#all the while crushed under the giant machine into a shape that fits the only space allotted for someone like you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nacregames · 2 years

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sooooo I got an ask about how the ROs would propose to MC and since I don’t think it’ll be in-game, I decided to indulge anyone who was interested in the answer. Also, please note, that I kept the scenes vague on purpose and avoided too much dialogue so that you can leave it mostly to your headcanons!

JV:

It's one of those nights your girlfriend is in a silly mood, gluing stickers on your faces and insisting on doing your make up even though she has absolutely no idea what she's doing.

Oh this was supposed to be for your lips? But it says eyeliner- oh- lip liner, yeah sorry, she only knew about lipstick, you know. In her defense, the last time she wore make up was back when blue eye shadow was in.

Somehow you're too focused on the cute face Mel makes while she's concentrating to complain, just accepting your fate as you hold back a grin when she sticks her tongue out while trying not to mess up the lines of your lips. With the right product this time.

The best thing? She's not even drunk. Mel doesn't need a single drop to be able to sprout nonsense or get stoned to devour a meal for two (or four, you're unsure).

So, yeah, it's kind of a pyjama party and you somehow end up sharing secrets and talking about embarrassing moments of your childhood and teenage years, your first crushes and eventually your dreams. At some point, Mel begins to tell a story about how she spend her whole allowance (pocket money as she likes to call it) for weeks on a giant gacha machine just for a single item.

When you ask her what it was, she tells you to hold on a sec and pulls something out from under her bed. It's surprising how quickly she finds it actually; your girlfriend has never been the most...."organized" as you call it. Mel sits down in front of you again, holding a small box in her hand. She offers it to you and you take it.

Inside the box there's a ring with a heart shaped pink gem, looking barely big enough to fit your pinky finger at best. Mel tells you that she wanted this ring the first moment she lay her eyes on it, swearing to herself that she'll use it to propose to the woman of her life.

She was only 9 when she made that promise. But it's still valid she tells you, looking directly into your eyes.

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You are lying both on the grass, watching the sun set while quietly enjoying each other’s company.

It had started with a small picnic; actually Arrow had stolen all the food - and you mean ALL of it- and started running, grabbing your hand as he did. Everything happened so fast, the only thing you can remember is the uncharacteristically determined look on his face when he opened the fridge and before you knew it, you found yourself here.

Fuck, it's not like he didn't pull that off before, but not to this extent. This time he's in for trouble for sure.You have no idea what was going through his mind that moment and when you ask him, he shrugs it off, telling you to eat. You hesitated, but decided to drop it, knowing that he'd tell you when he felt like it.

After finishing your "well-deserved" food, Arrow suggested to play a game and since there wasn't really anything else, you decided to compare clouds to animals (or other, less appropriate things). You didn't even notice when the sky took an orange hue, but somehow you both fell silent, taking in the mesmerizing landscape.

It is him who breaks the silence first, slow and hesitant, almost shy as he begins to count everything he likes about you. The things he mentions are mostly stuff you even didn't know about yourself, which is kinda weird and yet you can't deny the warmth that spreads through you.

He eventually tells you what possessed him to invoke the anger of the entire crew and shyly admits that he kind of panicked when he thought about you and him...you know...m-marrying.

Arrow doesn't wait for your reaction as he takes your left hand in his own, slipping something carefully onto your ring finger. When you look down, you realize that it's a small ring made out of the daisies he had plucked from the ground. Looking deeply into your eyes, he tells you that he wishes to be with you forever, no matter in what kind of way. He doesn't expect you to answer...or even accept his proposal...All he wants is to be close to you.

But lord, he'd be blessed if you said yes.

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Chal is thinking about it every now and then, the thought bringing a fond smile to her lips. Whatever "it" is. It's been going on like this for a while now and you're practically dying to find out about the reason; especially since she's throwing glances at you each time too.

Eventually you break and decide to go for it. Surprise washes over her face, her usually narrow eyes growing big and round when you ask her what's going through her head. Apparently she wasn't aware that she was acting so obvious and for a moment Chal doesn't know how to respond.

Which is highly suspicious to say in the least.

Your curiosity is at it's peak when you see her cheeks turning a shade darker than usual. Seeing your funny expression, Chal lets out a small chuckle and reaches out to caress your cheek. This time it's you who's caught off guard, unable to figure out whether it's your face that's warm or her hand.

She lets her eyes wander over your features for a moment, her gaze focused as if she's trying to find something...You're not sure what "it" is once again, but your lover seems to be content with her findings.

Releasing your cheek, she proceeds to take your hands in hers, her fingers gently brushing over your knuckles as she tries to gather her thoughts.

The gesture is so gentle, her touch so soft, it makes you turn to mush whether you like it or not. When she looks back up, there's another smile on her lips. Brighter. More open. The kind that makes you forget all your worries.

But it's only when she opens her mouth to speak that you forget the world.

"Marry me."

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You're lying on his chest, sighing comfortably as he's playing with your hair and it feels like all of his wishes have come true. There's nothing Clay could want besides wrapping his arms around you and feel you.

Feel your presence, your warmth, your scent...

Well, there's one more thing he dreams of, something he didn't think he would want ever again.

And it makes him think; think about all the times he felt like he didn't deserve to be happy. About the rare times, where he asked himself if these thoughts were true and wondered about what would happen if he actually allowed himself to be happy.

Just a little, he'd tell himself.

But then he'd remember how scared he got when he thought about how much more he could get hurt if he did.

It had taken him a lot of time to get out of this endless circle of doubt and overcome his fears, but somehow he managed. And it was all thanks to you.

It's you who gave him a chance at happiness, you who taught him once again to trust, you who makes him forget all of his worries.

And with something so simple as a smile at that...

It's you, all you and he wants you to know. Know just how much he loves you, how much you mean to him.

Of course Clay knows that he still has some things to work on and that you're not there to fix him; you can't. No one but he himself can. But ever since you entered his life, Clay doesn't feel like everything will- has to- go wrong, like he'll break and fall apart if anything bad happens.

He has learned to accept things as they are, and not to always look for a greater meaning behind everything. Learned to forgive himself, to allow himself to heal instead of punishing.

He learned to stand on his own. And he wants you to stand beside him.

Forever.

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Mercy & Lei - okay, sorry, I wanted to write a small scenario for them just like I did with the others, but the situation is just so funny to me, so please bear with me. Here's the thing:

So both of them plan out a perfect date; Mercy to every single thing they are going to do and Lei juts the important stuff, like booking a restaurant and a ride etc. Everything is supposed to be super romantic & intimate, but ofc Lei is blessed by the gods and the evening goes very smoothly for him, just like in a fairy-tale. It's better than anything MC ever dreamed of and super wholesome.

Meanwhile the whole universe is against Mercy and ofc they have fucked up (well, not personally, but things just didn't go as planned) and somehow they're just at the end of their wits, this close to a total breakdown - which they confess to MC and tell them how everything was actually supposed to go. BUT in the end, they've told MC their feelings in such an honest and open way, like they never did before and their proposal is so sweet that nothing else matters then them and MC being together and it's very wholesome!!

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Candy - nope, don't talk to her about marriage, bc it's nonsense. She's already accepted the fact that you're together and that's the absolute, ultimate, highest level of proof of her love for you. She may agree if you insist, but it's very unlikely.

MS:

Lilith - would never build up the courage to propose to Lucifer, sorry. She'd say yes in a heartbeat if they asked her tho.

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Gabriel doesn't propose either and it wouldn't even cross her mind to ask tbh.

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Raphael looks you at you as if you had said something absolutely absurd, obviously trying to process what you just shared with him.

"Marriage?" he kind of spits out, as you stare at back at him, unsure what to do with his reaction.

"You wish to marry?" he asks you and you nod slowly, making him frown even deeper.

Now that he's saying it out loud it sounds stupid. It didn't before, but coupled with the look on Raphael's face, it sounds really, really stupid.

"Y-yeah...mmh maybe some day..?"

Uh, you shouldn't have said.

"Seriously? Like humans do?"

No longer able to keep up with his mockery, an exasperated sigh escapes you and you suddenly stand up. But you're being pulled back onto the couch by Falito. His grip is very strong, easing ever so slightly when he realizes what he's doing.

It's not threatening nor forceful, only enough to prevent you from leaving. You're not resisting, but you're making it a point not to look at him either. You know how much he hates it when you do it.

"Look at me," he says immediately, hand reaching out to cup your cheek. And even though you can feel his bright blue eyes boring into you, you're too upset to face him.

Please, love. Should be what he's saying next, always apologizing after he made you upset and not thinking beforehand. It usually takes him a few times and a little (affectionate) force for you to give in and you're making up again. So you're already preparing yourself, annoyed that it has to play out like this every time.

But the Archangel doesn't beg for you to look at him, neither does he apologize until you accept. No, instead of letting your usual quarrel go on, he says something that makes you whirl around immediately, skipping any other unnecessary talk.

Did he..? No you must have misheard....right?

"Let's marry."

Oh. You haven't.

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

Araqiel is studying human behavior again, this time using social media platforms as a source instead of invading their personal lives as usual. Although she only brings joy to these simple mortals, it's still funny to you how she does it so nonchalantly, how naturally she slips in and out of their lives.

"We gave them marriage to take care of each other and they just use it as a means to have a living bank at their side," she talks to herself (or maybe to you, you can't really say), "or they just get a divorce the next day, after they sober up from their trip to Las Vegas. Don't you think it's awful how they see their unions as simple paperwork?"

You hadn't expected the sad tone in her voice and turn to face her. Sensing your worry she gives you a weak smile.

"I guess taxes aren't that bad if it makes people stick together," she jokes halfheartedly, but you know the topic is troubling her.

"Come on, it's not that bad. Sure, there are people are together because they have some ulterior goal and you can't do anything about that, but there are others who love each other and that's what truly counts, right? There's just too much politics involved in these events nowadays and that's why many avoid it." She doesn't seem particularly convinced, but she knows there's no point in arguing, since you're both aware of the situation.

"Yeah, I guess," she shrugs and you nudge her playfully.

"You know, for someone who's holding marriage so highly, you're awfully quiet about the topic," you say, feigning disappointment.

"I don't see a ring on these hands either," you whine, holding them out in front of her and wiggling dramatically.

"Oh?" she says, matching your movements, "Silly me, missing something so important." Ara inches closer, whispering close to your ear.

"I know no words will remedy this horrible mistake, but it's not too late to change that..."

"Oh?" This time it's you who's (truly) surprised.

"Mmmhhh...," she mumbles, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

"How about it, love? Should we marry?"

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

It quite noisy in the house with all of his siblings around and just when you thought you were being released, they bombard you with another set of questions. No matter how many times you visit, they never run short of those.

Luckily, Mac is there to save you, prying you away from their greedy hands and saying something to trigger their mother to get into action. Blissfully ignoring their hateful stares and cries, he guides you outside, dodging a pillow on his way like a pro.

It feels strange how used you've become to this- to him.

Once you've put some distance, you release a small chuckle and breathe in the fresh air to clear your thoughts. The way he smiles at you doesn't make this particularly easy, but you manage. He watches you for a moment before he comes closer and takes your hand in his, inclining his head for you to follow him.

"Where are we going?" you ask, instinctively throwing a look over your shoulder as you remember the others.

"Somewhere special where they won't disturb us," he answers pointedly, tugging on your hand lightly. Your interest is caught immediately and you nod.

"Lead the way," you smile at him and he takes off.

You stop in front of a tree, question marks popping up in your head for a second.

"Climb," Mac says and you continue staring at him.

"The treehouse? I thought you said somewhere they can't disturb us?"

"Well, I did remove the ladder for some reason and even though Milena technically can climb, she's smart enough to take a hint."

You have nothing to say against that statement, so you do as he says and he follows shortly after. You've been inside the treehouse before, but tonight it's different; Mac has decorated the interior, setting up a few candles (safely) and even prepared blankets and snacks. The house looks so small from the outside and yet he could fit everything in, including you two without making it uncomfortable. You're admiring the scene until you're interrupted by a low voice close to your ear.

"Do you like it?" he asks you, his eyes much brighter than usual thanks to the light.

"I love it," you answer and he pulls you in for a small, gentle kiss before he sits down and pulls you onto his lap.

Mac nuzzles his face into your chest as he holds you, sighing contently as he takes in your scent. He then begins to tell you a story about his family as you play with his hair and somehow ends up talking about how you two met.

It was a rocky start, true that, but somehow you ended up being one of the most important people in his life.

And the only other ones he knows are his family, so he asks if you want to be part of it, pulling a small box out of his pocket.

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

Do it. Don't. Do it. Don't.

It's an endless cycle of asking himself whether or not he should go along with his idea which Camus can't seem to escape.

Maybe he should just consult a daisy like he did before. Doing that certainly couldn't be any more stupid than his actual idea, right?

But wait- here's a thought: If he doesn't feel comfortable about it, wouldn't it mean that it wasn't the right time?

Duh, perhaps that was the answer he needed all along.

Or perhaps he was looking for excuses, this silly little guy, this joke of a man who's afraid of getting rejected.

He can feel his eyes roll far enough to see the inside of his mind as he runs both hands through his hair.

Well, whatever his decision, it needs to be made soon, because admitting that he spent many nights staring at the ceiling and pondered about their answer is worse than actually asking them and figuring out.

His pride is on the line. It always is when it comes to them.

How about he just casually walked up to them and asked as if it just crossed his mind?

Or insert it in a joke, that was way smoother, but then he would have to wait for the right timing and there's always the risk that someone else may disturb them...

Ugh, he hates them for making him feel this way, but he hates himself even more.

Because he actually loves it. This weird thing where he just has to smile and not scoff whenever Lucifer says or does something, that makes him curious to find out more and not dismiss it as a waste of time. He really loves it.

Loves them.

Yeah, that was it all along, wasn't it?

It doesn't matter how silly he feels or if his reputation (of being a narcissistic asshole) gets wrecked in the process. Camus wants his partner to know about his true feelings and desires and if he wishes to marry them, then he needs to say it out loud.

He promised to be honest after all. He did that and more on the day he confessed to them. So technically, this wasn't that much of a big deal.

Besides whatever their answer is, he knows their love and relationship will remain strong. And that's what truly matters.

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You were talking about this and that when Polly suddenly asks you to marry her.

You drop your croissant and her eyes go wide at the realization of what she just said. You don't know whether it's out of embarrassment or because she's choking on her food that her whole face is red, but it doesn't look very healthy either way.

You also can't seem to figure out whether you feel more concerned about your girlfriends well-being or how quick she is to deny and take back her proposal.

Pushing those feelings aside, you reach out to give her a glass of water and a napkin, watching her as she tries to compose herself. It takes a few more moments, but the coughing eventually stops, though her face remains the same color as her hair.

"Are you okay?" you decide to ask, not willing to let the silence take over and force you to mull over her reaction. Paloma nods, purposefully avoiding your gaze.

"Y-yes, thank you," she croaks, her throat probably still itching. She's fiddling with the napkin you gave her and her lips twitch as if she wants to say something.

"What I just said, uhm, you know...I didn't mean it, not like THAT..and you see I was just rambling and...I'm doing it again, right?"

She chuckles to herself, her gaze set on the table. She's clearly waiting for you to clear the tension.

Any other day it would've been cute, but today it stings.

"Okay," you simply say, no other words coming to mind. Something in your voice must have alarmed her, her gray eyes searching yours instantly.

Her expression morphs to something miserable, an expression you know too well. It's the kind she adopts when she feels guilty, like when someone kicks a puppy and sees the expression on its face and feels really bad for it.

Not wanting the conversation to go into that direction, you open your mouth, but Paloma speaks first.

"Unless you want to."

Wait. What?

Panic crosses her features, but she doesn't take her words back this time.

"We can marry, if you want to...Well, I know that I want to, for a long time actually, I've always dreamed of it, but it became certain when I met you and everything....", she's trailing off again, but manages to get hold of herself quickly.

"But if you don't it's fine too! We can drop the conversation immediately, just say the word!"

Her voice is soft as she says this, her smile gentle, but the look in her eyes tells you that she's afraid you might refuse.

"So," she asks once again, "will you marry me?"

#i'd like to think this is a belated valentines day treat #but its already march #🤡#finally finished this tho and thats what matters #jv #ms #ros #reactions #proposal #marriage #fluff #snippet #snippets #also #i hope i didnt forget anyone

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

Keening of the Glass King

The scanner at checkout beeped with slow and revolving repetition. The cashier listlessly pushed the groceries over the scanner, one by one, her eyes glazed over with boredom and her gaze trained on the digital oblivion displayed on the small screen attached to the system. The smell of disinfectant, plastic, and a blend of artificially sweet smells hung in the air.

Harper experienced a state of mind of complete emptiness. Just absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of her environment without as much as a passing thought. Such an unfamiliar sensation to her. Lost in the moment.

And then the moment was gone. Harper’s feet hurt. It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long week. As she—in her mind—went through all the things she still had to do once she got home, she started to get impatient while waiting in line. Only one more customer in front of her having her shopping cart’s contents processed.

When the guy checking out fumbled around to pay for his groceries, Harper spotted something odd. Rather than spitting out a number that the cashier read out loud with the enthusiasm of a broken woman whose soul had been crushed under the weight of corporate oppression, the small screen displayed text.

LOOK UP

Harper blinked, making sure that her mind was not just playing tricks on her. But it didn’t seem to be. The screen still did not display the total amount of money tallied up from the guy’s purchases. Instead, the words on screen flashed a few times, as if trying to grab Harper’s attention.

Instead of doing as told, she looked around to see if anybody else was seeing this.

The five people in line behind her did not. They were all lost in their own little worlds: one of them endlessly doom-scrolling down the display on their phone, another scratching his head while staring at the cold hard floor, another playing with her baby sat on the shopping cart, and so forth.

Harper’s sights returned to the display and it flashed one more time.

LOOK UP

So she did.

An advertising sign hung low over the checkout line.

DRINK BOOZE. SPIN TWELVE TIMES. SHOUT ROO-AGH PAIR-AGH TO THE HIGH HEAVENS.

It looked exactly like an advertising sign should, complete with the attractively garish color palette and carefully measured proportions. But the words did not fit at all.

Harper did a double take and the sign looked nothing like it did a mere second ago.

SAVE. EARN. SHOP. COLLECT POINTS AND WIN FREE GROCERIES.

She blinked again and it continued to look normal.

The beeping from the register stopped and the tired-looking cashier stared at her. She mustered a feeble smile and nodded at Harper, expecting her to scoot forward and get through checkout. Because she was holding up the line.

While waiting, accompanied by the rhythmic beeping of the machine, Harper looked around for other oddities. Anything that stood out. The man fixated on his phone, waiting behind her in line, looked up at her while she scanned the environment but then averted his gaze, seemingly startled and nervous—returning his undivided attention to the device in his hand. Everybody else remained oblivious to her and the strange signs she started spotting everywhere.

A magazine on the rack had a strange logo.

THE GLASS KING NEARS

Blinking cleared it up for her and revealed a fairly typical magazine brand logo and boring headline. As it should.

From the corners of her eyes, focused on a bouquet of flowers wilted on a stand nearby, Harper believed to see the little monitor flash with words that did not belong.

PAY ATTENTION

The storefront logo and its current slogan emblazoned on the wide front window did not read as it should. It instead said something bizarre.

DO AS YOUR KING COMMANDS

And in smaller lettering beneath that line: REAP THE REWARDS AND REJOICE IN YOUR SILENT HEAVEN

Harper shook her head. Every time she focused on one of these strange messages or blinked or shifted her weight and tilted her head, she saw what they should look like. The inconspicuous, bland-by-design normalcy of corporate consumerism.

Was she going insane?

She had been pushing eleven hours a day at work and six day work weeks for the past two months, and it must have been getting to her. Harper convinced herself of that. Or at least, she tried.

The cashier read the tally of her shopping cart’s contents off the screen and waited for her to pay. Harper did and left the store quickly.

Ferrying things across the parking lot with the wheels rattling over asphalt, loading her groceries into the back of her car, and slamming the trunk—it all passed by her in a blur. Felt like forever, flowed like molten butter, just ended with barely any time having gone by.

A man in a denim jacket over a beige hoodie approached her, pushing a cart along.

“Should I return that for ya?”

He pointed at the empty steel cage of her shopping cart. She looked him over and the empty cart he had been pushing along himself. Looked like he was just bringing his own cart back to the lineup where the others were gathered, and offering to take hers along for her.

It took her longer than it should to register the simple kindness he offered. Harper flashed him a smile and nodded and he mirrored the quiet expressions. While shoving their empty carts together, he side-eyed her and spoke in a monotone, “The Glass King’s soldiers can win the battle but not the war. Power through faith is what his subjects are for. Through servitude to him we flourish. His divine favor us does nourish. Roo-agh pair-agh.”

The carts rattled and clattered with agonizing volume as he began pushing them away from her, moving along.

Harper blinked and had to know. Had to know she wasn’t going crazy. “What did you just say?”

The stranger paused and craned his neck. Tilted his head. Arched a brow and stared at her with confusion written all over his face, slack-jawed.

“What?”

They stared at each other for another brief lapse in time.

“I asked if you want me to return your cart for ya?” he asked in response. Like he had never uttered the other strange things.

She flashed another smile at him, though in retrospect it never reached her eyes. And how could it have ever been an honest expression of gratitude? Yep, going bonkers alright, Harper thought to herself.

He pursed his lips, broke eye contact, and carried on; walking away from her with the two carts in front of him. They rattled and clattered and bounced when he shoved them over a pot hole.

She got in the car and left before he could return to where she had parked. Drove home. Everything just flew by, time flew by. She focused on the lines in the middle of the road, on the steel giants that were the other cars in traffic, and their hypnotic motions. On the street lights, and less the signs. It worked, because she was intimately familiar with this route. This life. She had done these things thousands of times before—the usual rote motions and actions that constituted her everyday life.

Really, though, she tried to avoid looking at any street signs. Any billboards. Any license plates. Really, she tried to avert her eyes from locking onto any single damned thing that featured text, letters, numbers, or anything that even remotely resembled written language in any shape or form.

It was time to get things over with for the day, kick back, drink something, and sleep.

After unpacking at home and going about her chores to tidy up her lonesome apartment, she sat down in front of the television set. She sighed, feeling relief—she had banished today’s strangeness. No more signs anywhere. Food packaging looked like it should, so did the magazine covers, the local newspaper—even device labels.

Overworked and tired as she was, it kind of made sense for her to be hallucinating. She had heard and read of weirder things happening to people who struggled with a poor work-life balance and chronic exhaustion.

Harper had plenty of work-related crap to put behind her, anyway. Whenever thoughts of that work bubbled up from the pool in the back of her mind, she dispelled them by thinking mean things about her supervisor and then of the co-worker she hated who always contradicted her but agreed wholeheartedly when she heard a man say the exact same thing Harper had said.

“Fucking middle management, man,” she muttered at the TV.

IT IS TIME, read a string of letters on screen, superimposed over the advertisement of some lame small-time lawyer firm.

PERFORM YOUR SERVICE

The words on display made no sense in context of the rest of the things and people being shown.

Cryptic, ominous messages.

She blinked, expecting the strange signs and orders to vanish. But they refused to.

YOUR KING NEEDS YOU!

Harper switched channels to some edgy-looking TV series. Hectic cuts, dramatic music, low contrast and muted colors. The character actor turned to the camera and looked her straight in the eyes, piercing the veil of the screen as if he was gazing through the dimensions from his fictitious world into the real one.

“If you don’t do your part—if we don’t all do our part, perform our service to the Glass King—the world will end. We can’t let that happen,” the man in the show said in his cartoonishly gravelly voice.

Harper swallowed an empty lump stuck in her throat, a wad of nothing that felt like it had assumed the size of a fist. Her insides churned and she started feeling dizzy.

Whatever this guy on the TV show had just said, it might have fit into whatever silly narrative he served, but it also fit right in with her hallucinations.

Or were they not hallucinations at all?

And what had that sign said?

“Drink booze. Spin twelve times, then shout ‘roo-agh pair-agh’ towards the sky,” said the actor. The cheesy soundtrack died down, leaving his words to die in an awkward silence that felt out of character for this particular show. He continued to stare Harper in the eyes, as if expecting her to do something. Like the show had just ground to a halt, awaiting her cue.

Waiting for her to do what she had to. What was expected of her.

Harper got up and the room spun around her. She had already taken some meds to help remove some edge and fall asleep more easily.

Should she mix alcohol with those drugs?

Whatever, she figured. She was already dressed in pajamas. Ready for bed. Would it kill her to try?

Maybe if she gave in to this string of odd hallucinations, they would stop. Under normal circumstances, that train of thought would have made no sense to her, but she chalked it up to the bizarre dream logic she was experiencing.

Only thing being, none of this was a dream, nor would it be particularly fun to unpack in upcoming therapy sessions. She already considered never talking about it if this never happened again.

Harper grabbed a half-filled bottle of wine from the fridge and returned to her living room. The show on TV continued as it should, depicting the usual melodramatic schlock that she would normally expect it to be doing.

She uncorked the bottle with a loud plop, chugged some of the wine, put it down on the coffee table with a loud clank, and took a deep breath. She was already feeling dizzy, so spinning around might have posed a problem.

But she did it anyway.

Twelve revolutions. One by one. Starting slow, picking up on speed to more quickly get it over with. The world spun ever faster, teetered and swayed in ways that made it difficult to maintain her balance. Her heart raced as, for a moment, it seemed like she might crash through the glass of the coffee table and cut herself badly, or stumble somewhere and break a bone in a bad fall, or worse.

“Roo-agh! Pair-agh!” Harper yelled at the ceiling.

Once she finished those twelve revolutions, she fell onto the couch, twisting her left hand and gritting her teeth right after a sharp intake of air to mask the sudden sting of pain. She fell sideways, slumping into the soft fuzzy cushions, and the world continued to spin, leaving her with a sick feeling in her stomach, spreading out in every direction and into every last extremity.

Someone or something thumped. Thud, thud.

“Shut the fuck up down there,” said someone above, muffled through the floor. Angry neighbor. Typical for that asshole. Complained about the smallest things, but always blasting loud music every Saturday morning.

Harper closed her eyes, still feeling the world spinning around her. Her stomach felt like it had unhinged itself from her insides and decided to whirl around in the opposite direction. She swallowed many times, painfully and deliberately, fighting the urge to vomit.

When the spell of nausea ended, she opened her eyes. The show on TV had gone silent, though the screen still flashed with shifting images. It looked like a completely different series now. The colors were vibrant and bright, the lens through which things had been shot distorted the environments along the edges of the screen, and the set looked surreal in its dimensions.

On screen, a woman in a fancy dress walked through a strange, long hallway, steadily and slowly approaching a simply-clothed man who sat on a stool next to a large set of double doors. The angles relayed a sense of paranoia, and the lingering shots on the actors’ faces made Harper feel uncomfortable.

The bald man sitting on the stool, his hands folded on his lap—his expression eerily calm—spoke into the camera. Past the woman approaching the double doors. He spoke not to that woman, but to Harper.

“The Glass King thanks you for your service. Should you fall in this war, know that your sacrifice will not be in vain. This world will continue to exist. You will continue to live your life as you have,” said the man. His voice rolled out like silk; soft and soothing.

The corners of his lips twitched until they shaped into a timid smile.

The woman stepped past him and grabbed hold of the brass doorknob on one of those doors. The moment she gripped it and twisted, she did not open the door.

She screamed.

A blood-curdling, bone-chilling scream. So loud that the neighbor upstairs continued complaining. Thump. Thump, thump.

“—said, shut the fuck up!”

The scream never stopped. Harper held her hands over her ears and cringed, clamping her eyes shut. She did not dare to see what happened next, so horrifying was that scream. She could hear the shriek piercing her ear drums even though she covered them up as good as she could. It pierced her mind, sliced into her soul, cut deep into her consciousness, feeding fuel into the flames of future nightmares.

“You will have your answers,” whispered the bald man on the stool. But it was not from the television set. He was in Harper’s dream that followed. As if she had gone there. Into that strange hallway.

Her uneasy rest left her feeling more tired than before she had fallen asleep. She awoke on the couch and something tasted funny. She blinked and realized where she was, struggled to remember what exactly she had dreamt beyond seeing the man from the weird TV show in her dream say that one thing, and swallowed again. Tasting blood.

Something had crusted over on her lip and face and checking in the mirror revealed that to be a thin line of blood. It had trickled down from her left nostril and across her lip and cheek as she had slept on the couch, all crumpled up.

Harper almost panicked when she realized that she needed to hustle to make it to work on time. She went through the motions in a haze, rushing through every step. Coffee would have to wait, brushing teeth, make-up, slinging on some clothes and straightening them out on the way to her car, slamming the door shut, going just enough above the speed limit to win some time and not draw unwanted attention, and so forth.

After clocking in at work, she sipped her coffee and enjoyed a short breather.

It was going to be another long day. She chalked the previous evening’s strangeness up to a weird fever dream.

Or something.

She held the back of her hand against her forehead to see if she was running any fever and dismissed the thought. The less she thought about getting sick, and the more she believed she was not sick—that stopped her from actually getting sick, right?

Her co-worker—the one she hated—got a coffee from the machine and turned to her.

Nodded in greeting to meet the bare minimum of social conventions maintained between them. She sipped from her cup of coffee as well. Looked Harper in the eye.

Vacant stare. Something odd about it.

“You saw the signs, too, didn’t you?” she asked Harper. Hushed tone, then she murmured more into her mug, “The Glass King nears.”

“What?” Harper asked. Paralyzed.

With fear.

The blood drained from her face and her mind reeled with the possibility that everything she had dreamt was, in fact, real.

Nicole gulped her mouthful of coffee down and her gaze hardened into a striking stare.

“You heard me, bitch,” she snapped at her. “James experienced it too.”

The clock on the wall behind Harper ticked away, filling the air of silence growing between them.

“What—” Harper’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried asking again. “What does any of it even mean?”

Nicole cradled the cup in her hand.

“No idea, but I think there are even more who saw the signs. Just nobody really talkin’ about it. Like they’re all afraid of something.”

Harper cleared her throat again. It felt like phlegm was building up in there, clogging everything up with a tedious stickiness.

“What about rewards? You get anything?” she asked Nicole.

Her co-worker smirked but the mien quickly vanished.

“Learned something about you. Something you probably would rather keep secret,” Nicole finally replied.

Harper licked her lips. Not only had the blood drained from her face, she now felt hot and cold at the same time. Like she was flush with sickness, like a sheen of sweat was on the verge of breaking out of her pores. Was she really sure she hadn’t gotten a fever or something?

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody,” Nicole said. She winked at Harper.

Walked away, leaving Harper awash in her confusion and growing sense of dread.

By the time Harper took her seat at her desk, her body was trembling all over. She got to work, tried to distract herself, but her thoughts kept circling back to the odd events. It started cutting into her work.

So she started researching online.

Her body turned ice cold, the cushion of her chair beneath her becoming more uncomfortable than usual. With sweaty palms, she clicked her way through discussion threads, past posted transcripts of live chats, and wound up browsing through terrible-looking websites that looked like conspiracy theory wank assembled by unhinged lunatics. But everything reflected her experiences. Almost to the letter of some of the signs she had seen. And other people were digging through the web, just like her. Looking for an answer. Struggling to understand.

She continued to click, incapable of stopping. Filled with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, yearning to comprehend what was going on.

The world spun around her again. The dizziness had returned.

What filled her with dread was the final realization.

Many people were being mobilized. Some got more specific instructions, being sent somewhere in Nevada. Investigating strange weather patterns that appeared to orbit around Las Vegas.

What she had experienced was not unique. Not limited to her and two of her coworkers. They were not the only ones in the city. They were not the only city. They were not even the only country with people to experience this.

To see those signs. To follow the instructions.

To know, as it was repeated over and over again: the Glass King nears.

—Submitted by Wratts

3 notes · View notes

mushyyroom · 6 years

Text

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before (1/?)

This amazing edit was made by the even more amazing @persongoingslow

Read on Ao3// TRAILER PARODY PLS CHECK OUT!// and @evaeselgreatest made a version of this story thats awesome too so I highly recommend checking it out!

I’m just getting around to posting this on here! I hope you like it! This version is more based on the book than the movie so hopefully you still like it!

Next Chapter// Word Count: 5209

Summary:

Cyrus writes love letters. Letters that he writes when he feels emotions so strong that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are 5 letters in total- one for each boy that he has ever loved before.

There was TJ, the popular basketball captain, Gus from homeroom, Marty from the party, Walker from the art gallery, and Jonah, the boy with the cutest dimples, but he was Andi’s boyfriend.

These letters were never meant to be seen by anyone else but Cyrus himself. Until one day they are.

Jonah is Andi’s boyfriend, but everyone in their group was a little in love with him. Before he was Andi’s boyfriend he was just Jonah Beck. Older, Amazing, ultimate frisbee playing, something to look at from afar, Jonah Beck. And by some miracle, he started hanging out with their ragtag group of friends.

Buffy liked Jonah because he could stand his ground. She didn’t mind having him invade their little group as much as she did with other people. He was someone she could arm wrestle with and not give in right away. Cyrus assumed that Buffy always wished that he and Andi were more athletic. She loved them for who they were, but he knew that she wished that she could fully share that part of her life with them.

If Cyrus had to take a guess as to why Andi was enamored by Jonah, he would have to guess that it was because Jonah was damn near perfect. He was always polite around her parents and grandparents, they adored him, and he was always friendly to everyone. There was absolutely nothing that he couldn’t do. Okay there probably were some things he couldn’t do, but he seemed almost invincible most of the time. His smile could end wars. Wars!

He used to have a crush on Jonah. But that was long gone now. He had made peace with the fact that Jonah and Andi were just going to be a thing and not just a phase a long time ago. It was the right thing to do, to let go of it.

He had even wrote a letter. The kind of letters he’s written only four other times in his life. A letter he writes when he has a crush so intense that he can’t function until he does something about it. And they were for his eyes only. They were stored away in a T-Rex shaped container he had gotten as a child and they were only taken out when Cyrus felt like taking a self pity trip down memory lane. Jonah’s goodbye letter was in there along side the one for TJ Kippen from seventh grade, Gus from homeroom freshman year, Marty from the sophomore party, and Walker from that art gallery (who was now one of his close friends). Those were his most secret possessions. Not even Buffy or Andi knew about them, and he intended to keep it that way until they were older and could just laugh about it.

“Cyrus? Are you okay?” Buffy nudges him out of his thoughts. The Spoon was half full with people they didn’t know and the sun was just beginning to go down.

Cyrus shook his head and popped a tater tot into his mouth, “Yeah. Just lamenting over the fact that we have to start school tomorrow.”

Jonah slightly jumped when Andi put her fingers in her ears, making noises, “La la la la! Shh! Cyrus we’re not supposed to be talking about it. We have to just have a nice last day of summer before the worst year of highschool ever!”

Cyrus forgot that they agreed not to talk about the impending junior year of doom. But it’s not like that was what he was actually thinking of. He blamed himself for not being able to come up with a better lie. Buffy laughed beside him at her friends antics, “Although Andi is right, while were still on the topic,” she turned to face Cyrus, “You’re driving me tomorrow right?”

Shit. He forgot about that too. Although he got his license a while ago, Cyrus still paled at the thought of having to drive. Buffy still had to go through the whole process and since Andi only had her motorbike, a motorbike for one person that is, it was Cyrus’ duty to take himself and Buffy to and from school. Why did he agree to that again?

“I can always give you guys a ride if you need,” Jonah smiled, his eyes filled with light and all things heavenly. Jonah really was his savior.

Buffy shook her head, “No need Jonah. Cyrus needs to defeat this fear of driving that he has. But just in case I got this,” She ducked under the table for a second before smugly presenting a bike helmet.

“You got a new bicycle?” Cyrus raised a skeptical eyebrow. Last time he checked Buffy said she’d rather run all the way to school then get a new bike. She wasn’t too fond of them after their seventh grade fiasco. But if she was planning on riding to school instead he was more than happy to celebrate.

Buffy fit it snuggly on her head and clicked the strap on under her chin. She grinned, “Nope. I brought it for the car ride.”

“Well that does wonders for my self confidence,” Cyrus said sarcastically.

“Can’t be too prepared!” Buffy replied in a chipper manner.

“Well I guess Jonah can drive you home tonight!” Cyrus swings his legs out from under the booth, promptly standing, “I should get going.”

Andi groaned, pouting a little as she watched him tug on his coat, “Aw! Okay fine! See you tomorrow?”

“Of course!”

Buffy called after him as he left, “This is the year Cyrus!”

She was right. They’ve already decided on this a while ago. This was the year that everything was going to change. This was the year that they would check a bunch of stuff off of their old bucket lists before creating a whole new one just for senior year. They were going to make the best of a supposedly crappy year. That was the plan, and if Cyrus loved one thing, it was a good plan.

The bell dinged and the air was still warm from the summer sun. Cyrus walked around the corner from the restaurant where his beat up little car was waiting for him to drive the 5 minutes back to his house. He could do it! Or at least that’s what he kept chanting to himself as he buckled up and turned on the engine. Why was he so scared of driving? It wasn’t like he was a risky driver like some of the kids in Shadyside. He just couldn’t help the heart racing rush of anxiety he got when he was behind the wheel.

He really didn’t want to have to drive Buffy to school everyday. Andi was a much better driver than he was, she should just drive them in her mother’s car everyday, it’s not like Bex didn’t walk to work anyways. She could handle the pressure of controlling a machine that could kill someone in the blink of an eye.

Maybe it was because Cyrus was so hyper focused on his impending dread that he didn’t notice himself drifting into a fourway stop, or that he was running a stop sign, until another car made a deep dent in the side of his passenger door.

For a moment all Cyrus could register was his own screaming and his heart trying to escape his chest. With his eyes still squeezed tight, Cyrus moved to put his car in park before shaking his leg. Alright well those were still working at least.

The pavement beneath his feet felt like jello as he took a shaky step out of his car, only to be faced with an annoyed woman. She was older looking, older than his mom but not quite as old as Cece, and she was wearing the typical soccer mom outfit.

“Didn’t you see the stop sign?” She questioned, and oh boy did she look pissed.

Cyrus shook his head fastly, he was sure it was just gonna fly off at any minute, “N-No mam! I’m so sorry.”

The woman must have seen the scared look on his face because she just sighed and her countenance morphed into only a slightly perturbed look, “You kids and your phones. Well my car doesn’t look like it was damaged, do you want to report it?”

He shook his head again. He could not live with himself if he already had to report an accident as a beginner.

“Okay, well do you want me to stick around for you to call help?” She raised an eyebrow. She sure was nice.

But Cyrus didn’t feel like he needed two people looking disappointed at him at the same time so he just said, “No. It’s okay, thank you so much mam.”

The woman just drove off after that. And while her car might have been fine, his had a giant dent in it.

How could he do this? His parents always said to drive with a clear mind and focus on the road, two things he obviously did not do. They were going to kill him! All four of them!

He sat down on the hard curb and just stared at the car. He knew he wasn’t ready for this kind of responsibility. He still needed his mom to drive him to far away places and relied too much on everything in town being walking or biking distance. God, why was he so useless!

His eyes were wet and he knew his voice was the complete opposite of calm when he pulled out his phone and went to his contacts list. It rang three agonizing times before it was picked up, “Jonah! C-Can you help me?”

He was crying on the phone. To his old, secret, forbidden crush. The crush whose letter rested in his dinosaur box with the rest of his dead crushes. Could this situation get anymore embarrassing?

Jonah, by some miracle (or curse) since he was usually such an oblivious boy, picked up on it, “Cyrus? What’s wrong?”

“I was in a car accident. Can you come help me?” Cyrus’ voice was still wet.

“Woah! Dude, are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m not hurt or anything, can you just come get me? Without Andi and Buffy?” He didn’t need his friends fretting over him. He just wanted to get home as soon as he could.

Jonah sounded more relieved as he continued, “Of course, Uh...Where are you?”

Cyrus looked around at the houses, “463 Wesmyer road. At the intersection.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, just,” He paused for a moment and Cyrus could hear him mumble something to, presumably, Andi and Buffy. “Stay there.”

The line went dead and Cyrus almost wished he asked Jonah to stay on the phone with him. But then he started to cry again so he was happy he didn’t. The silence was almost haunting and he wasn’t too keen on being left alone with his thoughts to mull the whole situation over.

“Underdog? Are you okay?” That wasn’t a name he had heard in a long time. His head popped up at the voice. TJ Kippen squinted at him with a questioning look. He was driving one of those jeeps without doors, because of course he would driving the death trap 2.0 with one hundred percent confidence.

Cyrus just nodded and looked back down, hoping TJ would take that as a sign to just leave. And he was almost certain that TJ did just that until he hears the jeep pulling over to the side.

“Wow. You really did a number on your car,” TJ whistled, “Did you get the other person’s insurance?”

“No,” Cyrus dared to look up. He was sure that his eyes were unattractive puffy and his nose needed a fluffy tissue, but if TJ noticed, he didn’t say anything.

TJ plopped down beside him, “Why not?”

“It was my fault,” Cyrus shrugged, unsure of what else he could say.

“Did you call triple A?”

Cyrus shook his head and added, “But someone is coming to help me.”

He could see TJ nod to himself. They used to be friends. Close friends. TJ used to be apart of his little seventh grade group. The boys were TJ, Walker, Jonah, Kip, and himself. The girls were Andi, Buffy, and sometimes Amber if she was around and felt like ‘hanging with the younger crowd’ as she put it. It’s funny how it all worked out. But it’s not until you’re older that you realize how much of it was by fate. The universe. TJ and Buffy couldn’t even stand to be in the same room at first. It took them months to make up. Kip had once just been a random guy that they had seen around school a few times, and then suddenly he was around all the time. Walker had moved into their school district not even after three months of meeting him at a middle school mixer. And Amber was once an enemy as well, those Kippen siblings had a thing for trouble it seemed, but she made her peace.

By the time highschool came, they split into different crowds. Kip had outgrown their little group and started to hang out with what he considered the in crowd, leaving Cyrus to start highschool without someone he considered to be a good friend. Not that Buffy and Andi let him be deprived of amazing friendship though.

They’re not friends anymore either, Cyrus and TJ. So it was weird to be near him again after so much time has passed. But it was a familiar weird.

TJ’s phone buzzes and shook his head, annoyed, before pulling the device out of his back pocket. He reads it and reluctantly said, “I gotta go.”

“Where?” Cyrus couldn’t help but ask. Curiosity did kill the cat and all that jazz.

TJ sighed and shoved his phone back where it was, “To Kip’s.”

“Oh, you better get going then. He’ll be mad if you’re late.” It was weird for Cyrus to tease like that, but TJ just brought out that side of him. The playful and confident side. It was one of the reasons Cyrus loved being around him back in middle school. He often wished that their friendship lasted longer just because of it.

TJ rolled his eyes, “It’s not like he owns me or anything.”

“Hey! If you got married then his name would be Kip Kippen!” Cyrus remarked like it was the first time he had ever thought of it. He, Buffy, and Andi had laughed about it a bunch when they heard about the two’s relationship from the high school news grapevine, “Although, he might let you have his last name. He’s generous like that, isn’t he?”

“Goodbye Goodman,” TJ just let an amused smile slip onto his face before turning to his car. He paused though, like he forgot something, and turned back around, “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah,” Cyrus could feel himself smiling too, “Thanks for stopping, it was really nice of you.”

“Of course,” TJ nodded firmly and turned back towards his car again, this time for good.

TJ was a character out of an old movie, timeless. He could be a debonair spy that had all the bad guys falling for his trap. He could be sipping milkshakes with another person at a diner bar and cruising down the street all slow like in an open air car. He was picturesque. There was just something that a lot of people liked about him.

He was Cyrus’ first kiss with a boy. The one he considered to be his first real kiss. It seemed like a distant memory. Or maybe something more akin to a fever dream. But it was only four years ago.

Jonah arrives a few minutes later, standing in front of Cyrus, as Cyrus is replying to Buffy and Andi’s worried texts. He looked at the house behind him, “This is 436. You told me it was 463.”

“No! I said 436.” Cyrus said with the leftover confidence he had from his encounter with TJ.

“Dude, you definitely said 463,” Jonah shook his head. He nodded towards his car, “Let’s just get going.”

Cyrus mulls over how he’s going to tell his parents after they call triple A. They weren’t going to be too crazy about it. He was supposed to be responsible. He was the son of four shrinks.

But it turned out that they weren’t too mad about it. The car had to be brought into the auto shop of course, but other then that hassle his parents didn’t seem too upset. They were more relieved that he wasn’t seriously injured.

Buffy was not happy about it though as Cyrus rung her doorbell at 6:30 AM. She gave him a tired glance and pushed right past him. He had to jog a little just to catch up.

“Hey! Don’t be too mad at me!” He wailed as he trailed after Buffy, her pace not changing.

Buffy stopped short and he almost bumped his nose against her backpack, “I don’t get why you insisted that we don’t ask Jonah for a ride. Now I have to get up earlier than before.”

“I’m sorry!” Cyrus groaned, “It’s just embarrassing! You’re my best friend, can’t you just understand?”

“Whatever,” She rolled her eyes and started walking again, but this time at a more normal pace, “I’m still annoyed at you but I’m too excited to tell you what I found out last night! Guess who broke up.”

“Who?”

Buffy leaned in like she was telling him a CIA secret, “TJ and Kip! Kip dumped his sorry ass.”

“Woah,” Cyrus’ eyes widened, “Why?”

Buffy shrugged, “Details are still fuzzy. But the most popular theory is that Kip met some college guy. Guarantee you he’s been cheating on TJ all summer.”

“That’s terrible.” Cyrus looked horrified. How could one human do that to another one?

They chatted about it all the way up until first period, which was gym. Cyrus stood next to Buffy as she did her warm up stretches. And by warm up stretches, he meant full on splits.

Cyrus thought he was imagining it when he saw TJ staring at him. But all three times that he looked up TJ was looking his way. TJ had been playing basketball with a few of his friends when he passed the ball over to someone and started jogging towards them.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Buffy and Cyrus share a look as she stands up. “Him or me?” Buffy raises an eyebrow.

“Cyrus.”

Buffy wraps her arm around Cyrus’ shoulder in a protective manner, “Whatever you have to say, you can say it to both of us.”

“I really need to talk to him in private?” TJ just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Buffy gives Cyrus one last glance before huffing, “Fine. I’ll start jogging. But remember Kippen, I run fast so if you try anything!”

“Buffy!” Cyrus screeches out, motioning frantically for her to just go.

She looks at TJ threateningly before turning around and running off.

TJ leans down to whisper, “Just so you know, I don’t have an STD.”

What the fuck? Why the fuck? Cyrus was a little taken aback to say the least, “I never said you did.”

“I also don’t always eat the last baby tater!” His whisper had a bit more bite to it.

“TJ, slow down,” He tried to put up placating hands, “What are you talking about?”

“You said that. In your letter! How I’m just a overly confident guy who goes around giving out STDs! Remember?”

“I never wrote you a letter!”

Wait. Yes. Yes Cyrus did write him a letter. But it couldn’t possibly be the same letter. That letter was safely hidden away!

“Yes you did! I got it in the mail, to me from you!”

He was dreaming. That was the only logical explanation that he could come up with. There was no way that TJ had seen the letter.

“Cyrus?”

Or maybe he wasn’t. TJ was holding the letter. That letter that was supposed to never be seen by anyone else but him. But there it was! His handwriting and everything!

“How- How did you get that?”

“Mailman dropped it off yesterday,” TJ sighs and starts in a lighter tone, “Listen, it’s fine just don’t go gossiping that I-”

“The mailman? Like the one that comes to your house?” Cyrus squeaked out, interrupting TJ.

“Yeah?”

Cyrus feels his breathing begin to quicken. He feels as if he's about to faint, his head dizzy and light. If only he were lucky enough to just faint and escape this situation.

He could feel himself break out into a sweat, letting out a rushed, “I wrote that a really long time ago!”

“Okay.”

“Like really really long ago. And I don’t even remember what I wrote! It’s from like, middle school! I don't know how it got out, can I see it please?” He tried to act casual and calm as he held out his palm. But everything about Cyrus in that exact moment screamed the opposite.

Instead of doing what he’s asked, TJ smiles widely for the first time in their whole conversation, “Nah. I wanna keep it, i’ve never gotten anything like this before.”

Cyrus takes a leap of faith and jumps for the paper. Unfortunately TJ was, and probably always will be, the more agile one out of the two and he swiped his hand away, “Why do you want it?”

“Please!”

“Fine,” TJ handed it over, chuckling softly, “It’s all yours.”

“Thank you,” Cyrus said promptly, the paper starting to crumple in his hands from how nervous he was.

Cyrus started to turn away when TJ grabbed his arm. This time he looked a little more sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck, “Wait. Listen, I didn't mean to steal your first kiss. I mean, I didn’t realize that-”

“It’s totally fine!” Cyrus rushed out. Was this conversation over yet? “Forget about it! Have a nice day TJ! Buffy wait up!”

And then Cyrus bolted towards Buffy, who conveniently just lapped them, leaving TJ to stand there awkwardly.

It wasn’t until he was safely drifting off in history class, it was only the syllabus so it was fine, that Cyrus pulled the letter out.

Dear TJ K,

First of all, I know you think you’re so cool when people call you by your last name. But you’re not. It makes you seem weird and it’s confusing most of the time.

Did you know that when you kissed me that I would fall for you? Love you? Sometimes I think you did it on purpose. You definitely did it on purpose. You know how I know? You think EVERYONE loves you, TJ. I hate that about you. I hate it because it’s true. Everyone does eventually love you. Including me. Well, not anymore.

You do things like push people around and put on this defensive shell because you don’t care. But you do care. You care a lot about what others think of you.

You always take the last baby tater without asking. Rude much?

And you’re perfect at everything! Too good. You could give others a chance to be good, but you never do.

You kissed me for no apparent reason. Even though I had my suspicions that you liked Kip. You had your suspicions that you liked Kip. Kip had the suspicion that you liked Kip. But you still kissed me. So I ask you this: Why? Why would you do that to me? My first real kiss was supposed to be fireworks and rain. Something perfect! But thanks to you it was none of that.

The worst part of it is, that stupid nothing of a kiss made me realize that I liked you. I never really thought of you that much before. And maybe that’s why you did it. Because you wanted me to be like everyone else and see you in that way. And your trick worked. From then on, every time I saw you my heart wouldn’t stop going Baboom baboom baboom at lighting speed.

You’re so good looking it’s unfair. Truly unfair. I think it’s your eyes. Or maybe that rare soft smile.

Even though I don’t think you deserve it, I’ll list the things I like about you:

You started to talk to me, even though I was some dorky kid and you were the captain of the basketball team. Why did you do that?

You helped me get a muffin. More than that, you had faith in me that my friends never did. You gave me confidence.

You’re unfairly tall. It’s no wonder you’re amazing at basketball.

You apologized to my best friend and let me help you. You let me in, and I could tell you don’t do that a lot. It made me feel special.

After that kiss I went on loving you for the rest of seventh grade and most of eighth. It hasn’t been easy, I nearly broke when I heard that you and Kip were official. It was even harder to see it with my own eyes. You probably make him feel special, right? Cause that’s what you’re good at.

You probably don't know what it’s like to like someone so much but know that they would never feel the same. People like you don't have to worry about stuff like that. At least it was easier since we stopped being friends. At least I don’t have to see it all the time.

And now that the year is almost over, I know for sure that I’m also over you. You can’t phase me anymore TJ. I can’t be effected. And I am proud to say that I’m the only person at school who as probably made it out alive after falling for your charms. Now I won’t have to worry about falling for you ever again! That’s a relief!

Even if I did kiss you again I bet I’d probably catch something. Although this time, it’d probably be an STD!

Cyrus Goodman

Why did he have to mention the whole kissing thing? It really wasn’t all that special.

But Cyrus still remembered that day clear as ever. They were at Andi’s house, with no parents. Bex had to go do something and trusted them to be alone. He had worn his best outfit that day, new shoes included, even though he’d just end up taking them off as soon as he got there. Nothing even really happened! No impromptu game of spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven like he was dreading but secretly hoping for. All that happened was that they watched a movie then played monopoly until Buffy flipped the board.

It was slightly disappointed for Cyrus, who lived for romantic stories.

He and TJ were the last to be picked up and they sat on the porch as they waited. Cyrus kept tapping his foot as he awaited a text from his mom and TJ just played on his phone with a bored expression.

And then, out of nowhere, TJ said, “You know, your eyes remind me of chocolate.”

“Thanks!” Cyrus took it as a compliment, “I’ve always thought they were more of a mud bro-”

Then TJ leaned right in and kissed him, leaving Cyrus stunned.

He hadn’t thought of that moment in a while though. But if TJ got his letter then did Walker? Gus? Marty?

Jonah.

Oh no! Jonah!

Cyrus ran home from school as fast as he could once the bell rang. Clothes and knickknacks went flying everywhere as he tore his room apart. Where was that box? He couldn’t find it anywhere. When he asked his mom she smiled apologetically and said “It probably got sent out with the donation stuff. I didn’t even know you still used that thing.”

His phone buzzed. It was a text from Jonah.

Hey did you need a ride? Buffy’s with me right now.

Cyrus just ignored it and collapsed onto his bed. He couldn’t even imagine Jonah reading that letter. He couldn't imagine Andi's reaction to it! Closing his eyes and hoping for the best for the next day.

Like Andi’s dad always said, the universe decides everything. So it was the universes fault that Cyrus couldn’t open his locker and dash to his first class like he planned. It was the universes fault that Jonah had woken up late. And it was the universes fault that TJ had to go in to meet his math teacher whose office was right by Cyrus’ locker.

“Cyrus,” Jonah scared Cyrus as soon as he closed his locker, “Can I talk to you?”

Shell-shocked, Cyrus just nods.

“What is this?” Jonah holds out the letter, “I don’t understand.”

“I have no clue...” Cyrus laughs nervously. He felt like his spirit had ascended to the heavens and he’s just watching his body in some terrifying movie.

“I mean, you are the one who wrote it right?”

“Oh wow!” Cyrus feigned surprise and took the letter back, fighting the urge to crumple it up and never look back, “Where did you even find this old thing?”

“I got it in the mail,” Jonah’s face was eerily serious. His expression was usually sunshine and lollipops, “How long ago was this written?”

“Long long time ago!” Cyrus let out an uneasy laugh, “Don't even remember when that's how long ago!”

“Right...” Jonah still looked confused, “But you mentioned ultimate camp, and that was only a few years ago.”

“Time is just a concept!” Cyrus tried to play it off casually. Fuck the universe! Why did this have to happen to him.

“So then... do you... or did you have feelings for me?”

“I mean, yeah I guess you could put it that way,” Cyrus rushed out, wanting to just drop the subject ASAP, “But that was before you were with Andi. So like, basically back in the jurassic period!”

Then Jonah asked the one question Cyrus was hoping he wouldn’t, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He’s looking at Cyrus like a confused first grader. A sad, confused first grader. and Cyrus panicked, so naturally he said the first things that came to his mind, “I’m dating someone!”

“You are?” Jonah’s eyes widened, which only made Cyrus panic more.

“Yep! Someone I really like so please just forget about this?” He pleaded, “And don’t mention it to Andi! I was super confused when I wrote it. I don’t need it causing problems in our relationship.”

Jonah hesitantly nodded, but that wasn’t good enough. Cyrus needed to make sure that nothing came in between him and his two best friends, “Do you swear? Swear on ultimate frisbee that you won't say a word!”

“Okay I swear dude,” Jonah still looked out of it though, “Who’s the guy?”

“Guy?”

“The person you’re dating?”

And that’s when Cyrus spots TJ coming out of his math class, “TJ Kippen,” The bell rings and Cyrus pushes past Jonah, “Gotta go!”

“Wait!”

Cyrus runs to TJ like he's never run before. TJ looks confused as he sees him sprinting towards him. At the last possibly second, Cyrus leaps at him, wrapping his legs around TJ’s waist and his arms around TJ’s neck. Cyrus had never been that close to another person in his life. TJ is understandably shocked, raising an amused eyebrow, “Cyrus? What are-”

Cyrus cuts him off with a kiss.

I hope you liked it! Im here on tumblr to chat anytime so feel free to send me asks/prompts if you’d like! Or just plain old message me! I need friends

#andi mack #tyrus #cyrus goodman #tj kippin #buffy driscoll #marty from the party #jonah beck #sorry for the double post!#writing

128 notes · View notes

gukyi · 6 years

Text

i’ll give you my heart | myg

⇒ summary: gift exchanges are cool. gift exchanges with your ceo-slash-best friend min yoongi are less cool, because what the hell are you supposed to get the man that already has everything?

or, the three times that you could find something material to give to yoongi, and the one time you had to think outside of the box.

⇒ {christmas!au, friends to lovers!au}

⇒ pairing: min yoongi x female reader

⇒ word count: 6k

⇒ genre: fluff

⇒ warnings: none

⇒ a/n: here she is!! first off, shoutout to everyone who voted for this in that poll a while back. secondly, shoutout to everyone for being patient with me while getting this fic out. here it is, in all of its fluffy, soft glory! it’s also 1k longer than i thought it would be. big rip.

Yoongi and you have had this tradition ever since freshman year of college, where you would spend Christmas together, holed up in whatever room the two of you decided to share because both sets of your parents (and other relatives) were always busy around this time of year. Not to mention, you went to university across the country. So that’s a thing. You become recluses for a day, confined to a building or a room, and spend the entire day exchanging gag gifts and watching Christmas movies, drinking your entire body’s weight in hot chocolate.

It’s a pretty fucking great tradition, if you think about it. Nothing better than spending a day with the one person you could never get sick of.

Things began to change once the both of you moved out of the dorms, Yoongi’s fabulously wealthy parents hooking him up with a sick apartment right off campus, in the heart of the city. Human nature had always taught you to be envious of the things other people had that you did not, strive to be greater than them, but human nature can suck your left toe, because you’re happy that Yoongi’s happy and lives a better life than 99% of the human population. Kid deserves it.

You’d then begin to spend your Christmases at his place instead of the shitty dorms at the university, his place always extravagantly decorated for the season. Yoongi really spares no effort. What a guy.

And now it’s senior year of university and Yoongi’s only gotten bigger. So has his place, because he upgraded.

He upgraded and you’ve literally spent the entire break thus far lounging around at his house, eating through his cupboards, which are now devoid of all the ramen in the world. Seriously, he needs to get more. Thank God you didn’t make the same mistake you did last year, which was leaving all of your Christmas shopping until the last minute, because you ended up buying Yoongi a gigantic tin in the shape of a gingerbread man, filled to the brim with little gingerbread cookies inside. Like a gingerbread Russian doll. And you don’t need a gingerbread Russian doll repeat this year. This year, you swear you have a gift that’s worth giving to Yoongi.

His house is so damn big that you’re afraid you’ve hidden his gift somewhere so discreet you won’t even remember where you put it. It’s nearly midnight on Christmas Eve and you’re going to have to make up some excuse to scurry off and find his present since the two of you have done absolutely nothing all day except pig out on store-bought Christmas cookies and watch Elf over and over and over, to the point where you have definitely memorized the entire movie.

You’re lying together on his massive couch, big enough for at least four other people to fit onto it as well, your feet resting in his lap as you mindlessly stare at his television, letting the movie play in the background haze of your mind. It’s so natural for the two of you to be so close, at this point.

“Oh shit, it’s almost Christmas,” Yoongi blurts out after checking his phone, catching you off guard.

You squint your eyes as you peer at the clock under his television, only to be greeted with the fluorescent sight of 11:58PM.

“Oh shit,” you repeat, immediately scrambling up because it’s tradition that you do your gift exchange at midnight on the dot, and you are wholly unprepared.

“Miss something?” Yoongi taunts as he calls after you, watching you run down his massive hallway in nothing but an ugly Christmas sweater and pajama bottoms. Your bare feet are cold on his hardwood floor, but you don’t really mind, not when Yoongi’s body can warm them right up.

You fish through one of the many closets in his hallway until you snatch your gift up, pristinely wrapped in some festive paper. When you return to his living room, Yoongi is proudly waiting with a massive box beside him, your name written in obnoxious letters across the side of it.

“Holy balls,” you say, mouth dropping open. His gift could probably swallow yours up, if it tried hard enough.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N!” Yoongi shouts happily, though you can barely hear him, brain blocking out everything except the sight in front of you. you don’t know what on this godforsaken Earth Yoongi could have gotten you that looks to be the size of a small apartment (you’re kidding, it’s just double the size of you), but it’s here.

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi,” you say in response, holding out your gift to him warmly.

“Wanna open yours first, or should I?” He asks as he sits down on the couch. You follow him happily, curling up beside him, signaling that you want him to go first. He complies, ripping off the wrapping paper in the most ungraceful way possible. “You got me a Banksy book?” He asks, wonder lacing his features as he looks up at you.

“I know how much you love his work,” you admit sheepishly, recalling the one time you had taken a trip to New York City, remember him pointing out all of the graffiti that decorated the sides of the buildings. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I love it, Y/N, holy shit,” he says, and the way his face glows in the dim light of the living room warms your heart right up. Yoongi beams, his face illuminating, whenever he is truly happy, and nothing brings you more joy than knowing you’re the source. He envelopes you in a crushing hug, catching you by surprise as your palms to go rest on his chest as he engulfs you in his arms. “You always know me so well.”

“I try my best,” you admit when he lets you go, hand going up to rub the nape of your neck.

“Your turn,” he says excitedly, placing the book down beside him as he turns to face your gift. He pats his lap in anticipation as you get up, a little wary. You have half of a mind that whatever this thing is is going to come to life like a Christmas horror movie and brutally murder the both of you.

“How the fuck did you manage to wrap this thing?” You ask as you approach the box. It must have taken enormous amounts of wrapping paper to cover.

“With faith, trust, and Pixie dust,” Yoongi deadpans. “Open it!”

You find where the wrapping paper ends, and tear at it until you’re faced with an overwhelming pile of crumpled up paper beside you and a massive brown box.

“Merry Christmas!” Yoongi cheers, standing up. “I got you a box.”

“I’m touched,” you joke, knowing that there must be something in here. “For real, what the fresh hell is this, Yoongi?”

Yoongi just shrugs, being absolutely no help at all. You reach over to open the box, and when you take a good enough look inside, you see a fluffy bear head.

“No fucking way!” You shout as the realization dawns on you. One great tug and out pops one of those massive teddy bears, the ones that are double the size of you and the ultimate Cuddling Machine. You remember going to Costco with Yoongi a while back and mindlessly telling him that you always wanted to own one of those huge bears, and, well, looks like Yoongi remembered as well.

“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks, hopeful.

“Are you kidding? I love it!” You tell him happily, resisting the urge to collapse on the bear in a flurry of giggles and fluff. “This is amazing, Yoongi!”

You reach over to give Yoongi the same bone-crushing hug, only you lose your footing on a loose bit of wrapping paper and find yourself dragging him down with you. You land comfortably on the plush tummy of the bear, arms wrapped around each other.

“I could stay like this forever,” Yoongi admits, succumbing to the cuddliness that is the massive giant bear.

“Me too,” you agree, not taking your hands off of him as the beginning of Christmas slowly passes you by.

ii.

First Christmas out of university and, to be honest, you don’t really know where to begin. Yoongi’s taken after his father’s hugely successful instrument company—biggest in the nation—CEO-in-training as he learns to navigate the ropes of business life. You, on the other hand, are just living your best life, getting by with a job you don’t hate but you don’t particularly love either, and crashing with Yoongi most of the time. Your roommate’s nice and all, but she has an awful lot of sex for someone in her mid-twenties, so you find yourself sexiled more often than just plain kicked out.

Not that Yoongi minds you show up at his door, ever. It’s practically wide open for you, and he could be in the middle of a Very Important and Serious business phone call and happily toss his studying aside if you knock on his door. You think it’s a bit unhealthy, how he puts his definitely overbearing best friend ahead of the company that basically determines the fate of the rest of his financial life, but that’s on him.

He says that you’re a respite from the crushing pressures of business life, and you say that he needs to start worrying more about his company’s financial stability and less about his annoying best friend.

But it doesn’t matter, because Yoongi’s already got more money than he knows what to do with.

At this point in your long-term friendship, you don’t even knock on his door to alert him of your presence. Knocking is for friends who haven’t quite reached that stage of relationship yet. Knocking is also for chumps. You type in the passcode that opens his creepy automated door that talks to you if you get particularly lonely, and walk inside.

Despite the sheer massiveness of Yoongi’s mansion, you can hear his voice clear as day. It’s literally Christmas Eve and he’s screaming to someone on the phone, in that No-Nonsense Business Voice that definitely gives you the jitters. You hate hearing him like this, when he’s all serious and “I want what I want when I want it”, because it makes you feel like he’s a different person. Business Yoongi and Best Friend Yoongi are scarily different, but they both have that same determination, same wonder.

It’s still a bit freaky, though.

You’re standing in the middle of the foyer of his mansion, looking like a lost puppy, when he turns a corner and sees you, the phone pressed up against his ear. You send him an awkward wave, making absolutely no effort to disguise the box in your hand that is clearly his present.

“Um, can I call you back to get the details of the deal?” He asks to the person on the other end. “Make no mistake, I want this to happen, but under my conditions, not theirs. Got it?”

With that, Yoongi hangs up, and his furrowed brows immediately relax at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he says, voice a lot less intimidating. “I didn’t think you’d get here for another hour.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” you reply, pouting. “But you don’t seem that excited to see me.”

“Believe me, Y/N, I’m always excited to see you,” Yoongi says, breathing out a hefty sigh of relief as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Poor Mr. Min,” you mock, bottom lip drowning out your top one. “Busy busy busy businessman. You seem stressed, my good dude.”

“I am,” Yoongi huffs out. “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes, you know that? I’m so glad to see you,” he says, keeping you close to his body as he rocks the two of you back and forth. It’s a little romantic, terrifyingly so, and you resist the little voice in your brain that tells you to keep hugging him, savor the feeling, and tug yourself away.

“What’s up, hey?” You ask as you wander into his massive, state-of-the-art kitchen that even Gordon Ramsey would envy. Through his enormous, Plexiglass windows, the sun is setting against the frozen horizon.

“Ugh, nothing,” Yoongi says as he whips out two Minute Maid Lemonade cans for the both of you. He seems to have an endless supply, thank God, because it’s the only drink the two of you never get sick of, other than, of course, hot chocolate. “I’ve just been having this tussle with another production company. We’re trying to negotiate a deal on our marketing systems but they won’t budge.” He collapses in the bar stool next to you. The two of you open your cans at the exact same time, clinking them together before downing them.

“Want me to fight them for you?” You offer helpfully.

“You’d probably do a better job of scaring them into agreeing with me than I would,” Yoongi supplies.

“Oh, are you kidding? Have you even heard yourself when you’re all business-y?” You ask rhetorically. “You’re all serious and scary. It’s kind of terrifying, to be honest. If I didn’t know you so well, I’d avoid Business Min Yoongi at all costs.”

Yoongi chuckles. “Glad at least one person thinks that way.”

You give him a nudge, almost making him choke on his lemonade. “Give yourself more credit, Yoongi. Have a little faith. You’re a great businessman, you know. If you weren’t, your father wouldn’t have retired so early.”

Yoongi smiles softly at your words, and you know you’ve done your job.

That night, Yoongi makes the two of you a quiet Italian dinner (he insists it be called that, when really it’s just linguine and a Caprese salad that you could have made yourself in five minutes, given the ingredients) and the two of you eat on his mildly-stained nice leather couches, tinted with the remains of hot chocolate spills and popcorn butter.

Oh, these couches have seen better days. Days where you and Yoongi aren’t as messy and try to behave just like normal human beings and not weird best friends. Days like that don’t happen very often.

The Christmas movie of choice is The Polar Express, which, if you’re going to be totally real with yourself, freaked you out severely up until you were about sixteen. You don’t know what the hell it is, but the way the characters were animated had goosebumps appearing on your skin. You swear you’re not scared of a silly kid’s movie anymore, not as you settle into his couch for the night, piles of blankets wrapped around you, but Yoongi takes the liberty of teasing you anyway.

“Scared of Santa?” He asks, playing with your feet under the blanket.

You kick at his leg. “You’re such a little asshole. Do your employees know that?”

Yoongi scoffs. “They think I’m the Lord and Savior, the Jesus Christ of the country’s biggest instrument company.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” you remark. All hostility aside, you eventually settle into his arms as the day draws to a close, letting yourself curl up next to him as you find yourself dozing off to the movie. It might be the second or third time you’re watching this stupid movie, you just can’t help yourself—the sound of bells is tiring.

Yoongi keeps you awake, though, poking and prodding at your chubby cheeks to make sure you don’t conk out on him, keeping you awake for your tradition of the Midnight Gift Exchange.

Midnight rolls around and Yoongi gives you a pretty heavy shove to jerk you awake, one that has your arm extending out in instinct and hitting him straight in the nose. If this were anyone else you just totally smacked, you’d be apologizing, but the sight of Yoongi scrunching up his nose and blinking like that White Guy Meme has you on the floor, in tears.

“You’re such a sadist,” Yoongi comments as he gets up to retrieve his gift. You’re still laughing.

Eventually he returns with a box that scarily resembles the size of your own, and oh god, you have a feeling you know where this is going. He settles down beside you, the soles your feet matching up under the blankets, and on the count of three, as Christmas Eve turns to Christmas, you hand them to each other.

It’s unclear to both of you who rips open their gift first, but when you look down at yours to find a scarily expensive necklace, your heart stops. You remember dragging Yoongi into one of the high-end jewelry stores in the clean part of town, musing to him about how much you’d love to be able to afford a necklace or something from a place like this. One had caught your eye, a silver locket with a heart chain so delicate you’d probably live in constant fear of breaking it.

That same necklace rests in the box in your hands, right now.

Meanwhile, Yoongi is staring down at the watch in his hands, awestruck, making the blood rush to your cheeks as they heat up from the sensation. Yoongi never asked for that watch, but you remember him complaining about breaking his favorite one two weeks ago. Knowing him all too well, you had a feeling he wouldn’t get around to replacing it before the new year.

“Yoongi…” you begin, trailing off unhelpfully. You simply lack the right words to say. Or any words, for that matter. You recall staring down at the hefty price tag of this silver necklace, imagining only owning it in your dreams, and here it is.

Yoongi has more money than he knows what to do with, but you can’t quite put a finger on the feeling of him spending it on you. It feels too familiar, like he’s done it before and he’ll do it, over and over. You never ask him for expensive things like this but he gives them to you anyway, and it’s foreign and wonted all at the same time.

“Do you like it?” He asks, leaning over. “I remember you telling me you wanted it, at that jewelry place.”

“I love it,” you say, wishing that your words were a little more eloquent and a little less blunt. “But, why did you—?”

“I wanted to, Y/N,” Yoongi supplies, as if that’s any help. “You deserve it. You got me this sickass watch, after all.”

“You broke yours two weeks ago because you’re a dumbass,” you joke.

“It’s gorgeous. It’ll go great with my new hair,” Yoongi comments, staring down at the gift in his hands.

“New hair?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Yoongi asks, smirking. “I’m going platinum for the new year.”

“My god, your hairstylist is probably shaking,” you say, shaking your head. Yoongi chuckles, taking the necklace from your delicate fingers and wrapping it around your neck, fastening it at the back. The action is soft, gentle, and it has you turning around to face him in something akin to confusion and wonder, like there are so many dreams on the tips of his fingers.

“I’m glad you like it, Y/N,” Yoongi says happily. “It looks good on you. What are you going to put inside of it?”

“A picture of us,” you respond. “It only seems right.”

iii.

It’s becoming increasingly more difficult to get Yoongi gifts. Not that it hasn’t always been difficult, because it has. Kid owns everything, and you refuse to stoop as low as a gift card for something as special as Christmas.

It’s tradition.

You’ve spent the last several months hunting for something for Yoongi, something meaningful that he doesn’t already fucking own, and every time you go shopping, you come up short. It’s just so damn hard to pick a present for Yoongi that isn’t some ridiculous gag gift, because while Yoongi does love a good fake piece of shit, it’s not something that should be a Christmas present.

What makes matters worse is that you don’t make nearly as much money as he did, not that that’s ever been a problem before. You’re perfectly fine with where you are, financially, at least, but the Christmas season always reminds you that Yoongi is willing to buy you the moon and the stars if you ask for it, and you have trouble dropping cash on a new blender.

Ah, tradition.

Tradition also happens to consist of you finally getting to have your sweet, sweet revenge on your roommate for Christmas Eve, kicking her out of the apartment for the next two days so that you and Yoongi can have the place entirely to yourselves. She says goodbye with a whistle, hinting at something that you don’t want to know about.

Sure enough, not much later Yoongi is buzzing into your apartment, voice hazy on the speaker. You let him up, hear him knocking on your door hardly a minute after.

“Hey, stranger,” Yoongi says, little box tucked under his palm. Oh God, if he’s gotten you another necklace, you think you’ll lose it. He needs to stop getting you all of these expensive things.

“Oops!” You respond, pretending to shut the door on him. “I thought you were the pizza delivery guy.”

“Damn, pizza sounds good,” Yoongi says, barging his way in. He’s been over hundreds of times before, but strangely enough, you feel small in his presence. Like your apartment just isn’t good enough in comparison to his mansion of a home. The feeling is brief but very much there, and you’re hyperaware of it as Yoongi collapses on your couch and plucks a chocolate from the complimentary bowl on the coffee table. He unwraps the Dove and pops it into his mouth, smiling into the taste.

“Feet off of my couch,” you order playfully, grabbing your already-prepared bowl of popcorn and sitting next to him, using one hand to swing his legs off of where they’re resting on the arm rest so you can fit.

If you were at Yoongi’s place, both of your feet would be on his gigantic couch, big enough to fit your entire extended family without many compromises. But you’re not, and the two of you have to resort to resting your feet on the floor like peasants instead of kings.

“God, is this the crappy popcorn?” Yoongi asks, surprisingly excited for such a strange question. When you nod, he beams. “Nice. I love that smell of fake butter. It gets me hard.”

You’re at the point in your relationship where out-of-the-blue sexual comments like this hardly faze you, but still, you giggle at his random remark. You hold the bowl out to him, and he happily plucks a handful from it, shoving it all in his mouth at once as you channel surf to find whatever shitty Hallmark movie is playing.

You don’t really watch the movie this time, too busy trying to chuck popcorn bits into each other’s mouths (turns out you’re a lot better at this game than he is) and crunching down on unpopped kernels. Your dentists are shaking. They really are.

Yoongi’s right, shitty popcorn really is the best popcorn, because it’s rich and fattening and tastes sort of like cardboard. Like, the good kind of cardboard, if that’s a thing. You can’t seem to stop wanting more, and pretty soon you’ve gone through the entire box of popcorn bags before the night is even over.

“You ever think we’ll stop doing this?” Yoongi asks randomly.

“Doing what?”

“Watching crappy Christmas movies and spending the night at each other’s places and exchanging gifts at midnight,” Yoongi elaborates.

God, you hope you never stop doing this. Other than your immediate family, Yoongi is the one constant in your life. He’s always been there, he’ll always be there, even if he tries to get away. You won’t let him escape from you, not when you’ve made so many memories together already. He’s your best friend. You wouldn’t trade him or his presence for anything in the world. All this tradition does is confirm that, confirm the way you feel about him. Confirm that he’s it, he’s the end game. You’ll go through a hundred other friends but he’ll always be by your side.

It’s a strange feeling, knowing that someone will always be there. It’s like you have nothing to worry about.

“I hope we don’t,” you say, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck, between his shoulder and his chin. “I love doing this with you.”

“Me too,” Yoongi says, reaching an arm around you to rub at your side. “Christmas season is always busy for me, because everyone wants to buy their kid an instrument but at a discounted price, but you’ll always be there to calm me down.”

You hum in thought.

“Even when I’m about to lose it, you’ll always be there to save the day. I know you will.”

Soon, the shitty Hallmark movie on your beat-up television is ending, signaling the end of Christmas Eve as you know it.

“Oh, you know what that means.” Yoongi grins, winking at you as he whips out his gift. You don’t have much to give him in return, just a thin envelope you hope will be worth your while. “Who’s first?”

“I am,” you say, handing Yoongi the envelope you were hiding behind your back.

“What’s this?” Yoongi asks, eyes curious as he opens it, pulling out a certificate. His brows are furrowed as he reads through it, eyes squinting (kid forgot his glasses, how typical of him), but then his cheeks turn a bright red shade and his face begins to glow. “You bought me a star?”

“The one and only,” you say proudly, happy to see that he’s happy. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to do something fun for you for Christmas—”

He hugs you, something that happens way too often these days, and you hear the crinkle of the paper certificate as he wraps his arms around you. “I love it, Y/N. I do. No one’s ever gotten me a star before. You’re brilliant.”

“What are you going to name it?” You ask him innocently.

“I’m gonna name it after you,” he says warmly, eyes crinkled up into a smile. “You’re the only sun in my life.”

You can do absolutely nothing except scoff, the noise hopefully covering up the sound of your thumping heart at his words. He’s always been cheesy like that, you swear. You swear that nothing’s changed.

“What did you get me?” You ask, motioning to the little box Yoongi’s playing with in his fingers.

“Oh, nothing,” Yoongi says, handing it over tentatively. As you begin to open it, his hand shoots back to the nape of his neck in nervousness. You wonder what on Earth could be in this box.

When you open it, you’re greeted with a note. Just a note amongst a bunch of that gift-basket shredded colored paper.

Please let me take you out to a fancy dinner party I was invited to, it reads. You’re the only person I’d want to go with.

“A dinner?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Yoongi grimaces. “If you don’t want to, um, you don’t have to. It’s just—they want me to have a plus one, and you’re the only person I’d want to take. We can go shopping beforehand, for a nice dress for you. If you’d like.”

You don’t go to dinner parties much and you’re not exactly sure how you feel about Yoongi spending his hard-earned money on something as trivial as a dress you’ll only wear once, but unsurprisingly, something akin to a date with Yoongi doesn’t seem as out of the question as you thought it would.

You set the note down on the table, smiling. “I’d love to go with you, Yoongi.”

iv.

Christmas is cancelled.

Not really, but it’s literally the morning of Christmas Eve and you are absolutely, completely, one-hundred percent giftless. You’ve searched for months for the perfect gift for Yoongi, something meaningful and special that he doesn’t already own, that you haven’t already given him, and you’ve come up entirely short.

Needless to say, you’re in a bit of a panic. What the hell are you supposed to do, after all, when you know Yoongi’s probably gotten you something wonderfully expensive in return. What are you going to say to him? Hey, thanks for this expensive gift I don’t deserve, I didn’t get you anything but you can have my undying friendship?

Oh yeah, what a great way to start off Christmas.

Come to think of it, you don’t really deserve Yoongi. You don’t. You never have, not since freshman year of college when the two of you were just nervous underdogs, little fish in a very, very big pond. Even then, when you had no idea that Yoongi was the son of the CEO of the biggest instrument company in the country, no idea he had money to burn, when you thought all he could give to you was the love and support in his heart, you didn’t deserve him.

You don’t deserve him now, when he is so giving and kind to you, a ray of sunshine in this decaying world. When he buys you expensive things not because they’re expensive, but because he thinks of you when he sees them. When he has so much love to give to you and you can hardly provide him with half of it in return.

You don’t live like him, you can’t give him expensive things to celebrate his birthday or Christmas because that’s just not your reality. All you can give him are things touched by your love, your appreciation for your friendship, the generosity between the two of you that it’s based on.

If you asked him, Min Yoongi would give you the world. If he asked you, you’d wish you would.

You wonder what it is about him that draws you to him. Cements him as the end game, because you could never imagine a life without him by your side, without his sarcastic yet sage wisdom guiding you every step of the way. It’s not his money, because if it was, he’d have figured that out by now. It’s not his status, either, because even during freshman year, when you knew nothing about each other other than your favorite types of ramen, you knew that he was it. It’s Yoongi or nothing, and you’d rather lose everything than lose him.

It’s so strange. It’s always been like this, really. You always knew that Yoongi was meant to be in your life, but things are changing now, and you wonder if the way Yoongi acts as a part of your world is the way it should always be. Question whether or not he might be on this Earth, part of the life that you live, for a different reason.

The dinner party last year really switched things up. People there, Big Business Moguls who would faint if they found out about your commoner status, thought the two of you were a thing. An item, if you will. You were Mr. and Mrs. Min Yoongi, despite there being no ring on your finger.

The most peculiar part about it? Neither of you made any effort to stop the comments, explain that you were just friends. You just took it, went with it and happily obliged. You walked around that night with aching feet, almost tripping over the expensive dress you were wearing at least ten times, and with your arm wrapped around his. Like a real couple.

Even now, you don’t think you’d mind it. You don’t. You wouldn’t mind being a couple. You don’t see how it could change anything, how giving a different label to the relationship that the two of you share would make it all that different. But even now, when you think of Yoongi, you think of his bright smile, his warm brown eyes. The way his hair feels soft under your touch despite being dyed countless times. How your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck.

The door opening in front of you snaps you out of your trance. Yoongi’s standing there in all of his Christmas glory, decked out in a terribly ugly Christmas jumper with a beaming glow on his face. You’re empty-handed when you walk in, though if Yoongi notices, he makes no comment about it. He probably thinks you’ve already stowed away your gift in his place, somewhere where he’s too lazy to look.

“Can you believe it’s already our seventh year doing this?” Yoongi asks.

“No, I can’t,” you admit, surprised at how fast the time passes by, how it feels like nothing at all when you’re by his side. “Feels like just yesterday we were just freshmen in college, trying to navigate our way through the semesters.”

“Damn, what a time,” says Yoongi fondly, reminiscing. “Since we’re starting a bit late today, let’s skip the part where I make a shitty dinner and go straight to movie watching.”

“Hmm…” you say, pausing as you pretend to think on the suggestion. “Sounds good. What are we watching?”

Yoongi presses a couple of buttons on the screen on the wall that he’s got hooked up to his entire electronics system in this house, something that you have no idea how he did. Rich people. When you turn to face the television, you see the menu screen for Love, Actually.

“Love, Actually?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” He asks defensively. “Can’t always watch shitty kids’ movies. Besides, I wanna make jokes about that one kid who looks like he’s five even though he’s like twenty.”

And so, with hot chocolate warming your palms and milk moustaches decorating your lips, you settle in for the night, curling up together under layers and layers of blankets as the movie begins.

This is such a common occurrence, cuddling together like it’s no big deal, but for some reason, this time there’s something else there. Something you can’t quite pinpoint, not as Yoongi wraps his arm around you to pull you closer. Not as he makes constant jokes about that poor young-looking fellow, or drinks his hot chocolate until he’s scraping at the sides for more.

And then it’s nearly midnight, and the guy on the screen is professing his love for the woman who speaks broken English, and you realize that this is it. This is how you want to spend every holiday season, with Min Yoongi by your side. Curled up together like two birds of a feather.

This is when you realize you know exactly what you’re giving to Yoongi, and it’s more meaningful and special than any other gift you can think of. One that doesn’t cost you a cent, just a bit of courage and a little bit of charm.

The movie ends at exactly midnight, and Yoongi claps his hands together cheerfully, getting up to get his gift for you. When he returns with a large, relatively thin box, your heart skips a beat, and momentarily, you wonder if the gift you’re giving him will compare.

“Guess I’m opening first, then?” You ask, and Yoongi nods, handing you the item with a delicate touch. He sits back down, eager to see your reaction.

You remove the lid of the box to find an absolutely stunning guitar, gleaming from all angles as it catches the Christmas lights that decorate Yoongi’s house. It’s gorgeous, a model that definitely cost Yoongi upwards of several thousand dollars, and all you can do is stare at it.

“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks, pressing closer. “I know you wanted to learn guitar. I thought this would be a good first step.”

“Yoongi, I—this is—” You say, unable to form even a coherent phrase with all of your stuttering. Now you’re really not sure if your gift can compare to this, to this absolutely stunning instrument in your lap and the breathtaking boy who gave it to you.

“If you want, I could teach you,” he helpfully adds, as if you need further convincing of his gift’s greatness.

“I love this,” you tell him, too scared to even lift it out of its box. All you want to do is ogle it, stare at it until your eyes bleed. It’s too beautiful to be played. You pick it up and gently set it down on the floor beside you. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’ll think of my gift. Or if you’ll even accept it.”

Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ll love anything you give me.”

“Take my heart.”

“What?” Yoongi asks.

“Take it. It’s yours,” you tell him. “My heart is all yours.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand—”

“I’m giving you my heart, Min Yoongi,” you murmur. “Because it’s filled with love for you, and only you. You’re the only person my heart belongs to, so take it. Because I love you.”

Before you let him say anything else, you’re leaning over to him, pressing your soft lips on his in something of a playground kiss. It’s just lips on lips, gentle touches that convey nothing but love in them. Yoongi makes a noise of surprise but easily allows his body to give way, and out of the corner of your eyes you can see the way the blush creeps onto his cheeks.

When you part, you’re greeted with that eye-smile that you love so much, one that radiates a heavenly glow.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, soft enough for only you to hear, just in case the world may be listening in. This is a secret between friends. Between lovers. Between you. “I always have. Take my heart, too. It belongs to you.”

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi,” you murmur, staring up at him with nothing else but pure adoration. He’s it. You knew he always was. It’ll always be him.

He beams back, warm and bright, and it feels like home. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

And sitting there, as the world slowly turns around you, you think that this might be the best Christmas yet.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

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ambiguouslyliterate-blog · 6 years

Text

Harder Than Steel

“We’ll talk after the match.”

My client’s words echoed in my mind, a reverberation that grew ever louder as the first blows were exchanged. A metal fist shot through the air, countered by a sweeping leg, the two bodies more swift and strong than any human could ever dream of being. I wondered if I’d still be able to receive payment from a bot that had been reduced to scrap. Or worse, clutching the manila envelope in my hand, if Steele’s famous fists would be turned on me.

Steele was an old bot after all and had been fighting since robot boxing started, back when they still called him HM-19903020. But this wasn’t the 2040’s anymore. No one referred to an AI by number unless they were your employer. Or, well, they didn’t like you. His chosen name was Steele, and mine was Lewis, a name which belonged to a meek bot in a small blue metal frame always hidden in a heavy coat and fedora.

The latex mask on my face strained as I watched the fight, eyes darting from blow to blow. It would be sweating too if I’d sprung for a newer model, but that was hard to do on the wallet of a private investigator. I wasn’t one of those bots who walked down the street, patted on the back and laughed with by beautiful naturals. Steele lacked a mask, his eyes a pair of red lights in the black mechanical void of his helmet. They trailed his opponent relentlessly, a masked AI in a bright orange suit. He attacked Steele with grand, leaping kicks on bladed feet, quipping and mocking at the lumbering bot as he did so. But it wouldn’t last long. Steele was old, but he was far from decommissioned. His opponent kept his leg in the air a second too long and Steele grabbed it. The young bot was flung through the air like a ragdoll, becoming a blur as he was hurled at the rusted floor of the arena, puncturing it as his body crumpled on itself. The impact was impossibly fast and brutal, time not freezing in the instant but instead moving far quicker than you thought it should. It was like watching a car wreck but with far more cheering, most of which came from the naturals. The reigning champ shot both fists into the air, his blank face turned to the sky as the stadium roared. It was the first fight of its kind I’d seen, and I hoped the last.

Bells tolled and the crowd went from a booming chorus to a rowdy bustle, bodies moving out as maintenance workers went to check on what was left of Steele’s competitor. Banners were exchanged for the next match as the last of the crowd left, Steele stepping over the guardrails of the ring. He was a giant, his shadow stretching the entire length of the floor, pointing to me like a sundial. Titanic feet bashed steel, then concrete as he made his way to me. Fists made to bend girders swung at his sides.

“Did you do the job.” He spoke downward, his voice like a backfiring truck exhaust. I showed him the envelope and undid the tie as his fingers were too big to do so. The stack of pictures passed from my hands to his, and he dragged them across his palm, sorting through them, his eyes scanning them for a long time. Longer. Longer still.

A blast of air broke from his body and the papers scattered to the air. His arm swung into one of the scrap iron beams that held up the stadium, knocking me to my feet and sending the earth into violent convulsions. Bits of trash and metal fell from the scaffolding, scattering around me. “I knew it. A goddamn human.”

The pictures cascaded around me, polaroid images taken of a natural human. The images moved before my eyes like a flipbook; a blonde woman stands in Steele’s bedroom, a man enters. Tall, white, fit. Her clothes are thrown off as the two of them are consumed in passion, knocking down trophies and photographs as they careen through the bedroom Steele’s fights had paid for. I shut my eyes.

Yelping cries of managers, investors, and other natural men with money came racketing from behind Steele. He turned to face them, his red eyes flashing towards me only for a moment as he stomped off.

“The money will be transferred you tonight as promised.”

I nodded. Lifting up a picture from the floor, a chill ran through me. I’d be able to rent at least. Steele trudged towards his owners, cursing under his breath as I picked the remaining photos off the floor. The paparazzi would be all over them soon. I liked to think I was better than them.

Gravel crunched under feet as I walked back to my car, the door slamming behind me. I scrolled through messages, finding one from my neighbor.

“Going anywhere tonight?”

“The pier.” I sent in response.

I sent another, “Having a rough night.”

My car whirred to life and we became a cloud of chalky grey dust, leaving the Scrapyard behind. But Steele’s eyes lingered in my mind. I thought about the money. It was a big payout, but the last thing I wanted to do was check my accounts. I couldn’t get his image out of my head. Shadows crept through my mind. Wide. Heavy. Strong. Iron and rage and blood spilling forth as an AI with nothing to lose tore through his home, scraps of shredded polaroid dripping from his fingers.

A natural screamed out his window as I sped by a stop sign. I drew up my shoulders around my head, my breaks screeching as I came back down to the speed limit. My body shook in my seat, sound and sight mixing like static in my head. I cranked up the car radio, trying to drown everything out, staring at the darkened road as I charged towards the pier.

Lights glittered and danced on the far boardwalk, shining like torchlight on the water below, shimmering for miles. You wouldn’t think a place like this would exist in Michigan, on the shores of Lake Eerie. But this was the age of machines, a new age for Detroit. The city was still a rusted pit, but now we had an amusement park. Funny how that worked. My place of peace wasn’t the pier however, but a mile or so down shore. On the craggy rocks where the dull roar of humanity, of joy, of distant life, could still be heard. But not loud enough to overstimulate. It was perfect.

I sat there for what must have been hours, letting my mind wander at a time when it was safe to wander. Though the same couldn’t be said for the places it went. As money flew into my account, Steele was crumpling asphalt under foot, tearing away his door frame. I hear a natural human’s head doesn’t crush like a car; it’s more like a watermelon.

Sopped in thought, it took me a while to notice. Over the dull roar in my mind and the soft lapping of the lake foam, I almost didn’t hear the voice. My head snapped to position, eyes locked on a nearby drain pipe. Sludge leaked from within, shiny-greenish like something you’d expect to leak from a trash bag. That, and a half-disintegrated hand.

A scarred latex hand with tube-like fingertips hung over the edge of the cracked cement. Lingering, dragging across the drain. Cold webs pushed through my body, gripping me, rooting me to the rocks. I stared at the pipe, not sure what else I could do. I wondered for a moment if something had come to get me, if somehow I was being punished. Maybe for Steele. Maybe I should just cash the money and throw it into the lake. I muttered a protest, only to see a single shining yellow eye behind a cracked lens peek out from around the cement.

“I- I’m sorry.” Its voice cracked, edging just far enough from the opening that I could make out its shape.

It was a lean AI in an industrial chassis. A hardened casing wrapped with yellow and black caution lines and a head like an oversized gas mask. Most of its paint had been peeled away, the deep green giving way to scarred steel. The helmet was caved in, the top smashed into a shape like a crater, the edges of the wound melting inwards. His helmet hung loosely enough around his head that I could see his metal skeleton moving within. The naked being beneath the shell and all its broken decorations. And it was shaking.

"Are you okay? My name's Lewis.” I said with a broken monotone, trying to keep my voice steady. He stayed there, clawing at the pipe, moaning as if I wasn’t there. As if he couldn’t hear me. And yet he stayed staring right at me.

I tried to look around the stranger's hand, seeing his fidgeting limbs. My feet clapped loudly against the wet rock, the AI’s fidgeting gaining pace as I neared. It was the only way yet he'd acknowledged my existence. Then I saw what his hands were playing at. He wasn't fidgeting with his other hand, he was scratching, digging holes into his stomach. Bright acidic fluid hissed from the tips of his fingers and his wrists, bubbling around his wounds and eating away at his body. I wanted him to ask him to stop, to grab his hand. But I knew moving too quick would be the worst thing I could do. Quickly, I came to accept that I had no control over the situation.

"Are you okay? My name's Lewis," I repeated, trying to keep my tone equal, hoping again that it would help calm him. I hoped all the training at my past job hadn’t gone to waste, "I'm here to help."

"You can't talk to dead bodies..." He rasped, his voice was like a children’s toy with a dying battery. It was a statement as cryptic as it was morbid. I paused for a moment before speaking, considering my position, my body. Finding a dry spot among the wet rocks and dark pools of oily unidentified substances, I sat down, removing my hat and placing it in my lap. I placed my hands on top of it, keeping them clearly visible.

"Then I won't talk. I'll just listen.”

The robot went silent again, staring at me from behind the wall. He would duck every so often, as if trying to escape. But something kept him here. I hoped it meant he was willing to talk, “I don’t want to hurt you. My name is Lewis, do you have a name?”

“NM… 903… 017…” he mumbled, his voice broken by static. He stared at me with sorrowful eyes. They were brighter than before, but more hollow. Like the eyes of someone in a dream.

“How can I help you?” the AI whispered, his voice like a dying light.

NM- 903017 wasn’t telling his story, but I think I already knew it. It was the story we all shared. Of people trying to do their jobs, trying to succeed in a world not built to cater to them. A job was the only place you had in the natural’s world, and that was the one thing he didn’t seem to have anymore.

“Did you… Talk to a dead body?” I asked, re-angling my legs. The AI rattled, his eyes drawing into himself. A foot emerged from the pipe. Emaciated. Burnt. Latex ripped away to reveal the mechanisms within, greased by the same substance that dripped from his arms and body. His eyes darted untrustingly from side to side, his movements were as meek as ever, but still he drew closer. I sank into a sigh, wondering if I’d come to repeat the actions I’d taken for Steele. If I’d just be enabling another disaster. Even at just this slightest expression of trust, I felt myself growing incredibly anxious and horribly excited, and that was something I couldn’t help. I was built to help. It was my job.

“Boss said… We just burn the customers… We don’t talk to them.”

Realization came slowly, but I began to piece things together. It may not have seemed like much, but as I was helping the AI towards my car, I had nearly understood everything I needed to know.

I took a blanket from my trunk and draped it around him. He jerked at the sensation, his damaged touch receptors flaring at the overstimulation. I pulled the blanket off and laid it across my backseats, apologizing to the sulking figure. He shook his head, waving an oozing finger at me. "No, no... The customer is always right." He mumbled, and lowered himself into the rusted chassis. As I rounded to the driver side of the car, I began sifting through my hard drive. I cross-checked his AIN, a number I hoped I didn't recognize, and found a match.

It was an offer from a robot disposal plant, one where an artificial worker had gone missing. Last thing anyone knew of him was when he was trying to shove himself into one of the machines. My stomach churned at the date of the incident. Five months ago. The case was one of many I'd taken in hopes I'd be the one to break through, the underdog who was able to find the missing robot. The payout was massive.

Landing in my seat with a thud, I started up the car.

Helping a runaway find his way home. Back to a paying job. Back to a normal life. I wondered if that was really helping, or if I was just part of the problem. Only adding to the broken system the naturals had created. I looked through the rearview mirror, my back seats like the core of a rotted yellow-green fruit, stained with compounds used to break down clothes and latex, everything but the bare metal meant to be recycled. There was no way I could take him home, I thought. No way he could enter my home without destroying it, no way my landlord would approve of the new resident. I had to take him back. It was the only option I had.

"I haven't been out since... Since Noele and Albert took me to the party..." the bot sighed, staring at me through the rearview. A vacant smile came to my lips.

“And what’s your name?” I asked feigning ignorance, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

There was a hanging silence in the car. It lasted seconds, then minutes. I put my key in the ignition and a whir of life filled the car, the AI behind me jumping.

“Patrick!” He startled, his voice almost vanishing behind the growl of the car’s engine.

“Well Patrick, how does sleeping in a bed tonight sound?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but a warm, crackling sound came from the depths of his voice box. I think it was a laugh. Soon enough, the car began to move and we were started down the street.

My eyes went to my rearview every so often, checking on the robot as he fidgeted in the back seat. He wasn’t talkative, rarely responding. He just sat in the back seat, watching the lights of the city scroll by the window. Talking to himself.

"I used to make my customers smile... All kinds. Come happy… Go happy... Now they go down the chute."

Part of me wondered if he knew where he was. If it was right to take him anywhere. I knew the stories of rogue AI were all exaggerated in the news, but I couldn’t help but see our faces flashing on a television screen next to a screaming white man. Patrick just another one of the “goddamn toasters” that had lost it; ones step away from rising up and destroying humanity. And yet, looking into the backseat, seeing him shake, shivering at the noises of my car, the street, and himself, I only saw a broken man.

I stared ahead, watching the road. "I know the feeling," I sighed, "I used to be a nurse but, since that incident with the kid in Cleveland, they've been trying to get us out of hospitals."

Patrick didn’t respond, but he nodded, the two of us resigning to the silence once more. The car jerked as I came through the jagged entrance to my apartment complex, taking a spot under a canopy. Patrick’s eyes darted about his surroundings as I helped him out of the back seat, now sizzling and stained, keeping him in the shadows as I brought him up the stairs to my flat. He seemed confused, gazing around at the bare walls as I tried to force my key in the lock. Muttering under his breath.

I looked up at him, trying to keep my tone even, “Your employer’s looking for you. Did you know that?”

Dazed yellow eyes stared at me for a few moments, mechanical noises like simulated breath rattling from his chest. He nodded his head, eyes locked on me as it swiveled. My door popped open, the hall light piercing the dark-shrouded room. Neither of us walked in, only staring at each other. I wondered if this was really the right thing to do. If he really wanted this.

Patrick’s hand, still hissing with the mysterious corrosive substance, gripped my arm tight. He coughed, looking at himself, pulling at his abdomen. A piece came off in his hand.

“You’ll… Help me.” He breathed.

“I will.” I nodded.

“I don’t… Want to go back.”

“I know,” I responded, clapping a hand against his back, “You don’t have to. There are ways to change your AIN. Get a new identity. I can help.”

Patrick fell into me, arms gripping my body, face pushing into the nape of my neck. I heard the toxic bubbles brimming against my coat, the fluid seeping through my tie and my shirt. I closed my arms around him, reassuring him for a few moments. He held on longer than I would have imagined, long enough that I figured my coat would be completely eaten once he pulled away. And I held onto him all the while.

I led him into my apartment, locking the door behind us as I started the best patch-up job I could do. Removing the damaged casings from his arms and legs, exchanging his hands with spares that I had, sealing the acid-leaking fingertips and torn into a metal bin, I did everything I could to strip him of his old body. Everything that weighed him down. As we finished and Patrick hugged me again, I showed him the way to my bed where he flopped down, his body limp on the blankets. A long hissing sigh coming from the exposed speaker in his throat. His body was broken, and now reduced to a thin mechanical skeleton, his only way of emoting being his eyes and voice. But he thanked me profusely. He asked me to stay with him until he fell asleep. I agreed, knowing how hard it was for a bot made for human interaction to lay alone in the dark. But I had to do one thing first.

I took a picture of one of the ruined casings I’d removed from Patrick’s arms, one that had his AIN printed on it.

"Found your bot,” I typed, “These parts were washed up on the shore of Lake Eerie. I’m sorry but I don’t think there’s any hope of him coming back.

He returned my message immediately, and with the same empathy and care I’d expect.

“Shit.”

Another message, "I'm not paying you for finding a dead toaster.”

And a third, “Bring whatever parts you find back to the plant so I can put them on a bot that WORKS. Maybe then I’ll pay you something.”

I paused. Carefully considering my answer. I could bring him the whole casing. Get an alright payment from it. But somehow I knew this little piece of his arm was all I would give him. Patrick had given him enough.

"You're not paying me,” I said in rebuttal, “I'll bring it in the morning.”

A few seconds passed. I walked towards the bed, my phone vibrating in my pocket. One notification. Then another. It felt like the first time I’d truly smiled in weeks.

---

Learn more about Artificial here!

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turtleparadise · 3 years

Text

[ ~ One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ ]

5. Heroes

"Think you can handle one of these after so long?"

Vincent glared at Reno, telling him to be quiet without words. They had followed the signal into the ancient demon's nest itself, Shinra Headquarters. Most of the building had been demolished, but there were plenty of places for an enemy to lie in wait, ready to catch them off-guard.

The question was unnecessary. He hadn't held a gun for at least two years now, but the old habits were all still there. And wearing his old cape felt strange after all this time, but he still remembered how to use it as a distraction, as a tool to block attacks, or anything else he might need of it. He would do just fine.

The three of them crept through the darkness together, following the signal on Rude's phone. They had snuck in through a hole in the wall on the second floor, and were steadily ascending, when Vincent held his arm out, signaling them to wait. He turned to the wall and traced a numeral 3, but his comrades couldn't see it in the dark.

"What?" Reno asked, much too loudly. Vincent glared at him again, and grabbed his empty right hand, tracing the numeral one more time. "Oh! There are three of them! Hey, thanks, Vincent!"

"Get down," he growled, pushing the two to the floor as gunshots fired from across the chamber. Not wasting any time, he waved his hand over one of the Materia set into his weapon, sending magic missiles flying their way. The three assailants all ran for it, and he gave chase. After a brief moment of the three dodging through improvised tunnels throughout the floor, he corralled them back toward Reno and Rude, who stopped them dead in their tracks. A few quick stun blows later, they had the three knocked out and tied up.

"Well, one step closer," Reno said, dusting off his hands.

"Take them to the plane. Tranq them and come back as soon as you can," Vincent said. "Rude and I will keep climbing."

"You want me to carry all three of them?" Reno glanced between the two. Vincent turned to give him an amused stare.

"I thought you were a Turk." Reno scoffed at this, but hoisted the three captives up anyway.

"As you wish, senpai."

"I'm not gonna call you 'senpai'," Rude said, just as a point of information.

"Good. Let's move!"

\\\\\

"How many stairs do we have to walk up?" Rude panted.

"They should be close," Vincent said, not for the first time. "The signal seems to be coming from the eleventh floor."

"Guys!"

"Reno?" Vincent looked down the stairwell to see the redhead running to catch up to them.

"I just got news that they've attacked the city. Looks like the second guess was correct - they tried to set the town on fire while everyone was at the event center. Luckily, the Guardians saw them all coming a mile away, so they're subduing them as we speak. No damage, no casualties."

"Which means the rest is up to us," Vincent said. "Meet us at the eleventh floor."

"Will do! Hoo... Too many stairs..."

"Do you need help?"

"What do you mean? I'm not beat yet. I'm a Turk, after all!"

"A Guardian Turk," Rude nodded. Vincent shook his head, letting out a short laugh.

"Morons."

"I think he likes us."

Upon their rendezvous at the designated level, they found no opposition, only a computer monitor which flashed on, showing the face of an elderly man, who smiled at all of them.

"Palmer?" Reno gaped at the image of the old man, who was much the worse for wear these days.

"That's right! Welcome to my castle! To tell the truth, I wasn't expecting company on this special night. But you've given my son a miraculous opportunity. You see, he truly loves to fight, but there hasn't been anyone to match him in a long, long time."

"Son...?" Rude asked. A door slid open, and out walked a creature - it definitely had the basic shape of a man - that towered over them, and let out a high-pitched shriek.

"Not a problem," Reno said with a smirk. "Let's show 'em how it's done, Rude." His partner nodded, and the two dashed forward.

Vincent cast Haste and Wall on them all, before moving in to strike the giant with Bolt3. It let out another shriek before clawing at him. He jumped backward, but not fast enough to avoid its claws. Three gashes were left in his chest, his shirt shredded. He leaped up and around, jumping from one wall or obstacle to another, acting as a distraction for Reno and Rude to wail on it.

The monster kept clawing at him, but Vincent had shaken off the rust at this point. He dangled his cape from the rafters, tempting another swipe, then dodged out of the way, jumping in to cast Ice3 at point blank range. The giant fell to the floor, crushing desks and cubicles on its way down.

"Well, then..." Rude said.

"Took care of that pretty well," Reno chuckled. "You sure do come in handy, Vincent." He and Rude walked toward the door the beast had entered from, but something Vincent smelled made him lunge forward.

"No...!" He pushed the two away from a grey grid on the floor. Almost as soon as he had set his foot down, pillars of flame erupted all around him. Maniacal laughter full of coughing erupted from the computer monitor.

"Oh my oh my, well, one out of three isn't bad. It looks like the long-haired man is the winner of our special prize...!"

Suddenly, the floor gave way under Vincent, and he felt himself falling.

"Vincent!" Reno and Rude called after him, but found themselves busy with the giant, who had gotten back up to its feet. Vincent reached out with his claw to stop himself from falling, but it wouldn't catch or dig into the metal of the chute. He kept falling, and falling, until his neck got caught in a rope, and he came to a crashing halt on a marble floor in a dark room. He had tried to right himself, but didn't make it in time. The momentum of the noose now around his neck tugged at some unseen mechanism, and he felt walls pressing in around him.

"I wouldn't move, if I were you," Palmer's voice sounded from yet another machine, somewhere in the room. "Those are rows of razor-sharp spikes surrounding you, and each is coated with deadly venom. The former president had all sorts of hilarious contraptions, didn't he? One must marvel at the advancements of technology, and how they're used by those destructive beings called humans... For you see, all human beings crave destruction."

"I'm not here to listen to your dogmatic drivel," Vincent said, working his neck out of the noose right before the floor opened up beneath him once more. He held onto the rope with both hands for dear life.

"I suppose you could call it pointless, considering no one would survive an old-fashioned hanging from the neck like that... But you know, you just can't take too many chances. If you try to struggle out of there, the venom will kill you. And if you fall, the Mako will kill you. It really is a fitting metaphor for life, isn't it?"

"How pitiful."

"Oh? Ohoho, you're still alive! Well, this is entertaining! Keep hanging in there, as they say!"

\\\\\

"I'd like to make a toast."

BANG!

Screams were heard throughout the event center, and all eyes were on the stage, where two young men stood, one with his hands on a microphone, and the other holding a hand gun.

"Yuffie, I'm scared," little Cid cried out. She held on to each of the children, two of their hands in each of hers.

"I'm right here. I won't let you go. Don't worry, Cloud and the gang have this under control."

"Really?"

"My toast is... to this city," the speaker said. "What a splendid place, you know, I've been around... And I've never seen a place so shiny, y'know?" He downed a glass of wine before throwing the glass behind him, letting it shatter. "Yknow, this town must have cost a fortune... multiple fortunes! To build, right? What a waste. What a waste. Then again, money, in itself, is a waste. It's just got no use, you know? Nothing in this world's got any real... use... that matters. The only thing that matters, is destruction."

"Yuffie." The voice came from her phone. She read the text from Reno, and almost dropped it.

"No... No..."

"What's wrong, Yuffie?" Luneth asked. She didn't know how to answer.

[ We took out their leader. It was Palmer. But we lost sight of Vincent. We think he's in the basement somewhere. I don't know if we'll be able to find him in time. ]

"Vincent..." She choked back her tears. She had to show the children that everything was going to be alright. She hadn't even been paying attention to the cultist's speech - something about Meteorfall being a sign that the whole universe wanted to die.

"I was there, I saw those things hit each other. And then the whole Lifestream comes out, and starts demolishing the place. And I knew, right then and there. This was some kinda divine intervention. So when I met the father, I asked him, 'What do you think it's telling us?' And he said, 'Let's just burn it all to the ground'." He laughed, a loud, careless laugh. The sort of laugh you hear from miserable people who want to make everyone else miserable. The sort of laugh you hear from people who think that hurting others is a joke.

"Then what?" Everyone in the building glanced around. It was a teenager with long, blue hair, who spoke out. They couldn't have been any older than seventeen. "Then what do you do? Once everything is burned, you have no shelter from storms. No food to eat. You can't live. Destruction can't sustain itself. Your ideology only works in a vacuum. And you're a fool for coming this far without realizing it." Cheers rang out through the audience - the entire town seemed to support the young adult's viewpoint. "We're tired of violence, and pollution, and corruption. We're tired of hurting each other. We want to live clean, peaceful, fulfilling lives. We want to be one with the Planet. No one here is willing to listen to you. You might as well be talking to a wall. You're just the last stragglers from an era we're leaving behind."

"Timothy, do me a favor," said the young man with the mic, "and shoot that kid for me, will ya?"

"With pleasure."

Yuffie bolted across the atrium, unseen by anyone, to stand in front of the teen, shielding them from harm. But there was no need; the boy never had a chance to aim his gun. Tseng and Elena had crept up from behind and delivered one barehanded blow to each of them, knocking them out. More cheers erupted from the crowd, as the former Turks tied the kids up. Families breathed sighs of relief, strangers hugged each other, and Yuffie turned around to look at the outspoken youth.

"That was very brave. And very dumb."

"Empress Yuffie," the teen swallowed. "That was you...? You... You stood in front of me. Me! To take a bullet..." They threw their arms around her, overcome with emotion, and let tears flow. The adrenaline had released.

"Can they do that?" Luneth asked, pointing to the young adult who had hugged the Empress of Wutai. His three friends, along with Yamato, all shrugged.

\\\\\

"Yuffie..."

He wanted to see her one more time. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on to the rope. If he could just climb up and use the noose as a foothold, he would be fine. But the venom-tipped spikes threatening to impale him, made it impossible. A Mako pool was waiting down below. He knew he wouldn't survive.

His muscles ached, more than he could ever remember. He considered it miraculous that he had been able to hold on this long. But his strength was fading fast. It was only a matter of time... Well, it wasn't the first time he had stared death in the face. But perhaps now, this would be the last.

'It's okay,' he lied to himself. 'If I gave it all I had, it'll be okay. Maybe this is as far as I go. I just wish...'

"VINNIE?!"

"That sweet sound," he sighed, as his grip on the rope faltered. He had heard it - or maybe he had only imagined. That beautiful music. The river running through the mountains.

"VINNIE!"

He also thought he heard the sounds of rolling, crashing, the world around him being demolished. He thought he felt light against his eyelids as he fell... fell... fell... into someone's arms. He opened his blurry eyes and saw her, his one wish, his savior, crying into his neck. He wanted so badly to put his arms around her, but there was simply no more strength left in them.

"Yuffie."

"Vinnie, you're okay, you're okay, you're okay," she assured herself as well as him, rocking back and forth. They both let themselves let go, wailing into each other. The thought that this was not the safest place didn't occur to him, nor did he pay any mind to the feeling of their friends lifting them both up. All that existed was Yuffie Kisaragi. She was all that was, or had ever been, until he passed out of consciousness.

\\\\\

"And you say I only hear what I want to. I don't listen hard, I don't pay attention to the distance that you're running or to anyone, anywhere. I don't understand if you really care. I'm only hearing negative, no, no, no bad..."

'Yuffie...?' Was that her voice, or was he simply hoping? Was he alive? He wasn't sure. He tried to open his eyes, but they were as heavy as concrete.

"So I... I turned the radio on, I turned the radio up, and this woman was singing my song. Lovers in love and the other's run away. Lover is crying 'cause the other won't stay. And some of us hover when we weep for the other who was dying since the day they were born, well. Well, this is not that. I think that I'm throwing, but I'm thrown."

Vincent somehow managed to open his eyes, to see her sitting next to him. He hadn't imagined her hand holding on to his. He hadn't imagined her gorgeous voice singing sad songs to him.

"Yuffie..."

"Vincent? Vincent!" She brought her hands to his face. Then his arms, his chest, his face again. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do. She wasn't sure about anything, other than that he was okay, and awake, and speaking to her. She buried her face in his neck, sighing.

"Good morning," he said, "I love you." All in one breath.

"I love you..." She raised her head to look into his eyes. "Vincent, I love you!"

"Where am I?"

"Hospital in Hana. You're fine. Vinnie, you're okay, you're okay. You're gonna be... just fine..." She opened her phone upon hearing a beeping noise, and closed it with an aggravated sigh as she began to rise to her feet. "Okay, I've gotta..."

"No," he pleaded, weakly grasping her arm. "Please... stay."

"I have to do my duty that you care about so much," she smiled, leaning down to kiss him. Once, twice, thrice... four times. "I'm not going far."

"Come back in ten seconds," he smiled, mirroring her words from so long ago and so far away, when they were safe in a house in North Corel with no troubles and nothing to think of but each other.

"I'll try," she nodded. He let go, slowly, still barely clinging to the last moment.

"That's acceptable."

\\\\\

"Next is Elena! Elena, won't you come over here?"

The blond woman walked across the stage, her cheeks light pink, to accept a medal from the President, as her fellow Guardians had. She bowed low, fiddling with the trinket once it was hanging from her neck.

"Thank you, President."

"Thank you for your bravery," the older woman smiled as Elena made her way off of the stage. "Now, we do have... Oh, look, here she is! Empress Kisaragi, everyone!" She applauded along with the assembled crowd as the Empress climbed the steps to the stage and approached, slowly. The President stepped away from the mic, and Yuffie bowed to her.

"Anybody want a drink?" The crowd cheered as Yuffie downed a glass of water. "I'm tired, are you tired? I'm tired. Geez... You know what? Since those kids had to come firing a gun and ruining the whole mood... Why don't we have another party?" More cheers to this. "Lets... Yeah, let's have another party, one week from now. I'll feel a lot better after that, and I'm sure you guys will, too. I did have fun, though! The first party was amazing, it was so well-put-together by these amazing young people over here." She gestured to the four children, standing up front with Yamato and a certain blue-haired youth. "But this time, I'll help with the designing too. Won't have that other yucky work to do, so..." The town went wild with cheers and applause. She couldn't help but laugh, a cheery, grateful laugh, before turning back to the President. "So, did I miss all the medal-giving?"

"There is one more, if you'd like to hand it out," the President said, handing her the last medal and the slip of paper she had been holding on to. Yuffie read the last unmarked name on the sheet.

"Hikari?" Everyone glanced around. "Hikari Sakaguchi? Sakaguchi HIkari?" No one stepped up. She noticed the outspoken teen from the previous night was seeming rather shy at the moment, staring at the ground, covering their face with their hand. She smiled, and dove into the crowd, taking the mic, the medal, and the sheet with her. "Hikari Sakaguchi?" She asked again. They nodded, eyes blurred with tears. "This is for you." They bowed low, accepting the medal from the Empress, and feeling seven inches tall.

"I don't deserve this," they finally said when they stood up straight. Their voice was picked up by the microphone, and a hush fell over the crowd. They all slowly pressed in against the child, trying to give them comforting pats on the shoulder or back. A few of them succeeded. "Empress... You're the one worthy of a medal. You jumped in front of me. You were going to shield me from a bullet..." They trailed off, sobbing, and dropped backward to sit on the ground, their knees weak, covering their face with their hands.

Yuffie knelt down to be on the same level as them, moving the mic away.

"I will protect all of you, if I have the chance," she assured them.

"You protected me... The Empress protected me... I'm... Just me."

"And what an amazing thing to be," she smiled, wiping at their tears.

"I'm not... anyone. I'm not special. I'm not strong, I'm not very smart, I don't have any skills..."

"You do," she shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?" They nodded. "When I was your age, I didn't pay attention to anyone. I was very self-absorbed. And there's nothing wrong with that. But as I hung out with a certain group of people who will remain nameless..."

"AVALANCHE..." She pressed her index finger against her lips, but continued her story.

"As I grew around them, I started to be able to see people. Really see them. I can tell who you are, Hikari. You're a hero. A warrior of light. You wanted to protect these people, last night, when you raised your voice. Just as I wanted to protect you. You wanted to shout the truth, you wanted to make sure no one lost heart. You wanted to make sure everyone remembered why we all came here, built this city, and started living the way we do." She offered her hand, and they took it, allowing her to lift them back up to their feet. "That's why I want you to have this."

She reached into her bag and retrieved a green Materia, then placed it in their open hands.

"For me...?"

"Do you know what this is, Hikari?"

"Barrier Materia," they said, wrapping the fingers of one hand around the orb and using the other to swipe at more tears.

"Now if you ever need to protect anyone again, you can."

"Thank you, Empress..."

"Yuffie," she corrected with a smile. "Yuffie, to her friends."

"Yuffie..."

"But I want you to keep using your voice. It's a powerful tool. A voice can build bridges or set people against each other. A voice can hurt someone. But it can also heal. What you do with yours is your responsibility. It's a heavy weight, but I know you can carry it."

"Yes, Empr..." They shook their head, smiling. "Yes, Yuffie."

"And I'll leave you all with that," Yuffie said into the microphone, turning and walking back up the steps. "Come to the party. Have a good time. Be good to each other." The crowd picked up again with more cheering.

"We love you, Empress!"

"Don't go yet!"

"Please stay here!"

"Hey guys," Yuffie said, throwing an arm around President Dawn's shoulder, whispering an apology for leaning on her. "I need you to listen to me real quick. I know I've done a lot... That sounds conceited..." She shook her head. "Well, I have. But..." She waved them down when they let out more cheers. "But... I'm not gonna be here all the time. I've got a whole empire to run and stuff, y'know? Of course, I love to visit, but... This woman right here..." She squeezed the President tighter. "She's your 'Empress'. She's your superstar. Not me." Another hush fell over the crowd. "She loves you. She loves you all so much. And she loves this city. And she does everything she can to give you the best of everything. That's why I voted for her." The crowd picked up again. "She's got you well taken care of. I want you to be kind to her. I want you to adore her, as I do." She leaned in and gave the President a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, Empress," Dawn sighed. "Thank you so much."

"Any time. Now... Entertain your people. I'm goin' back to bed." And with that, she handed the mic over to the President, and walked back into the hospital, to the sound of an entire city's applause.

\\\\\

"That was a lot longer than ten seconds," Vincent said, not yet opening his eyes, when he felt his girlfriend's gentle touch on his shoulders. "Please hold me? I can't move my arms much without hurting."

"I'd love to," she nodded, pulling the thin blanket off of him.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm exhausted," she sighed, crawling into the hospital bed with him, maneuvering both arms around him, pulling his back against her chest. "But I feel good. Everything is gonna be alright. Better than alright. Better... Just better."

"Of course it will. You're amazing."

"Tell me more, tell me more."

"You're so strong. So incredibly genius. You can do anything." She grazed her fingers against his cheek, softly. He kissed her knuckles when they drew close enough. "You saved me. You saved my life." It hadn't been the first time, but Yuffie wasn't going to bring that up at the moment. "'I love you' just doesn't cut it."

"Tell me anyway."

"I love you... Like snow on New Year's Eve. I love you like a desert loves monsoon season. I love you like moths on Autumn leaves. I love you like the tide... Leaving and coming back, over and over... I can't think of anything else right now. I'm so very tired."

"Rest," she said, kissing his shoulder.

"Thank you."

"Vinnie?"

"Yes?"

"...Stay."

"Always."

\\\\\

[ ~ One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ ]

[ This chapter was originally titled Stay, after the song, but I decided to go with Heroes after proofreading it. Hikari is a hero to the city, and so are the Guardians. Yuffie is a hero to Vincent. And... I wouldn't say Vincent is a hero to Reno and Rude but he sure is helpful. I'm sure those two are each other's heroes, though... :3

This is pretty much the only chapter with fighting/real danger in it. Sorry to disappoint anyone who came here for more of that, but I'm sure there are plenty other fics with more action scenes. I know the victory was rather anticlimactic, even to the point of Palmer dying of natural causes, but that's kind of the point. I wanted them to be nothing big. I wanted their threat to be a minor, passing thing. A faint breeze, not a tornado. Because as Hikari said, this is a new era, they're leaving behind the harmful ways of the past. That's why I wanted Hikari's speech in there. Because everyone has slowly realized that greed and hate has done them no favors.

Playing through the original FFVII, every time you turn around you see someone else or some other part of the planet that has suffered in some way because of Shin-Ra. Towns destroyed, lives taken, lives ruined. It's brutal. Some of the stuff goes over your head when you're a kid, but it's... so brutal. I like to believe pretty much everyone would come to the conclusion of "Okay, let's never do that $#!% again". I like to write fiction worlds that I want the real world to be. So...

Thanks for listening to me blather again. Seeya next time~ ]

#FFVII #Final Fantasy #Yuffie Kisaragi #I straight-up borrowed that rope scene from The Well of Shades by Juliet Marillier tbh #not exactly the same but it's what inspired me #use things you love. It's fanfic

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internaljiujitsu · 4 years

Text

RAGE INSIDE YOUR MACHINE: How Your Brain Makes You Mad

“The best way to control your anger is to control your body.” — Jiu Jitsu Master Rickson Gracie to Edward Norton (as Dr. Bruce Banner) in the 2008 film, The Incredible Hulk.

Bill Bixby terrified me. He’s the actor who played Dr. David Bruce Banner on the 70’s tv show, The Incredible Hulk. Bixby was a harmless looking guy, but when he’d flash those white pupils — signaling the surge in hormones that were about to transform him — I’d shit myself. The transition from man to monster, the anticipation of the horror that awaited, the build up to the inevitable carnage and destruction scared me to death. When the mild mannered scientist changed into his green alter ego, his brow widened, skin turned bright green and clothes tore from the out of control growth of his freakish muscles (while his pants always ended up making the perfect pair of shorts). Frightening.

I’d hide behind the couch whenever someone pissed Dr. Banner off. My older brother and sister thought it was hilarious, but I dreaded that moment. It reminded me that we lived with our own version of the Hulk.

My father, a giant in my eyes, would go from doting dad to terror inducing tormentor in a flash. He was the scariest monster I knew — I’d hide under desks and fake Illnesses when I knew he was angry. Given the choice, I would have taken my chances with Dr. Banner or the devil himself over my dad’s fury.

I thought I had inherited my father’s anger. Certainly, genetics played a part, but rage had also been programmed into me — to deal with a loud voice with a louder one. To conquer violence with violence. To shout down dissent in my own defense.

I worked my entire life to overcome what I and those around me deemed an anger management issue. It wasn’t frequent, but it was more intense than anyone was used to seeing. Level ten anger for a level four problem. The kind of anger that makes people of all ages want to hide under desks or behind couches.

Was I just mimicking what I’d learned as a kid? Did the build up I felt that led to the eventual eruption signify a flaw in my makeup or morality? Was I just an angry, abusive asshole at heart? All the therapy, books and lectures hadn’t helped. I still didn’t have control!

I’ve spent three decades searching for the source and solution for the anxiety and depression that made so many of my days miserable. I never examined the anger itself. The intense, rage filled outbursts I experienced were how everyone expressed anger in our home. I just happened to be the most intense of us all. I thought level ten anger was normal.

But it never felt good afterwards — I’d be exhausted. Not the good kind of exhausted, like after a grueling workout or savage sex. More like when Banner was just waking up, clothes shredded but somehow still on him, despite the fact that he was several times larger in his agitated state — fearful that he may have done some irreparable damage. I’d be groggy, sometimes in tears, breathing hard, wondering how my temper had gotten away from me again.

I ruined more than one Thanksgiving, pooped on plenty of parties and played the role of Debbie Downer on more occasions than I care to remember. Sure, the triggers were there, but my reactions were so unbelievably over the top that I was too embarrassed to go back and apologize — even though I always wanted to. Worst of all, the people I lost it on were often the ones I loved the most.

In my fits of anger, I became the meanest version of my father. Eyes bulging from his skull (partially because of his chronic thyroid condition), neck and forehead veins threatening to burst, a primal snarl through clenched teeth. Then, a voice louder than the horn on a battleship — violent hatred punctuating every decibel.

I’d punch walls or bash my own head against the nearest hard surface when I got angry. I’ve broken furniture, thrown appliances and crushed wine glasses in my hand at restaurants. The rage would only last for about twenty minutes — three or four episodes a year. The rest of the time, I was a tree hugging hippy at heart who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

That’s why it killed me so much each time I lost control. I wanted to be kind, and I knew what it felt like to be around someone scary. It sucked. Being on edge, walking on eggshells to avoid the explosions. Constant tension.

Some of my jiu jitsu buddies once nicknamed me “Buddha” because I appeared to be meditating when I sparred. They said that it seemed like I could take a nap in the middle of a match. On the days when I felt at peace, I conquered my internal demons by being calm in the face of physical conflict. In real life, when anxiety would hit, the reverse was true. Facing no real threat, fear would grip my body, and I would either whither away or explode to defend myself from an imaginary adversary.

My reactions were over the top because I felt so vulnerable. It always seemed that my mom was afraid I’d get hurt as a kid. I remember stories about how my family almost lost me as a baby or how my aunt saved me from certain death somehow. I felt weak and fragile. Seeing violence break out nearly every day on the streets of my childhood neighborhood only made the fear more real. Whether in a classroom, on the bus or in the bedroom I shared with my volatile older brother, I always had to be on my toes.

It’s no accident that I became a champion bodybuilder and martial artist. Though I wanted to focus on academics, I knew I couldn’t just rely on my mind. I needed to look strong. I needed to be confident in a fight. I didn’t want to be bothered and I didn’t want to be scared anymore. Back then, I didn’t know that it’s normal to be afraid before a fight. I thought there was something wrong with me because of it, so I worked to make that feeling go away.

But the extreme, explosive anger I exhibited as a 113 pound thirteen year old boy was the same I expressed in my twenties. I had grown into a 250 pound ball of muscle by then, and my devastating bite could be even worse than my terrifying bark. On the inside I was the same fragile person I had always been. To anyone that saw me angry, I was a scary beast.

So, like Dr. Banner seeking out Rickson Gracie to calm his inner beast, I sought peace through activity and non-activity. I gained more control over the outbursts. But when I began having episodes on days that I stuck to my rituals and felt good, I knew there had to be more to my anger than self-control. Until then, I had only addressed the depression and anxiety that I experienced since childhood. I had never looked at the anger directly, or at how it made me feel about myself.

Uncontrollable anger was the source of a lot of my shame. Self-control was always what I was after — the freedom to not be a slave to emotion. The power to never instill the kind of fear in another person that my father instilled in me. When I failed to control my anger, it was as if I devolved into my genetic predecessor — morphing into my father despite my best efforts — as if I didn’t have a choice. All the hard work of a lifetime would be gone in a burst of rage.

The realization that this anger persists under the surface inspired me to examine it beyond my triggers, or the deeply personal meanings I’ve attached to them. Rather than only experiencing and then lamenting these explosive outbursts, I wanted to understand why they happened. To do so would take being honest with myself about the circumstances surrounding triggering episodes, as well as a firmer grasp of the general causes of anger. This process has helped me to step outside my anger for the first time, depersonalizing the rage and allowing me to observe it from a distance.

I could finally understand how incredibly out of proportion my reactions were once I reexamined the triggers with my rational mind. This was aided by the fact that my latest episode took place in a hotel room covered in mirrors. I was forced to watch myself go through the entire thing. I had never seen my face — my eyes — at level ten anger. I think I may have scared myself straight.

Observing yourself in an explosive anger episode will either drive you deep into a depressive hole or kick you in the ass to figure out why you can’t seem to keep yourself together. This time, I berated myself for a day before deciding to figure out what was going on in my head, so that I can fix it.

GETTING IN YOUR OWN HEAD

The shameful hangover that persists after an episode of explosive rage will only go away when failure to self-regulate isn’t simply labeled a lack of discipline. Subconsciously reprogramming limiting beliefs that have kept you stuck in negative patterns is critical for change, but so is identifying the physiological markers of anger that serve to prep you for confrontation. Knowing that there is more happening in your head than meets the eye gives you an enormous advantage in correcting emotional disregulation. Only then can you train yourself to recognize when you need to course adjust , shutting down your body’s irrational reaction before it gets out of hand.

While traditional therapy and behavioral modification may be key in recovery, ignoring the chemical component of explosive anger is discounting the twisted scaffolding on which the ego is built. Brain function is the invisible variable that turns some of us from Jekyll to Hyde — Banner to Hulk.

There are two parts of your noggin that are key in processing anger:

The Anterior Cingulate Cortex has connections to both the prefrontal cortex (reasoning) and the limbic system (emotion).

The Amygdala — made up of almond shaped clusters inside the temporal lobes — is also a part of the limbic system, which governs emotion.

An inactive Anterior Cingulate Cortex or an overactive Amygdala can both lead to poor decision making and antisocial behavior .

The Anterior Cingulate Cortex (ACC) regulates rational cognitive function. This area of the brain affects decision making, empathy, impulse control, and reward anticipation. It connects your emotions to your actions and intercedes by considering the repercussions when your lizard brain wants to impulsively lash out at someone or something.

According to leading ADHD researcher Dr. Russel Barkley, clinical professor of psychiatry at the VCU Medical Center, the ACC does nothing in ADHD brains. There is no stopping to self-regulate the emotional state — no holding you back from making decisions that could be detrimental to a future you’re incapable of imagining.

Because ADHD is a failure of the inhibition system, Barkley says it’s critical to decouple events from responses. This can only happen when you stop and engage the prefrontal cortex to devise rational responses to triggers. Acting on impulse can be disastrous.

What Barkley describes as a “nearsightedness in time” leaves those with ADHD blind to the future. Unable to anticipate the consequences of their actions and incapable of self-regulation, they often impulsively act out against their own long term self interest. This can sometimes have severe financial, social and legal consequences.

Barkley suggests designing “prosthetic environments” to elicit behavior modification and assist in self-regulation. By externalizing pieces of information with hand written or electronic notes and reminders, envisioning future events and the sequence in which they should take place becomes easier.

In their book, Nudge, Nobel prize winning economist Richard H. Thaler and Cass R Sunstein describe the vast number of ways our decisions can be influenced by subtle suggestions. Strategically placing reminders to curtail or reinforce behavior, building in immediate rewards and consequences, and manually problem solving whenever possible can prop up executive function and lead to better decision making and fewer outbursts.

While the ACC takes into account consequences, the amygdala is a group of structures in the brain that process strong emotions, particularly fear — provoking an automatic fight or flight response. Amygdala hijack (a term coined by psychologist Daniel Goleman) occurs when the amygdala disables the frontal lobes (which govern reason and higher level cognition) and limits some unessential functions in order to prepare the body for conflict. Stress hormones flood your system, pupils dilate, heart races, blood vessels constrict and pressure rises. While being on high alert is helpful when facing life or death situations, putting your body through the emotional ringer on a regular basis due to everyday stress will break you down mentally and physically.

Setting off this chemical dance are the triggers that sit atop the surface of your mind like land mines hastily planted by everyone you’ve ever known — buried under all the shit you only think you remember. The stories you tell yourself set off a tingling sensation when someone reminds you of what you don’t want to be. Your thoughts travel and the feeling in your body transports you to a different time and place. The explosions go off, cortisol and adrenaline flood your system and you react as if you are there again.

Individuals with Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED) exhibit repeated, explosive, sudden episodes of rage that are drastically out of proportion to the trigger. These outbursts can manifest as verbal or physical abuse, destruction of property or personal harm. A study published in the journal Neuropsychopharmacology looked at brain scans of patients with IED. Researchers found that the white matter connecting the frontal lobe (decision making, emotion, understanding consequences) and the parietal lobe (language and sensory input) had less integrity and density than in healthy brains or those with other psychiatric disorders.

With what is essentially the wiring between these two regions of the brain damaged, communication becomes limited. Unable to take in all the information available, you only hear the things that confirm the irrational notions of your lizard brain. Everything becomes an attack. You are looking for the insult that will reinforce the shitty way you feel about yourself. Acting as if everyone is out to get you will miraculously make people want to stay away.

In her book, The Upside of Anger, Dr. Kelly McGonigal argues that it’s our own interpretation of stress that turns it negative. McGonigal says that if we view stress as our body’s way of preparing us for whatever comes next, a rapid pulse can mean excitement instead of fear. McGonigal’s research shows that this shift in perspective leads to physiological changes. Blood vessels no longer violently constrict when the heart pumps faster. However, the organ itself is still fed more nutrients, making it stronger. As in the physical stress put on your body when you exercise, as long as you do not overtrain, the increased demand over time creates greater capacity. According to Dr. McGonigal, a heart pumping vigorously while blood vessels stay relaxed, “looks like what happens in moments of joy, or courage.”

Meditation is an invaluable tool for transforming your reaction to stress. Dedicating time every day to practicing stillness is the best training for both recognizing the onset of symptoms (by learning to notice subtle changes in your internal state) and shutting down a reaction before any negative physiological effects take hold by instantly being still. Building my meditation muscles before figuring out what was wrong with my wiring helped me find the quiet space between trigger and reaction to perceive my anger differently.

If you see anger as an alarm signaling that some potentially nasty shit is being released into your body, you may pump the breaks when you feel yourself losing control. Doing otherwise is knowingly poisoning yourself. Once you realize what’s happening inside you when you are triggered, you’ll be able to direct the process through conscious attention. The feelings won’t trigger irrational action, but thoughtful consideration. Not only of the steps to take next, but of the source of your emotional response — thereby allowing you to choose to react differently.

When the flutter in your chest and butterflies in your stomach signify fear to your mind, your body will act afraid and your thoughts will race. The bells and whistles that go off under your skin will take on new meaning if you train your body to sit still when your mind wants to sprint. With a little knowledge and a lot of discipline, you can, in the words of the late Ted Cassidy, “control the raging spirit that dwells within.”

#mind #body #mentalhealth #anger #angermanagement #mindfulness #meditation #awareness #brain #change #behaviormodification #ied #adhd #relationships #selfimprovement #personalgrowth

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thetakenpokemon · 7 years

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Act 0 - The Guardians of Twilight

[PoV: ???]

The loud sound of activity surround me, various Pokemon of different shapes and sizes moving too and fro in order to get to where they need to.

This sort of noise is expected in the Guild HQ of the Guardians of Twilight, since everyone is either needed somewhere or is headed to some place to relax until they’re actually needed.

Hmm? Don’t know what the Guardians of Twilight is? Well don’t worry, since I’m just the girl to fill you in with this sort of thing~

The Guardians of Twilight is essentially what you’d call a monster hunter guild, we’re a rather large organization who’s entire purpose is to hunt down the things that the cops can’t really handle. Powerful feral Pokemon, hybrids that have gone mad, Ultra Beasts, corrupt Human organizations, you name it.

Now that’s not what everyone here does, since there’s three branches in the GoT.

The first one are the Night Watchers, the scouts. The Night Watchers are the ones that go out there and check suspicious things out as well as keep out a general eye for trouble, if they see something...they report back to HQ with their findings. They rarely see any sort of combat since that’s not their expertise, but if something minor happens that they can handle...then they can choose to give it a good kicking.

The second branch are the Night Hunters, the bulk of the GoT. These ones hunt down most of the threats, so when trouble pops up its ugly head...then the Night Hunters ones you call. We’re often sent out in teams of two or three, since we don’t want one person handling a monster alone. Buddy system you know?

The final one? That’s the Night Wardens. These are the elites, the strongest warriors we have. Their job is to either kill or imprison the strongest things out there, specifically extremely powerful hybrids and Ultra Beasts. They never fight alone, in fact they are separated into teams of four to six Pokemon. They rarely see action, but when they do...they have one hell of a fight coming up.

That pretty much sums up the three branches of the GoT, or at least the basic system that’s often used. There are times where exceptions are made, but that’s only for certain situations.

Not to mention there’s other various roles here. You’ve got people taking care of HQ like cooking, cleaning, and other various things to keep this place in shape.

One thing I’ve forgot to mention are the ones who are in charge. Each branch has a leader who oversees all activity within, but they all report back to the one who runs the entire guild.

They call her ‘The Lady’; yeah I know...it’s a very ‘mysterious’ kind of name, but then again no one has seen her face except for the three commanders and a few select others. She oversees everything and rarely gives orders herself, since the ones who run the various branches do a good enough job. But if ‘The Lady’ gives you a direct order, then that means that you’d better do it.

As for me? I’m a Night Hunter, used to be a Night Watcher. Apparently my combat skills were so good that they proposed for me to join the Night Hunters. Honestly I wasn’t too thrilled at first since that’s where most of the danger is, but...in the end I realized that my skills would be much more needed as a fighter than a scout.

Heh, you’re probably wondering what I am now since I’ve told you about my role. I’m a Salazzle with some strong Scrafty genes from my dad, it’s an obvious giveaway seeing the orange skin and ‘hair’ crest on my head. Definitely not complaining though, since it makes me look hella stylish.

As for attire we all tend to wear clothing that shares the coloring of the GoT emblem, which is ‘navy’ and ‘periwinkle’. As for specific outfits we wear whatever that fits our style, but the colors gotta be the same.

Well, for almost everyone. Only a few don’t wear those colors, which are some members that have joined the guild through an alliance with another organization or something. They still wear the colors of whatever group they’re with, but they have to have something on them to tell others what branch they’re in.

There are other various reasons too for why someone doesn’t wear the typical clothing, such as someone being too big or too small. There’s other various things too, but you got the gist of you.

Other than those things, that should explain the most of-

I suddenly step to the side in order to prevent myself from colliding with something large and made of metal. My face scrunches in irritation as I look up at the dick who’s not looking at where they’re going...only to falter.

The one towering over me is no other than Asmund.

This giant, steampunk-y Golurk is someone you don’t want to be tangled with. Because A: He’s an asshole...and B: He can also hurt you bad with little effort. Now it’s a VERY big no-no in the guild to harm another member for the sake of harming them, so it’s unlikely that Asmund will actually do anything...

...But at the same time, this guy is just fucking scary.

He looks down at me, his face shaped like that of an actual Human. “Watch where you’re going.” He growls, his lips never moving despite his baritone voice talking. “It would be very...shameful if you were to be crushed under my foot.”

“Y-Yeah, sorry about that.” I chuckle sheepishly, rubbing the back of my head with a hand.

The Golurk lets out another growl before turning and continuing on his way, each step from his metal feet causing a loud ‘clunk’.

Once he’s far enough away, I turn and continue down the same path. “Dick...” I mutter under my breath. “Just because he’s a Night Warden he thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants. That and the fact that he’s a giant walking machine of death, I hope one day all that karma will come back and fu-”

“Ash!” A voice suddenly calls, causing me to freeze. In a single motion I turn and brace myself, prepared for Asmund to come charging me down...

...Only to see my partner looking at me with a very annoyed look.

“Oh! Hey!” I laugh somewhat awkwardly. “How’s it going Re-”

“Did you not forget?” He hisses, his eyes narrowing. “As long as we’re working, I am to be called Firesword.”

Yeah, that’s my partner. ‘Firesword’.

He’s a rather tough-acting and extremely ‘by-the-book’ Scyther, or at least in his behavior. Now this guy definitely doesn’t know how to ‘chill’ since he’s always acting like ‘we need to always be prepared’ or something, basically 'no fun allowed’.

Unlike me who wears clothing, he instead wears armor. The dark blues of the armor actually work quite well with his green body, especially the helmet since it gives him a very intimidating look. Another quality about him that quickly stands out is his scythes...or swords.

To my knowledge, he ended up losing both his scythes in some battle-related injury. So instead they gave him some...what was the word? I can’t remember, but they essentially stuck swords on his arms. He wields those things just as well as any Scyther scythe I’ve seen, not to mention they’re even more durable now since they’re made of actual metal.

Prosthetic! There we go! He has prosthetic metal swords!

Oh! Speaking of metal, Firesword is currently giving me a rather ‘steely’ look right now.

“You really need to stop being so uptight.” I grumble. “I mean seriously, we’re not even working. There’s no need for using our aliases here, I DO have an actual name you know.”

Another thing I forgot to mention, Ash isn’t my actual name. Another good tidbit about this guild is that everyone is given an ‘alias’, specifically to protect them and their families from anything that would want to seek out and hunt down a member’s loved ones.

It’s definitely a smart thing to do, since this guild has a lot of enemies. Sure I use my alias when I’m out ‘in the field’, but here? Come on, everyone has an alias...but they sure don’t use it in this damn place while they’re not working.

Well...except for Asmund, that guy is literally the only member that doesn’t have an alias. I don’t know why, maybe because he’s such a cocky fuck that he has no worries about people knowing his name.

Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if he legit wants people to seek him out just so he has an excuse to kill something.

“In fact, we are going to be working.” The Scyther responds in his usual serious tone. “We have a new task.”

“Already!?” I exclaim. “Come on, we’ve recently gotten finished with our last one! Do they know when to give us a break?”

Firesword lets out a loud growl. “This is given to us from The Lady herself.”

Now this made me shut up, since not only is it uncommon for the leader of the guild to assign tasks...but the fact that she chose the two of us is what’s surprising me.

“Us?” I manage to speak. “I mean, why us?"

“I don’t know.” He grunts in response. “That’s why I have been looking for you, Kaiser wants us to report to her immediately to discuss the details.”

Ahh, Kaiser...the leader of the Night Hunters. That Garchomp is definitely one of the top people I admire, since that girl can really kick someone’s ass if you piss her off enough. But she’s also a very nice person if you get to know them, well...maybe.

“What are we waiting for? Then let’s get going.” I chuckle before running past the Scyther. “Can’t keep her waiting, right?”

So ‘The Lady’ has personally assigned a task to us (or as ‘personally’ as The Lady can get), I never thought I’d see the day when that’ll happen.

However though...if this task was chosen by her, then it must be big...

...Very big...

#ashsalazzle #fireswordscyther #guardiansoftwilight #plot #act 0

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vankoya · 7 years

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Aphelion; Perihelion.

✗ Part of the Across the Multiverse series!

Genre | Cowboy Bebop AU.

Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Feminine Reader.

Words | 2,309 words.

Conspectus | The call will always come, and Jeongguk will always forget. That is just how it is, how it always has been, how it always will be.

Warnings | Alcohol, smoking and gambling addiction. Somewhat unhealthy relationship. Weapons.

The radio crackles sometime after midnight. Well, for anybody in the Tharsis timezone, at least.

Such a flimsy, manmade concept is nothing but precisely that when the ship is suspended somewhere near Ganymede. Thrust into the oblivion of outer space, where the stars are always visible against the pitch infinity and the sun remains to burn fiercely in the distance. Existing simultaneously when, back in the years that Earth was the only colonised planet, you could only see them one after the other.

But out here in this vast, tenebrous eternity, there is no day or night when the two elements that defined them come to coincide. Thus, no means for time.

It really screws around with your body clock, that is for sure.

Though based on Tharsis time, and the fact that it is a Saturday down on Mars, it should be near two in the morning. This is generally the appropriate time that the crackling occurs and you, slung within the limbo of not quite asleep though desperately needing to be, heave that same old sigh. The one loaded with past burdens and bad decisions and the name of that sole crew member you would fight blood and bone for, would die for, but would never admit it.

Jeongguk fucking hates Mars, which always has you wondering why he spends his every Friday night in the thick of its casinos. Losing the woolongs you split from the last bounty on blackjack tables, slot machines, and another pack of cigarettes that Namjoon will convince to trade him for a can of beef or something trivial. Disgustingly broke scavengers, the lot of you.

Lazily, you stretch for the receiver on the coffee table, swiping your fingers this way and that until they come into contact with cool metal. Answering with a click of a button, you part your lips to speak. Before you can, words are tumbling through the other end of the line in a voice that both clutches your heart and makes you wish to stomp the feeble vessel underneath your heeled boot.

“Baby, fuck, thank– Thank fuck–” And god, if it were not for the way the words were slurring together like melting ice being swilled in a glass of whiskey, the fact that you can practically smell the liquor on his tongue through the receiver is a clear indicator that Jeongguk is blind drunk.

“Hey baby, sweetheart,” he continues to coo and you are already lifting yourself from the draped position across the couch. You step over a face-down, sprawled out and snoring Taehyung in your progression towards the front of the ship. “Y'there, baby? I m’need a favour, pretty please.”

“What?” There is nonchalance in your tone, cutting and firm. But your actions juxtapose the lack of empathy you wear like an artificial shield around him. You enter the bridge and light up the touch-screen monitor to reroute the ship to Mars. Namjoon is going to be pissed, but you really could not care less.

“C’mere ‘nd give me a kiss,” Jeongguk whines, which directly translates to: I am too intoxicated to drive my ship home, so please come and pick me up before you and Namjoon decide to bail on me and fly to the farthest planet from here. He sounds terribly genuine, so sickly sweet like melted sugar, full of divine promise.

You have to swallow the heart-shaped lump in your throat before you thickly answer.

“We’ll come pick you up in two hours.”

You hang up the radio immediately after the confirmation is spoken—before he can make a snarky comment to your outright neglect. Slamming the receiver on the panel, you run your other hand down your face, groaning.

Taehyung appears by your side as he does in that Taehyung way of his—uninvited and usually scaring the damn wits out of you. You stifle a yelp when he slumps beside you out of thin air, smacking the side of his face beside your hand where it lays upon the control panel desk. You retract it against your chest as if you have been electrocuted.

Taehyung is a loopy, noodly teenage kid that the three of you found on Earth, roaming about with nothing to his name but the clothing on his body and a jacked up laptop. Yes, a jacked up laptop that he used to hack into the ship’s system, reconfiguring the flight sequence to have it land right before his toes. To say that the three of you were screeching like banshees while all of this occurred is a severe understatement. But it is completely understandable when your spaceship suddenly starts hurtling through the atmosphere towards grand expanses of desert plains, and one strange, gangly boy with skill hidden in his goofy grin.

Taehyung’s eyes are drooping with lethargy. A trail of drool is dried to his chin. “Mars?” he mumbles, yawning. “For Jeonggukie?”

“Yup, the dumbass got drunk again,” you hum, listening to the engines groan as they guide the lump of junk that is the Helios through a one-eighty, heading towards the Astral Gate. “Maybe we should just leave him there. What do you think?”

“Can’t, sissy!” Taehyung whines, scrunching up his nose and staring at you accusingly, which has you raising your eyebrows in question. “Not when sissy loves Jeonggukie so much!”

Namjoon turns out to be more pissed at the fact that you woke him up by throwing the receiver at the wall of the ship with a bloodcurdling scream, smashing it to smithereens.

The passage through hyperspace takes half an hour less than anticipated. Yet surprisingly, Jeongguk is already slouched beside his battered, steel grey zipcraft, the Aphelion, when you arrive at the casino. A cigarette dangles unlit between his lips.

Really, you hate Mars just as much as he does with its low density, causing the lighter gravity that keeps easy on complexions. Lifting wrinkles from the skin; softening any marring in the form of scars. You can barely see the one that thinly slices Jeongguk’s cheekbone. The smoother skin is ugly and unsightly.

He looks more beautiful with it. Natural and real. He looks like Jeongguk.

Mars apparently makes him a different person in a lot more ways than one.

“There’s m’girl!” Jeongguk hollers. The cigarette falls to the ground in his haste to get up, and he does not seem to notice as he crushes it in his drunken stride towards you. He smells like a liver abused by alcohol and lungs sticky with tobacco when he envelops you in a crushing hug that is so unbearably warm. So unbelievably home. “Y’made it, baby. Missed you.”

“How haven’t you sobered since you called?” you groan against his throat, moisture gathering on the skin from your hot breath, arms hanging limply by your sides.

Jeongguk pulls back then, rifling around in the pocket of his black bomber jacket. He retrieves a stainless steel flask, which he holds up next to his liquor-slack grin. His breath smells like a casket full of death.

“Poor men come prep–”

You snatch the flask out of his hand before he can finish, weighing just under half full in your hand. Twisting off the cap, you knock back the last of the contents and then ditch it into the finely trimmed bushes. His grin only widens at the way you cringe with realisation as the alcohol burns a fire down your throat, knowing full well how much you hate gin.

“Let’s go, dumbass,” you cough, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth, ignoring the way Jeongguk stares at your lips. “The Helios is parked on the port down the road. We’ll pick up the Aphelion once you’re sober.”

“You’re always s’hot when you’re demanding,” Jeongguk cuddles into your side with a devilish simper, beginning to walk in the direction of the home ship with an arm draped limply around your shoulders. He hums a tune that he knows you once listened to long ago.

“Even if you were broke, my love don’t cost a thing,” he croons, tucking you closer, but you refuse to appease him, eyes set on the destination floating in the bay like a giant beast down the hill’s slope.

Silence is your only solace, secluding your voice to the back of your throat where it itches and burns with the urge to form. Because when Jeongguk wakes up in five hours time, he will have forgotten all that he has said on this ugly Friday night in Tharsis. Just like he does every other time.

Jeongguk, for quite possibly being the biggest out of all four crew members, has the smallest room on the Helios. Back when the ship was a fishing trawler, it must have been a storage room. Now, it is fitted with some overhead drawers and a double bed that has its sides touching all walls but the entrance.

“Help,” he slurs, spine against the mattress, legs dangling off the edge and either side of your own that stand between the bed and the door. He cracks one eye open, juts his lower lip. “Pretty please?”

Begrudgingly, you take him by the wrists and haul him upright. His head slumps forward and presses to your stomach with the slackness of his muscles. You shuck off his jacket first and then lean over his shoulder, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it up, exposing the curved bumps of his spine, the slashes of scars against tanned leather. Jeongguk obediently lifts his arms.

Once you have pulled the cotton over his elbows and wrists, he lays back against the bed again. His arms are tucked behind his head, and his torso stretches in unadulterated, wrecked and ruined display.

You wonder how many bullet holes he will have marring his flesh by the time he eventually loses. How many gunshots it is going to take until he is dead.

From his position, he waggles his eyebrows. “Like what’ya see, baby?”

“Fuck you, Jeongguk,” you spit, tearing your eyes from the gentle caramel tone of his skin, soft and innocent. You turn on your heel to leave.

“Wait, stay!” he suddenly insists, lurching forward and curling his fist into the hem of your sweater, tight enough to keep you in place. You glance at him out the corner of your eye, try to not let the hope become obvious in your gaze. His expression has become twisted, pained, though strangely unreadable.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Why, Jeongguk?”

“Because I want you. I want to remember this.”

The ship, for once, is silent. No engines run to power you through the distances of the universe. No Taehyung screeches like a dying animal in front of his laptop. No Namjoon complains to his thirteen bonsai about the rest of you and how there is never any damn peace and quiet.

Instead, it gently bobs on the water in the port and the late night liveliness of Tharsis sounds far, far away. Jeongguk is staring at you like he is repenting for his sins and you are something holy. Yet the both of you know that you, of everyone onboard, is aeons from that.

Suddenly, Jeongguk defeatedly exhales. He runs his free hand through his hair before he uses the other to hook his fingers around your wrist, yanking you on top of him where you collapse in a heap of limbs. Silently, he hoists the both of you up to the head of the bed where only one rumpled pillow lays.

He helps you unclip your bra without taking the sweater off, threading the straps through the sleeves with precious ease. Then, he rolls your jeans down the muscles of your thighs, calves, and you are about to kick them off your ankles when you both notice that your boots are still intact. You slide each shoe off, and Jeongguk uses one to throw at the light switch by the door, effectively drawing the tiny room into a swathe of shadows. It is only when he is tugging off his own black jeans that he cusses under his breath.

“Forgot ‘bout that.”

He is nothing but a hunched over outline at the centre of the darkness. “Forgot what?”

“Gun,” and you notice it then when he chuckles and pulls the handle out of his waistband. He lifts it up so that you can see the weapon—loaded, no doubt—before he drops it onto the pile of clothes at the end of the bed.

“Jesus, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk laughs louder, and it is gruff and beautiful, ringing around the room; smothering the sound of your trembling heart. He climbs back next to you, an inch of space separating two bodies that long for one another. Though it only lasts for a moment before he, glacially, curls his arms around your waist, slips his cold palms underneath the back of your sweater, and lays them crossed over on your shoulder blades. Holding you closer than he ever has.

There, with his nose touching to the tip of your own, your legs toasty and entwined, you can see his eyes glimmering, the drunken haze fading. They are a shade of onyx, exceptionally more gorgeous than the galaxies the four of you sail as bounty hunters, scavengers, thieves. Human beings with no other place in this vast universe.

But here, with Jeongguk closing in, his breath hot on your mouth and his fingertips dancing patterns across your skin, you cannot help but think that maybe, this really is it. Here, with him, you belong.

“M’not letting myself forget this time,” he whispers, and then he does nothing more than kiss you, lips of heat and home tucked against your own in a promise that you finally, at long last, allow to blossom happiness within your heart.

Prompt | Call Me: I will write a drabble about my character asking for yours.

Series | Across The Multiverse is a collection of drabbles based around the prompts from this list, each taking place in a different universe. The updates will occur whenever I am inspired by a prompt to write a small piece, most generally done as a warm-up.

#jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #reader x jungkook #noonanet #bangtan bookclub #atm #across the multiverse #gukvory #you bet that was a play on across the universe fgdfgd #cowboy bebop au #you also bet I made jeongguk sing jlo HAHA

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spacemomalex · 7 years

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okay so, just some polite musing on necromancer au

I’m thinking that, after all the time Hunk and Shiro spend together, they get very close. Lots of intamite moments with Hunk soothing over Shiro’s stitches with lotions he invented just for Shiro. Talking about his powers and working together to figure things out. And Hunk learning how to make shiro laugh and listening more than anyone does. And Shiro learns about the things not even lance knows about Hunk. maybe I just like this ship whoops

Shiro won’t date anybody during his half life state. And even though Keith does have feelings for him (working closely with shiro for the past year when he had nobody else in his life to have any sort of friendly relationship? hard not to develop a crush on such a great guy tbh) nothing comes of it between them. Afterwards though?

later keith lets his feelings for shiro go as he becomes more capable of handling his own feelings and talking to people. Also he can’t stop thinking about what a giant nerd lance and shit when did he get attractive

Keith getting some tattoos homies. Just think about keith getting some bitchin’ tattoos. Sigils to prevent possession and sigils that help him influence spirits and keep himself awake for days when he needs to (shiro protests these greatly). That can be removed but usually only by keith himself. But he also has actual tattoos.

Keith has a ruby pendant in the shape of a lion that holds a powerful demon he’s still trying to get rid of, but eventually they make a deal and she helps him in return for being able to be let out of the damn thing once in a while. Ends up saving his sorry reckless butt several times.

Lance totally almost got drowned by the people of the Mer and almost swallows a tiny little mercat. Coughs up the little wriggle puss and feels really bad about it and hunk helps nurse her back to health. Despite being a fish, getting fed a good diet of some Fae magic gives her the ability to drag herself around on land- though Lance prefers to carry her around. She chews on his hair- though she gets too big to carry around pretty fast.

Shiro rescues a powerful spirit- a black sphinx- from Zarkon at some point. She’s the Queen and she’s very hard to handle. Eats Shiro’s clothes, tears up pidge’s machines and chases lance around and treats keith like a helpless kit. Hunk she allows to brush her and tend to her wings but eventually Shiro takes a more active role in caring for her too.

Pidge builds a lion body for a powerful spirit that wants a more corporal form. It insists on armor, green armor.

Hunk was just looking for some food to show Allura that any kind of algae- magic or not- was not good for human consumption but he found the tiiiiiiiniest itsy bisty little ball of yellow floof that could fit easily in pidge’s hand at the market place. It was stuck under something that looked liked tree bark and it got very attached to him very quickly. Turns out The ancient stone lion spirit needed a good heart to attach itself too.

Each of the lion spirits bring something to the fight for the throne and Allura is very grateful to them as well. She gives each of them means to walk freely between this ethereal world and the human world to see their humans freely- yes even red.

Red totally ships lance and keith and conspires with the other lions to get these losers together. Black acts indifferent but she she very very very interested in screwing with them all and blue and yellow just want their goofy hairless kittens to be happy. green is also quite happy to help because she and red just like causing mischief.

#necromancer!au #Voltron legendary defender #I hope you guys didn't think I was gonna leave the lions out

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kenyeta · 5 years

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This past December (2018) we took a multi-generational family cruise. We ported in Fort Lauderdale and sailed to Labadee, Haiti and Falmouth, Jamaica on the Independence of the Seas (Indy).

We flew in the night before departure with my favorite budget airline, Allegiant Air. Per usual we opted not to pay to select our seats but we did pre-purchase checked luggage. The flight was on time, though the ride was a little bumpy. We arrived pretty late at night, just in time to catch the last shuttle to our pre-booked hotel. We settled in for the night and ordered some post mates. In the morning we enjoyed a complimentary breakfast. When booking a hotel for this trip there were only 3 things on our must have list, they included breakfast, a shuttle from the airport and a shuttle to the cruise port. All of these were complimentary with this stay. The hotel also offered a $10 per person airport shuttle from the cruise port upon our return, which we gladly took advantage of.

This was my first time cruising with Royal Caribbean (RC) or being on a ship of this size. Check-in and boarding was a breeze. As Royal Caribbean has some amazing extras, I’ll go through them and give my thoughts in the sections to follow. I’ll also give an overview of our ports of call and how we spent our time on each island.

The Ship:

Before we even had the chance to settle into our rooms, my kid was ready to hit the pool. Since we had time before the rooms were ready and because I’ve cruised before and knew that swimsuits in the carryon luggage was as must, the first thing we did was get in the pool. Although it was Dec, Ft Lauderdale was quite hot so the water felt amazing. There was one main pool split into two halves by a small bridge. On the opposite side of this pool was a kids’ splash zone, complete with slides and a waddling pool. Hot tubs could be found on either side of both of these swimming areas. The kid and I spent time in this area at least once a day, every day! It helped that the all you could eat ice cream machine was right beside the kids’ splash zone and bars could be found on either side of the pools. There was also a whirlpool in the adults’ only area (Serenity). This was especially nice as it hung slightly over the edge of the ship and gave an incredible view of the ocean.

The other area of the ship where we spent an enormous amount of our time was the top deck. There was two huge twister waterslides that was partially see through so that you could look down and see the ocean as you slide down. As the kid and I are early risers, we lucked out one sea day and was able to ride the slides with no lines until our hearts content. They were a blast, there is a height restriction which she barely passed! There was also a height restriction on the rock climbing wall which we only gave one go. Neither of us made it to the top but it was a fun run. Another feature unique to RC is the surfing simulator known as the flowrider. Aubrey was too small to give this a go but I did, twice! Riding the boogie board on my stomach or knees wasn’t as hard as it looked and falling wasn’t as painful as it looked as well (thank goodness)! The instructors were amazing and really helpful. The crowds at first were intimidating but their cheers boosted my confidence. I had the kid record me attempting to stand up and surf, she looked completely scared for me when my turn was over, the wipe outs are a lot less painful than they look …haha. This deck also has a climbing sculptor enclosed by a net. It’s a tight fit for adults but I made the journey twice during our trip. It had spectacular views of the deck and off the back of the ship out to the ocean. Aubrey loved it as she made many friends while playing on it. This is also where the virtual reality trampolines were located. As far as I know this is another thing unique to RC. There were four mini trampolines and harasses inside of a giant sphere. Five years and older were welcome to jump but you had to be 7 or above to use the vr headsets. This did not affect Aubrey at all, as she did this activity several times throughout the trip. Reservations for this attraction could be made before we even set sail through the RC website. I made our reservations for the first night, which was awesome. There was multiple games to choose from with the headset and maybe I should have given more of them a chance, instead I stuck with the candy crush game each time. This showed me just how out of shape I am, as I grew tired long before my couple of minutes were up!

Other activities throughout the ship included ice skating, which we participated in twice. Laser tag which despite the extremely long wait, was a lot of fun. Royal Caribbean didn’t forget the usual cruise activities such as trivia, and contest such as the hairy man contest. I actually didn’t participate in most of these with the exception of a Christmas trivia that the kid and I did in the kids club (taking home 2nd place) and a quest game show kids’ edition! I regret I missed the adults’ quest game show and I did not get a chance to try the escape room that RC have onboard. Adult shows and games just aren’t the same when you go to them alone (the only downside I’ve found traveling alone with my kid).

The Shows

There were a few shows onboard throughout the cruise. Our first night there was a lively parade with a special guest, Santa Clause! Scheduled on our first sea day was the freeze frame ice show that went through the decades in music and costumes. We were also treated to Grease, the Grammy award winning musical! As much as I love a good musical, I think my favorite shows were the poolside movies offered select nights during the sailing. This might not be as exciting if you’d seen these recently released films but if you were behind the entertainment times as I tend to be, this was definitely a treat. In the evenings after dinner and once the kids’ club opened, I would drop Aubrey off to ‘meet her friends’ and I would get a cone and head to the pool deck to take in the film. During my sailing I watched Crazy Rich Asians and Searching (this one I hadn’t even heard of but couldn’t stop telling everyone about). There was also a movie channel in our room where I watch Ant man and the Wasp, as well as Avengers Infinity Wars.

The Room

This was my first time staying in a balcony room. Although I will be going back to interior rooms due to pricing, it was a treat to have a balcony at least once! To be able to slide the door back and take in the views at any time was great. It allowed me a space to go and just relax while the kid slept in! We had the twin beds pushed together, though I thought I had asked for them to be separate but it wasn’t a big deal. We also had a couch which made the room feel so much bigger. The bathroom seemed to be the same as any other ship I have been on.

Dining

We did our time dining as I typically do because even at home we don’t have a very typical dinner time. However our first experience was less than satisfactory. We were given a pager like any restaurant on land and preceded to wait. Though we were told it would be about 10 to 15 minutes, that quickly turned to 30 and we noticed people without reservations were being seated as they walked up. When we asked about our wait, we were seated right away. The dining area though beautiful was completely over crowded with tables and chairs. Our table seemed to be in some form of a walk way and it made us feel as if we in the way. The food took an extremely long time to come out and dessert took so long that we cancelled the order so we could finally leave. We gave the dining room one more go on the next night for Formal Night. The crew seemed to be better prepared this night. We were seated right away. Although we were inches away from each table on either side we were not in a walkway. The food was out in a timely manner and we were even able to enjoy dessert. The food was nothing to write home about but it was decent (I should make it known that the kid and I are picky eaters). We didn’t try any of the specialty restaurants. I was going to at least do Johnny Rockets but couldn’t justify paying for what we could basically get for free from the buffet. The reminder of our meals were eaten in the buffet. Breakfast was my favorite, fresh fruit, waffles, and sausage every day! I also thoroughly enjoyed the international dishes available during dinner each night. Hydration consisted mostly of apple juice, lemonade and of course daiquiris.

Ports of Call

Labadee, Haiti

Our first port was Royal Caribbean’s private island. This was my favorite port of the trip for many reasons. First off stepping onto the balcony and seeing the picturesque view of the ocean set against the mountains was simply breathtaking. I had pre-purchased 2 excursions for this port. We had an hour on the aqua park that had large water obstacles that included slides, see-saws and trampolines. It’s suggest this activity is only for swimmers but life jackets are required (the kid nor I are strong swimmers, despite even going snorkeling in Barbados). I had researched the island and found that the calmest waters were in Columbus Cove right where the aqua park was located. So we basically stayed in that area for our day in Labadee. Aubrey met up with some of her friends from the kids’ club and barely wanted to break away to eat. Which brings me to another reason I loved being on this island. Since it was RC’s private island, they provided the food. They had many shelters set up at each beach for a buffet style lunch. The food was the same that you would find on the ship but somehow tasted better under the palm trees. I sipped on a labadooze (the island’s signature drink) as I watched Aubrey play in the sand with her new friends. Aubrey even had a booze free cocktail in a pineapple! Towards the end of our day we went to pick out souvenirs from the local vendors who were not allowed to harass guest on the beach but attacked as soon as you were anywhere near the shops. The second excursion I pre-purchased was an all-day pass to ride the dragon coaster. The kid would have been able to ride as a passenger with me free of charge but she didn’t want to leave her friends to try it. In hindsight this was best as this was a very scary experience. You are basically in a one person go cart seat with a brake. The track wines down a mountain with some seriously sharp curves and there is no siding so sudden death feels like it’s around every corner. I couldn’t bring myself to go again and was glad that I didn’t put Aubrey on it!

Falmouth, Jamaica

This was out second and final port of call this cruise. Wanting to see as much of Jamaica as I could, I booked a bus tour with a beach stop. So in my mind, we would tour the island, making a few scenic stops and spend the remainder of our day by the sea. I was partially correct at least. The day start off with a lot of hurry up and wait. We started our tour about 30 mins late because it seemed they were waiting to fill the bus. We spent hours riding around with the tour guide pointing out a few places but we didn’t get off the bus. Eventually we did make it to a beautiful outlook that housed a bar with some pretty hefty price tags. Next we drove some more while our guide continued to point out places in passing (my kid went to sleep). Next a menu was passed around and we were told we could pick from these plates to have at the beach. They were $17 bucks each, and you had to get what was pre-paired with them. I opted not to order however the beach we were taken to offered nothing else! Small drinks were passed out upon our arrival but I was skipped, when I asked for one, I was told I had to pay for it! Luckily I had water and snacks from the ship for us. This was enough until we were able to get back to the ship. After an extremely short time at the beach we were placed back on the bus and taken to a shop. It had the same items you would normally find vendors on the island selling but for outrageous prices! The whole entire day was meant to squeeze every cent they could from tourist and I had booked through the cruise line! To say my day in Jamaica was a disappointment is an understatement. It really sucks because I’m not sure when I’ll get the chance to return again and I was so looking forward to it. Next time I think I’ll fly in so that I can take my time and explore the island to set right the negative vibes I left with. We were able to do a little port shopping before rushing back on the ship so that was something.

The Kids Club

Just like pretty much all cruise lines, Royal Caribbean offers a kids club. Kids are split into groups based on age. There are open and close times with planned activities. They also offered family activities which we participated in. Overall my daughter thoroughly enjoyed her time there and couldn’t wait to go back each night. Looking at the kids cruise compass I didn’t feel there were as many activities as I’m use to seeing on Carnival cruise lines for kids. Outside of the limited options the kids club planned, the ships normal itinerary didn’t have much for kids. Once again I think this is because the ship does have attractions such as rock climbing and ice skating. I was under the impression that Royal Caribbean offered Dreamworks character meet and greets and a breakfast with them but guest services had no idea what I was referring to.

Overall my first experience with Royal Caribbean left me with some mixed feelings. The ship definitely offered amenities I had never experienced anywhere. However I think they used those big attractions as an excuse to neglect some of the smaller more intimate experiences that other ships offer. Though my daughter loved spending time in the kids clubs to hang out with the new friends she made, I felt like they offered a lot less activities for kids to engage in (It seemed more like a free babysitting services,which is nice too). The buffet food options were awesome and nothing was more relaxing than sitting pool side watching a movie. The rooms were spacious and clean. The attendants and staff were efficient just not as friendly as I’m use to. The Haiti private island experience was a dream vacation. However the Jamaican excursion offered should definitely be removed. I’m sure I’ll give Royal Caribbean another go, I just hope my next experience is a step up from this one.

Christmas At Sea with Royal Caribbean This past December (2018) we took a multi-generational family cruise. We ported in Fort Lauderdale and sailed to Labadee, Haiti and Falmouth, Jamaica on the Independence of the Seas (Indy).

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