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ashes-and-inks · 2 years ago

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A series of defining events in your relationship with Steve as friends with benefits, all while having a few more feelings than you bargained for.

(Angst, lack of communication, toxic relationship as a result)

Inspired by the track Maroon from Taylor Swift’s new Midnights album.

If someone told me I would be writing for Stranger Things six months ago I would probably be pretty puzzled.

But, since I am unable to consume media in a NORMAL way, it’s consumed me, and here we are. So, here, have this thing that’s been rotting my brain all day.

Find part 2 (Steve's perspective) here .

Nothing had ever been easy.

But that’s life, isn’t it? It isn’t supposed to be easy.

Maybe that’s why when you met him, it felt a lot like the wind had been knocked out of you.

He put you at ease. He moved and lived with such an air that was unfathomable to you. He was ease.

Sometimes you wondered if you weren’t viewing him through some sort of filter - often finding yourself blinking away the soft haze that settled around him whenever he smiled.

It was worse when that smile was directed at you - and for some reason, it had begun to be directed at you with a startling frequency.

“What’s so funny,” he had asked, that smile on his face (ease, ease, happiness, ease), one night while you were sprawled out across the hardwood floor of the living room in the apartment he shared with a friend.

You had been giggling sporadically, wondering if the cheap rosé the two of you pilfered from Robin’s side of the fridge had been bubbly after all - the fizzing in your chest inexplicable otherwise and certainly not the result of thinking about creating constellations on Steve’s skin with a golden sharpie: connecting the dots of his beauty marks you had, up to this point, only caught glimpses of.

“Nothin’,” You grinned up at him.

He had tilted his head in that infuriatingly lovely way that he often did when smiling down at you; hair falling forward just so, the corners of his lips curving up ever so slightly, warm eyes crinkling at the edges (home, home, happiness, home).

Later that night, after a long talk of being best friends and boundaries you realized, when Steve pressed his lips to yours for the first time, the fizzing in your chest was not, in fact, the result of Robin’s rose, or of the idea of drawing constellations on Steve’s skin, but a result of Steve himself. You knew it was much too late for you and your heart when you snuck from his room the next morning. The pleasant fizzing had permanently altered into an invisible tether that pulled at you, even as you pressed your lips to his cheek in a whispered farewell as you headed out for your 8:30 am class.

You had agreed to this.

You watched from down the bar, as Steve smiled down at another girl, another very pretty girl.

You had agreed to this.

“You know. You could always just… stop, right?”

Robin’s voice in your ear made you jump.

“W-what?”

She looked at you a little pityingly, and your skin crawled at the implication of her gaze.

“You can tell him you don’t want to do this anymore.”

Robin could be far too perceptive for her own good. It made it worse that you had grown to love her so much, knowing she was his friend, first.

“He might be a blind idiot, but I certainly don’t miss the way you look at him.”

You rounded on her, drink clenched tightly in one hand. “And how’s that?”

She was unphased, “lovingly. Longingly.”

You down the rest of your drink.

“Whatever. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A bright peal of laughter floated above the loud music. You cringed, unable to prevent your traitorous eyes from glancing over to where Steve was now leaning into the pretty girl, speaking lowly in her ear, words only meant for her. You wondered what he was saying to her. Something new? Or something he had practiced on you on the many nights you had fallen together, tangled and inextricable. She was blooming under his attention, the expression on her face, bashful and pleased; it was familiar to you, one your features had often worn, even as it became less and less common over the last few weeks.

“Right.” Robin’s voice brought you back to yourself. You scowled at her from the corner of your eye.

“Shut up.”

“I love Steve, but you deserve better than this.”

You sighed, the fight leaving you. You knew she was right.

Maybe that conversation with Robin was how you ended up here. Bewildered and lost, Steve staring at you, anger hanging over every part of his body in a way you had never seen before (Jealousy, stay, please, stay). You shook your head that couldn’t be right. What right did he have to be jealous?

“I don’t understand why you’re here, Steve?”

“Because he’s an ass, and you shouldn’t have even spoken to him, let alone actually agreeing to go on a date with him!”

You felt the anger rising in you with each passing moment that his form blocked the entrance of your apartment.

“I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

He looked as though he was fighting the urge to grab you. He crossed his arms across his chest, giving you an imperious look: as though he knew better.

“Well, you should have. I am your best friend, aren’t I?”

An incredulous laugh left you before you could stop it. It came out a little unhinged, and it was enough to stop Steve in his tracks. Some of his anger fell away for confusion to your reaction.

“Is that what I am, Steve? Your best friend, who you talk to about everything? Did you ask my opinion on all the women that you’ve flirted with? The women you’ve led to your bed on the nights you don’t call me?”

He almost looked surprised, before his brow settled further into a grimace.

“What the fuck do you know-” You didn’t wait for whatever tirade was about to fall from his parted lips; you’d been here too many times.

“Get out Steve.”

“ What?”

“Get. Out.”

“No!”

“Steve you are not welcome here right now, and I need to finish getting ready for my date.”

A flash of desperation flew across his features.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just, you know, worry about you and-”

You manage to maneuver your way around him to your front door, and open it, staring at him expectantly.

“Please leave, Steve.”

He stared a little helplessly before nodding his head, his eyes clouding. You knew that look meant he was internalizing, thinking hard about something. Those eyes you’d memorized met yours again as he moved past you (stay, stay, I’m sorry, please, stay), “I hope you have a good time.”

You didn’t have the time or energy to unpack all the layers of tone he placed so delicately behind those words.

It had taken some practice, but you learned to stop talking to each other.

Certainly, you still spoke, but nothing meant anything. Not anymore.

Steve Harrington no longer put you at ease.

The tether from that first night, despite it all, continued to grow tighter and tighter.

Seeing the small town in Indiana he’d grown up in, didn’t help loosen that tie.

Hawkins. Something about it, never having been there before yourself, felt familiar.

Perhaps it felt like Steve.

Felt like home.

You force yourself to look over at him from the passenger seat you’d spent hours in driving down to visit his parents for the weekend.

He’s already looking at you, a soft smile curving his mouth - a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen in a while (safe, safe, warmth, safe).

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

You feel your eyebrows raise, his gaze returns to the road, and you read the tension in his shoulders.

“For what?”

“For agreeing to come down with me; to be my human shield for the weekend.”

You blink, “of course.”

He had seemed so stressed about the weekend, that when the look of mischief dawned in his eyes when he proposed you come with him to hopefully redirect some of his parents' attention from him and his perceived failures, you could hardly deny him.

When could you ever?

“Of course. What are best friends for?”

You give him a half-hearted glare, “You’re literally only two months older than me.”

You hoped the bitterness you tasted didn’t bleed into the words.

“You’re the best best friend, kid.”

“Still makes me older, kid.”

There was the grin you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Maybe, you had thought to yourself, maybe this won’t be so bad.

It was much, much worse than you had prepared yourself for.

It was bad enough to watch Steve’s parents tear down his every accomplishment in their carefully practiced way, but then they turned their focus on you.

You had offered to help his mother after dinner, clearing the table and helping pack up the leftovers, and there in their perfectly arranged kitchen did she tell you what she really thought of you. How you’d never be good enough for her son; how he’d toss you aside like most things he found interest in. You swallowed it as gracefully as you could manage, not wanting to cause a scene and make things worse for Steve.

You bore, and you bore, and you bore until you couldn’t anymore.

It was really, just an offhand comment that hadn’t held much weight - his father, on Sunday morning, over breakfast asking Steve something or other about his “girlfriend,” (the man had avoided speaking directly to you the previous day as well - as though doing so would encourage you to stay longer. As though it might give you delusions of his approval of you for his son), and before his father had even finished his sentence, Steve made certain to correct him.

“She’s not my girlfriend; we’re just friends. I told you that on the phone when I said we’d be coming down.”

Steve had once again stolen your breath.

This time, in the absolute worst way.

You prevented yourself from clawing at your chest; from gasping aloud.

The tether was constricting.

You had been under the impression you were posing as his girlfriend; why were you there if not for that?

Perhaps you really were a human shield, not just for Steve against his parents, but for Steve to take practice swings at as well: to relieve his anger and frustrations of never being good enough.

You knew then, you’d never be good enough to Steve for Steve either.

You’d quietly excused yourself from the table, feigning illness, and packed your bag. You snuck out the back door without saying goodbye.

He had chased you down of course. You had taken a bus back from Hawkins to Chicago, and barricaded yourself in your apartment, nursing your bruised pride and swearing to yourself you were done with Steve Harrington.

You lasted a good while; you managed to continually dodge Steve anytime you might run into him, and avoided his phone calls for a good couple of weeks.

You didn’t know how to explain to him why you left.

You weren’t his girlfriend. But it didn’t mean it made hearing him say it, sounding so unbothered, hurt any less.

You hadn’t expected to nearly walk right into him when you left your apartment a little over two weeks after you ran.

He was leaning against the wall across from your unit, head snapping up at the sound of your door opening.

You blinked in surprise and felt heat rush to your cheeks, lips parting, as though to say something, anything to defend yourself. But nothing came out.

“Hi,” he said cautiously.

“Hi.”

“I miss you.”

You tried to ignore the tether’s pull at his confession.

“I… I missed you too.”

He straightened from the wall, relief clear across his features.

He moved quickly into your space, crowding you back into your apartment, shaping you to him, lips desperate against yours.

You let him guide you back into your space, fumbling to lock the door again, before leading you back between the sheets of your bed.

He had left a few hours later; the two of you had fallen back to speaking like you had before it felt like everything had shifted beneath your feet, and he stated he had to go get ready.

“For what?” You asked softly, playfully.

He hadn’t asked why you had left the weekend at his parents so suddenly.

You hadn’t offered an explanation.

“A date, actually,” he said as he slipped back into his shirt.

Your eyes fell shut. You cradled yourself against your pillow, the smell of him, enveloping you.

You felt yourself shatter, twice.

Once as he pressed his lips to your temple and said quietly, just for you to hear, “glad to have you back, kid.”

The second time at the sound of the front door shutting behind him as he went on to move through the world with ease like nothing was wrong.

“You were right, you know.”

You played with the straw in your drink, eyes tracking the condensation that rolled its way down the side of your glass, to find its home with the ring on the scarlet plastic table you sat at in the 24-hour fifties-styled diner you had met Robin at sometime shortly after midnight.

You were relieved when she answered the phone, and not Steve. You’re not sure what you would have done if Steve had answered.

“I’m right about a lot of things, you’re going to have to be more specific.” She spoke with a cheeky lilt, but her eyes were watching you carefully. It made you want to duck under the table.

You fought the urge to hide.

“About Steve.”

She stayed quiet, still looking at you, but with a look meant to comfort you. It encouraged you to keep talking.

“I think… I think I’m in love with him. I can’t keep doing this.”

“You know. For all the things I’d like to have been told I was right about, this was the last one I would have actually wanted.” She paused, looking thoughtful, before realization spread across her face.

“Are you friend-breaking-up with me right now?”

You wince, and look at her apologetically.

“Not permanently. I just… need some space from him right now.”

She groaned, “and we are, unfortunately, often a package deal, huh?” there was the briefest pause before Robin was speaking again, “I knew I should have stolen you away from that dingus the moment he introduced you to me.”

That surprised a laugh out of you.

Robin beamed, thankful to see you smile again. Lately it seemed like you had forgotten how to.

“Well, we can still hang out tonight, can’t we?”

You felt warmth grow in your chest for your friend.

“Tonight. Sure.”

If the only good thing you ever got from Steve Harrington was Robin Buckley, it was more than you could ever properly express your thanks for.

It had been three months, two weeks and four days since you had last spoken to Steve Harrington.

No, you weren’t counting.

(Yes you were).

You spent more nights in that time drowning in your sorrow, barely able to breathe at times, mourning the fading marks on your skin he had left behind that last time.

By this time they had completely gone, but you found yourself looking for them still in the mirror sometimes.

You had been dating.

You had been dating someone steadily.

He was nice. A little awkward, but his lack of ease, puts you at ease.

You were moving on. Moving forward. Moving away from him.

But he did always seem to be able to find you, even when you didn’t want to be found.

You looked down to escape the hollow feeling in your chest that rooted in his eyes. He held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, looking a little worse for wear. He noticed you looking, and held them out to you, voice hoarser than you think you’d ever heard him - "I saw them - roses - and thought of you."

It felt a little like deja vu, opening the door to find him, there, again.

He stood there in the doorway, light haloed around his head, drawing darker shadows beneath eyes you no longer recognized (sorry, sorry, please, sorry).

There was a pause.

He swallowed, then: "I'm so sorry."

You stared at the deep red flowers for a moment, wondering if you had it in you to tell him what he held weren't roses, but carnations.

But, you never had the strength to say no to him.

Never him.

You took them in hand feeling yourself being pulled back into his orbit once again. The tether you thought you had cut with communication made itself known once again, pulling, pulling, tearing you open until you were simply an exposed, sensitive, vulnerable nerve.

You realize, gazing back into his eyes and the fear and hope that mixed there, the gravity of him was far too strong to ever really tear yourself free.

You might have escaped once, but now, as you stood there, unable to tell him no, you had gotten far too close.

You wondered briefly who you'd be once this all burned to ash.

"Thank you. They're beautiful."

#Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington x you #Stranger Things #Steve Harrington #Robin Buckley #ambiguous ending #Stranger Things Fic #Angts #cw:angst #cw: toxic relationships

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years ago

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Unspoken Challenge ~ Bang Chan [M]

WORD COUNT: 4.2K

GENRE: Smut, fluffy, nerdy/dom chan

PAIRING: Nerd Bang Chan x Reader

WARNING: Light choking, squirting, Chan dom...I think that’s it

A pen was tapping over and over again on the desk behind you and it was starting to stress you out. The class was already hard enough you didn't need some moron making it worse, you took in a deep breath trying to push down the urge to smack whoever it was behind you. They'd done nothing but tap the pen onto the desk as if they were anxiously waiting for something to happen. As time passed the pen tapper got faster until you finally snapped, turning around and slamming your hands onto the desk making the pen tapping stop.

"Do you have any idea how god damn annoying you are?!" The boy behind you smirked as you snapped at him, he'd been doing it to wind you. Felix was the University player and liked it whenever girls talked back to him, it gave him a reason to shamelessly flirt with them.

"The dog bites, I like it." You rolled your eyes at the boy who had a giant smirk on his face. Lee Felix, he was one of the popular students at your university and you hated him and his group of friends. They did nothing but wind you and another student up - Christopher Bang - claiming that you were both cheating on tests or they would come up with some kind of nasty rumour about you both this week alone it was that you'd slept with the entire football team. It wound you up that they were always so cruel to Chan when he was nothing but sweet to everyone he met, it didn't bother you so much when they were mean to you but when they were mean to Chan it pissed you off.

"What's up princess? Chan cant get it up and satisfy you in bed?" A bunch of snickers followed the comment he made but you just rolled your eyes again, turning to face the front of as you started waiting for time to pass. 'princess' was Chan's nickname for you, no one else's and it irked you that someone else had the audacity to use it on you. All you had to do was make it through this one lesson and everything would be fine, you could go and find Chan, Minho and Seungmin and go for lunch. The only thing getting you through this lesson was the thought of lunch with your boyfriend and two close friends.

"We all know what you're after, a good dicking but you're not going to get it from Chan," Felix whispered in your ear as he leant forward to you. He noticed you watching the clock above the teachers head and chuckled softly,

"You can come to me anytime, I'll show you how a real man should fuck you..." Hearing his words you drowned out his voice thinking about the first time that you and Chan had been together...How he was nothing like you thought he would be. See, everyone had Chan pegged to be the super quiet, shy and nerdy type...Which he was but once you got him into the bedroom it was as if an alter ego took over. You called him Christopher since Chan hated whenever someone would call him by his long name.

"Running late?" Minho smirked as you began sprinting towards the student library as you ignored him but he just ran alongside you, teasing you repeatedly as you rushed to get to the door.

"Minho, fuck off. If I'm late again Chan will kill me." You mumbled as you slowed down to a walk outside the door, pushing the double doors open to see Chan had already packed up his things.

"Chan I was caught up at work-"

"Whatever, you clearly don't want to get through the class. I'm not wasting my time with you." You hated that he was blowing you off, you'd been trapped at a late shift so you couldn't do anything about it. It wasn't as though you had Chan's number so you could let him know what was going on. He was so private he wouldn't give you his mobile number or where his dorm was, you'd tried to get it from him but he wouldn't tell you.

"Chan I need to pass this class, work kept me behind and made me do a later shift...I want to pass this class please-" You were following him out of the library as he walked away from you, keeping his head down as he tried to ignore the fact that you were there. You weren't going to let him get away with ditching you, not when you really needed this from him. There was no one else you could go to. No one was as smart as Chan and he knew that.

"It's Friday night, just go out and drink...Whatever it is you do on a Friday." He mumbled to you, stopping himself from walking when you stood in front of him. This was the first time he looked at you properly today, you weren't in your normal attire. Normally you'd be in jeans and a low cut top but today you were in a diner dress and some tennis shoes. The nametag on your dress being the giveaway that it was your work attire.

"We can do this Monday, I have plans tonight." He mumbled moving away from you but all he could think about was the dress you were wearing and the way you looked in the dress. He wasn't an idiot, he knew you were good looking but he also knew you were out of his league so he was never going to do anything. That didn't stop his mind from wandering about things though, the things he would do to you if you were his and he could have his way with you. Punishing you for being late to an important study session, punishing you for the way you wore low cut tops and bent over in front of him. Sometimes he thought you only did those things just to tease him.

Minho chuckled at you as you watched Chan walking away, his leg was kicked up on the wall behind him as he laughed at you.

"You're not going to drop this are you?" You shook your head at his question and demanded Chan's dorm room number. You knew they were living in the same dorm building and he had to know where Chan was. There was no way you were going to not study, Chan was the smartest kids in the university and not to mention in your course. He was your only hope of passing the test on Tuesday.

The door swung open but Chan didn't seem too happy to see you standing there. The smile on his face dropped and he rolled his eyes, he thought you were the pizza he'd ordered himself. His ''plans'' for Friday night were to sit alone watching the new Anime that had come out with a pizza.

"I told you we could study Monday-" He went to shut the door but you pushed your foot in front of it stopping him from doing so if you were anybody else he would have continued to shut the door.

"Chan, the test is Tuesday. Please. I'm hopeless without your help." He nodded at you not disagreeing that you were hopeless in it and not being able to resist the puppy dog look in your eyes so let you into his dorm room.

"You get one hour, any more than that I'll charge you." You excitedly threw your arms around him, jumping up and down as you thanked him over and over again but his mind was racing. You were still in the diner outfit that made his mind wander over everything, he could feel your chest pressed against him that made him bite his lip.

"Y-Yeah, come on in." He stuttered out, pushing his thick black glasses onto his face as he shut the door behind you.

"What exactly is the part you're struggling on?" He questioned as he walked you into the living area of his apartment, sitting you down and sitting beside you with his own books.

"If I say all of it will you kill me..." He raised his eyebrows at you and shook his head, he had no idea how you could have been struggling with any of it. He was helping the tutor grade papers and all of yours were on par with his. You were smart to say you were one of the popular girls in the University,

"I've been behind because of work, I haven't had time to get as much studying as I would like done." He nodded along with you and then he started questioning you on small bits from the classes that week. Wanting to know what you did and didn't know so he could come up with a studying style that would be best for you.

Later that night you woke up to a blanket being laid over you, you flinched looking up to see Chan standing there. He'd been grilling you for most of the night with questions and when his pizza finally arrived he shared it with you. Choosing to help you rather than throwing you to the curb like he said he was going to do,

"You fell asleep, you looked peaceful so I was going to just-" You shook your head, telling him that he didn't have to explain himself to you.

"C-Can I come over during the weekend? I don't have a shift so I can study for longer. Unless you have plans?" You suggested, getting up from the sofa and hunting around for your bag, the only plans he had would be the anime and he liked the idea of helping you far more than that.

"I don't have plans...You can come tomorrow." He whispered as he began walking you to the door, checking outside of the door to make sure the male tutor wasn't around and you wouldn't get scolded for being in the boy's dorm. The one rule on campus, no girls in the boy's dorms, no boys in the girl's dorms.

"Thanks for this Chan, I owe you one." Without even thinking, you stood up on your tiptoes to give him a small kiss on the cheeks. His ears began to turn a bright red colour making you giggle as you quietly snuck out of his room and headed home, looking forward to the weekend of studying with him. Chan's hand slowly raised to his cheek as he touched where your lips had been, he groaned to himself ignoring the tent that was starting to pitch in his jeans. It was just a stupid kiss yet his mind kept wandering back to the butterflies he'd been feeling.

The next night you were sitting together after studying all day, it felt as though you were in class rather than studying. Chan had different tests laid out for you, flashcards and study folders all laid out for you to work from.

"I could rip my eyeballs out, how do you get all of this done." You yawned at him, it seemed as though he just glanced at a page and the information would instantly be implanted into his brain.

"You're like one of those Aliens, aren't you? You absorb information with one glance!" The fake gasp that came from you made Chan laugh which sent butterflies to your stomach, you'd not heard him laugh like that before. The smile on his face was enough to make your whole body feel like you were floating, he looked so cute when he smiled like that. A small dimple on his cheek and the way his eyes scrunched together,

"You have a really pretty smile," You whispered before you even realised you were talking aloud, a giant blush spread along Chan's freckled cheeks and his ears turned a brighter red than before.

"I'm sorry cutie, I didn't mean to embarrass you." You squeezed his cheeks playfully but his hand gripped onto your wrist to stop you from babying him like you were,

"Don't treat me like I'm a baby, I'm not." He growled at you, you were taken back a little not expecting this side to come from him it and interested you a lot.

"I-I'm sorry, I was just playing...You are cute though Chan." Your comment was only met by another growl and he moved away from you muttering something under his breath that you didn't hear.

"Chan?" You went to reach for him to apologise but he grabbed your wrists again, pinning you to the sofa below him. You squirmed under his grasp looking up into his dark eyes as he stared down at you,

"I'm not some cute little nerd," You let out a small whimper as you looked up at him. A pool went down to your core at the way he looked at you, his eyes had darkened over and it wasn't the nerdy Chan you knew. You squirmed once again under his grasp.

"Squirming so much and I haven't even touched you," He smirked and you could have sworn the nerdy Chan you knew was gone and replaced with whoever this was now.

"You're so pretty when you're scared...Maybe I should fuck you dumb huh? Then maybe we can fill the brain with the study material...Stop you watching your phone every four seconds." He'd caught you reading through something on your phone that wasn't the work he was setting you and he didn't care what it was he just didn't want you to waste his or your time. This side of him made you excited but you also wanted to tease him for it see what else he was hiding under the nerdy persona he was exhibiting,

"I bet you'd cum as soon as you put it in me," You challenged, looking him in the eyes as you bucked you hips up to meet his. He licked his lips watching you as he nodded along with what you were saying, not agreeing with you but accepting the unspoken challenge.

"Is that a bet?" You nodded your head at him and he smirked, throwing his glasses down onto the coffee table where your books were left unattended now.

"If I win, you study all weekend and you owe me a favour." He told you as he let go of your wrists completely watching to see what you do.

"And if I win, which I will...What do I get?" He shrugged his shoulders,

"Whatever you want, but trust me, kitten-" He bent down to whisper in your ear this time,

"You're not going to win." His voice sent shivers down your spine and you bit down on your tongue as you watched him closely, wanting nothing more than to make out with him on the spot.

"What makes you so sure? You're just a nerd-" You stopped talking as soon as he pulled the hoodie off from his body revealing a pack of abs you never would have guessed were under there.

"Concentrate darling, anyone would think you have a thing for the nerd." He growled grabbing you by your neck and standing you up as he carefully walked you towards the bedroom. He hadn't even touched you and you could feel how wet you were, practically leaking through your panties.

"Strip," He ordered as he slammed his bedroom door shut, sitting on the edge of his bed as he watched you closely. You smirked at him, slowly undoing the zip of your black jacket before revealing a black lowcut top you'd worn a couple of times before. He kept his eyes on you, giving no inclination as to what he was feeling or thinking as you stripped.

"Slowly," He whispered getting down onto the floor in front of you as you got to nothing but your panties. You hissed as he slapped your thighs and you slowly began to lower your panties.

"So fucking wet for the nerd." He chuckled as he watched the way your arousal stuck to your panties before he threw you down onto the bed. Kissing you roughly as he let his tongue explore your mouth you wrapped your arms around his neck as you relaxed into the kiss. Feeling sparks fly out of your body the moment he kissed you. The kiss intensified and he smirked, dragging you to the edge so you were displayed out for him, he ran his hand over your thighs.

"Spread them," You did as he said and looked at him as he watched you closely.

"Do you want me to touch you?" You nodded desperately, hopeless for some kind of touch from him.

"Where do you want me to touch you? Use your words," You wanted to scream at him just to touch you but you didn't, you stayed quiet as you looked at him.

"H-Here," You whispered running your own finger over your clit but he slapped it away before slowly rubbing his thumb over your clit. You bit your lip, holding back the moans that were trying to escape from you,

"Don't hide the moans, let everyone know who's making you feel good." He ordered you as he thumb continued to rub your clit in circles vigorously. You moaned out, rolling your head back against the mattress as you enjoyed his touches. Pathetic and high pitched whimpers leaving your lips whenever he would change the direction of his rubbing,

"Feel good baby? Is the nerd making you feel good?" He questioned in a condescending tone that only made you more attracted to him. When you didn't answer him he wrapped his other hand around your neck, applying a small amount of pressure making you choke out a moan.

"Answer me."

"Yes! F-Feels so fucking good!" You cried out only to be met with a slap against your clit making you cry out again, he let go of your neck and pushed two fingers into you.

"So tight princess, have you not fucked someone in a while?" He questioned as he began to rock his fingers in and out of you, using his other thumb on your clit again.

"N-No...N-Not s-since last year." You whimpered not knowing why you were telling him you hadn't been laid in a while.

"Maybe that's why you're always so pent up...Just need a good fucking," You nodded at him as you desperately began to plea for him to let you cum. He only rubbed your clit faster and smirked up at you,

"Can I cum? Please?" He chuckled darkly as you begged for him to let you cum, you were dripping down onto the sheets each time he pulled his fingers out of your cunt.

"Want you to ride my thigh first." You were shocked at his words but without hesitation, you pushed him to sit down on the bed and you straddled his thigh. Moaning out as the thick fabric came into contact with your bare core.

"F-Fuck." You whimpered as you began to slowly move your hips on his thigh. Rocking back and forth as he put a finger on your clit making you cry out.

The friction was getting too much for you and you were crying out his name. Your head laid on his shoulder as you rode his thigh.

"You can cum now, like a good girl." He whispered, and just like that you did.

"Chan!" Your hands dug into his arm as you continued to ride his thigh. Cumming onto the fabric of his jeans before he pushed you down onto the bed again, your legs were shaking as you begged for him to fuck you instead of teasing you.

"I-I get it, I shouldn't have said what I said...Y-You win." You whispered as he began to unbuckle the belt on his jeans.

"You're still so wet princess, and look at the mess you made." You glanced at his trousers and felt the heat rush up your body in embarrassment.

"I want you to make a mess like that on my cock, can you do that baby girl?" You nodded at him,

"Y-Yes Chan," He smirked at how easily you'd turned into a begging and whimpering mess for him.

"Stand up," You did as he said and he walked over to you, chuckling as you struggled to keep your balance. As he kicked off his boxers you sank down on your knees to get a good look at him. He was huge, larger than you had been expecting and it made your mouth water. You wanted to taste him, you needed his cum but before you could even put your lips on him he shook his head at you. At first, he was going to let you but after seeing how excited you had been to do it he stopped himself wanting to prove you wrong.

"Lay down and spread your legs." You did as he sat and he smirked watching you.

"Good girl, so wet for me as well." He chuckled as he began aligning himself at your entrance before sinking into you. You moaned out as he stretched you out, your walls clenching around him as he grunted.

"So fucking tight," You mewled out in response to him and he chuckled moaning when he began to push in and out of you. His hands gripped onto your hips as he began to thrust in and out of you, moaning our your name.

"Feels so good," You moaned out as you felt his cock moving in and out of you. Your walls gripping around him as if he belonged inside of you.

"Shit Chan," You whimpered as he continued to move inside of you, his hips slamming into you as you felt your next orgasm approaching, you squirmed underneath him. Digging your feet into his ass to make him hit deeper,

"So good!" You screamed out, dragging your nails down his back as he continued to push into you, the feeling making your head spin as it felt as though you were floating. The wet sounds filled the air with the sound of slapping skin and moans, both yours and Chan's as he continued fucking into you.

"I can feel you getting closer, do you want to cum?" He questioned, reaching down as he began rubbing your clit. You cried out at the touch and he chuckled darkly, slapping into you harder you rolled your head back in ecstasy.

"Cum." He commanded you and you did. Screaming out his name as you rolled your head back, gripping onto the sheets around you as you came harder than you ever had done before. You whimpered feeling your orgasm keep ripping through you as you clenched and twitched around him, an unfamiliar wetness came from you as you squirted around him moaning out loudly as it did.

"S-Shit! W-What-" You didn't have time to question what it was as Chan began to pump into you. Grunting loudly as he came into you hard, filling you up so much you came around him again at the feeling.

"F-Fuck." You cried out as you came down from your high, panting heavily as he pulled out of you and laid down beside you on the bed.

"Whoa." You whispered as you turned on your side to look at him, the blushing shy Chan was back and you giggled softly.

"Where did he come from?" You questioned, running your finger up and down his chest and abs as you waited for him to answer,

"Where did who come from?" He frowned looking at you as he wrapped a blanket over your body, not wanting you to get sick or catch a cold.

"Christopher." You winked at him and he chuckled shyly, shaking his head at you.

"I hope it wasn't the last time he comes out to play...I-I enjoyed that." The same smirk was back on his lips once he heard your words,

"Well if you study and pass your test maybe he'll come out to play again." He winked at you as you leant forward to give him a small kiss on the lips.

The bell rang waking you up from your daydream, you practically jumped out of your seat to get out of the classroom but Felix was faster. He raced up behind you and grabbed your elbow so you would turn to face him,

"Come home with the big boys," He whispered to you, trying to be as seductive as possible but all he was doing was coming across as a cock.

"No thanks, my boyfriend is waiting for me." You turned around to see Chan standing against the wall, he was wearing an oversized blue sweater you'd gotten him and the new pair of thick square glasses.

"Hi!" You yelled out, snatching your arm away from Felix as you walked over to Chan,

"Why was Felix holding onto you?" He questioned, wrapping his arms around you protectively as he eyed up Felix,

"He was just being an idiot. Telling me how he could fuck me how a real man should," Chan scoffed at the comment and looked at Felix.

"Trust me, the way she screams my name at night I'm surprised you haven't heard." He smirked at Felix turning you around and walking away from the boys who were all watching after you as you giggled to Chan about what you both had planned for that night.

Tagline: @taestannie @kneel-begyourpardon @channiewoo @minholuvs @lkwonmj

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sadselfhelp · 4 years ago

Text

Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks.

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me.

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing.

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble.

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one.

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me.

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

#trigger warnings #mental health #anxiety #borderline personality disorder #adhd #domestic abuse #child abuse #self harm #violence #just all the trigger warnings

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clumsyclifford · 3 years ago

Note

hello bella’s ask box it’s been a min damn.

so the vibes are fucking everywhere w the music in the lab today so i’ve mostly been ignoring it but then unforgettable by thomas rhett started playing and my brain was immediately like This Is a Fic Song

more importantly it is a Bella Fic Song

last time you not so subtly wanted me to prompt u w w thomas rhett song you told me to do that here so i am back again w another song from ur boy

okay i def snuck out just to send this so i gotta go now but this felt important laksdjdld

ok ily bye 💛

hi sam :)

so.................... i was stuck on what to write you for your birthday fic. you sent me this ask prompting me with a thomas rhett song that i had literally been meaning to write a fic based on for almost a full year. the puzzle pieces just aligned REALLY nicely on this one.

happy birthday, my love. there's gonna be a LOT more sappy shit in the ao3 notes, but please know that my life is irreversibly changed for the better because i met you. i am dangerous close to sounding like glinda from wicked and i really want you to get to READ this fic so please see ao3 for more schmaltz. i love you so much.

tw for alcohol

read here on ao3

Every life has a moment that imprints on memory like ink on a fresh page. The kind of moment that permanently alters the trajectory of that life, that marks the ending of one chapter and the beginning of another. Some people are lucky enough to have more than one. Some people’s minds are laden with crystallized memories. But there’s always at least one. One completely unforgettable moment.

For Jack, this moment happens twenty-four minutes after he enters the club.

Twenty-three minutes after he enters the club, Zack returns with his and Jack's second beers and says, "There's some guy at the bar who's totally your type."

"Yeah?" Jack cranes his neck, but he can't quite see the bar from where he is. "My type how? Not just 'lonely and drunk,' right? My standards have gotten higher, you know."

Zack hands Jack his beer. "He's cute and he's wearing a One Direction shirt, and I'm pretty sure he's drinking a margarita.”

"Oh shit," Jack says. "That checks all my boxes."

"I know it does," says Zack, winner of the Wingman Of The Decade award. He claps Jack on the shoulder. Jack sidesteps people until he gets eyes on the bar and scans for a cute guy in a One Direction shirt drinking a margarita.

Twenty-four minutes after Jack enters the bar, he sees Alex.

And everything changes forever.

"Woah," Jack says. His gut is feeling weird and it’s probably unrelated to the beer and a half under his belt.

"What?"

"The guy at the bar," Jack says, grabbing Zack's arm. "Zack. You grossly undersold my future husband to me."

"Your future husband?" Zack sounds amused, but Jack isn't kidding.

"Remember this moment," he says seriously, giving Zack a sloppy pat on the bicep before moving away from him, towards the bar, towards the cute guy with the One Direction shirt who's making Jack understand clairvoyance. "Remember this so you can tell the story at our wedding!"

"Your wedding," Zack repeats.

"Our fucking wedding!" Jack insists, more loudly as space and drunk people fill the growing gap between him and Zack. Zack just gives him a good-luck-and-godspeed wave.

Seconds later, Jack is at the bar.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

The cute guy in question looks up, surprised. Jack practically reels. It's a miracle people aren't flocking to this guy; he's not just cute, he's gorgeous. Bleach-blond hair — clearly from a bottle, which somehow Jack finds more attractive — flops over his forehead in a stubborn commitment to the emo fringe that died out a decade ago, and long lashes frame brown eyes that rival the glossy chestnut color of the bar. Add the five o'clock shadow and the sharply angled jaw and Jack's speechless.

Fortunately it's not his turn to speak. "I have a drink," says the guy, who is rapidly progressing from Cute Guy At Bar to Possible Soulmate At Bar. He quirks a smile. Jack's done for. "I'll buy you a drink, though."

Jack sets his partially-drunk beer on the bar top and slides it as far as he can reach. "Okay," he says.

Possible Soulmate laughs. He slides his margarita away from him, too, pushing it into the space of another person sitting down the bar. "Touché. Okay, you can buy me a drink."

"Well, hey, I don't want you to waste yours," Jack says reasonably. He retrieves his beer and then Possible Soulmate's drink. "I'll get the next one."

Possible Soulmate smiles. Jack is going to need his name eventually. "I appreciate your commitment to environmentally-friendly consumption of alcohol."

Jack blinks. "Yeah," he says. "That was a lot of big words, but sure. No problem. I'm Jack, by the way."

"Alex." Alex. Jack can see the wedding invites now.

"Nice to meet you," Jack says. "I like your shirt."

Alex glances down out of instinct as the wide collar of the shirt slips over his shoulder. "Thanks," he says with a chuckle, and looks up at Jack. "I like yours."

With great effort, Jack tears his gaze from Alex's shoulder and the hint of collarbone peeking out, but he would like it on the record that it is tremendously difficult. Fortunately he already knows what shirt he's wearing because he'd agonized over it for several minutes longer than Zack's patience ran, shortly before going out.

"Yeah, Kurt Cobain," he says, nodding with probably too much enthusiasm. "I'm a lead singer guy."

"Really?" Alex tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. "Meaning what?"

"I go for the lead singer types," Jack explains. "Kurt Cobain, Billie Joe Armstrong, you know." He nods at Alex's shirt. "Harry Styles."

"Harry Styles wasn't—" Alex breaks off and snorts. "Eh, whatever. Who cares."

"Wait," Jack says. "Hold the phone. Did you fucking cross out Zayn's face?"

Alex looks down at his shirt again like maybe he'll have forgotten what it looks like. "Oh, my friend did that. But now the shirt is factually accurate."

"If you wanted an accurate shirt you'd have to cross them all out since none of them are in the band anymore," Jack observes.

Alex slowly smiles. "I guess."

"I always liked Zayn," Jack says wistfully. "His solo shit is so good, though."

"It's good," Alex says, kind of in the tone of voice of someone who doesn't really agree but doesn't want to get into it, so Jack leaves it be. They can poll their wedding guests. "I'm really digging Niall's solo shit."

"That's an extremely acceptable answer," Jack says, nodding vigorously. In the moment it slips his mind that he's holding a beer and the liquid begins to slosh out of its container. "Oh shit, fuck, sorry."

"Didn't get me," Alex says, passing Jack a napkin. "Couple too many, I get it."

"What?" Jack is very focused on drying his hands so they don't get sticky and gross. "I'm not drunk."

Alex laughs. "Yeah, right."

"I'm not!"

"Okay," Alex says lightly, but it's clear he doesn't believe Jack. On the bright side, he doesn't seem bothered by it.

"I am acceptably drunk for a guy in his mid-twenties at a club,” Jack amends. "And you owe me a drink anyway."

"Hey, I intend to buy you that drink," Alex says earnestly. "Another beer?"

Jack shakes his head. "Vodka soda," he says. "It's a special occasion."

"Really! You celebrating something?"

"I am now," Jack says. "Celebrating meeting my future husband."

"Your future husband?"

"You," Jack says, in case it wasn't clear. "It's not every day you meet the man you're gonna marry. I think it calls for a celebratory vodka soda."

Alex stares, obviously expecting Jack to say sike! When Jack does no such thing, he gives a small, incredulous laugh.

"Fair enough," he says. He sounds like he's humoring Jack. That's okay. Jack is serious, but Alex will figure that out on his own time. "I guess you're not wrong. That doesn't happen every day."

A large shadow materializes on Alex's other side, blocking light like some very cliché movie villain. It's not Doc Ock, but it is some tall, burly guy, a leer affixed to his face that's probably been there since Alex's haircut went out of style.

"Hey, baby," he says in an unnervingly deep voice. The part of Jack that isn't super skeezed out is a little jealous. But Burly Guy isn't talking to Jack; Jack may as well be invisible. To Alex, Burly Guy says, "Saw you across the bar and I just had to come over."

Didn't have to, Jack thinks grumpily to himself. You could have stayed across the bar. If you walk away now we’ll pretend we never saw you.

"Can I get you a drink?" Burly Guy asks, and honestly, Jack has no idea what Alex is going to say.

Big Burly Guy with a deep voice a la Morgan Freeman vs. resident beanstalk Jack whose voice sounds like a rejected cartoon character design. What a tough choice.

Jack is just preparing to cut his losses when Alex grabs Jack's wrist, turns to him, and says, "Honey? What do you think?"

Jack's tipsy, but Alex is definitely communicating something with his eyes, and between that and the pet name Jack is pretty sure he's on the same page.

"You want to buy my boyfriend a drink?" Jack asks Big Burly Guy, cranking up the Bitchy energy because he doesn't get to do it a lot and it's kinda fun. His voice has definitely gone vaguely southern-auntie, but he's rolling with it. "Sorry, sugar, this seat's taken. Must be this guy" — he points at himself — "to ride."

"This guy?" Burly Guy echoes, furrowing his eyebrows at Jack and then looking at Alex with profound confusion, like he just doesn't get it. "You're with this guy?"

"Happily," Alex says, glancing back at Jack, who offers him what is definitely a convincingly enamored smile because Jack is legitimately enamored. Alex laces their fingers together and Jack's not delusional, can't be, not when they fit this well together. No way. "So I'm gonna pass on that drink. Sorry, man. No hard feelings."

Burly Guy seems to have some hard feelings. Maybe he didn't get the memo. "Whatever," he says gruffly. "Your loss."

Jack can't resist countering, "Actually it's your loss, sweetums," as Burly Guy retreats. If he dies tonight, he knows who’s responsible.

As soon as he's gone, Alex breaks down laughing, and Jack quickly follows suit. Alex's hand slips from Jack's and begins to tug at the ends of his own hair instead.

"Sugar?"

"I don't know what happened," Jack says/wheezes. "I became possessed by Blanche from Golden Girls.”

"You have to be" — Alex prods Jack's chest — "this guy to ride." He dissolves into giggles and Jack is laughing too but mostly because Alex's laugh is incredibly contagious.

"Look, I don't blame him," Jack says, feeling exhilarated. "You are the best-looking guy in this establishment. He just happened to have creepo vibes."

"I am not the best-looking guy in this establishment," Alex says, grinning at Jack. "Nice of you to say, though."

"Hey, I'm serious!"

"I thought you were Jack."

Jack stares at Alex and Alex doesn't even last a second before he's breaking down laughing yet again.

I'm going to marry you, Jack thinks, and it almost scares him how serious he is about that. He opens his mouth and says, "That wasn't even— that's not even one of the good dad jokes! That's the most boring one!"

"There is no such thing as a boring dad joke."

"You should go into stand-up," Jack says dryly. "You'd tear down the house with this set. I can see it now." He waves a grandiose hand in the air as if painting the marquee into existence, but when he goes to introduce the act he realizes he's missing most of the crucial information. "Alex…something…something. Austin, Texas, one night only."

"Gaskarth," Alex says. "That's my last name."

"Alex Something Gaskarth," Jack loyally amends, and gives Alex a look like, well?

Except Alex is giving Jack that same look. "I only know your first name and you expect me to tell you my full one?"

"Jack Bassam Barakat," Jack says, gesturing impatiently. "Come on, I'm trying to introduce your act here."

"Guess," Alex says.

"Guess?"

"It's a pretty basic middle name," Alex says. "I'll buy you your vodka soda when you guess it."

"Alex," Jack says. "I am not going to guess your middle name. I am so bad at these games and I'm fucking drunk."

"Quitter," Alex says. "Do you want your drink?"

Jack scowls, trying to channel Blanche again, but Alex is apparently immune.

"Give me a hint," he finally concedes.

"It's a British name," Alex says. “Pretty standard British.”

"Are you British?”

Alex nods. "Born and raised. Moved here when I was about…eight? But I'm not an American citizen. I have a green card."

Yet another reason they should be married. Jack could extend his citizenship to Alex. Plus he'd gain British citizenship, which would probably be useful for, like, travel or One Direction stalking or whatever.

"That's sick," Jack says. "I was born in Lebanon. We moved when I was a baby."

"That's so cool," Alex says, sounding genuinely interested. He props his chin on his hand and gives Jack a cheeky smile. "Now guess."

Jack sighs. "Uh, Charles."

"No."

"Darcy."

"Darcy?"

"Margaret."

"Jack."

"You said it's a British name!"

"A British man's name," Alex says, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation.

Jack takes a long pull from his beer, swallows, and says, "Harry."

"No."

They're going to be here awhile. Jack pulls out the seat next to Alex and settles in while he racks his brain for British names.

“Alfred.”

“Nope.”

“John.”

“No.”

“Paul.”

“No.”

“George.” Alex shakes his head. “Ringo.”

“Yup, you finally got it,” Alex says. Jack is over the moon for a split second before it sinks in that Alex is fucking with him. “Alex Ringo Gaskarth. Well done.”

“Fuck off, I’m doing my best here,” Jack says.

“You’re missing one incredibly obvious name,” Alex says. “It’s not that hard.”

“For you,” Jack says. “Because you already know it.” Alex is grinning. Jack likes that he’s enjoying himself. It makes this guessing game fun. Under any other circumstances, this guessing game would not be fun, but Alex makes it fun.

Alex has also finished his mango margarita by now, and Jack’s beer is long since empty. He’s itching for another drink, mainly for something to do with his hands.

As if reading his mind, Alex flags down the bartender, who sidles up with a small smile and says, “What can I get you boys?”

Jack blinks at her. Mostly at her accent, which is not American.

“Vodka soda,” Alex says. To Jack, “I think you’ve earned it.” Jack smiles.

“And a mango margarita,” he puts in to the bartender, “and are you British?”

The bartender looks amused. “I am British,” she says.

“Please help me,” Jack says. “Alex says his middle name is a British name and I cannot for the life of me figure out what it fucking is.”

“Jack, the nice bartender lady has other things to do,” Alex says with a laugh. The nice bartender lady probably does have other things to do, but she shifts her weight and gives Alex an appraising look instead.

“Harry?”

“Tried that,” Jack says, realizing at once that this is a pointless endeavor. The nice bartender lady is going to guess everything Jack’s already guessed and he’ll just have wasted her time. “I’ve tried every member of One Direction, every member of the Beatles, every member of Oasis, every Harry Potter character, every member of the Royal Family—”

At this, Alex coughs conspicuously.

Jack rounds on him. “I have.”

“Edward,” the bartender offers. Alex’s lips are pressed together in a smile and he shakes his head. “Meghan. Kate. Richard. Dick. Philip.”

A lightbulb goes off as the bartender is listing Royal Family names. Jack wants to kick himself. “Oh my— William?”

“Yeahhhh, there you go! See, it was easy,” Alex says, grinning widely.

“William,” the bartender repeats with a charming little laugh. Her lipstick is bright with clean lines, an impressive feat considering Jack has seen her bustling around this bar for almost an hour now. “I had an ex called William.”

“Oh no,” Alex says. “I hope he didn’t ruin the name for you.”

“Please,” the bartender says, waving him off. “The only thing he ruined for me was a few meters of drywall.” Jack and Alex must have twin looks of concern, because she explains, “Anger issues. No worries, boys, I sent him packing, and a vodka soda for you, and a mango marg for you.”

She slides their drinks into waiting hands and starts to turn away. “Wait a sec,” Jack says.

The bartender turns back to him with wide Bambi eyes. “Did I fuck up the drink? I’ve made it a million—”

“No no no,” Jack assures her. “I just wanted to know your name. You rescued me from an eternal guessing game, you’re my hero.”

The bartender smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maisie,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Maisie,” Alex says. “Thank you for the alcohol.”

Maisie laughs again as she moves to the other side of the bar.

“William,” Jack says, swirling his drink with the miniature straw. “God damn. I can’t believe I missed William.”

“You got close,” Alex says. “You guessed Liam twice. And thanks for the drink.”

“Same to you,” Jack says. “It’s a good drink. Yours, I mean. You know what offends me, though? Why aren’t mango margaritas orange?”

Alex furrows his brow. “Why the fuck would they be orange?”

“Mangos are orange! Fruity drinks should be the same color as their fruit.”

“Mangos are not fucking orange,” Alex says with an incredulous laugh. “They’re straight-up yellow.”

“They’re orange with yellow tendencies,” Jack says, “but mostly orange.”

“They are entirely yellow,” Alex says. “Coldplay even wrote a song about them. They were all yellow.”

“They’re orange,” Jack insists, but now Alex has moved on completely and is loudly singing Coldplay.

“I came along! I wrote a song foooor youuuuu! And all the things you do!”

“You’re ignoring the truth!”

“And it was called ‘Yellow’!” Alex shouts.

“Okay, I surrender! Sheesh. You win.”

“Thank you,” Alex says placidly, like he hasn’t just been yelling obnoxiously over the (worse, but much louder) club music. “I’m going to enjoy my yellow mango marg very much.”

“And I will enjoy my victory drink,” Jack says, lifting his glass. Alex lifts his. It smells like mango and tequila. They clink the rims together. “To William.”

“To William,” Alex agrees, laughing.

The DJ plays a song Jack loves to hate from hearing it on the radio so many times and Alex is out of his seat before Jack’s managed to put down his drink.

“What are—”

“I love this song, I want to dance,” Alex insists. The implication is clearly that he wants Jack to dance with him, which is like. What is Jack gonna do, say no?

Alex must anticipate some kind of argument, though, because with a glint in his eye he adds lightly, “These are the kinds of things you’ll have to do if we’re married.”

On the one hand, he’s clearly making fun. But on the other hand, the fact that Alex was a stranger an hour ago and is still comfortable teasing Jack about suggesting they’re going to get married speaks volumes. Alex is smiling. They’ve known each other for less than an hour — a drink and a half each — and Alex is smiling at his own joke about marrying Jack. Like he likes that Jack said it first. Like he likes Jack.

“Just wait ‘til you learn all the weird shit you’ll have to do when we’re married,” Jack says, sliding out of his stool.

Any sane person would have run away by now. Even Jack knows when he’s coming on too strong.

But Alex does the opposite; Alex grabs his wrist and pulls him towards the dance floor.

“Fair warning,” Alex says. “I don’t actually know how to dance.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jack says, and then eats his words not two seconds later when Alex demonstrates how very much he doesn’t know how to dance. All of his limbs seem to move as their own entities, zero synchronization. A couple surrounding people take various minor assaults before taking the hint and giving Alex some space, but this does not stop him. “Okay,” Jack says loudly over the music. “You were right. But luckily neither do I.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Alex says.

Jack does the sprinkler. Alex snorts. He does the wave, very poorly, and Alex continues it, also very poorly.

“Mr. Moves,” Alex says. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah? Check this one out.” Jack does the running man with extreme focus. Alex laughs, leaning towards Jack as he does. Jack stops dancing so he doesn’t accidentally hit Alex, who is suddenly much closer and who somehow smells like pine and flannel and fall and winter in one and is the best-looking person in blue jeans and checkered Vans on this dance floor. Far from the only person, but without question the prettiest.

Fuck.

“I don’t think I can do that one,” says Alex, grinning. Jack nods at him like, try it, so Alex does, proving himself right. He almost takes Jack’s eye out.

“Yeesh, okay, you’re— alright, take it easy,” Jack says, swatting Alex’s wayward hand away and laughing. “Well, we all have our strengths.”

Surrendering the running man, Alex starts up with some bizarre hand-wavey foot-kicky thing, singing along to the music.

“Do you seriously like this song?” Jack asks, attempting to imitate Alex’s dance. “Dance,” heavy quote marks implied.

Alex shoots Jack a look. “Hell yeah. What, you don’t?”

“It’s just…always on,” Jack says. “Everywhere. How are you not sick of it?”

“Because it fuckin’ slaps!” Alex looks incensed.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised you’re a pop music person when you’re literally in a One Direction shirt.”

“I’m a lots of music person,” Alex counters. “Including pop music, yeah. You don’t like pop music?”

“I sometimes do,” Jack says. “I like Taylor Swift. Britney Spears.”

“Okay, well, you’d have to be insane not to like them.”

“Yeah, and I’m obviously sane.”

Alex barks a laugh. “Drunk but sane.”

“I am not drunk!” That’s probably a lie by now.

“You’re not convincing me otherwise,” Alex says. “I’m confident you’ve been drunk this whole time.”

“You haven’t exactly been an innocent bystander,” Jack says. “You bought me a drink, and you’re gonna buy us shots in a minute.”

“I did— I what?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and this time he drags Alex off the dance floor, back to the bar. “I can see the future, I forgot to tell you.”

“You—” Alex laughs again and leans on the bar, trapping both his elbows between his stomach and the bartop. “You’re buying the next round.”

“Oh, happily,” Jack says. “I’m actively trying to get you drunk.”

“Why’s that?”

“Studies show I am 75% more attractive to people when they’re drunk,” says Jack.

Alex turns to him. Without missing a beat, he says smoothly, “I don’t think it’s possible for you to get any more attractive.”

Fuck. Actually, fuck. Seriously. Fuck.

“You must be drunk already, then,” Jack says.

Alex smiles serenely. “I feel pretty sober.”

“Exactly what a drunk person would say,” Jack says. “J’accuse, William.”

Alex laughs. “In that case, your studies are right.”

Jack’s probably blushing. He does that in extreme cases only, but this is nothing if not an extreme case. Alex is fucking relentless.

Maisie the bartender is back, and Alex orders them shots of tequila. Somewhere in the recesses of Jack’s mind, this unlocks a memory, and he snaps his fingers. “I should hunt down my friend, he loves tequila.”

“Friend?” Alex looks around while Maisie pours their shots. “You ditched your friend?”

“He told me to,” Jack says. “He’s probably gonna pick up some girl. Actually, he probably already has.”

“Really,” Alex says, sounding amused.

“Zack’s a strong silent type,” Jack explains. “Emphasis on strong. We’re single guys in our mid-twenties, Alex. We’re not going to clubs for the atmosphere.”

“Admit it,” Alex says. “You a little bit are.”

Jack bites his lip. “Fine, I like the atmosphere,” he admits, more affected than he should be that Alex seems to have picked up on this about him. “And the alcohol. And the chances I’ll meet my future husband, which clearly paid off. Zack will never admit it, but I’m pretty sure he likes trying to set me up with random people in clubs.”

Alex laughs. “He set you up with me?”

“Oh yeah,” Jack says. “He wingmanned me hard. You can thank him in your vows.”

This only serves to make Alex laugh harder. “I’ll thank him now,” he says with a grin. Taking his cue, Jack grabs his shot glass. Alex does the same. “To Zack.”

“To Zack!” Jack cheers, and they both down their shots.

“Me?”

Jack whirls around and trips straight into Zack. “Zack!” he says brightly. “We toasted you.”

“I heard,” Zack says. “Why, exactly?”

“I’m Alex,” says Alex, holding out a hand. Zack shakes it. “Apparently you set us up?”

“Oh,” Zack says. “I wouldn’t really say that. I just kind of pointed Jack in this direction. If you can put up with him, that’s all you.”

“I was gonna come find you anyway,” Jack says. “We’re doing tequila shots. Next round on me.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Zack says. “Count me in.”

They can’t come up with a toast for their second round so they just knock it back with an ambiguous cheer; then Zack offers to buy another, and Jack’s not about to refuse. It’s starting to hit just right, so he’s buzzed but not incoherent. All his most brilliant ideas come in this state.

Case in point: as Maisie is pouring them their third round, Jack suddenly says, “Maisie! Do a shot with us!”

Maisie looks up and laughs. “I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” she says.

“It’s not drinking, it’s bonding,” Jack insists.

“Yeah, we’re forming lasting friendships,” Alex jumps in.

Zack looks entertained. “You guys know each other?”

“As of half an hour ago, yes,” Maisie says.

“Maisie here helped me guess Alex’s middle name,” Jack explains. “Which is William. Like the prince.”

“I feel like I missed so much,” Zack says, half to himself. He shrugs and nods at Maisie. “One shot. On me. For Jack. We won’t tell.”

Maybe it’s because Zack is buff and has cool tattoos or just has good vibes or whatever, but Maisie hesitates only a second before inclining her head. “Just one, and no blabbing,” she says, meeting all of their eyes in turn. Everyone nods solemnly, and Maisie discreetly pours herself a fourth shot.

“Hell yes!” Jack whoops as they all take a shot glass. “To Maisie!”

“To Maisie!” Everyone echoes, including Maisie with a wry grin.

The third shot goes down smoother than the first two. Jack swallows his easily, as does Alex. Maisie puckers her face a bit. Zack has zero reaction, because Zack’s just kinda like that.

“While I’m here, I was hoping to get another beer,” Zack says.

“On it,” Maisie says immediately, giggling. “Thanks for the shot, boys. You’ve kept me far more entertained tonight than my usual shift provides.”

“You can give a toast at our wedding,” Jack says to her. Zack’s eyes widen a little, Alex snorts, and Maisie laughs.

“I’d be honored,” she says. “Back to work now. You need anything, let me know.”

“Seriously, Jack?”

“What?” Jack gives Zack an innocent smile. He pats Zack on the cheek. “Don’t worry, sugar, you can give a toast too.”

Alex laughs. Zack stares at him and shakes his head. “You’re insane,” he says, but he says that roughly twice a day so he’s still below his quota. “I’ll leave you two alone. Come find me when you wanna go. If…” He eyes Alex. “...Just…yeah.”

And with these eloquent words, he disappears with his beer into the crowd.

“I like him,” Alex announces.

“Me too,” Jack says. He turns back to Alex. “Back to the dance floor?”

“Get out of my brain,” Alex says. “I’d like to see your drunken running man.”

“It is gonna blow your fucking mind,” Jack promises, and Alex laughs again.

They’re not even being gross like everyone else. Alex has pulled Jack into an exaggerated tango performed mostly with missteps when it happens: someone shoves them aside as they walk past, and Alex loses his balance and falls into Jack, who just barely manages to catch them both. He doesn’t manage to stop his arm from winding around Alex’s waist. To be fair, he doesn’t try very hard.

Jack’s first thought is homophobe, but then he spots the offender, lumbering off with heavy footfalls, and it’s Burly Guy from earlier. The guy who tried and failed to pick Alex up.

All of this registers as Alex slowly regains his footing. “Damn, who pissed in that dude’s Cheerios?”

“It’s the guy from before who tried to buy you a drink,” Jack says, pointing at his back.

Alex whips his head around. “Seriously? Asshole.”

Jack chooses not to observe that from his vantage point, being shoved close together is hardly a dick move. In intent, sure, but not in actuality; Jack’s enjoying the proximity a great deal. Like, a lot.

Like, his hand is still on Alex’s hip, subtly keeping Alex close, and Alex has his arm around Jack’s shoulders from their dance and he’s not moving, either.

“Yeah,” Jack says. They’d already been on the outskirts and now they’re off to the side of everyone, wallflowers.

Alex breathes a laugh and looks back at Jack. He doesn’t step back or even lean away, even though their faces are too close to be friendly now. Jack hadn’t really been expecting friendly, but they’ve been tightrope-walking between sides, and if neither of them breaks this up then they’ll be irreversibly left on one end.

Jack has no intention of moving away. He likes this end of the tightrope. For all he cares, they could cut the tightrope and free-fall together.

“You’re pretty good at bad tango-ing,” Alex says, reaching up to brush away the sweaty fringe that’s clinging to his forehead.

Jack grins. “Well, you know what they say. It takes two.”

Alex kisses him so suddenly that Jack almost loses his balance.

He tastes like tequila. That’s all Jack gets before they’re not kissing anymore. The room feels quiet and then unforgivably loud the next second, and Alex is flushed and smiling nervously, and Jack is smiling too, not nervous at all.

“Did I tell you I’m in a band?” Alex asks in a rush.

Jack’s brain struggles to keep up. He can’t remember Alex mentioning a band, but he’s also distracted by wanting to kiss Alex again. There’s no understating the power of wanting to kiss someone over failing to clock anything they say. “What?”

“I’m in a band,” Alex says. “Not as a job, just like, for fun.”

“Oh,” says Jack.

“I’m the lead singer,” Alex says, with a flickering look down at Jack’s shirt.

“Oh,” says Jack, because, like, oh. “Can I kiss you again?”

“What, here?” Alex meets his eyes. “With all these people around?”

“You kissed me first,” Jack says. “Let me kiss you and then we can call it even.”

“Okay,” Alex says, and Jack’s kissing him before the word’s really out of his mouth.

And he tastes like tequila and mango and sugar and the color yellow and the sweat of the dance floor and God, it’s good. It’s like kissing a memory, except this memory is still here, not frozen in time, not trapped in an ornate frame. He’s creating a memory that he knows he’ll relive for the rest of his life.

Somehow, though he doesn’t know the end of this chapter, he knows the end of the book.

Alex’s warm palm cradling Jack’s cheek to hold him steady, fingers splayed out like a star; Alex’s other hand grazing skin over the collar of Jack’s shirt. Alex singing Coldplay in Jack’s ear. Alex’s blue jeans and his checkered Vans and his ridiculous One Direction tank top. Alex holding Jack’s hand and calling him honey to get Burly Guy to leave him alone. Grinning as he shoots down guess after guess for the elusive middle name. Laughing at Jack’s stupid dance moves. Knocking back a shot like it’s nothing. Smiling when Jack says they’re going to get married, never moving away, only ever closer.

Alex sitting undisturbed at the bar, ankles crossed, and Jack seeing him from across the room like something out of a goddamn Hallmark movie and just knowing.

He tugs Alex closer but Alex is already pulling away with a smile. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. He smoothes a hand over a crease in Alex’s shirt and nods. “Taxi’s on me if we go back to your place.”

“Sucker, I was gonna suggest that anyway,” Alex says with a quiet laugh. “You should tell Zack. Don’t wanna just leave him.”

“Don’t worry,” Jack says. “He knows.”

“He knows?”

“Zack and I are brothers in clairvoyance,” Jack says. “How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“I knew you could see the future,” Alex says. “You never told me Zack could, too.”

“Zack can see everyone’s future,” says Jack. “I can only see mine.”

“Yeah? What’s your future look like now?”

Jack filters out several inappropriate comments. It’s hard when Alex is smirking, clearly baiting him. “I told you,” he says. “You, me, vows, rings, the works.”

“Not that future,” Alex says. “I’m talking about the immediate one.”

It takes everything in Jack not to get down on one knee and say so was I. There’s a tilt in Alex’s head, like a dog listening carefully for a familiar sound.

“Honestly?” Jack says, and Alex nods. “I think it’s more fun if we find out together.”

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zeldasayer · 5 years ago

Text

Loving Din XI - Afterlife

Pairing: Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Din is hanging on by a thread but you can’t let this exquisite love just go to waste.

Warnings: ANGST. Language, confessions of hopelessness, mom & dad please don’t fight.

gif by @djjarindin

“After this, can it last another night? After all the bad advice that had nothing at all to do with life, I’ve gotta know -

Can we work it out?”

“How long has it been?”

“Since?” You ask the hologram of your therapist, Nora, in the living room, as you sit cross legged on the couch in a red sundress. You know what she’s asking but you need to hear her to say it. In case it hasn’t been true.

“Since Din moved out.” She clarifies.

“Just over five months.” You nod slowly, looking down to focus on your fidgeting fingers.

“Do you miss him?” The hologram asks.

“Only when I’m awake.” You smile meekly, your eyes still down. “Or when I’m asleep. Or eating. Or playing with Baby in the ocean.”

“Have you told him this?” She asks slowly.

“No.” You answer flatly.

“Why not?”

“I guess,” You sigh, finally looking up. “It ended so badly. I guess I’m scared he won’t feel the same.”

“Do you believe that to be true?”

“No, but I also never believed we’d be a part at all.”

“Obviously I cannot get into any details of our sessions, but Din is making the same progress as you and Baby.” Nora was your father’s trusted therapist and he was so graciously arranging for you and Din to see her separately and teaching Din tools in how to help Baby trust him again.

You smile, meaning it whole heartedly, and you look back down from the truth of your words. “I’m so glad. Even if we don’t work out, I’m happy he’s finally opening up to someone. He deserves the weight of his past lifted from him”

It got worse before it got better.

Your emptiness melted into rage as you realized you were truly alone. The man who you stood by and filled with hope while he found his place in the galaxy was nowhere to be found now that you’ve lost your way in it. Gone was the man who so softly declared you as the most exquisite woman to ever walk the planet, the most beautiful moon he’s ever known, who found strength in your decision to be delicate despite everything that happened to you and you hadn’t the slightest clue where he went. Din went quiet again. He became calculated, like he thought through every word he said before he said it, every movement before it was made - not to protect you but because he was tired of fighting. Like you, he retreated inward and only came out to help with Baby despite his frustrations. You were two children of existing, not living and you somehow wound up back there again.

You hoped every day that Din would see himself in you, that he’d realize this is what you had to do with him at the beginning, but the moment never came. You would’ve died to help Din find his identity beyond the mask, and now he sleeps with his back to you.

Some nights you wanted to reach out and touch him, trace your fingers along his back, just for the reminder that he is real. Maybe he’d wake and pull you close to him so you could trace your fingers along his chest and match your breathing to his and everything would feel like it used to. But something always held you back.

Din Djarin wasn’t a man who could handle losing control. What made it twice as hard was that he brought it on himself, and in the process crushed the one precious flower he swore he’d never hurt. How could he? The one human being who knew everything about him and didn’t even blink at what he was ashamed of. Who ran her fingers through his hair and told him she would keep him safe when he thought he’d be haunted for the rest of his life.

“We can only haunt ourselves.” You cooed to him before kissing his nose and he carried that sentiment with him everywhere. He believed it until now, for he cannot get the look in your eyes when you told him you were ready to become the ocean out of his mind. It’s burned into his brain and he knows he’s being haunted because he can’t make himself speak.

Din Djarin was the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy but he is too weak to tell the absolute love of his life that he is just as scared as her. That he is haunted every waking moment by how he destroyed their sanctuary, altering their lives forever. He wants to tell you that he sees you and that he’s sorry, that he wants to take the pain away and if he could, he’d feel it for you, but he doesn’t know how. Every familiar feeling of being touch starved, alone in the galaxy returns to him at once and he indulges in them in silence. Din never knew what he did to deserve you and just like he feared, it imploded. You were too good, too beautiful, delicate, loving, patient, ethereal and he ruined you with his dirty hands.

Most nights Din would sit up in the cockpit of the Razor Crest before returning to the bungalow so mad because you lied. We are haunted by more than just ourselves, we are haunted by the memories of the ones we love the most. Din smashed his fist into the dashboard. Once. Twice. Until something sparked because the memories won’t stop playing over in his head. You, smiling in his lap shortly after you met, pressing every button in the ship that would light up. Him snorting with laughter as he pulled you against him.

“You’re just like the kid!” He said into your neck and you giggled holding onto his arms.

“Teach me how to fly this thing, rocket man.” You beamed.

Your faces were younger then but you loved each other with such an unspeakable passion that you believed even then that it could never die. So how could he ever forgive himself for turning that dreamy look in your eye to stone? The same look that made him less afraid and so achingly happy to be alive. Especially when he has resorted to silence in a feeble effort to not make everything worse, for he sees himself in you. And all he wants to do is hold you by the shoulders and say “You are so much like me, I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t help anyone.

One evening when Din hadn’t return from his classes on time, you left Baby with a bowl of soup on the couch and snuck into your bedroom. Your heart raced as you sat on the ground, connecting the comm to your father.

“Hi d-ad.” Your voice cracked when you saw him.

“What’s wrong, my star?” He noticed right away.

“I don’t feel so good.” You said through ragged breath, bringing your hand to your eyes.

“Are you sick?”

“A little.” You said with a sniff, removing your hand and looking down. “I have all this pain. It’s crushing me, dad.”

Stark sits up and his eyes search you in worry, “Are you safe, my star?”

“Yes, dad. I’m safe.”

“Are you dreaming of the ocean again?”

“Yeah.” You said as tears stream down your face, as it can be so hard to be seen. “I feel like I’m suffocating. Like I’m not going to make it.”

“Where is Din?” he asked.

“Um.” Your lip trembles and now it feels like you may really be dying, “I don’t know if we’re going to make it either.”

Stark sighs. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You shrug. “I don’t know who he is anymore. But I guess I don’t know who I am either. It’s like I miss him, but he’s always right there, like he’s part of what’s hurting me.”

Your father nods. “What can I do to help?”

“Do you still have Nora’s information?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” you sniff, wiping your hand down your face. “Nothing is ever going to change if I keep running in circles, right?”

You look down as your eyes immediately well with tears again.

“I’m proud of you, my star. I promise, this is the hardest part. You can only go up from here.”

You nodded, starting to cry again.

“Madden & I shall leave at once. We will help you with Baby and I’ll set up a meeting between you and Nora. You are the brightest star in the sky and you will shine again, my child.”

“Thanks dad.” You cried. “Just not yet, okay? I haven’t even told Din yet.”

“Told him what?” He asked.

“That I need to do this on my own.”

Din did not take it lightly.

“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded and your attention turned to Baby who’s ears rose at his fathers angered voice.

“He’s going to throw you across the room again.” You said through your teeth.

“Right. Of course.” Din said, rubbing his eyes. “Should we go outside?”

“Fine.” You sighed. Din always took you outside when he was ready to fight. Baby couldn’t hear you over the crashing waves.

You followed him out the back door and he turns around as soon as it closed with you both on the other side, “You know this is so typical you.”

“What?” Your eyes widened.

“You’re always so fucking lonely yet you push everyone away.”

You laughed, “Oh that’s so rich coming from you, Din.”

“Is it?!” He nodded.

“Mr. I Don’t Need Anyone Until I’m About To Lose Fucking! Everything!” You seethed as your voice already felt hoarse.

“OH!” Din exclaims, “I’m going to lose everything huh?”

“If you don’t let me take care of myself, yes. LOOK AT ME.” You cry. “I’M A FUCKING GHOST. AND SO ARE YOU.”

“AT LEAST I WONT FUCKING WALK OUT ON YOU.”

“I’m not walking out on you!” You screeched, in a tone of your own voice you didn’t recognize. “What are you not understanding? Din, my head feels like it’s going to explode and you won’t help me so I need to do this myself.”

“Sorry I can’t help, we do have a son to raise.”

“What the fuck? Who are you?” You asked in disgust as you crossed your arms and walked past him.

You walked only a few steps until you decided to say exactly how you felt.

“Do you know what you were like when I found you?” You spat.

“I found you.” Din said lowly.

“It doesn’t matter. Loving you was like loving a brick wall. It was so hard, Din. But I did it. I helped you raise your son and I held your hand while you figured out who the hell you were. And I did it all without you telling me what you needed, and I figured it out because I loved you. I would have done anything for you. Now I’m standing here screaming to you what I need and you won’t fucking help me.”

“What do you want from me?!” Din asked, his arms out in defeat.

“Have you been listening to me?! Get out of my face and get out of my fucking house!” You screamed.

“Your house?!”

“You are not doing this shit with me right now. You have a ship and I make more credits on one goddamn painting than you do in months.” You scoffed.

“You haven’t painted anything good enough to sell in half a year!”

“Because you’re killing me, Din!” You cried back immediately. Slapping your hand across your mouth from the truth of the words you let escape. Your other hand comes up to cradle the first and they’re both shaking.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “This isn’t us.”

Din shakes his head slowly.

“Please Din, If you love me, you’ll let me do this.”

It was hard at first. Din and you agreed to four days at a time with Baby, Din living in Razor Crest on the other side of town. The first night you spent alone, you slept on the floor of Baby’s room. It was as far as you could crawl to when you told Din to “Just leave, he’s not going to stop.” and closed the door on him and your son who was crying for you.

It hurt to wake up to the quiet, to eat alone, paint alone. Your first session with Nora was even more of a disaster and you started to wonder if you made the right decision. The only thing you took away from it was her saying, “It hurts to become.” And this is what you chose to believe in, that this pain and uncertainty would be worth it. That when the rain washed you and Din clean, you’d know.

It hurt when Din wouldnt even look at you, how he didn’t even say a word when he first dropped off Baby. How you slid down the door and cried with Baby in your arms as he tried to heal something that he couldn’t.

But time keeps passing wether you’re ready or not and one day you just stop hurting. You don’t know why, or when the exact moment hits until you look up and you realize you’re breathing. You’re breathing and you’re sleeping through the night and it’s something to celebrate like a new born baby. You’re breathing and sleeping and eating properly. You can taste everything, your tea and pomegranates. Dark chocolate and crusty sourdough bread. You open up to Nora, finally and she takes you all the way back to your childhood. You’ve made your first friends as an adult and you realize how important that is, other women who live close by on the island and they are so wonderful. You’re painting, you’re painting incredible work and you’ve rearranged the whole house so it’s yours. Baby sleeps on his own and he’s happy, you’re in a routine and when Din comes to pick him up it doesn’t destroy you. Suddenly, you have a new normal. You are truly alright and you are so proud of yourself but something is missing. You still want to share every moment of your new normal with Din. Though you can get lost in your mind and it can scream so loud, there is stillness inside of you, every sunset you’ve ever seen and you were born to be a lover, and there is still only one person for you.

Later in the afternoon, long after your session with Nora, when you open the door for Din who’s back again to drop Baby off, you notice instantly that he has a beard. It’s patchy and it makes you smile, it looks soft and it’s greying at the sides and it makes you want to blurt out that you miss him. But you ask Baby how his day was instead.

“Wanna show mom what you learned?” Din asks his little green boy as he puts him in your arms, “Okay.”

Din makes a few small movements with his hands, and Baby copies them, slower and loose before looking up at you with a smile.

“It means ‘I love you.’” He mumbles, looking down.

You blink up at him and it feels like you must have forgotten how to breathe. It’s been so long since you heard those words pass through Din’s lips and it feels like the very first time.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask, your voice almost a whisper.

He looks a little puzzled and you continue, “I made dinner.”

Din’s mouth presses into a line, like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah. I would.”

“I like this.” You say, brushing the back of your finger along his jaw, letting him pass through the doorway, “You’re greying.”

“You just noticed now?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, “I guess so.”

Din sits across from you at the table you dragged out on to the beach a few months earlier and it feels like just how you always wanted life on the island to be. Baby in your lap, cackling into his dinner as the ocean crashes softly into the shore. Din smiling between bites of food and the sun reflecting off his skin makes him look so beautiful. You feel the breeze against your face and you want to live in this moment forever. Passing Baby between the two of you to take turns feeding him, the comfort in realizing you are both still exactly the same yet lighter. It’s like the afterlife between the bad and the inevitable try for resolution when you can just be alright. When everything is finally still and there is sweetness in the familiar small talk and how Din wears his t-shirt and thick black framed eyeglasses, the soft curls of his hair, and the exquisite angle of his nose. It’s like he’s coming back into focus again for the first time in months and you look down from how it overwhelms you.

As always, Baby falls asleep in Din’s lap before you’re finished and when you return to the beach from putting him to bed, Din tells you he should probably get going. He stands and your heart stops.

“Are you going because you want to or because you think you have to?”

“I don’t want to.” He shakes his head.

“Then don’t go.” You say out of breath.

Din sits back down without breaking his eye contact with you and you follow suit. You search his face for a moment unable to hold back.

“Din, I’m sorry.”

“No.” Din shakes his head but you continue.

“We were obviously never destined to be ordinary people and though I truly feel that this time a part was necessary, it just made me realize I don’t want to have these extraordinary problems with anyone else.”

“Please don’t be sorry.” Din shakes his head, closing his eyes. “I said I would be the ground beneath your feet and I wasn’t there for you.”

You smile meekly, “I miss you, Din. It’s always going to be you.”

“I miss you too.” He pauses. “I feel like I’ve learnt so much lately, and I have something to say to you. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” You breathe.

“Okay.” He nods. “I spent my whole life thinking that I was doing all that I could, that I’d never love my own face let alone love someone else. Then I met you and you brought me to life. You brought me to life, Y/N. I had seen the whole galaxy but now I was finally living in it because I was seeing it through your eyes. It was like I had everything. But I got too selfish with you. I thought since you were my home I could take you anywhere and we’d be okay, forgetting that your home is consistency and trust.”

“It’s okay, Din.” You sigh.

“No it’s not.” He shakes his head. “All you ever did was love me exactly how I needed it, like you just knew. And I ruined our home because all I needed was you.”

You look down, at a loss for words.

“You shouldn’t be sorry because I should be begging for your forgiveness. You loved me despite everything and I was too ashamed to say I was so scared of what I had done. I can’t lose you, Y/N. The sun does not rise and set for you because you are the sun. You are the sun. You are the moon. You are every star in the sky. You are everything. Please forgive me for what I’ve done.”

You look up at him, through the blurry vision of tear-filled eyes. “I forgive you, Din.”

“Thank you.” He chokes into the top of your hand, as he’s taken it to press his lips against. “Thank you, my sweet girl.”

You smile through your tears and you come around to his side of the table and Din pulls you into his lap.

“I love you so much.” He says into your neck as he holds you against him tightly, adjusting his arms to get you closer.

“I love you, too.” You run your hand through his hair, like you’ve wanted to for so long and Din lifts his face with your touch.

You see him. The face that looked so familiar even when you first saw it. The skin so breathtaking it makes you cry. The mouth you could watch speak into eternity with a voice that can move mountains. The nose that looks like it was carved from marble by an angel’s delicate hands. And the eyes. The eyes so full of love and loss they could stop any war, so deep and dark you could swim in them forever.

You hold his face in your hands and you are so full of joy because you can finally see him.

“There you are.” You whisper before pressing your lips to his, melting in the familiarity of his moustache brushing your skin.

Tags: @otherthingsinhead @aeryntheofficial @maryan028 @readsalot73 @osric-the-l3m0n-l0v3-demon @capsironunderoos @antclottz @intense-sneezing @igotmadskills @applesislife @marrvelle-fics @killtherandomness @holyground1996 @taoiichii @kyoko-yuuki @bookwormmarvel @xplrreylo @the-resident-demon @sad-anxious-girl @jaegers-and-kaijus @drinkfantasy @forbidden-darkness @hyveee @fangirlfreakingout @petalduck @fahhhhq @thatonebishsstuff @midnightsinger @jenniferdaniels12 @hiscyarika @tryn25 @raveviolet @watsonwise @aproperthottie @lettonystarkbehappydamnit @hyunjins-wife @lilwickedred @yellowbubblewrap @pascalisthepunkest @kate013 @french-lace-lavender

It’s all fluff and beauty from here on out. 4 more parts to go.

Love, Zelda

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian angst #the mandalorian fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian x reader #baby yoda #star wars fluff #star wars #star wars fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin #loving din

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god-of-identity · 4 years ago

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i’ve been listening to way too many creepypastas.

@irrelevant-proxy-bitch as promised, my creepypasta sona/oc origin story. hopefully it meets the standards, heh

Genesis Caveat Origin

or, How I Became a Proxy

That thing is watching me again.

I first noticed it after a particularly boring day of school. I hadn’t paid attention in most of my classes, instead opting to scroll through Tumblr, mess around on Discord, and listen to Creepypasta readings on Youtube. I’m probably failing most of my classes at this point. I can’t bring myself to care. I can’t bring myself to care about much of anything these days. Fiction is the only thing that piques my interest, those made-up worlds are so much more entertaining than the boring one I’m stuck living in. That’s probably why I like writing so much, I can create and destroy whole worlds with no consequence to me, I can control everything and nothing, and it can be as entertaining as I want it to be.

I’m getting off-track. Sorry.

I’d been ignored all day, as per usual, so when I was walking home and felt someone watching me, I was confused and more than a little curious. I normally walk at a fairly quick pace, but I slowed my steps a little when I felt I was being watched. I turned to look behind me, but no one was there. The sidewalk was empty. Actually, the whole street was empty, which is what caused my anxiety to spike. There were no people, no cars, even the storefronts looked empty. I turned back forward and picked up my pace again, walking quickly all the way home. It wasn’t until I’d reached my front door that I realized the feeling of that stare had vanished the instant I’d turned around.

Since then, I’ve felt that stare every time I walk home from school.

After the first day, I didn’t bother looking back. Something told me I wouldn’t be able to see anyone if I did. I was more than a bit creeped out by the whole thing. Why was someone spying on me? How long had they been watching me before I noticed? I was half-convinced I’d been singled out because I’m a textbook wallflower- no one at school would know if I went missing, and they definitely wouldn’t care. If someone snatched me while I was on my way to school, my parents wouldn’t find out until I was late getting home, and by then their frantic calls to the school and police wouldn’t do a thing- I’d probably be long gone.

I guess I was right about that part, heh. Just not for the reasons I thought.

. . .

I’m getting ahead of myself. Where were we? Ah, right.

It’s the seventh day of me being stared at as I’m walking home from school. For the past week, caution won out over curiosity, and instead of trying to spot whoever’s stalking me, I’ve just gotten home as fast as I can. I also made a habit of texting my parents when I leave school- they know how long it’s supposed to take me to get home, so if I get kidnapped they’ll know sooner. Same as when I head to school in the mornings, because I’ve been feeling the gaze on me then too.

I think part of me always knew it wasn’t human.

Shit, sorry. Focus.

Anyway, walking home. Seventh day in a row. Blah blah blah. Only this time, my curiosity outweighed my caution. Maybe I was just so damn bored of the life I had, that I’d do anything to mix things up. Actually, I’m sure that’s what it was. Suffice to say, as I walked down the eerily empty street, this time I slowed my steps instead of speeding them up. Then I slowly turned my head to look behind me. And saw it. The thing that was stalking me. I only caught half a second’s glance before it vanished, but that was enough. The details flashed in my mind. Tall, freakishly so. Black suit, torn sleeves. Something like tentacles raised up behind it. And the face- no face. At least not that my mind allowed me to see.

Then it vanished.

I spun back forwards and sprinted the rest of the way home.

The minute I got home I locked myself in my bedroom, drawing the curtains closed and booting up my laptop. A barely comprehensible entry in the Google search bar was autocorrected in seconds, and with a shaking hand, I moved the mouse to click on the images tab. Photoshopped pictures, fanart, and blurry photos stared back at me.

“I knew it.”

Like I mentioned at the start of this narration, I listen to a lot of creepypasta readings on Youtube. So I’m familiar with some of the stories. Laughing Jack. Jeff the Killer. Lost Silver. So many others. And of course, the one that started it all.

Slenderman.

“Holy fuck.”

I was being stalked by Slenderman. Why? And why hadn’t he killed me? I needed answers. Luckily, the internet is a magnificent place. I curled up in my swivel chair and started typing away, searching up everything I could about Slenderman and his proxies. Even the stuff I already knew, I read or listened to again. I took in as much information as possible. It’s said that knowledge is power, and for some things, the more you know, the more danger you’re in. But in this case, well. I’d seen him. He knew I’d seen him. What did I have to lose?

The next time I look at my clock, it’s nearly five in the morning. I’d done about all the research my brain could handle, even with my hyperfixations running at full throttle. More info probably wouldn’t matter anyway.

I’d made my decision, my plan.

Now, to execute it.

I empty my backpack of school supplies and pulled out a Sharpie. Lowering the felt tip to the fabric on the inside of the backpack, I let out a slow breath. With things like this, power always came from belief, at least that’s what the stories told me. I’d seen him, I knew it was real, it was all real. Now that I knew that, anything was possible. The line between fiction and reality is blurring.

As an author, it’s my job to break it.

I scribble a phrase on the inside of the backpack and capped the sharpie. Then I reach over to one of the books I’d stacked in the ‘bring with’ pile and drop it in.

The book hit the bottom of the bag and vanished.

I grin and reach in, hand passing through a cool sort of veil. I feel around, grabbing the book, and pull it out. It worked. It worked! I giggle, flapping my free hand in excitement. Pocket dimension backpack, success!! I start piling the books into it, all the stories I will carry with me. Then my sketchbooks and drawing supplies. My laptop, chargers, wallet, phone, anything I think I might potentially need. Even some of the food and drinks I’d snuck into my room. My blankets and pillow. Some clothes I’d grown attached too. Hell, let’s bring my stuffed animals and collection of keepsakes too, why not? It can all fit! I empty my shelf of little knick-knacks into the backpack. Nearly everything that I can lift in my room has gone into that pack.

Now… to wait.

7am. I make my move.

I stand in front of the mirror in my room, looking myself over. I’m wearing an outfit I wear almost every day. Grey jacket with a red upside-down heart on the chest, grey shorts with red on the edges, boots, a long red scarf, and a pair of fingerless gloves. The only difference is that now, all my clothes have been altered by my newly discovered ability. I’m calling it “author powers” because that’s the closest I can get to properly explaining it. Now, my entire ensemble is fireproof, waterproof, and much harder to cut through that ordinary cloth. My boots are much more comfortable and molded to my feet. Everything fits just right.

Oh, one more thing. I pick up the blue-light glasses I’d left on my desk. I don’t even have to write on them to alter them, but it’s a fun little gimmick so I might just keep doing it. A couple lines on the glasses, and they’re suddenly much more useful. They’ll function as sunglasses now too, as well as a night vision and heat-seeking mode. And they’ll stay on my face without falling off. I push the glasses up my nose and look back into the mirror.

I guess the function wasn’t the only thing I altered. My ability has a lot to do with intentions.

Instead of glasses, I’m wearing a black mask with turquoise lenses. The mask only covers the upper half of my face. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. Instead of my hair being the usual dirty-blonde and down to my shoulders, it’s pink, shorter and sorta spiked up- at least that’s the best way to describe it. Not spiked, that’s too sharp. But I can’t find another word right now, so we’ll stick with it. It was a transformation I hadn’t anticipated, but one that I’m sure to keep. I grin, showing teeth sharper than normal.

“This is gonna be fun.”

I hear someone in the kitchen. My dad, getting ready for the day. It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t have work. We don’t have a foster kid at the moment, so mom will be sleeping in. And my sister is still asleep in her bedroom. Perfect.

I raise a hand, seeing the black claws that now extend from the ends of my gloves. I’d been wondering how I’d get to a knife, but I guess now I won’t need one. I tighten the straps of my backpack and step out of my bedroom.

“Heh. Time to raise hell.”

Six days later. Thirteen days since this all started.

It took me for-fucking-ever to find the mansion. Even longer to get there with the burden I’m dragging along. But here I am. It looms over me, giving off the same creepy vibe I got from my stalker. I know he’s there, and he knows I’m here. Someone will answer the door soon, I don’t even have to knock.

The smell of blood isn’t as bad as I thought. I’m glad I made my clothes stain-proof, I’d hate to have to throw away my gloves. As I’m waiting, I tap my foot idly and inspect my fingers. I have a nasty habit of biting the skin around my fingernails, which shows even with my claws. Oh, there’s blood on my claws. Not quite dry, so I just lick it off. Huh, doesn’t taste that bad either.

Someone’s moving inside. I straighten up slightly, hand dropping to my side. I nudge one of the bodies next to me with a foot, then take a half-step away when an arm flops to the ground. I look back to the door, arms crossed (carefully, to avoid cutting myself) as I wait. The door finally creaks open, revealing someone I don’t recognize. I assume it’s one of the proxies, but it’s not one that I’ve read anything about. Only one way to find out.

“You’re one of his proxies, I assume?” Even my voice is different, with the mask. I like it.

The proxy laughs. “Fuck yeah, I’m the number one proxy bitch. But you can call me Irre.” She pronounced it like ‘eerie’, which I thought was fitting.

I snort with amusement and take a moment to look the proxy up and down. She has pale blue skin, long hair that faded from black into red, and silver eyes. She’s about my height, maybe an inch shorter, with a healthier-looking build than the almost-too-skinny twig stature I see every time I look in the mirror. She even looks to be about my age too, give or take a year. She gives off a chaotic sort of presence, but in a way that’s almost difficult to perceive. I’m reminded of my school days, blending into the background. After a few people told me my stare was creepy, even though I’d just been looking at them, I didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Apparently I had an intensity others found unsettling, but only if they noticed me. I’m reminded of that with this proxy, only with chaotic energy instead. I smile slightly. We might just get along.

“Well, nice to meet you, number one proxy bitch,” I respond with a chuckle. “Speaking of proxies. Where do I sign up? I brought a peace offering.” An idle hand gesture draws her attention to the bodies sprawled next to me. Two bodies, carved up with precise markings, and very much dead. What remains of my parents. My claws had marked them, turned their corpses into a work of art. I’d saved the blood, bagged it and put it in my backpack. I might need it later.

Irre looks the bodies over and grins. “I think you’ll fit in just fine here. Course, that’s not my decision.” She glances back at the house. “The others will get curious soon. Last chance to turn back.”

“I’m not going back. Besides, he sought me out first,” I admit. “Took me awhile to figure it out. But I’m here now.”

She nod in understanding. “In that case… what’s your name?”

I grin, showing sharp teeth. “I am Genesis Caveat.”

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #tw death #tw blood #gen writes

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dreams-of-kalopsia · 5 years ago

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The Logic of Them

Summary: On Pidge’s graduation day, Lance hands her a tablet with a video that would change her life.

A @plancesecretsanta 2019 fic for @ursamiiinor. Merry Christmas, Dia! Sorry for the delay. Here’s your college AU gift fic! ^u^

Read it on AO3.

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Lance handed Pidge a tablet, and she stared blankly at the device. “What do I do with this?”

He arched his brows at her. “What do you usually do with tablets, Pidge?”

“A lot, so just tell me which one I should do.”

“Everyone wanted to congratulate you,” he finally explained, securing a pair of earbuds in her ears before taking the seat beside her. “I compiled their greetings into one video since most of them can’t make it today.”

“Oh.” Pidge edged closer to Lance and gave him her other earbud so they could watch the video together. She was excited to hear from everybody again.

Two years ago, Shiro had qualified as an astronaut candidate and had left to train for space travel. While she heard from him regularly, and while she also got updates on his training from Matt, who’d become an astronaut before Shiro, she still looked forward to seeing how he’d been.

Meanwhile, Hunk had returned to his hometown last year to apply everything he’d learned about green engineering. Same for Keith and Allura. Only Lance had stayed from their batch, and only Pidge, a year younger than them, was left to graduate a year later.

The video started with everyone—from friends to family—in their video squares, congratulating her for graduating. She beamed instantly. All the people she loved, close at hand despite being far away.

Keith’s square zoomed in to its full size.

He frowned at the camera. Or the one behind it, most likely. “I go first?"

Pidge heard Lance’s hushed “Yeah. Just go say something.”

Keith huffed, crossed his arms, then began: “Pidge and Lance aren’t the typical couple. They don’t hold hands. They don’t go on dates. They’re literally best friends who label themselves as a couple. Their announcement was so sudden it didn’t even sink in for five minutes.” He glared. “Who announces something like that as if they’re just going out to get food, anyway?”

“Did it seem like that?” Lance asked from behind the camera. She had the same question in mind, so she tried to remember that moment.

* * *

Even though she was focused on editing a code due in fifteen minutes, Pidge could feel Lance’s nervousness rolling off of him from the couch across from her. She couldn’t understand why he was so tense; she was pretty sure they’d been obvious with their feelings these past few months that the others wouldn’t really be surprised. Still, she shot him a reassuring look, knowing that that would calm him down. It did, as always. It practically worked like a charm.

He called everyone’s attention with a “Hey, guys?” She felt him falter. She glanced at him and met his questioning eyes. “Let’s tell them, Pidge?”

“Sure.” Another reassuring look his way, and she was lost in her code again, typing at full speed to meet her deadline.

“Tell us what?” Hunk asked absently between chewing noises.

“We’re in a relationship now. Well, have been for two months.”

Pidge didn’t notice the complete silence until she’d pressed the enter key to send in her work. She looked up then, finding astonished, dumbfounded expressions on everyone’s faces and utter confusion on Lance’s—an expression that no doubt matched hers.

“What?” she asked, her question reverberating in the still silent living room of Shiro and Keith’s shared apartment.

“What?” Allura asked back.

“What ‘what’?” Lance asked back, too.

And they all stared at each other in more confusion.

* * *

“And yet,” Keith continued, recalling Pidge from her recollection, “somehow, they made sense.” He smiled, and the video switched to Hunk.

“I introduced them,” Hunk said smugly, making her chuckle. His grin was as bright and warm as the summer view behind him, if not more. “Pidge and I were classmates in this course that required a thesis-level project—I mean, who does that?! Our university, apparently, but I digress.”

He shifted in his seat, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “So. Eve of our deadline and we’re stressed out of our minds. Local pizza shack about to close. What did I do? I snuck her into our dorm. My best mate and roommate Lance—bless you—”

“Thank you,” came Lance’s distant voice.

“—opened the doors from inside after curfew, quick introduction, then Pidge and I were back at work. Aaand…” he drawled. “I don’t know if she’d ever realized, but the nickname ‘Pidge’ wasn’t actually ‘Pidge’.”

“Oh no. No no no no. Hunk, don’t say another word,” Lance’s disembodied voice had taken on a warning tone that Hunk, as his best friend, easily disregarded.

“Pidge, you hearing this? That night you met each other and you had your full snark on? He called you a bi—” A hand, obviously Lance’s, clamped over Hunk’s mouth before he could finish.

The video switched again, showing a slightly disheveled, post-laughter, but more formal Hunk. “I’ve been informed that some very important people might be viewing this. I apologize for the rowdiness you witnessed a few seconds prior.”

Pidge paused the video to smirk at the not-camera Lance by her side. “You dared call me something remotely derogatory, Lance?”

His face paled a bit before darkening with a blush. “W-We didn’t have the best first impressions of each other, Pidge.”

When he avoided all her efforts to establish eye contact, she burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, I knew from the start.”

“Wh-Really?”

“Anyone with clean ears will pick up on your noisy grumbling, you know?”

“Oh. Sorry for calling you that, Pidge.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine. The nickname that came from it stuck, anyway.”

He grinned at her, then motioned for her to continue watching.

“For people as dramatic as Lance and as explosive as Pidge, they sure are quiet as a couple. They’re honestly the most boring couple out there.”

“Hey!”

Hunk’s hands went up in a placating gesture. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, man. You guys are two of the coolest people I know. But nothing ever happens with you two! Remember that time Pidge got her appendix removed and she was coming out of her anesthesia-induced coma?”

Pidge tried to recall it. There wasn’t much that happened; the surgery was a success, and Hunk was the first person she found upon waking up, watching over her from a bedside chair.

“Pidge asked where you were, and I thought she was still loopy from the anesthesia so I said, ‘Who do you think gave you your heart?’ And she just stared at me blankly in her trademark way that told you she can’t comprehend what you’re saying, so if you can please say something with a minimum IQ level of one hundred. Then she said with perfect articulation, ‘I had an appendectomy, Hunk, not a heart surgery.’” Hunk looked at the camera, at her. “You could be in the middle of a brain surgery and still hack into the national security systems.”

Laughter bubbled right from her belly. She missed Hunk and his humor so much.

“Anyway, so I told Pidge the truth that Lance was out getting food for her visitors, and then she fell asleep on me. Hence my point stands: boring couple.” He sighed and shook his head in mock disappointment.

What he didn’t know was that his joke had a delayed effect on Pidge, because she could remember bawling when she saw Lance for the first time after her surgery.

“But if boring means no drama means stable, then it’s a blessing that my best buds have the most boring relationship ever.”

With one last salute from Hunk, the video showed Shiro next. Pidge’s chest swelled with pride upon seeing him in a NASA shirt. Like her father and brother, he wore the brand well.

“Lance and Pidge argue often, but rarely do they fight. When they do, strange things happen. Trees in the College of Engineering would seem less vibrant, and the fountain near the College of Letters and Science would stop spouting water. Thanks to Hunk’s talent for goss—” Shiro caught himself, smiled sheepishly, and corrected, “—storytelling, it has since become an urban legend that when the fountain suddenly dries up and the trees along the path to Engineering look like they’re wilting, a student from either college got into a fight with someone they really love from the other college.

“The simple and logical explanations for these rare phenomena are that tired students have altered perceptions of their surroundings, and that the malfunction in the fountain’s pipes just happens to coincide with the equally rare times that Pidge and Lance fight.” He leaned in towards the camera with a conspiratorial smirk. “Here’s my secret though…” He paused, and Pidge held her breath in anticipation. “I don’t think the real explanation is as simple or logical as that.”

The next person to appear caught her off-guard. He wasn’t in the opening greeting, so she figured he was a last-minute addition. It didn’t keep the smile from tugging at the corners of her lips, though.

It was Dr. Smythe, her thesis adviser.

“Pidge—no, Katie Holt, or as I prefer to call her, Number Five, as my fifth consecutive award-winning undergraduate thesis advisee,” he said as a long preamble, stroking his mustache in his own way of preening, “elevates everything she does to unprecedented levels: her classes, her thesis, her contributions to our academic research, her overthinking, and her neglect of herself when in pursuit of something that piques her interest—unintentional, I’m sure, but neglect nonetheless.” Even though she’d just shaken her adviser’s hand as his friend instead of his student not three hours ago, Pidge felt scolded like a kid.

“Worried as I was for her well-being her whole thesis process, I did something unforgivable for an adviser to do!” Dr. Smythe took a dramatic breath that had Pidge’s heart stopping in shock. “I withheld information from my protégée!”

He did what?! Would it affect her thesis, her graduation, her future prospects?!

“I told her there was no way to cut the runtime for one of our computers, when in fact she could have cut it down by a third, or even half! Ah, forgive me, Number Five!” He grabbed the camera by the sides and cried into it in all his genius eccentricity. “I did it for your sake! You never take breaks outside of that waiting time; it was the only time your lover could help calm your nerves!”

Pidge felt her face heat up.

“‘L-Lover’?!” Lance sputtered. The camera’s angle straightened; Dr. Smythe must’ve let go of it now.

Her adviser leveled an odd look where Lance was off-cam. “Yes! Aren’t you her lover? You’ve been lurking outside the labs the whole year.”

“Ye—I mean—To call me that so directly…”

Dr. Smythe pulled on his mustache once. “Get used to it, young man.” And then the video switched again.

It was an abrupt ending for her thesis adviser’s part, but Pidge all but forgot about him when she saw Allura beaming at her.

“Hi, Pidge,” Pidge’s best friend and only childhood friend greeted with a wave. “Congratulations again on graduating. Oh, I miss you so much!” Pidge’s fingers traced Allura’s face ever so lightly on the tablet. She missed her friends—her family outside of her family—so much it almost hurt. “I’ve been asked to say something about you and Lance as a couple.”

“Something good, preferably,” video-Lance quipped, earning a laugh from Allura. She glanced somewhere off-center, probably at where Lance had been filming.

“Alright. Something good, then. Some thoughts I’ve kept in my heart for as long as I’ve known you both.

“You couldn’t be more opposite to each other—gods know how you damage our ears with your bickering. And yet you work perfectly together when it mattered most. You balance each other out. Lance, you lift Pidge up whenever her realism bordered on pessimism. Pidge, you tether Lance whenever his head starts floating to the clouds with his easygoing optimism. Lance is the people-person—I’m sure we all agree on that?” Allura confirmed, teasing eyes looking straight at the camera. Pidge giggled and nodded. “While Pidge understands the world, and perhaps even the universe, at its core.

“Pidge learned from a young age how to build walls to defend herself from envious people who want to drag her down. But Lance, with your big family, you’ve learned how to deconstruct them in order to connect with others.” Allura’s eyes welled with tears, and Pidge’s mirrored them. “You’ve met and challenged Pidge on all levels, Lance. I’m so happy she’s finally found her match in you.”

The camera caught a sniffling sound. “Thanks, Allura.”

Allura’s video cut off with her smiling and dabbing her cheeks with tissue.

Lance’s parents came next, congratulating Pidge enthusiastically and inviting her to their home for a graduation feast.

“Our son brags about his many former girlfriends, but… you are the only one he has ever taken home,” his mother said, the gleam of mischief in her eyes.

“Mom!” Lance whispered harshly. “You gotta give a better message!”

“Let me try.” The camera shifted a bit to focus on Lance’s father. “Our son has had trouble finding his place, being the youngest among his siblings. He told us that you put him in his place, when you met. He said because of that, he found his place and could finally move forward.” The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled. “Thank you, Katie.

“Is that good, son?”

“Yeah… Yeah. Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.”

Pidge could see where this was going—or at least, where it could possibly go. The montage of everyone congratulating her at the start may just be a façade. But since Lance was still in his seat, not fumbling for a tiny box or kneeling on the ground, she couldn’t be sure.

That was until Matt’s face appeared. Then her tears started falling. Because this was her family next. Whatever they had to say about her and Lance would greatly affect their relationship. This was their time to frankly voice out their issues with either of them, and yet Matt was grinning.

“You got me at a good time,” he told the off-cam Lance, who chuckled.

“Three days before launch. I’d say I’m still great at crunch time one year after graduating.”

Matt laughed before turning to the camera. “Hey, Pidge! Congrats on graduating!” His smile turned apologetic. “Sorry I can’t be there to watch you walk on stage and shake hands with people you’ve probably never met your entire college life.” He stopped and waggled his eyebrows expectantly; he knew she’d laugh at his joke. The apologetic smile returned. “And sorry for taking Dad here with me. We need his supervision for the new docking procedure we’ll be trying out. Give Mom some space hugs for me, will you? And if you ever need advice… you can consult Dad’s favorite book any time.” He winked, and she received his secret message successfully.

“Okay. On to matters I’d rather not talk about.”

“Matt!”

Matt’s carefree guffaw made Pidge’s heart ache for her brother’s presence. She mentally calculated the time elapsed since his crew’s launch. Their rocket should be orbiting Earth right about now, preparing to align with the International Space Station.

“I would never forget your first dinner with us. I can tell you really wanted to impress us with your research in the fields we specialize in. But that wasn’t what ended up impressing us. It was how you managed to hit on Mom after you ran out of things to talk about regarding our specialties.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Lance protested, and though Pidge couldn’t see him, she knew that the Lance behind the camera was blushing hard. She glanced at the Lance sitting next to her, sending him an amused—albeit tearful—smirk. He returned a sheepish grin.

* * *

“You’ve gone silent, Lance,” Mom said as she sliced her steak.

Lance stiffened. Pidge knew how much he wanted to leave a good impression on her family. So far, so good. Everything they’d rehearsed, as well as the crash course she’d given him, was paying off. But for some reason, he didn’t seem to think so and had stopped participating in conversations.

“Oh, um…” He swallowed, drank water, then swallowed again. “M-Must be in my genes to be speechless in the face of beauty,” he blurted out in one breath.

The whole table went silent. Awkwardly silent for a full ten seconds. Lance’s face was dark with mortification, Pidge’s family was sitting thunderstruck by his response, and Pidge was starting to wonder if organizing this dinner had been a mistake.

But then Mom and Matt burst into laughter, Dad following suit.

“Sorry, son,” Dad said, regarding Lance a little more warmly than a few seconds ago. “Colleen is spoken for. May I introduce you to my daughter Katie instead?”

The wide smile that spread across Lance’s lips seemed to chase away his embarrassment. He looked at Pidge with bright eyes, and her heart temporarily forgot its rhythm. “I’d love that, Sir.”

* * *

“I know,” Matt assured with a chuckle. “But that accidental thing showed us that you specialized in your own field, too. In building connections with people.

“Pidge—Katie has never been good at making friends. I think only Allura was stubborn enough to get through to her, and it took years. You changed that. You helped my sister expand her world. Now, you mean the world to her.” He directed a kind smile slightly to the left. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you are her world.”

His eyes softened, then he stood from his seat, opening his arms. After a few moments, Lance appeared on-screen to return the hug. The sight brought fresh tears to Pidge’s eyes.

“I leave her in your care, brother,” Matt said. “She’ll probably argue that she can take care of herself. She’s right about that, but it’s still reassuring to know she’s in good hands either way.”

Lance sniffled twice before replying, “Thank you, brother.”

Matt clapped Lance’s back. “No problem. Now let’s look for tissues before the staff suspect you’re infecting me with colds.”

They both snickered.

When the video switched to her parents’ smiling faces, Pidge’s hands became damp with sweat and her heart began to pound. She knew they’d already given Lance their blessing, seeing as this video existed, but this would be the first time she’d be hearing what they thought about her relationship with Lance.

The first thing she noticed was their clothes. They were wearing the unexpectedly awesome sweaters Lance’s grandmother had knitted for them last Christmas. A lump formed in her throat at the realization; she had to lower her voice so she could still speak with words instead of inarticulate sobs.

“How long have you been planning this?” she asked, eyes not straying from the screen.

“A while,” Lance answered just as quietly.

“Congratulations on your graduation, Katie,” Mom greeted.

“We’re so proud of you, Katie. So proud,” Dad added.

“You must have figured out what this video is really for by now,” Mom continued, to which Dad nodded.

“You must have deduced that we’ve given our blessing as well.”

“All that’s left for us to do is endorse this young man…” At Mom’s cue, Lance peeked from the corner of the screen and waved. “…to you.” Pidge glimpsed the obvious signs of nervousness on his face. It carried over to her as she waited for her parents’ “endorsement” of Lance.

“Lance came from a completely different background from us. He didn’t know anything about astrophysics, molecular biology, or computer engineering more than any other layperson did.” Pidge winced at Mom’s knowing smirk. “Don’t try to deny it, young lady; we know you two planned out what he would be talking about with us the first time he came over.”

Dad chuckled. “Lance hadn’t always been able to keep up with our discussions, but he was always willing to learn. He strived to see things from your perspective and understand you better. I’ve never seen you more patient than when you would explain a concept to him, Katie.” He glanced at Lance. “I’ve never seen a more receptive student, either.”

He redirected his gaze to the camera, smiling gently at Pidge. “You told him about the universe, showed how galaxies worked, demonstrated gravitational forces, and explained why the sun, moon, and stars existed. I hope you wouldn’t wonder too much how he realized he has fallen into orbit around you.”

Lance’s hand slipped into hers as the video faded out. Pidge felt something press onto her palm. She felt a ring press onto her palm, and she almost started crying again. Instead, she took a deep, shaky breath to calm the tumult of emotions within her. Lance remained patiently quiet by her side. They watched the flock of graduates and guests in front of them in the meantime, the cacophony of congratulations and goodbyes and promises to keep in touch filling the silence between them.

“You’re not getting down on one knee?” she teased eventually, once she was confident enough to speak.

“I could,” he replied, “but do you want me to?”

“No, actually.”

“Thought so.” She could hear the mirth in his voice. The sound calmed her down further.

“Everybody won’t be satisfied with anything less than showy, though.”

He hummed in thought. “I’ll consider it.”

“Maybe they’ll even make you do something Matt and Shiro will see from space.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “It all depends on your answer.”

She turned towards him, willing him to meet her eyes. “You already know my answer.”

When he did, she was struck anew by how his eyes shone with everything he didn’t need to tell her out loud, and how they regarded her with understanding, and how absolutely, breathlessly beautiful they were. “I want to hear it anyway.” Like the hue of a clear day. Like the shade of a calm sea. Like the color of love. “Will you marry me, Pidge?”

Pidge twined her fingers around Lance’s, beaming up at him. “You know I will, Lance.”

#PlancesecretSanta2019 #plance secret santa #ursamiiinor #plance #hope you like it!#writings

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danganronpa-21 · 5 years ago

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Naegiri Week Day 4: Plant

I’m only posting this like four minutes late; it still counts as day four... and other things I tell myself to avoid my shame. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. I had a bit of trouble writing it, but the basic premise is about Makoto & Kyoko working through life changes together.

Warning for animal death.... I know. I’m sorry.

______________

Makoto and Kyoko had had another child, before the others.

Before Seiko, before Koichi, before even Hope. Once upon a time, there was a fourth child, with dusty silver hair and piercing amber eyes. A girl that they’d found on the streets; one that they adopted into their home.

Before they had their own kids, Makoto and Kyoko had Kimi.

Now, strictly speaking, Kimi wasn’t a legitimate child. In fact, she was quite old. She must have been about thirteen when they found her, crouching under an overhang in the rain. The poor thing was freezing cold, water dripping from her shivering body. They could see the tremors that overtook her, yet when Kyoko reached her hand out, she pulled away in fear. The apocalypse clearly had not been kind to the poor girl, for she shied away so quickly from their attempts at friendship. Even as the years went by, and Kyoko’s belly swelled with the presence of her first child, she recalled the way she and Makoto looked at each other that night. How that wordless questioning led to a very happy life for her.

Truth be told, having Kimi wasn’t the same as having a little girl of her own. Sure, her presence became good practice in some ways, but it wasn’t really the same thing. For starters, where children brought the little patter of feet, Kimi brought the pattering of paws. Cat paws, to be specific.

A thirteen year old gray nebelung was Makoto and Kyoko’s first baby. Well… maybe more of Kyoko’s first baby, by just a hair. Much as Makoto loved Kimi, the two of them spent plenty of time quarreling. She could still remember the way they’d argue; always about something different. Sometimes about where it was appropriate for Kimi to pee, or what objects she should knock off the countertops… but nothing beat where Kimi should sleep.

There was nothing quite like hearing her husband whisper-yelling in the middle of the night. There were quite a few nights where her eyes would flutter open to reveal a new quarrel between man and cat, and she’d simply have to put up with it. If she closed her eyes, her brain could still paint the picture. The fat grey cat in her husband’s hands, mewling in frustration at him. She wriggled like a worm to escape his grasp, but he always refused it. Makoto was always holding her, and always panting slightly.

“For the last time, Kimi,” It was his scolding voice he used, the same one his misbehaving students got, “That is my face. I know you want to sleep on it, but if you do that, I can’t breathe.”

Kimi hissed in response, and Makoto jerked his head back in surprise. In the most accusatory tone he muster, he retorted to her: “Hey! Don’t you take that tone with me!”

She chuckled at the memory. Kimi was always funny like that. Always getting into trouble, and sleeping in the weirdest places. There was even one time, shortly after she found out about her pregnancy, that they’d thought she slipped out in the middle of the night. The couple searched the house in a tizzy; both of them near tears at the thought of losing their beloved pet. They searched for about half an hour until Kyoko, wrought with anxiety, found Kimi napping in one of the laundry baskets. Oh, how they’d snuggled and patted the little kitty when they’d found her. And the treats? She swore the already plump cat gained five pounds that day.

Thinking about their first baby now; she couldn’t deny how hard it was. Though they were only a month away with the actual byproduct of their love, Kyoko still longed for Kimi. To feel her soft fur beneath her fingers, and the purrs that rolled out from her throat effortlessly. The way Kimi would brush up against her when she was sad had been so soothing during so many trying times. Whether it was the series of arguments she and Makoto got into at the beginning of their engagement, or the woes of carrying a child she couldn’t comprehend… Kimi cuddled and supported Kyoko through all of it. She was always around with a helpful head bonk and a nuzzling of her cheek. There could be no tears when noble little Kimi was around.

What Kyoko remembered most about her, though, was the way she kept the baby warm. Yes, for whatever reason, the pregnancy awoke almost a caring instinct within the cat. The moment she caught wind of her owner’s expanding belly, she took to curling up on it and later around it. At first, they thought maybe it was just a matter of where was most comfortable to sleep — like the way she always tried to drift off on Makoto’s face. However, as time went on and her stomach grew, they noticed it was a routine thing. Whenever Kyoko grew stressed or upset, Kimi would come plodding over and hop up for a belly snuggle.

“She must just know,” Makoto had said, reaching down to stroke her as she slept, “She’s got a sibling to protect.”

A sibling to protect.

Makoto was awfully attached to that idea. It seemed at every turn he brought it up; chatting eagerly to her about the way the two might get along. Somehow, apart from the baby names and the personalities it could have, this was a thought that Makoto’s mind favoured. The relationship their kid would have to their cat. There had had many a conversation about it; one in particular she liked to reminisce about.

It was when she was about five months; she remembered it from the way the weight showed on her stomach. They were curled up in front of their TV, watching some comedy film she didn’t really find funny. His hand placed on her belly, waiting patiently to see if their daughter would kick. Kimi curled herself up in his lap; the next best spot after Kyoko’s lap. She liked the heat that emanated from Makoto’s body best.

“You know, Makoto, I’ve been thinking… and I realized that having this baby… it is almost as if we are experiencing a new beginning. A new chapter in our lives.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “I feel like that too,” He murmured into her hair, “Like we’ve been given a gift by fate.”

A gift by fate, she thought. She supposed it was a good way to look at having a baby. After all the trouble they saw in their lives, she wagered that they deserved a gift of life to call their own. Someone to care and nurture for. Someone to bring hope into their world by doing nothing but being themselves.

“Exactly. A gift by a fate… but one that will ultimately change our lives. Everything is going to be so… so different now.”

“Is different okay?”

“Different is wonderful,” She assured him, resting her head on his shoulder, “It just means that we’ll likely have much to adapt to. Every aspect of our lives right down to Kimi will need be altered.”

To this, Makoto chuckled, and reached a hand down to pet Kimi. The feline responded with a pleased purr, urging him to scratch at her favourite spots. Based on the placement of his hand, he was in prime ear scratching position. “I don’t think we have to worry about Kimi too much,” He laughed, “She’s going to be the best big sister in the world. Aren’t you, Kimi? That’s why you’re our good girl!”

A cute mew escaped Kimi’s mouth at the praise. Somehow she always knew when she was being called a good girl. Makoto’s tendency to use his baby voice probably helped, Kyoko imagined.

“A big sister, huh…”

“Yeah! Just think of the way the two of them will play together! The two of them chasing our feet under the covers, and gently bopping each other on the nose! Our son or daughter will love doing that stuff with her! Kimi can even teach them about the world. She’ll be amazing.”

Kyoko fought off the frown that threatened to consume her when his words echoed in her mind. The hope was that their cat would be able to meet their baby, and do so many of those cute things… But fate stole that away from them.

Somewhere within the last two months or so of Kyoko’s pregnancy, Kimi started acting strangely. At first, it was a simple matter of hiding. Rather than rushing to the door and mewling excitedly at them when they returned home, it seemed as if she ran and hid at the first sign of them. She dove under beds and dressers, snuck behind the refrigerator and the dryer, and even returned to her laundry basket hiding spot. What was worse, though, was that she seemed irritable every time they found her. It was as if when they were there, she wished only for them to go away. She detested them for pulling her out of her hiding spots, and did not hesitate to show it.

Eventually her behaviour began to shift even further; before they knew it, she changed completely. Soon, the feral turned sociable sweetheart they knew became a reclusive being of bitterness. Whenever they walked through the door, she wanted little to do with them. She became irritated if they tried to touch her, and wanted to be independent from them at all costs. Even when she would wake up in the middle of the night wheezing and nearly unable to breathe, she scorned them. She would hiss and swat at Makoto when he tried to give her the medication to treat it. It was as if she suddenly didn’t care for them at all.

The couple couldn’t understand why their once loving companion had suddenly turned against them. Despite her originally being feral and wary, Kimi warmed up to them right away. They were her humans, and she’d always loved them. She would cuddle them when they were sad, play with them when they were bored, and try to feed them when she thought they were hungry. Kimi never acted like this prior to those last few months, and the thought scared them half to death. At the time, they were wondering if she intended to gear up to run away. They didn’t think that she could really be dying. They didn’t realize that it had been three years since they picked her up off that despairful road, and that being sixteen years old meant that Kimi was old.

The whole thing only became clear to them when she stopped eating. God, Kyoko would admit that she bawled when that happened. But she’d always preface that when it occurred, she was seven months pregnant and dealing with insane baby hormones. So, you know, the crying like a little girl was understandable for the typically stoic detective. And, to be fair, Makoto cried too, but he had no “excuses”. He was just an emotional guy.

Her heart stung when she reflected back on the moments she spent next to Kimi and her bowl; her face stained with tears. She could remember the way her lip trembled and her hands shook, and the way Kimi stared at her as if she didn’t know what to do.

“Why will you not eat?” She asked the feline, sniffling. Cautiously, she reached a hand over to pat her head, only to have her recoil from her touch. The movement only made the heavily pregnant detective cry harder. “Please, Kimi.”

Her husband’s hand found a place on her shoulder. She had been so distraught that her first desire was to shove it off, but she dismissed it. He sought only to help her, that much she knew well.

“I think we should take her to see someone.” He said, his voice soft and caring, like he feared his every word would make her upset. She could hear the way he tried to hide its tremble. “Apparently there’s a former vet operating in the marketplace that’s pretty good. We could take her to see him… see if we can get her to eat.”

She smiled slightly, wiping at her wet eyes with the back of her hand. In a way, she kind of liked the way he used “we”. It made her realize that she wasn’t totally alone in the way this made her feel. He was going through it just as much as she. It was the way he phrased things again, after the vet told them the news.

“So what do we want to do?”

They were both crying then; totally shamelessly, too. Snot dripping from their noses and tears smeared across their faces and the wails of anguish at knowing this was coming. The whole nine yards. She remembered that he’d tried to keep it together for her at first, fighting off the tears to ask the vet for time to think about it. However, the moment the vet freed Makoto of his burdening presence, he broke down.

“What can we do?” Kyoko whimpered, pitifully attempting to catch her breath between sobs. “She’s dying. If we keep her alive, she suffers until she dies. You heard what he said, she’s old and sore…”

Makoto sniffled, wiping snot on the back of his hand. Still as gross as it was the first four times he did it, she remarked internally to herself. But now was not the time for snarky statements. They were grieving.

“B-But if we choose to put her down, then w-w-we… we have to say goodbye.”

She nodded. “I know… I know…”

“God,” Makoto murmured, clutching at the fabric of his jeans and scrunching it up, “I forgot how hard this is… Holding the decision of another being’s life in your hands…”

Kyoko didn’t have the words to answer that statement. Though the killing game’s trials were not comparable to the decision to euthanize their pet, they still held the same emotion. She could remember feeling something like this, when Junko decided it was Sakura’s turn to go.

“I… I t-thought this was supposed to be our new beginning… I thought we were supposed to be done with making choices like this, and we could just… g-go on being happy for once!”

“I know…” was the only thing Kyoko could think to say. It was something that Makoto shook his head to. “I know…”

“I don’t want her to be in pain, b-b-but… I’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

When she’s gone, Kyoko thought. When she no longer curls up on my belly, or pushes Makoto’s glasses off the counter. When she doesn’t pee on the cabinets when we leave her for too long, or poke her head in on me while I’m in the shower. It seemed so unthinkable that some day soon, Kimi might be gone.

_____________

They buried Kimi in their garden seven years ago, next to a little birch sapling. To give her the new beginning she promised.

Over the years, that beginning grew. It grew and grew into a powerful tree. It was long, and tall, with a white trunk and olive green leaves. A very proud tree, for a very proud cat, who had her little sister hanging upside from her branches like a monkey.

“Look at me, Koichi! Look! I’m up so high!” The little girl giggled, swinging back and forth like an acrobat preparing to make a great landing. “Bet you can’t do this!”

From further down, the voice of Kimi’s little brother sounded. “I don’t think I want to,” He whimpered, “That looks so scary, Hope! What if you fall?”

“I’ll be fine!” She brushed some of her hair away from her face with her free hand, “This is Kimi’s tree, remember? Mommy and Daddy planted it for her! That’s why as long as I’m up here, I’m totally safe!”

Kyoko could do little more than fold her arms frustratedly when she caught this sight. Though she adored that her daughter knew the story behind the tree, her son was right. Hanging from the tree like that was far too dangerous to be okay.

“Hope, come on! Get down from there!”

Her daughter immediately started to whine. “But Mooooooommy…! How am I supposed to be a great gymnast some day if I can’t do stuff like this?”

She opened her mouth to protest the girl, but thankfully, her husband swooped in to take charge. He was already halfway up the tree, trying to apprehend the overly eager seven year old. It was hard not to snicker at his determination… or at the way his feet would slip ever so slightly when he stepped wrong.

“You can practice on Friday, when you’re at the gym, pumpkin. It’s not safe to do it here.”

“But what about Kimi? I thought you said she was like our family’s protector spirit, and that we could play together.”

Kyoko chuckled softly. She did like the way he told that story. And it seemed like her daughter did, too.

“Of course she is,” Makoto said, finally climbing up close enough to swing his daughter into a safer position in the tree, “And she told me that she wants you to practice on Friday, because we planted her to play safely with you.”

Hope’s lower lip stuck out in a pout, but she obliged, taking hold of the branch tightly. The sight made her mother sigh with immediate relief. Life was so much more comfortable when she wasn’t anticipating her children’s next disaster, but she supposed it was more interesting that way.

And she and Makoto had Kimi to thank for that.

#Naegiri2019 #Naegiri #Danganronpa #Thh #Kyoko Kirigiri #Makoto Naegi #DR1 #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #fanfiction #kyouko kirigiri #kirigiri kyoko #naegi makoto #hope naegi-kirigiri #koichi naegi-kirigiri #oh surprise i found some way to put my fankids in it... who expected that #fun fact they actually weren't originally going to be in it

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lakelewisia · 5 years ago

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Mostly Real

or, How the Liminality Hunter First Came to Lewisia

a Lake Lewisia expanded story

Happy #500!

~~~

Vivian stood on a little rise of tumbled boulders and thick mud studded with the shattered remnants of trees, hand braced on the tread of one of the earth movers brought in by the rescue crews. By the light of a battery-powered headlamp, she looked across what had once been a familiar trailhead. The last time she had been there so early, she and Jackson and their other outdoorsy friends had snuck in before the park's normal dawn opening time to see New Year's first light from one of the more accessible peaks. They had all been younger and a bit more reckless then, and she wouldn't have risked a climb in the dark under normal circumstances.

The rescue crews--recovery crews, she corrected herself with a sneer--would arrive at dawn, though, and she needed to get up on the mountain before anyone could try to talk her out of this.

The first step down toward the trail had her wobbling over loose rocks. Her legs felt like jelly under her. Her arms windmilled for balance. Her head spun, brain seeming to slosh in a pool of medication. Snot slowly oozed toward her upper lip again.

"Baby, are you sure you don't want me to stay home?" Jackson had asked her, peering down into the nest of blankets she had accumulated for herself. She honked loudly at him and tossed aside yet another wad of tissues, which probably should have been the answer. Instead, like an idiot, she had said,

"'m fine. You need your mountain time." Vivian had managed to make it through the week without missing work, because she never considered calling in sick an option. Spending the weekend hiking, however, was definitely optional for her. She flapped a fresh tissue at Jackson. "Go. Say hi to everybody for me."

"It's true," Jackson agreed, though she could hear the reluctance in his voice. "My manliness will fade if I don't get out there at least once a week."

The snort that greeted that was only partly due to Vivian's clogged sinuses. "Pretty sure that's what the testosterone in the medicine cabinet is for, but okay."

"Nah, the boy juice is just to keep my beard looking full and lustrous," he said, stroking his cheeks and the neatly trimmed hair there. "The mountain is where true manliness comes from."

"You're a nut," she diagnosed, then rolled over so she was sandwiched between the heating pad and the beam of sunshine streaming in their bedroom window. It was May, and unseasonably warm at that, but she couldn't seem to get warm. "Go, leave me to die in peace."

Jackson gave her a crooked smile and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. She leaned into the touch. The flu sucked. He asked again, "You're super sure you'll be okay?" and she agreed.

That was the last time they spoke. Five days ago.

Vivian scrubbed a gloved hand across her nose and the yet-unshed tears both. She didn't have time to be sick or sad or anything, anything but moving. The flood-altered footing would have been a challenge in full light, and a dark hike would test her abilities at her best. Waiting wasn't an option though. She used the headlamp beam to pick out the first clear path between uprooted trees and displaced rocks and headed up toward the first peak. Jackson had gone that way, so she would as well, flu symptoms and caution tape be damned.

Under her boots, the mud had already started to dry into ridges and ruts. She put her head down and focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Again and again, like any other hike when she hit the wall of her own exhaustion and had to push through. Looking only at the couple of feet illuminated by the headlamp, the trail didn't even seem that different. The last five days had all been clear and sunny and normal. The storm had blown through almost as fast as it had come up.

Almost. The news reporters had said that so many times. No warning. No reason for the storm, for thunder and lightning like a warzone being bombed. Unseasonable. Weather models showed nothing before or after.

"How's the weather report looking for Saturday?" Jackson asked, draping himself over her shoulder to see the screen of her laptop as well. He regretted it a moment later when Vivian sneezed explosively and he took a shoulder to the chest.

"Clear, low wind," she reported between sniffles. "Kinda warm, so you might need to ditch the flannel."

"Never," Jackson said. "That's the third time you've sneezed in, like, thirty minutes. You okay?"

"Prolly just allergies," she told him. She had told Dana-at-the-next-desk, her nearest neighbor at the office, the same thing after Vivian caught Dana giving her yet another faintly alarmed look while not-so-subtly leaning farther away from Vivian's workstation. "Do we have any cans of soup?"

The first peak, when she got up there, left her standing just above a sea of cloud. She hadn't even realized she was passing through the fog as she climbed, so focused just on making it up the ghost of a trail she had once known as well as the street she lived on. The sun wasn't even real yet, only the faintest hint of indigo along the horizon suggesting that light might be invented sometime soon. The fog filling the valley below her roiled in the dark like disturbed water.

Vivian braced her hands on her thighs and breathed, hard and rattling with mucus. Over her breathing, she heard a sound like the buzzing of power lines. She had always associated that sound with foggy mornings, and now her hazy head seemed to conjure the sense memory like a spirit in this place beyond the reach of power lines and cell phone signals.

The valley below had been scoured out by the flood. She could only see part of the damage between the edges of the dark and the fog. The slopes had been scraped clean of their trees, the tracery of runoff channels like veins left behind. The worst mudslide in fifty years, they said. Death toll. Cost of structural damage. Places wiped right off the map. She let her head drop forward again in exhaustion, seeing only the ground beneath her feet.

The deputy held his hat in his hands. He had on a yellow rain jacket, like the rest of the emergency responders. It was like a sartorial tic; there hadn't been another drop of rain after that single apocalyptic hour. "At this point, we're considering this a recovery effort. I'm sorry."

Vivian stood in the middle of the tent where the rescue efforts had been staging. Rescue. Because Jackson, along with who knew how many other people, still hadn't been found. She stood there, feeling stupid and childish, because all she could say was, "But his friends--you said you found--"

Her face ached from not crying. Still sick, it felt like she too was trying to breathe through mud, but at least she wouldn't cry. Crying was for people who had lost something.

"None of them survived. We don't expect--" She shook her head. She had already heard this. Their friends had been found, crushed and drowned in the flooding. That was bad enough.

"He was supposed to be with them. If he wasn't, maybe--" If they would just listen to her, they would understand. They couldn't stop looking for Jackson. He was out there. Someone had to bring him home.

"I'm sorry," the deputy told her again. He looked over her shoulder, to one of the grief counselors waiting in the wings to collect her. To make her move on to the next stage, to gently explain to her how to give up hope.

Vivian straightened up. "Where are you?" She would walk along the ridge line, she decided, and look for signs of anyone passing through. Maybe by the time she had finished with that, the fog would burn off and she could scan the valley as well.

She still heard that buzzing. She pressed a knuckle against one ear. Maybe it just needed to pop and adjust to the change in elevation. She didn't want to think about developing an ear infection as well. The noise grated on her frayed nerves. She spent a long moment in the dark flexing her jaw and tugging on her ear and losing her temper.

When she turned to hike on, he was there. Still in flannel and boots and battered canvas pants as he had been when he walked away from her sickbed five days ago, Jackson stood just ahead of her on the ridge line. His expression looked vaguely shell shocked, but no other sign of damage or distress was obvious.

The milky, almost real light of approaching dawn filtered right through him like he had been made of stained glass.

***

Vivian shook her head. The movement sent her brain sloshing around again. "You're not a ghost." The shade of Jackson tilted his head like he had to strain to hear some distant sound. "I'm hallucinating from the cold medicine and exertion."

Jackson asked with a smile, "Where do you want to break for lunch?" He didn't have a pack, Vivian noted before she could stop herself. It didn't matter, because it was just a hallucination. She stepped around him to continue along the ridge.

She let her mind spread out, loosely aware of her surroundings but focused on nothing in particular. Jackson had always been better at this sort of thing, but she had learned to read natural signs well enough. If he had survived the floodwaters--

Since.

Since he had survived the floodwaters, he would be looking for shelter and a way to summon help. He wouldn't hide his movements; he would do everything he could to make someone notice him.

"Hey, I like hiking as much as the next person who isn't you," Vivian protested as she nursed her coffee in the passenger seat, reluctant to actually step outside. No one should be awake at this hour on a Saturday morning, and they definitely shouldn't be dressed to go wander around in the cold outdoors then either.

Jackson laughed as he rooted around in the trunk with his "surprise." He had promised he would make the early morning hike worth her while. And, well, she was the lunatic who had started dating some kind of secret lumberjack, so of course she was nuts enough to agree.

"You'll learn to love it," he said.

Vivian found her protests drying up in her throat. The two of them hadn't been dating long enough to say--well, to say a lot of things she found herself nonetheless starting to think. When Jackson came around to her door with a picnic basket clutched in both hands, clearly laden with an astonishing weight of food, Vivian could only smile helplessly, charmed beyond reason and acutely aware of the emotions putting down taproots in her heart.

Every time Vivian thought she saw some sign of Jackson's movements, it turned out to be an ordinary rock or bit of peeling bark. Everything looked promising when she wanted it beyond reason, and she knew it. Worse, every time she turned back to search the next stretch of ridge line, the shape of Jackson lingered in the corner of her eye. Her heart gave a brutal kick again, just the latest of a dozen such moments since she started her search. She stumbled, exhaustion and illness and worry all wearing her down. The sight of Jackson reaching for her made her flinch and stagger onward, though.

Maybe this had been a bad idea, if she was this delirious. He looked more solid now, as real as she was. More so, actually, because she didn't feel real herself anymore. She felt cold and confused and desperate. The mountain around her in the weak light felt like a dream.

"Viv, can you hear me?"

God, his voice sounded so real and so close. She wanted to start screaming his name in the hopes of hearing some far-off reply. It would be the sort of half-heard call for rescue she expected. Not this close, conversational tone from a ghost she didn't believe in.

"Please, Jax, you gotta be out here somewhere. Just show me--" She scrubbed at her eyes as the tears began to fall at last. She had put them off this whole time, but now she couldn't seem to hold them off any longer. She wasn't allowed to grieve him when he wasn't gone. Couldn't be gone.

"Show me how to find you," she begged, voice coming out as a choked whisper no one would ever hear. Her feet stumbled forward automatically even though she wouldn't be able to search for anything with eyes full of tears.

"Viv, I'm right--Viv!" The instinct to turn toward his voice, toward that urgent tone, overrode any conscious thought.

It happened so fast. She hadn't even noticed the loose footing under her boots as it gave way before she spun to face Jackson. The pain of seeing him there, where she knew he couldn't possibly be, warred with the animal terror of balance lost. The sensation of falling toward nothingness swamped everything else in her mind. Nothing could compete with it.

No rational ideas about hallucinations. About the existence of ghosts. About grief and delusions and wishful thinking. Nothing could match the need to reach out to him as she felt the margins of the ridge sliding away and threatening to take her with it.

She threw her hands toward him. He grabbed them with both of his, planted his feet while hers scrambled against a collapsing hillside, and jerked her back upright and onto solid ground. They staggered away from the edge's danger and into each other. She collapsed against his chest--solid and real and alive.

***

For a moment, all either of them could do was breathe and be in each other's space. Vivian's hands had ended up fisted in Jackson's shirt, and she found them rhythmically clenching there. Her hard gasps verged on wheezing. Jackson's chest flexed with his own rough panting where she pressed against him.

"Holy shit. I wasn't sure that would work," he said eventually, mouth pressed into her hair.

"You're not a ghost," she said again, this time not only with hope but with knowledge. He wasn't a ghost. She pushed back to look at him, hands still holding tight. "What happened?"

A strange look passed over his face, distant and confused. "I remember thunder," he said, as though that explained anything.

"Are you hurt at all?" Vivian managed to loosen her hands enough to start patting him down, looking for any sign of injury. The layers of clothing padded out his shape, but he didn't flinch and no blood came away on her hands. He wasn't even muddy, while she had dirt smeared up her shins from fighting for her footing as the ridge gave way.

She took him by the hand and began leading him back the way she had come. This time there was no meandering, searching path; she had single-minded focus. "Come on. We're going home."

She suddenly wanted off the mountain immediately. The weirdness, the mist and the strange sounds, all seemed suddenly more threatening than it had when she thought herself alone. Once on a hike, they had been stalked by a mountain lion for some distance. That sensation of invisible threat, of being somewhere you didn't belong, of trespassing in somewhere huge and unknowable and hungry, had felt like this.

"What happened to Dave and Julie?" Jackson asked. She didn't look back, but she tightened her grip on his hand and felt his answering squeeze.

"The sheriff said--they found the bodies down on the basin trail." They both fell silent for a long moment. Their friends had been experienced hikers too, and the four of them had gone on trips plenty of times together. "Weren't they with you?"

As they wove between the trees on little more than a deer path, he said, "I couldn't find a signal where we had stopped, so I told them I would meet them up by the fork, you know? I thought I might get through if I got up higher."

"You never use your phone on hikes. You barely even remember to take it with you."

Jackson huffed. "Yeah, but you're not normally at home, dying of flu. I was worried. Wanted to check in."

She bit back her normal protests that she could look after herself. Getting to higher ground might have been the only thing that kept him alive. Random chance and freak accidents. A shive shook across her shoulders.

"I heard something weird. And something--" Jackson slowed down, dragging at her hand. She didn't want to slow down. They were only a few minutes from the level of the parking lot. They could go home.

In a halting, unsure voice, he said, "Something was weird about the phone." She tugged at him and he started walking again. Even so, she could see he wasn't really looking at where they were. "There was this crackling sound. Not--maybe it was just lightning, but--"

They stepped out of the tree line and onto what remained of the main path where many smaller trails had once converged. Vivian could see the hood of her car just ahead over the uneven terrain and the canvas of the staging tent. Then she saw the sheriff's hat moving around.

It didn't matter, she thought. Let the man fuss about her not being authorized. She had a moment of smug satisfaction--see, I told you he was alive, I found him when you couldn't--before the sheriff turned toward them.

Jackson's hand evaporated, floated away between her fingers, before the sheriff even said a word. The sheriff never looked at anyone but her, as though there had never been anyone but her on that mountain. As though nothing had changed. When Vivian looked back, even she saw no one standing behind her. Just the mountain with sunlight streaming between the tops of trees and reflecting off the CAUTION tape strung up across the trailhead.

When the lecture about safety and proper authorities had ended, when the sheriff assured her they were doing everything they could to give all the families closure, when Vivian had retreated to her car and driven just far enough away that she could have privacy--

When she had dutifully done the things she was supposed to do to keep her grief tidy and convenient, she sat on the shoulder of the road and screamed. Screamed until her sore throat was too raw to make any more sound, her face a mess of tears and snot. She hunched over the steering column, beating her fists against the dashboard until she couldn't move. Then she slumped there, panting and swallowing against the searing pain in her throat.

When she opened her eyes again, she was staring down at her feet. Mud had dried her jeans into stiff folds and flaked onto the floor mats from her boots. She could feel the faint sting where the rough ground had scraped her legs as she tried to get ahead of the sliding slope. The sheriff had told her how unstable the whole mountain would be after the mudslides. How she could fall at any time. Then they would be trying to rescue her as well.

She would have been just another flood victim, a few days late to the party, if Jackson hadn't pulled her to solid ground again.

She put her hand down and touched the mud. It chipped away when she picked at it, leaving brown stains on the denim underneath. She had started to fall. Jackson had pulled her to safety.

Vivian sat up and swiped at her face to clear her eyes and nose. Jackson had been there. He was alive and at least mostly real. He wasn't a ghost, even if something had definitely happened to him. Changed him.

And if Vivian could find him once, she would do it again.

***

Four AM on a Monday was no time for anyone to be grocery shopping, but that was what Vivian got for spending her whole weekend up a damn mountain, trying to make contact with Jackson. She got home, sweaty and exhausted, with nothing to show for her efforts but a few new blisters. Then she realized she had let her supply of food run dry. In that addled state, she hadn't been able to think of any way to turn a jar of mayo and two stale tortillas into lunches for the work week. Equally unable to bear the thought of shopping that night, she set her alarm for ungodly early the next morning.

The wheels of the shopping cart rattled, uncomfortably loud in the nearly deserted grocery store, the only one in the area actually open for business at that hour. The seemingly lone employee glared at her--or perhaps he was just squinting against the fluorescent overhead lights--then lowered his head to resume morosely mopping an isolated corner of the floor near the bakery area. Vivian hurried on before either of them had to interact with each other directly.

The last two had given her a lot of practice at avoiding people who wanted to avoid her just as badly. It had been a brutal time, if not for the reason everyone around her assumed. She had taken a week off work initially, just so she could stop getting pitying looks and cooing sympathy from her coworkers. No one had found a body, but all the authorities agreed that anyone not found yet was lost for good. So they expected Vivian to grieve.

Vivian kept expecting it too, if she was being honest. Even after the third return trip to the mountain gave her another few hours with a definitely real Jackson, she only mostly believed. She still expected to see something on the news or to get a phone call, telling her they had recovered a body or other evidence of his death.

She still expected some agent of unyielding reality to inform her she had been crazy all along.

Vivian stared at her scribbled shopping list with blank incomprehension. What had she imagined she would want to eat? Soup. Okay. Yes. Soup could be done. She leaned heavily on the cart, the muscles of her legs sore from hiking a mountain no longer tamed by trails, as she turned down an aisle. She tried to decide which section of nearly identical cans to pull from. The lights overhead made her eyes hurt, and she glared up at them. No wonder the person working up front looked so unhappy. Out in the parking lot, a car swung its lights along the length of the store windows, adding a barely perceptible glow to the endcaps.

By the time she had hemmed and hawed over soup cans, the cold of the store had begun to worm its ways through her clothing and down into her bones. It felt like she had already been shopping for hours. As she turned down the frozen food aisle in search of burritos, she thought she had definitely only been there a few minutes though. Two aisles couldn't take more than a few minutes, could they?

"Do we have any frozen vegetables at home?" Jackson's voice said, abruptly just to the right of her. She jerked sideways in surprise, the freezer door swinging around like a shield at the motion.

Jackson still looked slightly faded, like she was looking at him through the frosted glass door even after it had swung closed again. That seemed to be part of the pattern. His gaze slid over her and the two rows of glass doors full of brightly colored boxes, not quite aware of his surroundings. That too seemed part of the new normal.

"Vegetables?" Vivian repeated, feeling foolish but too surprised to manage anything better. Jackson's eyes refocused on her and that last degree of realness filled in his outline. He was there with her, in the frozen food aisle at the crack of dawn, dressed in his hiking clothes like always.

"Oh. Hey." The smile that bloomed across his face made her stomach flutter. He looked so entirely happy to see her. He looked like he loved her, and it hurt so much to see, the same way it hurt when the blood flowed back into a numb limb. "Did you say something about vegetables?"

"You brought it up first," she countered.

"Did I? Sorry, I don't remember. Feel like I just woke up from a dream." He looked around the store once more, aware this time of what he was seeing. "Huh. Why here?"

They had debated at length, last time on the mountain, what the rules might be of his situation. If Jackson could appear--manifest--teleport--whatever--someplace other than the mountain where he disappeared originally, it threw all their current (admittedly meager) theories out the window.

"Who cares," Vivian said, abandoning her shopping cart to grab his hands. "Let's go home. Right now. There's no reason you can't now, right?" She hated how much hope tightened her throat, made her sound young and desperate and so damn naive. She just wanted to take him home one more time.

And Jackson had never even tried to deny her something she asked for, when she could bring herself to ask for anything at all. So he went where she led. They made it to the end of the aisle and through the abandoned checkout line. They made it almost to the doors.

She wanted to beat the damn kid with his mop, because it had to be his fault. He was the only person around, and he still just swiped the mop around the same patch of floor in a desultory manner. The moment Vivian caught sight of him, she felt Jackson's hand fading from hers. Reality came crashing back down on her, hard as floodwaters.

She went home, and called in sick, and ate nothing all day. She hoped the kid hated reshelving more than mopping, and she refused to feel bad about abandoning her cart for him to deal with. Lying in bed for a few hours, she didn't even bother to think about how she could bring Jackson home. And that was all she ever really thought about these days. No, for a few hours, she just cried and thought of nothing but how sorry she felt for herself.

***

Vivian jogged up to the time clock, worming her way between people headed to their offices and workstations. Dana-at-the-next-desk rolled her eyes as Vivian's time stamp processed, showing mere seconds before she would be considered late. Again.

"Seriously, you've been almost late every day this week. Did you lose your alarm clock?" Dana followed Vivian into the locker area, apparently in no rush to get to work herself. Vivian tried not to breathe too hard and give away just how hard she had to hustle to avoid being actually, properly late. She tossed an apple into her locker, once again the full extent of lunch she had managed to organize.

"I had errands to run. Grocery shopping." Dana eyed the apple still rolling sadly around the back of the locker. "It's fine. I've just been busy."

Dana put on the Officially Sympathetic Expression Vivian still sometimes had to look at since Jackson's "death," when people didn't just avoid her entirely. Dana even popped the otherwise permanently affixed earbud out of its position, which was the sign for Really Listening Now with her younger coworkers. "How are you holding up?"

Vivian resisted the urge to groan. "Fine," she snapped. After an awkward beat, alone in the hallway now that everyone else had already gotten to work, she added, "Thanks."

"Right. Anyway." There was no getting away from the conversation, because everywhere Vivian had to go, her office neighbor had to go as well. Vivian made a show of getting down to business, rifling through paperwork and pulling up multiple windows of data on her computer screen, in the hopes of ending it. It even might have worked, but then Dana added in an offhand way, "Anyway, you couldn't pay me to go grocery shopping that early in the morning. It's, like, haunting central."

Vivian paused halfway through her signature, the ink wavering off into gibberish. "What?" He's not a ghost, she chanted in her head. The mantra had gotten her through darker moments than this, but she hadn't been braced against the flood of panic that hit her just then.

Dana looked up from her own work, no doubt confused by Vivian's suddenly intense tone. "You know. Liminal spaces or, or, regional gothic. That sort of thing." At Vivian's uncomprehending expression, Dana said in a slightly embarrassed tone, "It's just a thing people talk about. Abandoned theme parks and train stations in the middle of the night," she rattled off. Vivian resisted the urge to flip the paperwork over and start taking notes. "Stuff like that. Places that are sort of creepy and seem like they'd be haunted or portals to another world. It's, like, modern fairytales."

In a careful tone that tried to be casual and failed rather spectacularly, Vivian asked, "What are these called again?"

She ended up clocking back from lunch late, phone screen nearly touching her face as she researched, apple sitting on the table in front of her with one bite taken out of it. The tabs maxed out on the phone's browser as Vivian tumbled down a rabbit hole of posts about liminal spaces and abandoned buildings and ghost stories and UFO sightings.

Some animal part of Vivian's brain, geared to survival, registered shoes in her peripheral vision. She just barely managed to avoid crashing into someone coming the other way toward the breakroom. The annoyed expression on Vivian's face made the other person recoil physically before Vivian remember to get it under control.

"Oh. Hi. Boss." Vivian instinctively locked the phone screen, but she couldn't quite bring herself to put it in her pocket. That ended up the awkward pose she struck while facing down Carol, her supervisor: half hiding the evidence of her slacking off and half trying to go back to reading about a currently abandoned hospital facility up the coast.

"Vivian," Carol said, and the name came out as an exasperated sigh. "I think we need to have a talk in my office--"

"I need to take some more time off work," Vivian blurted. The words came out before she had known what she was going to say, but she couldn't bring herself to take it back. If she had, say, a week off, enough time to drive to a few different locations in succession and test the theory brewing in her head--

"I think that might be for the best," Carol agreed. They both pretended not to notice the way Vivian tuned out before they had even finished blocking time out on the calendar for it, before they had even made the walk to Carol's office, before the agreement had even been reached. Vivian had, in all the ways that mattered save one, already gone somewhere far off and strange.

***

Vivian slapped down a rubber band-bound stack of bills on one corner of the map and a coffee mug on the other. It had taken ages to track down a copy for sale online. The one at the library wasn't much use if they couldn't make marks on it or take it with them. On the other hand, the library copy had never been stored in a poster tube and so didn't have a deeply ingrained habit of rolling up if left unattended.

"Oh, yeah, this is going to be a blast to use in the car," she muttered.

No one answered--not as far as she could hear. Months of tracking down liminal spaces to spend time with Jackson and experimenting as best they could under such unpredictable conditions, and she still had no idea where he went when not with her or what he could hear. Maybe one day she would know for sure. Maybe some authority on the weird event that caused his condition would inform her he had never heard a word she said when invisible.

It still hurt less to pretend he was there, just in the next room maybe, out of her line of sight. Listening. With her. Not close enough to touch, but still close enough.

Vivian shivered with the memory of hands on her, soft folds of flannel brushing her arms as the crumbling brick of the hospital wall scraped along her back. She couldn't watch horror movies anymore or half the crime dramas on television, not without getting turned on and weirded out. Every haunted house or secret basement kill room looked too much like the places where she and Jackson stole moments together. Shaking her head, she bent over the map with a red pen in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other.

"I'm marking the train station down as a variable midnight," she announced as she drew a box around a block in an industrial area. She flipped open a journal and started writing another entry.

Multiple colors of ink and a system of symbols they had invented for themselves kept the entries more succinct. Even so, that journal had almost all the pages filled, and it would soon join the stack of other finished ones. The oldest of those had lost their cardstock covers and had their spiral binding bent and crushed from too many times getting crammed into backpacks and gloveboxes. The newest one had a removable leather folio for protection. Vivian went through too many to splurge on the notebooks themselves, but she had eventually admitted her lifestyle was pretty hard on paper goods and sprung for the carrying case.

"I think it's probably good for a few more visits, but not much more," she added, writing quickly in her cramped shorthand. "Too much routine carryover."

While those first feverish weeks of research had given her all sorts of terminology--about supernatural things she still didn't entirely believe in even when she had seen them first hand and about even higher weirdness she had so far only read about--it hadn't been systematic. It hadn't been what she needed to track the places where Jackson could appear, predict what places were good candidates for exploration, learn what broke the magic faster or helped it hold on longer. Her background in data analysis helped with all the things blogs and the New Age section of bookstores couldn't.

The irony wasn't lost on Vivian. If she had shown this kind of dedication at work, saved up her clever, middle of the night revelation about a data set for her day job, she could have been on her way to a promotion. At the very least, her coworkers might still talk to her--her friends might too, for that matter. Instead, she tapped out her PTO every time it built up enough to give her a long weekend for trips out to ruins, alone but hoping not to stay that way. If she let herself think about it, which she mostly didn't, she guessed she had about two months before Carol fired her.

She didn't have time to worry about that. They had travel to plan. Their radius of exhausted location kept expanding, which meant going farther afield to find liminality. She had reason to think some of the locations would recover--regrow--whatever it was they did when the strangeness came back. In the meantime, though, they had to plan on a minimum of three hours one-way to reach anything. Possibly they had a problem on their hands. Besides the obvious "partner no longer has regular access to physical form" problem.

"Okay, so, you said you saw a nature preserve on the road atlas, right?" She steamrolled on without waiting for a response she knew wasn't coming. Momentum was the key to creating the illusion of anything other than devastating loneliness. "Yeah, with no search results when we looked it up online. Should be right around here." Maybe one day, all her chatter would come filtering through to Jackson, a time-delayed flood of inclusion in what remained of their old life together. That would make the exercise in self-conscious rambling worth it.

The magnifying glass panned across the details of the map. It was the right area, based on the roads intersecting the highway, but nothing marked a nature preserve. Some of the streets around there didn't look familiar either, but maybe that was to be expected. The map predated the road atlas, deliberately so; perhaps streets had been renamed in the intervening years. There was a patch of green and some topographical markings indicating pretty substantial mountains nearby, but none of them had been marked further.

Absently, she took a gulp of coffee as she pondered it. The map started to roll up, and she grabbed at it with her other hand, only to bobble the red pen to the floor. "Would you please just find me another weight to put on this?"

A beat of silence.

Right. Forgot again.

"I'm getting the atlas from the car," she announced. "Maybe we're nuts and this isn't the same spot at all."

They weren't nuts--not about that, anyway. It turned out to be the same spot. Vivian checked the longitude and latitude markings, just to be sure. And it was more than just a nature preserve going unlabeled.

"Is this a hotel? That's the symbol for amenities like hotels. Nobody's going to have a hotel in the middle of a nature preserve there, are they? I mean, in a national park, maybe, but--

"Is there a secret national park no one's heard of?"

She traced a finger from their town, northward toward the mystery spot. The distance tallied up in her head, the hours logged driving, the logical stopping points to accommodate the physical requirements of the one human body between them. It would take the whole weekend just to travel there and back, whatever they found once they entered the vaguely defined zone where maps old and new ceased to match up.

"What do you think? Road trip?"

She didn't need to hear Jackson's voice to know what his answer would be.

***

It took two days to make the trip, and she had to stop to sleep along the way because Jackson wasn't there to help them drive in shifts. Tossing and turning on a hotel mattress that seemed scratchy no matter how many times she ran a hand across the seemingly normal sheets and blankets, she dreamt in fits and starts of Jackson trying to drive her somewhere. Each time, he faded out of existence behind the wheel, leaving her in the passenger seat of a now-driverless vehicle. Because they were dreams, she tried to steer by gripping the armrests extra hard. She woke up with aching knuckles and the half-memory of powerless frustration.

The donut shop down the street from the motel sold a lot of sugar and caffeine that morning to something that might have passed for a human under better circumstances.

She was still waiting for it to improve her energy two hours later, when Jackson manifested in the passenger seat. The breath in her lungs caught and stuck while she waited to see if he would hold. Since they had started this project, they had gotten better at finding spots that would let him manifest, but it was still no guarantee. Sometimes, he only flickered into view for a moment before the magic burst like a soap bubble. This time, he seemed to come back to himself like he had merely dozed off with his head against the window--hazy in his confusion for a moment before he oriented himself.

"Funny," he murmured as he gazed over at her with sleepy eyes. She smiled, even though she had no idea what might be funny, if anything. The first things he said sometimes resembled drunken rambling, sometimes the free associating of light head trauma, sometimes the random blurting of the abruptly awakened. "Isn't the car a bit too familiar?"

It was hard to make a familiar location weird enough to hold liminality. Not without doing something dreadful to the place, like burning it down to the framework or otherwise rendering it shattered and lonely. That was why she had to keep hunting, chasing her prey from one breeding ground to the next, hoping the ones she left behind would eventually respawn their stock of weirdness.

"Highway, maybe?" Vivian suggested. "I don't remember if this stretch has any special history."

"How far out are we?"

"Maybe an hour? Two? Depends on how wrong the maps were." She tried to sound casual, like she wasn't counting the seconds in her head. It might have been romantic if she could stop that ticking clock now that Jackson had appeared. She couldn't pretend he was the only reason she checked and rechecked the estimated travel times, or the reason she kept a running tally in her head of how much time she shaved off those estimates. Monday morning chased her down even as she hunted.

"Everything okay? What have I missed?"

She must have hesitated, though she didn't mean to. Her old life--she couldn't bring herself to call it "real" life--shouldn't be able to intrude here. Monday and the office were for obligations and rational choices and compromises, not here. Not here, where the heat was turned just a little too low to be comfortable and the sunlight slanted down into the windows at a blinding angle no matter how she turned her head or adjusted the visor. Not here, where Jackson's hand rested hot and real on her thigh, sweat beginning to spring up between them.

"Everything's fine," she said at last. It barely even counted as a lie when it was that transparent. In the corner of her eye, she saw Jackson turn to look out the window. Sunlight picked out the blue in his black hair.

"I need you to tell me," he said to the window. "I can't find out any other way. I don't have--You're all I get of the world, now. You and whatever you tell me. So I need you to tell me, okay? Even if it's bad."

He wouldn't look at her, but he hadn't taken his hand away from her leg either.

"I'm going to lose my job," she admitted.

"More time off?" Carol asked, staring at the computer screen and the intranet system that handled scheduling so she wouldn't have to look at Vivian. More and more, her coworkers wouldn't quite look at her. It wasn't anything so dramatic or juvenile as the room going silent whenever she walked in. It was more like the subtly widening distance people put between themselves and someone who had coughed just a few too many times.

No one, rationally, thought tragedy and grief were catching conditions. Didn't change how they reacted to the mounting evidence that Vivian had not, might never, recover from the loss of her partner. Didn't change the way they all eased themselves away from her, careful and guilty but still persistent about it.

Vivian sat quietly, apart from one foot that kept bouncing. She wanted the conversation to be over, so she could go back to stealthily checking historical records about the next round of abandoned buildings. Her boss's eyes flicked toward the movement, and she sighed.

"Maybe you should consider something less...demanding." Vivian stilled the fidgeting with an effort of will, spine going just a bit straighter at the implied threat. "You're obviously going through a hard time. Maybe this isn't the right position for someone in your--position," Carol finished awkwardly.

Jackson turned back to face her again. Behind him, trees along the edge of the highway blurred into the illusion of a full forest, rather than just a few holdouts not yet overwhelmed by the forces of development. She couldn't decide what sort of face he was making. He asked, "What are we going to do?"

And just like that, she remembered it was still the two of them. Always the two of them. She had walked off the edge of the map, off the edge of the world, to be with him. Compared to that, needing to find a new job soon didn't seem like such a hurdle.

"We'll figure something out. Try out gigs for a while if I have to. How bad can it be?" The face Jackson made at that didn't require any interpretation. "Yeah, well. You only live once, right?"

He grinned, one crooked tooth showing at the edge of that mischievous smile. "That's debatable," he said, gesturing with one hand to indicate his everything.

Surprised, she let out a bark of laughter. "Even better." So busy enjoying the moment, she nearly missed the sign. It was easy to miss, nearly obscured by tree branches, the wood overgrown with moss. Still, she saw it and read out its instruction:

"Lewisia Lakeside access, next right."

***

Most park areas had a dawn to dusk access policy. Vivian had chosen to bind her life to someone who felt most alive when hiking at dawn. So she could say from experience that Lake Lewisia's visitor parking area and the shoreline just visible when she parked in the closest space looked perfectly normal for a park area in the early morning. A couple other cars--older models, lightly muddy about the wheel wells, standard park fare--had been parked and left behind by other early morning nature enthusiasts. The normal arrangement of battered wooden information boards and heavily weathered fencing separated the parking area from the lakeshore proper.

Ahead of them, light glinted off the water's surface, the kind of blinding white light that had probably driven sailors mad in ages past and now made Vivian wish for a set of sunglasses. Thick stands of pine encircled the area, bristling up hillsides on their way to remarkably close mountain peaks. There, a few fat clouds snagged and drifted free in turns. All very normal, which would have made it no surprise if she had looked over to find Jackson once again disappeared.

Jackson, when she did look over, remained resolutely physically present. As did the lake, which absolutely should not have been there.

"Who put it here?" was the first question uttered in the car. Vivian felt vaguely pleased she wasn't the one who said it, because it meant she wasn't, say, hallucinating. It was also, she resisted pointing out, a pretty silly question--no one puts a lake anywhere--and she didn't want to be responsible for saying that either. Still, it had to be said. None of the maps had shown a lake. And this was a proper lake, not some glorified pond that got a bit overconfident after a wet winter. It just had no business being where it was. And yet.

They got out of the car slowly, like people held at gunpoint, and didn't move any closer to the water. At the margins of the north side, Vivian could just make out something moving between the trees. It looked, mostly, like a deer. It was definitely not a deer. Vivian had a faint awareness she had started holding her breath and wasn't sure she could remember how to release it again.

Jackson came around to her side of the car and slipped his hand into hers. Only like that could either of them take the first steps onto the gravel path that led down a gentle slope toward the dock area. A dark figure came into view, legs dangling off the end of the dock. Since it was the only person they could see around, they headed that way. It wasn't easy: months of hunting liminal spaces had taught them both to avoid people at all costs if Jackson wanted to stick around.

This, Vivian realized with a little thrill, might be more than just another spot to add to the rotation. More than another stopgap against separation. This was a kind of high weirdness she had only ever read about before. This--and her stomach squirmed with a mix of excitement and fear and the shame that came with wanting something more than was considered dignified in anyone over the age of eight--might be a place that had answers for them.

The dark figure at the end of the dock had a fishing pole made out of a branch and some string, propped between their knees. A hooded sweatshirt of some sort hid the details of their face and body in bulk and shadow; only their dark-skinned hands, steadying the pole, could be seen. They did not look up or turn when the combined footfalls of Vivian and Jackson echoed down the dock toward them. Rather, they ran one finger along the string, not pulling but just testing along it, until Vivian saw the moment when something tugged back.

When they reeled in the line, the hook emerged from the water with a sparrow perched on it. Tiny clawed feet clung tightly and the dark wings fluttered to shake off water as soon as it hit the air. The dark figure held the line steady, just waiting as the bird fluffed itself out. After a moment, it cocked one eye up toward the sky. The little tail bobbed. Then it took off, flitting toward the trees.

The feel of Jackson's fingers between hers still felt strong and real, so Vivian made herself speak. He would stay with her or he wouldn't, but either way, this place had to have answers for them. She couldn't hold back from asking questions just because she didn't want to risk him evaporating like usual.

"Good morning," she tried, and it came out as a question. The figure, rather like the birds, tilted their head slightly in consideration of her. She cleared her throat and said, "We were wondering if there was a visitors center or someplace we could learn more about--" She tried to remember what the sign had said the name of the lake was. Was there anything else around here?

The figure lowered the line into the water again. "You'll want to find a library, I think. Always a good place to start." Their voice had a serene sort of confidence to it. The water rippled.

"Oh. Okay. Do you--can you give us directions at all? GPS doesn't really." She paused, considering how to put it. "Believe in this place." Jackson squeezed her hand, perhaps in reprimand or perhaps in amusement, she couldn't tell.

The figure's shoulders hunched up like they were silently laughing in any case. "Oh, there's always an accidental library or two being looked after at any hour you like here or there. Try the one under the bridge at Elm Street. That one has some local guides fluttering about, if memory serves."

So there was a town, after all. That was something. She focused on that to resist the urge to ask what an accidental library was. "Right, okay, but--"

"Take the Mill Street exit when you see it. The rest will take care of itself."

That sounded like a dismissal. Jackson hadn't disappeared, which made it the only successful encounter they'd ever had with another person. And they had their next goal, so Vivian considered the whole thing a win. As she turned to walk back up the dock, though, Jackson hesitated.

"How do they get down there?" Jackson asked as another songbird broke the surface with a chirp and a ruffling of damp feathers.

"Swimming in water isn't so different from flying through air, when you think about it," the figure answered. Vivian's breath hitched again. They hadn't been sure anyone would be able to see or hear Jackson, even if he could stay present around them. If the figure found anything odd about him, though, they didn't show it. They just went on saying, "Some of the hatchlings get confused and end up lost down there instead. First flight out of the nest, straight into the water, the silly things."

The songbird let out a few piping notes and made no move to leave the hook. "Of course, penguins liked it so much, they decided to stay forever," they added as an aside. The figure tolerated the bird's lingering for a moment, then moved a finger toward it until it gave in and took flight. "But I like to remind them of the options. Just because you ended up doing something doesn't mean you have to keep at it forever."

They walked back to the car, past informational placards about historical events they had never heard of and ecological webs with impossible linchpins. They leaned side by side against the hood, looking out across the lake glowing silver and gold in the light. After a moment, Jackson gave a little chuckle that soon turned into near-unhinged laughter.

"So," he said between gasps, "that blows the haunting in San Francisco right out of the running for weirdest encounter ever."

Vivian ran a hand across her face as her own helpless giggling set in. "Ghosts are the least of our issues at this point," she agreed.

Overhead, something soared past them. Tall clouds blocked it from view, but it cast a shadow that swept across them with a wingspan that shouldn't have been possible no matter what illusions could be created by angles of light and distance. Something in the air seemed to crackle in Vivian's hair. Jackson went still beside her, his laughter dying away as suddenly as it had started.

"I remember this," he whispered. "I can't--I can't remember, but I remember." His eyes fixed on the avian shadow above. The contradiction shouldn't have made sense, but Jackson's memory had become as strange as the rest of him since the flood. More than that, Vivian remembered buzzing and the strangeness of the mountain after the flood, things she had attributed to her illness at the time and had not questioned much since. But she remembered something too.

"Come on," she said, pushing away from the car hood. "Let's find out whatever an accidental library is."

***

They made it as far as the diner before Jackson blipped out of existence again--the longest he had been able to manifest in any of the places they had tried. He had managed to stick around through finding the accidental library under the bridge. Mitzi, who served as some kind of caretaker for the living books that flapped and clustered overhead of their own free will, had been entirely able to see and talk to him.

Vivian could still feel the soft, dusty sensations of pages fluttering under her fingers as she took notes on the contents of one of the tamer books of local history. She made a note to stock up on more empty journals before her next visit. So much to learn, so many secrets to record.

Even driving the main drag of the downtown area didn't dispel Jackson, and it had been full of people. By then, it had hit the lunch hour. People stood outside the bakery with sandwiches wrapped in paper or sat on the grass of the park with takeout containers. The occasional glimpse of someone with what looked like wings or a shapeless blob of darkness on the end of a leash for a walk didn't feel as strange as they probably should have. The real weirdness, Vivian pointed out as they waited their turn at a four-way stop, was how nice everything was.

"When's the last time you saw all-metal playground equipment that didn't look like it could give you tetanus at twenty paces?" Children took turns on a tall slide; an older kid went down it upright in his socks to the cheers of the others.

Murals decorated the walls on either side of Mulaney's All-Night Diner, bright, beautiful ones that made everything around them look a bit more cheerful. The moment she stepped up to the door, she could hear and smell bacon frying and coffee brewing. It was that burst of normalcy that broke the liminal zone at last, she supposed. Diners could hold liminality, but midday with clear weather wasn't a likely time for it. And nothing quite said "everything is just as it should be and just as it always has been" like diner smells.

Looking over as she opened the door to the diner to find Jackson gone hurt, but it was an old familiar hurt by now. She didn't even break stride until a waitress behind the counter asked her,

"Will your companion be taking form again, or would you like a spot for one?"

"Oh. Um. No, probably not. Just one, thanks." A few people looked up from their food at her entrance and the waitress's words, but no one looked surprised by the idea of an invisible lunch date.

"How's the counter sound?" The waitress patted her hand on the counter in front of an empty stool, and Vivian slid onto it.

It took until coffee refill number two, when Vivian had gotten through half a turkey club that, while tasty, didn't seem to have a single weird element to it, before she asked the waitress what had been on Vivian's mind through the whole meal.

"Is this place still going to be here if I leave? I mean, will I be able to find it again?"

The waitress could have been in any diner in America if not for the tattoo flowers that slowly bloomed, wilted, went to seed, and grew again on each of her forearms while Vivian watched. She smiled and patted Vivian's hand. "It's always like that when people first find their way here." The town wasn't, from what she had seen, so small that Vivian expected everyone to know everyone. But picking Vivian out as a newcomer probably wasn't tough. "It's not a ghost town or a fae illusion," the waitress agreed.

"That's good," Vivian said, tension she hadn't been aware of easing out of her shoulders.

"It's pretty rare for the town to expel anyone after they've been allowed to find it," the waitress went on while she refilled a glass sugar container and then a napkin dispenser.

The fries Vivian had just popped in her mouth went down the wrong way, and she swallowed thickly against them. She hadn't considered the possibility of rules and expulsion. "Is that a police thing, or the town council or something?"

"No," the waitress answered with a faintly confused smile. "Don't worry too much about it. If the town let you find it, you're probably allowed to come and go as you please now." It was a comfort, and it was what Vivian had wanted to know. At the same time, she found herself wondering why anyone would want to leave if they didn't have to.

Lost in thought, she almost missed when the waitress asked her, "Do you need a place to stay for the night?"

"No," Vivian admitted, "I can't stay." That, she realized, was going to become a problem.

***

It wasn't until Vivian had parked at the main branch library for a bit of solo research that the regret hit. She shoved her cell phone back into her bag, missing on the first two attempts. That was when she also realized she was shaking. Rain poured in Lewisia that day, and she sat in her car and shook and wondered what she had done.

"I just think it's playing with fire," Jackson said, casting another furtive look back at the tarnished lump of silver sitting on the backseat. "I realize our lives are completely absurd now, but this is what we've got. And if we live in a world where curses and ghosts and who knows what else are real, salvaging mysterious metal objects, no matter how profitable, from abandoned buildings is probably--"

Vivian didn't get to find out what he thought her salvaging probably was. Jackson blipped out of existence faster than she'd ever seen. She actually swerved out of her lane for a moment in surprise, eliciting an angry horn honk from another driver. When she righted her course, she realized her phone had begun to ring.

"Who is this?" Vivian demanded when she finally succeeded in getting the phone within reach to stab the speaker button. Considering at least one other driver was probably wishing for her death as it was, she wasn't interested in taking her eyes off the road again. A hiss of open air gave way to a somewhat confused voice.

"Vivian? This is Carol. I'm calling to talk about your vacation request for next month. Requests," her boss corrected after a rather pointed pause.

"You know, this isn't really a good time to discuss work matters," Vivian said. Snarled, really, and some part of her mind could sense her boss recoiling through the phone line. Even so, she didn't back down. A cell phone. Of course that would disrupt liminality. She almost resented herself more than her boss, for not thinking to shut the phone down before starting a drive she knew might include Jackson. Almost.

"I did ask you to stop by my desk before going home," Carol said, her own tone going snippy.

"I had a prior commitment and couldn't stay any later," Vivian countered. A turnoff for some other, normal street went by. She checked the odometer and ran a quick calculation in her head. The exit for Lewisia would be coming up in a few miles--none of the regular highway signs referenced it, but she had memorized the distances between it and all the markers along the way.

She didn't know what would happen if she tried to turn off for the town while on the phone with someone outside. Maybe nothing. It might not matter. She wasn't going to test the theory today. Or possibly ever. She readied a finger to disconnect the call. She'd claim a bad connection on Monday.

While the rain drummed down on the roof of the car, Vivian shoved her hands into her hair and banged her head several times against the headrest. That's what she should have done. Just hung up. Almost anything would have been better than what she actually did, but that would have been best.

"Jax, I quit my job," she said into her hands.

After a second, she said, "I decided to find a new job." That tasted like a lie.

"I'm going to need a new job." Well, that was true enough, anyway. She gave a little shriek of frustration. Now Jackson would worry, whenever she got another chance to tell him. She had just been so angry--at the interruption, at the denial of her time-off request, at having to bow to the demands of a job that only seemed to keep her away from Jackson.

Of course, that job had been supplying gas money to go to the sort of places where she could see Jackson. She groaned. Then she snatched up her bag and burst out of the car into the rain before she could give in to any more impulses toward theatrics. It was an adventure, just like they always said. They would figure it out.

The sprint across the parking lot left her hair drenched, wet patches along her shoulders, and splashes up the backs of her legs. Under the awning at the front doors, she shook herself off like a dog. It was in the midst of that less than dignified display that the most elegant woman Vivian had ever seen popped open one half of the doors and leaned out to look at her. The look was not what Vivian would have classified as one of approval.

"Ms. Ackerman?" Vivian blinked water out of her eyes, but the woman's appearance didn't change. She wore a top hat and tails, fitted perfectly to her shape, not a thread out of place.

The woman took a step back, heels and silver-headed cane tapping on the tile floor. "I've been waiting for you," she informed Vivian, formal without being polite in the slightest.

Vivian stepped in after her, letting the door swing shut on the storm outside. "Since when--nineteen-twenty?" Vivian asked as she took another look at the outfit now that it wasn't half obscured by the door. In another context, it might have been considered understated in its elegance, not relying on a lot of flash to make it look good. Standing in the lobby of the library, where the heat had been turned on to keep comfortable anyone who needed to come in from the street for a moment or for the night, understated was never going to describe the look.

With an expression of faint but unsurprised disgust, as though Vivian had entirely lived down to her low expectations, the woman said, "I was sent by my employer to discuss the possibility of a commission."

Maybe it was the vaguely mafia-esque reference to her employer, or maybe it was the implied resources and intention behind preserving that outfit in perfect condition, or maybe it was just the same set of instincts that kept Vivian from putting a foot down on the wrong rotten floorboard or loose masonry, but Vivian got a bad feeling. She started to edge toward the inner set of doors. If she could get into the sacred space of the library proper, this person would have to stop talking to her. No one messed with the vibes in the library.

"I don't know what you think I do," Vivian began.

Expression unchanged, the woman said, "You hunt liminality," and Vivian froze.

Never once had she uttered those words aloud to anyone but Jackson. It was the title she had given to herself, to what the two of them did together. All the notebooks tracking setup and collapse triggers for liminal spaces, the habitats most likely to support that strange space where nothing seemed quite the same and so much more became possible, the things living or dead or inanimate or other that could be found in the spaces during or outside of liminality--

She was a liminality hunter, and absolutely no one else was supposed to know that.

"Who the hell do you work for?"

Something in the woman's stance changed: she stood just a bit taller, exuded just a bit more confidence in her superiority, became almost magnanimous in her condescension. "The Historical Society."

***

"You know," Jackson said with a grunt as he lowered himself through the shattered remnants of the first floor and down the climbing ropes, "I'm almost certain you can buy lamps in shops these days."

Vivian, already down on the shifting footing of broken floorboards and cracked ceiling tiles under the hole, huffed a laugh. She pulled the ropes free from her climbing rig and stepped back to make room for Jackson. "I don't think an IKEA catalog is going to satisfy the Society."

Jackson snorted at the idea but went on undeterred. "Heck, Quartz Hardware can probably build one custom, if you're feeling fancy about it." He dropped down the last few inches, boots sliding on debris until Vivian steadied him. It wasn't clear, given the low light, if this damage was pre-existing or if it had happened when the access tunnel she and Jackson used collapsed behind them. She kept her face averted so as not to blind Jackson with the headlamp she had on, but she gave his arm a squeeze before letting go. While he freed himself from the ropes in turn, she picked her way down to solid footing.

"Oh, they're feeling very fancy indeed," she said as she shone the light back the way she had come so he could find his way down as well. "You would not believe the instructions I got on how this damn lamp needs to be protected during transport. Why do you think it took me two more hours than expected to get from the Society house to the campground that day?"

Jackson grumbled into his beard some familiar complaints about the Society's methods. Vivian tipped her head back to look up at what remained of the ceiling through the rest of the lower level. It wasn't actually the basement, because what they had entered through wasn't actually the first floor. Something that looked like popcorn ceiling treatment flaked down around them, disturbed by the vibrations of their movements. The house was too old to have popcorn ceiling, though, considering it had already been partially swallowed by a sinkhole back in the twenties. Vivian decided not to think about that too hard.

According to the records in Idaho Falls, the sinkhole had entirely destroyed the house, then home to a nearly-destitute stained glass artist who had always just missed the timing on any and all style movements in his lifetime. The site had been reclaimed by the earth, which saved the humans the trouble of having to condemn and destroy it themselves after the freak accident. The whole incident made little more than a footnote in the microfiche records about the goings on of the next-next town over.

According to the records in Upper Bridgestone, the nearest Lewisia sister city in the area, the sinkhole swallowed the house largely unharmed. The artist, who apparently made Frank Lloyd Wright look like a child's paint by numbers kit and had ties to Prohibition-era smugglers, disappeared at the same time to parts unknown. He left behind a number of unfilled commissions, unpaid gambling debts, and it was rumored, unreleased pieces. It had been one of the great scandals of the art world at the time. If you knew the right people.

The house had remained largely unpilfered, despite the many years of abandonment, because no access point could be found to the house post-sinking. Rumor said at least one secret entrance existed, courtesy of those rum-runner ties, but no one seemed on know where or how to access it.

One thing Vivian could say about the Historical Society: they always seemed to know what no one else did.

Finding the workshop proved significantly less trouble than finding the house had been. In a few spots, torrents of loose dirt had tumbled in where windows burst under the pressure of the initial sinking and now slowed the two of them. The workshop had been built as an inner room, though, without windows or exterior-facing walls. It was, once they reached it and Vivian pushed open the door, in nearly pristine condition.

Finding the lamp itself was the easy part. It still waited on the artist's workbench, as though he had just stepped away for a moment. If she had found a still-hot cup of coffee nearby, it wouldn't have surprised her in the slightest. She looked at the lamp, of course. All this fuss about it, she had imagined a work of stunning beauty, of visionary creativity.

The patterns had the geometric look that made people compare it to Wright, sure. Vivian felt confident that none of Wright's pieces did actual harm to the viewer, though. The windows of the Robie House never made anyone's eyes bleed, for a start. After a split second, she had to look away, eyes filled with what she really hoped were only tears, vision wavering.

Vivian pulled a boxy, hard shell case out of her backpack and opened it on the workbench. She could feel Jackson peering over her shoulder, trying to get a look at what she was doing. "What is that?"

"Transportation. The lamp can't be exposed to sunlight." In the corner of her eye, Vivian saw Jackson rubbing at his forehead. She couldn't spare much concentration for his distress, though, as she focused on packing the lamp into the foam-padded case.

"Uh-huh. And what happens if it sees the light of day?"

Vivian ducked her head to hide the somewhat sheepish grin that bloomed there. Also, looking at the base of the lamp seemed safe enough, so keeping her head down meant the shade wasn't in her field of view while she packaged it up.

"Funny thing--they didn't mention that part." She snapped the latches shut on the case while Jackson growled. "Come on," she wheedled. "You only live once."

For a second, she thought he wouldn't answer. When she tipped the headlight beam in his direction, though, she could see him smiling despite himself, lips curling up even as he tried to purse them into an expression of disapproval. "That's up for debate," he finally agreed.

She pushed the case down into her backpack before swinging it back on, double-checking the straps and clips and tugging to make sure it couldn't move. "Even better." Now they just had to find a way back out past the collapsed tunnel. Back to the surface and back to Lewisia with a moderately volatile artifact with mind-bending qualities. Back to the second half of her commission money for the retrieval work.

Easy money. Time and space for Jackson to exist. Always another hunt to go on. Gas in the tank. Not bad for two people who were only mostly real these days.

#fiction #magical realism #liminal spaces #relationships #adventures #Lake Lewisia #The Liminality Hunter #bonus story

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nlmorgan89 · 4 years ago

Text

Murderous Intent

Jeff is back from the Oort Cloud but something dark is looming on the horizon. A horror had descended on the island and no one is safe from it. Who will be the reason for it and what is the only thing that will keep them safe from the horror… READ ON TO FIND OUT! (Sorry nothing is better than reading an unknown ending.)

“GORDON!!!” Scott roared; Jeff had been home for month after living in the Oort Cloud for 8 long years before Gordon, the eternal clown of the Tracy family, had started pulling pranks once again. Wondering what his second youngest son had done this time, he had heard Brains mumbling something about paint just moments ago, he moved back from his desk fearing what is was involving and walked to the sleep quarters, Scott was hammering on the door trying to break it down in nothing but a towel, the poor boy was yellow, Gordon had somehow made the shower in Scott’s room work for paint and not water.

“Scott, before you dry or worse stain the floors go use my shower and get the paint off.” Jeff intervened, trying to keep a poker face so his son would not see him laugh. He saw the rage in Scott’s eyes but knew that once he had calmed down Gordon would be out of danger as Scott looked ready to murder him. He waited till he heard the shower start, then he knocked on Gordon’s door and waited, hearing no reply, thinking he was in bed still he opened the door and found a surprisingly clean room very much not what anyone expected from the young aquanaut, who lived like a slob, he went to the desk to ponder where his son would be, coming up blank he asked John if he had seen Gordon who aside from Scott and Brains was the only one who would be awake enough to think rationally without the use of coffee. “He should be on the island still, he pranked Scott, being a canary is not Scott’s idea of funny.”

“But funny for everyone else.” John laughed, EOS had shown him the scene outside Gordon’s room just moments ago, he did look like a canary, he had plan’s to alter the footage so he could give it to Scott to try to calm him down. “His watch is in his room?”

“He isn’t there. I already checked. Could you take a photo of his room too?” Jeff asked, John wondered why till he saw the state it was in. he was shocked, even when mum was around the only room that was like this was John’s. Something caught his eye on the bookshelf, and it made John explode.

“I am going to kill that Squid. He moved my stuff into his room!” John hissed, Virgil, who had been woken by Scott paled and walked backwards out of the room. John only ever hissed when he was truly mad.

“We will move your stuff back after we find Gordon.” Jeff said, he saw Virgil out of the corner of his eye and saw the frantic waving. ‘No … Gordon... You… Dead.’ What did Virgil mean by that suddenly he heard John hiss again, he was madder now and cancelled the call. Virgil raced to Johns portrait and slammed a hidden button. A shrill alarm went off and then the entire building seemed to shake with everyone running into the room. Jeff was wondering what was going on. Alan and Grandma came running in, Scott followed dripping water soap and shampoo everywhere, even Brains and Kayo were pale.

“I did not do it I swear, I don’t want to die again?” Alan squeaked, he was green now, and looked like he was about to either throw up or pass out.

“Not you, Gordon … and Dad.” Virgil explained, his voice was barely audible but at the same time it was loud because it was so quiet.

“What did I do? Gordon pranked him by moving all his stuff.” Jeff explained, he must have missed something in the 8 years he had been gone, John never got this reaction when he got mad before.

“Then you said that we would move it all back.” Virgil said, he was shaking like a leaf now. “We wait till the initial rage is over before we think about even offering to help.”

“I agree with Virgil son,” Sally said patting his arm. “I had only ever seen him this mad when he had gone into 5 soon after you disappeared, Gordon and Alan had snuck onboard and released stink bombs everywhere. Go somewhere, will message you when he gives up.”

“How bad could he be?” Jeff questioned.

“Gordon’s hydrofoil nightmare is like a puppies, kitten and rainbows kid’s dream compared to what he did. Does that answer your question?” Scott said coming over to Alan and picking up the kid, who was a whimpering mess, for a 19-year-old.

“Really?” Jeff queried, something seemed wrong here but their reaction where too genuine.

“Really, mum wasn’t kidding when she said that red head’s make the worst enemies to get flaming mad.” Scott said, he was shaking too.

“Where has Gordon gone then and why leave his watch behind?” Jeff asked, Kayo had suddenly clicked her fingers with the realisation that Gordon could only be in one place.

“He is in his deep-water cave under the island.” Kayo said, Brains ran to Gordon’s chute hit another hidden button and came out with a deep-water suit and tank. “Get changed and follow the map on the screen. We will tell you when it is safe.”

“Okay,” Jeff said, no one was laughing at this and he was starting to get scared but put the gear on and went in the water. It took Jeff almost 30 minutes to find his second youngest. “Gordon, why is everyone scared of John?”

“I don’t know, I just made my room a mirror image of his I didn’t touch anything I swear.” Gordon said, he helped his dad into the cave that was an air pocket, though it might be linked to the old cave system. Gordon had found it with Penny a few months ago. “I came down here to avoid Scott, not John.”

“He is mad because you touched his things.” Jeff explained, he was not really getting a straight answer from anyone. “I said that once we found you, we would put everything back the way it was before it was moved.”

“Was he hissing?” Gordon whispered, even in the dim light that Gordon and Jeff had he was pale.

“Yeah then he hissed after I spoke again.” Jeff stated, he was going to say more but Gordon was now rocking and holding his knees to his cheek, like he did when he had a nightmare about his accident. He thought that it was not going to last as long as it seemed to be, but what he did not know was that they were planning a party for him and that this entire fear of John was all an act. It had taken them all month to get the acting right, Alan was racing off to 3 to fly to Mars to pick up Lee Taylor and bring him to Earth for a long weekend, though the prank on Scott was unplanned. After what seemed like a few days in the dark they were finally contacted saying John was back in 5. “Finally think you can swim Gordo?”

“Think so.” Gordo whimpered, they soon had all their gear back on and was swimming to the surface. Once they arrived it was pitched black and moonless, every light was off, which seemed strange, but Jeff ignored it and was soon helping Gordon with his tanks which they were placing inside the hangar till tomorrow. They took the stairs and tried to not make a noise thinking that the others were now asleep.

“SURPRISE!!!!”

“What?” Jeff said, the minute they had entered the lounge the lights were turned on revealing everyone was gathered around, with streamers, hats and balloons everywhere. Jeff had completely forgot it was his birthday today.

“Happy birthday Jeff!” Lee called out to him. “Aaron and Sven came to pick me up for your birthday party.”

“I think it is official, we finally surprised Dad.” John said, Jeff was in shock especially when Gordon and John wrapped an arm around each other and fell back in the chair laughing. “Did you really think that I would be scarier than the hydrofoil accident?”

“Honestly no, but you were all so terrified and Gordon was almost catatonic down there I was having doubts. I was thinking John had actually murdered someone.” Jeff explained, Virgil and Alan were laughing too, they were tearing up with all the laughing. “How were you able to looks so terrified, you were never that good at acting.”

“Thank Gordon, for that he is the acting champion, and Grandma’s veg stew.” Alan explained, he looked green thinking of it. Everyone who had tried it grimaced too. Nothing good came from eating her food. “The only thing that wasn’t planned was the paint.”

“I had to think of a way for Dad to go into my room and want John to take a photo, I am never doing that again, way too many laundry loads and lifting of garbage.” Gordon winced; he arms were still killing him. Plus, Grandma had not helped by telling him she was not going to do any of his clothes. Maybe next time you will not leave your laundry in there for a month.

“Did we really surprise you Dad?” Scott asked, Jeff was now sitting down with his eyes closed, they could not read his face at all.

“You did, when did you plan this? It must have taken months?” Jeff enquired.

“The minute we found out you were alive. Scott thought of the party, Virgil knew who to invite, Grandma, Brains and Kayo oversaw the decorations, I oversaw the food.” Alan explained, then as he was about to grab a piece of cake John and Gordon stopped him. “Sorry, John and Gordon were in charge of the distraction and I also forgot you get the first slice Dad.”

“Thank you all for a wonderful surprise birthday, I wish that your mum could have seen this. She never could have pulled it off though she did try every year.” Jeff said he was smiling at all that they had done for him but privately he thought I will let them think that they tricked me Lucy, I don’t mind the present and they did go all out for trying to get me away so they could be ready. I am proud of them and I know you are too. Too bad the company that they ordered the telescope from called the house phone while they were away on a rescue to confirm the order was ready to be picked up. I just let it go to the answering machine. I am also the King of Acting too Grandma’s cooking was a godsend, poor Alan though.

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stereksecretsanta · 5 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @PrincessaBitchessa!

Hello hello! I got a bunch of the things you asked for and, like my previous two works, this is completely stupid fluffy goodness and I hope it'll put a smile on your face! Merry Christmas!

Read on AO3

*****

Infamnia

The money lasted longer than he thought it would, but not long enough to get out of the dog house of all the debt from medical bills and the mortgage. Stiles didn’t know what to do, how to find himself out of the zeroes and commas and the red ink on the envelopes, until he remembered the letter inside the safe his father set aside before he was killed. He pulled it out from where he’d locked t away, wanting nothing to remind him of what took the better part of two years to even partially come to terms with.

The blue-lined paper still had the frayed edges from where it was torn from a notebook, and the penmanship was as dicey as his father’s ever was.

Stiles I’m so sorry you have to read this letter. But since you are, let me say that whatever happened to me was not your fault. It wasn’t, Stiles, and if you’re blaming yourself I’m going to haunt your scrawny little ass. Don’t. There’s more that I want to say than I can ever put into paper, but this is held securely in the safe specifically because this information is extremely confidential.

If you’re ever in trouble, if you need money, protection, a job, anything, you give the following number a call, and ask for whatever Hale is in charge. You tell them you’re John and Claudia Stilinski’s son. They’ll take care of you. Whatever you find out about me, about what I did and what I accepted, know that it was to protect the town. From what it didn’t want to know about. They owe me a debt, one that I saved for you.

Love you, kid

Dad

Stiles’ bony fingers trembled slightly as he held the paper, mulling over the words as if this was the first time he’d read them. In truth, it was the first time he ever was really taking in the meaning. While he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what exactly whatever you find out about me, about what I did meant, he would maybe check this out before selling foot pics.

Phone in hand, he tapped a pen on his knee, waiting for someone to pick up. Pick up pick up pick up pick u- THANK YOU.

“You’ve reached Beacon Hills Wildlife Preserve Management, how may I help you?” Secretaries all had this extremely creepy customer service voice that was robotic. Every one of them had the same voice.

What in the flying technicolor fuck was the Beacon Hills Wildlife Preserve number doing in this bizarrely ominous letter? This couldn’t be real. “Uh, could I talk to whoever’s in charge?” He sounded so lame. He could hear himself sounding so incredibly lame.

“May I ask for the purpose of your call so I can route you to the correct person?” The woman’s voice indicated that she could hear his lameness.

“Uh, I got bills I need to pay and I need help, I was told to call the number.”

“I’m sorry, we have no open positions at this ti-“

“Wait, wait wait, can I speak to the, uh, Hale in charge?” He remembered there was a name in the letter, maybe the name would help.

“Transferring your call now.” The voice cut directly to a hold tone. Well, that got him instant results.

The pen tapping his knee increased in speed as he waiting for someone to pick up the phone.

----

“This is completely insane.” Talia Hale rubbed her temples, a headache coming on. The fae wanted to move their court to the Preserve, even though that would not only effectively shut down anyone else trying to use the land. Some true galaxy-brain level genius released no less than five wolpertingers into the forest and now every one of her soldiers was out hunting goddamn flying jackalopes. And now, this.

“We have to do something, though.” Laura stood in the middle of the room, arms folded. “They won’t just stop here. Jerry’s bloodthirsty, and he wants a werewolf with an apple in his mouth on his Christmas dinner table.”

“Not it.” Peter said, because it was the most inappropriate thing that he could possibly say. He felt the eyes of the ladies staring at him, and decided not to acknowledge it. “Would you prefer nose game?”

“Thank you for your contribution.” Unhelpful ass. Talia stood, looking at the map of the preserve on the center table in the room. The lines marked out territories, the fenced off areas for endangered species, paranormally important spots, the Nemeton of course, everything of relevance. And right on their eastern border was a brand new Argent Armory establishment. How they got clearance for that when California had some very impressive gun laws was beyond her. The local lines had been redrawn and somehow those French-blooded fucks had gotten the ordinances to allow a firing range. Which would allow them to have a massive store house of guns and ammunition right there, so they could plan to clean house.

“Can we claim it’ll disturb the birds?” Laura offered. “It must, right?”

“Maybe. But you know the people love their guns. And don’t care about birds.” The phone started ringing across the room. “I’m more worried one of em will gun down a wolpertinger and then I’ll have way too many questions to answer.” The door opened brusquely and a young man strode in, looking cross as ever, throwing the body of a rabbit-quail-deer looking thing on Talia’s desk. “Number three.” He was slightly out of breath, looking at the body like it had personally called him a bitch. “And maybe they won’t shoot wolpertingers, but someone definitely did fucking shoot me.” He yanked off his coat and, yep, that was a bullet wound on his shoulder.

Laura poked it, just to hear him yell at her. Cain instinct.

“Stop it.” Talia gently smacked Laura’s hand. “You see who did it?”

“Y’even need to ask?” He snapped. He watched Gerard Argent smile and wave just a little from his property line, walking back as calm as he pleased at the edge of the woods. The bullet wasn’t wolfsbane, but in a way that was even worse. A wolfsbane bullet would at least do something. It would kill him, yeah, but it was a purpose that had a ‘reasonable’ point. The point of this mundane bullet was just to piss him off. And it was working.

“Will someone answer that phone?” Talia asked, fussing over her wounded boy.

---

Stiles sat in the office of the BHWPM headquarters, with a cup of coffee in his hands. The woman in front of him had introduced herself as Talia Hale, and given that two of the children in the room had the same severe cheekbones, dark hair, and piercing stare like they could see right into his bone marrow, he was fairly certain they were her children. They were attractive in the exact way that terrified him, which was probably not a good thing, because that was definitely his type. “Your father has done a great deal for us over the years, we are happy to help you now in payment for the help he gave you. Is it money you need?” Talia asked, looking over the young man. While not unkempt, there was something in the rakish hair and the unpressed shirt that said he might not be doing so well.

“A job would probably be better, I’ve been trying to get further in the FBI, but-“ He shrugged, not keen to detail his psychiatric history to people he didn’t know. “That’d be more of a help than a one-time get-outta-debt free card.”

“The FBI?” Talia asked, looking at him with new eyes. “Do you know what your father did with us, exactly?”

Stiles was entirely clueless. “I’m....guessing he helped clear drunk hooligans outta the preserve?” Stiles was definitely not the drunk hooligans ever, shut up. “Nah, I’m guessing he helped you hide bodies, smuggle people, and/or doctored police records for Scary One and Scary Two over there, and instead of taking bribes he took it on future favors.” The vibe in this room was way too Corleone for it to not be some undercover operation.

While the woman’s expression didn’t shift even at the comment to her own children, something in her eyes imperceptibly altered. Something a bit like amusement, or interest. “Would you want a job with someone who would do those kinds of things?”

“If my dad thought it was a good thing to do, it must have been for damn good reasons. I’m willing to find out.

“Derek, why don’t you take Stiles to get a proper suit. If he’s running with us, we need him looking the part.” Talia said with a smile. “And get him a proper gun.”

Scary Two: Tall Dark And Terrifying stepped forward and walked Stiles out the door without a word. He could work with that, and hey, any excuse to ogle the boss’ kid, right?

-----------

And Stiles thought those little fuckin wolpertingers were bad.

This was, in fact, infinitely worse.

He sat next to Derek in their little foxhole, only yards away from the Argent stronghold. Apparently Cora, the last piece of the Hale puzzle, and the so-described baby of the family, was inside. Who the fuck steals a baby, Stiles thought. And every one of them was ready to go utterly feral to get it.

Feral being both the operative word and unsettlingly accurate, as it turns out, with his boss lady on all fours and snarling at the people lobbing smoke grenades at them. Derek had his fangs out and everything, but luckily said nothing about how clearly Stiles wanted to climb him like a slightly more angular pine.

Because werewolves. Of course werewolves. Why wouldn’t there be werewolves.

Stiles popped out of the foxhole and nailed one of the Argent soldiers directly in his face, giving a startle to the others behind the line and giving an opportunity.

Stiles didn’t run out first, everyone else could go first and get shot at, he didn’t really want to catch any of them. Instead, he snuck out and around the melee, getting his gangly ass right into their stronghold as Talia was probably ripping someone’s throat out. Ew.

Inside was warm, and a little off-beat. “Hey, Cora?! Where you at!” He hissed, gun drawn in case someone stayed behind. He snuck around, looking for where the baby would be. Make a sound kiddo, come on, something, Uncle Stiles didn’t have a super-sniffer equipped.

After poking around what felt like a century, he finally heard the whine of an itty bitty kid, and lo there the child was, adorable as a button. “Aw, heya kiddo, c’mere.” He picked up the child, humming a little to try and keep them calm as he now had the great joy of having to get out of there. With the kid. He walked the whole back-asswards way around to stay far enough away from gunshots and yelling, because if that baby started crying, both of their asses would be dead! And the werewolves could smell his and Cora’s cocktail of gross or whatever, they could track him down anyway and it would be fine! Cora was fine, he was fine, everything was Gucci.

Back at the headquarters, he started looking around for anything that would help the child, blankets or diapers or at least something. But there wasn’t even a car-seat or anything. Where were they keeping the kid if the whole family was there the whole damn time? Stiles sat in one of the office chairs, baby sleeping soundly on his chest, as he waited for the family to get back.

There was no calm awakening for either, as a foot blasted through the door of the wildlife preserve office, splintering it instead of opening it. The sound of the voice cursing was definitely Derek, and he busted it down properly, a slight girl’s arm over his shoulder and a quart or so of blood apiece on everyone.

“Stiles, where the fuck did you go, we-“ Derek halted his scolding when he looked at him.

“Shhhhh, you’ll wake Cora up!” Stiles hissed.

Derek blinked those stupid pretty eyes as he looked truly lost for words. “Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Where did you get a baby?”

“Whaddaya mean? In the stronghold, where you all said-“

“This is Cora.” He said, pointing to the unconscious woman he dragged in.

Oh. Baby of the family meant. Youngest sibling not. Actual infant. Huh.

Huh.

So then who exactly was he holding???

“Who the fuck steals a baby?” Peter asked, pointing at the kidnapper.

Stiles looked at the child like it had turned into a 30 megaton nuke.

Talia sighed. “Stiles.”

“Yes’m.”

“....Laura, go get some formula and diapers. I’ll....ask around about the baby.”

----

Stiles didn’t get into the family business to actually start a family. This was not his intention in the slightest. But here he was, singing a very off-key Jurassic Park theme song he composed himself to a tiny baby girl he decided to call Izzy, after his suggestions of Katie, Smelborp, Stormageddon, Cirilla, and Dreamsmasher were all shot down.

Derek walked in, and stood next to Stiles, hands out, offering to take the kiddo. Derek shouldn’t be allowed to dress down ever in Stiles’ presence, because the thin tee and the sweatpants were doing far too many good things for him. Too much was on display.

“No. Mine. Go kidnap your own.”

Derek exhaled, which was as close as Stiles ever got to a laugh from him. “C’mon, you’re dead on your feet, you adrenaline crashed hours ago, and the kid’s not falling asleep anytime soon. Give her over, alright?”

“Mine.”

“I get it, I get it, you like the kid. But what happens when you get attached and we have to hand the kid back over?” Derek folded his arms, and it....hhough he shouldn’t be allowed to fold his arms either, what were those arms even??? It wasn’t fair. Stupid werewolf whatever magic bullshit.

“Give her back?” Stiles asked, offended by the suggestion. No, they were not giving Isabel back, no no no, not happening.

“Yes, give her back. Do you think you can just keep her here forever? The Argents might burn the whole preserve down if this is one of their daughters. You don’t have a birth certificate for her, even.”

“Shhhhhh stop saying sense words.”

Derek slipped his arms in and yoinked the baby before Stiles could react, but as soon as the baby was nestled against him, Stiles didn’t have the heart. Derek looked hot as hell all the time, but that, with the light from the lamp bouncing off of his face, and even a smile? He was beautiful. “There, was that so hard?”

“Yes. Give her back.” But Stiles wasn’t trying to take her back, he knew in a battle of strength he wasn’t going to win that. Unless it was strength of will, that he could go toe-to-toe with any of them. Stiles sat in one of the chairs, ready for a long night ahead of him, watching Derek pace softly in socked feet around the room.

With Izzy settled in a makeshift crib, Derek sat in another chair, rubbing his eyes that were still dusted with gunpowder and smoke from the fight. Cora was up and running again, talking things over with Talia and Laura, his job was to watch the baby. And Stiles, though they came as a joint package.

Stiles fiddled with a fraying end of the chair. Ever since he joined the family months ago, he didn’t ask any of the specifics of what his father did, but he was curious. “You know what my dad did, exactly, to get this kind of treatment for me?”

Derek looked up. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yes.” Stiles had stolen a baby he wasn’t exactly king of the moral high ground that day.

Derek sighed, thin mouth pressed so tight it was almost one dimensional. But something in his mind must have won out, that Stiles deserved to know, so he told. About how he was fifteen, with a girlfriend, and given some frankly terrible advice from Peter, that ended up getting her in a bad way, and Derek had to snap her neck. It was a mercy kill, but that was a dead girl’s body, and any whiff of that reaching the public would ruin Derek’s life forever.

Talia and Claudia had been friends for years, so when Talia asked for John to come to the preserve, no lights no sirens, for a favor, she made a leap of faith that John wouldn’t betray her family. But he didn’t. John fixed the autopsy results to show she was hit by a car, fixed everything up so she was mourned by her family in the normal way for a tragic death, and no one was the wiser that Derek had killed her.

Stiles was silent for a long time after that. Derek thought he’d fallen asleep, but finally Stiles spoke. “He did the right thing. He warned me, you know, that he did and accepted some things I might not like. But that’s....that’s not what happened.” They looked at each other for a moment, the quiet intimacy of secrets laid bare broken by the sound of a stirring baby.

“Aw c’mon Izzy, please just sleeeeep.....be a good lil Mafia princess for me, huh?” Stiles begged, getting up.

“We’re not the Mafia!” Derek objected.

“You wear suits, you talk about the family business, you run a front organization to alter cashflow, just cause you’re wolves doesn’t make you not-Mafia.”

----

“She’s a spark.” Talia announced to the collected family, Izzy playing with the square in Derek’s suit pocket.

“Shiiiiit, where’d they get one of those?” Peter asked, side-eyeing the little one. Someone snapped at him about his language choices, but it didn’t matter, as he would continue to do what he wanted. Stiles didn’t care for Peter too much in general, but after hearing what happened with Derek and Paige, he was not exactly feeling it.

“Explanation for the newbie?” Stiles asked with a raised hand.

“Spark, you know, magical talent. Some channel it into Druidism, some channel it in other magical schools of thought, that kind of thing. They become our emissaries, or...if the Argents raise one up from the ground, a devastating weapon.” Laura explained, looking at Isabel with a look more concerned and less suspicious.

“Oh, you mean like this?” Stiles snapped both sets of fingers, and a shot of electricity arced from one thumb to the other.

Every wolf in the room stared at him in utter silence for a solid ten seconds of uncomfortable quiet.

“Stiles.” Derek ventured the conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you could do that.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Are you always this- never mind I know you are.” Derek shook his head.

Stiles grinned at being so well known, but the conversation was too serious for many jokes. “We’re not giving the her back to those unhinged fu- people, are we? She’s like me. Mine.”

“Well. That depends. If she was born to one of them, they are their child.” Talia wouldn’t like that if it were the case. “But, the fact that the police haven’t knocked on our door tells me that either they think we’ll kill the kid if they do, or they have no better right to her than anyone else. I think it’s the latter. However, they’ll bring their whole force against us to get her back. If we had John-”

Stiles froze at the mention of his father’s name, but said nothing more.

“If we had John, we would definitely be able to sort her paperwork out. But we don’t. We need to find a new contact in the police that can arrange us those papers. Until we get that, Derek and Stiles, I want you both to take her into the vault with everything you need to last a week with her. You’ll be safe there. Any questions?”

Stiles raised his hand again. “Is there wi-fi in the vault?”

---

There was no wi-fi in the vault.

There was also no cell service either, which meant no Netflix, which meant no video games, no Youtube, nothing to amuse him. And it was only two days in. He had nothing. Except for, of course, annoying Derek. At least Derek was very generous in this.

“Twenty questions.”

“No.”

“I’m thinking of....a noun.”

“No.”

By four days, Stiles had run out of annoyances and had drifted into just mindlessly babbling at Izzy, while Derek’s forehead wrinkles got worse and worse with every minute that his brain cells slipped away.

On the sixth day, Derek finally decided to play ball. Either Stiles had worn him down enough, or maybe the two bottles of whiskey were going to help him cope.

“Truth or dare?” Stiles offered, smile with as he took the offered booze.

“Only because I don’t have a deck of cards. As a warning, never play Laura in King’s Cup, she has never lost a game and given me alcohol poisoning three times.”

“How does the whiskey even work on you, Mr. Healsalot.”

“Is Healsalot the best you can do?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s actually a bit of halite. Disables werewolf abilities while in close proximity, if something happens I toss it away as quick as possible and I’m good in, I’d say a minute or so with this level of exposure. Cora had a couple day’s worth, which is why she was knocked out.”

“Gotcha.” At least it made as much sense as anything else these weirdo furries got up to. Once each had downed a respectable amount of alcohol, they could begin. “Alright, truth or dare, big guy.”

“Dare.”

“Dare you toooooo.....fuck never mind there’s nothing fun to dare you with in here. These are all your family’s valuables and shit how am I supposed to dare you to dress up in Auntie Myrtle’s wedding dress and sing Poker Face on video for my own personal blackmail?”

“Truth, then.”

“You like guys?”

Derek stared at the directness of the question. “Subtle, aren’t we?”

“Literally never.”

“Okay. Sometimes.” Stiles didn’t look happy about the answer. “Why did you steal the baby?”

“I thought she was Cora!”

“You thought they wouldn’t have any sort of defenses around the hostage they’d taken from the werewolf family that they were fighting a turf war with?!”

“Shhhhhhh it’s fine it’s fine it all worked out right?”

“Did it? We’re hiding in a vault, that you have not stopped bitching about once since we came in here, and we might be giving her back, and even if we don’t, who’s going to take care of her?”

“Me.”

“You.”

“Moi. Yo. Io. You want it in any other language?”

“Polish?”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.” Derek had something of a grin as he took another shot.

“Do you wish you could fuck me?” Stiles was getting bolder a couple shots in.

Derek took a moment to answer. “Sometimes.” Vague bastard.

“Oh? Like when?”

“Ah ah ah, my turn.” Derek took a swig, forgetting the dainty shot glass. “How many moles you got?”

“You wanna count em up?”

“Not an answer.”

“Over a hundred.”

Derek nodded, considering this thought as carefully as someone half-drunk really can. “Interesting.”

“Where do your eyebrows go when you shift?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to answer that question?”

“It’s your body, dude! How am I supposed to know how many moles I got when you don’t know where your friggin eyebrows go?!?!” Stiles’ limbs flailed as he gesticulated his exasperation.

“You’re gonna wake Izzy.” Derek warned. The baby was in another room of the vault so she could sleep while the adults could have their last-day-of-vaulting fun.

“Alright alr- wait, you called her Izzy.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeeeeeeees, yes you did you called her Izzy instead of the baby. You like her.”

“Shhh.”

“New question: do you like Isabel Stilinski-Hale, the new baby of the family?”

Derek chuckled, man he really must be drunk. “We’re hyphenating?”

“I found her so I get first billing, but like y’all took me in so like, I guess you can join. Whatever.”

“Yes, I like the kid. She’s pretty good for a baby. Only projectile vomited on me twice. That’s not bad.”

“She’s the best kid.”

“Do you really think you’re in a good place to adopt her right now in your life?”

“Nooooo stop with the serious questions.” Stiles whined. “Serious ones aren’t fun let’s get back to the flirty ones those were fun.”

“It’s my question.” Derek shrugged.

“If I stole you as a kid I’d name you Moodkiller the Great.”

“Is ‘the Great’ my last name or is ‘the’ my middle name, like Kermit.”

“God you’re such a fucking nerd.”

“You know, no, I’m not in like the...perfect spot. But who IS when they get a kid? And I got the magic thing, and she does, so like....I dunno, she’s got no one else, probably, so.....wouldn’t you guys help me?” Stiles’ big dark eyes looked so beautiful in the scant light of the vault. Derek’s kryptonite.

“Of course we would, don’t be stupid.” Derek mumbled, looking away.

“.....Isabel Stilinski-Haaaale you’re gonna come home with uuuuuuus.” Stiles grinned, getting his own way.

“Whose turn is it?” Derek asked, not sure where the game had gone.

“Mmmmmine. I think. Maybe. Does it matter?”

“Guess not.”

Stiles paused for a second, looking at the distance between them on the floor, the thought process unfolding before Derek’s eyes as he saw Stiles decide exactly how to ambulate himself closer. With a thud, Stiles flopped on top of him and they fell flat on the floor.

“Ow.”

“Oh shut up that didn’t hurt, you big baby.” Stiles wasn’t going to let Derek get another word in, pressing his mouth against his, clumsy and off-center and everything bizarrely fitting together despite everything.

Derek only let Stiles win that for a half a second, before pinning Stiles down to the floor himself.

----

Stiles’ hangover next day was legendary. The wakeup screaming baby was violence to his ears and Derek was disgustingly FINE and Stiles hated him so much except for the fact that he still wanted to make out with his stupid face. Once he got up off the floor maybe. Everything hurt. Ow.

“C’mon, dumbass, Mom and Laura showed up outside, they said we got the kiddo and gotta go fill out the paperwork at the station. Gotta tell the world she’s your girl.”

“Yeah.” Stiles mumbled a little, looking up at Derek with the baby on his hip. “Mine.”

#PrincessaBitchessa #stereksanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

18 notes · View notes

the--sad--hatter · 6 years ago

Text

Name Calling (36)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -

Vernichtung - Destruction, Annhialation.

It was what you were named and what you were supposed to be but the only thing you wanted to destroy was Bucky Barnes.

The ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on enjoying it quite so much.

But when your past catches up to you in the form of the mad scientist who made you, Bucky might be one of the only things that can save you from yourself. You can’t run from what you are but with his help, you can fight back.

Current Word Count - 101,293

MASTERLIST

Moodboard by @talesofakindredspirit

Chapter Thirty Six - Health Benefits

You were a mess and you knew it. You also knew that while The Professor could help you with his telepathic abilities, he couldn’t help you with the actual shitshow that was your brain. That was on you. So you made the very adult decision to get professional help.

The therapist Tony and Pepper had found for you had been great at helping you settle into normal life but she wasn’t the right person for the job any-more. You needed someone with at least a basic understanding of what you were capable of. So begrudgingly you called Fury and asked for his help. The amount of Agents he must have had to get seen by a psychiatrist meant he actually did have a recommendation for you and after calling the number Maria Hill had forwarded to you and explaining who you were, you got an appointment that very evening.

You didn’t want anyone else to know about this but sneaking out hadn’t been an option so you blackmailed Thor into taking you, promising not to tell anyone about the Black cat he had snuck into the compound earlier that week.

You sat down on a sofa that was far more comfortable than it looked and let your eyes flit across the room, taking it in. It was a large office that was more library than anything else. The whole room was dark oaks and books. So many books. You tried not to fidget as you waited for Doctor Leonard Samson to arrive but after about 12 seconds you failed miserably and your leg started bouncing. Finally you heard a small commotion outside the office as the Doctor arrived and he opened the door.

Your breath hitched in your chest audibly as you caught your first glimpse of him. He was absolutely enormous, probably the most muscular human being you had ever seen in your life. He was closer to seven feet tall than six and his arms were bigger than your entire torso, his biceps looked like they were straining to escape the short sleeved t-shirt he was wearing.

You finally ripped your eyes away from his body and looked up at his face, he had shoulder length hair and a sharp, menacing looking face. Though it was a very handsome face you admitted begrudgingly. His eyes were dark and warm, brimming with intelligence.

To say you were intimidated was an understatement. Nothing like being in close quarters with a man who had the power to mentally and physically decimate you to make a girl nervous. You finally noticed his mouth was moving, he was speaking to you. Blood rushed to your face and you yanked yourself out of your trance.

“Sorry, you’re distracting. I mean I’m distracted.” You told him, mentally slapping yourself.

He chucked, a deep rumbling low pitched sound.

“It’s alright, I gather you’re nervous about this?” He smiled warmly at you and came to sit on the chair next to the sofa.

“Yes. I mean no, I’m not nervous. I’m just not sure coming her was the right decision.” You replied.

“Should I be offended?” He asked, amusement in his voice.

“I...” You were at a loss on how to dig yourself out of this hole.

“It’s fine Miss Stark, I’m a professional. I shouldn’t tease you like that. I’m Doctor Leonard Samson, most know me as Doc Samson though.” He stood back up and offered you his hand.

You stood up and the considerable height difference between you was highlighted. You placed your hand in his and it completely enveloped yours but despite the fact he could crush your fingers his handshake was gentle. You swallowed thickly, trying to still your erratic heartbeat.

“Pleasure to meet you Doc, I’m obviously Miss Stark.” You stammered

You sat back down and shifted in your seat, trying to act natural. Having your brain picked at wasn’t something you were particularly looking forward to.

“So how do you wanna do this?” You asked.

“Before we begin Miss Stark, you should I take my position quite seriously and in order for this to work you need to trust me. Should you grant me that trust, I won’t betray it. I will never knowingly do anything to harm or endanger you. I may have been recommanded by Miss Hill but my loyalty is with my patients. My loyalty is with you.” He told you solemnly.

“Maria called and asked you to report back to her then.” You said, rolling your eyes.

“She did, however I won’t do that. In the past, when working for Shield I had to tell her certain things. You are not a Shield agent and I do not work for them anymore.” He admitted.

“Alright. I believe you.” You said, though whether you actually trusted him was something you hadn’t decided yet.

“Now why don’t we start by you telling me in your own words why you came here today?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. Trust issues aside, the issues you had needed attention.

“I have a homicidal alter ego I created from the worst parts of my personality during my years of torture and abuse, it has the access to my chaotic and dangerous abilities and it’s trying to take over me so it can destroy humanity.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Therapy was a bust.

Alright, so it had only been one session but still… You were disappointed. Though getting everything off your chest to an impartial, non-judgemental person had been kind of cathartic. All you had done in that session was talk, bringing the doctor up to speed on your situation. He had then told you that it was enough for one day and arranged to see you again at the same time next week.

Thor had brought you back to the compound and if anyone asked, you two had been at McDonalds. You even had McNuggets for Wanda and Sam to help sell your lie. Your medical status and Thor’s pet problems were safely kept away from the team.

You carried Sam’s nuggets into the kitchen and laughed when you saw him.

“Well one of us is going to have to change.” You joked.

“Not it. This is my best friend I’ll have you know, I reserve the right to wear her face on a t-shirt.” Sam insisted.

“Sam it’s MY face!”You laughed.

Now that you were public whoever was in charge of The Avengers merch had wasted no time in releasing your line. Tony had every single piece of it delivered while you were at the School earlier that day before your appointment. You had proudly strutted into the kitchen with your t-shirt on, only to find that Sam was also wearing one.

Steve walked in and gave you both an amused glance.

“Well one of you is going to have to change.” He said with a grin.

“Get better jokes Cap.” You mocked while Sam scoffed at your hypocrisy.

“Did you see the action figure?” Sam asked.

“Oh I saw it, dad had it all delivered.” You replied.

“To everyone. We all got a box of your merch this afternoon, I think he might be proud.” Steve said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, but did he have to give us it all? I don’t think he realized there was an underwear range.” Sam said, pulling a face.

“I’m going to send my panties to Wade, he’ll be over the moon.” You joked at the exact moment Bucky walked in.

The four of you froze, you blushing and the three men looking at you in various states of amusement and concern.

“That’s not … I didn’t mean… You weren’t supposed to hear that!” You spluttered.

“Really?” Bucky said sarcastically.

Sam and Steve started edging towards the door.

“It wasn’t how it sounded?” You offered meekly.

“It sounded like you want to send your underwear to another man behind my back.” He growled and Sam and Steve gave up any pretence of sneakiness and bolted.

“Morning doll.” Bucky sniggered and kissed you on the cheek.

“That was mean, I really thought you were mad at me!” You pouted.

“Nah, I knew what you meant. Was fun to scare those two idiots though.” He said, pushing you up against the fridge door and squeezing your hips. He had just leaned down to kiss you properly when a screeching voice interrupted him.

“NO STEVE, I HAVE TO GO BACK FOR HER. I’M COMING BABY GIRL!”

You and Bucky shared a look of confusion before Sam burst into the kitchen and picked you up. You saw Bucky smirk in amusement before Sam ran out of the kitchen with you in his arms.

“Whatcha doing?” You asked in bewilderment.

“Rescuing from your possessive idiot of a boyfriend.”

“Ok… Now what?” You pressed as he made his way down the hallways.

“I hadn’t thought this far ahead” He admitted.

“Do I get to walk at any point?” You asked.

“It’s not a daring rescue unless I carry you heroically to safety.”

“Alright Falcon but you should know my ‘possessive idiot of a boyfriend’ is following us.” You warned him.

You heard Bucky huff in annoyance a few corridors back as Sam started sprinting.

“You ran off to Spain with Deadpool and the to Malibu with Tony. I haven’t had you to myself in weeks, Barnes isn’t getting you back.” He sniped.

“So this is less of a rescue and more of a kidnapping.” You sighed.

You seemed to have a knack for being rescuenapped by Wilson's apparently.

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“Stark.”

“Wolfy. Mind telling me why you called me here to a clandestine meeting under the cover of dark? Because if it’s what I think it is, I’ve got to tell you I’m flattered but Pepper and I are happy.” Tony asked.

Tony had been curious since the moment the feral X-Man had called and asked him to come to the mansion alone, to discuss a sensitive matter. Logan pushed a tumbler of liquor across the counter to him with an eye roll.

“It’s about your kid.”

“What about her? Did everything go ok, is something wrong?” Tony asked in a panic.

Logan huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh at the sigh of at the normally suave and egotistical billionaire being so ruffled by the mere mention of his daughter.

“You cooled off about her and Barnes yet?” Logan asked him.

“You called me here because you’re invested in Kit Kat’s love life?”

“She was pretty upset about it. It’s affecting her focus. I can’t teach her a damn thing if she’s too busy wondering if her daddy loves her.” Logan said lowly.

“Since when are you the touchy feely type? What’s really going on, because I don’t believe for a second this is an intervention.” Tony snarked.

“Trust me tin man, I have a vested interest in making sure she’s alright.” Logan growled.

“She’s fine. She knows I love her. Kit Kat and Pepper are my family.” Tony snapped.

Logan huffed audibly and said nothing, just watching Tony with a disconcerting air. Tony crossed his arms and regarded the Wolverine right back.

“It’s like being in a staring contest with a stray cat.” Tony quipped.

“There’s your first clue.” Logan said snarkily.

“Anne. Her name was Anne.” Logan said out of the blue before Tony could respond.

“I’m sorry, I must have got lost in your eyes and missed part of the conversation. Who’s name was Anne?”

Logan paused before he sighed wearily.

“Her mother. You were looking for a name, her name was Anne.”

Tony blinked in surprise.

“How… How did you find out.” Tony asked suspiciously.

“You’re the genius. Figure it out.”

“No. It’s impossible.”

“It’s not.”

“You can’t be her father.” Tony stammered.

“I’m not. You are, obviously. I’m just the biological father.” Logan said wearily.

“How?” Tony asked, shaken and apprehensive.

Logan arched his brow.

“Don’t. You know what I mean. How did this happen, how long have you known about her.” Tony asked furiously.

“I didn’t know until you started trying to identify the mother, even then I didn’t actually know. It wasn’t until I met her. If I had know she existed I would have found her.” Logan said, offended by the insinuation.

Tony started pacing, overwhelmed by the information.

“Why are you telling me this?” He demanded.

“Thought you should know.” Logan supplied.

“No, I shouldn’t. She doesn’t want to look for her biological father. I can’t keep this from her. What the hell am I supposed to do here?” Tony raged.

“You’re her dad, you figure it out.” Logan huffed.

“You’re damn right I’m her dad. I love that girl more than anything. She is the kindest, bravest, strongest person I have ever met. I am lucky to be her father.” He raved.

Logan shrugged.

“What the hell do you want? Are you trying to claim her or disavow yourself of her?” Tony pressed, enraged.

“Which would you prefer?” Logan asked.

“Neither! She doesn’t deserve either of those things.”

“I don’t know. I barely know the kid, she waltzes out of nowhere and I don’t know how to react. She’s got you, she doesn’t need me.” Logan said.

“Then why even bother telling me?” Tony shouted.

“Because of Anne. I didn’t love her mother, barely knew her. But now things are starting to make sense and there’s something about Anne that you and the kid need to know.” Logan said.

“What?” Tony demanded.

He didn’t know what to think, what to say, what to do. The information being thrust upon him was far too much to handle rationally and he was regretting ever picking up the phone, let alone flying to the mansion.

“Anne told me her father was a scientist. Anne’s last name was Docherty. I’m pretty sure the man who kept your daughter in a cell and tortured her was her own grandfather.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

*Meanwhile in an alternate universe* “NO SAM, I HAVE TO GO BACK FOR HIM. I’M COMING BABY BOY!”

You and Bucky shared a look of confusion before Steve burst into the kitchen and picked him up. You smirked in amusement as Steve ran out of the kitchen with Bucky in his arms.

Ok so there's a double celebration going on here... I just passed 100k words with this story! And on Monday, it'll be one whole month old! So I'm celebrating by asking you all a very important question.......

For Monday's very super special chapter, do you have any requests? ANy characters you haven't seen yet, and scenarios you'd like to happen? I'll take any suggestions from smutty to incorporating Brooklyn 99 quotes. Go wild, tell me what you want and I'll pick one (maybe more than one) and dedicate Monday's chapter to it!

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first@thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala@the-corruptor @iovher @kendrawr-kitkat @phoenix-whiskey-tears @the–real-wombat @buckitybarnes@fairislesheets@angieptt @meganjonezzzz @dugan365@fluffeh-kitty@memanda17 @krystallynx @theonelittleone@piscesbarnes@free-as-fishes @tarastudiesalot@captainamericasbeard@dropthepizza346 @jaynnanadrews@likes-to-smell-books@drdorkus @life-wanderer@metalarmlover@animegirlgeeky@jsmith509

#hattersmarvelverse #bucky x reader #avengers x reader

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soundofseventeen · 5 years ago

Text

Just Out of Reach (Lee Jihoon)

After major writer’s block, I have returned with the next installment of SS. I’m also juggling many projects so you shall see what I have next! Also our account turned one year yesterday so thanks to everyone who’s been with us!! i own nothing!!! -Bee

Word count: 6086

Masterlist

He may have been neither been prim nor proper, but no one could say that Jihoon wasn’t punctual. All he needed was a time and place, and it was a guarantee he’d show up almost an hour beforehand. (Though, he could easily blame the anxiety wired part of his brain for that.) While handy, it often became an inconvenience when something was either cancelled or postponed. In light of recent events, however, he’d been showing on the dot or a even a minute or two late. (He knew the timer meant a life changing event; why else would he have it?) The calculator in his peripheral vision blinked a couple times in hopes of getting is attention then turned off. It’s not like he noticed it anyways. His neglected math assignment, along with other stray sheets of paper, had fallen to the floor when someone (Chan) opened the door and a gust of wind blew in. He sighed, falling to his knees and picked them up slowly, unsure where his mind had gone. The younger boy had already beat him to picking everything up, but by the time he registered it, Wonwoo had also shown up at his usual spot at the table and took out his own assignments wordlessly.

“Long day?” He asked the older boy, thanking Seungcheol for their coffees.

He huffed, ranting about how his physics professor had misplaced his midterms for the third time this month, calling out their bullshit and scalding his tongue from the caffeine. “Alright, maybe I deserved that,” he relented. “How was your weekend?”

“Not any more exciting than yours.” He didn’t mention how his plan ended up with him missing a bus by a few seconds all because he had tripped over his laces and how he now wore slip ons. The timer on his wrist slowly ticked down for whatever was meant to happen. Though math was never his strong suit and since discovering how to convert the number of days into hours and minutes, he learned very quickly, and becoming something of a math genius. “And how is that whole tattoo removal thing going for you?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes at the question, clearly not wanting that attention on him. “When I find someone who’s willing to remove this thing, I’ll let you know.” With that, he took another sip, ending the discussion. Instead, he waved at the boss from the flower shop next door and Seungkwan who walked next to her, pinkies linked and giggling at whatever they were talking about.

“You know, one day you might actually find your soulmates if you stepped foot anywhere else but here,” Jeonghan’s many greats grandmother scolded them. “They’re not coming in here anytime soon.”

Jihoon opted to humor her, a wry smile appearing on his face. “And where do you think we should go Auntie?”

“Explore my dear boy! Nothing good ever comes from staying in one place. Where is that- Jeonghan let’s move! That boy I swear.”

With your gloved hand, you waved excitedly at Soonyoung who was more focused on riding out the wave but once he caught sight of you, lost his concentration (and balance), thus falling off his surfboard and let the ocean swallow him whole and spitting him out onshore a few seconds later.

“Y/N!” He greeted happily, forgetting he was soaked to the bone and grabbing you for a bear hug. “What brings you here for a visit?”

“Uh, you texted me and asked if I was free?” You began wringing your shirt.

“ Yah! That was two hours ago! How do you know I didn’t have to go to Teipei or Osaka after you ignored me?”

You smiled at him. “You are Kwon Soonyoung, rescuer of all sea animals. You wouldn’t dare leave your reserve unless it’s absolutely necessary. Now, you know I’ve missed you and all, but you owe me a dry set of clothes and some water.”

About half an hour later, you were having lunch at a conspicuous fast food restaurant, indulging on some fries while he filled you in on his latest adventures ranging from an investment that’ll increase shark population by 15% to actually swimming with the sharks in Australia. The way he spoke so animatedly and so passionately about the wildlife often made you wonder if you were making a difference in what you did. You may have both been heirs, but the foundation he was working on was his pride and joy, something he built on his own whereas Universe Factory was technically passed down to you, sans the name.

His cold hand touching your gloved wrist brought you back to the moment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. “What?”

“Have you figured this thing out yet?”

“Not yet. I know it was at seven seconds like not too long ago.” You removed the glove and let him see the newest numbers. Soonyoung was one of the few people you trusted, not because he was one of your only friends (but that was a factor, why would you lie?) but also because curious as he was, he didn’t try to throw you on a plane to see the best scientists in the country and explain this. “What are you thinking?”

He shook his head. “I’m just-how does this work? Does it like malfunction when you get it wet or what? Or is it timing you for something?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve showered a million times and it doesn’t do anything.” You sighed. “I’m sure it’s a timer though. Why else would it count down.”

“I don’t wanna freak you out but what if it’s telling you how long you have until you-”

“What? Die?” It was your turn to shake your head. “I’ve thought about it, but it doesn’t seem likely. Remember the train tracks?”

“Which you swore we would never speak of again and look what you’re doing now.” He rubbed his arm. “I just got chills, look.” (You’d been taking pictures on the tracks when the whistle starting blowing and when you started racing to get off, one of your feet got stuck between the rails and while you weren’t sure how it happened, Soonyoung managed to pull you just before it passed. The funny thing was that that incident didn’t alter the countdown.) “Maybe it’s only a matter of time until you lose your sanity,” he joked.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” You ate in silence for a few minutes before your curiosity got the best of you. “Have you heard anything for Jun?” (One of the perks in being considered part of the elite was being in on things, but your own informant had nothing to give you on your royal friend.

“Personally, no, but one of my sources say he’s okay at the moment. Currently somewhere in Tokyo. You worried?”

“It’d be nice to hear from him directly.”

“Y/N, he’s fleeing an arranged marriage from someone who doesn’t wanna better the country. That’s better than him suffering. Now, no more depressing thoughts. Tell me more about your art museum. I know you have more ideas for the place. And if not, let me tell you about this really neat retreat we’re having soon.”

Saturday afternoon, he found Wonwoo, Hansol and his “soulmate” waiting for him at Adequate Eternity. They’d planned a small get together before heading to Universe Factory but they had time to kill so they went inside. One thought that didn’t escape his mind was whether it’d be more bearable to endure the heat the couple in front of them radiated if they weren’t touching or to deal with them constantly touching. He wasn’t bitter or anything; he just didn’t need the reminder that maybe, just maybe soulmates could be real. Or that the single life sucked. A lot. He needed a job or something that distracted him from that. But if someone could call him back, that’d be great. He snuck a peek at Wonwoo who was glaring at his arm and almost laughed. He had forgiven his best friend, despite the words that had nearly wrecked their friendship. It was, like many things, out of Wonwoo’s control. Now, whoever spoiled it for him, is another story.

“Hi guys!” Seungkwan called out to them and walked over, holding his own soulmate’s hand, and reminding Jihoon that being single was nothing short of torture. Granted, he wasn’t the lovey dovey type, but it was still nice to have someone next to him. Someone that wasn’t Wonwoo. “Busy day?”

Vernon shook his head. “Just heading out in a bit to the museum. This one-” glancing affectionately at his soulmate, “-said something about half price so why not. You guys?”

“Just taking a stroll. Hey, you guys wanna see something neat? Should we show them?” He proceeded to let go of his soulmate’s hand and walked away. “You see my ring, right?” He shook his hand a couple of times. “Now you don’t. And look who has it.” They spent a few minutes showing the table that the ring could never be lost and though there wasn’t a logical explanation for what Jihoon saw, he had to admit he was impressed, if not slightly disgusted at how cute it was.

After reluctantly saying goodbye to the happy couple, they made their way to Universe Factory. Hansol had momentarily left to buy the tickets, making them uncomfortable with the heat they radiated (said something about not wanting to make his soulmate’s roommate feel weird about it.) and it was only until after they entered the building that they held hands again and the temperature stablized.

Jihoon had only been here a handful of times prior to the reopening but he had to admit that he liked the renovations so far. He hadn’t personally met the boss, but he could tell art was definitely a passion. He knew that if he wanted to escape Wonwoo in the near (or distant!) future, this would be his getaway. However, he felt the place to be much too quiet. He could hear the whispers between the hipsters and the critiques tearing apart certain pieces and even he knew this place was more of a solstice to the lost souls, not some cocktail party and bidding on the highest pieces of some upcoming Pablo Picasso or any of the artist’s himself. He needed something to drown out the negativity. Something like, “A piano.”

“What?” Wonwoo turned his head curiously at the boy.”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But a piano would sound nice. Plug it in to some speakers somewhere and it could fill the place with music. He stared at his timer for the first time that day. The day was rapidly approaching when this something would happen, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait.

You thanked the taxi with a flick of your gloved hand, staring at the art museum in front of you and the newest blueprints at your side. If everything went according to schedule, you’d be able to finish the Van Gogh inspired room by the end of the week and start your next task...though that was something you’d rather not deal with.

Ever since your parents had deemed you responsible (and old) enough to pass on their art museum to you, the transition of a spoiled child to an actual heir tending to a business became a sort of wake up call to you. You weren’t crazy about it at first, since you liked doing things that didn’t involve rules, regulations, a time frame, or commitments.You had rather been boarding a plane at any given moment and visiting a new place for days, even weeks on end than scheduling a meeting about signing over rights and who no longer had a say in anything first thing in the morning. It wasn’t your dream, not at first. Who’d want to spend money to see pictures? And at those ridiculous prices? It was no wonder you put the pieces together so quickly as to why you your allowances were cut off and you needed start making your own money: filing for bankruptcy was on the horizon.

After the legal rights to pass on the museum to you were approved, they left and you hadn’t really seen much of them, which left you to fend for yourself. You had to sell a few of your designer bags, outfits, shoes and unused cosmetics, but eventually, The Wonder Emporium reopened under Universe Factory and from there, you continued to build a legacy under your name. You lowered prices to a fairer level, thus bringing in more customers than you had ever hoped and even expanding the place. Once you had set your eyes on the works of The8, you fell in love with the arts overall. Renovations began and soon you found yourself flying all over Asia trying to not only to find his works to add to your growing collection but you collected others from those who had potential under the condition that they had the belief of all humans having rights regardless of race, ethnicity, sexual orientation and so on. Those you employed and contacted were no exception. In the short time you had taken charge, you dropped businesses, employees and anyone who so much as looked at anyone wrong. (You drew the line at discrimination, especially when it had come to a boy you knew as Hansol from word of mouth of one of your employees.) Everything seemed to be running smoothly, but now you had a meeting to attend to and

“Mingyu! Thank you for waiting! I’m so sorry I’m late! I just got carried away, and you know how it is.”

“No worries Y/N. It won’t be the last time either, I can assure you that.” He laughed. “What are we working on next?”

“Okay, I know we just reopened the place, but one of my new employees suggested we add a kinda like rec room for artists to show their works in progress, but also for anyone who wants to start doing it.” You unrolled one of the blueprints. “How much further back do you think we can go back until the city threatens to shut me down?” You joked. Looking down on the floor you noticed a silver band just near the table. You picked it up and stuffed it in your pocket, reminding yourself to ask the staff if they had lost something recently. (You knew it wasn’t Mingyu’s. His was on his pinkie finger, glimmering brightly against the fluorescents.)

Mingyu studied it carefully and quietly, taking out his calculator and ticking his fingers. He pulled out his pencil, writing out measurements, only to erase them when he did the math wrong. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” He finally spoke without looking up. He changed a few of the numbers on your thing and circling the final number.

You made a face. “Surprise me.”

“Okay, we probably won’t be able to make it any wider without violating any laws, but we could make it a few stories higher, turn that unused attic into the room or even turn that into your office.” He removed his glasses. “Now the bad news is that this’ll go over the budget you’ve given me, so you might have to talk to your bank and your accountant to negotiate some things.”

“I-uh fired my accountant,” you admitted sheepishly.

Elbow on the table, he placed his thumb and middle finger on his temples and managed to let out a little laugh, despite his obvious frustration. “Y/N, this is the third one. What’d this one do now? Step on a puppy’s tail and kicked it to the side?”

“No, uhh, I went to go take them some receipts that I had forgotten here and well he made one of the secretaries cry for not getting some time cards in on time. So now, yikes. I’m sorry Mingyu.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, but I can’t do anything until you can make sure you can do this without falling into debt. You might have money now but at the rate you’re spending, it’s gonna be long gone before you start making profit.”

You stared at your timer, hoping for an answer or even just a clue. It counted down seven days.

“No, no. That’s fine,” Jihoon spoke to the other person on the other end of the line as he walked inside Babylon. “Thank you anyways. Uh-huh. Thanks, you too. ‘Bye.” He hung up. “Asshole.”

“You rang?” Joshua joked, popping between one of the aisles. He happily arranged a section of teddy bears, plopping a few to the side in case he decided to cave and buy them. “Everything okay Ji?”

“I’m quickly running out of money and I don’t have a job,” he made a face. “Go figure. Everywhere I apply, it’s the same thing: I’m either not qualified or I don’t have the work experience. I’m about to quit life and head back home. Maybe I can make use of myself there.” Though, he escaped Busan for that same reason. He left Joshua in his spot in hopes of finding a second hand guitar since his took a tumble off the fridge and smashed into little bits. (It took him maybe 15 minutes to remove all the splinters except for one that kept heckling his pinkie finger and irritating him more because his ring usually helped with something like that but he figured he misplaced it again.) He needed a job and fast. Maybe he could ask Auntie Jihye for potion or a spell or something to give him quick cash, not that he’d believe it but because it gave him some kinda hope.

“You’ll be fine,” Joshua reassured him appearing to fix up the teapots. “Everyone deals with this. Maybe look in the area to see where they’re hiring. I know you’re not exactly stoked to work around so many people but sometimes you have to sacrifice that for a few won.”

“Or I can end up throwing staplers at people who don’t know how to mind their own business...and possibly a restraining order from that.” He was ready to drop the subject and noticing the lack of eye bags on his friend’s face, he’d rather choose a more familiar concept. “So, um, how are you and your…‘soulmate’?” (It baffled him to think how not too long ago they were nothing but comforting faces and now they practically bared their souls to each other...well when he and Wonwoo were apart. Vernon’s soulmate managed to get him a job working at a restaurant.)

Joshua shrugged. “We’re good, I guess? She’s interested in someone right now so she tells me about it in our dreams.”

“So you haven’t seen her?”

“Not physically, but the nightmares stopped…unless one of us says the wrong thing and it pisses the other off.” He shuddered at a distant memory, subconsciously feeling for his ear.

“So are you like the only ones that aren’t dating?”

“No. Just because we’re soulmates or whatever doesn’t mean anything. It’s like saying since you and I became friends, you’re now obligated to spend all your time with me. We tried hanging out after work hours but we stopped.” A loud clattering interrupted the boys making them both jump and who else but the great Auntie Jihye stepped into view a moment later, and Joshua nodded in understanding. “Now to see what my lovestruck coworker broke.” He smiled fondly. “Last time, I managed to convince our boss that a company shipped us some vases that were already broken.” He bowed politely at Jihye and excused himself.

“Dear boy, why the long face? You look even more sour than usual.” She tickled his cheek tenderly and rather than flinching away, Jihoon let her. “I can see it in your eyes something’s bothering you.”

“I’m just tired Auntie. I’m thinking about going home.”

“I know this old lady bores with all her nonsense talk, but would you like to hear a piece of advice? Or rather, what I can see in your future if you stay?” She grabbed Jihoon’s hand without warning, and pushed up the long sleeve that concealed his torture instrument. “This is the key to the life you’ve been dreaming about. All you have to do is be patient, my dear. If you go, your regret will eat you alive.” She dug around her purse and pulled out a flier. “What you need is to get out. See the coast, smell the sea, and hear the marine wildlife. Then you can decide what you wanna do.”

“You know, when I said I owed you one, this isn’t what I had in mind.” You stared at the ship hesitantly, already feeling the seasickness hit you.

“Oh come on, we’re whale watching, not taking the blood samples for the stingrays. After all, who hooked you up with the accountant that met the delicate Y/N’s standards?” Soonyoung glanced pointedly at you. “And has forgiven you for being late...again? Besides, you missed your best friend, aka me.”

“Soonyoung, you are my only friend,” you sighed when he did a silent yes and a small fist pump. “How much longer until we get into this death trap?”

“As soon as everyone gets here. And before you ask what you’re supposed to do until then, I suggest you get yourself into more comfortable clothes. Ask someone to take you to my office.I had the clothes you brought last time washed and dry cleaned. And knowing you, I got you some thicker gloves. I don’t think you’ll need my assistance until we actually see some whales.” He shooed you along so he could finish whatever it was and with a sigh you left him to his devices.

He had just finished loading food and beverages when you came back looking like you had just seen a ghost, he jumped back. “Give me a warning next time. Shit, I could’ve died right here and then my blood would’ve been on your hands. What’s wrong now? I promise we don’t harm the animals in the lab. We just need to see if they’ve been consuming plastic or any other dangerous materials-”

You held your arm out, peeling away the glove. “It’s today,” you managed to get out. “This morning it said I had more time, but when I was getting dressed, the time changed significantly.” This had happened before but this was the first time you were actually freaking out because it never changed that drastically. A couple of minutes or hours yes, but almost four days was new to you. “Soonyoung, what do I do?”

“You can either walk away now and worry about it the whole time until you get home or you can momentarily forget this and have some fun with me, your best friend that you don’t see enough.” He batted his eyelashes. “Of course you could move in with me full time and I would still think that. But that’s not the point here. I’m just saying don’t let this thing dictate your life and question your every move.Just enjoy your day here You didn’t have to open today; you left Mingyu to work on your thing. Just relax. Now...the guests, tourists, customers, whatever you wanna call them are coming.” He started boarding the ship, his hand extended towards you. “And what are you gonna do?”

You inhaled deeply, letting the oxygen try to settle your nerves and brain in one hit and after a moment, took his hand and let him help you up. “Let’s do this thing.”

“That’s my best friend,” he mock sobbed before sobering up quickly. “If you want, you can stay in one of the back seats. A lot of passengers who get nauseous quickly say it isn’t as bad. I will be in the front giving the tour, obviously but I got you a cow bell that you can shake if you need my attention. Any questions?”

“Can I go sit down? I’m not used to so much rocking?” Of course, he laughed at you the whole time he was escorting you, and once you sat down, you rested your elbow on the railing, your fingertips touching your forehead and you breathed deeply. You loved the ocean, mind you, but you preferred swimming in it over being on top of it. How Soonyoung did this daily, you didn’t know but you commended him nonetheless. Not much later, you began hearing various voices in different languages as they took their spots and your idiot friend greeting everyone brightly. The boat had yet to stop rocking and the wind filled your nostrils with the brine and all you could do was try to not bolt. And even if you tried, you would’ve been trapped with whoever you sat next to you, making leaving impossible. The ringing in your ears didn’t help either, but you managed to look up at all the passengers that gathered up for the watch as Soonyoung began the introductions and so on.

“You okay?” The boy next to you asked.

You nodded. “I’m just not used to being on boats.”

“Me too. I get sick really fast so I push you away, I warned you. Also, I’m sorry if I talk a lot. I do that when I’m nervous.”

“It’s okay. If you have questions, you can ask me. I’m not as gifted as Soonyoung-” you pointed to the eager boy emphasizing whatever point he was making with his hands, “-with his knowledge, but there are some things that stuck with me.” The beeping in your head didn’t stop but you managed to ignore it, albeit you had to cover one of your ears and shake your head.

“You know Soonyoung?” He poked his own ear. “That’s cool.”

“At this point, I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse.” You tugged on your gloves. “He dragged me here so I could get away from the work life and enjoy the mammals doing their own thing. He’d probably have me scooping out jellyfish if I had said no to coming.”

“No kidding? One of my aunts gave me a flier to come here because I was stressed out.” He shook his arm to lower his sweater and covered his hand completely. “I’m thinking of maybe going home after I finish this semester. I find a job but I thought one last outing would be fun.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Seoul. I don’t know if you’ve been there, but it’s beautiful. There’s a remote part of it where there aren’t as many people but it’s like a whole other world. There’s like something that pulls you to come in and not leave. Kinda like magic.” He stayed quiet, thinking if he should say more. “My favorite place is a coffee shop called Adequate Eternity. The old lady who owns the place is weird but she’s welcoming.”

“Mmm, I think I went there once, but I had forgotten my card at the bank and by the time I went back, I had just finished a shit ton of meetings. The life of a business person is never ending. An employee of mine swears that the coffee gives her magic powers.”

“I second that. I’m Jihoon, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you smiled at the strange boy, trying to remember where that name rang a bell.

“What do you do Y/N? You sound busy and if you’re friends with someone like Soonyoung, it’s probably just as important.”

“I mean I don’t save the planet, but I own an art museum in Seoul. Universe Factory. I bring paintings and portraits to those who can’t leave.”

“No way! I was there last week! It looks better than before. I mean, it looked nice the old way too but now it looks more complex, the way art should be. I saw Kim Mingyu and his crew inside. Are you adding more to it.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you that he knew Mingyu but it did and you brushed it off. “I wanna add an extra story to it so anyone who wants to try out their hand at drawing or whatever it is they do, will be more than welcome to.”

“So you’re saving people then. That’s really neat.”

Pretty soon you and Jihoon were engaged in a full blown discussion involving the arts, future plans you had for the place and what you hoped could become something of a legacy. Despite the beeping you couldn’t pinpoint (since it seemed to be coming from everywhere), you enjoyed yourself, forgetting the fact you were easily seasick and that Soonyoung was ready to come to your rescue if you needed it. But you’d even forgotten you were whale watching until the mist sprayed you and even then you continued your conversations. It only ended once the tour was over and you exchanged numbers over the possibility of him coming to work for you over the suggestion of having live music and him modestly admitting he played a few instruments and the promise of you getting in touch with the person who had an impressive display of The8’s nature stuff. Minimum wage was the best you could do for now but he jumped onboard because it was better than no job and left with nothing but a wave. It was only when he left you remembered the airhead heir who was finishing up putting everything away and him smiling evilly at you that you punched his shoulder.

“Look at you making friends.”

“Employees,” you corrected. “He gave me a good idea and what better way to give someone credit than hiring them?” The sea gulls’ piercing caws reminded you of something. “Hey, did you find out where that beeping was coming from? It was hard to concentrate on anything else and it gave me a headache. I don’t know if you can still hear it. Watch, listen.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” he said after a moment of silence. “It was probably just part of your nerves. But I’ll check with my crew to see if there was anything wrong in the lower decks if you’re hearing it from out here.”

Changing back into your regular clothes, you tried remembering where and why that particular sound irritated you. It brought back the flashbacks of you trying to read quietly and someone’s watch going off as you were getting absorbed in the storyline. It was even more annoying when several others went off at similar intervals as if they were timing the beeping. Timing, countdown, timer...you removed your gloves, gasping audibly when you saw perfect zeros on your wrist. But how-you’ve been on boats and ships several times and it never happened. What could you have possibly done out of the ordinary that triggered it? The only thing that happened was meeting Jihoon, and come to think of it, the beeping started when he sat next to you.

Slowly, you tried putting the pieces together as you dove out of the dressing room, skidding to find Soonyoung... no not him, because what if maybe, you were supposed to meet Jihoon all this time? After all, what were the odds of being in the same part of the city so many times and how likely was the possibility of just missing each other? You thought back to every time the timer was in its last few seconds only to change just as something else popped up. What if he’s the mythical- “Soulmate!” It made sense after all. You’d read a few books arguing they hadn’t completely vanished. The8’s newest painting is rumored to be based on a pair of soulmates he heard about. But you? Having a chose one? Could that even happen? And that damn beeping was getting loud again. You just wanted to shut it off, but how? How?!

“Y/N, watch out!” A hand locked onto your wrist, pulling you back just as a car sped by. In an instant, three pups on the street pranced happily around your feet and that of your savior yipping and licking at your shoes until their owner called them individually as past, present and future. They barked excitedly once more before they walked away, disappearing right before your eyes. “Are you okay?” Jihoon asked. “I was over there, getting some coffee and I saw you. You looked dazed, and I called you.”

You looked at him, really looked at him. He didn’t even look remotely bothered or amazed that the scariest moment of both your lives happened so casually. Did he even know? Not responding, you pulled up the sleeve that wasn’t rolled down.

“Hey! What are you d-” He cut himself off when you showed him exactly what was going on in your head. And the ringing? Finally stopped.

“My, my! I did not expect this to happen today!” An older woman clapped giddily, breaking whatever trance had happened between you and Jihoon. “Jeonghan! It finally happened! I told you!”

“Are you guys ready?” You asked the crowd excitedly. Well, crowd wasn’t exactly the right word. It was a small gathering of the people you and Jihoon knew...mostly Jihoon. You had only invited Soonyoung and Mingyu (who was currently sporting a sprained wrist, which he swore up and down he didn’t do) for the unveiling. Jihoon, introverted as he was, took it upon himself to ask everyone he knew to come along. You’d met Wonwoo, his best friend; and with Wonwoo came his friend Hansol who had a soulmate that couldn’t be separated unless everyone wanted to be burned alive. With Hansol’s soulmate came your employee (small world!) He also invited his friend Joshua who apparently also had a soulmate, but they didn’t spend time together, so he brought his friend who also worked alongside him at a thrift store. You also met Seokmin, the boy had taken your call when placing an order for the reopening. He came along with Seungkwan who had also had a soulmate literally bound together by a red string. (And you ended up making a deal with her too that would benefit the museum and her growing collection.) And lastly, he brought along Chan, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Auntie Jihye, the kind lady who explained that Jihoon was in fact your soulmate. You never imagined something like this but it made sense.

With everyone’s eager nods, you proudly opened the velvet curtain, displaying the room dedicated to the one that made you fall in love with art: The8. Since he had the biggest room, you had taken it upon yourself to put a piano there and it was where Jihoon was pouring his heart out as he hit the keys. The idea of finding his soulmate still made him kinda skeptical but it didn’t weird him out like before. It’d take just a bit more faith for him to actually make him believe. And he got along famously with Soonyoung which helped his case. You had finally returned the missing ring to him, something he didn’t even know he lost until you presented it to him, further proving to him that maybe some things science has no explanation for.

“I’ll be right back,” your best friend excused himself, putting his phone away. You nodded at him, entertaining your guests, feeling just a bit more complete than when you had ever felt. You finally made some new friends, found out you weren’t so strange after all (though that timer reset, and gave you an estimated timeframe of your next milestone with Jihoon). “I hope you don’t mind,” Soonyoung said when he came back, “but I invited someone else.”

“Might as well bring him in,” you shrugged heading to Jihoon who looked just as happy as you felt in that moment. You scratched his head absently, letting his music seep into your soul.

“Great! Hey Hao, you can come in now!”

Jihoon’s fluid movements came to an offkey halt as his guest none other than the great The8 entered the room shyly but with a powerful undertone that demanded attention and pulled you next to him so you could compose yourself. Jihoon was quickly learning just how unpredictable your best friend was and all he could do was throw his arm around you and laugh at your shocked expression.

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