#I am in my mid twenties and each year of lying to myself and others gets harder | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1-800-sope · 3 years

Text

Alphabet boy (m) Part 2.

Pairing: Namjoon X reader

Rating: M

Genre: Tiny bit of yandere lots of angst

Warnings: Aggressive Namjoon, Manipulative Namjoon, Toxic relationship, some tiny slight abuse. !Namjoon is a jerk!

Summary: He was good at everything and wasn’t afraid to remind you of it again.

BTS Masterlist

BTS Melaine Martinez series

Part 1.

it was a new year, new times with new beginnings. to say you were excited for college would be an understatement. you successfully got into the best university out there, but you didn’t get into it alone Namjoon was by your side through the begging and to now.

“Hey, honey.” Namjoon pulled the seat next to you out, placing a kiss on your cheek. “Hi.” You whispered back eyes lighting up at the sight of your boyfriend.

Namjoon smiled at you before pulling out his textbooks.

Honestly, a part of you still couldn’t believe that you were dating Namjoon The Kim Namjoon, your arch nemeses, your childhood best friend/enemy. Nobody would have seen this coming.

But Namjoon did, he was so confident that you would say yes when he asked you out on a date and he had every right to be because you said yes, after mentally freaking out for a good two weeks.

But Jin’s wise words led you to your final decision “You know what they say about hate relationships, it turns into passionate love. Go get that man sis.” and now here you are seven months strong with Kim Namjoon.

The benefits of being his girlfriend were much better than being his enemy. He is a sweetheart to you, so kind that you thought he was mentally sick and almost backed out of the relationship. He also spoils you so much, whatever you want? he gets it for you, oh so your cold and lonely at night? He’s up and on his way to cuddle you, somebody said something not so nice about your outfit? On his way to get them kicked out of the school.

You're Namjoon’s most prized possession, You're his little doll and he will do anything and everything to keep you happy.

but half of you should have known that the past is still there.. that his old ways are still there, his need to remind you that he’s better, smarter, perfect, was still there lying beneath the surface just waiting to show up again.

and sadly it did.

”You know y/n I thought you left your idiotic childish ways back in high school, don’t you think it’s time to grow the fuck up now?” His words hit you like a truck making you stop in your tracks.

today wasn’t a good day, it was a bad day, a very very very bad day for you, and all you wanted all you needed was your loving boyfriend to be with you. he didn’t have to hold you, or stick to you like glue, just being in the same room would be enough for you but that was too much for him.

“Namjoon I just want to spend time with you...why are you being like this?” You were honestly confused everything was fine this morning it was all soft and pretty, you guys went on your every morning coffee date at the cafe before school started, then you walked to school while holding hands kissing each other goodbye when classes started. later you two met up for your library date during break.

has the honeymoon faves ended?

“Because you are so annoying and pathetic and you want attention twenty-four seven y/n!” Namjoon was annoyed he was frustrated about something and he snapped when you walked in the room after he purposely denied all of your calls, he thought you would take the hint and leave him alone for a bit, but you didn’t so now he’s doing the only thing he can do. he’s letting all his anger and frustration out on you.

Namjoon stared at you as your face started to heat up and the tears came to the surface, you thought he would realize what he said was wrong what he was doing was wrong but no he shot more bullets.

“You honestly can’t function without me isn’t that right doll?” He smirked walking towards you as you took a step back avoiding eye contact.

“It’s okay doll, It’s okay that you can’t do anything without me, that you depend on me, that without me you would be absolutely nothing. But right now since I’m being nice let me help you make a wise decision, a very smart one and you being my good girl will listen. alright?”

He brought his hand out patting your head ignoring your flinch.

“Right now you are going to turn back around, leave this room and leave me the fuck alone.” Namjoon grabbed the back of your head yanking your hair making you look up at him in his eyes.

you cried.

This wasn’t your Namjoon, this wasn’t your sweet boyfriend.

this was the monster you hated.

“Well? What are you waiting for? go.” he pushed you forward towards the door making you lose your step but you caught yourself and without looking back you left letting the door slam right behind you.

“Apples aren't an always appropriate apologies”

You came back, you didn’t want to but you had to this was your home too, you were now regretting getting a shared apartment with him.

when you arrived back home it was late, Namjoon was fast asleep on the couch he was waiting for you but fell asleep while doing it all his worrying drained him out.

but you weren’t so easy to forgive someone you never were and Namjoon knew that

that’s why he’s currently crying in front of the guest room door, the room you haven’t left ever since your return.

“Baby, I’m so so so sorry.” Namjoon choked on his tears his hand touching the door an apple in the other.

“I know you are upset with me and you have every right to be, you do. Shit even I’m upset with myself. What I said was wrong what I did was wrong and my anger was no excuse to act that way towards you.”

During his little speech, you shed some tears with the memories of yesterday rushing back to you.

“You are angry with me and that’s okay but please accept this apple. You have to eat y/n.”

“Butterscotch and bubblegum drops are bittersweet to me”

It’s been three days, three days and you still haven’t accepted Namjoon’s apology but you did go back to your shared room and went back to having breakfast lunch, and diner with him, even though you didn’t let him touch you and you only responded with humms and the nod of your head it was still progress

“Here, drink this.” Namjoon handed you the coffee cup. you two were at your lovely cafe on a Monday morning right before classes. You gave a smile as you grabbed your cub and started making your way out of the cafe and towards the school’s building that was down the street.

As Namjoon talked about one of his classes that he was in you took a sip of your coffee

Butterscotch

“And I said that he can’t put those two together because they wouldn’t contrast.” Namjoon chuckled as he grabbed your hand swinging it back and forth a smile on his face looking over at you. “You okay doll?” He asked smile slowly fading. You quickly shook your head a fake smile on your face to ease his worry

you honestly didn’t have time for an upset Namjoon on your hands

you were just so tired.

his smile recovered and he kissed your cheek “good.”

“Well, we are here now, our library date at our usual table at three pm?” Namjoon asked and you nodded. “Good. oh and I picked up some chapstick for you, I know how much you love the cute little flavored ones.”

Namjoon digging in his pocket pulling out a chapstick and it made you forget about the Butterscotch coffee as he placed it in your hand. “Thank you Namjoon.” You smiled not looking down at the Chapstick but up at him.

“No problem, get inside class is about to start.”

A smile was on your face as you walked inside finally taking a look at the chapstick in your hands

you halted in your steps and your smile dropped

Bubblegum.

“You call me a child while you keep counting all your coins”

“Honestly y/n can you just STOP!” Namjoon snapped cutting you off mid-question.

“Stop? stop what Namjoon? What am I doing?” You were so confused his mood did a whole 360 shocking you.

“You are being annoying.” he spoke rubbing his hand on his face expressing his tiredness looking at you with annoyed eyes.

“Annoying? how am I being annoying?” You stood there in front of him holding eye contact with your arms crossed.

Namjoon looked at you like you were stupid

“Really? we’re gonna play that game now are we? The “Let’s ask stupid questions” game?” You took a step back thinking about how this all took a turn for the worse.

You were just sitting in the living room reading your book as Namjoon came out of the bathroom dressed up nicely ready to leave. you asked him where he was going...he ignored you so you asked again and again and again

until he snapped.

“I was no-” He cut you off.

“Yes you were y/n you were being annoying!”

“I was asking a simple question maybe if you didn’t ignore me-”

“God! Why does it matter where I am going huh! Why is it any of your business y/n!”

“Because I’m your fucking girlfriend Kim Namjoon!”

The room went silent

Namjoon laughed

he laughed

“No honey, you are not my girlfriend you are a child because that’s what you are acting like right now.” He said amused with this whole situation while you were now the annoyed one

“I am NOT a child Namjoon!” You cried at your breaking point. It was pathetic really how easily you cried. But you couldn’t help it.

Namjoon stopped he took a deep breath in as he saw your tears. He walked over to you gently placing both of his hands on either side of your face wiping your tears.

“Are you sure about that y/n? because you are crying like one right now.” He chuckled and you were shocked into silence. “Ok, how about this y/n I’m gonna go and you stay home and be a good doll for me? Let’s end this stupid useless conversation.”

“no.”

“No?” Namjoon repeated raising his eyebrow.

You took a step back shaking your head as Namjoon dropped his hands to his side annoyed that you won’t let this end.

“No namjoon I don’t have to listen to anything you say, I am my own person I am not dumb, I am not stupid, And if i don’t want to let shit slide and get over it I won’t.”

“Grate amazing you are finally speaking up for yourself do that at a different time.” He rolled his eyes making you more annoyed more fed up. “Namjoon it seems like you don’t care about my feelings like you never ever cared at all.” You threw your hands up moving away from him now he was the one that was following you around.

“What do you mean I never cared? That’s all I ever did through this whole relationship, I cared for, I looked after you, I helped you. You are just too much of a stupid spoiled brat see that shit.”

“Shut up Namjoon, god can you stop playing the victim card for once.” You snapped back turning on your heels.

“Your seriously acting up after everything i did for you everything I’ve been doing for you? Things your own daddy wouldn’t do for you?”

“But you're not my daddy and I'm not your dolly, I don’t have to listen shit you say anymore and I don’t need you.”

it was silent

dead silent

besides your heavy breathing along with Namjoons

“oh...is that so?” he asked glaring at you.

“Yes...it is so.” You responded back with the same energy.

“Than I guess you should leave?” He crossed his arms staring at you.

“I guess I will.” You chuckled looking away from him.

and that’s how it ended, the passionate love you both had for each other turned back into hate, more hate there than there was before.

Tag List: @minshookie29 @casualminiaturetimemachine @angryperfectionpersona @jinssexytoe @omgsuperstarg @mwitsmejk @earthtoness

A/n: I know that this was so quick to publish but i got so excited with how good part one turned out to be so I couldn’t help myself to write up part two and quickly publish it. I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED ITTT!!! new readers let me know if you want to be apart of the Melaine Martinez tag list series

#namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon fic #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon #namjoon fanfic #namjoon angst #bts angst #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #kim namjoon fic #yandere au

143 notes · View notes

7wanderingpaws · 3 years

Text

Captain Bucheon 04

Warnings: language, suggestive

Word count: 4.6K

story masterlist masterlist

tags: @wooya1224 @to-all-the-stories-i-love @jennxx3 @realllllrica (let me know if you want to be un/tagged)

<-- Previous - Next -->

Fourth: Painful memories

Baekhyun seemed like a distant dream when you awoke the next day. Everything that happened, starting with your obliviousness to his presence at the field all the way to the moment you slapped him and poured your emotions out; they all felt like they never happened.

It was your throat, raw and sore from screaming, that indicated last night happened. You woke up tired, feeling your nose clogged and head heavy. As if constantly haunting you, behind closed eyes you saw his; they were looking at you, troubled and wavering. Baekhyun was at your mercy last night. And you were merciless.

One of the painful memories was exceptionally difficult to erase from your mind. Baekhyun's words, that he uttered one year ago in his office, were haunting you and making you believe that things could have been different if you were not lying to him.

I would have waited for you.

Those words were running around in front of your eyes, each word snaking itself in confusing circles creating slight dizziness. Would he have really waited, though?

Groaning, you turned to your other side spotting Yuyeon’s sleeping figure. She wasn’t in the room when you arrived last night, enabling you to cry to your heart's content, which you did. You cried yourself to sleep and now, here was the result. Swollen eyes, headache and a sore throat.

Your phone that was safely tucked under your pillow gave a short vibration, indicating a message. You were waiting for it; it was the last working day after all. Weekend was coming up and you couldn’t wait to get the necessary free time to do your school work and recover from shouting at Byun Baekhyun.

You checked the text message and you planned your day ahead accordingly.

Unknown number

Parcel delivery for the weekend by Sunday 23:30. Bucheon Christian University main gate’s security house.

You frowned, mulling over the destination. Until now, it was always an apartment building and, with the new found information that the messages could have possible secondary destinations encoded, you grew a little uneasy. If issues occurred, would there be another option to deliver the parcel to?

There was a hustle going on in Baekhyun’s department that day. Several robberies, crimes and attacks and every officer was preoccupied with suffering victims begging for help and justice.

He also had a couple of cases to deal with, yet he kept zoning out. He barely got a wink of sleep and now he needed to be at his best when he would have much rather stayed home and let himself think through stuff. Not that he didn’t have a whole year to think.

“Knock knock, coffee delivery!”

Park Chanyeol, the number one detective and also Baekhyun’s close friend, walked in, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. “What’s up Captain?”

“Thanks,” murmured Baekhyun when Chanyeol handed him the mug. “Any news on the case?” he asked, ignoring his friend’s question completely.

Chanyeol crashed on the chair opposite him with a sigh. “Nope,” he replied. “No solid updates. No leads. The attack was sudden and we can’t seem to find a trace of the target.”

Baekhyun sighed. “Two young women have been attacked so far. They were in their mid-twenties.”

“Actually, both of them were in their final year of university,” added Chanyeol with a serious tone.

“That could be a solid lead,” murmured Baekhyun even though his mind was wandering off again. He was quick to zone out on his friend who continued describing the crime scenes, thinking out loud but Baekhyun was already on a completely different page.

You were just seventeen… and he was so heartless. He could vividly remember the actual happenings in his office. He was sitting just where he was seated now, behind his big table full of paperwork and computer while you were becoming smaller and smaller under his smoldering gaze.

Baekhyun was extremely mad that day. He couldn’t remember the last time he was that mad. Not even the forever annoying Siamsa could annoy him to those bits and he was slowly realizing that it must have been because he liked you much more than he had let himself believe. You betraying his trust, seeing him as a fool and doing stupid stuff behind his back were the exact things he despised in humans. Yet, you did all of them. And one year later, here he was, with you on his mind.

He cringed inwardly when he remembered the harsh words he told you.

You were stupid enough to get caught.

You can be goddamn sure I wouldn’t talk to a KID.

It was a grave mistake to talk to you.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, not even catching Chanyeol abruptly stopping his talk. Baekhyun was way too brutal with you. He groaned out loud when he remembered another horrible thing he said. I’m breaking up with you if it wasn’t obvious enough. Plus, I’m arresting you…

“Are you okay? You really seem out of it today.” Chanyeol seemed concerned and even a little perplexed as Baekhyun rarely showed this kind of behavior in front him, let alone showing it at his workplace. In the office, Baekhyun was the one to be scared of, to be respected and bowed to. This Baekhyun seemed like if Chanyeol pushed him with his finger, he'd crumble.

“I'm fine,” muttered back the captain with a throaty voice.

Chanyeol pursed his lips, unsure how to ask what had been on his mind since he entered the office. Instead of wanting to deal with a serious talk, a cheeky glint lit up in his eyes. “Perhaps you met her again?”

“Her?” Baekhyun frowned with a down-ward tilt on his lips.

Chanyeol wiggled his eyebrows as he stretched on the chair. “You know who!” he took a breath and with his deep voice, started to sing:

She looked incredible Just turned 17 I guess my friends are right She's out of my league So what am I to do? She's too good to be true

Baekhyun couldn't help himself when he heard the lyrics his friend correlated with you. They couldn't have been more accurate and despite him being in a bad mood, the idea made him laugh under his nose as he looked on the floor. “Actually, I did. And I got slapped,” he revealed somehow proudly as he let himself sit on his chair, enjoying the astonished look on Chanyeol's face.

“No way!” he straightened up in his seat, leaning forward so he could get a better look at his friend. “She slapped you? Damn, this girl is feisty. She keeps beating up our captain!” he laughed out loud, consumed by the images of you, the young woman in her late teenage years, slapping someone of Baekhyun's calibre.

“Yeah, well, she's always been fearless.” he shrugged, frowning out of a sudden. “I screwed that girl up pretty badly, Chan, but that's no news.”

Chanyeol went quiet for a minute, fully aware of Baekhyun's emotions and the way the past events had been eating him up. “How is she doing these days?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “I guess well? She's lost some weight, but,” he sighed and proceeded to talk about the event that he witnessed with the boys sexually harassing you.

“The kids these days can't keep it in their pants,” cackled Chanyeol in disbelief but Baekhyun was far from entertained. His jaw was locked, the skin pulsing with tension at the mere idea of last night.

“If they ever as much as think about her I swear to god-”

“Whoa, hold on, Baek. You know you can't just get involved.”

“What do you mean I can't just get involved? They were harassing her, and I'm a cop.”

“I think your rage is more fueled because it's about Nari. As much as you seek justice, you shouldn't let your emotions take the better out of you. Besides, people might get suspicious-”

“Chanyeol, what the fuck?” snapped Baekhyun angrily. “If she were any woman I'd do the same.”

“You would not punch in order to protect just any woman.”

“Yes, I would-”

“No, you would do the smart talk and intimidate them with your power and authority. But you punched the kid, Baek.”

Baekhyun sighed in agitation, his hand coming yet again up to his face, tiredly rubbing at the skin. “So what should I have done? I myself am confused about my emotions but I know I care about her a lot.”

“Of course you care about her. You drank straight up one month after she found out about your fake boyfriend identity and you broke up.”

Baekhyun rolled his eyes, hating the way Chanyeol was so blunt with his words. “Either way, she still hates me.”

“Would you fight for her if she ever gave you a chance?” asked Chanyeol quietly, his fingers nipping at his lower lip in thought.

Baekhyun opened his mouth, ready to answer way too quickly before he stopped himself. He was frozen when he realized the answer that so naturally came to him. Would he fight for you if you ever decided to build the bridges again? He definitely would have one year ago when he came to your high school to see you.

“You're hesitating,” stated Chanyeol and pursed his lips. “I think you're scared, too, captain.”

Baekhyun scoffed but Chanyeol cut him off: “You would hate losing her again. And she is a fragile kid, scarred by everything that happened to her. She could be even more vulnerable with you. Remember that.”

“Where are you going?” asked Yuyeon, confused, when you were putting on your black jeans and a black hoodie. The helmet for the scooter was already tucked under your arm, ready to leave for the Saturday night. Time was ticking in your brain and you grew quite anxious about possible bad outcomes of this delivery if you wouldn't leave right away.

“Work,” you shrugged, “will get this done and then I will be free,” you smiled, a little strained but Yuyeon only gave you a suspicious side glance.

“You never work on the weekends! This employer is already playing with you and telling you to work even when it's not your official hours,” she frowned deeply, looking like a sulking child.

You sighed and suppressed the need to roll your eyes. “Okay, mum, I'll be back in time, no worries.”

“You better be! I won't fuss about wanting to go to a club when you're oh so busy.”

“I promise we can go next Friday!” you shouted, opening the door to put on your shoes.

She grumbled in response and you laughed to yourself, slamming the doors behind you when you slid your feet into your boots. Making sure they were tied well, you rushed out into the chilly evening, making your way to the mini-scooter Chul borrowed you so you could get the job done easier.

Bucheon Christian University was a little further away from your campus, so you made sure you followed the map carefully once you got the box from the apartment you usually got it from. The apartment itself was a high-rise, family friendly building and, just like the previous times, this box was also very light in your arms despite it being a little bigger. You had a spare rope under the seat of the scooter, so you tied it securely so it wouldn't fall when you had it between your feet.

As you were reaching the destination, you realized your palms were becoming more sweaty. Your heartbeat, usually quiet, was now gently beating in your ears, letting you know the stress levels were rising.

“You arrived at your destination,” said the GPS when you passed a big entrance that was leading into a small campus with white buildings that seemed too out of the place. Wanting to get the job done quickly, you searched with eager eyes for a little building that would be the security office, getting off the scooter and untying the delivery.

Seeing a box-like metal security office for the car park barrier you swallowed harshly, walking up to it. There were no signs of life inside, the lights out and the barriers probably working on auto mode. For other people, it must have looked ridiculous - you walking with a bigger box towards the security office but you could only hope no one would see your face which was the reason why you were reluctant to take the helmet off.

You were walking up to what you deemed the correct destination, but you couldn't help the uneasy feeling. There is no need, you insisted in your mind, because this was the correct destination. You would put the box down in front of the doors and just leave. Yes. That was correct.

Despite your weak reassurances, you kept looking around making sure you weren’t missing another spot. Your heartbeat was still gently pumping in your ears, reminding you that this was a little more stressful than the previous outings.

As you reached the doors to the security office, you put the box down more to the side as the doors were directly in front of the road for the cars. Feeling the relief of accomplishing another day of delivery, you turned around and started walking back towards the scooter, the tension slowly but surely easing up. You looked back several times to make sure the box was still there and with that you sat on the scooter and rode away, excited that you didn’t miss out on the night just yet.

If Yuyeon would be up for fun, you could finally go and be reckless!

Baekhyun was about to turn off the lights and call it a night at 9pm when a loud set of knocks disturbed his peace. Thinking it was his friends who wanted to give him a surprise visit, he swiftly opened the door only to be surprised when he spotted a ball of pink.

“The hell are you doing here?” he snapped, not moving to let the uninvited guest in.

Siamsa, or, to Baekhyun, Sooah, rolled her eyes as she stepped closer. “Well, hi to you, handsome. I’ll tell you if you let me in.”

“Well, I don’t want to know,” he replied in an even voice. “So that makes it easier. Bye-“

“Wait!” she exclaimed quickly and made a step in, wanting to prevent him from slamming the door shut in her face. “It’s about your ex.”

He didn’t want to admit it; but his heart jumped at the mention of you. Sooah never cared enough about Baekhyun’s other exes before her. Unfortunately for you, you came after her and Siamsa, the kpop sensation, was not processing it well. “If you’re gonna talk bullshit, I’ll spare myself the time-“

“If you want to protect her, you should listen,” she sing-sang nonchalantly, playing with the ends of her long hair. It was dyed blond and made her seem innocent which she was far from.

“And how would you know what’s up with Nari? You’ve already done so much shit in the past! What makes you think I’ll believe you?”

Sooah shrugged, pretending to be unbothered. “Well, I care about your well-being, Baekhyun. I know you care about her. I know the break-up was brutal. You locked up her brother-“

Baekhyun was fast to grab her by her wrist and yank her inside, quickly kicking the door shut. Sooah had a satisfied smirk on her face when she took in his distressed expression. “How. Do. You. Know. That.”

“Mhmm, so hot,” she whispered with a wink, mocking him. “I always liked how manly you are, my little one-“

“Listen,” he cut her off angrily, the nickname making him shudder inwardly, “I don’t care about your fucking games. I’m way past you and all your stupid shit. But I swear to god, if you do something to Nari-“

“You seem to have luck on girls who do stupid shit,” she mimicked him as she stood closer, making sure her breath fanned his chin. “Nari seems to go from one trouble to another. One day she might as well end up like her brother,” she laughed to herself.

“How do you know about her brother?” he asked again in a low tone, trying hard to ignore the anger he felt whenever she mentioned you.

Sooah pulled a fake thinking face, tapping her slender finger with perfect nail art on her chin. “For starters, don’t underestimate my honesty, Baekhyun. I know more than you think. I really care about you, you know,” she mumbled the last sentence and dared to reach up with her hand, touching his cheek gently. “Me messing up by protecting my identity - you were too harsh with me back then, sweetie.”

Baekhyun sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them and moving his face away from her touch. She was bringing up the past and he didn’t like it; he didn’t want to dive in it. Sooah was a great manipulator and he didn’t want to fall down the guilt rabbit hole when he knew he did the right thing in the past. “We are done with that talk.”

“I was never done with that talk,” she was fast to protest. “You were. I still want you.” When she moved to stand closer to him, Baekhyun quickly stood back and away from her. “Baekhyun!”

“Tell me what you know about Lee Nari and then leave!”

“I want something in return,” she rebutted quickly, even confidently, but the desperation on her face was speaking volumes. “And I’ll tell you all I know.”

He grit his jaw, hard. “I swear to god, Sooah, stop testing me-“

“It’s noona for you,” she murmured with a sharp gaze that kept flickering over his features. He always looked good, but judging from his outfit, she knew he was preparing to sleep. That hoodie would soon be taken off and those plaid pants too. Her mind swirled just at the thought of it.

“We are done with that too—“

“You can’t fight the age difference, baby,” she purred and stepped closer. She enjoyed seeing his internal conflict. Despite being a harsh captain, she knew which buttons to push for him to submit, although she didn’t like that it involved you. She hated that the only way she could talk to Baekhyun was if she mentioned your name.

Baekhyun sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok. Speak. Otherwise I’m throwing you out.”

Sooah burst out into laughter, quickly hiding her laminated teeth and scrunched up nose behind her hand. “You manhandling me wouldn’t be the first time, Captain,” she said in a low, sensual tone as she trailed her long fingernail over his chest. She could have sworn it was more toned than the last time she had the pleasure of touching it. “And you know how much I like it.” When she saw him closing his eyes in exasperation, she trailed the finger upwards to his prominent collarbones before she took the side of his neck in her palm, running her thumb over the pulse point. “God, I miss you so much. Like, so, so much, my sweetie.” She knew she was testing the limits. She also knew an angry Baekhyun was anything but good news. She refused to spare him, though. “Your girlfriend is a bad girl. She’ll easily become a criminal if she continues doing the bad stuff.”

Baekhyun snapped his eyes open. “Is she up to something these days?” he asked almost breathily.

Her fingers traveled to the nape of his neck and she buried them in the hair, lightly scratching at the skin. Baekhyun was fighting the shuddering feeling, hoping his body wouldn’t betray him.

“Oh, yes. When isn’t she up to something,” she mumbled thoughtfully, her hawk eyes taking note of Baekhyun’s slight blush. He was getting affected with her ministrations and she stepped closer to him. He didn’t move away.

“What is it?” he hummed when her other hand massages his chest in small circles. “What is it that she is doing?”

Sooah had a mischievous glint in her eyes as she bit her bottom lip in triumph. “Give me a kiss and I’ll tell you-“

“No games!” snapped Baekhyun angrily, his eyes stormy as he glared at her.

“Then you won’t find out!”

“Sooah!”

“Just a magic word and a little kiss is all I want, sweetie,” she whispered, enjoying his intent stare on her. “I promise that’s all I will want and you get to access all you need to know.”

“No,” he shook his head resolutely. “I don’t care.”

“You care so fucking much about her,” it was her turn to spit now, gradually getting infuriated with his reluctance to submit to her. “Or do you want me to, perhaps…” she trailed off, puckering her lips, feigning thinking, “tell everyone in her school you dated her as an underaged kid?”

That was it for Baekhyun. Something snapped within him and he made a threatening step towards his ex, who didn’t even budge at his abruptness. “I dare you to say a single word that would harm her reputation, Sooah. I dare you to. She already went through so much shit because of me and her family.”

Sooah was smirking as she watched the captain's troubled, but hard face. It hurt her, but she wasn’t the most emotionally literate person; she was selfish and sometimes enjoyed suffering of others. That was how a very bad product of the entertainment industry looked like. Whether she would admit it was questionable. Sooah would never give Baekhyun up when her emotions for him were so deep, when the man was desirable so much. It was always a given that he was a one of a kind man and she always wanted everything that was one of a kind.

“What a good man you are, Byun Baekhyun,” she hummed, her eyes focused on his lips. “Caring about a child so much. A child who lied to you from the very first start.”

“Whatever the hell you are trying to do here, leave it,” gritted Baekhyun eventually. “And tell me what she is up to.”

“I already told you what’s the price!” she whined, making Baekhyun frown. “A kiss. On the lips.” With her finger, she tapped her lower lip, excitement cursing through her when she saw Baekhyun eyeing her mouth. “And then the secrets are all yours.”

It was tempting; not the kiss, but the reward. Baekhyun’s mind was racing with possibilities, with outcomes. Then he became worried. He knew how twisted Sooah could be, and were she to talk in front of your school about your relationship, you’d most probably never forgive him for letting it happen and he himself would be in huge trouble. Maybe that thought was even stronger than his need to know whether you were in trouble or not.

To make Baekhyun’s pondering a little easier, Sooah boldly pressed her palm against his toned stomach, the muscles instantly flexing upon her intrusive touch. Sooah knew Baekhyun was a very sensitive man; a single tingle on his neck could turn him on, the lightest of scratches could make him stand up proud. She knew he had to be affected by her minimal ministrations. She knew him perfectly. Touching up the ridges around the muscles, she let her hand slide lower to his abdomen before reaching to cup his—

Baekhyun slapped her hand away with a growl and pressed her against the door. “One fucking kiss and you’ll spill everything,” he breathed. She couldn’t even react before he pressed his lips harshly against hers, the texture of her lip gloss attaching to his lips. Sooah groaned, arms instantly hugging his neck. Her long finger nails scratched his nape and Baekhyun’s will was becoming weaker.

The familiar scent of her strong, sweet perfume wafted over his senses, reminding him that this was not the woman he cared about anymore. Her eager tongue pushed his lips apart and was fast to battle with his own. The way she kissed him was nothing but desperate, needy, a call for attention. He hated it. The last time he kissed a woman— a girl was a year ago and her lips were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Despite her being brave with him, her kisses were shy, careful, kitten-like and Baekhyun accidentally groaned at the thought of that.

He pressed his lips harsher against this woman’s while imaging an innocent girl behind his eyelids. His hands were pressed against the door but he wanted to touch so bad. He only got to touch her once and not the way he would have liked, and now he had to fight the urge to let his hands slide around the curves, to outline her behind while her chest would be pressed against his.

He was quickly reminded that the body pressing against him was indeed not Lee Nari. Sooah had a slim physique with a flat chest and a big space between her thighs. He loved it once, but not anymore.

Before Sooah could cup his private part again he broke the kiss, desperately needing some air and needing to snap out of his deep fantasy. Blinking several times, he got to see the face that went through so many changes with plastic surgery and when she smiled at him with swollen lips, he realized how unreal this woman was. Unreal and unfaithful.

“What is Lee Nari doing ?” he breathed, the question coming out in a low murmur, his lips visibly swollen.

The spark that was in Sooah’s eyes left, quickly interchanged with hate and betrayal. “Is this what you ask me right after you kissed me?” she shrieked, causing Baekhyun to flinch. “You just had your tongue in my mouth and you dare to say a little girl’s name afterwards?”

Sooah wasn't wrong about you being a little girl. She was older by fourteen years after all; she saw you as a complete kid. Which made Sooah feel even more devastated and enraged; Baekhyun dated someone so incredibly young, half of her age. It made her feel like she couldn't compare.

“I’m not going to ask you any more. You got what you wanted. Get out of my flat if you don’t do anything useful,” replied Baekhuyn with a hard glare.

“She is delivering drugs,” snapped Sooah and Baekhyun was shocked to find tears in her eyes as she spoke. “That’s who she is now, Baekhyun. She is delivering illegal stuff on a scooter and she doesn’t even have a driving license.”

It felt like someone poured a scorching hot water over him. You and drugs? And you didn’t have a driving license while driving a vehicle? So many thoughts raced through his mind, so many questions left unanswered. What the hell were you up to? “And you know this how?”

Sooah shrugged. “None of your damn business.”

“It is if it involves Nari.”

Sooah scoffed mockingly. “Then sleep with me.”

“You need help, Sooah,” replied Baekhyun somehow compassionately after a moment of silence. Taking the singer’s arm in his, he turned her and opened the door so he could push her out to the corridor. “And immediately. You’re sick in your head. Treat your obsession and then we can still be friends maybe.”

“You’re a heartless bastard, Baekhyun,” whispered Sooah, not turning around. “You better watch out for the university festival. Your girlfriend will be my puppet.”

She started walking with purposeful steps towards the elevator, not looking back and not noticing the way Baekhyun’s face fell with dread.

But the girl had been hurt enough.

><><><><><><><><

A/N: thank you for reading! I had lots of fun with this chapter! Let me know your thoughts, there is so much happening over here >.<

Lyrics credit: McFly - That Girl

#exowritersnet #baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun angst #baekhyun romance #baekhyun au #baekhyun policeman #baekhyun smut #exo smut #exo angst #exo fluff #CB #mywritings

75 notes · View notes

justcallmenikki7 · 4 years

Text

Regretful Choices

Pairing: BTS x Reader (Poly!Au) Summary: You get into an argument with your boyfriends, and you decide to take matters into your own hands. Warnings: Poly!Au, angssst, fluff, hurt/comfort, guilty bts, bts being dicks and making reader feel bad for her sexuality?? (trust me they’re angry and say stuff that they shouldn’t), crying bts, angst beginning with happy ending, jealous bts, bts being good guys but making dumb word choices. W.C.: 2k Request: Anon Said- Hey Love, just wanted to know if i could request OT7 getting jealous of their O/C slow dancing with someone else at a party after they had been in an argument (if not just ignore this ily💞) Notes: I am finally done with this semester and now I am constantly working :). And the title is shit i am so sorry lmao

Going from a happy moment with your boyfriends to a yelling, name calling argument moment in a span of five minutes surprises you how fast things can change. Truthfully, it is not your fault – but the boys think differently all because you were caught hanging out with your lesbian best friend Maria. Yes, you can see where they are coming from because you and Maria did have sex before, but that was because she was wanting to help you discover your sexuality. Going to her was your best bet since you trust her, and there are no strings attached. Plus, that was seven years ago when the both of you were in high school. But that fact does not change the way the boys think about the situation.

“Why are you getting so defensive, Y/N?” Yoongi spoke in a cold, distant voice. “What are you trying to hide, huh?”

Him implying on you cheating on them felt like you were punched in the chest. Looking at your boyfriends closely, you could tell that they are on Yoongi’s side, not trying to step in and say different, not even to defend you. “You guys think I would do that?” You asked with a broken voice.

Shrugging his shoulders, Jungkook gave you a look that was so foreign to you. “I don’t know, you tell us. Would you, Noona? You seem pretty close to Maria and let’s add on to the fact you hooked up with her in the past. Seems pretty…sneaky.”

Not knowing what to do, or say, you reached your hand up to your neck, grabbing the necklace the boys got you for your six months anniversary, and you yanked to where it broke from the force of your yank. The boy’s eyes became wide, almost scared even. “Fuck you all. If you are going to use my discovery of sexuality against me, then you are all hypocrites. You guys are childish and narcissistic assholes. My and Maria’s ‘hook up’ was seven fucking years ago, before I knew any of you. I can see where the trust lies in the relationship. But what is the kicker is that I did everything for you guys. I sacrificed so much to be with you, but I guess this is my slap in the face. So, you know what? I am leaving.” Walking over to the door, grabbing your phone and purse on the way out, you slammed open the door to the dorm before slamming it shut with a lot of force.

Once you got two blocks away, you found a bench to sit on and broke down.

Back at the dorm, the seven men were all stunned into silence. What just had happened is now catching up to them, the guilt now taking over their conscious and mind – especially Yoongi and Jungkook.

Standing up from the couch that he was sat on, Yoongi walked over to where you threw the necklace down, bending down and picking it up. The gold necklace that had a heart on it felt like a brick in his hand, a wake-up call to him. Bottom lip wobbling, tears forming in his eyes, the silver haired man let out a gasp.

“I fucked up,” Yoongi spoke. “I fucked up so bad.”

“We fucked up,” Namjoon spoke up. “We all did, not just you Yoongi.” The leader stated in an authoritative tone, already knowing that he is in the wrong.

“I made Noona leave,” Jungkook whimpered out, seeking comfort from his hyung, Seokjin. “I trust Noona! I promise hyung, I do.” Too lost in his emotions and guilt, Jungkook began to voice his wrongful actions and words, apologizing for everything, even though you are not to hear it.

After two hours of sobbing, mainly from Jungkook, and getting eaten alive from guilt, everyone had calmed down(ish).

“Do you think she’ll take us back?” Taehyung asked in a croaky voice, looking at his hyung, Namjoon.

“I hope so, but there is a huge chance that she won’t. She probably, more than likely, believes that we do not trust her and see her as a cheater.” Namjoon knows that his words hurt Jungkook since he was the one who implied that, but he had to be realistic. “It isn’t a promise, Taehyung.”

And with that statement, the boys all sat quietly in the living room, trying to think on how they can get you back.

It has been two weeks since the fight, or breakup.

And you are doing terrible. You have not showered in six days, to depressed to even move from your bed, or to do anything in general. The one thing that you have been successfully to do is not answering the text messages and calls from your ex-boyfriends. Seeing their names pop up on your phone always clenches your heart because you want to answer the call so badly, but you just physically cannot do so. The words, the implying of what you supposedly did, the looks they gave you; it is all a constant reminder.

“Why are we here?” You groaned to your best friend, Jisoo as she pushed you through the crowded bar, trying to find a place to sit at.

“Because you are lying in bed miserable, which is agonizingly painful to watch. Plus, you have been locked up in your house for two weeks straight and you need to get out some more. So, me being the bestest friend in the whole wide world took this into my own hands.” Jisoo grinned at you with her dazzling smile.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled your own thoughts, earning a smack from Jisoo. Going to smack her back, you were stopped abruptly, accidentally bumping into Jisoo’s back. “Why did you—” You stopped mid-sentence, seeing why your best friend had stopped in mid walk. There, at least twenty feet away from you were the seven men that caused you pained for the last two weeks.

To your luck, they spotted you right away, stares burning right through you. The overwhelming feeling of needing to cry took over your body, making you turn around, only to be stopped by your best friend.

“No,” she protested, “you are not allowing them to run your life. We are going to have a grand time tonight even though they are here.” With that, she continued her way to the booth she laid eyes on, you cowering away from their stares.

An hour later, three tequila shots in, you are doing fine. You are smiling, joking around with Jisoo and the two guys who decided to join you both fifteen minutes into the night. But you could not deny that you are yearning for your ex boyfriends touch, hugs, and the sound of their voices. You know that they are watching you, the constant feeling of eyes on you letting you know that they are.

“Hey!” Jackson, the guy who has been sitting by you all night yelled over the music, “Want to dance?” He asked, a tipsy smile on his face.

Hearing the invite, Jisoo gave you a thumbs up from across the table. Not seeing anything wrong with the invite, you nodded your head with a smile on your face. “Sure!” You yelled your answer.

Dragging you onto the dance floor, Jackson grabbed your hand and began leading you into the twist dance, earning a laugh from you. Following his movements, the both of you fell into a fit of giggles and grins. Not noticing the figures coming up behind you, you yelped in surprise when you felt a hand grip your arm and pull you back into their chest, breaking the grip that you and Jackson held onto each other’s hands.

Turning around, you came face to face with Jungkook. Ripping your arm away, you carefully hid the longing feeling of his touch by glaring at him, along with the other six, and moving away from them. “What do you want?” You sneered, the anger and pain that you have felt the last two weeks are now surfacing.

“Why are you dancing with him?” Taehyung asked, glaring at Jackson.

“Because I can?” You answered, the answer being more of a question. “Why do you care? Are you going to start—”

“Can we please talk somewhere private?” Namjoon asked, more like pleaded. “Please?” He asked again.

Rolling your eyes, you agreed anyways. “Sure.” Turning around to Jackson, you gave him a small smile and told him that you will see him later.

Leaning against the wall, you picked at your nails, wanting some sort of distraction from the elephant in the room.

“We miss you.” Jimin blurted out, not being able to take the silence.

Looking up shocked at his confession, you tried to keep the tears and emotions at bay. “What?”

Sighing angrily, the anger more at himself than you, Yoongi ran his hands down his face. “We miss you, Y/N, so fucking much. We are so sorry.”

Snorting, “you think that I am supposed to believe that?”

Frowns covered all of the boys faces. “You don’t believe us?” Seokjin asked wearily.

“I mean, not really. You guys accused me of being ‘sneaky,’ thinking that I am sleeping with Maria and cheating on you guys. Plus, you basically shamed me of my sexuality and made me feel like shit. You guys decided to accuse me of something, not even try to listen to my side of the story, and gang up on me instead of sitting down, like adults, and talk about this. So, yes, thinking that you guys miss me is kind of hard to believe.”

“You didn’t even answer our calls and texts. You decided to ignore us!” Jungkook yelled, becoming emotional.

“How am I supposed to face you guys after that?! You embarrassed me and made me feel so belittle and ashamed of myself. How am I supposed to pick up the phone and face you?” You shot back, quickly wiping the tear that fell down your cheek.

“Sunshine,” Hoseok began, “we are so sorry. You are right, we should’ve sat down like mature adults and talk about this. We acted on emotions instead of logical thinking. You are not sneaky, you’re truthful, loving, faithful. You do so much for us, love us so much, support us to no end and we threw it into your face like assholes. We hate ourselves for what we have done to you. But if you give us a second chance, let us prove to you that we are not assholes.” Hoseok spoke up, tears streaming down his face.

Biting your lip, you thought for a moment.

You love these seven idiotic, dumbass, loving boys. You know that they are sorry, you know them like the back of your hand, like how they know you. You also know that everyone makes mistakes and do deserve a second chance. This is the first time that something like this has happened, it is not like it is a reappearing thing. At the end of the day, you see yourself with them for forever. And at the end of the day, you know that you love them with all of your heart.

“You guys are lucky that I love you so much,” your voice broke at the end, and you knew that they heard you. In a split second, you found yourself wrapped up in their arms, breaking down into a sob.

“We love you so much, Jagi,” Namjoon mumbled into your forehead, kissing it right after.

“Forever and always,” you said back.

710 notes · View notes

apiratewhopines · 3 years

Text

Look at the mesmerizing artwork by @teamhook. Can you spot the villain of this little story?

In the Offing

Chapter 18 — The Stable Boy

Summary: In which our heroine misplaces something

Chapter 18 on AO3

“A guilty conscience means at least you’ve got one

Who will forgive you when I’m gone?”

-Here He Comes, The Wallflowers

“That went further than I intended,” Killian whispered against her throat. She could feel his smile against the sensitive skin and knew that while his words sounded like the beginning of an apology, it was really more of an observation on their current status. Their completely unclothed, totally sated status.

“Hmm, there is something about the motion of the water,” Emma said by way of agreement. She was lazily running her fingers through his mussed hair, appreciating the way the thick, short locks felt silky in her hands. His laughter rumbled through his chest and she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through the hair there as well.

“I’ll make a pirate out of you yet, Swan.”

“Well, I need to do something special for a man who would trade a secluded afternoon with the most famous actress in the world to spend time with his unknown, magnet-for-trouble house guest.”

She should get up. Lord only knew if there were locks on the door or if they could be interrupted. However, she wasn’t lying about the sensation of being lulled to sleep by the waves. Although sleep was the furthest thing from her mind a few minutes ago.

“House guest? Is that the label we’re going with? How about girlfriend? Lover? Angel? Magnificent creature?” He punctuated each question with a nuzzle against a different section of exposed flesh. “Besides, I am a seafaring man and all sailors know that it’s bad luck to have a redhead on board. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take her out on the open seas. You may never have seen me again.”

“That would have been a shame. I do enjoy seeing you. The more of you, the better.” She allowed her hands to wander over the expanse of skin on display, thankful that the afternoon was warm since there was only one sheet and their picnic blanket from the other day to cover up with. Her eyes had drifted closed during their idle exchange but she cracked open her left to look at him as she felt the bed shift under his movements. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was resting on his side. She was surprised to see his expression had turned serious. “What’s on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we talk. I like the odds of you staying put since you’re naked,” he added with some of his usual swagger.

“If you’re ready,” she told him. Reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, she knew that nothing he said would make any difference to her. She was too far gone already. The only possible outcome was she would fall deeper under his spell. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know what those words mean to me, love.” He pressed a forceful kiss to her lips and returned to his earlier position. His eyes focused out the window and glazed over as he became lost in his memories. When he spoke, his voice had deepened with emotion. “Liam and I moved here a decade ago with one purpose and one purpose only: To find Frederick’s bloody treasure trove. There was nothing for us in England, hadn’t been in years really. I was graduating and Liam was finishing up his enlistment with the Navy. To my surprise, he didn’t doubt for a moment my claims that I could find our fortune on the rocky beaches of Maine. So off we went without a backward glance at the shores of our ancestors.”

She could imagine a younger Killian, full of life and confidence, pulling along his older, more seasoned brother. After all, no one was more jaded than her and she was already prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth.

“It took us more time to find the pub in Storybrooke than it did to find the first treasure hoard. Oh, Emma, I wish you could have been there.” His grin was something that belonged on a schoolboy’s face, not a man in his mid-thirties. Unable to help herself, she reached up and traced it with her fingertips. He captured her wayward digits and pressed a heartfelt kiss to the tips. “Most pirate treasure was in the form of goods like timber, cotton, sugar, or tobacco. But good old Frederick didn’t disappoint. There was enough silver to make us wealthy even by today’s standards. There were some interesting historical bits as well that will one day find their way into a museum but I won’t bore you with those details.”

“Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a chuckle. “What did you do with it? Aren’t you supposed to alert the authorities when you find stuff like that?”

“I want to be a better man for you, Swan, but I will never be a saint. We haven’t disclosed any of our findings. We simply dip in when we need something extra. Some day we’ll let it see the light of day but for now it rests in Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Wait, I know that one. You mean it’s hidden under the sea?”

“No, we put it in my grandfather’s old locker and buried it under the cottage. It’s the only thing my father left behind when he abandoned us all those years ago.” When she rolled her eyes at him, he simply chuckled. “But to answer your question, the laws vary by state and country. Maine is actually quite lenient with their buried treasure as long as it isn’t found on state property. Luckily, two of the piles we found were on my land at the cottage. Technically, I didn’t own the land when I found the first one but it was under contract. I quickly remedied that and it was all above board when I found the second stash a few days later. That one had more coins and a few loose gemstones.”

“Gemstones?” Visions of The Goonies filled Emma’s mind and she had to stop herself from asking about One-Eyed Willy. Because, as fantastical as it seemed, the man who held her heart in his hands also had a knack for finding buried treasure. A gift she hoped he would survive considering someone out there desperately wanted to get their hands on it.

“Yes, darling,” he answered. “I think several have your name on them.”

“No way,” she argued. “I don’t want any of it. What if it’s cursed?”

“Cursed, you say?” He looked thoughtful as the sunlight was momentarily blocked by an errant storm cloud outside. “Yes, I suppose that may be true. Shortly after I uncovered the third pile, I went to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate my victory. Liam had just met Elsa so I was on my own for the most part those days. Not that it mattered, you know how this town takes to new people so I never lacked companionship for a drink or...whatever.”

“Whatever, indeed,” Emma teased in her best impression of his accent. She sensed he was coming to the part of his story that was the most difficult to relay and tried to infuse some humor into the conversation.

With a rueful grin that acknowledged her effort, both with the accent and the humor, he continued. “I met Milah that night. She was a sight to behold in the dim light of the bar, vibrant in a way that seemed too much for this little town.” He narrowed his eyes as they made contact with hers. “I didn’t know at first that she was married. Lads of twenty-four aren’t known for pumping the brakes when a beautiful woman gives them nothing but green lights and I was no different. Honestly, I was probably worse. I was a rash young man far from home and high on my own cleverness. It never occurred to me to question my good fortune or wonder why no one else was vying for her attention.”

“How far gone were you when you found out the truth?”

“Completely,” he confessed with a shaky breath. “The fight we had when I found out, well, it would have melted paint off the walls. I was a dirty little secret, the younger man who captured her attention but not her affections. It was always like that with her. She was so restless. Always moving, always searching. Nothing was ever enough. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t enough either. She wanted someone to rescue her from a life of boredom, someone who would carry her away and show her the world and fill her days with adventures. I couldn’t be that for her but I nearly destroyed myself trying to be.”

He was lost in the past, his eyes distant and filled with pain. Reliving the end of the most meaningful relationship of your life wasn’t easy, Emma definitely understood that. Especially when you gave all you had to it and it still collapsed in pieces around you.

“Her husband came to visit me one night toward the end. Offered me money to break it off,” he scoffed as if the idea still insulted him. “I refused of course, convinced he was the villain in our little drama and that I would win the heart of the fair maiden in the end. At it turned out, I was wrong on both counts. The villain was the fair maiden. Mr. Gold and I were both pawns in her scheme to escape a life she hated. When she had the opportunity, she took the money and ran. In my kinder moments, I feel sorry for her knowing she must have felt trapped. But then I remember the way the whole town thought I killed her and any kindness I’m able to scare up disappears. Just like she did.”

“You’ve never heard from her? You have no idea what happened to her?”

“No. When it ended, it ended badly. She wanted me to take her husband’s money so we could leave town together, was angry when I refused to be chased off into the night. It was then that I realized she didn’t care who she was with, as long as she wasn’t in Storybrooke. It was a tough blow to stomach. I only saw her one time after that, a couple of nights before she disappeared. She showed up at the cottage to apologize. Told me she would never regret our relationship but it was time to move on. She left the map as a parting gift. I knew then that she meant to leave. Make no mistake, Emma, Milah is alive and well somewhere on this globe, living her life to the fullest and not sparing a thought for anyone in this town.”

“Then her absence is no great loss,” she observed.

He shook his head slowly as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment. “The day after she stopped by for the last time was when I pulled my idiotic stunt. I got drunk and tried to sail directly into a Nor’easter. Liam caught me at the docks and insisted on coming with me when he couldn’t talk me out of leaving. Our boat capsized about a mile up the coast. I’m only glad I was able to pull him to shore.”

“You saved his life? One-handed in a gale?”

With a bitter twist of his lips, he bit out, “Not sure you’ll allowed to claim such a thing when the only reason a person was in danger in the first place is because of you. He was trapped under the broken mast. I’m still not sure how I got him out but I crushed my hand in the process. Got a pretty nasty infection and the doctors told me the hand couldn’t be saved and if I wasn’t lucky, I’d lose the arm too. Seemed like a no-brainer.”

She felt the tension gripping him and trailed her hands down his left arm, running her fingers over the smooth scars she felt there. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t relax either. “We’re all scarred in one way or another, Killian. Yours are a bit more on display than the average person but this shows that you are a survivor. I’m beginning to think it might be a bad idea for me to find Milah. She has a lot to answer for.”

“You know, I’ve tried to track her down but I’m afraid I don’t have your abilities at finding those who don’t wish to be found. I thought I had tracked her to Paris a few years ago, there was a new artist there that had her style of sketching but I could never be sure and they disappeared before I could make contact. I still have a file on my desktop with the various artwork I found in the gallery catalogues. I always thought I’d pick up the search again later.”

A little afraid to hear his answer, she nevertheless asked, “Why do you want to find her?”

“At first, I missed her. I wanted to hear her voice. Pathetic, right?” When Emma simply gave him a look that clearly disagreed, he smiled at her. “Hmm, my secretly romantic Swan. You have a tender heart that I adore but don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know.” He looked at her with such fondness that she was tempted to go for round two right then. However, on some level, she knew this conversation was more important than their physical connection.

Unaware of her thoughts, he admitted, “Lately I’ve wanted closure. Not for the relationship. It’s been dead and gone for years. For the case, in order to clear my name. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not particularly proud of since I arrived here but I would like any doubt removed about this crime.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, perhaps we can find her together,” she offered shyly.

“Emma, everything I have is yours,” Killian told her. With a laugh he added, “Including the gold bars I found in the third treasure hoard I uncovered.” Taking her in his arms, he held her as they laid in the Captain’s Quarters in peaceful silence.

—

The rain that had threatened in the afternoon made good on its promise by the time they arrived back at the cottage with carryout from the pizza place. Fortunately, it was the kind of summer rain that moved through quickly and left the air feeling crisp and clean.

After her third slice of pepperoni, Emma leaned back in the patio chair and sighed. “I’m supposed to meet Graham tonight to search the woods. I guess I should head back to Mary Margaret’s place eventually anyway.”

With a quizzical look, Killian took a sip of his iced tea. “A date with another man and moving out? Have I done something to offend you?”

“Very funny,” she retorted. “I think we’ve gotten things a little out of order but there’s no reason to rush into this.”

“Darling, we have already fallen headfirst into the fast lane. There’s no reason to get scared now. Besides, I happen to know that David and Mary Margaret have reached the toothbrush phase of their relationship. You will be taking your sanity into your own hands if you head back there tonight. David is a loud...sleeper.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Emma said with a shiver of disgust. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to stay with you for the foreseeable future. If you don’t have any other plans, you can also join me on my date. We’re looking for bodies in the woods.”

With a grimace, Killian studied her profile. “Okay but only if I get to plan our next outing. A man likes some mystery in a relationship but dead bodies are a little overboard.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Jones.”

Forewarned about the activities for the evening consisting mainly of traversing hilly, overgrown terrain, Emma did a better job of dressing the part. Outfitted with flashlights from Killian’s emergency kit, she knew if the search lasted beyond the light of the midsummer sun they wouldn’t injure themselves in the dark at least.

Arriving at the Sheriff’s station shortly thereafter, Emma was surprised to find it empty and unlocked. Since another brief summer rain was moving through town, she texted Graham and they decided to wait it out at the station. Twenty minutes later, the rain was over but she still hadn’t heard from the sheriff. “That’s weird. He’s usually better about replying.”

“Text him a lot, do you?”

With a amused shake of her head, she admonished him. “Now is not the time to be jealous, Killian. He’s a friend and, unless I’m mistaken, he’s your friend too.”

“He’s not an enemy,” Killian conceded grudgingly. With a hint of teasing, he said, “But perhaps he is competition.” He moved around the station nonchalantly as if he might find the sheriff under a pile of papers or resting in one of the cells at the back of the open room.

With a deep breath, she walked over to him and linked her arms around his neck. “Not in my eyes. I’m not sure how to convince you that you’ve ruined me for other men.”

“I can think of some persuasive methods that will get your point across.” His roguish eyebrow was cocked in a way that she always found so endearing and sexy. “Why don’t we postpone this search party and you can give it your best shot? I promise to keep an open mind.”

“Keeping an open mind has never been your problem,” she laughed, playfully punching him in the arm. “I have a job to do so stop trying to distract me. We’ll have to go without Graham. We’re losing daylight and I’m running out of time before Henry comes home.”

What she didn’t add was the crossroads his arrival would bring. As much as she had fought against this thing with Killian, now that she was in, she was all in. While the four hour drive to Boston was not an insurmountable distance, she found the idea of being separated distasteful. She knew it was a conversation they needed to have and she wasn’t avoiding it exactly. Her rational mind kept reminding her that they had only met a month ago and people didn’t fall in love and move to different states after a few weeks of knowing someone. Especially single mothers who had children to think about.

Having officially given up on the sheriff, they headed toward the town line. Minutes later, they arrived to find the cruiser already parked on the narrow shoulder, driver side door open and cabin lights on. Jumping out of the truck, Emma exchanged a worried look with Killian and observed, “This looks like trouble.”

He followed her to the cruiser and placed his hand on the front seat. “It’s dry so he probably didn’t get here until after the rain moved through.”

“Graham!” Shouting his name repeatedly probably wasn’t an effective strategy but damn if she could think of anything else to do. Settling in the driver’s seat she found the keys still in the ignition and his walkie on the dashboard. Picking it up, she paged David. Within a minute, he answered, confusion evident in his tone.

“Emma? Why do you have Graham’s walkie?”

“We found his cruiser at the town line. No sign of him. We’re going out to the woods to search but you probably want to get here as quickly as possible. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole scene.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”

True to his word, David’s battered old Ford pick-up pulled behind their truck in record time. Mary Margaret had made the journey with him and as soon as the car was in park, she rushed to Emma’s side. “Still no sign of him?”

“No,” Killian answered with his eyes scanning the thick woods.

“He headed this direction and he was in a hurry,” the brunette observed, her finger pointing toward an invisible trail as if it were obvious. At Emma’s silent question, she explained, “All-State Orienteering champion and the best tracker in town besides Ruby. Knowing your way around the forest is still a skill set that’s valued in Maine.”

“Sure. I mean, why not?” Emma said sarcastically. “Why don’t you lead the way then? We’ve already wasted time waiting around the station.”

Grabbing the flashlight that David handed her, Mary Margaret stepped off the shoulder and moved noiselessly into the woods. She would occasionally murmur an observation regarding a broken twig or boot print in the soft ground. Emma made a point to try to locate whatever signs the other woman noted on their pursuit but was only able to see the tracks occasionally. In no time at all, they had circled back up the hill to come out at the road not even a quarter of a mile from the cruiser. “Great. Back were we started.”

“No,” Mary Margaret disagreed. “Look here.” She squatted down and shined a beam of light on the asphalt.

Sure enough, Emma saw some kind of liquid that had dripped on the road. “What is that? Motor oil?” Reaching down, she lightly pressed her finger in one of the droplets and smeared it against her thumb. Looking at the bright red color, a chill ran through her. “Blood.”

“And tire tracks from an SUV if I had to guess,” David added, his light illuminating the wide tracks partially visible on the wet dirt of the shoulder. “Someone took him.” He immediately started back toward his truck, getting on his radio and calling the other deputy to round up some volunteers and meet them out at the woods.

—

Entering the cottage at four the following morning, Emma dropped on the couch in exhaustion. They hadn’t found any other clues as to the whereabouts of the sheriff or who grabbed him off the deserted road. Had he been followed out to the town line? Is that why he hadn’t responded to her text? Why would he have not reached out to her or David if he thought he was in trouble?

Settling next to her, Killian pushed her hair back behind her ear. “We won’t find him by staying up and worrying. You need to rest.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that this has to do with me.”

“With you? Why do you think so? Didn’t you say he found something in the woods? Something related to a disappearance that happened when you were a baby.”

“I know it’s crazy...”

“I didn’t say that, love. If you think this has something to do with you, I wouldn’t bet against your instincts.” Smiling at her with an expression of full support, he added, “You’ll figure it out. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“He could be out there hurt, Killian, or worse. I think we need to regroup. Go through everything again. I must have missed something. And we’re going to need all hands on deck. The situation is escalating. When are Liam and Elsa supposed to come back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you should convince him to come back sooner.”

“That will be a pleasant conversation,” Killian muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll call Elsa instead. She’s the more reasonable one.”

“Coward,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him softly. She would never get tired of this, having him within arm’s reach. His very presence made all her worries melt into the background.

“You have more than enough bravery for the both of us,” he complimented her. “But I’ll do as you ask. After all, he’s the one who brought you into this mess. Not that I’m complaining.”

“See that you don’t. I have ways of dealing with complainers,” she ordered tartly, forcing herself to get lost in this moment with him. As she got up to walk away, his fingers hooked into the pocket of her jeans and tugged her back into his lap.

“Saucy. I like that.”

“Behave, Dr. Jones.”

There weren’t any coherent words spoken as the early morning light started to break over the horizon. He had decided to disobey, misbehaving in the most delightful ways.

10 notes · View notes

everlarkbirthdaygifts · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday, d1163!

Happy belated Birthday, @d1163! We hope you had a wonderful day back on the 3rd, and got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To bring your party back around, the lovely @endlessnightlock has written a story just for you!

“I shouldn’t be very long,” I tell Madge, standing in front of my apartment doorway as I fidget with the purse strap hanging over my shoulder. I have a parent-teacher conference tonight at Prim’s school, and since I can’t take her with me, Madge will stay here while I’m gone. “Just make sure to lock the door when I leave- I’ll call you when I get back so you can unlock it for me.” I really should get a key made for her; she’s here so much.

Madge shrugs, tipping her smooth blond head to the side, leaning her shoulder against the doorway of the apartment I share with my sister.

I appreciate my best friend’s help- I’ve had to rely on her to help me with Prim quite a bit lately; bless her, she never complains.

“It doesn’t matter when you get back. Primmy and I have a full schedule for the night, don’t we?” she says as my sister appears in the doorway behind her with her twin blond braids hanging down her back. I swear the two of them look more alike than Prim and I ever will, but we are only half-sisters; Prim’s the product of my Mom’s second marriage.

“We’re going to give each other pedicures,” Madge continues. “In fact, why don’t you go out and do something by yourself while you’re gone? Go window shopping- or maybe you’ll meet a cute single dad you can ask out for drinks.”

I frown at her. My best friend has been encouraging me to “get back into the dating game” for a while now, no matter how often I reiterate I’m not interested. My plate is more than full since we lost Mom and her husband a few years ago, leaving me as Prim’s sole guardian.

Besides, my sister is only eight- she needs all of my attention right now, no matter how often she tries to tell me otherwise.

Prim is just as bad as Madge the way she’s always saying I should find a guy. I know she’s hatched some sort of scheme to set me up with her new friend Kaylee’s dad. I’ve never met him but seeing as I’m twenty-two and the girls are eight; I imagine he’s way too old for me, even if I were interested in dating- which I am not.

“Yep,” Prim agrees, grinning up at Madge, “we’ll be just fine. So go, you know, get you some or something.”

“Get you some or something?” I repeat, frowning at first Prim and then Madge, who is the most obvious culprit in the guessing game of Who’s Teaching Prim Adult Expressions. “You shouldn’t say things if you don’t know what they mean, Prim.”

“I know what that means,” Prim rolls her eyes at me while I sputter in disbelief. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Don’t look at me!” Madge says when I glare at her, “I didn’t teach her anything. She’s just grown-up for her age, more than you were, Katniss. Now go-”

“And get me some?” I interrupt, eyes narrowed because I don’t trust Madge in this matter any further than I can throw her.

“No, you’d better go, or you’re going to be late for your parent-teacher conference, silly,” Madge says.

She’s still laughing when she shuts the door in my face.

There was no need for me to hurry because Ms. Trinket, Prim’s teacher, is still in a conference with another parent when I arrive at the school. I quickly realize she must be running even further behind that just with me because a man is waiting in the hallway as well.

“Hi,” he says, smiling warmly at me from his place against the cinder-block wall. I don’t recognize him, but he has to be one of the parents I haven’t met yet.

“Hey,” I reply, studying him briefly, then looking away before it becomes apparent I’m doing it. The man is good-looking, one of those muscular, compact-looking guys who aren’t super-tall but aren’t short either. He’s got wavy blond hair and blue eyes, and if I were to wager a guess at how old he is, I’d probably say early to mid-thirties.

“Who are you here for?” he asks conversationally, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t met a lot of the other parents yet.”

I shrug. I don’t usually make small-talk with men I don’t know, but he seems non-threatening.

Still, I hold back a bit- he’s attractive in a way that seems inappropriate for some reason. I guess I worry that he’s married or something; I don’t want to be that person who’s flirting with someone’s husband or partner.

Not that I’m flirting- I’m barely even talking to the guy, yeesh- way to overthink things, Katniss. “My sister is Prim Everdeen,” I explain, “I’m her guardian.”

“So you’re Katniss,” he says, eyes rounding in surprise- they’re kind of ridiculously blue and on the largeish side, so it’s a comical sight.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Kaylee’s dad- Peeta. Peeta Mellark.” He sticks out his hand for me to shake.

“Oh,” I answer. And then, like a nincompoop who’s caught off guard by this new information, and the fact that he’s trying to shake my hand, I go on- “you’re the one Prim is trying to set me up with.”

But instead of getting flustered (the way I am for saying something so dumb to an attractive, single man I just met and will probably see again after today), Peeta laughs, although he does drop his hand to his side. “So I wasn’t just imagining Kaylee talking up Prim’s sister then, huh?”

“Guess not. What, ah, what did your daughter say about me?”

Peeta smiles at me. “Just that you were young and pretty, and you’re a good sister to Prim.”

I feel myself blushing underneath his gaze. I wonder if he agrees with his daughter’s assessment of me. “I don’t know why they think they need to meddle in our lives, right?” I ask, trying to cover my embarrassment by keeping the conversation going.

“Because they love us, for some reason. I guess,” Peeta says.

I have to smile at that.

Behind us, the classroom door opens. Lavinia, one of the parents I know slightly, walks out of the room. I notice her studying Peeta for a moment, but when I say hello, she turns her attention to me as she leaves.

Ms. Trinket appears in the doorway a moment later. “Sorry about the hold-up, Katniss. I’m ready for you now. Mr. Mellark,” she says, seemingly surprised to see him waiting in the hall as well, “what are you doing here now?”

Peeta looks confused. “My conference was scheduled for five, or at least I thought so. That’s what the paper Kaylee brought home said.”

“No, mine’s at five,” I say, “unless there was some kind of mistake.”

Ms. Trinket frowns at us both. “I’m not sure where the mix-up happened, but I don’t have you scheduled for today, Peeta. However, if you have time to wait, I can squeeze you in once I’m done with Katniss.”

He quickly agrees. “I’m already here, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just wait.”

“Sounds good. Are you ready, Katniss?”

I follow Ms. Trinket into the room as Peeta pulls his cell out of his back pocket.

I walk out of the classroom about twenty minutes later, following a brief meeting.

Thankfully, Ms. Trinket didn’t have any significant concerns about Prim this year. I knew my sister’s grades were pretty good, so I wasn’t concerned with that, but Ms. Trinket also backed-up my opinion that Prim’s been getting along well with most of the class. Despite everything she’s been through with losing our mom, it’s a relief to be reassured by someone else that my sister is doing okay. I worry all the time about whether or not I’m doing a good enough job with her- a little outside validation is more than welcome.

Peeta smiles at me when I glance his way. He’s still leaning against the cinderblock wall in the same position I left him in.

Ms. Trinket asked me to let him know she was ready for him, so we have the hall to ourselves.

“Get to the bottom of things?” I ask, slowing down to talk to him.

I’d be lying if I said Peeta hadn’t crossed my mind once or twice while I was talking to Ms. Trinkett. He might be quite a bit older than me, but there’s something about him that draws me to him. He’s handsome, but the attraction isn’t just about his looks. I don’t know- maybe the way Prim has talked about “Kaylee’s dad” is influencing my decision, but there is just an innate kindness about him that piques my interest.

“Yeah,” he says, straightening up and running a hand through his hair. He sighs. “Kaylee confessed- she planned it with Prim. Look, I’m sorry. You’re a beautiful young woman, and I know I’m way too old for you-”

“No, you’re not,” I interrupt, surprising both him and myself. I’m not always good at speaking up, but it’s usually a doozy when I do. Peeta doesn’t say anything to refute me, though.

It’s true; I don’t’ think he’s too old to pass up giving a shot. Peeta’s the first guy who’s interested me in a ridiculously long time, even if he’s at least ten years older than I am. I mean, most guys my age are pretty immature; they all seem to be looking out for themselves. That’s just not something I can get into at this point in my life- I can’t deal with immature boy drama and Prim. Peeta seems like he would be pretty drama-free, and he’s certainly not a boy.

His grin widens. “I’m not?”

I shake my head. “No, you’re not. Do I seem too young for you?”

“No,” Peeta admits quietly, “you don’t.”

I decide just to spit it out- a guy who’s worth anything has to like assertive women, and I’m not into playing games. “Do you want to go get coffee or something after your conference?”

He nods. “I’d love to.”

I know all of this is forward, but what harm can it do to get to know Peeta a little better? I’m not committing to anything, and If nothing else, I’ll make a friend, and Prim and his daughter can rest easy knowing we gave their plan a chance. Plus, I have a feeling our schedules were both cleared on purpose.

I can’t help but think of Madge telling me I should go out and have a drink with a cute single dad. “She was in on it the whole time,” I say, laughing under my breath.

“What’s that?” Peeta asks.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Do you want to meet me at The Bean Counter in half an hour?” I ask, naming the coffee shop a few blocks away from the elementary school.

“Sounds good,” he agrees.

After a little awkward wave at each other, we part ways. Peeta goes into the classroom for his conference with Ms. Trinket, and I head out to my car.

I can’t decide if I should call Madge to bawl her out for this or ask for advice on what to do. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date, even if it is just for coffee.

Ultimately, I do neither. Madge and Prim told me not to worry about coming right back, so I don’t even call them to let them know I’ll be home late. I figure they can just sit and wonder what I’ve gotten into tonight.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by endlessnightlock

68 notes · View notes

in-love-with-darth-vader · 4 years

Text

Star Wars as if it were like the Office! (Also i need a title, so if anyone has any ideas for that or any suggestions in general, let me know.

Also, sorry if this sucks. I don’t write very often nor have I ever written a screenplay type of thing before. I honestly just did this for fun!

PART 1

“Anakin, what are you doing?”

“I’m standing on the edge of this balcony.”

“Yes, I can see that. Why are you standing on the edge of that balcony?”

*pan to the chaos of Coruscant below; ships speeding in traffic, huge buildings, and an insanely long drop. Obi-Wan is standing behind Anakin on the part of the balcony that’s made to be stood on; Anakin is on the edge of the railing*

“Uh, well, some of the clones said there was no way that I could jump and land in one of the ships flying through the city, and I told them I definitely could, so here I am.”

*Obi-Wan looks to the camera in annoyance and disbelief; camera pans down to Anakin’s end point where Fives, Echo, and Jesse wave up to his position*

“Absolutely not. Get down from there right this instant!”

“Sorry, Master!”

*he jumps, and he is flying through the air for about two seconds when he suddenly freezes. Obi-Wan is looking down at him as he holds him mid air with the Force, slowly raising him back up to eye level*

“Anakin, you are twenty years old. Could you maybe start acting like it?”

*he drops him onto the floor; Anakin gets up and sulkingly follows Obi-Wan out of the room*

*this would be where the theme song and title card would go*

In the background: “yeah, so Obi-Wan refused to let me jump, so I had to come back here. Sorry you all waited for nothing”

*Obi-Wan turns to the camera*

So, does Anakin do this sort of thing frequently?

“Oh, yes. He doesn’t seem to care about safety or his own well-being. That’s the third time this month I’ve had to stop the Balcony Jump. And clearly I’m the only one who thinks these are bad ideas, so I’m always the one who has to step in. I swear I already have a few grey hairs from having to stop Anakin from doing something stupid so often.”

*back to normal scene*

“Alright, everyone gather around, we have a new mission to discuss.”

*anakin, ahsoka, and many of the clones from the 501st and 212th gather around Obi-Wan*

“The chancellor seems to think it’s a good idea for us to go investigate a possible takeover on Ryloth….” *fades out as we zoom in on Anakin clearly bored and not listening*

“I hate debriefings. When Obi-Wan does them he talks for forever. They’re too long, so I just tune him out and pretend like I know what I’m doing on the actual mission. When I tell the others what we’ve been assigned, I take 2 minutes tops. Master Obi-Wan stretches it into at least 10.”

*now to ahsoka*

“Yeah, Master Kenobi goes over every single detail in the mission log every single time. I’ve had to slap Anakin awake in the middle of a meeting too many times to count.”

*back to obi wan speaking to them all*

“So, we need to go in and investigate the distress signal’s purpose, mainly to see if it’s a separatist attack. Anakin, you’ll be positioned here and you’ll direct your troops to-Anakin?? Are you listening to me?”

*obi wan turns away from his whiteboard where he’s drawing out strategy to see Anakin staring slightly up at the ceiling. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Obi wan knows his past-padawan turned Jedi Knight too well*

“What? Oh, yeah, of course I am.”

*interview with obi wan*

“Anakin is a terrible liar. You’ll soon find that out.”

*switch to interview with Anakin*

“Luckily for me, I’m an amazing liar, so I’m not worried.”

*back to the scene. Obi-Wan has his hands on his hips in his judgmental pose™️ facing Anakin*

“Oh really? Then what did I just tell you to do?”

“Uhhh I have to hold my position, lead the 501st, all that jazz”

“Mhm and where is this all going down?”

“Uh, Iridonia of course.”

“You literally could not be more incorrect.”

*obi wan int.*

“Told you so.”

*anakin int.*

“Okay, in my defense, there’s thousands of planets. I had like a 1% chance of guessing correctly.”

*back to the scene*

“Ryloth, Anakin. Ryloth is where we’re going. A distress call was detected coming from the planet, and since the Separatists have a history of meddling with the peace of Ryloth and its citizens, we were instructed to go inspect. I will not repeat myself again. That is all, everyone get ready. You’re dismissed.”

*interview with Rex; clones preparing armor and weapons in the background*

So, are you kind of like the leader of the clones around here?

“Uh, I’m the captain of the 501st Battalion under General Skywalker’s command. I follow his orders and then lead my brothers to execute those orders. We’re one of the most successful groups of clones, so I take great pride in-“

*rex is interrupted as the camera switches focus to the background where Jesse Kix and Fox are all at each other’s throats. They’re stealing each other’s helmets and tossing them around. Rex turns to look*

(Sigh) “as I was saying…I take great pride in our success and professionalism.”

“Rex!”

“Sorry, gotta go do my job now.”

*they board the ships and head off to Ryloth*

*camera switches to Anakin on Ryloth*

“Can we please leave now?”

“Absolutely not, Anakin. We still aren’t quite certain what set off the alarm.”

“It was probably just an accident. There’s nothing here, Master. Ahsoka, back me up.”

*ahsoka is looking down at and messing with a data pad clearly not listening to Anakin*

“What? Oh, uh, yeah. Totally.”

“Were you even listening to me?! I was speaking to you, Ahsoka. Can I get a little bit of respect please?”

*obi wan looks at the camera like ‘are you fucking kidding me’*

“Listen, Master, I started to tune you out like an hour ago. All you’ve done is complain.”

“Because there’s nothing here! I want to go home!”

“You just want to get back to Coruscant in time to go to that party for the senators.”

“What??????!?!?? That’s absurd, master. Absolutely preposterous. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

*cut to Anakin*

“Okay, I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I can’t admit it! There’s this politician gathering tonight and normally I wouldn’t be one to willingly seek out social gatherings-especially one full of politicians-but Padme is going and she asked if I would come. So of course I said yes. Also, they usually have those little cocktail weenies, so no way I’m missing that.”

*cut to obi wan*

“Anakin is terrible at hiding things, especially from me. He clearly wants to get back so he can go to the party tonight with Senator Amidala.”

Any reason why he’d want to go with her so bad?

“Oh, yes, you see my former Padawan thinks he’s sly, but as we all know he’s a terrible liar. He’s been pining after the senator since he was a boy. I assumed it would pass by now, but clearly he’s still infatuated with her. They’re very good friends but he still has his teenage crush on her. It’s very unprofessional.”

Will you be attending it as well?

“Oh, no. I’m not one for politics.”

*back to the scene*

“What? Master why are you going to that stupid thing? You hate those types of parties! Plus, last I checked, you are not a politician.”

*cut to Anakin*

“So I’ve never actually told Ahsoka about my secret relationship with Padmé…”

*back to the scene*

“Uhhhhh because I’m good friends with the Chancellor, obviously. He would like me there to….to talk about strategies. Yes. Strategies for the Republic.”

“At a formal gathering for politicians? That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“...you’re asking way too many questions, Snips. We have a mission to focus on! You’re better than this!”

*ahsoka looks suspiciously at him as obi wan shakes his head at the two of them*

“Now that you’re done bickering, will you two please go explore the blocked off caverns for any possible signs of life?”

*both, simultaneously and clearly annoyed*

“Yes, Master.”

——-

“You know, there’s nothing in these caves. He just wanted us out of his hair. He’s just keeping us busy.”

“How can you know for sure?”

“Because I don’t sense anything. There’s nothing in here.”

“Master Kenobi told us to do it, so that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“So you listen to all of his orders but not mine?”

“Well, Obi-Wan doesn’t lie to me, so yes.”

“Psh. Pssshh. I’m not lying to you...that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not. Tell me the real reason you’re going to that party! I know that you’re lying!”

“I’m absolutely telling the truth. I don’t know why you’re so adamant about this. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh please. Whenever you lie you start using big words and you talk faster than normal. Just tell me the truth!”

“Fine. My friend Senator Amidala was allowed to bring someone and since we’re friends she asked me if I would like to come along too. So I said yes.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Makes sense why you’re so anxious about it.”

“Whatta you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just that you’re going to a party as the Senator’s plus one which she asked you to. It’s definitely a date.”

“Whaaaaaaaatt. It’s not a date. That’s ludicrous! We’re just friends. Plus, I’m a Jedi. We can’t go on dates!”

“Right, and you don’t have a crush on her.”

“I don’t have a crush on her! We’re friends! It’s extremely platonic.”

*int. With Anakin*

“Okay, so it’s not platonic. But I don’t have a crush on her because I’m married to her! If I tell her that I willingly break the Jedi Code whenever I want, then maybe she will too! And then what kind of Master would I be?!?!”

I thought you technically weren’t a Jedi Master.

*zooms in on anakin’s ‘I will fuckin kill you’ face”

*back to the scene*

“Right, and I don’t secretly steal your jackets when you’re sleeping when I’m cold.”

“What?”

“What?!”

“.....look, can we just get back to the mission?”

“Sure thing, Skyguy. Wait till Master Kenobi hears about this.”

*under his breath* “pretty sure he already knows...”

*scene switch to obi wan, he’s with Cody and many other clones. They’re in a room in one of the government buildings on Ryloth surrounding a beacon device. It’s a distress signal activator.*

“And you’re sure you didn’t do this, Mr. Syndulla?”

“No, Master Kenobi. I only use the distress beacon for serious emergencies. I have no clue as to who did this. There aren’t many people that have access, and it’s not something that just anyone can do by accident. You must enter a code and confirm multiple times.”

“Thank you for the information. Will you let us inspect the fortress for any intruders?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you. Cody, take Waxer, Boil, and Gearshift to the west wing. Gregor, you and your troops take the left. Myself and Crys will start here. Report back if you find anything.”

“Sir yes sir!”

*we see Obi-Wan and Crys searching first. They stayed in the room where the beacon is kept. Obi-Wan is looking through digital records as Crys is underneath it looking at its internal parts like those scenes where someone is laying on a skateboard to fix a car*

“This is strange. There’s no trace of tampering with the records or files. Nothing was wiped. This doesn’t seem like sabotage or a distraction for something bigger. Crys, do you have anything?”

*crys rolls out from under the beacon*

“No, sir. Everything is wired and hooked up properly. No signs of sabotage or demolition.”

“Hmm.”

*Int. With Crys*

“I’m really good with robots and droids, so that’s probably why General Kenobi wanted me to tag along with him. Usually he takes Cody, but this is more of my field of expertise.”

*back to the scene*

“This is trivial indeed.” *he’s doing his beard stroke* “I wonder if the others have found anything.”

*switch over to gregor and his troops. They’re searching the left wing of the fortress. They’ve been interviewing many citizens of Ryloth. They’re not very successful*

“I don’t see the point in talking to anyone else. I doubt they’re gonna know anything. We should report back to the general.”

*int with Gregor*

So, Gregor, can you give us a little summary of what you do around here?

“Yeah, sure thing. Uh, I’m kind of like third in command here. I’m a captain in the 212th Battalion and that’s pretty much all there is to it.”

Your helmet is very interesting. It’s pretty unique compared to the rest of your brothers.

“Oh, this? Some clones have tallies, but these represent stitches.” *he points to em* “It’s basically just showing how many injuries I’d have and how many stitches I would’ve gotten if I didn’t have the helmet. I think it’s pretty cool.”

*back to the scene. They’ve found nothing*

“Yeah, I’ll comm the general.”

*gregor taps into his comms and contacts Obi-Wan*

“Gregor, have you found anything?”

“No, general, I called to report that we’ve found nothing out of place. The twi’leks we’ve interviewed seem like they know nothing. How about you?”

“No, sadly we’ve come across nothing either. The beacon hasn’t been tampered with whatsoever.”

“We’ll keep looking around. I’ll keep you updated.”

*he hangs up the comm*

“Alright, boys, let’s keep going!”

*we now cut to Waxer and Boil being lead by Cody. They’re going door to door in the right wing where the rooms are located asking questions*

“This is leading us nowhere, Commander.”

“I know, Boil, but General Kenobi told us to inspect the entire right wing. We only have three more rooms to do. Let’s go.”

“Fine.”

*they knock at the next door*

“Hello?”

“Hello, ma’am. My name is Commander Cody of the 212th Attack Battalion. We’re on a mission here from the Jedi council. The distress beacon gave off a signal earlier today and we were wondering if you knew anything about it.”

“I’m very sorry I can’t be of any help to you, Commander, but I know nothing.”

*suddenly, a small child comes running down the hallway laughing. She trips and falls and scrapes her knee.*

“hey, are you okay?”

“Waxer you know that’s not how you talk to a child!”

“I’m sorry! You know I get awkward around kids. Why do we always find a runaway child when we’re on Ryloth? Like, how has this actually happened twice?”

*boil ignores him and kneels down to the kid*

“Hey there. My name is Boil. Are you okay? Do you need help?”

*she looks a bit frightened still. Boil realizes he still has his helmet on so he takes it off.*

“Sorry about that. Is it okay if I patch up your knee? I keep bandages on me, you can even pick the color if you want.”

“...okay. Blue please.”

“Blue it is. So, why were you running so fast? Is anything chasing you?”

“No. I was just looking for my papa. And I’m bored. I played with his fun machine today.”

“His machine, huh?”

*the three clones look at each other with a look™️ and Cody comms obi wan*

“General? I think we found your culprit”

——————

“‘Wow Anakin, you’re such a genius. It’s almost as if you were right all along!’ ‘Why thank you, Master. I knew I was right, and now we can go home even though we could’ve earlier.’ ‘Yes, you’re so right. We should’ve listened to you the whole time-“

“Anakin, are you finished?”

“‘we should make you a master on the council. I admire you.’ Now I’m finished.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Master. We get it, you’re right, now let’s get you home for your date.”

*anakin freezes and turns slowly. They’ve been walking up the ramp to board their ship when ahsoka said that. Anakin is now very red in the face*

“....what. What are you talking about snips??!! I don’t have a date. I don’t date. I’m just attending a senator party with the Chancellor. A date. Psh. Psh.”

“But you told me-“

“LETS GET ON THE SHIP, AHSOKA!”

*obi wan just rolls his eyes as they board the ship*

*We’re back to Coruscant!*

“Finally, we’re home. I’m so tired from all the nothing we did.”

“Oh, Anakin, you are such a drama queen. We did our mission like we were supposed to. Now, can I please speak to you in private?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Even though you have complained a lot today, I still care about you Anakin, and I know you made a promise to someone else already. So, I will go inform the Jedi Council that this was a false alarm by myself. Maybe I’ll take your Padawan. But you, my friend, should go get ready for your senator party.”

*anakin hugs obi wan*

“Thank you, Obi-Wan. I owe you one.”

*anakin goes up to his apartment on Coruscant where Padme is; she’s on their couch reading something and already dressed when anakin comes in*

“I’m back! I’m finally back!”

“Hello to you too Anakin. I was hoping they’d let you out. You’re cutting it close this time.”

“I’m so sorry. We had to go to Ryloth for no reason and Obi-Wan wouldn’t let me leave until we knew for sure what happened.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it in time.”

“Me too. Obi-Wan is letting me skip the debriefing for this.”

*he goes to change into his formal clothes for the party. Padme is already wearing one of her super rad fancy senator outfits. Anakin has an all black suit cause you know he’s that guy™️.

*int with Padme*

“Anakin has missed a lot of these outings with me due to Jedi business, so I wasn’t expecting him to actually be here for this one. I’m glad he is. I don’t see him as often as I wish I did.”

Do you ever think of asking him to leave the Jedi Order then?

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. I would never ask him to give up his life like that. And I don’t want that either. He’s a great Jedi and he loves what he does. I would never try to take that away from him.”

*back to scene. Now they’re walking down the halls of the senate building on their way to the party*

“So, get this, Ahsoka is convinced that I have a crush on you and that this is a date.”

“I mean, she’s not exactly wrong, is she?”

“Well, no, but I don’t really have a crush on you since, you know, we’re married. And she meant date as in ‘you invited me to this thing but we’re not together but in her eyes, it’s a date’ kind of thing.”

“Hmm so she still doesn’t know?”

“No. I can’t bring myself to tell her. I love her, but I don’t want to taint her mind and views of the Jedi Code and council. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“A very good point. You’re a good Master, Anakin.”

“Thanks.”

*they then enter the party. Many political figures from across the galaxy are there already. Its purpose is unknown to us, but it is clear that it’s important but also not too serious. They speak with many different people included Palpatine. We have yet to actually speak to him yet. Anakin is eventually over near the snack table, a drink in his hand and another one being handed off to Padme*

“Here you go. It’s your favorite.”

“Thank you. So, are you having fun yet?”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll ever have fun hanging around any politicians but you, but it’s not so bad. Plus, these snacks are really good.”

*padme rolls her eyes but laughs at him*

“It’s nice for us all to get together like this. It’s important for the Republic.”

“Mm, indeed.”

*they continue chatting until Anakin notices someone across the room. Fancy blue outfit. Blonde hair up in a bun. He doesn’t notice who it really is until she comes a bit closer. He does the pikachu face and drops his drink, luckily catching it midair with the force as he apologizes to those around him*

“Anakin?? Are you okay? What was that for?”

“You didn’t tell me she was going to be here!”

“Who?”

*he points to her by nudging his head in her direction hoping Padme will see who he’s talking about*

“Her? That’s my friend Satine. She’s the Duchess of Mandalore. She’s-wait a minute, how do you know her??!?”

“Nothing bad, I assure you. I’m actually quite fond of her. I just wish I knew sooner!”

“Why?”

“Because that, my love, is Obi-Wan’s girlfriend.”

END of this part.

Part2

——

#star wars #star wars prequels #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #tcw #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #captain rex #fic #fanfic #star wars fic #satine kryze #anidala #obitine

177 notes · View notes

lovelazarus · 3 years

Text

rating: Mature

archive warning: graphic depictions of violence

words: 2645

tags: Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm (fairly graphic), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, graphic description of suicide attempt, Flashbacks, Trauma, Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Dean is alive, Castiel is alive, Hurt/Comfort, POV Dean Winchester, brief mention of John Winchester - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Sad with a Happy Ending, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Past Abuse, Homophobic Language, 15x20 Fix-It

summary: (This fic starts out with a graphic dream/flashback of Dean's mid-20s.) Cas showed up to save Dean in 15x20 after he let himself get impaled on rebar, his attempt to stop living while thinking Cas was truly gone in the Empty. It's been a few months since that event in the Barn. Things have been calm since Chuck lost his power & Jack brought Castiel back to help rebuild heaven (although Jack isn't in this directly!). Even with things being okay, Dean's decades of trauma are still bubbling up and Dean has to face the reality of his actions (past & present).

PLEASE read all tags before reading!

The last thing Dean remembers is sitting down on the couch in the Deancave, waiting for Cas to come pick tonight's movie. He must’ve dozed off at some point because suddenly it's 2004 and he’s 25 years old again.

The two years Sammy was off at Stanford was one of Dean’s lowest points in life; including his trip to hell, being a demon & helping kick start the apocalypse. He was completely alone.

Sam was gone, John was irate and blamed Dean for Sam leaving, for not stopping him from leaving. Dean was hunting alone, without his family, for the first time in his life. His last hunt however was the first to deeply scar him irrevocably.

A father and 2 sons, roughly the same age apart as him and Sam. Both attacked by an extremely vengeful spirit, the father was gutted and the sons were supernaturally manipulated into hanging themselves. Dean walked into their house hoping to save the family after following trails of the case, but he walked into a gruesome scene that left him shaking and holding back from vomiting.

In Dean’s mind, it was a representation of his own torn apart family. He left the home, found the grave of the spirit, and put it to rest with unsteady hands and bleary eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time… I could’ve saved you and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t good enough to help you. I’m so sorry.” Dean whispers, half to the victims and half to his younger brother, thousands of miles away and unable to hear his plea.

He gets to the motel room he rented with his duffle slung over his shoulder and stands outside the door with the key in his hand, almost afraid to enter, lest he finds another sick and twisted scene inside. He exhales roughly and shoves the key into the door and strides in.

All that's inside his cheap bottle of gas station whiskey and a pack of menthols.

He drops his duffle on the extra twin bed before scooping up his liquor and smokes. He wants to erase this entire hunt from his mind if he can.

Oh, how he wants to.

Three hours later his whole pack is gone, cigarette butts shoved into an old ashtray, and 3/4th the bottle of whiskey is sitting harshly in his stomach. Dean can’t stop picturing that family as his own. Thoughts of his father’s anger circle inside his mind like a tornado.

“I told you to watch out for Sammy, boy! Do you even use that brain other than to continuously disappoint me and fail your brother? To fail Mary?”

HIT

“I left you alone for two weeks! TWO WEEKS THAT'S ALL! Now Sam has run off and you’re going to pay for it.”

HIT

“So you blew through all the money I left you and now you’re turning tricks like some little faggot? You’re going to influence Sammy to that shit and I won’t allow my sons to be like that.”

HIT

With each memory of John rushing back into Dean’s mind, he can still feel the physical hits coming. His dad was right. This would never have happened if he hadn’t been more careful. If he had protected Sam like he was told to. If he had been a better son.

He finishes the last of the whiskey as the screams of his father’s voice start to fade back into the black void inside his mind. But the moment the last drop of liquor touches his tongue, he breaks. Every punch landed by his father that he took in order to protect Sam comes rushing back. Every harsh word and drunken fight he got into. Every argument with Sam over being too controlling, too much of a soldier.

Dean feels sick.

The toilet in that crappy motel room has certainly seen better days, but no matter how much Dean vomits, he stays just as drunk.

In a moment of blind anger, he destroys the kitchenette, the TV, and the nightstand. He chucks the empty whiskey bottle at the wall and watches the glass fly everywhere as it shatters.

He absent-mindedly picks up a large piece of glass.

This could kill me. One quick and easy slash to my neck or wrist and that’d be it. No more pain for Sam, and no more disappointment for dad.

He lets his hand drop to his side and allows the shard to fall to the floor. This isn’t the first time he’s had thoughts like this in moments of weakness, but it's certainly the first time there was a calm push behind it. He collapses to his knees with a broken sob. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He's tired.

God, he is so tired.

Dean isn’t sure when he decided this was his only option to stop the deep visceral pain he’s feeling, but it's where he’s at now.

Swallow all the pills in the med bag? No, that's what bitches and girls do, plus… it's painful.

Slit his wrists in a nice warm bath? Even worse than pills! You really are some kind of faggot, aren’t you?

Shotgun to the face? Now that's the man’s way out.

He pauses, looking over to his favorite sawed-off. It’ll be an absolute mess if that’s the way he goes. He thinks again to the family he couldn’t save; how gory and horrific it was. He shudders and breathes in sharply. He can’t do that to someone else, especially not some innocent civilian.

“Of course,” he mutters under his breath “I have a rope in the trunk.” So that’s the plan.

He stuffs all his shit into his duffle, writes out an apology to Sam, Bobby, and John (it’s a suicide note, but it doesn’t explain anything), and then he ties a military-grade noose. He finds a chair that isn’t completely destroyed by his earlier rage and begins to tie the rope onto the ceiling fan.

He stands there for a moment, contemplating. “Am I really about to do this? I’ve fought monsters and demons and ghosts for twenty years and this is where it ends?”

He shakes his head and shrugs.

“Always knew I'd die before thirty.”

He raises the noose to his head and just as he is about to slide it around his throat… The chair breaks apart, and he's left lying on his back with the wind knocked out of him.

“FUCK!” he manages to yell out before his lungs and chest start burning again. Tears begin to pinprick at his eyes as he lays motionless (and probably concussed, he didn’t break his fall at all). “I can’t even kill myself right.” he thinks to himself.

Slowly, he gets himself off the floor, groaning at the pain in his skull and back as he does. Crawling over to his bed, he sees the glass shard he dropped earlier.

“I just want to stop this fucking FEELING” his mind screams. “Just do SOMETHING you worthless son of a bitch!”

He picks the glass back up.

Everything is hazy when his brain starts to come into focus again. His hands feel slick and wet, so he brings them to his face to see what he touched.

Blood.

His own blood.

Three long gashes across his forearm, roughly a quarter-inch deep and four inches long each. He needs to stitch himself up for sure.

30 minutes later and it just looks like a hunt gone bad, his arm is sewn up and all the motel towels are stained red.

For a fleeting moment, he feels at peace. The rush of discovering what he did in a fog of failing to kill himself and the overwhelming feeling of failing his family, he feels like this was something he deserved. Like he deserved to be punished.

After an hour of dissociating and staring at the wall, he passes out and sinks into a moment of silent nothingness. No nightmares, not yet.

Dean practically jumps out of his skin when he hears Cas’s voice from the doorway.

“Dean? You look pale. What's going on?” Castiel asks with his familiar cadence.

Dean wishes he knew what brought that memory back up. Instead, he plasters on a fake smile and shakes his head reassuringly the best he can.

“Nothing Cas, just thinking I guess. What took you so long? You burn the popcorn or somethin?” Dean knows he sounds insincere, he knows that Cas knows, too. He doesn't want Cas to worry any more than he already does, though.

“Dean, your heart rate sped up and you were on the verge of hyperventilating, what happened?”

Damn it. He should’ve known Cas could still do that weird x-ray angel shit. Instead of trying to hide it further, he sighs and motions for Castiel to sit beside him on the couch.

However, he blanches when Cas passes behind him and brushes his hand against Dean’s shoulder. Cas sits down carefully, not to overwhelm Dean. Castiel has seen him during a flashback before, especially after hell. Cas looks inviting, ready to listen to whatever Dean has to say. Cas was always trying to be open with him lately, Dean knows it’s because of the struggles the last six months.

Cas dying, if briefly. Dean ALMOST dying, because of it.

Wait…

That's when Dean realizes.

Every time he’s lost someone, it's been bad. Drunk passed out on the floor, let Baby be filthy, run into hunts without any concern for his safety, bad…

The two worst times were when he lost Sammy, and when he thought he lost Cas to the Empty.

Dean must’ve been sitting there with a strange look on his face for a while cause Cas reaches out gingerly to silently ask if he’s alright. Dean gives him a half-smile and lets out the breath he was apparently holding.

“Cas, did I ever tell you about what I did in 2004 when Sam was off at Stanford and I was hunting by myself?”

Cas tilts his head in that endearing way he always does, “Not that I recall. Is something from back then troubling you now still?”

Dean clenches his jaw and runs a hand over his mouth, a nervous tic he picked up from John decades ago. “I did something similar back then to what I did in that barn. I gave up.”

Castiel’s eyes widen a bit, starting to understand what Dean is trying to say, but staying silent, to let him get this out.

Dean cracks a wry chuckle, “y’know, when you pulled me outta hell and into my body again, I was surprised you wiped the slate and got rid of all my scars.” He glances at Castiel, just for a moment, to see his reaction. It's soft but a little confused.

“At the time, I thought you would like to come back whole. A fresh start after what you went through in hell. I know now that life is about the imperfections and that the littlest things have meaning and memories. I’m sorry if I took those from you, Dean.” Cas meets Dean’s eyes with apologetic fondness and sincerity.

“Cas, it's okay. Really. Sometimes… I don't know, there's some scars I just miss sometimes.” He runs his hand along his forearm, where the self-harm scars would’ve been. “The ones that were here… they gave me a constant reminder of what almost happened. What I almost did.” Dean can feel his face getting warm as he talks about it, eyes watering up but no tears slip down his face.

Cas seems to nod along, waiting for him to continue with concerned patience. “I tried to kill myself back in ‘04. Sam was gone and doing fine without me, he had Jess. Dad was pissed at me for not getting him to stay and hunt. I had no one. I hit a low point after finding a really fucked up case about a vengeful spirit that gutted a family, father, and two sons…” Dean chokes up, as he pictures the glazed eyes of the corpses he found. A shiver runs down his spine as he can still picture it like it was yesterday.

“You saw your father and Sam in them and it brought up a lot of emotions, that’s understandable.” Cas tries to reassure him but doesn’t quite understand what Dean’s trying to get at.

“I got drunk after I salt and burned the spirit's corpse. I felt empty inside and like nobody needed me. I couldn’t save those kids and I didn't see any point in saving myself…” tears are now flowing gently down Dean’s face as he tries to push out what he needs to say, what he needs Cas to understand about this. “When you, when you said all that stuff before you left… I felt that same exact way. Even though I had Sam and Jack and then the whole bullshit after with Chuck and Lucifer and Michael… I felt so damn alone. Like I’d failed you, cause I couldn’t even save someone I love the most.” Dean’s voice goes harsh as he full-on sobs at those last few words.

The past few months since Castiel has been back, they haven’t talked about Cas's confession before being taken by the Empty, and Dean hasn’t said it aloud (even though his mind is screaming those three words every time he looks at Cas). Dean feels Cas touch his hand gently, reverently. A sob violently racks his body as he looks up into blue eyes also filled with tears.

“I’m so sorry Dean. I’m sorry.” the last word catches in his throat as Dean grabs his hand fully, intertwining their fingers.

“I know Cas. You did it to save me. You seem to keep doing that, huh? From hell, saying yes to Michael, Billie, from myself…” Dean softly strokes his thumb against Cas’s hand while tear tracks continue to stain his face. “Cas, thank you. I know I’ll never be able to pay you back for all that you’ve done for me and for Sam but… thank you.”

They lock eyes for a moment, Dean knows Cas loves him and he knows he loves Cas. He can’t think of a goddamn thing standing in the way right now. Dean releases Cas’s hand, cups his face, and brings their lips together, finally.

It takes a moment for Castiel to understand what's happening, but he quickly catches up and kisses Dean back fervently.

Cas tastes like summer rain after a long drought, like lightning and thunder all at once, like earth and something ethereal Dean can’t quite place. Cas tastes like coming home, and he is.

“Me too, Cas. Son of a bitch, I love you too.” he whispers into Cas’s mouth as Cas lets out a sob-laugh.

They pull apart for a moment, hands still against each other's cheeks. Communicating with their eyes is something they’ve mastered after 12 years, but there's something unknown now. Something new, something hopeful. And dammit if Dean isn't going to latch on to that hope.

They decide on an old western, Dean’s seen it a hundred times before. They’re leaning into each other silently watching as Dean’s eyes begin to close. He can feel Cas running his fingers against his arm, where those scars would’ve been. It's then, in the comfort of his Angel, that Dean falls fast asleep.

For the first time in 40 years, he doesn’t have nightmares. Not of yellow eyes, not of losing Sammy; not of John’s anger, not of hell; the apocalypse, Michael, Chuck, losing Cas… it all feels distant and far behind him now. When Dean wakes again, Cas still has his arms around him, eyes closed, and is running his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean knows all his trauma won't just vanish, but in this moment with Cas...it feels possible.

5 notes · View notes

the-dark-swan · 4 years

Text

On My Side

“I was under the impression I was an ‘insufferable, territorial bastard’,” he mocked in a terrible impression of her voice. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“No, you can’t have it both ways, Mister Don’t-Touch-Me-Like-That,” Aelin spat at him, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

the Pandemic AU that literally no one asked for. i wrote the entire thing because of two lines of dialogue that popped into my brain (bonus points if you can guess which ones).

i’ve never shared anything i’ve written for the TOG fandom on tumblr before so here *chucks story into the void and runs*

(also available on ao3)

“I swear to every god that is listening I will choke you next time I see you, Rowan Whitehorn,” Aelin snarled, leaning her face dangerously close to her computer’s camera.

The speakers emitted a cacophony of howling laughter. She saw Rowan in the little square showing his camera feed, a shit-eating grin on his face. A beat passed, as he waited for a pause in the din of noise. His grin turned feral and he replied, “Do you promise?”

More laughter shrieked through the speakers, only broken by a choked gagging sound, no doubt from her cousin Aedion. “Could you guys keep it PG for more than 5 minutes at a time? I am begging you,” he groaned.

This all had started as an innocent way for them all to see each other again during their cities’ respective stay-at-home orders. Fenrys, ever the ring leader, had suggested in lieu of their typical March Madness bracket arguments, they could make brackets for other, more mundane things, then argue and vote on them via video chats. The first bracket they had done was MLM power-rankings based on the product and likelihood that Lorcan (the most cynical among them) could be convinced to join. It had taken them two hours before they had reached a conclusion, but for the most part it was goofy and civil.

Today’s debate was more personal: who among them was more likely to start a brawl in a bar. Instead of not wanting to be the one chosen, the group had immediately started vying for the position of most likely to. The current debate was between Aelin and Lysandra. Rowan had just given his two cents that not only was Lysandra more volatile when drunk, she was also more likely to cause a fight. Aelin was positively furious.

In the camera, Rowan spread his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Sorry, love, Lysandra is more likely to start a fight,” he knew she hated when he used pet names on her, “If the question was who is more likely to finish a fight, I would most certainly have picked you.”

“That’s it, Buzzard, I don’t care about social distancing…” Aelin leaped up and out of the screen.

Her friends couldn’t see her, but she stormed out of her apartment, practically ripping the door off its hinges. She took the steps to the third floor two at a time. One right turn and two left turns brought her in front of Unit 343. There was no resistance as she turned the handle and shoved the door open. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the rational part of her puzzled at what reason Rowan could possibly have for having his door unlocked.

Aelin stalked through the long hallway that opened into his loft apartment and found Rowan sitting on the ground, back against his couch, the laptop still open in front of him. Through the speakers, she could make out Fenrys’s voice.

“... twenty dollars says she spits directly into his eyes from Aedion. Lys has an additional five dollars down that Aelin will bring up the incident from New Year’s…”

Rowan reached forward calmly, pressing a button on his laptop, then finally raised his head to look at her. Pine green eyes roved up her body, making Aelin suddenly very aware that she was barefoot and actually wearing a shirt of his that she had stolen months ago.

“Was there something you needed to say?” he asked.

From the computer, someone asked, “Oh my god, Rowan, is she in your apartment?” to which Rowan responded by turning the volume down.

“Technically, you shouldn’t be here,” he added, his voice rumbling in that way that did funny things to Aelin’s heart.

Before she could stop the words, she shot back, “Technically, I thought you were supposed to be on my side, not Lysandra’s.”

“Did he mute them? I can’t hear anything,” a voice complained through the computer speakers.

He cocked his head at her, ignoring the laptop entirely. “You’d sound jealous if I didn’t know better.”

Aelin opened her mouth, but no words came. “Does anyone read lips?” Fenrys asked through the speakers.

“I was under the impression I was an ‘insufferable, territorial bastard ’,” he mocked in a terrible impression of her voice. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“No, you can’t have it both ways, Mister Don’t-Touch-Me-Like-That,” Aelin spat at him, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

Rowan went still, in that eerie, preternatural way of his. From the computer, someone murmured, “I think she just brought it up.”

The New Years’ Incident. Nausea rolled through her stomach every time she devoted any thoughts to it. The memory of Rowan yanking her hands away from his face, growling “Don’t touch me like that,” while everyone around them counted down the final seconds to midnight, was not a memory she liked to dwell on.

He rose to his full height, unfolding long, muscled limbs from where he sat on the floor, towering tall enough that Aelin swore he had his own gravitational pull. “Are we finally going to talk about it?”

In her chest, Aelin’s heart took off in a nervous gallop. Did she want to have it out with him over it, finally? Three months of carefully maintained distance from Rowan had been painful. Sidestepping him when he went to touch her, letting their inside jokes die on her tongue, sandwiching herself between Fenrys and Aedion at shared meals like they were bodyguards. Now that she thought about it, this was the first time they had been alone together since that night, despite living in the same apartment building.

Across the room, Rowan moved slowly, rounding the coffee table that separated them in measured, calculated steps, as if he was approaching startled prey. Aelin remained rooted to the floor, swaying a bit as he came within arm’s reach. This close, she had to tilt her head back to look him in the face.

“I’m sorry, Aelin.”

She shook her head, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “You don’t really even have anything to be sorry for. It was nothing.” In her head, ‘Don’t touch me like that’ played on a loop.

“It wasn’t nothing, Aelin. You won’t let me within three feet of you. And I miss you. Although, given the pandemic, maybe that has been for the best.” He paused for a beat, raising his hand out towards her. When she didn’t retreat, he moved closer, reaching for her hand and grasping it gently. She offered no resistance as he lifted it towards him and pressed it to the curve of his jaw.

Beneath her hand, his mid-day stubble bit into her palm. “Rowan,” she started, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

“Lately, it feels like the world is ending, and I keep thinking how you might have never known how much I miss you and how sorry I am,” his voice cracked and he swallowed roughly. “I didn’t mean it, what I said. I got… I got scared, Aelin. You mean everything to me. Everything. I thought if I… if we… if we kissed, it would ruin everything. I couldn’t risk messing everything up and losing you, but then I did that anyways.”

Her body rocked into his gravity of its own accord, her other hand automatically bracing against his chest. Talking over the pounding of the blood rushing in her ears, she said, “You didn’t lose me. I trust you, always. And if friendship is all you can give-”

“No,” he interrupted gruffly. “No, Aelin. I’ve had three months to be honest with myself and this has never been just platonic.”

A shuddering breath stuttered through Aelin’s chest at his confession, hope clogging her throat, preventing any more words from escaping. Rowan left her hand on his face, moving his own to cup the back of her neck and tip her face further up. This close, she saw the way his pupils had swallowed most of the green of his irises. She licked her lips and his eyes tracked the movement.

Just as he started to drift towards her mouth with his own, a voice startled them both. “Do you think they’re kissing or fighting? Lorcan had ten dollars on a brawl, Elide had twenty on a make out.”

“Could you excuse me for one moment?” Rowan whispered, his breath ghosting across her face. Removing his hands from her, he marched over to where the laptop sat open on the coffee table, bringing his face back into view and unmuting it.

“If you would kindly stop interrupting us-”

“I’m sure there’s lots of talking-” the unmistakable voice of Lysandra quipped.

“Like I said, there's money down on fighting or fucking pick your-” Fenrys added unhelpfully.

“Shut up ,” Rowan growled, leaning his face nearly all the way into the camera. “If you could shut your traps and stop trying to profit off of your friends’ love lives, that would be great.” Aelin slapped her hands over her face, a blush spreading like wildfire across her face. Love lives? Love? She hadn't dared to acknowledge the way that word rattled around her brain when she looked at Rowan, yet here he was casually throwing it out into the world. Through her fingers, she saw Rowan note her reaction.

“Goodbye, fuckos.” He snapped the laptop shut unceremoniously.

His steps were near silent as he made his way back to her, wasting no time drawing her back into his arms. Aelin brought both her hands up to his face this time, letting her thumbs drag over his cheekbones. His thumb brushed across her lower lip, as if to remind her where this moment was headed.

“Did that word scare you?”

She shook her head. “Nothing about you could ever scare me. Like you said, I don’t think this has been platonic for a long time, if ever.”

He considered her again for a moment, eyes tracking across her features. “What if you deserve better than me?”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve, Buzzard.”

“Gods, you’re such a brat,” he murmured, and then his lips were on hers.

#throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #the-dark-swan-writes #sarah j maas #and they were zoommates

12 notes · View notes

whirlybirbs · 5 years

Note

Ok ok hear me out, so we know Arthur reads Miss Turner’s journal but what if Miss Turner gets her hands on Arthur’s?

a/n: oh god i gave myself a cavity writing this. it’s long, it aches. arthur takes miss turner fishing. she catches him drawing her. they make a deal, he reads her journal. this is pure romance, folks. a slow burn. it hurts. here’s the masterlist!

He’s gone for two whole days.

Two. Only two.

But, with the way Miss Grimshaw’s been harping on you and the other girls, you can’t help but feel like it’s been a damn week. You swear your fingers are worked to the bone from the amount of stitching, washing and cooking you’ve been doing.

It’s early evening when Arthur returns to camp from the hunting trip (alongside Lenny and Bill and Charles with a boar on each horse). He gives you a good excuse to get out for a while -- Miss Grimshaw and Dutch and Hosea don’t ask questions when it comes to the blonde outlaw. It’s just... one of those things. They trust Arthur.

Bill nudges Lenny. They’d joked on the trip how Miss Turner was makin’ Arthur soft. This is a show of it.

“Please tell me you’re not sick ‘n’ tired of the great outdoors just yet, Mr. Morgan.”

The sound of your voice meets his ears and Arthur can’t help but grin; he moves slowly, then, lifting the bounty of the hunt from Sugarcube’s saddle and sparing you an amused look.

“An’ if I am?”

“I’ll drown myself in the lake.”

Oh, you are quick.

He laughs -- loud and true -- and strides over to drop the carcass by Pearson’s butcher’s block. The tenderloin will make good stew. Lenny and Bill smirk at the way you watch him, enjoying the fact they’re right -- no amount of denying can hide the way Arthur brightens with you by his side.

He leans, propping himself against the table and folding his arms. “Why?”

“Fishing.”

You roll your eyes at him, slapping his bicep in good-humor. “Jack was sayin’ how good of a teacher you are --”

“Oh,” Arthur croons, “Was he now?”

“-- And I would love to learn how.”

Arthur grins, looking mischievous. He kicks off from the table, pulling a sigh and trying to make it seem like this isn’t the nicest thing in the world -- a pretty girl like you, seeking him out for some alone time and treating him like he’s some sought after company. He tries to hide his cards, hide the pep in his step.

Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen can see it from a mile away.

“They didn’t teach you fishing in those high-society classes a’ yours?”

“Oh,” you chirp, “Yes, fishing and hunting were right alongside piano an’ singing.”

“Singin’?”

His brows quirk. He turns, walking backwards towards Sugarcube with an piqued interest. Blue eyes scale your face. You’ve gone sheepish. It’s rather adorable.

You clamp your mouth shut, averting your gaze. “I didn’t --”

“An’ piano -- my, my, you really are a lady --”

You shove him backwards with a blooming smile on your face, earning a deep laugh from the outlaw as he nears his horse. The Palamino Thoroughbred whinnies, bowing her head up and down in greeting. You pat her muzzle gently, cooing a bit as Arthur moves to his satchel.

“I’ve got an extra pole you can use,” he says, “C’mon, then, daylights wastin’.”

He offers a hand, hoisting you up as you swing to sit side-saddle. He’s up in-front of you in a flash, spurs tinkering as he urges Sugarcube into a light trot. Your arms snake around his waist, palms resting against the curve of his sides. His gun holsters rattle at the pace.

You prop your chin up on his shoulder.

“Miss Grimshaw keepin’ y’ busy?”

His voice resounds through him, deep and warm, and you can feel it in your chest. It’s satisfying.

“I would be lyin’ if I said she wasn’t the reason I wanted to get away --”

“And here I was, thinkin’ y’ wanted t’ spend some time with little ol’ me.”

You cop a grin. “You aren’t my type, remember, Arthur?”

You can feel the way his laugh rattles his ribs. His smile is contagious. The sun is still hanging in the sky, when you come to rest at a spot away from camp on the lake. The water is dancing with a yellowish-blue from the clouds above and you’re content to just... be.

“C’mon, then. Time t’ put you t’ work.”

You grin, happily accepting his hand and hopping off of Sugarcube.

“Now, fair warning --”

“You aren’t much of a fisherman?” you chirp, quirking a brow, “Dutch told me.”

Arthur suddenly goes sheepish, cheeks striking a rosy color as he grumbles and itches the back of his neck -- that damn story of him, twenty-one and lying about catching three, huge large-mouthed bass for dinner (when really he’d just gone and bought them) has continued to haunt him for the last fifteen years. You, though, seem to get a kick out of it and fall into a spur of giggles.

He wonders what the hell else Dutch has told you.

“Yea, yea,” he rumbles, “I was young --”

“Mhm,” you say, taking the offered pole from him, “Go ahead, make some more excuses --”

Arthur shakes his head, laughing. “You keep that up, I’m gunna have t’ ask you t’ sing.”

“Just because I had lessons,” you say as you venture closer to the water, “Doesn’t mean I was any good.”

“Fair enough... I’m still gunna make y’ sing.”

“If I’ve had a drink,” you raise a finger, “Then, maybe.”

“My, the fair lady drinks?” he chirps, “Jus’ when I’d thought I’d seen it all.”

You shove his shoulder, rolling your eyes as he moves to settle the tackle box between you both. He bends, groaning a bit, before clicking open the latch and beginning to dig through the baits. After a moment, he finally finds the container he was looking for.

Scrawled across the top reads ‘live worms’.

You pull a face.

Arthur cracks open the container and snags his pole, straddling it between his legs and snagging the line between his fingers.

“Hold this...” he blinks up at you, “What?”

“They’re... oh, god, they’re wriggling.”

Arthur swears you’re the cutest damn thing alive -- he’d kiss you if he had the courage. Instead, he grins and shakes his head. He reaches in, moving to tie the worm around his hook before taking the container from your hands and snapping it shut.

“I’ll show you,” he says, “Then, you can have at it, alrigh’?”

And so he does. He casts the reel with a long throw and you watch, listening to the fweeeeeeeeeep, plunk! of the bait flying out and hitting the water. It’s nice -- quiet and peaceful and calm. Then, his rod pulls.

He reels in the fish and holds it up.

“If it’s small, you can just...” he tosses the fish, “Let ‘em go.”

You fumble at first; the worm slips from the hook a few times while you try and skewer it -- and the first cast you have is atrocious. You nearly take Arthur out with your whipping of the pole. But, with a well-guided hand, Arthur pulls your arm back and shows you the right way to cast.

You try to ignore how close you are, back pressed right to his chest.

He wanders off after that, leaving you to wiggle the pole every now and again and reel in and cast out. You lose yourself in thought for a bit, focused on the feeling of the rod in your hands and the breeze coming through.

The sun has started to set in the west, painting the sky and lake all kind of shades of citrine and rose. The world has a rose-tinted glow at this hour. The rustling of the leaves on the trees is like a lullaby and on the far end of the lakeside, you can see a family of white-tailed deer grazing happily.

The buck raises it’s head and you smile.

It’s moments like these that make you thankful for leaving home behind. Some days, it hurts. But, out here -- free and true, you remember how nice it is to just breathe and be and live. No money, no rules, no manners. Just... the wild.

You turn your head, catching Arthur Morgan mid-study.

He ducks his eyes immediately, caught in the act of sketching you -- from his perch on the rock to your right, he quickly moves to snap close the new leather-bound journal you’d given him earlier in the week.

“Mr. Morgan --”

“No, no,” he says, dropping his pencil into his shirt pocket, “Don’t you start --”

You reel in, propping up the rod on a nearby rock and abandoning it for his sheepish look -- he tosses his head back, sighing loudly; you grin, eyes on fire with something dizzying. You climb onto the rock beside him, leaning to try and snag the journal quickly -- but Arthur is fast and he knows this game. After all, he’d pulled the same trick on you all those weeks ago to read your journal.

“Aah, aah, ah.”

“Let me see.”

“No,” he rumbles, “It’s my journal. I’ll draw whatever the hell I please.”

“... You were drawin’ me.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, leaning back as you reach again, “An’ you ain’t gonna see it.”

Courage surges in your chest. Rumor had it Arthur was a bit of an artist around camp. You’d spotted him here and there scribbling in that journal. You’d always assumed it was chicken-scratch. But... with the way he’d just been looking at you... that was a practiced look.

You hold your breath.

And then it all rushes out.

“How about -- if you let me see it, I’ll let you read any page from mine,” you say slowly, “Anything is fair game -- Though my poems aren’t very good.”

“... Poems?”

Consider his curiosity piqued.

You stick your hand out.

Arthur blinks.

“Deal?”

“Christ, sure, alrigh’.”

It’s childish, he knows, but it fills his chest with an exciting buzz that he hasn’t felt in a long time. This little game -- a tit for tat -- has his hands sweating a bit as he shakes your hand under the setting sun and -- reluctantly -- pulls open his journal and flips to the most recent spread.

He hands you the journal and your jaw drops.

To say he’s good... well, that wouldn’t do his skill justice. He’s wonderful -- and the full page sketch of you fishing has your heart hammering all the way back to camp. He’s captured you in an idyllic way, hair braided and hat hanging low; the caption beside it reads your initials with a faint heart beside them. The page opposite has a few smaller sketches -- of Sugarcube, of a boar, of a few flowers, all accompanied by the flourished script of his handwriting.

It’s beautiful.

It’s art.

“... It’s not th’ best I’ve ever done --”

You gawk, a breathless laugh whisked from your chest as you blink up at him beside you. You cradle the journal with a newfound sense of treasure.

When you meet his gaze, you’re speechless.

You just... flounder, a bit like a fish, for a moment.

“No one’s ever... drawn me before.”

It’s all you can say. The gesture of him going so far as to make you a home in his personal journal... is awfully romantic.

Arthur swallows, taking the journal from you and fishing the pencil from his pocket in a way that screams urgency -- his cheeks has gone rosy from the attention and he can’t help but drop his gaze from yours.

It’s like staring into the sun.

“I... I could finish it if you’d like,” he says slowly, “You can have it.”

“... Really?”

“I have others -- I mean, in... uh, I have other drawings.... in my other journal --”

“Of me...?��

You damn fool, Arthur Morgan!

He gawks. “Uh... Well...”

You can’t help the hopelessly sweet look that blooms on your face. Gently, you urge him on, hand meeting his wrist as he tries to figure out the right words to say.

“...You do, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he says, quickly changing the subject and breaking the moment to spare his heart, “But, I believe you have yer end of th’ deal to keep, Miss Turner.”

As he turns back to his sketching, you laugh and stand -- Sugarcube has your satchel in one of her saddle bags and you make quirk work on digging out your own journal from the depths. It’s nearly full, pages tattered and weathered from it’s use. It’s smaller than Arthur’s, not as thick, but the pages are teeming with content in delicate script.

Arthur’s shading is cut short by your return to the rock.

You offer him the notebook, eyes set ahead of you.

“One page,” you say, raising a finger, “You get to read one page.”

Arthur’s signature boyish grin is back, blooming as he tucks his pencil between the pages of his journal and sets it on the rock behind him. He takes your journal gingerly, thumb gracing your name engraved on the front of it. Immediately, a pressed flower falls out the front.

It’s lilac.

He hands it your way and your fingers brush like the kiss of a match.

Blue eyes dart to yours, measuring the sheepishness on your face.

You’re not surprised when his fingers flip to the most recent entry, written four days ago -- the night after you and him had righted your wrongs on the ride into Rhodes. It’s almost like he knows the writing there will bloom the same amount of anxiousness your admiring of his sketches did.

He clears his throat and you cry, throwing your hands over your face.

“Oh god, no, Arthur, don’t read it out loud --”

“ -- It was worth it, the anxiety of tucking a whole journal under by sleeve in that market stall in Saint Denis. I’ve never stolen a damn thing in my life. But, Mr. Morgan deserves something good. He smiled, big and wholesome and warm, when I gave it to him and I think that’s how I like him best; he tries so hard to be bitter, not realizing how easily me and the rest of the camp would kill to see him smile like that again --”

You lunge, hands pulling the journal from him as you shriek: “One page!”

Arthur’s face is split into one of those earth-shattering grins, one that you try your best to remember, when you snatch the journal from him -- your face is flooded with embarrassment, wishing maybe he’d picked a more poetic paragraph to read. You try and brace for the jeers, but instead, he drops his head and nods.

A beat of silence.

Your words settle neatly against his ribs.

“You mean that?”

“... Well, yes,” you breathe, clutching the notebook close to your heart, “Every word.”

“...You’ve never stolen?” he says after a beat, face screwed up, “... Ever?”

“... God, Arthur,” you cry, laughing loudly and shoving his arm, “That’s what you --- That is the one thing you focus on?!”

He grins again, chuckling at your reaction -- his ability to not make you feel like a fool is astounding. For a few moments, you both just sit there, basking in the glow of one another under the sunset. The clouds have turned inky purple in the wake of the sharing, breeze turning cooler off the lake as the camp’s fires begin to glow in the early evening light.

He’s a coward, though, and as much as Arthur Morgan wants to kiss you under the blinking stars, he doesn’t.

Instead, he hops down from the rock and offers you a hand; ever the gentleman.

“Best we head back t’ camp,” he drawls, “It’s nearly supper time.”

You nod, noting the permanent smile on his face. “Miss Grimshaw’s probably wondering where her favorite laundry girl went.”

Arthur gathers the fishing equipment and you tuck both of your journals back into Sugarcube’s satchels. Upon packing up, Arthur offers a hand again and you find yourself sitting side-saddle as he hauls himself upwards.

Your hold on him is bit more confident, now.

Your nose brushes his shoulder. Arthur’s hand pats yours on his hip.

“Arthur?”

“Yea?”

“... Thanks for drawin’ me.”

You can’t see his face. He’s thankful. His smile is lovesick.

#simpler said aloud #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #rdr imagine #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 reader insert #arthur morgan fanfic #Anonymous

311 notes · View notes

unluckyadept · 4 years

Note

How's it going, Felix?

…

[He was quiet for a while before speaking softly, in a low tone.]

…I have a lot on my mind.

[He interlaced his fingers, looking off to the side.]

But it’s… not of the “standard” fare, you would say. No… this is…

…Clearer.

It’s not hazy like fire, it’s…

[High pressure. Dense. All-surrounding. All-encompassing.]

[…Like deep, deep water.]

…

…Difficult.

[He closed his eyes.]

…I’ve been given… much to think about. Over things which are… not easy to discuss.

[He lowered his hands, holding them out slightly, as if to indicate openness rather than defensiveness.]

Not with… most people outside of my traveling companions, anyway.

[There was only one person, really, he had ever discussed with at length on such matters. The one who had always been closest to them, in a way he respectfully chose not to pry into.

He swallowed slightly before continuing.]

I… think about my friends. Even about my… enemies.

[He opened his eyes, face turned upward in thought.]

…Every person has their own story. Mine… is just a long one. One of many, many stories out there.

[…Yes.

This was easier.]

The Proxan Warriors had their stories. I’ve even read part of the story behind Saturos—an insight into his life, into his choices, his sacrifices.

The people who built the great structures, even the ancient ones who tried to obtain immortality and unleashed the scourge of Luna upon the world in the process—

They all had their own story. Long forgotten, now, for the most part—remembered only as an obscure collective in passing, in legends which are incomplete at best.

[He sighed.]

My friends… they have their stories. And some of those stories…

[He looked away, clearly sad.]

…There is just so much suffering. Consistently… every single one of them has understood deep pain. Even the little ones.

[He shook his head.]

I think it’s part of the human experience. We all… experience pain. We experience pain, and loss.

And how… we view the world—this world, and… outside of it…

That undoubtedly informs… how we might choose to act, how we might choose to….

[…No.

It was hard again.]

…

[He had to close his eyes, taking in another deep breath and sighing again, trying to drop the tension.]

…It isn’t easy.

It’s not… easy.

It’s not easy to discuss. And… I’m used to not talking about it much. Not with other people. Everyone else has enough on their minds. It’s just…

I’ve been given a lot to think about. Being… reminded—no…

Being given perspective on my situation, and… and that of my friends.

[His own connection to Venus, and life in the wilds as a fugitive—let alone all his experiences before that—]

…They were right.

[…No matter what context you had, when it came to such anguish…]

…Never fully prepared.

({And whose fault might that be?})

[He scowled, disappointed at himself for such thoughts.]

({It’s not like I have had much of a choice; I was… taken from them so long ago; it’s… almost TWENTY years, now!})

[…He wasn’t even sure he could…]

…I can’t go back to the heart of Angara. Certainly not alone.

But I haven’t… haven’t seen my family in so, so long…!

And it makes me wonder—

Am I already…?

Am I so removed from their life that I no longer factor into the living picture?

[…He had to imagine so.]

(I knew there would be a price, but I never… never thought that it would have been to be cursed with exile.)

I have been alone for so, so long. It makes me wonder…

Who would notice? What… connection do I have, what mark have I made, what story will they tell?

What will they say of me?

How would I be remembered?

What impact have I made upon the world, upon the lives of others?

Or was the price… just too high, that I… was gone for so long, and destined to be tied to such brutal pain?

What the Proxans did, toward the end, on the road to Venus Lighthouse…

[He clenched his hands into fists, and they shook slightly.]

…I’ve been reminded how much harder that must have been for everyone NOT accustomed to a Mars Adept to… deal with the aftermath. That is…

…Something I had come to take… take for granted.

…I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I want to go home.

[There was a sudden sharp outburst.]

I want to go HOME!

[And just as quickly, he stifled the turmoil, turning aside.]

…I want to see my family again. Even if it were to come at…

-=-=-=-=-=-

“Felix. I love you, and you are my only son. We don’t know if Jenna survived… for the past few years, you’ve been our only child, too. We understand you must go, but I am hesitant to let you enter into such an agreement. It is dangerous. You know that guarding the Sanctum—”

“Is our ‘sacred duty’,” I interrupted, exasperated. “I know that already! But I’m not bound—”

My father grabbed me by the shoulders, looking me in the eyes. He was deadly serious, and I stopped talking mid-sentence.

“On our life, Felix. That means that they will kill you if you violate that duty!”

I… can’t explain what that was like. There is nothing worse than seeing a Venus Adept angry. I felt suddenly very unnerved as I slowly began to understand the consequences this would have for me.

Puelle looked shocked, as did Saturos. They couldn’t believe it.

“You… cannot be serious.”

“Damn serious, Puelle! We were not lying when we told you that!”

“But… you said it was—”

“They won’t care about his motives! They haven’t seen what we’ve seen. They won’t believe any claims! To be there when it happens is one thing, he hasn’t taken the oath and if you took him by force…. But to enter into an agreement? To raid the Sanctum and steal the Stars, light the Lighthouses, and restore Alchemy willingly? That is another. They would not spare him!”

-=-=-=-=-=-

…the ultimate price.

[He was quiet for a while, and spoke in a low tone when he spoke again.]

Did you know how often I’ve faced the consequences, and not even just in theory?

Countless times.

Because I?

I feel pain, in my dreams. When I am injured in my dreams, I feel pain.

Countless times, over the years, have I… been placed in the mental landscape, and faced such torment, endured great suffering, to the last.

I’m weary right now, and I want a chance to… change the course of fate. I want to…

…Not live the next several hundred years regretting living so long disconnected from the world, squandering the only chance I had to be with others, to make a difference before the opportunity was gone.

[Another, heavier sigh.]

I don’t want my friends to worry—

((Too late for that, Felix; they’ve already noticed via the enchanted watches—))

—and I know that… even if I had rights to speak more plainly, it would only cause most of them… some stress.

Because there are… stark, stark similarities. That’s part of why… why I was taken so deeply off-guard. It forces you to remember—

It could all have been different. If only minor details would have been different, we could have been lost years ago, in our own incidents.

[Him, of course. That was a given. With how many times he had been brought to the threshold? Yes, of course, and perhaps he too easily dismissed that to focus on others.

Dr. Cossack came to mind in particular in this case, which made it all the more difficult; he knew how deeply scarring that event had been on everyone close to him.

But he wasn’t even the only one.

Not that he could really say outright who ELSE came to mind.]

And what if it should strike again tomorrow? A year from now? Ten years down the road?

How would each of us be remembered?

How will we be judged—if not in Death, then most certainly by those still dwelling with Life—for how we impacted the world around us?

I should like… to be remembered…

…As someone who had compassion, who… helped people in need.

Someone who could provide counsel and protection; someone who was strong and reliable.

[…He smiled slightly, relaxing a bit.]

…Someone who mattered.

Someone who made a difference. Perhaps… even to those who have meant so much to me.

[He was quiet on this for a long, long time.]

I’m in no rush for that to become relevant—or… relevant AGAIN, in the case of SOME of my non-organic friends—

(At least they BOTH are doing better, praise be, FINALLY have received some proper treatment, possibly as adequate as it can get for their heart conditions—)

—to myself, or to my friends, so please… do not worry about that.

It’s just…

There are at least two—no, three—songs I know of that address the matter of not getting so caught up in the moment that we take the people in our life for granted. That we don’t take our setting—even the very environment itself—for granted.

And right now, I feel VERY motivated to… reflect on this, at the very least.

I am not permitted to speak on certain particulars under pain of… harassment, shall we say. Not all the dimension walkers are tolerant, and I can’t even explain any further.

[…Which was a shame, because the Proxan cultural context of spirits WAS deeply important to him, and he was well aware that spirits could linger on, in Weyard; it was heavily documented by multiple sources and some of the people of Garoh even historically had the ability to communicate with them in a limited manner, from what Maha told him.

But the LAST thing he wanted right now was spiteful reality-benders snarling at him.]

I’ve just… been given much to think about.

And that’s what I’ve been doing the last few days…

Thinking.

#cje #unluckyadept #Golden Sun #Golden Sun: The Lost Age #Golden Sun: The Broken Seal #Golden Sun: Dark Dawn #GS #GS: TLA #GS: TBS #GS: DD #GS4 #Golden Sun 4 #GoldenSun #neshirys #codedhopes #mowseries #Paradox posting #IC nonsense #still relevant

7 notes · View notes

davidedwardking · 4 years

Text

I found an extremely bizarre internet survey

Nobody knows what rock bottom truly is until they've hit it.

Being abruptly fired from a job you've worked at for the past ten years, and then catching your girl cheating on you with your replacement really makes a man think.

Hell, my student loans aren't even paid off yet.

What a shitshow this life is.

After a rather boozy night that consisted of sending out about four dozen resumes and horrendously written cover letters, I passed out.

When I woke up the next morning, I decided to at least try and make some money at home while waiting for an interview.

At that moment, I thought that the best way to go about it was completing those internet surveys that yielded 5 dollar subway gift cards and other shit like that after about an hour of answering questions. I mean, I didn't have any other marketable skills that could've yielded immediate income.

It was either that or wasting the day away playing computer games. At least I wouldn't have to pay for food.

I did these surveys for about 5 hours before nearly passing out. It was way more excruciating then I'd originally anticipated. At the end of those 5 hours, I'd accumulated about $45 in cash and gift cards.

$9 an hour. Not like I was making much more than that before. I was about to close my laptop up for the day and head to a bar in an attempt drown out my melancholy when I first saw it.

It shouldn't even have been noticeable... but for one reason or another, it was. At the bottom corner of the website that I was on, existed a tiny, singular advertisement. Maybe it was the simplicity that got me. Plain black letters in a tacky font that read "Surveys for cash" overlapped a completely white background.

At least they were direct with the message. One more couldn't hurt, I thought. Might as well scrape together a little bit more booze money before heading out.

I sat back down, clicked on the picture link and prepared myself to grind through some more painstaking inquires. The first few questions were simple enough. I guess they weren't really questions, but more data collection. My name, age and occupation. I thought it was kind of weird that they also asked my height and weight, but it wasn't unheard of.

The first real question was a different story though. I must have stared at it, eyes wide and mouth agape, for god knows how long.

What the actual hell?

In plain English, this is what popped up on my screen: "How strong is your urge to currently look behind you?"

There were five options below, ranging from "Not at all" to "overwhelming".

There was no feasible reason why I should've been afraid at that moment. But I was. I tightened my breathing, trying to make out any subtle noises behind me. There were none. After maybe about five minutes, I worked up the courage to look. There was nothing. I sighed in relief and scoffed at myself at the same time.

This must have been some kind of joke. However, I decided to entertain it, answering "neutral" and clicking onto the next question. This is what it read: "Why would you look behind you?"

I smirked. Funny, before simply typing in a "I don't know" in the response box and once again clicking next. This was the 3rd question: "You're on a plane. Apart from you, there is only one other passenger, who is sitting somewhere behind you. At some point, you get up to go to the washroom, and find that the man is gone. You check to see if he is in the only bathroom on the plane, but he isn't. What do you do?"

Again, I must have stupidly stared at it for nearly ten minutes. Was this some kind of obscure personality test? I mean, it must have been, right? Right?

I put the same answer that I used for the last question: "I don't know." It was true. I didn't know. How was I supposed to answer this shit?

I click next again, now more intrigued than anything. The 4th question went like this: "You wake up in woods unfamiliar to you. It's nighttime, and the moonlight provides you with only slight visibility. About thirty feet away from you, there is a small, dimly illuminated cabin. The door is open, and a smiling woman is motioning for you to come in. Do you go? Explain why."

This question wasn't necessarily weirder than the last one, so my conjecture that this was some kind of odd personality test was still feasible. I actually make an attempt to answer this one, something along the lines of going into the cabin because there's simply nowhere else to go.

Once again, I click next. Probably shouldn't have.

The questions started getting fucked up. They weren't too gory or explicit, not anything like that. They were just stranger. Weirder. More psychologically disturbing. If you're wondering why the hell I kept going, I can't really give you an explicit answer to that. I just felt like I had to. It was an esoteric, creeping sensation that I can't quite explain away. But I could never shake it. So I just went on.

Some of the questions that stood out were:

"Suppose that you wake up one night to find an elevator in your house. During every midnight after that, it opens up for five minutes, revealing an exact copy of yourself that gets progressively more injured as time goes on. Do you keep living like this? Or do you enter the elevator once and end it all?"

And:

"You're in a hotel room but are awoken by a rapid knocking at your window. You peek through the blinds, seeing what appears to be a man missing both his eyes. He puts his mouth to the glass and tells you to kill the woman in the bathroom immediately. Do you listen to him?"

This was one of my least favorites:

"You are watching home videos with your mother. One of the tapes include footage of her being murdered by a masked intruder. Your mother simply laughs at this footage without saying anything. In your opinion, is this a cause for concern?"

In addition to this insanity-inducing shit, there were some rather disconcerting events happening in real life as well. I received a knock at the door about thirty minutes in. I looked through my peephole to find a guy standing there, frantically shaking his head and mouthing "no" while making direct eye contact with me. He looked terrified. Obviously, I didn't open up.

I received about ten phone calls from somebody named "the auditor" on my caller ID. They left a message every time, but each one was just a recording that consisted of somebody saying numbers through heavy static. Actually, it sounded more like screaming now that I think about it.

About an hour into this thing, and I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. I was petrified of looking behind me, even though there was no indication that anything should've been there. I heard some soft scratching coming from my vent at one point, so I moved my couch over it.

Eventually, I reached what appeared to be the end of the survey. However, it wasn't a question. It was simply a statement.

"Don't let them in. They're not to be trusted."

Almost as if it were on cue, I heard more knocking at my door about five seconds after reading this. As slowly and silently as I could, I moved over and looked through the peephole once again. It was a different person than the one I'd seen earlier. She was a woman, looking to be in her mid twenties. She was wearing a thick blazer, despite it being around 90 Fahrenheit outside. She was also wearing sunglasses, so I could never really tell where she was actually looking. She eventually took a piece of paper out of her pocket and slipped it under the door.

I look down and read it.

"It's lying. Leave your apartment immediately."

It's been about half an hour since. I can't bring myself to look at the computer screen nor at the woman outside. She's still there. I can see the shadows of her feet from underneath my door. I heard my bedroom window open a few minutes ago, but I've since jammed the door shut with a chair. I can hear some kind of distorted muttering coming from behind it now.

Maybe rock bottom wasn't so bad.

But what the fuck am I supposed to do here?

1 note · View note

fan-art-ic · 5 years

Photo

THE PRINCIPLES OF BEING AN UNTETHERED ZEALOT by @fan-art-ic

[id under cut]

THE PRINCIPLES OF BEING AN UNTETHERED ZEALOT

if you stopped telling people it's all sorted out after they're dead,

they might try sorting it all out while they're alive.

I grew up in a small room with white walls and grey floors, with plastic tables where I sat, making a cross from craft foam and a glue stick. An older lady named Mrs. K, or Ms. Z would tell the room about a man named Jesus, who died for our seven-year old sins of lying —about if we brushed our teeth— stealing —a french fry off a plate, and cheating —at monopoly.

I grew up in church after church after church, in car rides ten twenty and eighty minutes long, told that something holy exists, and how my mom may have cried out in pain as my head crowned, but there was a man in the sky who created me. I learned to recite words of punishment, the same words that the angels spoke at gomorrah, to earn pieces of candy and pocket-toys.

Until I was ten, I went to church. Then the bed called louder in the early morning hours, so I never went to Sunday school again. For over half of my life, I was told there was something righteous in the air, and something revenant in the water, and if I pried open my feral child heart to let the Lord in, I would not be damned, tortured, and abandoned to eternal agony in death.

II.

I’m not sure exactly, of how to explain this: I don’t believe in God, I believe in GOD in People. I believe in the pain of kneeling before something Bigger. I believe in how sunlight burns my skin like a cherub’s sword. I believe in the community of Same Heart and Faith. I believe in how hair glows like a halo under streetlights. I believe in the ineffability and complexity of a Humanity.

Does this make sense?

Does you witness the way my heart is bruised before you?

The LORD is my SHEPHERD, I shall not want— but I shall need and do need. I need so desperately. I own a gaping, aching need to fill myself with a Truth, a Truth that’s been left unfilled but created from hours of study, hunched over silk-thin paper and imprinting into my child mind the grief of Mary, the faith of Abraham, and the belief of Paul.

I ask myself —the hole asks itself— what about the tragedy of Emmanuel? Carpenter, friend, son, and Son? Whispered to by a man who called Himself “Father”, who ordered young Emmanuel to bleed and strip himself —hanging bone-splintered above his mother and city— humble to save his neighbors, his heroes, his mother and father?

I ask myself —the hole asks itself— what about the tragedy of Job? Faithful, beautiful Job, ever servant to his God, and suffered endlessly and countlessly as a test of his belief. His children dead and friends’ backs turned on him —blaming words like knives under his shoulder blade— now a man with nothing, toyed with by his God, who already knew Job would remain to any length in His name.

I ask myself —the hole asks itself— what about the tragedy of Lucifer? God’s right-hand, most beloved as all? Wings that glimmered and made sinless —for sin was not yet invented— angels shiny with awe? Lucifer Morningstar, named so for being full of light, bright and beautiful as the dawning sun painting color across the brand new sky, who God designed to have the tint of pride, to have thoughts God would not like, and who was destined to burn from curiosity into something dark, twisted, ashen, disturbed?

I cannot believe in God, for He would take my belief and grasp it with both hands and twist and yank and distort me into another story for a seven-year old child to be told in a room with white walls and grey floors.

III.

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines religious as: ‘relating to or manifesting faithful devotion to an acknowledged ultimate reality or deity // a religious person // religious attitudes 2 : of, relating to, or devoted to religious beliefs or observances //joined a religious order 3a : scrupulously and conscientiously faithful b : FERVENT, ZEALOUS’

I have faithful devotion to: -Doodling on tests and quizzes and legal documents -Staying up late to read yet another chapter -Finishing shows (unless I get bored mid-episode in which I never finish it) -A love of cats -Respecting my mother -Disrespecting my father (subtly though, I don’t want to get smacked again) -Writing bad poetry -Writing half-bad prose -Ordering the same food every time (because experience has taught me that the familiar is better)

I wouldn’t call myself [SCRUPULOUS] or [CONSCIENTIOUS], but I will accept, defend, and fight for [b: FERVENT, ZEALOUS]. I am this quiet, barren thing, dull as the metal hull of Oppenheimer’s pride. In my third eye I am Powerful and Strong and Shiny new like the metal glint of a knight with armor polished, my sword strung at the hip.

My child heart rests dormant in my chest and feral in my memories. Memories of bashing a head against a church floor, of a heady violent form taking hold of my dirty, grubby fingers.

IV.

The LORD became God when Man forgot to write about how the LORD wept for his Children on the Eighth Day.

I haven’t touched the ground today. I was too busy noticing the angels who sat on the park bench talking about deadlines and soul quotas. The same cigarette touched their not-lips and the one with muddy shoes flicked the doggend onto the sidewalk, grinding it into ash with his heel.

I heard one say that love isn’t Love —I could hear the capital in his voice— and the other snorted, a strange trill echoing from his inhuman fleshy throat. “What’s the difference, then?” he asked. “love is a service, a loan with one-hundred-and-ten interest.” My toes brushed the dirt and the first angel kept talking: “Love is a selfish act mangled and chewed and torn, it hurts worse than a Fall and is worth more than Grace.”

“I don’t get it, both sound fucking awful,” the other angel said.

“It’s called free will.”

They began a new cigarette and I started to walk again. I think I learned something there, in the park, near those angels. I think I saw the ash grey halos and heard human things for ethereal beings, and understood how the wine-dark of the sea crashes so brutally over the cliffs, drawing artists and writers to its beat, begging to be seen in its violent shores.

VI.

When I was twelve, I tried to touch God. I rode in tense silence, ten minutes there, ten minutes back, to a youth group at a big, white church that had a parking lot so big, I would collapse racing kids one end to the other. I stood in the gym where other twelve-year olds threw footballs and frisbees and free advice, before the pastor would give God’s advice after we all stood for five songs of worship to God, blessing him for shelter, food, water, life, for the absence of pain and presence of joy.

My feet ached and my baby soul hurt, wretched from the inability to embrace the Word of God from the mouths of people who preached kindness and then placed me in groups of kids during activities, where I became a specter: a disheveled, nail-chewing, hair band-snapping, too-solid ghost.

I abandoned church at age sixteen. I tried to find God in the evergreens and mountain air and streaking skies. When my counselor asked if everyone in the tent believed in God, I said maybe. I wanted to be honest and brave, knighted in Truth. What I got was an interrogation, a smiting on those wooded hidden paths, with commands of faith poured down my gasping throat and my pinched nose.

God is the name of justification, and I could not find Him for my own Justice.

VII.

When I was a child, I was told of a resolution, solution, dissolution of all worries, fears, trappings of the human sickness. I was told of Something not greater, but Bigger then my whole world —granted, a seven-year old’s world is the size of an oyster, with them as the pearl— that dealt in a hand of cards with each suit a different type of miracle. My mind was imprinted on with the imagery, the shining glory, of angels and wings and chariots, who swept man off his feet to spit Words of Truth, handpiece to God and examples to look up to —but no one ever mentioned how Moses was buried in the sand.

The neural pathways for divine faith have been ordered, constructed, red ribbon cut, all for no crowd to show up. I have an illness that requires an intervention of a LORD on HIGH, but all I have are the echoes of a Man’s God being read to a group of children in a white room with grey floors.

#poetry #religious poetry #queer poets on tumblr #my writing #religious poem #so uh. here's this i suppose #the formatting is a lil wonky but hopefully not too wonky for it to be problem

126 notes · View notes