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hauntedelation · 3 years

Text

Repeat

Description - The Hammer proves to utilize surprising ways to settle down after a rough assignment.

Pairing - Black Male Reader x August Walker

A/N - This is my first male reader insert and AW fic! I wasn't sure how I should write the man but I found my August to be a little unpredictable, maybe hard. (Maybe he has some feelings, but he won't tell you what kind.)

Word Count - 2.4k

Warnings - descriptions of blood, wound tending and cleaning, anxiety, surprise fluff and maybe pining? Just partners being partners.

(no real proofreading this time y'all sorry 😅)

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What he applied to your hand forced a pitiful sound from your body, something like a whimper subdued poorly by you.

By the sickly fluorescent light you can see it, the split that was the palm of your hand. Crimson upon crimson flooded the tissue, renewing again.

Your insides overturned, and for the first time in your career you averted your eyes. You had to. For a reason you couldn't place your finger on, you knew you shouldn't stare.

The way your pulse was working more warm liquid out of your hand, his fingers stained and slipping back and forth to tend, you felt unsteady.

The spaces in your mind were gradually being occupied. So there was no shortage, no problem taking your mind off of it.

You went back to that first mistake, back to where you foolishly under-packed. This assignment was far, but a swift turnaround. Accordingly, you thought it good to keep the amount of bags you carried to a minimum.

A good number of things were left, a tool here and there that didn't stand out. You had done it before. One notch carved into the wood and you were null of any mistakes up until this point.

What you couldn't grasp was that these absent devices were the key to this assignment. It hit like a ton of bricks the moment you were met with the complex screen of a security lock.

You were deflated when your eyes met the empty space of what could have been the bypass key. There you spent upwards of an hour working through the perimeter of the place.

The next one could have happened regardless, but it didn't make you feel less inept.

Where you went right when you should have gone left. The opponent you met was just as trained as you were: blank, unrelenting and practiced with a blade. You fell to a place where you were at a strident disadvantage.

Would you have picked your jugular or your hand? There had to have been something better, a third choice? You should have been faster than that.

You could have.

Still, your hand caught the edge and it wasn't until much later, long after you were walking away that you could feel heat trickling down your fingers.

It's like the movies until it isn't. You've got yourself thrumming, high from the situation. You're locked in and can take anything to your vessel, then you're coming down slow. All the little details enter your mind, focusing and you notice. He noticed, actually.

With the most austere set of eyes you had ever seen, he did.

Before you were given the chance to sit down he was standing over you, breath hot and charged from the brawl. On the top of your head you could feel it. The fabric of his suit was torn and twisted over his chest, rising and falling with his loosened tie.

He'd backed you to one of the steel tables, squinting through the dim and the dark. You had in mind that you were to be spit in the face, condemned for dragging the job to left-field. The glower had already been there.

You were bracing for it, balling both of your hands. The blunt object in your fingers collided with the brick floor. And it rang out, filling the empty spaces with a loud echo. Soon there was nothing.

That's how it was seconds after.

A pair of boots brushed against yours before there was a hand capturing your right arm. He'd brought your dripping palm up and opened your curled fingers. Your wound was inspected with cautious eyes, the extent picked apart.

His calluses dragged around the edges of your sticky palm. You sucked in a breath when he had gone a little too close, but he ignored it. There was a drilling leer into your face before he spoke, "You were sloppy."

The back of your throat had grown bone dry. You took a second, swallowing then pulling your eyes from his hardened face.

That had been the first time that you'd been told that. Knowing in the very depths of you that this was the beginning to many months of second guessing, wishing you could have done better.

You don't know why you had let this one go. Everything seemed feasible in the documents, from the time requirement to the objectives. You expected to have gone above and beyond.

That is close to what you told Sloane all those weeks ago,

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"This one looks like it's going to be less of an issue."

She had her arms crossed in her crisp sleeves, her hip propped against the hardwood of her desk. You were called in to provide an updated report over your assignment, your feelings and projection.

It had gone to the point where you could no longer count on your fingers how many jobs you'd been on. The second anniversary from your first day recently passed, the bouquet still sitting on your dining room table.

You recall being introduced to your boss, the gratification in seeing someone like her in such an esteemed position.

(Someone who reminded you of your mother at times.)

Right then, the woman appeared to be getting ready to give a critical reply. Her brow was curled sharply but you could see the corners of her lips begin to upturn.

"You have been assigned an associate with this task, agent."

This was of no particular issue. It was not every mission that you collaborated with another. Be that as it may, you've grown accustomed to this practice, it evolved into something that you improved with. This was your dream, and you intended to flourish.

You were sure there was no one you wouldn't be able to work with.

When your superior uttered the name, 'Walker,' you had asked her to come again.

"You're up and coming, still figuring things out in this line of work. I'm placing you with my best on this one," Sloane announced.

You withheld any signs of protest in front of her, flashing professional countenance and a nod. She dismissed you with a lingering gaze, most likely holding the same thing in her mind as you were. You kept up the front until you were situated at the chair by your desk.

Upon your back touching the seat, a sigh was released, one that you felt in the pit of your stomach.

You wanted to smile at how comical his name sounded. One would have thought you were speaking about an exotic dancer, The Hammer. You didn't think it fit at first.

He's just a man, but he is the kind that exceeded the weight behind his title. He had discharged far more in his profession by the time you were approaching yours, taking the limits of what an agent could do to the stratosphere.

You could wax poetic about those stories, try to recount those details. But, truthfully there had been such a divide in your experience when compared to his. You could feel the pricks of uncertainty in your chest.

Perhaps you were only afraid.

He'd never once acknowledged your existence until you met on the tarmac the following Tuesday morning. The moon was leaving the twilight sky. Under an orange colored light, shining on the side of his face you could see him check his watch.

And then those eyes flicked over to you, sizing up your bags, your clothes. You think you may have even caught those blue slits drag along certain parts of you.

Your voice was weak, coughing low in your throat you tried to press out, "It's nice to finally meet, Mr. Walker."

(Ah, Mr Walker? You wanted to flinch, but you found no time.)

Then you provided him your name with a reluctant hand. It took far more composure on not showing the tremor in your limb but when the man peered down at you, securing your hand with a firm shake you knew.

He'd felt how clammy your skin was.

That mustache made a microscopic twitch, "Call me August, and, ditto."

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You allowed your hand to remain elevated, but your period of self-loathing was eventually disturbed.

The sensation of his large hands appeared, firm and wrapping around your waist before hoisting you on the surface of the steel table. There was a soft thud from your good hand landing to bear your shift in weight.

It was then that you froze, ears pricking to that steady footfall departing from the table.

You listen and—what?

What crosses your mind is maybe you hit your head back there, sometime during taking that grunt to the floor. Yet, you don't feel anything, no pounding in your skull. The musing is washed away the moment the flicker of a pale-green light shines above.

The room is revealed to have been an abandoned kitchen of sorts. Pots and pans layered in a thin veil of dust with more grime to compliment. With your good hand you wipe at the sweat falling down your temple, you'd become a little hot.

Glass crumbles underneath his boots, he rotates his back around to you with a small kit that strongly resembles the one you stored in your bag.

The white plastic had your name scrawled on there in your handwriting. While you could sit there wondering how August retrieved that, you are still processing the way the man picked you up. How he brought you up like you were made of feathers. Why he…

He comes in real close, your vision floods with a view of his chest, his gloved hands shedding away the garment and laying them on the metal surface.

The soft click of the first aid box click echoes out, and under the hum of the lights above August murmurs down to you,

"At least you had enough sense to pack this."

His tone is the same, puncturing only not quite as breathy. The rise and fall of his chest had slowed far more, the dark curls on his chest soaking in the sweat running down his skin. And you blink, not realizing how enthralling the sight is.

Your pulsing hand is taken again, gingerly, by a pair of rough hands. You brace yourself on the edge of the table upon seeing the clear liquid bottle.

He's cleaning your wound throughly and you're trying not to take it like a kicked puppy. Through grit teeth, "You think I could skip stitches this time?" They never were your favorite.

"No dice," he breaths out, placing the bottle of alcohol down next to your thigh.

"You about had your hand sliced in half, Agent. You're lucky anyway. But,"

The needle and thread is pulled out, more cleansing and draining. Rinse and repeat. Walker was moving quickly, probably sensing the adrenaline in you draining by the minute.

Your communication devices buzz in unison, you don't have time to check your screen for any updates before he reaches with one hand in his pocket to retrieve his.

He sets your hand down on your own thigh and you listen to his voice shift to a formal tone. The female voice on the other line, (Sloane most likely) sounds curt and questioning.

Your stomach begins to roll in circles. Your fingers wrapped around the table's edge tighten around the metal, almost enough to leave marks.

Through those training sessions all those months, you learned to properly squash any threats of anxiety, distraction. You could feel yourself slipping, your body seizing up in front of the man. Walker seemed to have been approaching the height of his conversation with your boss, shifting so the phone rests between his ear and shoulder.

In the meantime, you were breathing. That familiar rhythm, flowing in and out, counting. You fall into the headspace that you became acquainted with all too well.

You lost yourself in it, not realizing that Walker was dissolving Sloane's interrogation. Every syllable. The way in which his voice formed the words was unknowingly steadying your brain, calming your heart rate down slowly.

All the while taking your wounded hand was taken in his, he set about cleaning it one more time before starting to close it with the thread.

"Yes ma'am. No, he had everything in his detail under control...Yes. That's correct. The only slip up had been breaching the security wall but we successfully infiltrated."

You could feel the sharp pricks in your skin, your arm tensing after each pull to the string when closing the wound. Eventually Walker drifted, and your eyes landed on the semi-clean criss cross stitching in the palm of your hand.

The man's eyes were dead set on his handiwork, narrowing on the lines before clearing his throat to part ways with your boss. There was a, "We will report back upon leaving this location."

He hung up the phone, and slid the device next to your thigh. You didn't think anything of it, only Walker's hand didn't leave where his phone was sitting. And you were encircled, the fabric of his shirt practically enticing his body closer to yours.

It had been a number of seconds before you could bring yourself back. The same exercise was reaching its tail end, and maybe, just maybe you could believe Sloane would not chew you a new one when you return.

Those words, It's okay, you tried your best. Everyone has bad days. You said them once again, inaudible and only in your mind. The room at this point only held the echo of the cars outside, Walker's heavy boots shifting before—

His fingertips were cold against your jaw, you almost jumped away from him. You should have, what was he doing? His thigh brushed so light against your knee, and when he guided your eyes up, you saw him already peering at your damp face.

Everything about the man's face was blank. Thick brows, lips hidden under a bushy trail of hair, all set in a firm line. You made no attempt to divert, you weren't sure he would let you. You had been planted there, decided by him your next move would be included.

Then those words fell silent.

His fingertips pushed up your jaw, against the grain of your facial hair growing there. Then you felt him cup your cheek, strong hands dragging along your skin.

Walker used his thumb to brush against your temple, wiping away something sticky. Red tint coated the little grooves in his skin and he pulled away, wiping his digit on the material of your pants. His tone was far more entertained then,

"Looks like you hit your head back there."

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Taglist - @mansaaay @hope-to-hell @feralrunaway @thetaoofzoe @luclittlepond @madbaddic7ed @brandycranby @emyearns

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#August Walker x Reader #Male reader #Black reader #henry cavill x reader #Henry Cavill fluff #Repeat #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x black!reader

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ray-ray-writings · 4 years

Text

Totem Troubles-Technoblade

This is a Technoblade x fem!reader in the dreamsmp. In this, the way that some of the Minecraft lore, so to speak, is wrong. For example, I know a poison potion won’t kill you but will only take you down to half a heart. For the sake of the story I had to change some things to make it flow. I hope you enjoy!

Check out my masterlist here!

Gathering materials was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to end in an almost cannon death.

Y/N’s POV

It was simple. I needed wood and Techno needed cobblestone. We decided to go out together and gather what we each needed. There was a small stone mountain next to a big patch of trees. We could gather what we needed and be within earshot of one another at all times. So we went to sleep and when we woke the next morning, we set out. The place we were going was only about 60 blocks away from our home. Far enough it didn’t damage our ‘view’ so to speak but close enough we could easily run home if need be. It was simple… Well it was supposed to be.

I gave Techno a quick kiss before turning to the tree in front of me. “Be careful,” Techno warned, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, before walking toward his stoney mountain. “You too,” I called in response, taking out my netherite axe and getting to work chopping down the amount of trees I needed.

Maybe I was too focused on my work, maybe I was too focused listening for Techno, maybe it was because it was daytime. Either way, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t notice the footsteps and the sizzle. I couldn’t hear the laughter a few blocks away drawing nearer. Sucks I had to find out this way.

As I raised my axe to chop some more wood, a huge force hit my back. A creeper exploded, propelling me forward a few blocks, causing me to drop my axe and land on my stomach. A scream escaped my throat as white hot pain coated my back. “Y/N!” I heard Techno scream through the ringing of my ears. Laughter rang throughout my ears as well. I slowly eased myself up, looking to find a witch standing above me, splash potion at the ready. “Please, no,” I whimpered, knowing it wouldn’t have any effect. Mobs were mindless drones, their only thoughts to hurt the people that lived on the server.

Glass shattered onto my back and green swirls surrounded me, immediately making me feel sick. Another glass shattered on my back, this one purple. I felt awful. I felt sick and I couldn’t bear to hold myself up anymore. I collapsed back to the ground, completely at mercy to the witch. The laughter rang once more through my ears as darkness completely clouded my vision. “Techno,” I murmured once more, praying he would hear me. Wherever he was.

*POV Switch*

Technoblade’s POV

It was supposed to be simple. Leave the house, gather materials with Y/N, go back to the house. Of course nothing in my life can ever be that simple.

An explosion set a small flurry of panic through me, but what truly caused my blood to run cold was her blood curdling scream. “Y/N!” I screamed out, hoping she would be alright. I dropped my pickaxe and unsheathed my sword and shield. I raced out of the small cave I had dug while retrieving cobble and found my girlfriend lying prone in front of a witch. “Fuck!” I cursed to myself, pushing myself even harder to get to my lover.

The witch raised up a splash potion, but I quickly dove my sword into its side, causing it’s attention to shift. I raised my shield as the splash potion was thrown on me causing it to bounce back and hit the witch instead. Pulling my sword from the witches' side, I stabbed at the mob once again, this time hitting directly in the chest causing the mob to parish.

Quickly I threw my sword and shield into my inventory and rushed back over to Y/N. Purple and Green swirls surrounded them as they lay face down on the ground. Blood was seeping out of their shirt from the back and I silently cursed myself for not making her put armor on. I checked her left arm and almost fainted at the sight. Her hearts, the ones that showed how much health she was at, were green and were being depleted with no signs of stopping. “Fuck,” I cursed, throwing open my inventory to search for the one thing I knew would for sure save her. “Where is it?”

After a few seconds of struggle, I finally found it. The golden totem I had secured just a few days prior. Ripping it from my inventory, I dropped to the ground and shoved the totem into Y/N’s hand, forcing her fingers to wrap around it securely. I didn’t even have time to relax. A huge pop sounded and the totem disappeared. The swirls disappeared from my love’s body and three of their hearts came back, no longer green from poison, as well as an additional two golden hearts as an extra cushion.

I felt myself let out a breath. She’s safe now. She’s going to be alright. “Y/N?” I questioned gently, moving to look at her face. Nothing. “Y/N?” I tried again, gently reaching out to touch their shoulder. Again, nothing. The movement she made was her chest up and down to show she was still breathing. Panic began to flood my senses once more, why isn’t she awake? The totem worked, didn’t it. Why isn’t she responding. Looking at her arm once more calmed me down only slightly. Her hearts were stable, so why aren’t her eyes open?

Gently, I rolled Y/N onto her side, allowing the glass to fall off of her back and onto the snow before standing up and gingerly lifting her off the snow, bridle style. I was extremely careful to not touch the parts of her that were still healing as I made my way back to the house as fast and safe as I could.

Once inside, I took Y/N into our shared bedroom and laid her down on her stomach. Pulling off her shirt, I winced at the sight of her back. Burns and cuts littered her back, blood oozing from many of the open wounds. I noticed that there were still little shards of glass poking into her skin. I forced myself to be completely calm. Although I was still in a bit of a panic because she wasn’t waking up, Y/N needs me right now to take care of her and her wounds and that’s what I was going to do.

The first aid kit we kept in the bathroom was well stocked. My eyes danced over the materials with fondness in my heart. Y/N had made this kit when we first got together. They hated seeing me hurt but knew I had little to no care for myself and my injuries. So they brought over this kit and would always be the one to sit me down after a battle or a long time away from one another and would take the time to tend to all of my injuries, no matter how small. It’s a little hard to swallow that it is now my turn to tend to Y/N’s wounds.

I retreated back to the bedroom, kit in one hand, a damp rag in the other. I set everything I needed on the bed and began working. I grabbed the tweezers and carefully plucked the remaining shards of glass from Y/N’s back, throwing the glass into a nearby trash can, making a mental note to take it out later. Once I was sure all the glass was gone, I used the damp cloth, to gingerly wipe down Y/N’s back, cleaning the blood, sweat, and grime from their slightly charred back. Next came bandages, one for every cut, no matter how little. Because then came the burn cream and I didn’t want it to get in any of the cuts. Gently, I applied the cream to my fingertips and slowly began massaging the cooling cream into my lover’s back. It was almost calming taking care of my lover in this way… Almost

Once I was finished, I took the kit back to the bathroom and put it away before washing my hands and then splashing some of the cooling water on my face, hoping to calm myself down even further. It didn’t work.

The totem prevented them from dying. From losing a cannon life. They should have woken up once the totem popped. It is designed to get rid of all affects and give you hearts, golden hearts at that. It confuses me to no end as to why the effects worked on Y/N but didn’t wake her up… What if she never wakes up? What if the totem glitched? What if it gave her hearts but she lost all of hers before that happened? What if I was too late?

Thoughts swirling in my head, I stormed out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Y/N still lay on her stomach, back rising and falling, but eyes remaining shut. Tears pricked in my eyes as the last question danced round and round in my head. What if I was too late.

I began pacing at the end of the bed, thinking. Who could I go to for help? Almost the entire server either hates me or fears me… Philza wouldn’t be much help, as much as I love him, he can be kind of daft about these things. Dream is a possibility… But I don’t want to owe him. God, why! Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been me? I wish it would have been me. I would do anything for me to be in her place right now.

I don’t know how long I was there just pacing and thinking. But it was long enough for the room to become completely dark and then light again. All throughout the night, Y/N’s condition remained the same. Hearts slowly healing back to full, but her eyes still closed. My legs felt like jelly underneath me. I had been on my feet for so long. Slowly I walked over to Y/N’s side of the bed, sitting on the chair I had placed there when I was tending to their back. I found my hand reaching out and carefully pulling Y/N’s hand from her side and holding in both of my hands, bringing it up to my mouth and placing a soft kiss to Y/N’s hand.

“Y/N… I don’t know if you can hear me,” I began, a lump forming in my throat and tears pricking in my eyes, “but if you can. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I failed you. You’re hurt and it’s all my fault. I should have kept a better eye on you, I should have been beside you, but I wasn’t and now you’re not waking up and I don’t know why… I’m so sorry Y/N. I love you. I love you so much. Please, please come back to me,” I begged. The tears that had been welling up in my eyes finally streamed down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them anymore. I moved and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of Y/N’s mouth that was exposed by their position. “I love you,” I whispered once more, before bringing our joined hands back to my forehead and closing my eyes tight.*

After a few more moments of silent begging, a gasp startled me out of my thoughts. My eyes shot open to find Y/N’s Y/E/C ones staring back at me. “Y/N,” I breathed out in disbelief. “Techno” they whispered back, “What happened?” I let go of their hand and brought mine to their cheek and gently stroked their face, “What do you remember, love?” I asked, looking at her face deeply. Y/N attempted to adjust themselves, but winced. “Careful,” I warned, looking over to their back. The burns had healed a little bit, but it was best for them to remain on their stomach for a while longer.

“We were getting materials,” she said slowly, her eyes scanning mine. I gave her a slight nod silently encouraging her to continue. “And I was chopping wood. There was an explosion… A creeper. I landed on my stomach in front of… of a witch. It hit me with two splash potions… it hurt so much and I felt so sick, and then it all went dark,” Y/N finished, eyes scanning my face. I nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, yeah that’s what happened, love. When I heard you scream I dropped everything and ran to you. I wasn’t fast enough and for that I’m truly sorry,” I apologized, bringing their hand up and kissing it once more.

Y/N rolled her eyes at me, “It’s not your fault dummy. Besides, you probably rescued me just in time. Didn’t you? Kill the witch and then bring me here and fix me up, didn’t you?” She questioned, eyebrows raised. I nodded sheepishly, rubbing the back of my head with my free hand, “Yeah. I guess I did that…” I replied, trailing off. Y/N let out a small scoff with a grin painting her face, “You’re a hero Tech, my hero… I love you,” She stated softly. My heart fluttered in adoration, “I love you too. So much,” I responded softly. “Come here and kiss me you big doof,” Y/N commanded, a cheesy smile on their face. I couldn’t help but return her smile as I leaned down, reached under her chin and gently tilted her head to mine, pressing my lips to hers in a sweet yet passionate kiss.

I felt all of my worry melt away as our lips were connected. The kiss reminded me that Y/N was in fact here, alive, and safe with me. My love’s eyes were open and the totem had worked, although a bit slower than I would have liked, but it worked nonetheless. I slowly pulled away from the kiss, a soft smile on my lips. “Can we cuddle now?” Y/N asked innocently. Who am I to deny her request?

I carefully stood from my chair and made my way to my side of the bed, crawling ever so gently into bed next to Y/N. I carefully laid myself next to her and slowly placed an arm around the top of her shoulders where the burns weren’t as back and the cuts had mostly healed, “Is this okay?” I whispered softly, my eyes scanning my lover’s for any discomfort. “Yeah, it’s okay,” She responded softly, her eyes fluttering closed. And for the first time in many hours, I wasn’t worried about her eyes being closed. In fact, I allowed my own eyes to flutter closed and allowed my body to fully relax knowing the one I love is completely safe.

*Do you guys know the position I’m talking about? The one you always see in movies and tv shows in hospital scenes where the one conscious person has the other person’s hand clutched in both of their hands and it’s pressed to their forehead? Yes, no? Let me know! Lol

There you have it I really hope you enjoyed! If so, be sure to leave a like!

365 notes · View notes

notnctu · 4 years

Text

when the snow falls | j.jh

jung jaehyun x reader genre - angst first, fluff later details - childhood best friends!au, ghost!au, platonic relationship, genderneutral!reader, ft. boyfriend johnny warnings - grieving/mourning, mentions of death, lots of crying, explicit language (swearing) word count - 8.3k inspiration - A Christmas Carol synopsis - Jaehyun visits you every holiday season since his death to bring you out of your self isolation and hatred for the one season you both once loved.

a/n - this is for my first collab ever: a taste of winter collab hosted by @dearyongs & @pastelsicheng ! again, thank you for letting me participate and i hope this fic brings more warmth for everyone during the winter!! happy holidays everyone & i hope you can check out the rest of the fics in the collab as i will be, they’re written by such amazing writers! :)))

An iridescent frost covers the tall windows of the apartment and a bright white sky greets you this morning. The fallen sheets expose your bare shoulders to the bitter crisp cold air and goosebumps rise to remind you to wear a fucking sweater for once. However, the cold isn’t what bothers you this horrid day as you’re leaping out of bed to glance out at the world. It’s the first thing that you lay eyes on: it covers the streets, it’s falling from the blanket of grey sky, it’s others’ joy when it’s your trauma. What Mother Nature has brought upon this winter season, as she always does this time of the year, is snow.

The first sign of snowfall marks the first day of your self isolation period until the holidays pass. It marks the anniversary of your best friend’s death and an agonizingly long winter, but in spite of that, it also means the appearance of a rather special guest. A guest that is only visible to you and though resembles much of your passed friend, does not share the same memories as you do.

“The snow is just so comforting, isn’t it?” Though you live alone, a sudden voice erupts from behind you and has you turning rather quickly to face the truth of this season. Your greatest treasure, yet haunting demise. “Hello, y/n. How has your year been?” Jaehyun stands with a lean at your door frame, his arms crossed at his chest and hair full of fluff.

“Hello, Jaehyun’s spirit. I happen to hate the snow, if you have forgotten.” Your hip presses against the cold glass and you’re no longer afraid of being half naked in front of what this form of imagination possesses itself to be.

“Remind me why again.” Jaehyun casually sits on your unmade bed, looking as about your age now. There is a brief silence as you examine how he’s grown with you, you’d imagine this is how he’d look if he was still alive and well.

It would be his third year in college, same as you, possibly studying engineering due to his past fascination with the mechanics of roller coasters. With such a strong jawline and a definite lean built, girls would be running all over him. Not to mention, his dimples remain one of his charms.

Kicking off the icy window, you walk carefully and slowly up to Jaehyun. A hand reaches to caress his cheek, but it goes right through him and leaves your hand to hang in mid-air. This happens every time you see him again, wondering if you can get one last touch of his dewy complexion, and you simply can’t. Despite his ability to touch you, there is no possibility for your senses to travel through to the other side of the supernatural dimension.

Jaehyun gently rests your hand back to your side and repeats his request, “remind me again why you hate the snow.”

“It’s how you died.” A small croak gets caught in the back of your throat and tears well up to blur your vision. “So when the snow falls, it brings me back to the dreadful memory of me losing you, of you leaving me.”

“I died from snow? That is so lame.” Jaehyun grumbles and rolls his eyes.

You chuckle, but the tears roll down your cheeks as if they know no happiness. “You died from a car accident in the snow. Your tires slid, you couldn’t brake … and so, you crashed. Full trauma to the head, an instant death.”

“Where was I going?” He wasn’t this curious last winter, and so you’re unaware if it’s your mind playing sick tricks on you or if his unrest spirit is this forgetful. You wish it was the latter.

Choking on your tears, the droplets hit the hardwood floors below you. An overwhelming feeling of melancholy overtakes your chest and you’re suffocating underneath an unknown pressure. Your throat is drier than your mother’s gingerbread cookies, but you swallow the frigid air around you.

You’re so choked up by your sobbing that it’s too difficult to speak. Any words you say feel like thin ice, ready to crack at the lightest touch. “O-On the way to … my house. You were coming over to tell me a secret.”

“And I never got to tell you.”

“No, Jaehyun. I’ll never know what you wanted to tell me that day.”

when the snow falls.

There has never been a time before Jaehyun and all that you knew, all the memories that fill your brain, every growing pain you could possibly share, was with him and all until it wasn’t. Had there been a time after Jaehyun, you would not have expected it to come as soon as it did.

For the months following his death, you were in denial of his missing presence because every. single. thing. reminded you of him. Jaehyun remained in his assigned seat in school, although it was clearly empty. He lived through others’ mourning stories, where they spoke of fond memories that they shared and things he liked. The worst of them all, you still texted him every day in hopes to see the tiny three dots pop up that he was typing. And the warped reality in your head, the first stage of grief flooding every possible corner, was that he has always just been slow at replying back.

Then, his funeral rolled around and his parents asked you to share one happy memory of him. There were so many, how could you possibly have chosen just one? And so you didn’t. The moment the frame of the church entered your view, your legs stuck to the ground and refused to enter. There was going to be a point when you entered the building filled with crying people and a gripping, horrid smell of death and you wouldn’t be able to forget it. That scary thought, not only frightened you, but angered you.

The large attendance of people walked past you as teary eyes blinked up at the dark wooden frame of the door, but every one of them had never visited him for more than once when he was alive. His older cousins that had forgotten about him when they flew away for college, his acquaintances from piano lessons who never bothered to remember his full name, his old friends from primary school that he had lost connection with after graduation, they were all here.

And you can’t help, but fester a fueling frustration in the pit of your stomach and as it grew into your chest in the matter of seconds, you wondered the single thought that picked up your feet to run home: where were they when he was alive?

After a year and the appearance of Jaehyun’s ghost became less of a shock during winter, you were stuck in an odd and uneasy place of what if’s. Talking to him once a year was never enough, texting his old number was never enough. It was just never enough.

Missing him grew into a dark sense of yearning, longing, bargaining. Long nights of twisting and tossing in your bed, many thoughts and endless possibilities ran through your unhealthy thoughts. The description and police report of his accident played like a reel in darkest contemplations.

The first year of college had to be the hardest to go through without him and thus, aiding in your regrets of not cherishing him enough when he was around. A rabbit hole of universe paths drove you wild, wishing and hoping that you could turn back time and stop him from coming over in the middle of a blizzard. And the one lasting thought still haunts you to your present: if only you hadn’t encouraged him that night, he wouldn’t have died.

The saddest part has barely been acknowledged, even by yourself. That this one tragedy tainted the one holiday you two loved the most --- Christmas. Every year since his passing, you locked yourself in your room for two weeks before the holiday and waited through it all. Truthfully, there was nothing in the universe that was going to allow you to enjoy the holiday when it wasn’t with him. Even his ghost, who very randomly popped up on a December day and cluelessly never brings much comfort as the live him did during this season.

Jolly holiday music lost their joyous sound and became awfully low tempo. The bright red and green signature colors of Christmas became dull and rather grey; the long strings of colorful lights that hang from houses and around large trees were absolutely drained of their color. The warmth of the fireplace went cold. The cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies no longer entertained and lost their spark.

The Christmas themed decorations that covered the windows of shops, the city, your own house, became an overwhelming sore sight to look at. The love from your loved ones… you couldn’t feel anything remotely close to love anymore, just meaningless affection. The one gift that the Earth blessed your region with, snow, became the one petrifying thing that it had to offer. And your favoritism for the holiday, the so-called ‘Christmas Spirit’, slowly died out, along with Jaehyun.

Now that it’s been three years since his passing, you’re here spending your third lonely holiday season inside your apartment discussing your yearly recap with your ghostly best friend.

“That ridiculous final exam lowered my grade and I walked out of that class retaining none of the information. When will I ever need to know about pirates in the 1800’s?” The chocolate wrapper crinkles in your fist as you finish your overly passionate recollection of the most useless class you could have taken this whole year.

Jaehyun sits by your side, facing you as he hugs his knees close to his chest. A small grin dots the dimple on his left cheek when you peer over at the huddled boy and the sad reminiscent glisten in your eye does not go unnoticed. “You used to love pirates. Dressed up like one for Halloween and went up to every house yelling,” Jaehyun clears his throat and perks up, ready to perform.

A balled fist in the air, paired with a look of utter gusto and passion, Jaehyun speaks in an attempt to horribly reenact your once embarrassing pirate impression. “Argh! You scoundrel, give me all the treasures in your possession… preferably chocolate sweets.” He holds his stomach as he bursts into a fit of his baritone laughter. His wide mouth grows into such a big, open smile that his eyelashes dance on his glowing cheeks.

“For a ghost, you sure look like someone who’s very much alive.” Naturally, you’d swat lightly at his knee or arm whenever he would joke around. However, the pain of your hand passing right through him breaks this habit and you’re left scoffing at the way Jaehyun is consumed with laughter.

“You know, for someone who is alive… you sure look a bit … lifeless. When was the last time you were happy, y/n?” Jaehyun finally settles down and gently nudges at your elbow.

His question hits you like a wall of bricks. Unexpected and completely straightforward, but that’s just always been the way he is. “This past weekend when I turned in my last assignment for the semester.”

“No. The last time you were genuinely happy, not relieved. You mentioned a boyfriend, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you grow a bit silent and annoyed at his comment. “Listen, hopeless romantic. Not every relationship is perfect sunrays and gushy unconditional love.” Perhaps, your gaze drops down to your hands and the wrinkled wrapper between your fingers has worn out from your fidgeting.

Johnny Suh. If you could move mountains for this man, you would. It all started due to an accidental happenstance of you abruptly walking into your campus’ coffee shop to seek shelter from the rain and him, the attractive barista behind the counter, chasing after you in a stained apron and an immensely strong aroma of coffee beans. Jaehyun practically swooned over hearing how you two met, hearts in his pupils and a dreamy grin resting fondly as he attentively listened.

Jaehyun has always wanted a relationship, though he did have many admirers in high school, he never had the opportunity to experience one true love and to play out every sappy romantic thing rom-coms taught him. Hearing about your love life is the closest thing he can get to it, unfortunate for him, but fortunate that his best friend still has some romance in them.

Nevertheless, it’s only been a few months together. Though Johnny has seen intimate parts of you, he’s never experienced a winter with you and frankly, he won’t ever experience one with you if you keep this up.

“Johnny doesn’t make you happy, then why are you with him?” Jaehyun knows Johnny makes you feel something that is hard for you to put into words. He also knows the type of person you are, pushing your buttons to get you to defend something you love. Boldly. Loudly. Strongly. He knows how to get you to spit out words of truth, even when they’re difficult.

“My partner is the literal definition of happiness, okay?” The defensiveness drives your assertiveness further. “The last time I was happy was when…” your eyes are frantically examining the floor for any source of focus as a highlight reel of this whole year flashes through your mind.

“... On my birthday, he planned me a picnic. Bought me roses, the whole grand scheme of romance. I started to cry, out of happiness… it was the first time in a while that the reason behind my tears was something good.” There’s somewhat of an epiphany when you finish your sentence. Your voice gets lost in your train of thought as the blissful scene plays out.

“Why were you crying?” Jaehyun snatches the distracting wrapper from your fingers, it being unrecognizable from the wear and tear. It causes you to meet Jaehyun’s round eyes: empty, but not sad. They’re lost, yet filled with purpose.

Jaehyun has always been able to open up the darkest parts of your heart. “Because it reminded me of the time when you and I walked up that steep hill over on Fifth Street… and we forgot the picnic blanket. But it didn’t matter because after the strenuous journey, all we wanted was to sit down and enjoy some fucking sandwiches, along with some hot chocolate your mom packed us.”

“y/n, you cried over the memory of sandwiches and exercise? That’s so---”

“Before you insult me by calling me lame,” you bring your finger to stop him mid-way and narrow your eyes, “I was so happy to be able to share our same experience with someone else. Even though you’re gone, I can still have these happy moments with other people.”

Then, Jaehyun gathers both of your hands to hold and brings them to his soft lips. Everything about him feels cold, like a harsh chill that bites at your skin. In spite of it all, his delicate kiss on your knuckles somehow feel warm and slightly comforting. Jaehyun peers up with kind eyes, “you’re almost there. I will do everything I can to get you there.”

Blinking at him with confusion, your expression asks the questions for you. When he sets your hands in his lap, a soft pat on the back of your hand reassures you. “Can we bake Christmas cookies?”

Rolling your eyes, you tear your hands away from him. He leaves you with unspoken words and an oddly comforting feeling, but it’s not enough to dissipate your deeply rooted dislike for this particular holiday. “You ask this every year.” Getting up, you walk towards your bedroom to get away from feeling too vulnerable.

Jaehyun watches your back intently as you’re stumbling over your feet. He whispers to himself, “and I think this year is going to be the last year I’ll ask for it.” And a hopeful smile appears joyously as he anticipates the storm before reaching still waters.

The sound of the doorbell awakens you and Jaehyun is nowhere to be seen. He comes and goes as he wishes, however, he’d usually accompany you during the mornings. You’re particularly sluggish, finding it difficult to adjust to the blinding white sky outside as snow continues to drift upon the city.

“Good morning, gumdrop.” Your boyfriend is rather chirpy today. Johnny engulfs your fragile body in his long arms and you’re lost in his scent of peppermint bark.

“This was unexpected.” His shirt muffles your tiny voice and Johnny is setting down bags of groceries on your kitchen countertop.

“I texted you last night that I was coming over to do some grocery shopping for you. Did you sleep early?” Your very helpful boyfriend starts unloading all the parcels of fresh produce and your favorite snacks. However, there is a slight tinge of annoyance and possibly it’s due to the fact you weren’t expecting to see anyone during your isolation. Johnny couldn’t have known though.

A deep sigh escapes your lips and you walk over to stop his movements. A hand holds his arm and the other intertwines with his own, but you stand under him with the sweetest smile you could wear during the holiday season. “How is it that your mom invited me to your family holiday party, but tells me that you’re not going to be there?”

Your smile automatically falls from your lips and a hand retracts from his warmth. It’s the sudden truth that you must face, the confession of your sadness that you’ll eventually need to tell your partner. Wondering how he’s going to take the news, your mom probably gave him a brief breakdown about how you’ve been this way for the past few years now.

Nonetheless, Johnny has always been bold with his statements and though you’ve adjusted to his abruptness, this one is hard to give a quick answer back to. So as you’re racking how to present your dark narrative, Johnny sets you down on the couch with the utmost gentleness. You don’t even feel the cushion underneath you when the million different answers streamline their way into your brain.

Johnny notices your frantic eyes and unfocused gaze, growing a bit concerned at how cold your skin feels at his touch. Taking off his sweatshirt, he carefully slips it over your shaking figure. When the softness of the polyester cotton blend brushes upon your bare arms, you’re snapped back facing a worried expression.

And you say the one thing on your mind, the only thing you can think of in your scattered brain. “Jaehyun died during this time of year, so it just makes me very emotionally unstable to… participate in any festive events. I’d rather be alone, the whole holiday season.”

Johnny nods, but his face remains with his eyebrows together and lips pressed into a tight line. He’s well aware of who Jaehyun was and means to you. Though you don’t talk much about him, your eyes light up with a bright twinkle whenever you do. It’s like the world spins ‘round and everything feels restored. Johnny knows enough about your good friend to deduct how hard it must be for you during the winters.

“Can I help you in any way?” Johnny peers over at you with a small smile, and you wish there is something in your decaying heart to keep it up forever.

“I hate to say it, but please just leave me alone for the winter.” Flopping on his lap, you’re burying your face in your hands to cower away from seeing your sunshine hurt. There are no more sugar coated kind words for you to pick and choose from.

While Johnny can understand how difficult it must be for you, he still holds onto a sliver of hope that you’ll come around. “Come on, don’t be such a Grinch. No one should be alone for Christmas.”

Groaning, you sit up and roll your eyes at the familiar references. “Listen, Cindy Lou Who. Don’t call me that.”

“It’s still a cute nickname, you don’t think?” Johnny snickers lightly, but your expression turns rather grim and serious. A faint overcast of melancholy washes over your expression as you’re staring off into your memories again.

In a faint voice, your voice is barely above a whisper, “that used to be one of Jaehyun’s favorite movies.” Your arms drop from your puffed up chest, but Johnny catches your hand and kisses your fingertips.

“What was yours?” Johnny keeps the atmosphere as light and playful while he still can.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas.” Ironically fitting and that’s one of the sole reasons you don’t watch holiday movies anymore. There have been too many parallels with your life and the wrenched holiday. As twisted as the joke may seem, you’ve lived your own nightmare before Christmas, except you never got the happy ending to it all. It’s like a nightmare that continues and you can’t escape it.

Having said, Johnny pulls you up to stand and draws you into the biggest hug. “I can’t leave you alone, even if I tried my very best. I still get butterflies every time you smile at me, so you think I wouldn’t be addicted to that feeling?”

“Johnny…” This man is in love with you until the ends of this Earth, until the horizon stretches so far that it’s unimaginable to see where it stops.

“I’ll respect your wishes as much as I can, but know that it’s not the best form of healing.” The final word causes a chill to run down your spine. It implies that you’re still hurting, although he’s not wrong, it’s rather disheartening to hear someone else speak it aloud. “I’ll come around less.”

“If I’m grumpy, then you’ll know why. And don’t try to shove the whole Christmas spirit act on me, I don’t want to hear a single thing about it! I can’t spend a Christmas without Jaehyun.” Johnny squeezes your shoulders at your bold declaration.

“You can’t or you won’t?” A painful tick at your heart leaves you speechless at his question.

For as long as you could remember, every Christmas was spent with Jaehyun. Picking out a tree for both of your families and getting lost together between the evergreens brought laughter and excitement. Baking cookies and drawing the ugliest faces in tacky colorful frosting always happened a few days before the holiday. Drinking hot chocolate by his family’s fireplace and watching Christmas movies were one of your favorite activities. Christmas Eve was always so special, where you and Jaehyun made it tradition to open your gifts from each other right when the clock struck midnight.

Then everything simply stopped. And when you tried to participate in those same activities, selfishness and guilt preoccupied your heart. What do any of those things mean without Jaehyun? Jaehyun was the reason you loved Christmas as much as you did. Then, his death became the reason you hated it as much as you do.

“I think that’s enough for today.” Johnny knows he’s hit a nerve, he can see it in your glossy eyes and subtle drop in the corners of your mouth. There is no protest from the taller man when he accepts his sweatshirt without a complaint. The bitter cold air bites at your bare shoulders again and you’re practically existing in its lack of warmth. Gathering the rest of his belongings, you two bid a kiss goodbye and shut the door.

It’s almost a relief that he’s gone and the tear runs down your cheek when your back hits the door. Suddenly, Jaehyun appears across the living room leaning on the door frame to your bedroom. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is.” There is a hang at the end of your sentence and Jaehyun walks toward you. A few sniffs fill the empty apartment, but you’re rubbing away any sign of sadness from your face.

“But?”

“But, he’s so optimistic about… everything. He lives by the sun and every waking day, he just lives it to the fullest. There’s nothing in the world for this man to possibly understand how sad I feel.” It’s the heaviness in your voice that has your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach.

Jaehyun’s freezing hands graze your chin and as he lets go, his stare doesn’t leave yours. “Learn from him.” Your best friend’s ghastly voice reminds you that he’s not real. He’s a ghost. He’s very much gone and not for a split second, should you be wanting to cave into his embrace or else, you’ll hit the floor hard. Nevertheless, you’re entirely vulnerable and the next few words that leave Jaehyun’s mouth causes your throat to close up.

“Keep him close. y/n, he is the sun.” It’s a moment you thought you’d never witness, your best friend complimenting your significant partner. Moreover, it hurts to think about how great of friends Jaehyun and Johnny could have been. “To be very honest, you need some heat this winter.”

“Then, what were you?” It’s the curiosity that nips at your tongue as it leaves no space for a pause. The thumping of your heart being so loud in the dead silence, but you know Jaehyun doesn’t have a heart to beat recklessly as yours.

Jaehyun smirks and chuckles fondly, despite how desperate and serious you may have sounded. “I was a pain in the ass.”

Scoffing, you break the immensely intense eye contact. “You still are. This whole haunting thing is very creepy.” Gesturing his entire being in front of you, he just looks so alive and breathing. Before Jaehyun, you always thought ghosts were floating entities with a white transparency. But your best friend stands before you, well aged and all together.

It still tosses you into shambles as to why Jaehyun exists, but you’ve given up on figuring out his purpose. He could be a form of your own imagination for all you care, perhaps you’ve grown so sad that you started to seek things.

Companionship from the one person you wish was still alive?

Like before, you’ve always spent Christmas with Jaehyun… alive or in ghost form.

It’s another one of those long days that seem to never end. The bright white sky seems unchanging, stark with a dusty and imminent endless overcast of snow. It’s blinding and you’re regretting the moment you overlooked the curtain blinds at the department store.

Your phone has already been lost somewhere underneath your bed and there isn’t a single desire to reach for it. Missed calls pile up, voicemails clutter your inbox, texts flood your messages, and your social media notifications fill your screen. Despite everyone’s effort to contact you, there is no sense of joyous cordial nature to even glance at them.

Jaehyun has been appearing more frequently and staying for longer periods of time. The conversations bring an empty comfort, most of the times you feel the need to remind yourself that you’re not actually talking to someone, are you?

“What’s that sad look in your eyes?” He startles you when you’re off looking vacantly out the window. Your mind has been completely distracted lately by meaningless thoughts and the sweetest reels of Jaehyun that have turned blue.

The more you wrap yourself in your white sheets, the less you can feel any source of warmth. And perhaps you haven’t realized that you no longer felt any heat the past few days, that you’re at a freezing point and it’s made you numb.

“Not sure what you mean.” Your voice remains dull and monotone, lifeless almost. Jaehyun takes a seat against the window and for the first time, you can see right through him.

“It’s not your fault, y/n.” Is he a mind reader too? The thought that always circles your mind when Christmas draws near is not only that Jaehyun is gone forever, but how you could have prevented it all. The guilt eats you up and no matter how hard you’re searching for acceptance, it slips away from you before you have a chance.

When you don’t answer, Jaehyun heads over to your bed and he’s alarmed at how cold your hands are. “It was never your fault.” Your best friend pulls you into a hug, but it can barely be felt. What kind of hug can’t be felt?

“I never said it was.”

“No, but you thought about it.” The chilly draft causes you to shiver and it’s hard for you to concentrate on anything else besides the night of his death.

“I should have stopped you from coming over.” Although you’ve confessed this many times to him before, it never gets easier to say. Jaehyun sighs and ultimately frowns at your tears slipping from your eyes again. Like the snow that drifts from the heavens, your tears know no end to their downfall. It’s become too natural for them to appear. The closer it gets to Christmas, the harder it is to stop from crying.

“It’s hard for me to speak about it since we don’t remember much of the same moments---”

“Jaehyun! I remember that night as clear as it was just yesterday that it happened.” There’s no reason to yell, but a strong sense of pain erupts from your chest.

He’s so calm at your sudden outburst, turning his head to face you with a deadpan expression. “You weren’t there, y/n. You were home, safe and sound as you should have been. I’m more than grateful that you’re the one alive.”

“I’m not!” But when the confession leaves your lips, you’re shaking and fearful. The entire room is stiff and silent. You couldn’t even believe what you had just said, wondering if that is anything close to truth. You look up at Jaehyun, who blinks at you with furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes. “I mean,” you clear your throat in the midst of the tense atmosphere. “I could have saved you.”

“You’re not a hero and I didn’t need saving when I was already gone.” He taps his temples lightly, “full trauma to the head. It was just my time to go.”

“The secret. I wanted to know so bad that I didn’t stop you from coming in a snowstorm!” Jaehyun pats your head in an attempt to soothe your aching heart.

“And I wanted to tell you just as bad that I didn’t care about the snowstorm. y/n, stop blaming yourself for something that happened to me. The universe is much more complex than that, give it some credit.”

“You’re even philosophical as a ghost? Give me a fucking break.” Groaning, you pull the sheets over your head to somehow run away from the conversation.

Jaehyun lies down next to you, smiling cheekily to himself and glancing over at the lump that you had become underneath the blankets. “Do you remember the time I taught you how to ride a bike?”

“I thought it was your dad who taught me.” You grumble, tossing away the sheets to glance over at him. It always puzzled you how Jaehyun never remembered the same memories as you do, and even if you did, one of you remembered it differently.

“He was probably there as supervision. I was the one who helped you take off your training wheels and strap on your impressively thick knee pads.” You’re lying on your elbows now, fists pressing into your cheeks and a fond attentive gaze upon Jaehyun’s resting figure. He’s staring up at the ceiling that protects you two above, yet can cave in at any moment.

Dimples dip into his round supple cheeks as his toothy smile comes into view, reliving the happy memory. “You rang your little bell so many times that day.”

“Because I was scared!” You protest, muttering something incoherent. “Didn’t we go downhill when I said I wasn’t ready?”

“We went downhill because you said you were ready.” His hair ruffles in your sheets when he turns to face you, and he just takes your breath away. It’s the stars in his dark eyes that sweep you off your feet, like the gleaming star on top of a tree. The color that oozes from his smile, like Christmas lights that line a rooftop, make it hard not to stare. Jaehyun looks just like Christmas, the most wonderful thing of the year. In someway, he resembled an angel or the soft sheet of snow ready to fall right through.

You’re encompassed by overwhelming effervescent emotions from listening and watching Jaehyun glow and gleam. “Then, what?”

Jaehyun’s low chuckle illuminates the room, dazzling the boring grey interior. “Little ol’ you, hurt yourself real bad that day, scrapes and wounds you thought you’d never heal from. You didn’t talk to me for a week, but you ended up learning how to ride a bike.”

“Is that right?”

Jaehyun rests on his side now, only an elbow supporting his body and he’s leaning in close to your face, you’re almost too sure you could feel a breath on your lips. “No matter how painful it gets, I’m always here to push you through it all.”

When your heart beats sporadically at his proximity, you didn’t realize that you are holding in a breath, being quite afraid that if you let it out, it would simply blow him away for the night. And you’re not ready for him to leave you again.

Christmas Eve;

It had to be a miracle that anyone got a hold of you this week when Johnny comes practically banging at your door. Though you are so close to ignoring his loud thumping, the sound of your boyfriend’s soft sniffles alarms you greatly.

“y/n, holy shit!” It’s deja vu when you’re in his arms again, a horribly warped version of it when the smell of peppermint bark tickles your nostrils disgustingly. “I thought something happened to you. You weren’t answering my calls or texts.”

“My one wish for Christmas was to be left alone and I meant it.” The attitude in your voice becomes jarringly evident and Johnny blinks back at you with a new found annoyance as well.

“Can you at least think of the other people around you?” He holds your shoulders lightly, but staring into his eyes seems to be harder to do lately. Jaehyun appears on the couch, lying flat on his stomach and a hand resting underneath his chin. This is no longer a private conversation, but you learned long ago that no one else can see him.

“Who are you talking about? My family? Because they’ve all given up on me.” This is the first time Johnny has seen you act so cold and distant, yet entirely vulnerable. You’re stripped of everything that you usually hide in --- oversized clothes, happy smiles, and a beaming warmth.

All Johnny ever wants is for you to be loved, not only by him, but by the world. And interestingly enough, he loved you for your vulnerability and your rawness. This is until he realizes, in this moment, that it stems from your trauma of losing Jaehyun.

“What about me, y/n? I’m still here.” Johnny is frantic, and by all means, hurt by your aloofness. Brushing off his hands from your body, you’re taking several steps away from him.

“And why are you still here when I kept telling you to leave me alone? Whenever I was upset, Jaehyun always gave me space! Haven’t ever thought about how that is something I need?” You’re saying nonsensical statements that are fueled by anger and annoyance.

He’s pushing your limits and for once, you’re pushing him away. But this isn’t new to you, in fact, you’ve pushed so many people away just like this and that’s why they’ve decided to just let you be.

Johnny is taken aback, “you know, I feel like I’m competing with Jaehyun and I’ve never even met him.”

You scoff and throw your arms in the air, visibly in disbelief at what your boyfriend is saying to you. May you lose your temper, you’re unsure about the future of this relationship. Yet, something in your cruel and painful heart no longer cared, snapping your wits and patience at your beloved.

“What are you saying?” You’re pacing back and forth, fuming with an inexplicable infuriation. Jaehyun catches your eye, and for a brief moment, you’re holding eye contact with him instead. “Jaehyun is dead,” facing Johnny now, you say words that jumble in your chest, regardless of their true meanings, “and even if he was alive, there would be no competition.”

“Because you were always going to choose him over everyone else in your life, is that right? Exactly like how you do now.” Johnny’s words sting like daggers at your skin, worse than the layer of frost that bites at you for the past two weeks.

“Please, don’t attack me for hurting.” With that, your voice breaks and cracks all over. Your tears hit the ground without you feeling them run down your cheeks.

Johnny is quick to wipe them away, not minding that his hands will now be wet from your salty droplets. He instantly regrets it all, the unwarranted questions, the fighting, the barging in unexpectedly. It pains him more to see you like this.

“I apologize. I’m sorry that I’m not saying the kindest words to you when you need to hear them the most.” Your partner is frowning, a true rare sight to see. “But, you’re still grieving and there is going to have to be a time that you move on.”

It’s one of those tip of the iceberg moments or when the ball finally hits the ground and a rush of cathartic enthusiasm washes over you. However, you’re not happy. You’re not even remotely close to happiness. You’re fucking sad, you’re aching with a pain so deeply rooted that it isolates you, that it rips apart anything that used to bring you joy.

And this causes you to scream your lungs out, sobs that choke you up. “I can’t! You don’t understand, no one understands! I just fucking can’t. He was my best friend and that night… he was going to tell me something.” Jaehyun can’t bear to hear your piercing wails, as he’s disappeared completely from the setting. When you’re panicked and searching for him, you only see Johnny staring back at you with a very concerned expression.

“And I will never know what he wanted to tell me.” Your tone grows soft and rather delicate, like a sad realization at the possibility that the secret died with Jaehyun that night.

“Some things are better left unknown. Do you really think you’ll feel better knowing?”

“Listen to him, y/n.” Jaehyun randomly appears next to Johnny’s stature. He stands a few inches shorter than him, but the sight of them together has you blinking in awe.

You’re darting between the two of them, “I don’t know what will make me feel better.”

“Come, tonight. Your whole family wants to see you for the one holiday that brings people together.” But when Johnny steps forward, you’re taking a step back.

“Please, just go.” With an assertive point to the door, your head does not lift up to watch your boyfriend leave. Despite every person you’ve done this to, Johnny’s hurts the most. His flame dies out tonight, providing no sense of security or heat. And with a toss of his arms of exasperation, he shuts your front door and leaves without a goodbye, without wishing you a merry Christmas.

Jaehyun calls your name, but you’re rushing to your bedroom and slamming the door shut. “Don’t you dare travel through the wall.”

Your apartment has grown so dark due to the shorten winter days. It’s pitch black all around you and the sky is no longer a deafening white. It’s the first time you notice the dark blue scattered clouds and the intricate snowflakes that drift carefully down to the streets. And, you’re all alone in the quietness. You truly are isolated every Christmas.

“y/n, let’s talk.” Jaehyun is beyond fed up with your behavior, that has to be the last straw. This is the first year since his death that he’s seen the evident spark in your eye, the hope that is hiding behind your depression. He sees it in the way Johnny looks at you, like you’re the greatest present he could receive in life. In your proclamation, as hard as it was to witness, is a spirit that wishes to be freed. There was a chance this year. There still is one.

“Jaehyun, you left me! You left all alone, and no matter how hard I try to stop thinking about you, it never works. In the end, no one is here for me like how you were.” Hands in your hair, you’re losing yourself at a rapid rate. It hurts to keep your eyes open, tears sting as they well up around the rims.

“Find a part of me in the people around you.” The door to your bedroom swings open and Jaehyun takes note of you by the window again. You want to leave, you want to be out there and he knows, before you can actually realize it yourself. You’re turning to face him and in the dark, he looks solid. He looks so real and whole.

“How do I do that?” It’s a genuine question that you’ve pondered before, but never feeling like you had the strength to do so. You’re always dwelling on your past with Jaehyun, indulging in the sacred memories only you two shared.

“What are things that you associate me with?” He is found leaning against your door frame again, hands are shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans.

You say the first thing on your mind, “snow.” When the words hit the air, your ceiling light flickers briefly. Jaehyun doesn’t flinch, however, still focused on your crying figure. Snow, the first sign of snowfall is when he appears for the winter.

“What else?” He encourages.

“Familiarity.” The light flashes again, for a mere second longer this time before it resumes darkness. Familiarity, for he grew up by your side for as long as you could remember.

There is an odd feeling that enters the room and you’re fearful of the unknown. But, Jaehyun’s cadence doesn’t falter, he’s not distracted by the random spurts of light. And if anything, it all could be his doing. “Keep going.”

“Comfort.” Flicker. “Warmth. Love. Excitement.” With each word, the light builds stronger and stronger. You’re speaking memories into existence now, “making snow angels until it got dark, laughing until our stomachs hurt, watching movies until the clock struck midnight, dancing until our legs gave out!”

Streams run down your face and you’re yelling until your throat feels raw, but you don’t wish to stop as the light glows brighter and brighter with each spoken word.

As you listen to every listed attribute and memory, you recognize a central theme in all of them and one thing that Jaehyun embodies, the one thing he’s always been associated with.

“Christmas.” A shaky breath exhales and a loud spark pierces your ears. The light illuminates intensely all around you, lighting up the darkest corners of your room and blinding you more than the sky has been lately.

“Jaehyun?” Closing your eyes, you can see the brightness through your eyelids and you’re beyond confused as to what is happening. When you mindlessly reach for his hand, you actually feel it and your heart is soaring due to strange unquestionable physics.

Jaehyun intertwines your hand in his own and caresses your face gently. For once, he doesn’t feel cold. He’s blazing hot, melting away the long days of isolation. “Open your eyes, y/n.”

What lies before you is an incredible, marvelous sight. Snow dusts the roof of your family’s house as green, red, yellow bulbs light the frame of it. Your parents really went all out; round snowmen sit perfectly together on your lawn. A decorative wreath hangs at the front door and a distinct chuckle catches your attention.

From the window that looks into your kitchen, your mother rolls a sheet of dough on the counter as clouds of flour erupt around her. Your father is preoccupied at the stove, with the silliest gimmicks for decorating the feast they’re about to hold. Silver tinsel line the dinner table with a festive table cloth draped upon it. The remarkable tree shines in the center of the living room, a glimmering star on top.

“I know we probably won’t see y/n again this Christmas…” The sound of your mother’s voice rings a bell in your yearning heart and Jaehyun is gazing at you with a wondrous look in his eyes. The grip on his hand is tight, your breath enters the night in puffs of smoke, and regardless of this all being real or imaginary, you’re so immersed in this reality that he knows you’re anticipating what your family has to say.

“... but something about this year really makes me miss them.” Your mother puts the rolling pin off to the side and rests her hand on the kitchen counter, trying to hold back any form of her own tears from falling.

“May Jaehyun watch over them tonight, our little angel doesn’t deserve to be alone.”

Your dad walks over to embrace your mother in a long hug, kissing the top of her head gently. “Merry Christmas, y/n.” Your father speaks into the air, without the knowledge of you outside, he’s thinking of you.

Something in your heart shatters, but it’s entirely different from the pain you’ve felt over the years following Jaehyun’s death. It’s a warm, bubbly feeling that spreads across your chest and you’re covering your mouth out of pure shock at the sight of your parents.

Your parents, who you’ve neglected every holiday season, still think of you. You recognize the ingredients that scatter the table, they make your favorite dish every year in hopes you’ll come join them.

Jaehyun whispers, “y/n, know that I’m always going to be here. I may physically be gone, but I live in your heart and the joyous memories we’ve shared together. I live through the many people who love you now, through Christmas. This spirit is also very much alive in the other people around you.”

When you peel your eyes from the scene of your parents, the vision suddenly disappears and you’re facing Jaehyun right back in your cold, empty, dark apartment. But you wish the moment lasted a little longer. For the first time in a long time, you wish to be with your loved ones. You wish to celebrate Christmas with the people who still care about you, the ones that are still alive and well.

“What if I’m not ready?”

“This signifies my final push down the hill. You’re all strapped up in your knee pads, y/n. You’re never truly going to be ready, but that shouldn’t stop you from trying.” Jaehyun pats your head lovingly and mimics the motions of securing a helmet on your head.

You’re letting go of his hand, running around quickly in search for the appropriate outerwear for the snow. It’s like a switch went off in your heart and a cathartic feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

Every Christmas since his passing, you thought it was best to be alone. You thought it was selfish to live your favorite holiday season without your best friend, that you lost the spirit of Christmas.

However, this entire time… Jaehyun’s ghost has been a reminder that the Christmas spirit has always been alive. It’s not about the enthusiastic festive events or the cheerful themed activities or the distinct colorful decorations, it’s about the appreciation and love you have for the people who have made your year so special. You’ve associated the holiday so much with your best friend, that you’ve lost sight of it in your family, your current friends, your own boyfriend.

When you’re rushing out the door, you stop in your tracks and peer back at Jaehyun leaning against your door frame, just as he appeared a few weeks ago. He has the warmest, brightest smile on his face, “y/n, I think I finally remember the secret I wanted to tell you.” You’re afraid of the answer and the outside world, but your hand doesn’t slip from the door handle. Could it really be? The long anticipated secret that has been gnawing at your conscience since his death?

Nevertheless, he’s giggling and holding his stomach slightly from the immense amount of joyous laughter. “I wanted to tell you that I... finally learned how to shave.”

At first, you’re stunned at the simplicity of the beheld secret. All this time, you thought it had been something so meaningful, something so mind blowing, that needing to know practically destroyed your mental state. Then, a wholehearted and genuine laugh erupts from inside of you and you’re lighting up the darkest parts of yourself. Jaehyun looks at you fondly, like a beauty that he hasn’t seen in awhile.

“That’s fucking it? You came out in the middle of a blizzard to tell me you learned how to shave? How lame.”

Jaehyun chuckles, “when did I ever need an extremely valid reason to see you?” The laughter falls short at his confession and in the midst of all this enthusiasm, you bid him the softest smile. His purpose has been fulfilled, as the best version of you he’s always known and loved stands before him at last.

“I guess... you’re right. What’s going to happen to you now?”

“I’ll always be here for Christmas, even when you’re old and grey surrounded by the warmth of your loved ones in front of a large, extravagant Christmas tree. When the snow falls, I’ll be here.” Jaehyun’s dimple smile is the lasting image you see, the one you’ve always hoped to remember him by.

“Merry Christmas, Jung Jaehyun… I--”

“Love you too, y/n. Merry Christmas.” He ushers you out the door with a small kiss on your knuckles.

That is the last time you ever see him again. Now, when the snow falls, it marks the anniversary of your long awaited healing, the journey to acceptance, and the beloved memory of your best friend. May you never lose the spirit of Christmas and the warmth from your loved ones.

#nct scenarios #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #neothestars #kpopscape #nct scenario #nct #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagines #jung jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun scenario

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bruhstories · 3 years

Text

Vogel und Jäger

- PART TWO

Summary: After waking up, you realise the realities of the world you've been pulled into. Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Fem!Reader (mafia AU) Warnings & Content: stabbing, language, angst Word Count: 1.7 k

A/N: make sure to read part one, otherwise this won't make any sense xD there's still a bit of build up going on, but starting with part three we'll be getting some action

You woke up from a restless sleep, crumbs of mascara stuck to your face. God, you needed a shower and a toilet immediately. The club was dead empty from the view upstairs, only a few people cleaning the tables and moping the floor. You stretched your arms and walked to the door, surprised it wasn't locked.

"Ah, miss Y/L/N, good morning! I hope you had a pleasant sleep." Someone startled you and you cleared your voice.

"Hi, who are you?"

"Oh, my apologies, I am Onyankopon." The man smiled and handed you a paper bag. You peekee inside and saw something which resembled clothes and toiletries. You recognised the stag pin in his chest, another of Zeke's employees. "I assume you'd like to clean yourself up. Please follow me."

"I'd love that, thank you." You smiled and followed Onyankopon downstairs. He told you bits and pieces of the Jaeger family overthrowing the police and gaining control of Paradis City, how the Marleyans wanted control over the city's resources and docks, all kinds of information you weren't entirely sure you were supposed to know. He walked you to the backstage, where all the strippersdancers got ready, encouraging you to use whatever you needed for you'd be the star of the club. That didn't help you in any way, instead it was anxiety-inducing, and your toes curled at his affirmation. You quickly took off last night's makeup, brushed your teeth, washed your face and body in a sink and got dressed. The clothes were simple, a long, light blue shirt — clearly a man's — and a pair of leggings. You wondered whom they belonged to, perhaps that grim-looking lady, Yelena. She terrified you with her look that could kill. Your hands hovered over the vanity in the dressing room but decided not to waste any more time and folded your old clothes, placing them in the paper bag.

"I'm ready." You walked out of the room and met with Onyankopon. He smiled and guided you out through the back door. "Hey, Onyankopon, who's Mikasa?"

"Oh, miss Mikasa is our best assassin. She's loyal only to Eren, though, which is an impediment for Zeke... I probably shouldn't have said that." He opened the door of a superb black car and you climbed inside with a sigh. You heard how the mafia was based on trust, and no one trusted you.

Most of the ride was silent, your eyes wandering out the window until Onyankopon parked in front of a huge and heavily guarded mansion. You knew the Jaegers were rich, but this was beyond obscene. You opened the door and Onyankopon scolded you for doing that, but you assured him you were perfectly capable of doing things by yourself. He walked you through the beautiful front garden of the mansion, through the large hallway and into what you assumed to be a living room. Or an office? Whatever that was, it was as big as the dining room of the orphanage.

"Ah, the little bird has arrived! You look splendid in my shirt." Zeke welcomed you and you felt your cheeks warm up at his words. The heat disappeared just as quickly when your eyes met with Yelena's. "Come, sit. I suppose you're hungry."

You nodded, feeling saliva building up in your mouth at the sight of croissants, bagels and all kinds of foods you've never had before. Historia was rich, but even her money wasn't enough to feed so many mouths. Doors swung open and you saw Eren barge in, followed by a few people close behind. He plopped on a couch opposite you, the same inexpensive look on his face.

"Let's get over with this. I've got shit to do."

"Impatient as always." Zeke rolled his eyes. "Y/N, do you swear to obey and serve the Jaeger family?" The question caught you off guard, but you nodded.

"I do."

"There, done." The older Jaeger brother shrugged and Eren clicked his tongue.

"You almost didn't let Mikasa walk out of this room alive because she swore loyalty to me and this is all you do to her? You're getting soft, brother."

The air in the room grew thick, almost impossible to breathe it in. All eyes were on you, and you didn't know if what you felt was shame or fear, or both.

"Very well." Zeke walked behind you and took your left hand, placing it on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Hold that there, will you, love?" He smiled and you slightly relaxed. Until — a sharp pain, followed by electricity and heat shot from your hand, through your arm. A blood-curling scream erupted from your throat, tears falling from the corners of your eyes as you squirmed and thrashed at burning sensation, your hanned pinned to the table with a knife. Blood seeped from the wound and you panicked, no one in that room rushing to your aid. No one blinked, no one felt sorry. "Swear your loyalty to me. To the Jaeger family."

"I swear! Oh, God, I s-swear! Please!" You begged, feeling your temperature falling from your cheeks. Zeke twisted the knife and you fell from the couch, knees hitting the wooden floor.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, unphased by your whimpers, sobs and yelling, as he let go of the knife that still pierced your flesh.

"T-to you! Make it stop, p-please!"

"Good enough for me. Any objections?" Zeke eyed his little brother.

"Just stitch her hand. She's annoying." Eren clicked his tongue and poured himself a cup of coffee. When Onyankopon pulled the knife out, blood gushed out of the fresh wound and you felt the room spin and your head heavy, vision blurry — you fainted.

A hard slap across your cheek woke you up and you met with Yelena, eyes drifting to your bandaged hand. It was damn painful to move it, and you used your other hand to support your weight, shifting your position on the couch.

"Finally." Eren got up and and handed you a file. You flipped through it and found pictures and information of the men from the club.

"Y/N, this is Armin, our bookkeeper. He'll be paying you after every successful show. And this is Mikasa, she'll train you in self-defence. I suspect you won't need it, but it's better to be safe than sorry." Zeke pushed the glasses with his index finger.

"You stabbed me." You bluntly stated, eyes glued to the bandages.

"It'll heal."

"It'll heal? I'm already in debt, you didn't need to stab me!" You got up and instantly felt a gun to your head. Great.

"Sit." Yelena's voice was brash and commanding. Your brain told you to listen to her, but your instincts told you to provoke her, to taunt her. Teeth gritting, you took a deep breath and lowered yourself down, deciding to do both.

"You're not gonna shoot me without Mr. Jaeger's permission, so don't point your gun at me." A satisfied smirk creeped on your lips — you didn't technically provoke her, just stated the obvious.

"Can I shoot her?"

"No." Zeke enjoyed the show, and unbeknownst to you, he, too, felt somewhat proud of your little snarky remark. "You still have to prove your loyalty. Talk to the band, choose some songs for Friday, Saturday and Sunday. You're free to settle your training hours with Mikasa, and to go wherever you want, but you are not allowed to step foot anywhere outside the centre of Paradis. Last thing I need is some Marleyan kidnapping you and torturing you for information. Or the cops. Dismissed."

"Mr. Jaeger, if I may?" You waited for his nod of approval. "Since I won't be living at the orphanage anymore, where exactly am I going to stay?"

"Ah, yes, of course. Blouse, Springer, come here." Zeke waved his hand. More people, more names.

It slowly dawned to you that the Jaegers had a thorough structure with extremely loyal people, and you'd have to quickly find your place there and earn their trust, lest you died a painful death. A bubbly brown-eyed woman and a cheerful-looking man approached Zeke's desk, and finally you saw someone less serious. Onyankopon was nice and all, but he wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine. These two seemed... fun.

"These are Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer, leaders of the drug cartel. You'll stay with them until you're capable of living by yourself."

The duo smiled at you and you felt genuine warmth from them, making you wonder just how bad the mafia was. They seemed to like working for the Jaeger brothers, but you couldn't judge that just yet.

"Oh, we've already moved your stuff to their place, so there is no need for you to visit Historia. Now go, we've got work to do." Zeke placed a cigarette between his lips before turning his back at you.

You were right, Sasha and Connie were fun people. They talked a lot, and you warmed up to them with a few jokes and puns. Connie handed you a phone containing a few contacts, neither of which were Zeke or Eren— apparently you weren't allowed to speak to them, they would speak to you. Sasha explained how you had to forget your past, and dedicate yourself solely to the family — no relationships, no friends, no acquaintances. You were not permitted to fall in love, which was understandable, considering the circumstances, but hard, considering the inability to control feelings.

"Don't worry about it too much. Zeke and Eren care about their subordinates, as long as you listen." Connie wrapped an arm around your neck. Besides, you're one of the lucky ones. Boss never spares witnesses, so he clearly saw potential in you." Somehow, that didn't make you feel any better, you only felt more weight on your shoulders.

"Yeah, I heard you can sing!" Sasha beamed, clapping her hands. "I can't wait for your first show, I bet it'll be awesome."

"It has to be, otherwise you'll have to come to my funeral." You shook your head, exiting Jaeger Manor. A honk caught your attention and you saw Mikasa impatiently waiting for you in a car. "Any advice before I go?"

"Don't get attached to any of us." Connie sighed.

"But trust that the family will protect you if you're loyal." The woman encouraged you before hugging you. A hug, something you never thought you'd get from a mobster.

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punksarahreese · 4 years

Text

Act now, feel later | Marjan Marwani

Canon storyline; Marjan runs into trouble when the crew isn’t there to help

CW: Car accidents, injury, stitches mention, blood/medical gore

For @neworleansspecial’s 911 Lone Star premiere flash event

***

“Look out, Austin, we’re in for another storm this weekend! The forecast is calling for 35 mile per hour winds and heavy rain; time to postpone those family barbecues.”

The radio host’s words made Marjan sigh, it didn’t rain often in Austin but when it did it was always an event. She imagined it would be a long weekend, the rain already coming down enough that it was obstructing her vision. She had left home early that morning for that exact reason, assuming the highways would be a bit backed up due to the weather.

Backed up would be an understatement, though, because it took Marjan about 15 extra minutes to get through a jammed road. She was just turning the corner of a quieter backroad, one she had started to use as a shortcut to work after Mateo showed it to her, when she came across an unexpected sight. It had her slamming on her brakes, throwing her car into park without a thought. Swinging the door open, she called out and hoped she would get a response.

Across the road, balanced precariously on the shoulder, was a minivan. The front half of the vehicle was pretty crushed, rammed into a tree like it had been the one thing to stop it from rolling further off the road. There was another car stopped and someone was waving her over, their replies barely heard over the rain pelleting the ground. Marjan felt her heart sink as she got closer to them, hearing the terrified cries of a child from within the vehicle.

“Did you call 911?” she asked the man standing there, who looked just as worried as Marjan felt. She had just barely had the forethought to grab her small first aid kit from the backseat, though she guessed it wouldn’t be much help in this situation.

“Y-yes,” he looked alarmed when she immediately thrust the kit into his hands, dropping to her knees in front of the flipped vehicle. She winced at the wet feeling seeping through the fabric of her pants as she kneeled on the cold asphalt, hoping she wouldn’t accidentally catch some glass in the process. She leaned towards the shattered driver’s side window first, peeking in at the driver.

“Sir, can you hear me?”

She could see that the man had a head wound that was bleeding profusely, hoping it wasn’t as bad as it looked. He stuttered out a reply and looked as if he was going to turn to look at her, which had Marjan reaching in to stop his movement.

“Don’t move,” she said quickly, “You might have a head injury. Can you take a deep breath for me? I’m a firefighter, okay, I’m going to try to help you.”

“Are… m-my kids..?”

“How many kids were in the car, sir?”

“Two,” he replied, “Elliot is five… Isla is one. God, please... tell me they’re okay.”

Marjan told him to stay put, asking the man who was watching idly to ensure the father didn’t move until EMS arrived. She had heard whimpering in the back seat while she was talking to him, and the cries from earlier had been from another voice. That told her both kids were still alive, though she wasn’t sure in what shape.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, the back door would not open. Grunting a little under her breath, Marjan gave up after a second and went around to the other side of the car. She managed to get the passenger side sliding door of the vehicle opened a bit, though it took her a good two minutes of forcing it open.

“Elliot? Can you hear me?’

“D-dad?”

“Your dad is in the front seat, sweetie,” Marjan answered, “My name is Marjan, I’m going to help you out so you can see him, okay?”

“O-okay…”

“Is Isla okay?” Marjan asked, trying to keep the boy talking as she shimmied into the van. She could see him by that point but the toddler’s seat was rear facing, obstructing her view of the other baby. Elliot’s face was tearstained and had a few cuts but he was surprisingly alert, which was reassuring. Sniffling, he glanced over at his sister.

“She’s sleeping.”

That had Marjan pursing her lips, whispering a little prayer for Allah to protect this baby while they waited to get them out. A quiet baby was never good in an accident, especially since she had heard Isla crying when she had gotten out of her own car, which made her silence deafening. She was close enough to reach out to Elliot, wincing a bit when she felt something dig into her arm. Marjan probably should have been more careful but the searing pain barely registered as all she wanted to do was check on the kids.

“Does anything hurt?”

“A-arm. Head ouchie too, where’s daddy?”

“I’m going to get you out to see him,” she promised, “Can you unbuckle your seatbelt for me?”

As Elliot fiddled with his seatbelt, his injured arm clutched to his chest, Marjan reached across to check on Isla. She craned her neck, seeing the toddler was indeed unconscious like her brother said. Her dark hair was in her eyes, no sign of blood but she was unresponsive to touch. Pressing on the inside of her elbow, Marjan couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when she felt a rapid pulse through the baby’s sleeve. She was just about to ask Elliot if he was ready to go when she heard a familiar voice.

“Marjan?”

It was TK, his face appearing from the other side of the car as he glanced through the shattered window. His helmet hid his face partially but he looked concerned to say the least, trying to wrench the other door open so he could help her.

“TK, I have never been more happy to see that pretty face of yours,” she let out a shaky laugh to ease her own nerves, “That door is jammed. Elliot here says his arm and head hurts but he seems pretty okay otherwise. I have an unresponsive toddler over here, she has a pulse but I’m worried about head trauma.”

“Okay,” TK disappeared from the window and she just barely heard him shouting to the crew over the sirens. She hadn’t even registered the sounds around her until TK said something, before her whole mind had been intent on keeping these kids alive until someone got there. She felt a hand on her shoulder, glancing behind her to see her captain in his full gear looking at her incredulously.

“We wondered why you were late,” Owen said, “Can you get to the kids?”

“I think I can reach Isla, she’s strapped into a rear-facing harness seat so it might take a minute. Elliot could climb out from the other side if someone helps him or gets that door open.”

“Copy that,” she heard Paul’s voice from where TK had been moments before, gloved hand making sure there was no glass sticking out from the already destroyed window. With the others actively taking care of the rest of the family, Marjan could focus on the baby in front of her. She was still breathing, thankfully, but she didn’t stir when Marjan started yanking at the straps of her carseat. She tried to work quickly, loosening them enough to get the buckle undone. It was a tight squeeze in the vehicle, with the side airbags having gone off and glass and metal littering every free space. She eventually got the seat undone, shimmying even closer to pick up the baby without jostling her body too much.

“I got her,” she called out, trying to carefully shift backwards so she didn’t move Isla too much. She wasn’t sure why the toddler was unconscious but a head injury was as good a guess as any, so the less movement the better. Glancing behind her, Marjan stepped out of the van and almost bumped into TK who appeared behind her.

“She okay?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “Where’s medical?”

He led her to where Tim had parked the rig, Elliot already wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the seat across from his dad. The man had a C-collar on but was babbling away to Nancy, probably asking about his daughter. Michelle met them halfway, taking the baby from Marjan, who was a bit reluctant to let go.

“One year old female, unconscious and tachycardic,” she breathed as she followed after the paramedic, worried. She stumbled a bit as her foot caught a downed branch, “She was conscious when I got here but went quiet soon after.”

“We’ve got her,” Michelle promised as Rosewater took the infant from her to check her stats properly, “Marjan?”

She looked up, brow furrowing at Michelle’s concerned look. She wanted to ask why she wasn’t helping with the patients, instead she gestured for the firefighter to follow her to the side of the rig. A bit more sheltered from the rain, Marjan looked at her quizzically. The other woman reached out to grab gently at her arm, apologizing when she yelped a little.

“You’re bleeding.”

True enough, Marjan’s sleeve was ripped up her forearm and the side of her arm was bleeding. Upon further inspection, she winced when she noticed a particularly sharp piece of glass protruding from the wound. She hadn’t really felt it before, adrenaline running too high, but now that it had been pointed out she was aware of her pain. It stung, a lot, and she imagined it would be a nuisance at work that day. She blinked harshly against the raindrops that had started obscuring her vision, trying to look at Michelle for answers as she surveyed the wound.

“You’ll need quite a few stitches,” she said matter-of-factly, “Can I take the glass out and wrap it until then? The last thing I need is you bleeding out on me.”

Marjan wanted to protest, to claim she was fine because she could feel the crew watching. It's not that she thought they’d judge her, of course not, it was just that she hated appearing weak. She didn’t want them to worry about her or ask if she was okay, to her that would be embarrassing. It was a pride thing, which was shameful to even admit to herself. Still, she felt herself getting a bit dizzy, using her good arm to grab onto Michelle for stability. Her adrenaline was crashing, now that the victims were all safe and being taken care of.

“Careful,” Michelle’s voice was soft like always, “C’mon.”

Accepting the help, Marjan let herself be led to the other ambulance, not bothered by the hand Michelle kept on her back to steady her. She was attentive, always was, and Marjan was grateful for that. The one person besides Paul who saw through her confident façade was the paramedic, who more often than not would stop to ask her how she was doing before she left.

Aside from the fact that she was an adrenaline junkie, it was clear to Michelle that saving people was the reason she did things without considering her own safety sometimes. She knew Marjan got a bit more emotionally attached to calls than she wanted to admit, which was the cause of her frequent insubordination and fearlessness. She was desperate to help people and not afraid to put her own life on the line for it. The firefighter felt so much but didn’t let herself show it, which often led to her crashing when everyone else had gone home.

Alone in the back of the rig, Michelle pulled on a pair of gloves as she sat across from her. Watching idly, Marjan wasn’t as prepared as she thought for the pain she would feel. It was burning, feeling like she was ripping her skin open more with a smouldering blade. This was a time where she wished she had been wearing her gear, the thick jacket would have prevented this wound all together. With one quick move of the forceps, Michelle pulled out the glass with a gentle apology. Pressing a piece of gauze to the wound to staunch the blood, she looked at the other woman seriously.

“You’ll come to the hospital with us and get this looked after,” she used her free hand to grab the bottle of sterile saline from the shelf, “And then you’ll take the day off.”

“Michelle, I-”

“No arguments, Mar,” the nickname was said sternly but she knew there was affection behind it, “You helped them, let yourself be helped now.”

Marjan couldn’t help but squeak a little as the saline burned when it came in contact with her wound. She felt tears sting her eyes, much to her chagrin, and just nodded when Michelle looked at her again. She didn’t want to cry, even though she was sure it would be warranted given her discomfort. Gritting her teeth, she tried to keep her tone even.

“Okay…” She watched idly as Michelle packed the wound, winding sterile gauze around it with practiced ease. She was being gentle, probably worried about her accidentally passing out. After the excitement of a call wore off and the pain set it, injured first responders would often hide their discomfort until their bodies couldn’t take it anymore. What with the way she had been dizzy and the slight tremor of Marjan’s hands, Michelle wanted to keep an eye on her and maybe check her blood pressure. When she was done with the wound care, she patted Marjan’s knee and studied her pained expression for a second.

“Hey, you did well; even if going in there on your own was foolish.” Her tone was half teasing as she continued, “You’ve played the hero enough today, now let me take care of you.”

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kozumebunny · 4 years

Text

The Finding Ch 1

synopsis: in a post apocalyptic world, you’re chosen to compete in The Finding. Adults believe The Finding would toughen up kids who need it, prepare them for the ‘real world’. What you don’t expect, is to always be stuck there.

pairing: poly bokuaka, bokuaka/reader

wc: 1.2k

masterlist

a/n: female reader, drugging

It started with your high school interview. Fukurodani took you in after dazzling them with your on paper and in person accomplishments. What you didn’t count on is what came after being accepted into high school: government interviews.

All incoming high schoolers have to take them, and evaluators determine whether or not you’re ready to prepare for the real world. It is no pass or fail, it’s a matter of life and death.

You look at the evaluator in front of you. Her lipstick is smudged.

She shuffles her papers around a bit, you see papers with little photographs of kids, other high schoolers like you on them. You see a flash of the last name Bokuto and something in the back of your mind rings.

She slides a piece of paper towards you, it’s got your information, appearance, goals, and high school transcripts printed in tiny font on it, with your smiling photo staring at you from the upper right corner.

What are you so happy about?

“This is you, correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She lets out a hum before pulling her clipboard into your lap, out of your view underneath the cold, metal table.

“Know that no matter your answers by law I must take notes. This interview is to evaluate whether you are mentally prepared for the stresses of high school, college, and the life beyond it. I, Nakaoka Takemi, am your evaluator today and will determine if you are mentally mature or not for the prior listed stresses. let’s begin.

“Why did you choose to Fukurodani high school?”

“It’s close to home and they’re in the city, so I could go to work after school without worrying about a car.”

She writes something down.

She knows you’re lying. You only want to go to Fukurodani because your cute neighbor goes there. You just want to cozy up to him, make friends for once.

“What are your thoughts on the work force currently?”

You all just want to know if I can handle being worked to death.

“I think there’s room for it to be better. I think people still need to be given chances to relax on their days off. I don’t think it’s right you give them work on their days off. Doesn’t it just like, defeat the purpose of days off then?”

Another hum. More scratching of the pen on paper.

“What are your goals in high school?”

“I want to be an animator.”

She frowns. “But what’s your goals for high school?”

“I want to go to Waseda or Tokyo U. I’ll just use high school to look my best for those schools>”

She writes on her paper. No hum.

It’s silent. You look at the one way glass behind Takemi. It’s dark. Is anyone back there?

Takemi shuffles her papers. She rearranges them. She clears her throat and looks you in the eye. Her bangs stop the overhead light from reaching her eyes.

Her eyes are blue. A very very dark blue. Like the ocean.

“This concludes our interview. Thank you for your cooperation.”

I didn’t have a choice.

She takes one long look on you. “I, Nakaoka Takemi declare that you are not mentally prepared for the stresses of high school and beyond.”

All hell breaks loose from there. You stand up, chair clattering behind you and dart to the door, surprised when it opens, but your heart sinks when you come face to face with a tall guy behind it. He grabs you and in your surprise, you don’t fight back, not until he turns to go further down the hallway, away from the waiting area where your mom is.

Wait. Mom.

You start yelling for your mom, watching as she looks down the hallway and starts scurrying after you two. Takemi comes out and stops your mom, talking to her, as your mom looks crestfallen.

Your mom watches you get carried away. You keep screaming for her, kicking at the chest underneath you, reaching for her. You don’t feel the slight pinch in your arm.

---

Sore. You feel sore all over and your eyes feel heavy with a pounding headache between your eyes. Warm. it’s warm where you are.

The numbness starts to go away but the minute you move your hand to curl into the ground the pins and needles start stabbing at your hand again.

The ground is soft, and its easy to curl your hands into it. You move your leg so your knee comes up.

I’m lying down. Where the hell am I? Am I seriously outside?

Your eyes open but there’s a blazing light above you and you immediately shut them again, flinging your hand across your eyes as stars dance across your vision.

Christ my throat is dry.

You keep your hand above your eyes, opening them again without the harsh light blinding you.

You move your other hand and lift up whatever the ground is. It’s white and soft but at the same time uncomfortable; it slips right through your fingers.

Sand.

You push your other hand behind you and use that to push yourself into an upright position and take a look at yourself.

You’re still in your Fukurodani uniform. You look at the sand piled on your skirt, feel the grainy sand in your socks and shoes, that uncomfortable slight itch from it.

The smiley band aid on your upper arm mocks you. It’s proof that you were tranquilized, forced to be brought to these islands and that you have no choice.

But strangest of all, the beach is empty. Where’s all the other kids?

You look out at the sea. It’s endless. There’s no one here. Am I alone? Why aren’t there other kids? How many participate in The Finding every year anyways? How many get to leave every year?

I’m not really here. This is all fake-

Something hits you in the back of your head.

You turn around and find a volleyball before hearing a “Hey!”

You look up and see two men jogging towards you. One is ridiculously jacked while the other is lean with dark blue eyes. Dark blue eyes like the ocean with bangs stopping the light from reaching them. Nakaoka Takemi looking at you. “I’m sorry-”

“Hey! You go to Fukurodani too?”

Ridiculously buff dude has ridiculous hair too. He’s also a giant, and a great umbrella to block out the sun from your view. His lips move again but you can’t focus, you feel like your headache is getting worse by the minute.

You lick your dry and cracked lips, “What?”

The lean one frowns and you focus on his eyes again. A man picking you up dragging you down the hallway. Your mother sadly watching on. Dark blue eyes-

You throw the volleyball as hard as you can at ocean boy.

a/n

thats all i got so far I’ll go more in depth into the finding next chapter. not betad. also crossposted to my a03 jannabi

#bokuaka #poly bokuaka #bokuto koutaro #bokuto kotaro #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst

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hetacon · 4 years

Text

Midnight Stellar in the Making

Word Count: 2,400

Pairing: Logicality

Warning: Food mention (Let me know if I missed anything!)

______________________________

Summary: Patton knew that his boyfriend had always liked to work at the coffee shop down the street from their dorm but with all day essays, Logan ended up having to leave, only to spend the rest of the night writing at their little desk in the corner of their room, Patton tucked into bed. He had to spend some time away from his papers to make himself coffee at around 4 in the morning and it was a pain. With this in mind, Patton had a thought. What if Logan could’ve had somewhere to spend all-nighters where he didn’t have to spend time making coffee?

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Note: This is my Sanders Sides exchange gift for @oh-theatre based off of the concept I made in “Peanut Butter Cookies and Meaningful Conversations!” (Which you can find here though it’s not essential for this one!) It was a lot of fun to make so I hope you enjoy it too!

______________________________

“What I will definitely not miss is making coffee for all-nighters.”

That one comment set off an entire chain reaction for Patton and Logan’s lives and it was honestly astonishing how Patton had managed to create a successful local business with his college boyfriend.

Logan had made that comment in regards to them graduating from college. Patton had managed to make his schedule work out just fine but Logan’s was a little heavier than he expected, thus the relief from not having to pull more all-nighters.

Patton knew that his boyfriend had always liked to work at the coffee shop down the street from their dorm but with all day essays, Logan ended up having to leave, only to spend the rest of the night writing at their little desk in the corner of their room, Patton tucked into bed. He had to spend some time away from his papers to make himself coffee at around 4 in the morning and it was a pain. With this in mind, Patton had a thought. What if Logan could’ve had somewhere to spend all-nighters where he didn’t have to spend time making coffee?

The plan for a late night café was a plan a couple years in the making. Logan had gone on to focus on an ordinary desk job that got the bills paid, Patton was doing botanical research, and their lives went on as normal. While Patton wouldn’t have been able to afford much more than an apartment on his own, Logan’s parents had given them enough money to buy a decent house and the two got married sometime within that span. Any time that Patton wasn’t working though, he was researching, drawing up plans, making mock menus, trying out new recipes for pastries he’d enjoyed as a kid, and any work in between before he even considered bringing it up to Logan.

He knew his husband wouldn’t judge the idea or laugh but he might be a bit skeptical and wave it off, calling it nothing more than an unstable or impossible passion project that Patton had gotten attached to.

“So what you are telling me is that you want to put time and money into a late night café based off of a comment I made two and a half years ago at our college graduation?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow at Patton.

“Yeah, I just... I don’t know, it got into my head and I just.. I couldn’t stop thinking about it!” Patton tried to explain, grinning nervously. “It’s stupid, I know, I just thought it could be worth a shot to bring it up...? Gosh, I don’t know, maybe this wasn’t worth it.”

“No no, hold on a minute.” Logan raised a hand, looking through the color code divided binder in front of him, reading through the laminated pages briefly. He took out a few sketches and designs Patton had spent an entire week making, running a finger over the lines slowly as his lips moved silently, mouthing words as he thought. “You’ve put a lot of effort into this, haven’t you love?” Logan finally asked, looking back up to Patton.

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that,” Patton laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“This is a wonderful idea. From what I’m briefly looking at, you’ve gotten a lot of major factors taken into account and they’ve been well-researched from what I’m gathering. Do you mind if I take a week or so to look over it and maybe work on some notes and thoughts about this?” Logan smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the slightest of ways that made Patton want to kiss the living daylights out of him.

“No, not at all, I don’t mind!!” Patton shouted, bouncing up and down with a broad grin overtaking his face. “You’re the best Logie, I couldn’t have picked a better husband!!” With that, Patton was tackling Logan to the couch, kissing him.

Logan spent a week reading through it as he had asked for and came back with some further research of his own, thankfully aided by his degree in business. It was therefore, an actual idea on the table rather than a starry-eyed vision in Patton’s head. They spent the next year looking further into it before Patton quit his job to devote himself to the café work full-time.

“I’m home,” Logan called from the front door as he took off his coat, taking a deep breath in.

“Hi sweetheart, how was work?” Patton asked as he came into Logan’s field of view, working on folding macaron batter, coconut if Logan remember correctly from their discussion last night.

“Fine, though it went slower than I wanted it to,” Logan sighed, rolling his head back to release the tension there. “Is there anything I can do to help you out right now?” He went over to where Patton was standing and kissed him gently, Patton happily returning the kiss.

“Yes actually! If you wouldn’t mind, could you make the filling I’m testing out for this batch? I have the rough instructions on the counter near the fridge,” Patton told him to which he nodded.

“Of course. How have the other recipes been going today?” Logan asked as he put on an apron, washing his hands before getting to work on gathering the ingredients his husband had listed on the post-it note.

“Well, the vanilla ones turned out well though a couple were a little messy looking. They taste good though! The mint chocolate ones tasted awful, I think I forgot to add something to the filling because I tasted pure Dutch cocoa powder. The worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. The others were decent but I made a few notes on fixing them so I want to try it out tomorrow. I’m just thankful I can make these in small batches, we’d be flooded in macarons otherwise!” Patton laughed as they worked.

“Are there any left that I can try?”

“Yeah, just be careful of the mint ones!”

They worked like that for a while, chatting as they went along with their day.

For Patton’s 25th birthday, Logan had gotten him an espresso machine to try out and while he had originally fretted over the price, Patton was soon working out new drinks that were ready for Logan to taste when he woke up in the morning for work. It was a little harder to gauge than pastries, since Logan was very grumpy and his comments weren’t exactly put together well due to it being his first coffee fix, but later in the day, Logan was able to give him more thorough notes on how his productivity was affected by it compared to his average cup of coffee. Patton of course made it a point to perfect his hot chocolate recipes as well.

Trying all sorts of recipes had been fun and with a box of handwritten recipes (mainly for the aesthetic) done and tucked away into one of the kitchen cabinets, design and theme planning came next. Logan had dabbled in a bit of graphic design while he was getting his degree so he was put up to that task when he had time after work. Patton had more of an eye for colors than he did though (which made sense considering his blue-yellow color blindness) so with a bit of input from Patton, they had a working idea of how they wanted to have everything looking.

A lot of the budgeting and finance aspects were taken care of throughout the whole process and after a year and a half, with a solid plan in place for nearly every aspect, they were finally ready for a really big step that would make this official. Location scouting and a name for the café were the only things left. They’d been having trouble with the name but figured that they’d come up with something when the time was right. In the meantime though, location scouting occupied their time.

Many of the buildings were gorgeous, Patton could picture each making a beautiful site for a café. He was a bit hesitant about prices, as he had always been prone to as a broke college student, but Logan assured him that they had enough money to work with. All they had to do was find the one they liked.

“We have one more place in mind in the morning, right Logie?” Patton asked with a yawn, pulling the blankets closer in his half-awake state.

“Mhm, none of them quite feel like the one,” Logan said softly, taking off his and Patton’s glasses and placing them on the nightstand before pulling Patton close.

“I’m sure we’ll make whichever one we choose absolutely perfect, just like we always do,” Patton mumbled out before he’d fallen asleep.

Patton saw Logan’s jaw drop as soon as they stepped inside, his eyes fixed on the rainbow of colors being scattered across the room from the huge glass dome directly over their heads, giving a perfect view of the sky above them.

This was the one, Patton knew this was the one as soon as Logan muttered out “We’ll see the stars.”

“Well what an absolutely stellar idea!” Patton joked with a light laugh to his voice.

Logan turned to him, snapping his fingers. “Midnight Stellar.”

“What?”

“The Midnight Stellar Café,” Logan explained, his pupils blown out wider than Patton had ever seen them, pure and unadulterated joy overtaking Logan’s irises as he grabbed Patton’s hands, pulling him in for a passionate kiss before twirling him around.

“Oh goodness!” Patton giggled, letting Logan lead them in an imaginary dance. He had never seen this before, Logan hadn’t ever looked so excited except for when Patton had proposed to him. He looked just as in love with the place as the subtle glint Patton saw in his eyes every day. It took his breath away. This was happening. He may have started this project out of his own wants but with the way Logan was looking and feeling right now, Patton could tell that Logan wanted it even more. Patton couldn’t possibly deny the man twirling him around in silly little circles, the rainbows of the glass ceiling catching in Logan’s hair and making him look luminous.

Logan was right about the stars, there was a perfect view, a wonderful stretch of the Milky Way striking right through the center of the skylight. It became their constant companion as they worked on getting everything ready. Lots of construction took place before they had sold their apartment and moved into an upstairs portion of the building. Luckily this building had a place for them to live in, a staircase connected to the back of the future café leading up to their new home. After the move and Logan quitting his job now, they devoted themselves full time to setting up everything. Painting, furniture, and the kitchen setup took a couple weeks but eventually it was all done and with Patton picking out some plants to add as well as various other decorations, it was ready. This was a reality.

Patton looked over the café from the front door, smiling to himself. A cluster of large black tables took up the middle of the room with various smaller ones lining the floor-to-ceiling windows. The walls were painted cobalt blue blending into indigo towards the ceiling, hand-painted constellation patterns covering the walls. Each table had a couple outlets imbedded into the sides of them, soft white lighting illuminated the café. The counter looked pristine and the pastry case would soon be showcasing months of recipe experimentation in the works. Of course, a glance up gave Patton another look at the now familiar Milky Way over their heads. By far though, Patton’s favorite part was the secluded little corner with beanbag chairs, a couple bookshelves full of some classic books he and Logan had enjoyed reading throughout their lives, and fairylights and plants lining the walls of the corner. As he finished his look over the café, Logan wrapped his arm around Patton’s shoulder and pulled him in close, kissing his temple.

The café opening honestly wasn’t too promising. No one showed up that first night. Patton watched the door insistently for hours. Logan at some point had to remind Patton that they were working on strange hours, since most people aren’t up and outside as late as 3 in the morning. The first 8 hours, from 10 PM to 6 AM, were the most boring and agonizing Patton had ever spent. Luckily though, business picked up. Within a few weeks, they had a few regulars, people who would pop in every few days or so. Some people would get something to eat before their graveyard shifts, some weren’t able to sleep because of insomnia, and some people just liked the night better. Patton enjoyed getting to talk with anyone that was willing to have a conversation with him while Logan managed the counter more often than not.

Getting off of their previous sleep schedules had been strange and working in the early hours of the morning had its drawbacks but overall, this was definitely not going to be something Patton would come to regret. Waking up in the afternoon with his husband, running errands while stores were still open, baking in the late evening after dinner, and watching as the stars started to peek out at them as they got the café ready for the night became such a simple joy for Patton. Watching Logan’s satisfaction every time he interacted with the customers or the two figured out a new recipe or when he helped someone with calculus homework while Patton took over the counter proved that this was the right fit.

Sure, it was unconventional. It might not have been anywhere near where either of them thought their lives would take them in their mid to late twenties. And maybe it had just started from a simple offhand comment by an entirely too tired college student.

For Patton, everything figured itself out just how it ought to be, and he was content.

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Taglist: @artissijules, @its-the-cat-queen, @myyoutubecorner, @virgils-paranoia, @anotheregofanficblog, @marshmallow-the-panda, @oh-theatre, @sanderssidesgiftxchange

#sanders sides #logicality #patton sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides secret santa 2020 #midnight stellar au #stan writing

36 notes · View notes

nataliedanovelist · 5 years

Text

GF - Dr. Mystery

Another gift for @siro-cyll cuz I have unhealthy obsession with their work and just gotta write fanfiction for it. I also may or may not have an unhealthy desire for more Ford and Mabel bonding content. (By the way, to all of you who liked my last gift, Tiger Stripes, and especially to @siro-cyll, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for all of your love and support! I’ve been close to tears so much lately due to your kindness. Just... thank you so much.) Oh! And, S.C., there’s a special little message for you told by your favorite six-fingered fluffy owl; everyone needs a little encouragement and I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you. - N.S.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since the Pines family had returned to Gravity Falls for the summer, Soos and Stan shared the role of Mr. Mystery. It was primarily Soos' responsibility so that Stan could sit in his boxers for as long as he wanted, but every so often - to give the old man something to do or so Soos could work on a project or a repair - it was like the good ole days with the original My. Mystery scamming tourists and a humble handyman making the shack stand strong.

Unfortunately, Soos caught a bad case of the summer flu, and so to try to keep two old men and two young teenagers from getting sick, he quarantined himself in his room and Stan had to fill in the My. Mystery role. It felt good to be back in his old ways for a bit, amazing gullible tourists with made-up attractions; he had been doing this for thirty years, he could do it for a week, right?

Wrong. When it was almost ten o'clock and the first tour was scheduled to happen at eleven, and Stan still wasn't up yet, Mabel decided to wake him up in the best way possible: by attacking him with hugs. She tip-toed in her socks and oversized t-shirt her dad gave her to her grunkle's bedroom and carefully opened the door to prepare her attack, but a nasty cough destroyed her devilish plan and she hurried to Stan's bed.

"Grunkle Stan? Are you okay?" Mabel asked. Stan tried to tell her that he was fine, but she felt his sweaty forehead and gasped, "You've got a fever! Hold on!"

Meanwhile, Ford was sipping his third cup of coffee in the kitchen and reading the newspaper since Stan wasn't awake yet to hog it. He saw Mabel running across the hallway and up the stairs out of the corner of his eye and chose to ignore it; his niece often got excited about little things. His concern only came when she ran past the kitchen again, this time fully dressed in a red skirt and a handmade white sweater with a red cross, a white headband over her hair.

"Mabel, sweetie, what's the matter?" Ford called; Mabel wearing her nurse's sweater was never a good sign. Unless she was playing doctor with Waddles.

She popped back into view, this time with medicine, a washcloth, and a first-aid kit in her arms. "Grunkle Stan is sick." She answered and went off to help.

Ford decided that Mabel needed a capable adult's supervision and he followed her to Stan's bedroom, only to find her responsibility giving Stan a thermometer to hold in his mouth and cooling him down with a damp washcloth; Mabel even put on her stethoscope and listened to her uncle's breathing and heartbeat to see how forced it was. Ford crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the doorframe, and smiled proudly at his little pumpkin.

"You sound really congested." Mabel commented calmly. "Does anything hurt? How's your head and your tummy?"

"Stomach's fine for now, but my head's poundin'." Stan groaned quietly.

Mabel took the medicine bottle she had brought from the nightstand and read the directions carefully. "Okay, I think you should take this every six hours, only a cap full. Once it starts to relieve pressure and congestion your head should stop hurting."

"Good job, my dear." Ford complimented, recognizing the bottle of syrup and giving her his approval to give it to Stan.

Mabel's cheeks turned rosy and she filled the cap with the appropriate amount of medicine. Then an idea came to mind and she put the medicine back on the nightstand. "Oh! Hold on! I'll be right back." And she hurried past Grunkle Ford and out of the room.

Ford smiled sympathetically at his brother. "So you caught Soos' flu, huh?"

"I'd fire him if I could." Stan growled and ducked his head under the covers.

Ford chuckled at how little Stan had changed from when they were kids; as tough as he was, whenever he was ill he tended to curl up like a bunny and sleep off his virus.

Mabel came back with a glass of water and gently rubbed Stan's shoulder to coax him out from behind the blankets. "You can take your medicine now. You should take it with water so it doesn't taste as yucky."

How can anyone resist smiling at Mabel's kindness? Stan's lips curled upward as he propped himself up on his right elbow and accepted the cap of medicine, took it, and then gratefully had Mabel's glass of water, but he did so after she took the thermometer out of his mouth. "Thanks, pumpkin."

Mabel just smiled at her hero. "You've got a fever of 101.5. Definitely the flu. You should rest and I'll be back at lunchtime with some soup." She packed up her things and left her uncle to rest.

Ford was about to follow her out of the room, but Stan stopped him. "Hey, do me a favor, Sixer, and keep the shack open, okay?"

Ford stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You know, run the tours. Make sure Wendy does her job. Squeeze every cent you can outta the tourists. The usual business stuff."

Ford put his polydactyl hands up in both surrender and defense. "N-No, Stanley, I can't do that. I'm a lot of things, but a businessman is not one of them."

"I ain't askin' you to own the Mystery Shack - which in a way you kinda already do - I'm just asking you to hold down the fort until Soos or I are back in the game." Stan groaned and closed his eyes, laying on his back, and he waved his hand in the air casually. "C'mon, you're an anomaly expert, right? Just tell 'em about some freaky safe weird thing and do it with some dramatic flare."

"But…"

"Grunkle Ford," Mabel whispered as she returned and held his hand. "C'mon, we gotta let him rest. You don't wanna get sick, do you?"

Ford let her walk him out of Stan's bedroom and she closed the door behind him, the scientist's stage-fright giving him tunnel vision. Just as the sweater-twins were at the bottom of the stairs, Dipper came down in his orange t-shirt and gray shorts, pinching at his stiff eyes.

"Dipper," Mabel called to get his attention. "About time, sleepy-head! Anyway, Grunkle Stan is sick, so we need to work extra super-duper hard to keep the shack open!"

Dipper, coming to his senses, said, "Great, do I need to be Mystery Jr. again?"

"Nope! You're gonna help manage the tours so Grunkle Ford can lead them!"

"You got it." Dipper pulled out a pencil and a notepad from his shorts and got to work. "I'll help Wendy with the ticket sales and I'll pull from Soos' spare attractions to fill up the shack today."

Ford shook his head to clear it. "Dipper, my boy, if you have done this of all before, perhaps you should…"

"Nah, ah, ah." Mabel said gently, shaking a finger. "Grunkle Stan asked you to run the shack, not Dippin'-Dots. Besides, it'll be good for you to try something new! Now go hurry and get dressed!" And she and her twin went into the kitchen to plan the day.

Ford sighed and went into his room; he supposed he could last one day, right?

In the back of his closest, hidden by the many colorful sweaters Mabel had made for him (she claimed that he was her favorite model), Ford had a spare suit to replace the one Stan had stolen from him after disappearing on the other side of the portal. He shed his red sweater and changed into the formal attire, unsure of what to do for a tie. Guessing Mabel knew where one of Stan's ties were, he put on his white button-up, gray vest, and slipped on his black coat while he looked for her.

Mabel emerged from the living room and stared at her uncle with shining eyes, then let out a very "fangirly" scream. "Grunkle Ford! You look amazing! Wow! You might just steal Stan's title as the silver fox in the family!" Mabel giggled at her joke while Ford's entire face turned beet-red. "Here, I made these for you." She held out a maroon fez and matching neck-tie, but the fez, rather than a crescent, had a golden six-fingered hand, and the tie had a golden six-fingered hand pin. "The best way to be Mr. Mystery is to be you."

Ford smiled affectionately and was starting to feel a little better about this whole thing. He got on one knee and accepted the gifts. "Thank you, Mabel. I think these will suit me just fine."

"No pun intended?" Mabel asked, making Ford laugh as he tied on his neck tie and let his pin show proudly. She helped by putting the fez on the top of his fluffy hair, running her little fingers through his charcoal-fluff. She pressed her lips and hands together and squealed again. "Eck! I gotta get my camera!"

"Mabel, no…" But she was gone.

Ford sighed and stood. He turned to look at the mirror and examine his appearance. He did look… nice? Maybe. Possibly. Mabel seemed to think so and she had exquisite taste. Ford decided to ignore the fact that her opinion was biased since they were family and he also decided that his little shooting star might be right.

"Grunkle Ford!" Mabel's voice ringed like cheerful bells, and when he looked her way he was blinded by a flash of light. Mabel got a polaroid of her fluffy, floofy, flustered old nerd whom she admired dearly. She grinned at the picture and claimed, "I never miss a scrapbook-ortunity! I'm gonna go add this to our family scrapbook! Dipper's ready for you in the gift shop!" And she skipped away to work on her arts-n'-crafts.

Ford took in a deep breath and reminded himself that it was only for one day as he walked towards the shop. Dipper had planned out a good schedule for the tours, bringing back nostalgic attractions as well as some new ones. First, the rock-that-looks-like-a-face had been brought inside to start off the tour; then a collection of rare and exotic (probably fake) pictures, like of bigfoot or of horses riding horses (Ford wasn't sure if that picture was PG); then the "ugliest creatures known to man" gag; then shells of a dinosaur egg (which Ford was pretty sure was legitimate and from Stan Jr.); and then finally the sack of mystery.

When Ford left to greet the arriving tourists at eleven o'clock, Wendy asked Dipper as she flipped through her magazine, "You have a backup-plan, right?"

"Oh, totally." Dipper said and replaced his pinetree-hat with an eyepatch.

Ford took in a deep breath and then gave his little audience a toothy grin (he was lucky that it was flu season and there weren't a lot of tourists today). He just had to be like the original Mr. Mystery. He could do that, right?

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to my humble Mystery Shack! I, Mr. Mystery, will gladly give you a tour so you may gaze at many abnormal wonders that plague my home." Ford gestured to the rock. "Behold! Rock That Looks Like a Face rock: the rock that looks like a face!" And he grinned nervously; his anxiety was starting to increase subtlety.

"Does it look like a rock?" An old lady asked, adjusting her glasses.

"Um… n-no." Ford's confidence was starting to fade. "It's a rock that looks like a face."

"Is it a face?" A chubby boy with a lollipop asked.

"N-No, it only looks like a face."

"But where did it come from?"

"Was it once a face?"

"Is that what we look like when we're dead?"

The questions kept on coming; this normally wouldn't have bothered Ford so much, he lived to seek out answers, but these were questions he could not answer nor could he investigate to find the answers; he was expected to know what to say on the spot; Stan could do that, but Ford could not. He swallowed as his skin paled.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The group turned to find a boy in a suit with an eyepatch and his hair combed back. They gasped and admired the adorable Mystery Jr., having heard of him from last summer, and the tourists hurried to him, leaving Ford free to breathe heavily and try to relax.

"Thank you, thank you all for coming!" Dipper started to lead the group to the next room. "You'll quickly notice the numerous attractions we keep here, but some weirdness we could only capture through pictures! Be amazed, at our Hall of Photos!"

Ford slipped away as cameras flashed and gullible tourists were entertained. He wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief and he realized what happened; he got stage-fright, inconvenienced by the slightest change, choked, and his own nephew had to swoop in and save him. Ford was incredibly flustered and embarrassed and decided to get some water from the kitchen.

He found Mabel there, wearing an apron over her nurse's sweater, and she stood on a step-stool in front of the stove, mixing a big pot. She smiled sympathetically when she heard her uncle come in. "Hey, how did it go?"

"Horribly, my dear." Ford groaned and filled himself a glass of water from the sink. "I just couldn't do it. I know Stan asked me to do it, but I think it would be best if Dipper continued to handle the tourists. I would be happy to assist in some other way, but I'm no Mr. Mystery. I'm nothing like Stanley."

Mabel paused her work, tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot to shake off some broth, and she turned to look at him. "Grunkle Ford, that's not true. You're very much like Grunkle Stan; you're both sweet and handsome and strong and very brave."

Ford turned red and hid the bottom-half of his face in his cup. "Th-Thank you, Mabel." He stuttered.

"And it's okay that's you're not like him. More than okay." Mabel insisted as she moved to where chopped vegetables laid and she scooped some up into her hands. "We never wanted you to be. At least I never wanted you to be. You're supposed to be Dr. Mystery, not Mr. Mystery. Look, being weird and being different is awesome cuz it gives you a chance to be yourself. You have to give the tours your way. Get open, get honest with yourself, invent your own way of doing things, no matter what others think. Leave people confused by how awesome you are; that's what it's supposed to mean to be Mr. Mystery."

Ford's eyes were round and shining like stars as he stared at his niece, who plopped the veggies into the soup and stirred them in. "M-Mabel Pines, that… that was very wise and mature of you. When did you learn all of that?"

"Somewhere between fighting an unholy triangle and getting my braces taken off." Mabel joked, grinning to display her braces-less teeth. "Oh! Maybe my braces held back my wisdom and whatnot! We should sue my dentist for everything he's got!"

Ford laughed, feeling much better than he has felt all day.

Mabel tasted her homemade chicken soup and said, "Lunch is almost ready. Want some? I made plenty to share."

Ford smiled and nodded. "Thank you, my dear. I will be back in a moment to join you for lunch." And he left for his room again.

Mabel was right; Ford had been trying to hold a false image of himself, an image he didn't have because his twin had it, and really he just needed to be himself. Ford tossed the fez on his couch and saw the white lab coat on his desk-chair. He smiled and exchanged that for his suit-jacket. He smiled, much more comfortable in his trenchcoat-like attire with his gray vest and white button-up, and he adjusted the pin Mabel had given him; he would always treasure that tiny six-fingered hand. Ford went back into the kitchen just as his niece was leaving with a tray holding a bowl of soup and a glass of orange juice and she grinned and nodded in approval.

After a pleasant lunch with Mabel, another tour was scheduled. Dipper offered to take this one, but Ford claimed he had it under control and he knew just what to do this time.

"Now, many of you may have had a friend owe you money or have won poker and someone couldn't pay you right away," Dr. Mystery said eerily, his back to the audience. "But have you ever had The Mothman owe you money?!" And he spun around, his fluffy hair a little extra floofy due to the sudden movement, and he gestured to an inky drawing of the odd creature.

The tourists gasped and clapped and took pictures. "What happened?" A little girl asked with a lisp, reminding the doctor of someone very dear to him, and he cleared his throat.

"I'm glad you asked that, my dear. It all began thirty-two years ago in a strange place long-forgotten…" And he began his storytelling, entrancing his audience and enjoying their captivated attention.

The rest of the day the fluffy, nerdy owl did an amazing job entertaining the tourists with his stories and evidence to back it up, and he even brought in some of his "mad scientist" experiments and had some kids help him mix colorful liquids in beakers so they made bright, harmless, explosions. The tourists were also delighted by their tourguide's extra fingers; never before had Ford been surrounded by so many people who were delighted and happy to see his birth defect, asking questions he could confidently answer and showing how well he could do shadow puppets. Dr. Mystery was a huge hit, and when Mabel watched him smiling and laughing at the last tour of the day she was reminded of that Bob Dry the Science Guy, those videos her science class sometimes put on and it would make the whole class freak out.

As the tourists walked away with boxes full of merchandise from the shop, babbling about what a great time they had, Dr. Mystery waved them away, wiggling his six fingers, and he called, "Remember, we put the 'fun' in 'no refunds'!"

Mabel snuck up behind him and hugged him. Ford jumped, but turned to hug her back. "That was great, Grunkle Ford! I'm really proud of you!"

"Thank you so much, Mabel." Ford got on one knee to be eye-level with her. "You really inspired me to be the best me I can be, and I have no one to thank but you. You truly have a gift."

Mabel's cheeks were rosy again; she hugged Ford around his neck and he hugged her in return, rubbing her back and combing her beautiful long brown hair. She snuck a kiss on his cheek before skipping away to check on Stan. Ford's eyes were misty as his fingertips gently grazed the spot on his face where Mabel had kissed him; He then grinned and left the gift shop, confident that Dr. Mystery would be available tomorrow.

#GF #gravity falls #ford pines #mabel pines #yes Yes YES #MORE SWEATER-TWINS BONDING #and if any one of you sickos tag this as shipping i will demolish you #siro-cyll #fanfiction #sorry i don't know how to make the pictures smaller #and i just now learned to how activate the keep reading button #yay

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bidnezz · 3 years

Text

Revenant [2/5]

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, background Clary/Izzy, mentions of past Magnus/Camille

Rating: Mature

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blood and Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Clave Politics (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Downworlder Politics, Betrayal, Revenge, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Angry Magnus Bane, Light Romance, Mystery, Prophecy, Minor Character Death, lots of death

Summary:

Alec has heard the legends of Magnus Bane. He knows all the tales and he’s read all the records of his downfall. The High Warlock of Brooklyn who became so hungry for power that he began to mistreat the very warlocks who sought his help. It’s been a hundred years since then, and when a sudden rift opening between realms brings an onslaught of lesser demons, so too does it bring Magnus Bane, insatiable and vengeful for the power and people that locked him away in Edom. As newly appointed Head of the New York Institute, it’s Alec’s job to protect the residents of New York from one of the greatest Demons he’s ever faced. Only, he has no idea how, and maybe things aren't what they seem.

Art by the talented: @abby0007

Beta’d by the wonderful: @squiggly-lines-on-a-page

Read on ao3

Chapter Two

A myriad of colors flood Alec’s vision; a blur of purples, blacks, and yellows. The thrum of the portal around him and the pull of it against his core, all-encompassing and loud until finally, finally, it stops.

He stumbles forward gracelessly, all attempts at being nimble lost with the sudden foreign jerk of motion as the portal closes behind him. Behind them.

Magnus Bane, the Greater Demon gone mad, causing all of the destruction and chaos tonight, standing right before him. Because Alec followed him through a portal.

A hundred and one words flood his mind, questions and concerns and the hopeful glimmer of diplomacy all lodged in his throat with no way out. Not because Alec is afraid to speak, not because he’s stunned at the horror Magnus Bane has shown himself to be. His silence is forced. He is prevented from uttering a single word by the rope of magic that clings to his throat and holds him captive.

His fingers clutch at nothing, digging at the tender flesh of his neck where he knows there should be something solid and obtrusive. He finds nothing there, nothing but the bones of his collar and the rapid beat of his pulse, his heavy heart pounding against his ribs in a cry for salvation. A gasp escapes him then just as a noise catches his attention off to the side, barely distinguishable through the rush of blood that infiltrates his hearing, but when his eyes search before him where Magnus Bane once stood, he finds no one.

Has Magnus Bane inflicted him with the slow torturous death of strangulation to suffer all alone?

“To think you could simply follow me into a portal and assassinate me all on your own is the stupidest thing I could have imagined from a pathetic Shadowhunter,” comes the low, grisly voice against the back of his neck, close enough to cause a chill but not close enough for Alec’s hands to wildly reach around to.

No, he wants to say. I’m just here to talk.

All he manages is the dry wheeze as the magic tightens around his throat and the corners of his eyes prickle as tears form.

“I told your kind to stay out of this,” the voice begins again, now to Alec’s right. He’s being circled like prey, watched aptly as he sinks to his knees and the oxygen deprivation pales his face, taking his life in the slow seconds. By the Angel, what a sorry way to go. “If this counts as Shadowhunters starting a war with Edom, so be it.”

Stars dance across the scene before him, a modest apartment decorated in silver and deep colored fabrics, slender legs filtering in and out his sight that leads higher to the Demon above him. Magnus Bane, staring down at him with a look of contempt, disgust curling his lip and the color of his jacket blending perfectly with the droop of Alec’s eyelids as he slips further under and his vision begins to fade.

Another scratch against his throat that meets nothing but raw skin, blunt nails that fruitlessly seek what they will never find, blood that begins to sink into the grooves and ridges of his fingerprints. And one last attempt as his eyelids hang heavy and he catches golden salvation high above. One word, mouthed pleadingly, that he can only pray to the Angels will save him.

Jace. Isabelle. Max.

The faces of his family take over his consciousness, playing before him in slow motion as the last thing he sees before he goes. A life he let pass him by, a life he took a sideline to as he let the ambitions of his family’s reputation take over. Too soon, and too late, and no chance at remedying any of it. Not now, at the mercy of a mad demon and his thirst for revenge.

---

The next time Alec opens his eyes, it’s to the pale light of the setting moon and burgeoning sun that filters through the windows of the same unknown apartment as before. He hasn’t been moved. There’s a hammering in his skull, a steady throb of pain that threads all the way down to the open wound the ravener demon gifted him with, that begets a wince and a groan when he sits up too quickly. Dizziness follows immediately, too much too soon, and suddenly the memories of his last interaction fill his mind.

Magnus Bane.

“Your request for mercy has been granted, but I must warn you that there is a limit on just how long my graciousness will last in the presence of a Shadowhunter.”

The voice, not the low rough voice Alec remembers from before, comes from a lavish chair to his right that houses exactly the person he hopes for.

Fear spikes through him first involuntarily, the instinct to pull out his seraph blade enticing enough, but a recipe for disaster should he actually attempt it. No, that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here to have a conversation with Magnus Bane, to find out his true goal and what that means for the rest of them. Alec curls his fists where he sits, balled against the soft material of the couch he woke up on, and clears his throat.

It’s sore, uncomfortably so, but he bears through the pain and begins to speak.

“I’ve just come to talk,” he offers, his voice foreign to himself, more along the lines of white noise than anything resembling actual words. “I’m not here to harm you, or get in your way.”

If he suspected it would aid his cause, Alec would raise his arms in a show of surrender, too, but Magnus’ sharp gaze keeps him locked in place. No sudden movements for fear of his life.

“As if you could harm me,” Magnus scoffs to himself, though loud enough to be heard.

Alec doesn’t comment on it, or the way Magnus keeps a watchful eye on him despite the casual demeanor he feigns. It makes him itch underneath his skin to be scrutinized like this, to be seen as beneath the person across from you. Magnus doesn’t watch him for his own safety, or because he trusts Alec. He watches him with distaste coating his tongue and lips, as though the thought of Alec dirtying his sofa is a great travesty. He supposes he should expect as much from a Greater Demon.

“For someone who has come to talk, you have awful little to say.”

He’d feel foolish, for sure, if the oxygen deprivation hadn’t clearly left residual effects on his brain. “It’s a bit hard to get my thoughts in order when I’m still recovering from near-death,” he snaps.

Maybe it’s not such a great idea to anger the demon who just spared your life, though Magnus seems unbothered by the remark. “I did what I had to.”

“Is that what happened last night, too?”

The golden eyes that watch him reduce themselves to barely visible slats, and Magnus’ lip curls in anger. “You would be wise to remove the judgement from your tone, young Shadowhunter. You know nothing of my goals in this wasted realm.”

Alec swallows carefully, the metal of his seraph blade burning against the holster that houses it, begging to be used in the presence of danger.

“Then tell me.”

Magnus’ brows knit closer together and Alec feels magnified under his piercing gaze. Uncomfortable. “You want me to divulge all of my plans to some measly little Shadowhunter who’s going to run off and recite it all to the Clave as one more reason to help banish me again? I think not. You’re in no position to make demands.”

“I’m Head of the Institute,” Alec announces emphatically, hoping that his status will garner him at the very minimum an ounce of respect. “A bit higher on the chain than just some ‘measly little Shadowhunter,’ I’d say.” Then again, who would respect someone equivalent to a bug they almost squashed with a fraction of their power?

Magnus doesn’t respond in any timely manner, choosing instead to look Alec up from the sole of his combat boots, to the wayward strands of hair haphazardly resting on the crown of his head. He’s sure he looks a sorry sight with his dirty, bloodied clothes and roughed up features, but there’s no helping it. Pulling out his stele would undoubtedly cause more harm than it would be worth to heal and stabilize himself properly.

After more than a moment’s observation, Magnus summons himself a drink and stands from his chair.

For the first time since he regained consciousness, Magnus looks away from him to watch the city skyline from the window. It’s a poor view, Alec notices. Nothing attention-grabbing or worthwhile to see from his seat, and he’s sure Magnus’ can’t be much different. A Greater Demon with all the power in Edom and the expensive tastes Alec remembers connoting with Magnus Bane could surely set up a base in a better location than this. The top floor, perhaps. With lots of gaudy accessories to spruce it up, not the muted reds and blues and metallics that sparsely decorate it now.

For all this mental evaluation of Magnus Bane’s base of operation, Alec doesn’t miss the solemn sip he takes from his martini glass, or the way he seems to let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. Contemplating.

“Last night was… Necessary.”

Alec waits for more, expects it. But a hesitant silence fills the space between words instead. He stands carefully, unsure if this will have an unexpected reaction from Magnus, and when it doesn’t, Alec takes a step closer to the window. “Why?” He asks, to the point.

Another swig of liquor leaves the glass, this one bigger than the last and going down with a near audible gulp. “Camille needed to be the first, or she would have been the last, and I’m not sure I would have had the will to go through with it by the end.”

It’s a moment of raw honesty that Alec isn’t expecting. He knew Greater Demons had the capacity for human emotions, but he didn’t suspect to this extent.

“Camille was close to you, I gather?”

The way Magnus’ eyes shoot to him with disbelief makes Alec visibly step back. “Have you not done your research, Shadowhunter? Do the Nephilim take pride in going into battle headfirst and unprepared?”

Stubborn anger begins to bubble inside of Alec, but he pushes it away as he always does, and tries to remain as professional as possible in this situation. “I admit, I do not know a great deal about you. Only what I’ve gathered from Clave documents, although there’s hardly anything of substance written in them.”

Those eyes, cat-like and sharp, shift in their intention from anger to curiosity, something more appealing than talking about the revenge Magnus is here to carry out, piquing his interest. Alec makes a mental reminder to circle back to Camille later. “Do tell me more.”

“Alec,” he offers on instinct. The corner of Magnus’ lips twitch.

“Alec,” Magnus corrects with a nod. “Go on.”

With the spotlight on him now, the room feels a bit hotter, and the unhealed wound on his shoulder flares with the need for attention. He ignores it, if only for a little longer, and dredges up what he can remember from this evening’s research of Magnus Bane.

Has it really been less than 24 hours? Time feels stretched, as if it’s been days since everything started, since Magnus Bane became an actual figure in Alec’s life and no longer just a cautionary tale to ward off greed for power. That’s all his legacy had been reduced to, really. A fable.

“Your existence according to Clave records goes back centuries, but there’s not actually much information on you. Just what the Clave perceived of you: dangerous, sly, hedonistic. You partied constantly through the 1800’s before you rose to power and became High Warlock of Brooklyn. Despite what the Clave thought of you, the Downworlders must have respected you enough to give you that power.” Alec’s thinking out loud at this point, he realizes. So he lets one more thought escape. “Why did you do it?”

He’ll never know when in all of his talking Magnus turned to face him, or when his features softened to the point he looked more human, but he’ll never forget the way Magnus’ small smile slips and the reminiscent memories floating behind those golden eyes plummet back down into stoic indifference.

“What exactly is it that you think I did, Alec?” Magnus’ voice floats quietly between them.

“You sought more than you had, you became hungry for more power than you had,” Alec states, matter-of-fact, forcing down the uncertainty behind his words. “You began to abuse that power and summoned what you could from Edom. You gallivanted around as a Warlock, hiding what you really are the whole time.”

“What am I?” Magnus questions solemnly, as though he doesn’t already know.

“A Greater Demon.”

The stiff tilt of a head, and another sip of martini, and then Magnus is turning back to the window with pursed lips. “Is that what Clave history says about me? The terrifying wonder of Magnus Bane and his downfall, consumed by greed and lust for more power, a Greater Demon in hiding.” Magnus inhales deeply, holds it for three precious beats Alec can’t help but count, and then releases it with a defeated slump. “What a story to tell.”

Alec takes a timid step closer. “Are you saying it’s not true?”

At that, Magnus strikes him in place yet again with a sharp look. “Did the Nephilim become so stupid in the hundred years I was away? Did no one think to question the lunacy of the assumptions wrapped up in Clave history with a neat little bow? Should I summon my father to show you what a Greater Demon truly looks like?”

The words are hissed with such spite that Alec begins to question them himself, to re-evaluate his own upbringing and knowledge of the past learned through years of training. Who is he to question the past? The Clave wouldn’t change the passages of history intentionally, that would surely go against the Accords and everything Alec knows to be true.

There must be a mistake.

“You summoned power from Edom, you-” Alec falters, just for a moment. “You pretended to be a Warlock to gain power among the Downworld. You were banished to preserve the Accords, and because you couldn’t be stopped unless drastic measures were taken. The Downworlders banded together to stop you, Bane.”

Magnus downs the remainder of his drink and rolls it around his tongue, letting the words sit and marinate in the spirit.

“I was there when everything happened, Alec,” Magnus scoffs, “obviously.” In a flash of grandeur, Magnus turns from the window, away from the pinkening sky of the city. “History has a tendency to change over the years. Word of mouth, tales of skepticism, those in power feeding their lies to those who don’t know any better. And you lot,” Magnus shakes his head, “you gobble it up like the little birds you are, waiting to be fed by your mother. What would the Angels think of their Accords now, I wonder?”

The topic at hand is territory that begins to feel unsettling. The words Magnus speaks of imply known lies from the people Alec trusts the most, the people who guide and direct their entire lives. What would Isabelle and Jace say if they were to hear the same words? It would incite anger, surely, outrage and disbelief. It would start a war with Edom, at the very least, and go against the shreds of diplomacy Alec has worked towards.

So why doesn’t Alec feel the way he knows he should? Why are the words of this Greater Demon in front of him sowing seeds of doubt into his mind where none have ever taken root? Is it having a face to the name that makes it all the more real for him? Is it being able to see the way those words are uttered, the nuance and enunciation of each and every one?

“So you’re not a Greater Demon?” Alec questions, hesitant. Not to ask, but to hear the answer he knows will follow.

Magnus catches his eyes and stares between both pupils, seemingly taking in all of the emotions hidden deep down inside of Alec, buried so far below where not even he chooses to acknowledge. Magnus searches and searches but for what, Alec’s not sure. He delves and prods with those eyes that Alec can’t tear his own gaze away from, Magnus resolute in his endeavor until whatever he finds is enough, must be enough, because soon that swirling golden gaze is pulling away from him.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the Greater Demon you were hoping for.”

Something sinks low in the pit of his stomach, acidic and bubbling and causing so much discomfort Alec takes a step back to catch his breath with his body tucked into the cushions of the sofa. He’ll ask his mother, he’ll get clarity back at the Institute, and he’s sure it will make sense. It has to.

Until then, he needs more answers. Different ones that won’t affect everything he thought he knew.

“Camille?” He tosses out, and Magnus catches without missing a beat.

“My former lover.”

Former… lover? “Then why did you kill her?”

Magnus’ back straightens from his spot in front of the window, and his shoulders sit rigid. “As I said before, it was necessary. Camille is - was - a master of the fine arts, and manipulation was the medium she chose to wield most proficiently. If I let her live any longer, she’d have found a way to send me back to Edom, or get me to do it myself.”

“I gather she was the one who rallied the other Downworlders against you, then?”

A hum flits between them, and Magnus lifts a hand to his chin where idle fingers rub against the silver that decorates them as he sits in thought. “Not entirely, I believe. Although with her soul gone I suppose I’ll never truly know.” It rolls out so nonchalant, Alec can’t help the chills that run up his spine. “I’ve had nothing but time in Edom to try and make sense of that day. It was Warlocks, friends and foes alike that banded their powers together to silence me. They weakened my defenses, abused the trust I blindly allowed them, and when my back was turned, they took a knife to it.”

“Everyone betrayed you? Why would they have done that?”

“Not everyone,” Magnus sighs with a genuine soft smile. “My two dearest friends of course would never betray me. They tried to warn me numerous times and I regret every time I did not listen to them. Every instance I shrugged their worries off was bathed in my overconfidence of my own prowess. I was foolish and naive. I believed I was untouchable to most, that I was respected and loved by my own kin enough that these worries were fruitless.”

Pain mars Magnus’ face and the kneading of his fingers stops. “Nothing is guaranteed in this world, Alec. There is always something darker lurking in the shadows, something more sinister than any Downworlder or demon you can imagine. Greed and jealousy can change a person, can make them capable of horrifying realities. The only guarantee we have is that there will always be someone else who wants what you have.” At that, he motions towards Alec with a wave of his hand. “You’re in a position of power, Alec. You should know just as well as I the dangers that lie below.”

It’s a chilling thought, to think of the faces of Shadowhunters he’s grown to know over the years, Shadowhunters he’s met along the way here and there, and wonder if anyone might one day try to take him down the way the Downworlders took down Magnus.

“There must have been a reason,” Alec inquires.

“I’m sure there is,” Magnus sighs, lifting his other hand to twist the silver band across his wrist. “Camille, for how easy she was to read when she was begging for her life, gave me very little to go off.”

The way he casually throws out Camille’s death unsettles him again, and this time Magnus takes notice.

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, Alec,” Magnus states, a forlorn expression cast across the shadows of his face as the sun lightens the room. “I loved Camille for hundreds of years, and I don’t doubt I’d have loved her for many more if she hadn’t betrayed me. Locked away in Edom I had no choice but to quell the ache in my heart that she caused, and truly see the wickedness she commanded. For all her beauty and charisma, she was not a good person and I hate that it took me this long to see.”

Alec swallows the lump in his throat and nods. It hasn’t been an easy path for him, but Magnus must have prepared himself for the grief he would feel afterwards. For that, Alec feels a hint of guilt that he’s holding hostage this time of mourning Magnus likely needed.

But it had to be done. Alec needed these answers, he needed to hear what Magnus had to say tonight, and he’s only surprised the words came so willingly, with very little cost to himself.

Well, not entirely free. His neck still feels scratched, bloodied and bruised, and the slow leak of the Ravener demon’s wound continues to spread blood against his clothes. For the information he’s gathered, and under the flag of diplomacy, it was well worth the trade.

“I seem to be doing most of the talking this morning,” Magnus mentions lightly as he adjusts his position in his seat. “For someone who is very much at my mercy, I’ve heard little of your plight.”

What is his plight? With everything he’s learned, everything Magnus has trusted him with, he’s not even sure where he stands anymore. His world has been spun on its side, and until he can take a step back and properly think, get an actual unbiased look at things… he has no idea.

“In my mind, there were only three options. One, I could sit back and watch as you destroy Downworlders, the Shadowhunters left out of it to observe. Two, I could intervene, try to gather whatever defenses I could and prepare the Institute for the war with you that would be inevitable once I made my decision known. Or three, I could try to,” Alec pauses, searching for the right word, “reason with you, be as civil as I possibly could with a Greater Demon.”

At Magnus’ pointed stare, Alec corrects himself.

“Alleged Greater Demon.”

“Hmm,” Magnus exhales into his steepled fingers. “The first one would have been the safest option. I would have stayed true to my word, assuming no Shadowhunters tried anything funny. The second one would have been the total destruction of the New York Institute, no doubt about it, clearly.” Magnus offers a faint smile that Alec almost feels himself returning, but forces himself not to. “The third brings about a whole round of further questioning. What does being reasonable entail?”

Alec’s furrowed brows and the way he rests his balled fists in his lap must give way to the overwhelming uncertainty he feels in this moment. He doesn’t know what it entails, if he’s being honest. He knows what it did entail, which was an attempt to get Magnus Bane to back down and return to Edom. A chance for him to see the error of his way, and correct it.

But then Clary had stepped in, altered it and put ideas in Alec’s mind of helping Magnus, before he even knew for sure all of the minuscule details of the situation. She suggested they help him, that they find out why he’s here and fight this battle with him, unsanctioned by the Clave.

A truly terrible, horrible idea.

Yet, now, the most compelling.

In a reciprocated moment of honesty, Alec reveals this to Magnus. “At first, I wanted to guide you into returning to Edom, to try and find a way to avoid all of this death and destruction. But then it changed. The Clave didn’t want me to concern myself with you, they wanted me to stay as far away as possible, to be less of a threat to the rest of the Shadowhunters, I suppose. So if I couldn’t reason with you, if I couldn’t get you to go back to Edom without the damage… Maybe I could help you.”

Alec releases an anxious breath and allows himself the chance to peer over and meet Magnus’ wide golden eyes. It’s just a second, maybe two, or perhaps three that they keep contact, searching and afraid and so deeply confused by each other. Eventually, Alec turns away and focuses down at the scuff that covers his boots.

The sun is rising higher with each minute that passes, and time seems to drag on forever, but Alec sits patiently and waits. He’s always been good at that.

“I could kill you with the snap of my fingers,” Magnus whispers, after what feels like hours.

There’s a creeping feeling along Alec’s neck, the slithering tendrils of magic that he unmistakably catches. They’re not quick to whip around his neck this time, rather, so gentle and curious that it almost feels taboo to let them continue. A prickle of heat remains where the magic brushes by, growing warmer and hotter with each pass until the remnants of pain subside and the self-inflicted wounds close up and heal. “You could,” Alec responds with a low voice that he isn’t sure he can equate to the tenderness of his throat anymore. “But I’m trusting you not to, Magnus.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that Alec is using his name for the first time, or the fact that he’s putting the power so willingly in his hands that Magnus winces at the words, and the recession of warm magic around him leaves Alec feeling suddenly hollow.

“Trust is not something you give so blindly, Shadowhunter.”

“I don’t give it blindly,” Alec corrects. “You’ve told me your truth, and I want to help you. After everything you’ve been through, isn’t that the right thing?”

A flash of anger crosses Magnus’ face, and he offers a dark, crooked smile to Alec. “What do Shadowhunters know of the right thing?”

“Magnus - “

“I appreciate the sentiment, truly, but I did warn you that my graciousness would only last so long. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

With that, a portal is summoned beside where Alec now stands in front of the couch, a movement he doesn’t recall even making. The static of the portal is loud in his ears, and his jacket flaps viciously in time with the wind.

“Magnus,” he tries again, but Magnus raises a finger and shakes his head.

“It’s kind of you to feel I’m owed the satisfaction of my revenge, but for your safety, and the safety of keeping the Accords in tact, I must refuse your offer. Be well, Shadowhunter,” Magnus articulates through the rush of the portal, completely unfazed.

A flick of his wrist, and fiery red magic shoots towards Alec, propels him forward and through the portal that he knows will take him back to the Institute.

Bright sunlight burns his eyes when the portal dissipates behind him, and he stumbles forward yet again, catching himself just in time to not fall onto the concrete sidewalk. People walk by him, blissfully unaware as they meander along the paths that pass by the Institute, oblivious to the death the previous night brought upon the Downworld. Ignorant to all of the inner machinations that go on inside the Institute, free to live the life they choose, as they see fit without having to answer to a higher authority in what’s the right thing to do.

For just a moment, Alec feels a sting of jealousy towards the Mundanes that walk around him.

Jealousy and greed, he remembers Magnus’ words.

The next step is unclear to him, he realizes as he heads towards the tall wooden doors that greet him, the same doors he knows so well. Everything feels the same, standing here in front of the Institute, but at the same time looks so foreign to his eyes that feel awakened by the conversation that just transpired.

He thinks of Magnus, drink in hand, staring at the high-rise of absolutely nothing important in the humble apartment he temporarily resides in. Magnus, with all the power in Edom, and all the clarity of a spurned Warlock cast out by his own people for reasons still unknown to Alec. Magnus, opening a world Alec never knew in front of him, a world hidden in shadows and secrecy. Hidden by the Clave.

But now, standing on the steps of the Institute, Alec begins to doubt again. The Clave wouldn’t hide the fact that Magnus was a Warlock this entire time, would they? To knowingly transcribe fallacies into their proud history, to crown an innocent man as a monster that should be feared…

With the shake of his head, Alec places one hand on the door of the Institute and pushes it open. Whatever questions he has, he’s going to figure out the truth. Even if it means disappointing his mother and seeking out an uncooperative Magnus Bane.

#shmb2021 #shadowhunters #malec #malec fanfiction #magnus bane #alec lightwood

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stronghours · 3 years

Text

THREE QUEENS OF DOMESTICITY

Ava’s husband Reuben, as Ava informed Domme Lux in the unfinished basement beforehand, had only contributed to the collaring ceremony through draping the gaping drywall with swags of lavender gauze and twinkle lights from Christmas, which blistered the fabric in a damp whimsy Lux hadn’t thought the man capable. But then, Ava said, she had never brought a boy into the household before, and she thought it was only fair to respect Reuben’s distance in the matter. Where he was, she didn’t say. Evey, one of the four usual girls, was already naked but for papery hospitality slippers and trying to tame the blank concrete with a shredded mop. She squeezed the handle to a thin, practical breast each time she lost hope. Her clavicle was tense with little red marks.

Ava sat on her own padded stool applying lotion to her arms as she held court with Lux, Celeste and other colleagues regarding the guest list and particulars. She possessed downy Marilyn Monroe skin and her expression was luminous, while Lux, simultaneously underdressed, clammy, and overheated (it was summer, high noon outside, but Halloweentown below) started to feel the depression sink in. She’d chosen to wear a sleeveless mock turtleneck cinched in via a skintight pencil skirt and knee-high chunk pumps, and it all looked charming enough to her when she texted a picture to Jules. Sexual language arts teacher or Lorelai Gilmore season 1-2? She’d typed. But Jules had been AWOL since Thursday and now Lux had no chaperone and no wisdom. Ava didn’t let it go unremarked.

“It’s June,” she informed, like Lux didn’t know. “So, he’s sucking up to his leather daddies and his drag queens, while the rest of us behave like grown-ups. Correct?”

Guests arrived. Lux decided on strategic retreat and glued her spine to a far swampy corner and gradually became happier to have interpreted the dress code on the conservative side. Ava sent out the invite via her personal newsletter, with the esoteric instruction to dress within the modes of business or pleasure and it became clear of the basement filling nobody had made a collective interpretation. Celeste, shivering underneath her partner’s bomber jacket had prevailed on a frail sundress and the man in front of Lux wore a boxy Uniqlo blazer on top and a polyester jockstrap that read PIG BOY in an eternal ring around the waist. His white ass loomed beneath her line of vision, a sobering reality check to Evey and the other girls kneeling like wraiths up front, their smudged outlines harkening more toward Salo than Ava would ever intend.

Candles were lit. Lux could not get rid of the haunted house excess bringing her mood down, even as Ava, up front on her dais and methodically strapping her bagged up new boy onto his striker frame, vamped in a costumy corset of sectional purple brocade (Jules) opera-length latex mittens (Jules) and slick black shoulder plate and hood of indeterminate material (no doubt made by an enemy of Jules), and if Jules himself would ever show up, as promised, Lux could decide what was worse: Ava mixing materials or mixing designers.

But what was worst above all, she already knew, was that three poems had already been read and Ava was reading one still. She read one stanza per one buckle. Her new boy, before being lowered into his body bag, had read one himself to clarify his submission. His face had been beaky and palling. He had flat blue eyes. She liked him much better totally hidden from view and wondered how a hardline heterosexual like Ava could entertain delicate styles in women but such insipid taste in dudes.

A ray of light split the room like a knife and vanished. A couple people moaned, blinded in one eye. The crowd to Lux’s left grunted and spat, ruffled, then parted. She didn’t notice Jules until he had a cold hand behind her neck. Even with walls on both her sides, he found a blind spot.

He stuck his tongue in her ear, knowing full well she couldn’t shout him down in this scenario. “What’s up sugar,” he said, barely acceptably hushed. “How many poems has it been?”

“And the moonrise over the hill,” Ava recited, yanking a new strap, “Rises in tune – to your mind upon my person – to your body upon my person – to your devotion to my person –”

“It’s been this one for a while,” Lux said. She grabbed him and squashed him to her side. You had to meet Jules nuisance per nuisance when he felt energetic, or he’d trample you to death. When he was overbearing, she preferred him coldhearted, and when he was frosty, she preferred him needy. It was wedding season, and he hadn’t had enough brides to wear him out. “What took you so long?”

“Stopped for food. I’ve been up for uh…thirty-six hours.”

PIG BOY’s head turned back fractionally, then he thought better of looking and faced front.

“Wedding?”

“Shereen Allure made the Miss Continental Elite lineup. She got her hooks in me. She needs an evening gown, an interview moment, talent outfit that’ll stay together through the twenty fucking backflips I know she’ll want to do – baby, sweetie, honey, let me just stone you a fucking leotard, but no, she wants everything to sweep the toes. Insanity.” Jules craned his head around PIG BOY’s shoulder, and, seeing the wild look on his face, she wormed her hand underneath his shirt and pinched his ribs before he could think of speaking above sotto voice.

“Work function,” she warned. “Work function!”

“I wouldn’t go to my boss’s wedding,” Jules said, but he shriveled back into her shoulder obediently. “Gross. What’s she wearing?”

“A couple things of yours.”

“Against medical advice.”

Ava’s boy was buckled in midway up his ribs. They had to last to the neck. Somebody close to the front of the house darted forward to re-light the tea candles extinguished in their little glasses, scattered among Ava’s stilts. Lux thought: Suck-up.

“Cocksucker,” Jules hissed into her neck.

Profound is your sacred neck –

Ava claimed.

And affectionate, my lips, on its nape –

The boy in the bag didn’t judder or wince or squirm or move an inch. If Lux hadn’t been around to watch him step inside it, she would have considered him a mannequin. More guests arrived, fashionably late, and she and Jules alternately jostled the roach hotel between her ankles as they bandied to stay upright. PIG BOY had enough of them and forced his way further into crowd.

“What’s his name, anyway?” Jules asked, of bag-boy.

“Shawn. Mark. Uh…Jake.”

“Fucking John Donne up there has a boner for a goddamn Cody.” Jules wiped his nose on her shoulder. “I can’t breathe down here. Come on, ta-ta.”

The basement door opened into a little cairn staircase and led them blinking into the lawn (a lawn!) a black walnut tree dripping with green baubles (a tree!). Jules assisted her over the porch railing (a porch!) and spanked the dust from the seat of her skirt. They entered the gleaming kitchen, already occupied by Ava and Rueben’s straightest friends who, thin-lipped, met their sangrias with unenthusiasm.

“One thing I will say for Ava,” said a woman wearing a mock turtleneck similar to Lux’s own, “She certainly has…flair.”

A man turned to Jules and asked, helplessly, how long these things lasted. The preliminaries, Jules asked, or the mingling, or the primary ceremony, or the potluck or the afterparty? And while he laid out the etiquette Lux stared at the dustless countertops and the seafoam green cabinets, smooth to the touch, and their silver handles and the tile floor and the padded breakfast nook with its stained glass overhead light and the jazzy track lights situated over the looming kitchen island. Lysol lingered underneath the tawny fumes of a candle labeled CARMEL TRUFFLE SUNDAE and the photo pasted to the candle, she was ashamed to say, made her hungry. A kitchen-aide, which Lux had seen featured in some of Ava’s private photoshoots, gleamed, an untouchable ruby atop a mounted wall cabinet.

Jules’s conversation partner said he had tried to muscle through the ceremony but one of Ava’s slaves (the man himself hedged, politely, and referred to her as Ava’s housemaid) had accidentally brushed him with her nude bosom and he thought, well, better safe than sorry and beat it to safer pastures. “I don’t want to get her in trouble,” he claimed. The sangria was doing nothing to free him from this downward spiral of nakedness.

The mock turtleneck woman held the pitcher out to Lux for a sniff. “It’s virgin,” she pronounced, disgusted.

Jules shifted his backpack into the nook. He removed a pair of purple Easy Spirit pumps, a wad of pantyhose cut off at the thigh, two rolls of duct tape, a greasy paper bag from a Vienna Sausage, a Ziplock of loose bronze eyelets, a lacy bridal bralette and ouvert panty set Lux thought she had permanently lost and finally a half-empty bottle of white rum, which he handed around.

“She and Reuben,” the mock turtleneck woman confided, tit for tat, “Had two cash bars at their wedding.”

“I get it’s a private residence,” the man continued, wide eyed, as he tilted the bottle drop by tiny drop into his cup. “But is the nudity like – mandatory?”

“Don’t be shy,” Jules suggested, happy in his eternal revolving door from Bitch to Hostess. “Really tip that bad boy in there.”

The man turned on Lux, aghast. “Mandatory nudity?”

“Jules,” she said. “Bathroom escort, please.”

The floors were fake grey wood and if they’d been in socks, they would have slipped and slid like newborn colts through a framed gauntlet of Ava and Reuben’s documented civilian life. On the right, a picture of Reuben T-posing against the horizon of the Grand Canyon. On the left, Ava’s Reiki Master III certificate from Sat Nam. A family reunion and matching T-shirts (Ava’s side of the family). A newlywed embrace at the foot of an anonymous waterfall in the Upper Peninsula. She’d seen all this before, well acquainted with the ground floor of Ava’s house, but now she wondered if Zach-Cody-Jake-Shawn, petrified below her feet, was feeling the weight of the roof on his chest like she felt.

Jules, on his own agenda, bypassed the bathroom door which was modestly shut and tugged her toward the staircase.

“Oh shush,” she warned preemptively. “We’re not allowed!” They’d never been upstairs before.

“What? They don’t have a bathroom up there?”

“She’ll know,�� Lux said as they tiptoed upward. She imagined their footfalls pounding through the ceiling of the basement and Ava, coolly, directing her eyes toward the ceiling and right up Lux’s skirt.

“If you quit being so aware of her, she wouldn’t be aware of you,” Jules counseled.

Every door upstairs was closed, sanded and paper-smooth and plumbed correctly in their jambs. Her apartment had more in common with Ava’s basement. Melancholy prevented her from noticing Jules bypassing the obvious bathroom door where the shadow of a jailed cat paced and opening another. It was Ava’s and Rueben's bedroom.

“Uh-oh,” Jules said. “What an honest mistake.”

“Stop, stop, stop,” she begged, dancing backward, but the arrested step of somebody entering the downstairs hallway had her shoving him inside. Jules grabbed her wrist before she could slam the door shut in panic and guided it closed himself, soundlessly.

“Somebody’s coming!” She hissed.

“Nobody’s coming,” he said. “Not upstairs, at least.”

Next door, the cat mewed piteously.

The bedroom, to her surprise, held no accoutrements of Ava’s work at the club, not a stocking on the ground or a corset thrown over the back of a chair. The only suggestion of her taste for grandeur Lux recognized was the four-poster bed and the plum carpet. Even the makeup mirror standing up on the desk was just an electric plastic-framed Conair. The same kind Lux, at 14, had hidden underneath her bed.

Jules touched one of the bedposts. “You think she ever spread-eagles ol’ Rueben on these babies?”

Reuben worked in software. He had a crew cut, no distinguishing features, and upper veneers. When grouped together, he referred to all of Ava’s dommes as you kids. Alone, he called Lux Little Lady and Jules Hey, It’s My Man! Before thumping him with lethal force between the shoulder blades. Lux didn’t want to imagine Ava and Reuben fucking in the four-poster bed. But, on contemplation, she realized it was an impossible task.

She peeked into the master bathroom long enough to confirm Ava installed a whirlpool tub. Jules had already thrown open her closet and was sifting through hangers. He stood rumpled in his flip-flops and she was worried his hands would leave marks.

“She’ll know someone was snooping.”

“Did she ever notice when you and Celeste moved everything in the dungeon three inches to the left on April Fools?”

Lux sat gingerly on the desk chair. The Conair makeup mirror was still lit, and she checked her hairline, her face, her cleavage (she’d been paranoid for two months that she was shrinking) in the mock turtleneck. In a silver stand-frame was a black-and-white of Ava alone, on her wedding day. She posed in black-and-white before a crumbling brick wall, body positioned forward but facing right, absurdly fresh, and nearly sweet-sixteen in a sweetheart neckline and ruffled cap sleeves.

Jules loomed like a vulture over her shoulder and judged for himself. “Not what I would have picked for her,” He decided.

But Lux couldn’t look away from the picture. Ava, pre-Entrance, pre-homeowner, pre-stable-of-subs, pre-whirlpool tub. In the sterile silence of the bedroom, she had nothing to cloud her thoughts. “Ava always knew,” she announced. “Look at her expression. She knew all along.”

“Knew what?”

“That it was always going to work out. That she was always going to lock this down.”

“Lock what down?”

Lux tried to set the picture frame exactly where she’d left it but couldn’t quite recall. She pushed Jules away from her, annoyed, and tried a different a different route. “Do you think he really loves her?”

“Reuben?”

“No, Zach – Jake – Shawn – whatshisname. In the basement.”

She felt Jules descend into sulky silence, that his magpie-plan of breaking and entering was not rendering hilarious fruit. She heard the bedsprings creak and two little claps as his sandals hit the floor.

“We make fun of her,” Lux insisted. “But she’s got the husband who loves her, and four full-timers cycling in and out of this beautiful house with a beautiful tree and green grass underneath and now this new kid. He wrote her a poem. She can inspire people to do things like that.”

Jules huffed.

Lux prodded: “Remember her interview in the Reader a few Prides ago? She said she owes it all to her Unapologetic Femininity. A successful woman constantly births this psychic potential in observing bodies.”

“He wrote a shitty villanelle and climbed into a gimp bag in front of twenty-three perverts, so Ava’ll suffocate him with her titties for three years. That’s psychic potential?”

“And what about Carmen, and Robin, and Deanna, and Evangeline?”

“What about Analise Petro? She split from the coven pretty fucking publicly.”

“Years ago. And she was immature. You and her were the same age.” At that time, Lux hadn’t made the decision if Jules, then a furious little boy-twink, would be nemesis or pal. She’d half-believed Jules poisoned Analise against Ava on purpose.

Jules, blissfully not thirty, ignored her. “Evey is my age,” he claimed.

“Carmen is thirty-six.” Lux, thirty-two, fretted, twisted her fingers. “Think of the responsibility. It’s all in her hands and she just…molds it.”

“Because of her essential femininity? You’re out of your mind.”

Downstairs, the sliding glass door to the backyard rattled. A few hoots of laughter drifted ghostly through the walls. Then the doors rattled twice, and silence seethed.

“They change until they stay the same,” Jules said, too self-assured for someone sylphing on a strange bedspread with dirty feet. “And they’ll stay until they go away. Right about when Ava stops making them feel safe.”

“With –?”

“With her social nets and her two-story house and her dual income,” Jules said, sitting upright. He was all the sudden blank-faced, voice poisonous, and she wondered automatically if his mother had been calling him late in the night. “With her sex gear she commissions from me. With the soothing atmosphere that Carmen interior designs, that Robin cleans, and the fucking homemade meals with the kitchen aide that only Deanna knows how to use. And you want me to think she’s this red-hot all-natural Madonna? You know better.”

Jules was rumpled beyond repair. He wore a tank top she’d gifted for his 27th birthday. It had ITALIAN FILLY printed on the front, and already the letters were starting to peel. He glared. Lux questioned the sincerity of his anger, if he only played it up because he noticed she was too sad to dig up anger herself, anger she felt all the time when she was perfectly alone, but she decided she was too pleased being noticed at all. Maybe in half an hour, she’d be happy enough to preen.

She got up and went to him on the bed and he sat up like a human being so she could clap his face in her hands. But he wasn’t done yet.

“She’s only a woman because she’s surrounded by one hundred sycophants who let her be one,” he sneered, and she felt the little muscles in his jaw. “Sisterhood is powerful!”

She slapped him on the mouth, but only a little bit. “What does that make me?” She asked, houseless, sycophant-less, suspicious her only sisters were biological.

“A woman who doesn’t need her yeast infections to remind her that she’s a woman.” He squirmed in her grip, for her enjoyment only, and his face reddened where it usually got red, close to the ears before it began to band his big nose. It was almost enough to make her forget she was only attracted to him when he was worn down to a nub of exhaustion. Usually, he was belly-up on the floor, with one arm thrown over his eyes, and one of his wrists in his carpal tunnel brace. Something about that brace lit her ass on fire. It made her want to pull down the blinds and eat him alive through his armpit. “Are we going to do something horrible to this bedspread or what?”

“Close your eyes.” He had an insane habit of kissing with his eyes open, and even she, the honorable first girl who’d ever fucked him, hadn’t trained him out of it. “Close your eyes,” he countered, and pulled the zipper on the back of her skirt so he could pull out her turtleneck out of her waist. It jammed. They struggled.

“Suck it in,” he ordered thoughtlessly, and the second she pulled in a deep breath she every inch of him sprang, alert, into a frenzy she couldn’t understand. He caught her around the waist and rolled them both off the bed and into the space between the wall and the gap where the bedclothes hung. She was just about to shriek at him when she heard bare feet pat-pat outside the bedroom door. Jules swept her under the bed (you could stack three bodies on top of each other, under there) and followed her himself just as the door opened.

Lux curled into a little ball. Jules elected to lay flat like a tapeworm.

A woman’s voice cooed. Lux waited. Doom squeezed her heart. But the voice wasn’t Ava’s.

“Sugar-pants, sugar-pants,” the voice caroled sweetly.

Then she saw the bare feet tip-tapping over the carpet, and she clocked the voice as Evangeline’s. She had freed the cat from the bathroom, and presumably held it in her arms, sweet-talking it. Lux dared to roll over to face Jules. He pinched his nose shut against a sneeze.

“I know baby, fluffy-baby,” Evey said. The desk chair scraped when she settled down into it. “You don’t like it in there. I know. I know. No huggle-wuggles for baby in there. You’re claustrophobic. So am I! Ugh!”

Evey gagged. She sobbed wretchedly for five whole minutes (Lux counted). The cat’s purr reached torrential volumes of pleasure. Near the end she reached for Jules’s hand, and they lay, foreheads together, too shy to look each other in the eye as Evey opened a drawer somewhere for tissues and was paralyzed by an attack of hiccups. Lux had to put all her muscle into not echoing her in sympathy.

Evey muttered to herself. “I’m claustrophobic, so I can’t let Her put me in the bag. If I can’t go in the bag, then I don’t get a poem.”

Click. Tap. Click. The drawer shutting. The lights of the makeup mirror turning off.

“I don’t get a poem,” Evey asserted. “I don’t get a poem.” And lower – “I’m not allowed to have a poem. I can’t have a poem. Or a tattoo.”

The cat gurgled.

Evey fled, down the hall, where a door slammed. Then, as if to fix the breach of discipline, the door opened again, and was closed so quietly Lux wasn’t sure it was closed at all.

She and Jules waited, then parted and unearthed themselves on either side of the bed. Jules zipped her skirt and together they patted down the bedspread. He had the faraway look in his eye he usually had when he was thinking about pattern-drafting and Lux replayed in her brain Evey’s Ugh! She wondered if one of her clients had ever gone home, away from her, looked in their bathroom mirror, stuck out their tongue and gone Ugh!

“Come on,” Jules said. The cat, abandoned again, eyed him from the desk chair. “Let’s go down and pay our respects to King Tut.”

And to the cat: “What the fuck are you looking at?”

If he’d acted smug at having his cynicism proven, she might have hit him for real. She’d hit him for real – which in their shared experience, meant purely out of anger – twice. The first time he’d deserved it. The second time he punished her, said she hit like a nelly fag and blocked her phone number for a month. Then he reemerged as swiftly as he’d removed himself, but pointedly, with an uncharacteristically physically proximate boyfriend who lasted exactly three months. She considered that his way of informing her she had been on probation.

“I’m lonely,” she said, because that was the problem.

“I’m literally right here, idiot.”

But when they reached the staircase the noise of the swelling party in the kitchen reached their ears. They decided to go down separately, for the sake of modesty, and Jules went first. He kissed her ear, conciliatory, and she watched the high yoke of his shoulders descend until she was alone again.

Who needed it, she thought, the fifteen-dollar candles and the floors constructed so they do not have to be waxed, the fleet of morose women and the sexless men? Years ago, she’d walked into Jules’s squalid, long-gone basement apartment with a frayed leather harness and been shocked at the sight of the missing Analise Petro sleeping on his futon. Split by her own precarious position in Ava’s club at the time, she’d whipped out her phone, as if to rat them both out then and there. Jules never even looked up from the dress form he was taping.

He asked: What do you give a cunt to convince her a community matter is a private matter?

He clipped off the tape with scissors longer than his hand.

A house!

Lux wanted a house. She wanted to jam her hooks into a hunk with big delts, and huge tits, and chain him up under the bed, somebody the opposite of Jules in every way, and she wanted to bake a successful quiche and she wanted, most of all, her and her sisters’ beloved childhood mutt Chessie, who had leapt off the family pontoon one 4th of July weekend on Indian Lake to his idiot death, to be revived and come trotting up the staircase and into her arms, panting with joy, not because he had been resurrected, but because he loved her best of all.

#the end! no moral #like 4000 words of overworked bitches being grim at parties im trying to ride this wave of suckage out #SAFEWORLD

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hitsuackerman · 4 years

Text

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.4

a/n: I love Gei here xD do ya’ll love Gei? I hope you guys love his extra ass <3

warnings: this cannot be read solo, cursing(?), subtle flirting

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased @infinite-universe-love

Taking your planner from your bag, you jotted down a reminder to dig up some old case files regarding the 3 villains Tsukauchi had just mentioned. Everything seemed clearer now as to why Overhaul managed to snag an invite. He was one of them no matter what his ideals were.

Forking the last bit of cheesecake, you stuffed your planner back into your bag and exited the shop. Scanning the area for any black cars, you were relieved that no one had been tailing you. There was a rising suspicion that Overhaul stalked you but perhaps it was simply chance. You couldn’t blame him though, you were usually buried under stacks of documents at this time of day.

Walking towards your first stop, you had to interview a witness by the convenience store. One of the cases you were working on involved arson. At first glance, you ruled it out to be some villain’s nasty prank. The more you dived into the case, you realized this was organized.

“So you recall seeing a person with black hair across the street?” You questioned the cashier while eyeing some chocolate bars. “Do you remember what he wore or an estimate of his height?”

“I can’t really picture his height but I do remember him wearing a dark blue jacket with a high collar.” Peering at the glass doors, the witness tried to think back on the events that had happened. It had been a week since the incident but the fear was still there. “He just stared at the store for a couple of minutes, I remember. After that, he turned to that corner over there. Moments later, the explosion happened.”

“Hmm…” You mentally took down notes. Nothing much to take from that statement. “Well, thank you for your time and if you see something please don’t hesitate to call.”

Handing him your business card, you exited the store and crossed the street. Heading towards the corner mentioned, you scanned for any possible belongings left behind or a tell tale sign the initial investigators failed to see. Nope. Empty-handed.

Making your way back to the precinct, you felt a vibration in your pocket. Taking your phone out, you stopped walking and you blinked yourself back to reality.

You: Thanks for the cheesecake. Not gonna work.

Overhaul(?): Bold of you to assume I was after something.

Would it be logical to reply to his message? Moving aside to let people walk, your thumb tapped the locked screen. Generally speaking, there would be nothing wrong if you answered back. Communication was key, afterall. And, to top it off, he was basically your partner for this mission. Maybe some playful banter here and there wouldn’t hurt. That’s all you’ve been doing, anyway.

Chewing on your lower lip, you scowled and put your phone back into your pocket. Tsukauchi was right. His charm was strong. Either that or you're just paranoid of being kidnapped by one of the strongest men in the yakuza. Yet, a part of you wanted to know if he was waiting for your response. Probably not. Facing your gray cubicle once again, you rummaged through the metal file bin and pulled out a rather thick manila envelope. Closing the drawer with your foot, you tossed the envelope to your desk and began to search for what you needed.

The first document you found was of Nokusu. Looking at his quirk information, you took into account his ability to bend and manipulate shadows. The small footnote indicated that light played no weakness to his quirk. He wasn’t that up there in terms of ranking but he knew his cards well enough.

Setting it aside, the next file you picked up was of Tamisura. Ahh. You remember her all too well. Still an intern at the time, it was still clear as day the way the chief of police came with a rather huge gash on his chest. Healing him took 4 days and the only thing he mentioned was a name. Tamisura.

There was no detail about her quirk. Flipping a few more pages, the chief’s statement was all you had.

‘It seems as if her quirk gives her momentum. Stopping her movements was impossible.’ That’s what it stated. With the number of quirks present, it was a little too vague for your liking. Oh well. You had an idea and you could pull some straws with that. Stacking it on top of Nokosu’s file, you found the last of the three.

Akuji. Holder of one the most annoying quirks to deal with. Telepathy. Everyone is an open book when it comes to his mind.

Ransacking the files, you let out a loud and long groan. To your amazing luck, their profiles all had masks covering their faces. No stranger to this turn of events, you thought about contacting your confidants about possible information regarding these people but even you didn’t want to risk their safety. Villain or not. It became a habit of yours to make sure the favors you ask for are worth it.

Resting your chin on your palm, you reached for your phone and unlocked it. The first thing you see was the exchange you and birdman had. Checking at Tsukauchi’s desk, you found him hunched and busy encoding his cases. Eyes back on the screen, you decided to send a little message.

You: Busy?

Overhaul(?): Are you after something now?

You: I hate you. But, yes.

Overhaul(?): No.

What were you even expecting? Amused with the little exchange, you stretched your joints and packed your stuff. The profiles of the three villains now tucked into your bag. With only 15 minutes left before your shift ends, you took the liberty of scrolling the internet for dresses. Told to dress appropriately for the gala, you would have to comply.

There was no theme indicated but you were sure to go there with a black ensemble. That color was the safest and it was also the easiest to pick from. Getting a faint picture as to what you wanted to buy, you peaked at the wall clock and immediately turned your desktop off.

"Before you leave," Tsukauchi piped up. Peaking at you from his cubicle. "Chief wants to talk to you."

Nodding at his message you went up the stairs and hummed towards the chief's office. He'd probably want updates. He always did have a knack for annoying you. The mission barely started and he's already pinning you to the corner. Knocking on his door, you heard the permission to enter.

Now seated on the guest sofa, you gave him a respectful bow. As did he. Telling you to sit down, you obeyed.

"I request a little update of the mission." He began. The not so subtle exhale from your nostril only proved how obvious he could be at times. "How's working with Overhaul?"

"The status of the mission only has one movement. The upcoming gala has a few villains joining as well." You reported. "I'm not so familiar with how the yakuza works in big events like this, though. So, I took...no. I decided to join the event with him as my plus one."

"Smart choice." He nodded at the developments. "Has he taken his mask off?"

Snickering at the question, you shook your head.

"Take that as a side quest of yours." He instructed. "We need an update on his profile. We're still empty as to what he looks like without that mask. Gain his trust. Just enough for him to show you his face."

Great. Your personal mission just evolved into official business. Accepting the task, you pushed it aside and would rather let things take its course naturally. Overhaul was something else and there was no way you would rush things. Especially if it meant him showing something personal. You were keeping your word. One purpose and one purpose only.

Conveying what he needed to, he dismissed you and you were more than excited to get the hell out of his suffocating office.

Take out. That's what you needed to unwind.

Now that you were walking down the street, establishments began to light up the path. Neon signs heavily contrasting the orange and pink skies. With the mall coming to view, you decided now would be a good time to look for an outfit. And, mostly because shopping calmed your nerves each time you had the talk with the chief.

The air condition was heaven. Heading to the area where dresses were sold, you went inside the first store you saw.

The dresses were nice but came with a high price. Though thanks to your dad, your shopping needs were never a problem. Keeping yourself glued to the ground was always simple. With the job you had, the temptation of impulsive buying always flushed down the drain. Instead, the money put under your name went into aiding your missions and a few under the table deals here and there.

Seeing a dress you liked, you decided to try it on.

Inside the plush fitting room, you stared at your reflection. This brand always did good at flaunting the curves you had. The amount of running and training you did paid off. The dress was backless save for a small but secure bow resting on your nape. The lace mesh wrapped your arms delicately and the bead work was intricate. He would like this.

"Whot?" You thought out loud. Scratching your nape, your vision trailed towards your face in the reflection. Your cheeks were a little pink and once again your heart rate was a little quicker than normal. “Lack of sleep. Caffeine overdose. Yes.”

Deciding to buy the said dress, you were accompanied to the counter by the clerk. As they were preparing the box and paper bag, you scanned a few trinkets inside locked glass boxes. Most of them jewelry for women and studs for men. They did look nice but you weren’t a big fan of diamonds.

One did capture your attention. Moving closer to it, you saw a shiny gold pair of cufflinks. Upon closer inspection, you saw how the small jewelry had what looked to be a crow. It was small but distinguishable if you knew your birds. Checking the tag, it wasn’t all that expensive. Y20,000.

Okay, maybe it was a little expensive but it looked hella worth it.

“Here’s your dress, miss~” The clerk snapped you out of your thoughts. The smile she used on all customers showing on her face. Her cherry red lips popped due to her pale skin. Accepting the bag, you glanced one more time at the tiny trinket. She seemed to catch up quickly. “Those are limited edition Bivenchy cufflinks. Would you like to see them?”

“Uh, w-” You let out a defeated sigh and agreed to look at the cufflinks.

An hour later, you were now back in the comfort of your apartment. The big paper bag with your dress now laid flat on your coffee table. Beside it, a smaller box with the brand’s name displayed in the center. Sending death glares to the impulsively bought item, you took out the contents and flopped onto your sofa.

Flipping the lid open, inside were the same cufflinks. They seemed to shine even more with the lights your unit had. Cursing yourself, you hadn’t put into consideration that a guy like Overhaul would probably have this item already. Or, something even more expensive knowing him. Closing the box, you placed it on the table and did what you had to do for the rest of the night.

Now that you were ready for bed, you scrolled down to Gei’s contact and called him.

“Hellooo my sweet quiet friend.” He greeted. The faint sound of television could be heard in the background. “What can I do for thee?”

“Hair and make up in two days, is that alright?” You asked shyly. When it came to underground thugs or villains, you were hella confident in asking for favors or settling deals. But when it came to Gei, you were like a child in her first day of school.

“Wanna look good for yo man, I presume?” He teased. For sure, his right eyebrow was cocked high by now.

“I wanna look good for the people in the gala.” You defended yourself. Twirling a few strands of your hair, you let out a yawn. “And, I don’t trust myself with makeup.”

“What time will he be pickin you up, booboo?”

“6. So, you can drop in at 4.”

“Copy on that.” He agreed. “OH OH OH. Did you buy a dress? Please tell me you’re not wearing that monstrous thing from 2 years ago. Honey, that color made me want to puke.”

Cringing at the memory of that vile yellow and purple dress, you THOUGHT you looked good in.

“I went shopping. Don’t worry.”

“What brand?”

“Auscer de la Venta…”

“YAS BEECH! WIG SUH-NATCHED!” He screeched through the line. “I swear to Queen Todrick, if his jaw ain’t gonn drop, imma whoop. His. Ass. even if it kills me. Oooh~ You think he’ll take his mask off?”

“Probably not. I doubt he’d even eat anything at the gala.” There it was again. The second person to wonder about what he was hiding underneath. There was the idea that he hid his face so he could get away if things didn’t turn out. But you recalled his explanation that he hates the air around him. “He hates dust so taking the mask off would probably be the last thing he would ever do.”

“Oh my lords.” Gei breathed out. “If he disappears when the food comes, I bet my money he’ll be eating in the men’s toilet.”

Okay. That made you laugh. Hopefully, you wouldn’t picture that scenario when he comes pick you up.

Gossiping for a few more minutes, your energy levels were now gone. Saying farewell to your friend, the moment you closed your eyes, you immediately fell asleep.

- - - - -

are yall enjoying the story so far? :’) comment or message me if you want to be a part of Overhaul’s waiting list or any questions about the story :)

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha chisaki kai #mha chisaki kai #bnha overhaul #mha overhaul #my simping grows everyday for this garbage man

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