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yeojaa · 3 years

Text

stay gold.

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. blond!jk being a good boy? idk. that’s literally it. wc. 3k. beta reader. @hobi-gif, ofc. author note. this was meant to be pwp but i cannot shut up so here is this mess that is neither pwp nor something with a legit plotline. 🤠 blame blondie.

Having a content creator boyfriend is fun. Usually.

You get to go on cool trips, he gives you all of the random shit his sponsors send him, and you get to preen like a cat that ate the canary when his DMs blow up with hundreds of messages.

Sure, there are the downsides. All his stupid pranks - the ones that piss you off when you’re trying to do your makeup, the ones that have him dunking ice cubes on you while you’re in the middle of a shower - and his perpetual recording, camera glued to his hand and if not that, then his phone. There are the rude comments - the oh, that’s his girlfriend? He could do better was a common one - and the long hours he spends editing, holed away in his office; the beyond inappropriate packages he gets in the mail, thongs and other things that he immediately tosses away with a reassuring tilt of his pretty head.

You don’t mind it though. He enjoys it, thrives on it, and you’re there to support him.

But you’d never expected this.

This Adonis standing in the doorway, freshly styled strands pushed back from his forehead, glimmering gold falling across his eyes. He looks, for lack of a better word, unreal.

(You’re not often speechless. Can’t be, when you’re dating someone like Jeon Jungkook and everything he does either makes you laugh or infuriates you. Boring isn’t a part of his vocabulary and you’ve learnt to keep up with his antics over the years.)

(Still, this comes close, stealing all the air from your lungs.)

“Hey, baby.” It’s his usual greeting, offered without hesitation as he crosses the threshold and tosses his keys into the catch-all by the door. Kicks off his chunky sneakers and peels his sweater over his head, effectively tousling the tawny threads.

He’s so handsome it’s outright disgusting, leaving you gaping up at him from your post on the couch. Gives you very little to work with as he shimmies down the hall, grabs an apple off the kitchen island, and then not-so-gracefully plops himself down beside you.

You still haven’t found your words by the time he takes two gigantic bites, flesh crunching between his teeth, big doe eyes sparkling like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film.

“D’you like it?”

Did you? Well, obviously.

You’ve never imagined Jungkook blond. He’d gone through a phase in college, colours of the rainbow rotating through the ends of his hair. Brown, red, orange, blue. You’d loved each hue but this was something else entirely. (Different even from the two months he’d spent as full-on ginger, committing far too hard to his Haikyuu!! Halloween costume.)

This version of him is steeped in some twisted fantasy, a dream crafted by years of bedtime stories and happily ever afters. It screams Prince Charming and has you reaching for him before you know what you’re doing, threading fingers through the surprisingly soft silk that curls over his ears and looks so lovely next to the silver of his piercings.

You mean to be gentle, to comb delicately through flax but fuck. He looks so good you want to devour him. (You can only imagine your face - a lovesick puppy brought home from the pound.)

There’s still apple in his mouth, juice tracking down his chin because you’re really making it quite hard for him to chew when you’ve got him like this, two hands on either side of his face, holding him in place. Inspecting him like a piece of meat as he peers at you, deceptively innocent and amused. “That’s a yes?”

An answer comes in the form of a kiss, of limbs rearranging and settling directly into his lap. Knees wide, chest to chest, you can’t even be bothered by the sickly sticky feel of his skin, the way his hands are too cold to be creeping up beneath the hem of your - his - shirt.

(Where had he put the apple? You know it’s not finished, two bites in and left to roll all over the rug. You’ll give him shit for that later, when you’re not so distracted.)

“You look like Barbie,” you mumble against his lips, into the warmth of his mouth. You ignore the way he laughs, swallowing it down with a pass of your tongue and too much spit swapped, a string of saliva caught between you when you come up for air.

Somehow, you’re still lightheaded, all your thoughts framed into the familiar silhouette of the boy beneath you. Cherry red lips - your fault, from all your biting and teasing and the balm you’d applied earlier - and blond hair. Who would’ve known that was your weakness?

(Deep down, you know Jungkook as a whole is the issue. That it’s your stupid handsome boyfriend with his lopsided smile and bunny teeth, dimples and that scar on his cheek. This is just a new layer to be explored, another reason you love him added to the Jungkook Best Boy jar that sits front and centre in your mind’s eye.)

“Don’t say that,” he groans, equal parts reproach and affection, palms resting where they belong, nestled over your spine. Long fingers toy with the soft cotton of your thong, brushing over the seamless material with small repetitive motions.

You realise then his hands aren’t the only things heating up.

The two of you have an understanding, an abiding awareness of the boundaries of your relationship and the roles you take on. Best friend, occasional sucker for the sake of a TikTok, lover.

He knows how much you hate your dirty laundry being aired - does his very best to never post anything that might be misconstrued, ensures he only ever portrays you in a good light because the internet could be cruel. (Even if he argued with you in the quiet of your home, he’d keep you safe outside of the four walls.)

You know how he needs his quiet time but that sometimes, a night out was unavoidable, a part of his life he - and by extension you - couldn’t always say no to. (Even if you were achy and tired by midnight, glaring down at your phone as he made his rounds, exchanged contact details and rambled about shit that meant nothing.)

He’s learnt to make your eggs the way you love them: soft in the centre, covered with too much pepper. He never washes your clothes in hot water (not after The Great Sweater debacle) and he always makes sure not to use your special memory foam pillow.

You kiss him goodnight without fail and play with his hair until he falls asleep; you bury your face against his chest when he’s had a long day, signing your love with the felt-tip of your lips. You bring him fresh cut fruit when he’s been working for more than three hours and wash his hair when he’s stressed.

Knowing each other was easy; loving each other was like breathing.

This, though, is different. New. Special.

He’s never been like this before, glazed over in the eyes, patience wearing thin. Sat so well, picture perfect beneath you and cornsilk crown lighting his entire expression up like a halo, he’s ethereal.

“Baby,” he whines, grits through his teeth as you roll your hips that much slower, the glide impossibly smooth thanks to the lychee watermelon lube he’d received to his PO box. (One of the items you hadn’t thrown away from that package, together with a handful of other toys that’d come in handy over the months.)

You’re shameless, soothing a hand across his cheek, thumb slipping past his lips. (You ignore the noise of indignation, meet it with a twinkling laugh of your own.) It sweeps over his tongue, pressing down in tandem with the second sound - one that echoes out of his chest, a growl that pitches into a whine and makes your ears buzz. “Hi, baby.”

“Stop teasing.” It’s practically begging - or as close to it as Jungkook will get. It draws a smile and another pass of your thumb, gliding across his gums to slot against the interior of his cheek. You’ve got him fishhooked, immobile, even as he glares up at you.

(He’s so, so handsome. Looks utterly out of it even as he tries to harden his gaze, coerce you into doing what he wants with that stare that makes your heart lurch pathetically in your chest.)

“You don’t like this?”

You know he does - that he loves being pampered. That he’ll rarely ask, instead pouting at you from wherever he sits until you turn to putty under his gaze and smother him in all the love you have to offer.

“I do. I just—” The rest of his words don’t come, stolen by a gasp when you grind against him, swollen head of his cock bumping against your clit. He’s making a mess of you both, back arching, hips rising, hands fisted into the sheets even as he chases friction like a dog does its tail. The warmth between your legs is so close he looks as if he’ll lose his mind, rutting against your cunt like just the right angle might get him what he wants. “Fuck, baby.”

“I’m trying,” you retort, mouthful of teasing that only earns you another glare, some poor semblance of one as he bites into the webbing of your hand, bucks up impatiently.

“Please.” He tries again, a different tactic this time, all sugar-spun sweetness. Strawberry shortcake rather than sour cherry pie, so eager to get what he wants that he’s not above pulling out all the stops. A hand risen from the sheets, digits decorated in ink swimming over your skin, sinking into the meat of your thigh.

(He doesn’t push though. Knows you’ll pull the moment he does.)

“Please?” An echo chamber, endlessly teasing, and a ducked head, lips finding the sweat-slick column of his throat. Just one drag of your tongue has him crumbling further, careful composure slipping with each swivel of your hips, the edge of your teeth. There’s nothing but desperation radiating off him, demand choked back when you drift lower, tracing over his chest, teasing him in the ways you know best.

It’s all so unnecessary, drawing out what he wants until he’s a goner, three seconds from combusting beneath you. You’d give him anything he ever asked for - offer it all up on a silver plate, a meal fit for a king. This is just fun, different and exciting.

You relent with a minor adjustment, settling yourself against him, face dropped into the crook of his neck. “Slowly.”

He repeats after you, uncertain and hopeful; his hand falls further, warmth descending to pull you close, hold you still. As much as he needs this - needs you - he loves the slow burn just as much. The stutter of his pulse gives him away, erratic beneath your touch. He’s a thousand miles above the clouds, floating on cloud nine; every second passed is another tingle of his toes, a tightening of the coil in his stomach.

When he aligns himself against your core, pre-cum pearling over his tip, he does exactly as you’ve asked. Sinks into you at such a leisurely pace you wonder if you might be the one who splinters apart, shatters into a million tiny pieces at the way he splits you open.

“Good?” Jungkook asks so nicely it’s impossible for you to say no, to deny him this tiny bit of reassurance.

(Maybe it’s the way he looks, crowned in glittering gold, painted by Fra Angelico. Or maybe it’s how his smile spills like sunshine, a peachy pink horizon dragging over the apples of his cheeks, burnt red like their namesake.)

(Whatever it is, it’s everything you want, packed perfectly and pouting.)

“Good boy,” you purr, breath hitching once he’s sheathed to the hilt, seated so deeply within that you swear you can feel him in your throat.

You’ve never felt so full before - close to overflow, taunted and taxed by ridges and veins, each flex of his hips that drives him somehow further within your fluttering walls. So full you might burst, that you can’t possibly hold yourself together when he begins to move, fucking you tenderly, as if he can feel the weight of the moment.

There’s something happening. A shift in the air, in the axis of your planet that revolves around him. It falls on its side, spins wildly out of control, and you’re emotional. It’s not just his hair - that gilded crown he wears, heavy heavy heavy like aureate coin - or the impossible dark of his eyes - blown out, an entire galaxy devoured by the supermassive black hole that is his pupils. It’s the things you can’t see, the pieces beneath skin, soft and jammy, the tongue-tart sweetness.

(The thing with Jungkook is that he doesn’t let go, refuses to fully submit, always so careful to regulate his voice when things get to be too much. He’ll blink back his tears, stifle a sob, even as his breath disappears from nothing but a delicate brush of his chest.)

You take his vulnerability as a treasure, hold it close and craft a chest for its home, promise to keep it safe even while you're the one who poses the most danger. When it’s your teeth and tongue that eviscerates the soft of his flesh, makes him keen and gasp, heart pounding like hooves, beat imprinted against, under, into your palms.

When he begs you to move - manages the request in a broken articulation that makes you giggle - you give, swivel your hips in a figure eight, an infinity of motion that never ends.

You take all he has to offer and sing your praise into the wet of his mouth. Lick over teeth and gums and trade spit for love; know there’s only more where that came from, that the fountain begs to overflow as he finally - finally - breaks that much more, gripping your hips gentle as can be. Hands soothe up and down, an unspoken plea in how he thumbs your hip bones, taps hopefully over the small of your lower back.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to hear him.

It’s more than a kiss forming against your skin. It’s a confession of adoration, sealed by the frame of his mouth, cemented by the sting of his teeth. It’s I love you without saying it, plastering the pecks along your spine, placing them safely in all the spaces you’ve created for him.

It’s also an apology, because he’s just torn your castle to pieces, shattered your entire fantasy into smithereens.

He hadn’t expected you to react the way you had, rolling off him as if he hadn’t just been chasing the sweet bliss of release, splitting your walls and making you wail above him. It has him pouting, utilising the one thing that melts you down like candle wax.

“Baby,” he whines, reaching for you, needy and horny and so hard he imagines all the blood has rushed from his head straight to his cock. Everything spins when he moves with you, scrambles across the California king to paw at your hip.

He’d been so good for you - wasn’t that enough?

“Don’t,” you grumble, searing his insides with just one look. (It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.)

“But—” A plea punctuated by groping hands, eager as always, smoothing over the swell of your ass, flesh squeezing between knuckles. He’d normally let this go - fuck into his closed fist in the shower after he’s done something to cut playtime short - but he can’t help it now. He’s been on the edge for so long, lit up in neon that demands to be seen, heard, felt.

“Don’t dye it again.”

Oh?

That has him reeling, laughing, such a stupid grin across his face. It devours everything else, spearing dimples into place as he pulls you against him. You can feel his smile forming against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue as he sucks a welt into the sensitive spot of your shoulder.

“You wanna play with Barbie, baby?” It’s such a stupid line - utterly sophomoric and riddled with teasing and yet the delivery has you shivering in his arms, equally childish huff splitting your lips.

Jungkook doesn’t listen to you often - not about silly things like this - but he figures he can, just this once.

“I won’t,” he chirps, sneaking another kiss, stamping another smooch. It’s working exactly as he wants, stilling your protesting limbs as he cages you to him, slips his hand back where he most wants to be. The glide is perfect, a mixture of arousal and fruity lubricant; he slips a finger in without resistance, grinding his palm against your clit.

“R-really?” Of course you don’t believe him. He messes with you too often, plays too many pranks. (He deserves that.)

His promise comes too easy, driven by how nice you feel, how pretty you sound when he presses another digit in along the first. The scissor of his fingers is languid, exploring for the spots that make you breathless as he hums a noise of affirmation against your neck; he fucks you open as if he has to, as if you aren’t already dripping, eagerly sucking him in. “Really.”

“Put it in then, Ken doll.”

He laughs - and then he does. In bed, with your knee hooked over his, pace slow and sure and sinful. In the shower, bent over with his hands bruising your hips. In the kitchen for a late night snack, another apple in his mouth and your hands in his hair.

Maybe blonds did have more fun.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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shijiujun · 4 years

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“you know you’re singing to your headphones out loud, right” au for moshang plz sqh singing modern songs that mbj doesn't know and being hella confused 🥺

Featuring karaoke-loving Shang Qinghua who gets a bit too drunk at a Cang Qiong mountain gathering, and he goes all out.

Or when Mobei Jun wonders why Shang Qinghua is singing about another man called Liang Shan Bo.

---

Sometimes, he thinks about his old life before he ever had the misfortune of landing in a world of his own creation, with an annoying gaming AI system of sorts hounding his every move (in the beginning) or turning up at the most inopportune times just when he thinks it’s finally gone and left him alone (more recently).

Shang Qinghua remembers not having many friends when he was still Shang Qinghua, when ‘向天打飞机 Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’ was still merely his writing Weibo account moniker and when he had millions of people looking up to him for his crucial contributions in writing this amazing story about his son Luo Binghe and the way he overcame all odds to become a success with a harem of gorgeous women at his feet (damn you, Peerless Cucumber bro!).

Back in those days, he lived off cup noodles and instant coffee. If he didn’t have to leave the house, Shang Qinghua would simply curl up in front of his laptop, either writing for his novel or watching shows (clears his throat) - actual shows! Chinese period dramas were his favourite, where a skilled and intelligent consort in the harem would outwit all the other women to be with her one true love, the Emperor, who falls irrevocably in love with her.

And when he got bored, he switched from the laptop to his television to engage in his second most favourite hobby - Chinese karaoke. Going out to a karaoke bar would require some level of socializing, and also a few friends so he gets more bang out of his buck from what he pays for the room, but at home?

With advanced technology and a tiny ass microphone in either shining gold or silver, Shang Qinghua’s home entertainment system was his very own personal karaoke room, His tiny mic even had that echo-y effect on.

Shang Qinghua has a thing for classic Chinese songs - ‘The New Butterfly Dream’, ‘Liang Shan Bo and Juliet’, The Moon Represents My Heart‘ - and contemporary karaoke must-haves, like Wang Fei. For an embarrassing few days, the Chinese version of Baby Shark was a veritable earworm as well.

After transmigrating into his own story set in ancient times, where he lives without technology, Shang Qinghua would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the Internet. Laptops would be incredibly handy, and so would switches for lights, definitely indoor plumbing for toilets, and induction stoves. Phones too, that would be nice, rather than having to ‘send word’ with letters.

Of course, there is no karaoke bar or machine for him.

Not all is bad though. At least he transmigrated to Shang Qinghua in this world as a baby, so it’s not as if he was surviving on Internet and technology one day and left to do everything manually the next day since someone was always taking care of him. Peerless Cucumber bro, of course, wasn’t as lucky, but the man has definitely taken to this world (and his son!!) like a fish to water.

And as for himself, Shang Qinghua does not need to envy Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe either, because somehow, he has gotten the man of his dreams too, even if said man was a little cruel and rude to him in the beginning.

He has the love of his life (coughs coughs) and they’re stuck in this world for the rest of his life. What more is there to want? Not to mention how his cup of instant noodles betrayed him at the last moment, resulting in his death! It is slightly safer, ironically, to be in this world instead.

All is good except... well...

===

Shen Qingqiu marvels at the sight before him, torn between wanting to step in to stop Shang Qinghua, or watch this farce unfold.

He sometimes forgets where he, or where Shang Qinghua, who has been in this world longer than he, came from. They don’t always talk about the past when they meet, and aside from the occasional meetups, Shen Yuan is a part of him that doesn’t surface, not when he is with Luo Binghe.

Shang Qinghua, on the other hand, grew up here, and aside from referring to Shen Qingqiu by his Weibo account name, he seems otherwise well-adjusted, no hint of modern online writer Shang Qinghua in sight. It doesn’t feel as if he misses their original world either.

This evening, however, memories of modern times slap him in the face, quite literally.

“Shizun!” Luo Binghe calls, frantic, tugging him back into his embrace out of Shang Qinghua’s way. Once Shen Qingqiu is safe in his arms, his eyes narrow at the bumbling, drunk idiot causing a scene in the dinner hall, “Shang Qinghua...”

Shang Qinghua stops where he is, and then before any one can stop him, he picks up a pair of chopsticks, brings it to his mouth, and begins bellowing his way through-

-Jay Chou’s Hair Like Snow.

“Shizun, are you alright?” Luo Binghe fusses, his hands coming up to cup Shen Qingqiu’s face when his Shizun doesn’t so much as respond to him. “Were you hurt? Did he hurt you? How’re you feeling? We’ll go back home now-”

“What is he singing?” Qi Qingqi frowns in disgust.

They all wince when Shang Qinghua attempts to hit a high note, but fails miserably.

Fuck me, Shen Qingqiu thinks, his eyes impossibly wide, who knew Airplane bro was such a karaoke fanatic?

“... maybe he is possessed by a malevolent spirit? Or perhaps this is an unidentified curse?” asks Ming Fan.

“Or is this some new form of cultivation?” asks Ning Yingying, curious.

Yue Qingyuan, seated at the front of the dining hall, cannot help but be concerned for him as well. “Shall we call Mu-shidi to take a look at him-”

They’ve gathered for their annual meeting - a condition that Yue Qingyuan has set in place a few years ago after Luo Binghe ‘stole’ (married!) him away from Cang Qiong Peak - and although Shang Qinghua said he didn’t mind that Mobei Jun was unable to accompany him today, he spent most of the dinner drinking alcohol while in a melancholic state instead.

Who knew that Shang Qinghua was a singing drunk?!

Hence their current predicament.

At the Sect Master’s words, Shang Qinghua suddenly turns around and looks at Shen Qingqiu. HIccuping twice, he then beams, “Cucumber-”

Shen Qingqiu has never moved that fast in his life. Within a fraction of a second, he has his hand pressed over Shang Qinghua’s mouth, holding onto him from the back.

“Cucumber?” everyone choruses in confusion.

“I believe your Shang-shishu has had a little too much to drink,” Shen Qingqiu clears his throat, nodding at everyone else. “We should... send him back to Mobei. Isn’t that right, Binghe?”

His disciple, his husband, still has on an affronted, murderous look for how Shang Qinghua almost brained Shen Qingqiu with his flailing arms in his drunken fit. The moment Shen Qingqiu asks, however, his expression morphs into something so soft and full of love that everyone who sees it chokes.

“Of course,” Luo Binghe smiles, devotion apparent in his eyes. “Anything Shizun wants.”

===

The words that are tumbling out of Shang Qinghua’s mouth are entirely incomprehensible, and so are the tunes he’s humming into his ear.

Mobei Jun thought he had gotten used to Shang Qinghua’s eccentric mannerisms, and also thought he knew everything about his husband, so many years later. Shang Qinghua is mumbling Chinese alright, but none of the characters put together make any sense.

Who is Liang Shan Bo? And who the hell is Juliet?!

His mood taking a turn for the worse, Mobei Jun hoists Shang Qinghua up further on his back.

After getting so drunk, the idiot had the gall to demand for a piggy-back from the throne room to their bedroom. Mobei Jun has never once suffered such indignity in his years of living. A bridal carry? Of course, anytime. A piggy-back? As if he was some beast to be tamed?

Well this definitely has to be a first.

While he was stewing in his thoughts, Shang Qinghua switches from that song to another one, and a stream of ‘du du du lu du lu’ emerges from his lips... AND something about... a sha yu? What the hell is that?!

Shang Qinghua lazily lifts his right hand as they approach their room, balls it into a fist and puts it to his mouth, as if he’s holding something, and whatever monstrosity Shang Qinghua is singing, his voice gets even louder.

Mobei Jun tosses Shang Qinghua off his back unceremoniously and onto the soft bed. Interrupted, Shang Qinghua blinks, his vision blurry, and is about to catch his breath and start singing again when his husband climbs in after him. Trapping Shang Qinghua with his entire weight, Mobei Jun seals his lips with a kiss.

“... My king...” Shang Qinghua murmurs in a daze, when Mobei Jun pulls back a few minutes later, his breaths coming out as short, harsh pants. “My king...”

“That’s right,” he says with a glower. “I’m your Da Wang, your husband.”

Mobei Jun doesn’t know who Liang Shan Bo is, but he’s going to make sure no other man’s name ever leaves Shang Qinghua’s lips again when they’re together.

And when his husband finally sobers up, he’s going to have a lot to answer for.

---

Songs Mentioned (YouTube Links in Comments):

The New Butterfly Dream 新鸳鸯蝴蝶梦－ A Chinese classic, sung by Huang An but done beautifully by legendary god of singing Fei Yu Qing and singing partner for the song A Yun Ga

Liang Shan Bo and Juliet 梁山伯与朱丽叶－ A Taiwanese contemporary classic of sorts by Genie Zhuo, most Chinese millennials would definitely have sang this at a karaoke once in their lives - Song is inspired by Liang Shan Bo and Zhu Ying Tai, the Chinese version of Romeo and Juliet to some extent - They both die in the end and become butterflies, so they’re also called the Butterfly Lovers.

The Moon Represents My Heart 月亮代表我的心－ ANOTHER CLASSIC CLASSIC!!!

Baby Shark (Chi. Ver) － ˆThe baby shark hype did move to China, and it’s pretty hilarious LMAO and in Chinese, shark is 鲨鱼 (sha yu) but I’m assuming that in this world, there isn’t a shark kind of animal of sorts? So Mobei Jun and everyone else except SQQ wouldn’t know what a shark is or looks like?!

Hair Like Snow 发如雪－ By Jay Chou, another classic that all Chinese millennials would have sang in a karaoke bar

Wang Fei 王妃－ Jam Hsiao’s version is known best, and it’s pretty epic, not that anyone can reach any of the high notes in the chorus, but does that stop us from trying?!! Hell no!!!

---

Notes: My first Moshang?!! That didn’t really have a lot of Moshang time?! But thanks anon, hope this sort of works?!

#svsss #scumbag villain #穿书自救指南 #渣反派自救系统 #scumbag system #moshang #bingqiu #mobei jun #shang qinghua #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #everyone else is somewhere there except my bb lqg #and anw karaoke sqh!!!!

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tma-entity-sexiness-survey · 2 years

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The 15 Fears of Winter: The Buried

Hi, welcome to part 1 of my Fun Anecdotes about Times I Was Traumatized A Little Bit, Sorted Into Sad Gay Podcast Eldritch Gods for your convenience and viewing pleasure :)

If you like TMA and the Entities and cannot stop thinking about them like I do, please consider taking the time to fill out this survey I'm running about them! It's pretty long, but y'know. Research!

Anyway, The Buried: claustrophobia, asphyxiation, overwhelming pressure, debt, crushing... Fun stuff, it is.

So for me, claustrophobia is more of a conceptual fear: I cannot stand being trapped in a place, and logically a small space is one that you can become very easily trapped in. I don't really have a big Moment I can point to and say "yeah that's why I'm claustrophobic"

I mean, other than the time I got stuck in a McDonald's play structure because I suddenly became aware of the way the walls of the tube were oh so very close to me and I had No Way Out. What made this situation even funnier is my dumb ass didn't think to, say, exit the Tube and move to another, more open part of the structure.

Nah, I literally just sat in there and cried until someone finally figured out where I was. Good going, kid me.

More traditional locations where I feel the Buried's presence are public transit and crowded venues in general. I don't think I need to explain why buses and the metro/subway freak me out: if you've been on one during Busy Time, you already know. But crowds.

Man oh man, crowds. First of all, the noise. Hundreds of voices overlapping until they form one loud drone that you don't realize hurts until you leave it. That sound is a force, and I feel it pressing on me from all sides. Not to mention the bodies themselves: if you're in a crowd, you're in someone's space, and they're in yours. No way around it. That's why it's nigh impossible to navigate a crowd easily if you're not moving with them: there's no escape, no way to disengage.

You have to push through if you want to get out, lest you be pushed yourself.

Or at least, that's how it usually goes.

Naturally, it doesn't have to be this way. And sometimes, there's comfort in pressure. But it's such a delicate balance. When does a hug start to crack your ribs? When does a safe enclosure become a prison? When does grounding become a Burial?

The Buried, to me, is an excess of force, of choking pressure that goes beyond turning coal into diamond and crushes it all into dust. It's the feeling of diving too deep, too fast into a body of water: the pain in your ears, your head, the way you feel your body start to contort and acquiesce to a power much stronger than it pushing you down, down, down, until you're ground into nothing.

It's the fear that clogs your lungs and lets no sound escape your lips as you plead with your eyes for someone to understand you're not okay, you're surrounded, you're overwhelmed, they're too close, you can't breathe

#tma #the magnus archives #tma the buried #tma statement fic #tma fanfic #sort of? more of a creative writing exercise really #whatever #that's for you to figure out

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marshmallowprotection · 3 years

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Kait Reacts To The AE 6/?

Hi! These reactions are written out every time a Chatroom opens and it’s done over the course of the day. So, you’re watching me react in real time as it is for me. So, Spoilers AHOY. Expect Another post like this later today, there is just too many chats to put it all in one post. So, hey, if you click this, you’re opening yourself to spoilers, you make the choice.

[18:00]

Hey, so this is a heavy chat. A lot happens and I have a lot of feelings in my heart and most of them are not kind. I’m usually the type of person that wants to see good in people but I see no good in Rika Kim and I never will. I cannot let myself trust V anymore, either. Not after his reaction in this shared chatroom with him and Rika. I just can’t. I can’t deal with him or her anymore because the two of them are so—

I’ll get into it.

You jump into the chat and ask Rika if she feels guilty for what she did. She says, “I didn’t do anything. It was the Prime Minister. He should have known better than to bite the dog that is bigger than he. All of you, all of you should know better than to do this.” She blames them for what’s happening, and she acts like she has done nothing wrong. She allowed this to happen by letting the agency and the Prime Minister know that she’d do as they wanted as long as she got to keep her freedom.

This chatroom has... Rika telling you that she’s done denying herself, she is wicked, she is vindictive, she is her devil and she just doesn’t care about anything but herself. It’s all about Rika, it’s all about what Rika wants, and what Rika wants, Rika is going to get no matter how dirty her hands have to become in the process. She even jests that it’s selfish, like it’s some kind of a game. This isn’t a game.

But, I wanna see what she’s thinking so I prod deeper.

She says that Saeran should give up hope. That there’s nothing he can do and that he’s weak against Saejoong and the hackers. But, I tell him not to give up hope if he’s looking at the chatroom. I know he has to be. He’s at C&R so that has to be case. Rika says that they’re not good people, but neither is she, so that’s why they get along. They work together even if they don’t see the same deal and keep their secrets.

I don’t like that.

She keeps saying to the RFA to forget the twins.

To forget everything.

Live on.

Live on while Rika gets her Selfish Wish [the name of the chat.]

And let me tell you when I screamed, I screamed when this happened because this is what I’ve been trying to tell people for years about the problem with being able to forgive or judge.

People who hurt you can apologize, but you don’t owe them shit for it. You don’t owe them anything. Ever. You can hate them forever if that is what you want. You don’t have to accept an apology. Nor do you have to see them ever again. It’s your choice to forgive, and it’s your choice to not forgive someone and thank fucking Christ the game let me say this to Rika Kim’s fucking face.

You really get to call her out in this chatroom, too. I’m floored at this because it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. You don’t get to move on and act like you didn’t make a fucking cult and harm hundreds of people. You don’t get to move on and act like nothing happened when you abused, tortured, and gaslit Saeran Choi for so many years. No. You don’t. You don’t get to be selfish. You don’t get that. You don’t have that right.

She makes a final plea to Saeran: To Give into her wish.

I tell him not to lose hope.

V comes into this chatroom and this is the point where I reach my fucking end of confusion about him and I give up on him. I’m disappointed in you, Jihyun Kim and I do not think I ever will have that restored. I am angry with you and I am so sad that you were on the brink of getting back and you went back, and now you have resigned yourself to this and let others hurt. I thought that when you went to Rika it was to make her leave the cult and never return, taking all the pain for yourself.

But, no. You sold out everything and everyone for Rika and unless something is going to change, and I highly doubt that, I cannot trust you ever again, Jihyun. I hate that you will suffer but your suffering has caused the suffering of our loved ones, and I thought you would never hurt them, but you did. This hurts me a lot and that’s why I have so much to say.

That being said, V says that when Saeran comes: You can go. You will be free. We won’t hurt you.

Rika: You don’t have a choice. This is their future.

Rika leaves.

This is the moment where I give up on V.

That’s not what you were supposed to say. You say, “I will be fine.” I’m not asking about you, Jihyun. I’m asking about if you’re okay with what is going on right now and if you’re okay that you’re destroying everything as you burn like Icarus in Rika’s sun. I’m not worried or concerned with you. You’ve betrayed my faith in you.

I want you to be happy but... as it remains right now, I cannot trust you or be close to you ever again. I thought I knew you. But, apparently, I don’t.

[19:23]

Alright. I’m rattled to my core and I’m not better than I was when I last checked in with you. In fact, this one actually made me cry. I’m still a bit... choked up on what I just saw and. There’s a lot to talk about. So, I guess I’ll just start with the chatroom. It’s with Zen and Jumin. Zen tries to ask what’s up but we really can not talk about it... you know, cause Rika and the others can see it but he’s doing okay as he can. Although, the doctors knocked him out without his consent with the drug?

Is it about his healing speed? That’s not okay. Don’t do shit without someone’s consent. Jumin’s not okay. I can say that certainly. There’s a phone with him right after all of this and he just... he’s tired. He doesn’t want to talk. He masks his pain and says what he needs to say and then he leaves before you can ask him if he’s okay. I’m concerned for him. He wants to take all of this blame and still help us.

Jumin Han is a fucking saint.

I love him. Nobody ever talk shit about this man. I swear to God, he’s always going above and beyond for everyone in this fucking group. He doesn’t even have to do this and he does it. He has a big heart. The media is getting worse, they’ve started to talk about Zen in a bad light... Yoosung... it’s not good, it’s just a fucking mess. He doesn’t even know if he can get on the stage ever again or if Yoosung can... go to classes.

We were heroes, he said, and now... I don’t know.

Jumin just leaves the chatroom after he updates us. He’s... I’m worried, you know? Zen promises that he’s looking out for us and he wants to be there, and he sends a selfie and that almost boosted my mood. Now, we jump into the end of the chat. We get a ping from Seven.

We close the phone and open the visual novel. Saeyoung is awake, but he tells us to be quiet. Rika literally threatens us if we try anything and says that she will not hesitate if we ruin her selfish wish. Once she’s said her peace and made her threat known, she leaves.

And we’re alone with Saeyoung. I theorized that we would get a moment with Saeyoung alone in my big analysis post but I never thought that this would be the way that it would happen. He says what I thought he would want to say to us and this is when I started to actively tremble in the game. I can hear it in his voice, and he’s hurting. He’s hurting so fucking much and I never thought this would be the way that I would get to talk to Saeyoung about Saeyoung and what we’ve been doing.

I didn’t even get to tell him about Saeran or how he’s been doing or what’s going on. No. Rika and V robbed of this. Saeyoung has his phone, and that’s when he drops a big bombshell on me about Vanderwood that I didn’t even consider as I was playing earlier because I was so fucking torn open about what was had just happened to me that I wasn’t thinking.

Vanderwood ran from the agency. They planted a shitload of intel and info on Saeyoung’s voice so he could use it against the agency. It’s all on his phone and all he has to do is use it to ensure that they go down and we can escape. He’s thinking that he will suffer behind here. He refuses to let Saeran suffer, his words are, “At least Saeran must have nothing stopping him from doing whatever he wants and finding himself whenever he wants.’

Saeyoung Choi is a selfless man.

He wants to stay with Saeran and make sure he’s happy. The goal is to attack the agency, not Saejoong, they are the ones keeping us locked up and trapped like this. He paid them money for it. He will continue to pay them to get power and what he wants while the boys suffer. He refuses to let that happen. I don’t want to leave him, but he’s not giving me much of a choice here.

He won’t let me do that.

I think that he’s going to focus on this but then, this is the moment where I’ve utterly lost faith in Jihyun Kim as a man. I will not forgive him. I cannot. I don’t care what happens ahead, all of his actions right now are not something that I can forgive. Nobody will. He knows he’s wrong. He knows this is wrong but he acts like this is all he can do. He says to give up. He says that he has to take the phone because Saeyoung, Rika, and Saeran will suffer if Saeyoung fights back and this is it.

Just accept Hell.

This is the only way.

V: There is nothing you can do. I tried to help you, I really did. But, there’s a reason why the term impossible exists.

I say what I’ve been saying to myself:

This is where I started fucking sobbing and I haven’t stopped crying since this goddamn Visual Novel. Saeyoung gets on his fucking hands and knees and begs for his brother to be safe and V just spits in his face. Saeyoung pleads, “Not Saeran, not Saeran! I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything they ask and I will work harder then the two of us would together tenfold. Please, I swear I will not run away or anything! You know I wouldn’t!”

He begs and pleads until the last second and V ignores it. This isn’t for the best, V, you know it, and you need to stop. I cannot forgive you for what you’ve done for Rika. You’re aware that you’re in the wrong and you aren’t going to help out here, you’ve chosen and you’ve chosen to ignore us and our pleas for help, we could win if you and Rika hadn’t turned against us. If you had been willing to give us help, then this wouldn’t be fucking happen.

You know that?

You added to the problem by offering Saeran and Saeyoung’s lives to keep Rika and her selfish wish happy. Saeran and Saeyoung will never forgive you and I can’t say I ever will now even if something changes by day 4.

[21:02]

Welcome back. I’m tired of this.

V had made his point of view known. I’ve said it before and I’ve said it again, he will let all of us burn so Rika can have what she wants and so the boys are alive and it doesn’t matter if it’s what we want or not. He doesn’t care anymore. He’s aware that he’s in the wrong here. He knows that. He just... ignores it, and he is ignoring reality for the sake of a selfish wish.

He even says that Saeyoung won’t stop. They’re going to have to keep drugging him over and over, is what is implied. Even if Saeran can... “placate” his nerves by being there. I don’t like that tone and I’m... this has been a really hard day for me and V. I wanted him to be... not. this. But, this is what’s life and I can’t ignore it because he’s pissed me off.

He’s not playing a long-con.

He’s given that up. I’ve said what I have to say. I’m done with you, V. I’m just... I’m so done with you right now that I can’t even fucking deal with you. Stop doing this for the love of Christ.

Anyways, the Visual Novel opens up and— They know about phone now and they know that Saeyoung had information. They’re going to change the server and that opens them to attack. This is the time for Saeran to strike and he has to do it now. He said that he may not be able to contact us. He’s going to be working and I trust him. I have faith in him so I’m going to wait and listen even if I’m grinding my teeth to dust as I watch Saeyoung suffer.

Oh. Jumin had the doctors do that because we all know that Zen heals without a lot of... issue. They tested him to nullify the drugs. Okay, okay, okay, Jumin has a fucking go-plan. I don’t know what the hell is about to come but I know that we are in for a long fucking night, oh my God.

I called V after this.

You tell him that he's wrong for what he did. He says, yes, but what did you expect? Saeyoung is crafty. He can't risk Rika's dream, and he can't risk the life that they're trying to build with this cage around Saeran and Saeyoung. You can say that Saeyoung thought of him well, and he ignores that and says he's doing what must be done because nothing can be changed. This is how it will be. He literally told me not to interfere or he would... do something.

He says "Once RIKA changes, it won't be so bad." He says "Please, wait?" I disagree. I will never agree. He says that there's no hope once more. He says that he hopes we never change and we stay strong in our heart.

He says that.. you WOULD HAVE had good influence on Saeran. That Rika and himself envy what I have, my kindness. They don't have that, but they have something else. I ask him if he's going to fess up, change, and admit he's wrong. He says he won't change until Rika does. He said, don't do anything. Please. Or else. It's implied.

I basically hung up and said "I don't really have a choice, you kidnapped me."

[23:13]

So, we’re treated to a very short chatroom here. No surprise, really. Zen comes and lets us know that he feels that hope is lost. He thinks there’s not point and that we have to give up if we want to achieve anything anymore. He hates it and it’s horrible, but he and Jumin spoke and it just concluded that they shouldn’t be using the messenger and that we should avoid it. He promises that when we do return, however that is, he’ll be waiting there for us to reassure us. I needed that, honestly, my first route love, thank you for looking out for me.

It’s really an end note.

It feels like we’re going to hit a wall and THEN—

BANG, BOOM, BAM.

Vanderwood didn’t actually leave! The bug they fucking planted? A decoy! A lie! A falsehood! They were working with Saeran and Jumin the entire time but they couldn’t tell me. Vanderwood, I love you, oh my God. I knew you weren’t going to stick your neck out but you really do love Saeyoung, even if a lot of comes from the idea that you’ll be given safety from the agency after this comes out and things are better. I’m so happy I could weep.

Thank God.

Zen made me think I was going to hit a fucking bad ending.

Oh... and Saeran calls after, and he made a secure call channel, but they are fucking jamming all the calls and he can’t hold it for very long so we have to be talking really fast. I’m weeping because it’s starting to glitch out and he just tells me that he loves me and I tell him I love him and—

I love him but I’m scared. I’m scared that something bad might happen on the 3rd day that will keep us apart or hurt him or I’ll hit a bad ending and he’ll suffer for me. I don’t want that. I want us to be happy. He’s working so hard right now and I just... I have to have faith in him, and the RFA. I always do. So, I’m holding out for a hero.

#KaitReactsToTheAE #Kait Reacts To The AE #SaeranAfterEnding #saeran after ending #mm #mysme #mysticmessenger #mystic messenger #saeran choi #choi saeran #saeran mysme #saeran mystic messenger #saeran mm #mm saeran #mystic messenger saeran #mysme saeran #mod kait #long post

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silverdecepticon93 · 4 years

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Invisible| Dick Grayson x Singer! Reader

A/N: Just an old oneshot I had on Deviantart! Hope you guys enjoy! "Hello Everyone, I'm (Y/n) (L/n) and I'll be singing 'Invisible' by Anna Clendening, and this is dedicated to someone. I hope you know who you are." You said in the microphone, cheers erupted from the gymnasium. You were usually shy but you had to let him know, you had to let your crush know how you felt. The person that you dedicated it too was Dick Grayson, the most popular guy in your school. You talked to him once or twice and you cursed yourself for falling for someone so easily! Avoiding this disaster Seemed impossible My heart is beating faster Fast as it can go You couldn't help but blush when he cheered for you as you sang the first two lyrics, did he know it was for him? You hoped you did, you hoped he would accept, but let's not get our hopes too high shall we? If you really were so shy, then why did you get up on this stage and sing? Well, you'd have to thank you're friend Nightwing for that. 'Cause I'm over thinking every word that was never said or heard Happy ever after? I don't think so You had been getting mugged one night until Nightwing stepped in and saved you. He made sure that you got home safely and would often stop out by your house window to chat. "Do you have a boyfriend, (Y/n)?" He asked one night. "Um...no, why?" You asked, your (e/c)-eyes meeting his own. "Well, I mean your really pretty and cool so I thought that maybe you might have one..." He chuckled a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why, are you offering?" You joked. Apparently, that caught the ever-so vigilante Nightwing off, because he almost fell. Luckily, he was able to catch himself and he looked at you with your shocked face. He apologized sheepishly. "It's just that, you're too shy to make any sort of comment like that." He said nervously. You nodded in acknowledgment, "Yeah, but I feel like I could open up to you." You could've sworn you saw his face blush. I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist I stare from afar broken hand in my heart while I play pretend I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist And it's you, yes it's true, you don't even know it, I can't ever win "So do you have a crush?" He asked. You almost choked on your water but spat it out, you gave him a shocked look, and you were kinda scared if he knew Dick. You dismissed the idea, there are a lot of people in Gotham. "Um...Why do you want to know?" you questioned. He shrugged but then looked at you with a bright smile, a smile you swore you've seen before, "I just think it's my job as your friend to know your crush." You raised an eyebrow, "I literally have no idea who you actually are, you know that right?" His eyes widened and you giggled when you saw the flushed expression on his face, "heh...Yeah, I sorta forgot about that..." "Yes, I do have a crush on someone." You beamed, you knew he could be trusted. He then leaned close to you and let out a loud, "REALLY, WHO!?" You laughed when he fell on your room floor, letting out a little 'ouch', and giving you big puppy eyes. He straightened himself out and brushed himself off before looking at you, you could tell he was dying to know. "Well...Maybe, I shouldn't tell you.~" You teased. "(Y/n)!!" Am I invisible? Should I let it go? Would you ever know? Am I just another crazy living on the low? Am I invisible? Will you ever see what you do to me? Breaking hearts in the dark so easily Am I invisible? "Fine! Fine! His name is Dick Grayson." You smiled brightly, it felt great to finally let someone know. He looked down at you in surprise, his teasing aura left as soon as you said those words. At first, you thought he was just being his usual overdramatic self. "ha, ha. Yes, I have a crush on the most popular guy at my school. He'll never notice me, though. I'm invisible to him." You wanted to make it sound like a joke, but the last part was spoken in a sad tone. "N-NO, YOU'RE NOT!" He shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders. You let out a squeal of surprise and pulled back from his grip. He looked at you in fear but apologized for his sudden actions. You accepted his apology but then it just got quiet. "I-I should check in with Batman, y'know?" He mumbled, "Crime never rests and neither do I!" He said the last part in a very light-hearted way and you managed to hug him before he left, he would normally hug back, but he just seemed to keep his arms stiffly by his sides. You pulled away and gave him a confused look. "Later, (Y/n)!" He said quickly, jumping out your window. You saw his grappling hook shoot up. 'Well...that was odd.' You thought, 'Even for him.' Tangled up and tongue-tied What have I become? Always got you on my mind Got me feeling dumb That morning, last night's events were still leaving you wondering. Had you offended him in some way? Did he have something against Dick? You heard familiar laughter and turned around to see said person goofing off with his friends, his carefree smile was a perfect match on his face. Nope, who could have something against that tall bean? He then looked you dead in the eye and you turned around immediately, picking up your pace. Your face was on actual fire. Did he see you? Oh my god, what if he thinks you're some stalker or something?! "Hey! (Y/n)! Hey, wait up!" He called after you. And I'm tripping over my own two feet And I'm mad you got the best of me I'm falling for you slowly From a distance You inhaled deeply, maybe he just wanted to know last nights homework or something like that. You turned around and put on your best smile. Don't look him in the eye, don't look him in the eye, don't look him in the eye... "Yes?" You asked, locking your (e/c) eyes with his azure ones. Damn it! you had one job, (Y/n) He was silent, just looking down at you. As if trying to find something to say to you...but shouldn't you be the one doing the same to him? "Um...Are you trying out for the talent show?" He finally said This was kinda surprising. In order to enter a talent show, you had to have talent. You 100% were sure that you had no talent whatsoever, well that wasn't entirely true. You sang but that was just for fun, you were sure that you were pretty average when it came to singing, but it was still enjoyable. "Well, we're both in choir and you have a really good voice, so I thought you might've wanted to try out." He chuckled. No way...Dick Grayson, the god of every Disney song ever created, had just complimented your voice. This cannot be real life and if it is...HOLYCRAPDICKGRAYSONLIKESYOURVOICEANDYOU'REPRETTYSUREYOUAREONCLOUDNINEATTHISPOINT! "I'll...uh, I'll think about it." I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist I stare from afar broken hand in my heart while I play pretend I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist And it's you, yes it's true, you don't even know it, I can't ever win When you saw that Nightwing was waiting for you at your room, it was kinda a bit of a surprise considering he's the one that makes you wait. Patrol and all that can keep a guy busy, you could imagine. "Hey, (Y/n)!" He smiled. You squealed and twirled around, falling dramatically on your bed while giggling like a little girl. The hero gave you a confused look, but a goofy smile is quite contagious. "What's got you in such a good mood?" He questioned, sitting on your window sill. You giggled giddily and turned to look at him. The joy in your (e/c) eyes and the way you bit your lip was just how much one compilement from Dick affected you. "Dick just said I should try out for the talent show because he thought I had a good voice!" You squealed, doing a little dance around the room. "Well, he must really be something if you're literally dancing in front of a superhero." He joked. You looked at him and tilted your head, your playful smile not leaving your face, "How many times do I have to tell you? I can be myself whenever you're around." "Oh! Now your shamelessly flirting with a hero, what would Dick say?" He teased, you blushed but then laughed. 'Dick would say you had a beautiful laugh.' Nightwing thought to himself. Am I invisible? Should I let it go? Would you ever know? Am I just another crazy living on the low? Am I invisible? Will you ever see what you do to me? Breaking hearts in the dark so easily Am I invisible? "Hey! (Y/n)!" Dick called after you. It's a habit he'd been doing a lot lately and it was kind of endearing, maybe he liked you...as a friend or something? "Hey, Dick." You greeted, you felt your face begging to heat up. "You tried out for the talent show?" He asked excitedly. You nodded, "I was on my way to check out who got in, I probably didn't..." A frown fell on Dick's face and you thought you might've said something wrong. Though his next words surprised you and your face lit up. "You can't talk so badly about yourself, you're such a great person." He said. Somebody pray for Nightwing because you are gonna chat his ear off and fangirl to your hearts desire. It seemed like you couldn't find the words and you just nodded, curse his minor compliments! "Plus, you got in!" He held up the sheet and you saw your name at the very top, "CONGRATS (Y/N)!" You smiled from ear-to-ear and wanted to jump up and down. Though you settled for looking up at Dick and thanking him for believing in you to give you the confidence for trying out. "I may just dedicate the song I'm gonna sing to you." You said. Now, to find the perfect song to help you confess. I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist And it's you, yes it's true, you don't even know it, I can't ever win You left a note on your window sill to tell Nightwing that you were at a talent show to sing and will probably be gone for quite a while. You decided to fashion your hair and put on a cute (f/c) colored dress. You looked at yourself in the mirror until you heard someone wolf whistle behind you. "Lookin' sharp, (n/n)." he winked, calling you by your nickname. You just rolled your eyes, glancing at the clock in your room. "I gotta go, see you later?" He nodded, "I've gotta go somewhere too, just wanted to drop by!" I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist I stare from afar broken hand in my heart while I play pretend I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist And it's you, yes it's true, you don't even know it, I can't ever win You finished your song and applause echoed throughout the room, though your eyes traveled throughout the crowd to try and find Dick, he wasn't there. After the show ended, you walked back to your house and felt slightly disappointed that you couldn't see Dick. You walked into your room only to be trapped in a bear hug from Nightwing. "You were awesome, (n/n)! Sorry I had to leave early." He apologized. "What are you talking about, Ni-" you were cut off when he kissed you. You struggled out of his grasp for a while when he peeled off his mask, showing that it was actually Dick! He pulled away and looked at you anxiously, his blue eyes were wide but his face was beet red, as was yours. Of course, it was Dick! The way he acted and the way he spoke to you so calmly, you kinda felt dumb at this point. "(Y-y/n)? I'm sorry but I just felt like you should know after you sang and-" You smiled at him and that took him off guard. Intertwining his hands with your own, you looked at him with a glint of joy in your eyes. "I think that's why I was so loose with you. I must've known deep down." You spoke softly. You kissed him this time, you felt his arms wrap around your waist, and you wrapped your own around his neck. Both of you felt sparks fly when your lips connected. Am I invisible? Should I let it go? Would you ever know? Am I just another crazy living on the low? Am I invisible? Will you ever see what you do to me? Breaking hearts in the dark so easily Am I invisible? "You're not invisible to me, (Y/n)."

#Dick Grayson x reader #Dick Grayson x you #Nightwing x reader #Nightwing x you #Batfam x reader #Batfam x you #Dc x reader #Dc x you #Dc heroes x reader #dc heroes x you

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

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Season 9, Mission 5: Sandstorm

Summer Holiday

[ship horn honks, waves crash on shore]

PETER LYNNE: Listen, all I'm saying is he could have dropped us off a little bit nearer.

JANINE DE LUCA: Our captain was clear from the outset, Peter. Our information on Tunisia is limited. He did not wish to deliver us to a port which might present unknown dangers. Or docking fees. Hence the empty stretch of coast we've landed on.

SAM YAO: Oh, it's nice though, isn't it? The sandy cliffs, the crystal blue sea, the rocky beach. Way better than that tiny ship's hold. Not that I didn't enjoy helping Janine tick “win 1,000 consecutive games of chess” off her bucket list. Oh, oh hey, careful how you carry the briefcase, Five. Remember, it's got Veronica inside. [shouts] You okay in there, Veronica?

VERONICA MCSHELL: Sam, for the last time, this case contains hardware running a full copy of my personality connected to a full suite of sensor systems, including auditory. You do not need to shout. Janine, Amelia gave me a message to play upon our arrival in Tunisia. Stand by.

AMELIA SPENS: Hello, Tunisia team. Let's make this super clear: you are not over there sightseeing. You're infiltrating a secret base codenamed Red Scorpion at the behest of General Bakari. He's directed you to a city near Red Scorpion called New Agadir. Until you reach New Agadir, where you must impersonate the mercenary group Death's Hand, you should pretend to be independent UK traders.

This is a covert mission, so if things go badly, I can't help you. Remember, the red fungus endangers the whole world. If it's in Red Scorpion, we need to know. Don't mess this up. Amelia out.

PETER LYNNE: Right, right, right. So just-just to make sure I've got this right, we're in another country with no support and we left our only doctor on the boat. Fantastic!

VERONICA MCSHELL: It's fortunate Maxine was present to identify the measles outbreak on the ship. If we hadn't left her to take care of it, it might have become a pandemic, Maintaining herd immunity via vaccination has proven almost impossible since the apocalypse.

JANINE DE LUCA: I see a road atop the hill heading west. Miss Spens’ preliminary scouting identified settlements on the Tunisian coast. That road leads to an outpost called Kalaat El-Amal. From there, we can arrange transport south towards New Agadir. Miss Spens also provided me details of a contact she's established in New Agadir who can assist us, a man by the name of Mohammed Boujettif. We must find him there.

Aside from anything else, we may need him to take Dr. Myers’s place in Death's Hand, although if he has no medical experience, that could prove difficult. The alias of the team member Dr. Myers was to impersonate is Doctor Death.

International subterfuge... it has been some time. Remember people, we do not know how the apocalypse landed here or what dangers await. Watch out for each other and keep your wits. Up the hill to the road, run!

SAM YAO: Oh, I thought the going would get easier once we reached the top of the hill, but now the road's covered in sand!

PETER LYNNE: Well, there's not much to stop it blowing in from the desert. As far as local scenery goes, you've got potholed roads and sand dunes and that's basically all you're going to get.

SAM YAO: So I get that we're pretending to be traders for now, then when we reach New Agadir we'll be impersonating Death's Hand, but what do we do if the actual Death’s Hand show up? I mean, my briefing said my cover is someone called Sven “Psycho” Mountback, who I don't exactly want to meet.

PETER LYNNE: Well, Amelia is recruiting the mercenaries now for a job in the UK. That's a trap that'll keep them out of our way. And they mostly work in the shadows, so their faces aren't well-known. So in theory at least, we should be able to pass for them. And Bakari swears he can get them - by which I mean us - onto the base.

JANINE DE LUCA: Gamma 1 insertion protocols, as Tom would have said.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: (in the distance) Guys, it's me!

SAM YAO: Does anyone hear that? Look, behind us. There's someone coming up the road dressed like a deckhand from the ship, waving.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Guys, it's Frances!

PETER LYNNE: Oh, you've got to be kidding me!

JANINE DE LUCA: Miss Dempsey, what are you doing here?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I, uh, stowed away on the ship. Hid in a storage crate, swam to shore when I'd heard you'd landed. Bribed a sailor to tell me when you did. A bit wet from the swim. I know you didn't want me to come, but I swear I'll be useful.

JANINE DE LUCA: Miss Dempsey, this is unacceptable! You were expressly forbidden...

SAM YAO: Uh, Janine? Usually you don't drift off when you're berating people.

JANINE DE LUCA: The sky, it's turned white. Winds are rising. If my memories of Algeria hold true, this indicates an incoming dust storm. We must get to cover quickly.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Does that mean I can come?

JANINE DE LUCA: It means, Miss Dempsey, that since there is no way to get you back to the UK, you are unfortunately in danger with the rest of us. There, gleaming structures on the horizon. Kalaat El-Amal. All of you, in that direction. Run!

[wind blows]

SAM YAO: The outpost is ahead. Yeah, I think I see an outer wall. It's hard to make out in this sand. [spits] It really gets in your teeth, doesn't it, Five?

VERONICA MCSHELL: Changing global weather patterns, likely brought on by a large increase in methane emissions from decaying flesh, have left this region more prone to dust storms. My sensors should have alerted us to the stormfront. And I failed to predict Frances's arrival.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Um, quick question. Why is the suitcase talking?

PETER LYNNE: That's our... computer expert, Veronica. She's our expert... who is also a computer.

SAM YAO: Guys, look behind you. There's-there's like a solid wall of sand looping towards us.

JANINE DE LUCA: We're on the storm's periphery, but the eye is approaching fast and the dust already feels cutting in these winds. Everybody switch to comms, cover your mouths. You should have desert goggles and masks in your packs. Miss Dempsey, take mine. I will use my shirt.

PETER LYNNE: Wait, wait, wait. Janine, that's ridiculous. She can have my mask.

JANINE DE LUCA: It is done, Peter, there is no time to argue. I see no rocks large enough for shelter. Our only hope is reaching Kalaat El-Amal before we're subsumed. Run!

[wind whistles]

FRANCES DEMSPEY: God, it's like being in a blender full of dust! Getting hard to balance in the wind. Five, grab my arm so we don't get separated.

JANINE DE LUCA: I do not see the road! Does anyone have a visual?

VERONICA MCSHELL: Janine, I have run estimates on the wind speed and density of the storm. There is less than a 3% chance of our surviving.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, fantastic! Thank you, Veronica. Helpful as always.

VERONICA MCSHELL: If I'd warned you of the storm sooner, you might have been able to shelter near the cliffs. I'm sorry.

PETER LYNNE: Janine, not to seem overprotective, but obviously you should take my mask. I'm literally indestructible!

JANINE DE LUCA: You have an anti-P-type bomb in your body, Peter. Inhaling sand might damage it. We cannot risk that. I appreciate you're afraid of losing me after the Hebrides. I let you join this mission because I trust you, but I'm as worried for you as you are for me. Do not disobey my orders!

[zombie shrieks]

SAM YAO: What was that?

PETER LYNNE: Look, those are human shapes being whirled about in the wall of sand behind us. Some are missing limbs or torn in half. They're all thrashing about. Yep, they're zombies.

JANINE DE LUCA: We cannot let them catch us. We have no idea if the zombie virus has variants here. Even if we survive the storm with our cure stocks intact, they might not be effective. Likewise Mr. Yao's immunity. We can't let them catch us. Go!

[wind whistles]

SAM YAO: Five! Five, is that you? If you can see me, I'm waving.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Sam, we see you! Five and I are to your left. Keep moving through the dust.

SAM YAO: Oh, thank God. I can barely make out your outlines. I was worried you were zoms. Have you seen the others? We were trying to keep hold of each other, but the winds kept knocking us down. Storm's interfering with comms beyond point blank range.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Everyone's been scattered, visibility's practically zero.

VERONICA MCSHELL: I'm trying to calculate everyone's probable vectors, but there are too many variables. At home, I would have more processing power, but this portable me can only handle so much.

During our voyage, I heard Peter talk about Frances's desire to join the mission, but my limited resources did not allow me to model her probable behavior. I was also unable to perceive the worsening weather because my capacity was devoted to reviewing mission files. My limitations have undermined my usefulness.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Not as much as this sand will if any of it gets in your circuits. We've got to get you inside, Veronica. Janine shouldn't have given me her mask. What if she chokes? She's the most important person to the mission.

SAM YAO: Don't think like that, Frances. We just got here. We're not losing people already, not like the Hebrides. I promised Sara we'd come home safe, that we'd bring her fun travel stories.

JANINE DE LUCA: [static] Repeat. [garbled audio] Repeat.

SAM YAO: Janine!

VERONICA MCSHELL: I am detecting faint electromagnetic activity. It may be the outpost.

[zombie growls]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Sam, behind you!

SAM YAO: Oh God, that whirling wall of zoms is almost on us. Five, speed up! They're just gristle and bone, the flesh is torn right off them. The wind’s tossing zoms straight at us. Run, everyone! Head south... gah! That way, I think. Just run!

[wind whistles]

SAM YAO: That's it, Five, keep holding my hand. I've got Frances, we're in a chain.

[zombies growl]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Everybody duck! Oh God, did you see that? A flayed zombie torso, ripped to shreds by the sand. It flew right over our heads in the wind. I'm sorry, Sam, I shouldn't have come.

SAM YAO: Frances, it's okay.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Peter warned me it was dangerous. I just, I really thought I could help. But I know you're all scared of losing people after the Hebrides, but you're all at risk here and I'm making it worse.

JANINE DE LUCA: Mr. Yao, Runner Five, this is Colonel De Luca. Mr. Lynne and I have made it into Kalaat El-Amal. Can you hear? They have equipment monitoring your approach. They're boosting our comms. They're sealing the entrance against the weather and activating a signal beacon on the outer wall.

SAM YAO: There! Hard to tell in this suit, but those look like... yes, flashing yellow lights ahead.

JANINE DE LUCA: The gate is in front of you, but it is closing fast. If you don't hurry, you'll be trapped outside. Sensors indicate torn zombie flesh has made that swirling storm wall infectious. You cannot risk being engulfed. You must get inside. Run!

[alarm blares, gate creaks and slams shut]

SAM YAO: That's it, Five, we're in. Made it through that gate by inches. Don't see anyone around, just a big metal room with big metal doors. Gate must be automatic. First bit of wider world we've seen since Z-Day, Five, give or take Finland. I wonder how people here are doing.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Guess we're about to find out. We're okay, everyone's okay. We all made it.

VERONICA MCSHELL: And my estimations of Kalaat El-Amal's location were accurate. It will take me time to get used to operating at this capacity, but I will persevere. I am confident I can keep the team safe. After analyzing the Hebrides files, I know how much difficulty you all have without me.

[door rattles open]

SAM YAO: Janine, Peter!

JANINE DE LUCA: It's good to see you all intact, including you, Miss Dempsey. It seems you've left me no choice now but to consider you one of the team. The locals were rather shocked to see us approaching through the storm.

SAM YAO: But they let you in, so they're friendly, right?

PETER LYNNE: Oh, they are very friendly, and very worried. You see, apparently the last few foreign traders to visit Kalaat El-Amal carried serious diseases. Measles, flu, multiple poxes. So they're putting us under quarantine until we're vetted, for a period of no less than three months. That means if we can't find another way out of here, the whole mission is over.

#zombies run #zrs9 #s9m5 #zr transcript #zrs9 spoilers

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meetmeatthecoda · 3 years

Note

Obviously, I don't enjoy seeing Red hurt (though, I must admit that there's something about James' acting that makes it impossible to look away whenever Red is hurt) but I kinda like the idea of a sort of reversed version of those 10 months, where Red gets kidnapped by a Blacklister/some other Big Bad Cheese and ends up in a coma because of the injuries he sustained before Liz and the Task Force finally found him and Liz rarely – if ever – leaves his side in the days that follow, sleeping (and sleeping for her these days means 'passing out, bent at an uncomfortable angle because she was sitting in the chair by Red's bed and holding his hand, for a couple of hours of light, restless sleep that gets easily interrupted by the slightest change in her surroundings, be it the subtlest change in the sounds of Red's bedside monitor or his breathing or someone entering the room') and eating (even though without much appetite) in his room and showering in the bathroom of the safe-house they've moved him to once his doctor decided that he was stable enough for that that's literally the next room to his, and constantly talks to him – about everything and nothing at all, about Agnes (whom mostly Aram babysits, even though sometimes Mr Kaplan – and/or Dembe – takes the task of looking after her upon herself because it helps her get her mind off Red's state, even if just for a couple of hours... either way, they always tell Liz at the end of the day what Agnes had been up to – sometimes even bringing her over to spend a little while with her mother, during which they usually draw cards for Reddy to read when he wakes from his long sleep as Agnes tells her mommy what exciting had happened that day – and Liz then relays it all to Red, never failing to mention how much Agnes misses him and how he needs to wake up, to come back if not for her, than for Agnes – it's a mean trick, to use the little girl he adores as his own daughter against him, she knows, but if it makes him come back... well, all's fair in love and war), about the Task Force and how everyone is doing (from what she knows about from their frequent visits and even more frequent calls), about the past and the moments they shared, about the future and the things they absolutely must do once he wakes up (she adamantly refuses to believe that there's a possibility that he might not wake up at all), about her feelings for him (she reaches that topic for the first time on a particularly bad night a little over a week after they've found him, when the possibility of him remaining unconscious and unresponsive forever or quietly slipping away without even giving her a chance of telling him how much she loves him finally registers in her exhausted, desperate mind and, as if it was the last drop that finally broke the dam inside of her, all of the long bottled up feelings pour out of her in a stream of rushed, heaving, choked up words – and she's crying, yes, she's crying, because he just cannot leave her when he's her very own way home and he doesn't even know it! – until she ends up whispering hoarsely those three words she should have told him a lifetime ago over and over again, as if they somehow can ground him... though, maybe it's actually her who needs grounding, because the world is threatening to slip from under her feet... and she gets that grounding from his touch – the weakest, blink-and-you-miss-it press of his fingertips against her palm... but she'll take it because it's still a sign that he's not gone, that he's still there somewhere, still fighting to get back to her, the amazingly stubborn man... and the tears she cries now are ones of relief) – and reads to him, hoping that those who say that comatose patients might hear what is happening around them are right and that her voice, serving as a reassurance that she is there, by his side, and isn't going anywhere, will give him strength and guide him back to her (because there's no other way she can help him, and she has to do something or she'll go mad).

But the best part of this scenario in my opinion is that, some time after Red finally wakes up (Liz tries so very hard to keep herself together but can't help the tears that stream down her face when she sees his beautiful green-grey eyes staring back at her, tired and a little hazy both from the medications he's been on and the aftermath of his coma but alive and very much conscious, for the first time in weeks... she can't help a fresh wave of tears when she hears him whisper "Lizzy" quietly and hoarsely, his voice weak and rough after such a long time of not being used, either... and the messy, fervent kisses she presses to his knuckles and cheek and temple and forehead and the corner of his mouth – wherever she can reach – because she nearly lost him but here he is, alive and conscious, and he's calling her "Lizzy", which means that everything is going to be alright – they are going to be alright), he mentions something Liz's told him while he was in a coma and Liz just... stares at him, her mind struggling to comprehend the significance of this seemingly offhand comment of his, because it means that he's heard... maybe, not all of her babbling and reading... but certainly some part of it, which is already more than she could ever anticipate (even though she was hoping so hard for it).

Oh, anon... 🥺🥺🥺 What a lovely re-imagining of the 10-month coma period!! 😭😭 I tend to think we all have a bit of a soft spot for Red's suffering/James's acting & - whatever that may say about us as people lolz - I think it means that this whole scenario is pretty fantastic to lotsss of people!! 😍 I mean, the mental image of Liz never leaving Red - sleeping uncomfortably at his bedside, eating with him out of necessity, showering only in the very next room - & always talking to him is preciousssss & Agnes visiting to make him cards & tell him about her day??? Okay, okay, okay. NOT TO MENTION the only thing he physically responds to is Liz's long-awaited confession of love & the fact that she reads to him (just like he did to her) just in case he can hear her ahahahahahahaha i love pain. OH & LASTLY, the facts that 1) Red's first word after ten months of sleep is her name, 2) Liz showers him with kisses upon awakening, & 3) Red heard at least some of what she said while he was asleep??? K 🥲🥲 In short, every single, little, fluffy, angsty detail about this whole thing is fabulous & I thank you very much for sharing with me, anon, much love to you!! ❤️

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #thoughts #headcanons #AUs #mine #ask #anon #ahhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH #don't mind me #just ugly crying over the softness & love in this ask #:')#thanks so much for sharing anon!!#love it!!#:)#much love to you!!#<3

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reyescarlos · 4 years

Note

#7 - Buddie plz :)

#7. “I can’t breathe” - yay for a fic from Eddie’s POV. Sorry it’s depressing!

It hits Eddie when he least expects it. It bleeds into his unguarded subconscious mind like carbon monoxide in a home. There’s no warning, no way for him to protect himself from the onslaught of images play in his mind’s eye like some sick and twisted film reel.

There’s him in an unhappy marriage, running toward danger instead of sticking it out. There’s his unit in the desert, in the fight of their lives against an enemy they could barely see. There’s Shannon leaving. There’s Shannon coming back. There’s Shannon sprawled out on the city street, with only minutes left. There’s him terrified he’s lost his child. There’s him terrified his lost his best friend. There’s him buried around a mountain of mud; his fingernails caked with dirt as he claws his way out of the wreckage.

Eddie’s body twists against the sheets as he calls out the names of his loved ones that flit across his mind. “No,” he repeats over and over again. “God, no.”

“Eddie?” Bucks says beside him but Eddie is too far gone now, somewhere other than his bedroom with the man he loves.

He twitches violently against the mattress, a choked sob breaking free of him. He can feel cold sweat running down his face and the length of his neck.

“Eddie!” Buck calls out once more, but it hardly registers.

Eddie’s ears and heart are in competition with one other to see which can beat the hardest. He feels sick to his stomach and he finds it damn near impossible to breathe, let alone speak.

He can hear himself wheezing as his eyes water. Somewhere in all the jumbled noise is Buck’s voice but the words are a tangled mess that Eddie cannot decode. It’s been so long since he’s had a panic attack to this degree. He’s been good at keeping himself in check—or so he’d convinced himself. Tonight’s dream crept up completely unprompted and Eddie curses his traitorous subconscious for dredging up instances he’s desperate to forget.

What he wouldn’t give to not always be a prisoner of his own mind, forever spending each day working to keep himself composed. He’s had a lifetime of worth of upsets but he prided himself on being able to cope. Each time he thought he had this particular battle beat, a night terror would put him in his supposed place.

“I can’t breathe,” Eddie manages to eke out, gripping the collar of his shirt roughly as he tries to sit up in bed. He can feel it’s soaked and he can only imagine what the rest of him must look like. Worst yet, he can only imagine what he must look like to Buck.

He glances to his boyfriend now and can see the outright fear in his blue eyes. Ever the first responder though, Buck is quick to assess the situation and offer aid however he can.

“Eddie, it’s okay. You’re having a panic attack but I’m right here. I’m right here,” Buck says but the words reach Eddie as if they’re coming from across a canyon rather than right beside him.

Eddie let’s Buck sit him up further and he bends over, his hands linking at the base of his neck. Eddie does his best to control his breathing, reminding himself that he’s in this present moment. All the horrid memories that stole his sleep are just that—memories, things of the past that can no longer truly hurt him.

He feels Buck’s hand smoothing over his back and he clings to that too, letting it ground him like an anchor in a raging sea.

“You’re gonna be okay. It was just a dream but you’re safe now,” Buck continues to assure him and Eddie allows himself to be coaxed by Buck’s warm tone and certainty.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, his thumbs kneading the base of his neck to ease the pressure building there. He can’t help but to feel he’s failing at being the person he’s supposed to be.

To be the dutiful soldier. To be the fearless firefighter. To be the champion father. Eddie has no qualm being all these things but every now and then, in flashes, he finds himself incapable of being anything other than a wreck. Those moments have always been in private. Like most things he finds it easier to compartmentalize and shift his focus to areas it’s needed most. He’s always been good at downplaying, at deflecting. But now, in this bed with Buck, there’s no hiding the parts of him that he finds to be ugly. Night terrors always plagued him but he’s been on his own for so long it never really mattered when they came because there was never an audience to bear witness.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, the pain in his chest beginning to subside. It’s very much still present but at least now he can exhale without much difficulty.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, keeping his head down low.

“Stop, okay? No apologizing,” Buck replies quietly.

“I never wanted you to see me like that.” Eddie raises his head then and clenches his jaw. “I must seem so pathetic to you right now.”

Eddie is surprised by how hurt Buck looks but before he can retract his words, Buck is speaking.

“Do you seriously think you’re weak or something?” Buck asks. “You’re the strongest guy I know.”

Eddie shakes his head and scrubs at his eyes. “This is strong to you?” he shoots back, trapping his bottom lip behind his teeth.

“It’s human. Shit, Eddie, you’re human. Cut yourself some slack.”

“I can’t. I don’t have that luxury,” Eddie says, pushing the covers off of him completely and getting to his feet. He hears Buck moving against the bed and looks up as his boyfriend. Buck is an imposing figure before him and Eddie can tell by the steely look in his eyes that Buck isn’t going to let him get away that easily.

“Buck—drop it,” he says in vain.

“No. Talk to me. What did you dream of?” Buck asks, searching Eddie’s face as if he could see the images flashing across.

Eddie shakes his head and cracks his knuckles, a telltale sign of anxiousness that makes him drop his hands instinctively to his sides. “Nothing…everything,” he amends. “Literally everything I don’t ever want to remember.”

Buck stays quiet for a moment, considering Eddie’s words. “I think you need to talk to someone,” he finally says.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing right now,” Eddie counters, met instantly with a deep frown from Buck.

“You know what I mean,” he says and Eddie sighs heavily in response.

“Yeah, I know. I just never thought I’d need to. I have a handle on it…I thought I had a handle on it,” he mumbles.

“No shame in asking for help if you need it. Hell, you’re a firefighter. You should know better than anyone that people are always there to help.”

#anon #buddie #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #ask #message #kimmy writes

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schrijverr · 4 years

Text

I do my Husbands Make-Up

Dean attempts to do Castiels make-up.

Part of the Famous Husband verse, which is also a series.

On AO3.

Ships: Destiel

Warnings: none, but tell me if you want me to tag anything and I’ll do so happily!

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh no, I’m fucking this all up.” Dean said, in his hand he held a mascara and Castiels face had a big black smudge on it.

Then the intro rolled, it was a drawn impala that came down the road, it stopped in the middle of the screen and the drawn Dean gave a wink to the viewers, then he sped off again and the smoke was bridge back to the video.

They were sat next to each other, Castiels face now still free of black smudges as Dean started the video: “Hi Hunters! Welcome back, today I am making my already beautiful husband even more beautiful, which is frankly impossible, but I’ll try, with make-up.”

He looked at Cas and said: “I have no skills in make-up.”

“I’ll guide you.” Cas told him with a fond tiredness.

Dean grinned: “Great! Lets start and get you glammed up.”

“I knew showing you the beauty vloggers was a bad idea.” Cas groaned.

“What? Don’t you want me to beat your mug and spill the tea.” Dean smirked, only for Cas to groan louder and thunk his head on the table. Before the jump cut you could hear Deans cackle as it slowly faded.

Then they were facing each other and Dean was applying foundation with a beauty blender as he muttered: “This still looks like a buttplug.”

“And still it isn’t one.” Cas told him.

“Could be.” Dean argued.

“If I shove it in you ass, you’ll find that it really isn’t.” Cas said deadpan, making Dean choke before he laughed.

The deadpan expression changed into shock as Cas said: “You’re cutting that out, right?”

A mischievous grin came on Deans face as he replied: “No.”

“Dean.” in an obviously warning tone.

“Are you willing to do the laundry for a month?” Dean asked, either ignoring or not picking up on Castiels tone.

Cas squinted and the screen faded to show a picture of Dean folding shirts with underneath the text: He wasn’t willing

Dean had gotten Castiels permission behind the scenes and if Cas really hadn’t wanted him to put it in, he wouldn’t have, but this was funny, so he framed it as this.

The foundation was done and Dean sat back to admire his work and commented: “That was the easy part, look at your face now angel, cause it’s only going to get worse from here.”

Cas raised an unimpressed eyebrow and asked: “What happened to making me even more beautiful?”

“I remembered I cannot do this.” Dean told him with an open honest grin.

“Assbutt.”

“Live to please, darling.” Dean looked back to the table, “So, what now?”

“Contour.” Cas said.

Dean lit up and exclaimed: “I remember this, it’s the shadows on the face cause it’s flat now, right?”

“Yes.” Cas encouraged enthusiastically.

After having located the contour, Cas carefully explained what Dean was supposed to do with it, Dean listened closely before he started. He was about halfway through when he stopped to look and said: “This is terrible, sorry angel. I swear I’m trying and not deliberately fucking this up for the video.”

“I know, Dean.” Cas smiled at him before casting a quick look in a mirror, “It is quite difficult, god knows I struggled with this when I first started. Just try and blend it in so it isn’t so heavy.”

Dean smiled back, before trying to fix it. Cas now had two dark stripes on his face, because Dean had put on way to much, so he took a big brush and desperately tried not to fuck it all up even further.

With as much saved as possible Dean grabbed the concealer and held it up to Cas, who nodded. Dean mumbled under his breath: “Still don’t think you need it.”

That got him a kiss on the nose along with a: “That’s very sweet of you, Dean.”

The blush that spread on Deans face had been edited out by Dean and the video resumed when Dean was blending the concealer.

“You can press harder if you want.” Cas said.

“But I don’t want to hurt you accidentally.” Dean sounded worried.

It made Cas smile, who assured Dean: “It’s a sponge, a pretty solid sponge, but still a sponge. I don’t think you can really hurt me by beating me with a sponge.”

You could visibly see worry leave Deans shoulders, but he didn’t show it otherwise instead boasting loudly: “You forget that I would not only be beating you with a sponge, but also my enormous arms.”

He flexed for show, keeping it up until Cas snorted, before also laughing and returning to his task, this time a bit less like Cas was something too fragile to touch.

When he was done he said: “I think you also did blush right around now, but I think I will not be able to do that properly, so I’m not giving you a blush, not matter how much I’d love to see you with a cute blush on your face.”

Dean actually sounded quite sad that he would have to miss out on Cas with a blush, so Cas offered: “I can do it, you can edit it out and no one has to know.”

“Hmm.” Dean thought about it, then said: “I’ll keep it in, but please do.”

He held out the blush and Cas took it as Dean held a mirror in front of his own face wrong way ‘round, so that Cas could use it apply the blush. Dean asked: “How do I look with your face on my body?”

“Twice as handsome.” Cas told him.

Immediately the mirror dropped and Deans offended look emerged from behind it, Cas suppressed a smile and said disappointedly: “Ahw, it’s still you.”

“I am appalled and offended that my own husband, who has willingly married me and did so happily as I can recall, would just turn around and wound me like that. Stabbed in the back by the man I trusted most, I cannot believe this injustice.” Dean exclaimed loudly.

He was putting on a whole show and after a while Cas broke and laughed, before saying: “I’m joking, Dean. You are very handsome and I love your face.”

With a grumbling pout, Dean wearily asked: “You sure?”

“Completely.” Cas gave him a peck, then asked: “So what do we think of the blush?”

In his theatrics Dean had forgotten to look, but now he took the time to inspect Castiels face with the blush. It was subtle, but cute. He had even put a bit on his nose, so it looked like he was slightly cold. Dean couldn’t help, but pull him into a hug as he said: “You’re so incredibly precious, sweetheart.”

Cas allowed Dean to do this, clinging to Dean as well as it cut to Dean saying: “Now comes the hard part. I am doing simple things, like glossy lipstick with little color and white glittery eye make-up, the only difficult thing I will attempt is eyeliner and mascara.”

“Maybe put on power first, to bake the face.” Cas reminded him.

“Ah, yes. That. I was already planning on doing that.” Dean tried to put down the highlighter as subtly as possible as he grabbed the powder.

Cas rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment, because he didn’t face a mouth full of powder.

It cut to Dean applying highlighter, it had actually gone well and he was very proud of himself over it. He took the lipgloss and carefully put it on. He slipped at one point and looked up at Cas with wide eyes as he froze.

Patting his head distractedly, Cas wiped it away, before turning back and allowing Dean to continue even more carefully this time.

“I really don’t think me doing this is safe.” Dean said as his eyes flitted between the eyeshadow and Castiels eyes.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll close my eyes and you’ll put it on gently.” Cas assured him, before closing his eyes.

Dean hesitated for one more moment, before starting and saying: “Okay, but I’m sorry in advance if this goes entirely wrong.”

It didn’t even look like Dean was touching Cas with how gentle he was. His hand shook a bit and the end result was quite bad. The eyelid was covered for the most part, but so was the area surrounding it.

“Keep them closed, I doing eyeliner next.” Dean warned.

The line was horrible, it went practically over the middle of the eyelids and one went out too far and the other barely and they definitely didn’t have a shape. While he was applying it he kept up a constant stream of ‘oh noes’.

When he was done he said: “That looks completely shit, sorry. Can you tell me how to do mascara before I ruin that completely as well?”

It then cut to how the video had started: “Oh no, I’m fucking this all up.” Dean said, in his hand he held an mascara and Castiels face has a big black smudge on it.

Cas opened his eyes slowly and made eye contact with Dean, who look apologetically at him. He asked: “Want me to fix it?”

“Please.”

Then it cut to a few shots of Castiels make-up. It was pretty bad with too much contour and entirely fucked up eye make-up, but it could’ve been much much worse.

Cas had already seen the make-up throughout the video, so there wasn’t a reveal moment, but there was a brief clip of Cas looking into a mirror and saying: “This is not as bad as I expected, congratulations.”

And Dean beaming proudly at the complement.

It cut to the endcard and Dean said: “That might not have been the most entertaining video, because I was focusing a lot on the make-up and not on the banter, but I hoped you liked it anyway.”

Cas piped up next to him: “I enjoyed it.”

“Thank you, angel.” Dean smiled, “If you enjoyed it too, please leave a like and a comment down below and click the subscribe button and ring that bell to see when I upload again. There will also be links to click to see more of me and more of Cas, so click on them if you want to. And that was pretty much it. Wanna do the outro?”

“Uh, sure?” Cas said very unsure, then turning to the camera he smiled awkwardly: “Bye Hunters, see you on the road.”

“Bye!” Dean called out, then the video ended.

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

I love how much Dean actually

tried, what an A+ husband

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

cass doing the outro was so cute

we stan an awkward cute nerd

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

DEAN ACTUALLY WATCHED THE BEAUTY VLOGGERS LOLLLLLL

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

Dean was so gentle with Castiel

and I’m literally crying, I want

someone who treats me like that

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

the beauty blender buttplug

moment, i cant

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

is he really not going to say

anything about the fact that he

has a fucking kid? alright….

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

Dean using gay beauty slang

both added and retracted ten

year of my lifespan

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

I wouldnt mind if dean beat me

up with his enormous arms ;)

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

This was so incredibly mushy,

would 100% get a tooth rotting

fluff tag on AO3, and I loved

every second of it

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

SO CUTEEEE

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

#RR writing #destiel youtuber au #youtuber dean #youtube #Destiel #Destiel AU #married destiel #castiel #castiel/dean #dean winchester #dean x castiel #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #spn AU

10 notes · View notes

elane-in-the-shadows · 4 years

Note

Prompt list (Fade) 1-. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

A/N 1: Here it is, finally! I hope the wait will be worth it. Contains mentions of sex/smut. 4610 words.

Update: There’s a Part 2 now!

Find this on Wattpad and on AO3

The Candle Flame

Dusk

Farley POV

By the time the setting sun’s light begins to slant in, I’ve been sitting still for hours. Back straight, rifle perched on my legs, I keep watch at the lookout at the notch’s back entry.

Its door is small, well-hidden and not optimal for a fast and safe evacuation of the twenty-odd people currently residing in the notch. It’ll have to make do, of course, like all Scarlet Guard safe houses as well as our equipment.

To be honest, I don’t expect infiltration from here. The exit isn’t even watched 24/7; on top of Farrah muting any sounds we might produce, a watch patrolling the grounds is considered enough.

I am the one to consider that, obviously. I chose to be here. Alone. Huddled deep in the silence Farrah sinks over the woods because I had the faint hope that if no sounds surround me, then my mind will stay quiet as well.

It works, almost. I’m used to emptying my head when I wait and wait. Part of the job on an operative. It can be meditative or giving me space to concentrate, to look ahead and plan.

The latter is what leads me askew. I can’t think without seeing the dead family from yesterday. Can’t see them without reviving the sight of my dead family four years ago. And I can’t remember my family without –

I grab the rifle tighter and take several deep breaths. I thought I’ve seen enough dead bodies but they always get at you. As I can’t help the foreboding fear the slaughtered little baby caused me.

In a way, I was glad for Mare freaking out. She gave me all the reason to stay calm myself and act swift- and safely.

Mare cuddled into Cal as a result, we all saw it. I told him about the raid we’d witnessed, to look after Mare when she avoided Shade and Kilorn. Seems like the prince had more success.

It was all that I could do for her. Have an eye on the team. Encourage them to help each other. Care for their needs. Basically, still barking orders.

This morning was the same. Overseeing and preparing, walking the grounds with my not-quite-smirk, not-quite-frown expression on my face. The hunters must be setting out by now, searching game in the twilight forest to find us food for tomorrow. Housekeeping, hunting and training, that’s what fills this day both calm and on edge. No one is in haste for another operation but it’ll arrive soon enough. Our ragtag group cannot afford to be idle for long.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I had to stop playing pretend that I was alright, I took the chance to come here.

Today’s dinner must be cooking right now and I can almost smell it, taste it on my tongue. Suddenly, the hunger is upon me and waking absurd fantasies regarding our dinner. I chew on my lips. Kilorn jokes that you can only be hungry or sick but he has no idea how literally I feel these ways lately. I crave food. I can’t look at it. I …

There’s a change of air against the back of my neck. I rise and get in stance although I know there shouldn’t be an enemy behind me –

Someone whistles right beside my ear and covers my eyes. A cry escapes my throat and I ram my elbow behind me, my other hand reaching for the assailant but I grab into nothing because they’re gone, invisible even as I spin on my heels.

They – no, he – is already on my other side, and on another yet again. The corners of my mouth twitch. I put down the rifle and I move with him, yet I merely catch glimpses of his shadow and the grin on his face. I must be wearing the same on mine.

I know this game, our personal sparring that is both a dance and a duel. I try to anticipate and fight him, he jumps away. If he wants to attack me, he risks my superior fighting skills while I can only guess where he will be by grasping the patterns of his movements. I shift and duck, enjoying the exertion as much as the taunting touches he leaves on me.

He prides himself on always catching me in the end.

And I long to be found.

Finally, my instincts scream at me to step forward to my left. He has to be there and as fast as lighting, my arm extends to grab him at the chest.

Instead, my hand is pushed back and I startle as Shade jumps forward another yard at the last moment. I bite back another squeal, to protect my pride but also because he stops my stumbling by gathering me in an embrace, hugging me close.

The bastard.

We pant at the contact, the end of our battle. Inches from each other, we breathe the same air.

“Cheat,” I sneer after a few seconds. He chuckles. I pull at his shirt and choke his laughter with a kiss.

He leans into it greedily. His hands reach up, over the curve of my spine to my shoulder blades. For a second, his fingertips tickle the back of my neck.

I moan and let my mouth travel along his jawline. “Make me forget,” I murmur between kisses.

When his hold tightens, I believe he’s going to give in, touching me until I know nothing but the present and the intimacy between us.

Instead he grows tense. He pulls away, not breaking our embrace but drawing back so much we can stare at each other.

I tense as well, if only not to reveal my turmoil. We’d be perfectly serious, if not for our hugging; grave comrades, if not for his thumb brushing my cheek.

“I should’ve come with you,” he says.

I shake my head ever-so-slightly – it offers me the chance to break eye contact. “You were limping again. Your ankle – “

“A limp doesn’t matter to me.”

His gaze catches mine again. I know he means his teleporting, as I know being able to teleport isn’t the same as being in perfect health. I also know that Shade is right, we need him now that Harrick has made clear, even without saying it out loud, that he won’t join our operations again.

I am aware of all that but what I focus on is how similar we are, Shade and I. Both we are raised by the responsibility the cause gives us, both we feel its weight.

He is my partner, my equal, in all regards.

I’m intensely aware of my palms on his waist, the warmth and shape of his body. Of his breathing.

I clear my throat, evading his eyes. “I’m okay,” I say, shaking my head to get a tress of hair out of my face. “You should look after Mare” – he winces – “or Harrick, or Ada.”

The mention of his sister has scored a hit, obviously, he’s tried and failed to talk to her. But he recovers quickly and I realize he’s done all of that already. Shade Barrow knows to how to care for his comrades, in many regards.

Because he is a better friend than I am.

“I’ve come to you,” he says, and there it is again, his yearning, his desire. For me. I feel his touch on my shoulders but more than that, it speaks of the depth of what he feels for me – and I for him.

Shade means more to me than anyone else in the last years.

I haven’t let anyone else get this close to me. I did what I had to, became who I had to be. For survival, to go on, to make a few victories, how little they were.

It’s not enough any longer.

I’m not enough.

I recognize it. I’ll have to pry my heart open. I have change, once more, for him, for –

I swallow, as if to keep in all I need to tell him, what I haven’t told anybody. I don’t even know where to start.

I look up. “Shade,” I begin carefully. Sadness and hesitation swing in my voice.

Suddenly, he startles. He lifts his hands to cup my face, making it impossible for me to turn my eyes away. “Don’t try this, Diana,” he grumbles. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.“

I realize he misunderstood and it’s my fault. Too often, I’ve played it cool and aloof. The need to reply increases. His stare would be enough to claim my full attention, even without his hands framing my face.

Almost. Heat rushes to my head in further embarrassment. I want to give in and reassure and kiss him and get on, but as his words reverberate through my mind, my thoughts speed back to the suspicions plaguing me, to the question I both want answered and to run from.

As I open my mouth to agree, no reply but only laughter escapes. Not just friends.

If only, Shade, if only.

Do you have any idea how much more we are – could be?

Even as he frowns at me, I merely laugh harder, so hard it shakes me and I can only squint at him. I grab him tighter, bringing us chest to chest, leaning my head into his hands.

He falls in eventually, seemingly without noticing the obscure meaning behind my laughter, only the ridiculousness of his claim.

We’re not just friends and so I kiss him, hungrily, my desire for him quickly replacing my former wish for food.

That wish comes and goes so fast these days.

When we have to catch breath and our laughter dies down, I brush over his neck, my thumb caressing his cheek with its faint stubble. I lift an eyebrow. “Not good taste to dismiss the importance of friendship, Barrow,” I tease him.

He snorts. Well, who am I to talk? He has more and closer friends than me. “I’d never,” Shade insists, playfully, and our faces soften in tandem. “We are friends, after all,” he concedes, but puts a finger on my lips before I can retort.

“We became friends and now we’re something else on top,” he says, like he wants to go on. But he hesitates, looking puzzled.

I wait for him, holding my breath. I am – not expecting him to share my suspicions, no. Just dying to hear how he defines us.

He swallows. “We’ve been comrades, friends, and now … we’re in love.”

I haven’t guessed how much this admission, this little word, would shake me with its truth. My heart races and so does his, as I can feel with one hand on his chest and another on his neck.

“Yes,” I breathe, almost inaudibly, before I kiss him in confirmation.

The world sways. Darkness falls; whether I open or close my eyes, I can only make out moving flashes of colour. I stop trying quickly. I hold on to Shade instead because I begin to understand what’s going on here, he’s teleporting us somewhere. I’d curse at him if I didn’t fear losing my breath or throwing up if I did.

It goes on and on and even with my weakness when it comes to jumping, I grasp we’re covering a longer distance. I just want it to stop and return to feeling nothing and nobody but Shade – until it suddenly does end.

It’s like dropping out of the sky and while I’m afraid of the fall for the fraction of a second, there comes no pain – as the moment I sense my surroundings again, I lie on a huge, soft bed with Shade propping himself up above me.

I blink wildly, gasping. Shade grins, even as my fingers bore into his arms as if I still fear losing contact to earth.

He bends forward to kiss my brow. “You didn’t think I’d keep making you sick, did you?” he murmurs, helping me up as he sits up on his haunches.

“What?” I say tonelessly before I realize: No nausea rising up my throat after teleporting for once. My hand lifts to me stomach nonetheless, out of reflex, as my head spins to take stock of my new surroundings. A huge room, both lavish and neglected, used – or rather out of use – and very dusty.

I look at Shade. “You’ve trained?”

He nods and I have to bite my lips. I wish he was really right about not giving me nausea anymore. In all regards.

Shade doesn’t let go of my hand even once we’ve risen from the bed. He holds it up, leading me like I was a Silver lady and he my dancing partner. I’d chuckle if the gesture wasn’t so entrancingly charming, to both him and me.

He brings me to the other end of the room and bids me sit at a small table covered with a white cloth – besides the bed sheets, the only furniture that appears truly clean in here.

His palms press on my shoulders in reassurance because I can’t stop glimpsing around, in every corner. It gets at me how uncanny the place is. I expect Maven’s sentinels to appear, or an old Silver hiding in the abandoned house.

The image of a lone Silver reminds me of the time I encountered one before, in the night that resulted in the scar on my face, and Shade and I –

Inadvertently, I seek Shade’s eyes at the memory and as if he can read my thoughts, he blushes along with me.

“You don’t have to worry, Dee, I’ve scouted the manor for a while,” he says. He’s rounding the table, flattening the cloth to fight his irresistible nervousness. Slowly, a smile spreads over his face and the next time he reaches me, he whispers in my ear, “for now, this is our palace.”

Shade pulls candles out of his backpack and I follow him with my eyes as he lights and places them around us. “Unfortunately, there’s no electricity,” he says. “No running water either.”

As yet, the sunset lasts, casting a bright orange light from the windows. The sun and the flames array Shade in a warm halo belying his name.

Hadn’t he told me to stay seated, I’d be too transfixed to move either way. He’s so beautiful. I long to stay in this dream he turned this evening into. Forget the bloodshed of the morning and hide with him from the world and the future.

But that is only a dream.

I laugh in rejoice when he presents the food he took from the notch. Damn, I might’ve ignored it for a while, but I’m still hungry. The air is filled with the smells of spices and cooked venison, decorated with mushrooms and vegetables, all served on the same wrappers they were brought in here.

“I got the table here, but it would’ve taken too long to search for and clean the silver plates,” Shades apologizes as he sits down opposite me.

I shake my head and squeeze his hand. “No matter. It’s better this way.”

“The food has gotten cold enough already?” he teases.

I shrug, smiling back at him. I can’t wait to eat, to enjoy, devour, this dinner and not giving my unpredictable stomach a chance to change its mind on the food.

I eat careful and slowly for the same reason, taking my fill but not more. Food alone can’t sate me either way. During the meal, our fingers find each other over the table to play and tangle, and our gazes do the same.

The candlelight becomes him. It reveals new colours in his sable hair, hues of dark brass and bronze, and brings out the warm tones of his brown skin as well as the elegant lines of his face.

Does my face disclose my yearning as much as his?

In my ears, the ring of our laughter, the sound of his voice, shift into a kind of music that is both enticing and existing only for us.

When our makeshift plates are empty, I rise from my chair and go to Shade’s. He twists in his seat and I sit down on his lap. I kiss him, tasting him as much as the residues of the delicious meal. “Thank you,” I whisper once more. He giggles and his hands go to my hips as my fingers dig into his back. For a while. It’s not easy, but I pull away and get up, smirking.

He grins back. “Time to clean up.” He understands the game well enough, the procrastination of lust. We remove the traces of our dinner, even carry away the table.

Whenever our eyes meet, it pierces like a knife.

Whenever we touch, by accident, it is electrifying.

The draw between us grows stronger by the second. When we’re done cleaning up, there’s only us, the candles, and the bed. I stand before him, letting the last of our things drop into his bag without looking. I have only eyes for him.

“Well,” I begin, having no mind for further words.

He doesn’t need any. He smiles with his hands on my waist, and in the next moment he pins me against the wall, kissing me.

I feel his fingers on the naked skin of my waist; so fast has he found his way under my shirt. When we gasp for breath, I use the second of pause to spin us around, pinning Shade against the wall around the corner.

His laughter tingles between our tongues. I moan as his fingertips press deeper into the muscled flesh on my back; I love it when he touches me there.

In a frenzy, always keeping in touch with some body part or other, we step away from the corner, shedding out shirts and loosening our belts as we inch for the bed. It’s like both a dance and a duel – like the sparring fight we had before – and neither, just us, Shade and me.

When the backs of my legs tackle the high bed, I fall behind, holding on only by my hands on Shade’s waistband. He doesn’t let me down. He takes my wrists and pulls me forward, then heaves me up by my hips.

I yelp. Only them do we fall on the foot of the bed. I want him closer, caressing his spine and butt and kissing his neck but first he props himself up by his elbows, then he presses his palm on my stomach, between my ribs.

My eyes widen, locking with his.

Does he guess?

His gaze is intense and questioning like mine. I breathe against the weight of his hand and he feels it, I can see. My cheeks heat as the colour deepens in his. It’s strangely intimate, enthralling. The moment lasts long and even though the unsettling question returns to my mind, I cherish every second of t.

“You’re both soft and strong,” he marvels softly. Finally, he removes his hand and lets it glide over my sides to slowly shove off my rousers.

I smile as I sit up to unclasp my bra. “Thanks for the compliment,” I reply before I let my fingers wander over his chest in return. “I’m sure,” I say with certain awe, “that many people told you how beautiful you are, too.”

From the corners of my eyes, I glimpse his face as I kiss him. His smile is shy and precious. “They weren’t you,” he whispers, very quietly.

He goes down on me, not even alluding to penetration or mentioning condoms – as if that’s not safe enough. I want to cackle. I should say, “no need for concern, it’s already too late.”

I’ve seen it, how his expression wavered when he leaned atop me, just before he made that compliment. Instead I surrender to the pleasure he gives me. I follow suit, using only my hands and mouth to make him come.

It’s easier this way, on this evening we grant ourselves to forget our fears, be they small or large, private or shared by our allies.

“I’d like to sleep here,” I admit eventually, knowing we should return to our duties at the notch. But I’m tired and this night so perfect. Shade has to feel the same as his longing expression is enough of an answer.

I put my shirt back on for warmth as he extinguishes the candles, every one but the last which goes out right when we lie down in a hug, he behind me and pressing a kiss on the back of my neck as we snuggle in the blankets.

I ignore how sensitive my breasts are to his touch, switching from treat to discomfort and back again from one second to another. Just as I ignore how I change from energized to exhausted, hungry to nauseous, generally.

The biggest cowards are those who lie to themselves.

He wakes me with a pat on my shoulder and a kiss on my chin. Or did I dream that? A yawn escapes my throat and I blink furiously against the candle on the nightstand he’s lit again. Shade’s gaze is warmer than it.

I moan against the lingering sleepiness and sit up. Then it’s no longer just sleepiness – my sight wavers and my sense of balance shatters as the nausea rises.

I jump up despite it and rush to the adjacent bathroom. There might be no running water but a drain is a drain. I bend over and retch.

Shade follows. He gathers my hair out of my face and draws circles over my back. It’s soothing, even when the heaving stops. His palm stays on the small of my back as I get up carefully.

He hands me a bottle of water and I drink gratefully, rinsing my mouth and flushing the sink with it.

My heart still beats too fast. Delicately, I hold on to his arms.

The corners of his mouth twitch. He lifts his head to kiss my brow, waits, and kisses me on the mouth. Blood rushes to my head. I can’t taste nice and l feel a lick of shame over throwing up – part of – our dinner.

He doesn’t care about that. He cares about me.

I hug him tight. “I love you.”

The words spill out by themselves. I’m shocked by them as I know they’re true.

Shade is similarly aghast. And yet, mixed with his startlement is this innate determination of his. I’ve seen this face on him often – and often, I am a cause of it. Sometimes, he seems surprised by it himself, by how far he’s come and how far he could go. It bespeaks both his innocence and commitment and it’s drawn me to him from the moment we met.

He cups my head in his hands. “I love you too, Diana,” he says.

His tenderness is piercing. I bury my face in his chest so he can’t see my quivering lip. Why do I even want to hide it though – because I’m used to bottle up my emotions?

That bottle began to fracture the moment we met, too. In truth, I want more. Crave more. More than quick fucks in the shadows of days and nights filled with planning, fighting, running.

I want a life.

I look up to his eyes and wish to find his earnest, loving gaze on me every time I fall asleep or wake up, without fearing it’ll be the last time. I imagine the last evening wasn’t a dream or an escape but our real future where we can cook together in a safe place we’ve made our own, along with our family.

I close my eyes, resisting the temptation to kiss him into oblivion. The time for forgetting and evasion is over. If I want to bring about a different world, I can’t run away from myself.

Shade’s lips brush my temple as I move. I shake my head ever so slightly and lead him back to the bed where we sit down. I don’t look at him. I clench and unclench my fists, breathing heavily.

“I’ve missed my period,” I say. Silence. No answer but a choked breath.

“It should’ve come around the time of the Sun Shooting,” I continue. “I didn’t even notice until weeks later. And then …” I grimace. “Well, if I was too stressed out to notice, maybe I was too stressed out for my period as well.” I suppress a cackle, blindly searching for Shade’s hand. I can feel his fast pulse.

Quietly, I go on. “But there’s still … nothing, after two months.” I clear my throat and finally turn to Shade. “You know what that could mean?”

I frown at him yet my hand squeezes his. Waves of emotions flicker over his face but he tries so hard to stay calm. Just like me. His throat twitches. “You … might be pregnant.”

“Might,” I insist. He nods reluctantly.

I fall back on the bed, balling my fists against my eyes. Shade lies down beside me. His touch, his presence, always so tender and soothing when we are together. So soft as if daunted and yet exactly what I need.

I know a different side of him as well though: when we stand side by side, watching our backs before the enemy.

His voice is a similar kind of caress. “Is that what you want?” It’s a whisper filled with understanding and the wish to understand more yet. I yearn him to. I’ve let him in and don’t want him to let go.

“I couldn’t have a child at the notch,” I say in a decidedly neutral voice. “Nor care for one. We don’t have …” I sigh. “My mother almost died of a fever after my sister was born. It was mere luck we could get medicine in time.” I glance at Shade.

“The notch was never an option to stay at forever,” he says slowly. But his voice lifts at the end of the sentence. Slightly, yet the hint of a question nonetheless. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand.

I know. I know what I didn’t say, what I haven’t denied. No “I don’t want a child”, and he realized that.

I didn’t want to get pregnant. I don’t want to be afraid for a baby.

I’ve ignored the signs, brushed off my suspicions because I wanted them to be false.

But that are also the only “nos” in my mind.

I’m not sure.

Maybe not.

I can’t be certain.

I’ve wished not to be pregnant in the first place because that would be the easiest way. Yet if I accept it – just for a second, just a little bit – to be true … I feel a small surge of protectiveness. My palm glides from my ribs over my abdomen to my thigh. I look at the candle flame burning low.

If I bled right now, be it my belated period or an early miscarriage, I’d feel both relief and loss.

Shade inches closer to me. His gaze earths me. “What happened to your mother and sister?” he asks, tucking a curl behind my ear. He already knows about my father who’s cold and uncaring toward me and everyone else. There is still so much to tell him.

I swallow. “They died,” I reply tonelessly. I close my eyes and the light of the candle flame still burns on my eyelids.

When I open my eyes, the candle has gone out.

“Shade. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“I know,” he murmurs. He holds me tighter. “And I’m with you, Diana.”

A/N 2: As we can see Farley having some substantial character development in books 3 and 4, I wanted to show the moment where she decides to change towards being less reserved and more caring toward her friends and comrades.

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @marecal-trash @mareshmallow @avid-author-activist @goldfincheli @loveverygalaxybouquetstuff @misslucyhutton @redqueenfandom @farleydiana @scxrletguardsdawn @maudthebookeater @blairistired @inopinion

#red queen #red queen fanfiction #red queen fan fiction #victoria aveyard #diana farley #shade barrow #farley x shade #shade x farley #glass sword #war storm #king's cage #clara farley-barrow #the candle flame #red queen one-shot

28 notes · View notes

tessalouise · 4 years

Text

Addiction in Disordered Eating

My eating disorder was an addiction.

My self-harming behaviors were an addiction.

It was about the food, yes. It was about losing massive amounts of weight by whatever means necessary to achieve what I believed at that time to be a perfect body. It was about hurting a body I hated. It was about control.

At the same time, it was all wildly addictive.

I used nicotine for roughly three years and when I quit, I quit with hardly any thought of it afterward. I haven’t vaped, haven’t smoked a cigarette since making the decision. This is a whole different bear.

Truthfully, in recovery, I am still extremely uncomfortable in my body. Just because I am quitting these self-harm practices doesn’t mean the urges disappear. Disordered eating is addictive. Starving is addictive. Cutting is addictive. Hitting yourself with ferocity until your skin numbs and turns blue is, apparently, addictive. These practices can trigger the release of endorphins, which temporarily relieve pain.

For a long time, I justified self-harming as pain to ease pain. Self-harm does give you a second of relief. A white-hot, split-second. And then there’s the after.

The after, crumpled up on the kitchen floor with head-shaped dents in the cabinets, legs you can hardly touch because you just spent an unknown amount of time thrashing and punching at them and your skin is swelling and turning purple and you ache. The after, tending to open cuts with hydrogen peroxide and pressure, desperately trying to get the bleeding under control and panicking because you may have gone a little too deep this time. The after, the morning after, waking in your bed to the devastation of what you did to yourself in the night. The after, after the period of restriction, after fainting, when you can hardly keep your eyes open and even you know you must choke something down, and you feel like you just spent xx days empty and starving for nothing. The after, with the brittle nails and the layered t-shirts and three pairs of leggings on, because it’s seventy degrees in your house, but it feels like thirty.

The feeling the after brews in you is one of the shittiest feelings I’ve ever felt.

Shame, to the billionth power.

And still, like addicts crave the high, I crave hunger. I crave self-harm.

Quitting the eating disorder is extraordinarily complicated, because unlike other addictions, it is impossible to totally remove yourself from food, and it is impossible to totally remove yourself from hunger. I cannot separate myself from it in the way alcoholics can avoid liquor. Hunger is our body’s way of asking for food, and I will naturally become hungry throughout the day – only now, I have the responsibility to satiate it. I can only take this soured relationship I have with food and with hunger and nurture it. I can only get up each day and advocate for myself. I can only work to understand and identify the motley of whys and hows of these behaviors and their manifestation. It is so important to examine why we do the things we do.

I believe my eating disorder and tendency to self-harm stem from both my genetics and a deeper lack of control over my life. Eating disorders run maternally on my mother’s side and occurred in my father’s sister before her passing. I was predisposed to these behaviors, and a chaotic, incredibly confusing eggshell walk of an upbringing caused me to grasp at straws for whatever form of control I could find. I found anorexia in my preteens. I found self-harm earlier.

Understanding the root of addiction is essential. In my new, rational recovery brain, I can see the big picture. I can see the family history; I can see my genetic makeup and the brain chemistry. I can see my female ancestors starving themselves thin to take up the least amount of space possible. I can see the curly five-year old, I can see her cupping tiny hands over her ears, on her pink bedroom carpet buzzing with reverb from the newly divorced, screaming parents in the other room. I can feel her nervous tummy and the sensory overload, and I understand why she didn’t even want to eat. I can see the seven-year old waiting in line at the food bank, at a parent’s hip, thankful to know where her next meal is coming from and developing starvation trauma all the same. I can see the seven-year old at home, transforming the one gallon of milk into two with the magic of tap water.

Children should not have to learn to ration and stretch and hack their food. Children should not bear the enormous stress of finances and hunger. As a kid, I shouldn’t have known that expired doesn’t mean inedible, I shouldn’t have known the names of every volunteer at the food bank that quite literally sustained us, I shouldn’t have known how to stay warm in a home without heat, but I did. Life happens – parents are humans, too, and humans make mistakes, and with mistakes there are repercussions. Looking back, I am not angry, I am not bitter. The way I grew up expanded my capacity to Love. It has instilled in me the strongest desire to someday raise my own children and teach them gratitude in a household of abundance, a household in which food is simply available and accessible – food will not be an enemy, nor a luxury. In my own household, marital and financial stresses will be kept quiet, private, and entirely away from little ears. Childhood is confusing enough on its own and it is imperative for parents to preserve innocence.

I can see where wounds were created.

I can see why I chose destructive behaviors to distract from the deep hurt.

I can see why I became addicted and dependent on those behaviors to numb out.

So, here I am. I have this new, rational recovery brain, and though I am still uncomfortable in my body and in this new phase of my life, I am letting go of the idea that I need to be restricting or harming myself to be in control. I am safe and secure. Provided for. Those behaviors helped me a survive a tumultuous time, but they are no longer necessary, and they have always been destructive.

This new person I am is someone I am unfamiliar with. Clear-headedness is something I am unfamiliar with. But I feel present. I am no longer watching my life happen without me. It feels good to be this person.

#recovery #eating disorder recovery #ed recovery #addiction #sh recovery #childhood

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losingmymindtonight · 6 years

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(inspired by a conversation with @parkrstark, who I adore and who is always willing to scream about irondad with me)

“Mister Stark?”

Tony’s head snaps up at the voice. The voice that belongs to a boy who was supposed to be asleep.

“Peter? What are you doing up?”

“I, uh...”

The first thing Tony notices is that the kid’s entire body is trembling. His hair is sticking up awkwardly and the billionaire can see where tear tracks have stained his cheeks. He’s off of the piano bench in an instant, moving to comb his fingers through Peter’s curls and tug at his shirt until it sits properly on his shoulders again.

He drops his voice into the soothing tone that never fails with the kid as he cups the side of his neck, tracing a thumb over the underside of his chin. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

Peter’s words are barely a mumble. There is shame there, and Tony wants nothing more than to snuff it out. “Nightmare.”

Oh, Peter.

The kid hadn’t been sleeping, well, at all, since Thanos. Tony knew that it would be sort of hypocritical to blame him. After all, every time he closed his eyes, Peter’s death danced in front of him like some kind of sick puppetshow. He couldn’t outrun it. He couldn’t repress it. It was as if even the deepest, darkest corners of his psyche kept vomiting the memories back up.

And Peter remembered. He remembered how it felt to have his body crumble into ash. He remembered how his spider senses had clawed at his lungs and how his accelerated healing had tried futilely to piece him back together. He remembered the after, too. The all-consuming darkness. The silence. The absence of anything at all.

These were the things he’d told Tony in between the nightmares. These were the things he couldn’t talk about when the sun was up.

Tony and May had been working vigorously on different methods to coax Peter into a much-needed full night of sleep. They’d learned that the teenager could usually get some rest if one of them stayed up with him, so they were trading the kid back and forth so both of them (mainly May, since Tony didn’t really sleep anyway) could get some rest in between their “Peter shifts.”

(“It’s co-parenting,” May had said, a tint of a laugh on her lips, “next thing you know, we’ll be going to PTA meetings together. I hope you’ve got an outfit picked out for his graduation, Stark.”

He did, by the way. Complete with a custom tie in Midtown colors.)

Tonight, Tony had slipped out of Peter’s room a couple of hours after the kid had finally passed out. He’d really hoped that the poor teenager might actually get a dreamless, uninterrupted sleep for once.

Evidently not.

“I-I was there, again. And-and you were trying to hold me together but you couldn’t and I just-”

The kid chokes off on a sob, wiping his nose on the sleeve of one of Tony’s SI sweatshirts that he’s taken to stealing. The older man shushes him gently and rubs the pads of his fingers against the nape of his neck.

“It’s over. I put you back together, remember? You’re okay.” Peter gives a half-hearted nod, eyes still stormy with the imprint of the memories, and Tony makes a split-second decision. “C’mere, kiddo. I wanna show you something.”

Curiosity lights up like lightning amidst the clouds in Peter’s eyes as his mentor leads him towards the piano. “What is it?”

Tony sits at the bench and tugs the teenager down beside him. “This was my mom’s.”

Peter starts. Tony doesn’t talk much about his parents, so it’s always momentous when he does. “Oh.”

The billionaire runs his fingers over the keys reverently. They feel right under his touch. If he really listens, he can almost hear his mother’s quiet hum. “She taught me how to play.”

“She did?”

“Yep.” He grips Peter’s shoulder and guides him down until he’s sprawled across the bench with his head pillowed in his mentor’s lap. “She used to play for me when I was sad or sick.”

Peter shifts so he can gaze up at Tony with a lazy smile. “Are you gonna play for me?”

“I am.” He brushes his fingertips over the kid’s forehead before moving both hands into the proper position on the keys. “And this is a special, secret performance just for you. So don’t tell anyone I can play, alright?”

The kid muffles a yawn against Tony’s stomach, and the older man can’t stop the fond expression that falls over his face. “Sure.”

“Good.” He starts off with a few scales to warm up before melting into one of the lullabies his mother used to play for him during really bad thunderstorms. He hums along gently, half focusing on the song and half focusing on the head resting against his thighs.

His plan was working. It only takes five minutes for Peter’s eyes to droop and the tension to melt away from his muscles. He’s gazing up at Tony, pupils shifting drowsily between his mentor’s face and hands.

The first song finishes, and the kid blinks slowly. “Mmm. Liked that one.”

Tony reaches down to retrieve Peter’s arm, which had slipped off the bench and was hanging with the knuckles scraping the floor, and drape it carefully over his stomach. “Yeah? Want another?”

The kid’s eyes slip shut. “Please.”

Tony lets his fingers play the next tune that’s in his muscle memory. Peter’s lips part and his head lolls slightly as he finally drifts off. The billionaire’s stomach swoops with pure affection as the kid unconsciously tangles his fingers into the hem of his t-shirt and nuzzles into his jeans.

I’m dedicating every day to you...

The lyric pops into his head unbidden. Before Thanos, Peter had been beyond obsessed with Hamilton, and Tony had ended up learning most of the songs simply through exposure. The only one he’d ever listened to by choice was Dear Theodosia.

Because, well, it reminded him of a certain Spider-kid.

That admission would have been impossible to acknowledge, even internally, before. But after having nearly lost Peter forever, Tony found it a lot easier to accept his love for the kid as a fact rather than push it away.

He’d printed off the sheet music and taught himself the song while Peter was… gone. He could still remember the way his hands fumbled on every other note as silent sobs tore through his chest.

His fingers found the keys again easily, and he took a brief second to be thankful for his eidetic memory as the lyrics and sheet music settled comfortable at the forefront of his mind.

He sang along softly, hoping that his voice might help soothe Peter into a peaceful, Thanos-free sleep.

Please, he thought, please just let him sleep.

“When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart,” he’s a little surprised to find his voice thick with emotion as he murmurs the lyrics, “and I thought I was so smart.”

He glances down at Peter. He suddenly hates the fact that the song requires both his hands, because something inside him itches to tuck that errant curl back behind the kid’s ear.

“We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you.”

I bled for him. I fought for him. I made it right again. I made it all right again.

“Oh Peter, when you smile I am undone, my son.” He swallows hard as the kid’s mouth twitches at the sound of his name. His next words come out so choked that it can barely even count as singing. “Look at my son…”

My kid. My son.

Peter.

He stops for a second, hands poised over the keys and eyes trained Peter’s peaceful face. He looks at the kid. Really, really looks at him. It’s a kind of scrutiny that would make the teenager blush and squirm if he were awake, but Tony can’t help it. His eyelashes are dark against his cheeks and there is something so overwhelmingly youthful about the kid that it steals his breath straight out of his lungs.

He would kill for this kid. He has killed for this kid. And he would do it over and over and over again without even a single ounce of regret.

When he starts the song again, his hands shake slightly with the vastness of it all. The emotions are swelling up in his stomach, a tangle of feeling that he cannot pull apart. Love, protectiveness, attachment, fear. They collide and crash and fill his body with so much weight that he wonders if he will be crushed by it. Can someone truly feel this much without being swept away?

“Pride is not the word I’m looking for… there is so much more inside me now.” The melody falters as he clenches his hands into fists before plowing forward. “Peter, you outshine the morning sun… my son.”

He wonders, suddenly, if Peter knows. Has Tony ever told him that he loved him? He doesn’t think so. Even when he’d come back from the literal dead, the billionaire hadn’t actually given voice to why he had torn apart the universe just for him.

I should tell him, he thinks, when he wakes up, I need to tell him.

“My father wasn’t around,” he thinks of Howard. He thinks of the whiskey on his breath and the reprimands on his tongue. He thinks of the whistle of a belt and the shattering of glass. He thinks about that fact that Peter will never know these things, “I swear that I’ll be around for you.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” I tore the universare apart to bring you home, and I’d do it again if that’s what it took. ““I’ll make a million mistakes.” I let you die. I let you die and I didn’t even comfort you. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. “I’ll make the world safe and sound for you.”

I promise, Peter. I’ll leave something better for you. I would take this shitty world and turn it into gold if I could.

Hell, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“And you’ll blow us all away, someday, someday,” Tony watches the kid’s eyelids flutter and feels a tender warmth swell up from his chest and fuzz through his hands, “yeah, you’ll blow us all away.”

Tony takes a deep breath as the notes fade into oblivion. One hand settles in Peter’s soft curls while the other checks his pulse, which is thudding strong with life but slow with sleep. The kid’s fidgeting has stilled, which usually means that he’s well and truly out.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” His voice is barely a whisper. “How’s he looking?”

His AI matches his volume. In fact, her answer is spoken so softly that he has to strain to hear it. “Mister Parker’s vitals are all normal. His brain waves indicate that he is in Stage 4 sleep. If you plan to move him to a more comfortable location, I suggest you do so in the next ten minutes before he reaches REM sleep.”

Tony wipes a bit of drool from Peter’s open mouth with the hem of his shirt. The kid sleeps soundly.

He knows that this is just one of many sleepless nights ahead. He knows that what Peter went through, what they all went through, cannot be healed by a Hamilton song and his mom’s old piano.

But, hell, it’s a start.

And, for now, that’s all they need.

#this is what happens when you let Shannon and I talk to eachother #we wrote this headcanon the other day and it's been HAUNTING me #so here it is #and it's all Shannon's fault #irondad #spiderson #tony & peter #tony stark #peter parker #iw spoilers #spoilers #infinity war spoilers #losingmymindtonight writes

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5hfanfiction · 6 years

Text

Seasons - Chapter 03

Summer: Some more than necessary explanations.

Camila’s POV

“What’s the plan?” I heard Dinah questioning Lauren.

They were in the front seat. I stayed quiet most of the trip, processing, trying to understand my new condition. I couldn’t go home and I wouldn’t know what to do if a monster like that appeared. And the worst part is; my mother might be in danger because of me. Sinuhe had already to deal with a child who wasn’t hers, she had to move and move because of me. I couldn’t give her to a mortal danger to her life.

I stayed still in the backseat. Thoughtfully, confused, fearful. What would happen from now on? What did they want with me? What had I done wrong? Questions and more questions bombarding my brain, leaving me totally inert from what was happening around me most of the time. But that conversation started my interest.

“We have to go to the camp. It’s the only safe place for her” Lauren answered after a few seconds.

“Camp?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s alive!” Lauren scoffed.

“The Camp Half-Blood, the only place protected from monsters and a place to stay and we train” Dinah said. “Many of us live there too, others will only in the summer”

“Other half-bloods?” I inquired uncertain.

“And other bizarre things” Lauren added. “It’s located in Long Island, it will be a long trip”

“Could… Could I at least call my mom?” I heard Lauren snort and Dinah take a deep breath, my heart sank hardly. “Please! I cannot just disappear, she will look for me and will be concerned, she will call the police and–”

“Okay! Now shut up!”

I bit my lip strongly not to swear Jauregui with all my framework of ugly words. But I couldn’t, she was kind of the head of everything that was going on, even I could see that. I groped my pockets to find my cell phone, pulled and took a deep breath, pressing the shortcut leading to the number of my mother. I was already bringing the phone to my ear when it was suddenly taken from my hand.

“Do you want to kill us?!” Lauren shouted.

“Give it back!” I yelled.

Unlike what was expected, the girl with green eyes just opened the car window and threw my beautiful phone out. I myself had bought it! Saving every extra money that my mother gave me for months! Anger pounded hard and mixed with the need to talk to Sinuhe.

“Why…” I stared at the window and suddenly blew up, starting to hit Lauren as best I could. “It was my phone! You crazy bitch!”

“Stop it” Lauren cowered and tried to dodge, but I barely heard. “Cabello, you will cause an accident!” I hit her even harder, her arms, her head, it was awfully therapeutic. “STOP!”

Then by touching her shoulder to give a smacking slap. A shock went through my body. Literally a shock! I was thrown against the back seat and my body shivered a couple of times still getting some small shocks.

“Have you ever stopped it? Do you want me kill all of us?!” Dinah shouted nervously.

“She had a cell phone and making a call!” Jauregui defended herself.

“And you threw it away!” I accused pointing my finger to her.

“Camila” DJ take a deep breath. “Technology attracts monsters. It’s like shouting at them where we are. Only some people can use it. Once an 11-year-old boy was searching about Empusa and he had a visit from one of them. We never heard anything from him after that”

“See?!” Lauren said that look of ‘I’m right all the time’.

“I 'see’ nothing! You could be explained, but I think that you have a conversation with someone is really impossible!”

I threw myself against the seat, crossing my arms and grimaced. Lauren practically growled and said nothing. Dinah shook his head and let out a long breath, and returning to driving. It took almost an hour of absolute silence until DJ parked the car at a gas station. Lauren would put gasoline in the car while my friend took me to the convenience store to make a call. I was nervous again. How I could tell what was happening to my mother? What would I say? I let out a long sigh and not paying attention to the conversation that Dinah had with the seller to convince him to let me use the phone.

“Mila, quick thing okay? I’ll distract the guy so you can talk and he didn’t suspect anything,” Dinah instructed.

“Ok” I picked up the phone and noticed that my hand was shaking, took a deep breath twice and dialed the number. During the second ring, my mother answered. “Hi Mom…”

“Camila? Oh my God! I was so worried honey, where are you? I called the school and no one knew about you!” Sinu said in her maternal concern.

“Mom, I don’t how to explain it right, ok? I need you to trust me” I muttered her heart racing. “I can’t go home, not yet. Things are happening and I need to solve them so I can go back”

“Camila, what did you get into?” Sinuhe was now angry. “Get back home!”

“I can’t Mom, I’m fine ok? And I’ll be fine. I need you to know that I love you, a lot. Thanks for making me your daughter, I’m going back. Please don’t forget to eat right, you distract yourself writing and skips meals, we know how it is bad. Also don’t delay the bills, you can’t deal with the accumulated interest and…”

“Mila” Dinah said behind me.

“Honey, please stop it. I don’t know what you got into, but we can handle it ok?”

“I’m sorry mom. I love you. When I manage, I get in touch with you”

I hung up. That was one of the hardest things I had ever done in my life. My heart was racing and suffocating me. I didn’t realize I was crying till the tears blurred my vision when it intensified. Dinah put an arm over my shoulder, kissed the top of my head and took me out in a protective way. I got in the car, curled up in the back seat and cried quietly. I was no warrior or heroin, or something. I was a teenager full of problems, but happy to come home and have someone who still smiled at me with affection and love. But now I gave goodbye indefinitely for that person. I couldn’t stop feeling that this time would be very long and longing, already, was becoming big and suffocating.

I returned to reality only when the car stopped again. I lifted my face finally noticing that it was night and we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Everything that had beyond the highway was an old cabin a few meters away. The door beside me opened, I expected to find Dinah’s comforting eyes, but I found two green eyes. An intense look, but not like bad or arrogant as the other looks.

“Dinah was looking for food and a few other things,” Jauregui said. “We have to stop to rest, the trip will be quite long and this is the last safe place I know before Virginia”

I just nodded and got out of car when she gave me space. The night was extremely cold, so I was just hugging my body and following Lauren to the cabin. Even at night, it was easy to see her. We were far from artificial city lights and the moon illuminated everything. Just then, I noticed how Lauren Jauregui was pale, her skin seemed to be bathed in moonlight gracefully. Her brown hair was black as cascade on her back with subtle waves. It was hard to say that a girl like she was kind of a warrior. Who she was daughter? She would be aggressive like that because it was her temper or because life made her like that? When she smiled? Suddenly, my curiosity about Jauregui exploded like a real volcano been erupting.

“I’ll get firewood, there is a fireplace inside and the night is cold” Lauren warned after opening the door.

“No! I’ll go with you” I said promptly, a hint of fear in my voice.

“Hmm” Lauren looked at me seriously and then shrugged. “You’re right, you’re a danger alone, you are able to fall, stumble and get hurt seriously”

“Ha ha” I mimicked a laugh. “You should give me more credit; I stopped you from becoming dog food”

“I’ll do it if you know how you did it”

Bingo. Lauren looked at me shortly before starting to walk away toward a small cluster of fine trees and dry branches. We were silent, but I was extremely annoyed, my mind boiling in every kinds of questions. That was always expressed by my body before I realized it, my foot was hitting the floor, I moved around more than necessary, looking at all over the place trying to distract me…

“Okay, just say what you want to ask, you’re agitated and it’s stressing me out,” Lauren said handing over some branches for me to hold.

“I don’t know if I want to talk to you” I said genuinely, narrowing my eyes. “We ended up arguing, always”

“Great, we agree on something. Then die choking on your curiosity”

“You’re so kind” I said ironically, huffed and I could not stand it anymore. “Okay, you’re also demigod then… Who’s your father?”

“I thought it was obvious”

She bent down to pick up other pieces of wood, this time holding under her right arm. She returned to move, so I knew she would not give me a straight answer. Why I was still trying to talk to her? Rolled my eyes, but at least I could focus my mind on something. Lightning. There was a god that dominated it, isn’t it? Again, it came to mind the Disney cartoon about Hercules and I almost let the wood fall when I finally figured.

“Are you Zeus’ daughter?”

And as if he were listening to our conversation, lightning flashed the night sky, even without a storm. This so frightened and made me stumble, falling to the ground and dropping everything I was holding.

“See what I said about you being a risk to yourself?” Lauren looked at me angrily. “I’ll say once, be careful with the names, and avoid pronouncing them. It’s just another way to leave them looking for you. Names have power, remember that”

She reached a hand to help me up. But her way so irritating affected me like no other. I pushed her hand and stood up for myself, lowering me to pick up the wood that I had dropped. Lauren didn’t say anything, just turned around and started go back to the cabin.

“So I was right?” I asked just to confirm, hated being in doubt.

“Yes”

“That’s why Dinah called you little spark princess–”

“Don’t you dare to call me that, understood Cabello?”

Jauregui stopped and said it sharply. She had that look intimidating and when she was in that state, anyone would shrink. I had that hint of fear, but as strong as it was my stubbornness. I didn’t look away. My brown eyes locked into sparkling green. Both of us didn’t move, as if it were a battle and who would dare to do this would be the loser.

But then Dinah came screaming in her outgoing and intrusive way of being played in both of us almost knocking us down. That broke all the tension, especially when I felt the smell of pizza from the boxes that Dinah brought. I shouted of happiness, threw myself on her in a bear hug and filled her face with kisses. She was really my best friend, who on the run bring pizza for dinner?

We entered the cabin. Dinah told about the things that she made to find a closed shop. Invaded, stole everything she thought necessary, took bus down to a small town that was close by and bought the pizzas. All of this in less than an hour and a half.

“So your father is the god of thieves?” I repeated what Dinah had just said.

We were sitting on the ground, there was no furniture inside the cabin, except for a narrow double bed in only one bedroom. Lauren was near the fire, which lit without my noticing. Dinah and I were facing each other, talking quietly, different than it was with the other demigod.

“Yes” Dinah smiled mischievously. “He’s also the god of travelers and messengers, and also a diplomat and has shoes with wings”

“Converse winged will be the next fashion, I always knew that” I was able to joke and making Dinah laugh.

“You’ll stay in my cabin, you know? It’s where all the undetermined go, since my father is the protector of travelers, is a temporary place”

“There’s cabins in the camp?”

“Yes there is, originally it was only 12 cabins, but then there was a war against the Titans and a group of demigods mainly saved the world. Then the God of the seas’ son made a deal with Jauregui’s father” she said and my mind almost knotted. God of the sea is Poseidon, right? “Annoyregui’s father is Zeus. "Now all the minor gods also have cabins”

“Dinah, you still think she can be a sensitive human to mist?” Lauren asked not even looking away from the flames

“No. Not after what she did with the hellhound. That was amazing, I’ve never seen anyone do that” Dinah replied thoughtfully.

“Then why she wasn’t claimed?”

“Wait, no parallel conversations!” I asked looking between Hansen and Jauregui. “First, what is this mist?”

“Remember that the janitor seemed just an ugly human being and then growing up?” Dinah said gesturing. “So he was always a Laistrygonian, but used the mist to cover up the reality. It’s kind of an illusion that leaves humans away from the our world. For example, if Laur activate her sword, a normal human could see a baseball bat instead of the sword. Even we demigods are fooled by the mist”

“But some humans are not fooled. They’re even special in their own way” Lauren added, finally looking to the side and stared at us. “Dinah thought you could be one of those. But you have the disaster that comes with all of us”

“I’ll take that as a compliment” I rolled my eyes, although I agree with her in a way. “And what is being claimed?”

“It’s when your divine progenitor reveals who is your father or mother. In the old days, they did this only when the children showed themselves worthy in some way, or just did” Dinah said. “But after the war, an agreement was made to every child when they reached 12 years was claimed in some way. There are still cases of thirteen or fourteen… But you’re too late. You would know when you were, as a symbol appears over your head and sometimes followed by a temporary blessing that lasts a day or two”

“Oh…” I said like I was understanding, but didn’t understand half of those things.

“Rest, there will be a long road ahead. I’ll be on guard” Lauren stood up.

“You need to rest too” I said impulsively.

“I rest tomorrow in the car”

Last word, Lauren went outside slamming the door with some force. I nodded, but feeling a hint of worry.

“She’s tough anyway” Dinah consoled me. “Lauren is the best at everything I know. She has to be to stay alive”

“What do you mean?”

“She is the daughter of the big three. The king of the gods. Her presence, demigod’s sent, to the monsters that hunt us is even stronger. For this reason, they are few and have been banned. But the gods are not very good at sticking to the rules, although they have some sinister punishment”

I let out a long sigh, it seemed even more sharpening my curiosity. But I had time to learn about that girl at another time. I didn’t refuse Dinah’s help to get up. I found out that cabin also had an old and a little dirty bathroom with cold water. But which served to take a quick shower and brush my teeth with things stolen from Dinah. She promised that would take clothes next time.

When I lay in bed, myfriend followed me and promptly fainted. She was huge and filling most of thespace. But I don’t mind about it, since my mind was working frantically until Ialso fell asleep.

#UPDATE #series #AU #camren #caminah #laurinah #action adventure #submission #Seasons

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blatherkatt · 7 years

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Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 18: Wiggler-steps

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Mentioned/implied abuse

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

It had been two days since Dave was supposed to go back to Bro, since Kanaya’d been hurt and all that, and Dave was still fucking reeling from the aftermath. Or, more accurately, the lack thereof.

Like, seriously, what the fuck.

He was definitely still feeling guilty as fuck about it, but…everyone else seemed to have gotten over it? Dirk was sorta making him nervous and being as stoic and hard to read as ever, but for all the times the guy looked pissed off (well, more like annoyed, but years of living with Bro had taught Dave that on that face, annoyed meant pissed), nothing had ever come of it. Rose was being really gentle, lately, fuckin’ asking him if he was okay like all the damn time, and he’d never tried saying ‘no’ to her yet, but he was starting to think it might actually be okay to do so. He was still experiencing whiplash from how quick she’d turned that conversation about The Kanaya Thing around, fuck. Mom hadn’t even talked about any sort of punishment, Kanaya seemed totally okay with everything (aside from being generally vaguely bewildered about the whole vampire deal, which was totally fair), even fuckin’ Terezi had let him off the hook with a warning.

And…then there was Karkat. He hadn’t done anything either, except for a good dose of the silent treatment. Dave suspected that was mainly because he hadn’t actually talked to Karkat about it yet. Wasn’t super looking forward to doing so, but he was gonna do it. Right the fuck today. Time to clear the fuckin’ air, get this smoggy conflict shit outta there so we can all fuckin’ breathe.

Karkat was, at present, down on the couch in the living room, watching some troll movie on his troll computer. Dave swallowed hard, and walked over to Karkat.

“Hey,” said Dave. Great start. Awesome. Fantastic way to start an apology.

“Hmph,” said Karkat. His ear flicked as Dave dropped down next to him on the couch, but his eyes remained trained on his laptop.

“So,” Dave said, scrambling to keep his train of thought reigned in enough that he could actually put words to it, “like, for the record, in advance, if the answer is gonna be ‘no, fuck off, never talk to me again, you have screwed the pooch so hard the furries have fully embraced you as one of their own whether you like it or not, get the fuck away from me and never talk to me again,’ that’s totally fine and I will shut the fuck up and be out of your hair, but. Can we, like, talk? About shit? ‘Cuz I, uh. Probably owe you an apology. I mean, you and everyone, but most of them’ve already heard it, and their responses have been, uh, kind of fucking weird, honestly, but. Ugh, I’m fucking this up already, Jesus Christ, there’s no end to this verbal fucking flood, the levies have already broken, just start breakin’ out the inflatable rafts and start blowing, and not in the sexy way —”

“If I say yes, will you shut up?” Karkat groaned.

“…Uh, I mean. I’m asking to talk, but, uh.”

“Okay, how about this, then: what’s the point, Dave, skip the impossibly unending torrent of words, ditch the fucking flotation devices altogether, and cut straight to what you actually came down here to say. Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly,” Karkat said, his voice flat. His eyes were still trained on that movie. Some troll on screen was barking something really mean sounding to another in Alternian in the middle of a really violent looking makeout session. At least, Dave thought it was a makeout session. The two might have actually been literally trying to suck each others’ faces off. Dave shuddered, shook his head, and tried not to look. Fuckin’ troll romance shit, Jesus.

“Well, do you want the list in alphabetical order, or…” Dave trailed off, let the joke die before it had a chance to drop its pants on stage. Wasn’t funny, and Karkat clearly wasn’t in the mood, judging by the stony look in his eyes. “…Everything, I guess. Uh. I’m really fucking sorry for getting Kanaya hurt, she seems really okay with it and…thanked me, for some reason? Which was almost as confusing as what Rose did, but whatever. I’m…sorry for taking advantage of you being a really decent dude, way back when you caught me sneaking in, too. That was…that was kinda scummy of me, even if I thought it was necessary at the time.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Karkat said. Dave suppressed a flinch. “I trusted you, Dave! I thought you were just doing something harmless like feeding an animal or something, and it turns out you were putting all of us in danger! Kanaya’s…” Karkat’s voice choked, and he turned his head further away, clutching at his arm. “She’s basically my best fucking friend, and I almost lost her. I fucking gambled on everyone’s safety, just letting you sneak out like that. I should’ve told someone, but past me had to be a stupid fucking idiot with giant diamonds in his eyes about it.”

“I…wait, diamonds? Fuck it, nevermind, weird alien expressions can wait.” Dave shook his head. “I know it doesn’t really help anything, but honest to God, I never meant to…I was gonna just go quietly, that way no one’d get hurt and I’d be out of everyone’s hair —”

“ExcUSE ME?” Karkat yelped, turning back toward Dave with his eyes wide, angry, and watery, but Dave wasn’t done.

“—and everything could go back to normal, but that last night was so fucking peaceful that the thought of going back to having to constantly be on full alert sounded so fucking exhausting and I couldn’t stand it, and I knew that I’d waited too long to tell you guys for everything to just be okay, and, and I thought everyone was gonna be pissed at me over it, which they kind of were but not nearly as mad as I expected, and, and —”

“Dave,” Karkat hissed, grabbing Dave’s arm and making him jump, “Holy shit, you’re gonna work yourself into another panic attack. Breathe, dumbass, watch your breathing.”

Dave took a deep breath, tried to talk again, and was immediately silenced by a gray hand slapped over his mouth.

“No. Stop. That’s enough. I think I get the idea. You made a mistake. I’m not as mad as you think I am, calm down.”

“You’re not?” Dave said, as the hand pulled away, hating a little how hopeful his voice sounded. He was like a fucking dog perking up at the tiniest bit of praise, fuckin’ ridiculous.

Karkat sighed. “Yeah. Call me the biggest pan-baked maggot spawn this side of the fucking galaxy, because I’m accepting your fucking apology on account of knowing you only did what you did because you’re scared and Strider fucked up your think pan and because I…really like being your friend.”

Dave blinked.

“It’s because I hate myself,” Karkat clarified. “I hate myself, and deeply enjoy my own misery in constantly dealing with you and your incessant bullshit and how you are just fantastic at being the biggest pain in the ass.”

“Uh,” said Dave.

“And what I’m saying I guess is that I’m really glad I know you and you’ve made moving to this godforsaken backwater rubbish heap of a planet a lot more bearable even if you did make this one catastrophic fuckup and you clearly fully get that you screwed it up and won’t do it again, so please stop talking about yourself like you’re a fucking burden on the lives of everyone around you when really you’re not. You are, at worst, kind of obnoxious and prone to making stupid mistakes, which, fuck, I’m guilty of that shit, and you know what let’s change the fucking subject before I embarrass us both any further.”

“Uh.”

“Dave, words.”

“Can I have like a minute to process?” Dave said.

“No. Fuck that. The less of the horrible vile sludge I just let escape my stupid mouth you manage to filter through your think pan, the better things will be for the both of us.”

Dave stifled a snicker at that. “What, and ignore that basket of warm fuzzies you just gift wrapped and delivered at my door? Bro. What kind of asshole do you take me for?”

“The kind who apparently cannot be decent enough to allow an accidental, humiliating outpouring of affection slide. Yes, I have shamed myself to a greater extent than ever before, and you noticed. Can we please move on.”

“That was gay as hell, dude, I’m fuckin’ swooning over here.”

“Rose, there’s a good subject to swerve the fuck over to and leave this train of conversation a distant speck in our memories. What did you mean when you said Rose’s reaction was weird?”

“Oh, you’re not getting out of this that easy, man. I think I need to reflect a little longer on how much my good buddy loves me—“

“DAVE WHAT DID ROSE DO. I AM CHANGING THE SUBJECT.”

“Fine, Jesus, you big killjoy,” said Dave. “Uh, she like…she mostly just yelled at me for a while, actually? And then she like…took my shades off, and just…did a total fuckin’ one-eighty, said she accepted the apology and…said she was sorry to me, like. She said she overreacted and…just walked out after that? And I’m kind of freaking out about it to be honest?”

“….Seriously? What the fuck?” said Karkat. “I mean, great, awesome, I’m glad, but what the fuck? Are we talking about the same Rose here?”

“I, well, uh…” Dave ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, like, I was expecting…you know. No one’s really tried to actually punish me for what happened. Rose fuckin…Let me hang out with her, like, all day yesterday. Wasn’t angry at all, nothing. And…I mean, I definitely fucked up, right?”

“Dave, the fact that you fucked up is so undeniably a fact that scientists have not even bothered to write it down, because it is absurdly obvious and utterly inarguable. It is one of the most core and unchanging facts of this universe. You fucked up hard.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dave said. “But. I mean, all I’ve gotten is a bit of yelling, and Rose fuckin’ apologized for that. Hell, even Terezi just like wagged a finger at me and said to not do it again.”

“Which, by the way, next time you sneak out,” Karkat said, “I’m not keeping it secret. The entire world will know.”

“There won’t be a next time, you got my word on that, dude,” Dave said. “Not if I can help it. Lesson’s been learned. But also what the fuck? Why is everyone being so nice about it?”

Karkat snorted. “Dave, I still don’t get how family works, and I can tell you that they’re definitely not going to fucking attack you over what boils down to an honest if deeply misguided mistake. You thought you were doing what you were supposed to right up until the end, you were never malicious, and they get that. Even Rose, apparently.”

“…But I fucked up.”

“They forgave you for that,” Karkat said. “It’s fine. Do better next time.”

“But. But….” Dave drummed his fingers against his leg. “I just. I mean, yeah, they’ve been saying that no one’s gonna hurt me, but. Fucking…” He threw his arms up and sat back with the most confused, irritated noise he could muster. “Fuck’s sakes, man, if they won’t even come after me for this, then what the fuck have I been trying to stay out of their way for?”

“I mean, you don’t have to do that,” Karkat said. “Rose has literally been trying to tell you that you can come out whenever you want.”

“Fuck,” said Dave. “I know I probably sound like a fuckin’ idiot right now, but. Just. Nothing makes sense anymore, what the fuck.”

“Nothing’s made sense to me since I moved to this planet,” said Karkat. “You’re on your own figuring this shit out. Good fucking luck.”

“Thanks,” said Dave. “You’re a real pal. Super helpful, Karkat.”

“I aim to please.”

Dave snorted. Then, he paused, glanced away a moment, and said, “So, like, just to be totally clear, though…we’re cool, now, right?”

“You’re so far from cool, your heat could power an entire fucking planet for a millenia. You are the antithesis of cool, Dave Strider. But yes, things are alright between us.”

“Alright, second question,” Dave said, allowing himself to lean back against the couch. “What the fuck are you watching?”

“The title’s too long for me to recite right now, but it’s a fucking classic, and I will not stand for your usual brand of culturally insensitive bullshit —“

“Why did the little one just make bedroom eyes at the guy who just kicked his ass?”

“It’s fucking blackrom, dumbass, they’re flirting.”

“That’s not fucking flirting, it’s a goddamn cage match. All they need is the fuckin’ leotards and some secret identities and — oh, I’ll be damned, one of them is actually wearing a leotard.”

Karkat slammed his finger down on the button. “Excuse me, asshole,” he snapped, “This is a beautiful fucking story of the darkest of whirlwind romances, it is a beautifully tragic of star-crossed hatred the likes of which your kind could never create!”

“Sure we could, man,” Dave said, grinning. “That shit’s on, like, every Thursday, I think. World Wrestling Entertainment’s got you covered for all your muscular-dudes-in-tight-revealing-clothes-hitting-each-other-and-grunting needs. Totally one hundred per-cent Not Gay groping, wrestling, and general squirming around on the mat guaranteed or your money back, complete with a totally bullshit nonsensical storyline just for the hell of it.”

“You know what, I changed my mind, friendship over,” said Karkat.

Truth be told, Karkat hadn’t quite fully forgiven Dave just yet. Nearly losing Kanaya had been a blow, even if she had been okay in the end. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to be all that angry with Dave, either. He maybe was uninclined to trust Dave completely, but he did understand why this particular mistake had happened.

And as furious as hearing Dave admit to essentially feeling like he was a burden to them all, he couldn’t claim that he wasn’t once again in the exact same shitty floating contraption.

Dave was right about one thing — there was no way Strider wasn’t going to try something again. Karkat couldn’t bring himself to fully trust Dave to be honest if such a plan did happen, but even more than that, he was disgusted with himself. He’d been basically useless, relegated to watching the fucking doors, and even that he’d almost failed at. The first hint of trouble had sent him scrambling away to safety. He was still every bit the fucking coward who’d had to flee his entire planet.

Next time, he wanted to be ready.

The first step in achieving that plan, though, was to find either Rose or Dirk, and asking either of them for help was not a prospect he was looking forward to. Rose would no doubt be exceptionally smug about the whole thing, lording the fact that he needed a little bit of assistance with one single thing over his head, and Dirk…fuck, Karkat still didn’t blame Dave for being scared of the guy. He wasn’t quite the oppressive presence Strider had been, but he was still something of a ghost. Also, Karkat had no idea where the fuck his room was, so Rose was probably his best bet.

Rose, at least, was in her own room. She was working with her knitting again, and had evidently been talking to Kanaya. She continued to do so, in fact, even after Karkat cleared his throat to get their attention. Apparently, whatever trashy book they were intensely whispering about was pretty fucking engrossing, because he had to clear his throat again before they looked up.

“Am I interrupting something?” Karkat said. “I’d hate to cut short an important debate on the merits of the adventures of blood drinking, or whatever the fuck you two talk about.”

The girls shared a look, and Kanaya, to Karkat’s surprise, excused herself, tapping her hand on Karkat’s shoulder warmly as she passed.

“We were talking about you, actually,” Rose said, putting her yarnwork aside. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you, and wanted to ask some advice on how to do so.”

Karkat pricked his ears. “Talk to me about what?” he said, tipping his head.

She bit her lip and looked aside for a moment, tapping her fingers as though collecting her thoughts. “Well, first and foremost, I suppose I should apologize,” she said.

Karkat’s jaw dropped. Rose, too? It was only a couple hours since he’d talked to Dave! “Holy shit,” he said, grinning, “Between you and Dave, I must’ve hit the fucking apology jackpot today. It’s about fucking time I got some proper appreciation around here.”

“Ha ha,” Rose deadpanned.

“Okay, but seriously, for what exactly. Be detailed, I wanna enjoy this. Rose Lalonde admits she was wrong.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “While I probably deserve at least some of your smugness…No, I probably deserve all of it, actually. I really have been in the wrong here.” She looked at Karkat, her eyes serious. “You were right about Dave. I know that now. You were trying to tell us how to help him, and I was so caught up in my own assumptions about him and my petty jealousy that I didn’t see that you were always only acting in his best interest, nor how much I was hurting him. I’ve already apologized to him for it, and I’d like to extend the same to you.”

“What took you so long?” Karkat gloated. Yeah, this was pretty fucking nice.

“The aforementioned jealousy, mostly,” Rose stated. “I was so frustrated and bitter over you being closer to Dave than I am, you knowing him better, that instead of trying to fix things, I took it out on the both of you. Neither of you deserved that.”

Karkat’s brow furrowed. “Of course I know him better than you do,” he said, “I had an extra week to get to know him compared to you guys. Not to mention I literally spent that week living in the exact same fucking horrific situation he’s been through. Even with that, I still don’t know the full weight of the crushing behemoth’s foot that is the shit he’s been through, but I’ve at least seen enough that I can fill in a few fucking blanks. I have the advantage! Why the fuck would you know him better?”

“Because he’s my twin!” Rose huffed, frustration strong in her voice. “He’s — we’re supposed to be — I can’t stand feeling like my own twin is a complete stranger, and seeing a literal alien having more of a relationship to him than I do is a bitter pill to swallow.”

“…You two look nothing alike, though,” Karkat said. “What the fuck does looking similar have to do with knowing him, anyway? I mean, that’s what that word means, right? That you’re like. Mirror images or whatever?” It was a word he’d seen come up sometimes in human media, and he’d guessed its meaning through context, but no troll he’d met had been able to actually translate the word that made any kind of sense to him. But clearly this was important to Rose, and therefore probably a concept he should understand for Dave’s sake, at least.

Because Dave definitely did want to have a relationship with Rose, Karkat knew. All along, she’d been the one he’d been most excited to see again, even back at the space station; Karkat still remembered how Dave’s face had changed visibly, even through the shades, back when he’d seen her on the aircraft they’d arrived here on. And if what Rose was looking for had to do with this weird twin thing, then Karkat would try his best to make some sense of it.

Rose, judging by her thoughtful sigh, also understood that this was not going to be an easy topic to speak about. “How to explain the significance of twins to a species with no concept of siblings, hm.” She tapped her finger on the counter several times, eyes narrowed in deep thought. “I know Dirk and I aren’t the greatest examples, but typically, with siblings, there’s a connection that’s…hard to really describe and quantify. Kanaya’s described some sibling interactions she’s run across in books as seeming ‘pale,’ but from my understanding of those relationships in your kind, comparing moirails to siblings still leaves a great deal to be desired. Siblings don’t have to be close, necessarily, but there is a sense of…of relying on each other, I suppose. By virtue of sharing the same situation growing up, theres a deeper understanding of one’s home situation than could be gained by just about anyone else. There may be fights, and Dirk and I certainly don’t often get along, as you’ve no doubt noticed, but at the end of the day we do love each other, and there’s…an underlying understanding, beneath it all, that some day we may each be all the other has.”

She looked at him, waiting for a response. Karkat wasn’t sure he had one. He couldn’t make head nor tail of any of what she was saying. Pale, but not pale? Rose and Dirk sure as shit weren’t remotely pale.

Rose sighed. ��Okay, let me try coming at it from another angle, then…Imagine someone who is not exactly a moirail to you; you wouldn’t necessarily tell them everything, they aren’t your confidant or the one you’d go to first when you need to calm down, or, I don’t know, maybe for some people they would be, some siblings are very close indeed. But for all siblings whose relationship is a healthy one, when things are really bad, when you’re at your worst and don’t know what to do, they’re the one you think to turn to for help. Granted, that’s more family in general than just siblings, but it’s the same idea.”

“I don’t…” Karkat paused. Actually, now that he thought about it, he did kind of get that description. It pretty much summed up his feelings on, well, Kanaya. Terezi and Sollux too, for that matter, not that he’d admit as much to their faces. Or to Kanaya’s face. Fuck if he was saying it to Rose, either, this shit was embarrassing. “…I think I get what you’re getting at,” he said instead. He tried thinking of his very private feelings on the other trolls in context of what Rose had said earlier, then — what it might have been like sharing a home with them growing up, how that might have changed things.

Living with Terezi or Sollux would have been awful, actually, but the time spent sharing a house with Kanaya so far hadn’t been so bad, he supposed. And her presence here had definitely been a source of comfort in a way that was decidedly not pale. He didn’t feel the need to cuddle up to her and talk about feelings, but it was nice knowing that she had his back.

“Right,” said Rose, “And then when you have twins, there’s an entire extra level of that. There’s all sorts of folklore in different cultures about twins, about them having special abilities to sense each others’ condition, about opposites, so on and so forth. Make of that what you will, I personally can’t say for sure if I know there’s much truth in it. But what I do know is that…just by virtue of being the same age, the shared experience aspect increases so much. We, Dave and I, what I remember of those first years when he was still here…we were nearly always together. Not always by choice, we certainly didn’t always get along, but we…we would have taken our first steps together, we almost certainly started talking at around the same time, and we…we should have gone to our first day of school together, too, but then two weeks before that started, he decided that he wanted a child after all, and whisked Dave away, and I…we…had to face the world alone.”

Rose’s face contorted with a mixture of immeasurable fury and a deep sorrow, and her voice dropped to scarcely more than a whisper. “Even now, the man isn’t finished stealing from us. We should be graduating and going off to college at the same time, in a couple of years, but now? Dave’s missed ten years of school. I don’t know if that means much to you, but trust me, it’s a lot. More than he could hope to make up. And after what I saw a couple days ago, how frightened he is, I suspect Mother’s decision to homeschool Dave whenever he is ready was the right one. I don’t think he could handle the stress of a school environment. So we can’t graduate together, we can’t learn to drive together, we didn’t get to struggle through our first crushes at around the same time…We’ve missed so much, and we’ll keep missing some things, and I hate it.”

She looked at Karkat very hard, in a way that almost made him uncomfortable. “I can’t say it doesn’t still burn me, that an alien, a complete stranger to our family, was the first person he decided to trust.” Her eyes softened. “But after how fearful I saw him, I can’t keep letting my pride keep me from doing wha the needs of me, and the fact is, he does trust you, far more than any of us, and if I’m to repair what’s left of our relationship, I’m going to need your help.”

Karkat thought for a long moment.

Yeah, wow, that was…a lot to process. So much of this felt alien to him still, but he could sort of imagine how deeply important this sort of thing could be to a species that put so much emphasis on their tightly knit social groups.

(In truth, while he didn’t fully understand the concept, it…appealed, in a lot of ways. The idea of not having to face the world alone, of having a group of people you could always trust to be there to support you in times of need. If that was what this whole…family thing Dave had insisted was so important in defending Strider was really about, then…that made a little more sense.)

“Well, fuck,” Karkat said, finally. “I think I got like, maybe a third of that? Chalk it up as another stunning pain in the ass courtesy of cultural differences, I guess. Tell you what, though,” he said, and oh, this was a good segue. He got some fucking respect, and now he could turn it into a way of asking for help and not being mocked for it. “I’ll accept your apology and agree to help you figure Dave out, if you help me with something.”

“Of course,” Rose said, blinking. “Anything. What did you have in mind.”

Karkat took a deep breath. “Do you have someplace where I could practice fighting?”

#karkat vantas #dave strider #rose lalonde #homestuck #davekat #longpost//#fanfiction #fanfic #calmvsstormfic #calmvsstormchapter #katt does a writing #sorry this one took so loNG #next time: rose and dirk cannot be chill for even five minutes #roxy doesnt deserve this. why are her cousins like this.

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