#*inadvertently gives away the State I live in* >w>

[mrs-han]

Live cam footage of me looking at your birthday requests (and for a third part maybe of the fake fiancée trope)- damn Nugget you are the Queen of Jumin for real!💜✨ You are so talented and just make it all feel so real!!

ALSO HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY MA DEAR >3<

LONGCATU, I DID A WEIRD SNORT/INHALE THING, MY MOM JUST ASKED IF I WAS OKAY 😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣

I need to react to ya’ll in private, I’m the crazy one at home and at work cuz I’ll just burst with all these noises 🤣

Chu… chu tink I da Queen ob Jumin? >////< YOU IS SO KIND AND SO FLIPPIN-FLAPPIN CUTE, SCHNUCKI 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

I just a nuggie who loves Jumin very, very much uwu a lil too much, huhuhu

AND YIS, I PROMISE I WILL CONTINUE WRITING THAT ADORABLE REQUEST. HANDS UP FOR @jumin-ssi FOR REQUESTING IT!!

I’M SO — AAAAAAAHAHA ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ YOUR COMPLIMENTS ARE MAKING ME ALL FLLBLBLDKMF, YOU KNOW??

HEB MAH BITE OB LOVE.

#MY PRECIOUS LONGCATU KDJDJKKEKDJFCKKDV #YO #I LEGIT WANNA BUCKLE DOWN AND RESPOND TO YA’LL #I FEEL BAD 🥹🥹🫠🫠🫠 #but I busy today too ;;3;; #I GET TO SEE THE MOLLY BROWN HOUSE #*inadvertently gives away the State I live in* >w> #and I heb to pick up my cake #and I get to observe some Hanukkah traditions #and the Christmas Market #BASICALLY 😂😂😂 #I’m plugging in a ton of activities in the two days I have off 😂😂 #BUT I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH?? #I smile every time I get on here. You guys… aaah ♥️🌺☺️💐💐💐✨✨ #i wish I could do more for you guys 🥂🌽

[cheswirls]

WOW there was rly no other mention of figarland in film red and op wikis article hasn’t updated w 1086 so i had to go back and brush over to see where it was

after skimming the back half okay i have. new perspective ONE is that garland isn’t stated to be a world noble which i assumed the first time. he’s head of the knights and given a position of power in the holy land, obviously, if he can judge world nobles so freely (like.. enough to sentence one to death) and he does look like he’s in a position of power and knows it, like he gives off that air. but it’s not a stuck-up born-with-it air like other celestials

and then i realized that hes the former king of god valley, like in a very recent less-than-100-yrs-ago type. and uta was speculated to be a figarland after her relations w shanks were revealed.

at first i thought it would make sense, then, how shanks has gotten away with so much. (back when i thought garland was a celestial) that it explains why he was able to stop the war, and why sengoku said ‘because it’s you, i’ll allow it’ bc he didn’t rly have a choice in allowing it. that him seeing the elder planets was kinda like how mingo leveraged and weaponized his knowledge of the holy land. because it’s you, they said. and it would make sense, because shanks could have been born a celestial dragon but if he was found at god valley as a baby, or was placed on the oro jackson or w/e a la uta and the red-haireds, then he would grow up a pirate despite his heritage, but obviously if he would out then no one could deny him such. they sit at the top of the world for a reason

and then i backed off bc i realized it didn’t outright say garland was a world noble anywhere. so now my connection of shanks is coming from the god valley collection, and more in particular, the final words he says. on surface level he’s referring to mjosgard, but this is oda and nothing is ever only surface level. so if we are juxtaposing with shanks, then garland’s words surely are meant to be a foreshadowing. either into his character or shanks’. it really got me thinking on who shanks talked with the elder planets abt. luffy, or teach? but then, also, maybe roger? maybe rocks?? like, was he talking about a future problem, or something from the past coming to light instead????

anyone that protects scum is worse than scum themselves. my first thought immediately went to luffy. if we’re meant to tie garland in w shanks, and taking his words as some sort of future foreshadowing, and going off the assumption that shanks is going to be different bc god valley wasn’t around when he was growing up, then it’s gotta be him doing just that. like it’s gotta be more than snide words to mjosgard. maybe it’s abt shanks’ whole character, since 1076 (which i went back n glanced at to see if figarland was mentioned - nope) revealed that the crews under shanks’ fleet are kinda wishy-washy, and they joke abt protection money. shanks having so many common ppl -pirates no less- under him that can’t fend for themselves would be a good indicator in regards to what garland said. like i can see him saying that abt shanks. but, again, i can also see him saying that abt luffy. (i can also see it inadvertently coming back around to affect sanji, if the two ever interact, as yet another form of sanji rejecting his royal blood. but i digress-)

something abt god valley is going to be startlingly impt very quickly. its almost definitely been hit w an island-wiping beam like lulusia was, to have vanished like that in that manner of speaking (how sengoku warded others from investigating on their own and jus listening to him) and how the elder planets referred to lulusia in the original chapter it was blown to bits (a very different perspective this time around!!!! intriguing and eye-opening, rly wanna know where the nerona family lived before moving to the holy land. it couldn’t have been mother flame that did in god valley tho, or at least not whatever version they used on lulusia, since they talked abt it like they were testing a prototype. maybe they did have an ancient weapon at one point, and this is vp’s man-made counter to it like the blueprints franky had were the countermeasure to pluton?? vp took research on the void century from ohara over 20 yrs ago, and god valley vanished over 40, so if he (and therefore a rogue stella) found out a way to counter an ancient weapon, it would have to be after both. meaning the method of eliminating god valley and lulusia is similar but not the exact same, like an imitation

i wonder if god valley wraps all the way around, actually, bc roger and garp teamed up to protect celestial dragons. figarland is a judge onto the celestials in present day. the elder planets are partial to shanks, and garp views all celestials as scumbags (a la his convo w stelly) and dragon’s goal was to declare war specifically on the celestials. ik luffy’s mother has got to be impt, but i am starting to buy into his mother or grandmother being a world noble less and less, the more these egghead chapters reveal. garp and dragon just aren’t framed as having any partiality among celestial dragons. you would think if dragon met someone, that even if something terrible happened and they were judged by god’s knights, that dragon would take to heart that not all world nobles are bad (like we’ve been seeing w/ various donquixotes since the timeskip) and reconsider what he wants. but he doesn’t, so it doesn’t make sense for that to have happened. garp is the same way, and has been portrayed as such by his refusal to take an admiral slot since he made his debut in the manga. 

but god valley fits into the puzzle somewhere, and shanks is the missing piece to something. like somehow, someone got a baby shanks aboard the oro jackson. was it garp, after the fighting w rocks was over and his guard duty was essentially done?? was it someone else at the time, either a celestial (mother???) or a former resident of god valley? i guess we technically don’t know when garland retired to the holy land, so god valley could have not been a kingdom for many many years prior to the roger+garp vs rocks crew showdown. but both of them being there and teaming up makes me think it has to do with shanks, or shanks was a result and/or consequence of such. and the garp connection makes me think there’s a dragon connection, too. there’s 16 yrs between shanks and dragon. if dragon happened to be a former marine, would he have been there? did he have something to do with shanks being looked after by roger’s crew?

and then i am. tepidly circling around the idea that shanks could be tied to luffy’s mother, somehow. if oda is setting up shanks and garland to be opposites or foils or something, and if garland’s final words are a reference to shanks and luffy in the future, then? ??????????? idk. i think comparing shanks and luffy wouldn’t be far off either, especially if there’s a hidden middle man tying them closer together. like they don’t have to be related, that’s not necessarily what i’m getting at. but it would be very interesting if luffy’s mother had something to do with nobility tied so closely to the world nobles.

#op 1086 #im sry this is 5000 miles long #op

[tamagochiie]

pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader

synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you.

Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting…

tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing

w/c: 2.2k

tagging list: @angrylittleriri​ @chims-kookies​ @gooseyhouse​

a/n: hello! welcome to the second chapter of the series! i’m posting this a little later than expected because wifi is really trying to cock block me from posting :’) i honestly wasn’t expecting people to like or interacting with this fic, so my heart is super warm right now :>  

anyway, I hope you enjoy!

happy almost new year! see you all next week!

master list

<< life as we know it | life as he’s known it >>

You wonder what the younger version of you would think if you went back in time and told her she'd be eating at a dining table filled with food that wasn't microwavable, and the air wouldn't be filled by the sound of metal clanging and scraping against each other, but instead be filled by the lilting giggles of a little boy; his older brother pressing him to keep it down; and Kenma's casual yet awkward attempt to relate to the two.

She would probably cry.

Your parents' work piled up to the late hours of the evening and spilled into the morning, leaving you in a constant state of dejection. The house would be barren, nothing but the faint ticking of the old grandfather clock to keep you company. But even if your parents were home, it would still be the same; the air cold and unmoving.

Your parents were not warm nor were they emotional, and maybe that's what drew you to Kenma; he was quiet, rarely affectionate, and gave you more than enough room to breathe. Sure, there were the occasional forehead kisses, the head pats, the 'how are you doing' texts, and sometimes if he was brave enough, he’d interlock pinkies with you in public.

But you grew selfish, finding yourself wanting a little more each time you saw him, and you weren't sure if it was okay.

Was it okay to yearn for things? 

Was it okay to ask for more?

But Kenma saw through your facade of accepting things as they are and right into your neediness. He was willing to give as long as you asked or even when you were too shy to do so. He even gave you his whole life without sparing a second thought even if the realization that he had done so came much later.

"Here, let me." Kenma slips his hands over yours, taking the plate from within your grasp to wash it in your place. He bumps his hips against yours, causing you to stumble away from the sink.

You mumble a thank you before resorting to wiping down the dishes and setting them on the rack.

You delight in his banter. He asks you about your day, stealing glances between you and the stack of dishes before him while you give him the run down. He listens to you intently, gaze wandering a little longer when he hears an exasperated sigh escape your lips, but you let him know you're just fine.

"What about you?" You ask, tilting your head and playfully moving it in front of Kenma's face, blocking him from the plate he needs to scrub. "How was your day?"

He hums, tiptoeing over you to finish the chore like the diligent little worker he is. "It was another day," You frown at him and his lack of effort to push further. He rolls his eyes, chuckling at your pouty face. "I played another trial game with Eiji—"

"And how'd that go?"

"Oh, he's absolute shit—ow!" Your slap against his arm resounds throughout the apartment, causing Yuki and Eiji's to jerk their attention towards you both. You mold your face into a look of ease, sparing them a warm smile, telling them you saw a fly.

"The hell?! I wasn't finished!" The pudding head seethes. "Sure he was shit, but he was still better than you."

The cocky grin slipping across his lips matching with his lidded eyes has you throwing your hands, erupting a series of ow's. "You're such an ass, you know that?"

"Yeah, the ass you chose." He sneers, handing you the last plate to dry.

He rubs his arm in an attempt to soothe the stinging, glaring at you begrudgingly. It takes you a while to ease back into his trust, but you do, and he picks up where he leaves off as if he wasn't in any pain  to begin with.

He tells you about his little trip to the convenience store with Yuki for his strawberry milk, and the foreign, constricting feeling that wouldn't leave his chest until they came back home. How he couldn't let go of Yuki's hand when they were in the store, and if he did, it would send him in a state of sheer panic.

"Must be your mommy instincts kicking in," You joke, and he only rolls his eyes.

He also admits inadvertently turning all your favorite whites into various shades of pinks and blues. As someone as analytical as Kenma, he was challenged by the task of separating the lights from the darks. 

You snort, earning a scowl from your boyfriend and a string of explanations to defend his case. But it isn't the mistake that makes you laugh, but rather how far you've come after a month of adjustments and an unfortunate series of events.

The first two weeks were exceptionally trying. No one spoke a word and everyone walked on eggshells. Eiji was still too shy to look at you, his responses down to a bare minimum and quieter than a whisper; Yuki cried almost all the time over every little thing, and the vein in Kenma's neck was threatening to pop every time he did.

It didn't help when you and Kenma would end your nights at each other's throats, bickering till you fell asleep. And when morning came, you'd be greeted by the emptiness from his side of the bed.

And it helped no one when the two of you would avoid each other, never crossing paths or breathing a word the moment you came home until it was too painfully awkward to continue.

Two and half hours charged with petty arguments, things of the past, and all the little things that came in between only to have finally arrived at one conclusion: You weren't parents and you weren't Akihiro-san. You were your own people and it was okay to do things differently.

Even if different meant that Kenma might call the kids by the wrong name or forget the fact he's living with someone else other than you. Even if different meant that you'll be absent-mindedly teaching Yuki a few curses to add to his vocabulary or forgetting to enroll them in school.

The truth is no one from the family was going to return your calls, and you were probably going to spend the rest of your twenties making up bedtime stories and giving pretty bad advice to someone just a few years younger than you.

Which brings you here, wearing your bathing suit as you share your bubble bath with Yuki because he wanted to play with the rubber duckies he whined and moaned at Kenma to buy for him at the store.

Lathering his hair with shampoo, Yuki's head leans against your chest, eyes gleaming beneath the bathroom lights. He beams at you, giggling at the ticklish feeling as you massage his head. He brings attention back to his ducks, making crashing sounds as he splashes them into the water.

"Is that how ducks swim?" You ask, washing away the soap from his hair. "Don't they just kinda...float around?"

He shakes his head before twisting his body to face you. He's got a tough expression plastered on; brows furrowed, his jaw clenched, eyes unwavering.

A very serious boy.

"These are special ducks," He explains, raising one to your face."These are battleship ducks."

Your lips fall to an 'o', still not picking up what he's putting down but you pretend you do.

Is this what kids are into these days?

Yuki goes on to tell you about his special ducks; something about lasers in their eyes, super special flying skills, and...echo location? You ask him if he's sure—if you heard him right, but he's as firm with his stance as he is with the death grip he has on his rubber duckies.

You drain the tub before rinsing yourselves beneath the warm water of the shower. Yuki flips his hair around, air drying himself as he steps out of the tub. You tell him to brush his teeth while he waits for you to finish rinsing.

"Hey, Oba-san," Yuki's call is muffled by the foam of the toothpaste still in his mouth. "Are you and Kenma-san married?"

You nearly fall when you slip off of your bathing suit and into your pajamas.  "Ah, no, Yuki. We're not."

"But aren't you in love?" He asks, oblivious to the sudden shift in the atmosphere, spitting into the sink and washing his mouth.

Your eye twitches and you swallow the lump in your throat before it goes big enough for you to choke and die. "Uhh, people don't always have to marry right away just because they're in love..."

"But Kenma-san said he's been in love with you for four years."

"I—Yeah, well—"

"That's sounds like a really long time, Oba-san." You can't tell if he means to sound condescending. You can't tell if your mom has awakened from the grave and possessed the young boy because she woke up thinking she had a few more things she'd like to pester you with.

"Well, Yuki," You gather the little patience you have left, taking a deep breath as you step out of the tub. The bathroom tile is cold against the soles of your feet, sending a shiver down your spine. Enough to keep you sober for trivial conversation with a six year old boy. "Love—Love kinda looks different for everyone, Yuki."

You choose your words carefully, not wanting to say anything that might confuse him.

You help him into his clothes, his hair leaving wet patches onto his his dinosaur pajamas. He listens to you intently, looking right into your eyes. "There are people marry the moment they meet—or at least after a short while—because they can't help but feel sure?” 

And you can’t help but feel flustered at your own explanation, not too sure with your words, “...and other people don't do that. Some relationships move at a faster pace and other's move a bit slower; and Kenma-san and I...we're happy with how things are right now."

He hums, nodding his head as if he understands. "Even though Eiji-san and I are here?"

"Yes, little love." You assure him with the new nickname, booping his nose. "Even though you're both here."

You grab his towel and dry his hair. You pat down the tiny puddles of water on his face and neck, noting to wipe behind his ears.

"But," Yuki mumbles through the material of the towel, swatting your hand away to to catch his breath, "sometimes people don't like different..." Yuki pushes the towel to this side, his glossy eyes meeting yours and your heart cracks. "They didn't like my dad 'cause he was different."

"H-He didn't love someone th-that looked like y-you..." Yuki bites down on his bottom lip, keeping it from quivering and fixating his eyes onto the tiles of the floor to prevent himself from choking on his words. "H-He...He loved someone that look like Kenma-san."

You understand what he means. You know full well. Their father was gay and because of that, your family ostracized him without wasting another breath. As if it was easy as blinking.

You knew what their father had been going through, you had enough time to help, yet you stood idle, doing nothing but add to his loneliness.

You kept all the sunshine Akihiro-san shared with you during your bluest days, even when it had been so obvious he needed it more than you.

But not once did you ever think about returning a sliver of it. And you wonder maybe if you hadn't been so selfish and naive, a silver lining would've been enough to avoid something as painful as this.

Instinctively, you pull him close to you, threading your fingers through his still damp hair. You shush him and press kiss on the crown of his head as his petite figure trembles in your arms. You let him sob into your shirt, his fingers twisting the material in anguish.

And it breaks your heart that a little human like him would not only know the meaning of anguish, but how it feels to have it tear through his heart.

It takes a few moments for Yuki to catch his breath and for you to ease him. He slumps onto you as he regains his strength. You tell him you're sorry because you are and because you don't know what else to say.

You try to use his strawberry milk and his brother as an incentive to keep him from crying again. And after a few minutes it works.

You trail closely behind him when he walks out of the bathroom. He begins to run when he gets closer to Eiji, the  pitter patter of his wee little feet carrying in the apartment.

You watch as Yuki thrusts himself forward into the arms of his brother, and Eiji doesn't fail to catch him. The sight before you leaves you gawking in silence, watching Eiji unravel into his big brother form as  he lifts Yuki to the ceiling, playfully sniffing his under arms, the crook of his neck, and even his little bum before complimenting him, "Good job, you smell just like flowers."

His giggles float in the air, swarming around the apartment as if he hadn't been crying just a few minutes ago.

And as you watch the scene unfold do you  decide to step out of the sidelines, using this warm moment shared between the boys as your driving force to keep the last of your cousin's light safe. 

#Kozume Kenma #Kenma x reader #Kenma x y/n #Haikyuu!! #Kenma imagines #Haikyuu Imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #kenma headcanons #kenma kozume headcanons #kenma hcs #kenma fluff #kenma angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst

[shintorikhazumi]

Two is company, Three's a Crowd, but Four is the Death of Diana Cavendish (4): Dumb and Dumbass

A/N: Sorry for not writing enough recently. Been burnt out and have some terrible writer’s block. Hope I can write quite a bit these next two weeks before classes start up again. Had my finals recently and just... ugh.

Sorry for the not-so-good chapter.

Right. Tagging people. Uh @komatsuna-yuki @dianacavendishisgay @tanuki-pyon. Thank you for supporting my madness.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

Two is company, Three's a Crowd, but Four is the Death of Diana Cavendish (4): Dumb and Dumbass

"This is dumb."

"It is not! Right, Barbara?"

"This is dumb."

Diana switched her exasperated gaze between the pair who had their arms crossed, vehemently against her "step one" of  the plan: Proper Courtship for Miss Kagari Atsuko.

There was absolutely NO way they were doing that.

Hannah ran a hand through her curled locks, freeing it from her signature yellow bow as they got ready for bed. She tried to ignore Diana's pleading eyes, but ultimately could not. She took one look at Diana's helpless face and sighed, walking forward to pinch her nose and plant a kiss on her forehead.

Really, courtship wasn't the issue in and of itself. It was Diana's view of courtship. There were just too many things to be said about it.

Starting from the issue of daily sending a truckload of roses to Akko every morning.

Literally.

She lived in a DORMITORY for crying out loud!

How was she supposed to receive them, much less keep them around??

It wasn't as though she had the luxury of living in a flat a little too big for just its occupants- just like their own right now. Hannah sighed, giving Diana a look. She received an indignant one in return.

Physical constraints aside, how would Akko feel receiving such an overwhelming gift? She already exploded in embarrassment from the simplest of flirtations. Who knew what her reaction would be to such a grandiose gesture of affection?

Hannah concluded it would be best to keep it simple, walk it slow. Ease into the already shocking situation they'd kiiindd of threw her in.

Okay, but Hannah didn't desire anything too slow either. Just right. Enough that Akko wouldn't spontaneously combust beyond recovery.

Holding out a pointer finger, with the other arm crossed about her waist, Hannah warned, "I swear, if I see even one petal, we're not talking to you tomorrow. And we're taking Atsuko with us too".

"One petal?!" Diana gawked at her with such pure incredulity, Hannah wondered if she was really all that shocked.

The look on her face almost made Hannah reconsider. Almost. She thought about it again, pausing and tapping her cheek in contemplation.

"Okay."

Diana's face lit up in hope.

"Maybe I'll allow two."

Nope.

//

"Morning, Atsuko~."

Akko jumped in her seat as she felt cool arms snake around her neck from behind, a soft weight pressing against her back. The scent of honeysuckle permeated her sense of smell. It was fruity and warm; like hints of honey and ripe citrus on a summer's day. For some reason, it made her calm immediately.

Turning around, Akko tried to return the greeting. "M-Miss Engl-" A finger quickly hushed her lips, Hannah's coy smile settling in while Akko's heart became unsettled. She didn't think it was in a bad way.

"Hannah. Call me Hannah."

"Mi-"

Akko would have tried to gently deny that request, not being one to so quickly drop formalities as was her upbringing before coming to England. However, there was just something in Mis- Hannah's eyes that compelled her to not even try to fight against the command.

"Y-you can call me Akko then,, .I-if you want! Only... if you want... it's... it's what my friends call me...""  Akko mumbled in reply, voice growing smaller and smaller as she shyly pried her eyes away from the magnetic hazels that were so keen on pulling her in.

She had missed the way her companion grinned, leaning in closer to her, arms tightening about her. "Adorable." Hannah playfully whispered into Akko's ear, the tips reddening brightly.

'Save me.'

"Oh, but we don't want to be just 'friends'." Barbara suddenly popped up, positioning herself right in Akko's line of vision, propping her elbows on her desk, face nestling in her hands comfortably as she smirked at Akko with a little wink. "But you already know that."

She watched as Hannah and Barbara shared a quick, sweet kiss as a good morning greeting. Eyes glinting as they caught Akko watching them.

"Oh? Do you want a nice "hello~" as well, Akko? I wouldn't mind~." Barbara grinned, fingers tilting Akko's chin up already, eyes flickering between Akko's own and her lips.

Akko felt her face burn that extra bit more. She wasn't going to make it through class like this if they kept teasing her so early in the morning.

Barbara was beginning to lean closer and closer as Hannah simply watched from behind Akko, inadvertently keeping her in place due to their positions.

Akko swallowed nervously. Sure, she did not necessarily have any qualms against kissing someone as pretty as Barbara. Even Hannah maybe, but at the very least, she wanted to have her fi-first kiss with...

"Girls."

Diana's arrival shook Akko out of a trance she had unknowingly been placed under. She had somehow expected, at the back of her mind, for Diana to arrive soon as the trio was rarely apart except for when they had separate classes.

Akko felt her heart do a little flip in her ribcage, breath stilling in her lungs at the refreshing sight of Diana in a ponytail, a pale nape and a slender neck exposed for the world to see. A bead of sweat rolled down the smooth expanse. Had it been hot outside? Maybe. For some reason, Akko just wanted to lean into the crook of Diana's neck and maybe-

Diana's cough told her she'd been staring an uncomfortable while. Akko flinched, her hand instinctively reached up to touch her bangs, smoothing out each strand of hair nervously in attempts to redirect her thoughts- wherever they were heading.

This was neither the time nor place to be having such... inappropriate musings.

"Aww~ Diana's so lucky to be the favorite girlfriend~." Barbara said with a pout as she observed the awkward two, pulling away from her initial position on the desk and walking around to take a seat next to Akko instead, leaning her head on the girl's shoulder.

"Right?" Hannah sighed, finally releasing Akko as she went to sit next to Barbara. "We put in all this effort to fluster our dear Akko, but Diana just has to breathe and she has her heart and her soul. Oh Barbara~ whatever shall we do?" She sniffled, wiping away a non-existent tear with her index finger.

Akko stared at the pair, mind short-circuiting at a particular word.

Diana was silent as well.

Hannah and Barbara exchanged a confused look at the lack of reaction, as well as Diana's frozen state.

"Um... did we perhaps say something wrong?" Hannah began nervously, not wanting to possibly offend Akko or hurt her like they could have the last time.

Barbara bit her lip, equally anxious. "If so, then-"

"G-girlfriend?!" Diana and Akko had burst simultaneously, earning looks from the few early students around them.

Akko bowed in silent apology as she turned back to her companions.

"W-what do you... what are you...?"

"Huh?" Hannah and Barbara tilted their heads in confusion.

"Eh?"

"What?"

"G-Girlfriend...?" Diana repeated, vision swirling as her face reddened.

"Aahhh..." Hannah and Barbara got the message, nodding... before doing a double-take. "Wait, we're not? Girlfriends?"

//-//

Akko slammed her head onto her locker door right after shutting it. She shuffled her subject materials for the next class in her hands, trying to check if she missed bringing anything, sighing heavily all the while.

She was lucky her second class was away from everyone else's. That gave her some breathing room to recollect herself.

Hannah and Barbara were way* too skilled at riling her up. She had no idea how to deal with them. She was sure she wouldn't get used to their antics anytime soon. The whole situation with them spun her wheels around so well, it was actually tiring her out.

Then there was the matter of being g-girlfriends, and Diana.

Diana...

"Diana..." Akko's head banged against her metal door again with a clang, a few passing students casting her worried gazes. "What the hell..."

When was it, she wondered, that she had first taken notice of the incredibly gorgeous biology major. Diana with her clear blue eyes like the oceans and the sky at the peak of a beautiful summer; her hair that flowed down to her waist in flourishing curls; Diana and her sharp and classy style; Diana and her shapely body- Akko hit her head once more against the locker, groaning against the cool metal.

"What the hell am I thinking about?" She muttered, pushing herself away from her locker to get ready to head off to the next class. Maybe she should just keep her mind off of it for now, focus on what was in front of her, and deal with it later. When her head cooled down.

Yes. That was the perfect plan.

Before she could leave, however, a hand slapped against either side of her head, a the impact causing a ringing sound in her ears that only added to her headache. Her eyes that she had unconsciously shut fluttered open, widening at the sight that greeted her.

Oh, this was just great.

"Oh, I don't know, Kagari. What *were you thinking about? Hmm?" That familiar snarky tone of voice bit at her, a hand resting on her shoulder before pressing her into the hard metal.

"Chloe..." Her weak response coupled with a glare only made the perpetrator grin happily.

"Atsuko~ our cute little lackey." Short-haired and short-tempered towards Akko was Avery trailing behind the Frenchwoman- the actual lackey, Akko thought.

"Geh- Avery..."

"Glad you're happy to see us." She rolled her eyes, popping her bubblegum as she picked up a paper Akko had dropped in her surprise, flipping through its contents, bored. "Our lackey seems to have been doing good in school lately. Doing her homework and all. Guess you could do ours too?" She smiled that sickly sweet way that Akko loathed.

Akko's breath hitched when she made a little tear on the sheet just to spite her. Finnelan was surely going to chew her out again for a reason she couldn't explain.

Akko grit her teeth, truly wanting to retaliate physically, but then remembered that they weren't in high school anymore. These girls had no real power over her. Not then, not now. She needed to just ignore it and walk away. Really. Years and years of this, and they never got sick of it? Why did the universe allow them to apply to the same university anyway? Not that it mattered anymore.

Resigning herself to a -hopefully- more peaceful exit, Akko sighed, attempting to move Chloe's hand away with only enough force not to trigger her more. "I'm not your lackey." She said, kneeling to the ground to grab her other scattered materials.

"Aww, you're not?" Chloe whined, watching Akko like a hawk.

"I'm not." Akko replied, standing up and throwing them a blank look. "I have to go. See you."

"Leaving so soon?" Some girl she didn't know called after her, sneer evident in her tone. "Not gonna entertain us for a little longer?"

"Obviously." Akko responded, not looking back. She just needed to get the hell away as fast as possible and avoid any further interaction with them.

"Oh, then you wouldn't mind if we told the entire school about how you're always off to a strip club."

Akko halted in her steps, turning around to stare hatefully at the evil grin Chloe sported after knowing she got her way once more.

"Always, as in everyday?" Avery added, leading the group forward to surround Akko once more as other students avoided the potential mess in the hallway.

"What has that got to do with anything?" Akko grit her teeth, fists clenching "And I already told you... it's not what it looks like."

"Then why are you so scared, hmm? About word getting out?" Chloe tipped Akko's head up with her index finger, making her look directly into her eyes. "You know how they say that if you have nothing to hide, then there's nothing to be afraid of."

"That's-"

Akko swallowed the lump in her throat, searching her mind for a comeback to that without revealing too much about herself and giving these bullies more information to harass her with.

She had nothing.

They didn't like that she was quiet and had nothing to say.

She heard Chloe sigh before Akko's cheeks were squeezed together in her hands, nails digging into the flesh slightly. "Also, what was it? Your friend, uh... Lois or something."

"Lotte..." Akko corrected, barely managing the word out; she hoped they weren't planning on doing anything to her sweet friend. She could handle their insults, their disgusting behavior, and their petty tricks on her, but she couldn't stand it if her friends got hurt in her place instead.

"Whatever. Her." Akko slapped Chloe's hand away, earning her a pleased smile and a pat on the cheek. "There's the little tiger we love." She giggled, a glint in her eye.

Akko gripped her books in her hand, trying her best not to throw her fists right at them. The last time she had let her temper go, she was wrongly suspended anyway. She'd rather not have to live through the same sucky school experience again.

"So,"  Chloe continued. "you wouldn't want the entire school to read her disgusting work, right? Fanfiction? I can't remember it all that well. Couldn't stand to read that shit for more than five seconds." She made a gagging motion, tongue stuck out at Akko.

"Lotte... Lotte is amazing at writing..." She whispered, hoping they actually didn't hear those words. "Don't touch Lotte." She managed to say loud enough, raising her head to gaze upon them with a warning. It only seemed to fly over their heads as they all sashayed away from Akko, feeling like they'd won.

"Anyway, we'll keep your secrets for another day, Kagari." Chloe waved over her shoulder. "In exchange for our, ehem, considerate service, we expect cutlet sandwiches on each of our desks. Noon. Sharp." She commanded.

Akko, immediately recalling her class schedule for the day, wanted to protest. "But my class doesn't get out until-"

"Is that a no I'm hearing?" The group paused in their steps, all pinning Akko down with their looks of contempt, daring her to say anything besides their desired response.

Her fists trembled, knuckles as white as her torn assignment paper. She felt the quiver in her lip and the tension in her frame as she held back from screaming bloody murder.

"... I'll get you your damned sandwiches."

//-//-//

"Akko! What took you so long!" Akko's friend, Lotte, worriedly asked. "Finnelan usually comes in really early. You could have been in some major trouble!"

"Maybe she just got lost in the cafeteria again? Among all the donuts and pastries." Sucy drily replied, not looking up from her textbook.

Akko kept staring at her torn paper in dismay, pondering if she should risk it and start rewriting a new one, hopefully finishing before the professor arrived.

The lack of response only fed Lotte's concern even more. She squeezed Akko's shoulder to catch her attention and noticed her friend flinch.

"Akko?"

"H-huh? Oh! What? So-sorry. I was... I dropped my phone in the toilet, haha." Akko said, not looking at her friend at all as she dug around her bag for a pen and hoping for a clean sheet of paper as well.

"Wait, what? Is your phone okay?" Lotte asked, skeptically watching her friend's frantic movements.

"Yeah, yeah." Akko replied half-heartedly.

Lotte frowned, feeling that Akko was still hiding something. "What happened to your assignment?" She questioned, noticing the crumpled and torn edge. A thought came to her mind. "Was it them?" She asked in a quieter voice. "What did they say? Did they hurt you?" Lotte scanned over Akko's features, pupils shaking. They settled on her face and Lotte's frown deepened. "You're cheek..." She reached out, trying to touch it.

"Huh? N-no? It was... the school... cat...?" Akko tried lamely, moving away from Lotte. She instantly felt bad about it as Lotte sported a hurt expression in response to her actions.

"Akko..."

Akko finally faced Lotte, guilt on her features. She was never really good at masking her feelings from her friend. She could never lie to her. They both knew that.

"What was it about this time?"

Akko bit her lip. Despite how close they had gotten over the years as friends, Akko hadn't revealed too much to them about her background. She wasn't sure she was ready to either. Not anytime soon. She also couldn't find the heart to let Lotte know that part of it was about her.

"Just that I'm a dumbass, and the other typical stuff, y'know? Appearances and that kinda thing." She lied.

"Hmmm..." Lotte was clearly not convinced, but she let it go, knowing Akko wouldn't budge on things like this. She instead decided to  settle down in her seat next to Akko.

Akko knew Lotte wouldn't pry anymore. She was both thankful and sorry for having to do this to her friend, but she really couldn't help it.

Akko sighed, clicking her pen open.

"Want me to poison their lunch today?" Sucy piped up, flashing Akko a vial from her bag.

As much as Akko wanted to say yes, she knew it could only make things worse and reluctantly declined. "Maybe in my dreams." She smiled at her friends weakly, finally turning to her fresh sheet of paper to begin copying her assignment.

She missed the shine in Sucy's eye and the grin that was starting to grow on her face. Akko only looked up in terror as she heard the words that spilled from Sucy's mouth, hoping she wouldn't go through with any funny business.

"That can be arranged."

Akko felt a shiver run up her spine, whipping her head back to her paper to avoid that scary expression.

"Let's just... not."

"Tch. You're no fun."

Maybe she really wasn't.

A/N: I would have made this longer and added one more scene, but my brain cells can’t. Sorry haha. ;-; Really sorry. 

~Shintori Khazumi

#diana cavendish #atsuko kagari #hannah england #Barbara Parker #lwa #little witch academia #hanbaradiakko #diakko #hanbara #fanfic #234

[writer-and-artist27]

Absent Day

Or, Vy is tired over Ishtar not showing up after spending a bit, and writing muse ended up taking over. So, little story written while I'm on the Tumblr browser and not on a Google Doc. This'll be interesting.

For everyone else, please enjoy this unadulterated whim of a short story fic. Could go into Passing Days. Not sure. I have a song for this, at least, for those who'd like to listen while reading.

CW for smoking, of course.

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

The first time Vy had ever found Robin Hood smoking, it was back before the Lostbelts, before the original Chaldea was lost. Even then, when Goetia was the only threat, it took every single ounce of her energy to hold back the urge to gag. Or run, really. Tobacco smoke wasn't good for the lungs, after all. Still, when she had walked into the room to find him, something must have registered on her face in spite of her attempts to hide it because Robin immediately took the stick away from his mouth, stubbing the lit end against the nearest ash tray. Vy didn't even have a chance to say his True Name before the cigarette was curled up and then left in the ash tray to fizzle away.

"Y-You didn't have to do that, Archer," Vy said reflexively, trying not to fidget. Did he notice something? "I could've waited for you to finish."

"But that would've meant you would just stand outside the room and inadvertently take in the smoke, Master," Robin Hood said coolly, tellingly waving away the remnants of a smoke cloud with his other hand. "And I've had enough lectures from the other Servants about second-hand smoke."

"But..." Guilt bubbled up almost immediately. "Smoking is something that makes you feel more comfy, doesn't it?"

Doesn't that mean, as a Master, I should try to accommodate your needs—

Even with his hood covering his eyes, it felt like Robin had noticed something she didn't with her question, because he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he sighed a loud, almost tired sigh, and proceeded to walk over.

Vy probably should've expected the hand gently coming over to rest on her hair, considering the other Servants had taken up the community-wide habit of doing the same thing, but she still let out a small "Eep" once he started patting her head. Looking up at him didn't really yield any answers, because his No Face May King concealed all but his hair and the wry smile on his exposed chin. "Don't push yourself, little sparrow. A girl like you should live a better life than sacrificing her own needs for a bandit like me."

"Little...sparrow?"

Robin paused at this point, his hand freezing mid-pat before he retracted the arm entirely, hiding it under the No Face May King. "Never mind." His feet flickered out of view. "I'll be—"

Before she could think on it, Vy was grabbing the hem of his cloak, tugging it towards herself with a face. It was probably from the mixed bag of emotions rolling through her stomach. "W-Wait!"

Robin stilled, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. Then, he said in a softer voice, "What is it, Master?"

"I... I don't mind the name, if that's what you're worried about." Vy smiled up at him with as much appreciation and joy she could squeeze out of her tired heart. With an additional tug at his cloak, she said in an equally gentle voice, "It sounds really nice, actually."

"Ah," Archer said, and he stared at her in return. Even if Vy couldn't see his eyes through his hood, he seemed to be analyzing her now. "You're... not letting me go," he stated a second later, his head tilting towards the grip Vy was still keeping on his Noble Phantasm. "Do we have to go farming now?"

"N-Not really, no..." Vy felt a bit embarrassed with the admission, but she still went on with a small clench of the Noble Phantasm cloth and an honest, "But I just wanted to be with you, that's all. Smoke or not. Farming or not."

Silence reigned again.

Robin then said, in the same soft voice, "Even though you'd be better off cutting your losses now? I am a bandit and a thief, little sparrow. I'm no hero."

"You're big Robin," Vy corrected, tugging at his cloak hard enough for him to stumble, and before she could take it back, she was standing on her tip toes to wrap her arms around his neck. She couldn't tell if she had pushed his hood back from the force — hell, she might've been choking him on accident no thanks to their height difference — but she still persisted in hugging him. "My Robin Hood. Bandit or not, thief or not, you're the Robin I summoned. So to me, you're bigger than anyone else."

And I don't mind being your little sparrow, echoed in her heart.

Robin still tensed in her hold, a clear shudder pulsing through his shoulders underneath Vy's grip. "...You know that could be taken in a completely different way, right?"

"Don't care," Vy said loudly, squeezing him a little tighter. "I meant what I said."

Robin fell silent again, but if the hesitant hand on her waist was any indication, he was feeling something.

Vy just wanted to hope he was getting a better hand in life than what the dreams had shown her of his time as a lone hero.

If I could do one thing...

Vy shut her eyes and pressed her cheek against the top of Robin's left shoulder through his cloak, smelling smoke and forest wood all at once.

I wish I could've met you before all this so that I could give you something better. So that you wouldn't have died alone. But, if you're okay with this...

Robin's hand patted the small of her back. "Master?"

"...You're a dork, Archer," Vy said finally.

"What brought this on?"

"Nothing. Just lemme hug you."

Vy didn't even have to see Robin's face to know he was rolling his eyes. "Fineeeee."

Robin still bent his knees a bit so that Vy wasn't struggling to reach his height mid-hug. Vy squeezed him a bit more as her way of expressing thanks.

I'll do my best so that you can be happy here.

It was a promise.

#passing days #short story #mastersona Vy #robin hood #fate grand order #vy plays fate grand order #writing #drabble #ish? #somehow this came out of gacha salt #but I'll take it #cw: smoking #robvy #roby #takes place during part 1 of FGO #long post #robinvy

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part One: Should Have Known Better

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hello everyone, and welcome to my latest indulgence. This tale will run parallel to the show, picking up between episode three [The Sin] and episode four [Sanctuary], so spoiler warnings for all portions!

Our story begins a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...on Nevarro, to be specific. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @helplessly-nonstop @huliabitch @culturalrebel

[And here is the playlist for this (now completed) series! Be warned that this post does contain spoilers for all chapters of Stay Safe, so if you would rather just have the playlist without additional exposition or breakdown, you can find it here!]

The ship was filthy. 

Whoever the pilot was had clearly gone bellying in a mudflat. Dried grime was spattered as far up as the cockpit! You wiped the sweat off your forehead, squinting in the brilliant sunlight. 

She had the potential to shine, you decided, and in your current line of work, that was really what mattered. "I'll get it done." You said aloud. 

"You will? Excellent!" The person hellbent on hiring you pressed a small, yet strangely-weighty bundle of cloth into your hands. "Your payment. The other half will be delivered upon completion." They said, voice muffled through their thick cowling. You waved off their promise, absently giving them the usual 'the work is its own reward' rigmarole as you made a mental list of what you would need to pick up from your tools. 

A few panels looked dented and carbon-scored underneath all the mud; this puddlejumper had clearly seen some kind of action. Not too surprising, what with the Empire getting upended. Skirmishes were all too common in the brave new world, where the tenuous New Republic sought to bring peace to a galaxy full of warlords and criminals.

In hindsight, you probably should have checked what you were being paid with. You might have saved yourself a lot of trouble.

Instead, you launched yourself headfirst into sweeping the crusted muck off the cockpit shielding and scrubbing as high as you could reach on the grungy fuselage. Clients sometimes got antsy about you traipsing around on top of their fancy vessels with your sturdy boots, so you always did your best to be expedient when brushing off the sand and grime. 

Once the brunt of the outside work had been done, you went and punched in the code you had been given to open the hatch.

Nothing happened.

You pulled your notebook and tiny charcoal stub from your side pouch, running your eyes down the line of old codes from previous jobs. No, that had been correct. How bizarre! What if the owner had changed it and forgotten? 

You grimaced at the keypad. You hated leaving a job half-finished. Maybe you could guess it? It would be a fair bit easier than trying to locate the owner, and you didn't want them returning to find you twiddling your thumbs.

To your surprise, it only took six tries at the combination before the boarding ramp extended with a throaty hiss. Your grin of triumph at your own cleverness was woefully short-lived as the thunder of approaching footsteps alerted you to the fact that you were no longer alone. You went to turn and see who was coming, barely glimpsing the bundle that was your payment flying at your face with purpose. 

Metal, you realized dimly before consciousness deserted you.

…

You awoke to a boot in your ribs and you coughed, gasping for air. The bundle was clutched to your chest tightly. How had you picked it up? The last thing you remembered was getting clobbered with it. Why would your attacker leave you with your payment?

You opened your eyes sluggishly, realizing even in your barely-coherent state that you were in the hold of that ship you had been cleaning. "Wonderful." You groaned. Your whole body felt bruised. This wasn't exactly your first time being Shanghaied, but it definitely was up there on the list of 'experiences that don't bear repeating'.

Now, to find out who owned the boot that had so graciously awoken you from your slumber. You struggled to roll over, still keeping a hand on the heavy bundle. As you moved to stand, however, the cloth that made up the bundle began to unwind. You clumsily fought to catch the edges to no avail, fumbling the whole thing until it ended up dropping to the floor with a resounding clack!. Whatever was inside it was clearly metallic, but you already knew that from how sore your face was. 

Any further musing on what it could be took a back seat to the disruptor rifle suddenly inches away from your face. 

"Wait!" You yelped, your hands raised over your head.

The individual in gleaming beskar armor gave no sign that they heard you, the pronged rifle barrel trained between your eyes. You had never seen a Mandalorian so close before, but right now was hardly the time to dwell on the magnanimous rarity of the occasion!

"Oh, oh please wait. I...this is all a huge mistake. Please don't shoot me." They didn't move and you took that as your cue to start trying to get yourself out of this mess. "I've been working this port all cycle, I was hired to clean thi-"

"Not by me, you weren't." A male voice, clipped and irritated but distinctly human even through the doubled-back modulator on that helmet. "Continue."

"I…" You were at a bit of a loss. You had been hoping, albeit vainly, that it was a droid under all the beskar. You might have been able to reason with a droid. "W-Well, I…"

"Five seconds." The rifle clicked loudly and you flinched, closing your eyes. 

"Okay, okayokayokay, I was h-hired. At the port." You rushed to explain, tripping over your words in your haste. "I didn't get a good look at him, he was all wrapped up like everyone else. He showed me this ship and I told him I would absolutely do it. I was p-promised two-part payment, half now and half on completion." 

You swallowed hard, daring to squint open your eyes. The Mandalorian hadn't moved a muscle, that T-shaped visor alone keeping you pinned with its unfriendly glare. 

"Um, I went to open the hatch once I got done with the hull and it, uh, wouldn't open," you stuttered. "Th-The man who hired me gave me the wrong code. So I tried a bunch of different ones."

A heavy sigh issued from the helmet. "Until you got the right one."

"Yes." You pointed down to the analog flight notebook hanging out of your hip pouch. "I've never been good at remembering codes. But the next thing I knew, I was attacked from behind!"

"Karga must have been waiting for you to get the door open." The Mandalorian muttered, lowering his rifle slightly. "Doesn't explain the beskar, though."

"Beskar?" You repeated.

He gestured downward and you followed his hand to the formerly wrapped bundle, now revealed to be a single ingot of beskar. The Imperial crest stamped into it gave you pause, the symbol by itself enough to make you uneasy.

"It was my...p-payment." You suddenly felt tiny. Everything you had heard about Mandalorians pointed towards them being an incredibly stoic and honor-bound society. Their beskar armor was revered, practically sacred; attempting to remove a Mandalorian's helm by force was akin to asking for death. Who knew where this beskar had even come from?!

You were in deep trouble.

A breath chuffed out of him and he carefully scooped the metal up off the floor, brushing away a tiny bit of grime. "Not anymore, it's not." He growled, re-wrapping the ingot in the cloth. You bowed your head in acquiescence, startled when two leather-clad fingers tilted your chin back up. "Your nose," He began, his thumb scrubbing at something crusted above your upper lip, "it's bloody."

"I remember getting whacked with that right after I opened the hatch." You grimaced. "Is it bad? It's probably pretty bad." 

"It's not great." Your attention was abruptly drawn to the side when you heard a soft cooing noise. A blaster barrel replaced his fingers under your chin even as you moved. "I wouldn't try anything." He warned.

"I'm not, I'm not." You whispered in reply, your whole body shaking. Gods, he was fast. Even with you just shifting on instinct alone, he easily outpaced you. "I heard-"

"I know what you heard." He spat. "As much as I'd love to throw you out the airlock, I'm sure I'd get more for you alive somewhere else."

For the first time, you noticed the sound of the FTL engines humming. Oh. He had taken off while you were unconscious. Honestly, you had probably been a nasty shock for him when he came across you all curled up in the cargo bay.

That soft noise caught your ear again, but this time you forced yourself not to move. The Mandalorian exhaled after a moment, taking a step back and holstering his blaster. "What I want to know is," He paused, like he was mentally mulling something over while he weighed the slab of beskar in his palm. "Are you any good with younglings?"

You stared up at his visor blankly. All the other stories you'd heard about Mandalorians, the seedier ones, came rushing to the forefront of your mind, leaving you a little flushed in the face. "I...I'm not too bad? I've got none of my own, b-b-but it's not like I have an issue with them?" Your reply was half a question in and of itself. 

"Good. Your job is to manage the child until I can find someplace to deal with you."

"'Deal with me'?" You squeaked. "I'd really like to go back to Nevarro, if it's all the same to you."

"You stowed away on my ship. Inadvertently or not, that's a crime I don't take lightly."

"Wait, b-but--" A reedy cry cut you off and you finally saw what was making all the noise. "Oh." You breathed.  

It was definitely a baby. A baby what, you had no clue. But a baby all the same. It was tiny, sporting enormous ears that dwarfed its green body. Huge black eyes shone in the dim light of the hold, and a minute hand with three fingers stretched out towards the Mandalorian from the comfort of its bassinet.

"I trust there won't be any problems?" The beskar-clad man across from you asked, seeming a little bemused by how quiet you had gone.

"What's their name? What do they eat? They're so small, I've never seen anything like it!" You babbled nervously, barely able to fight back the primal urge to pinch their cheeks.

"No name. It'll eat damn near anything. I've seen it eat live mudjumpers whole." The Mandalorian replied shortly. "Doesn't seem to eat regularly, though. Might be boredom motivated." The armored individual waited a beat before speaking again, the strap securing his blaster making a loud snap in the stillness he created, "Anything happens to it, I kill you. Understand?"

"Ab...absolutely." You nodded jerkily, wincing when your neck protested the motion.

"Good." He turned on his heel and pointed towards the alcove off to the side of the ladder. "Refresher is there. You do anything I don't like and you're getting slabbed. Full carbon treatment." He informed you brusquely. "You're not quarry yet. Don't make yourself quarry."

"Got it. Th-Thanks for not vaporizing me on sight. I'm sorry about," You gestured helplessly around you, "all of this."

"An apology from you means nothing to me." He informed you, not unkindly. "I'd rather learn who the person that hired you was, and why they were paying you in Imperial beskar."

"I had no idea what it actually was. I was so excited to get started, I didn't even look at it." You confessed. "For all I knew it could have been a rock."

"You're not particularly bright, are you?"

"I like what I do." You retorted before you could think twice about it.

He stayed by the ladder for a moment, and then stalked back towards you. You braced yourself, waiting to get blown to smithereens. Instead, he stopped a good two feet away and barked, "hand over your tools."

"M-My--"

"Tools. Any weapons. Drop them." His voice came out as a modulated snarl. "Now." Shakily you undid the heavy buckle at your waist, then struggled out of your shoulder straps and dropped the whole belt on the deck. You hesitated a second, something that he absolutely noticed. "Do I have to slab you or are you going to cooperate?" He inquired.

Your last ounce of bravery went out the hold at his threat and you hurried to unstrap the sheath attached to the inside of your calf under your pants. "Hang on, I just-" You plopped down on the floor, shoving your pants leg up around your knee. "Shit, c'mon please." You begged under your breath, tears pricking your eyes while the buckles refused to budge. "I'm sorry, I swear I'm trying-"

"Stop." 

You froze, watching out of your periphery as he crouched in front of you. Gloved hands miles more dexterous than your own made quick work of the sheath buckles. He was close enough for you to see your terrified reflection in his helmet, warped by the contours it bore.

"Breathe." He reminded you. "I haven't slabbed you yet. Don't give me a reason to and you'll be fine."

"Right, right." You choked. 

The blade came loose with one sharp tug and you heard him whistle. "What in the hell is someone like you doing with a knife this mean?" He asked incredulously, testing the heft of the nearly cleaver-sized weapon.

"I traded some rocks for it." You whispered. 

He huffed out a breath in what might have been an expression of mirth, rising to his full height to give the knife a practice swing. It sang as he ripped it through the air, a testament to his substantial strength. "Not sharp?" He sounded curious.

"It's for crushing." 

He twisted his wrist back and forth, lazily twirling the knife by the handle. "You'd rather maim than kill?"

"I'm not smart enough to make good use of a sharp blade." You recited the phrase you had heard aimed at you so often in your youth. He paused in his motions with the knife, his helmet visor slowly turning towards you as you continued. "It's too easy to get comfortable with hurting if you have a weapon that doesn't take any thought to use. Like a sharp knife or...or a quick blaster." Or a disruptor rifle, you added mentally.

He dropped back into a crouch in front of you, effortlessly balancing his weight on his heels. You swallowed hard, still unnerved by the proximity of a real, honest-to-gods Mandalorian. You had seen a few of them in your travels, but never up close and you had certainly never spoken with any of them. Their armor alone exuded a certain air that tended to dissuade attempts at conversation.

"Wise words." With a strange amount of care, the armored man replaced your knife in its sheath. "I'll hang onto it for right now. Don't try anything stupid and you might get it back." He muttered. Despite the featureless void of his visor, you got the impression that he was studying you intently. "Take care of the kid." A rag was thrust at your face. "Wash the blood off from under your nose."

…

Honestly, it was a relatively easy gig.

You quickly discovered that the child liked it when you sang, even if it was just nonsense words and babble. You made up a song on the spot about the dewback that jumped over the blue milk moon, sitting on the floor and serenading the giggly being while you cleaned yourself up with the warm rag.

They appeared to be maybe toddler age, just getting to the point where they were learning by putting everything in their mouth. You lost track of how many objects you eased away from them, finally resorting to relocating the hazards into an empty cargo net overhead.

There was one thing in particular that they seemed to love, a silver ball with a threaded hole in it. They rolled it back and forth on the deck, squealing excitedly when you got involved in their little game of fetch. At least they didn't seem keen on putting it into their mouth, thank the Maker for small favors.

You knew enough time had passed that you should be hungry, but the idea of asking for anything made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The child only ate when they were bored, right? Maybe you ought to adopt the same schedule.

Your mind wandered back to the Mandalorian as you engaged the tyke in a rousing game of peekaboo, their explosive giggles making you smile in spite of your lingering aches and pains. How had someone like him come across this baby? If he was a bounty hunter, as the empty carbonite slab hangers overhead would indicate, what was he doing with such a small child? 

"Well," you said aloud, "it's not as if kids are just convenient things that drop out of the sky when you're ready for them." You clapped your hands and the child mimicked you, bouncing a little. You set into a barely-remembered song from when you yourself had been quite young, "Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'..."

Your father had often sang while he cooked meals, pausing occasionally to throw you a grin. You imagined it must have made your parents' toil-filled days of farming a little more bearable. You vaguely recalled the sound of their voices, but the years between their deaths and the present day stretched long. All you had left now were half-impressions of your mother's fond smile and your father's songs, fleeting and bittersweet. 

You blinked away the memories when you felt the touch of a small hand on your sleeve, looking down at the child. They chirped at you, tilting their head to the side. "Hello, little one." You whispered, noting that their enormous eyes were half-lidded. "Are you sleepy?" They yawned in reply, making you smile slightly. It was almost as if they understood what you were saying! "Alright, let's go to sleep." 

After checking to make sure that they were still dry, you tucked them into their cradle. Then, you tugged the bassinet over behind a stack of crates, proceeding to curl up on the floor in your cloak. You kept one hand draped over the side of the cradle, smiling blearily when you felt tiny fingers take hold of your index. 

You had never had any issues sleeping in an unfamiliar environment and despite your rumbling stomach, tonight was no exception. You were exhausted and sore from the day's events and you were more than ready to put it all behind you.

…

Something was nudging your side. 

You frowned, flailing an arm out of the warm cocoon you had created with your cloak. The back of your hand hit steel, and then your palm landed on what seemed to be a boot upper. "Five minutes." You murmured, patting the leather and trying to recall where you were without opening your eyes.

"Get up." 

The ship detail. Getting hit with the beskar. Mandalorian. The child-

You thrashed your legs out of your cloak, suddenly more awake than you had ever been in your life. "Where is the baby?" You asked frantically, "I'm sorry, I-I just-"

"The kid is over there." The Mandalorian jerked his helmet to the side, indicating the cradle. "Still sleeping." He took hold of your elbow, pulling you upright. "Come on."

You straightened out your tunic and followed his silent form up the ladder to the cockpit, your heart pounding in your throat. You wrapped your cape tightly around you, your shivering having nothing to do with the temperature. Through the clear shielding you glimpsed the sight of tall coniferous trees, gray-green in the light of dawn. How long had you slept for?

He settled into the pilot seat, swiveling it backwards to face you after a moment. "Sit." He gestured behind you to one of the co-pilot chairs.

You did so, trying your hardest to hide how much you were trembling. He wouldn't kill you right now, would he? No, not in the cockpit. There would be blood everywhere-

"Hey!" The Mandalorian barked, gloved fingers waving in front of your eyes. "Focus. Are you cold?"

"N-No, not at all." You denied through chattering teeth, your back aching with the strain of holding yourself still. 

"Then why the hell are you shaking?"

"I'm terrified." You admitted bluntly. 

"Oh." He was silent for several moments, letting you panic inwardly. "Well, knock it off." He muttered gruffly. "I'm not going to do anything to you."

"You...you're not?" 

"No." You went nearly boneless at his exasperated grunt, feeling as though you had just run a marathon. "You're good with the kid. It's been quiet. No one trying to pilfer any of the shiny things I have to fly with, or touching important switches." 

"Glad to be of service." You replied weakly. 

"Don't make me change my mind." He growled, jabbing a finger at your face. "If I find out you were planted on here by the Guild to double cross me, I won't hesitate to blow a hole in your sternum. Do we understand each other, stowaway?" 

"Y-You drive a hard bargain." You squeaked, bunching your fists in your tunic. His hand remained extended and after a moment he impatiently jerked his chin down at it. "Oh!" You tried to subtly wipe your sweaty palm off on your thigh before you accepted the handshake, nodding stiffly. 

"If I double cross you, you can feel free to take your mean little knife and crush my ribcage with it." The Mandalorian rotated his wrist, the movement fluid and nonchalant. "Turn and turn alike." 

"I think you might have an unfair advantage. That knife is no match for beskar." You pointed out, almost delirious with relief.

"It's not about the tool, it's about how you utilize it." 

Your empty stomach suddenly decided to make itself heard, growling deafeningly loud. You flushed, wrapping your arms around your midsection.

"Stars, was that a Corellian hound?" The bounty hunter tossed a small pouch your way, the bag landing in your lap with a quiet crinkle. "Eat the rest of that. Today, we look for lodging." He ordered.

Your question of whether he would possibly consider returning you to Nevarro died in your throat and you bit your lip, struggling with the seal on the bag.

The jerky-like substance, traditionally made from the tough, bitter pulp of hubba gourds, served to take the hard edge off of your hunger and give your mouth something to do while the Mandalorian did his pre-departure walkthrough.

He halted by the now-full cargo net loaded with the flotsam and jetsam from the floor of the hold and turned to look at you, his head tilted slightly in question. 

"Baby wanted to mouth things, so I had to put them out of reach." You elaborated after swallowing.

"Little womp rat." The armored man grumbled, sounding strangely fond. The womp rat in question babbled from their crib, their arms outstretched in the universal sign for pick me up! The Mandalorian ignored them, continuing his sweep. 

He finally nodded, appearing satisfied with the state of things. You moved to scoop the child out of their crib, only to get stopped in your tracks by a very familiar knife sheath hitting your chest.

"Weapons on before we leave the ship." The Mandalorian muttered. "Remember our agreement. You can have your tools later if you prove yourself trustworthy." 

You took the knife back, wordlessly strapping the sheath to your calf once more. The weight was an immense comfort and you felt your nervous energy still for a brief moment. "Okay." You breathed, clenching your fists and then shaking out your tense shoulders.

The Mandalorian nodded towards the child. "Let him walk. He needs to use his legs."

While the boarding ramp hydraulics hissed and creaked, you dug around in your side pouch. You didn't have much in the way of actual credits, normally you accepted trades of goods or food. "Here, I...um, for when we get lodging." The seven credits looked pitiful even to your eyes, so you could only imagine what this obviously-successful bounty hunter must think of them. 

He waved you off, one gloved hand closing your fingers securely around the meager fistful. "Save them for a rainy season, stowaway." 

"B-But-"

"We still don't even know whether we will find lodgings here," He reminded you. "Hang onto them." 

"I'm not going to just scab off of you." You protested as he walked down the ramp. "I can work, I know ships inside and out and I can-"

"We can discuss it later." He said over his shoulder, the words muffled by his cape, "once I've decided you're worth the trouble."

You huffed out an annoyed breath, jamming the credits back into your pouch. "Oh of course, wouldn't want to trouble you with bringing me back to fucking Nevarro." You muttered. The child squealed, tugging on your pants leg and pointing towards the forest. "Yeah, we'd better get a move on." You agreed quietly. 

With mindfully-shortened steps, you set off to follow the armored man. At least he was shiny enough to be spotted easily in the sun-dappled forest.

Part Two

#Welcome one and all #welcome back to hell #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #eventual romance #mandalorian spoilers #this will be great I promise #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #how do I tag this #I'm so excited #enjoy! #pedro pascal #I love one man #and he wears beskar

[jubilantscribbler]

you ever look at a character and go, “hey buddy, why are you here?” and then try and justify it?

Yeah, Adam MadOnes, I’m looking at you.  But after some deep, deep, DEEP thought, I realized that Adam’s role in the story is easily overlooked and overshadowed in the musical compared to Kelly’s and even Sam’s mom’s relationships with Sam.  At face value, Adam is just the boyfriend who adds very little to the plot, save for the very end when he’s the reason Sam breaks out of that stupor long enough to realize that he’s not what she wants either.

But then you listen to his lines in “Drive”, and you realize, hey, wait a minute, maybe he was supposed to be kinda forgettable but always present.  Because, when you listen to his lines and what he has to offer to Sam, it’s safety.  Or rather, he’s the safety net that Sam could rely on, except that she doesn’t want to.

Lemme explain.

Compared to Kelly and Beverly’s songs, Adam’s tend to be more... chill.  “Simple as That” really shows it off, with the song having a playful but easy beat that drives home how low maintenance their relationship seems to be.  They tend to get each other... most of the time.  Their relationship is described as “perfect”, but the simple tune and beats also makes their relationship just a little bit childish, in that bright-eyed, “Santa Claus is Real” sort of way that’s endearing.  That sets up their relationship easily enough to overlook it - it’s a naive, sweet kind of love that goes with the usual High School Sweethearts narrative, where the two of them are a perfect pair and they’re TOTALLY going to get married after they graduate-

And then you get into “The Proposal” and the opening line, “Have sex with me” is backed up with an intense strum that immediately levels out into a song that gets surprisingly soft.  It sounds like a love song, but the lines are more of a plea to please have sex with Adam, he’ll make breakfast and dinner and he has candles he’ll be so romantic, and it’s like haha the usual boyfriend shenanigans until he starts backtrack and go, you know, they can always bone down tomorrow, or even next week which is surprising given how insistent Adam was for like, 90% of the song (Genius has a comment that this song is actually what Sam assumes Adam wants from her - sex, but even then, Adam still makes the effort to not completely push her to commit to the act and even suggests putting it off).  Adam appears in the background of other songs too, like “Top Ten” and “I Know My Girl”, making him an ever present, lingering background figure in Sam’s life.  He doesn’t push to make himself more prominent, and he also doesn’t push Sam to go with what he wants too.  And that’s important to keep in mind.

Adam as a character is all about being there for Sam.  He’s literally described as having “great emotional intelligence and the loyalty of a Saint Bernard”.  The first part is why he doesn’t push so hard with Sam.  He can read her cues.  He can tell when she’s uncomfortable or doesn’t want to do something, and he doesn’t push.  This is actually important to his character, and it’s how it all culminates into “Run Away with Me”.  It’s this emotional awareness that has him recognizing the importance of “On the Road” and trying to connect and reconnect with Sam after Kelly’s death, how he recognizes in that very last line that Sam... doesn’t want what he’s throwing down.  But instead of getting upset with Sam, he keeps it to himself and instead wishes her good luck in a goofy way for her driving test.

But this emotional awareness is also what makes Adam so important to Sam.  He’s different from Kelly and her mom - he doesn’t actively push her to make decisions or go along with what he wants.  Kelly forces her forward, to make decisions for herself - impulsive, wild, self-serving, but also freeing choices that are meant to lead Sam to her happiness.  Meanwhile, Beverly, Sam’s mom, pushes her towards success, to make the right decisions, to be calculating and careful but ambitious, and to understand the reality of the world they live in, specifically as women.  Adam doesn’t do any of that.  It’s why his music is less intense compared to the Kelly and Beverly’s songs, more slow and oddly calm.  Adam backtracks, tries to give Sam space for her decisions, (”maybe not today, maybe tomorrow, maybe-”), but more importantly, he wants to stick by Sam in however way she needs him to be.  

It’s that dedication and love for Sam that has her singing “Say the Word” to him, that sweet, soft love song where she says that if he asks, she’ll stay for him even though she wants to go.  In that moment, she’s giving him the chance to lead her life in a direction that he wants which, when you look at how Sam takes to people trying to dictate what she should do with her life, is oddly sweet of her to offer to him.  He doesn’t act on it immediately, probably doesn’t have the time to given the song that follows up, but when he does sing to Sam his response, it’s after Kelly’s death with the attempt to try and get her to run away with him.

This is the one time Adam actually tries to push her into making a decision.  He tells her that she’s ready, that she can make a new life with him, that they can be happy together on the road, just like her favorite book, and, interestingly, he repeats back to her the words she sang to him.  For Sam, if he said the word, she’d stay for him.  But for Adam, if she says the word, they can leave together.  Sam tells him to tell her that she’s ready in “Say the Word”, and he does in “Run Away With Me”.  Over and over, he tells her that “she’s ready now”, and it almost sounds too good to be true.  Sam can finally hit the road, something she wanted so desperately before with Kelly, something that she was so frightened of before that had her saying no.  Now she has the chance with Adam, offering her almost the same thing - a life on the road with someone she deeply cares about.

Except.

His offer comes with that little catch.  That little dream of his of settling down in a house somewhere with Sam, words that remind Sam of what Kelly warned her about before.  His offer is to save her, have a simple life with her, one that’s easy and calming and full of safety.

He’s offering her a safe way out to getting what she wants... temporarily.  What he actually wants from her is a life where they’re always together, where they can maybe get married, maybe settle down, maybe have a family if she wants or not, maybe live somewhere by the coast, and it’s not what Kelly would have wanted, or what her ambitious mom would have wanted, and it’s not what Sam wants at all.

And Adam realizes that all too late, just right at the very last line of his song, where he loses all his enthusiasm and quiets his voice just enough.  And, in the live version, you can hear his heartbreak loud and clear.  

“Drive” is where Sam’s impression of Adam really shines through as he blatantly states that he can keep Sam safe, his pleas for her to run away with him more pleading even when he says that it doesn’t have to be right away, it can be later, because Adam is always willing to wait for Sam, he’s in love with her.  To Sam, he becomes that idealized lover, that perfect high school sweetheart that follows the trope of getting married after high school, of settling down and leading a life that doesn’t have a lot of strife because they’re always so agreeable with each other.  Sure, he doesn’t maybe understand her at the same level as Kelly, nor does he push her to be her very absolute best, but he offers something simple.  Something safe.  Something that she can take her time deciding on.

Adam, compared to the rest of the cast, doesn’t really have those strong, identifiable traits other than his devotion to Sam.  He really is just that boyfriend character, but despite how his relationship with Sam practically pales in comparison to Sam’s relationship with Kelly, he’s still that important person to Sam.  He’s the safety net in her relationships, the one that’s always there to catch her, the one she ran to after her fight with Kelly and her mom, the one who inadvertently broke her out of her stupor.  He doesn’t outright add to the plot because he doesn’t push Sam to make her choices like Kelly or Beverly.  And the story is all about Sam trying to make her own choices.  Each of them have their way of going about it - Kelly by sheer force, Beverly with caution and fear, and Adam with time.  And once he finally tries to push Sam towards a decision?

That’s the tipping point that leads into “Drive”.

Like Beverly, he’s important in making Sam realize what she wants.  He’s important in making her realize what she doesn’t want, despite being that perfect, devoted boyfriend who just wants to be by her side.  He’s the rejection of that concept, similar to how Sam rejects Beverly’s idea of striving to be the best despite the hand that was given to her, of being as successful as she can be allowed and maybe even a little more, of having to live and cope with reality.  He represents the safe path, the simple path, the path a lot of people would take and have taken.  And he matters more not in what he can add to Sam’s life and story, because Sam doesn’t actually want that, but what it takes for Sam to realize, or remembers really, what she actually wants for once in her life.  Because the entire musical is about Sam searching for what she wants, and what Adam has to offer isn’t it.

It’s easy to overlook Adam really.  He doesn’t show up often in the clips floating around Youtube, he’s got like, One Really Popular Song and the other two are pretty skippable, and comparing his relationship with Sam to Kelly’s really makes you wonder why she chose to date Adam instead of Kelly, asides from the compulsory heteronormativity.  But when you actually take a step back and put together what Adam has to offer in conjunction to how the others normally act around Sam, and why he matters so much to Sam, he can be a pretty important character.  Because in the end, he’s the one who manages to push her out of her funk, and no one else.

#the mad ones #that's a lot of #WORD VOMIT #but i think a lot about adam and what he represents #they all represent something to sam #im getting a copy of the uh #the book itself to try and get a grip of adams character #he doesn't actually have much going for him #either in the clips or in the album #i never saw the whole thing live #but even if he doesnt add specifically to the plot #he adds a little something else instead #poor guy is just a normal dude trying to make his gf happy #he's really not a bad guy #i will stand by that til the day i die

[whitherliliesbloom]

in the eyes of the beholder

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #22 - fluster ]

[alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,042 words ]  ★ [ post-canon ]

fluster-  to put into a state of agitated confusion or embarrassment 

they say an artists always inadvertently pours their heart’s true feelings into their drawings.

The apartment has never been this empty - not since the day he moved in. With cardboard box towers stacked high, and a few other empty ones that have yet to be packed, Alphinaud pauses for a moment to straighten himself up and admire the empty space around him, wiping the sweat off his brows.

This has been his home for a good many years, not quite the kind that he would liken to Leveilleur manor back in Old Sharlayan where he grew up in.. but a home nonetheless- with the bonus of knowing his most trusted friends and allies are ever close by, Rising Stones being just a mere stroll away. So he cannot help but to feel a pang of sadness and longing swelling in his heart, especially as he casts a glance out the window to look upon the slow spinning aetheryte that stood in the center of Revenant’s Toll. 

But, Alphinaud reminds himself, as he finally turns his gaze to look at the young woman standing upon a lalafellin stool in front of the bookcase, her arms stretched high above her head as she grabs at the rows of dust coated tomes and gives each a thorough pat and sweep with her feather duster, that the feeling was more sweet than it was bitter. 

His girlfriend- or rather... his fiancée has busied herself with clearing his impressive collection of tomes and scrolls, cleaning them of months of neglect, before sorting and then packing them into the half-filled box next to her aptly labelled with a thick brush pen as ‘Books’. She’d even sorted the titles out by alphabetical order, just like he’d requested.

They’ve been packing since morning now, and he’s beginning to feel hours of prior strenuous labor catch up to him as he stretches his arms and flexes his fingers. And yet Illya seemed to be none worse for wear, for as used to physical strain and tireless work as she justifiably is. 

Alphinaud takes a second to stop and stare at the woman for a fleeting moment. Her silken white hair that normally cascaded down past her shoulders and waist was now pulled up into a high ponytail and secured with a floral patterned scrunchy, her hair bopping and swaying side to side with every of her movements. Her pink overalls is stained and caked in dust, as is the once pristine white of her shirt underneath - but her dirtied wardrobe hadn’t seem to even be noticed at all, let alone bothered the woman.

And as she took her time to take a book by its spine and read the title before quickly dusting it, she’s merrily humming to the tune of an old Doman piece, volume soft and barely audible, yet soothing as her voice rose and filled the dusty air with an uplifting song.

When the young elezen man finally regains enough of his senses to snap out of his gawking, he can only twist his lips up into a bright smile before calling out her name.

“Liya.”

Her head swivels around instantly, amethyst bright eyes shimmering with immediate affection as she looks at him and mirrors his smile with her own, dazzlingly warm one.

“Yes, alphy?” 

Her voice is sugar coated and dripping with sickly sweetness that he drinks up like he’s a man starved, heart soaring with an unbridled joy as he catches a glimpse of the ring on her fourth finger, a radiant crystal blossom sitting upon the painfully detailed golden band.

No matter how many times he attempts to fathom the reality of his present, there was always a more rational, disbelieving side to Alphinaud that would struggle to believe it. To fathom the great fortune he must have to be engaged to the woman he loved more than anything in the world, let alone someone who has been his biggest inspiration and source of admiration and motivation for years. And he cannot believe that he will soon be living under the same roof as her.

The Warrior of Light... soon to be his Warrior of Light. Even thinking of her as his threatens boyish laughter and cheers out of him. 

Snapping out of the revelry of his daydream, Alphinaud gestures towards the metal canister next to her stool, long since emptied and left neglected with its contents drained. 

“You must be tired. How about a break? I’ll refill your bottle for you.”

“No,no that’s okay-” Unsurprisingly, Illya is quick to refuse his offer with a shake of her head. “I’m not that tired. Don’t let me bother you.”

“It’s not a bother, dearest.” With a sigh, Alphinaud moves over to grab the canister, amused snicker leaving his lips when he looks down at the exasperated pout on Illya’s lips. “Let me do this much for you at least. I won’t be long.”

Ever a woman who much preferred relying on herself, it took a good many years for Illya to come to terms with accepting her own limitations and weaknesses - let alone entertaning the idea of burdening her loved ones with her troubles... no matter how trivial or small they may be.

But she’s come far - they both have... and the girl who would once stutter and burst into a blushing fluster is nowhere to be found in the presence of a older, more confident woman, who merely drops her shoulders in defeat before accepting his offer.

“If you insist, love. Make sure to refill for yourself too, okay?” 

With a quick nod, Alphinaud swiftly take his own bottle before leaving the apartment before crossing through corridors past other closed doors and speed walking down flights of stairs to get to the Seventh Heaven.

Bloezoeng greets the elezen with a cheery grin, graciously refilling the two canisters full with a topping of ice cool water while making small talk, asking how the packing was going and even asking the young man to send his regards to the Warrior of Light. Nearby, the wandering minstrel sings as he strums at his harp, and Alphinaud only spares a single seconds glance towards the door leading into the back where the Rising Stones is, before leaving the Seventh Heaven, heavy and damp water canisters in hand.

Alphinaud hadn’t been lying when he said that he wouldn’t take long - it’d been a total of four minutes maximum by the time he reaches the third floor and walks down the hallway towards the only open door. 

And yet when when he hears what the voice of his beloved says as he approaches the apartment, along with the tell tale sounds of sketch paper flipping, his blood runs dry in his veins and he feels himself freeze in instinctive panic.

“This book... it has no title?”

A book with no title.... Oh gods. She could only be referring to one book - the only book he’d kept purposefully hidden away on his shelf between other innocuous books for reasons unknown to all save himself. The only book with a blank cover, the only book with a well used bookmark made from a pressed lily that Illya had gifted him so many years ago slotted between its pages. A book that he had not wanted anyone to find or to see the contents of - especially not her.

“W-wait- Liya! Don’t-” He bolts into the room and drops the canisters onto the floor with a responding thud that leaves wet patches upon the wooden planks, navy blue eyes blown wide in terror. His heart pounds loudly in the confines of his tight chest, which then quickly sinks into the pits of his stomach when he stares dumbfoundedly at the lalafell and the wide opened book in her hands.

She’s staring down, speechless herself. 

The pages of the book was not filled with words - but drawings. Black and white sketches created with a fine pencil and quill, soft water colored paintings that left dried patches of color upon the pages, colored line art that had been meticulously cell-shaded with an array of colored ink. 

It was Alphinaud’s sketchbook- but not the one he carries in his travel bag or has laying open on his desk. He wouldn’t go through such lengths to conceal a sketchbook if it had just been that - and his dearest has always expressed how much she loved to look at his art.

But this was no ordinary sketchbook - for countless pages between the lavender purple covers of that book, marked with a bright white flower was filled with visages of the Warrior of Light - of the woman he loved. 

From a quick sketch of the lalafellin woman with a stern expression as she was lost in her focus upon an embroidery hoop, a more detailed, colored drawing of her in her adventuring garments, long starlit hair radiant against a dark starry night background as she casts her eyes upwards at the sky... and a small painting of her surrounded by a sea of flowers, the gust of spring wind blowing her hair and pink dress behind her as she holds a single flower between her clasped hands as if in prayer, a serene, ethereal expression upon her face.

Illya can barely even recognize those figures as herself- is disbelieving as she flips through drawing after drawing of what was clearly Alphinaud’s favorite model in various clothing, settings and circumstances, in different mediums to boot.

But the one thing that remained a constant was the heart of the art he painstakingly filled the sketch books with, the heartfelt emotions and earnestness he must have felt as he was working on a single page.

There is a saying that says an artist will always inadvertently pour their truest, deepest feelings into the art they create - that a piece of drawing was a piece of an artist’s heart.

Illya could only wonder then, as she stares with heat pooling in her cheeks that spread rapidly to the tips of her pointed ears... what was it that Alphinaud was feeling whenever he held this sketchbook or drew within it? 

What was it that he was seeing within his wide, observant eyes when he drew her? What compelled him? What will continue to compel him?

She holds his heart in her hands delicately, as if it would break if she were not careful, and slowly closes it before turning to look at the man, who has an equally, if not brighter, darker blush upon his now cherry red face.

“T-that is! I-I.... I was just- I-I-It’s not-” 

Alphinaud was not often a man who got this flustered. Even when he is teased by the likes of Krile and Alisaie who threatened whenever possible and the situation was appropriate to spill unflattered secrets about his past to her, there is a sort of calm elegance to the way he’d diffuse the situation and more often than not lead her away from the two ‘gossip mongers’... as he would so eloquently put it. Though, to be fair, years of putting up with that has taught him to be a little more dexterous in navigating forbidden subjects about his time in the Studium around them. 

But when the blame of the situation was nobody but his own to bear, and it involved a deeply hidden secret he’s kept for so many years from her... it’s destroyed whatever little of his poise he’s pretended to develop over the years... And Illya was absolutely the last person he wanted to have see him in such an unsightly state.

 While Alphinaud attempts futilely to scrounge up a believable excuse, the lalafell has climbed down from her stool and is walking towards him. 

The afternoon sky is bright, casting sunrays through the window panes and forming spotlights upon the wooden floor, as dust bunnies bounce and float carefreely around the room. Illya steps into the light, and the afternoon rays immediately reflect off her head like cut crystal... and above reddened nose are a pair of shining eyes that gaze up at him, and Alphinaud momentarily forgets to breath as she closes the distance between them and smiles delicately.

“I-If..... If you wanted me to model for you, you... you could have just a-asked me...”

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #illya skawi #we've come so far #mine #fanfic

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 66:  Honesty of the Heart

The job was done. The task was complete. The voices in his head told him he was an idiot, told him that he was being stupid and taking a risk and would probably soon die by her hand when she betrayed them.

So he took that hand and shut them out. He let the warmth from her body move through his own and knew, without a doubt in his mind, that she was truly different. Unlike Cora, who he'd instantly regretted telling about the dagger, he felt not one worry over telling Belle, showing it to her, letting her know where it was hidden. He had the very certain feeling that if he'd allowed her to touch it, to hold it, she would have given it back. She didn't want the dagger. For some reason, he still to this day could not fathom, what she wanted was him. And of all the things he should want in this world, she was at the top of his list, a very close tie with Baelfire.

He couldn't stop touching her. After all that they'd done, after all they'd accomplished tonight, and even since she'd reappeared in his shop alive again, he didn't particularly want to stop touching her. And slowly, as their evening progressed, her hand was not enough for him. Their proximity shrank little by little. On the elevator, her hand became her arm. In the Library lobby, her arm became her back. Up the stairs to her apartment, he'd moved his arm around her waist to pull her closer. And when she'd left his side to fetch them dinner, the chill that she'd left had been enough that if he didn't press his leg into hers while they ate, then he'd never get the sustenance he needed.

It was the dishes that undid him. The moment she cleared away their clutter and stood by the sink to wash and scrub so they could go to bed grated on him. He didn't care for dishes or formalities. He didn't want to take her hard and fast as he had "last time." He just wanted to enjoy the night ahead. He wanted to leave what could wait for morning and live in this moment they were having.

He slipped an arm around her waist as she washed and pulled her closer to him so that she let out a happy girlish sound before he moved her hair over her shoulder and kissed the heated skin at the back of her neck. The sound she made when he did that was far more carnal and sophisticated all at once, and he realized quickly enough that her hands had gone still in the sink.

"This really won't take that long," she whispered, her voice so husky her rib cage vibrated against his own chest.

"It can be done later," he pointed out, and then they were gone. A tangle of limbs and tongues, they crashed into one another in the silent understanding that there was time to be made up for. They exchanged very few words with one another; words were not necessary. They'd exchanged plenty of words in these last few days, and he couldn't help but feel that it was because of that talking that they felt more deeply connected to one another than they had been before. Once, twice…he lost count after three.

They'd finally settled hours after they'd tumbled into bed. The sheets were a tangled mess around them, but they'd tried their best to right them as they'd leaned back into her bed with the silent understanding that this time there would be sleep. After they'd spent themselves, even he felt tired and longed to drop into rest.

What a wonderful way to end-

"Rumple?"

He breathed; her voice called him forth from the depths of rest to the shallowest part of consciousness where sleep eagerly fought to pull him back down. He shifted to ground himself and realized he'd been so close to sleep that he'd stopped rubbing her back.

"What?" he slurred as he forced his hand to move over her again.

"I can't sleep."

He didn't know how that was possible. He was the Dark One, and he was exhausted. She'd worn him out. How she couldn't manage just to close her eyes as she always did and let sleep come eluded him.

"Just close your eyes," he whispered, kissing her head. "It'll come eventually."

She was human. After the marathon they'd just endured, he was fairly positive it was impossible not to find sleep eventually. Sex was only half the reward. The other half was a deep, restful-

"Rumple?"

He made a noise to let her know he was awake, but it was only just barely.

"Who's Cora?"

He was awake. Suddenly and completely and wholly awake. How could he not be? He wasn't sure that she'd ever caught him by surprise like this.

"Rumple?"

"Belle…" he tried to make it sound gentle, but it practically came out as a growl. Days after the Cora incident…what the hell had brought this out? He'd promised to have a conversation with her about Cora, and he'd meant it but not here or now. Naked and in bed with her, the glow coming off her skin…this was not the right time.

"You really don't need to know that right now," he insisted.

But the answer seemed less than understandable to her as she pulled away and balanced on her elbow. "You told me you wanted me to know everything," she reminded him. "You said you would tell me-"

"Yes, but not now!" he argued. "Why do you need to know now?!"

"She knew about the dagger, Rumple. That's why you moved it!"

He opened his mouth to argue but realized he couldn't. No, he hadn't actually said those words exactly, but yes, he'd said Cora's name when they'd talked yesterday, and...yes, he'd implied it certainly. And Belle, being who she was, had been smart enough to put two and two together and...

Fuck!

"I want to understand why she knew about it. Tell me. Who's Cora?"

He knew that tone. She wasn't going to sleep until she had her answers, until they'd had this conversation. This wasn't the time or the place that he'd imagined having it, but it appeared he didn't have a choice.

Fuck.

"Cora…" he sighed and got his hands under him, managing to lift himself into a sitting position as if that would make this less awkward, "is Regina's mother."

Another lie, just as he'd inadvertently told her earlier. Well, not a lie really, just not the entire truth, not the one she wanted.

"And how do you know her?" she prompted, seeing through his half truthful lies. But to mention to her the relationship he'd shared with Cora while they were like this, in bed, after they'd been intimate as they had been…he hated it. What would he give to be having this conversation elsewhere right now?

"Rumple," she muttered suddenly, reaching out to hold his hand between her own. "You can tell me anything."

Anything. Yes, he believed that. She'd proved that time and time again facing even his worst deeds as though they were nothing. But this…

Yes. It wasn't the time or the place, but she didn't know that. In the end she might come to regret it as much as he did, but she could take it. Could he?

"Cora was the daughter of a miller when I met her," he explained. "She'd gotten herself into trouble, telling the king that she could spin straw into gold, which she couldn't-"

"Which you could," she stated as if it were obvious. Indeed, it was.

He nodded. "She'd been given until morning to spin a room of straw into gold. She was desperate so I made a deal with her. I would spin the gold she required, and she would give me her first-born child."

"A…a child?" she questioned, furrowing her brow in nervous confusion that he batted away with his hand as if it were a fly. That detail, at least, was unimportant for her.

"I needed Regina to cast the Curse. I knew the child she bore would be the one to do it. But…Cora was smart. She didn't want me to spin the gold, she wanted me to teach her to spin the gold. She wanted me to teach her magic. She was…independent. I agreed to her condition, and when the king saw the gold that she had spun the next morning he gave her his son to marry."

He needed to go on, well aware that this was not where the story ended, it wasn't even the important part that she needed! He needed to tell her the rest! But damn, this was hard. Harder than the dagger. Maybe even harder than Baelfire. He couldn't understand why. Cora was nothing to him. But it was humiliating in so many ways. Coward…that part of him he kept hidden from all the world but not from her…oh, how he hoped she'd see past this. He hoped that she'd see that he treasured her so much more than he'd ever cared for Cora. She'd taken the news of Milah well, but Milah had betrayed him; left him. He'd let Cora pursue him and had cared for her more than he should have. Not the way he loved her, but-

"And?" Belle prodded beside him when he'd gone silent too long.

And…

He glanced at her wishing the truth wasn't what it was, but he had to tell her no matter what. This was the honesty of the heart that David had spoken of, the honesty that had brought them so far. He could do this.

"She was intoxicating," he admitted. "And clever, and greedy, and…she was a fair match for a monster like me."

He saw recognition and understanding pass over her face, and he knew, right then, that she knew what he wasn't saying. She understood. And he hated it.

"You, uh…you…you cared for her?"

"Not like this!" he insisted perhaps a bit too strongly, gripping her hand tight. "Never like this."

They had never consummated the sham of a relationship that they'd carried out, something he was eternally grateful for now in so many ways. But he also knew there was a time that he'd wanted to. He knew there was a time, just after he'd told Cora about the dagger, that he'd come close, oh so close, to crossing that threshold with her. He hadn't. For the same way that he'd managed to cross it tonight, over and over and over again, with Belle. Trust. He hadn't trusted Cora. Not wholly or completely. He'd loved her at that time, but some small part of him had distrusted her. She hadn't been enough to keep the Dark Ones quiet. She had been nothing like his Belle.

"So…what happened?" she prompted.

"She tricked me," he stated, his teeth grinding at the memory that was somehow still fresh enough to become painful, especially when he considered the woman who was now before him. "She used my own emotions against me. She convinced me that she wasn't satisfied with being a trophy, on the arm of the Prince forever, and would rather have me. I amended our previous agreement that she'd give me not her firstborn child, but our firstborn child."

She didn't like that. He noticed the way her breath hitched, the twitch in her jaw, the beat of her heart. He understood that reaction. He felt it too and was incredibly grateful now, looking back, that he hadn't followed through with that, no matter the trouble it had caused him during Regina's childhood.

"Obviously that never happened…"

"Why?" she pressed almost painfully.

He tried not to let the questioning frustrate him. He tried to remember that he'd be asking the same question if he were in her shoes. But he hated everything about this conversation. Everything about Cora. Everything about that time in his life. At this point, he just wanted to get it over with.

"All she wanted was for her daughter to someday be Queen," he answered honestly. "All she wanted was power and she surely wouldn't have gotten that with me. She manipulated me to change the deal so that I would never receive the child for helping her because the child would never exist. She went on to become a bitter old woman incapable of feeling anything for anyone including Regina!"

The end.

"And you eventually got the Queen to cast the Curse to this land," she concluded for him.

He met her eyes and nodded.

That was it. That was the story with the addition of an epilogue, far more than he was comfortable telling, but he'd done it anyway. Now maybe they could forget about the entire thing, truly forget about it, both of them, and get some sleep.

"And she knew about the dagger, about…about Baelfire?"

"She knew," he confirmed. "She knew certain aspects of my life before I was the Dark One, yes." The second she cast her gaze away, he tightened the grip he had on her hand. This was what he didn't want. He didn't want her to feel like she wasn't as special to him as she was. She didn't want her to feel jealous or inferior. "But I've never disclosed as much to another soul as I have to you."

She turned back to him, and her chin tipped up to search his gaze, something like hope flickering between his eyes. Finally a break. A small one, but a break, so good news he could give to her.

"I've lived a long time," he breathed. "And there have been others, only a handful, here and there, that have managed to get some glimpse of my life and my plans. But no one has ever held so much of my past as you do. Cora knew I had a son…but she didn't even know his name!" he realized suddenly, overwhelmed at the realization he'd stumbled upon. He'd never considered that before. He'd never shared Bae's name with anyone who hadn't known it before…save for one person.

"No one but you has ever known that."

She liked that. She liked it a lot. Every muscle in her body that had tightened through the tale suddenly eased and a small smile curved over her mouth. He looked down at their joined hands, a gesture he realized they often did, so many times without ever realizing it. He'd had sex before her, he'd had love before her, but he'd never had intimacy. He'd never had security with sex and love joined in one perfect person.

He hated this conversation.

He loved her.

"You kissed her?"

His gaze shot off their hands and he immediately looked to her, hoping that he'd heard the question wrong. Was she really asking that? Now? Here? After they'd just barely gotten through that conversation? She really wanted to add insult to injury?

Yes, she did. In his silence she raised her eyebrows at him, prodding him silently.

"Yes," he was finally forced to answer.

"While you were cursed," she pressed. "You kissed her while you were cursed?"

"Multiple times!" And he didn't see why it was important, or she was-

"And you remained cursed. After you kissed her…you were still cursed?"

He opened his mouth to respond but had to close it again as the realization of what she was getting at dawned on him. He smiled at the minx beside him, the woman who held his hand and his heart and was jealous enough over the worst relationship of his life to make sure there was one last thing about their relationship that she cherished, that she could hold above the head of any others who may have come before.

"Yes," he confirmed happily for her. "Yes, I remained cursed each and every time."

A smile, proud and happy, spread over her face. She nodded with certainty as if she'd gotten the answer he knew she'd wanted, and he was pleased that it was a truthful answer, pleased to share in the joy of that one unique quality that she and she alone would always possess.

"Good," she muttered before leaning up to kiss him and then settle against his side as she always did. "Sounds like you won in the end."

His arm wrapped around her automatically, no matter how shocked he was by the sudden easy way she'd settled into him. He was helpless to return her gesture, to settle back into the bed so that they could sleep soundly and hold each other as they drifted off.

He'd won in the end. He'd always insisted that. He might have lost a battle to Cora, but he most certainly had won the war. And when it came to women and not to luck, when it came down to what their relationship had been and the relationship he shared with the beauty beside him now…

"Yes," he agreed, kissing the top of her head once more before letting his own fall back on the pillow so he could close his eyes. "For once in my life I was the lucky one."

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #mr. Gold #Belle #Cora #Queen of Hearts #Regina Mills #Evil Queen #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

[kuramirocket]

Whenever I visit Olvera Street, as I did a couple of weeks ago, my walk through the historic corridor is always the same.

Start at the plaza. Pass the stand where out-of-towners and politicians have donned sombreros and serapes for photos ever since the city turned this area into a tourist trap in 1930.

Look at the vendor stalls. Wonder if I need a new guayabera. Gobble up two beef taquitos bathed in avocado salsa at Cielito Lindo. Then return to my car and go home.

I’ve done this walk as a kid, and as an adult. For food crawls and quick lunches. With grad students on field trips, and with the late Anthony Bourdain for an episode of his “Parts Unknown.”

This last visit was different, though: I had my own camera crew with me.

My last chance at Hollywood fame was going to live or die on Olvera Street.

I was shooting a sizzle reel — footage that a producer will turn into a clip for television executives to determine whether I’m worthy of a show. In this case, I want to turn my 2012 book “Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America” into the next “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.” Or “Somebody Feed Phil.” Or an Alton Brown ripoff. Or a TikTok series.

Anything at this point, really.

For more than a decade, I’ve tried to break into Hollywood with some success — but the experience has left me cynical. Personal experience and the historical record have taught me that studios and streamers still want Mexicans to stay in the same cinematic lane that American film has paved for more than a century. We’re forever labeled… something. Exotic. Dangerous. Weighed down with problems. Never fully developed, autonomous humans. Always “Mexican.”

Even if we’re natives of Southern California. Especially if we’re natives of Southern California.

I hope my sizzle reel will lead to something different. I doubt it will because the issue is systemic. Industry executives, producers, directors and scriptwriters can only portray the Mexicans they know — and in a perverse, self-fulfilling prophecy, they mostly only know the Mexicans their industry depicts even in a region where Latinos make up nearly half the population.

The vicious cycle even infects creators like me.

As the film crew and I left for our next location, I stopped and looked around. We were right where I began, except I now looked south on Main Street. The plaza was to my left. City Hall loomed on the horizon. The vista was the same as the opening scene of “Bordertown,” a 1935 Warner Bros. film I had seen the night before. It was the first Hollywood movie to address modern-day Mexican Americans in Los Angeles.

What I saw was more than déjà vu. It was a reminder that 86 years later, Hollywood’s Mexican problem hasn’t really progressed at all.

Birth of a stereotype

Screen misrepresentation of Mexicans isn’t just a longstanding wrong; it’s an original sin. And it has an unsurprising Adam: D.W. Griffith.

He’s most infamous for reawakening the Ku Klux Klan with his 1915 epic “The Birth of a Nation.” Far less examined is how Griffith’s earliest works also helped give American filmmakers a language with which to typecast Mexicans.

Two of his first six films were so-called “greaser” movies, one-reelers where Mexican Americans were racialized as inherently criminal and played by white people. His 1908 effort “The Greaser’s Gauntlet” is the earliest film to use the slur in its title. Griffith filmed at least eight greaser movies on the East Coast before heading to Southern California in early 1910 for better weather.

The new setting allowed Griffith to double down on his Mexican obsession. He used the San Gabriel and San Juan Capistrano missions as backdrops for melodramas embossed with the Spanish Fantasy Heritage, the white California myth that romanticized the state’s Mexican past even as it discriminated against the Mexicans of the present.

In films such as his 1910 shorts “The Thread of Destiny,” “In Old California” (the first movie shot in what would become Hollywood) and “The Two Brothers,” Griffith codified cinematic Mexican characters and themes that persist. The reprobate father. The saintly mother. The wayward son. The idea that Mexicans are forever doomed because they’re, well, Mexicans.

Griffith based his plots not on how modern-day Mexicans actually lived, but rather on how white people thought they did. 

A riot nearly broke out as Latinos felt the scene mocked them. It was perhaps the earliest Latino protest against negative depictions of them on the big screen.

But the threat of angry Mexicans didn’t kill greaser movies. Griffith showed the box-office potential of the genre, and many American cinematic pioneers dabbled in them. Thomas Edison’s company shot some, as did its biggest rival, Vitagraph Studios. So did Mutual Film, an early home for Charlie Chaplin. Horror legend Lon Chaney played a greaser. The first western star, Broncho Billy Anderson, made a career out of besting them.

These films were so noxious that the Mexican government in 1922 banned studios that produced them from the country until they “retired... denigrating films from worldwide circulation,” according to a letter that Mexican President Álvaro Obregón wrote to his Secretariat of External Relations. The gambit worked: the greaser films ended. Screenwriters instead reimagined Mexicans as Latin lovers, Mexican spitfires, buffoons, peons, mere bandits and other negative stereotypes.

That’s why “Bordertown” surprised me when I finally saw it. The Warner Bros. movie, starring Paul Muni as an Eastside lawyer named Johnny Ramirez and Bette Davis as the temptress whom he spurns, was popular when released. Today, it’s almost impossible to see outside of a hard-to-find DVD and an occasional Muni marathon on Turner Classic Movies.

Based on a novel of the same name; Muni was a non-Mexican playing a Mexican. Johnny Ramirez had a fiery temper, a bad accent and repeatedly called his mother (played by Spanish actress Soledad Jiminez ) “mamacita,” who in turn calls him “Juanito.” The infamous, incredulous ending has Ramirez suddenly realizing the vacuity of his fast, fun life and returning to the Eastside “back where I belong ... with my own people.” And the film’s poster features a bug-eyed, sombrero-wearing Muni pawing a fetching Davis, even though Ramirez never made a move on Davis’ character or wore a sombrero.

These and other faux pas (like Ramirez’s friends singing “La Cucaracha” at a party) distract from a movie that didn’t try to mask the discrimination Mexicans faced in 1930s Los Angeles. Ramirez can’t find justice for his neighbor, who lost his produce truck after a drunk socialite on her way back from dinner at Las Golondrinas on Olvera Street smashed into it. That very socialite, whom Ramirez goes on to date (don’t ask), repeatedly calls him “Savage” as a term of endearment. When Ramirez tires of American bigotry and announces he’s moving south of the border to run a casino, a priest in brownface asks him to remain.

“For what?” Ramirez replies. “So those white little mugs who call themselves gentlemen and aristocrats can make a fool out of me?”

“Bordertown” sprung up from Warner Bros.’ Depression-era roster of social-problem films that served as a rough-edged alternative to the escapism offered by MGM, Disney and Paramount. But its makers committed the same error Griffith did: They fell back on tropes instead of talking to Mexicans right in front of them who might offer a better tale.

Just take the first shot of “Bordertown,” the one I inadvertently recreated on my television shoot.

Under a title that reads “Los Angeles … the Mexican Quarter,” viewers see Olvera Street’s plaza emptier than it should be. That’s because just four years earlier, immigration officials rounded up hundreds of individuals at that very spot. The move was part of a repatriation effort by the American government that saw them boot about a million Mexicans — citizens and not — from the United States during the 1930s.

Following that opening shot is a brief glimpse of a theater marquee that advertises a Mexican music trio called Los Madrugadores (“The Early Risers”). They were the most popular Spanish-language group in Southern California at the time, singing traditional corridos but also ballads about the struggles Mexicans faced in the United States. Lead singer Pedro J. González hosted a popular AM radio morning show heard as far away as Texas that mixed music and denunciations against racism.

By the time “Bordertown” was released in 1935, Gonzalez was in San Quentin, jailed by a false accusation of statutory rape pursued by an L.A. district attorney’s office happy to lock up a critic. He was freed in 1940 after the alleged victim recanted her confession, then summarily deported to Tijuana, where Gonzalez continued his career before returning to California in the 1970s.

Doesn’t Gonzalez and his times make a better movie than “Bordertown”? Warner Bros. could have offered a bold corrective to the image of Mexican Americans if they had just paid attention to their own footage! Instead, Gonzalez’s saga wouldn’t be told on film until a 1984 documentary and 1988 drama.

Both were shot in San Diego. Both received only limited screenings at theaters across the American Southwest and an airing on PBS before going on video. No streamer carries it.

How Hollywood imagines Mexicans versus how we really are turned real for me in 2013, when I became a consulting producer for a Fox cartoon about life on the U.S.-Mexico border.

The title? “Bordertown.”

It aired in 2015 and lasted one season. I enjoyed the end product. I even got to write an episode, which just so happened to be the series finale.

The gig was a dream long deferred. My bachelor’s degree from Chapman University was in film. I had visions of becoming the brown Tarantino or a Mexican Truffaut before journalism got in the way. Over the years, there was Hollywood interest in articles or columns I wrote but never anything that required I do more than a couple of meetings — or scripts by white screenwriters that went nowhere.

But “Bordertown” opened up more doors for me and inspired me to give Hollywood a go.

While I worked on the cartoon, I got another consulting producer credit on a Fusion special for comedian Al Madrigal and sold a script to ABC that same year about gentrification in Boyle Heights through the eyes of a restaurant years before the subject became a trend. Pitch meetings piled up with so much frequency that my childhood friends coined a nickname for me: Hollywood Gus.

My run wouldn’t last long. The microagressions became too annoying.

The veteran writers on “Bordertown” rolled their eyes any time I said that one of their jokes was clichéd, like the one about how eating beans gave our characters flatulent superpowers or the one about a donkey show in Tijuana. Or when they initially rejected a joke about menudo, saying no one knew what the soup was, and they weren’t happy when another Latino writer and I pointed out that you’re pretty clueless if you’ve lived in Southern California for a while and don’t know what menudo is.

The writers were so petty, in fact, that they snuck a line into the animated “Bordertown” where the main character said, “There’s nothing worse than a Mexican with glasses” — which is now my public email to forever remind me of how clueless Hollywood is.

The insults didn’t bother me so much as the insight I gained from those interactions: The only Latinos most Hollywood types know are the janitors and security guards at the studio, and nannies and gardeners at their homes. The few Latinos in the industry I met had assimilated into this worldview as well.

Could I blame them for their ignorance when it came to capturing Mexican American stories, especially those in Southern California? Of course I can.

What ended any aspirations for a full-time Hollywood career was a meeting with a television executive shortly after ABC passed on my Boyle Heights script (characters weren’t believable, per the rejection). They repeatedly asked that I think about doing a show about my father’s life, which didn’t interest me. Comedies about immigrant parents are clichéd at this point. So one day I blurted that I was more interested in telling my stories.

I never heard from the executive again.

A pair of boots

Five years later, and that Hollywood dream just won’t leave me.

I’m not leaving journalism. But at this point, I just want to prove to myself that I can help exorcise D.W. Griffith’s anti-Mexican demons from Hollywood once and for all. That I can show the Netflix honcho they were wrong for passing on a “Taco USA” series with the excuse that the topic of Mexican food in the United States was too “limited.” And the Food Network people who said they just couldn’t see a show about the subject as being as “fun” as it was. Or the bigtime Latino actor’s production company who wanted the rights to my "¡Ask a Mexican!” book, then ghosted me after I said I didn’t hold them but I did own the rights to my brain.

When this food-show sizzle reel gets cut, and I start my Hollywood jarabe anew, I’ll keep in mind a line in “Bordertown” that Johnny Ramirez said: “An American man can lift himself up by his bootstraps. All he needs is strength and a pair of boots.”

Mexicans have had the strength since forever in this town. But can Hollywood finally give us the botas?

#mexican #mexican american #chicano #chicana #usa #united states #racism #discrimination #hollywood #movies #history #california #stereotypes #latinos #latinas #ku klux klan #mexico #🇲🇽

[hollyhomburg]

Butterfly (Part 3)(BTS x Reader)

Summary: You’d always imagined that your relationship would be over if your seven boyfriends found out you self-harmed. But after a slip up involving Namjoon, everyone finds out about your bad habit. To your surprise, they make it clear that they’re not going anywhere.  

Warnings: Panic attacks, Graphic depictions of self-harm, , suicide attempt, hospitals, panic attacks, breakdowns, horror, blood

W/c: 13.6k

Song rec: Make it right ~ BTS

A/N: I know it's been a long time but I hope people enjoy this installment of Butterfly! warning- it’s pretty heavy, but it ends well. As I've stated before, it’s not my intent to romanticize mental illness, prompt someone into a negative headspace, or make light of any mental health issues. This work has been cathartic and sometimes difficult to write. 

Please, if you feel like you are not in a good place, reach out to someone, I promise you people care more than you think they do- Even if it doesn't feel that way. 

National Suicide Prevention hotline: [phone]

*** This chapter contains graphic content of a that may trigger some readers, Please take note of the warnings and Read at your own discretion ***

The day is soft and leisurely- almost euphoric, people running around the Han river and the sun shining somehow brighter. Of course, the humidity outside is an oppressive weight that stops everything from being completely enjoyable and keeps clothes sticky. But it fails to put a damper on the overall incandescent mood that all of the boys feel. 

As Practice finishes earlier than expected, a rarity in itself; the boys feel the giddiness of summer making any exhaustion dissipate. What is rarer is that they have no plans for the next day or the day after that- a rare stretch of free time a respite from their constantly full schedules, and they don’t want to waste a moment of it

The ac unit is pumping freely into the air as they step into their apartment, the same place where all farce falls away. Suddenly hands get heavy and tender and Shoulders lean into arms that will gladly support them. Kisses pressed to hot sun warmed lips that linger in the safety of things known and mutually cherished. Hoseok trips over Jungkook’s shoes but only laughs instead of scolds Hoseok gives him a playful nibbling kiss in retaliation. Everything is good- nothing stressful. Idyllic.

Jungkook claims the largest shower to a chorus of groans from the others who are also sticky with sweat from the dance practice.  The 3 other bathrooms are  steadily claimed, eyebrows raised and questions asked with raised eyebrows, “want to join?” 

Jungkook takes off his clothes and puts them right into the washing machine. He grins when Yoongi tells him that he shouldn’t be a tease. And licks his lips in answer to the wandering hungry eyes, Tae already has Jimin pressed up against the counter in the kitchen, neither of them caring much that they’re both sweaty. But they won’t waste the day doing this here, there will be time for that later. 

Jungkook giggles and walks in the direction of the largest bathroom. The one just off of Namjoon’s room. The blinds drawn against the sun is the first indication that something might be wrong- that and, your clothes are folded there, neatly, on the bed, your wallet on top. 

You must have left it. He doesn’t remember you leaving in their clothes this morning, but maybe they’re clean and Namjoon just folded them for you. You do that sometimes, leave wearing their clothes claiming that theirs are so much more comfortable, only to forget half your wardrobe here. 

Jungkook smiles, thinking of how forgetful you can be, the countless times that you've gotten somewhere looked up and said “oh I forgot my phone!” and Namjoon would look over his shoulder and shake his head sometimes saying, “We spend too much time together you’re starting to act like me.” Hoseok slinging his arms around your shoulders from behind, frog walking with you for a few feet until it gets too inconvenient, making noises in time with your steps. Hoseok can’t see it but you're smiling but the rest of them can.  

“She’s just distracted by our handsomeness~” he sings, the same moment you join in. And Jungkook finds himself impossibly endeared, tipping his head into Hoseok's shoulder and grabbing your shoulders at the same time.

“Help- she’s been consumed by a junghope sandwich, someone get me a plate” Seokjin deadpans, making everyone erupt into laughter.

The memory is sweet and fond on jungkook's tongue. He misses you, he want you here right now to enjoy this day with them. He feels your absence as keenly as he would with any of the others. The clothes are a reminder that there is 1/8th of them missing. Though you were there that morning when they woke up (You’d slept between Jimin and Taehyung last night). You’ve probably gone back to your own apartment to get some work done. Sometimes Jungkook wonders why you even still live apart from them at all. 

“Hey has someone called Y/n? She should come over today!” his request is answered by a few muted agreements. Words swallowed by the largeness of the house.

Things have been so much better between you and Jungkook recently. Not quite the best, but he’s coming around and you’re letting him in again. Namjoon had given Jungkook a mountain of articles to read about helping people with your type of problems, and it’s safe to say he’s dedicated himself fully to the mantle of being an understanding boyfriend. understanding and not helpful- because it was irrational to think that they could fix your mental health (Namjoon’s words not his- Jungkook swears he’s an expert on this). 

The lingering awkwardness felt between you two had disappeared after he’d done the hard thing and apologized. 

The night Jungkook finally man’s up, You’re in Jimin’s room. Fiddling around with something on his computer trying a find a new drama for the two of you to watch having finished the previous one the night before. Jimin’s hair is curly and floppy and bleach fried. He reclines on his bed in a baggy set of blue pajamas and prattles to you about things on twitter when Jungkook had come in, propping up his shoulder on the door frame. 

“Hey, do you mind if i um- talk to you for a minute?” Jimin looks up from his phone, sending a concerned look in your direction, almost looking like he might want to stay to mediate. The fact that Jimin thinks he might need too only makes Jungkook feels worse. But he swallows down the feelings shame, because this isn’t about him or how he feels- this is about how he’d hurt you and owning up to it.

So he can’t take it personally, Jungkook knows Jimin doesn't want to risk another incident like the one a few days ago where Jungkook yelled at you in the hallway and inadvertently made you go… hurt yourself. No mincing words. Of course, that hadn’t been his intent, but that had been the effect of his actions. 

Whatever look you give Jimin must make him decide that it’s okay to leave the two of you alone together, “I’ll go get the popcorn.” Jimin says as he gets up off his bed, brushing Jungkook’s hip affectionately with the tips of his fingers in passing as he slips by and gives you both privacy. Jungkook shifts from foot to foot. Until your eyes flicker up from the computer. 

“You can just sit Kookie.” Jungkook squishes down on the edge of Jimin’s bed, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees As you forgo the computer and turn the rolly chair in his direction. He runs his hands through his hair. 

Jungkook looks at the ground, unable to meet your eyes,  “I don’t know where to start.” You don’t respond, and when he looks up he finds you not looking at him either. Your hands clenched together in your lap, twining over each other in the way he knows you do when you get nervous.

Are you thinking about indulging in your bad habit right now? Is that why you look so distracted? Is it like a notification on your phone? Dragging your attention away from the present? How does it feel? Are you okay? Would you even tell me if you weren’t? Tell me love - tell me please- I only want to-

This isn’t about me, he reminds himself.  

“I want to apologize to you- I know that I didn’t make enough effort when you first told us about your…your self-harm” Jungkook barely manages to get the words out, but it’s a start to being more forward at least. He doesn’t want to tip-toeing around it, especially when he knows you have more open discussions about it with the others. You finally look up at him, at jungkook’s words falling uncontained and unfiltered “But I want to be someone you can rely on- like you rely on the others. Like I should have been in the beginning. God do you know I would get jealous?” 

That prompts a little quirk of your lips. Small and barely there, and he feels the tension in his shoulder break. Jealousy is never something that any of you really get in this giant poly relationship as impossible as that sounds. There is always so much love to go around, everyone spoils each other so that it’s easier to ask for more space than for less. There is very little room for jealousy and even less time for it. “I can’t imagine why.” 

“When I would see you with Yoongi or Namjoon, and you guys would go all quiet when I walked into the room because I knew you were talking about mental health stuff- Jesus, I just wanted to be a part of it- but I let my stupid preconceived notions get in the way of that.” Jungkook swallows. “But what I’m trying to say is that- I’m sorry for treating you so terribly, and I’m going to change so that You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me anymore- and I know you can’t forgive me but-“ 

Jungkook is knocked out of his reverie by your hands, soft and delicate, cup his cheeks, and he realizes he was looking at his feet again. Thumbs come up to brush across his cheeks affectionately. “Jungkook it’s okay- I know it’s not easy,” your lips quirk down at the side, eyes getting a little shadowed, a little distracted by whatever internal monologue it is that makes you sad, the opposite of what he wants,“I know I’m not easy-“

“No don’t-don’t excuse what I did.” Jungkook says with a shake of his head, grabbing your hands in his and holding onto them tight.  “It doesn’t have to be easy, you should never feel like you need to be perfect like you have to sacrifice yourself and your happiness to be perfect for us. If I was a good boyfriend I would have accepted you for you and not demanded you change without a reason. I want to try to be better- to understand you better- If you still want me.” 

His voice tapering off into an unsure hush. In the weeks since everything blew up in between you two, it’s been a little off-kilter. It’s not like you and Jungkook had broken up and he and the other boys were still affectionate. But you could both admit that it had sort of feeling like you’d broken up. And you realize as you look down at him, his eyes wide, the chiseled jaw that you love so much and the kind man in your arms that you know never meant to hurt you, you don’t want to stay in limbo. 

You slot yourself more fully between his legs, standing and tilting his head up to look at you his hands clenched on either of your thighs, Your nose traces his as you whisper, “bunny” chiding and delicate, Jungkook hates the nickname from anyone but you. Your breath a warm soothing wave over his skin. “I’ll always want you.” you kiss him, soft and sweet, and before Jungkook realizes it he’s crying a little breaking the kiss and burying his face again in your stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs through the tears, holding onto you tightly like you're going to leave, but you aren’t going anywhere. 

you run your fingers through his long hair, curling the ends around your fingers. “I forgive you Jungkook.”

Jimin and Taehyung watch through the crack in the door, munching on the popcorn as Seokjin walks by with his sugar glider on his shoulder. “What are you two meddlers up too.” He whispers if he listens closely he can hear you and…is that Jungkook? Talking softly. His hand hovers on Tae’s hip. 

“Just listening to the show hyung,” Taehyung says through a mouthful of popcorn. Grin boxy and happy. 

Inside you and Jungkook are too. His hand running up and down your back, face buried in your stomach, as he promises you that he will never dismiss you so terribly again, that he’ll treat you better, that he’ll treasure you every day. 

He wanted to fix it.  

Fix it so badly. 

When Jungkook opens up the door to the bathroom, on that hot day in June, he realizes that he might not get the chance.

Is this another bad dream? An intrusive thought, Jungkook stands there frozen. 

How many times had he had nightmares about this happening, how many times had he dreamt of finding you like this? how many times had the others had the same fear?

This has to be another bad dream. A piercing scream, half shout of anguish, Jungkook’s disconnected from the sound even though he knows it comes from his own mouth. 

But the image of you, lying eyes closed and prone in the bathtub, lips blue and skin ashen, the cold water blood red, your hand dangling over the side and a puddle on the tile, won’t go away no matter how many times he blinks. 

A still life. A painting, 

His knees hit the floor with a crack but he pulls himself over to you, lifting himself up on the edge of the bathtub, his breathing ragged and tearing through him, “please please don’t- be- don’t” he chants as he presses his fingers to your throat, and nearly sags to the floor when he finds a heartbeat there, beating unevenly but strong, still there, and still alive.

“Fuck Y/n!” he sobs, hauling your body up and out of the water, not caring about the blood that splatters against his bare chest or soaks into his grey track pants. “Someone! Please! Someone Call-“ but his choking sobs cut him off. He screams for his hyung’s, voice shrill, breaking. He shouts again and again and again for Namjoon, for Seokjin or anyone of his hyungs, for his loves, the people that have always helped him and loved him.  

Jungkook shakes and sobs as he pulls you up against his chest. Small and limp and unmoving. And someone must here him because all of a sudden Jungkook hears a voice on the phone with police and paramedics rattling off their address. Seokjin’s shaking hands on his cellphone, choking back something in his throat as he looks into the bathroom and can’t- can’t handle it, turns away to steady himself and talk to the operator.  

And someone is telling Jungkook to let you go- “Let go jungkook please”, Namjoon climbing over Jungkook to push him back- what’s going on- Namjoon why are you- what could they even- his back hits the wall after Namjoons shove. He looks up, Namjoon lying you out flat so that he can put his full weight on your wrists which are still gushing blood a little bit- but they seem to mostly have stopped with the added pressure.

Someone’s sobbing in the other room. Jungkook has your head in his lap tears drip onto your chest as he grits his teeth, and all Jungkook can say is your name, like a record that’s stuck on a loop. Namjoon holds your wrists down and keeps you from bleeding out- if you haven’t already. 

A few Minutes drip by, like the leaky faucet in the tub, like the blood on the bathroom floor soaking into the grout of the tile. 

The apartment is a flush with activity and everything hazy through panic, the idyllic world disturbed by all this red, and you and your limp body. The pill bottle clatters as Namjoon accidentally knocks it off of the side of the tub, though now it’s empty- Hoseok’s sleeping pills? didn’t he just fill his prescription last week? Why is the bottle empty?

Namjoon and Yoongi talk to the paramedics because Jungkook can’t, can’t see anything other than your face, your lips turned blue, the same ones he kisses whenever he gets the chance. The ones he could never kiss enough- maybe would never kiss again. The paramedics drag him back, get him out of the bathroom as they rush because there simply isn’t room. 

Namjoon and Jungkook are the ones who get to pile into the ambulance with you. Though they’re originally only going to let Namjoon in, Jungkook won't leave your side, won't have anything come through the haze- not the words of the paramedic telling him to get out before they clothes the doors- not Namjoon who insists he comes. Both of them pile into the spot in the ambulance that’s meant for one person and not two above average size young men. 

The others will follow a short time later. The ambulance door closes against Jimin’s nearly shrieking sobs as Taehyung tries to hold him up, almost unable to under the weight of all this panic- just as week with fear his teeth gritted. 

You have to be alright- have to- they can’t lose you, not like this. Not when they should just be starting building a future with you. Yoongi drives everyone to the hospital and he does not speed and risk crashing. Though he does have to wipe away his tears whenever they have a stop light. And his whole body shaking too much to hold onto the steering wheel as well as he normally would- should- if he wants to make sure his family gets to the hospital unscathed. 

Jungkook and Namjoon arrive at the hospital and watch as you are loaded into the gurney, doctors in blue-green scrubs shout statistics and numbers like a separate language that makes little sense to either Namjoon or Jungkook. A nurse tugs Namjoon along asking about your allergies and getting a clearer story of what happened. 

Hoseok’s empty pill bottle is handed over as they push your hospital bed at a breakneck pace, disappearing behind doors that clearly state “operation gallery: doctors only” in red lettering. An orderly is pulling Jungkook back behind that line. But Jungkook can’t hear him, can’t hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears. 

Eventually, he gives up and leaves Jungkook watching those doors, waiting for you to come through it, someone put a sweatshirt on him at some point and it’s half zipped over his bare chest. Jungkook looks at his bloodstained hands for a second before his eyes go back to the doors, waiting for you to hop out and say “sorry just a bad prank!” but it doesn’t come, it doesn’t happen. 

He’s dimly aware of Namjoon talking a few feet away arguing with the nurse at the front desk. His low and panicked words, his begging “please- please is there anything you can tell us- how she’s doing- anything-“

The first flash of a camera startles Jungkook. 

He turns, someone in a facemask a cell phone out, another flash as his face. And then someone else, with another more professional camera who came from who knows where takes a photo of Jungkook. They must have been waiting outside of their apartment and followed them. 

After all, they do live in a complex known for their celebrity clientele. It’s a good bet that they didn’t even know who was in the ambulance and only hoped it was someone famous. And then Namjoon is there tugging Jungkook’s hood up and over his face with shaking hands as well as his own. He turns to the nurse asking for a private room to wait in. 

The hospital is already scrambling with activity by the time the others pull up. All in varying states of distress. The sun just barely setting. Seokjin supporting Jimin while Yoongi rushes through the paparazzi trying to remain stoic but unable to conceal his puffy eyes from them without a face mask. 

By the turn of the hour the internet and the news are roiling with questions. What was Bangtan doing at a hospital? Was one of their family members hurt? Was one of them hurt, why was the youngest covered with blood? Who was the young woman who came in just before them? The internet was abuzz with activity while the others filed in, intercepted by Namjoon, the only one who's somewhat steady because he has to be right now. 

Jungkook is still standing by the door, still watching it and waiting for you to reappear. The cameras flash regardless. By the end of the night, there will be enough photos that no one will be able to deny that yes it was him and the rest of Bts there. Was the youngest hurt? Why wasn’t anyone seeing to him?  

“Jungkook come on-“ Seokjin tries to grab his arm but Jungkook flings it off of them.

“No! She has to be okay hyung, she has too-“ he breaks off, a sob silencing him. The adrenaline is fading- His chest is breaking open like a cracked egg without anything to hold it in place. legs shaking and nearly giving out. 

“Jungkook- please” 

“No I’m not leaving-“ he gets out through gritted teeth. 

“There’s nothing more we can do Jungkook, we just have to wait,” Yoongi says, voice low, blinking away tears his shoulders shaking, hands fisted in the arms of Jungkook's sweatshirt. Through the glass, the cacophony of reporters is flashing, photographing their every movement. 

Though the hospital staff has quickly moved not to let people in. and keep a barricade at the door. They can still capture the way Yoongi’s fist is clenched around the bloody sleeve of Jungkook’s sweatshirt.

Yoongi puts himself in front of Jungkook, blocking his view of the door. 

“Jungkook,” Yoongi begs, just his name, and Jungkook takes it as some sort of permission to break. His hyungs are here together, they’ll keep him afloat under the tidal wave of all of this. Sobs tumble uncontained from the cavern that is his chest, the kind of sobbing that comes from fear and desperation. His face buried in Yoongi’s shoulder, hands coming up to cover his face, to feel the shuddering breaths that manage to escape from his lungs even though Jungkook feels like he can’t breathe. 

Together Seokjin and Yoongi lead Jungkook towards the private room guiding him away from prying eyes to hide his breakdown. One of the nurses watches them with something that looks like pain- like she knows something about grief like this because she sees it every day. Yoongi feels anger flare in his chest at the look- though it’s extinguished almost instantly by the maknae’s next shaky sob. 

Inside the room, Jimin, finally calmed down enough to try and stop crying- tips his head back against the wall. He’s only partially successful as he’s breathing heavy enough to call it a panic attack and he’s not the only one- Hoseok is shaking that way too. Hands digging into his sides. None of them can seem to stop crying. 

The only one who doesn’t take a chair is Namjoon. He tries to but can’t, instead standing by the door, knee shaking in an anxious jerk, scanning the hallway for anyone, anything that might help. 

His phone in his pocket rings and the others watch as he lets it. Taehyung looking up from where he’d pressed his face into Yoongi’s shoulder. But only after the third call does he answer. “yeah uhm- Mr. Bang, it’s Y/n- she’s- she“ 

And he breaks off, covering his mouth with his hand to try to keep his sobs contained, tears finally consuming him when he has to explain what he just saw- what he just witnessed- The trauma finally hitting him.

Jimin’s breath stops coming in gasps the second Namjoon needs him, standing just in time to grab under his arms as Namjoon’s knees give out and steer him into the chair he just vacated. taking in a deep breath as namjoon shatter, half in-between his legs and half still holding him, picking the phone from namjoons hands. 

“I’m sorry.” Jimin starts, and then it's hard for him to stop talking. His voice the only one in the room, as he spills the contents to their boss- why, the how- everything. 

“I don’t understand. I don’t fucking understand this.” Hoseok sobs, pulling at his freshly dyed hair, as he makes these offal-wrenching gasps. The way that Hoseok cries- almost tearless, that makes it sound like his lungs are rattling around his rib cage. 

No one has an answer for him. Seokjin’s shaking hands fist in his pant leg next to him.  The others silently watch the door, straightening up every time a nurse or doctor passes it. 

Around the end of the first hour, The PR team starts doing real damage control. More protection is set up in the hospital, noticed by them only because of the two guards that come to stand outside their door. though their faces are recognizable only vaguely (there have been so many new guards recently).

Mr. Bang is there too. Talks to Jimin and Seokjin and manages to get a word through to Taehyung, who only answers with a shake of his head when he’s asked if he wants food. If there’s anything he can do. While the others just sob or stare blankly after he clarifies that there is no news about your condition yet. No one asks about what’s online. No one checks their phones to see the photos or the theories; half of them don’t even have their cellphones or left them in the car. 

Mr. Bang and another manager leaves to get them food, which no one touches. Jungkook stares down at his hands. Stained with your blood but drying- flaking off onto the floor. 

Seokjin kneels down in front of him, a wet wipe in his hands, stretching out carefully to clean them off, finger by finger, slowly and gently. Taking care of Jungkook like he has since he was fifteen.

Jungkook doesn’t mention the fact that Seokjin is sobbing himself. But when the elder finishes, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to pull him close. Needing something to hold onto, and it’s the saddest Seokjin has ever felt with someone’s arms around him. 

It’s almost midnight by the time someone comes by to tell them anything at all. the doctor is still wearing her scrubs, the sleeve of her shirt blotted with blood. The boys, still life at one moment and then a flurry with movement when she appears at the door- asking about you, swarming her, asking If you were okay, how you were doing. If there was anything they could do. 

taehyung stays in the back, breath held, as he waits for the words he dreads. Doesn’t let himself feel anything until he knows. Knows for sure. He waits to hear the words come from the female surgeon's mouth. I’m sorry, but there wasn’t anything we could do she was too far gone.

The doctor inhales. 

“We managed to seal the lacerations on her arms after a few hours of surgery, she had to get her stomach pumped due to the medication she took. She’s very lucky that you found her when you did, she would have overdosed and gone into multiple organ failure if she had gotten here 5 minutes later-” They fall silent, waiting for the shoe to drop. And then in the back again, Taehyung letting out a jagged sob in relife, holding onto the windowsill for support. 

“-We need to monitor her overnight to make sure there isn’t any damage to her organs and probably for the next few days, she might not wake up right away either.” 

“So she’s- she’s okay? She’s not going to die.” Taehyung almost doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“For now yes, the chances are slim.” The nurse purses her lips, almost about to ask another question. Before Hoseok pipes up, voice raspy and quiet. 

“Can we see her?”  

Namjoon didn’t know what the hardest part was going to be, he’d thought the hardest part was going to be when he’d held your wrists in the bathroom to stop you from bleeding out, but this- somehow this was worse. 

Your body underneath the sterile white blanket, your hair tangled in places, your purple lips, tube going into your nose, your hands above the blanket, everything from your hands to your elbows wrapped in thick white gauze, the heart monitor beeping steadily but slowly. Calmly even. 

The nurses realized quickly that none of them were going to obey the “only 3 people at a time” rule. The manager talked to the head orderly and gave them special privileges, these continued when visiting hours ended. They knew it might be a little while before you woke up after anesthesia. The doctor had come by to talk again, about how personal drive had a lot to do with it. 

Namjoon knew what they meant- they meant that if you didn’t want to wake up you might not, but didn’t say it outloud for fear of what it would do to the others. A look in Yoongi and Seokjin direction lets him know that he’s not the only one who understands what this might mean. But the maknae’s are still so hopeful. Looking at you like they haven’t given up yet. 

Hoseok is still- still half not there. He moved from the waiting room to your room like a ghost, where he chooses a chair and just stares into empty space. The rasping sobs have subsided and now-now he just sits and watches. Shrugging off any hand that might touch him with the intent of wanting comfort or giving it. 

Hoseok grits his teeth in anguish, able to keep the sobs in his throat, his eyebrows knit together as he tries to keep himself from breaking down.  his breaths coming out short and labored. as he locks the part of himself away that’s panicking. His eyes sting, and he knows his face is looking pinched and severe. “you always look so angry when you cry.” You’d teased him before, after their last award show when they’d come home and Hoseok and Taehyung had been admittedly a wreck. 

Hoseok can’t forget the conversation he had with you almost a month ago. He should have asked again- he should have told someone. Blame sits on his shoulders, heavy. 

The night had started with a win from an award show, and ended with Hoseok falling giggly into bed next to you. He doesn’t often reach the right amount of drunk vs sleepy, but tonight- everyone had let loose more than usual, high off the win and rush of getting an award and beating another record. Even though he usually doesn’t like alcohol, it sings like a special kind of caffeine in his veins tonight and he almost dosent want it to end. 

You are equally as trashed, and equally as soft looking in his bed. You’d been waiting at home after the award show. Food and glasses of champagne ready and waiting for them. Ready to celebrate and dance around your living room. 

Hoseok doesn’t know how he got so lucky in his life, the liquid gold threading it’s way through his heart like some kind of magic, he smiles at you and leans over to press his lips to yours. You can taste the happiness in it and the delightful cinnamon and spice taste that is Hoseok. 

“Hey,” he whispers, trying to be serious for about a quarter of a second before he fails, falling into giggles again, hiding his face in your shoulder hand fisted in the sleeve of your shirt. Suddenly dizzy with all the excitement. He keeps his tone joking “Want to have angsty conversations until two in the morning and drink wine?”

“That’s what me and Yoongi do!” you cry, for some reason indignant, kicking your socks off. 

“Yeah but I can be that way too! We could even, like- invite him!”  

You snort “like he’d ever get out from under Namjoon right now- not even for all the wine in the world” as if on queue, a high-pitched breathy moan and a muted ‘yes Joon right there’ is heard echoing from across the hall. Someone- jin from the sound of it- bangs on a wall crying something like “stop being nasty!” 

“A min Yoongi venting sesh without min Yoongi” both of you giggle at the thought. unlike other nights, when you might be interested in more of a supine eventing, tonight you just strip off your clothes to the barest forms without being truly naked, falling asleep in Hoseok's favorite way, your skin pressed against his. 

He’s drunk enough that he doesn't stop to wonder about what tracery the darkness hides on your skin instead settling into your arms like a ship would at port. Your hand running up and over his lithe shoulders tempting groans of pleasure from his throat. Hoseok has always always loved being touched, and being touched by you makes him feel like his very soul is shivering. Falling easily asleep in each others arms, the alcohol sending you into a spiral towards sleep.  

When you wake up, your head is pounding, and Hoseok is warm next to you, his fingers stroking through your hair, a look at him confirms that he’s awake and watching you. You know the wetness in his eyes as he looks down at you. You wonder if his head feels as bad as yours. 

“What’s wrong baby,” you say, reaching up to wipe the tears off his cheeks. 

“Bad dream,” he says. His eyes searching your body, his hands holding on a little too tightly. Hoseok doesn’t dream often, but whatever he must have dreamed about is clearly weighing on him. 

“Want to have that venting sesh now?” you pry gently, pulling yourself up so that you’re at his level and not snuggled in near his chest. His breath brushed over your cheeks when he breathes out. And in this lighting of very early morning, all of the red is diluted in Hoseok’s hair, making it look almost grey. 

You wonder what he’ll look like when it turns grey with age, you wonder even more if you’ll get to see it. In the dark, Hoseok looks like he’s wondering the same thing. He shakes his head, and your hands tighten on the back of his neck. “I don’t know if you want me to Y/n.” 

You stuck in a bated breath “what did you dream about Hobi?” 

He didn’t want to ask, maybe he didn’t want to know. All of the last weeks have been burning that question through him and he knows- all of them know what you said to Yoongi in the bathroom a few weeks ago when he caught you. Hoseok hears the words as good as if he was there himself - ‘I’m not going to kill myself’- But Yoongi- Yoongi wasn’t asking the right questions. “it’s just-“ he breaks off, swallowing a thick breath. “Do you ever think about dying? Do you want to die?”

You smile at him- or try too at least, the answer you give him isn’t what he wants not by a long shot. “I don’t want to make you sad Hobi,” your smile, your smile isn’t sad, regardless of what your words hint at, or the horror that wells up in Hoseok’s throat at how hopeless you look. 

Hoseok doesn’t want that.  You shouldn’t be resigned to this, this sadness that’s consuming you. You should be trying to fight at it. You try to give him a tired smile, a little stronger than before. Tugging him to turn onto his side so that you can put your arms around him. Hoseok doesn’t know what to say, what to do for that matter, his head pounds with the after-effects of the alcohol. “Let's just go back to bed okay?” 

Hoseok curls up against your throat and listens, hearing your heartbeat, and is lulled into a thankfully dreamless sleep, not realizing that later- he would wish he wouldn’t have, he would wish he had stayed up and asked you what you meant by that. If you really wanted to.  

“Do I ever make it better? Do any of us?” he murmurs, nearly asleep.

“Of course you do.”

If they had thought finding you in that bathroom was bad- it was nothing to compare to the pain of you waking up. 

Sometime in the early morning, muted grey yellow light filtering through the cracks in the blinds, some of the boys had collapsed into the so-called “parent cots” that the hospital staff had been nice enough to bring around.

The two smallest curl up swathed in Seokjin’s arms, with Jungkook and Namjoon in the other cot. Jungkook shaking through a nightmare in Namjoon’s arms at one point in the night, though by that time everyone is losing track of time. 

While every beat of the heart monitor had everyone feels a little better- because At least you were alive. 

Taehyung is propped up against the wall, coming to sit by you when he gives up on sleeping. After the first few hours of emotionally exhausted listlessness, Jimin couldn’t sleep either. Shifting out of Seokjin’s arms going to join Taehyung in the slightly larger seat probably not meant for two people. Hoseok is in a haze, half asleep and half awake, and never totally present.

From their side of your bed, Taehyung and Jimin watch and wait for him to fall apart. 

Hoseok has been awake the whole night, the only one who at one point hadn’t fallen asleep or at least tried. Hoseok looks like he might fall over, the bags under his eyes and the coldness in the room making his shoulders shiver uncomfortably, he watches you and he waits.

At one point in the night, Taehyung leans forward, taking his hand in yours, your hands are cold, but maybe a tiny bit warm on the palm, Taehyung warms it with both of his, careful not to jostle your bandages as he kisses your fingers. If he had any more tears left he would cry. 

“I promise, one day- we’re going to take a trip together, leave this whole city and everything that bothers you behind, and it will be just the 8 of us, maybe you and I could take day trips on our own, and I’ll make your life so happy and full that you’ll forget this ever happened, that you’ll forget you ever where sad.” Taehyung looks up when he senses Hoseok’s heavy eyes on him, his lower lip shaking. But he says nothing.  

Hoseok does reach forward and take your other hand in his. Thumb rubbing along the back of your hand slowly and gently. Eventually, Tae pulls back, leaning into Jimin’s shoulder, and drifts a little, not truly asleep and not truly awake. leaving Hoseok and Jimin to stand vigil. 

Jimin watches Hoseok almost as much as he watches you, he watches so hard he almost doesn’t realize when your eyes are fluttering open, he’s imagined it so many times over the last few hours he’s half-convinced it's not real. There is stillness for half a moment. The heartbeat monitor beeping unconvincingly in the corner.  

Your eyes are hazy and unfocused; Hoseok lets out a choked noise in relief, maybe your name, hand tightening over yours. “Y/n! Thank you- oh fuck thank god, thank you for not fucking dying- holy shit-“ Hoseok sobs, holding your hand so tight as he collapses forward onto the bed, knees sliding to the floor as he breaks uncontrollably. 

You blink through the cloudiness in your eyes as those sleeping stir awake. Seokjin blinks sleepily, unintentionally shifting Yoongi in his arms. On the other side, Namjoon stirs as Jungkook bolts awake. Jimin has never moved quicker in his life moving to your bedside. Taehyung jerks awake without Jimin's shoulder to lean on almost falling out of the chair. 

Hoseok is right- thank god for waking up. A god that Jimin has never believed in but might now just for this. He wants to collapse in exhaustion as all the fear leaves him and relife takes its place, he feels like he might just with how his legs feel like jelly. 

“What,” you say, voice small and rough, but it’s the most beautiful word Yoongi has ever heard in his life, more beautiful than any melody or rhythm. Eyes darting around the room taking in them: your family sprawled out in the grey hospital room. 

The heartbeat monitor kicks up beating faster, uneven. Your breath comes out worse. Suddenly taking everything in and understanding what it means. blood rushing through your head.

fuck- fuck you didn’t- you didn’t succeed when all you wanted to was- and now- and now they’re here and you’re- The white bandages on your arms are cumbersome, don't allow your arms to bend at all when Jimin and Hoseok take your hands in theirs. 

And Jimin’s expression is absolutely painful- painfully happy. 

It doesn’t make sense, not when the blackness in your lungs is sticky and suffocating- your treacherous heart hurts in your chest pumping despite everything. The dysphoria at living feels- it feels god awful. Worse than the pain that laces up your arms like gauntlets, worse than the swirling nausea lurking in your empty stomach.

Hoseok smiles at you through happy thankful tears. Jimin too- Looks so happy that you’re alive. It doesn’t make sense at all why he would be happy- not to your brain with everything- everything harsh and biting to your very being- god your head hurts. You’re dimly aware of Namjoon letting out a half laugh half sob in relief. Jungkook standing, his long hair half ruffled, his bunny eyes wide and tear-filled, looking so stunned, a smile slowly painting his face. 

It doesn't feel real, nothing does. The only thing you’re really aware of is the thunder in your ears of your own heartbeat, you can’t take it all in fast enough, everything- nothing you see makes its way through the fog in your mind and yet you’re overwhelmed with stimulus. 

The thunder of the heart monitor, Jimin’s and Hoseok’s hands holding yours, skin on skin warm but you feel so cold. Yoongi sitting up looking sleep ruffled but his eyes screwed closed with tears, back bending with the weight of it all as he holds his head with his elbows on his knees. Namjoon smiling at you tearfully with his dimples that you love so much on display, looking thankful. The sluggish pull of painkillers in your veins makes everything startling off-kilter like a ride at an amusement park. Taehyung crumpling into Jungkook’s side, falling to pieces in his arms. It’s all so much- too much. 

You give a shaky breath, pulling your hand out of Jimin’s and Hoseok’s hands, Jimin tries to hold on- but it’s almost violent how quickly you retract your hand from his, pulling at the iv drip there too so that it dangles out of the back of your hand. Pulling both of them to your chest, placing them there like you're guarding yourself against them. The heart rate monitor kicks up to the point that a warning tone sounds. A nurse opens the door as Yoongi stands. Not sure what to say- even less sure what to do. 

“Please- please why are you- why.” 

What are you begging for, what do you need? Just tell me how to make you better love, just let me help heal you. Tell me why you did it- why did you do it- why why why. There isn’t enough air in the room for your lungs to breathe easily. you can’t handle this- all of their eyes on you. Black spots start to dance in your vision  

The nurse strong-arms her way next to you in the bed, shining a flashlight into your dilated eyes “Miss do you know where you are? Are you in any pain?” Your breath still comes too fast-to-fast. 

“Please- why- what’s going on- why am I-“ your words are strangled by your breath, the panic all-consuming. The nurse hits the blue button; Seokjin utters your name- still blinking away the sleep in his eyes. Everything harsh and slanting and doesn’t feel real. 

“Miss you need to breathe, you need to calm down, you’re in the hospital.” 

There is another nurse at the door now, their hand on Yoongi’s side. Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s too. The room is full of people at this point. “You need to give her some space.” 

“No” Tae growls out, watching as you push away an oxygen mask, panic picking up again from the way you’re pushing everything away not just them. How afraid you look of everything, especially the hands that only want to help. 

The beeping from the heart rate monitor reaching a fevers pitch. The surgeon from before shoves her way past the guard at the door. Followed by another orderly who quickly tries to lay hands on Jungkook, who throws them off. 

“Someone gets them out of here- and pump 3 cc’s of Midazolam, she will tear her stitches if she keeps moving around- someone gets these boys out of here!” 

“Fuck off we're not leaving.” Jimin spits. The surgeons head whips up to look at him, her eyes narrowing at him, and Jimin has the good sense to look absolutely terrified. They all do.

“I do not care who you boys are. if you put the health of my patient at risk more than you already have I will ban you from her room and this hospital.” You still fight against their arms, even as the nurse shoots something into your resecured iv, another nurse holding your arm down to make sure you don’t try to tear it away. 

“Let me go. Let me go- please-please” you plead; the orderlies have to grip Jungkook around the waist before the door to your room closes behind them. sealing all the panic inside. 

Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair sagging against the wall, pulling at it harshly- and doesn’t know if he wants to punch a wall or be punched himself. 

“Okay- this is- that was. This whole thing is so fucked up.” 

He’s not wrong.

Food is unanimously decided on, a separate office room that one of the nurses leads them too. Namjoon doesn’t know what kind of strings Mr. Bang must have pulled to get them special treatment, but he makes a mental note to thank his boss later. 

For once, they’re all lost for words as they eat. Though Jimin doesn’t touch the food in front of him. And for once, no one forces him. This might have to do with the fact that he’d thrown up when they’d walked into the room. Yoongi and Seokjin both only nurse a coffee not feeling up to solid food just yet.

It’s around an hour before the same surgeon finds her way back into their room. “She’s okay.” She opens with, glaring at them like a hawk, Taking in the visible sigh of relief from all of them. 

“Why was she-” Seokjin swallows against the lump in his throat, “why did she push us away? why was she so-” he breaks off. Looking up at the doctor imploringly for answers to soothe the ache in his chest. 

“She was in distress, with all the painkillers and medication lingering in her system it’s likely she didn’t even know what she was doing.” everyone in the room sags in that. The doctor crosses her arms, giving everyone a warning glare. “If you put her in distress like that again I will have you banned from this hospital until she becomes more stable,” 

For the first time, everyone pays attention to what she’s saying. “You are not to touch her wrists or her stomach. We’re running tests right now to make sure she’s not in any immediate risk for acute organ failure, we’ve given her a sedative to keep her from potentially hurting herself or panicking the way you all made her but I swear if.-” 

“Is she awake? Is she still talking? Is she-“ Namjoon starts the same moment Yoongi says “let us see her.”

The surgeon snorts, rolling her eyes at the rapper. And Yoongi finds himself wishing that he were just a little bit taller so that he could stare down at her and intimidate her the way he’s trying too. Not that it looks like it’s doing anything other than piss her off. 

It was worth a shot anyway, and next to him, Taehyung is crossing his arms, looking at her with that unsettling blank look that seems to be doing enough. “If it were up to me you all would have been thrown out already.” Her hand hovers on the door, eyes going softer after a second “But she’s been asking for you- so follow me.”

You’re sitting up in the bed when they walk in. The yellow hospital gown clings to your shoulders- far too big. Hands lying on top of the covers your arms are bound in fresh white bandages From wrist to elbow. 

Someone’s opened the blinds of the window. And the morning light spills across your face. Looking much calmer and put together than when you woke up it’s almost startling. You try to smile at them, and say a muted ‘hey guys’, but it comes out so strangled it’s almost not a word. 

The bags under your eyes are almost purple. In the hospital bed- you look worn. The very soul of you looking like someone had washed a rag too many times and still hung it out in the sun to dry, leaving it crumbling and crusty and oh so delicate. You look a little sleepy too- must be the drugs, hell Seokjin could actually go for a sedative right now too. 

One of the beds has been removed. Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook sit on the other. Jimin looks so unsteady on his feet that Namjoon immediately yanks him into the chair. Hoseok takes a seat at the end of your bed. Tae stands.

“I’m-I’m so sorry guys.” You say, a little tear coming out of your eyes as Jimin thoughtlessly takes one of your hands, realizing what he’s done the second he did and how you reacted before. But thankfully You don’t pull away this time. And he sees wetness sparking in your eyes. “I didn’t mean- I never wanted you all to-“ you look from boy to boy hunting for absolution, for forgiveness for something that none of them know how to give. 

“Are you sorry you tried? Or because you didn’t succeed? or was that even your intention? did you just go too deep?” Taehyung asks, not bothering to wipe away the tears that haven’t stopped falling since he saw you sitting alive in the hospital bed, calmer than before. There is nothing accusatory in his tone, he just wants to know. 

You don’t answer. Jimin takes the silence as his own, clamping down on the nausea.  

“You know I thought there’d be a sign if you were really going to do it?” he says, and you turn from Tae to focus on Jimin. Your fingers holding onto his hand weekly. And like before, once he starts talking he just can't stop, the words tumbling from his lips like a confession. 

“I thought that maybe we’d be able to anticipate it and be enough of a support system to catch you before this point. I even- fuck- you don’t know this but I even checked your phone? Even though I knew it was a breach of privacy? I thought ‘she’s definitely the type to leave a note and she’d probably draft it before she sent it out or something’ so I’ll be able to know before she does it. I’ll be able to stop her.” 

Jimin is trying so hard not to break down, you can see it in every twitch of a muscle that he makes, every single deliberate word. His collarbones look incredibly sharp under the collar of his t-shirt. And his other hand bites into his shoulder, holding on tightly while the one in your hand grips gently. As gently as you would touch something soft and newborn. Jimin’s lips are red bitten, his eyes puffy but clear. “But you know what the last words you said to me where?” you shake your head, trying not to cry yourself. 

“You said ‘see you in a little bit’ yesterday morning before we left for practice. like it was just going to be any other day- and after we found you all I could think about what that. That I’d see you when” his voice cracks, but he presses on the ache in his lungs, needing to get the words out. “That I’d only see you when we both died, and maybe that was what you meant. Maybe I’d have to wait my whole life before I saw you again in whatever what comes next.” Jimin is sobbing now, openly, doing nothing to stop the halting trail that they carve down his cheeks. Over cheeks and over lips that you’d kissed a thousand times. 

And almost never got to kiss again.  

“But I don’t want to see you then- I want to be with you every single morning, every single time I wake up I want to see your face, from this day on until the day I die I want to be able to see you every single fucking day.”

He’s crying too hard to let the words get through towards the end. You reach up, your hand stopping when it tugs on the iv but Jimin is already falling into you taking your reaching as permission,  already burying his face in your shoulder as much as he dares, worried like that you would disappear with too much force. And you cry, the weight settling on you like blame- because you’ve hurt this man, this lover of yours who wanted nothing more than the tenderest of lives for you. 

A life that you have never wanted. And you wish you did, you wish you had. If not for anything else than to avoid this mess that you’ve made, the pain you’ve caused in the people you love so much.  

You’ve hurt him so much by tearing yourself apart that now he is falling in shambles. You wish you could move your hand to run them through his bleach fried yet greasy hair, you wish that you had any soothing words for him- but you don’t. 

You’d tried to kill yourself, nothing more than that and nothing less.

You’d tried and failed and you were still here, and now you had to deal with the consequences. Jimin won’t move, won't stop running his hands over your throat to feel the pulse there, nose pressed to your neck to hide his tears. to reassure himself that you’re alive, that he still has time with you. 

On the cot pulled next to you, Yoongi sits, his hands shaking around a coffee that he doesn’t sip it. He’s the next to speak, the next one who has enough courage, “you know what I thought when I came into the bathroom and found Namjoon and Jungkook there with you?” Yoongi’s voice shakes, his hands in fists at his sides, he looks so so small there, his teeth gritted against the emotional pain in his throat. “I thought fuck- how are they going to survive this, how are they going to put up with losing both of us.” 

Jungkook lurches to his side, “Yoongi no-“ he says, as the others look on horrified, Yoongi bites his lip and brushes the tears out of his cheeks angrily as Seokjin fists a hand in the back of his jacket. “I know I wouldn’t have done it- I know it was just a passing thought, but also- fuck, I would have been a ghost had you not come back to us- a part of me would have died if you had, and I don’t want you to think that I’m holding onto you just to hold onto myself- but fuck, fuck I need you. I need you every day. Every moment like Jimin said every day that doesn’t have all of us in it is hell for me.” 

Taehyung pipes in, teeth gritted against his tears, “I want you to be here, and I want to you want to be here- I want you to get better. I don’t know what would be good for you.” Taehyung’s lower lip trembles as he tries not to cry, in taking several shallow breaths, “we’re not enough to properly take care of, and I know that now” Taehyung sees how your crying anew and rushes over his own words. 

You don’t want to admit it- none of them do, but the fact of the situation is that no one would be here if they were enough to keep you alive. “I know, I know you try really hard, and I know that all of us do too, but-but we couldn’t stop you, we couldn’t help you in the right way, and I know you need a better safety net than us. Do you think-” 

Taehyung pauses, closing his eyes for a moment- he knows he won't be able to go back from his next words, his next suggestion, once he says them you’ll act regardless of what he wants, but it might be what you need to keep this from happening again. 

 “Do you think that it might be better if you went to a recovery center? Or a mental hospital for a little while? Just to make sure you’re okay and safe?”  Seokjin and Jimin stiffen, but no one protests, no one tells you that you shouldn’t- even if they don’t want you too, they all know it might be best if you do go. 

“I don’t know-I don’t think that i-” you shudder and shiver, eyes darting from each of them, waiting to see if any of them are going to jump up and say that they don’t want you to be admitted to a hospital. Don’t want you to go somewhere that they can’t follow. 

Seokjin grabs your hand from where he sits folded over your right side, winding his knobby hands with yours, “you don’t have to decide now” the words you’d needed to here, a tense breath released from all of them.

“You can think it over and we can try to figure something out that works.”

The next few hours are marginally less sucky. You meet with doctors, they check your stitches and run a few more tests. There is a tenser meeting with the police. But everything goes smoothly- probably because of a stack of cash slid to them by one of the managers to keep it quiet. Always focused on containing scandals. 

By the end of the day, some of the boys need to go home and at least shower and change clothes if not get some sleep. Though Jungkook straight up refuses too until Namjoon gives him a look. Yoongi and Tae go to retrieve dinner from somewhere better than the cafeteria to get food. 

The others will be back soon, Seokjin stays with you, the others promising to bring back a change of clothes- he’ll just shower in the small bathroom attached to your room. He leans up against the door, the tv droning in the corner on some drama. Watching your face silhouetted against the yellow light. indulging in the image of you for a moment. 

You’re quiet just watching the tv going in and out of sleep. They’re going to try and wean you off the painkillers in an hour or so, and the doctor had warned you to try and get some sleep while you can. After a moment, you notice Seokjin by the door, giving him a small tired smile. 

Seokjin struggles to find something to say, but doesn’t, putting his hands in his pockets. You scoot over a little, patting the bed next to you. “Want to sit and wait for food with me?” neither of you mention that you probably won't be able to eat any of it. You’re on a liquid diet until they get your second-day labs back. But one of the nurses did promise you a very tasty strawberry and watermelon shake, so there’s that to look forward too. 

Seokjin nods and carefully gets into bed next to you, on top of the covers while you’re underneath, careful to leave some distance between the two of you in case you want it. His heart fluttering when you don’t instead turning onto your side and reaching to set your arm over his chest gently. Seokjin shifts, letting you tuck your shoulder under his arm. 

The television changes to a news briefing. a car pileup, and then before Seokjin can change it, “No news yet on the most recent celebrity news. What were the members of Bangtan Sonyeodan doing at Asan Medical Center and why aren’t the police saying anything- more on what we know during our celebrity bulletin at 8.” 

“I really made a mess of things for you guys didn’t I.”

“Don’t worry about it please” Seokjin begs, running his hand down your arm and kissing the top of your head. Reaching for a moment, for the clicker to shut the television off before they play anything else. 

“But you-” 

“I’m serious Y/n” Seokjin cuts you off, looking down at you, a bone-deep exhaustion in him as he reaches a hand to brush at your cheeks, hooking a hand under your jaw to turn your face up so he can see you better. 

“The managers have dealt with it, and we’ll see if any of the doctors breach doctor-patient confidentiality- and none of us care, we’re all just relieved that you’re still alright now.” the thudding truth of that last statement makes Jin feel like he’s gonna cry again, but he doesn't want to- he’s tired of crying. 

“You should get some sleep before the others get back.” You nod, seeming to accept his words for now at least before you snuggle further into his side. you’ve lost a little bit of your ashen tint to your body, but you’re still a little bit cold, a little weak from the blood loss (though they did have to give you infusions during surgery. Seokjin rubs a hand up and down your back rapidly to warm you up. 

“Can you...” you start for a second, cutting off, looking shy. cheek against his chest. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” Seokjin asks murmuring the words into the top of your head (even if your hair is a little greasy)

“Can you sing for me?” you ask quietly. 

“Of course,” Seokjin smiles, you’ve asked him to do that before, in the kitchen in your house, before you go to sleep, you love the sound of his voice, of all of theirs really. “Any requests?” 

“Whatever makes you happiest.” Seokjin swallows, turning it over in his head for a moment before he decides on it. He starts up, the words falling from his lips the way they’ve done 1,000 times. 

“Will you stay by my side will you promise me~” he continues the rest of the verse of butterfly until he gets to the rap part. Slipping into Yoongi’s lines with a slightly more joking tone, changing the words to puns as he sees fit. “butter cake~ butter cake~”

 Even after all these years- Seokjin still can’t rap. But he does his best switching around the lyrics and making them goofier while keeping the rhyme, swaying side to side with you in his arms as much as he can in the hospital bed. The giggle you let out is soft and rippling, coming from your belly. Making the first real smile he’s had today appear on Seokjin's face, his hands holding onto you a little tighter as he breaks off “You’re going to make me lose tempo ~” he whines. 

Outside the door, Yoongi and Taehyung pause, listening to the sound of your and Seokjin's laughter. Looking at each other, the bags of food in their hands, just soaking in the sound for a second, even as it fades. You start singing too. your voice gentler and quieter, sleep-roughened, joining in with Seokjin's. 

Taehyungs hand squeezes his roughly, the younger taking in a shaky breath.  And for the first time since they got home and found you, Yoongi lets himself believe for a moment that everything is going to be okay. 

4 WEEKS LATER 

“So,” Mr. Bang says as he makes his way around the edge of the table, it’s only him, their manager Sejin, and boys in the conference room today, this decision is purely between the head of the company and them really. “We’re here to discuss which one of you should go public with Y/n as your significant other.” 

The room erupts with the conversation, Jimin and Seokjin actually sit up, everyone simultaneously volunteering themselves for the position. It wasn’t really a position, they knew that whoever went public with Y/n would undergo severe scrutiny and probably a hit to their popularity; it would incur the wrath of the fans, several trending hashtags of twitter. And make everything much more difficult for them in general. 

They didn’t care at all of course, how many times had they each wanted to take you to a party or an award show with the company’s blessing- or have you sit in on an episode of run BTS or star in a Vlive. Being your official boyfriend in the company’s eyes was just permission in general to do just that. 

The only reason why none of them were jumping out of their skin in anxiety about having you not in the room with them was that you were currently exactly 3 floors below them, in the practice room- Soobin had invited you to watch their practice for their upcoming first concert. 

None of them knew their juniors all that well yet. But they knew there would be enough staff around to keep an eye on you. No one had come out and told any of them what had happened, or even knew the nature of your relationship with the boys. But all of them knew that you were somehow special to them, though only the managers knew anything more to speculate about your relationship- Mr. Bang and Sejin where the only who knew the full story. 

You hung around so often that you knew all of the staff by name, had brought doughnuts to the break room often enough and volunteered to help many times, enough that the staff liked you. In the first week after the hospital stay, one of the makeup noonas had even asked Jimin where you where, tensely asking, “is she- still in the hospital?”

Jimin had been able to choke out “She came home last night.” while he barely managed not to burst into tears. Taehyung had stepped in, stepping in with a hand on Jimin's shoulder, and comforting words in his ear, gripping his hand hard. 

“it’s okay Jimin, she’s fine at home, Namjoon is with her now- we don’t have anything to worry about.” 

So at the moment, they had nothing to worry about. And as much as they all hated to admit it, it wasn’t because they trusted you- no- it was because The staff was under explicit instructions from Namjoon at this moment not to let you leave the company building without texting Namjoon first. 

Your hospital stay had been all over the news for weeks even if no one had ever figured out your identity. A small miracle in its self. Some talk shows were still speculating about it- and hopefully, this business with them coming out with you as their official S/o would put the matter to rest. 

You understood why it was necessary, even if it meant lying about what had really happened. Saying that you had fallen into a glass table, would be your official story, the youngest member finding you first which was why Jungkook had been so dazed, why there were more than 400 photos floating around on the internet of him half shirtless and bloody. 

An accident- even if it was anything but. 

This particular discussion had come out of a few tense weeks- following your…attempt. When the boys had decided that hiding you were doing more harm than good. They’d initially intended to draw straws for it- pure luck was the only way to do it fairly. And they’d alerted the company more as a courtesy than anything else. 

The company hadn’t like that one bit. None of the management, Accept for Mr. Bang, who had sat back on his thighs, given them a tired smile and said, “you really love to give me a headache don’t you?” 

So now they did it the company’s way, with statistical evidence to who it would affect the least, who was most likely to not cause too many waves. It was an ineffectual and unemotional approach to it, and all of them hated it. To Taehyung especially- it seemed like the statistical information in front of them discounted on fact. 

The facts being that they where all in this relationship together, every party an equal piece of the love that you shared, even if the nature of that love and the way it was felt and received was different for each member. 

Everyone needed different things and from each other- they got it. Tae needed companionship more than anything, someone to be there- but not necessarily to speak, simple enjoyment of each others company which was why sometimes he was content to sit back and let the others be loud for him. 

It was different than the way that the others showed and receive love the same way Jimin needed physical affection like it was air, and Yoongi- Yoongi only really needed it on the bad days like Tae. Whereas Namjoon- wasn’t exactly the most affectionate of the bunch but was always okay with receiving even if he wasn’t initiating it- different then the way that Seokjin sometimes needed his space and needed that to be physical- Seokjin who got just as much satisfaction from caring for others as he got from being cared for. Which was why he and Jungkook had a symbiotic relationship, Jungkook needed to feel snuggled down and smothered with love to feel secure. 

And you, the way that you needed understanding and care without enabling your worst habits. Care and gentleness without accommodation. That in itself a challenge that they were slowly conquering together, though your therapist was helping them in no small way. 

They were all a puzzle piece fitting perfectly with the ones around them. And this- this arguing and analysis of them- it felt like management was trying to shave down a piece to fit better when in reality- they already all fit perfectly together. 

So the others might shout and ask questions- but Taehyung just sat back, and waited. 

“Before you try to speak your case, you should know that both of you have been eliminated from consideration.” Yoongi has to grip Jimin’s hands to stop him from sitting up, he can feel the rage underneath the younger skin as Jimin’s whole body tightens. 

“Would you at least tell us why?” Seokjin asks scalding, never one to take the company’s wishes into account. 

“It’s simple,” Sejin says, shuffling the papers on the conference table in front of him. “You’re the most popular domestically, and Jimin is the most popular abroad by a number of twitter engagements- statistically the group would take too much of a hit if either of you was viewed negatively.” 

The members don’t comment on this, rolling their eyes if anything.  They’d long since stopped being jealous over each other being more or less popular that each other- since just after their debut. Seokjin slumps back in his chair rubbing his lower lip with his finger. And surprisingly, doesn’t protest. 

He’s thinking of all of us, Yoongi realizes with a start- his heartstrings pulling, Seokjin might have tried time and time again to piss off the company as much as possible with his hair dying, hair cutting and liberal style opinions. But this time- he’s not just accountable for himself.  

“Because of this Hoseok is also out.” 

“What the actual F-“

On the other side of the table, Seokjin forcefully pulls the redhead down. Taehyung looks like he might laugh if it wouldn’t make him sick. 

“We also believe that the fans will think it’s strange if the youngest member is in a relationship before his hyung’s” Jungkook’s jaw tightens but he waves his hands for Mr. Bang to continue. 

“Which leaves us with Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung as possibilities.” The three are rim rod silent. Taehyung looks tired, blinkingly lazily, Namjoon’s tapping the table agitatedly. Mr. Bang turns to Namjoon first, leaving no room for preamble. “We’ve come to the conclusion that Namjoon would be the best pick, we believe that next to him, Y/n will leave a favorable impression. Namjoon is best equipped to deal with all of the stress as the leader.” 

“But won't this also add to this stress?” Taehyung asks, leaning forward, his eyes dart to Namjoon’s “I’m not trying to advocate for myself it’s just-“ Taehyung makes eye contact with Namjoon. “this is going to be…a lot” 

Besides Namjoon, Yoongi nods, “it is- but it’s going to be worth it.”  

“Are there any objections?” Mr. Bang asks.

Inside the practice room, you watch the members of txt perfect the ending of one of their songs- Soobin is the only one who you really have any interaction with, as he’s not that much younger than you or Jungkook. But you’re slowly starting to get to know the other members better, even if the age difference is a little more insurmountable. 

They’d offered you an in on this practice more as a courteously to their hyung’s than anything else. Here at the company- no one knew exactly how to place you. Most of them taking bets on who were you dating this week, which was a subject of constant debate at the beginning after a makeup unnie had walked in on you kissing Namjoon and Yoongi in the same week (in the same closet no less). The unnie had even tried to tell Namjoon after a little while- not that it hadn’t already made it around the rumor mill. 

“Wouldn’t it be a shame if they broke up? But she distracts all the boys when she comes around and they do have an even busier schedule coming up.” Imagine her surprise when her confession, what she had seen was greeted with an understanding laugh from Namjoon and a flushed face by Yoongi. “So that’s where you went off too when you were supposed to be working on your mixtape- you asshole! I waited for 30 minutes for you!” 

Now, most of the staff knew you by name- and knew not to ask what kind of weird relationship you had with the boys, not that they’d ever believed the truth of the matter. You were all good at hiding it and dodging any questions. But they did notice the marked shift since the hospital stay. 

Everyone could put two and two together. Especially given how the boys were with you now compared to before.

They’ve been treating you so gently the last few weeks, so tenderly, even in front of the staff. Yoongi had brushed a hand across your cheek when they left for the meeting, and Jimin hadn’t seemed to want to let go of your hand. If any of the staff was watching the 8 of you, when you’d looked up- you hadn’t noticed. The assistant that usually babysat you when you were without one of your boyfriends (not without good reason- you’d gotten lost on more than one occasion wandering around the company before) gesturing you towards the leather couch in the corner where you could sit and watch the practice without fear of disturbing them.

You have another week until you can get the stitches out of your arms but the scars will stay for a while- if not for good. Your light blue sweatshirt is tight at the wrist; there isn’t a risk of your sleeve slipping up and any of them seeing. Before the Txt members can finish their current song the door to the training room opens. And a mask-clad Jungkook pokes his head in. You shoot up and gather your stuff.

You cast a quick glance around making sure that there aren’t any cameras around to record or microphones- it’s just a general practice so you shout. “Thanks for letting me kill some time cucumber!” before you hurry out the door. 

Soobin’s reply comes with the start of “yah! Noona-“ but you don’t hear the rest of his protest at your weird nickname for him as the door closes behind you and Jungkook. 

“How was the meeting?” you ask sweetly as you follow Jungkook, and you can see his eyes crinkle and know he’s smiling at you under his mask. The tips of his fingers brush yours after you’re done hooking your mask over your face. You’ll enter the car through the underground parking garage, but it never hurts to be extra safe in the face of paparazzi. “You guys figure out which one of you is going to be my fake boyfriend yet?” 

“Yeah, there isn’t anything fake about me you brat,” Yoongi says as he exits his studio as you pass flicking you on the shoulder before running his fingertips down your arms gently, joining you and Jungkook on your way down the hall to the lounge room where the others wait. Yoongi like Jungkook only brushes fingers with yours though he does playfully tug on one of the strings of your hoodie- he’s in a good mood- but the heaviness in his eyes tells you that whomever they’ve decided for you it isn’t Jungkook or Yoongi. 

At the same moment, Jimin passes on his way out too and almost stumbles when he sees you, that same heartbreaking boyish smile that makes his eyes disappear erupting on his face when he sees you. 

Pulling you away from Yoongi and Jungkook and giving a careful glance around to make sure there aren’t any unwanted prying eyes. Pressing his lips to yours in hello when he realizes there aren’t. His plush lips sucking yours in a passionate kiss, one that seems a little resigned though. 

“So it’s not you either,” you ask when you break apart. Jimin giggles, and shakes his head. “No, but I wanted to see you before I left, just wanted to let you know that I’ll be back later,”

“What are you doing?” you ask shyly, as Jimin kisses your fingertips, his fingers lingering on your rings you have there, small and perfect, a small red stone at the center of a delicately thin band. He slides one off your ring finger and puts it on his own, though it’s a tight fit. “This is pretty- who gave it to you?”

“Namjoon” you smile, letting him take it, you and Jimin are the type of couple who share jewelry all the time. “You never answered my question” 

His answering smile is mischievous, “you’ll find out later,” he says, kisses you again quickly, letting his forehead rest against yours for a second.

“Number sweetheart?”

2 weeks earlier was when you’d devised the number system.

 “If you’re not going to go to the hospital, then I think we should set up some rules- or just some things that could help you.”  

You suck in your lower lip, hands tightening on the blanket in front of you. and Namjoon is already soothing a hand over yours. It’s a comfy night in, take out, your staple these days and everyone in pajamas. You yourself are in a cooky themed top and tata themed bottoms. All the others are piled around you likewise swathed in fluffy blankets propped up against pillows. 

Someone had the bright idea of dragging two king-sized mattresses out into the living room a few days ago and you’ve all been sleeping out here, like a massive sleepover every night. It’s more out of necessity than anything else, after the second night that you’d slept home, you’d woken up to Yoongi sleeping in Namjoon’s chair again for the third night in a row, just to keep an eye on you. and this might not have been an ideal arrangement (everyone was woken up whenever someone stirred to use the restroom) it was better than that alternative. 

You play with Seokjin's fingers in your lap, tracing along the double joints and the lines of his palms as he talks. “you promised you’d be more open with us Y/n. And you’ve tried before- you’ve tried to tell us how and I know it’s too hard for you. But maybe it will be better if we’re not all comparing notes and you give us something to jump off of.” 

“And you know I’m not sure it if-if I can give you that.” you have to be open with them, even if it’s hard but sometimes, it’s just impossible for you to be open. When you say this, some of them look tired, some of them look a little angry. But what’s best is Jungkook leaning forward to take your hand, your feet in his lap  “I understand,” he says, nodding a little, his fingers smooth over your knuckles in admonishment, His long curly hair falling in his eyes. 

it’s Taehyung who suggests it, curled on his side, head half in Namjoon’s lap. “What if we devised something easier, some way that we can check in without feeling like we’re going to make you close off, kind of like the colors system.” You nod, as do the others. You’re all familiar with the stop light system for your more intimate encounters, enough that you all understand what he’s is getting at. 

“So like- numbers you’re thinking?” Namjoon clarifies, sucking in his chin and mulling over the words in his head. his fingers absentmindedly trailing along Taehyung's jaw. below him, Tae basks in the affection, it looks like he would purr if he was a cat, but Namjoon is so thoughtful that he doesn't notice. “So like, 10 for like, needing to be checked into the hospital, and 1 for like, so happy I think everything could be okay?” he clarifies. 

“I feel like it should go the other way maybe like 10 is happy, and 1 is sad,” it seems almost too simple to use those words but the others know what you mean. Sometimes it comes down to something just that simple. 

“We should write it out,” Jimin says, standing up and almost falling over as he steps over bodies to get a nicer marker and a clean sheet of paper, switching back and forth with Namjoon, scrawling in elegant Hangul as you bounce things back and forth. Eventually coming up with this:

10- So happy that I think everything’s okay from now on. 9-  A really really good day, 8- I’m gonna be okay probably for a few days after this, Cuz I feel so nice, 7- happy, (the feeling like when you get a hug and the warmth stays for a long time) 6-  happy, might feel a little meh, but it’s nothing that’s getting in the way of everything. 5- I’m okay. 4- I’m not okay but I might be in a little bit. Be gentle with me, maybe don’t leave me alone. 3- Don’t leave me alone. Bug me to talk until I do (even if I don’t want to). 2- Don’t leave me alone, get everyone together, cancel whatever needs to be canceled. 1- Check me into the hospital.

Jimin is careful as he pens the last line. Thinking about the possibility of a one. The list gets pinned to the refrigerator, alongside a picture of the 7 of you (minus Seokjin who was behind the camera) all sprawled out and sleepy in the living room after a movie night.

It’s a few days until it’s used. But Jimin is surprised how much better it makes him feel when Taehyung asks you “number?” and you sit and think about it for a second, looking at the list on the fridge. “Probably a 4.5,” you say in a quiet voice, a little bit worried how it will be received,  But it’s honest, and that’s all you promised to be with them. You’re feeling just the slightest edge towards delicate today. 

Taehyung and Jimin spend the rest of their free time snuggling you and running their fingers through your hair until they have to go record. And throughout the evening and most of the afternoon, you sit in the corner of the recording booth watching the seven of them record a chorus until their throats hurt. Flashing them smiles and thumbs up whenever one of them turns to look at you.

“Number sweetheart?” Jimin asks, in the hallway after they’ve decided which of them will go public with your relationship. 

You think for a moment, “probably a 6 or so.” Jungkook still lingering nearby, nods, then gestures you to follow. Jimin’s heart a little lighter after checking in that and making you’re okay, knowing that even if you weren’t the others knew and would take care of you. He takes a moment, Kissing you again, making it deeper this time, his hand on the small of your back, tongue licking at your lower lip hotly, before he’s breaking away again leaving you a little breathless and flustered. 

“See you tonight!” he calls, dancing away, at the same moment you yell “Park Jimin you are a tease!”

It’s isn’t until you’re all back home that they tell you, Namjoon shyly looking down- trying to hide his dimples. As you shout “Joonie!” and hug him. His hands slipping over your shoulders, holding you tightly. His dimples and his smile incandescent. 

“Ah I’m so jealous,” Seokjin comments behind you at one of the bar stools, though he doesn’t look all that upset with a lap full of Hoseok who seems to barely be paying attention, almost asleep in Seokjin’s lap. 

He didn’t get a good night sleep last night- and you try not to think about why that is, and why he crawled into bed with you and Jungkook so early this morning either, all of them have a hard time leaving you alone- or going to sleep in general these days, especially since you’d taken apart the group bedroom in the living room and switched back into your usual sleeping arrangements.

“Your knees are so boney” he comments, shifting to sit better on Seokjin’s thighs. “Yah! Like your ass is any better!” Seokjin replies, but there’s no bite to any of it. Especially when Hoseok slumps against Seokjin’s shoulder. Tipping his head into Seokjin’s neck, a safe harbor despite the teasing, looking small and in need of protection in a way that he rarely asks for but sometimes needs.  

At the same moment across the city, Jimin sits in the expensive and plush chair, the room is private enough where he can take off his bucket hat and his facemask, running his fingers through his hair before the manager enters his office after having left Jimin alone for a moment. “We’ve had it altered of course to your specifications. And changed the color as you specified in your last email.” 

“Thank you for that, and for allowing me to respond via email.” they usually don't allow that, preferring in-person meetings for non-overseas clients. The manager nods, he knows who Jimin is, and has seen the copious amount of media coverage in the last few weeks. Enough to suspect why Jimin might be busy, and also might have put a rush on this. But the jewelry designer is one he picked particularly for Its anonymity as well as for its high-end designers. 

The manager opens the velvet box carefully, and Jimin almost wants to sigh when he sees the engagement ring in the center, it’s hexagonal cut stones surrounded by a flurry of rose cuts in the shades of lightest pink. Glimmering in the lights. Jimin takes it, barely hesitating to feel the coolness of the stones. Already imagining it on your finger. Jimin nods, showing his approval before he slides your ring out of his pocket. 

“This is exactly what I had in mind, when can I have it sized?” 

(Please comment and reblog! Likes are nice, but they do little to support content creators!)

#bts ot7 #bts poly au #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts polyamory #ot7 x reader #bangtan sonyeodan #bts fanfction #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #min yoongi #kim seokjin #bts poly #bts meme #bts reaction #bts scenario #kim namjoon x reader #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #kim seokjin x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader

[bisexualsforprompto]

The Black Mercy

This is for my secret Santa @18-fandoms-unite-08 I tried something different from my normal style so I really hope you like it! Also thank you @caffeinetheory for beta reading!

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

Marinette woke up realizing two things. One: she was on an amazingly comfortable mattress that felt like a dream and two: she was being held by something. She opened her eyes groggily to be met with the sight of two tan, toned, strong arms around her. Snuggling up closer she got a glimpse of the sleeping man next to her.

He had black hair that complemented his gorgeously bronze skin. His eyes were closed shut and his chest was rising and falling calmly.

“Dami,” Marinette whispered into his ear. Damian stirred but only to pull Marinette in closer. She giggled as she watched his arms subconsciously pull her into his chest. “Damian.” She singsonged into his ear.

“TT. Five minutes.” Marinette chuckled to herself, normally it would be her who was grumbling about more sleep. She slipped out of his grasp and stepped out of the fluffy white covers.

She inadvertently reached towards her bare ears feeling an odd sensation when she brushed against only flesh. She couldn’t remember exactly what she was supposed to find on her ears but she ignored it and continued walking out of her room. She heard a slight shuffling from her bedroom as she walked over to the kitchen to make breakfast. She hummed a tune that felt vaguely familiar, yet worlds away at the same time. Marinette opened the wooden cabinet above her sink and pulled out two china plates.

Sleepy footsteps approached her as she set some pancakes she’d made the day prior in the microwave. She turned around from the kitchen to be greeted with Damian sitting at the table. Grinning, Marinette took a seat next to him.

“Sleep well?” She asked noting the bags underneath his eyes that had decreased.

“Always when I’m with you Angel.” He responded causing Marinette to blush, “Although I would’ve preferred to sleep a little longer.” Marinette rolled her eyes, “Jon and Adrien are coming soon, we have to get ready.” Damian stretched his arms, flexing his muscles inadvertently,

“TT.” He yawned as the timer on the microwave went off, “Beloved, why must we invite the Kents over?” Marinette chuckled as she pecked Damian on the cheek, walking over to the kitchen once more.

“Come on Dove, they just got married, we should celebrate with them.” Marinette smiled as she took the pancakes and set them down on plates.

Damian started to grumble under his breath, “I still don’t see why we had to-

~~~~~~~~

“WAKE UP! Angel please wake up!!!” Damian yelled as he shook Marinette who was lying down peacefully with a look of bliss on her face. She was covered by a blue hospital sheet that Jon had given them. If Damian didn’t know what was under that sheet he would’ve let her be, she looked fine, for all he would’ve known she was calmly sleeping.

But he did know. The monster that lurked underneath the sheet that decided to attach itself onto Marinette was giving his beloved beautiful pleasant dreams. Letting her live peacefully.

That was why Damian had to stop it.

~~~~~~~

“To family!” Jon toasted as he tapped his champagne with Adrien. “Cheers!” The blonde sunshine boy grinned. Marinette raised her glass and smiled to the scowling Damian on the couch next to her.

“Something wrong Dames?” Marinette teased, in truth she knew that she could barely wipe that scowl off his face, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

“Cheers.” Damian grumbled as he took a long sip of his champagne causing Jon to burst out in laughter.

“I love you guys.” Marinette said placing her arm around Damian’s shoulder. He became less tense at her touch.

“Well we love you too Maribug, but is that just the alcohol talking?” Adrien smirked. Marinette rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him with her free hand. Adrien set down his glass and raised his hand in surrender.

“I’m serious! You guys are my family. I can’t think of anything more perfect than being with all of you.” Marinette smiled genuinely. She gestured to Damian, “the love of my life and my two best friends.” Adrien beamed and Jon shared the same look.

“This is a dream come true for me.”

~~~~~~~

“Clark, you’ve dealt with this before. How should we get her out?” Bruce asked as Jon and Clark Kent walked over to the unconscious Marinette wearing a smile on her face. Clark sighed, “Ultimately, it’s her who must choose to leave. Kara was able to get some help though, I’ll contact her to see what needs to be done.” He said as he left the room dialing a number on his phone. Bruce narrowed his eyes and Jon looked down at his friend who was holding his hand on top of Marinette’s.

“Damian-“

“Save it.” Damian snarled, “I just want her out.” Jon took a step back, never hearing so much bite in his friend’s voice. Bruce tensed, feeling helpless once more. Damian whipped his head back, breaking his gaze from Marinette’s pale face and gesturing to what was under the blanket covering her, “And are any of you going to tell me what the hell this is?!”

~~~~~~

“What the hell is this?!” Laughed Adrien as he poked at the dangling robin on the ceiling fan.

“TT. I told her to get rid of it.” Damian pouted, side-eying the glass robin. Marinette rolled her eyes and flicked Damian in the ear,

“And I said no.” She smirked, “Look at his expression, it looks just like you Dami!” Marinette started to chuckle looking at the robin’s stone cold expression. For some reason Marinette felt the name robin was familiar, like it had some other meaning. A voice startled her out of the puzzle pieces she tried to sow together,

“Hey, she’s right!” Jon exclaimed as he mimicked the robin’s stoic frown. Adrien began to laugh even harder causing Damian to brood even more. Marinette fixed that with a simple peck on the cheek, causing him to brighten almost immediately.

“Just teasing love.” Marinette smiled warmly brushing Damian’s hair out of his face. Jon and Adrien could’ve sworn Damian smiled for a split second. He gave her a quick kiss in return.

“Get a room!” Jon yelled, making Damian shoot a glare at him. He focused his eyes back on his beloved,

“I love you.”

~~~~~~~

“I love you.” Damian whispered quietly, “I’m sorry I never had the courage to tell you.” He drew circles on the palm of her hand trying to ignore the fact that Jon, Clark and Bruce were speaking outside about Marinette’s fate.

“You came into my life and wrecked it. Nothing was the same.” Damian stated trying not to cry. “Please come back and change my life again Angel.”

~~~~~~~

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Marinette asked as she traced circles on Damian’s bicep as they laid down in their bed.

“Agreste and Kent are tolerable.” He said as he turned over to face Marinette, “So yes. I would say I did.” Marinette gave him a soft smile. Damian returned it, but something was...off.

Damian smiled at her, sure, but only small smiles that were quick but enough to make her heart melt. He’d never mirrored her smile and kept it on for so long.

Something...something wasn’t right. Marinette felt a pounding in her skull before she heard a ringing in her ears as she fell back into bliss.

“You alright beloved?” Damian asked worriedly.

“Of course darling.” Marinette said, almost robotically as she drifted off to sleep, cuddling him.

~~~~~~~

“She’s been in there for a day.” Damian said plainly to his father who had walked behind him, “Are you finally going to trust me?” He spat not breaking his eyes from Marinette’s gorgeous face whose smile had diminished slightly. “Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on?”

Bruce cleared his throat. The information could break his son. He knew it would make him a hell of a lot more stubborn.

“It’s called Black Mercy.”

~~~~~~~

The birds chirped outside of Marinette’s window. She groaned as she felt the sunlight wash over her eyes. She turned to Damian’s side of the bed to find an empty space.

“Dames?” She whispered softly. She heard a creak at the door as it slowly opened. She got slightly nervous until she saw it was only Damian in the doorframe.

“Beloved, I brought you breakfast in bed.” He smiled as he placed the tray over Marinette.

“Aww, Dove!” Marinette smiled throwing her arms around him, almost spilling the food. “You’re so sweet, you didn’t have to!” Damian embraced her, “I wanted to do something special for you. Besides, I love cooking.”

Marinette felt the pounding come back again, only stronger than the night before. ‘Damian doesn’t love-‘

“Thank you darling.” She responded as if she was using a script. She took a bite of her food.

~~~~~~~

“Kara was able to be saved by her sister. She told me the machine they built to let another person enter into the mind of the victim of the Black Mercy. If I give you the model of what she sent me do you think you can recreate it Bruce?” Clark asked as he rubbed his temples feeling a migraine at the whole situation. Marinette never deserved this. He still remembered what it was like, pure tranquility and bliss. That wasn’t the part Marinette didn’t deserve.

She didn’t deserve the pain from waking up.

~~~~~~~

“Dove,” Marinette spoke as she sat on the couch next to her husband. Damian looked up at her with bright smiling eyes. Another headache.

“D-dove, do you ever feel like something is w-wrong?” She squeezing her eyes shut at the massive migraine.

“Whatever do you mean Beloved?” Asked Damian placing an arm around her, “Everything is fine. This is our dream life remember?”

She nodded.

A dream.

~~~~~~~

“One of us needs to go in and save her.” Clark said as Bruce placed a small device on Marinette’s head. Jon stood up, “I can-“

“No.” Damian said looking at Marinette’s closed eyes. “I’ll do it.”

Bruce nodded. He shared a look with Clark, they knew that he would’ve volunteered. “Damian, you need to know that whatever happens to you in there happens out here. If you die in there…”

“I don’t care.” Damian growled, “She’s the only person I ever...Just fucking put me in there.” Clark’s eyes widened. Bruce sighed and Jon looked away.

“Ok.”

~~~~~~~

Marinette walked over from the couch as she heard a knock at the door.

“Wait!” Damian called. Marinette looked back to see him twitching slightly. “Don’t answer that.”

“Oh Dove I know you’re paranoid but what’s the worst that could happen?” Marinette chuckled, “Nothing bad or dangerous has ever happened to us. Like you said, it’s our dream life.” Marinette walked over and pressed her hand on the door handle. Suddenly, Damian was right beside her grabbing her wrist. Clawing his nails into her arm.

“Don’t. Open. That.”

“Dove, you’re-you’re hurting me!” Marinette cried.

Then she was thrust backwards into the ground as the door was kicked in. She landed with a soft thud. She groaned in pain.

~~~~~~~

“Her vitals are going crazy!” Clark exclaimed as Marinette jolted.

“Damian what are you doing in there?” Bruce murmured.

~~~~~~~

Standing in the doorway was Damian. Marinette did a double take. Damian was right next to her glaring at the door frame. Two Damians? Her head was spinning.

“W-what’s going on?” She asked wincing slightly at the pain in her arm from where the door had collided with her. The Damian that had been standing in the doorway who had a weird looking device on his forehead.

“Angel you have to listen to me, this isn’t re-“

“Who are you?!” Asked the other Damian as he pressed a hand on the Damian who had just spoken’s neck. He was slowly choking him.

“What are you doing Damian?! Stop!” Marinette pleaded as she ran to her husband’s side. She placed a hand on him to try to get him to stop only to have him push her to the ground with his free hand. Marinette squeaked when her face burned from the impact of the floor.

Then black.

~~~~~~

Damian saw red. This imposter, some man who the Black Mercy concocted for his Angel had just struck her. He had never broken free from a chokehold so quickly. He kneed the fake Damian in the groin and ran over to Marinette.

“Angel, Angel are you alright?!” He asked as he looked over at her. She was barely breathing and her eyes were only starting to flicker open. When they opened fully they were as wide as saucers seeming Damian there.

The fake Damian rushed over to Marinette’s other side.

“Beloved, come to me! I’ll protect you from him!” Said the imposter as he turned Marinette over towards him. Damian stood up from his crouched position. “Angel, don’t listen to him! This isn’t real it’s all made up by a monster called the Black Mercy.”

“Lies!” Fake Damian exclaimed as he shoved Damian to the ground. Damian groaned and tried to get back up only to have the other Damian place his foot one the real Damian’s windpipe. Damian gasped for air, looking at Marinette’s bewildered expression and pained eyes.

“Angel, remember-“ Damian wheezed as he felt his throat being pushed on even more, “Once I was on patrol as R-robin and I b-beat a man bloody.” He said as he tried to take the fake Damian’s foot off of his neck. “And you-you wouldn’t talk to me. I vowed- I told you I would never be that violent again.”

Recognition flashed in Marinette’s eyes until she drew back in pain, her face a blank mask once again. “I don’t know what Robin is.” She stated blankly. The fake Damian smirked as Damian writhed. The deceiver took his shoe off of Damian’s windpipe and walked over to Marinette. He kissed her on the cheek, “Come on beloved, he needs to leave.”

Marinette nodded dutifully as she walked over to Damian giving him her hand. He accepted it and pulled himself up. “Please Angel,” he whispered, “You have to wake up for me.”

The fake Damian was at her side in an instant. “Don’t listen to this crazy man Beloved. Come, let’s escort him out and then I’ll make you lunch.” Damian wrinkled his nose.

“I hate cooking.” Damian said, folding his arms at the same time as Marinette whispered, “Damian hates cooking.” Damian looked down at his Angel. He saw a spark in her bluebell eyes that hadn’t been there when he entered her fantasy from the Black Mercy.

“Remember Angel.”

~~~~~~~

Clark breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Black Mercy recoiling from Marinette.

“We’re not out of the woods yet.” Bruce noted as the Black Mercy clung onto Marinette, seemingly fighting to keep her.

~~~~~~~

“No.” Said the fantasy Damian. Damian glowered at him. “This is Marinette’s choice and does not concern you.”

“You really think she’d give up her dream life with me for someone like you?!” Fake Damian sneered. “I am you.” Damian shot back.

“No, you’re the flawed, imperfect version of me. Marinette wants someone who will smile for her, someone who will cook for her, not someone like you. You’re not even good enough for Batman!”

“W-what? Who’s Batman?” Marinette asked as she felt another pounding in her skull.

“Angel you have to remember,” Damian said looking into her eyes, “I’m a hero, a vigilante. This perfect life will never be ours and I’m sorry. Once-once you told me that protecting others was all you wanted to do, but you can’t help others if you don’t wake up!”

~~~~~~~

“It’s loosening!” Jon cried. Clark breathed, “She’s almost there.” The Black Mercy was hanging onto her by a thread. Bruce took a practically unbreakable glass test tube and got ready for the defeat of the Black Mercy.

~~~~~~~

“Beloved, you can’t actually believe him!” The fake Damian scoffed. Marinette held her head, she wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. She fell down to the ground from shock with the word “remember” still echoing in her head.

“You fight for what is right Marinette,” Damian pleaded as he ran over to her. He picked up her slumped form and cradled it in his arms, “This isn’t right.” Marinette groaned and opened her eyes. Damian’s green one’s stared intently at her as the fake Damian started to disappear. “Remember who you are.” Damian whispered into her ear.

“I- I- I’m Ladybug.”

~~~~~~~

Marinette sat up with a gasp. Damian followed suit shortly after. “W-what happened?” She asked rubbing her head.

“A parasite named Black Mercy latched on to you.” Bruce said twisting the cap of the test tube in place which held the grotesque black creature. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I- I think-“ Damian sat up from the table he was on. He swiftly removed the device on his head that allowed him to save Marinette. He silently walked out of the room, not even giving Marinette a look of recognition. “I’ll be right back.” Marinette said softly. She sat up wincing from the damage the Black Mercy had done. She limped over to the exit. Damian had left the manor without a trace, but she knew where he went.

“Dami?” Asked Marinette softly as she sat next to him. They were on a beautiful ledge overlooking Gotham’s skyline and the sunset that was cresting over the city. Damian kept his eyes straight forward not acknowledging her. Marinette folded her knees and rocked gently beside him.

“Do you remember what happened?” Damian asked dryly, “In the Black Mercy.” Marinette nodded slowly. Damian turned his head. Marinette’s lip trembled as she saw his eyes were slightly puffy.

“Dove I-“

“Am I the kind of person you want?” He asked folding his arms.

“What?! Damian of course you-“

“In the Black Mercy.” Damian started as he stared into her bluebell eyes. “The Damian you fantasized about, the one you were married to...he wasn’t me.” Marinette gave him a confused cock of her head. Damian sighed, “That Damian smiled, he cooked, he was perfect for you. Maybe we aren’t as good for each other as we thought.” Marinette winced. Did he really believe that?

“O-oh.”

“I don’t think I can ever be the guy you want...the guy you deserve.” Damian said plainly as he focused his gaze back on the sunset.

“You are the guy I want.” Marinette whispered, “Ever since we met each other. Yeah we’ve had our fights, it’s impossible not to. I don’t want a guy who’ll smile at me all the time or even cook for me.” Damian twitched his head, “That was your fantasy, your dream.”

“I don’t know,” Marinette sighed, “When that Black Mercy Damian attacked you...I would never want that.”

“The Black Mercy creates your desires.” Damian stated.

“Do you really think I’d want you hurt?” Marinette choked. Damian avoided the question and stared at the Gotham skyline in silence. “Wow.” Marinette scoffed with a sob. Tears trickled down her cheeks, “Then I guess you are right. If-If you knew me you’d know I’d never want anything bad to happen to you. I-I love you.”

She stood up ready to walk away. She brushed the tears from her eyes. Damian stood up and whispered,

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~

Whew sorry it’s so long! I went for something different this time! (Also this won’t be continued).

Taglist (everyone on my Maribat list):

Maribat taglist

@northernbluetongue

@queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm

@luciferge

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

@interobanginyourmom

@beaversuenightly

@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry

@mochinek0

@shamefullove

@emjrabbitwolf

@actual-disaster-human

@littleredrobinhoodlum

@elijahcoser

[somedayonbroadway]

8 for fanfic writing

8) What is a scene that you wrote that you are most proud of?

Okay, this is a difficult one to answer. I write lots of scenes that don’t even get published and I still love them to death.

If I had to chose one though, it’s one of the scenes in one of my chapter fics called Top Secret. If there’s anything I love writing, it’s suspense.

It’s the scene after Race catches Jack doing something very dangerous and unexpected. Jack pretends he’s never met Race before when Race has the chance to confront him.

Then this scene happens...

The elevator was going to take too long. Stairs! Take the damn stairs, you idiot!

He could already be too late.

He ran up four flights of stairs. He was barely winded by the end of it, only breathing hard because of the panic swirling around in his head.

Rushing up to his own door, Jack fumbled in his pocket for his keys. But when he unlocked the door, he tried to open it only for it to get stuck. Something was blocking it. So he knocked on the door with purpose and tried to shove the thing open. "Racer! Open the door!" he demanded, his fear and worry inadvertently swirling into frustration.

"No! Go away!" came the reply of a little boy who was so obviously shaken.

"Goddamn it, Anthony Michael Higgins Junior! Open the door n' let me explain!"

"Leave me alone!"

Jack growled. "I swear to God, Racer... I need ta talk to ya. J'st open the door!" After all of these years... after all of his fighting and all his struggling... he couldn't lose this boy.

After trying to throw the door open by throwing his body weight against it, Jack shook his head and moved over to the next door on his left. It was opened almost immediately. "Jack, baby, what's wrong?"

"Racer's havin' a breakdown..." Jack forced out, shaking his head in frustration. "I'm sorry, Miss Medda, c'n I use your window?"

Medda nodded immediately, stepping aside and gesturing for Jack to step in. The young man did. Rushing through, he caught sight of Katherine in the kitchen, cleaning off some dishes. "Hey, baby..." he muttered before sliding up next to her and giving her a quick peck on the lips. She smiled at him, not even saying a word. "I'm sorry 'bout rushin' out!" he called as he was walking away again, stopping only to press a kiss to Crutchie's forehead. The boy was dozing on the couch, his leg propped up on a few pillows. "Hey, Crutch..."

"Is Race okay?" he asked drowsily. Jack only smiled a little at that.

"He's gonna be fine, kiddo... I'm just gonna take him for a drive, see if it calms him down..." Jack soothed, beginning to walk over to the window at the back wall, sliding it open.

"Hey, Jackie? Did Race follow you ta work t'day? He said he w's gonna an' he wouldn't talk ta me afta' school..." Jack froze. This was so damn hard.

"No... I didn't see 'im..." And before anyone else could ask him anything else, he was slipping out the window.

Race curled in on himself on the couch. He had a backpack next to him, filled up with clothes and all the money he could scrounge up from his room, after all some psychopath had his wallet. He was debating with himself. He should get Crutchie. Maybe they could leave together. But Crutchie wouldn't believe him. Crutchie would try to stop him. But Jack wouldn't ever hurt Crutchie...

Then again, Race thought Jack would never hurt him.

Lost in thought, the boy hadn't heard footsteps coming towards him from the hallway. Not until he looked over and saw the man that he feared so much walking over to him. Race shot up, backing away as quick as Jack was advancing on him, but when Jack realized it, he slowed to a stop, carefully raising up his hands as a sign of peace. "Hey, hey, hey, kiddo... relax, okay? I know you're scared-"

"Stop!" Race demanded, grabbing the back pack off of the couch, and slinging it over his shoulder. "J'st... stop." He was staring at the man at the end of the hallway. This was the man that had always fought so hard to protect him. But Race had scene him today doing awful things. It was like he didn't even know him at all. "You're gonna try ta get in my head, just like her... so just don't, okay?"

Reluctantly, Jack shut his mouth, clenching his jaw and trying to just beg his baby brother to hear him out without even saying the words. But Race just lost it all over again, tears running down his face and shaky breaths entering his lungs. "William Snyder? Really? That's who you work for?" the boy asked, both disappointment and fear radiating off of him. "He's the most dangerous man in New York, Jack! He's killed people!"

"Racer, you have to calm down-" Jack tried, taking a step forward only for the boy to counter it.

"And Francis Sullivan... your dad's name... Jack... this ain't you!" Race cried backing up even more, reaching for the door.

"No, it ain't, baby brother, but ya gotta let me explain!" Jack begged, beginning to get desperate. He couldn't let Race walk away. Not that easy. There had to be something he could do to make it stop. "Anthony, you don't know what's gonna happen if you don't sit'cha ass down an' let me talk ta ya." He didn't. His brother would be in a world of hurt if he didn't just listen to what Jack had to say.

With a shake of his head, Race just began walking towards the door with purpose, trying not to show how petrified he was of the man he'd once run to for everything. "I don't wanna hear it, Jack, or Sully, or whateva' the hell your name is! I'm gonna go get Charlie n'... n' we'll go find ma..."

Jack hated what he knew he had to do next. He hated it with everything inside of him. "You ain't eva' goin' near that manipulative bitch again!" he stated, his eyes widening at the very thought. He reached into his pocket, a cloth gathering in his hand as he slowly advanced on the boy at the door.

"Ya know what, Jack, she ain't the best motha', but she neva' pretended that she was a good one." Those words hurt. Jack had to take a sharp breath to steady himself when those piercing blue eyes turned back to glare at him as Race was hesitating by the door after moving the chair that had been blocking it. This was his chance.

"Racer... I'm serious, pal... back away from the door or you're gonna regret it." He wished things were different. Truly, he did. But they weren't. This was his life and whether his brothers knew it or not, this was their life too. But Race wasn't listening. He put his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave. "Tony... I don't wanna have ta do this..."

"Just leave me alone, Jack..." Race breathed out, not exactly ready to leave behind the life that he'd been working so hard to be comfortable in. Maybe if he'd succeeded all that time ago, life would be better for them. Maybe if they'd just let him go, they wouldn't have this problem, and Crutchie could live his whole life thinking he had the perfect big brother who would always protect him and care about him. Maybe if Race was gone right now, things would be different.

Finally taking a breath and knowing leaving was his only option, not trusting his big brother in the slightest anymore, Race turned the handle and opened the door, only for it to be slammed back shut by a stronger hand right next to the boy's shoulder. "I can't let ya do this," Jack said, suddenly looking even more dangerous in Race's eyes. Race did the only thing he could think of.

He ran.

He dodged Jack's arms and made a beeline for the nearest fire escape, his big brother right behind him the whole way. "Stop it, Anthony! I don't wanna hurt you!"

"Then don't!" the boy cried, trying to pull open a window in the kitchen, only to feel that Jack was about to make his move. Jack's arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning the boy to his chest and before Race could think how to fight him off, the man was dragging his arms behind him, trying to pin them between their bodies. "Let me go!" Race sobbed out, struggling against his big brother. "Help! Please! Somebody help!"

"Shhh!" Jack hissed, finally able to hold the boy's arms behind him with one of his arms after he shoved the backpack to the ground, before bringing out the cloth and smothering it over the teenager's mouth and nose. Race started screaming harder as Jack dragged him back, away from the windows and into the middle of the apartment again. His brother was still putting up a hell of a fight and Jack couldn't help but try to hold back tears. "Don't fight it, kid... please don't fight it..." he murmured into his boy's ear, leaning his forehead up against the side of his baby brother's head, trying to soothe him even as he was trying to knock him out. "Just breathe it in, Racer... I promise it'll be okay..." He had Race's head back against his shoulder as the boy still tried to fight him off.

It was a long while before Race obeyed, only because he couldn't fight it any longer. The child moaned as his legs gave out on him. He blinked wildly, desperate to keep his eyes open, only for them to roll back into his head as he lost consciousness. Jack sighed in relief and let the weight of the boy pull them both to the ground. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Jack kept muttering, pulling the boy into his lap and removing the cloth from his face, pocketing it and letting himself breath for a moment as he relentlessly apologized to the boy who couldn't hear him.

The boy was now a dead weight on his lap in the middle of the living room. Jack breathed hard, cradling his brother to him and slowly smoothing the hair away from his face as he held tightly to the kid, finally giving into the fear that was only growing inside him. As he pressed a loving kiss to his brother's forehead, his eyes drifted to a picture sitting on the table right next to the couch.

They all looked so happy. Him, his boys who were so much younger, and the man that had his arms around them. His brown hair ended in loose curls that fell just above his eyes; his bright blue eyes stood out above all else. Jack shook his head and let the tears begin falling as he couldn't take his eyes off of the stupid photo. "I'm so sorry..." he muttered, burying his face in his baby brother hair.

For a moment, Jack just rocked his brother back and forth in his arms. He was still here. This could all be okay.

The vibrating of the man's cell phone made him jump a little. He sniffled and swallowed, clearing his throat before he answered the thing. "Kelly," he said as he slid the call open. "Yeah, I got him... I had ta use the chloroform..." he admitted, looking back down at the boy's peaceful face. The kid hadn't looked so sound since... ever. "Look, I don't need a lecture right now..." his voice shook at that as he lay Race down even lower and ran a hand through the kid's hair. "I's gonna bring him in... I'll be there soon." And with that he hung up the phone.

As gently as he could, Jack scooped Race up in his arms and lay him out on the couch, rushing to go change into sweats and a t-shirt before going back into the main room and once again cradling the boy to his chest. "It'll be okay, kiddo... I promise, it'll be okay..."

And boy, did he hope it would be.

It was the first time I had ever really written Jack and Race truly at odds, almost like they’re on different sides and no one knew what Jack was doing. I love that Jack is trying to calm Race down even as he’s drugging him and how Race is thinking that he can talk sense into Jack and make him “wake up” in a sense. I think this might’ve been the first time I’d had Race truly be afraid of Jack.

It was an interesting one to write.

Thank you for asking!

#newsies #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #much love #fanfic asks #fanfiction #newsies fanfiction #writing #angst #whump #newsies live #trekkiehood #crutchie morris #katherine plumber #newsies musical #medda larkin #top secret

[trashyslashers]

Part two for soulmate AU ??? ❤️❤️❤️

Here it is!! Sorry it took so long, I wanted to go more indepth with the AU instead of just doing general headcanons. This came out a bit longer than I intended it to lmao. Part I here 

Freddy’s is a little…. open to interpretation at the end. Do what you will with that information. 

Michael Myers:

The months subsequent to the meeting on Halloween were full of nothing but trepidation and unease. You’d called in sick to work more times than you cared to count (with it being the time of year that colds and viruses were running rampant, no one really could complain about your absence), and your friends and family had questioned your sudden social withdrawal more times than you had fingers on your hands. 

Regardless of how many times they asked you what happened or what was wrong, you dismissed their concerns with lies about you just being sick, seasonal depression, fatigue, and the like - all further from the truth than you’d care for them to know. 

Hiding the fact that you’d met your supposed soulmate was an entirely different story, though; the absolute last thing that you wanted to be public knowledge was the fact that Michael Myers was, apparently, the one you were destined to be with. You had to lie your way through that; pretend that you weren’t aware of what color an object was, or how the sky looked that day. A few friends and relatives of yours had already met their soulmates, so you had no choice but to play stupid and keep up your act of “I have no idea what that’s even remotely like” constantly.

Alone, though, you were a complete wreck. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be a fucking serial killer, of all possible options? And why did it have to be you? You kept yourself up at night, your stomach churning, your body tense with anxiety as you mulled over the shitty fact that you were inevitably going to have to come to terms with the truth. Were you ever going to see him again? Was he going to stalk - and, probably inevitably - kill you now? Surely he had to realize what was up - unless he’d never even learned that that was a thing that happened. Is it why he was following you in the first place, or were you just randomly chosen to be his next victim who so happened to be his soulmate? Regardless of what the truth was, you tore yourself apart mentally while trying to figure out what to do.

Months passed, and you’d managed to bury the event in the back of your mind as best as you could. You’d since gotten used to the color change of your surroundings and playing dumb, and your life was made leagues easier by pretending you’d seen a completely random person that sparked the change as opposed to Michael Myers. It was late, late autumn, and the news was filled with reports about the fact that Myers still had yet to be caught after he managed to escape Smith’s Grove last Halloween. 

You, of course, remained on edge as the holiday grew closer. You refused to walk to or from anything; your funds running low from you constantly filling your car up with gas and dishing out gas money to those who offered to drive you places. Your plan was working as you’d had yet to see any sign of Myers again, and you began to believe that you were in the clear.

At least, until you were met with some mighty unfortunate circumstances on the actual night of Halloween.

It was near 7pm, and you were left shit out of luck for transpiration. You’d forgotten to fill your gas tank up enough to get you both to and from work, and a coworker was generous enough to offer you a two-way ride - until they informed you that there was a family emergency and they had to dip early. Of course, you were more concerned about their situation than you were for your own, but you couldn’t help but dread your walk home. Dread it or not, life was unfair and you had no choice but to take it. 

Much to your relief, though, you’d made it home with absolutely no issue - in fact, the walk wasn’t bad at all. The atmosphere was the exact opposite of how it was last year (which made sense considering it was Halloween and not the night before) - the town full of laughter and shouts from the children and teens running around in costumes, the streets illuminated by the soft orange and yellow lights that were emitted from the countless jack o’lanterns and decorative lights that the houses were adorned with. You’d been setting your keys and belongings down on the counter while you debated on dressing up and calling up a few friends to go out with when you glanced out the window and about had a heart attack. 

Your back yard wasn’t exactly large or anything, but it melded into the yard of your neighbors and as a result was quite full of trees and coverage. Towards the back of your yard, near the shabby fence that existed to block your house off from some creepy alleyway, you saw him. You almost laughed; for a brief second you thought you’d spotted some teen or adult just trying to play a prank, but the fact that it would’ve been quite a fucking coincidence that they ended up in your yard of all else’s threw that thought right out of your head. 

There was no hesitation from you as you sprinted from the kitchen, down the hallway of your house, straight into your bedroom - just like the idiots in horror movies that you always made fun of. You made a reach for your back pocket to pull your phone out so you could phone the police - only to realize that in your daze of fear you’d forgotten to grab it off the counter. Upon remembering that, the realization that you’d forgotten to lock the door you’d come in hit you like a truck as well, and you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning out of both fear and annoyance.

Turn the lights off! Hide! Quickly!

You didn’t bother with flipping the switch on your lamp, and instead opted to just yank the cord straight from the wall, resulting in sparks. Hastily, you clambered over your bed and down into the small space between it and the wall so you could hide under the less-obvious side of the bed. 

You’d made that move just in time, seeing as the second you settled into your spot, the door of your room creaked open. 

Your mouth clamped shut, your hand flying up to cover it in attempt to muffle any noise you may inadvertently make out of fear. Your breath remained caught in your throat as you laid there silently, listening to the floor creak under the weight of Michael as he crept through your room. Your eyes were burning from a combination tears and the fact that you refused to shut them, instead staring out towards the dark wall that was directly across from you. 

It felt like hours had passed once the sound of his heavy footfalls faded into another part of your house, and you took that as the opportunity to wiggle yourself out from your spot so you could - hopefully - manage to stealthily pry open your bedroom window and get out through it. Your movements were awkward as you tried to be as fast as as humanly possible while simultaneously staying quiet, and you were lucky as you’d managed to get the window open wide enough that you could probably shove yourself through it you did it the right away. 

Before you had the opportunity to even stoop down and plan how you’d climb through it, you were yanked back from your spot and straight into a tall, solid mass while a hand clamped itself over your mouth to muffle your scream. Before you could think of anything better to do, you opened your mouth and bit down on his hand hard enough that he pulled it back, and you took advantage of the lapse in his grip to give his stomach a solid elbowing and broke free from his arms, turning around and sprinting out of your room, down the hallway. 

But alas, you were far from from being graceful while in a state of distress and your foot caught on the edge of your living room carpet, causing you to trip forward and tumble to a stop awkwardly on your stomach. You scrambled to your feet, taking about a hundred glances over your shoulder as you watched Michael leave your room, his stance tense as he slowly closed the gap between the two of you. While the hallway was dark, the lighting in your kitchen and living room were enough to illuminate it just enough to cast shadows on him and the eerie lighting did absolutely nothing to improve the situation. 

Michael was right in front of you by the time you fully regained your balance, and you were trapped between him and the small wall that sectioned the kitchen off from the living room. Your voice was caught in your throat, not even as much of a whimper could be heard as you stood before him, staring up at him with eyes wide with fear and tears. Any attempt to speak was met with choked sobs and stutters from you, and when he made a slight movement towards you you recoiled so hard you’d almost tripped backwards into the wall. 

When he made a reach for you with his hand, you’d finally been able to force yourself to speak. 

“W-wait!” It came out much more aggressively than you’d intended for it to, but it would have to do. When he didn’t make another motion towards you, you took that as the opportunity to swallow your fear and actually confront him. 

“What do you want?” The obligatory question that anyone being stalked by a serial killer is legally required to ask, despite there being no use for it. It’s not like he’d answer you anyway. “We can figure this out - you don’t have to kill me or anything like that, please..” 

Now really wasn’t the time to try and reason with him, seeing as he was probably about to make you his next victim, but what other choice did you have? Running wouldn’t get you very far, and you had no doubt that he’d find you soon enough. 

You noticed the ever so slight droop of his shoulders, his posture relaxing marginally - a good sign, you hoped, and continued to speak.

“Did you see it too?” It came out more like a whisper than anything, but it was loud enough that he heard it as indicated by the tilt of his head. Whether that was a yes or a no you weren’t sure, but the fact that he hadn’t attempted to kill you yet was relieving. You were still absolutely petrified, though, and when he took a step closer to you, you instinctively threw your hand up to try and put some sort of futile shield between the two of you. 

“Please don’t -” your plea for mercy was cut short by a sudden grip around your wrist, accompanied by a sharp tug which pulled you almost right up against him. Your efforts at pushing against him were fruitless, but before you could start screaming for help, his other hand quickly returned to press against your mouth, effectively silencing you. Fear induced tears welled in your eyes as you realized that with how pressing his hand was you wouldn’t be able to rely on your bite to free you this time, and as you were about to give up and just let him end your life, you noticed the ever so slight shake of his head- “no”. 

Of course it wasn’t actually spoken by him, but it was as if he was able to read your mind and was answering. No, he wasn’t going to harm you. No, he wasn’t going to kill you. No, there was no reason for you to scream and cry for help. 

While every nerve in your body screamed no, no, no!, you slowly brought your free hand to his that was covering your mouth, and much to your surprise, he put up no resistance when you moved it away. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

———————————————————————————————————–

Freddy Krueger:

You’d about mastered the art of waking yourself up every time you felt yourself dozing off. After countless nights spent awake, drinking copious amounts of coffee and soda and busying yourself with literally anything you could get your hands on, the urge to sleep was becoming far too much to resist and once you began experiencing minor hallucinations you’d decided that enough was enough and you needed to do something about it. 

First you started setting alarms for every 90 minutes so you wouldn’t get into a REM cycle and dream - but eventually you worried that Freddy would be able to actually pull you into dreams at will, and so the alarms were then set for 20 minute intervals instead. While that worked for a bit, eventually you began to find the call of sleep entirely too alluring and accepted the fact that sooner or later, you’d succumb. 

In the nights spent awake, part of your time was dedicated to figuring out just what the hell you were supposed to do when the inevitable happened. You had no doubt that once you fell asleep and began dreaming that Freddy would be waiting for you, and not knowing what exactly was going to happen only worked to make your apprehension worse. Would he kill you immediately? Would he toy with you, then kill you? Did he even give half a shit about the whole soulmate ordeal? The last words he’d spoken to you - “Gotcha” - indicated that he was aware of what was going on - but didn’t he already have a soulmate? Didn’t he used to have a wife? That’s what everyone said about him. Unless, her death had turned his world back to black and white again, or she wasn’t actually his soulmate.

Christ, none of it made sense.

A friend of yours, Nancy, caught on to what was going on after you’d showed up to class late one day, the dark circles and sullen look on your face giving everything away. While you didn’t tell her the extent of what was going on, you just clued her in that you were struggling with some serious nightmares that were making it hard for you to sleep, and it was really beginning to take a toll on you both mentally and physically.

Nancy, though, like the angel she was, let you in on a small not-so-secret; a new drug that’s come to the market that her own somnologist and psychiatrist prescribed her, an experimental sedative called Hypnocil that could suppress your dreams. You swore you could hear the chorus of angels singing when she told you about it, and you wasted absolutely no time in asking her how you could get your hands on some. 

Life wasn’t fair, though, and turns out it was incredibly rare for a doctor to even mention it to a patient. Upon seeing the look of distress plaster itself onto your face, Nancy leaned in a bit closer to you and whispered a little something to you:

“As long as you don’t tell anyone… I don’t mind giving you a few.” 

It’s not like they’re a controlled substance, right? And it was only a few - a week at most, no one needed to know.

And so it was done, and you were back to sleeping almost-normally in no time. One pill, by mouth, once a day 20 minutes before bedtime, and you were set - and it was working! You had no nightmares, no dreams even, and you no longer dread nighttime and sleep. Despite the relief of finally being able to get a good night’s rest, worry was gnawing at the back of your mind about how eventually you’d run out of Hypnocil, and how it would be unfair of you to assume Nancy would fork over her own personal medication for your use. 

That was a worry for another time, though, and you wasted no time in pushing it to the back of your mind. You’d cross that bridge when you got to that.

———————————————————————————————————–

You’d always complained about how it felt like time was flying by entirely too fast, and now was certainly no exception. Almost a week later, you’d been completely out of Hypnocil and left on your own, left to defend yourself. You’d about had a panic attack that last night once you realized the baggy of small blue pills was empty, and just like that you found yourself dreading sleep again.

You knew Freddy would be waiting for you - you had absolutely no doubt about it, and you weren’t ready to return to your old ways - you were just starting to feel rested again! You were debating on calling around to any offices you could - doctors, psychiatrists, somnologists, anyone - to try and get some sort of help - but how would you even explain what was going on? They’d probably think you were delusional if you called, begging for a medication that was new on the market while claiming that you were being stalked in your dreams. 

Night came quickly, and you’d tried to prepare yourself. Alarms set to be as loud as possible at 20 minute intervals were lined up, and every time you’d wake up you’d stand up and do jumping jacks to get the blood flowing and wake yourself back up enough so that you wouldn’t immediately fall back asleep. As you laid there in bed gazing at the dimmed lamp on your desk, you found yourself hoping, praying, that in the unfortunate circumstance that you met Freddy again, your, most likely inevitable, death would be swift. A small part of you wondered if you’d even see him again, and as you dozed off you wished for that to be the reality.

It wasn’t.

As soon as your eyes closed, it became evident that your body had had absolutely enough of you depriving it of sleep, and you slept through three of your alarms, slipping into dreams with ease. The first handful were pleasant; warm memories, weird happenings, nothing out of the ordinary. As the night went on, though, your dreams began to change. Things were out of place, things weren’t right. The new colors weren’t right - people sounded different, looked different. You found yourself wandering down the hallway to your small bathroom, probably planning to get water or something, but once you entered it, the smell of rust and blood hit you like a truck.

You were back in the boiler room, and the raucous cackle echoing throughout the corridor scared you enough that you whimpered. 

You turned around, reaching for the doorknob of the bathroom only to realize that the door was gone, and the once off-white wall of your bathroom was now a chipped, brick wall that was hot to the touch. 

You also noticed the lack of any pipes around  - your go-to method of escape by burning yourself wouldn’t work this time, it seemed.

His laugh was closer this time, and you knew deep down that he liked to see you scared. That was part of his whole shtick, right? Nightmares, scaring people - it was what he liked, and he enjoyed seeing you terrified.

“Nowhere to run now.” 

His voice was deep, gravelly, and as unpleasant as you’d imagined it would be. Your eyes were locked onto his bladed hand, and you couldn’t stop imagining how cold and sharp they’d undoubtedly feel piercing your stomach or slitting your throat. He seemed to take notice of this, and raised his gloved hand up so you could get a better look at it, waggling his fingers in a way that caused the blades to scrape against each other. 

Before you could stop yourself, you found yourself blurting out the only thing you could think of.

“Those knives are pretty big - are they supposed to be compensating for something?” It was your turn to taunt him, and much to your surprise it seemed to… entertain him? 

Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut and couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his gloved hands. You were waiting for him to shove them into your abdomen, and you felt your eyes water as you couldn’t pull yourself from your spot to run. 

The way he cackled in response sent chills down your spine, and you found yourself equally as uncomfortable with the situation as you were afraid. He took a few more steps towards you, leering up at you from under his worn out fedora as he closed what little space there was in between the two of you. You, in response, pressed yourself back up against the wall as much as you could to try and gain more space, but that proved to be absolutely fruitless as he practically stood up against you. Though he was on the shorter side for most men, he stood taller than you, and as a result you were forced to stare at the tattered material of his sweater - something he didn’t seem all too pleased with as soon you felt the cold metal of his blades push lightly under your chin hard enough to force you to look up at him without actually drawing blood. 

“You aren’t stupid, so quit acting like it.” His voice trailed off as he spoke, one of the blades brushing against your cheek as his eyes bore into your own. You could feel his breath on your face as you stood there, frozen with fear. Why wasn’t he killing you? 

“It… It’s all color now.” You all but whispered, your brain completely failing in the department that served to produce complete, intelligent sentences, thus leaving you with such a vague statement. You really had no clue what else to say other than stating what was blatantly obvious, hoping that he’d have at least some idea of what was going on.

A sneer crossed his face as you gathered the courage to reach up and push his hand away from your face. “That’s more like it.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

He spoke up again, his voice cutting yours off before you could even open your mouth to speak. 

“I’ve got no desire to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna.. let you go again. I’ve got you right where I want you,” He said as his gloved hand found it’s way to your neck, his palm pressing lightly against your throat as the blades brushed along your jawline. “- and I’m not about to just let you leave easily.” He punctuated his words with a short flick of a blade, just enough to scratch your skin ever so slightly. 

“We’ve got something to talk about, and now that I’ve got you, I want to have some fun.” 

You had a feeling you wouldn’t be waking up any time soon. 

#request #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger #freddy krueger x reader

[thisgirlhastales]

Simon and Baz Carrying On, like Wayward Sons ...

I’m here to write more about Wayward Son because @apostrophe-philosophy got me thinking with the wonderful additions made to my first lengthy post about it :)

Honestly, I’m loving the book more upon reflection, though I still have my same issues with it. I think the initial shock of the cliff-hanger had to die down for me (though, again, still have some things that irked me about said cliff-hanger). I’ve got more ranting to do, so, ah, here we go again, and warnings for spoilers beneath the cut!

Apologies for any repetition but this is mostly a ramble with less organization than my previous semi-essay post, and a little more in-depth on the characters, I think.

Carry On, as @apostrophe-philosophy stated so wonderfully, is a book that shook up all those tropes we know and love (when they’re executed well) of the Chosen One narrative, and I was so very pleased that Wayward Son kept that going — in fact, were Carry On the typical Chosen One type story, we would never have gotten a sequel because all’s well that ends well, right? (See: HP Epilogue).

But Wayward Son didn’t feel like a sequel to me, so much as … letting the cameras roll after the movie is over? (Er, assuming the characters are real people, so forgive my crap analogy.) We see how very broken these people are despite (or because of) their victory. We see that there are years of healing ahead of them, assuming they can even come to terms with all the things they’ve done and seen. It’s very much a life goes on and on story; as in, life doesn’t stop after a narrative goal or milestone are achieved. It just goes. On. Without needing permission. It is relentless.

And it doesn’t care if you can’t keep up.

Which is what I believe is happening to Simon, Baz, and Penny (and Agatha, to an extent, though she really feels like she has her shit together way more than the others do, and who’d a thunk?).

Simon Snow, Former Chosen One, Saviour of Watford and Conqueror (?) of the Insidious Humdrum, Now Retired and Mage-Less

Ooof, let’s start with the guy whom the series is named after, because oh Simon. My dude, your problems are as vast and deep as an ocean, and I feel like you never really learned how to swim properly ‘cause your mentor/father-figure (who was your actual father, and won’t that be an agonizing reveal?) really messed you up by nearly drowning you repeatedly. Metaphorically. Or literally?

Simon Snow was neglected in many ways as an orphan child growing up, moved around and ignored, until he met the Mage. Then he gets a huge destiny shoved upon him, and he’s taught how to fight with a sword and with magic, although, ah, the latter he really sucks at because for all his immense power, he lacks control. Many, many near-death experiences later, and he’s finally hit a point where everything he came to know as his reality crumbles beneath him because the Big Evil he’s fighting is a piece of himself (nice bit of trope subversion), and he has to figure out what the hell to do with it … Oh, right, fill in that hole and give up all his magic, the thing that saved him. And incidentally, the way this happens is that he witnesses the death of one of his closest friends/older mentor figures, and the Mage is the one who did it. Furthermore, the Mage refuses to accept reality, i.e. that Simon needs to give up the power, not give it to someone else (him). Penny and Simon inadvertently kill him … And it hurts me when, after Simon begs Stop hurting me! as a magic spell, that Penny has to tell Simon that the reason the Mage died is because the magic dealt the final judgement — the only way the Mage would be able to stop hurting Simon is if he were dead.

Simon is gonna have to contemplate that crap for a while … But we don’t see too much of it in Wayward Son because Simon is a disaster (but “still so lovely” as Baz says) who won’t think too hard about why he’s such a disaster — he’ll just torment himself over it, and thus break all our hearts (and Baz’s) …

As @apostrophe-philosophy delightfully stated, what seems like a happy ending “can very well feel empty when your mental state is in fucking shambles.” And, yeah. I think Simon’s lost magic and resulting lack of direction in life are part of why he’s so depressed and feeling “worthless” now (although, he is not worthless). The other reasons are all the myriad ways in which his childhood did not prepare him for life, and in fact, damaged him in several ways (thanks for nothing, Mage). It’s all hitting at once. I’m sorry, Simon.

What we do see in Wayward Son is that he still reflects on the Mage somewhat fondly. He can never forget everything he was taught, particularly when he still uses it to keep himself and his friends alive. He switches back into soldier mode so easily (Baz notices, realizes what Simon’s life must have been like while the Mage had him under his thumb). Simon in the United States is a Simon who plunges headfirst into adventure and the unexpected and the good fight, but not into anything that involves speaking to Baz and/or Penny. Good grief, please, Simon.

I was okay with other aspects of his journey being hinted at — curious and excited to see how it all plays out. @apostrophe-philosophy, you mentioned that water spirit recognizing him? So interested to see where that goes! The fact that Simon impacted magic all the way around the world? Does this mean he touched every corner of the globe with his explosions? With the Insidious Humdrum? How many more creatures know of him? Is he kinda part dragon now? He “gave back more” than he took? What? How? What?!

All of that is left for another book, and I’m cool with that. Less cool with other things being left hanging …

Simon is loved so profoundly by Baz and Penny, but that alone cannot fix him — it can keep him afloat at times, but those underlying issues are not going away because he has an awesome boyfriend and best friend. It is so damn gratifying to read a magical adventure tale that actually acknowledges this. I don’t mind my fluff when I can get it, but Carry On wasn’t about that life, and it would’ve felt disingenuous if Wayward Son was … but it wasn’t, so yes.

I agree with you, @apostrophe-philosophy, when you say that Wayward Son feels more mature. It’s not just that these characters are now “growing up” and trying to figure themselves out — it’s that they’re all such huge damn messes (love it), and that they’re mad at themselves (and sometimes each other) for not having their shit together. Mostly they’re angry at themselves and despairing of each other. And if that ain’t adult life, y’all … Geez.

“Yes, Carry On was full of life and magic. Wayward Son is, in the words of the humdrum, what’s left when you are done.” Well said, honey!

Ah, there are so many ways that Simon broke me — when he talks about how easy it is to kiss Baz, but being kissed  “suffocates” him? It felt like he couldn’t stand the loss of control again — it’s allowing something to happen to you, it’s revealing in ways you can’t control, which is the story of his entire life. When he and Baz are kissing in the aftermath of battle, when Simon feels the most like himself, when he doesn’t care and he’s just overjoyed to be awesome and alive and with Baz — he’s all over his boyfriend and loving both sides of that intimacy (that he initiates). But when that isn’t the case, when he’s back in that negative headspace, back to depression and anxiety and all the consequences that the Mage wrought … He needs control, and kissing is easier than being kissed. Easier than allowing yet another thing happen to him, being vulnerable and seen in his vulernability, particularly with Baz, who knows him and can see past his defences.

(The great irony, of course, is that Baz actually can’t see what’s going on with Simon. It’s entirely in Simon’s head, holy crap, boys, fucking talk to each other.)

That part where Penny thinks about Simon: “I don’t really care if you feel crazy—because crazy isn’t dead.” That part where Simon has to compromise his Mage-taught morals to fight with vampires against other vampires and he has to keep rationalizing why being in love with Baz is okay, and the proper ways to rescue people because that’s all he did as a child soldier in the Mage’s army, and as Baz has said about the Mage — may he rest in pain for so thoroughly fucking with Simon’s head when he was a child and in awe of him and just … gah. Fuck you, Davy.

Simon being ready to die, to live to the last second as the saviour because that’s all he thinks he’s good for — taking one more enemy down for his friends, for Baz … Damn it, Simon. I know he sucks at words, he’s admitted as much himself, but wow, any words would do, Simon. Any.

I live for aftermath, and watching Simon (not) deal is giving me all the feels. He really believes he’s less now that his purpose is fulfilled since he has no magic. And since he has/is less, he feels he should “set Baz free” and all that. He only feels like himself when he’s being a sword-fighting badass, rescuing people, being a soldier (again, fuck you, Davy) — and yeah, he is very skilled, even incredible at that, but that’s not why Baz and Penny love him. Simon, oh Simon. If you would just open your mouth and start talking about all of this, the world of good it would do you …

But, hey, you know who else stressed me out?

Tyrannus Basilton “Baz” Grimm Pitch, Fail Vampire (Except When Kicking Ass), Powerful Pitch Sorcerer, General Posh Representative of UK Mages

Baz, my crappy vampire, my brilliant pyro-mage. You need help as badly as your boyfriend does. Baz’s arc kills me in a different way than Simon’s — everything Simon is dealing with is somewhat expected, and I understand it well. I get what his issues are, and the ways he is (but more often, isn’t, so very much is not) coping with them (and definitely not actually healing from them).

Baz? Oooh man. There were the things I expected — being on the outside, watching Simon slowly go to pieces, feeling completely helpless and lost, not knowing what Simon wants or needs, and that includes whether Simon wants or needs him anymore …

And yes, dealing with striking out on his own, in defiance of his family and all other magical society expectations, which puts him on a rather solitary path (apart from the world he knew — at least he has Simon and Penny, Messes Though They Are).

But the other aspects of himself — as in, his vampire nature and how that plays on his mind? He was suicidal in Carry On because he believed that’s what his mother would have wanted, that the vampires in the UK were so low and beneath him, and he was a Pitch, so how could those pathetic creatures like Nicodemus also be him? I was hoping we would get into all of that that here … and man. Oh man.

How devastating was it to find out that Baz is actually physically unhealthy because he doesn’t feed properly? Because he had no one to teach him how to eat without killing or turning someone? How to eat non-blood food without his fangs showing? When Lamb didn’t quite believe that Baz was twenty, like, legit, he’s twenty, he’s a baby vampire … How small is the world of mages back in the UK? Baz wasn’t even allowed access to the Internet. Good grief, this guy is smart as a whip, but he knows almost nothing and it shows, but it wasn’t until he met the American vampires that it felt painful. I just want him to learn all the things. Simon wants that for him (albeit for reasons that amount to you’re better off without me), and it’s just … Give Baz some true vampire knowledge. Let him feed without killing or turning. Please, cut this boy some slack.

My heart broke to see all the ways Baz was just … missing vital parts of himself. It was killing me to watch him hungrily take in everything Lamb was telling him … He needs something or someone to inform him (who isn’t a raging douchebag like Lamb). There must be some half-decent vampire somewhere who can help. I feel like we’re in for a conflict with his Aunt Fiona, since she’s been vampire hunting this entire while … So, you know, more pain on the way.

I’m sure I’m not the first to say this, but I truly believe we have hints that Baz is more than just vampire or mage. The fact that he aged from when he was bitten, the fact that he can use magic (Nicodemus couldn’t, and we have it confirmed that vampires can’t) … Pretty sure there’s something going on there. He’s a hybrid? He’s a new species entirely? He’s something that NewBlood wants so badly, but they can’t get because it can’t be recreated in a lab?

Baz needs his own long, long period of coming to terms, and then doing something about all those things boiling beneath his skin, because, my dude, you are more than you realize, and that’s not just the vampire stuff I’m referring to, Baz. More than his family’s expectations. More than his magical world. More than Simon’s boyfriend.

Penelope Bunce also gave me feels — “I was never invincible. I was just in the vicinity.” Again, @apostrophe-philosophy, you nailed the issues surrounding her so well: “But Penelope A-Plan-And-Backup-For-Everything Bunce? Hitting the literal end of her rope? Letting us see that she’s perhaps the biggest fraud, who doesn’t know how to fake it till she makes it once her belief in her own abilities has started to waver, because she had never known failure before and is now confronted by it on so many fronts?” Much like you, I am totally on board for her coming into her own, learning from her failures and becoming that much capable and hopefully healthier as a result.

And Agatha Wellbelove, oh, Agatha, realizing that she is magic. That she can’t run from herself, but she can learn — I loved every cynical bit of her in this, but she still had the capacity to realize that she could do something, and she did something, and it was awe-inspiring. It was coated in regret, in self-flagellation of the highest order, and every belief that it would all end in flames, but she did it. Bless her for becoming the saviour of that day.

So we Carry On, Wayward Sons, But There’s No Sign of Peace Yet For When You’re Done?

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: I still feel like the lack of partial resolution to any of the emotional/psychological arcs drives me up the wall.

That being said, upon re-reading a few of my favourite passages/chapters, and re-reading the last quarter of the book … I will say that there’s a touch more resolution than I realized. Particularly for Simon

“It’s time for me to stop pretending that I’m some sort of superhero. I was that—I really was—but I’m not anymore. I don’t belong in the same world as sorcerers and vampires. That’s not my story … I think I’d rather get a job. Earn something for myself. Pay my own rent. It feels good to think about. It feels like—shit, I’m crying. It feels awful, but it feels clean.”

There’s a mess in that realization as well, but there’s also some clarity. No, Simon is not a superhero — nice, good! Also, he can belong with vampires and sorcerers, maybe, (Shepard is proof), but he doesn’t need to be the be-all-end-all hero/soldier of everyone around him, so there’s that realization at least.

But then it gets cut off shortly after (like, a couple of pages), so … I’m sighing big time here.

Baz gets even more heaped onto his shoulders. But I feel like for all he knows that he’s lacking significant knowledge on half of his identity, i.e. being a vampire, he knows that he doesn’t want to be either like NewBlood or like Lamb’s people. So. There’s that.

Penny gets brought low at the start and is … pretty much still there by the end, though saving Agatha is a plus one in her healing column, maybe? But everything else is just … there. It’s a shorter book — there was room to have one or two conversations? About one or two of these many issues? I’m not even saying those conversations had to go well — but at least informing the characters on a few of the problems that we, as the reader, can so clearly see? The plot was interesting, but sometimes it did feel a bit like a contrivance to keep the emotional arcs in suspension. Because they spent so many days on the road together, nights in motels, they were basically almost never apart for a significant amount of time and not once, until the end, did they try to talk out their shit in a real way.

Again, l love this book. I love so many things. I’m cool with cliff-hangers. But I feel like I needed at least partial resolution on a couple of things — a cliff-hanger after we got Simon acknowledging some parts of his issues and speaking them out loud to Baz? Or vice versa? Because they would be able to see each other’s problems more clearly — the misunderstandings might have continued, but along a different vein? Because, the thing is, acknowledging the problems is a thing, yes, but the healing from them part is the bigger, longer, more painful thing, and I feel like it’s just … so much to cover, and I would’ve liked a better grip on that healing process before the next book?

The third book may endear this second book to me further, but as of right now, it doesn’t quite stand alone for me. It feels a tad unfinished. Again, love so many moments in here, love the characters, including our new disaster friend, Shepard, but the book just feels like it cuts off far too abruptly.

But, to quote again from @apostrophe-philosophy: “I really just want a cast of characters who have actual fucking problems they can’t fix with love and friendship alone and to watch them get what they deserve by claiming it of their own accord. Not because it falls into their hands.”

I want that too, so badly. And I think we’re getting it — we definitely got a piece of that, a solid beginning of that in Wayward Son, and I am so, so hoping we get even more (way, way more) in the next book! (Books?)

Whew. And that is where I am stopping! That might be the end of my meta rope for this novel. Man, I love this book, and if anyone made it through this massive post, you’re amazing. Again, many thanks to @apostrophe-philosophy for adding onto to my previous essay with a beautiful and beautifully worded series of thoughts! *hugs* :)

#wayward son #wayward son spoilers #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #penelope bunce #agatha wellbelove #carry on #rainbow rowell #rants and ramblings

[devintrinidad]

Thanks for giving such detailed responses! No need to consider it. I don't see Cancer cell having romantic feelings for 3803. Rather I see him as that person who never outgrew his childish mindest. He's like a kid throwing a suicidal world ending tantrum. He probably can't even comprehend that kind of relationship. Rather he wants to be acknowledged as a cell and receive unconditional kindness. Therefore 3803 is more like a mother figure in his eyes they he constantly wants attention from and-

2 doesn't want to share and feels very needy for. Almost like a psychotic version of a kid with a one child syndrome. He might have an idea that 1146 has a different dynamic with her (for starters 1146 and 3803 have a give and take bond while Cancer cell is all take). And he can't decide of he's happy w/that (she makes 1146 happy) or jealous (of either one). That's probably why I think 3803 would eventually start losing it of she can't do her job. Thankfully for her Cancer cell is also -

3 compelled to go out their and cause mayhem to the world so he'd have to leave her alone. He'd probably like 'don't worry. You can go back to doing your job after I've remade the world in my image. My brethren need your deliveries too'. He's not going to let her go until he's ready to take on the immune system since she'd just alert them right away. It'd be a huge mental struggle for RBC to last as long as she does. Which I like since I like it when 3803's mental fortitude gets highlighted.-

4 She'd escaped on her own when he's gone to fight by sneaking past other cancer cells (or maybe Cancer cell would let her go but warn her she's probably not going to make it. I'm not sure if I've painted him w/that much respect for her though). Eventually she'd get the order to deliver vaccines throughout the body. I'm weak to epic showdowns so I can only see 1146 and Cancer cell coming to blows as is their tradition. Cancer cell dies but he still feels victorious because he's come closer to-

5 destroying the world then he ever has. He got to befriend 3803 and experience her tender nature. He got to break 1146 in a way that, in his pov, moves him closer to what Cancer cell believes about him. Cancer cell knows 1146 is too strong to die and will protect 3803 until he comes back again for another round. He dies smiling. 1146 kills Cancer cell but like you said in this story he's sidelined. 3803 is the one delivers the vaccine that makes it possible for the body to recover and her -

6 survival against all odds gets 1146 out of his heartbreaking breakdown over feeling like he got her killed thanks to Cancer cell targeting her because of him and just not being good enough to save her (lets be real. 1146 is so good at what he does I bet he hardly experiences failure and does not know how to cope well w/it). There are lots of heroes that day. But just like in the 1st Cancer arc. RBC is definitely a major one. But yeah 3803 is loved by both a immune cell and cancer cell. =p

~~~~

I’M SO SORRY THIS IS SO FREAKING LATE AND I HAVE NO EXCUSE THAN LACK OF MOTIVATIONNNNNNN!!!!

AAAAAAAHHHHH!

Okay. I got that out of my system.

Hey, there CAW Anon! 

These are such lovely, well thought out responses. Do you have a tumblr or something? You should start posting your thoughts or something because these are some good scenarios/headcanons. Like, this is really good fanfic material. (I should know, i write fanfic, hahaha!)

Anywhoozles, Cancer Cell in this situation is like a baby throwing a tantrum. Always wanting more and seeing the world of the body with the eyes of someone who doesn’t fully understand. 

He doesn’t understand that his very presence, the very thing that he is, is a hazard to the body. Sure, he can keep 3803 alive and maybe 1146, but what good would that do if the state of the body is afflicted with disease and cancer? It’s selfish of Cancer to want to live in a world where he’s accepted and he’s free to pursue whatever relationships he fancies, but that’s the thing I love about this character the more we talk about him.

He wants to live. 

If this were any other universe, he might have had a chance to live.

But he can’t, yet he still keeps fighting. 

I think that’s why there was so much backlash and discourse when the Cancer Arc still came out just a few years ago. It’s because the way his character is characterized: He’s human. 

And I think that’s what truly sets Cancer apart from other cells, even other cells who happen to act and think a little differently are bound to the thinking that everyone has to be useful and be in use for the body. Whereas, for Cancer, there is no need for Cancer so that makes him think more about living just because he thinks that he should rather than have a significant purpose in the body... other than trying to inadvertently kill said body. 

Like I’ve alluded to before, 1164 and 3803 have mindsets that aren’t as confined as other cells; they’re more malleable and kind than most. 

So yeah, you’ve brought up some really good points for discussion! Again, I’m sorry for the late reply, I hope this is okay!

#cells at work #hataraku saibou #ae-3803 #ae3803 #3803 #u1146 #u-1146 #1146 #caw cancer cell #caw cancer #anon ask #devintrinidad #devin trinidad #devintrinidad author #devin trinidad author