone. Alone. You couldn't talk to your sibling after all, couldn't understand. You didn't even get to talk to him one last time. Him... You would die without the knowledge of the truth about your bard. You would die alone. You didn't want that, you couldn't look death straight in the eye.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

In Mondstadt, there was a musician, a weird singer everyone had heard about at least once. He lived off of his songs and was mostly known for having a great story-telling and being an alcoholic.

The number of people who knew the true nature of his identity were few and he was perfectly content with that. He didn't wish to be a god anymore, his gnosis had been taken away anyway and it's not like he had any power over the city of wind nowadays. Even if his people still worshipped him as Barbatos, it didn't sit right with him to be called a god anymore. It actually never did, he thinks to himself with a smile, he never really took any responsibilities that came with the divine title which is why he was so weak today. But it didn't matter to him, his smile turns into a soft giggle.

Sitting on a mill that was once born from his steps he looks fondly over the city he founded. Even if they were godless, the citizens were still thriving and free. He cared oh so very deeply about the place even if he rarely, if not never, showed the affection within his heart. He remembers the day he grew strong enough to dispel the storms over his actual Mondstadt, and made the weather gentle enough so that there was no need for fireplaces. Nowadays, he loves watching birds nest into the chimney tops and seeing them found their own home. It gave him a sense of belonging like no other, not above his people, but walking among them and watching them nest into this cocoon he created. He was proud of what happened to his land and would do it all over again if he had to.

Especially since it led to him meeting you. This thought doesn't catch him off guard, you often roamed around in his mind after all, and it's not like he didn't write at least three songs about you and your feat, your smile, your courage...

Ah there he goes again, rambling about you in a whisper. He turns around to the statue of him his people erected in his honor, chuckling at how they never made the connection with his signature braids. His, but not really his, since he had stolen this form from someone who was much more deserving of this power than him. Seeing his friend being honored with the statues of the seven around the land made him happy, he hoped that it was a good enough thank you gift in return for everything that the bard whom he couldn't even remember the name of anymore did for him.

Upon gazing at the statue, he remembered telling you of his long gone friend. It was the first time he had talked about him to someone else, he didn't even mention it to Venessa, she who made him believe in himself again. He could ask himself why, but he simply knew that you had something different, more than meets the eye. Perhaps it was because you weren't from Teyvat, or perhaps it was just you being as simple as your natural self but he was simply and utterly captivated by your being. You inspired him to no end, at first he thought it was because he had never met someone like you and he loved new things! But as time grew and he got to know you, he understood quickly the meaning and depth of his passions. He thought of it with a light chuckle, content with your presence alone. He really did need and want you around.

So why did he purposely avoid you like the plague?

The wind had brought to his ears that you had met with Dainsleif.

And your twin.

His first reaction was to search for you, talk to you, he wanted to be here to know what happened! You had searched so long, he couldn't contain himself, still listening to what the wind told him, he started running with excitement but... But wait, Dainsleif was... He told you what?

Oh.

So you heard about Khaenri'ah. He had stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, only sending a warm current of wind your way, hugging you from afar.

He wasn't ready to talk about this yet, not ready to face you and absolutely not ready to answer your questions. He was a coward, he thought, running away like that but what else could he do, really. It was only natural for him to be as uncatchable as air.

A sorry excuse to avoid the fact that even if his past had marvelous story like the one of the nameless bard, it also had its share of darkness, something he wasn't ready to dive back into. Especially not now when your arrival has been shaking this world up like it hasn't been since at least 500 years.

But oh, how he longed to see your face or to hear your voice. So he asked a breeze to report to him what you were up to, and where you were. Just in case! he tells himself, what if you needed help ehe? But he knows you're competent and you won't need the help of a weakling coward like him anytime soon. Or so he thought.

Because when the breeze only gives him a few words back, his blood runs cold.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

As you murmured these words in your desperate state, not really for anyone but yourself as a last resort, a prayer of some sort, you tried to stand by leaning yourself on your sword and failing miserably. You didn't dare look up as you heard the loud footsteps of the metal giants coming your way. It was over, and you barely managed to accept it.

As you rested your forehead against the cold handle of your sword, you closed your eyes, tears starting to make their ways out of your closed eyelids. All you could feel was remorse.

A soft breeze moved your hair slightly and your chest felt like a black hole had taken place where your heart used to be, regretting to not have been able to meet him under the tree at Windrise one last time.

The breeze quickly grew stronger, until it felt unnatural and you looked up from the ground, only to close your eyes again immediately when you realized the wind was too powerful for you to keep them open. If you had struggled to see though, you would have been blinded by the white light that soon illuminated the whole ruins. You didn't have enough time to register the situation when you felt a hand being laid atop your shoulder, snaking around your collarbones and pulling you back into... nothing? Another arm circled your weak form and a voice you immediately recognized said

"I've dealt with things worse than you, now crumble."

You realized that if you couldn't feel a chest behind you while still being embraced by his arms, it was because he was floating above you, and not standing behind you. A look in his direction confirmed your suspicions but what stunned you wasn't the fact that he was flying, but the attire he wore. Barely covering his body, a white set made of materials that seemed like clouds and liquid gold contrasted perfectly with his regular green clothes. His hair was glowing green and his eyes that were focused on the ruin guards up ahead had a marvelous shine that you had never seen before. He had that same aura he did the night he freed Stanley, but there was also something different about the way his hands gripped you a little too tightly or the way his voice sounded.

"Venti.." You muttered his name, relief and affection flooding you all at once, in his presence you felt as if nothing bad could happen to you. How foolish could you be, just a few hours ago you were speculating wether or not he had wiped out an entire civilisation and now here you were, being saved by him and feeling safer than you had in months.

"Close your eyes, I don't want give you a headache" he said, slowly floating legs first towards the ground. His unusually serious voice surprised you (and him) but you did as he told you. Letting go of your sword and leaning back into him, you let him deal with the monsters ahead of you.

"It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask."

Being protected by a god really didn't feel that bad. Especially when you were in love with said god.

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Thank you so much for reading whatever this is until the end :’)

Don’t hesitate to comment or reblog, tysm <3

Ps: venti loves u and so do i do pls take care of urself mwah

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Will you accept me? [Loki Laufeyson x Reader]

Title: Will you accept me? Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Avenger!Female!Reader Word count: 4.1k Published: 19 May 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: Firstly, this is my first ever Marvel fic, so go easy on me. Secondly, Infinity War and Endgame didn't happen in this house. I accept none of that. Summary: [x] In the past three years you’ve been trying refrain yourself from murdering the mischievous God, or so you have been telling yourself that. Your little game with Loki has been driving you crazy and if that wasn’t enough, you had to admit that a part of you enjoyed his company, regardless of how much you tried to hate him.

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Loki Laufeyson was nothing, but a mischievous little boy stuck in a man’s body. His mere presence lit a raging fire within you, wanting to remove that smug grin across his face. God of mischief they said countless times in the past three years, but you could only see a man who found enjoyment in dancing on your nerves.

The first time you met him, it became very clear to you that there would be no boring moments around the man, so when he left earth, you finally felt like you could breathe again as if all your frustration disappeared into thin air. You had nothing against Thor, but you wished he would just stay in one of his many realms and leave Earth forever. Of course, it had nothing to do with him per se, as far as you were concerned Thor could have stayed on Earth and it wouldn’t have bothered you. But Loki was brought along like an unwanted package, making your life miserable as though you were his little toy. So, each time Thor returned to Earth, you didn’t feel like welcoming the God of Thunder because his lap dog was attached to his hips.

As to why Tony Stark decided to give him a place to sleep in the compound, you didn’t understand, after all Loki had tried to wipe out your planet. Tony was one of those who hated Loki the most, but somewhere along the line, as though he had gone mad, he decided to give him a second chance. So, for the past 3 years you have been trying to refrain yourself from carving Loki’s eyes out, from trying to stab him in his sleep when he stayed longer than he should have. It took you a great deal of effort not to murder him in his sleep.

It doesn’t mean you haven’t tried. Oh, you did indeed. Although it took you two years to get to a point where you couldn’t handle him anymore.

One night, feeling brave or reckless, whichever is a more reasonable statement, you snuck into his room, rage building up inside you, wanting to end his miserable life. Oh, but you were naive. As you swung your dagger, stabbing it straight into his chest, it went straight through his bedding set, the astral projection of his body disappearing.

“My sly little vixen, did you really think I would make myself so vulnerable?” He asked as you looked over your shoulder, his dark form seated in the corner of his room. A proud smirk was plastered across his face, his smug smile lit by the lights towering over the large building on the outside, carefully finding their way through the blinds. “But regardless of your intent on taking my life, I’m rather pleased with your bravery,” he chuckled as he stood up and walked over to you, earning a loud groan from you as you held your dagger to his chest, this time feeling his flesh under the edge of the blade.

“I could kill you now,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He leaned closer, his mouth right beside your ear, his cold lips brushing against your earlobe. “I dare you to,” he whispered into your ear, his hushed voice sending electricity through your spine, making your breath hitch. “I’m waiting, my little vixen,” he smirked. Although you couldn’t see it, you didn’t need to, you could read his tone, his body language, the little games he was playing. He found enjoyment in riling you up and you fell victim to him. He leaned back to be able to look in your eyes, his signature smile still plastered across his face. “You see, I understand that rage within you, feeling exhausted from our little games, but that’s only the surface. If you dig just a little deeper, you will find that even if it’s only a tiny part of your fragile mortal body, but it craves that attention, it enjoys our games. You can deny, oh you have been doing that for the past two years, but a part of you, a part that’s honest and dares to accept the truth knows that I’m right.”

A part of you wanted to argue and push the dagger further into his chest, wishing to watch his gaze become glassy, his soul moving onto Hel or Valhalla, though the latter seemed unlikely. But even against all his manipulation and tactical little games, always steps ahead of you, it was clear even to you that he was right. A part of you, even if it was hard to accept, found your shared games somewhat amusing. But you couldn’t say it out loud, you couldn’t agree with him. It would have broken the spell, the core of your entertainment. It was fun only because you never accepted to enjoy it. If you ever voiced the truth, it would have ended it all.

“You wish,” you hissed through gritted teeth as you dropped your arm beside your body. “I will have many other chances and when you expect it the least, that’s when I will be giving you a chance to go back to wherever the hell you came from,” your lips formed a thin line, your gaze holding determination. Those were the words you said aloud, but nothing like the ones you thought of. “Watch your back, Loki,” you whispered into his ear, before you headed towards the door, ready to scold yourself for the night in hopes of regaining your sanity.

“Good night, darling,” he chuckled silently as you stepped out of his room, shutting the door behind you with a loud thud. You couldn’t care less about who could have heard it, as fun as your little games were, they were also playing with your mind, leaving you flustered and frustrated. Loki affected you in many ways from your body to your mind, physically and mentally. You hated it, but at the same time, a part of you enjoyed it.

You tried to shake off the memory, but some of your encounters often appeared in your mind at the most unwanted times, as though a part of you missed him already. It’s only been months since he has left with Thor again, but since then life seemed somewhat boring. Although it was refreshing to focus solely on your duties as an Avenger and work hard for your people, but at times it felt as though there was a lack of something in you, a tiny part of emptiness.

Leaning back against the sofa, you continued to clean your guns. It was a small task that you could have entrusted F.R.I.D.A.Y. with, but this little chore brought you a sense of familiarity, a calming sensation in the midst of your storming thoughts.

“My dearest, why do you look so upset?” You heard his voice, but you didn’t look up, knowing it wasn’t reality. Another little game that your mind started to play with you, making you feel as though you were going insane. “Have I made you mad?” He chuckled playfully. You lifted your head, eyes growing wide as realisation hit you. He was indeed there. He was standing right beside Thor, wearing a smug grin, your presence seemingly bringing enjoyment to him. A part of you wanted to smile, mirror his expression, but instead you chose to play his game and rolled your eyes.

“Yes, you have. The day you decided to appear on this goddamn planet,” you groaned, concentrating back on your gun, cleaning it with a dirty cloth. Those words that left your lips weren’t the ones you wished to say. But you were afraid, terrified of being honest. You knew as soon as you admitted enjoying his company, he would stomp all over you as though you were a mere bug on the ground. A useless piece of life that he had no gain in caring for. So, you bit your tongue and played along.

“Now, now, my dear, that’s not a nice way to welcome a guest,” he smirked, raising a brow quizzically, finding your tone amusing.

“You are no guest to me,” you huffed as you placed your gun back in one piece. “You are nothing but an itch on my back, a fly circling around me, an annoying presence that I can’t seem to get rid of,” you lifted your head, meeting his emerald-green irises, their colour even brighter than you remembered. His gaze felt as though it was burning you up from the inside, your unrhythmic breathing drying your lips, your heart taking on a dangerous pace.

“Why, thank you,” his smile didn’t falter if anything it grew. “I must be doing something right if you can’t get rid of me,” he chuckled with a playful glint in his eyes. “Tell me, do you think of me often? Do you find yourself remembering all those memories we had the pleasure of spending time together?” He leaned closer, placing his hand on the small of your back, his touch making you shiver, his cold lips brushing against your ear, just like on that particular night you could never forget. “Do you think of me before you go to bed, maybe whilst you are in the shower?” He leaned back with a smug grin still painted across his face. “Or perhaps as soon as you wake up, your first thoughts are occupied by your memories of me? If I’m that hard to get rid of, I’m terribly proud of myself,” he chuckled as he let go of you and stood up. “Well, unfortunately I have to leave, but as always it’s been a pleasure meeting you,” he watched you with an intense gaze as he licked across his bottom lip, before he turned away and joined his brother.

As soon as he was out the door, you had sunk deep into the soft couch, planning a way to clear your head, because you weren’t sure how long you could play Loki’s games before you were declared completely insane. A small part of you just wanted to be honest and tell him how you really felt that indeed you enjoyed his company, that there were more to your feelings than simple entertainment, but a larger part of you knew if that ever happened, Loki would be long gone before a surprised gasp could even escape your lips.

To avert your thoughts, you decided to head to the training room and beat some sense into yourself. Trying to get rid of your frustration meant your body needed to tire out, so for hours you kept hitting and kicking the punching bags, imagining one particular person in its place. You hated him, you despised him, or so you tried to tell yourself, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Your feelings were indeed strong, but not of hatred, rather some sort of an attraction that you couldn’t really explain because you convinced yourself that hating him would be the logical decision, regardless of your feelings not matching your thoughts.

Time flew by quickly and before you knew it, the sun had gone down, and darkness ruled over the sky. You headed back to your room, taking a hot shower to clear your mind before you decided to grab a bottle of wine from Tony’s collection and drown yourself in your toxic thoughts. There was no escape, you might as well just give in, at least that’s how you thought.

You leaned against the kitchen counter as you opened the bottle of wine. Ignoring formalities, you didn’t take out a glass to pour yourself from the liquid, you placed it straight to your lips and chugged as much as you could, hoping it would silence your thoughts.

“Darling, you seem to be troubled,” you heard his voice, a sharp exhale leaving your lungs as you turned in his direction. He was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a small smile that you haven’t seen much of. It was usually smug or playful, but in that moment, the expression across his face just seemed soft.

“I wasn’t until you arrived,” you rolled your eyes, taking another long sip of your alcohol, trying to numb your mind.

“Shall I help you relax?” His face changed into his usually smug grin as though he was planning something.

“I think I can manage. As a mischievous God you would just cause more trouble than you could possibly help,” you huffed, knowing he always had a plan a, b, c, the whole alphabet and beyond.

“I’m not a mischievous God, I’m the God of Mischief,” he corrected you with a momentary surprise before he regained his composure.

“Same difference,” you shrugged nonchalantly, earning a silent chuckle from the man.

“If that makes you feel any better, call me whatever you want,” he stepped closer to you, stopping right in front of you as you took another sip of your drink. You watched his green eyes staring at you shamelessly, studying your face as though he was trying to read you.

“Can you stop staring?” You asked with a questioningly raised brow, but it only earned a silent chuckle from the man.

“No, I don’t wish to,” he replied as he stepped closer and with a swift movement, he turned you around. Your head shot back around over your shoulder as you met his playful gaze. “I mean no harm,” he meant to relax you, but you didn’t trust him, nor did you trust yourself in his presence. His cold fingers caused goosebumps on your neck, making you slightly shiver as he brushed your hair to one side and placed his palms on your shoulders, slowly massaging the tense muscles. You gasped at the feeling, the idea of a god massaging you felt unearthly.

“What are you doing?” You asked cautiously, although the feeling of his fingers on your skin made you feel weak in your knees, his breath fanning your skin making your heartbeat speed up. A part of you just wanted to lean into his touch and enjoy the moment.

“I’m helping you relax,” he whispered in your ear as you realised you were completely devoured by his presence. You couldn’t even recall when he leaned so close to you, you could only focus on his cold touch burning your skin.

“Why would you do that?” You questioned his intentions, a silent gasp leaving your lips as he found a tender point.

“Do I always have to have an ulterior motive?” He asked, but you could hear the proud smile in his tone. You turned back around, a deadpan look across your face, his touch leaving your skin.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” You asked, squinting suspiciously.

“Fine, I’m often motivated by certain ideas, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be genuinely helpful,” he tried to convince you, but you shook your head.

“Loki, what do you want?” you tried to just finish the conversation to drown yourself in your bottle of wine.

“How long has it been?” He asked, earning a confused frown from you.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to take a step back, but the kitchen counter stopped your movements.

“How long have you been pretending to hate me when in fact you know it couldn’t be farther from the truth?” His face fell serious, his previously playful expression long gone.

“I haven’t been pretending. It’s not my fault that you think it’s a game. I hate you and I think I made myself very clear from the first time we met,” you attempted to convince him, but his smile returned even wider than before.

“Still adamant I see,” he scoffed as he stepped closer, his arms caging you against the furniture behind you, his face getting closer to yours, only leaving just enough space for you to be able to breath. “So, you mean to tell me that my presence doesn’t affect you in any other way, it only brings you hatred?” He asked as his gaze wandered down to your lips, watching them intensely as though he was an animal wanting to catch his prey. Your breath hitched as his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you against his chest, a silent gasp leaving your lips as you shivered in his cold touch, still your skin burned feverishly.

“That— that’s right,” you stumbled through your words, your own confidence leaving you vulnerable.

“For once, be honest with me, dear and accept that you enjoy my company,” he whispered against your lips, your mind feeling dizzy, incapable of forming a simple, coherent sentence.

“I— That’s not— I hate you,” you finally composed yourself and pushed him away from yourself.

“Why can’t you just accept it?” He asked, this time more serious than before. “Why is it so hard for you to be honest with yourself?”

“Says you, who can’t be trusted even when you ask a question? Oh, please, Loki, you should know better,” you huffed as you folded your arms in front of your chest. “You say I should accept that I like being around you, that I don’t hate you as much as I say so. But why would I do that?” You asked as you walked up to him this time, standing in front of him sternly. “Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that indeed I don’t hate you per se and a part of me might enjoy being around you from time to time. If that was true, why would it be beneficial for me to accept it? I know you Loki and if I was to agree and say you were right, you would walk all over me and disappear faster than I could take a breath,” you huffed as you shook your head.

“Well, my little vixen, hypothetically speaking,” he started in a humorous tone, “if you stopped acting like you have no feelings for me and finally accepted that your hatred might not even be hatred but something more, we could actually break down this wall between us that you so carefully built and we could enjoy being in each other’s company,” he explained as though it was the most natural thing.

“Loki, you can’t possibly believe your own words,” you scoffed, earning a surprised expression from the man, your resistance catching him off guard.

“And why is that?” He asked curiously.

“The only reason you enjoy playing around with me is because I behave the way I do. In reality, nothing is black and white and so if I was to hypothetically enjoy your company, that means there would be disagreements, there would be fights, there would be emotions and Loki, let’s be honest, you find it even harder to trust people than I do and as soon as things would turn serious, you’d run,” you explained your worries. Even though the conversation was supposed to be theoretical, both of you spoke the truth, but the lack of trust hung high in the air.

“If that was my intention, I would have run a long time ago. I had the option to do so many times before, but I’m still here, am I not?” He asked as he brushed a piece of hair from your face behind your ears, his touch sending electricity through your body.

“I just feel like I can’t trust you,” you shook your head, letting your face fall forward, massaging the bridge of your nose, before you lifted your gaze again “I feel like if hypothetically speaking of course, I accept that there’s more to it than simple hatred, it will end in my feelings stomped on and my heart crushed into piece and I’m not naive enough to let that happen,” you tried to reason with him, but in reality you were trying to convince yourself why not to put your trust in him.

“I have to admit, I would have done so, years ago that is, but the one who I am now wants nothing more than to claim you mine,” he spoke in an endearing tone, his voice serious, but somewhat caring, unlike his usually cocky personality. Your eyes widened at the confession, his words ones you never thought you would ever hear from someone like him. “If it was someone else, I wouldn’t care what happens to them, I’m not a saint after all, but with you it’s different. You are my sly little vixen, my other half and nothing and no one can change that, only you if you wish to of course,” his voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, his words making you feel uncertain about what to do. Your mind and your heart battled against each other, confusing you further. “Will you accept me finally?” He asked with an expectant expression.

“I have been trying to stop myself from murdering you for the past three years, it’s not as simple,” you tried to argue, but the words leaving your lips were more to convince yourself.

“Well, that is very romantic,” he replied with a low chuckle as you mirrored his expression. “That’s a good start,” he pointed out the smile across your face. “I’m not saying it will be easy, nor do I see it will be perfect, but isn’t it worth a try?” As much as you wanted to argue, he was right. If you didn’t accept your feelings, it would forever be a ‘what if’ stuck in your head and deep down you knew you wanted to see where you two could go from there.

You stepped closer to him, placing your hands on his chest to balance yourself, or so that was the plan, but as soon as you touched him, your hands went through his body, his astral body disappearing. “Loki!” You raised your voice in a warning tone, your deadly gaze looking for the man, his silent chuckle coming from behind you. You turned around in a swift motion, hitting him across the chest with gritted teeth both out of frustration and testing if it was his real self this time.

“I’m so sorry, love, I wasn’t sure how you would react, you can be rather unpredictable at times, so I had to have a backup plan,” he tried to explain himself, piling up excuses upon excuses. “But now that we are on the same page, we could get back to what you were trying to do. Did you want to kiss me? It looked like you were about to kiss me. Shall we try again?” He smirked proudly as he stepped closer and wrapped his strong arms around you. You tried to resist, attempting to push him away from your body, but his strength was unearthly, you didn’t stand much of a chance.

“Not happening. That was your one and only time to see a weaker side of mine. I don’t even believe what you ask anymore. I hate you, Loki!” You groaned, trying to get out of his hold.

“No, you don’t,” he replied with a smug grin across his face, dipping his head down to your level, but he didn’t move any closer. Your breath stuck in your lungs, your gaze fixed on his lips, however you tried to battle against your heart, your reasonable thoughts flew out the window as soon as Loki closed the gap between the two of you. His cold lips touched yours, sending a shiver across your spine, thousands of butterflies awakening in your stomach. Could you have resisted? Yes, if you really wanted to. But deep down you were craving for him and when his lips met yours, you melted into his arms and bathed in the physical pleasure his arms around you provided, the feel of his touch on your skin burning, a long-awaited connection bonding the two of you. As you finally parted, you gazed up into his green eyes, a loving look painted across his face.

“I still hate you though,” you added with a mischievous smile, as he mirrored yours.

“You really should watch that tongue of yours,” he warned you as his gaze fell on your lips.

“Why don’t you watch it for me?” You asked with an inviting tone and without a second thought Loki captured your lips again. It was hard to believe that he was holding you in his arms, but you chose to trust him and even though you knew there would be difficulties with the God of Mischief, a proud man being your other half, but not for a second did you think about taking a step back. It just felt right.

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[charming-charlie]

Washed Away pt. 4

Title // Washed Away pt. 4

Pairing // Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings // Baby swears but you know what, this is a cute chapter.

Summary // Who knew hanging out with Buck and Christopher for a day would lead to a life or death situation?

Word Count // 1.6k

Prompt // Hi! Can i request a fic where you were with Buck & Christopher when the tsunami hit? They could be dating or crushing on each other. If nothing comes to mind, then it’s completely fine to ignore this request! Have a nice day!’

Author’s Note // This is Part 4 of the Washed Away series. || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Tagged List //  @aprildecker-blog​​ @coffeewithoutcaffeine​​ @daddysfavoritesexkitten​​ @chenfordlove​​ @comeasyoudar​​ @carnationworld​​ // If you want to be added or removed from the tagged list, please drop a note.

The pier. A carnival. Maybe even a first date. A tsunami. You don’t even remember what happened after that. Your adrenaline was pumping hard and fast as you raced to console Buck, who was screaming Christopher’s name over and over again. You were afraid he would rip his vocal cords if he kept that up.

The water had receded enough for you and Buck to climb off the firetruck. What was left was a flooded road that was up to your waist, but it was much more manageable compared to before.

Together, the two of you flagged down whoever you could and asked people if they had seen Christopher. Buck described the little boy, and you held onto the last shred of hope that you could, but no one saw him. Or maybe no one wanted to see him.

Given the circumstances and what happened, you were fearing the worse.

Your arm looped around Buck’s and he didn’t pull away. If anything, he needed it. He seemed so exhausted, so defeated. It was such a contrast from the happy-go-lucky guy hours earlier. This seemed like an entirely different Buck, and you shouldn’t be thinking it, but you were grateful to see more sides to him. It showed you what kind of person he really was, and if anything, Buck was truly a hero. You believed that now more than ever. He just needed to be reminded occasionally.

The two of you walked down the flooded street, looking for any sign of anything. People seemed to be finding their way, gathering their bearings, and just trying to survive. There didn’t appear to be any luck, until…

“Hey, there’s a kid under here!”

Someone shouted from across the watery road. Buck spun around so fast; you were slightly afraid he would get whiplash. He grabbed your hand, pulling you to the wreckage.

The two of you, along with a few other people, removed a heavy metal liquor sign, the ones that hang on the sides of buildings with the arrow pointing to the entrance, off a person who was trapped in the middle of the debris.

Buck was holding his breath. For a moment, there was a gleam of hope, a flash of relief.

And then it was gone.

It wasn’t Christopher at all. The kid was a girl, a teen maybe, and she was sobbing for help. A woman grabbed her arm and supported her, and the two sauntered off wherever.

Buck stopped them quickly. “Hey hey excuse me, I’m looking for an eight-year-old boy.”

“Yeah, yeah I think I saw him. He was headed over to that cupcakery place up the way. They are handing out water,” a surfer-looking dude in a wetsuit chimed in, and once again, the spark of hope exploded in Buck’s eyes.

Your shred of hope was dwindling to a thread, mere fibers, after the ordeal you and Buck had. You were trying to keep hope like Buck was, but it was hard. Every single piece of help was leading to a dead end and you did not like the idea of sticking around if the worse news actually became a reality.

Does that make you a bad person? If you didn’t hear it, it wouldn’t be true, right? Perhaps you could hold onto that mantra for a little bit. Maybe some of Buck’s hope will wash over to you. You sure could use some right now.

“Thank you,” Buck said, and he grabbed your hand. The two of you sprinted in the direction where someone thought they saw Christopher, but your sprints quickly slowed to a walk since treading in water wasn’t exactly a cakewalk.

You were silent. You must’ve been for some time because eventually Buck spoke up.

“I’m sorry,” Buck told you. It was in a whisper and you strained your neck trying to hear him over the gushing liquid around you.

“For what?” you asked. There was nothing he could possibly be sorry for. None of this was his fault. Literally, this is just some freak accident that no one could have predicted.

“This wasn’t how I wanted our first date to go,” Buck was avoiding your eyes, like he was still looking for Christopher in the flood. In all fairness, you weren’t looking at him either.

Maybe you didn’t respond quick enough, or maybe the sudden silence wasn’t what Buck wanted to hear, because the ex-firefighter continued to speak, a little louder this time, and you heard him perfectly.

“Eddie needed someone to watch Christopher and I’m practically Uncle Buck, so I accepted, but I really did kind of wish it was just me and you. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christopher, and I love hanging out with him but I kind of wanted to hang out with you. Just you. Trust me, if it were just me and you, it’d be a memorable first date,” Buck said as his head hung low.

He wiped the sweat off his brow with his free hand, although the hand that was holding yours loosened its grip against your fingers, like he expected you to suddenly pull away from him.

You didn’t and you squeezed your hand to reassure him. “I don’t know,” you said with a little smile, “as far as first dates go, I feel like this is pretty memorable.”

That seemed to put a spring in his step, and he smiled too. He glanced over at you, nudging you with his impressively muscular arm. “I hope you’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

You teetered slightly to the side to avoid a washed-up car, allowing your body to press next to his for a second. Honestly, it felt good. Maybe you just craved a human touch and the handholding wasn’t cutting it anymore. Maybe your feelings ran deeper for Evan Buckley than you thought. Whatever the case, you knew it wasn’t the moment you wanted, so you weren’t disappointed by the sudden confliction of feelings.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Your hair was practically dry at this point, although rough and tangled from the seawater. “I was hoping you’d ask me out. I wasn’t expecting Christopher to join us, but I like the kid.”

It was true. With Christopher’s medical problems, you got to know him very well, since you were the nurse at his school. Eddie made sure to contact you once a week, at least, just to check on his son and make sure everything was okay. You got to know the Diaz family, and that included Uncle Buck. Your life changed for the absolute better the moment Christopher walked into it. It was that boy and the family he had that provided you with something spectacular. You were holding the hand of that spectacular thing right now as the two of you walked down a flooded street.

“You like me more though, right?” Buck had a bit of a snarky smile now. That made you feel a lot better. Perhaps this conversation is distracting him from everything going on. You both could use the distraction. Plus, both of you haven’t talked to each other properly all day. Christopher was always right there.

“It’s kind of hard to not like someone that saves your life,” you shrugged it off, toying with him a little. Was it sort of wrong to tease him when the two of you were looking for Christopher? Then again, maybe that was what you both needed right now. Again, distractions can be necessary.

“Oh, that’s right. So basically, that sort of means you’re in my debt now, right?” Buck asked as he looked over at you. There was that damn gleam in his eyes. He was teasing you back and hell, he was enjoying it too.

“Let’s not get carried away with the specifics,” you answered, only to hear Buck emit a small laugh. It was good to hear him laugh again. It was good to see him smile. The cupcakery was miles down the road, the two of you had a while, and the distracted conversation was most welcomed.

“I like the specifics,” the ex-firefighter retorted. You could feel his thumb grazing the back of your hand.

“Okay fine, I’m in your debt. How in the world could I possibly pay you for saving my precious life?” you threw out your best acting skills, which were not that great to begin with, and the laugh lines around Buck’s eyes became more prominent. Your knight in shining armor was actually enjoying this.

“See, that’s all I want, a little bit of gratitude.”

“Dear Mr. Buckley, I am so incredibly grateful that you saved my ass during a freak disaster,” you began to really get into this fake acting thing, but Buck saw right through you.

He splashed you and you laughed, clinging onto him just a little bit tighter.

It was needed. After the ordeal that you two had, this was definitely needed. You didn’t know what lied ahead at the cupcake bakery a few miles down the road, and you were mentally exhausted trying to play every scenario out in your head.

During your trek, there was no one else that needed saving. Buck didn’t run into the face of danger. Instead, he was by your side, holding your hand, as you both waded slowly through the water. Occasionally you stepped on things that you did not want to know what they were, but he was there and calmed you down through it.

The sun was setting. The two of you kept walking. Maybe, just maybe, you two can save Christopher.

And maybe each other.

[bloomyagi]

bewitched (m)

summary: bakugou has always loved you.

pairings: bakugou katsuki x f!reader, hawks x f!reader (nsfw)

genre: characters are aged up, 20+, pro heroes au

warnings: allusions to cheating, angst, porn w/ lots of feelings, shower sex, kinda subby bakugou, he’s basically lovesick n soft for u, keigo is a good birdie, he would never do this irl

length: 3,518

notes: hello! my first bnha fic, please be kind <3 please let me know what you think! i’ve been so obsessed w/ jjk & bnha recently skdjkjf. send help 

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It comes down softly at first. The droplets whispering against windshields, ghosting across bare arms, a trick of the light. Then a pause, like the darkening clouds are reconsidering their decisions. There is no wind, no anger in the way it pelts down, darkens the concrete. Like resignation, like relief. It soaks bone, sends most civilians packing as they duck under awnings and flee into shops in anticipation of a short-lived flare.

But it is summer, and the rain is welcome as a remedy against the oppressive heat. Many onlookers merely move their belongings closer to avoid the stream, gaze out glass windows longingly. Some find inspiration, others find peace.

You stand in the middle of it all, drenched and unmoving as you watch your lover wrap his arms around his secretary, and you wonder whose mood this pathetic fallacy is expected to reflect as you look across to meet familiar eyes.

He, too, mirrors your stance. Clothes sodden, yet the nature of its designs only lends to plaster themselves closer to his skin. His irises are that bright, burning red. He is not fizzling, heated against the affair before him. Instead, his gaze is trained on you.

There is no fury, no sadness, no emptiness. His gaze is not hollow, it is instead strangely warm. Your chest squeezes, tightening in the way you experience when you read a novel laced in tragedy, that welling feeling of anguish and sorrow.

His hands are shoved in his pockets, and though his eyes remain fastened to you, he makes no step to move closer.

The sky lightens, a thin streak of sun peering through in a solitary beam. The sounds seem to press close again, like a bubble popping in your ear.

The summer storm is tempered as quickly as it appeared, the sound of life—laughter, the splashing of sneakers drowning in newly formed puddles—and the lingering smell of renewed earth and the chirping of birds as they shake off their wings to take flight.

Water drips silently down the pair of gorgeous wings before you. They flutter briefly, flicking off the thin layer that pooled on its surface, before unfurling to fold over her. He pulls her closer, separating only every so often to breathe.

Shameless, is all you think plainly. And you are—ashamed. That feeling catches you by surprise, breath caught in your throat as the feeling expands, takes root in your lungs. It is that hindsight, that disappointment—at yourself—that has you lowering your eyes.

He is still looking at you, even as someone squeals and a crowd gathers, pushing and shoving to press close, stays rooted to his spot, watching you, even as the couple finally break apart, dishevelled—she adjusts her pencil skirt, re-buttons her blouse; he runs a hand through his golden locks, fixes his half-open shirt—and Hawks’ chuckle rings across the street, one arm braced around her waist as he signs autographs and takes photos. She is glowing beside him, all smiles and shrill laughter. Her nails, perfectly manicured and sharp, digs into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. He likes it.

You stifle a dry laugh. Turning on your heel, you disappear into the thickening crowd.

He himself is being pawed at, hands fawning at his exposed arms, clutching at him like he is fresh off the conveyer belt.

He waits until he can no longer discern your retreating figure before bearing a half-smile at the crowd. He takes the pen that is shoved into his face, and he begins signing autographs.

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Time and experience have tempered his constitution. He has accepted his flaws, worked on them until he could proudly stand on the same stage as his—friends. Because that is what they are—these people that have helped him grow, comforted his trauma, stayed with him despite it all. What else could he call them but the very things they are—they are the pillar of his strength. Because of you, I learned I could be strong for the things I care about.

He is not number one. He has no need for such a title, no need for such a goal anymore. He is no longer the brash, easily angered teenager that charged for the strongest.

“I don’t care what they call me, what rank I am, or what they think of me. I only want the power to protect these people. That’s it.” He thinks back to your words.

You are not often solemn. You laughed a lot, the slow-appearing crinkles to the corner of your eyes a physical testament to your innate joy. You liked to take delight in the ordinary things. Perhaps that is what drew him to you—that strength. To shoulder the burden of your chosen role in this society, to have the bravery to smile amongst the suffering.

There was always an unbidden heat that surged in his chest when he thought of you. That odd feeling of a knot tying itself in his stomach when his skin brushed yours. When you fell from the height of a skyscraper, half-conscious from defeating a new breed of nomu, his heart stuttered and leapt in halting beats to throat as he split from his team, their screams for you ringing in his ears, the rush of badump-badump closing in rapidly, pushing his beaten body to its limits, faster, faster, faster—please! Who was he praying to at the time? He was begging anyone who was listening to give him that push—the gap was too big, you were too far, he was too tired, too useless, too broken—he slammed into you with enough force to compel blood up his throat.

He spat it to the side quickly, not bothering to wipe himself clean before he turned to you. The first thing he registered was warmth. You were limp in his hold, on the edge of passing out, exhaustion lining every curve of your face. Your lips quirked, eyes closed.

“Hurts like hell,” you slurred. “Falling from heaven.”

He stared at you, blinking the blood from his lashes.

And then he threw his back and laughed. It was a full-bodied, uproarish laughter. The type that rumbled from his chest. He shook, though he was careful not to jostle you, and you managed a quiet chuckle.

The adrenaline faded from his body, and he hiccupped as he slumped onto the concrete beam behind him. The ice receded from his veins.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured. It was a quiet plea. Don’t do that ever again, is what he really wanted to say, but how could he? This was the occupational hazard of your shared line of work. This was the risk. His eyes burned, half-lidded as he held you closer.

You couldn’t lift a single limb on your body, so you lean into him.

“No promises.”

It was enough. Your voice was raspy, drained, but there was a sincere lilt to it.

He wanted to say something more, then, but first responders arrived and whisked you separate ways before he could gather his thoughts.

He regrets it, to this day. Perhaps if he had said something then, said something sooner, the scene would have played out differently.

He does not have many regrets, have long resolved to move on from his past and mistakes. “What a useless emotion,” you once told him. “Don’t wallow. Mourn and move on. Do better. That’s what you owe. That is what you are owed.”

But this—this he will always regret.

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He finds you on the roof of your penthouse.

“I like it. Being able to see everything from up here.” The first time he’d peered over the edge, he’d been enlisted for furniture rearranging. You handed him a beer, beckoning him over, jerking your head to the scenery below. And it was—breathtaking. You were breathtaking. He hadn’t even bothered to entertain a cursory glance. It was summer then, too, and the evening breeze was light as it brushed your locks back. Lights began to flicker as the sun dipped lower into the horizon. He briefly considered making a similar move.

But moving was a hassle, only further proven by the efforts of today, so he dismissed the thought quickly, taking another swig. He was sweaty, a layer of grime a film over his skin from the manual labour he’d been voluntold for most of the afternoon. It was petty work compared to his—their—day job, but it was still a strangely refreshing workout.

“What are you feeling?” His steps are muted, voice faint. It carries on the back of a shallow gust.

You don’t spare him a look, staring into the distance. You’re sitting, one leg thrown casually over the ledge, the other pulled to your stomach. He’d made an off-hand comment once about adding some railings, but you’d rolled your eyes and pushed him playfully.

Pussy, you called. He chuckled. Like we don’t experience enough life-threatening dangers on a regular basis, he snarked.

All the more reason, then, you shot back. He fell silent then, the pulsing in his throat returning.

He could never really read you. Eyes are the window to the soul. He scoffs internally. Whoever said that must’ve known it was a load of bullshit. Your eyes never said anything. But his—his said everything he couldn’t, and more.

You hum. “Would it be cliché if I said I wasn’t surprised, only disappointed?”

“No.”

“Then I’m disappointed. I had hoped, I suppose, that he would choose differently.”

He tastes the words that I would be enough between, and the sigh of to change him that escapes your lips.

“You knew who he was when you went into this,” he says quietly. No judgement—he is not reminding you of your poor decisions, rather striking a conversation in the same manner one would inquire about the weather.

Quant, you think. And a few years ago, you would have added out of character. But now it is not so—he has grown into himself well.

You tilt your head back. He leans against the wall, arms crossed across that well-built chest of his, shirt straining against the muscle. He’s so tall now—so much taller than anyone had expected him to be. That wild, unruly blond hair of his has remained the same, appearing spiky but soft to the touch. And his eyes—they are gentle but retain the ferocity he is well-known for.

“Yes,” you say after a while. “That is why I am not surprised. But these feelings won’t just disappear overnight because of this.”

He’s quiet for a while, those crimson orbs of his trailing over your expression. You don’t know what he finds, but he must understand your position because he nods.

“I’ll wait for you.”

This—this is a surprise. Somehow, he always manages to surprise you.

“After all this time?” You ask softly.

“Always,” he says quietly.

He leaves, and when you return to the house, you pick up the keys he left on your counter. Twirling them on one finger, you smile to yourself.

Thank you. You know he knows.

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“I tried to be the person you wanted me to be,” he says.

“I tried, I really did. But this is who I am, who they made me. I can’t change. I’m sorry,” he says.

He says a lot more, you think, but you’ve long since stopped listening. He knows these are only flimsy barriers that excuse his behaviour. He knows he is not this person. He is not broken, he is worthy of much, much more. He just needs to believe it. They took everything from him. That is what he thinks, how he lives. Like he has no real purpose.

Instead, he is stopped, wings flaring as you reach for him. You smell familiar, and that ache in his heart deepens. He will forever regret losing you, but you deserve more. He is not good for you, and he is not your responsibility. His growth is his obligation. Perhaps, when he is ready, he will find you again.

But by then, he thinks, burying his face into your shoulder, you will have already chosen differently.

“I love you, baby bird. I will always love you,” he presses these words against your neck in a soft whisper, voice cracking, like a prayer, he tries to sear his truth into your skin. He tastes salt on his tongue.

And, between it all, he traces I’m sorry.

You squeeze him once.

You know.

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“Hey.”

You’re uncharacteristically shy, cheeks puffing in that sweet smile of yours.

That sharp, familiar warmth blooms in his chest at the sight of you perched on the arm of his leather couch. You look comfortable, relaxed, like you—belonged here, his mind supplies helpfully.

He steps out of his boots, unbuckling his support items and setting them on the counter to clean later. He’s a little worse for wear tonight, shoulders tight from chasing rogue villains the past few hours. The tension seeps away steadily, though, the longer he drinks you in.

You look good. You always look good. Gorgeous, even more so when you’re tired and dirty, covered in blood and dust and debris. It’s been so long since you patrolled together, pulled to opposite ends of the city the past few months.

“Hey,” he says back.

“Shower?” You take his hand.

He trails behind you, nearly tripping over in his haste to follow, failing to register your words in time. This must be a dream, he decides. And he will play along, as he always does in these fits of delirium. He will hold you and have you and love you in ways he cannot begin to describe, and then he will lose you as dawn breaks and he wakes to an empty bed. But he falls anyway, does it over and over until he feels like he will go insane from the sheer longing. He is addicted to you.

You haven’t spoken, not really, since that night on the rooftop. So you, being here, without any prior warning, touching him, smiling at him, leading him to his fucking shower—this must be a dream, right?

You push open the door to his bathroom. It’s big, he’s always been meticulous about his health, and enjoys his fair share of long soaks and hot showers.

He realizes a beat too late that you’re undressing him. He exhales sharply when you tug his shirt off, but before he could say anything, you murmur, “You smell like caramel. You always do. It’s just a little stronger than usual.”

“Oh.” He sounds a little breathless, a little strangled. Unlike him, but he has never really been anything but himself with you. He’s still discovering new sides to himself, it seems.

Oddly enough, he’s the farthest thing from embarrassed as he steps out of his pants and boxers. He’s flushed, but the heat that floods his veins is nothing short of delicious. It makes his head spin, makes him lean into your touch.

You strip quickly, tossing your costume fabric aside his for laundry. He sucks in an audible breath at the sight of your nude body. Beautiful, he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat, and he reaches out with a shaky hand to thumb the smear of grease on your cheek.

You smile, pushing open the frosted glass doors and pull him inside.

The temperature is perfect. He likes it hot on days like today, muscles relaxing as the water washes away his fatigue.

“You know me so well,” he says.

You push him under the stream, water cascading between the two of you. His locks flatten under the pressure, falling over his eyes. You run a hand through his hair, pushing it back as you press yourself flush against him.

“Yes,” you answer. “I do.”

And then you kiss him. A low purring echoes through the space. Ah, it’s me, some part of him thinks absently. He opens his mouth instantly, tongue lapping at yours, arms coming around to hold you close. He can distinctly feel the way your perked nipples rub against his pectorals. He can taste you. And you are sweet, so sweet and the lewd sounds of your make out reverberating in the room so vividly he knows this is not, in fact, a mere conjuration of imagination after all.

He loathes to part from you, but he does. His fingers dig into your waist, anchoring him to reality. He looks at you searchingly, beseechingly. If you are here, you can only be here for one reason.

“I’m sorry I took so long. I’m sorry, I know it must’ve been painful. I’m here now, I promise I’ll never leave again,” you say, cupping his cheek.

His breath catches. His eyes flutter shut.

“You promise?” He sounds so small, so weak. Vulnerable. He would’ve hated that, once, but he is no longer that person. Today, he can accept he is weak for you. Always has been. And that’s okay, he thinks. He doesn’t have to be strong all the time.

“Yes. I promise, Katsuki.” You press your forehead against him, standing on your tippy toes.

He kisses you again, swallows your dreamy sigh, one hand on the back of your head, the other crushing your body against his. He wants you close, needs you close. Needs to feel you, this is real, right?

“Yes,” you whisper, and he realizes belatedly that he spoke aloud. “This is real. I’m here. I’m right in front of you.” You take his hand and press it against your upper rib cage, where your heart beats. Fast, like the wings of a hummingbird.

He can’t help it. He takes you against the wall, so pent up from years of pining he can hardly think, rutting into you like a teenager in heat, feeling like he’s a virgin again, every trace of your skin so new, he maps them out first with his eyes, then his hands and mouth. He slows down when you call his name in a haze of pleasure, takes the time to worship you, find what makes you tick, watches your expression raptly as he rolls his hips, as he tweaks your nipples, palms your ass, litters a necklace of freshly bloomed violets on your collarbone.

He’s panting your name, you’re murmuring praises in his ear, tugging at his locks and biting down on his shoulder and he cums so hard his vision whitens.

The two of you slide down, his legs giving out in the aftershocks, until he’s sitting on the floor of his shower and you’re curled up on his lap.

The water is—miraculously—still hot.

You lay there for a while, and he catches his breath between lazy kisses, enjoying the way your hands roam his chest languidly.

Finally, he stands, letting you down reluctantly to actually clean yourselves. You giggle at the pout that forms when your feet touch the ground once more.

You wash his hair, massaging methodically as he dips his head back to let the foam drain. He takes great pleasure in this, at the way you spread a generous amount of body wash on your palms and begin scrubbing the grime from his skin.

He jolts forward, letting out a low groan as you squeeze his flaccid cock teasingly. He glances away, eyes half-lidded, at the heated look you give him when his cock hardens immediately.

“You underestimate how easily you turn me on,” he says plainly. Not a hint of embarrassment. And why should he be? You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I love it,” you murmur.

You rinse him off before turning. His length presses against your ass, but he makes no move to seek anything further, focused on washing you.

Satisfied, he turns off the water.

You step out, toweling each other off. He pulls you to him, inhaling deeply. He likes that you smell like him now.

.

.

.

Afterwards, you are tucked in close, covers pulled up and he’s buried his face in your chest, bare legs tangled.

Perhaps it’s the novelty, the feeling of finally, but you can’t get enough of one another. You wake each other multiple times throughout the night, clawing at each other, ripping his boxers and your—his—shirt from each other until you were pressed tightly together, bare, a thin sheen of sweet already coating your bodies.

A thin strip of moonlight peeks through the cream curtains. He gazes up at you, thinks everything in his life has been leading up to this moment. That warmth swelling again, as it always does, so intense it has him arching his back. You touch his cheek, smiling. Something lands on the side of his pillow. Ah. You lean down, lips warm as they kiss away his tears.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

He closes his eyes.

Thank you.

[andrea-lyn]

The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there! 

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

//

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend. 

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

 Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

OR

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way 

Sundering by romancandles 

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies (jms.eds@jms.com)

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

 (TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends. 

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."

[asksquidbeakagents]

Honors

(Second to last part of story mode [probably] and the last part for Peony. Yes I know it’s been a month, I’ve been busy.

“So the shogun will not be here for this vote?”

“No, his majesty believed it best if he was absent so as to avoid his presence swaying the decision. He wants us to make the decision that we see best, not what he wants us to do. If Princess Peony is to be given the title of an elite, he wants it to be based on her own merits and not her position as princess,” Helia said, lacing her fingers together.

“I don’t even understand why it’s up for discussion,” General Amaterasu said, crossing her arms. “She quite literally saved the world, found our missing troops, and held her own against the shogun.”

“She attacked her father. If any other soldier had laid a finger on his majesty like that we’d be trying them for treason, not considering them for the highest honor any octoling soldier can receive,” Ruby argued, before muttering under her breath. “She’s not even a real octoling.”

“She has been loyal to our people since her birth,” Helia said coolly. “Not to mention, the shogun admits it himself, he started the fight when he mistook Peony for the New Squidbeak Splatoon’s Agent 4. She was merely defending herself. The shogun has more than forgiven her, I see no reason we should hold it against her. I’d also like to point out that Peony’s defeat of Grizz has done wonders in smoothing over recent tensions with our Salmonid allies.”

“It’s just a pity the shogun and the princess couldn’t nab the Zapfish while it was right there,” Amaterasu grumbled.

“There was no way they could have won in that situation,” Yui said in an attempt to sooth the general. “Not to mention the princess was exhausted after her long battle against Grizz. No one can fight well in that state.”

“Can we stick with the manner at hand please?” Haru asked. “Does anyone have any more arguments whether for or against making Princess Peony Takowasa one of the elite?”

After a moment of silence he continued on. “Very well. All in favor raise your hands.”

“Looks like you’re outvoted Ruby,” Yui said.

“Surely as relatives Helia and Amaterasu shouldn’t take part,” Ruby said stiffly.

“A. We’re her second cousins, hardly that close. B. You’d still be outvoted 12 to one,” Amaterasu pointed out.

“I still think you’re all making a mistake, but fine,” Ruby said, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll send word to start preparing for her induction ceremony.”

_______________________________________

Peony stood before General Amaterasu, back straight, trying her best to ignore all the eyes on her. Amaterasu held the kelp pieces in her hands, expression calm and almost bored.

“The title of an elite is one of the highest honors we can grant on any octoling,” Amaterasu. “For your service to not only our people, but to our Salmonid allies and the wider world in your defeat of Grizz, this honor is now offered to you.”

Peony stood straighter, as the general continued on.

“With this honor comes responsibility. Do you swear to continue to serve our people with honor and strength?”

“I do.”

“And do you swear to protect our people and home with even your life if need be?”

Peony’s voice didn’t waver as she responded. “I do.”

Amaterasu nodded, before turning to where Octavio sat on his throne. “Shogun, do you accept her oath?”

“I do.”

“Very well,” Amaterasu turned back to Peony, now with a slight smile on her face. “Then, as General it is my pleasure, to officially name you one of the elites. May your service continue to make your people proud.”

Peony smiled as she heard the small crowd of fellow soldiers cheer as Amaterasu pinned the kelp to her head.

“Nice job cousin,” Amaterasu said quietly, before turning to let Peony face the crowd.

Peony felt pride wash over her as she puffed out her chest. She had done her people proud.

[musewrangler]

In honor of OT Week here’s a little one shot I wrote a while back. My favorite film is The Empire Strikes Back.

This story is entitled— Piett’s Promotion

(In my work, the Lady is sentient and Veers didn’t die on Hoth)

He lost track of how many hours he had spent on the bridge, ruthlessly clamping down on his emotions. He had hated the man, it was true. And had suffered at his hands. But he had not ever wished that death upon him. He could still hear Ozzel’s wet chokes and see his bulging eyes, mere feet from himself. That last, desperate gurgle as he turned toward Piett-- as though the Captain could do anything against the Force. The thud of his body---it sounded like someone had dropped a bag of meat on the deck.

Lord Vader on the holoscreen, dispassionately squeezing the life from the man and calmly informing Piett what he wanted done with the fleet.

You are in command now, Admiral Piett.

So he went through the motions of being in command. Of taking reports. Checking duty rosters. Speaking to the morgue about the disposal of Ozzel’s body. Force . Writing to his family, because someone should.

Then---the asteroid field. His Lady, his fleet now, going to their destruction. And he had tried.

Three years he had worked with Vader and he had watched the obsession for finding Skywalker grow. Say what you would about Vader, and people did, he had seemed to genuinely care about Death Squadron, about the men and ships that served him faithfully. And he was being ordered to take that Squadron to their deaths, throw all that away, to find that damn ship.

So he had tried. He knew his life was forfeit. He went to Vader. His bridge crew clearly believed he would not return from that meeting. Veers had commed him as he walked to Vader’s quarters and begged him not to go. But he had to. For the sake of the men. For the sake of his Lady. And was told it was not an excuse. Vader was willing for the Lady, the pride of the fleet, his flagship, to be horrifically damaged, if not destroyed, in this obsessive quest.

The only moment in his entire career that Piett appreciated hearing from the Emperor happened just in time.

They had moved out of the asteroid field and Piett had an entirely new burden as damage reports flooded his datapad and alarms blared around the Lady’s bridge. So he did what he had to---he ordered repairs, he checked casualty reports, at one point, he personally had his hands in some of the Lady’s wiring, repairing damage to her bridge deflector shield.

And then…..

Avenger reported they had her.

Piett had served with Needa at one point. They weren’t quite friends, they hadn’t had time for that, but he liked the man and thought he was a good officer. And a good man.

So good that he felt he needed to shield his men from Vader’s unpredictable wrath. And for the second time in 48 hours, Piett had to stand by as another larynx was crushed and this time, Vader mocked his prey.

Apology accepted Captain Needa.

And all of Piett’s emotions must be silenced. Because he had his own men to think of. If he was to die, some other poor bastard would be Admiral. He would rather kill himself trying to save them than have Vader crush his throat.

At some point, and he genuinely couldn’t say when in the eternity he experienced, Captain Kelly had walked up to his side, carefully removed the datapad he found he’d been clenching in his hands, and quietly murmured, “Admiral, I have the bridge. Please sir, go and rest.”

Piett had stared at him a beat and then realized that he was being given a reprieve.

“You have the bridge, Captain,” he’d said in automatic tones that must have been his and then he was turning to walk as straight and confident as he could toward the blast doors.

First hurdle cleared, he made it to the turbolift where he allowed himself to lean against the wall for support.

There had been a time when he thought that Vader actually gave a damn about his men. That he was building something which Piett was proud to be part of. But this consuming obsession…..

His deck. He felt as though he was watching someone else as his boots moved slowly toward the Admiral’s quarters---his quarters.

Someone other than himself (perhaps Captain Kelly) had ordered his things transported here, and Ozzel’s removed. He could still smell the chemicals that the cleaning crew had used, to prepare it for their new admiral. He wondered if the smell would have faded by the time the next admiral was installed here. For he had no illusions. His death was coming swiftly in this mad chase for Skywalker.

One of his miniature trees was tipped over. In automatic response, he carefully righted it, scooping the dirt back in with his fingers. They were trembling.

Force. He needed a drink. He didn’t care if he was commed---he was going to die anyway, might as well add some liquid courage to face it.

He stumbled to the cabinet and found his liquor collection neatly put away. He found the strongest one he had--something from Dathomir--- and a glass, and poured it full, cursing the shaking in his hands as it spilled on the floor.

He stumbled to his sofa and sat, taking a long fiery drink, and then set the glass on the table, and managed to remove his hat and gloves. He unfastened the top of his duty jacket and found himself gazing at his very gleaming brand new Admiral bars.

Kriff it. He’d hated Ozzel but this had not been the way he wanted a promotion. Six hundred men had died today as a direct result of travelling through an asteroid field.

Dear family, I’m so sorry to write to you to inform you of the death of your son/father/brother. They were pulverized by a completely unnecessary asteroid trip because our commander has lost his kriffing mind over a Rebel pilot.

Piett took another long drink and poured another. As he made a good start on it, the lights of his quarters dipped into indigo.

He laugh/sobbed. “Yes lady, I am sad. That word…….doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling I’m afraid.”

Icey blue light--her color for fear. “Yes, literally afraid. I’m likely going to be dead soon….” He put the glass down again and buried his face in his hands.

The Lady. What would happen if he died next? Would Vader take care of her? Today’s actions didn’t seem to indicate that he would. Piett had to find a way to survive. Someone had to try and stand between Vader’s madness and this ship and crew.

The icey blue was flashing at him as he lifted his face and he realized that she was frightened at his words.

“I’m sorry….I’m sorry, Lady, I will do my best not to be. Lord Vader is….can you sense that he is not….right?”

Her regular lights flashed. <Yes>

He finished his glass and his head swam.

“Lady, if…..if…..I can’t, then you must take care of this crew. Do not let Lord Vader hurt you, do you understand?”

And that was dangerously close to treason, even in his rather intoxicated ears.

She flashed her lights and gave him indigo again.

“I’m sorry, Lady, but you need to be prepared, if I……” he reached for the bottle again, and suddenly strong hands were taking it from him, and he followed the hands with his eyes up to the deeply compassionate gaze of the General.

“Enough, Firmus.” He set the bottle somewhere out of sight and came around the sofa to kneel in front of Piett and begin undoing his duty jacket.

The Admiral’s swimming brain was struggling now, between the alcohol and the exhaustion of terror.

“Max. You’re in sickbay.” He raised a finger to point at him. “You will be in soooooo much trouble with Henley.”

“I discovered today, much to my shock,” Veers began, helping Piett shrug out of the jacket and reaching for his boots next, “that underneath multiple layers of baked on cynicism and appalling condescension, the Doctor might possibly have a heart. When he heard you were on a path to throw yourself between Vader and this crew, he let me go early. And your Lady got my attention a short while ago by blinding me with that white light she’s chosen for you.”

The General had finished wrestling off his boots and Piett noted the still pink and healing lines on his face from his injuries on Hoth.

“Now,” said Veers firmly. “I would say congratulations, but this is not the time and I’m so kriffing sorry that it happened this way, Firmus.”

“He was right next to me,” Piett whispered, and found himself irrationally angry that his hands were still shaking. “I need one more drink, Max, I’ve got to keep it together….”

“You do need one more drink, Admiral, but not alcohol.” The General rose and procured a glass of water which he came back and handed carefully to his friend. “That’s an order, drink it all. I found out how long you were on the bridge, and you are no doubt dehydrated. Drinking that much….” he looked back at the bottle, “damn when you go for it, you really do, don’t you? Dathomirian vodka? Yes, more water it is.”

Piett did not like the feeling of crumbling, but it was happening and he couldn’t make it stop. He tried anyway. “Techina---telechni---kriff, technically , I outrank you now, General Veers.”

He saw Max pause and glance at him with an eyebrow raised. “Well. Even plastered, trust you to know your military protocols by heart. That is true, Admiral .”

Piett flinched at the title. Veers relented, getting more water silently and snagging the duvet from the bed in the other room.

Don’t be comforting Max. I can’t. I will break utterly and I don’t think I have time for that.

Another glass of water was shoved into his hands and then his duvet was draped around his shoulders. Veers seated himself close to his friend.

“I know you pretty well now Firmus, would you agree?”

Piett just nodded, drinking the water, letting it slide down a throat that was feeling tighter by the moment.

Like Ozzel’s, like Needa’s.

“So I hope you can trust me enough to believe what I’m going to say.” Veers paused, considering. “A great deal of bantha poodo has occurred in the last several days. Hoth was a success in some ways. But I lost three walkers.”

“I’m sorry, Max I should have….”

“You should have nothing, Firmus. You haven’t had a single second to breathe until now and I know it. My point is, that our commander is…..not what we had hoped. But we both have men under our command and I know that you care about that. If what I overheard you telling the Lady is any indication…..you don’t expect to make it much longer.”

Piett shuddered involuntarily and in a rare move (he must look pathetic) Veers got an arm around him.

“I’m here to tell you, that you must . Keep your head down, follow orders, do your best as you always do, and hope that Lord Vader remembers that you are one of his most competent and loyal officers.”

And he would like to find some shreds of hope in that, he would, but….

“Did you…..” he cleared his throat and gave another attempt. “Did you hear about Needa?”

A pause. Veers sighed. “Yes. Kriff it. Were you there for that too?”

And the throat that was now unbearably tight wouldn’t work for him to make any words, and Piett leaned forward to hide his face in his hands as his shoulders shook.

Veers’ arm tightened around him.

“Get it out here, Firmus, it won’t help to try and bury that. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

You are in command now, Admiral Piett.

[themsource]

A Moment Of Time

Pairing: Sans x Frisk Rating: T Word Count: 2,673

Hey @catsitta I was your secret santa for @secretsantafrans! I love your Fated AU so please excuse any cannon inconsistences if I made any @_@  I had fun mixing holiday themes for this; Kronia and Haloa specifically! 

Hope you enjoy ^^

Lord Death’s realm; usually so quiet and haunting, was unusually loud with the cries of celebration and joy. Golden light bathed the immense hall, the fires and torches giving such a grand view of the heavily decorated scaffoldings and food laden tables casting a supernatural warmth supplied by none other than Lord Fyre, for the evening's festivities.

Rarely was there cause for such lavish displays of black marbled fountains overflowing with fine wine, even rarer a reason for heavenly grown ambrosia to grace such a place as the Underworld with it’s desolate landscape and often gloomy atmosphere, but this was a day rare in itself.

Today marked the winter solstice; the time of year that many a mortal and god alike abandoned their divisions and classes that usually separated them from others of lower status as a show of civility and gratitude for one another.

And Death the youngest favored the holiday, in fact he was its greatest fan and celebrated it every year. Which was a surprise to the Goddess Spring given her dear husband’s solitary nature and not so subtle irritation at large gatherings. Let it be said that Sans denied Papyrus very little, and let him want for nothing.

An admirable trait in her spouse.

“My lady are you not enjoying the wine?” Frisk blinked free of her thoughts and spared a glance at her goblet, sitting wholly untouched and turning bitter the longer she ignored it and allowed it to spoil. 

A longstanding tradition on this day was that women alone were allowed to drink of the spirits and indulge in the fresh aged fruits of the last harvest, a tradition she always enjoyed, but now served as nothing but a reminder of lost youth and unwanted vows.

Frisk was gradually coming to accept the chains that tied her to her husband, and deeply appreciated the way in which he treated her as not only an adult, but as a partner, an equal. However it did little to ease the sadness she felt at times such as these, reminding her of the choices she’d unwittingly made that hadn’t truly been choices at all.

This year she wouldn’t be dancing among the snow of the surface, nor would she sit gossiping with her mother and her wood nymphs about plans for future growth and vegetation. Where once she used to greet the time of year with enthusiasm and eagerness, now sat nothing but a rock hard pit in her stomach that even Ambrosia couldn’t fill.

She felt out of place, and just a little bit lonely.

“Forgive me, but my stomach is not quite right tonight.” She forced a smile, small and fragile, but still genuine as she looked to her handmaiden. “Tonight I am not your lady, we are as equals, did you forget?” 

Daisy smiled as she took the opportunity and reached down to take the neglected drink, boldly taking a sip from it before offering Frisk a warm smile. “No matter the time or day you will always be my lady. As long as you’ll have me.”

Frisk chuckled before looking out to the crowd, her golden eyes skimming the dancers supplied by Mother Night as she caught the sight of Lord Fyre in hushed whispers with a fair skinned and golden haired Underworld denizen. 

Vaguely she tried to recall all the fallen heroes she’d been told would be allowed to attend but no name came to mind, maybe they were a member of the Asphodel Meadows?

“I take it Iris and Hyacinth are enjoying themselves?” She asked absently just as her eyes spotted her husband standing beside the hearth speaking with his brother. 

As if he could feel her gaze like a touch he subtly shifted his fathomless sockets to meet her.

Quickly Frisk averted her eyes with a grimace, and not so quiet skip of her heart. How he could draw such a reaction from her when she could just barely tolerate his presence she’d never know, and even as she watched Daisy blush, her flames tinting a slight shade darker, she swore she could still feel him watching her. 

Sans’s gaze always unsettled her, just as much as it drew her in like a vortex.

“Iris is currently in the kitchens, and Hyacinth, is showing Lord Cadmus around.” The way Daisy said his name was enough to make Frisk stare at her in shock. Cadmus, the hero of letters, how fitting given Hyacinth’s nature. Though it was still the last thing she’d expected of the elemental.

“I see…” Even her handmaidens dreamed of love she supposed, something she’d never really given much thought to. Was that one of the reasons behind their constant push for her to get close to Sans? “Well I hope she enjoys herself.”

Daisy offered a timid grin. “Are you sure it’s only your stomach that ails you tonight?”

Frisk dismissed her worry with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry Daisy, go have fun, you fuss over me enough every day as is.” 

Reluctantly the young fiery girl nodded and did as Frisk suggested, but not without offering a backward glance that the goddess waved off with a teasing smile. Slowly she let her hand drop and went back to looking out over the crowd. 

She felt like such a stick in the mud, truly not an attitude befitting of a queen.

Gracefully as she could, and still doing her best to ignore San’s continuously lingering stare, she skirted the side of the hall and slipped away behind a gathered group of souls. She didn’t stop holding her breath or head high until she’d safely made it back to her room, where she finally let her shoulders sag and sighed from sudden exhaustion. 

Papyrus might not be too pleased at her absence, but it was better than sitting in place all night frowning and pouting like a child. Frisk had gone to such lengths to show her mother and the other gods she was worthy of her title, she refused to spoil it all in one evening. 

More than halfway across her room she froze, her eyes going wide in disbelief, as they caught on a small object resting in the center of her bed.

Had someone been in her room?

Frisk’s heart anxiously fluttered in her chest as she debated on returning to the party or taking another step further into her room. Never before now had she noticed just how thick the curtains were that adorned her windows, or just how dark the corners of her chamber were where the miniscule candle light didn’t reach. 

Cautiously she inched forward, the ichor in her veins pounding like a drum as she shakily reached for it with all the control of a quivering branch. 

It fit perfectly in her hand, its texture like that of smooth glass with a coolness that sent a chill up to her shoulder. He guard dropped as she slowly raised it to eye level and turned it this way and that. It looked like a flat and rounded piece of polished obsidian, with golden leaf decorating it’s edges in swirling floral designs. 

A mirror, designed to be easily concealed and for discrete use.

She frowned.

Honestly Frisk wasn’t one to fret over her appearance, she never had been, always preferring wild and tangled hair with robes slightly worn at the fringes from hours spent in the dirt or walking. The only ones that showed any care to her looks were her caretakers and, on a less comfortable note, her husband.

She turned it twice over, as if the name of the person who had left this would magically appear if she simply kept looking, and nearly dropped it as the surface brightened, turning white hot and blinding.

Just as quickly as it happened it dimmed, and in its place was an image, crystal clear  and moving. 

Frisk gasped as she recognized one of the flower fields in which she used to play, now blanketed in freshly fallen snow, the picture of her mother standing silent and stoic as she looked out over the winter landscape. 

It was a looking glass! A magical item so very rare that only three gods she knew of had one, and none of them this small or intricately decorated. Whoever this was from had obviously put a lot of considerable effort into having it made.

“does my lady wife like her gift?”

She hadn’t expected his presence with the celebrations currently going on, but honestly she should have. Sans always had the habit of suddenly appearing from around corners or showing up spontaneously. 

Frisk spun on her heel, her hand quickly darting up to brush away the tears beading in her eyes as they widened at seeing her husband standing just within the dark shadows of the doorway.

At this point in their relationship she’d grown accustomed to his comings and goings. The only thing she never understood behind the actions was if it was done simply because he liked to use his name and title as the lord of death to unnerve others and to demonstrate the power he held, or if it was merely a fleeting moment of whimsy for a cheap thrill. 

One thing that always irritated her to no end though, was that he enjoyed targeting her the most.

Such as now; with an embarrassed flush on her cheeks and a jolt of shame running down her spine as she struggled to hide the very emotion she so blatantly wore. Gifts between spouses was a tradition, but she hadn’t given any thought to it. She didn’t think for a moment her lord husband would be partial to the tradition.

Frisk should have known better given how their whole relationship had even started.

“I...am afraid I did not prepare anything for you in turn.” 

His gaze, always so penetrating and watchful, dropped from her face to the looking glass she clutched to her chest, not missing the subtle way her knuckles whitened as she subconsciously tightened her hold on it.

As if he’d try to steal it away from her.

Sans’s smile widened. “what more gift could a husband want than the company of his wife?”

Her face stung as it turned red, and her voice came out uncertain, higher in pitch, as she stared at him. “I trust you mean platonically?”

“I have the desires of any man, for his bride, and while i wouldn’t turn away such an offer...” 

She tensed as his sockets did a slow, calculated roll of her form before flickering back up to her face, the gesture causing her heart to skip for the second time that night. “in this instance my intentions are entirely innocent.” He chuckled.

Frisk watched as he held a hand out in offer, his phalanges slightly curling as if beckoning her to him with a still ever present grin. It would be so easy, in another time and place, for Frisk to have believed the innocence behind his smile. But he always wore it, when amused, irritated, and when being cruel as Death often had to be.

It made it so hard to understand him.

Casually she slipped the now darkened looking glass within her robes and tried her best to keep her expression unreadable as she placed her hand in his, the icy touch of his bones draining the warmth from her, but never able to steal it all completely.

The edges of his smile seemed to soften as he glanced down.

It did something to her to see that. He acted so touch starved, so easily awed every time they had the briefest of contact.

They both stood there in silence, his thumb slowly running circles into the back of her hand the longer he held it. She sucked in a breath at the shiver it sent up her spine but dared an uncertain look up at him.

“Are we not going somewhere?”

His subtle movement stopped but he didn’t look away from where they stayed joined.

“is there somewhere you wish to go?”

She didn’t respond, and he took that as an answer. He gave one more slow, deliberate, stroke of his thumb before finally releasing her. If Frisk didn’t know better she’d have thought she’d heard a small sigh from him.

And then she finally noticed the faint blush on his cheeks.

“...Sans?”

“hmm?”

“Have you been drinking?” 

He looked her in the eye as his grin hitched higher. “whatever gave that impression?”

Frisk narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, the faint blush darkening as she stared him down and cultivated one on her own cheeks. She hadn’t noticed just how cute his magic could sometimes manifest itself, just how it left a vague ethereal glow that bathed the inside of his normally obscure hood.

“Sans…only women are supposed to drink today.”

His sockets lidded. “from what i could see earlier in the night, you weren’t in the mood, and it would’ve been rude to waste wine provided by asgore himself.” 

She knew he was using a poor excuse, but it was enough of one it lit a flicker of embarrassment in her. Frisk stubbornly focused on one of the gold medallions that held up his cloak to avoid eye contact.

“You just wanted to drink.”

“can you fault me? it was my favorite after all.” She glared at his cheeky smirk. “pomegranate.” 

“...”

“...”

“...If only divorce was an option.”

Sans’s sockets widened and then he let out such a deep, bass heavy, laugh Frisk openly gawked at him. It took a moment for him to compose himself but once he had his voice was filled with mirth.

“sadly it isn’t. i would only welcome the challenge to make you mine yet again, if i could.”

She couldn’t think of a response to that, not one that wasn’t insulting at least, and really she didn’t feel like trying to argue with the thick skulled god before her, it would be pointless, Sans never backed down when it came to a play on words.

Silence stretched before he spoke again. 

“i should be getting back to the celebration, gillby wanted to talk to me regarding a trade of some sort.”

Frisk suddenly felt a pang that made her grimace. She hadn’t realized she’d actually been enjoying the company. Maybe it was because they rarely spoke, or maybe she was just that emotionally vulnerable tonight, but her words were hesitant and honest. 

“I understand...I enjoyed this. The casual conversation.”

Her husband tilted his head.

“i should be thanking you, this was just the break i needed from the crowd.”

Despite herself she chuckled. “Of course, why would I ever assume you asked for my company purely for it alone?” 

He went silent, the brim of his hood covering his sockets as his tone came out blunt. “if this wasn’t what i desired i wouldn’t have asked for this when you offered me a gift in turn.” 

How did he keep doing that? Slipping behind her walls so easily with honeyed words after repeatedly testing their strength with his indifference and often selfish actions? He barely ever tried but it was always enough to make her question her stance on him.

“You’d better hurry back, I don’t think Grillby will be sober enough to remember his reasons if you don’t.” She whispered.

Sans gave a small bow, his hand swiftly cupping hers and bringing it to his teeth for a kiss. When he stood her hand was still lifted, frozen in place by confusion and surprise.

“i bid thee goodnight, happy solstice my queen.”

He vanished.

Frisk opened and closed her mouth dumbly, an almost plea for him to stay forever trapped on the tip of her tongue. She stared at where her husband had stood and slowly pulled out her looking glass.

Her first Solstice in the Underworld hadn’t gone well as it could’ve been, but it was still memorable.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Lovebug (12/14)

Summary:

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Notes: Feedback is very much appreciated :D

It was one of those days where Levi could barely focus.

But it wasn’t anything new. A few days a year, his eyes would be heavy, his back would slump naturally and codes would blur together in some strange way even the most experienced engineers wouldn’t understand. Those days, he had attributed it to exhaustion, to sheer workload or the tension that accompanied impending releases.

It feels a little different. It was terribly unfamiliar and Levi could have almost sworn that it was worse than ever.

Still, he attempted to get back some inkling of control. He opened his workflow tracker, saw green then decided he could consider his priorities later. He opened his checklists and saw meaningless black ink on white spaces then he decided he could start elsewhere.

He opened up a few pull requests, only to end up approving a whole lot of them before even making sense of what fix the developers had been working on. Then, he then assured himself that maybe he could fix errors on the code once they were in production.

It isn’t good practice. A part of him warned. Really, how many times had he heard that from everyone else? How many times had he held those words like a badge and repeated them countless times to his fellow engineers?

But really, how did anyone particularly Erwin, the upper management, the executives, expect him to work after the meeting just that morning. They had dropped a bomb, a very painful truth that he had somehow managed to keep snug, almost invisible at the back of his mind for so many years.

The company ran on too much red tape and officialism. Hell, every fucking comapny ran on red tape, officialism and some tacky version of bureaucracy, all intricately engineered to please the richest stakeholders. Yet, Levi had been working corporate for decades, long enough to learn and just blindly accept them as inevitable parts of work.

Then and there, it was biting him in the ass. So painfully. Levi never expected something as grey and monotonous as office work and corporate politics to bite so painfully.

Ninety five percent chance. Erwin never told him the details of the contract termination but he had some consideration to at least inform Levi that Zeke was very much considering it. In that same meeting, he had casually mentioned the amount of time it would take to finalize it. If Erwin did tell him some specifics, Levi probably didn’t hear it, especially when he had been busy only barely keeping himself together.

Levi soon figured out, although he had been accepting them the whole time, a huge part of him would have gladly rebelled.

By god, he hated bureaucracy, he hated corporate synergy, he hated the concept of investor satisfaction. Most importantly, he hated the whole prospect of everything the past few months ending with some signed contract termination.

And the silent rage continued well inside him, as he mindlessly switched from one tab to the other, unable to make sense of much.

Maybe he had been too busy reflecting, entertaining those very unwelcome emotions.

Was he too soft hearted. Was he taking his job too personally demanding some personal closure? Was he too immature having been so emotionally affected by that memorandum? And maybe that inability to let out anything more than some professional query at his manager had him barely coping.

‘Coping’ came in many forms. It involved the slow realization he was merely an employee, albeit a head of an engineering team. Then another realization soon after that he was in no position to question the upper management’s decision.

It involved a very cruel realization that although he was the head of the emotions alarm project, the one who had developed it from the beginning and the only one who knew the application end to end, the emotions alarm was still corporate property.

By extension, by some fruit of corporate processes and the constant exchange of assets, it was Zeke’s property. All the assets, the codes Levi had created, the pull requests he had reviewed and merged, every long night he spent looking over bugs, had all been because he was paid to do it.

Zeke’s property. He acknowledged those two words and they echoed incessantly in his head as his eyes ran over the codes of the emotions alarm.

The emotions alarm wasn’t his. It was the companies. And when the contract is finalized, it would be all Zeke’s and Zeke would be the one to decide for himself how to work with that application.

Hire another head engineer to work with Hange… Hire other coders… That’s what business is.

He and Erwin had talked for a while after the meeting. Erwin had been careful with his words and maybe he had softened his tone just a bit, as if he had sensed Levi’s discomfort.

In his own state though, Levi could only stumble upon one conclusion. He was just as replaceable as every other employee. And the pain of having been too attached to a project, the impending loss of his own brain child had him catatonic.

Any comfort or attempt at alleviation seemed far off.

He wouldn’t be invited to the rest of the meetings. The fate of that project would be up in the air, mulled over by the top brass of the company, a few lawyers and accountants, then approved by Zeke. Levi on the other hand, would be ordered back to his office to focus on other tasks, expected to function like it hadn’t felt like some slow and painful end of the world, since the incident at the school a few weeks ago.

Any silver lining as he worked was shot down by his cynical side. The next few minutes, he continued to work, just for the bare minimum to get paid. He approved leaves here and there, He mindlessly looked through some code, ran a debugger he didn’t completely understand. He mindlessly scanned through the logs before he accepted, his brain was in no state to work.

Then he opted not to think beyond that. He closed all the windows on his desktop. He opened another folder towards the corner.

His own personal folder. Inside it were the same codes for the emotions alarm he had worked on for Hange’s birthday. But it felt like more of a personal project.

In its own little way, it pulled it out of that catatonic state. By some miracle, the gears of his head were turning again, slowly at first. Then they turned more quickly by the second, sending a rush of motivation through him. Maybe because the upper management still didn’t know about that side of the emotions alarm. Maybe it was because it still felt like a secret between him and Hange. And somehow, his mind was able to twist it. Levi had managed to convince himself, it was still his and Hange’s.

Hange is still here. She’ll come back.

"You know, I'm pretty sure conference rooms are for conferences.”

Levi bit back the surprise at Petra’s sudden visit. "Well we have five empty ones," he said. He had been working in empty conference rooms for weeks already and had silently rehearsed his own explanation already.

"You have your own office," Petra said.

"I know," Levi answered nonchalantly. Maybe most other days, he would have attempted something more engaging.

How engaging could he be though when his own brain child was close to being sold to an investor, its fate completely out of his control?

By some stupid corporate rule, he couldn't tell Petra that just yet. He looked up at her, willing himself to make some meager excuse of eye contact. "You need anything?"

Petra shook her head. "It’s not really work related… Or actually it kinda is... If that's okay… If you're busy I can bring this up another time." She was holding her work laptop closer to her, a subtle move that had been enough to catch Levi’s eye.

For just a second.

Levi looked back at the code. A wave of guilt washed through him when he remembered, it wasn’t necessarily productive work— a very temporary wave of guilt that he easily washed off just recalling the overly reverent attitude the executives had towards corporate processes.

He wasn't busy. The code he had been staring at the past few minutes wasn't company business anyway. "This can be finished later," Levi said as he lowered his laptop screen.

Petra cocked her head to the side. "Boss, are you okay? I noticed you haven’t been working in the office in a while and I know you---”

“The office is a mess,” Levi said. “And I just haven’t had time to clean up.”

“You need help?”

“No.”

“If you’re busy, I could--”

“Petra, it’s my mess to clean up.” He probably had said that last part too abrasively. After all, that mess referred to multiple messes at once and he was more than a little salty about that.

There was a flash of surprise, or maybe hurt in Petra’s face. Levi only had his peripherals to hint for himself how she might have felt. He sighed. “I don’t wanna clean it up but I don’t wanna stay there either. Besides, as long as no one is using the conference rooms, I think it’ll be fine.”

“Well, it is our right as employees…” Petra started.

“It is,” Levi said. He looked back up at Petra expectantly then lowered his laptop screen much lower, he could have easily just shut it down. “So what did you come here for?”

“I wanted to ask about Hange.” Surprisingly, Petra had brought out that conversation topic with a lot more certainty than every line before that.

Hange. And it had brought about an unwelcome twinge of pain inside him. He took a deep breath, letting it spread over his already enervated body. He noticed then, her name had started to seem strangely unfamiliar to his tongue. In truth, he hadn’t said her name in a while.

Levi took a deep breath and repeated her name, just a little experiment for himself. “What about Hange?”

“Your alarm and her alarm. They were ringing back in the gym.”

“That was weeks ago. Why bring it up now?” Levi asked.

Petra gave a slight shake of her head. “I was just wondering. Do you think it’s a bug?”

“It’s not,” Levi said, one eyebrow raised. He wondered if Erwin had ever discussed it with the others. Or wait, that might have been his job.

Petra grinned yet she seemed more hurt than actually happy. “I suspected it was a bug at first. But you know, when Hange stopped showing up in the office, you started acting different.”

“Have I?” Levi asked

“Yeah, you stopped working in your office. The few times I visited, it was a little cluttered but you never liked your office messy right? It only started getting messier when Hange started working closely with you…”

Levi was only becoming more self aware. Suddenly looking at how quickly, he had opened up his laptop, hunched over, just to hide his face behind the screen. He couldn’t even control his own reaction anymore. “And?”

“And when Hange was working… you seemed happier… You started going out for lunch more, talking to us more. You even invited me out…” Around that time, Petra started to stumble at her words, her ears turned a little pink. With time, she started to stumble with her words, to points beyond comprehension. “I know, I might look creepy pointing all this out but there were two points I wanted to make with this.”

“Two...points?” Then why didn’t you just start with it? Levi would have wanted to ask. But he was grateful that the speech was long enough for him to edit two lines of code, even in his own compromised state.

Petra took some time to compose herself. She put one finger up. “First, Hange changed you for the better, there were obvious signs that you were happier, so maybe those can be considered signs of love. Second, that means there might not be a bug and you’re just a really talented developer.”

“That’s reassuring,” Levi said. With his lack of energy, it could have come out toneless. “I mean it,” Levi added.

“If you wanna call it love or not, that will be up to you. But I think it aligns with our expectations for the application,” Petra straightened her back after that, adopting a more professional demeanor. “If possible, I’d love to have a chat with Hange about it. Maybe get her take on my theory…”

Petra wouldn’t have known. The talks had been between the upper management, it would only make its way to lower rung employees as a memo.

A fucking memo. Fuck red tape. Levi thought to himself. When it wasn’t official, could he even tell her?

Fuck that. “Hange might not come back,” Levi said.

Petra’s eyes widened almost immediately, her jaw dropped.

Before she could even speak, Levi continued. “They might terminate the contract. I know they’re discussing the legalities of it. Zeke is going to take the unfinished and have another team work on it. Or at least that’s what I’m understanding.”

“But there might---”

“There’s no chance,” Levi said firmly.

“Levi just---”

“None. There’s none.” Levi shook his head for emphasis. He allowed his voice to rise just a little bit louder than usual. He wanted to shoot down whatever glimmer of hope, before it got out of control.

Annoyingly, Petra had a way of just trying to find hope, the brighter side in most situations. But he didn’t need it. He didn’t want it. In his already vulnerable state, it seemed almost mocking.

And she was still trying. “But Hange----”

Levi banged one hand on the table in warning. “Petra,” he said. “Just stop.”

An abrupt slam on the table had always been enough to quiet people and Petra shouldn’t have been an exception.

In a surprising turn of events, she slammed harder on the table. “No, listen to me Levi.” Her voice was much firmer and at that moment, it didn’t seem like she had regard for differences in positions.

In shock, Levi fell silent and he was compelled to listen to that voice of authority.

“I came here for a reason.” She dropped her laptop on the table, almost louder than the slam she made just a second ago. “We got a support email which you might want to see. This is the reason I went here in the first place.” Petra quickly booted up her laptop. “It’s a support ticket, and the email...it looks like Hange’s.”

hange.zoe@wahu.com

A quick look at the date only confirmed it, it had been there for a week. There was a flyer attached which only sealed its fate as spam mail. Of course, it would have taken weeks to identify it.

But why would Hange use that email? At first glance, Levi couldn’t help but be suspicious.

“It looks like it’s related to Mr. Jaeger’s convention. He’s having one and I thought, you might wanna check it out… If you have unfinished business with Hange, use that opportunity to talk to her.”

It could be spam mail. It wasn’t that hard to create a fake email using Hange Zoe’s name but it was still worth some looking into. A quick google search only confirmed it. Zeke was having an event in one of the most expensive cities in the world, a coastal city a twelve hour flight away.

Still, Levi couldn’t brush off the doubt. Would Hange have used an email with her name? After taking so much of her precious time creating fake emails?

“If this is really her, then that means she wanted to contact us right?” Petra continued. “I think it’s worth a look.”

Maybe all he needed was someone to tell him, a good push in the right direction. Before Levi even realized it, his mind was working harder than ever since the incident three weeks ago, working overtime to justify something as ridiculous as a last minute week-long vacation.

If Hange did send the email, it might be worth it. And if by some chance, it really was spam, then he will have just wasted a good week-long vacation in ‘one of the most dazzling cities in the world.’

Levi could count with the number of fingers in one hand, the amount of times he had been in a long haul flight. The prices for a hotel, a last minute flight and of course, the leaves needed to make the trip were all daunting issues to consider.

He had expected himself to be at least a little more hesitant. A part of him was moving almost automatically. He stood up and slammed his laptop shut. “I think I’m gonna take a week long leave.”

“Since I joined, you haven’t even taken a sick leave. I think you deserve this,” Petra responded. And that peaceful response from her of all people had been reassuring.

“Thanks for that.”

Petra shook her head. “It’s only natural to wish the best for someone right?” She paused, and a weak blush climbed up her cheeks as she bit her lip. “Well, I meant the best for you and Hange. Just see what you can do for her.”

Levi let out a sigh. “But it helps you know.”

And somehow, those kind words had only left Petra more flustered. In thanks, he offered to take her back to her work station, but not much farther than that. He made a quick stop to his still cluttered office, did some quick cleaning up, leaving the white board and Hange’s own work station still untouched, like it has been everyday since three weeks ago.

He went home early that day and as expected, his brain continued to nag.

Was it a useless move? A stupid move? A rash move? Maybe it was. But he wasn't going to tell anyone else, just in case someone managed to convince him out of it.

Levi had taken some precautions. He emailed back, only to get no response. He did some research on the flyer. The event came with different names, trade shows, networking events.

With the objective of bringing together the largest names in neighboring countries… We aim to optimize production, bring about the best quality… Seminars, business dinners, product demonstrations etc.

The words blurred together slowly and before Levi knew it, he couldn’t make sense of it at all. It wasn’t important anyway. What seemed more urgent was the schedule of events right under the spiel.

It was a five day conference and it had already started the night before. Levi opened up his leave credits, still completely full. Most years, it had remained untouched until the end of the year.

He opened up his own bank account. He didn’t have much but he still had more than enough to take that particular risk. And when he contacted Erwin about it, the latter seemed almost excited he was taking a leave.

By some sorcery, he got the one week leave, tagged as emergency leaves. The next afternoon, less than 24 hours after that meeting with Petra, Levi was already in the airport, overnight bag over one shoulder.

He was going on an adventure, some stupid, impulsive and potentially pointless adventure.

***

The guilt never abated. There was something almost surreal, yet seemingly audacious about taking a last minute long leave, after spending years working non stop.

Would anyone understand it? The more Levi thought about it, the more he realized, he didn’t understand it himself. So by some twists and turns of logic, Levi guessed nobody would understand.

He had books he could have read on the plane. There was an inflight entertainment system.

Still shaken by that one week long life, Levi ended up booting up his laptop and spending a huge chunk of the time reviewing pull requests on the flight. Time started to pass like how it used to in the office.

As expected, he got tired four hours in. Losing energy reserves  midday in the office was a very unwelcome experience but something Levi never seemed to completely avoid. It was a very familiar experience that the next few steps had been much easier.

He pulled out the codes, his own personal project folder on his desktop, he stared at the files of codes yet to be merged to the original plan.

Then he started to organize his thoughts. Before he knew it, his fingers were flying over the keyboard.

It could have been some reminder, or just some attempt at shoehorning reason to his impulsive decision to cross the ocean on a last minute vacation. But the more Levi let his brain nag, the more he started to justify. The longer he justified, the sooner he just accepted.

Who cared if anyone else found it sappy. He needed closure.

Then and there, it seemed like closure meant articulating the plans of his own personal project, ideas that had been exchanged that fateful night in some empty playground, ideas that only built and built themselves until they were rows of codes yet to be tested or executed.

Maybe closure was getting the plans for the emotions alarm to Hange.

And as Levi continued to type, he realized, he had a clear idea on how he wanted it to work. Articulating it, planning it into something Hange would have understood was not too much of a tall order.

Connect the emotion alarm to a dashboard… plans on how to quantify emotions, moods… Colors, emotions, suggestions.

Newfound energy had Levi tirelessly working over that plan the whole long haul flight, creating diagrams, appending it with his own notes and suggestions. They were still empty spaces, questions and question marks, space which Hange would have been more qualified to fill herself.

After looking at it once then twice, reading out loud softly too himself the parts that hadn’t made too much sense, Levi scrolled back up and typed four words on the upper left.

Working Title: Mood Alarm.

Hange would probably argue semantics, how moods were a lot more temporary than emotions. And Levi was imagining some outrageous argument in his head and his own responses which would never see the light of day. He stayed staunch with his decision. Unless, Hange could come up with anything more catchy, it would stay.

And that fake argument, had been enough for him to relax. He lowered his laptop screen then reclined his seat and stared out the window. It was still a light blue but there were already hints of purple and pink just straight ahead.

The sun would set soon but only for a few hours. One quick calculation told him, it wouldn’t ever be late at night. Once he arrived at his destination, it would still be day and he would have to adjust quickly.

Tucking his laptop away, he allowed himself a few hours of sleep and he had been lucky to have slept long enough to wake up to a pilot’s message about flying over the city then a good view of unfamiliar landscapes just outside the window.

Levi spent those last few minutes before landing, tracing the skyline, counting the number of tiny boxes that dotted the greens, just inches away from clusters of green, white, silver, then flashes of other colors, too many colors to count.

It was an expensive city. He didn’t need Google to tell him that. Everyone knew it as a city only for the filthy rich. He could imagine Zeke having a house or an apartment there, maybe even two. And he made some guesses of which one Zeke could have owned among the larger ones by the beach. Then he made a much longer reflection of just one Yes or No question.

Would Hange been there? He was still too high up to distinguish humans on the outdoor balconies from tricks of light. Still he pretended that she was on one of the balconies over looking the ocean.

The plane got lower and lower, the houses were starting to look more like houses than little tiny boxes. Close enough, Levi was starting to see the glamour of the city, he was starting to see the glowing characteristics which made it a first choice for the ultra rich.

Sparkling blue ocean, only peppered by speed boats and yachts moored at the docks. From inland, mountain ranges formed crescents and worked with the coast to outline the borders of the cities from miles around.

By some type of magic, the landscapes surrounding it had managed to make the dazzling city its own world. Levi begrudgingly gave some credit to the rich for seeing potential in such a breathtaking view.

Just before the coast were tall buildings among shorter buildings and they were lined up on the flat lands, touching one end of the mountain range then the other. Some were hotels, others were casinos, a few of them were malls. Parks were clustered among the buildings, yet they seemed out of place. They were like some shoddily formed assurance that the city wasn’t out to get any tourist’s money.

Levi was seeing differently. The struggle he went into booking a hotel was already a prelude to whatever he would be dealing with. He silently patted his wallet at his back pocket as the pilot’s final instructions sounded over the whole plane.

"Cabin crew prepare for landing."

And all the passengers had been excited to leave. The plane soon slowed to a stop. Even before the seatbelt sign went off, Levi was already hearing the click of seatbelts. Then everyone filed out of their seats, pulling out luggages from the overhead compartment.

Levi was one of the last few out of the plane. Yet with his lack of check-in luggage, he was still one of the first out of the airport.

Nothing could have completely prepared him for the abrupt shift from dry autumn to a wet perpetual summer. He was greeted by some faint smell of the ocean, almost stifling warmth in the middle of October, and very very humid air that stuck to his skin. Unfamiliar sensations on skin, unfamiliar scents and an unfamiliar language that only blurred into nonsense when they made their way into his ears.

It was a new world, a new adventure, Levi would have never taken under any other circumstances. And maybe that had been the reason why the rush of guilt came back when he allowed himself to marvel over the views, the first hand experience of standing close proximity, breathing the same air of that city he had only ever read about books, or seen in the news.

Levi took a deep breath, pulled off his autumn jacket almost violently.

Then he reminded himself again. If he didn’t find her, he’d still be okay. If he didn’t find her, then that trip will just have been a break.

A well-deserved break.

***

According to reception, his hotel was conveniently located just a five minute distance from the convention center. According to his maps application, it was ten minutes away. Levi though, had taken one hour to make his way there

There were hidden paths that weaved through allies and the occasional mall entrances and exits and maybe that had been what reception had been referring to when they mentioned shortcuts.

Levi walked quickly through them at first before he opened up to a larger road. When his surroundings were more open, when his vision stretched far beyond the narrow walls of the alleys, he thought one of the most beautiful cities in the world to be worth a few detours.

Anyway, he had found the signs were all pointing towards the hybrid building that doubled as a hotel and convention center. It might have been the grandest building all around.

He scanned his surroundings, trying to connect his own view from the plane to his own surroundings. Unable to conjure a very clear and accurate picture of what had come above, he couldn’t confirm whether it had been the grandest building around.

It wasn’t too important anyway.

It seemed like the city was on some journey to prove itself to him. Every path, road, alleyway, shopping street and even the interiors of the mall were all different levels of grand. And they all didn’t disappoint, especially to someone who barely even left his home city.

Clean finishings, newly paved roads, cobble stoned streets and red brick roads all seemed to come straight out of the sappiest rags to riches movies.

One cruel truth though Levi soon found out—and had been expecting anyway—was that everything came with a price.

Of course, it would. But Levi hadn’t embedded that truth deep enough inside him to be able to completely stifle his surprise at the price of bottled water, then the price of a late breakfast. They were all prices Levi would have never considered paying for one meal’s worth of food. So he settled for fast food. And he was sure, he would be eating fast food for every single meal until he flew back home.

Eating burger meals worth twice or thrice what he would have gotten at home was still a harrowing experience. He was on that constant in between state, naturally bitter at the ridiculous cost of living yet still forcing himself to savor those few bites of a sandwich.

And he found some inkling of a distraction just staring out the window, watching the crowds go by as he consumed his brunch slowly.

Then, he noticed, he never stopped thinking about her. She had always been somewhere in his mind, still close enough to the front that a flash of brown hair, a messy pony tail or even a pair of glasses among the crowds were enough to have him eyes wide, chewing slower than usual.

In one quick impulsive move, Levi dropped the burger, pulled out his phone and activated the love alarm.

Just in case.

He put on his earphones, then his baseball cap over it. He finished his food much faster then exited the store.

The love alarm didn't ring as he weaved through the crowds. He put his cap lower on over his face, keeping himself unrecognizable.

So, it shouldn't ring for anyone if anyone can't see me right.

That was expected behavior at least. And Levi was just laying trust on some belief that if Hange was nearby, two things might happen. If Hange hadn’t cleared her alarm history and her alarm would recognize his. Or, even if she used a new account, she would recognize him with a baseball cap covering half his face, and it would still ring.

That was assuming she still used her love alarm.

It was a very small chance and Levi was completely aware of it. So he made his way to the convention center, taking note of the signs with the names plastered on them, with arrows guiding him through shopping streets.

Levi didn't mind the detours, more crowds to attempt to look through. When he finally arrived at the hotel entrance though, he found he was tired and a little grumpy.

With the words at the front mentioning Zeke Jaegers name as a keynote speaker though, he had gained some newfound hope, Hange might just be nearby.

He had done the research at least. There was a visitor's price. There was a guest book.

There would be people selling him medical equipment, the latest medical technology and the drugs, supply chains, just the latest lingo, Levi never bothered to learn.

And he got those business vernacular in slow, stilted opportunities, so separated from one another that he never made sense of them.

He was there for one reason. Hange. So it wasn't too difficult to feign purpose, maybe even pretend that he had a few million dollars resting in his bank account for an investment.

There was a map, the names of some of the companies were in languages he was only familiar with by appearance. It was name recall that saved him then, he saw a few of Zeke's hospitals show up in the convention map. Forming a path in his head, he dove into his crowds, clutching his phone harder, readjusting his earphones.

No ringing. And he couldn’t help but feel a strange emotion, a mix between disappointment and relief. It was quiet and somehow he liked it that way. Yet, that only meant that Hange wasn’t nearby.

But leads to Hange were a good second best option. “Levi--- Mr. Ackerman?”

“Ms. Finger,” Levi greeted.

If Pieck knew anything about the incident at the school, she didn’t make it obvious. She was all business at that convention, decked up in business attire, fliers and a product handbook on the desk right in front of her,

She made her way closer to him, letting out a hand to raise and before Levi could even mirror that same movement, someone cut in between them.

“May I help you?”

Levi could have sworn he had never met that man in front of him. Yet the man was looking at him suspiciously, out of character for someone in a suit and flyers.

Pieck pushed past him."Porco, I'll handle this. So, what brings you here?"

Levi had to play his cards well. "I wanted to talk…" to Zeke? Or to Hange? Which was the better name to bring up?

Pieck nodded at him, an inquisitive look on her face. "To talk…"

"Business…"

"What kind of business? You could relay it through your manager right?"

"it's about the app we're developing." He had his laptop with him then, and only the motion of his laptop to his front albeit had Pieck lighting up.

Of course it would, Pieck had been one of his fans when he had first demo-ed the emotions alarm in the hospital just a few months back.

"You've been planning improvements."

Levi gave a light nod. "I've created plans to further improve the efficacy of the application. I was hoping to talk to Zeke about it, or if he's too busy, Hange." He hoped he had used the right jargon.

Pieck had seemed uncertain there. Yet her eyes had darted to his laptop enough times for Levi to see that she was interested, that somehow she had held a stake in those final products.

"If you want me to show it…" Levi was about to drop his bag and pull it out.

That is, if Peke hadn't stopped him then. "Don't trouble yourself," she said. "But, you wouldn't find Zeke here for most of the day. He only shows up for the business dinners but they're on an invitation basis. I can try asking around, we have a few employees who could ask Zeke."

"If you could tell me where Hange is…"

And that was where things got slightly complicated and somehow Levi suspected from the way Pieck had avoided his gaze yet at the same time, Porco had flashed him with a glare, there was something they knew that he didn't.

Pieck spoke up. "Hange huh? Haven't seen her since the convention started. Even during the days leading up to the convention, she was in and out, more than we could even remember."

"She's unpredictable. Don't think you're going to find her here," Porco added.

"But if you could contact her yourself?" Pieck looked at him pointedly.

"Unpredictable huh?" Levi wasn't all too surprised that they would call her unpredictable. And they had said it with a hint of animosity on both their voices, a tone which very much said 'dont bother', or maybe, ‘contacting Zeke might be the better option."

Levi, though, saw a challenge in that unpredictability. If he played his cards right, he might even find predictability in it.

At the least, he managed to let out a light greeting of thanks before he pulled out of the crowds then past the entrance of the stifling convention.

Levi still kept a copy of a program, taking note of keynote speakers among them. Hange wasn't in any of them so his thoughts flew quickly out of the convention, only rooted there somehow by that offer from Pieck to get him in touch with Zeke's executive team.

No help at all with finding Hange. But Levi couldn't help but just think that their actions may have been calculated. Once again, Levi was groveling about the stiffness of the world of politics and artificial corporate pleasantries.

When that became too stressful, his thoughts went back to Hange.

Hange was unpredictable, in a predictable way. And Levi was sure as long as he strode through the town with some purpose, he could make sense of that 'chaos' she always seemed to exude.

That night, he approached it with some careful premeditation, while considering as well that he was still suffering from jet lag.

He scanned through maps, aerial photos, then pictures from taken from high points in the city. He let his eyes trace over the coasts, then the beaches, the affluent areas close proximity to the beach that strategically overlooked the bluest parts of the ocean. Then he noted a less affluent area that brushed the other side of the mountain.

Focusing on the smaller houses, almost hidden by the iconic skyline, he asked himself, would Hange be there? He didn't have a straight answer but he wouldn't put it past her. Besides, any sense of adventure had started to become a little more welcome.

There was truth to it, Hange was unpredictable. But the predictability to it was, Hange was so unpredictable, she was memorable. He was sure if he would ask about the brunette, someone would know.

If Hange acted like the Hange, he knew, someone might recognize her. Someone in a simple community in a country thousands of miles away from his own, wouldn't know Hange Zoe as anything more than some eccentric brunette.

And maybe that was where he was supposed to start.

The next morning, he bought a bus ticket and he had been lucky enough to even get an opportunity to sit. After all, no one actually visited that city for the locals.

It was almost a half an hour bus away form the city center, and houses by the coastline were getting further apart until Levi reached a point where cabanas were made of simple wood, paths were etched lightly on the ground.

Levi disembarked at one of the more simpler bus stops for miles around, and it didn't look like the bus passed there often.

But maybe it was better that way.

Untouched Nature, free nature is a beautiful thing. Nature once again at its rawest form, at its most candid, not flaunting its best parts for the rich to admire.

And Levi was seeing beauty in the candid.

There were a few local kids, wading by, speaking a language Levi didn't understand and for a second, Levi just stood, breathing in the sour air of some untouched beach. It differed a lot from the beach thirty minutes away. There was no music playing in the background, no strobe lights and Levi concluded one thing.

Hange would have enjoyed this.

Levi would bet money that if Hange did have the freedom to run around, she might have been there. The houses around the area were of a simple kind, so far apart, that Levi had to walk thousands of steps just to get from one to the other. He traced the coastline as he walked, far enough from the shores to keep his feet dry but still close enough that he felt the moist sand squish from underneath him. He was following some path back the way he came, towards the skyline, he noted there were bars among them, seemingly affordable bars, maybe catering to locals.

Levi entered to find chaos. Men in a group playing some possible version of mahjong with rocks, others playing chess and others playing cards with rocks as currencies.

And he was more convinced Hange would have joined them if she had the freedom to move around.

So he took the risk. "Do you get foreigners here often?"

And maybe the word ‘foreigner’ or the word ‘often’ had been unfamiliar to the bartender.

He looked questioningly at Levi but it didn't look like he was completely lost. He turned the younger bartender who looked back at Levi. "May I help you sir?" he asked with a thick yet still very intelligible accent.. Levi suspected he had worked in the city center before.

"Foreigners...do you get a lot here?" Levi was slow at first.

"A few. May I ask why?" And he was starting to suspect the man worked in service.

It looked like the man didn't need the quick adjustments though, so Levi continued. "I'm looking for someone…"

The local gestured for him to go on.

And just like that, Levi found out Hange's predictability. All he needed was some subtle gesture, some consideration, that maybe it would have been best to approach the men hustling chess players by the side, or the other men playing some version of mahjong.

It was just a quick flick of his head towards the gamblers as he tried to find the right words to say.

And the man in front of him figured it out. "Glasses? Brown wavy hair?"

"She likes playing games. She plays here?" Levi asked, just for some confirmation, some proof that he wasn't socially engineering anyone.

The younger man looked at the bartender. The latter broke out into a smile. "Hange?" he said with a thick accent. He let out a laugh then turned to Levi almost suspiciously.

Levi nodded quickly. "Yes, Hange." Hänge Zoe. Should he say her last name?

The bartenders said something to the English speaking local. There was a brief exchange between them and the bartender pointed at Levi.

"Her hair is always messy," Levi said, he put his hands at the back of his head, mimicking the messy way she tied her hair up. "She always wins games. She's very smart. And sometimes, she'd just go out to the beach and she'd get lost in the view."

The two locals look towards each other, their faces suddenly unreadable.

They knew something Levi didn't and Levi knew he was punching blindly just making quick guesses of what Hange would have done. The specificities could also mean they escorted him out with new information.

Yet, somehow, it seemed those descriptions worked. They both smiled, exchange a few words.

"She plays. She wins---"

Levi smiled. "And let me guess, she doesn't keep the money?" And when he saw the grins of the two men widen, he made another guess. "And she gives the money away?"

The man dropped his shoulders and put one hand out in greeting. "What do you need?"

"I wanna see her--- No, I wanna talk to her. Do you know where I can find her?"

"She doesn't tell us where she's going too."

The bartender said something just behind the younger man and the latter's expression changed. They were both pointing at something, seemingly hypothetical, then drawing something with their fingers.

The younger man then continued in English. "I'll take you out."

"Wha--" Levi never had time to finish.

The man guided him out.

At first Levi wondered what he did wrong. The man didn't seem to carry any animosity. He seemed almost excited. "She likes going there," he said with some level of certainty.

There. Initially, it had been difficult to figure out where 'there' was. Following the direction of his finger with his gaze was almost a tall order. But there was only one place from that angle which boasted any level of significance.

He was pointing high up to mountain ranges and from his place by the coast, on the other side of the city, maybe he could make out a small tower that peeked out over the green.

"She likes high places," the man said.

"She told you that?" Levi shifted his grin to something certain then he nodded. "Thank you, I'll check it out."

And that tower peeking out of the mountains was identifiable with just an easy google search, expected from one of the most tourist friendly places in the world.

A tower observatory huh? Was it be open to the public? Sources said yes. What did Hange enjoy there? Levi had an inkling of an answer but he might have to see to it to be sure.

While waiting for the bus back to the city center, he consolidated his clues. Pieck had told him to wait for a message from someone named Yelena. If he couldn't talk to Hange, he could talk to Zeke.

Still, he was covering his bases with Hange but he was a little messy with it. It was all a matter of fate, some inkling of what kind of person Hange would be.

But what would he know about Hänge?

Even on the empty bus on the way back, he left his love alarm on, earphones propped comfortably in his ears.

In the bus it didn't ring but when Levi was weaving through the busiest streets, changing from the city bus to the bus leading up the mountain, it may have rung a few times. And Levi only started to become aware, a few incidents in, that every single time he had stopped, then he would scan the crowds.

One flash of brown hair, sometimes it would show up red under direct streams of light. A bird's nest tied up in a half pony tail or just a very messy one. Or maybe that low voice, which seemed to shift to something shrill almost immediately when excited.

There was only one person he would have wanted his Love Alarm to ring for. So Levi, lowered his cap over his face, boarded a bus and made the journey to the mountain.

***

He didn't go back to the convention center anymore. A long list of programs and keynote speakers only confirmed it, it was a roadshow on business ventures more than research.

But Hange likes business right? Hange likes medicine? Or she might even be wedges among the crowds of tourists among the snazzier casinos, just playing. He then considered playing just to check it out and maybe ask around.

And when Levi was weighing options, he realized Hange was somewhat unpredictable. He was at the mercy of fate, luck and a few well thought out guesses.

So he treated it like some challenge, a challenge he could very much fail. But he would get a better chance of running into her, if he kept to one place.

He picked the summit of the mountain and he parked there for the next few days, laptop bag in hand, sweatshirt over his boardshorts. There was a cafe only a few blocks from the tower with a good view of the main street leading up to the observatory.

And Levi only had to be there a few days to realize, it was off-season and it was off-season for a reason. It was the time of the year, when the weather by the road was a fickle bitch.

That day, the rain was on and off. The northern winds blew strong and Levi almost wished he had brought his autumn jacket. Yet it never was cold or windy enough to be certain it was worth lugging around.

The sweatshirt had been a golden alternative and he found the hood had a dual purpose. Enough, to hide his face so he could keep his love alarm on without receiving too many alarms. And enough to keep him safe from the blinding wind that came with climbing high elevations.

Levi abandoned the baseball cap, instead keeping the hood low over his face. He made himself at home in that cafe that overlooked the main road towards the visitor's center and a platform with a good view of the city. He picked a spot right next to the window. He only had to turn left, to get a peek, yet he was in a good enough position that if anyone looked back, he only had to lean back to be concealed by the opaque wall.

Levi was taking stupid risks. Did she clear her cache? Did she even still use the app? Any of those miniscule decisions would have been enough for Levi to come home empty ended. Yet, they were highly probable decisions. After all, why would Hange want to keep the application after the fiasco months ago. He started to even entertain the possibility that maybe Hange wasn’t even using her phone as often anymore. She hadn’t replied to texts, responded to calls and her number was also out of service.

Everything was against him, every single probability. Everything had been against him since the start anyway so it was much easier to stomach such circumstances.

Levi made for himself an ultimatum. He only had until his flight back, three days after, to talk to Hange.

If he is not able to find her, he goes home empty handed. He cooperates with the transferring of assets, the finalization of the contract. He scraps his own personal project, the colors, the attempt to quantify emotions and the dashboard.

At the least, he tried. He responded to that ticket. He tried to contact her, he tried to look for her. Hell, he was even contacting Zeke, personal pride and corporate processes be damned.

Surprisingly, instead of leaving him more desolate, the high stakes, all against him, had only sent a surge of motivation through him.

Maybe helplessness could do that to people. Or maybe he just couldn’t believe for himself that losing could be such a probable outcome.

Levi turned up the volume of his phone, scanned the crowds just outside the shop. It was off season, the weather was dark and gloomy so it wasn’t too difficult to even count the number of tall lanky brunettes who could have remotely been Hange. And he probably wasted more than enough time looking closely at each one, before accepting that twinge of disappointment every time they looked back revealing an unfamiliar face.

He never failed to remind himself how stupid of a plan it was. In the end, his best option really was to wait for a message from Yelena. Even if he would have preferred to discuss the plans with Hange himself, without that monkey as an intermediary.

When the disappointment accumulated, becoming too much to bear, Levi opened his laptop again, checked his work trackers, then his own project but he always made sure to look out, in between lines of code, or in between tickets or pull requests.

Just in case. Just in case, one of the brunettes was Hange.

When his love alarm finally rang, Levi had been reviewing a pull request. The surprise lasted for a second, the horror at realizing if that person hadn’t opened their love alarm, he wouldn’t have noticed her, lasted a little longer.

But he couldn’t be too sure it was her. She had on a cap, her hair tied up on a high ponytail. It was wavy and untamed, yet bunched up in such a way that maybe even her hair felt stifled. The ponytail swung wildly with even the slightest movement of her head.

And she was moving a lot, head bent down at first, looking at her phone, then at two kids next to her.

She was part of a tour group and those kids didn’t seem like hers. The alarm stopped for a while, and Levi used that short rest to check the schedule of the convention he had downloaded just yesterday. There was a tour that day. So it could be her.

Still, he couldn’t be too sure. His alarm rang again. Then when he was watching closely, he saw her jaw drop, he saw her explain something to the kids. Then she started to scan her surroundings and when Levi used that flash when their eyes met for just a second, he suspected.

But maybe their eyes haven’t met. She was wearing sunglasses.

And there was still a good chance it wasn’t Hange. But from her reaction, from the reaction of the kids, then the way she poked at her phone and the way the heart just suddenly disappeared then appeared then disappeared from his phone within few second lags, Levi decided it was a risk worth taking.

He continued to stare. And the brunette continued to scan her surroundings. She bent over, said something to both kids, then patted one on the head. And she turned around, looking through the cafe window.

And Levi turned off his own alarm, leaning back on the chair, just far back enough to hide.

What was he scared of? It looked like she could have been scared too. She didn’t bother to come nearer, or to even crane her neck to see just behind the wall right next to the window. She shook her head, a half smile played at her lips. And she walked away from the cafe, back to the tour group.

A disappointing turn of events. And Levi was scolding himself. It almost seemed surreal to even find Hange there, after losing contact with her for months. But he couldn’t be too sure that it was her. And how many times had he repeated it to himself.

Heart beating wildly, Levi let out a wretched sigh and slammed his laptop close, loud and hard enough to jarr him and even his closest neighbors. Who cared anyway? He continued to stare at Hange, and just for some level of security, just in case his emotions took more control than he allowed, he put the hood of his sweat shirt over his head, zipped it up a little higher over his neck and stared out.

She was talking to the tour guide. The tour guide shook his head, then pointed just above him.

Grey skies. Levi understood gesticulations enough to get that part.

The tour guide then pointed at the cafe then at the shopping streets but maybe she wasn’t listening anymore. She turned to the sky and Levi followed her gaze to see that she was probably looking at the tower, the base was visible from his view but even when he bent his head to the side, he couldn't make out the top. He made it a game for himself, he craned his neck, just to see how far up he could make out from his comfortable seat in the cafe.

Then eventually, he gave up, yet the brunette was still looking up, her head hung back, almost freely. Her mouth a thin line. And it was only when Levi heard the loud murmurs, took note of the sudden shift of the cafe atmosphere from peaceful to bustling, did he realize she had been left all alone.

The whole tour group was inside the shop.

Except her. She walked ahead. And if Levi were right, and that was her, he might as well follow. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t coiling the charger of his laptop before stuffing it into his bag. He wasn’t placing it hinge first into his bag. He stuffed everything, leaving chaos in his wake.

But he didn’t have much time anyway. Besides, cafe was starting to get too crowded for comfort. He exited the shop, and she was still in view, for just long enough for Levi to make out, that she had turned a corner.

If a part of him wanted to hesitate, if a part of him was holding him back, he didn’t let it take over. He didn’t have much time to consider the situation either. After all, she was moving fast and the winds were enough of an adversary already. So he ran, holding his laptop bag close to his side. He was grateful, he had at least tightened the hood of his sweatshirt.

The corner she turned on, opened up to a smaller cobblestone road, and at the end of it was the entrance of the tower. She opened the door with the sign ’authorized personnel only’, and she didn’t come back out.

Many feet behind her, but still unperturbed, Levi followed behind. The first floor was wide, and it acted as shelter, an ante room to a visitor’s center maybe, and there was a small open room to the side. A rope acted as some weak barricade to the entrance with a sign hanging in front.

Closed due to weather conditions

Uncertainty was another adversary. He turned to the glass door of the visitor’s center. He could look for her there. After a small peak through the glass, he realized if he went through there, he might just get a little self conscious, he might just hesitate to even climb over the rope.

In the slow few seconds that followed, Levi considered several things.

If she wanted to go to the visitor’s center, she would have gone through the main door. If she were Hange, it wouldn’t be too outrageous to imagine her climbing over a rope or even opening an ‘authorized personnel only’ door. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized, the bartender was right, his own instinct could be right.

Hange loved adventure. Hange loved freedom.

And as he stepped over the rope, then entered the hollow area where the spiral staircase climbed endlessly, he realized, his instincts, his decision might have just been right.

The footsteps echoed loudly, bouncing one end to the other over the hollow walls. Even when he couldn’t make out movements, just staring above him, towards the dizzying top, he made out the echoes.

And that could be Hange.

Or it could be an illusion. Levi added a second later, as he started the journey up the spiral staircases, the laptop bag dangling precariously on his side. He was dealing with too many sounds at once, and they all echoed in the narrow room, that Levi couldn’t be too sure if her footsteps had been his own imagination.

Still, he climbed.

Hundreds or maybe even thousands of steps in, it became an issue of sunk costs. The rubber soles of his shoes on the metal, the slap of his laptop bag on his side. And the few times he looked back, the few times he allowed himself to slow down, he heard an echo, unfamiliar footsteps, the shoes not his own.

A few times, he tried to go faster, just to beat the sound. When he sprinted up steps, losing count along the way, he remembered he had to conserve energy. The sounds were blurring against each other anyway.

So he settled for a quick jog. The monotony that came with jogging had him thinking, the spiral case really was endless. He wondered how many feet he had climbed.

A few times, it was tempting to run. A few other times, it was tempting to walk. A few times, he wondered how nice it would be to be able to fly, just float all the way down like a bird. Soon enough, he was high enough that just looking down made him dizzy, left his stomach turning.

He started to focus on what was ahead anyway, even when it was all just some predictable pattern of stairs and stone walls. Along the way, maybe he had started to lose feeling in his legs, just like he lost track of the echoes, or maybe she had just stopped climbing altogether.

Close to the top, there was a platform that led to a doorway. And Levi only had to push open, to be greeted again by winds. Suddenly they were coming in all directions at once, enough for Levi to put both his hands over his eyes. Enough to have him bending his knees, trudgling forward, one step at a time.

He was at the top of the tower, the highest point for miles around. When he got his bearings, started to accept the wind as an inevitable companion, he had managed to sprint forward, lean his elbows on the arm railings and look forward, at the magnificent view that stretched past the hotels, the shopping malls and the casinos.

The mountains beyond that and just next to them, the empty beaches, the local communities.

A few times, he closed his eyes, allowing them some reprieve from the harsh winds. And around the time, when he started to notice the grey sky, the streams of light that seemed to let bright colors glimmer, the few parts of the land they touched, he easily remembered why he had been there in the first place.

Of course, Hange enjoys this.

He looked around him once. Then twice, just in case the first time had been a trick from his tired eyes. She wasn’t around. Then he started to question himself.

Is she really here? Or were the echoes of footsteps just an illusion?

Was he going crazy?

It could have been from the strong winds, or the crushing disappointment, but around that time, he found it difficult to breathe. He felt tears prickle in his eyes. He swallowed once, and that had been enough to keep his face unmoving.

He looked back at the view, then at the grey sky above, the streams of light that were only getting smaller as dark clouds hovered over the city, then at the neon lights that only started to glow brighter with each stream of light that disappeared.

The wind started to blow harder, the trees down below rustled, creating their own glimmer of green, all dancing at once. Then he looked up at the ocean, the waves only getting larger, as the direction of the winds started to become unpredictable.

Sometimes, his hood was pressing harder towards the back of his head. Sometimes, it pushed from the front, blowing his bangs out of his face. It was chilling his cheeks, forcing the salty yet very sour scent of the ocean through his nose, then his half open mouth.

The wind brought with it many things at once, utter chaos, in separated parts. Most Levi couldn’t even understand.

I love you. At first, he thought it to be the whistle of the wind. Then a second later, he decided that he was just going crazy.

Then the wind stopped for just a second, the whistle, the blowing deadened into nothing for just a few seconds.

A few seconds enough.

“I love you!”

A few seconds long enough for Levi to trace the voice to a strange location, above him, yet behind him. He traced it to the brunette, cap still propped snugly on her head, her ponytail swinging from left to right.

Her sunglasses were off, she stood balanced on one of the lower rungs of the rail. There were still a few streams of sunlight left, yet they shone on Hange, bright enough for Levi to see red, in her ponytail, to see those roundish hazel eyes, those cheekbones and hint of pink in them.

Red. For a while it looked like a fire, the smell of the sea tickled his nose, then a wave of horror. Then loss?

See you later, Hange.

She stood there, meters above him, far enough for Levi to still doubt yet still close enough that with a longer look, Levi accepted, he was obliged to believe it.

It was Hange. The longer he looked at her, the more certain he became, the more money he would have put into such a wild conjecture.

But what the hell are you doing here?

Comprehension was a slow process, muddled by surprise, disbelief and confusion at his own reaction. Impatient, Levi had exited the spiral staircase to a platform a few meters below the top, while she had climbed all the way up. That left them in two completely different floors, two completely different platforms, a good distance away from each other.

And it didn’t look like she noticed him.

Then who are you talking to?

She continued to look straight ahead. She took a deep breath then screamed again.

I love you.

The wind caressed his face again and the words came again as a whisper.

The few times Levi opened his mouth, he noticed. When the wind was strong enough, the clearing of his throat, the grumbles didn’t come out as expected. As if the wind stole his words, and carried them away with it.

And the wind wouldn’t tell its secrets right?

Exhausted, terrified, confused then frustrated. Unwelcome tears threatening to force themselves out, Levi decided he was desperate for someone who’d listen but he he didn’t want anyone capable of judgement.

He took a deep breath. “I love you!” With the wind blowing in all the directions at once, his ears snug under his hood, it came out as a whisper. It was as if his body saw an opportunity for a cathartic release in the potential listener in the wind. Even as his throat burned, he screamed it again. “I love you!”

I love you. Hange’s voice seemed to ride with the wind, once again, he heard it as a whisper. Looking back up, Hange had dropped back on the platform, her two hands cupped her mouth. She dropped them and took a deep breath. She dropped her shoulders, then stared up at the sky, her head hung back. And she looked like she was about to collapse.

And maybe he looked the same way. He wanted to collapse too, with the weight over his shoulders, another, more deeply embedded exhaustion reared its ugly head.

But he wanted to hear the rest of it. He couldn’t be too sure who she had been talking too. Either way, he was sure it didn't change anything. Whether she felt the same way or not, love was love.

He took another deep breath. “I love you!” The wind was only getting stronger and once again, it snatched the words out of his mouth, his throat raw, almost burning. He didn't even know wind could burn until that moment, until he noticed the ache in his tongue.

Hange didn’t seem to notice. She still continued to stare straight ahead, then up at the sky. She put one hand over her eyes, wiping sweat. Or tears?

And maybe his mind suspected tears. And maybe tears were contagious. They came out unwillingly, as something that just welled at the rims.

And maybe if he just screamed again, they’ll force themselves back. “Hange Zoe.” He took a deep breath. “I love you!” He had been more strategic, letting it out a split second later, when the wind was whistling, almost screaming.

The wind might never take those words to her. But he didn’t seem to mind, the words had been for him more than anything.

Levi…. I love you...

The wind was strong enough, rain started to patter over the stone platform. And it became difficult to distinguish screams from the whistling of the wind. So Levi couldn’t be too sure. Still, he listened closely.

...In another life… Okay?

The rain was cold. The dampness pressed the hood closer to the back of his head, then the edge of his hood hung low over him, obscuring his view.

Yet the wind still found a way in, it first caressed his cheeks again, then tickled his lips as if forcing something out of him.

It goaded. It teased. And Levi had always been a sore loser, even if he never told anyone.

Alone, with no one there to hear him, but the wind, and Hange beyond ears reach, Hange who had barely noticed him, the words were forcing themselves out.

He looked back to see her standing, leaning closely over the railing. The strong rains, the ferocious winds had reduced her to a shadow.

And he was sure, she probably hadn't seen him.

Another surge of confidence. Then one deep breath. By some unexpected rush, Levi was starting to feel some strange anger. And Hange’s own staunch acceptance, the way she just gripped the railings and stared ahead, was only aggravating it.

“I don't wanna wait for any more next lives!” He let out a painful cough after that but even that didn’t penetrate the rumble, the pattern of the rain and the gusts of wind that surrounded him.

I want you. It was a weak whisper at first. Recovering from that last bout, Levi attempted once again. “I want you now.” Even when he couldn’t hear it himself, he felt it, the rawness in his throat, the anger that laced every single word. “Love is a choice right? Then I made my fucking choice! I want you! I want you now!” He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, the figure hidden by a thin veil of rain.

The figure that eventually disappeared into the tower.

He eventually got tired of looking up. His neck ached, his vision started to blur and the hood hung damp over his face.

Levi only realized then, how much he had been holding in. In fact, it never felt all his to begin with. Cathartic releases weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Hell, Levi didn’t even notice how much had actually been released until he leaned back on the wall, until he realized, he didn’t mind at all being covered head to toe in water and dirt.

Humans were unpredictable. They were incomprehensible. And the moment that everything fell into place, Levi let it sink in.

He loved Hange. He wanted her. He wanted to be selfish about it.

“That’s what a choice is right? Doing what I want?” Levi whispered, making some sense of Hange’s own words, he mimicked her voice, her mannerisms as he said those first words. He then lowered his tone, into something more natural. “We’re not fucking robots Hange. We want things. We feel things.”

He didn’t need to tell her that. High up on the tower Hange had been screaming. He was certain of that. Hange had been leaning forward, she had been breathing hard.

She was feeling. She was human. She was free.

And Levi wondered why she had seemed so desperate, so eager to let something out, as if every other moment outside the tower had been stifling.

“That’s life married to a billionaire huh?”

He couldn’t blame her for screaming. HIs only little game of copycat had him exhausted too but somehow, by some sleight of hand, some magic, it had him calm, peaceful even under the strong patter of rain.

Articulating only made emotions all the more real. The signs that he hadn’t been the only one chasing blindly was reassuring.

And maybe that was all Levi wanted anyway, that was the final closure to that long game of cat and mouse. Levi turned to his soaked laptop bag, he maneuvered his way back inside the shelter. He zipped his bag open, let out a sigh of relief to see that the case had done its job to keep the laptop dry.

Then alone on the stairwell, he leaned on the wall, noted the sound of footsteps many feet below. He opened the laptop, then before even booting it, he closed it again and took a deep breath as one realization dawned on him in those slow steady movements.

In truth, he didn’t mind never showing the plans to Hange. Maybe he had just been looking for some excuse to see her, some attempt at closure.

“You got it,” he whispered to himself, hands cold and shaking even under the humid tropical air. “You can stop now…” But something inside him continued to lightly boil. “So what? Do we wait until the next life?”

Nobody answered.

He opened his phone, then his mood alarm. He already predicted the color on the screen.

Green. Happy sad? Or sad happy?

At that moment, Levi concluded, desire and acceptance could begrudgingly coexist.

***

Levi had no plans of going back to the convention. Yet, after that night, he had one more day left, one more day to check the city.

He did a quick google search, reading through long reviews on beaches, on the mountains, the hiking trails, the tower and the shopping street. None of them seemed interesting and Levi almost considered just curling up in bed on the last day and allowing himself to recover from the ordeal the night before.

And even if his mind had been willing him to find some other purpose. Levi found, as soon as the adrenaline rush ended, all he wanted to do was lie in bed. Only standing on two feet long enough to get him through a shower and curled into bed.

His mind was racing with other questions. Could Hange move? Was Hange moving? Was she walking? Was she talking? As if nothing happened? And the more he thought about it, the harder it became to move.

He slept through the night. By morning, he had enough strength, enough need for stimulation to pull his laptop closer. He ran his hand over the keyboard. It was fully dry. He realized he would rather wait a few more hours before opening it again.

He turned back to the ceiling. Rest. He whispered to himself. You don’t need to go out. You went on enough adventures to last a lifetime.

A fucking lifetime. It felt like sour graping. And Levi soon found himself admitting to sour graping. He would have wanted more adventures if it meant more time with Hange.

But real life didn’t work that way. Life expected people to decide on circumstances, never on emotions or actual thought.

So what’s the point of being fucking human then?  Rejecting the world as a whole, made it easier to just roll over and nap again despite the light streaming through the window.

And Levi was in and out of sleep, the only view was the plain white walls of his hotel room, and whatever light reflected on it. Some natural need for stimulation had him jumping at the sound of the phone ringing.

Instinctively, he pulled his hand behind him, dragging the phone roughly from the side table.

An unknown number. Hange. The unwelcome part of him tried to rear its ugly head again. He put the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He kept his voice cold, just in case it was her, or wasn’t her.

“Mr. Ackerman?” An unfamiliar voice on the other end and Levi couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman speaking.

“Speaking.”

“Ms. Finger told me about your request, about your plans for the Mood Alarm. I ran through it with Mr. Jaeger and he would be happy to host you for dinner, then for a private meeting in his suite."

“No need,” Levi said.

“No, he insists.”

“It’s not worth your time.”

“Mr. Ackerman, listen.” And the voice on the other end was firm. “Mr. Jaeger has invited you to dine with him. He took the time out of his busy schedule to do this. This is a formal invitation, if he is interested in your plans he will tell you himself.”

Levi didn't respond immediately. He couldn't think of much else to say yet.

“Will you dine with him?”

Levi put the phone in front of him, put it on speaker and just stared at the unknown number. Could this be a scam?

As if to answer his question, the person on the other line only continued. “We have added you to the guest list for the dinner tonight, just give your name to the reception at the hotel. Mr. Jaeger will see you there.”

And the person on the other end, did not give him time to protest. Levi thought it almost rude to call back, to even bother anyone over a decision that was just his to make.

Hours of contemplation later, Levi decided to just show up and lay low. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He had already reached the point of acceptance the day before.

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. vii

→ one | two | three | four | five | six

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part seven / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 4,732

☾vii. part vii: start of something new

Waking up in a warm, quiet room 199 floors from the ground at Heaven’s Arena, Sayomi sat up in her bed, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

She had slept more soundly than she had in a while, between Meteor City and the watching eyes of the Mafia. 

But maybe it was the faint, earthy scent that Kite had left behind, or perhaps it was the fact that Sayomi was now free to live on her own in one of the most populated cities in the world. She decided it was the latter this time around.

A good night’s sleep had proved to resolve the conflicting thoughts in her head, as Sayomi settled that Kite was a good friend, and would never be anything more.

In this way, she was able to accept the reality that there had never been anything more than friendly interactions between them, and it would stay that way.

In all honesty, she needed a teacher if she was going to make a life out of fighting at Heaven’s Arena. And judging by the immense aura Kite had surrounding him even while he was resting, she knew he outclassed her in nen abilities.

As of now her nen acted as her last line of defense, still being rather inconsistent and hard to control. Though she had improved a great deal with her independent training in Meteor City, she still had a lot to learn about the potentials of her abilities. 

Stretching out her limbs and rising from bed, Sayomi got ready for the day ahead of her.

☾vii.

Kite and his student were waiting for Sayomi on the 60th floor, as Stick Dinner had his 60s match later today.

The three would train in the gym on this floor as they waited for Stick’s match to come around. It was rather empty because the 60th floor was merely a transitioning floor where contestants would come and go.

Kite started his two students off with a basic nen introduction, explaining the four major principles: Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu. 

Sayomi had already learned all about nen and its history back when she was around 4 years old alongside Illumi. Kite was aware of this as well but needed to explain the basics to Stick.

A long lecture and one Water Divination Test later, and Stick was now educated of his nen abilities and excited to learn more.

They had now moved onto attempting to recognize Stick’s hatsu, which would become his own personal nen ability. 

Sayomi’s own hatsu was already established, being her hypnotic spell and corpse control. And because she had only truly used it while fighting for her life in Meteor City, she still had significant difficulties with using her power.

Kite was also aware of Sayomi’s hatsu from the days he’d used to visit Kukuroo Mountain. He remembered Sayomi demonstrating her power on weak intruders and aggressive animals, their deceased corpses moving like puppets at her command.

Though he’d never say it out loud, it was quite terrifying.

For this exact reason, Kite had apologetically said Sayomi should wait until she was free to use nen in the 200s battles to train her hatsu. It was just too dangerous to practice for the purpose of training.

Therefore, instead of practicing her hatsu like Stick, Sayomi was put to work training her ren. She would have to maintain it for an hour today, and Kite mentioned she would eventually progress to longer durations of time.

Sayomi’s ren was intense, she had to stay 10 feet away from anyone else to make sure she didn’t affect them. Her body was surrounded in a malicious, deep purple shroud of energy, contrasting with Kite’s pure white aura.

☾vii.

Half an hour had passed with Kite’s training, said man working with Stick to strengthen his hatsu while Sayomi stood concentrated on maintaining her ren.

As of now, she was still fine, just rather bored with the method of training.

She opted to watch the on-going fights on the monitor above her instead of staring at the wall in front of her. However, this proved to be even worse, as the contestants she watched were all terribly amateur. 

Sighing when she saw a contestant trip over his own feet on the monitor, she had caught Kite’s attention. “Not tired yet?”

Sayomi looked to Kite with a guilt-ridden expression. “Ah, not yet, but that’s not why I… nevermind. Sorry!”

Kite let out a rather short laugh at her frantic apology, walking just outside her ren aura to stand in front of her.

“No need to apologize. This exercise is meant to be a drag, it trains not only strengthening your nen, but also patience and putting mind over body. Looks like…  you have about 20 minutes left, keep it up!”

Sayomi smiled weakly at Kite’s attempt at encouragement. He was a blunt person by nature so to anyone else his words probably came across as sarcastic, but Sayomi recognized his sincerity. 

She thanked him with a short smile.

Around the 50 minute mark, Sayomi was finally breaking out a sweat, her arms and legs had actually been burning for a while now, but she’d been holding in any signs of weakness.

She was getting a little dizzy now, putting more force into her legs in order to stay upright and not swaying along with the room in front of her.

“Annnd time. Sayomi your hour’s up.”

Sayomi’s ren faded as she fell back to lean against the wall for support. 

Damn, I must be out of shape or something. 

Kite stepped over to where Sayomi stood trying to catch her breath. “Not as easy as you thought?”

She looked up with a sneer. “I’m just getting started, gimme a week and I’ll pass you up.”

Kite’s eyes were now filled with amusement. Having sent Stick off to standby for his match, he took a seat in front of Sayomi, motioning for her to do the same.

Sayomi sat cross-legged with her head resting against the wall, her eyes closed as she attempted to regenerate her aura.

“What’s your record anyway?”

Kite looked across at the exhausted girl. “About a day.”

“A DAY?!” Sayomi’s eyes flew open at Kite’s response, clearly having underestimated her instructor.

He only nodded in return, wishing to change the subject off of himself. “If I may ask... what exactly is the eldest daughter of the Zoldyck family doing at a place like Heaven’s Arena?”

There was the question. She was surprised he hadn’t asked her earlier.

To lie or not to lie… 

“My parents sent me here as a test of strength. I’m not allowed back until I reach the very top.” Sayomi lied through her teeth, not wanting to tell Kite about her banishment.

That should convince him.

“The very top? Ah, so they wish for you to become a floor master. I see... well with the right training, you can surely get to that point perhaps within a few years?” Kite looked at Sayomi expectantly.

A few years? What the hell even is a ‘floor master’? 

With a measly lie, Sayomi had screwed herself over. She had originally intended in making a few million jenny by cruising through the 100s and getting her own room. But with this whole floor master thing, she could already sense that her future at Heaven’s Arena would become much more complex.

The title does sound pretty cool though… maybe I’ll just go along with the flow for now.

“Right! Haha… they want me to become a floor master. So you think you’ll be able to help me get there?”

Kite looked deep in thought. Did I say something wrong? 

Meeting Sayomi’s eyes once again, he spoke. “On second thought Sayomi… I’ve made a promise to train Stick Dinner, and with the danger of your nen abilities, I don’t think I can do you any good as an instructor.”

She was about to take back her words and say becoming a floor master was unnecessary, but he cut her off.

“However, I just realized something that I should’ve thought of before. I’m not sure how you’d get along, but there is someone with more experience than me at Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi looked up, interested in his proposal.

Noticing her apparent interest, Kite continued, “I happen to owe him a favor as well, because I’ve been staying in his room on the 200th floor with Stick. He’s… a rather interesting person, and he finds enjoyment in fighting powerful individuals. But nevermind his personality, I think you would benefit greatly from his experience both with nen and Heaven’s Arena, more than I could ever do for you.”

Kite examined Sayomi’s expression, it seemed to be a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity.

“I’m not proposing you make a decision right away, as he’ll actually be absent for some time… but I recommend you consider it as a possibility.”

In her mind, Sayomi was unsure of what to think about this mysterious acquaintance of Kite, but in her heart and soul, there was an undeniable hunger for more power and more recognition. If she were to become a floor master, her name would surely spread throughout Yorknew City and perhaps even reach her parents. 

“When will he return?”

Kite smiled at her sign of interest in his offer. He knew she would be able to handle his colleague’s eccentric personality, and from there she would only have room to grow even stronger.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. He’s a very spontaneous man, and the last time I saw him he mentioned traveling around the world to find his next rival.”

Sayomi thought about her current options. 

“I understand… training my nen would most likely require the death of victims, which you would never allow, but without improving my nen I would seemingly get destroyed in the 200s matches. Right?”

Kite took a moment to consider her words. “Yes, more or less.”

Sayomi nodded in return. “So then supposedly… this acquaintance of yours would be willing to train my nen even if it would mean others will die?”

“Precisely.” Kite grimaced at her blunt deduction of his words.

Sayomi threw her arms back, resting her hands behind her head. “Well alright then! Until this friend of yours gets back I guess I’ll just see how far I can get without using my nen.”

“Acquaintance. But yes, I suppose fighting without your nen until he gets back would be a good use of time.” 

☾vii.

Sayomi and Kite headed to the stands of the arena after wrapping up their conversation. Kite’s student was up for the next match, leaving the two childhood friends to watch amongst the crowd.

Stick’s match went smoothly, he had outsmarted his opponent by anticipating each of his attacks, and in the end all he had left was to tire him out enough to land the finishing blow.

He was now qualified to continue on to the 70s, while Sayomi’s fight would be the next day.

☾vii.

Kite stood leaning against the back wall of the 60th floor arena, his eyes focused on the light-footed girl currently playing around with her opponent in the ring. 

He felt almost a sense of pride, watching the little Zoldyck girl who had used to be too shy as to even raise her voice, now dancing around in the illuminated arena full of confidence.

She was taking her time with the unworthy opponent who stood across from her. Under normal circumstances, Kite would have been infuriated with Sayomi’s disrespectful actions, but this time it was much different.

Her opponent had spent the final minutes before their match catcalling and spilling other obscene words towards Sayomi. Kite had moved to step in between the two contestants, ready to punch the man’s teeth in, but Sayomi had given him a look so full of malice he knew to hold back.

She was waiting to absolutely ruin her opponent in the ring.

So when he saw Sayomi taking her sweet time and making a fool out of the man who’d previously disrespected her, Kite only smirked in satisfaction from a distance.

Sayomi you’ve been through a lot, haven’t you… all this anger and hatred coursing through your aura. 

In the arena, Sayomi brought a swift heel down on her opponent's hand. An attack that was worth no points but only for the purpose of causing pain.

Pain… who hurt you Sayomi? What ever happened to the girl who’d cried when she accidentally swatted a butterfly?

Kite experienced a flurry of conflicting emotions as he watched Sayomi torture and eventually knock down her opponent. 

He was worried about her emotional health, knowing for sure now that she had experienced something so tragic and crucial it’d turned her pure aura a 180 degree turn into bloodlust and malice.

However, he was glad to know one thing was for sure. 

She would definitely survive and benefit from his unstable colleague’s training, for now he realized they were so similar it was almost as if they were the same person. 

Or perhaps two halves of a whole.

☾vii.

1 year later

It was the weekend and Sayomi was currently on an off day in between fights.

In the year that had passed with her progressing through Heaven’s Arena, Sayomi was now a single fight away from the 200s.

Admiring the view from Kite’s old room on the 199th floor, she smiled to herself. 200s at last.

The truth was that Sayomi had a room of her own now, being well into the 100s. However she’d already been so accustomed to using Kite’s room that she’d convinced him into switching rooms with her.

Now that all three of them had rooms of their own, the borrowed room on the 200th floor was empty once again, waiting for the return of its owner.

Sayomi had just finished combat training with Kite and Stick, still unable to use her nen because of the possible consequences. 

As she gazed longer out the window in front of her, she started to see her reflection cast in the clear glass, and soon it was all she saw.

Who am I?

Staring back at her, the reflection she saw in the window was much different than she’d expected. Her violet eyes were dull, emotionless, and the passion that had once lit up her soul was now gone, replaced with a worn out ghost of who she used to be.

This was all it took to make Sayomi forget about all she had done to make it to where she was now. This, being her reminiscent thoughts about the family that had ditched her.

She may have declared to herself millions of times that she was indeed her own person now, but the lingering desire to be loved once again forced her start over every single time.

She needed someone to rely on, though she’d never admit it. It was her constant overthinking that she would only become a burden to those who cared about her that stopped her from seeking support in others. Her family had left her insecure and broken, desperate for someone else’s attention.

Let’s see… If Illumi and I are turning 19 this year, that means… Killua will be 9. 

9 years old, huh… 

I wonder if he still looks like me? God, if I were with him I think I’d spend every last jenny just to see that smile one more time.

...I hope you’re hanging in there Killua. 

Just wait a little bit longer, and I promise I’ll come save you.

Forgive me I just need more time to be able to face everyone again.

☾vii.

Watching the sunset over Yorknew City from his new room on the 199th floor, Kite was currently typing back a response to a rather unclear message he’d received from his traveling colleague.

No matter how many times he’d read it, he just couldn’t decipher the exact reason or message behind the text he had received. 

Staring at it with a skeptical expression, he read it once more:

Isn’t it quite amusing how fate plays out sometimes? 

I’ve arrived in the city and can’t wait to meet this student of yours, as it seems I’ve already partially met her without even realizing it. 

I can’t wait to start training with her. ♥️

Kite let out an exasperated sigh.

What does he mean by ‘I’ve already partially met her’? I swear he’s always so ambiguous with his words. 

Damn, what an exhausting guy.

☾vii.

Today was the day of Sayomi’s fight that would determine whether she’d advance into the 200s. That meant it was also the last day Sayomi would fight without her nen and weapons.

However, her day was about to get much more eventful than a promotion into the 200s. 

Kite’s acquaintance had arrived in the city the other day, and after a short visit to a friend, he would make it back to Heaven’s Arena later today to meet his new student.

Kite had no knowledge about this part, as all he was told was that he had arrived in the city.

Back in the 199th floor arena, Sayomi had arrived early, taking her time to stretch and enjoy the time left before her final fistfight.

Kite stood alongside Sayomi in the mostly empty waiting room, it would be his last day with his childhood friend, at least without an excuse to spend time with her.

Once she was in the 200s, Kite wouldn’t be able to do much for her, as he had his own student to manage.

He stared sympathetically at the little Zoldyck girl from his childhood. She had grown into a relentless fighter, leaving no time to enjoy living her life during her prime years.

All he could now was hope that his assumptions about his colleague were right, in that he would not only provide Sayomi with the right training, but also fun and other things kids of her age should be doing.

Sayomi finished her preparations well before the scheduled time of the fight, leaving the two with time to talk and reminisce about the old days.  

They’d also talked briefly about Sayomi’s new instructor. Kite explained how he’d finally arrived in the city the other day, coming back from seeking out the most powerful assassins and hunters to challenge in fights to the death.

Sayomi was delighted at this, getting a feeling that this mysterious instructor would put up a solid fight against her while they trained. “You said he was on the 200th floor, right? Has he not been able to defeat a floormaster yet?”

Kite raised his eyebrows at her question. “Ah… no, not yet. But I believe that’s because he’s constantly sidetracked with trying to find his ‘perfect rival’.” 

Sayomi bit the inside of her cheek, confused. “Hmm but if he’s back now… does that mean he found someone worthy on his trip?”

Kite nodded at this. “Yes, I believe so. It’s either he’s satisfied with the amount of people he’s massacred, or he’s found a formidable opponent he knows he can come back and fight at a later time.”

“I see… he sounds… rather interesting.” Sayomi was actually a bit excited, it’d been a while since she was to face someone of such a high reputation.

Beside her, Kite had taken notice of the slight change in Sayomi’s aura. It seems I predicted correctly, she’ll get along just fine.

☾vii.

“Our next fight decides who moves on to the 200th floor. We have Ichihiro versus Sayomi! At this time, choose your side and place your bets!”

Under the spotlights, Sayomi stood with her hands resting behind her head. Her eyes remained closed, she seemed to be taking the last minutes to relax.

“The bets are in! Looks like today’s match is in favor of Sayomi Zoldyck!”

Ichihiro let out a scoff, mocking his opponent who, in his eyes, seemed overconfident to the point where she didn’t even need to look at him. “Are you nice and relaxed over there, girl? I’ll tell you now you’re gonna regret facing me.”

Sayomi disregarded her opponent's words. In reality, she was worried, and anyone who could see her aura could notice this as well. 

Kite turned his head at Sayomi’s restlessness. What is she so tense for?

Sayomi tightened her grip around her other hand. Inside her head, she tried to calm the exhilaration that stemmed as a result of her final match without weapons. She couldn’t wait to finally stand on the 200th floor.

In other words, Sayomi wasn’t afraid, or intimidated by her opponent. She was worried for him.

God damn… if I don’t calm down I might accidentally kill the guy. 

The adrenaline rushing through her was threatening to spike over, which would cause her to lose control and flip her assassin switch on.

Relax, Sayomi.

“Fighters ready? Following the 100s rules there will be no time limit and fighters will fight until a TKO by 10 points or a KO.”

Sayomi opened her eyes, moving to stand upright as she stared at her opponent.

“The winner will move onto the 200th floor. Fight!”

Ichihiro held back from making the first move. He had reviewed Sayomi’s last fight and seen her strategy of using her opponent’s force against them. 

Sayomi raised an eyebrow at his lack of movement.

Not gonna move, huh? So you think you’re smart.

She took off with steps faster than the average eye could see.

I guess I’ll just have to come to you then.

With a flexible left leg, Sayomi lifted her heel above her opponent's head, slamming it straight into the side of the unexpecting man’s face with a roundhouse kick.

Ichihiro stumbled to the side gasping, spitting out blood from his now split gums.

He raised his head ready to curse out the teen, but all he saw was white.

Sayomi had met the man’s face with a solid left foot, sending him backwards onto the ground with a cry of pain.

Ichihiro was clutching his bloody face now, unable to recover in time for yet another left swing kick, this time to the side.

From far back against the wall, Kite watched with a surprised expression on his face.

She’s holding back quite a bit. Only using her left leg…

A few more solid kicks to the ribs and Sayomi halted her movements as if on command. Turning to the baffled referee, she asked, “TKO by 10 points right?”

“Ah, r-right.” 

Shaking out of his apparent shock at the one-sidedness of the match, the referee raised a flag. “Winner by TKO. Sayomi Zoldyck!”

The crowd cheered as they could now collect their money from the bets they’d made.

With a small wave to Kite at the back of the stands, Sayomi exited the arena with light steps.

She was proud of herself for restraining her bloodlust.

☾vii.

That night Sayomi treated Stick and Kite to dinner on Heaven’s Arena’s 200th floor diner. 

It was a congratulatory dinner, as Sayomi would now be moving on to training her nen, but it was also one of sentimental feelings. The group of three had become close friends within the year they’d spent together training at Heaven’s Arena.

So although no one addressed the fact that the group of three was to become a group of two after today, everyone shared a bit of the sorrow in their hearts as the evening soon came to an end.

The three parted ways around 9, Kite wishing the best to Sayomi on the 200th floor. It wasn’t like they’d never see each other again, they were only a floor apart after all.

However, without the excuse of training or a coincidental passing by, the childhood friends knew that they most likely wouldn’t be seeing each other for a while. 

☾vii.

Sayomi let out a heavy sigh as she walked alone down the hallway of doors to her room.

Releasing her hair from its taught ponytail, Sayomi ran a lazy hand down her face. 

Can a day get any longer? All I wanna do now is take a nice, warm shower… and then sleep in till noon.

Arriving in front of her door at last, Sayomi reached into her pockets for her room key. Sliding the key into the lock, she frowned when she found the door to be unlocked.

Strange… I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten to lock the door before. Maybe because I was too excited?

Sayomi shrugged, speculating she’d probably forgotten to lock the door out of the rush to get ready in the morning.

Swinging the door open without another thought, Sayomi moved to take a step further into her room when a cold chill ran down her spine.

What… is… this devilish aura?

She was on full alert now, awakening her own aura to try and ward off her intruder.

In the darkness of her room, she could make out a faint silhouette surrounded by the deep purple, murderous aura she’d felt earlier.

“Who… are you? What are you doing in my room?” Though she’d sworn her voice was steady, there was a hint of uncertainty as the intruder’s aura became more intense.

The intruder turned to face Sayomi in the darkness. “Hm? Ah, you’ve finally returned… I’ve been most awaiting your presence, Sayomi Zoldyck.”

The man took exaggeratingly slow steps towards her, and Sayomi noticed he walked almost completely on his toes. Almost like he was walking across a tightrope.

She squinted through the darkness, perplexed at the stranger knowing her name. Her mind screamed at her to fight, run, do something, but her feet remained frozen in place as the man’s figure slowly illuminated with the dim lights of the hallway.

The man was considerably tall, though he was also wearing heels, an interesting feat. His brilliant red hair was styled as if he’d been caught in a windstorm, framing an all too pale face with distinct face paint decorating either cheek: a star on the left and a teardrop on the right.

In a way, he was handsome.

This crossed Sayomi’s mind as well, however she’d mentally slapped herself as she was brought back into the reality of the situation. 

“How do you know my name?” Sayomi was on guard, ready to either attack or run on a moment’s notice.

The man only laughed, his pale lips turning upwards in a wide smile as he looked Sayomi over from head to toe.

“Oh darling, you mean you haven’t caught on to the situation yet?”

A step closer and the man’s full frame was now in front of Sayomi to see in all his glory. Broad shoulders, chiseled, toned biceps, a tiny waist, and proportions to die for.

Get a grip, he just broke into your room.

In her flustered state, both from confusion and the rather attractive man towering over her, Sayomi suddenly felt as though she’d forgotten how to speak.

Her mouth opened and closed without sound, concentrated entirely on the man in front of her.

Sayomi’s frazzled state seemed to add on to man’s already overflowing confidence as he let out another brief laugh before crossing his arms. 

“It seems as though Kite has yet to tell you anything about my arrival.” He frowned before continuing, “Well, I suppose you’ll find out all about me in no time, I’m your new trainer after all.”

Sayomi eyes widened at his words. Of course, Kite said he was arriving soon, I totally forgot!

“Ah… well in that case… nice to meet you?”

Her new trainer smirked at her hesitation. “I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be so visually appealing, darling. It seems Kite decided to keep your beauty from me for as long as he could, that sly bastard.”

Sayomi felt her face heat up in a mad blush. No one had ever called her such things, as she was accustomed to words like vicious or murderous. 

Sayomi failed to get the words out of her mouth once again, effectively fazed by the man’s comments.

Said man ran a slender hand through his hair, laughing once again at his undeniable effect on the young assassin.

Reaching out ever so slowly, he grazed his knuckles over the left side of Sayomi’s face, who in turn became even further flustered at the sudden skinship. 

“You, my dear, are going to be quite the pleasure to work with.”

☾vii.

a/n: guess who? 

taglist open:))

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When the Weight Comes Down - 3

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); nothing for this chapter

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: Here’s part three. Hope you enjoy the subtle escalation of dark! Steve. Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter Three: Everytime You Go

Said, "My girl don't just walk, she unfurls" With motorcycle language He stumbled through his slang pledge Then he dragged the mud for wedding pearls

💀💀💀

Your days passed at the bakery as if nothing had changed. Babs didn’t ask about Steve but you could tell she wanted to. You could tell she was reassured as he hadn’t made a second appearance. And your mother. She barely spoke to you at all now and when she did, she accused you of foolishness. She didn’t believe that you had tried to say no. That you had tried to avoid the leather-clad man.

He lingered at the back of your mind but you tried not to think about him too much. Only when you walked by the bar that was throne to the ancient Egyptian queen. You wondered why they had chosen her for their moniker. The doomed queen and her many, alleged, lovers.

On Tuesday, you went the other way. You stood outside Lloyd’s and stared in at the new fantasy novel. You never shopped much from the bestsellers, you stuck to the used shelves; often you kept to the library. That was free.

You stepped inside and found the old man bent over his desk. He held a long pair of tweezers as he put together a ship in a bottle. He barely looked at you as he said hello. You smiled and mumbled your response before you dipped down your usual aisle; historical fiction and centuries old fantasy.

You didn’t see anything interesting so you moved along. You neared the shelf of biographies and found the woman from the bar; the new bartender. She didn’t seem to notice you as she read the back of a book about Katherine Hepburn. You stepped up beside her and pulled out a biography of Elizabeth Taylor. As you did, another fell and you bent to pick it up. The woman jumped as you stood and held both the books.

“I didn’t see you there,” She turned to you and glanced at the books in your hands. “Take the bottom one. The top one is… mere gossip.”

“Oh?” You looked down. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” She turned over the book in her hand and slapped it against her other palm. “Do I know you?”

“Um, I’ve seen you at the diner… but the other night you were at the bar,” You put the first book back and kept the second. 

She thought for a moment then nodded.

“You left with Steve.” She said.

“Well, he helped me with my pa,” You stammered. “I didn’t leave with him.”

“Helped you?” Her expression turned stony. “Well, that was nice of him.”

You turned back to the shelf and read the titles quietly. She glanced over a few more herself but only held onto the one.

“Right. See ya around, maybe.” She said.

You nodded and she slowly stepped around you. She was halfway down the aisle before you found your courage.

“Wait,” You spun around and took a few steps toward her. “The way you-- What do you mean it was nice of him?”

She laughed sardonically, her lips curled sourly.

“Birds of a feather,” She said. “I… know a few of his friends; they aren’t very friendly. Not exactly the helpful type.” Her nostrils flared. “What I mean is that he is not a nice man. Not a good one, in the least.”

You blinked at her dumbly.

“Because he’s a biker?” You asked.

“No, because he’s a criminal. And an asshole.” She snarled. “Just… trust me. You’re best off staying home and reading. The Asp is no place for girls like you.”

You felt like your skin was on fire. You clutched the book and shifted on your feet as she went to walk away.

“How--” You caught yourself and she stopped again.

“How what?” She asked.

“Well, how do I tell him no?” 

She squinted. Her forehead wrinkled and she stepped closer.

“What do you mean?” 

“He… asked me to have a drink with him, I told him I didn’t want to but… he wouldn’t listen.”

Her face fell and she shook her head. She swore under her breath.

“Well, you don’t,” She leaned a hand on the shelf. “You can’t. He’s one of them.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry. Why are you sorry?”

She shrugged. “I guess because I know what that’s like.”

“Oh,” You uttered and she gave a weak smile before she turned away again.

You watched her go and she stopped at the door to glance back at you. She gave a small wave and stepped out into the street. You slowly trode down the aisles and neared the man at the counter. Larry, Lu? You always forgot.

“Bag?” He asked as he punched the buttons on the till.

“No thank you,” You said as you dug in your purse. Your hand shook as you handed him a bill.

💀

You weren’t sure what to wear. You knew it wasn’t a real date. No, that was dumb. It was a drink. Just a drink. You’d watched enough prime time television to know that meant nothing. And watched enough to know that your wardrobe was painfully out of date. Your old jeans and tees would do on any other day but you weren’t sure that was proper attire for… a drink.

You pulled on the yellow dress with daisies. The skirt hung past your knees and the cap sleeves were dated. You pulled on a crochet cardigan over it and the pair of slingback flats from the back of your closet. You sprayed yourself with the white rose perfume you rarely touched to hide the thrift store scent which clung to you.

You looked okay. You didn’t have any make-up. You never wore it. And your hair looked better than most days; you had tried. Your mother appeared in your door as you grimaced at your reflection.

“Don’t you look nice.” She crossed her arms.

“Ma,” You buttoned your cardigan. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re so naive.” She hissed. “You have no idea what this man could do to you.”

“Ma, please, it’s just a drink.” You neared her. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“And when he tries to stick his hand up your skirt, Hmm? You gonna have a choice then?”

You’d never heard her sound so hateful. You flinched.

“No, he doesn’t… want that,” You grabbed your small purse from your dresser and checked that your little wallet was inside. “Ma, really.”

“Do you really think he wants anything else?” She sneered. “He’s playing with you.”

“Maybe. Well, of course, he is, but are you going to stop him? Is Pa gonna get off his fat ass and stop him?” You huffed. 

“You think this makes you an adult? Acting like this?”

“You married Pa,” You edged past her. “You know all about marrying an asshole.”

“Don’t you say that,” She followed you down the hall.

“It’s the truth.” You stopped at the front door and opened it to peer through the torn screen. “I might as well accept that I’ll never get out of Birch. I’ll be lucky to get out of this house.”

“Don’t act like we never did anything for you.”

“I never said that,” You turned back to her. “But you can’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Sweet pea…” She clasped her hands together.

“Worry about Pa,” You said as you grasped the door handle and you heard your father swearing at the baseball game. “Worry about yourself. You know how he gets.”

“I’m only worried about you.” She argued.

“Don’t,” You pushed the door open. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

You pulled the big door shut behind you and let the screen door bounce against the frame. You sat on the steps and stared into the dusk. The days got longer and longer as the nights dwindled. You played with the thin strap of your bag and tapped your foot on the rotting wood.

The roar of an engine tore through the air and you stood as you watched Steve approach on the dark beast. The motorcycle huffed a stream of exhaust from its tail and you fidgeted. He stopped just before the yellowed grass and you slowly descended the bottom step.

He let the engine idle as it quieted to a steady rumble. He waved you over with a leather-gloved hand and you neared reluctantly. He smiled at you and gestured to the seat behind him.

“Helmet’s in the saddle bags,” He called over the engine. “Keep your legs wide. Don’t wanna touch that exhaust.” 

You nodded and hooked your purse around your body. You went to the saddle bag and fumbled with the buckle. You found the helmet inside and pulled it on. You struggled with the strap and Steve chuckled as he beckoned you closer. He helped secure it and his leather glove tickled your jaw.

“Get on,” He said.

You climbed up, nearly falling as you did, and caught yourself on his shoulder. He seemed barely bothered by the slip and you swung your leg over. You sat there, awkwardly and leaned back. He took your arm and pulled it around his side.

“You’ll have to hold on,” He said. 

He slowly backed up, a foot at a time and angled the bike around. You held onto him and looked back at the house. Your mother was at the window, watching. You lowered your eyes and the scent of leather filled your nostril. Steve kicked off and the bike tore down the drive and onto the road. You clung tighter to him as you let out a surprised yelp.

It was only a few minutes before you reached the main road and he pulled into the side lot of The Asp. He came to a stop and waited as you carefully climbed off. You were thankful to be back on the ground. He kicked the stand down as he killed the engine and got off himself.

He took off his helmet and took yours from you. You gripped your purse tightly, nervously. He guided you around the front of the building, his hand on the small of your back. Every time you tried to make space between you, he got closer.

You stepped inside to the same smells as before. Your stomach turned but you kept on. Steve led you to a table and offered you a seat beside another man in leather. You weren’t expecting a crowd but it might save you some awkwardness. You sat as he took the chair beside you and rested his hand on yours, just behind your shoulder.

“This is Bucky,” He pointed to the man at your other shoulder. “Boss man. Sam, Danny, and Reese.”

The men nodded at you, more interested in their beer and their own conversations than your arrival. The only who really acknowledged you was that beside you.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone,” Bucky sat back and raised two fingers to signal the bar then looked at you. “Good to meet ya.”

“You too,” You mumbled and cradled your purse in your lap.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” Steve asked as the server neared. 

It was the girl from the bookstore. As she came around, Bucky reached over and caressed her hip. She stiffened but said nothing on it.

“Refill,” Bucky said. “Thanks.”

“A bud,” Steve said tersely. He exchanged a sharp look with the woman. “And--”

You blinked as he waited for you to order. You shrugged.

“I.. don’t know. I don’t really drink.” You muttered.

“She’ll have one too,” Steve filled in.

The woman nodded and strode away. She returned shortly with a tray of tall glasses and you thanked her. She gave you a sympathetic glance before she left you again.

“That’s a… unique dress,” Steve commented as he touched your skirt. “I think my mom had one just like it.”

You scrunched your lips and reached for the beer. You didn’t know what to say.

“Didn’t mean it was bad,” He said and you recoiled at the hoppy beer. “You’ll get used to the taste.”

You nodded and put the pint down. He took his and drank deeply.

“You ever play pool?” He asked. “I could teach you?”

You peeked over at the table. You didn’t like the idea of being bent over like the men did as they hit the balls. You shook your head.

“No, thank you.” You said.

“Poker?” He chanced.

“I don’t know,” You picked at your sweater. “I…”

“It’s okay.” His hand settled on your knee. “You don’t need to be so nervous. I like you. Quiet as you are.”

You gave a sheepish smile and took a drink; a deep gulp. You glanced at the bottle cap clock over the bar. You couldn’t wait for the night to end.

💀

You were wobbly as you stood up. A second glass went down easier and you weren’t so bothered by the grainy taste, though you still wondered how your father could drink so much. Steve angled you around the table as you tried not to betray how unsteady you felt. He grabbed your arm as you got ahead of him.

“Hold up, doll,” He pulled you back beside him. “It’s barely eleven.”

You were silent as he kept pace with you and followed you out the door. The night air was cool and a slap on your hot cheeks.

“I’ll walk you home,” He offered. “Beer went down too easy.”

“Mmhmm,” You hugged yourself, the air seeping through the crocheted cardigan.

“You got tomorrow off, you said?” He asked and you felt his hand on your back again.

“Yeah,” You answered quietly.

“How about I take ya for a ride? A nice long one.” He rubbed your lower back.

“I don’t know. I got a lot to do.”

“Chores? Scared to disappoint your mommy?”

“N-no,” You wavered slightly as your toe caught a crack in the sidewalk. “No. I just… I have things to do.”

“They can wait,” He brought his arm up and slung it over your shoulders. “Doll… you gotta let loose.”

You grabbed his hand and stopped suddenly. You pushed it off your shoulder and turned to him.

“Steve, I don’t think this is--”

His other hand came up to frame your face and you were stunned by his suddenness. He kissed you and the air went out of you. A peck on with a tickle of tongue along your lips. You squeaked in surprise and pulled back. You touched your lips; your first kiss.

You spun and quickly hurried away from him. He followed and caught your hand. He drew you back once more.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Steve, please.” You pleaded. “I just want to go home.”

“I wasn’t rough,” He said. “So, what’s the matter?”

You looked at your feet. He kept hold of your hand and you swayed a little. The beer made your eyelids droop.

“Steve, I’ve never… kissed anyone before,” You admitted as you dared to look at him. The street light caught the blue of his eyes and illuminated the angles of his face. “And I just…” You wrestled with him until you loosed your hand from his. “I don’t know.”

“What?” He stopped you before you could run away, his hands on your arms. “How’s it that you never been kissed?”

“Stop,” You said. “Please. I’m not that girl.”

“Not what girl?”

“The girl you kiss,” You huffed. “I wanna go home.”

“You’re the girl I wanna take for a ride.” He dropped his hands and grabbed yours. He turned you towards your house and continued down the street. “Tomorrow at noon.”

[blueburds-but-swtor]

Whumptober Day Two: No. 31 - HURT & COMFORT

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Character(s): Female Original Character; Male Original Character; Khem Val; Theron Shan

Rating: T+

Word Count: 1,024

Red hot chunks of debris flew out from the side of the volcano and broke into hundreds of tiny, glowing pieces upon impact. A’lea caught herself against a rock as the eruption shook the landscape. They were less than a mile away from the erupting volcano—but she wasn’t about to just leave, either.

          Her breaths drew out in short, ragged huffs as she clutched at the stone. Her eyes darted around, seeking out her brother who had lost his balance mere moments ago. He’d fallen beneath the mechanical structure, out of her line of sight, and she hoped he didn’t fall.

          No—he didn’t. She could still feel his presence.

          Too little, too late. A’lea spun around, narrowly dodging twin lightsabers slamming down at her. He was exhausted, too, she knew. Their quarrel was bound to end in a stalemate as their power, stamina and agility were similar enough in strength. Lucien could attack in short bursts; she could dodge in quick movements. They were getting nowhere and their time left in this place drew short.

          Another quake set them both off balance. But A’lea kept her lightsaber at her belt, refusing to activate it. She’d used it during their fight, but now was a time of negotiation. “Come with me, off this planet, Lucien,” she shouted above the crackling of the volcano.

          “Back to Coruscant? Kicking and screaming, I still wouldn’t go back there. Stop pretending you’re on my side.”

          “I want to help you.”

          “Then you’ll leave me be. Let me continue to discover myself.”

          “You’re hurting so many people in the process.”

          Lucien’s lips twitched. “You don’t care for Imperial loss of life.”

          “Perhaps I don’t. But you’ve hurt me, Lucien. You’ve hurt our fathers.”

          “If they cared for my well-being as much as you think they did, I would have been brought up in the Inquisitors. Not with the Jedi.” His voice held an aggressive tone now. “Father hid me with the Jedi—and all it took from them was a vision. One vision, and I was treated like I massacred innocents. I hadn’t done anything.”

          “They were wrong for—”

          “Father was wrong. After they told him about that vision, he should have taken me in.” Lucien outstretched his arms in an exaggerated shrug, “They called me a lot of things that I wasn’t, A’lea.” His arms fell back at his sides. “After a while, those titles got to me.”

          “It is only natural for you and I to inherit the Force, perhaps more so that we dwell in the Dark Side. But it becomes our weakness when we let it control us.”

          Lucien sneered and he tightened his grip on his weapons. “You sound just like father.”

          “He isn’t wrong about everything.”

          “I am not controlled by anything. My actions are my own. I chose to abandon the Academy. I chose to train with the Sith.”

          “But you know this is wrong. It feels wrong, certainly.”

          “I feel liberated.”

          A’lea swallowed dryly. Her eyes fell to the rocky ground below, albeit briefly. Her eyes met with her brother’s again, “And if you were offered a place in the Inquisitors?”

          “It’s much too late for that.”

          “A place with me?”

          Lucien gave a tentative shake of his head. “I’m not returning to the Republic, A’lea. If you want to join the Empire, you’d be shown mercy by my word. We could fight together, forget about the Republic.”

          “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

          Amidst the searing heat, the ashen winds and smoke, and the crackling of the volcano in the distance, she felt his frustration. The Force fluctuated around him—and if nothing else, he wore a hurt expression upon his face. She felt his sorrow.

          Lucien sheathed his lightsabers and hooked them back onto his belt. “Then we part as enemies.”

          “Lucien—”

          “Go, A’lea. Before Darth Xul gets here and makes you part of the landscape.”

          Thexia. Briefly she had a flashback to the day of her childhood where the Sith led an attack on Tython. A’lea knew she was no match for her brute strength. Still she wanted to reach out to Lucien, to do just as he suggested: haul him back to Coruscant, kicking and screaming if she had to. But that wasn’t going to happen.

          Acceptance was what she had to work on. But this? Was this something she could so easily move past?

          No. Not for some time. In fact, she felt her heart sink as she turned on her heel and dashed in the direction of her ship. She shed no tears, but she still felt that familiar knot tightening in her throat. And she knew that this was going to be a long ride home.

.

          A’lea’s holoterminal beeped. She practically leapt from the pilot’s chair and rushed out of the cockpit. She’d yet to make the jump to lightspeed, opting to orbit Ossus and watch the volcanic eruption from an aerial view; perhaps still holding onto hope that Lucien would hail her. Khem Val stood in the main room, quiet and stoic as he ever was, and he inclined his head toward her holoterminal.

          A’lea clicked it on.

          “A’lea,” Theron’s disgruntled voice came through. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

          “I had... a run-in with someone.”

          Theron folded his arms over his chest, brows tightly knit. “So Dove’s not with you?”

          “What? No—no, Khem Val is the only other person I’m with.”

          “Okay,” Theron sighed. “Sorry, I... it’s been a day.”

          That makes both of us, A’lea thought.

          “Get back to Coruscant when you can, please. Your father’s been looking for you, says something’s happened. Won’t tell me what, though,” Theron grumbled.

          “He doesn’t want to worry you. I’m on my way. But I’m stopping by your headquarters first.”

          “Don’t worry, I’ll come out to the courtyard to meet you. Your father wants to meet you on board the Torr-Rol.”

          Ah. Was his request to meet her so urgent that he couldn’t even bother to leave his Dreadnaught? Mentally she frowned. Outwardly she gave a nod. “I’ll head there after I see you.”

          “Good. I’ll let him know. Travel safe, A’lea.”

[soshesighs]

Fic: Set The Bad Day By The Bed

Fandom: @speakergame

Pairing: Li/Speaker/Seb poly

Note: Title from the song “Orpheus” by Sara Bareilles. The line I wish I could use (but alas, you cannot use a whole line from a song for a title, as much as I might want to) and that I wanted to vaguely attempt to capture the feeling of in this little ficlet was “If the bottom drops out / I hope my love was someone else’s solid ground.” This is based on a conversation in the Speaker discord about which ROs would enjoy having their hair played with, so the original idea isn’t mine. (I imagine this being set when their relationship is all fairly new feeling, for some context.)

Lily Version here!

---

You startle suddenly from your daydream, feeling as much as hearing the front door slam, almost hard enough to rattle the house. Deft fingers briefly halt their ministrations as you strain to hear who it is that's arrived; you weren’t expecting any of your friends to drop by this afternoon.

A slight jingling, a heavy thunk as boots are set next to the door, and you instantly know who it is.

"He sounds upset," Sebastian murmurs, voice heavy, seconds from falling asleep. For a fleeting moment, your heart dances between feeling rightfully concerned and quietly pleased that you both immediately recognize your partner's footsteps; you can't help but be a little pleased at how far the three of you have come.

Concern eventually wins out, however, and your eyebrows furrow together as you hum a noise of agreement, leaning down to press a kiss to Sebastian’s brow as you think.

"It’s not like him to slam things around,” you agree. Your eyes bounce between the door to the bedroom and the man curled up by your side in bed, a debate warring internally. Sebastian is so content - finally allowing himself to relax some, even if he is still reading through your currently compiled case research - that you don’t want to disturb him.

But Sebastian, also ever observant, reaches a hand up to still the one of yours that’s still trailing through his hair, tilting his head up until his eyes meet yours. “Go,” he says simply.

You slump a bit, worrying your lower lip unintentionally. “But you just settled down,” you protest, sighing. “Besides, you know how he is. He needs his time. I imagine he’s heading to the library.”

As if a manifestation of your unease, your fingers begin to twirl a long strand of his hair again, unable to hold completely still. You respect the fact that Li needs time to himself to uncoil whatever aspect of his day has gripped him so harshly, but that doesn’t make it any easier to sit idly by.

The two of you sit there in heavy silence, the only sound the muffled turning of pages as Sebastian reads on for a solid 7 minutes, before he sighs and sets the file aside. After a pause, he says, not unkindly, “Your unease is slightly smothering, not that I’m able to focus much either. How about I make coffee and you can take some to him? If only one of us goes in, it shouldn't feel too intrusive."

If you practically bolt out of bed in eagerness, he doesn’t mention it, just chuckles to himself as he pushes up off the bed to follow.

---

A short while and one pot of hellish coffee brewed later, Sebastian sends you on your way. As you suspected, you spot Li’s silhouette curled up in a tight ball on a couch in the library. Not wanting to startle him by just appearing at his side, you knock softly on the archway until you get his attention.

His head snaps around harshly, deep, black eyes meeting yours from across the room. Even from here, you can see the bruise-like shadows beneath them, and you try to hold back from wincing sympathetically. To his credit, when he realizes it’s you, his eyes slip shut on a slow exhale, the slightest bit of tension leaving his body. After a second, he nods - the okay for you to come in.

You pad over, socked feet making only the softest muffled sound on the rugs. Coming up behind him, you slide a hand down over his shoulder from behind the couch and lean down to press a kiss to his hairline. His fingers grip the notebook and pen in his lap so tightly that his knuckles turn white, but you’re glad to see him writing. Hopefully it helps, you think to yourself, filing the information away to ask about later, if he’s willing to share.

“I won’t keep you,” you say, voice equally as quiet as your steps so as not to disturb him more than necessary. “But Bas made you coffee, so I wanted to bring it in while it was warm.”

He takes the cup and opens his mouth like there’s something he wants to say - like part of him wants to overflow and spill out whatever it is that’s strangling him inside - but nothing comes out. After a second, he gives the barest shake of his head, and you know for certain now that he needs more time.

You turn to go, but his hand rises up to cover yours on his chest, giving it a quick squeeze. “Thanks," he finally manages, his voice a bit hoarse from disuse.

“Of course, love. Anytime,” comes your gentle reply, and you hope he can hear the slight smile in your words and know that you’re fine - that everything is fine - and that you both understand. “Come find us in a bit, okay?”

He doesn’t reply again, but you don’t expect him to. Instead, you wait until he takes a sip and then head out, sliding your hand free of his embrace, content to leave him to his quiet meditation now that you’ve seen that he’s (at least physically) okay.

---

You barely step foot into the bedroom before you hear, “How is he?”

With a shrug, you crawl back up onto the bed, resuming your previously situated position against the headboard. “Exhausted, tense, locked up more than I’ve seen him in a while. But he was writing, which brings me some comfort. He says thank you for the coffee, by the way.”

Sebastian nods, a bit of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not in so many words, I presume.”

“No,” you concede, reaching out a hand to will him closer. “But I could tell he was grateful. And thank you for humoring me. I know you were about to nod off.”

He settles against your side once more, head resting in your lap. “It’s not humoring you if I’m just as concerned. It’s hard leaving someone you care about alone when they’re struggling. Besides, I can sleep whenever."

“You’d think after all these years, I’d have gotten used to it. He’s been like this ever since we were kids, but…” you drift off, struggling to find the words. After a moment, you shrug, shaking your head. "And don't give me that, Mister 'I'll sleep when I'm dead'! You have no idea how proud I was to get you to stop pacing and lie down."

He grins, hand reaching up to cup the nape of your neck and pull you down for a kiss. "I'll rest once I've read through all of this - how's that sound?"

"I'll believe it when I see it," you reply, lips still brushing against his in the ghost of a touch as you do, and you swallow down his replying smirk with another kiss.

Eventually - when the need to take a deep breath begins to win out over the need for each other - you separate, fingers smoothing a lock of his hair back behind his ear despite the fact that its currently messy state is entirely your fault. “I know what you’re trying to do,” you whisper, a sly smile working its way onto your face.

“And what is that?”

You sit up fully and tap a finger on the tip of his nose. “You’re using me to stall. Get to reading, mister. You promised me you’d rest after, and I fully intend to see that through.”

With an over-exaggerated roll of the eyes, Sebastian picks the file up off his stomach and flips back to where he previously had stopped reading. “What exactly are you going to be doing while I’m reading your notes then, hm?”

“Providing incentive, of course,” you reply, as if it should be completely obvious.

Eyebrows raised and feigning indifference, he asks, “Incentive, huh? Remunerative, coercive, moral-?” He flips a page, eyes trained coolly on the words before him and looking for all the world like he’s completely disinterested in your current conversation. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

You laugh and don’t even bother to reply, merely beginning to scratch at his scalp, focusing on where his hair had previously been gathered into his trademark ponytail. He bites back a moan, but very quickly makes every attempt to school his features into their previously neutral position. “You drive a hard bargain,” he admits, meeting your eyes and pursing his lips to bite back the smile threatening to reveal itself. “I suppose I have to accept.”

“I suppose you do,” you agree, blatant triumph shining through every word. In time, he relents and pulls his gaze away from yours, focusing back on the work that, unfortunately, must be done.

You settle swiftly into a routine after that, with Sebastian reading and flagging specific aspects that seem particularly important or promising and you bouncing between massaging his head and simply playing with his hair, humming softly as you do - a lullaby from your childhood, you realize, having subconsciously gone for something low and soothing.

Just when it seems that Sebastian might once more be about to nod off, a quiet knock sounds from the other side of the room. You immediately freeze, eyes wide and hopeful, as the door slides open.

“Liam,” you exhale, tension you hadn’t realized you were still holding flooding out from what feels like your very bones at the sight of him.

He holds up the now-empty coffee mug and gives it a shake before setting it down on the dresser, his long and lanky frame leaning heavily against the door jamb. “Finished. Thank you again.”

Sebastian yawns - a rare sight in and of itself - and nods in acknowledgement before turning to angle his body more towards him. “You don’t have to knock, you know. I don’t know how many times we have to tell you that we want you here before you believe us.”

And Li finally cracks a smile at that: a crooked, barely there thing, but it’s there all the same, and it feels like daylight breaking through a monsoon. “Thought someone might’ve finally convinced you to sleep. I didn’t want to wake either of you.”

“Working on it,” you reply faintly. In an echo of your earlier request to Sebastian, you hold out your hand to him, silently beckoning him forward to join the two of you - if he’s ready.

He hesitates a beat too long, and in those few seconds you convince yourself that he’s going to decline.

"It's okay," you whisper, letting your hand drop back to the bed. Liam's eyes follow, watching as you reflexively clench the comforter in your fist; sitting still, especially when stressed or upset, has never been your strong suit.

Adam's apple bobbing harshly, Liam swallows and shakes his head. "I'm sorry for shutting you out earlier."

He pauses again, and you try not to let your heart catch hopefully on that last word.

Sebastian also immediately picks up on the careful phrasing, knowing as well as you do that Li of all people rarely minces his words or says what he doesn't mean. "And now?" he asks simply, setting the file to the side. "Feeling any better?"

Liam ducks his head, hiding his softening expression. When he glances back up, his trademark tilted smile is back in place. "Got room for one more?"

---

“Do you want to talk about it?” you eventually ask, voice barely audible even in the quiet of the darkened room.

Liam tenses a bit from his position now lying at your other side, head pillowed on the thigh opposite Sebastian who has, at long last, finally fallen asleep. “No, not… not yet.”

“Alright, I understand.” You trail off, finding it hard to voice exactly what it is you want to say. Between the three of you, Liam is the one who has the gift with words; you’ve never been particularly eloquent in expressing your feelings. Ultimately, you settle on saying, “Just promise me you’d tell us if it was something serious - if you were hurt or you needed our help? We love you, Li.”

You look down to meet his eyes, holding his intense gaze in the hopes that you can impart how serious you are with every lingering second.

He tears his eyes away after a moment and reaches out to your hand lying in front of him on the bed, slowly and deliberately running his fingertips along your palm as if trying to memorize every dip and line and callus. “I’m not good at asking for help, you know that,” he admits carefully, somewhat reluctantly. “I take care of people, not the other way around. That’s how it’s always been.”

“You have us now,” you reply, gently combing the fingers of your free hand through his forest green locks, attempting to untangle the knots you know he must have formed earlier by anxiously tugging at it. “You don’t have to bear anything alone.”

Liam glances back over his shoulder at Sebastian, whose face is more relaxed and at peace than he’s looked in days now that he’s finally crashed, who is the first to sacrifice caring for his own well-being to do whatever he can to help the two of you and all of your friends, who quickly and quietly wormed his way into both your hearts until he was so deeply entrenched that neither of you can imagine life without him now. And then, he nods.

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to understand that now.”