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twigg96 · 2 years

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Ooh, inspired by the anon who send a request about disability, can I send one in too? How would Dethklok (+Abigail) relate to a friend of the band who is bipolar? Only if you want ofc. Thank you so much!

Hello Anon! Of course I’d love to do your HC request. I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to do. I’ve been very busy recently. Ok let’s goo!!

Before I start I’d like to define Bipolar Disorder as described by the Mayo Clinic:

A disorder associated with episodes of mood swings ranging from depressive lows to manic highs. The exact cause of bipolar disorder isn’t known, but a combination of genetics, environment, and altered brain structure and chemistry may play a role.

Bipolar Disorder may cause mood swings to the extremities of Manic highs or Depressed lows that may last weeks or even months when left untreated.

Bipolar Disorder is no laughing matter and is something that even though is the butt of many jokes should be taken very seriously. If someone you know is struggling with BD I suggest seeking medical attention.

Nathan hates confrontation to begin with. But he’d fight with everything he had just to see that his S/O was getting the right treatment for their specific needs even if that means sitting his S/O down themselves and trying to convince them to take their medication or go to their therapy sessions. He loves his partner. He just wants what’s best for them.

Pickles would be more lenient with his partner. He’d let them skip a few therapy sessions if they just wanted to chill with him or even skip their medication if they were on any just so they could smoke with him. But if their mental health ever started to cause problems in their own lives. Pickles wouldn’t be too scared to step in and intervene. He’d insist that they seek help and apologize for allowing them to skip out for however long they did. He’d make up for it by being completely supportive of his partner. He might even stop doing drugs if that’s what his partner needed in that moment.

Murderface wouldn’t understand Bipolar Disorder at first he’d be that guy who’d make jokes at it because he didn’t understand how serious it was. It wouldn’t be until his partner actually sat down and explained to him how offensive and hurtful those jokes could be that he would stop and start advocating for them. He’d even go as far as to start holding fund raisers to try and raise money for its awareness and nonprofits for it.

Toki would learn all he could about Bipolar Disorder. He refused to let his lack of knowledge be what causes his partner any type of pain or discomfort. It’s not as hard for him to learn about as it would be for the others. He’s seeing Twinkletits weekly for his own problems, he just happens to ask questions about Bipolar Disorder while he’s there. Sometimes Twinkletits got upset with him for asking too many questions about Bipolar Disorder and not enough about his own problems so as insensitive to keep learning to manage his own mental health, Twinkletits promised to tell Toki one fact about Bipolar Disorder at the beginning and the end of every session he attended as well as answer one question he may have. Toki agreed. He learned about medication management and that his partner may or may not be on medication but should be supportive either way. Toki was nothing but well versed after a few weeks and while he couldn’t treat his partner he certainly could help much more than he could before.

Skwisgaar understands all about Anxiety and Depression. He has suffered from it before and thus can try and relate to his partner when they are spiraling. He relies on his insomnia to watch over his partner during their longer stretches of Mania or Depression. He likes to watch them and make sure they’re ok for most hours of the day when it gets severe enough. He tries not to micromanage his partner’s mental illness however. If they are on medication he tries his best to watch and see them take it but he doesn’t hassle them if he didn’t see them take it that day. He does however get upset if his partner ever talked about stopping their medication. He’d want to know that his partner talked to their doctor first and got at least two professional opinions before they just quit. But he’d be as supportive as he could be and walk beside them step by step through the process.

Abigail knows exactly what to say exactly when to say it. She is her partner’s voice of reason. She pretends to be cold and heartless but the fact of the matter is she is very kind and heartfelt. She loves her S/O. She wants to keep them happy and safe. If they insist on going shopping while Manic she absolutely insists on going. Not only because she loves to shop but she also slips in gentle words of advice or encouragement so her partner doesn’t blow their paychecks all in one place and instead buys the necessities. She is strict with her partner’s medication management and often will have timers on not only their phone set but hers as well reminding them both that her S/O needs to take medication. She doesn’t want to see her partner get hurt. She loves them too much for that.

#thank you for the ask!#thank you so much anon #anon request #metalocalypse #metalocalypse headcanon #mental illness #dethklok #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #nathan explosion #william murderface #abigail remeltindtdrinc

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cassanovancats · 3 years

Text

herding cats

becoming nekoma's manager

You really didn’t want to be here. Here being Tokyo, here being Nerima ward and, most importantly, here being the hallway of your new school. The uniform is itchy and you’re being dragged along by some student council member because, apparently, first years can’t be trusted to walk around themselves.

He was nice enough, though he certainly seemed more excited to show you around when he got a look at you. Then he got more excited when he found out your mom’s occupation was what brought you to Nekoma High halfway through your first-year. “So, what’s it like having a famous mom?”

Your eyes darted to the side instinctively. What kind of question is that? How are you supposed to answer? Like having a mom except you get asked things like that. “Uh, fine. She’s really not that cool.” Especially for moving you so late into the school year because her animation studio decided working distantly wasn’t working. “I get spoilers sometimes.” It’s exactly what he wants to hear.

You can hear the next question already, so you cut him off before he gets a chance to ask about the upcoming episode of the anime your mother was working on. “Ah, it seems we made it to the classroom. Thank you for helping me, Senpai.” You bow half heartedly and knock on the door before he gets a chance to respond.

This is exactly what you told your mother would happen. Even as you introduce yourself to the class, there’s a few people who instantly recognize your last name. Those students turn to whisper or pass notes and you know by lunch, you’ll be crowded by people hoping to become your friend purely for bragging rights. The teacher seems tuned to your inner angst, as she gracefully directs you to a seat in the back of the class, where you can watch instead of be watched.

The first subject of your people-watching is next to you - the one person who did not look up as you introduced yourself. A curtain of dark hair kept you from seeing any details of his face (and you can only tell it’s a he because of the uniform). What you can see is the screen of his handheld console and the bright features of one of your favorite games.

Which is why, during break, instead of making eye contact with any of the students striving to talk to you, you turn to him to complain about the latest update.

congrats, you befriended a wild kenma!

he’s the first person you’ve met in a while who doesn’t care about what your mom does, or how much money you have

he literally only cares about your ability to hard carry a team through a dungeon

a few weeks go by, with you basically just coming to school, talking to Kenma, and going home

until the student counselor comes to you and says you have to join a club

even though it’s the end of the year - some policy to ensure you have a club going into next year

“I hate this,” your complaint comes out severely muffled thanks to how you buried your face into folded arms. Kenma gives a noncommittal hum.

“Are you going to finish that?”

You glare at him but still shove the snack closer to his desk. One hand breaks away from his controller to snatch it, before it gets glued back to his PSP. “I’m serious - if one more club tries recruiting me, I’ll scream.”

He answers, sparing a side-glance towards you. The only hint he actually is listening. “Just warn me when that happens.” You groan and go back to your folded arms. It’s been hard to make friends despite people seeming desperate to be your friend. Well, that’s the problem, you think. You don’t particularly want friends who are planning what questions to ask before even greeting you, you want friends like Kenma who can treat you like a normal person.

Minutes before break ends, the president of the Anime Club approaches for the third time this week. “Hello, (l/n)-san. Have you thought any more about joining our club?”

You feel bad for the instinctive grimace. Really, she’s quite nice. It’s just an anime club is the last place you wish to be. Before you can find another polite way to let her down, Kenma interrupts. “Sorry, Sato-san. (y/n) is joining the volleyball club.”

“I am?” You can’t help but question. He shoots you a look, slighting narrowing his eyes.

“She’ll be meeting the captain at today’s practice.”

Sato-san tilts her head suspiciously but doesn’t press. “I hope to still see you around, (l/n)-san,” she says before flouncing off. You take a moment to reorient yourself.

“I am?”

Kenma sighs, saving his game and shoving the console into his bag. “Yeah, you are. Don’t worry, Kuroo will just be glad a girl is there. Coach Nekomata won’t decline help either.”

You blink at him. “Are you aware the only rules I know about volleyball is to not let the ball hit the ground and to only use your hands?”

“The last one isn’t true.”

“Do you see my point, then?”

yes he does, but he simply chooses to ignore you

it…. does not go well

Kuroo was awkward around you, which turned into a mischievousness when he realized Kenma was the one who brought you in

he kept insinuating you and Kenma were dating which like… no you were just a girl (space) friend

Yaku and Kai were normal-ish though Yaku straight-up asked if your mom was the (l/n)

he let it drop after confirmation at least

then… there was the students in your year

Kenma hovered near you, feeling responsible for putting you in a situation nearly identical to what Kuroo did to him

Yamamoto seemed flustered by your presence and also irritated that Kenma already was your friend

Fukunaga just kinda waved and went back to practicing

it took a while for everyone to get over their initial awkwardness, mostly being helped by having to constantly explain what was happening

but the time spent together meant you quickly found friends

friends who, similar to Kenma, dgaf about anything besides your personality and ability to quickly refill water bottles

Maybe you should have realized sooner what joining the volleyball club entailed. It’s not like you ever really participated in an organized sport though, so these summer practices were kicking your ass. The early morning and heat.... You felt pity for your boys; at least you weren’t having to run. Speaking of, the new members of your team just rounded the last bend.

“Come on, babies,” Kuroo cups his hands over his mouth to ‘encourage’ the first-years. “Even (y/n) could beat that!”

“Don’t say that; Lev’s gonna wanna see it!” you hiss, hitting his side.

Speaking of, the giant, silver puppy heads straight to you. After introductions, his upperclassmen quickly understood Lev required a, well, firm hand. Something you lacked which made you the target of his affections. “Woahh, (y/n)-senpai must be fast! Why don’t you actually play any sports?”

Yaku’s eyes level a harsh glare on him, “Are you trying to insult our manager?”

Shibayama steps forward, saving Lev from having to repeat his run. “I am curious why you chose to be a volleyball manager. No offense, but… you don’t seem to care about the sport.”

“Ah, none taken,” you easily wave off his concern. “Volleyball’s cool enough, but you’re right that I’m not passionate about it in the same way as others on the team. I mostly joined because of Kenma, actually.”

The first-years felt confused. How could their quiet, cat-senpai pull in one of the most popular girls in school? Even last year, when they were in Nekoma's middle-school, they had heard rumors of you. When you joined the volleyball club, even teachers started giving the once-golden club attention again. It was how the club received funding to travel to Miyagi next week. (In addition to a large donation from your mom, who was overjoyed you actually made friends.)

“He was my first and only friend at Nekoma for a long time,” you explain. Lev gasps dramatically. It seems impossible to imagine you without lines of admirers. “It doesn’t matter now since everyone in the club is my friend! Take your bottles and get in the gym; we need to talk about the logistics of going to that camp with Karasuno.”

the ones who stay behind are upset </3 cough cough lev

you’re pretty surprised you do get to go

but you’re excited - from what you understand it’s a rural area and you’ve been in Tokyo your entire life

maybe you'll even see a cow!

except you get there, walk a few feet and then notice Kenma is missing

excitement: ruined

Kuroo panics while repeating that he is not panicking

then you both get a text that’s just “in a playground”

when you find him, you scold him on talking to strangers

anyways the rest of the day is spent familiarizing yourself with the gyms and rooms

you run into Kiyoko while preparing dinner for your team

she explains she’s the only other manager at the camp, but she won’t be staying with you

You’re a lil upset bc sleepover ruined but it seems weird to complain about getting your own room and bath

(you still spend most of the time in the team’s room because it got really lonely without your boys :( )

the next morning, the day of the actual match, you get to wear your Official Manager Clothes

which is really just the track jacket, but it makes you feel cool

meeting karasuno is,,, interesting

you’re starting to think you’ll never find a normal volleyball player

From the corner of your eye, you spot Yamamoto attempting to intimidate some Karasuno players. With a sigh, you go to fetch him.

“Tora-kun, can you please help me bring in some supplies? They’re too heavy,” you whine. It’s you’re tried and true method to keeping him on a leash. If he’s helping you, he’s with the team.

Except you don’t just get his attention, you also get the attention of the boy he was staring down. Tanka startles at your sudden appearance behind Yamamoto and loses the harshness in his face. “G-girl-”

You make eye contact with Kenma who looks amused. He ignores your plead for help. Yamamoto takes the opportunity to flaunt you. “This is (y/n). Talk to her and you’ll learn how much pain a volleyball can inflict.” As he finishes his threat, he gets distracted by Kiyoko’s appearance over Tanka’s shoulder.

You decide it’s a lost cause and subtly inch away until you’re walking with Kiyoko. The boys are unable to hear what you’re talking about, but both stare dumbfounded as the only two girls in the entire camp gossip and laugh. Tanka and Yamamoto share a look; maybe there’s something shared between the two they didn’t see before.

“Is your idiot always like that?”

“Yeah, I assume that’s normal for your team too?”

#cass.writes #manager!reader #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #female!reader #nekoma #also lots of info from the wiki #so pls don’t jump me if it’s wrong

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permanentlyexhaustedpossum · 3 years

Text

Madatobi - The More You Know: A gift for peppymint1986

I posted but forgot to @ ppl. Sorry! @madatobigiftexchange @peppymint1986

Elements:

Miscommunication, Scantily clad men, public indecency

Inspiration:

Marriage Hunt, Red eyes are blessed, Hostage for peace

Music:

Part 1: {The Moon over the Ruined Castle - Japanese Folk Music : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7IqryOGvLAE}

Part 2: {Final Fantasy X - Hymn of the Faith [mashup] : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOiWCXzrBq4}

Part 3 & 4: {Most Wondrous Battle Music: "And The Sky Shall Unfold" by Johannes Bornlöf : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bP4eWOEnY9Y}

It wasn't his intention to get caught. In fact he shouldn't have gotten caught at all. Tobirama sat bewildered at what was happening, staring at the fine silk robes on the four mattress tall futon surrounded by flowers. As if this counted as being "caught." He looked down at his wrists, bound by chakra seals in cuffs that would have been mistaken for beautiful bangles had they not been chained together. Where did the Uchiha get such luxuries? They always looked less off than the Senju in battle. He huffed, thinking about the Uchiha's lack of armor, the recycling of used kunai and senbon. The way most of their people wore old sandals. He'd noticed. And he was sure Hashirama had noticed too. Maybe that was why he always held back against Madara.

Right. Madara. The one who had caught him. Tobirama sighed internally, then rubbed his face waiting for the genjutsu to wear off.

Except it didn't. The beautiful robes and flowers were still there. The four futons were still there. And here he was, barely dressed in what appeared to be some kind of expensive fabric in a way he'd never seen anyone dress before.

"You look confused." A familiar voice barked, laughing. Tobirama sneered, looking behind him and Izuna smirked in return.

"Shouldn't you be dead?"

"On the contrary. I think my act worked rather well. Even Aniki didn't figure it out until we returned from battle." Tobirama made a face. Izuna had always been a crafty rat but to not let his brother in on a plan, well, that's just risky on Izuna's part. He turned fully to face him and the Uchiha spoke again. "It was the only way I could separate you from your people."

"Be done with this farce, Izuna." Tobirama growled. "I was prepared to die when I came here gathering intel."

"Die?" Izuna tilted his head. "Oh no, Senju. You've got it all wrong. You're not going to die. It's going to be far worse."

"So torture then? Be plain, Izuna."

"Ooo, so familiar, Tobirama-san." Izuna snickered mockingly. "You're a hostage for peace."

A beat.

"Is that what all this is for? A bribery?" A pale hand gestured to the extravagance. The younger Uchiha brother shoved off the open door frame and strode into the room.

"Nope. That would be preparation for the Marriage Hunt."

"The _what_?" Tobirama's voice dropped several octaves, a dangerous and threatening tone.

"The m-a-r-r-i-a-g-e h-u-n-t." Izuna drawled, grinning from ear to ear, all teeth. Red eyes narrowed at the man before him.

"Marriage to whom? I'm assuming you mean me as one of the intended parties."

"I do." Izuna sighed, "If only you'd been a woman. This would have worked out perfectly for everyone involved." He shrugged, running a hand through his bangs.

"And why is that?" Tobirama's wheels were turning already. If being a woman would get him out of this, he'd have no choice but to use _that_ jutsu. He frowned internally, it wasn't like it wasn't useful, because it was. He had, on more than one occasion, used his disguise jutsu to turn himself into a beautiful naked woman to gather intel. He just hated being anyone else. And a sexy jutsu just wouldn't be-

"Well, then you could bear heirs."

Tobirama's mind skidded to a halt, screeching at painful speeds into a flaming dumpster of chaos.

"What." Was all he managed to get out before Izuna started laughing. His mood quickly soured. "Your jokes are not appreciated-"

"Who said it was a joke? I was being honest-"

"Izuna." A deeper voice cut the air like a hot knife and both men turned to see Madara standing in the doorway. Tobirama's eyes were quick to assess the situation. A just bathed Madara in sleeping yukata with his hair braided, most likely for bed as Tobirama assumed his hair would tangle like Hashirama's throughout the night. He looked slightly flushed, as if maybe he had been training before hand? Or maybe he'd soaked too long in a hot spring. Madara cleared his throat. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" Izuna looked from his brother to Tobirama before exiting the room without another word. Silence fell into his empty space and Tobirama waited for the boisterous yelling that always commenced between Madara and his brother to erupt into this scenario.

But it didn't. "Are the accommodations to your liking?" A very quiet Madara inquired, throwing the albino for a loop.

"No. I would prefer a dungeon. Perhaps be bound with rope like any other normal captive." His eyes narrowed. Madara's face twisted, and for a moment Tobirama thought he might laugh but he just sighed instead, irritated.

"You're not a normal captive."

"I'm not some stolen princess."

"Right." A long pause by the Uchiha. "Suppose I should fill you in then, Prince."

The Senju scoffed, attempting to fold his arms but unable to do so with the chained bracelets and instead awkwardly let his arms hang. Madara continued, not moving an inch toward Tobirama. "This is no bribery. Though I suppose it looks that way. You're a hostage for peace. I should take care of Hashirama's little brother, keeping him safe, Hashirama is most likely to agree to our terms of peace instead of a Senju dominated treaty." Madara was making sense however,

"That doesn't explain the misuse of clan funds for such luxuries. And I know you don't make enough money personally for all this." Tobirama wasn't intending to be mean, it was just a fact.

"You'd be wrong. On both accounts." He paused. "I have been saving my mission funds since I was eight. Every Uchiha does for a time such as this."

Now Tobirama was really confused as he was sure it was plastered all over his face. Madara looked him in the eyes. "For their intended bride."

"I am no bride." Tobirama snarled, teeth and eyes sharp, feeling his defenses raise like a cornered wolf.

"No? I guess I'll settle for a groom."

"_You_?" The albino was exasperated now.

"Yes. Me. You will be marrying me, groom." Madara stated plainly.

Tobirama's mind whirled to life again. So Izuna set this up, acting as if he was mortally wounded to lure a Senju here in the hopes it would be him, to capture him as a hostage and force him to politically marry his brother.

"Why not just ask?" Tobirama confessed his curiosity. Political marriages between feuding clans or lands often brought peace along with it and though his family had never considered the option because the Uchiha head family was also all boys, it was clear the Uchiha didn't carry such prejudices among them if their Head had preferences such as ... this. But the look on Madara's face was nothing short of offended.

"Like you would have agreed to this otherwise." He growled. "I'm no idiot, Tobirama. It is and always will be an intellectual battle of strategy with you." Though Tobirama was always matched against Izuna, he couldn't help but feel a bit prideful that his prowess was acknowledged by someone else of Hashirama's caliber. Then again, he should have known. Madara was no fool indeed.

"What makes you think I'll agree now?"

"You will." Madara seemed sure of himself, which in any other situation Tobirama might have admired such a trait but right now it scratched at his last nerve. He huffed in return. "Sleep well, groom. Your room is guarded by the best Uchiha have to offer and a priest. I don't suggest making a break for it either. If you care about your brother's peace, you'll play nice for at least a few days. Give yourself an opportunity to see things from our perspective." Madara turned, back to Tobirama, a bold move for a shinobi then looked over his shoulder at him. "By the way, you look delightful." His eyes spun red and Tobirama instinctively looked at his throat instead, mind spinning, confused and wondering what that meant. He looked up when the door shut and he finally was alone again.

Part 2:

Madara was beside himself when he caught Tobirama sneaking into the compound after Izuna's supposed injury. The albino clearly didn't mean to get caught but Izuna had laid enough traps that both Madara and Tobirama would run into each other on purpose. The surprise on both their faces sent Izuna cackling right into the koi pond.

He sighed, looking over at the Uchiha children, too young for battle, scampering around the scantily clad Tobirama and asking him a million questions about his appearance. Apparently, the Senju thought him a monster.

"I am just a man."

"But you're so pale!"

"How'd you get a blank Sharingan?"

"Why's your hair white? Are you old?"

Madara laughed to himself. Surely Tobirama didn't expect this kind of treatment but to say Madara was entertained by it was an understatement. He paused outside the temple waiting for Tobirama to catch up.

"Persistent."

"They're eager to learn."

"Do you not teach them of the White Demon?" Tobirama spat. Dark eyes looked at his contemplative for a moment.

"No." Was all he said, leading Tobirama inside the temple.

Tobirama admitted to himself, he'd never seen a temple like this one before. Long black drapery hung from its rafters, a simple washing basin at the entrance.

"Follow my lead and try not to be disrespectful." Madara chimed, moving to the washing basin, systematically washing his hands and face then praying and shrouding his face with a black veil. When Tobirama did the same, a gloved hand reached and stopped him, handing him a white veil instead. He frowned. Insistently, Madara shook it at him silently. Tobirama rolled his eyes and took it, putting it over his head and following Madara behind the fabrics and soft candle light.

A large statue of a woman emerged, surrounded by flowers of crimson color and other Uchiha, the men shrouded like Madara, the women were not. They didn't look up at him. All except the male at the front, unveiled, a priest Tobirama supposed. A priest that bowed to him when he entered. The albino attempted to bow in return when the priest stopped him,

"No. Among all the people here, it is you who is most honored." The look of confusion on his face made Madara snicker. The priest continued, "You seem puzzled, Moonchild."

"Very."

"I will recount for you then." The priest nodded to Madara who left Tobirama's side and knelt in prayer next to his kin, "Our lineage hails from Indra and his wife, Amaterasu." He gestured to the woman. "It is from Indra we received our eyes but from Amaterasu we gained our love."

Red eyes gazed up at the woman holding the infant in her arms. The priest continued, "After the death of his brother, Ashura-"

A lie. Ashura lived and Indra died.. Ashura is Senju lineage.. Tobirama thought to himself, listening.

"Amaterasu was heavy with child and was kidnapped for the unborn child's potential." It didn't take a genius to know where this was headed and Tobirama stiffened. "The child was taken from her before it's due time and it didn't make it. In her rage, Amaterasu burned the entire valley with black flame that none could extinguish. When she returned to Indra, in her distraught, she thought she would never again bear a child." A long pause. "But she was wrong. She was blessed with a Moonchild. The babe grew and from her, our clan was born. A child with skin as pale as the moon, eyes like red stones, and hair as white as snow."

Tobirama wasn't an idiot. This was a description of him.

"So, naturally, we hail Moonchildren as blessed. As heaven sent. And you, even though you're the enemy, to kill a Red Eyed Moonchild will bring the wrath of Amaterasu down upon us."

It all made sense now. Tobirama looked up at the rubies that was set as the child's eyes. The reason why most Uchiha would never touch him, only retaliating out of fear of their lives. The whole reason why Izuna never outright killed him when he had the chances. Why this whole situation had occurred. Silently, he looked at the priest. "Only women are permitted to speak in here. Of course besides myself and.. well.. you." The Uchiha were making more sense with each day and part of him hated that they did. He just wanted to go back to when it was a simpler time, attacking the enemy just because they were the enemy and not understanding them at their core.

The women, less of them in battle than Senju, were guardians of the home, the most powerful and most protected by the Uchiha men. The reverence they have for their women, the understanding they have of life and death. And the way they gazed upon him as if their very insides were confused. He barely noticed when he and Madara returned to the head house.

"They're conflicted." Madara spoke at last, escorting Tobirama to his captive room, almost as if reading his mind. "People like you... are a blessing and they think the Senju have been blessed above us. They lost hope when you entered battle against us."

The silver and gold bangles clinked as Tobirama entered the room, contemplating all he'd seen and heard in the past few days. "They seem to have hope before my capture."

"That-" Madara began, standing in the doorway, "-is because of me." And with that, he closed the door, leaving Tobirama sneering to himself of how self-absorbed Madara really must be.

Part 3:

"You've got it all wrong."

"What do I have wrong, Izuna?" Tobirama sneered, it was the end of day three and he had yet to decide for himself what he would do.

"Aniki said we lost hope seeing you in battle, but he never said he was the one to bring us hope. He said it was because of him we have hope."

"You're speaking in circles." Red eyes narrowed, sitting on the floor, still refusing to use the many luxuries provided to him in the room.

"He said he'd bring you to our side. Well, more specifically, he said he'd marry you."

"Excuse me?" The albino pursed his lips, "You expect me to believe that your brother said that when he was a child?"

"I don't expect you to believe anything." Izuna set the very plain cloth down on the floor. "He said he would. We all laughed because of course, it wouldn't work. You're a male. But it occurred to me.. that marriages don't require children to be valid." The younger said, as if he'd had a revelation. "Political marriage specifically. So here we are." He put his hands on his hips, waiting for the answer.

Tobirama sighed, he'd seen and heard many things in the past few days, most of which did in fact, sway his original opinion of the bloodthirsty Uchiha he'd grown to hate and respect over the years. They were a clan gripped by a love deeper than the Senju, crazed with the pain that losing that love brings. It was Hashirama's dream, this peace. Tobirama could never really imagine it in his head, but he could theorize on how to accomplish such a feat. Many policies, many treaties, and so so much trust would be needed. But this... this capture turned everything on it's head. He could single handedly stop this centuries' old war. Him. The second born of the Senju Head. Not the Mokuton User. Not the first born, his brother who shone like the sun and commanded respect with his very presence.

Him. A child of water and moonlight and darkness.

It was a long moment before he reached for the garment silently. He could hear Izuna's breath hitch. Was he really going to do this?

"Tell me how it works."

Part 4:

When he stepped out into the open with Izuna wearing only the loin cloth provided, he held his head high and walked straight to Madara. Surprised, the Uchiha flushed an interesting pink from his face down his chest, which only made Tobirama's eyes wander. They were dressed the same, and as per Izuna's instructions, everything looked to be in order. "Betrothed." Tobirama drawled bored like.

"You're going through with it?"

"Yes. Hashirama isn't the only one who wants children to stop dying." Tobirama huffed, hand waving. "Though I've never entertained the thought of a man before." Madara raised a brow. "There isn't much time for such things in war."

That was a lie, Madara knew quite well that sexual encounters were not just the norm in war time, it was honestly the quickest and most effective way to blow off steam. Every shinobi had done it if not with both sexes, then at least one or the other but from the look on Tobirama's face, he was unfazed. "Have you ever..."

"I don't think I need to be here for this conversation," Izuna nearly yelled to not hear whatever response had tumbled out of Tobirama's mouth. "Okay you've got your instructions. The marriage hunt begins now. Get going!" He flickered away and like that, the two men were standing nearly naked and alone at the forest edge of camp.

"We need to get going before they catch us." Tobirama only nodded at Madara's remark, gesturing for him to lead the way. With that, Madara darted into the forest, Tobirama on his heels. It was intensely quiet for a long period of time, Madara scanning the forest with his Sharingan as they put space between them and the compound. He paused on a branch, pulling Tobirama into a hollowed tree trunk with him. Except he didn't account for Tobirama's height and his eyes widened when the albino's head smacked on the opening with the force of his pull. A pale hand went up to hold his face and Madara tried not to laugh, listening to see if the loud thud had given them away. Tobirama looked unimpressed, but followed him into the tight space, surprised at just how bulky Madara's torso was compared to his own. Chest to chest, they hid inside the trunk, whispering and keeping their senses open.

"I sense fourteen at seven position." Tobirama whispered.

"They're not close enough for me to see yet." Madara looked back at the pale chest before him in the dark, trying not to flush again with their proximity.

"What's your plan?"

"I say we cross into Nara territory and wait out the rest of the day. The sun is rising." Tobirama scoffed looking bewildered at his shorter companion.

"I am NOT hiding nearly naked in NARA territory even if it is for peace."

"You could always hide fully naked." Madara immediately looked away as both of them flushed and scowled. "If we don't hide, we'll spend all day running and by night fall, the clan will be upon us. And I know their tenacity. They'll keep coming until we're both captured and if we want peace, we can't let that happen."

"Then we go north into the mountains."

"Are you crazy? It's nearly winter and you want to go into the mountains, in less than a fundoshi?"

"There's a hot spring-" Madara pulled Tobirama down to his knees, nearly flush with his waist as the top of the trunk was shattered over them. Ignoring the placement of his face so close to an erogenous zone, Tobirama took the initiative and lifted Madara onto his shoulder, bounding upwards as kunai trailed after them.

He picked up speed, silently thanking the gods that Hashirama had grown into the thick tree trunk brother he became or Tobirama would have never gained the strength to pick Madara up like this and bound away. With Madara using wind jutsu to cut down trees to block the way of his kin as he berated Tobirama for carrying him like a sack of rice, the sun seemed to spark brighter over the horizon and through the leaves. Suddenly, the albino tumbled forward, nearly planting them both into a cliff face and dropped Madara who squawked as he not so graciously caught himself on a hanging rock.

"What the hell, Senju?!"

"I should be asking you the same." Tobirama spat, holding onto another rock.

"I was helping you!"

"By hitting me with wind jutsu?"

"By propelling us forward faster!" Tobirama paused, a tactical moment when he realized Madara wasn't just limply hanging onto him, he was trying to work with him the only way he knew how. He opened his mouth to respond when a fire jutsu flashed between the two hanging on the side of the cliff and they both bolted upwards for the edge to keep going.

"You should have warned me you'd use that tactic!"

Madara just gave his companion a dirty look as they raced through the next bout of trees, fire licking at their heels. It wasn't long before they both broke through to the other side, right into a farmer's field. "Where the hell are we?"

"Oh gods damn it." Tobirama face palmed, then turned. "They're right behind us. Hurry."

"W-what?!" Madara squawked as Tobirama yanked him through the rice field, past the very confused farmer and into the bushes on the other side.

"They'll have to slow down through the field or risk burning it." Tobirama raised his voice over the sound of the wind as they ran, Madara too focused on the hand grasping his wrist to do anything about it.

"And we just-"

"Izuna didn't say we couldn't be seen. He said we couldn't be caught."

"That's not the point-"

"Then what's the point?" Tobirama looked around, engrossed in the chase now, body flexing as they stopped for a moment to reconsider their surroundings and listen for their hunters. Madara's eyes wandered over the companion before him and huffed, tearing his eyes away to scan the perimeter of their line of sight.

"It's not about the chase. Well it is but-"

"Izuna said-"

"Izuna didn't say-"

The two jumped as they were interrupted by a hailstorm of senbon. Madara tackled Tobirama, and the two rolling down a hill into a creek, fall leaves jumping into the air as they went. Madara groaned, now they were wet and cold, and- his brain stopped when they stood up and Tobirama looked around.

"What's wrong with you?" The albino snapped his fingers in Madara's face who blinked and suddenly looked up.

"You uh.."

"I what? Spit it out, Uchiha."

"You lost your cloth."

Tobirama's lips pursed as he decidedly did not look down to check and tried to decidedly not blush at his nakedness. He could hear Madara swallow. "Not something you like?" He hissed, touchy about the subject of his body.

"On the contrary." Madara cleared his throat, "You're quite gifted-" He ducked as another senbon went whizzing over his head. "But we can discuss who's riding who later-" Red enveloped Tobirama's entire body leaving him less agile than he'd like, especially when Madara snatched him up and took off running away from the approaching Uchiha trying to stop them. All he could think now was how nice peace would be. No running. No fighting. A warm body to wake up to.. and maybe.. just maybe someone to banter with.

#madatobi gift exchange 2021 #madatobi shenanigans #peppymint1986 #this was gonna be way longer but my entire house got a vomiting sickness twice #the basement also flooded #i had a panic attack

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angelkurenai · 4 years

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Imagine going hiking and Dean accidently hearing you sing to the mountains, and he's desperate to find an owner to such beautiful voice.

“If you ask me, it's rather obvious what we're dealing here with and it won't take much time. But it's always to be better safe than sorry, so I'm thinking we should head once more to-” Sam's rambling was cut short as he looked up from his small notebook only to realize his brother wasn't paying the slightest attention to him “Dean?” he asked without really expecting, or getting, a reaction.

And as if that wasn't enough, he didn't seem to be willing to hide it in the least bit, his eyes trained on his food with a deep frown set on his face as he played around with it. It was that exact fact, and the one that most of his plate was still full which was very concerning if Sam took into consideration that this was his brother that wasn't eating, besides the lack of concentration or talking from his part that prevented Sam from teasing him or even trying to act angry at his brother's clear lack of interest in the case, or anything else if he really thought about it.

“Dean?” he tried to insist once more without much result.

“Dean!” this time it got his brother to blink his eyes several times and get back to reality and Sam didn't know whether it was the tone in his voice or the fact that he had to snap his finger's in front of Dean's face. So long as it got the job done.

“Wh- huh what?” Dean frowned at his brother, voice more gruff than it should be and Sam assumed that the lack of sleep was showing on both his face and voice now.

“I-” he parted his lips but stopped himself from saying anything for a couple seconds “Are you ok, Dean? You've been a little off almost ever since last night. You got... lost in the woods and after I found you, you've been acting... weird.”

“Look-” Dean sighed a little agitated “If you wanna test me, I'm right here, do your thing. But as I told you last night and this morning, at least three times, I have not been abducted or possessed or enchanted or anything. Not in a supernatural way at least.” again another sigh as he looked away “Don't give me that look, ok? It's annoying. Besides, I told you, I got a little distracted yesterday but that's al-”

“Distracted?” Sam raised an eyebrow “You got distracted in the freaking mountains? By what? The shape of the rocks?”

“I mean-” he paused, shrugging almost childishly and definitely unconvincingly in a way he did more often than not when there was something that he was hiding Sam, something not life threatening or dangerous, and that made Sam relax a bit more “Rocks are pretty interesting dude.” and that, they both knew, was his lamest excuse that Sam found himself relaxing a lot more to the point he chuckled.

“Wow that's-” Sam blinked several times “That's too much, even for you. No, seriously, are you going to tell me what it was? Because I know real well I was the only one looking for our monster on that mountain but you had not been busy admiring rocks.”

“What are you gonna start judging my hobbies now? It's so bad, all of a sudden, that I find new interests but you can have any nerdy hobby you want in this family?” Dean fended himself weakly, apparently, because of the loo Sam gave him. That made Dean sigh and roll his eyes. “Look, it was nothing dude. It's hard to explain, yes, but I'm completely fine and I am completely me. Just drop it, alright? Get back on the case and rambling, I'll try to keep up and get back on track soon.” hard to explain didn't even begin to cover it in his mind, mostly because it wasn't all easy to explain with logic and therefore his mind wasn't the only player in this game; it was his heart too.

How could he even begin to explain to Sam that he had gotten so distracted by someone singing? How could he even begin to describe that he had really been that enchanted, that mystified, but it was really not in a supernatural way? He couldn't say that he had gotten carried away listening to the woman, it was clearly a female voice, sing so beautifully he had almost forgotten his name, not to mention the reason why he was in the mountains to begin with. He couldn't say that he had even dreamed of said voice, singing to him the same song he had heard yesterday in the mountains and could clearly remember the lyrics to even now. Maybe also because he had looked for it up, though he would never admit to it, just like he wouldn't admit that he hadn't fund any of the singers (covers or not) to be able to match up to the voice he heard.

All the shine of a thousand spotlights All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough Never be enough Towers of gold are still too little These hands could hold the world but it'll Never be enough Never be enough

It was his favorite part and he couldn't even believe he had a favorite part.

He couldn't admit that he had been trying to put a face to that voice so bad, he couldn't admit that he had been wondering and needing and aching to hear more of the singing, more of the voice, in the same and different songs. He couldn't admit that he had felt all the things he did just by hearing a song, he couldn't admit that the emotion put in the lyrics by the singer had also affected him this much. He couldn't admit that the reason he had been late and that had made Sam look for him, thinking he had been lost or worse, was because Dean had spent all that time looking for the person behind the voice. He could feel the heat of the blush down to his neck at the thought that it looked like something out of the cheesiest fairytale but it had been true, more true than he too could believe, and so were his feelings so he could defend them if need be. But he wasn't looking for an excuse for that.

Besides, he felt moody enough – and disappointed – this morning that he didn't feel up to explaining everything to his brother.

“Right now, I'm just sleepy that's all.” he mumbled, slightly as an afterthought but mostly to try to keep himself focused “Seems I-” he paused briefly, looking around the cafe and pursing his lips in a way that showed his displeasure “Haven't had my coffee yet. Or enough of it.”

Big mistake, because the moment his stopped their path around the small cafe and landed back on his brother, he saw the realization dawn on him. His eyebrows raise slightly and if it wasn't for the knowing quirk of his lips and the relaxed expression on both his body and face he might have thought for just a second that he was off the hook. Clearly, he wasn't.

“So that's what it is huh?” Sam asked before shaking his head with a laugh. He didn't know, of course, but that was no better yet. Because he didn't know the one reason out of the two to his lack of focus. “You like her that much huh?”

“What?” he said it through a mouthful that he took a little too fast to avoid looking at his brother but oh well. His brother figured one of the two reasons in 0.5 seconds so any effort would be in vain.

As long as he didn't know how saddened he was by

“You know what.” the smile on Sam's lips only got bigger “That waitress we met two days ago, the one that works here and the reason why you're here for everyday ever since. And don't try to deny it, you're terrible at it today.” he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at him despite Dean's best (read: worst) effort to avoid eye-contact and give anything away by eating as much as he could.

“I really don't get what you're trying to say, Sam. I mean-” he laughed, nervously, as he tried to swallow over his food because of the look his brother gave him “I haven't even managed to look up from my plate. How could I have noticed (Y/n)'s not here this morning even though her shift has supposedly started half an hour ago? I haven't-” but Dean paused when he noticed the surprise on Sam's face and realized his mistake.

“Honestly?” Sam tried to keep himself from laughing but as expected failed “It's really best if you eat instead of speak. Wow.” he blinked, shaking his head “Well, at least that explains it.”

Dean's lips parted as he prepared to speak back and defend at least what was left of his dignity but then all words died out in his lips when he heard the small laugh next to him that he knew all-too-well and that he would have been too embarrassed to hear in such a situation so close, especially after what had been said, but he was too relieved to care about that. Besides, he was going to make Sam pay for it by, oh let's say, ask him to stay a day or two or ten after the case was over as a favor for all this.

“Honestly if I had known I'd be this sought after I might have asked for a raise sooner.” he heard your voice and noticed you filling up his cup before he looked up to see you there and felt his smile become ten times bigger when he saw you looking at him with a soft smile of yours “Hey Dean.” he took great pleasure in the few seconds of you just focusing on him until Sam cleared his throat and you snapped out of it and smiled, albeit a little apologetically, at Sam “Hello Sam.”

“Good morning, (Y/n). Seems like you've been running a bit late today according to my brother here, everything alright?”

“Oh absolutely fine, it's just that some mornings I tend to help in the kitchen when the cook's running late you see.” you explained “I hope everything is to your liking so far?” you asked but your eyes once more trailed to Dean and with a smile on his face Sam nodded his head with a hum.

“Just great, though I think the company is not to someone's preference today. I might have to leave early, visit the library and all, you think you can keep Dean some company?” he asked so innocently, yet not to Dean who knew him, which only made the older Winchester's head snap in his direction faster than ever before; eyes wide in horror.

“Oh I'm sure I could spend my break with him, no problem, though it might be quick. We have the weekly karaoke night tonight so I might have some extra work to do. If that's alright?” you asked hopefully.

“Karaoke night? Didn't know you had that.” Dean blinked and you nodded your head.

“Yeah, the cafe obviously works at night and we make sure to organize karaokes and parties at least three times a week. This month boss is more busy so we're down to once a week but that doesn't stop me or any of the customers from taking over the stage till the early morning. You could-” you paused to glance at a couple who asked to pay at a table nearby and gave them a nod “You could always come by then too? If you're free.” you suggested softly and Dean didn't even hesitate to give a nod which made you beam at him.

“Lovely.” you said “If you'll excuse me for a second, I got work to do but I'll be right back. And if you need anything else just ask.”

“Well that went better than you could have expected or achieved on your own to be honest. So-” Sam paused to give his brother a smile “Your welcome.”

“Better? Oh really? Why didn't you tell her 'Hey (Y/n) my brother's an idiot and too much of a coward to ask you out, why don't you do it yourself?' huh? That would have been less desperate.” Dean only glared.

“Alright, I'll try that next time.” Sam simply shrugged, focusing back on his noted before Dean had the chance to say anything else. The older Winchester only rolled his eyes and with a shake of his head and feeling much more light went to actually eating an enjoying his food.

Without the distraction of his thoughts and worries about your absence he could admit it was much easier. Certainly, there was always the mystery girl in his mind and her signing that he couldn't get over much as he tried but it wasn't as if he could do anything about it anymore. Miracles didn't happen and it was already very close to that that you had agreed to spend your break with him like in a date, alright he hoped it was like that and that was maybe an even greater miracle than finding the owner of the voice. He couldn't just walk around the town looking for her nor could sit here and expect her to start singing out of nowh-

His thoughts – and he was pretty sure, breathing and entire fuctioning-like-a-human-being – came to a startling halt when he heard it. First a very low murmur but then sure some words, a tune, lyrics to a song with a voice and tone he recognized all too well... he realized like a fool from two places. The mountain and this very cafe.

Slowly but also with a sort of giddiness he couldn't explain, he turned in his seat to look behind him in the direction from which the singing was coming from and he wasn't surprised, only because he really felt in shock anymore, to realize that it was coming from your direction and even more specifically from you. You were singing and you were singing that very same song in the very same way as you were cleaning the table after the couple had left.

“Never enough”

Well, maybe miracles did happen.

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean imagine #dean winchester imagine #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot

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matthewtkachuk · 4 years

Text

feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

series masterlist

You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little café flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

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zhe-lazy-fox · 3 years

Text

Is it a Repeat of History

Fandom: Dream SMP Words: 1 827 Category: Gen Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 link: [Here]

- - -

“What are you doing?”

Wilbur froze, stood before the dark wooden button on the stone wall. The button connected to the 23 stacks of TNT that would blow up the prison and let Dream out.

“Phil?” No no, Phil couldn’t be here! he shouldn’t be here! Wilbur had made sure Phil would be distracted with the others by fighting the withers!

WHY WAS HE HERE?!

“What are you doing.” Phil asked again, his voice sounded tired and old.

Wilbur’s fingers twitched against the stone, hearing the rustle of feathers and cloth behind him. A shaky exhale left him as he slowly turned to look over his shoulder.

Phil stood there, Armour and clothes damaged and dirtied from the withers Wilbur had spawned earlier, from what he snatched from Techno’s stash of wither heads and soul sand, but Wilbur wasn’t able to concentrate on the damage his father had taken. Instead his eyes were staring at Phil’s face. Phil wore a tired expression with mixed emotions, he looked sad, worried, angry and disappointed all at once, and Wilbur hated the combination.

“You couldn’t stop me last time. What makes you think you can stop me now?” Wilbur asked with a smirk. Phil sighed before he walked further into the room, but stopped when Wilbur gave away something akin to a growl, moving closer to the button.

“I was misinformed and confused back then, you forced my hand! I regretted it! I still do! You lied to me in your letters, I couldn't understand why for a while, but I know the truth now and I understand. You don’t have to do this, Will.”

“Phil!” Wilbur laughed, stumbling away from the button to face his father fully with a wild grin spreading his arms out “You don’t understand a thing!”

“Then explain it to me so I can understand!” Phil cried out, a small burst of anger and desperation in his voice. “Will please-”

“I have to do this, Phil! I have to repay Dream for saving me from the hell that was purgatory! I have to repay his kindness!”

“Kindness?! Will, Dream did not bring you back out of kindness! He did it for his own gain!”

“You can’t stop me! You couldn’t stop me last time! You can’t stop me now! I AM going to press that button!”

Phil clenched the hand he held his sword while grounding his teeth.

“I won’t let you do that. I owe Tommy and everyone else that much, to make up for Doomsday.”

Wilbur grew still before he stared at Phil with cold eyes

“Are you going to kill me again, father?” Phil shuddered, feeling memories of the first time flash through his mind, Wilbur’s manic laughter, wild eyes and crazed talk, Phil was forced to look away as tears burned his eyes.

“No.” He said, voice steady and clear, he inhaled before he looked up at Wilbur, meeting his eyes head on “I won’t make that mistake again.” Phil sheathed his sword. Wilbur stared at him before he laughed.

“You’re a fool!”

“Yes, I am, aren't I? A fool for not realising my son was suffering on his own, and still is.”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Wilbur snapped

“Are you though? You were alone for 13 years… that’s a long time, Will.” Wilbur snarled and spun around to face the button again.

“My mind is made up, You can’t change it!”

“You’re making a mistake! What do you think Dream will do once he gets out? Huh?! He won’t care about you, he only cares about himself and his idea of being a god. Who’s to say he won’t kill you once you’re no longer of use to him?”

Wilbur stood still, staring at the button. Baring his teeth at what Phil said. Dream wouldn’t kill him, he was his hero! he wouldn’t- Dream saved him from purgatory! He would send him back there! Right?

“Why are you doing this?” Wilbur asked in a cold voice. “Why are you trying to stop me?”

“You’re my son, Will.” Phil said as easily as if Wilbur had asked him what the colour of the sky were. “You will always be my son. Your actions disappointed me, but I still love you, I could never stop loving you. I want you to be happy and okay… Is that such a selfish wish for a parent? You wanted what was best for Fundy too in the beginning, before things got bad. But if you press that button I can’t say the others will forgive you again!”

Wilbur clenched his fists, trying to ignore how the button grew blurry before him, only to clear up when he blinked and the clear drops of water fell to the floor. Phil should be shouting at him, be angry and demand answers, not- not say how much he loved him. Wilbur scrunched up his face before he gave away a scream, slamming his fists against the wall.

He distantly heard Phil call out his name in a panic.

Wilbur opened his eyes to stare at the button. The button that if pressed would let Dream out… and also destroy whatever chance he ever had left of rebuilding the bridges he burned during the 16th.

His arms fell limp to his sides. as more silent tears fell from his eyes. He had to press the button, but he couldn’t do it. He had to repay Dream for saving him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t press the button… He couldn’t do it.

“Will?” Phil asked, voice filled with worry from how quiet Wilbur was being. A sharp inhale followed when he saw how Wilbur raised one hand towards the button. “No!” he gasped “Will please!”

But there was no click of a button pressed, just the muted sound of a button being removed. Phil started when Wilbur slowly took a step away from the wall and turned to face Phil, the button held in his hands, tears streaming down his face.

“Dad-” Wilbur’s voice cracked. Phil sprung into action pulling Wilbur into a hug, holding his son tight.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

A keening noise left Wilbur followed by the clatter of the button falling to the floor as Wilbur threw his arms around Phil, hiding his face in his fathers shoulder as the two of them sank to the floor. Screaming his anguish and sadness out, choking on his sobs and tears. Phil pulled him closer, wrapping his wings around his son, like he had done so long ago when Wilbur was younger and small.

“I’m sorry!” Wilbur choked out between his sobs and cries “I’m sorry dad-”

Phil shushed him, kissing the side of his head.

“It’s okay, it will be okay, everything will be okay.”

Steps made Phil turn his head to see the others in the opening to the room. Techno looked worse for wear but relaxed at what he found.

“Dad!” Fundy called out pushing past Techno.

Phil could feel Wilbur freeze in his arms, and try to get out, possibly to run, but Phil held him still. Fundy crashed to his knees next to them, worry clear on his face, ears folded back.

“Dad?” Fundy glanced up at Phil, several questions on his face, Phil gave him a tired smile before pulling one of his wings back to reveal Wilbur. Fundy hesitated before he reached out his clawed hand placing it on Wilbur’s head. He felt Wilbur flinch under his touch before the older turned enough to be able to look at Fundy., eyes red and puffy from crying.

“Hey Funds...” Wilbur croaked out with a wobbly voice. Fundy gave away a sniffle before he threw himself at his father, worming his way into the hug to cling to Wilbur.

“You’re okay! You asshole! I hate you so much!” Fundy cried as he clung to Wilbur, Wilbur looked shocked before he pulled back one of his arms to hold Fundy instead.

“I- sorry...” Fundy sobbed before he pushed his head up under Wilbur’s jaw, something he hadn’t done since he was a child.

“You’re not dead, again… I don’t want you to go, you idiot father.” Phil couldn’t help but laugh at the expression that fell over Wilbur’s face, complete and utter confusion before he started to cry again, hugging Fundy even more.

The sound of a pickaxe hitting the stone made them look up to see how Techno and Tommy were both working on breaking down the wall to get to the TNT to remove it. Techno and Tommy both grumbling under their breaths as they argued but worked together. Wilbur once he calmed down, pointed out the other places where he planted TNT for the prison, Techno and Tommy, now joined by Quackity, Sapnap, George, Ranboo and Tubbo helped to clear it all away.

The destruction from the withers wasn't as terrible as Wilbur thought it would be, but then again, everyone had been together fighting them, killing the withers fairly quickly.

“Wilbur!” Techno called once the last of the TNT was removed and the holes filled with dirt. Wilbur blinked and had to tilt his head up to look at the older piglin hybrid, who glowered down at him.

“Yes..?” Wilbur asked, panic rising in him.

“Don’t steal my shit.” Wilbur blinked and spluttered, THAT was what Techno was focusing on?! “The same goes for you Tommy! You still have my axe!”

“WHAT?!” Tommy screeched further away, patching up Puffy who had taken a bit more damage than the others.

“Will.” a light voice asked, making Wilbur turn to look behind him, finding himself face to face with Niki. She gave him a small smile, but it was lacking the previous warmth he was so used to seeing her smile have.

“Niki?” The slap echoed out causing everyone to turn and find Wilbur stumbling back.

“That’s for blowing up L’manberg!” Niki shouted, another punch followed, causing Wilbur to winch as he stumbled backwards to try and get away from Niki’s angry advances.

“That’s for dying!” “That’s for brushing everything I said away!” “That’s for betraying everything we stood for!” “Wai- NIKI!” Wilbur yelped as he avoided another hit, hands held up in surrender. “That’s for releasing the withers!” “That’s for trying to free Dream!”

Wilbur steeled himself for another punch only to freeze and blink when Niki hugged him.

“Wha-” “And this is for listening to Phil and still being here.” she spoke, muffled by Wilbur’s sweater. Wilbur stood frozen in her arms before he gave away a congested sniffle. “Thanks… Niki.” Niki let go and stepped back to look up at him.

“Now don’t go and die any time soon okay.” Niki said as he turned to walk back towards where most of the others were gathered “I have so many new recipes I want you to try.” Wilbur gave away a wobbly smile before he rubbed at his eyes not wanting to cry again, before he followed.

“Okay.”

#Dream SMP #Dream SMP Spoilers #Wilbur soot #Philza #Technoblade #niki nihachu #tommyinnit #revived Wilbur soot #revivebur #Others mentioned #Text #Hurt/Comfort #Gen #My writing

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Text

↪ commissioned work! this was a request by @joy1579. for more info about my commissions, check my blog ♡

summary: when mc gets into a car accident, jumin ends up with her medical records. he never thought he would find out about what happened to his wife six years ago.

pairing: jumin x mc

warnings: mentions of suicide

words: 2.7k

“Mr. Han”

Jumin turned his head to his secretary, his right eyebrow arched in annoyance. He knew it was uncalled for, but it had been a really stressful morning for him. He was in the middle of his third and longest meeting and it didn’t seem like he would be getting any results n that day, no matter how different proposals he brought to the table. Knowing beforehand how difficult this particular client used to get, he had asked Jaehee not to interrupt him under any circumstances. And that was the first thing she had done. Jumin massaged his right temple with his fingers, his gaze hardening under Jaehee’s concerned expression.

“Assistant Kang, I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“It’s MC,” she quickly said. “She’s been in an accident.”

Hours later, Jumin couldn't remember if he apologized to his client or if Jaehee had to do it for him. He just knew a couple of seconds later, he was riding the elevator to the main floor, his assistant by his side, her face much paler than usual.

“You weren’t picking up and apparently she set Zen as her other emergency number. He’s on his way to the hospital but called me to let us know.”

“How bad is it?”

“They didn’t tell him specifics but it seems a car hit her while crossing the street."

Jumin wasn't surprised when he realized Driver Kim was already waiting for him when he arrived at the main floor. Jaehee was definitely diligent and was used to thinking ahead in any situation. He muttered a 'thank you' and got in the car in a hurry, closing the door a little louder than usual.

He fixed his tie as Driver Kim hit the engine. He stayed silent the whole journey, his mind fixed on the memory of her wife's eyes as she wished him a good day that morning.

The messenger had been blowing up after Zen had announced MC's accident. Jaehee and Saeyoung were trying to calm down Yoosung, promising him they would inform him about MC's status as soon as they heard something.

"Could you stop?" Jumin muttered, looking at Zen's shaky leg. The actor shot back a glare at him, his leg still moving.

"I'm worried, okay? It's been more than forty minutes since we got here and she's still in the Emergency Room. We still don't know how bad it was."

"I know. But you shaking this bench with your leg isn't helping."

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Trust-Fund Kid, what have you been doing to help this situation other than looking at your phone?"

"I've made arrangements for MC to be sent to one of C&R's partners’ clinics as soon as she's out of the ER," he replied, looking back at his phone.

"Why am I not surprised this is about money?" Zen snickered. Before Jumin could reply, they both shot up their heads at the doctor calling out MC's name.

"I'm her husband," Jumin said and just at that moment, Zen noticed how his eyes were a little wider than usual. It seemed not even Jumin could maintain a cool head under the situation, even if he pretended to do so. "How is she?"

"Your wife was hit by a car. She has two broken ribs and a concussion. No internal organs were compromised, but she needs to stay overnight for observation."

"I've made arrangements for her to be sent to a private clinic. The ambulance is awaiting orders, when will they be able to take her?"

"In that case, please go to our information module and they will help you," the doctor said. Without wasting another moment, Jumin started walking to the said module, faintly hearing Zen thanking the doctor before following him.

He ignored the actor's rant about him being impolite to the doctor as he signed over several paperwork for MC's transfer. After huffing at him for the third time, Zen told him he would be heading to the clinic before him, as he rode his motorcycle to the hospital. Jumin nodded as he kept writing his name in almost every form, his hand in pain from the tension he was under.

He was about to sign the last one when he noticed the words "mental health", "psychiatry" and other things that weren't related to the accident.

"What's this about?" he asked. The lady behind the desk took a quick look at the paper before going back to her computer.

"Due to the nature of the accident and her past medical record, you have to sign this. It just says you will be responsible for her mental health as she will leave our facilities without staying at the psychiatric ward,” she said in a monotone voice.

"What does her accident have to do with mental health?"

"Your wife’s records show she was admitted here six years ago for a suicide attempt, so it's policy to keep a watch on her after accidents that could potentially be something else," she explained, without taking her eyes off her screen.

Jumin blinked, trying to process what he had just heard. His pen shook in his hand as his mind raced with different thoughts, the threads becoming more and more knotted the more he tried to make sense of it. Without another word, he signed the last paper and handed it back to the woman, turning in his heel to go to the ambulance.

He didn't remember when they got MC on the ambulance or if they asked him anything before driving to the clinic. Sitting on the passenger's seat of the vehicle, his eyes were focused on an idle point in front of him, the words of the woman playing on loop inside his head.

One week later, MC was discharged from the clinic without major complications. Jumin had been by her side as much as he could, going to the extent of hiring a nurse for when he had to go to work. She had refused at first, but after Jumin’s insistence, she reluctantly accepted. They had told her it would take from six to eight weeks to recover, so she guessed she could make an effort to make her husband feel safe.

Almost one month after MC’s accident had passed, and still, thoughts about her medical records ran across Jumin’s head every minute of every day. He felt a lump of his throat every time his mind considered the possibility her latest accident may have been an attempt to end her life. Was she unhappy? Did she want something he couldn’t provide? Was there anything he could do to spare her from her pain?

He knew he wasn't supposed to have that information. Her medical records were private and if it weren't for the car accident, he wouldn't have been able to know otherwise. To be honest, he was still doubtful the woman behind the information desk should have given him that kind of information. He was sure it was supposed to be against the law. He huffed. He knew public hospitals were definitely not the best, but he never anticipated a breach of information. Medical records were supposed to be private. He should have never had access to that kind of information. Without the lack of professionalism from the medical staff, there couldn’t have been any other way for him to get the information. The only other way he could have known was for someone to hack--

Saeyoung.

Jumin had never taken out his phone as fast as he did in that moment. Entering the messenger, he found Saeyoung’s picture and hit the call button.

“Hello~ Is this by any chance my dear Elly?” Saeyoung greeted him.

"Did you know?"

"I know a lot of things, for I am God Seven!" he chuckled.

"Did you know MC had tried to kill herself six years ago?"

The immediate silence on the other side of the line only confirmed his initial suspicion. Jumin heard a sigh from the hacker, along with some movement that let him know Saeyoung was changing rooms to talk privately.

"Yes, I knew," Saeyoung said, his voice with no remnants of the teasing tone he had just used. "Did she tell you?"

"The hospital wanted to keep her in the psychiatric ward before I sent her to the clinic. They didn't believe it was an accident".

"Oh, but it was!" Saeyoung assured him. "Remember they caught the guy a week later? I was the one that sent the videos to the police so they could identify him. Well, Zen sent them, but I gave him the tapes from the surveillance cameras that caught the accident and posterior escape."

"You are… sure it was an accident?" Jumin muttered, sitting down on the sofa.

"Jumin," Saeyoung said. "I would never lie about something like that".

The call was cut short after that, Saeyoung wishing MC a quick recovery and cracking a joke before saying goodbye. Not even a full minute after the call had ended, he saw MC coming from their bedroom, slow steps as she made her way to the kitchen.

“My love, you should be resting,” Jumin said as he stood up and joined her, his arm trying to steady her healing body. “If you need anything you can just call for me.”

MC shook her head. “It’s okay, I have to start with small steps, right?” she said, but let Jumin guide her to the kitchen table and took a seat. “But if you could brew some tea for me, that’d be great,” she smiled. Jumin nodded and started filling the kettle with some water.

If the accident had been just that-- an accident, then it was the right call not to tell the clinic about her medical records. Even if he was glad she hadn’t tried to take her own life this time, it didn’t erase the fact there had been an actual attempt a few years ago. What had made her take that choice? Had she regretted it? Would she ever consider it again if she didn’t find herself happy by his side?

“Are you okay?”

The voice of his wife brought him back to reality and saw the kettle had overflowed long ago, water still coming from the faucet. He closed the tap and nodded, pouring the excess of water on the sink.

“Are you sure?” she insisted. “You can talk to me about anything, you know.”

Jumin turned around and looked at her wife’s concerned face, his walls breaking down almost instantly at her doe eyes and small pout. He took a deep breath, knowing it would probably be the hardest conversation he would have with his wife.

“I saw your medical records,” Jumin confessed. It pained his heart to see her expression change to a fearful one, her eyes leaving his own as she seemed to search for something on the floor. MC began fidgeting with her hands, rubbing them together hastily.

Jumin let out a long sigh and sat next to her. There was nothing he wanted more but to take her in her arms, never wanting to see her afraid again, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He knew her ribs were still healing. Instead, he took her hands in his and squeezed them gently, trying to calm her down.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said, his thumb stroking the back of his wife’s hand. “I just… I don’t understand. I want to know why.”

“Does it matter why?” MC quickly answered, her eyes still not meeting his.

“It does to me. I never felt more afraid than the day Assistant Kang informed me you had been in an accident. The sole idea of losing you is a nightmare I never want to go through. I wish I could understand why you took that decision so I make sure you never feel that same way again.”

A faint of a smile appeared on MC’s lips.

“Jumin… I-- I was in a very bad place. And I got help. I went to therapy and I… I’m fine. I was ‘clean’ for over a year before I met you. You don’t need to worry about me,” she assured him, her hands squeezing his back.

“If this isn’t supposed to make me worry, why didn't you tell me?”

He saw MC tensing up, a small grimace on her face as she turned her body to him. Her expression was stern, but her trembling bottom lip gave her away.

“Because…” she started, making an effort not to shed a tear while making her point across “that's not who I am anymore. Meeting you, someone that didn’t know me at my worst-- that was all I ever wanted,” she admitted with a sad smile. “I wanted a chance to meet someone who wouldn’t look at me like I’m broken, or like I can break again. Because I won’t. I’m not that woman anymore, Jumin, and I don’t want you to look at your wife and only think about her worst times.”

Jumin listened intently to MC in silence. He had never thought of her as broken, not even before finding out about what had happened. But it made sense his worry could make her feel insecure about her progress. He was thankful she put it into words, he wouldn’t have wanted to make her feel uncomfortable in any way.

“And I also didn’t tell you because I don’t owe my story to anyone. Not even my husband. This story is mine to tell or to silence. And I know it’s not like you looked for it, so I’m trying to be as open as I can, but--”

“MC,” Jumin interrupted her. “My love. My wife,” he took her hands to his mouth and kissed them. “I’m so happy you stayed,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly at the end. Tears started falling down from MC’s cheeks and she bit her lip, trying to calm herself down. “Maybe I wasn’t there for your worst. But I can promise I’ll be there for your best. I hope your best can be by my side.”

MC smiled and tried to dry the tears on her face with her shoulder. She winced in pain at the motion and immediately Jumin let go of her hands and offered her his handkerchief. MC accepted it and softly patted her skin.

“I didn’t want to tell you about it because of what happened to Rika,” MC confessed in a soft voice, her eyes searching her husband’s. “I know how dear she was to you. I didn’t want you to relive any bad memories.”

“Losing Rika was… worse for Jihyun than it was for me.”

“Maybe. But you told me she was your only female friend. That must have meant something,” MC reasoned, giving him his handkerchief back. Jumin set in on the table.

“I miss her,” he sighed. It was MC’s turn to take his hands in comfort. “But… It's been already six years since she left us. It still hurts, sure, but never enough to turn a blind eye at my wife’s pain. She was my friend but you’re the love of my life. There’s never going to be anything or anyone more important than you.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I… I understand why you would want to keep it private but please, never do so in fear of upsetting me. With you by my side, there isn’t anything I can’t handle,” he said, taking her hands to his lips and leaving yet another kiss on them.

“I love you,” MC whispered, cupping Jumin’s face with her right hand. She smiled when her husband leaned his face against her palm and placed a kiss there.

“I love you too,” Jumin said, his eyes fixed on hers. “And I mean every word. I will make sure our years together are the best for both of us. I’ll keep the promise I made the day we got married five years ago: from this day on, you have a safe place in my arms.”

MC smiled and nodded, remembering her husband’s wedding vows. As he kissed her palm again, she realized she had nothing to worry about. This was still her second chance for a new life.

#mystic messenger #mysme #jumin han #mysme jumin #mm jumin #mm #jumin x mc #mysme jumin x mc #allie does commissions

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nebula-jazz · 3 years

Text

Fictober prompt 28

ROTTMNT Donatello x reader

Note: Sorry I have been gone for so long! I have been wrapped up in school and I also know that this isn't my normal fandom... This is completely self indulgent because he popped on my feed on youtube and he was my first comfort character. And now I found ROTTMNT and I got hit in the face by my best friend on exactly my type... Intelligent, gremlin, cocky, and emotionally unavailable... So this is a complete callout to everyone who has the same type no matter the gender and please enjoy this drabble. And fully expect on several different fandom releases on Halloween including a oneshot for His World. But enough of my rambling! To the story!

You had been in quarantine for nearly an entire year and now your favorite month had been ruined by the hussle and the bustle of your closest aunt asking you to come to New York. Her explanation was that she was taken ill and she needed someone to look after the house and your youngest cousin April O’Neil, much to your distaste.

It was not that you hated your youngest cousin, opposite in fact you adored her, but you two never exactly saw eye to eye on most things. You two were so close up until about five or six years ago and then she changed and you felt as if for the worst. This change caused you both to drift apart.

Since she was your only friend and family member that got you; this distance caused you swirling into an unhealthy mind set. And you got caught up with the wrong people at the worst time in your life as your younger brother disappeared and your mom got distant.

Which lead you here, packing all research that you had gathered over the past few months since the shredder accident, your Bo staff, and other essential items. Taking the time to slide the delicate frames of your glasses up every few minutes. Your boss Baxter had called you a few minutes ago saying that he set you up an apartment and a plane to New York and expected you be ready for training with Rocksteady as soon as you landed. Thinking about it made you flinch.

Grabbing the metal case with your research, your duffel with clothes and toiletries, and your backpack filled with snacks your Bo and training clothes you headed down stairs. You kissed your mom on the head who was on the phone at the couch; gently leaving a large stack of cash that should last her awhile. You slipped out the front door and slid into a sleek car that Baxter had sent for you.

During the car ride you stayed silent, typing away at your computer, jotting down the breakthrew that you had made. Your specific specialty in his company was the idea of spirits and how to harness them, extract them, and even switch with them. Baxter had found out about you and what people and even yourself, at the time, believed as a silly project about four years ago. You had proven that spirits were real and that there was a possibility to do something with them.

He accelerated you through highschool and college, easily making you apart of a team and gave you everything that you needed for your research. You honestly didn’t care what he would do with it as soon as you had perfected everything in your now extensive project. All you cared about was getting your mom and brother back and he promised to keep the investigation open if you handed all research over to him as soon as you were done.

You barely slept on the plane. Fear creeping up your spine and turned your veins icey as you mulled over what was waiting for you when you landed. The training with Rocksteady was not normal. As he was a huge hog and the training was to get you faster, but it would inevitably end with a concussion and a broken bone as it normally would. Then Baxter would inject you with some green liquid that, yes would accelerate the healing process and you would no longer have any broken bones, but it would feel like your entire body was on fire and your back feeling like it was being ripped to shreds.

You eventually drifted into a fitful sleep. You felt like you had barely closed your eyes before you were woken up by the gentle but cold hand of Baxter. You were in a car now just outside of headquarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh MAh Gawd! Y/N! What happened to you?!” You winced at the worried yell that came from April. You had just gotten released from the lab and your head was pounding from the lack of food and water.

“Just a little scuffle just outside the office. Don’t worry about it.” You croaked out and offered a, what you hoped to be, a reassuring smile. You tried to swallow against the sandpapery walls of your throat.

You felt her soft but calloused hands cup your face as she looked at you. You winced as she prodded at the dark bruises on your jaw and forehead. She lead you to the kitchen where she started to clean the bruises and cuts up.

After several cups of water and an entire pizza, which you had devoured, she was now questioning you.

“So you are working for Baxter?” she asked, you gave her a quizzical look as you swallowed another bite of the second pizza that she had ordered. You had heard the slight tremor of fear in her voice and now it set you on edge.

“Yeah..” You answered slowly and pulled out your laptop. “He is funding my research. Take a look.”

You pushed the computer over and let her skim through the many pages of work as you dumbed down what she was reading.

“So... what you are saying is that you could put someone in a comatose state and do whatever you wanted to them but at the same time you can still talk to them in a spiritual state?” she summarized. With a soft smile you nodded, your eyes heavy from the long two days you had.

“However there are some side effects. With the trials that I ran at home it is extremely difficult to put them back in and more often than not their mind can completely erase one or multiple people from their memory. They will always remember the time they were, what I call, Ghost. There are still kinks in it but i'm pretty sure in this state there is a possibility to redirect this targeted amnesia to get rid of trauma.” You said excitedly.

She gave you a terrified look and excused herself and ran out the front door into the dim light of the dawn. You felt like you had been punched in the gut. Tears formed in your eyes and you fought down the urge to sob and throw up your food. You slammed the computer closed and stormed into the guest bedroom. You had honestly thought that she was going to be proud of you. She seemed genuinely excited about your research. But it was April, you shouldn’t have expected anything less from her.

A few weeks drifted by lazily and October was slipping through your fingertips. April was avoiding you, especially after you caught her in the act of trying to steal your laptop. So today, as a way to get away from the dreariness of the apartment and the fearful glances of April you were in the lab. You were in a loose hoodie and had a stack of pizza boxes next to you along with a large jug of water on your other side. You had just gotten done with another training session and were now working on a new test. it had gotten dark out and Rocksteady had volunteered for the new test.

You scraped your hand roughly through your hair in frustration as the program refused to start for the third time. You huffed in frustration, and looked up in alarm as the security alarms started to go off. You heard an explosion from behind you. Reaching down and grabbing your Bo you didn’t notice the jug being knocked over causing the computer to go haywire. You panicked as you tried to shut down the computer and the large machine pointed at whatever caused the explosion.

However you were too late to stop it from going off once you were able to press the emergency shut off just in time to prevent it from happening again. You heard a shout and roars from Rocksteady. you tried to reach for your more enhanced staff but were swiftly knocked out. All you saw as the world started to darken was green and a ghostly purple figure.

~~~~~~~~

That was a couple of days ago. You were now with 6 foot tall turtle ninjas. They had explained, with the help of April, what Baxter was going to do with your research. The person that you had shot was their brother Donatello. The genus out of the group who was allowing you to use his lab as you tried desperately to keep his body stable and fix his state with what little tools you had.

Your own paranoia had shot through the roof as any fast movement caused you to flinch very heavily. You and Donnie had found out that Baxter was injecting you with mutagen after a nightmare filled night caused wings to sprout from your back.

You stayed away from the other three turtles and only finding solace with Donatello. You both could ramble on and on about different projects you both were working on and the other would listen intently.

You hadn’t noticed how comfortable or how hard you had fallen until you reached the end stages of completing the ray that would make him right.

Neither of you two had noticed that you had started to flirt with each other. But everyone else knew and were eagerly waiting for him to return to normal. They were excited to see him finally kiss you and actually take you out on that date that he had been teasing you for a month with. April was happy to see you smiling again.

You didn’t realize how much you loved him or he you until you both were going over some of your note s to make sure everything was in order.

It was the end of November, just before thanksgiving. Donnie was excitedly telling you that he had been working on a surprise for you with Shelldon. That he wanted to give it you in person. And that he was excited to finally eat something instead of just watching everyone else eat. He was also rambling on how he was totally going to spar with you.

“i'm excited to finally get an infamous hug from you Don!” You chuckled barely paying attention to the notes and more on him. He laughed and he floated closer to you.

“I’m excited to give you one Angel.” he said cheekily. You glared lightly at him and the nickname that he gave you after your wings came to be.

You however stopped in your tracks as you read the small but major detail that you had mentioned to April all those weeks ago. The air ran from your lungs as a soft. “Oh.” escaped your lips.

“What?” he asked worried. He turned to the computer that had your notes on it and read through it and his face dropped. Tears welled in your eyes and the amount of hurt that ran through you was like that day that April ran.

And something inside of you knew, even as Donnie tried to think of anyone, anyone at all that he could possible forget, you knew it was going to be you. You stared at him tears running down your face and it was then you realized how hard you had fallen. And how much you will lose.

Two days before Thanksgiving was the day that was planned to fix him. You were in a room alone with his Ghost. You couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Here,” he said softly, and gestured for Shelldon to bring a small box forward. “This is for you... don’t open it until my eyes do.. ok?” He said leaning down and trying to catch your eye. You looked up at him, willing the tears back and smiled brightly.

“Will do Don! I will see you for that hug ok?” he smiles back softly and nods. He hovers his hand over your cheek, you lean into it until you feel the cool radiating off of him and you closed your eyes.

That unspoken ‘i love you’ rang through you head as you heard the machine wurr to life. You only stare at him as he floats by his sleeping body and you pray, you hope, and you plead to whatever god is listening. To allow you to have him, to allow him to remember you. As you slowly nod your head and you hear April press the button.

~~~~~~~

You try to stifle the sobs in your throat as you hear him and his brothers enjoy their thanksgiving meal that April and you had prepared for them. He didn’t recognize you as you sobbed in happiness when you saw his eyes open. He thought of you as a threat.

You carefully pulled out the small box as Shelldon floated beside you. You looked at him and he bobbed his head in acknowledgement. Slowly opening it you tried to steady your shaking hands. Inside was a locket, a bit larger than one you would find in a jewelry store. You carefully opened the locket and you saw a picture that you had taken with ghost Donnie and the music box version of your both favorite techno song. Engraved on the other half was the french translation of I love you. A loud sob ripped its way from your throat as you clutched it to your chest.

Donnie was leaning against the wall closest to where you had ran off too. He was watching his brothers laugh and eat with their father and April. He had heard sniffling from the tunnel and quietly escaped the celebration to see where it had came from. He was surprised to see you covering your mouth and Shelldon with you. He was going to call to his creation until you had looked at Shelldon and pulled out a velvet box.

He waited a moment, watching you open it and something inside. He had to nod his head to the song that played. He did not expect the loud sob or the wail that came out of you next. He heard his brothers stop laughing and heard a soft.

“They opened it...”

“Yeah...”

“Poor Y/N... I can’t imagine.”

“Why can’t we tell him my sons?’

“Because he wouldn’t believe us.”

“Yeah! And he already distrusts Y/N... and they asked us not too.”

“A broken heart is something that can kill my children. Especially with a love that deep.”

Donnie didn’t hear anymore from his family. And confusion seeped into him. What happened while he was out?

#rottmnt #donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello x reader #donatello x reader #april o'neil #x reader #tmnt

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adiwriting · 4 years

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@litwitlady requested more Isobel, so here you go.

As always, prompts for this verse are open. Drop them in my inbox or message me. (gif by @darlingnotso <3 )

PSA: I’ve been struggling all week with how to continue writing Malex given my current emotions about the TB situation. And I realized that not creating anymore isn’t going to help anyone. What WILL help is putting money towards relief for Native Americans. So from this point forward, every time I post a fic, I am going to be donating $$ to the Navajo Nation COVID-19 Relief Fund and if you are willing and able, I invite you to do the same.

Week 14:

Michael is laying in bed with Alex, both of them just starting to wake up after a late night. Alex had performed at open mic night and then Maria had offered up a round of shots. One round of shots quickly became several and after an Uber home, they’d continued drinking over a very competitive game of strip poker, that Alex had lost spectacularly at. So when the puppies start barking incessantly from the other room, Michael can only groan.

A moment later, the doorbell rings.

“No,” he grumbles and Alex whines. Neither of them make a move to leave the bed when the doorbell rings again.

Michael looks over at Alex expectantly, and Alex’s only response is to wave at his leg, helplessly.

Michael snorts. “Interesting how you are so ready to pull the disability card when it comes to things like this, but when you’ve been on your feet for hours and I’m offering you a chair, it’s all, ‘I can do anything anyone else can do, twice. Three times on Saturday.”

Alex continues to smile at him until Michael rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. The moment he vacates his spot, Bell jumps into bed and cuddles up next to Alex.

“Traitor,” Michael tells her, with no real malice behind it. He’s glad to see that she’s getting more comfortable with them both every week that she’s here.

He slips into last night's jeans, zipping them up but ignoring the button. Whoever is at the door can deal with it. He’s not planning on being in his clothes for long.

“Bring me a coffee on your way back,” Alex tells him with the most adorable smile that he doesn’t even flip him off playfully like he normally would at such a request. Instead he kneels on the bed and leans over Bell to give him a kiss.

The doorbell rings a third time and the puppies go crazy.

“Alright, I hear you,” he says, standing back up and heading out the door.

He rubs his eyes and he makes his way through the house. He peeks into the kitchen. The moment the puppies see him, they start jumping over each other, trying to hop the baby gate to get out, barking to get his attention.

“Give me a minute,” he tells them as he reaches the door.

The doorbell rings again and Michael curses as he opens it, annoyed to see Isobel on the other side.

“You couldn’t just use your powers to unlock the door yourself?” he grumbles, confused at the grocery bags in her hand. He’s 100% sure he didn’t agree to her coming over today.

“Your neighbor’s watching and being super creepy. I got nervous,” she says.

Michael looks over her shoulder and rolls his eyes when he realizes who she is talking about.

“Asshole,” he explains before raising his hand with a fake smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Register!” Through his teeth, he adds, for Isobel’s enjoyment, “not a single one of her flowers are gonna bloom this year. She reported us to the HOA last week.”

“Why?” Isobel asks, perfect mix of annoyed and confused. “Your guys house could be the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.”

Mrs. Register glares at him before heading back into her house, at which point he flips her off.

“She claims our fence is too tall,” he says, stepping out of the way so she can come inside.

“Was it?” she asks, heading for the kitchen. The dogs go crazy when they enter. Isobel greets them all, pulling treats out of her pocket for them. Determined as ever to buy their affections.

“No,” he says offended. “You think I would install a fence that wasn’t the proper height? I told her I’d cut it down if she wanted to see all the queer sex we have in the backyard. She’s a homophobic bitch who’s pissed off that I moved in.”

“So you moved in!” she asks, squealing in delight so loudly that he rolls his eyes.

“No,” he answers quickly to cover up his slip. He’s certainly been calling Alex’s place home for weeks now, but he doesn’t live here. Not yet. Not until Alex brings it up. It was his space first and Michael doesn’t want to intrude or push too hard or too fast. “You know what I mean,” he says, hoping she’ll drop it.

Thankfully she does. She starts unpacking her bags and he leans against the counter to watch. Trying to figure out what it is that she thinks she’s doing. He’s well past the days where he needed Isobel to stock his fridge for him.

“So you did your little weed-o-magic curse on her?” she asks.

“Trust me, the woman deserves far worse, but it’s all Alex will let me do,” he complains, taking the eggs from her and putting them in the fridge.

“Well luckily, my orgasms don’t depend on being in Alex’s good graces.” Michael makes a face. He doesn’t want to hear about his sister’s orgasms. “I’ll let the air out of her tires on the way out.”

He smiles at that. After some of the hateful things the lady has said to Alex and him, it’s what she deserves. “You’re my favorite sibling,” he says.

“I know.” She smiles at him, patting his cheek lovingly.

He hears the creak of the bedroom door open down the hall and sighs. If Alex is up, his hopes of crawling back into bed are slowly fading.

“Are you going to explain why you’re waking us up on a Sunday?” he asks as Alex appears at the baby gate, puppies yelping to get out. Alex opens the gate and moves to the back door to let the dogs outside.

“Everyone else is gonna be here in an hour. I figured I’d help you get the house ready,” she says.

“Ready for what exactly?” Alex asks, returning to the kitchen. He leans against the counter and Michael shuffles over so that he can lean against him.

“We’re having family brunch here,” she says, like it’s no big deal.

“What?” he asks, as if he misheard her. He heard her just fine, but he doesn’t accept. He did not agree to this.

“Our Sunday family brunch,” she says, like that somehow constitutes an explanation.

He looks over at Alex who mutters, “I better go find pants.”

“Oh I don’t know Captain Manes, I think you look delicious,” she says batting her eyelashes in a way that Michael knows is teasing but he still steps in front of Alex to shield him from her view.

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend and get your own,” Michael tells her. Alex’s hands find their way around his waist and Micheal leans into the touch.

“You’re no fun,” she says, turning back to put the rest of the groceries away.

“Iz, explain,” Michael tells her.

“We’re having brunch.” She smiles at him without an ounce of remorse even though Michael knows that she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Alex snorts.

“Okay, now explain it like we are 5,” Michael says, fighting back an amused smile. He is not going to be happy about this, no matter how hilariously persistent she is. She’s a brat and he isn’t going to encourage her. She’s ruining his Sunday.

“You said that, under no circumstances, were you leaving this house today,” she tells him, crossing her arms, daring him to challenge her on her interpretation of his words.

He shakes his head as Alex whispers, “I told you to not to leave her a loophole to climb through.”

Michael looks over his shoulder at Alex, who is fighting back a smile, clearly having already settled on amused instead of annoyed.

“I hate you,” he says, rubbing his face in defeat.

“I love you, too,” she says with a laugh. “Now button up your pants and go find a shirt that isn’t covered in last night’s sexual activities.

“It happened one time,” Alex grumbles into his ear and Michael laughs.

“You’re doing all of the cooking and the cleanup,” Michael tells her.

Isobel shrugs. “Done.”

“We’re going to go get ready,” Michael says, taking Alex’s hand and walking out of the kitchen.

On the way out, Alex turns to her and says, “We aren’t making a habit of this.”

Isobel raises her hand in a salute and says, “Whatever you say, Captain.”

The challenge in both Alex and Isobel’s eyes has Michael groaning. Michael lets the puppies back in and then heads back to the bedroom with Alex.

“You shouldn’t goad her,” Michael complains. “If you give her a challenge, she won’t back down. She doesn’t know how to lose.”

“Babe, I’ve been to actual war. I think I can handle your sister,” he says.

Michael shakes his head. No matter what Alex may have seen in Iraq, he’s never really had to combat Isobel in full on event planning mode.

“I’ll be sure to say nice things at your funeral,” Michael jokes.

Bell whimpers at them as they start pulling clothes out of the closet.

“Sorry girl,” Michael tells her. “We won’t be spending the day with you.”

Bell turns her head to look at Alex, expression hopeful, if that’s even possible for a dog.

Alex shakes his head. Bell puts her head back on the pillow and shimmies until the blanket is covering all of her.

“She’s got the right idea,” Michael says with a laugh, trading out his old jeans for a clean pair.

“It’s not so bad.” Alex sits on the bed to get his prosthetic on.

“Isobel’s brunches from hell aren’t so bad?” Michael says, eyes going wide in comedic shock. “Did Alex Manes just admit that he likes a party?”

“It’s not a party, it’s a family brunch,” he argues. “It’s kind of nice. You know?”

Michael does know. It’s the kind of thing neither of them had growing up.

“I still get to be mad about the lack of morning sex though, right?”

Alex laughs. “Always.”

Tagged: @callieramics, @redstalkingdeath @alexmaanes

(wanna be tagged? hit me up)

#malex fic #roswell nm #roswell new mexico #fic: sunday mornings #michael guerin #alex manes #Isobel Evans #domestic bliss #doggy daddies #minor homophobic character mentioned #isobel being isobel

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

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S.T. REWRITE - S2:E8; Chapter Eight, The Mind Flayer - [Pt. 4]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

An unlikely hero steps forward when a deadly development puts the Hawkins Lab on lockdown, trapping Will and several others inside.

||3rd Person POV||

Scattered amongst the Byers house, the group of survivors mill about, processing the newest development as a whole. The party occupies the dining table, aside from Y/n who has positioned herself on the floor by the end of the couch where her best friend and crush lay unconscious. She sits with her legs folded beneath her, and her body leaning against the arm of the couch, happy to be sitting down and letting her legs and feet properly rest for the first time all day. It didn't help her exhaustion much either that she was still processing the information that Hopper had given them on the drive over.

Her last conversation with Will runs over in her mind, and despite the taste of pain and rejection it leaves on her tongue, a strong pull in her gut tells her to be patient. It isn't really him. And more than anything, she knows she can't leave him again. Something deep inside her told her to be nearby.

Jonathan is beside her, kneeling at Will's side with one hand on his brother's arm and the other kindly stroking the hair away from Will's paled and clammy face. Nancy stands just to the side, a comforting hand on his shoulder and a pained look on her face. She can't help but feel a deep sympathetic ache in her heart, not only for the poor young boy caught in the middle of such a tremendous disaster but the visible toll it puts on his loved ones.

"Hey," Jonathan croaks to his unconscious brother. "Hey there, it's me. I'm sorry, bud. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I should have been here."

Y/n's watery e/c eyes move to Jonathan and she feels a large spike through her heart at his words. While she does not entirely understand where the two teenagers were during the past few days, she doesn't need to know for her to feel the weight of his words on her heart. She knows all too well the feeling, the overwhelming guilt, and regret that she hadn't stayed with him.

She should have known, or at the very least she should have come back. And had she never left, would she ever have had her trip with El? Once again she has to correct herself on her friend's name, Jane is what she went by now. Either way, the question brought too many unwanted scenarios flooding her mind, so she casts away the thoughts, focusing on the moment. Instead, Y/n's attention drifts to the Chief's agitated voice as he stomps anxiously back and forth, gripping the telephone.

"Sam Owens. Dr. Sam Owens,"

There's another beat of silence apart from the muffled and garbled voice on the other end.

"I don't know how many people are there," Hopper snaps. "I don't know how many people are left alive!"

A strained sigh leaves Steve's lungs and he folds his arms over his chest, continuing his pacing in the kitchen.

"I am the police!" The man barks back into the phone. "Chief Jim Hopper!"

Y/n's head lifts sluggishly off the arm of the couch, and she watches glumly as he tries to contact help. Though deep down she knows they are alone. He scoffs, shuffling back to the wall where the phone was mounted.

"Yes, the number that I gave you, yes... 6767... I will be here,"

Hopper slams the phone back onto the hook, and the shrill 'ding' of the phone fades out in the air. Dustin meets the man's eye, thinking the same thing as his sister.

"They didn't believe you, did they?"

"We'll see."

"'We'll see'?" Mike retorts. "We can't just sit here while those things are loose!"

"We stay here, and we wait for help," Hopper growled, his voice low. Hopper does not give Mike another chance to speak and he stalks off down the hall. Upon arrival, he had taken a headcount, and it didn't take long for him to realize they were now one head short. His instincts correctly lead him to the end of the hall, and he stops at the only closed door. Her door.

He knocks softly, and unsurprisingly, he receives no answer. Tentatively, he opens it, and it parts with a defining creak. His shoulders slump sadly at the sight of her, she sits on the end of her bed, draped in a knitted blanket and is staring numbly at the floor.

With a heavy heart, he lumbers across the room and takes a seat on the floor in front of her. He grunts softly as he settles in against the wooden dresser that presses into his spine. But he does not move, nor does he say a single word. He knows that there is nothing he can say to her that will fix anything, cause he knows, Hawkins lost a good man today.

His heart breaks for her as a weak and tired sob shakes her body. All he can do for her is be there, and as he does so he too can feel the tremendous loss Bob had left with them.

It was a loss that touched everyone that night. Once Hopper had ended the phone call and disappeared down the hall, not a single person spoke. The entire house was bathed in a heavy silence that weighed down their hearts and dimmed all hope. Not so much the loss of a good man, but the crushing reality of the situation they all now face. No matter the terrors that Will and the others had faced the previous year, as horrible as they were, were dwarfed in comparison to the grim truth.

No one was safe now.

Mike tore his eyes away from the table he sat at, his mind playing back the short amount of time he had spent with Bob. His eyes were pulled along the walls as they traced the puzzle of tunnels the man had helped them solve just hours ago. His eyes took him across the room to one of many locations they had mapped out, the Eno River that ran just past Y/n by the couch. His gaze halted when he saw her, she was now at Will's side, still slumped over with her weight against the couch and her eyes numbly grazing over Will, making sure he was okay.

He tried his hardest to brush away the ache in his chest as he saw the way she looked at Will. Not out of jealously for her or her affection, but it reminded him all too well of the night he last saw El. Just before she vanished with the Demogorgan, when he stayed by her side, hiding her away from the danger for as long as he could. The look on Y/n's face, the worry her eyes held, and her loyalty to the one she cared so deeply for was not something foreign to Mike.

It was an expression he wore several times in the week El had been apart of his life. And it was the overall fear and dedication he felt towards her when the bad men almost got her. How ill she had become, the turmoil and strain that she had been subjected to her entire life, and then some just to save him. The longing he felt just for her to be okay. And it was this longing he saw between Y/n and Will, and now more than ever he wished El was with him. She would understand.

Finally, Mike looks away, unable to dwell on the sight much longer. That's when he spots the forgotten pile of puzzles Bob had brought for Will. He feels another painful prick of sadness at the sight; the remains of one of countless good gestures.

He rises to his feet and trudges towards the pile of puzzles, limply picking up the blue plastic Soma cube. A sullen look crosses his face as he stares at it, thinking back to the conversation from the previous day.

"Did you guys know that Bob was the original founder of Hawkins AV?"

Lucas picks up his head, as does the rest of the founding Party. "Really?"

"He petitioned the school to start it and everything. Then he had a fund-raiser for equipment." He looked to Dustin, in particular. "Mr. Clarke learned everything from him. Pretty awesome, right?"

Choruses of agreement rippled through the party, and Mike returned to the table with the puzzle in hand.

"We can't let him die in vain."

Y/n's gaze breaks away from Mike and her friends, returning one last time to Will's sleeping form. She rises to stand on her knees, keeping one ear on the conversation as she hesitates to leave.

"Well, what do you want to do, Mike?" Dustin asks pointedly. "The Chief's right on this."

Y/n's hand falls on Will's hand out of reflex, signaling to him with a single squeeze that she had to leave, but she'd be nearby. He does not react immediately in his unconscious state, but his hand under hers begins to twitch, trying to pull away. She frowns at this, a strong sense of déjà vu washing over her though this time she does not jump back. Instead, she pulls her hand away, and rises to her feet, a spark of interest in her eyes as pieces begin to fall into place.

"We can't stop those Demodogs on our own." Dustin finishes.

"Demodogs?" Max asked, less than impressed.

Dustin looks around at his friends expectantly, disappointed in their lack of enthusiasm for the nickname. A look that was not lost even on his own sister that had joined the table, standing next to Mike.

"Demogorgan, dogs," he explained with both hands, pushing them together so his palms met. "Demodogs. It's like a compound. A play on words-"

"Okay," Max conceded.

"I mean, when it was just Dart, totally," He gestured to Y/n briefly. "But there's an army now. We don't stand a chance, not even with Y/n."

The group, including Steve, nods in agreement, aside from Mike whose brow molded into a confused frown. "Wait, say that again?"

Y/n was once again reminded of the secret she was forced to harbor, and winces involuntarily knowing she has to avoid telling him. Quickly, her mind jumps to Darts escape only days ago.

"Remember what happened when Dart got loose? What I accidentally did?" She asks, breaking her silence since her arrival.

His mind flashes to that day, a flicker of confusion contorts his face before it settles on a look of intrigue. "You mean, that weird thing you did with your hands?"

A dry laugh leaves her throat and she nods. "Yeah, you could say that. Point is, I've... gotten some practice at it."

"Yeah, man," Lucas cuts in, fighting back an impressed smile. "You should have seen it, she fought off a couple of those things,"

"Demodogs," Dustin mumbled, earning an annoyed glare from his friend. "Whatever man, it doesn't matter. What matters is how we defeat an entire army of... Demodogs."

"His army," Mike mumbles, something clicking in his mind.

"Huh?" Y/n asks.

"What do you mean?" Steve asks, pushing himself off the fridge he was previously leaning on.

Mike meets the older boys' eye, excitement growing in his demeanor as it all began to fall into place.

"His army," Mike repeats, raising several brows. "Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army, too."

Without a word, he turns and marches down the hall towards Will's room; the last place he saw the drawing. The rest curiously follow, and Mike thrusts the drawing into Dustin's hands, the others circle him to catch a glimpse. An icy chill runs down Y/n's spine when she recognizes the drawing from her last visit.

"The shadow monster," Dustin murmurs.

Mike nods. "It got Will that day on the field. The doctor said it was like a virus, and it infected him."

Max nods along, her brows knitted together in thought. "And so this virus, it's what's connecting him to the tunnels?"

"To the tunnels, to the monsters, to the Upside Down, to everything."

"'Kay, woah, woah, woah," Steve urges, taking the paper from Dustin to examine it. "Slow down, slow down,"

"Okay, so, the shadow monster's inside Will," Mike explains. "And if the vines feel something like pain, then so does Will."

"And so does Dart," Lucas adds.

"Yeah, it's like what Mr. Clarke taught us. The hive mind."

"Hive mind?" Steve asks.

"It's some sort of collective conscious," Y/n answers.

Dustin nods eagerly, finishing her thought. "Basically, it's this super-organism."

"And this is the thing that controls everything," Mike says, pointing to the monster in Will's drawing. "It's the brain."

Dustin becomes entranced at the creature, his eyes stretching wide as he recalls something. "Like the Mind Flayer,"

Lucas snaps his fingers suddenly, his eyes widening as large as Dustins and they share a knowing fearful look. A grave look befalls the original members of the party, recognizing the evil creature they had fought on so few campaigns. It was damn hard to fight, and near impossible to defeat with no casualties. It was their greatest challenge.

Steve and Max wear a similar frown, speaking simultaneously, completely lost. "What?"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Will's D&D handbook is thrown into the center of the kitchen table, creating a loud 'thwack' as the hardcover meets the surface. In the center of the pages is an illustration of the cloaked figure with an angled head. It had large beady eyes and where the mouth should be, were several long tentacles, not unlike Will's drawing.

"The Mind Flayer,"

Dustin looks around the table, addressing the group. Everyone was now gathered together in the kitchen, aside from Joyce.

"The hell is that?" Hopper asked tiredly.

"It's a monster from an unknown dimension. It's so ancient that it doesn't even know it's true home. Okay, it enslaves races from other dimensions by taking over their brain with its highly developed psionic powers."

The Chief lets out a heavy sigh.

"Oh my god," he grumbles, gesturing to the open book on the table. "This isn't real, this is a kids game."

"N-No, it-it's a manual," Dustin defends. "And it's not pretend. And unless you know something we don't, this is the best metaphor."

"Analogy," Lucas corrects.

"Analogy?" Dustin fires back. "That's what you're worried about right now?"

"Hypocrite," Y/n mumbles.

"-Okay, fine! It's an analogy for understanding whatever the hell this thing is." Dustin continues, unware of his sister's criticism.

Nancy shakes her head from beside Dustin, dismissing the argument and she leans down to examine the book.

"Okay, okay, so this Mind Flamer thing--"

"-Flayer. Mind Flayer." Dustin corrects irritably.

Nancy wears a similar expression and fights an eye roll as she moves on.

"-What does it want?"

"To conquer us, basically. It believes it's the master race."

"Oh, uh," Steve motions for the lost word on his tongue as he makes a connection. "Like, uh, like the Germans!"

Steve receives a room full of vexed expressions. To his right, Dustin looks at him blind-sighted.

"Uh, the Nazis?"

Embarrassed, Steve nods. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, uh, the Nazis."

"Uh, if the Nazis were from another dimension, totally."

Unbeknownst to the rest of the circle, Hopper turns away in disbelief and overwhelmed with great annoyance. He sighs, beginning to rub his eyes, completely exasperated as Dustin continues.

"Uh, it views other races, like us, as inferior to itself."

"It wants to spread and take over other dimensions," Mike adds.

Y/n looks around the table, specifically at those unfamiliar with the beast. "And it won't stop until it gets exactly what it wants, it's relentless."

Lucas nods. "We are talking about the destruction of our world as we know it."

"That's great," Steve sighs, turning away to pace as he continues mumbling to himself. "that's great, that's really great. Jesus!"

Nancy leans forward once more to examine the page, before picking up the manual. "Okay, so, if this thing is like, a brain that's controlling everything, then if we kill it-"

"We kill everything it controls." Mike finishes.

"We win," Dustin nods.

"Theoretically," Lucas reminds them.

Hopper steps forward, taking the book from Nancy, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Great, so how do you kill this thing? Shoot it with fireballs or something?"

Dustin suppresses a laugh and shakes his head. "No. No, no fire-- No fireballs. Uh, you summon an undead army, uh-"

Dustin's excited demeanor falters when he sees the Chief's agitated gaze, and instead stutters through.

"because- uh, because the zombies... you know, uh, don't have brains, an-and the Mind Flayer, it uh, it... likes brains."

Hopper has already closed the book, and Nancy only dawns a perplexed look. Trying to ease the Chief's temper, he shakes his head and shrugs it off.

"It's just a game," Dustin shrugs, meekly.

THUD

Hopper threw the book back down on the table in his anger, turning away.

"The hell are we doing here?" He grumbles to himself.

"I thought we were waiting for your military backup?" He calls after him.

"We are!"

"Even if they come, how are they gonna stop this?" Mike points out. "You can't just shoot this with guns."

"You don't know that! We don't know anything!"

"We know it's already killed everything in that lab-!"

"And we know the monsters are gonna molt again!" Lucas defends.

"And we know that it's only a matter of time before the tunnels spread pass the edge town." Dustin proclaims.

Finally, Y/n jumps in, feeling a swell of confidence. "And we also know that Will is the only host, which means we have to find a way to get the Mind Flayer out of him without killing him. Guns definitely won't accomplish that."

"They're right," a soft broken voice cuts in from the hallway.

Everyone turns to find Joyce, her voice is strained and her eyes are puffy from crying.

"We have to kill it... I want to kill it."

Hopper steps toward her, concerned.

"Me too," Hopper agrees, his voice immediately softer. "Me too, Joyce, okay? But how do we do that? We don't exactly know what we're dealing with here.

"No, we don't," Y/n agrees, a hint of hope in her voice. "But he does."

Everyone watches as Y/n returns to the edge of the living room, her gaze fixed on the small boy on the couch. Her e/c eyes grow soft momentarily at what she sees. She knows the Mind Flayer has almost completely taken over, but deep in sleep, all that's left is Will. Her best friend, the boy who always treated her with such kindness. The boy who had invited her in, the boy who had won her a duck at the arcade just cause she admired it in passing. The boy who never wanted to hurt a soul, and would do anything for the ones he cared for.

"If anyone knows how to destroy this thing, it's him." She looks over her shoulder at Hopper briefly. "We also know that Will has a connection to it. He sees what it sees, and he knows what it knows. He'll know how to defeat him."

"I thought we couldn't trust him anymore?" Max asks. "That he's a spy for the Mind Flayer?"

Y/n shakes her head thoughtfully.

"Not necessarily," she mumbles, growing more excited as a plan begins to form. "Not if we find a way to confuse the Mind Flayer. He won't be able to spy-"

The same thought crosses Mike's mind and he brightens happily, meeting Y/n's eye. "-if he doesn't know where he is!"

Y/n smiles excitedly and nods.

"Exactly."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Please do not stop fighting for Black Lives! Here is a list of links that I encourage you to explore. As always, links will be in the comments which can be accessed if you are on a computer, OR if you are on mobile, should work so long as you are logged in through the website, not the app. Thank you!

Looking for resources such as books, tv, movies etc to help educate yourself but have limited/none access to obtaining them? Thanks to @ thechekhov on tumblr for providing such links, there are plenty of other ways to educate ourselves.

1. Netflix released 13th and is now available on YouTube for free!

[link] 2. YouTube also houses plenty of other educational videos. For instance, a 20 minute video on the racial wealth gap

[link] 3. They also recommend googling specifically free anti-racism resources. Podcasts can be one of many such resources. Here is just one such article with a multitude of such resources

[link] HOW TO PROPERLY PROTECT PROTESTORS: I'll still post the link to the video just incase you might need a visual but essentially, it is not enough to blur faces before posting. According to the video, the police do have the tech to unblur and get past this. Instead, download any app that allows you to paste text, specifically emojis, over the picture. Snapchat is a good one. Place the large black square emoji [⬛] over protestors faces AND THEN SCREENSHOT SO IT IS ALL ONE LAYER. Saving as is is not enough as it is still counted as layers. If you post anything from protests make SURE to do this since police are tracking people by photographs and videos.

[link]

Granted, I do not know how credible this is but it is SO worth it to be safe than sorry. I love you guys, and please stay safe 💕💕💕

+++

Tag List: @dickkwad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely-blog @missmulti @youpi-chan @peeperparkour @ba-responds @bibliophilesquared @blogforhoes @witch-of-all-things-soft @shawkneecaps @whothefuckstolemykeds @mirdall @fishswimbetterunderwater @daughter-of-the-stars11 @stranger-things4 @heavenlycat567 @nightbu-g @grapesauze

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fletchphoenix · 4 years

Text

Bittersweet Aftertastes

Hey gamers - its me with chapter 5 of the Varigo Coffee Shop AU. Yet again, thank you for all the support I’ve received on this - now, on with the chapter!

TW - Strong Language

Word Count - 3858

------------------------------------------------

Consoling the boy in front of him was...not an easy task to say the least, endless streams of tears leaving his eyes which broke Hugo’s heart each time one rolled down his now-red face, flushed from crying. He just wanted to scoop Varian up and take him away from all of this - to be alone with him where they didn’t have to worry about anything else. Obviously that wasn’t an option, but that didn’t stop him from silently pleading to the universe for it to become one.

Hugo threaded his fingers through the smaller boy’s hair, letting them sit on the floor of his hallway in each other’s embrace and kissing his forehead as he soothed him. He whispered sweet nothings to him to provide the boy with some sense of comfort as the storm inside him brewed. Sobs died down into pathetic little whimpers, akin to a wounded animal or a kicked puppy, and tears stopped making little puddles in his shirt.

“Feeling better?” Hugo enquired, leaning back slightly to allow himself to see the pained boy’s face. Blotched cheeks met him, eyes swollen from his extensive crying and his bottom lip quivering as he nodded, moving closer to Hugo again as they stood and walked down the hall towards the living room. Carefully, Hugo sat Varian down on the fern green couch before kissing his forehead yet again and moving back. “I’ll be right back, okay?” Hugo muttered, waiting for Varian’s nod of approval before he turned on his heel and exited the room.

In only a few strides, he arrived in the kitchen again, immediately striding over to a moss-green cabinet beside his stove, crouching and opening it. Taking out two cups, a sapphire one and an, of course, jade one, before setting them aside and starting the coffee machine. Searching the various other cabinets and cupboards around the cramped room rewarded him with some vanilla syrup (some that he TOTALLY didn’t buy just in case Varian came over, no way) before sauntering back over to the discarded cups. He distracted himself by setting the cups under the machine and letting them fill, sitting down on the counter and scrolling through his phone in silence. Looking up, his eyes glossed over the boy in the living room, who sat staring at the floor with a troubled expression on his face.

Hugo pushed down the feelings of guilt building in his stomach as he turned back to the coffee machine, sliding off the counter and adding the syrup along with one teaspoon of brown sugar into the sapphire mug. ‘What happened in the car?’ he pondered as he stirred the dark liquid in the cup, pouring in the milk deep in thought. What did Varian’s brother have against him? At least, he thought it was his brother, the brunette man bore no physical resemblance to Varian at all and looked far too young to be the father, let alone the father of a nineteen year old. Nevertheless, it didn’t explain his...for lack of a better word, explosive reaction to the pair. Hugo thought back, but no, he couldn’t remember a point in time where he’d potentially robbed the guy - he’d remember a face as unique as that. Shit, he thought as he stopped stirring, drops of coffee dribbling down his hand. “VERY smart, Hugo..” he groaned as he grabbed some tissue to clean his hand with, picking up the two cups and strolling to the kitchen.

“Hey V, I’ve got your drink.” he said softly, placing it on the table in front of the boy and taking a seat beside him. The boy only gave a soft smile in response, picking up the cup and taking a sip. He hummed in satisfaction, taking the time to shuffle closer to the blonde and cuddle against him, muttering a barely audible ‘thank you’ as Hugo’s arm snaked around his shoulders to pull him closer to him. He looked so helpless. He didn’t deserve to feel that way whatsoever. Hugo felt his heart ache. “You wanna talk about it now? It’s fine if not, I just…thought it might help you I guess?”

He cursed to himself mentally. Why was he so bad at comforting people? Why was he so awkward? Why couldn’t he just...be normal and not stutter and stammer through each sentence when he was around the other boy, who had now set his cup aside and cuddled against him further before clearing his throat. “Don’t feel pressured to, Varian. I was just-”

“No, Hugo. I’m ready to talk. You deserve to know everything.” he uttered, cutting Hugo off. His eyes, filled with guilt, had a sadness behind them while he sat with his shoulder slumped. Defeated was the only word that came to mind as Varian let out a sigh, proceeding with his explanation.

“He said that you’re a criminal and that you’ll never change. I don’t believe that thought. At all. You see, Eugene used to be like that - a criminal who went by the alias Flynn Rider. He was a petty thief - pickpocketing and all that jazz. Until he decided to steal from the mayor. Cue Rapunzel. She convinced her dad not to hurt him, and she promised she could help him get on the right side of the tracks. And he did! He turned his life around - he even joined the Coronan police force with Lance and helped improve the rehabilitation of criminals in jails in positive ways! She helped him become better, but it just frustrated me about what he said because...” he let out a frustrated groan, slumping back on the couch and tugged his hair.

“He’s not the only one with a dark past.” Varian added, clear as day. Confusion washed over Hugo’s face as he looked at Varian’s darkened, deathly serious expression. What else was he hiding? Of course he didn’t want to push him too far, but now...his interest had peaked and his curiosity got the better of him as he waited for the rest of the explanation.

“When I was fourteen, I hurt my dad really badly. So badly, in fact, that he went into a coma. By that point, my mother had left and I had no one to turn to. So I ran, in the middle of a snowstorm mind you, to the mayor’s house. I begged and begged for help, for someone to listen to me, or to give me some money to be able to afford a good hospital for my dad to recover in! But no one did. I felt tossed aside, so I did what any kid my age would do. I turned to crime to try and raise money for my dad’s hospital bills. I was desperate. And that’s when I met Andrew.” Another lengthy pause.

“I’d sell drugs for his gang, the Saporians, and they’d give me a cut of the money so that when dad finally did wake up, we’d be just fine financially. Then they wanted me to rob a cottage. I really really didn’t want to, but...the thought of seeing my dad again made me. But I got caught by Rapunzel, the mayor’s daughter. If she wanted to, she could’ve just called the cops on me and gotten me arrested. But she didn’t.”

“She told me all about the night I begged her for help and that she desperately wanted to, but there were citizens severely in danger because of the snowstorm, and she had to help them before she could help me. From there, she forgave me. She forgave me for trying to rob her and all my other crimes. I helped her to take down the Saporian gang - as it turns out, they were planning to attack the city..and she helped fund my father’s hospital funds. Hell, she even let me stay with her while I was waiting for him to get better. And he did. I got my dad back and everything went back to normal.”

“My point is...Eugene’s being a hypocrite. He knows me and him did some bad stuff - but we changed. And I know you can.I just hope you don’t..think differently of me” He commented, the expression on his face solemn as he looked at Hugo. Hugo sat, lost for words, as he stared at the boy in front of him. Wow. That was...a lot of emotional baggage that was just unpacked. Not that it was a problem - in fact, Varian talking about his feelings was FAR better than him keeping them in but..wow.

“Varian.” he began, taking the younger boy’s hands in his own. “I don’t care who you were before, I care who you are now. So what if you were a criminal? So was I. I grew up on the streets after my parents abandoned me at birth. It was hard, but I had to do it to survive. Then Donella took me in and showed me a different way to make money - using my engineering skills to take commissions and make machines for people and sell them.” He paused for a second, realising he was rambling. “What i mean to say is...I love you, Varian. Regardless of who you were before. I love you.” Shakily, he stopped and their eyes locked, anxiety building in his stomach as Varian’s eyes studied his face in silence. “I’m sorry if I’m moving too fast with this-fuck,I should go-”

His words were cut off as the younger boy lunged forward, wrapping his arms round the blonde’s neck and knocking him back onto the sofa. Their lips met in an admittedly sloppy kiss, neither of them really caring as Hugo’s hand drifted to rest on Varian’s waist. They settled into the kiss, heads tilting and eyes remaining shut as their lips moved against each other in perfect harmony, with the only sound they could hear being each other’s heartbeats as their chests pressed against each other and the occasional breathy moan escaping from either boy’s mouth.

Varian was the one to break the kiss, sitting in Hugo’s lap with a wide grin plastered on his face as he stared down at the older male with the utmost affection in his eyes. “I love you too, Hugo. I love you so much-god, it feels so good to finally say that. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kept repeating, giving time for Hugo to prop himself up on his elbows and lean in for another kiss - this one being far superior to the amateur one prior. It was slow, sweet and gave Hugo plenty of time to savour the taste of vanilla that lingered on Varian’s lips.

Hugo, eventually managing to pry Varian off his lap with very little struggling from the other, picked the teen up in his arms and trailed fleeting kisses down his neck and across his collarbone as they stumbled to his room, the soft moans Varian let out not helping Hugo’s ability to focus in the slightest. Despite all odds, they got there and Hugo immediately got to work. Laying Varian down, he hovered over him and proceeded to kiss him senseless, pulling back to observe the swollen lips and scarlet blush over his face that he’d grown so accustomed to seeing. He loved it. He loved everything about this boy - the name Varian now synonymous with perfection in his mind. Alas, he was exhausted and didn’t want to push the other too far after the absolute rollercoaster today was.

“As much as I would love to take this further, and believe me, I would, I’m exhausted and want my eight hour beauty sleep, thank you very much.” he stated as he lay down beside Varian, pulling him close by his waist and into a tight embrace.

“Yeah, you sure as hell need it.” Varian added snarkily, cackling as Hugo began to tickle him. “NO! Ah-Fuck! I’m sorry! Just stop!” he yelled between fits of laughter as he curled up into a ball against the man beside him. Hugo relented, his arm moving around the raven haired teen as he rested his head on his chest after pulling the green bed covers over them both. “Goodnight Hugo..I love you.” he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as he drifted off to sleep.

Hugo took a second to admire the boy, the same lovestruck smile creeping its way onto his face yet again. He was so stunning no matter what he did. Hugo couldn’t get enough of him - his greed proving useful for once in his life. A sigh of happiness left his lips as he placed a gentle kiss on the sleeping boy’s forehead. “I love you too, Varian. Goodnight, my dear.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Varian’s eyes opened in the morning, the first thing that registered in his brain was the unusually large amount of sunlight bleeding in through the window. As he grew accustomed to this invasive light, he realised. He wasn’t in his room. It was too green, and the lack of a particular fatass cat just proved his point further.

The second thing that registered was the sound of humming heading closer and closer to the door. The door swung open and in stepped Hugo, carrying a small tray with two plates stacked with blueberry pancakes, two cups and a bottle of syrup. His hair wasn’t tied up yet, the golden locks sitting a few inches above his shoulders and concealing that dumb undercut. (He’d claimed it was a ‘pinnacle of fashion’ that Varian wouldn’t understand considering how his outfit on that day was, in his words, ‘a fashion crime worthy of a life sentence’, however Varian begged to differ.)

“Hey beautiful. Hope you’re okay with blueberry pancakes. They’re the only breakfast food I can cook, and as a poor college student, I can’t afford a toaster, so these were the only option.” He elaborated as he placed the tray on a desk pressed against a wall. A desk with a silver cage on, housing a tiny, gold furred mouse. Hugo sauntered over with Varian’s plate and cup, handing it to him.

“Wow, your rat matches you.” he commented, a smug grin on his face as he shuffled up into a seating position to take a sip from his coffee. He set it aside on the bedside table and dug into his pancakes, moaning as he took his first bite. “Holy shit Hugo, where did you learn to cook like this? It’s perfect!”

“Darling, I was blessed with impeccable culinary skills from birth. Isn’t that right, Livi?” he glanced over at the mouse, who let out a little squeak as he sat on the bed beside Varian, placing a kiss to his temple before beginning to eat. “Her name’s Olivia. The mouse, I mean. I’ve had her for a few months, but she’s a darling.” he explained as he began to eat his pancakes, letting his boyfriend cuddle against him. Hugo bit his lip gently as his eyes caught sight of the purple bruises across Varian’s neck and collarbone, his cheeks gaining a deep red tint to them.

“Makes sense. Also, you wanna explain the weird obsession with green? I swear, the amount of green I’ve seen here..you could have your own episode of My Strange Addiction!” he laughed before his gaze met Hugo’s now-solemn expression. “Shit, Hugh I’m sorry if I upset you, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine. First off, I have an aesthetic to uphold and I’m not giving it up for anything. And..well, where I grew up..it was called Pittsford. Worst place in the world. Very economically divided. It uh..I grew up in the poor part of town, which was all just mines and vendors. All of the parks and greenery were in the higher class parts..parts we weren’t allowed in as ‘filthy, lower-class peasants’. As soon as me and Donella moved here, there was so much green everywhere...so much grass and so many trees...I couldn’t get enough! I fell in love with the color, hence why it’s everywhere. I just don’t want to not see it again.” he finished, glancing over at Varian. “Sob story, right? Sorry for bringing down the mood.”

Varian smiled sadly, reaching up to turn his boyfriend’s head in his direction. “I think it’s a cute quirk. I’ll be sure to wear more green.” He stated, defining every word before placing a soft, loving kiss to Hugo’s lips, cupping his cheek.

“Oh no you don’t! Green is my color!” Hugo declared as he leaned down, pushing his boyfriend back against the pillows and peppering kisses all over his face before proceeding to kiss his lips again. Slowly but surely, it got more intense between them, with Hugo’s hands moving to slide up Varian’s shirt and fingers danced across the skin beneath it before Varian broke the kiss. “We should-” he tried to catch his breath, panting and breathing heavily, “we should take this slower, okay?”

“Fine by me, hairstripe!” he smiled, removing his hands and standing. He gathered some clothes from his closet. “Don’t mind me, I’m going to have a shower, alright?” he asked, watching as Varian nodded.

“Hey Hugo?” Varian spoke, Hugo with one foot out the door as he turned on his heel to look at the boy in his bed. He looked adorable with bedhead. Hugo should invite him to stay the night more often, he noted. “Does uh..does this make us boyfriends?”

Hugo shrugged. “I don’t mind. Do you want us to be?” He asked, Varian immediately replying with a frantic nod of approval. With a wicked grin, Hugo strode over and lowered himself onto one knee. “Okay then, Varian Ruddiger! Would you do me the pleasure of becoming my boyfriend?” He proclaimed, taking Varian’s hands in his own.

“You’re such a dork.” The other replied, though the smile on his face spoke volumes to what he was truly thinking about the scene in front of him. “But yes, I shall become your boyfriend, Hugo Atkinson. Now go enjoy your shower! You need it!”

Hugo shoved Varian as he laughed hysterically and gathered his clothes in his arms again. He took one last look at the teen before he strolled down to the bathroom across the hall. He ran the water and leaned back against the door, resting his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculously wide smile. Wow. Varian was his boyfriend. Varian Ruddiger was his boyfriend. He couldn’t help the bubbly feeling that took over his body as he trailed his hand through his hair. He really was the luckiest guy in the world.

Varian let out a little giggle and fell back against the pillows again, stunned into silence. He really was dating the biggest nerd in the world, huh? And the best thing was..he couldn’t be happier. Everything was looking up for him - thanks to his and Eugene’s argument, him and the boy he loved were finally together.

He swung his legs over the bed to find he’d slept in the same clothes he wore yesterday, cringing slightly. No wonder he was so uncomfortable. There was no way he was borrowing Hugo’s clothes either - those things would dwarf him if he even attempted to wear them. That thought didn’t stop him, however, from sneakily taking a green hoodie from the closet, the Corona High symbol on the arm. He pulled it on and walked through the apartment.

Despite how small it was, he loved the place. It was so Hugo - every inch of it felt exactly like his boyfriend had decorated it. Huh, boyfriend. The thought made the corners of his lips twitch up in a ghost of a smile. It sounded right - like it was meant to be used to describe Hugo and only Hugo. However, one thing that shocked him was the significant lack of pictures. The only thing that came close were framed movie posters, the rest being newspaper headlines and neon green sticky notes which, upon closer inspection, had questions on various topics about engineering. He’d have to buy him some frames and take more pictures when they went out - that way Hugo would have more to hang on the walls.

His eyes passed over the shelves against the wall, filled to the brim with books on engineering, chemistry, physics and biology. He took one out and skimmed through the pages. They seemed very outdated and old - so most likely a hand-me-down. Maybe they were from that Donella woman he kept bringing up? Anyhow, he slid the book back into place on the shelf and continued his journey down the hall to the living room.

As he passed a mirror in the hallway, he caught sight of purple bruises littered around his neck and collarbones. Oh my god, Eugene was going to kill him-

Oh shit.

Eugene.

He dashed into the living room and searched frantically for his phone, finding it on the glass coffee table alongside the coffee cups they’d discarded last night in favour of more..engaging activities. He picked it up and checked the home screen. Thirteen missed calls from Eugene, ten from Rapunzel. He was in trouble next time he saw them, he thought.

“V?” Hugo’s voice called through the apartment as he entered the room, his eyebrow raised as he tied his hair back. “You alright there, dollface?” he asked, walking to his boyfriend and wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. “Are you okay?” He enquired yet again, placing a gentle kiss to the junction between Varian’s collarbone and neck.

“Hugh, we’re in trouble.” He said simply, showing Hugo the screen. The other boy’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “Shit, V.” he chewed his bottom lip in thought before slumping onto the couch. “I uh...how about you send them the address and...and we can all try and talk it out?” he reasoned.

Varian gulped and pressed ‘Call’ under Rapunzel’s contact, joining his boyfriend on the sofa and letting himself be pulled into yet another embrace by the taller male. It rang. One...two..three times before a frantic voice came through on the other end.

“Varian Ruddiger, we have been worried SICK about you!” she declared through the phone, the boy in question pulling the device away from his ear slightly and wincing. “Where are you? Are you okay? Please tell me you’re safe-”

“Rapunzel, I’m fine. I just...I need to talk to you. And Eugene. At Hugo’s apartment. I’ll send through the address just...please. I need you to hear us out. To hear me out.” he sighed and leant back against him, his head resting on the other teen’s chest who proceeded to play with his hair.

A long silence came from the other end of the phone before a sigh came through. “Okay.” she said, finally, “Send it through and we’ll be there as soon as possible. I love you, Varian.”

“I love you too, Rapunzel.” He said softly, hanging up and sending the address of Hugo’s apartment to his sister, letting out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding in. Now all that was left to do was wait, he thought as Hugo held him in his arms.

God, he hoped this went well.

#varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian x hugo #varian tangled #tangled varian #hugo tangled #tangled hugo #alchemy boyfriends #varigo coffee shop au

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

Text

My sexual re-education in the Unification Church

All that heaven allows

I learned the identity of my husband-to-be at the end of a forty-day Divine Principle workshop. Situated in upstate New York, the Unification theological seminary had the hushed libraries, dorms and chapel of a medieval monastery. As my footsteps echoed through the stark, stone hallways, I imagined hooded friars whispering beside me. On the final evening, a Korean minister announced from a pulpit the name and nationality of each student’s “eternal spouse.” Mine was Gabriel from Ecuador.

One week after the workshop, all eligible members were sent to Korea, where we would be blessed in marriage along with 30,000 other couples. Gabriel and I met for the first time in the waiting room at JFK airport. I wore a navy skirt suit, my hair in a french pleat. Gabriel wore a gray jacket, white shirt and gray tie, his wiry hair slicked back into a solid black helmet. I’m five-four; he was a significant inch shorter than me. In our photographs from that day, we stand inches away from each other, staring at opposite ends of space, our bodies pointing keenly apart, our lips stretched vaguely upward in imitations of smiles.

One of the sisters with whom I shared a room said Gabriel looked like a miniature Sylvester Stallone. Another said he was the best-looking brother of the bunch. Occasionally I see someone and immediately feel that I want to know them better. Gabriel’s face did not have that quality. I felt bemused as I regarded this person — my soul mate — who was a total stranger. If he had approached me in the street, I would have walked away.   

Two years earlier, in 1990, I had walked away from my family, my apartment in London, my friends, and the man I loved to enter the Unification Church, a.k.a. “the Moonies,” a Christian sect which originated in Korea and is led by the Rev. Sun Myung Moon, who claimed that Jesus Christ had appeared to him when he was sixteen. I had just produced a TV documentary called Soul-Searching, which was funded by the Arts Council of Great Britain. One of the men I interviewed was a Unification Church member named Jurgen.

After the documentary was finished, I crossed Jurgen’s path several times in one week. This seemed fateful. On my way home from the Cafe de Paris one night, I saw him standing on Charing Cross Road, a tall, potbellied, balding German with sensual lips and cold sores, drenched with rain at three a.m. I wondered: what would possess anyone to stand outside at all hours, in any weather, to ask people to talk about the “purpose of life”? 

We talked. Jurgen told me about the “Divine Principle,” which I later learned was Unification theology. He explained that true love could exist only in a monogamous marriage, blessed by God, and that my relationship with my lover was wrong. He promised that if I dedicated my life to God, my brother, who had recently been diagnosed with schizophrenia, would be healed.

Tired of my unfaithful lover and frustrated by my inability to help my brother, I was attracted to the extreme nature of the group. They asked me to leave my life behind, claimed they had a living messiah. I agreed to try it out for three months, knowing that once I was in, it would not be so easy to walk away.

I felt pious when I covered my body in frumpy pantsuits, shaved off my hair (against the church’s wishes), spent my days raising money for the church, praying and vowing never again to think about sex. During four years of living in church centers in London, Edinburgh and New York, I enjoyed cultivating my lack of desire, pushing out thoughts of sex the instant they surfaced, focusing on one aim: I will save my brother. I will do anything necessary to help those who are suffering.

▲ The author with Gabriel during the marriage ceremony.

Inside the church centers, men and women referred to each other as brothers and sisters, to emphasize the absence of sexuality in our relationships. We slept in different areas, sat on opposite sides of the room during meetings — the brothers always above, to the right, or in front, to signify their superior status. This subtle detail sank into the minds of the women, helping them realize they were in the “object position” and should follow the men’s lead. This viewpoint was reinforced regularly: Women were shorter because they should look up to men. Women had big hips because they were made to sit down. Women couldn’t run. In sex, women should be underneath.

I heard about the blessing of marriage but imagined I would never attain the “level of perfection” necessary to participate. One elder brother defined perfection as the state whereby everyone you meet feels loved by you. I knew that my ability to love fell short.    

During the fifteen-hour flight to Seoul, I had the window seat; Gabriel took the aisle. I had no idea what to say to him. He told me that he was raised as one of nine brothers and sisters in an Ecuadorian mountain village which still had no garbage collection and barely had running water. His elder sister had nursed him at the same time as her own son. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. I grew up with my mother and brother in the English countryside, in an eccentric, artsy broken family.

“Repeat after me,” he whispered. “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero.” I knew what it meant but attached no importance to the words. “I love you.”

I remembered Jurgen’s speech to me on the night I joined the church. “Never flirt with brothers,” he had said, fixing me with a glare. This meant no touching, no staring, no flattery, no immodest body language, no fantasizing. Now I glanced at Gabriel’s steady tar-black eyes. Had I failed to learn a new set of rules now that I was preparing for marriage? Was flirting now required? Or was I supposed to maintain chastity while he taunted me with romance?

“When I saw your picture, I thought you were too old for me,” Gabriel said. I was twenty-eight. Although he was a year older, Gabriel considered himself hot, eligible and worthy of a much younger wife. “But I liked your lips,” he continued, emboldened. “I dreamt that you were a prostitute. I saw you wearing a short dress and red lipstick and you were almost falling over. I thought, that is a sick woman.” He paused, allowing this image to linger. “Tell me about your boyfriends.”

“We’re not supposed to talk about that.”

“I had sex with a prostitute,” he said, “but I believe that makes me more pure because I didn’t have a relationship with the person. I had a girlfriend also, in Ecuador, but she went out with someone else,” he continued.

I imagined Gabriel’s girlfriend, a petite, pretty Ecuadorian girl in her late teens, with thick, glossy black hair that reached down to her thighs. I imagined them dancing together at a family party, and felt sorry for him. I wished she hadn’t broken his heart.

Confused by my distraction, Gabriel leaned over. “I am a crazy lover,” he said.

I wondered if he had learned this statement from a Spanish-English phrase book under “Dating.”

For single members of the Unification Church, the topic of sex was taboo, except to admit sins or recognize the sins of others. Abstinence until marriage was required. Since most of us were no longer virgins, we had already failed and were required to start anew. Considering the misery I’d experienced because of my lover’s infidelity, abstinence appealed to my desire for peace.

Lack of sleep, intense scheduling and daily exposure to the church’s theology kept me involved. My contact with outside family and friends was almost nonexistent, and I knew nothing of news or popular culture save what was selectively analyzed by my Central Figure, or advisor, according to the church’s theology. Within three months, the thought of moving away from the church center terrified me. I shared a room with six women, woke at five a.m. for a prayer meeting, spent the day raising money or encouraging others to study the Divine Principle, then returned to sleep around ten p.m., shortly after the evening meeting. When members’ attention slackened, extra requirements were enforced, such as fasting for days or praying for hours.

For years, I never looked at a man with desire, never touched myself. To resist the occasional attractions I felt to brothers, or fantasies I had about my ex-lover, I took daily cold showers, throwing 120 buckets of icy water over my body with the intention of subjugating my subconscious mind. This took considerable time, and was done in a symmetrical pattern of ten buckets over one shoulder, ten over the other. The frigid water slapping my skin felt like a whip across my back, so cold that it burned.

   For four days, Gabriel and I stayed at the North American camp in Seoul’s Olympic Stadium. The complex was huge, housing church members from almost 200 different countries in different buildings. Our building was a flat gray rectangle. One hundred women slept next to each other in sleeping bags on the floor of one large concrete room, our possessions crammed into small plastic bags. Although our group lived in North America, most of the women were Japanese. There were less than twenty sisters originally from Europe and America. Church leaders claimed this was because Western women were self-centered, unable to subjugate to masculine will.

In the sisters’ camp, the variety of couples was the main topic of conversation. Within the church, there was an unspoken hierarchy: Asian spouses were considered most favorable, then Caucasian, then black and Hispanic. A blonde American sister who shared my room bemoaned that she was given a Dominican husband rather than a Korean. She and I wondered whether our extreme sinfulness had placed us with our non-Asian spouses. We decided it was, instead, our dedication and ability to endure difficulties. 

Gabriel waited outside our building at 6:30 every evening, his hair freshly gelled back, his shirt tucked into belted black pants. Side by side, we would walk to the meal room. I listened to Gabriel’s plans to help his hometown, and spoke little. Occasionally, I noticed him staring at my breasts and felt liberated that I could allow this without shame, since he was my betrothed.

▲ The 1992 mass marriage – publicity and profit for Sun Myung Moon.

In our week-long stay in Korea, Gabriel and I participated in three ceremonies. In the Holy Wine Ceremony, we wore white, prayed and drank a thimbleful of grape juice from a white plastic tumbler. This symbolized new blood, heralding our entry into the True Lineage. The Blessing Ceremony joined us in matrimony, as 60,000 individuals arranged geometrically in black-suited and white-gowned rows yelled “Yeh!” Our pledge, recited in Korean, expressed our resolve to sacrifice our physical and personal desires for the sake of the greater good. I had seen photographs of these ceremonies and thought they seemed like grand, empty gestures. Being a part of the event, even knowing its spiritual significance, I felt detached, like a fragment in an abstract work of art.

Finally, in the Indemnity Ceremony, each couple bestowed a symbolic beating to their partner. After listening to a speech detailing how we were to forget our past history with, and resentment toward, the opposite sex, we lined up two by two with several hundred members of the North American camp, in one of the concrete meeting rooms. We dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts. A few members arrived wearing short shorts and leather pants.

“The more you love your partner, the harder you will hit,” our Central Figure said. “Just imagine your spouse is a big baby.”

A three-hundred-pound brother beside us turned to his petite Japanese wife. “A VERY big baby!” he laughed.

▲ The Indemnity Stick Ceremony – a few members were hospitalized with injuries (several in Japan).

When we reached the front, a Korean brother handed Gabriel a wooden baseball bat, watched while he whacked me three times on the backside, then handed the bat to me. We bent over to receive our blows, and were advised to hit our partner only on the buttocks and upper thighs. After this, my only physical contact with a man for over two years, I lay on my stomach on my sleeping bag, concentrating on the tingling sensation where wood had met flesh.

   Upon returning from Korea, we were moved to different centers to continue fundraising and witnessing until we completed three years of separation from our spouse or reached the age of thirty. For the next two years, until our Three Day Ceremony, Gabriel and I were forbidden to have any physical contact. I lived in the Brooklyn church center. Gabriel lived sometimes in the Bronx center, sometimes with his family members, who had moved to Manhattan to raise money for their family back home. He studied accounting. We saw each other occasionally at religious events. I found myself daydreaming about him sometimes; I believed that fantasizing was not quite as sinful since we were married. In my imagination, our eventual union would be explosive.

Toward the end of our separation period, I moved to a church-owned hotel to work at their video post-production facility. At around the same time, Gabriel moved to work and live in the same hotel. For the first time in four years, I slept alone. In my twelve-feet square box of a room, its window facing dozens of similar rooms, I began to question if unity of purpose existed within this organization. Before, my every moment had been monitored; now, I could be gone for days before anyone would notice.

Once, I accompanied Gabriel on a visit to his family in Ecuador, failing to anticipate the difficulty of maintaining chastity away from the church. 

“If you don’t let me kiss you, I will break this blessing,” Gabriel challenged me on a street corner in Quito. Pressing me against a faux Spanish wall in eighty-degree twilight, he pushed his tongue in my mouth, grabbed my breasts in his fists.

Shortly after the kissing incident, Gabriel lay on top of me, fully clothed. The sensation of his erection pressing between my legs was so long-forgotten and exciting that I came within moments, a short, tingling burst through my stomach. I told no one. The premature kissing and closeness would have necessitated a Repentance Ceremony, and a longer separation. When I made a partial confession to my Central Figure, he let me off with a prayer.

The love of my life, whom I left to join the church, was a seductively androgynous filmmaker. With his camera, he could enhance the beauty of a homeless person or a perfect white daisy. He could laugh hysterically at some stupid joke I made, or threaten to rip out my guts if he suspected (needlessly) that I fancied someone else.

Gabriel was a steady, methodical man who rarely laughed. He drove me frantic with the slow way he set up a computer or checked his accounts. I admired his ambition and felt secure that he would never be unfaithful — his parents were nearing their sixtieth anniversary. In my mind, I built him into an icon of virtue. Secretly, I worried that I might never love freely again.

I plunged into our marriage, dutiful, determined to succeed, convinced that I was soiled goods and fortunate to be with someone so stable and faithful. Still, I was unsure of how to approach intimacy.

It was essential that I banish all memories of past experience. I could not be overenthusiastic, because our first days together would be ceremonial. So, with my mind twisting with doubt, desire and fear, we began our married life.

Two years after our wedding, I gathered our checklist of items for the Three Day Ceremony, the consummation of our marriage: 1) Two Holy Handkerchiefs. These were to wash our bodies prior to intimacy, then to collect the fluids produced by our final union in the ceremony; they were to be kept “eternally.” 2) Holy Salt. This was sprinkled over everything used for the ceremony, to sanctify the proceedings. 3) Two Holy Gowns. These ankle-length white satin gowns were to be worn before and after each act of love during the Three Day Ceremony. 4) Two Basins. These were to fill with Holy Water in which to soak the Holy Handkerchiefs before use. 5) A picture of True Parents. Since the fall of Adam and Eve occurred out of the sight of God, this picture of Rev. and Mrs. Moon stood in for God’s eyes. 6) Two cushions to designate the places of True Parents. 7) A Shim Jung (True Heart) candle.

The first night of the ceremony, I arrived at our room in the church-owned hotel at nine. It was on the nineteenth floor, with windows facing the Empire State Building on the east and the Chrysler Building to the south. Gabriel returned from college at ten, pulled out a book on accounting and a folder, and sat at the desk to write.

“What time should we start?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “I have to finish my homework. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Still wearing my black skirt and white shirt, I lay on the tightly made bed and closed my eyes. No thoughts came, just the distant roar of traffic on Thirty-Fourth Street, the smell of sterile linen. When he finally said my name, I was startled.

“I’ve finished,” he said. “Shall we do it now?”

I pulled the pamphlet of instructions out of my bag. We showered separately, never having seen each other naked. After he emerged, I took my turn in the steamy bathroom, then put on my new underwear. Our undergarments had to be new for each day of the ceremony; black satin felt luxurious after the baggy cotton underpants I’d been slouching around in for years. I dressed in my ivory wedding gown, and over that my white holy robe. The sash of my robe was decorated with pink beads, Gabriel’s trim was green.  

“What’s next?” He sat impatiently on the side of the bed. “I have to get up early for class.”

“We’re supposed to pray.” I placed the red-and-green embroidered cushions in front of the prayer table I had set up. A picture of Rev. and Mrs. Moon glared out humorlessly, next to the white, vanilla-scented holy candle.

We bowed to the ground in front of the picture, and prayed for four minutes.

“All right, let’s do it now.” Gabriel threw off his holy robe and lay on the bed in his underpants. His body looked small and dark on the king-size bed. I removed my clothing, then his underpants.

In the first part of the ceremony, the woman had to be on top, symbolizing the restoration of Eve’s act of love with Lucifer. After two minutes of foreplay, I guided him inside me. Instantly, I felt the emotional disconnect. It was the first time I had felt a man inside me for four years, and it felt good, but there was no holy passion, no divine ecstasy. I moved on top of him, concentrated on bringing him to an orgasm, then removed myself and lay next to him.

Our ritualistic act of love was over in ten minutes. We wiped the fluids onto our Holy Handkerchiefs.

The official handbook said, “Go to sleep in peace. Sleep in pajamas and nightgown. Do not have a physical relationship outside of the content of the ceremony.” We lay on our backs next to each other, not touching, nor speaking. 

The next evening we repeated the same ritual, this time symbolizing the restoration of Eve’s fall with Adam. We hardly spoke; there was nothing to say. When Gabriel withdrew, still erect, I was confused. According to the pamphlet, penetration should happen only once on each day. Seeing Gabriel’s distress, I decided it would be acceptable to bring him to an orgasm with my mouth. His satisfaction relieved me, but I felt no emotional closeness.

The next day, our final ritualistic act of love was completed in less than ten minutes. We wiped the resulting fluids onto our Holy Handkerchiefs, which I had embroidered with a red X for him, and a red Y for me. Observing the clear, slippery fluid on the handkerchief, I held it to my nose, thought of a baby’s head on a sunny, salty beach. Not allowing our skin to touch, we lay beside each other on cold, white hotel sheets.

“So we can’t do it again for twenty-four hours?” Gabriel asked, matter-of-factly.

“I guess not.” I lay there dry, untouched. I was flooded with desire that had no possibility of fulfillment. Would Gabriel and I ever laugh together? Would we ravish each other in an elevator, or in a parking lot? Would we even hold hands and kiss on the street? I wanted to feel wholehearted attraction to, and passion for, my partner. This man knew nothing about me, nor did he care to find out. 

After the twenty-four-hour waiting period, Gabriel and I took every possible opportunity to get close to each other. Our conversations were nonexistent, yet we attempted to sate our physical loneliness in each other. We met during our lunch break, had sex propped on a bathroom sink, in bed, on the floor, sometimes several times a day. For him, sex seemed mainly a release of tension; for me, it was a welcome distraction from the tedium of work.

Six weeks after we first slept together, I felt the trembling super-reality and nausea that told me I was pregnant. Nine months later, I gave birth to a daughter. She emerged red-skinned, black-haired, screaming. I held her to me like an extension of my body for the next nine months. Soon I was pregnant again, this time with a son: soft-eyed, unblinking, trying to crawl as soon as he drew breath.

Two miscarriages later, sex with Gabriel — at first a hopeful distraction — became a fearful thing. Contraception was forbidden, but I couldn’t bring more children into the lonely relationship we had built. For six years, we moved from one apartment to another in the hotel. When we moved away from the built-in religious community and into a Manhattan apartment, the reality of our separateness became stark. When our daughter was six and our son four, Gabriel stated the truth: “You don’t love me.”

He left. I resigned myself to the life of a celibate, single mother. I stopped attending church. I freelanced for various TV shows in New York, gradually allowing myself more freedom to be irreverent, laugh, have my own opinions. I visited my brother, who some years ago was well enough to teach computer programming; today he sits in a darkened room, wearing sunglasses, drawing detailed diagrams which only he understands. For two years after the breakup of my marriage, I feared intimate relationships, still believing sex outside marriage to be sinful.

But I couldn’t help but notice the flirtations people dabbled in daily at work. I began to feel a desire to rebel against my failed attempt at purity. At a bar after work, I had one drink, kissed a coworker and realized I still had desire. From then on, I decided anything was acceptable, as long as it felt right at the time. Fuck you, God, I wanted to say. I promised my life to you, and you didn’t keep your part of the bargain. You didn’t give me love, you didn’t change the world, you didn’t even save my brother.

The random post-work kiss initiated a frenzy of meeting men on the internet, through speed-dating and in any other way possible. Frustrated by the lack of intimacy, I decided to turn it into a project: I would date fifty men and write about the results. Date number three became a painful infatuation. After three months, I decided if number three wasn’t interested, I’d get intimate with someone who was. Number twenty-five was the one, although I knew it would go no further.

The next day I abandoned my dating project, and also fell in love with a man I met on the subway. Henceforth, I happily acceded to anything he wanted, however irregular. His rough, uninhibited lovemaking unearthed the desire I buried so long ago. Day to day, I’m unsure whether he will declare me the love of his life, or say he never wants to see me again. But even the pain of the relationship is freeing — it strips away the falseness and piety I strove to affect for so long.

Last month, my ex-boyfriend whom I left to join the Unification Church, the man I hadn’t dated for fifteen years, theorized over the phone: “You’ve created a new cult centered on your lover. When will you ever learn?”

But he was wrong. This is the anti-cult. There are no rules. This is life: it grows, changes; it surprises you; it lets you down, then builds you up. As I write this, my boyfriend is breaking it off with his fiancée. I know we may not last. But is any ending really final, and does it matter? I love him; he loves me. Now, the only eternity I hope for is that which exists in the moment.

Yolande Elise Brener lived in New York with her two children. She now lives in London.

http://www.yolandebrener.com

Holy Candy: Why I Joined A Cult And Married A Stranger

Down Is The Only Way Out: An Interview With Ben Lorentzen

#Yolande Elise Brener #Sun Myung Moon #mass marriage

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xhaotixaesthetica · 4 years

Text

Cruel Ink

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator

READ THE TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains mentions and descriptions of abusive relationships, ownership of significant others, threats, violence, and death. The behaviors and relationships depicted below are abusive and unhealthy. These are not examples of healthy relationships, it’s actually the opposite. This is meant to imagine the members of Ateez in a popular anime trope and it in no way represents their real-life personalities and characters. Real-life ATEEZ are actually known for being some of the kindest, most respectful idols in the industry. It’s fiction, it’s for fun, PLEASE DON’T READ IT IF YOU KNOW YOU WON’T LIKE IT OR THIS KIND OF STUFF DISTURBS YOU!

Author’s Note: @zafira-profundis I’m really sorry about how long it took me to get to this. I hope you don’t mind that I made the reader a hybrid in this scenario, I just thought it would really fit for some reason. I don’t think it really hinders with anything else in your request. I have no clue why I keep putting yandere san and yandere hongjoong in these dystopian settings, but I think it really fits them for some reason. It was a very interesting request and I had a lot of fun writing it, just like your last one. Your prompts really make me go out of my comfort zone and spread my writing wings haha. With this one, I’m not quite sure I met the expectations I set for this imagine, but I still hope you like it. Best wishes to you, hope you enjoy the writing, and come back to request again!

Genre: angst??? Idk, this ended up having a very strange vibe to it to me, it’s not nearly as emotional as property of the pirate king

Word-Count: 1.8K+

You are in: The Amalgam Star System

The first time you met Kim Hongjoong was when your owner, San, went to his tattoo shop for a consultation.

Most owners would leave their hybrids home for such affairs, but you had long since learned that San was far from most owners.

In another world, Hongjoong probably wouldn’t have made such an intimidating figure. After all, he wasn’t that tall nor that broad. Maybe if his hair was a natural color and he wore pastels and went to college and studied like all the other kids his age and he didn’t have that predatory look in his eye and authority in his voice, you would mistake him for being normal, for someone you could be friends with.

But this wasn’t the case. Because Hongjoong’s hair was a bright cold silver and the long silver rattail braids that hung from his head would have been out of place on anyone else but somehow he seemed to make it work. He had countless piercings in his ears, one in his eyebrow, and a flash of silver whenever he spoke told you that there was most likely one in his tongue as well. He wore custom clothes that he decorated with his own drawings, beautiful but haunting and somehow, at the ripe age of twenty-one, he was already a celebrated tattoo artist in the area.

San had let you see Hongjoong’s portfolio online when he was debating having him do his tattoo. You could see why he was so widely sought after. But there seemed to be something sinister that radiated from every line he drew, something that made you hiss, the fur on your tail standing up straight in alarm.

“And who’s this little kitten?” Hongjoong says, giving you a friendly smile, something dark and murky lurking in his black eyes that made you half-hide behind San.

San smiled proudly, petting your fluffy ears and saying, “This is Y/N. They’re a ragdoll-Persian mix. Say hi, Y/n.”

You looked at Hongjoong who rose an eyebrow.

“Hello,” you mumbled before immediately diverting your gaze downward.

Hongjoong chuckled. “They’re adorable.”

San was in a good mood today, hyper and friendly, easily distracted. He was completely oblivious to the way Hongjoong kept looking at you throughout the consultation.

The way he would lick his lips, eyes raking over your frame, your ears twitching toward every little sound you heard, your large fluffy tail curled around you protectively. He was like a starving man, and you a five-course meal, the only thing that could quench his hunger after so long being empty.

“How long have you had them?” Hongjoong asked lightly at the end of the consultation. His assistant was busy booking San into Hongjoong’s schedule next week and San was busy staring at you, holding you so tight to his side that you could barely breathe, petting your ears so roughly that you could barely tolerate it.

He was like a child, the lack of empathy in their small brains preventing them from seeing how rough they were treating the pretty pet they liked to play with.

But you didn’t dare say anything to him, you’d learned to stay silent a long time ago.

“Around 2,047 days, why?”

The assistant looked at San a bit startled, but Hongjoong said nothing, just smiled and chuckled. “You two seem very close,” he said.

You didn’t think that explained at all why he seemed to be so interested in you, but you said nothing as San nuzzled his face into your ears and hair. “Closer than glue,” he chirped.

As Hongjoong watched the two of you walk out of the shop, he knew he had to have you.

He’d never been interested in a hybrid before, never really been interested in any sort of companionship, no matter the species. But something about you he had to have. He had never seen anything more beautiful, more admirable, than his client’s little kitty.

Soon to be his kitty.

“His name is Choi San, the hybrid’s name is Y/N. This is his address and phone number. That should be enough to start them on the right path if they’re as good as you say they are. Tell them to find out whatever they can in a week. I want them with me within a week after his appointment at the latest.”

Seonghwa nodded, his face cold and expressionless as it always was as he took the slip of paper Hongjoong handed him.

The silver-haired man watched his friend’s limo pull off into the purple haze of the setting sun.

His chest swelled with excitement and a sense of cruel satisfaction as he glanced at the sketch that would be adorning San’s body in the next week.

He would make sure that he’d only have you after he did the tattoo.

He wanted San to have that reminder of you for the rest of his life. Wanted him to know that it was the man he trusted with his own skin that took his precious kitty.

When Hongjoong next saw San, the normally cheery boy had a frown on his face the entire time he was getting his tattoo.

You were nowhere in sight.

Despite craving to see you again after going so long without looking at what would soon be his prized possession, Hongjoong couldn’t help but smirk when he saw San walk into the tattoo parlor by himself.

He was just making this entirely too easy for Hongjoong.

San was too distraught to notice Hongjoong slip his phone out and send a quick text before they got started.

For someone with the reputation San had, Hongjoong found the man to be absurdly trusting.

He told Hongjoong all about his terrible week, how he’d been fired from his job, how there was an investigation pending against him for several work and personal related charges, how one of his rental properties had been destroyed in a fire, how his car had broken down.

Never before in his life had things gone so wrong in such a short span of time.

And, of course, San had the money to fix these things instantly, but it was more the fact that things were going wrong in the first place that was causing him such distress.

San didn’t like things going wrong.

“All done,” Hongjoong said with a smile.

It was beautiful, a depiction of San’s precious kitten on his left bicep that almost compared to the beauty of the real thing.

“It’s great, Hongjoong, wow, you really are talented,” San beamed.

Hongjoong said nothing, just stared at San as he skipped up to the cashier to pay.

For once in the week, something seemed to be going right.

“Do you have another card, sir?” the cashier asked, frowning. “This one’s being declined for insufficient funds.”

“What?” San yelped.

He had two other black cards and the cashier tried them each three times. Declined every single time.

Furious, San just took out a wad full of cash and threw it onto the counter, ignoring the cashier’s calls for him to wait for his receipt as he stomped out of the tattoo parlor, already on the phone yelling to the bank.

The final straw came that very same night.

“You’re looking like the cat that ate the canary,” Seonghwa drawled after a mouthful of steak.

Hongjoong smirked from across the table at his friend, raising his phone and flipping it around to show him.

It was a video, some sort of CCTV footage it seemed.

You were in a shelter, beaten, bruised, half-alive.

It was a gruesome, stomach-churning sight and Seonghwa just rose a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“A break-in,” Hongjoong said simply, taking the phone back and sliding it into his pocket as he continued to eat. “On the day when he came for his tattoo. When he got home, the culprits were still there. Mysterious enemies from a shady underground life full of law-breaking.”

Hongjoong took a sip of his scotch and smirked. “So sad that he was taken into custody, leaving poor little Y/N all alone.”

Seonghwa gave a mirthless chuckle, the whole situation seeming to be quite amusing to him.

“You’re evil,” he said.

“Not evil,” Hongjoong replied as he wiped his mouth and pulled out his wallet, tossing the cash for his meal onto the table and standing. “Just determined.”

Seonghwa was still laughing as Hongjoong left the restaurant, already knowing the location of your shelter by heart.

He was in no rush.

The staff knew very well that there was only one person permitted to adopt you and they would pay dearly if the tried to stand in the way of Hongjoong and his new trophy.

Your entire body ached as you lay on the oversized dog bed that was standard for all hybrids at an orphanage.

It was cramped but better than catching pneumonia from the freezing concrete floor.

The thin blanket did nothing to stop your shivers which was unfortunate because every movement was agony.

You should be used to it.

San would go into regular fits of rage and this was not the first beating you had received.

But the beating combined with the stress of being ripped away from your home and owner and tossed into a shelter, unsure of your fate once again, was starting to weigh heavily on you now that the initial days of shock were over with.

You weren’t particularly attached to San or your home with him, it was rare for hybrids to come across owners that it was worth getting attached to at all. But at least with San you knew what to expect.

At least there you had relative stability.

“This is the nearest veterinarian,” you heard a soft, feminine voice speak, floating in and out of your head as you began to lose consciousness for the pain. No one wasted money on pain-killers for a hybrid without an owner.

“We can have them come here, or to your residence to tend to them. You could, of course, drive to the vet and have them take care of Y/N there, but with all they’ve been through recently, I wouldn’t advise it.”

Your eyes widened when you heard your name.

Sound became hard to decipher and the conversation sounded like it was occurring underwater, but you could at least make out the sound of your enclosure opening.

And you immediately know the face of the man who was crouching in front of you, about to claim you for his own.

“Hello, kitten. Miss me?”

As you looked at his pretty face, shining silver hair, and deep sinister eyes, you knew there was no hope.

The Amalgam Star System

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator

#amalgam #yandere au #yandere hongjoong #yandere san #hybrid au #hybrid reader #genetic mutation #yandere kpop #yandere #yandere seonghwa #yandere yunho #yandere yeosang #yandere mingi #yandere wooyoung #yandere jongho

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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There's No One There (Group Fic) - Marmalade

Summary: One student missing multiple classes without warning can be explained away but when more girls start disappearing, it can’t be dismissed. Jaida, Jackie, Gigi, and Crystal may not be friends but if it’s to figure out what’s going on, they’re willing to work together.

A/N: I don’t really have much of a note so here’s a fun fact instead. I actually started writing another fic with these ladies + Heidi and I was writing it and writing it thinking “I’m doing so much, the absolute most” and it’s been in the works since mm One Woman Show episode on top of me thinking about it since the season started. For this fic, I came up with the concept less than two weeks ago and posted the first chapter after like 3 days of writing it. For comparison, this fic is currently 23 pages long, the other one is just 6. Inspiration is a wild thing.

Saturday had required the utmost of stealth. Gigi didn’t need anyone to see her on the bus and ask her how she planned to spend her day, she didn’t need anyone to see her slip away from the unloading bus and made herself scarce for the next few hours. She wore a scarf over her head and sunglasses that not only helped hide her identity but looked cute, she folded the paper bag she had received several times over and stashed it deep into her backpack, slipping back onto the bus at the end of the day with no one the wiser.

Everything was going off without a hitch until she tried to return to her dorm and Crystal had spotted her and flagged her down. Crystal’s hands were tightly gripping her hair as she attempted to fill in Gigi on what she had missed but between Crystal’s crying and natural proclivity for jumbling her words, Gigi could barely make out what she was saying. Something happened to Widow, Gigi kept hearing her name, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that it was not something good.

Jackie and Jaida arrived a few minutes later, the former of whom had already heard all this when they road back to school on the bus and went to find Jaida as soon as they set foot on the ground. Out of convivence, they piled into Gigi’s dorm and shut the door before Crystal’s tears attracted unwanted attention.

“-She told me something was going on and to meet her but she never showed up! I went to her dorm and her roommate said she wasn’t there either! What if someone was blackmailing her or something?!”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence?” Jackie tried to interject some levity into the situation, she looked to Jaida for her input but Jaida’s mind was still tangled over what happened in the library.

“Child, a coincidence that happens three times, one after another?” Jaida’s tone is fast as she thought out loud. “Nicky acts weird, she goes missing. Jan starts acting strange, she goes missing. Widow clearly had something going on and the minute she decides to spill what it is, she goes missing now. Think if we go to the headmaster, he’ll give us some story about how Widow’s parents had some emergency that couldn’t wait one week for spring break or give her any time to say goodbye?”

“You… you think the he-principal made that up?” While Jaida was speaking as fast as she could, Gigi spoke very slowly, piecing her sentence together by the word.

“Yeah, Jaida, that’s a big accusation.”

“Okay, bitch, this is gonna sound a little bit crazy but when I was in the library today there was this one bitch there who was acting weird and when I say weird I mean she wasn’t paying attention to the world at all, all she could do was write in her book like her life depended on it. Then, later on, she freaks out for no reason and starts destroying some old books. Widow said she thought the school was driving people crazy, I’m starting to think she wasn’t just saying that to be dramatic, clearly she knew something we don’t.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? What’th more likely? People dropping out of school or what? What’th even your theory, that they’re being kidnapped and experimented on and- and the school’th involved?”

Jaida gave Gigi the side-eye from over her shoulder before turning to face her.

“I would have thought you’d be more suspicious; you were the first one to say something and you weren’t having it when the receptionist wasn’t telling us anything.”

“Yeah but then the principal told us what happened himthelf and I started to wonder if maybe me and Nicky just weren’t as close as I thought we were.”

“…Maybe the school doesn’t want the disappearances to get out?” Jackie had been deep in thought after Jaida suggested that the school was involved. It was a jump she didn’t want to make but more than anything Jackie wanted to make sense of what was going on. “This school’s reputation is insane, I’m pretty sure it’s almost entirely funded by investors who want to hire girls who just graduated. If a scandal broke then all the investors would pull out. If they kept the disappearances secret then they could have detectives investigate in secrecy and avoid getting front page on the news. So many the school isn’t responsible per se but the faculty is telling us whatever it takes to get us to leave everything alone.” Jackie wasn’t sure if she believed herself as she spoke but the more detail she added, the more it sounded realistic- or the more she wanted that to be the case.

“And if they are? What do we do about it?”

“If Widow knew something, maybe she had evidence or a note or something. If we can find anything substantial, we could go to the police ourselves.”

Gigi folded her arms but the looks Jackie and Jaida gave her made her huff and throw them to her sides. “Okay, fine! Crystal, what do you think?”

Crystal had remained quiet throughout most of the conversation. The other girls hadn’t even noticed when her quiet crying had become a quiet stare at the wall ahead of her. She had no visible reaction when Gigi said her name, prompting Jackie to shake her on the shoulder which thankfully managed to snap her to attention.

“Que? Huh, what are we talking about?”

“You weren’t listening?”

“I must of zoned out!” Crystal squeaked meekly. “I’m sorry!”

“We’re going to search Widow’s dorm to find evidence to take to the police.” Jaida explained with her hands on her hips. “We ought to put you on note duty to keep you on track.”

The phrase “Hi there, our friend is missing and we want to check your shared dorm on the suspicion that there might be a clue” was something that not even Jaida had the gumption to say to Widow’s roommate. The four of them had resolved to waiting until the next day, forgoing the bus ride into town as they waited for the roommate to head out herself.

For as much as the hall monitors were sticklers about not letting girls dawdle in the dorm hall during class hours, they were far laxer out borrowing keys than they should have been. All it took Jaida was walking into their office and saying with reasonable confidence that she accidentally left her key in the pocket of the blazer she just put in the wash. The monitor just nodded and let her borrow a spare, never going to verify that the key she took was actually for her dorm. In fact when Jaida rejoined the other girls with wide eyes of disbelief they almost mistook it for her getting caught until she reveal the key in her palm.

The hall was empty and the doors didn’t have any names on them, so of the rare passerby that might see them it was far easier to think nothing of it, but that didn’t stop the girls from feeling some sense of secrecy and looking over their shoulders. All they did was put the spare key into the door and still they felt like they were in a spy movie. As soon as the door opened the four rushed in and closed the door behind them.

“God, why is Widow’s room so cold?” Gigi rubbed her hands along her arms, her blazer suddenly feeling not nearly warm enough.

“It feels fine?” Jackie glanced at Jaida and Crystal who both seemed to agree with Gigi.

“I’m sorry we can’t all be Canadian like you, Jackie. Let’s just get this over with.”

Nothing about Widow’s side of the dorm seemed like an obvious clue. No blood or conspiracy theory boards. Crystal walked over to her desk, inspecting the stack of large books that sat on top of it, immediately realizing that they weren’t there the last time she had hung out with Widow in her dorm.

“Are these yearbooks?” The other three grouped up to peer over her shoulder and as soon as she caught a glace, Jaida reached out to take on into her hands.

“I was looking for these yesterday! But, like, what’s Widow doing with so many of them?” Wordlessly, they each took a book to feather through the pages. They were of different years, some decades apart, with several pages missing a picture that they were certain had been there before.

Gigi was the first to snap her book closed and toss it down on the desk. “Three girlth gone, a freak out in the library, and now a lack of pictureth. Figured it all out yet?”

“But did Widow take the pictures or did someone else? And what’s the correlation between the missing pictures?” Jackie put her book down and looked around, her eyes falling down on the backpack resting by the post of the bed, all zipped up and poised to be easily grabbed on the way out. Jackie dropped down to her knees and began to unzip the bag.

“Wait- you’re going through Widow’s stuff now?” Crystal cried.

Jackie paused and looked over her shoulder at her. “…We already broke into her dorm, why are you drawing the line in the sand now?” Crystal stammered before broadly gesturing to Jackie to continue. Among the more normal items in the bag there was a folder, that in itself was not strange as it looked like it was pulled from a normal binder, however its contents were far mor eyebrow raising.

Jackie over turned it and out spilled a pile of yellowed old photos, a brief inspection confirming that they were the photos missing from the albums. The majority of the pictures were of athletic events or class photos taken outside. The activities were different, some of the pictures were of student’s others were of staff, none of them were even from the same year, and a few of them were of students in classrooms.

They had elected to grab the photos and run before they could even chance being caught by the roommate. After putting everything, save for the photos, back where they found them, they had retreated to Jaida’s dorm to pour over them in the search for a pattern. The effort was more frustrating than anything and it took a bit of strong arming to get Jackie to put down the photos long enough to go get lunch. After an hour long break where they mutually agreed not to mention anything about the photos or mysteries for their own sanity, they returned to the dorm fresh faced.

“Where even is this field?” Gigi asked nonchalantly when they returned, Crystal took the photo from her and held it close to her face.

“Um, just out by some shed I think?”

“What shed? The only sports shed it connected to the gym, we don’t have a free standing one.”

“The pictures are pretty old,” Jaida added. “I think the campus downsized their field a couple of decades ago because no one was using them-” Jaida cut herself off with wide eyes. “Wait. Wait- okay, wait.” She bolted up and grabbed the photos out of the other girls’ hands, sifting through them before laying them one by one. “Shed, shed, shed. All of the ones outside have this same old shed in it.” She picked up one of the photos that was taken in a classroom, a girl holding up a banner she painted for some dance that was one of the more modern photos, Jaida wasn’t interested in that- her eyes were on the large window behind the girl. “Yes bitch! Okay, look at that!” She slammed the photo down and pointed to a white spot among the discolored green trees. “There’s the shed again.”

“…And we’re crazy about an old sports shed because?”

“Because- last I heard from Jan, she was going to go for a walk outside. The headmaster said she was caught trying to leave campus, whether that’s true or not, like, maybe this was where Jan was trying to go. If the campus downsized then the shed would be out in the woods by now.”

“The grounds are so different now, we have no idea how deep into the woods it is or even what direction it is.”

“No but!- if we find what classroom this photo was taken from then, child, we got our direction.”

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #gigi goode #jaida essence hall #crystal methyd #high school au #group fic #mystery #there's no one there #marmalade #concrit welcome #submission #s12

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rotten-games · 4 years

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shit I just found an old story that I was trying to turn into a cog and now I want to continue doing it but also I have so many other things im doing at the same time lmao so rip me i guess anyway here’s some of it in case you’re interested.

The rain buckets down on the tin roof of the apartment as you sit staring out at the town from your window. Clouds bracket the town from at its outskirts on all sides, extending far out across the sea and churning the waves that crash against the rocky walls just barely protecting the town from its wrath. Even fewer people than usual are out today, though that probably isn’t helped by the severe lack of streetlamps that might otherwise light the darkened streets. Glancing down at your watch, you see the time has ticked over from seven at night to eight. Garland is late. You might have minded on any other day but instead you’re just worried. The usually prompt man may be naturally sardonic and dismissive of your paranoia, but he’s never purposefully exacerbated it. Not like this. You force your eyes to look back out the window, but only find them turning to your watch again, and then the digital clock beside your bed. It’s five past eight now, an hour and exactly five minutes past your scheduled meeting time. You hope he’s okay, the old bastard. Forcing yourself to glance back down at the manila folder in your hands, you open it up with a long, drawn out sigh. As always, it contains all your files; personal and otherwise, and you can’t go anywhere without it. You hardly get any internet out here, and it tends to be more secure to keep your information on hand rather than on your laptop which you leave tucked under your bed every day when you leave. Maybe Garland is right about the whole paranoia thing, come to think about it. No, your mind is going back to Garland again and your nails are tapping against your knee. Focusing in on the words on the page you see it’s your personal file containing everything there is to know about you. Readjusting the page, you’ve read it far too many times by this stage to feel the need to read it again. Sometimes it changes and when it does, you’ll read it again, but for now your name is…

---

As for your job in question? Well, officially, the file says you’re a journalist, but any hack journalist who runs their own blog doesn’t have a multitude of fake passports in their luggage and a loaded pistol stowed away in the inside pocket of their coat. You’re who they call in when things are getting weird and no one’s answering questions. You’re here in the dreary seaside town of Fisher’s End (A bit on the nose, you know, but what can you do?) investigating a series of disappearances that had the local police force stumped and the townsfolk scared shitless. In theory, not your particular brand of weird; people go missing all the time and small-town precincts don’t get a lot of funding. Of course, that all changed when both townsfolk and local police started acting odd, though to describe exactly how would probably take a lot longer than the time you have. To make a long story short, you’ve been stuck here for well over a year and you’re no closer to solving this. Any leads you might have had have run dry and no one’s talking. Honestly, you’re not sure anymore whether the people living in Fisher’s End are afraid or supportive of the disappearances, though that’s not your place to judge. You’ve seen weirder cases. You have to glance back down at the photo taped to the upper right corner of the page; a picture of you and yet it isn’t. One could argue that with the number of times you’ve changed personalities, clothing, haircuts, that you no longer have a face, but you really try not to think about it. It’s easier that way. ---

Again, you find yourself looking at your watch. A good ten minutes have passed now, and Garland hasn’t even called. Maybe you should go looking for him. No, that wouldn’t help. So far, you’ve only been treated with suspicion and you won’t get any answers either way. Still, you stand, running your hands over your coat before shoving them into the pockets. You pace. And you pace. And you pace. Until there’s a hasty knock at your door that makes you jump. You realise belatedly it was less of a knock and more of a loud thump like something falling against the door. Staring down the double-bolted piece of timber, you find a frown, even deeper than it was before this very moment. Almost as if anticipating it as you turn away there’s another thump, though perhaps this could be more accurately described as a knock this time. Either way, you suppose it doesn’t matter, because you already know you’re going to open it. Standing before you, completely drenched and dripping water all over the floor, is an older man, neither tall nor short, with a greying beard and a head of messy salt and pepper hair. He looks after himself well, but you certainly wouldn’t know that with the way he wears that godawful trench coat all the time that hangs off his frame as if he has never seen the gym in his life. Behind a pair of twinkling green eyes is concern, however, but all you can do is frown at the man. Jim Garland. He seems to have lost his equally horrendous hat, thank god, the one that reminds you of those old detective films, but his sunglasses are still perched comfortably on his head, as if he’d at all need them in Fisher’s End. You’re not quite sure how to respond, not to the dried blood on his collar, because you’re inclined to feel both anger and concern in equal measure for the man. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Hey, Ace,” Garland gives you that crooked smirk of his and as he straightens up to readjust his coat you can’t help but feel a flush of irritation run through you. There’s a cut on his cheek, but it’s scabbed over and you can’t tell if it’s new or not. “Sorry I’m late. I got… waylaid.”

With a low growl you grab hold of the stupid lapels of his stupid coat and get up in Garland’s face. He hasn’t seemed to have expected this, and all the sound he makes is a grunt in discomfort. He’s a bastard, plain and simple for making you worry so, and as you pull him in with a hiss, you get no resistance. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” You don’t give him even a second to respond as you slam the door behind him, “An hour!” The two of you grapple for a moment, and though Garland usually has the upper hand with his wit, his mind appears to be elsewhere as you force him back up against the door. Something’s wrong, you quickly realise, but by the time you have he’s already let out a pained hiss. “Shit, I can’t do this right now,” Garland bites at the inside of his mouth, sagging against the door and scrunching his eyes shut for a moment. It’s only now you’ve realised that he’s clutching at his side underneath the coat. “Just fuckin’ help me out, will you?” Finally glancing down, you realise that there’s blood blooming in his white button-down, and all those pent up emotions you had running through you when you saw him come leaking out. You’ll stuff them back inside yourself for now, that’s all you can do. As you sling one of Garland’s arms over your shoulder and help him to the chair, he begins to explain before you have the chance to ask. “Listen… I… I—shit—I lost the evidence. Some guys cornered me earlier, pulled a knife and—FUCK!” The man’s usually not this bad, and you have blood all over your hands now as you rip open his shirt.

#i think it was meant to be kind of lovecraftian but this is all i really have sans the choices id coded in #honestly i love garland already lmao

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