#also i swear i played dead cells (and i have some scribbles for it) i just so happened to already have a sketch to go from for this

[shaykai]

A long while ago I was making jokes about Liam not being able to show up in pictures, and it got me thinking about how Oz would show up in one

#doodle #i just finished a very old sketch djdjdj #also i swear i played dead cells (and i have some scribbles for it) i just so happened to already have a sketch to go from for this #monster prom #monster prom liam #monster prom oz #liam de lioncourt #oz #ozliam #(but it could also be friendship. whichever floats your boat)

[reveniemus]

8 or 21 or 31 for the hug prompts. love your new look 😉💖

thank you!! i am obsessed with this photoshoot 😭😭 also i hope you enjoy some angst i guess?? bc i write that now???

geraskier in angst major, no. 1

pairing: gen with lite!geraskier rating: teen warnings: implied torture, mild descriptions of injuries jaskier is not having a good time

on ao3

Never say never, his mother had always said, and yet, Jaskier had foolishly done just that. He thought he was never going to feel anything worse than the heartache of what happened on the mountain, and yet, this moment was a very strong contender. It was such an obvious thing too, and Jaskier knew if Geralt had been there, he would’ve tutted at him for being so oblivious to the fact that the men giving him the eye were not, in fact, looking for a one night tumble.

Then again, if Geralt had been there, Jaskier wouldn’t have been flouncing about in a crowded tavern in plain view of some Nilfgaardian soldiers out of uniform. He would’ve been curled up in a bedroll on the forest floor, eating rabbit or deer and scribbling in his notebook while Geralt sharpened his swords.

“Bard’s tougher than he looks, huh?” he hears one of the guards say after he’s taken yet another beating. “That’s the third one today and he’s still conscious, somehow.”

“Barely. I bet if he got another one today, he’d tell us everything,” his companion says, and Jaskier’s body involuntarily winces at the thought of another beating so soon to his last one.

“Think the captain will let us? It’s not like we’re getting anywhere with the other prisoners,” the first one says, and he must lean against the bars because the scraping sound of metal against metal rings in Jaskier’s ears.

“Most likely. We haven’t tried branding yet,” the second voice answers, the gleeful tone to his voice making Jaskier’s stomach curl. Thankfully, it sounds like they’re finally, finally walking away and Jaskier lets himself relax when the sounds of their conversation dissipate.

He takes a deep breath and even that small, miniscule amount of movement makes his body ache. Jaskier tries to remember the things Geralt used to say about managing pain. The first step was to take inventory of his body to figure out what was wrong. It’s hard to do on his side, so Jaskier shifts, his face scrunching up as he lays on his back. It isn’t comfortable and the movement makes his bones feel like they’re on fire. How is it possible to feel this much pain and survive?

Okay, he can do this. He can take inventory of his body, just like Geralt used to.

Deep breath.

Something aches on his calf, near his ankle. Twisting it shoots pain up his leg, and Jasker bites down on his bottom lip to stop from making a noise. He can’t let the soldiers know he’s conscious enough to make noise.

Deep breath.

There’s a cut on his right upper thigh. He doesn’t know when he acquired it. This last beating? The one before? It’s not actively bleeding anymore, which is good. He thinks it means they didn’t hit anything major.

Deep breath.

A stabbing pain shoots up his left arm. Fuck. He hopes it’s not a break, because the implications of it makes his heart ache. Then again, he doesn’t know when he’ll see his lute again, so maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Deep breath.

His abdomen feels heavy. Is this what internal bleeding feels like? He should’ve asked Geralt how to know if you’re bleeding internally. Jaskier thinks he’d be colder if he were bleeding internally, or number.

Deep breath.

Jaskier’s head is pounding — not enough to distract from the rest of his pain, but just enough that his thoughts are verging on disjointed. Geralt would yell at him for not being able to focus.

Deep breath.

That definitely means there’s a head injury though. Jaskier remembers when Geralt had fought two fiends and they’d knocked him around. He had insisted that Jaskier not let him sleep, that it would make a head injury worse. Jaskier isn’t sure what worse means when the main part of your body that keeps things running is already hurt, but he thinks it means he shouldn’t sleep.

Deep breath.

If he’s asleep, though, he won’t feel the pain of his injuries. Jaskier closes his eyes, knowing Geralt would hit him for genuinely contemplating falling asleep while he’s got a definitive head injury.

Deep — Jaskier is jolted out of his breathing routine by a loud clanging noise, followed by thumps and screams and the sound of running. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, grimacing with the motion, to peer past the bars of his cell.

He should move back, maybe hide in the shadows and hope that whoever is attacking the prison will leave him alone. If he can have time to heal, he can get out of here and find … who? Geralt made it very clear he didn’t want Jaskier around, and it wasn’t like Jaskier could go around and find his old acquaintances. Anyone who was associated with him could be in danger because of his association with the White Wolf.

Maybe he could turn this prison into his home after whoever is out there finishes off the Nilfgaardians. Jaskier lays back down, closing his eyes and taking deep, slow breaths as the noises of fighting seem to get closer. If he lies here, maybe they’ll think this cell is empty of viable prisoners and they’ll keep going.

“Fuck,” he hears a voice grunt before the door to his cell opens. The voice seems familiar, but Jaskier can feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness and his already-vaguely-disjointed thoughts connect even less and less. “Please don’t be dead,” the voice says, and Jaskier vaguely feels a warm body next to him. The immediacy of the movement makes him flinch, and he hears another curse from the voice.

Familiarity blooms inside him, and he winces. His mind is playing tricks on him, it seems, maybe the Nilfgaardians decided an illusion would be more useful than a branding. Jaskier tries to curl into himself, but the pain that courses through him makes him scream.

“Jaskier, please, don’t move,” the voice whispers, gruff and gentle, and Jaskier whimpers as a hand brushes back his hair.

“Please, I don’t know anything, I swear,” he pleads, fighting back tears.

“It’s okay, Jask, you’re safe,” the voice murmurs, and Jaskier whines. The illusion feels so real it makes his heart ache, reminds him of the moments he clung to when Geralt’s fingers would barely brush over his skin when they were making camp, or when Jaskier made a stupid decision that got him hurt.

Suddenly, Jaskier is being tugged up, and he’s shocked into looking up. His eyes widen when he sees a shock of long white hair and amber eyes, a soft whisper escaping his lips.

“Yes, it’s me. We have to keep moving,” Geralt says, and Jaskier feels arms on his waist as he somehow gets on his feet. “Can you stand?” he asks, his eyes glittering with concern in a way that makes Jaskier’s head spin.

“You’re here,” he whispers, leaning back a little as Geralt’s hand moves from his waist. It’s not far, he can feel the heat of it against the ragged remains of his chemise, and Jaskier feels more light headed than he has in weeks.

“Careful,” the witcher murmurs, catching Jaskier’s arm as he sways on the spot. “I’ve got you, Julek.” His arm wraps around Jaskier’s waist and he brings him closer.

Jaskier inhales Geralt’s scent, a mix of leather and horse that’s difficult to duplicate, much less recreate in an illusion, and ignoring the sharp ache in his lungs at the movement. He’s probably got a broken rib, he realizes, as he involuntarily leans into Geralt more. “You’re here,” he repeats, his eyes fluttering.

“I am, but don’t fall asleep on me yet. You’ve got a nasty head wound,” Geralt says, his voice gruff and stern and the familiar tendrils of it makes Jaskier’s heart warm.

“Y’know, even if this was a dream, it’s a nice dream. I hoped this would be my last,” Jaskier whispers, like it’s a secret, as he leans into Geralt, wrapping an arm around the witcher’s waist. He has no balance, so he feels the sway of his body as he tries to recalibrate his center of gravity.

“It’s not a dream, and it sure as hell won’t be your last one.” Geralt’s response is angry, almost aggressive, and Jaskier thinks maybe he’s far too out of it to be affected by that. “Yen’s outside with a portal waiting for me to get you out of here,” he continues, tightening his grip around Jaskier’s waist and moving out of the cell.

Jaskier makes a soft noise, burying his face in Geralt’s neck as the witcher half-carries him out of the keep. “You came for me,” he mumbles, voice slurring as darkness starts to take a hold of his consciousness.

“I always will,” Geralt whispers. Or maybe it’s just a part of Jaskier’s dream. “You’re not dreaming, Jaskier, and I need you to stay awake.”

Did he say that aloud? Oh. Did that mean he was definitely dreaming or definitely not? Jaskier is about to say something else, he thinks, but putting words together has become very difficult. What a useless wordsmith he is, isn’t he? Not able to put words together! What a sorry excuse of a bard.

“What’s he babbling about?” a sultry feminine voice asks, and Jaskier’s body jerks, the pain shooting from his possibly-twisted ankle as he tries to run off. “Bard, what are you doing? Has he been doing this the whole time?”

“Hm,” Geralt grunts, shifting to hoist Jaskier towards the shimmering portal that’s just outside of his fuzzy eyeline.

“Why didn’t you Axii him like one of your horses?” Yennefer asks, her voice coming closer as Jaskier’s arm lifts and loops over someone’s neck. A lilac and gooseberries someone.

Geralt lets out a grunt that, if he were in the right state of mind, Jaskier would be able to translate, but for now, he knows there’s an underlying layer of softness to it that he wants to hold close to his heart.

“Oh, you stupid witcher,” Yennefer mumbles before Jaskier feels chaos surrounding him. It’s the last thing he consciously notes for himself before his vision goes black and his mind goes empty.

#hello i tried a thing i hope it's okay #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher #witcher fic #geralt of rivia #a sprinkling of #yennefer of vengerberg #hurt/mild comfort #or as they say in the gallery #whump the bard #kali writes

[ravenluvsppnbc]

BECHLOE WEEK DAY FOUR

today’s prompt was “near death” so this is what i did. what a clutz move beca. enjoy.

“The air smelled of grease and sweat. Gross. But it was a carnival, so it seemed less gross at that minute. The Bellas arrived at three, minus Chloe, who unfortunately had to work. The sun was shining and children ran all around. 

The Bellas played rigged games, ate gross fair food, and rode rides for a few hours before Aubrey spotted the ferris wheel. Aubrey claimed that you always had to go on it. It’s a classic ride. So, ten college girls joined the line for the ferris wheel. It seemed like a long line, but it moved fairly quickly. After only about twenty minutes, the girls were able to board the ride.

Emily squeezed into a car with Beca, as the other girls found their way into the seats. It was a pleasant ride. The sun was just beginning to set as the wheel turned. Beca thought about Chloe, and how she would love to watch the sunset from up here. She snapped a photo to show her later. Beca and Chloe had been dating for around six months now—Chloe was kinda all Beca could think about. She loved everything about her.

Beca and Emily shared a nice conversation as the ride went on. Suddenly the ride stopped. Beca looked down. They were already unloading. Beca watched as an old couple exited the ride. The ride starts and then stops, again. This time, they’re at the top. “Oh my god what is that?” Emily shouted, looking down at their seat.

Beca jolted to the side, shaking the cart, when she noticed the huge spider who had apparently been riding the ferris wheel with them. “What the hell,” She said, shaking her hand towards it, “Get out!” This only seemed to anger the spider.

The two girls both start freaking out, trying, desperately, to move the spider. The whole seat is shaking now. “Sit still in your seat please, we will be unloading you shortly.” A man shouts from below them. Neither of them register it, as the spider is still planning on coming along for the ride.

Then it happens. The mistake. Beca leaned forward, shooing the spider off of the seat, only to go with it. She fell over the rail, tumbling to the ground. Emily starts panicking. Screaming, as she watched Beca hit the ground. “Get me off please! My friend is dying!”

The wheel slowly turns again, letting Aubrey and Stacie exit the ride. “Shit!” Aubrey yells, rushing through the crowd of people in line. 

“Chloe is gonna kill us.” Stacie mumbles, scrambling over to the other side of the ride.

“What the hell happened Emily!?” Aubrey shouts when Emily exits the ride. The crowd of people gathered around Beca is huge. Everyone is trying to help her up. She can barely catch her breath.

“She just. Fell. I don’t know.” Emily said, pulling Beca up off of the ground. Beca winces as she tries to walk. The Bellas can tell that she’s trying to hide the amount of pain she’s in. Maybe that’s just her. 

Amy carries Beca to the car, where the girls start arguing, after they start driving. “So. Which one of you guys wants to call Chloe and explain this? I’m driving, so it can’t be me.” Aubrey says, looking in the rearview mirror. 

“Not me. Chloe’s gonna go insane.” Stacie says, looking back at the rest of the girls.

“Word. I vote Emily. I mean, you were in the same seat as her. It’s half your fault.” Amy says, half jokingly, pointing to Emily.

“Okay. I guess that’s fair. I mean there was no way I could have stopped her from falling, but..”

“Emily. Phone. Now.” Aubrey said, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Right.” Emily mumbles, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. She dials Chloe’s number, and listened to it ring. 

“Hey Emily, are you guys having fun?” Chloe asked. God. Why does Chloe have to be so happy? Emily was so nervous. She was about to give horrible news.

“Don’t be mad.” Emily says, her voice shaking, as she puts Chloe on speakerphone. 

“What did you do?” Chloe asked, immediately growing suspicious. 

“Well. It’s kinda dumb. I don’t really know how to tell you.”

“Where are you? Put Beca on the phone.” Chloe demands.

“Beca…” Emily starts, and then looks around at the girls in the car, “Is a little tied up right now. Um. Can I take a message?”

“Emily. Don’t be an ass. Just tell her what happened. Stop stalling.” Aubrey chimed in, from the front of the car, still trying to focus on driving. She’s definitely speeding.

“What happened?”

“Beca is injured.” Emily says, Stacie shooting her a confused look.

“Where are you?”

“We’re pulling up at the hospital.” Emily said, examining their surroundings.

“Emily. I swear to God. If my girlfriend isn’t in one piece when I get there, you’re dead.”

“Got it. See you soon.” Emily said, rushing to unbuckle her seatbelt.

-

“What can I do for you ladies?” A man nurse says, as the girls enter the hospital.

“My friend here, fell off of a ferris wheel like ten minutes ago. I don’t know how American hospitals work, but whatever you can do to like fix that issue would be good.” Amy blurted out, chuckling.

The nurse immediately rushes them all to a hospital room where they sit Beca down and start checking everything. “Alright, we’re just gonna ask you guys to stand outside while we run some tests and get her all fixed up.”

“Okay. But beware. Her girlfriend is on the way and is definitely gonna go psycho. Just letting you know ahead of time.” Stacie says, as the nurse closes the door.

“Yeah. Legacy that’s yours to deal with.” Amy says, pointing her finger at Emily, again.

Sure enough. Just a few minutes later, Chloe arrives at the hospital. “Where is she?” Chloe asked, approaching the group.

“Uh we can’t see her yet, they’re doing… whatever it is that they do when they do ‘tests’” Aubrey says, pulling Chloe into a hug. Chloe’s eyes are full of worry and fear. 

A few moments of silence pass, all of the girls trying to avoid telling Chloe of the days events. Chloe is the first to break the silence. “So is no one going to tell me what the hell happened?” she shouted, with a bit more anger and way louder than she had intended to.

“Well. Emily, if you want to…” Aubrey started, before Chloe interrupted.

“Yeah Emily, if you could tell me what’s going on, that would be great.”

“So, we were just y’know, riding rides and stuff. We all decided to get on the ferris wheel together. And it was all going okay until they were unloading.” Emily starts to explain, using an unnecessary amount of hand gestures. “We were just waiting to be unloaded and this huge spider just walked into our uh. Our seat. And we were both kinda freaking out. Beca moved to the side and the whole seat started to like move around, and then she moved forward and fell off… the ferris wheel…”

“You let Beca fall off the ferris wheel?”

“I don’t know how good my reaction time is but-”

“Not good enough.” Chloe interrupted, anxiously pacing the hallway.

“Chloe-”

“She could have died, Emily!”

“Chloe I don’t think she’s going to die, don’t worry.” Aubrey said, grabbing Chloe.

“I just. I can’t-” Chloe started, bursting into tears. 

“I know.” Aubrey said, pulling her into a hug.

-

After a while, the nurse comes back out of the room and announced that they can go in to see her now. He begins to walk the group towards a room. Stretching out his hand to the door, the girls begin to enter. Chloe pushes through the small crowd, entering the room first. She slams the door behind her, throwing her coat onto the floor.

“Yeah that’s the-” Amy starts to say.

“Psycho girlfriend?” The nurse finishes, chuckling. The girls all hum in response. “Ah. Gotcha. I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

Beca turns her head, smiling to see her girlfriend. She is wearing a cast on her wrist and has scratches on her face. Her forehead also houses a bruise. Chloe caresses Beca’s cheek, dragging her finger across a scratch.

“Dude you can’t do that. Scared the shit out of me.” Chloe says, smiling at her girlfriend.

“Do what?”

“Fall off a ferris wheel? Are you crazy?” Chloe exclaims, pulling her girlfriend into a tight hug, running her hand up and down her back.

Beca pulls away after a moment and looks at Chloe. “Yeah, crazy for you.”

 “Beca. You almost just died. And you’re flirting?”

“Yeah. It was just like when I fell for you.” Beca says, her eyes scanning Chloe’s body. Chloe hums, smiling into beca’s lips as they connect with her own. What had gotten into Beca? She giggled as Chloe sat down on the hospital bed. “You’re pretty.”

“I love you.” Chloe blurts out. For the first time. A smile that Chloe has never seen before appears on Beca’s face. A smile so big. She climbed into Chloe’s lap, kissing her lips.

“I love you too.” Beca whispers just an inch away from her girlfriend’s lips. Beca had just begun kissing Chloe’s neck, when there was a knock at the door.

“Hello? Are you guys done with hospital makeout shit? We want to see the bitch who fell off the ferris wheel. Make sure she’s not dead.” Amy yelled from outside the door. Chloe instantly started chuckling.

“She’s not dead!” She shouted, Beca giggling into her neck as the door swung open. The nurse enters the room again, accompanied by ten a cappella girls, who immediately bombard Beca with questions. Beca falls back into Chloe’s arms as the conversation continues.

When it was time to leave, the whole room is soon in tears of laughter, including the nurse, who quickly became friends with the Bellas.

As soon as they get into the car, Chloe deciding to drive a few of the girls back home so that they wouldn’t be squished into Aubrey’s car, Beca finds a permanent marker. “Hey, wanna sign this shit?”

“Obviously.” Chloe says, taking the pen, scribbling away.

“Better be cool,” Beca says, waiting.

It takes a second for Beca to readjust to view her cast. “Chloe Beale’s lover?!” Beca shouts, reading the new inscription on her cast. The whole car erupts in laughter.”

#bechloe week 2021 #bechloeweek #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fan #beca mitchell #bechloe #beca+chloe #chloe beale

[tenecity]

中毒

requested: yes

(hello~ could you write a zhangjun angst based on Quit Smoking, please? (but please give my babies a happy ending, they deserve it)���

genre: angst, a little fluff

masterlist

❝ 没有你 我怎么办 (Without you, what will I do?)❞—quit smoking, by Li Ronghao 

Zhangjing flips the pages, and then starts scribbling down some numbers. Unconsciously, his fingers make their way to his mouth and they grind on the nails, biting hard on them as he tries to figure out how he to do that one calculus question. Momentarily, the fingers leave his lips, but they return back to his mouth when he tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed, slightly annoyed that it’s not working out.

Teeth continuously sink into the pink and raw flesh just at the edge of his short nails. His stomach rumbles and he bites harder on his nails, attempting to ease the hunger so that he can spend more time trying to solve the question.

His thoughts are disrupted when a hand catches his, fingers intertwining with his own slender ones, thumb tenderly caressing over the bleeding flesh. The person pulls the chair, chair legs screeching against the floor, making Zhangjing flinch. The person’s legs go on either side of the chair, sitting the opposite way, hand perched on the back of the chair

“You know,” the person says reflectively, eyes trained on the fingers, not the least noticing how they start to get clammy. “You should really stop this habit and stop chewing on them. You could get an infection.”

Zhangjing just shrugs and pulls his hand away, wiping the sweat of it, replying, “It’s a natural instinct.”

“No, it’s a bad habit.”

“No, I’m telling you, it’s a natural instinct. Google says-”

“The internet is nonsense and full of false information.” Yanjun points out, head placed on his chin as his eyes challenge Zhangjing.

“And what makes you so credible, hm?” Zhangjing retorts back, rolling his eyes as he goes back to his work, furiously rubbing off the pencil markings. “Now, what’s this grumpiness? What, got a problem?”

“Yea. God, calculus is such a pain.” Zhangjing groans in frustration, complaining for the 2736th time of the day, regretting his life choices.

“Let me try.”

Zhangjing watches Yanjun take over the textbook, pen posed in his hand, his eyes reading the question carefully, his eyebrows furrowed as he writes down some random numbers on the blank piece of paper. The crease in between his brows ease as he hands back the textbook, a smug smile on his face.

“Is it really that difficult?”

Zhangjing simply glares at him, his right hand copying Yanjun’s notes, his left fingers automatically moving up for his teeth to gnaw on; it stimulates his thinking.

He is startled when the familiar warm hand once again interlocks their fingers, Yanjun’s eyelashes batting innocently at the shocked expression on Zhangjing’s face. He nods towards the paper, silently telling Zhangjing to not mind him and do his work.

But it is one hell of a distraction with Yanjun rubbing soft circles on the back of his hand, nonchalantly playing with the prominent veins of Zhangjing’s hand. “Yanjun, stop it.” He attempts to pull his hand away, but Yanjun’s grip just grows stronger. 

“Biting your nails is a bad habit, and I’m helping you, mind you, to break it, by preventing your fingers from being bitten at.” Yanjun retorts back childishly, sticking out his tongue, before he grabs his phone and with one hand, scrolling through his Weibo, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Zhangjing is staring at him helplessly.

On one hand, he would really like Yanjun to let go of his hand, and yet on the other, well, it’s comforting, to say the least, to physically know that Yanjun is there. He gives off a sense of, assurance? Safety? Something like that. 

So, Zhangjing relents to the younger’s antics and believe it or not, with the soothing circles on the back of his hand, he solves the question quicker than usual, and the two of them are on their way back home, 5 minutes earlier than usual.

-

Ever since Zhangjing has been friends with Yanjun, he has been living with the Lin’s. Yanjun had told him he just can’t tolerate having a friend living on the streets, when he’s capable of helping them. Plus, it’s not Zhangjing’s fault that the scholarship was crap and didn’t offer any other benefits, besides the chance to study in one of Taiwan’s best universities.

So, on days like this, Yanjun would idle around, play on his phone, play at the basketball court, go to the library to do some light studying, or actually attend some lectures. At exactly 5.15pm, he would go and fetch Zhangjing from his class, and the two of them would make their way back to the Lin’s, a 15 minute walk away from the university, Yanjun bouncing his basketball as he exclaims random cold jokes to ease the tension in Zhangjing.

Zhangjing, evidently, has been stressing out more than usual. The entrance exam is this year, and his English is still not on par, don’t even try mentioning his Calculus. At the rate he was going, it looked like he just wasted a trip across the South China Sea, and was a disappointment.

-

“Zhangjing, I swear to god, stop biting your nails!” Yanjun exclaims in exasperation as he watches from across the living room, staring at tousled hair Zhangjing. 

Sighing in frustration, Zhangjing removes his hands from his mouth and curls them into a fist, nails digging into his palm, creating pale red crescent shapes on his pale, soft skin, as he attempts to use the pain to concentrate. 

But he was tired, exhausted almost, and his concentration keeps slipping away, constantly distracted by the patterns on the kitchen floor, the dings from his phone, and the intense stares from Yanjun.

A hand slips into his, and before he knows it, Yanjun is right in front of him, hands held across the table, lying on the cool glass surface. “Yanjun.” Zhangjing warns, as he looks nervously for the sight of Yanjun’s mother and father.

“Will you please stop doing that? ‘Yanjun, Yanjun’, you sound like an old grandfather.” Yanjun pulls a face at the exasperated elder, his attention returning to the book he has in his one hand.

“You’ll read more comfortably with two hands.”

“And you will bite your nails, if I don’t hold your hand.”

“......” “See, you agree it’s helping you stop this bad habit right? Hai, without me, honestly what will you do?” Yanjun sighs dramatically, holding up their interlocked hands, an eyebrow raised.

“Ok, look, how about I promise you I wouldn’t bite my nails, and you, stop distracting me, because I really need to study, ok?” Zhangjing almost sounds desperate, but he doesn’t care. He really needs to ace this, or he is dead.

The smug expression drops and a disappointed sigh leaves Yanjun’s lips as he reluctantly lets go of Zhangjing’s hand. “Stop stressing out so much! Zhangjing, you’re already good enough. You’re already getting an A.”

“Which, by the way,” Zhangjing points out, tapping his pen on his head, trying to get his pathetic two brain cells to work. “Is not enough to meet the scholarship requirements. I need an A+.” 

Rolling his eyes, Yanjun gives up. “Whatever. Don’t sleep too late.” He waves a goodbye as he heads to their shared bedroom.

It’s 2:50am when Zhangjing finally gets to bed, tilting his head side to side as he cracks his neck, feeling the tension in his stiff neck somewhat relieved. His entire body aches as he goes to draw the curtains, cleaning up some of the strewn clothes on the floor. Slipping under the cold covers, he gives a sigh of relief as his body hits the soft mattress.

A grunt from under the covers causes Zhangjing to almost jump out of his skin. “What are you doing here?” He hisses at the sleeping figure, rolling his eyes to cover up the uncontrollable smile he has on his face as he watches a lazy, cheeky grin appear on Yanjun’s lips, his dimples showing, tempting Zhangjing to run his fingers over it.

Zhangjing doesn’t mind sharing the bed with Yanjun, honestly. But he has to pretend to be annoyed, at least. He would hate to think about the reaction Yanjun would give if he had said “This is great, I can sleep with you and maybe even kiss you as much as I like.”

Yes, surprise surprise, clinkclink bitches, Zhangjing likes boys. He’s gay, and well, unfortunately, not the proudest about it. It’s not like he’s ashamed of it either, it’s just, he doesn’t want to announce it, and walk out of the closet and be happy and free about it, just yet.

Knowing a conservative China, he is indeed very afraid of the judgemental looks, the criticisms, the bullying that usually succeeds the coming out. 

He certainly did not want to say a word about his sexuality to a certain sleepy boy, because A, he is afraid of what Yanjun would say. Will their friendship break? Will Yanjun judge him? Will Yanjun find him a monster, disgusting and distasteful? He honestly doesn’t know, and he fears the reaction and rejection. He would rather sacrifice his freedom of sexual expression, than give up his friendship with Lin Yanjun.

B, Yanjun, just so happens to be his crush, his first male crush. The racing heartbeats, sweaty palms, butterflies in his stomach when Yanjun touches him, is electrifying and addicting, and when he found himself wanting more, he realised that perhaps, he likes boys, and not girls, and just maybe, he is gay and not straight.

Bursting into sobs when he first realised it, he was overwhelmed with emotions, confusion, happiness, sadness, and fear. Yanjun had found him in his room, tracking the sobs, crouching next to the boy, his usual cold demeanor melted into warmth as he wraps his arms around the shaking boy, rocking their two bodies together, not even asking Zhangjing what happened, just simply being there, quietly for him, no matter what.

Zhangjing appreciates it, but he wonders if this, this will also be what eventually breaks them. This, unconditional platonic love, unconditional care and concern, his silent support and him constantly being there, just makes Zhangjing fall in love over and over again with Yanjun and he hates it. 

He hates that he enjoys the thrill of plummeting down a cliff, not knowing whether he will survive the fall or not, but enjoying the thrill of it all, the danger, the secrets, the darkness, the secret admiration. He hates that Yanjun has to be so perfect, perfect skin complexion, perfect body, perfect face.

He hates that he has to fall for his best friend.

Because, then, everything is at stake.

-

“Oh come on, please Zhangjing? Please, please, please? What can 3 hours in the karaoke do to you huh? It’s not like studying Calculus for 3 hours is going to miraculously pull you up a grade!” Yanjun pleads with Zhangjing, puppy eyes and all, his fingers clasped around the elder’s wrist as he whines about it, trying hard to convince Zhangjing to accept his offer to go night karaoke with his friends, to “relieve” stress.

His eyes wander somewhere else, Zhangjing unable to take the sight in front of him, pure bliss pouring and swirling in his stomach and he tries to suppress the sweet feeling. “Watch me. 3 hours is a lot of time, you know-”

“Ok, 2 hours?” Yanjun cuts him off, negotiating, looking so earnest about it, that Zhangjing relents. I mean, who could resist a whining and pleading Yanjun?

Zhangjing regrets his decision. Yanjun’s friends sing terribly. All they do is scream into the mic, not even caring if they are on beat or not, a complete mess. Zhangjing closes his eyes as he tries to soothe his pounding headache, but the next high pitched scream snaps him out of his daze and he sighs, rubbing his temples.

A pair of eyes watch him carefully, and guilt fills him up. He sincerely thought karaoke would be the best way to help the elder relieve stress, considering how much singing he does in the shower. But apparently not.

“Yanjun ge~” A flirtatious voice in his ear disrupts him from his thoughts and one of his girl friends drop herself on his lap, seductively swaying her hips slightly, intoxicated as she looks at Yanjun through hooded eyes. Yanjun swallows as he trails her body with his eyes, a sudden urge to scream and run. Carefully, he pushes her off his lap, eyes straying uncomfortably away, locking orbs with a certain Malaysian who has a sour look on his face, as if he too, wanted to scream and run.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Gratefully, Yanjun shoots Xukun a small smile as he collects all their drunk friends, pushing them out of the door. Yelling a goodbye, he shuts the door with a soft click, leaving Yanjun with Zhangjing, both of them tense as they feel the awkward atmosphere set in.

“Um...you wanna, you wanna sing?” Yanjun stutters as he offers the mic towards Zhangjing. Despite his headache, the elder accepts the offer, grabbing the mic as he scrolls through the songs. His fingers pause at a particular one, and he clicks enter and the light, yet heavy with emotion piano notes fill the space between the two of them.

Zhangjing’s voice rings through the room, his powerful, soulful voice, a sharp contrast to the mindless singing of Yanjun’s friends. Injecting emotion into the lyrics, he sincerely sings the song, lyrics flowing through his lips like he has sung this a thousand times, melody harmonious with his talent laced voice, the words slowly forming a deep meaning and Yanjun watches on, slightly dumbfounded and in awe of his best friend’s talent.

The song starts to captivate him, and even though he is not looking carefully at the lyrics, the break in Zhangjing’s voice as tears start to spill from his doe eyes, causes a deep ache to blossom in Yanjun’s chest. 

His fingers enclose around the neck of a bottle. Sipping the contents, he allows the alcohol to seep into his veins, intoxicating him, causes everything to grow fuzzy as his eyelids flutter close, a sudden depression hitting him as he listens to the melancholic verses, reminding him of a certain someone.

The instruments play, no lyrics to describe their intensity as Zhangjing breaks down into tears, and they flow freely.

戒了烟 我不习惯

没有你 我怎么办

三年零 一个礼拜

才学会怎么忍耐

你给我我的伤害

是没有一句责怪

戒了烟却染上悲伤

我也不想

Breaking the habit of biting his nails, he isn’t used to it. 

Without Yanjun, what will he do?

3 years and one week later

He only then, learns to suppress his growing love for a Taiwanese boy. Because loving your straight best friend is no-no in the gay community, a definite trap that would break you into pieces.

The hurt you inflicted on me, the bittersweet pain you caused me, the tears you caused because of how conflicted you made me, yet I don’t blame you a single bit.

I don’t blame you, because it’s not your fault I fell for you.

It’s not your fault that I was stupid enough to fall for a straight, to fall for someone, I can never have.

He broke the habit of biting his nails, and instead, he became addicted to Lin Yanjun, falling for his light caresses, his hidden care behind naggings, his cool facade, his feign annoyed expressions, his intelligence.

He didn’t want this, and he certainly didn’t ask to be put through the pain of wanting someone so badly, that it hurt.

-

Zhangjing’s moist eyes trail towards and intoxicated Yanjun, the boy mumbling nonsense under his breath, looking dazed and intoxicated, and for some reason or another, hurt, pure hurt, like the pain from the pulling of heartstrings, is written all over the boy’s face. Zhangjing wonders how the two of them ended up like this, next to each other, and yet not even aware of how broken they both were.

Tears evaporate as he scoot closer to Yanjun, thumbs swiping away the fallen tears. “Yanjun? Yanjun? What’s wrong?” He asks concerned, slightly panicked. The boy just shakes his head, head hung low as he shakes, sobs wrecking his body. A new pain overwhelms Zhangjing, and he swallows back his own tears as he engulfs Yanjun into a hug, one hand guiding Yanjun’s face to the crook of his neck, allowing the boy’s tear droplets to flow down his milky white neck.

They flow nonstop, like a gentle stream, and Zhangjing is dying to ask Yanjun what happened, and who did this to him. And yet, he doesn’t want to pressure the boy into telling him a secret he obviously didn’t want to share in the first place, so Zhangjing seals his lips as he runs his fingers through Yanjun’s dark locks, combing through his hair, his hands rubbing the younger’s back.

Eventually, the storm in Yanjun calms down and the teardrops cease as the shaking boy starts to calm down and relax into Zhangjing’s touch, sobs turning into sniffles.

Slowly, he raises his head, and Zhangjing is about to sigh in relief and ask the boy what happened, when he feels the warmth of Yanjun, close to his lips. 

His eyes trail to the space between the two of them, barely a centimeter apart, All Zhangjing has to do is lean in a little, and he would be crashing his lips into Yanjun’s. 

The swollen eyed boy seems unfazed by the closeness, his fingers clutching onto the hem of Zhangjing’s shirt, almost as if giving him permission. His chapped lips ghost over Zhangjing’s pink ones, the two of them sharing the same breath as they try to calm the furious palpitations.

Zhangjing blinks as he stares into Yanjun’s dark, unmovable orbs, the other almost challenging him with his fierce gaze. But Zhangjing knows, they are both drunk, one drunk on unrequited love, the other on alcohol, certainly not in the best conditions to make the right decisions. 

So as if throwing his hands up in surrender, Zhangjing clears his throat and pulls away, standing up and walking out of the karaoke room, in desperate need for fresh air, leaving a disappointed Yanjun alone.

-

Yanjun returns to his house alone, the click of the closed door echoes in the almost empty apartment, as if resounding his loneliness.

As he throws down his bag into a forsaken corner, he closes his eyes as he splashed cold water on his face, the iciness of it waking him up, making him even more acutely aware of what had just happened.

He can just visualise the chocolate brown eyes of Zhangjing, the shocked expression etched on his face, his perfect brows drawn together as he contemplates. The warmth radiating from him so familiar, so close and yet so far. He can still remember the pink lips of Zhangjing as he unconciously draw them in, before pouting them.

Yanjun wishes his best friend had leaned in then, crashing their lips together.

A bittersweet pain envelopes Yanjun as he thinks about what Zhangjing’s lips would feel like against his.

-

The next morning, was, well, awkward would be an understatement. Zhangjing couldn’t even stand within a metre radius of Yanjun, his eyes shifting uncomfortably, looking for a place to put his focus on, rather than the boy in front of him, who seems to have no problem at all with his presence, his eyes filled with a strange kind of rage.

“Zhangjing.” The tone is laced with tension and anger, and Zhangjing winces at the sharpness of it.

He looks up in reply, not trusting his voice.

“Can we...can we not be like this?” Yanjun rubs the nape of his neck, looking exasperated at the situation, irritated that the atmosphere was tense and uncomfortable. 

The two of them were never like this; mornings were usually filled with laughter and teases. Today, it was filled with silence and a strange atmosphere, pregnant with tension, both of them wanting to speak to each other, and yet, didn’t have the courage to do so. 

Or at least, Zhangjing was far too scared, far too afraid of what Yanjun would say of their encounter, that the words got stuck in his throat, never as much making past his lips.

“Okay.” Zhangjing answers simply, quickly and rather curtly, his attention going back to his cereal as he idly stirs it, his knuckles going white from gripping it too hard. He swallows the last mouthful of his bland breakfast, and takes the bowl, walking away from Yanjun, towards the sink.

The bowl clanks against the metal sink as it falls out of Zhangjing’s grasp, the wrist of the hand holding it, twisted around, forcing Zhangjing’s back to hit the kitchen counter. He groans softly at the hard contact, his eyes trained on the ground, unable to look at Yanjun in the eye.

“Zhangjing. Zhangjing, stop. Can you please look at me?” The grip on the wrist grows tighter and the pain forces Zhangjing to look up, wincing, his bottom lip trembling.

Yanjun sighs as he stares at Zhangjing, loosening his grip on the small wrist, resting both palms against the counter. “Why did you cry, during the karaoke session yesterday?”

Zhangjing scoffs lightly, shooting back a retort. “Could ask the same about you.”

“And I would gladly tell you.” Yanjun replies as he tilts his head, eyebrow raised, eyes mockingly challenging the elder.

Zhangjing simply rolls his eyes, lips sealed.

“Fine, I’m going to tell you why I cried then, since you don’t want to.” The voice grows hard and fierce, as if determined to get the words out in the most gentlest way possible, and yet the succeeding sentences come out in a rush, confused stream of words, anger and uncertainty laced with them.

“You know why I cried? Because of you. Because of you! Because guess what You Zhangjing, while I was cleaning up your bedroom because it is so god damn messy, guess what I found?”

Zhangjing swallows hard, eyes unable to leave the fiery eyes of Yanjun, silently hoping it was not that book. Please, let it not be that book.

“I found this book.” Yanjun holds up the book, as if reading Zhangjing’s mind. It’s a small, tiny, navy blue notebook, torn slightly at the edges, pages a little yellowed, tags and fallen pieces stuffed between the thin pages.

“Wait I can-”

“No, you don’t have to explain. You didn’t even realise the book was gone! Guess who was reading it this whole time, huh? Me! And your notes, your poems or whatever, it’s got me hooked ok? You got me into this mess, your stupid words enticing me to like you, and guess where I am now? Torn between confessing to you and get this burden off my chest, or sacrificing my friendship with you! 

“You got me addicted, you got me wanting you. And I cried, because I don’t know what to do. I don’t know- god I didn’t even know you were gay, Zhangjing. Such a huge thing, such a big announcement, and you didn’t even tell me, can you believe that?” A harsh laugh escapes his throat, making it sound raw and coarse as the tears coat it, full of accusations. He thought Zhangjing trusted him.

“Take responsibility for this. Take responsibility for the confusion you caused me. Take responsibility for the pain you put me through.” Yanjun’s voice drops to a whisper as he calms down from his passionate rage, a step forward taken, his chest flushed against a frozen Zhangjing’s, his words fanning over Zhangjing’s lips. 

His lips move again, barely brushing against the other’s chapped lips.

“Why didn’t you just kiss me yesterday?” The other boy just remains mute, his eyes locked on to the other’s, tears making them misty. Velvety lips crash against the elder’s, desperately, roughly kissing the elder.

Momentarily, Zhangjing is shocked and stumped, as if stuck on a Calculus question. He wishes to gnaw on his nails again, to relieve the nervous tension in his stomach. But soon, he comes back to his senses and he pushes Yanjun away, glaring at the other, not even knowing why he is angry. “Yanjun, stop it. This isn’t appropriate.”

“What isn’t appropriate?” The younger’s voice raises in volumes.

“That I’m kissing you in my house? Our house? Or that best friends aren’t suppose to kiss? Or that,” His eyes glint with rage, “it isn’t ‘appropriate’ for boys to kiss boys?”

The other’s Adam’s apple bobs hard as he shamefully looks on to the ground. It’s true, what Yanjun said. Sometimes, maybe it’s because of the discriminating society he grew up in, as much as he would like to lie to himself, deep inside, he never really accepted who he was. He never accepted himself, his sexuality, his identity. He struggled to love himself, to accept that it’s fine to like boys, it’s fine to be different, to be you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you ashamed of who you are?” Yanjun’s face is stained with tears, heart aching for the boy who had such a low self esteem, such insecurities that should never exist. 

Yanjun had readily accepted who he was, and when he came out to his parents, they were completely fine with it too, supporting their son all the way.

Maybe it was different for Zhangjing; he wouldn’t know. All he knows is that the boy is carrying the burden of the secret by himself, and Yanjun refuses to not help a friend, knowing that he was fully capable of helping them. His arms automatically locked themselves around the sobbing figure, the other boy’s face buried in his hands.

“I thought, I thought I was just, that this, this was just a phase.” Zhangjing hiccuped into Yanjun’s neck. “But I became so addicted to you, I realised it wasn’t a phase.”

“I’m afraid.”

“I get it.” Yanjun whispers into Zhangjing’s hair, gently stroking the elder’s back, calming the storm in him.

He gently presses a kiss on the top of Zhangjing’s forehead, lips softly coming into contact with the milky white skin, finally delicately placing themselves against the chapped lips he wanted to touch for so long.

Zhangjing hiccups into the kiss, sighing as he enjoys the feeling of gentle lips moulding against his, gently sucking on his lips. They fit perfectly, like pieces of a puzzles, Zhangjing’s hands placed on Yanjun’s pressing hips, Yanjun’s fingers caressing the jagular before his teeth nip at the skin, creating a red galaxy. A whimper comes from Zhangjing, who’s head is thrown back, giving Yanjun full access to his smooth neck.

They continue like this, both entranced by each other, enchanted by the physical contact, wanting more of the swirling blissfulness in their souls.

Out of breath, Yanjun breathes hard as he leans his forehead against Zhangjing’s shoulder.

Zhangjing’s lips press against the curve of his ear, and his next few words cause a shiver to go down his spine, his lips automatically pressing themselves against the elder’s shoulder.

“I’m so addicted to you, Lin Yanjun. Is this love? Am I in love with you?”

Yanjun captures his lips against, as if a confirmation to the statement.

#zhangjun #requested

[whereismywarden]

3, 4, 17, 35 (modern AU) - Lavellan; 9, 13, 27 - Hawke; 11, 15, 22, 49 - Surana

Thank you for asking :)

Answers are under the cut, as usual.

Athim Lavellan:

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

Athim had a happy childhood overall. He remembers fondly on it. He remembers sitting by the fire as a child and listening to the elders’ stories with eagerness. He remembers playing in the woods with his siblings and training in the use of magic with the Keeper. He was a bit of a troublemaker during his childhood (playing pranks on the elders was one of his favorite pasttimes) but could almost always get away with anything.

His worst memory is of getting lost once after straying too far from camp when he was twelve years old. He was found by a shemlen who turned out to be a templar chasing an apostate. Athim was terrified. As a mage, he’d been told what Templars did to those who showed signs of magic. The man, however, helped get him back to the camp. Despite the man’s kindness, Athim didn’t dare leave camp on his own again until a few years later when he heard the stories of the Hero of Ferelden, an elven mage like him, who was strong and fearless. He decided he wanted to be just like her and started to take his magic training more seriously. His hard work paid off when he was appointed First to the Keeper.

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents?

Athim loves his parents even though they don’t always get along. He is closer to his mother than his father with whom he argues a lot. Not because their opinions diverge (although that happens sometimes), but because his father can be a little too overprotective towards him, something that Athim finds infuriating because he doesn’t act like that with the rest of his children. So Athim ended up thinking that his father just doesn’t trust him, which is a fair assumption since he can be a bit reckless at times. A good example would be when Athim was sent to the conclave. His father argued with the Keeper that he souldn’t be the one going to the conclave, on the grounds that he is a mage and would therefore be in more danger than a scout or even a hunter, and they couldn’t afford to lose their First if anything bad were to happen. Athim ended up leaving in the dead of night without so much as a goodbye.

17. Do they like to take photos? What do they like to take photos of? Selfies? What do they do with their photos?

Modern AU: Athim would be the kind of person who keeps a photo diary. He would take pictures of everything: a selfie in the morning, his food, a weirdly shaped cloud…

Canon Universe: He actually keeps a small notebook in which he sketches pretty things he finds in his travels: animals, rivers, rocks, Dorian, fruits, Dorian…

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

Athim doesn’t feel guilty or ashamed about the things he likes. That being said, he probably won’t mention how much he enjoys shemlen food unless someone brings it up first.

He also loves being the Herald of Andraste, which is weird for someone who isn’t Andrastian at all. In truth, he just likes the attention that comes with it and he doesn’t hide the fact that he is mostly in it for the glory (at least at first).

Alwyn Hawke:

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals?

Hawke loves animals. Now, do animals love him? That’s another story. Carver, his mabari (yes, yes, Carver), loves him. Other animals aren’t quite as friendly. That’s because Hawke has a bad habit of trying to pet or hug dangerous creatures who don’t like being approached, let alone touched, by weird strangers.

13. What is their least favourite food?

Anything Anders cooks. Alwyn loves him, but damn… It’s not so much that Anders can’t cook, it’s that his skills are limited to soup and stew… rat stew more often than not. Mostly because it’s a survival skill he learned while on the run from the Templars, and perfectioned with the Wardens (not much else to eat in the Deep Roads).

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad?

Thinking about his family brings out some bittersweet feelings. He doesn’t cry much unless he’s alone, which is why he always surrounds himself with a lot of people. He hasn’t cried in front of others since his father died, except perhaps in front of Anders once or twice after his mother’s murder.

Surana:

11. Do they have any special diet requirements? Are they a vegetarian? Vegan? Have any allergies?

Nah. Ana can eat pretty much anything. One of the advantages of being a Grey Warden I suppose. Although she hasn’t eaten anything nug-related since gifting Schmooples to Leliana.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

I’m laughing so hard right now because Ana is probably the worst cook you’ll ever meet. They don’t teach you how to cook in the Circle, and there weren’t that many opportunities for it during the Blight either. When she tries to cook, it often turns out completely inedible. She’s the kind of person who mistakenly puts salt in her cake instead of sugar and then adds even more of it after tasting the batter because “It’s not sweet enough”.

She brews great teas though.

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back?

Ana doesn’t insult people much. She’ll usually just make offhanded remarks that will make the person feel stupid or angry. However, she can be… colorful when it comes to swearing, and it applies to insults to. She doesn’t have a favorite insult because she’ll make up something on the spot, usually something crude and weirdly specific like “You look like a bronto’s disproportionate left testicle,” or call someone “Oghren’s inebriated brain cell.”

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

Ana has very few personal possession, probably due to her Circle upbringing. But there are a few keepsakes that she can’t seem to be able to part with:

A copy of History of the Fifth Blight in which she’s scribbled a lot of personal notes. It’s actually so black with ink that you can’t read it anymore, and she had to tie a ribbon around it to keep the pages from falling off. But she keeps it close because, most importantly, she’s tucked Alistair’s rose in between its pages.

A red shawl, gift from Carver for her birthday, that she wears all the time. She’s had to mend it often, but she still wears it everywhere she goes, even in the Deep Roads. Depending on the weather, she wears it on her head, around her shoulders, or around her hips. She may have used it as an arm sling more than once.

A yarn bracelet handmade by her daughter. A friendship bracelet, if you will. She keeps it tied around her wrist until it falls off, at which point her little girl offers her a new one.

[Ask me about my OCs]

#no-id-no-person #jenn speaks #dragon age #ana surana #alwyn hawke #athim lavellan

[immortalongings]

drabble: the man in black

The day Antonia agreed to help her sister murder their step father was one of little consequence. In the grand scheme, anyway. The summer songbirds had made their yearly trek to the low hanging trees in Antonia’s front yard. There was a slight breeze that moved the branches which caused the sweet smell of summer to burst forth from their leaves. The sun was shining into the sitting room in such a way that made it perfect lighting for her to do some writing.

Which was precisely what she was doing when he came in. It seemed no matter the time of day, Francis always looked as if he just crawled out of bed. His shirt was always stained with sweat and food. His hair, the little he had left on his head, was greasy and disheveled. He wreaks of alcohol. Even from where Antonia was sitting it was clear he had been on another bender. He wanted attention. Wanted her to address his presence in the room, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she kept scribbling away in her notebook. Hoping that maybe this time he would just leave her alone. Instead, his heavy steps made their way across the room until he was standing in front of her. Antonia continued to act as if he wasn’t there.

“I’m gunna need you to get the fuck out.” he slurred. “I’ve got company coming over and I need the room.” he crushed the empty can he was holding in his hand and burped loudly. Antonia rolled her eyes. Wanting to throw back a clever retort, but she didn’t. Knew it would only cause more problems.

“Just give me a second to finish this page.” she said as she continued to write. Francis reached down and plucked the notebook out of her hands. Antonia glared up at him and went to retrieve it. But Francis was somehow too quick. He tore the feeble notebook in half then once more for good measure and threw it in the empty fireplace behind him.

“I said get out now.”

Rage bubbled up inside Antonia. She felt it rise until it was just about the break the surface, but she somehow managed to quell it enough to silently stand up and walk up the stairs. He had really crossed a line this time. He could yell and swear at her all he liked. Call her and her sister names, threaten to beat them. None of that mattered to Antonia because she had her writings to vent her frustrations to. But he had just taken the one thing that meant anything to her in this desolate place.

She went straight into her sister’s room. Kylie was lounging half naked on her bed. Ear buds implanted in her ears and her cell phone in her hands. She was texting away like always. Probably making plans with another flavor of the week guy. 

Kylie had been talking of murdering Francis for a while now. He clocked her pretty bad on the cheek and ever since she had been making these plans to do away with him for good. Antonia never took them seriously. Why should she? They were two teenage girls that lacked the resources, cunning, and (let’s be honest) strength to pull something like that off. But Kylie assured her it was possible. She began speaking to all sorts of ne’ er do well guys. All of them pointed her in the same direction. ‘Go to the Full Moon bar at the edge of town. Ask for the man in black. He’ll take care of you.’

But Kylie had never gone through with it. Something always stopped her before she would leave the house. Usually it was Antonia. But she wasn’t going to stand in her sister’s way any longer. That simple act of ruining her collection of works, whether it meant something to him or not, had been the final straw for Antonia.

She sat opposite her sister on the bed, pulling out an ear bud as she went. “I’m in.” Antonia simply stated.

“What are you talking about?” Kylie glared over at her sister.

“I’m in.” Antonia reasserted. “I want to find the man in black with you.”

It took a second for Kylie to register what her sister had said, but when she did her entire countenance changed. She took out the other ear bud and flung her phone to the side. “Really? Old Frankie boy finally got to you too? I knew he would.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just... can you just make the arrangements before I change my mind?” Antonia really didn’t want to get into it. She was afraid if she vented what had just happened she would get over this feeling and have second thoughts. But it really would be better for them all if Francis was out of the picture. Their mother might even find a half way decent guy in this place if she didn’t have the dead weight of Francis hanging around her neck. He was like some sort of curse a witch had placed on the Owens women. One that Antonia needed to break.

“Consider it done.” Kylie responded with a mischievous smirk. “We’ll go tonight.” Antonia only nodded in return. She went to leave her sister’s room, but was stopped by the sound of Kylie clearing her throat. “Also, make sure you wear something nice, ok? The usual look you go for is like some sort of prairie girl fairy tale peasant. It’s so not cool.” Antonia only rolled her eyes at her sister as she exited the room.

                                                   **********

The Full Moon Bar was actually much classier than Antonia had been envisioning. It was an alcohol establishment literally in the middle of nowhere, but apparently everyone who showed up for drinks dressed as if they were  headed out to a red carpet event. Where did these people come from? And who, in the middle of the rural south could afford such finery? Antonia had no idea, but the whole tone of the place put her on edge. 

No one seemed to bat an eye as they went deeper in the establishment. Soft music played on an old record player which Antonia felt odd. Everyone seemed to be lost in their own conversations. They didn’t notice the two obviously under dressed and under age girls as they walked over to the bar. Kylie did so with a saunter she thought made her appear older. But really she looked more like a child playing dress up than anything else. Antonia sort of skittered behind in her sister’s wake. More than happy to let her older sister actually act the part for once.

It wasn’t until they reached the bar area that anyone spoke to them. A female bartender stood behind the polished oak slab and cleaned glasses. She gave the sisters a once over before speaking. “You two lost?”

“No.” Kylie almost immediately responded. “We’re meeting someone here, actually.” She stood at her full height and puffed her chest out a little. Parroting the look of an old black and white film star she used to worship. The bartender’s eyes glittered with amusement and something else. Maybe a flash of pity.

“I see.” she spoke with disinterest. “You’ll find him at the back.” she pointed with her rag at a set of booth seats in the farthest corner of the bar. “At his usual table.”

“Thank you.” Kylie spoke to the barmaid then weaved through the maze of tables to the back.

“Something’s not right.” Antonia whispered as they walked. “You didn’t tell her who we were meeting. How does she know where we are supposed to go?”

“Shut up.” Kylie hissed in response. They were at the back of the building before Antonia could say anything else. Although she wanted to. She wanted to grab her sister’s arm and pull her all the way back to their car. They shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake.

The booths in the back were all empty. Save for one. And just like everyone had said, it was occupied by a man. A man dressed in an all black suit. He looked dapper. Like he didn’t belong in this era. He had a long faced that was heavy lined. Not with age, for he appeared to be somewhere in his mid - 30′s. But he looked as if he had seen quite a few things in his life. When he noticed them approach, he got up from his seat and held out a hand. Beckoning them to sit. Kylie wasted no time in doing so, which earned a small pleased smile from the man. He glanced over at Antonia who was hesitant to move. If she sat at that table it was a guarantee that they were going through with their plan. They couldn’t back out. Kylie half got out of the seat again and took hold of Antonia’s arm. Dragging her to the booth until she was sitting too. The man in black adjusted his suit and sat down in the seat adjacent.

No one spoke at first. Antonia didn’t have the words and it seemed that Kylie had lost her smooth confidence as well. The man in black took a sip of an amber liquor he had been drinking and looked them over once again. Appraising them.

“What brings two such....youthful women to an establishment such as this?” he asked, with a voice as deep and rich as the drink he held in his hand. 

“We-” Kylie began, but was effectively cut off by the man in black.

“Let me guess.” he spoke in a quiet assertive sort of way. “You need my help with something.”

“Yes.” Kylie said. “We need to put a hit out on someone.” her words were serious, but they made Antonia want to burst out laughing. Who talks like that?

“A hit?” the man in black questioned, his eyes danced with hidden laughter. They were so out of their depth. “Let me check with my boys out in Queens first.”

“Ok.” Kylie said with a nod.

“Ky.” Antonia stated. “He was joking.”

“Oh.”

“Look at you. Sharp as whip, ain’t ya.” he turned his attentions over to Antonia who looked fairly uncomfortable at his sudden change of subjects.

“So, you two want someone to disappear? What did they do, steal your lunch money one too many times?”

“No.” Antonia answered darkly. “Look. If you’re just going to sit here and wind us up we’re going to leave.” Antonia made to stand, but the man in black placed his hand gently on her arm. She turned to gaze upon him. Venom in her eyes.

“Apologies.” he said, his eyes softened. His tone grew more serious like he was talking to an equal. “Sometimes my mouth has a way of running off before consulting with my brain. Sit.” Antonia obeyed, but she was much more wary of him than she had been before.

He smoothed out his coat jacket and cleared his throat before beginning again. “I’ll tell the two of you the same thing I tell everyone wandering in here seeking my assistance. You take whatever or whoever it is you want gone. You meet me in the marsh land about ten miles away from here. You know where that is? It’s in that national park.” 

The girls nodded a ‘yes’ in unison.

“Good. You meet me there after dark and I’ll get rid of your problem.”

“Meet you there?” Kylie balked. “How are we supposed to get Frank all the way out there? He’s like twice our size.”

“Well, I’d say its mighty lucky there are two of you.” he took another sip of his drink. “Look, I don’t deal in the how -to’s or the what -for’s. I deal in the where-to’s and the what-time’s. If you want this person gone you meet me at the marshes after dark. If you don’t, well then it truly was a pleasure.” he made a signal with his hand and two men appeared seemingly out of nowhere at his side. It looked as though the conversation was over. Both girls got up to leave, but he stopped them again. “Oh, there is one more thing. I don’t require any sort of monetary payment for this job, but I will require a few favors.”

“No problem.” Kylie said, oblivious to the obvious problems of this. Antonia’s mind immediately jumped to the darkest of places.

“Favors.” her voice was incredulous. “What sort of favors.”

“Nothing untoward.” he said with a laugh. “Although, kudos to you for thinking of that. No. I call upon you with a package. Tell you where to go and who to give it to. That sort of thing. Think you guys can handle that?”

“Definitely.” Kylie asserted. Antonia glared over at her sister who most decidedly was not looking in her direction. “We can handle it.”

“That’s what I like to see. Youth with some moxy.” he replied, half paying attention. He signaled to the men once again and they each took hold of one of the girl’s arms. “Have a pleasant evening.” he said to them and went to looking at a newspaper Antonia was certain he hadn’t had before.

The other men, the henchmen Antonia surmised, led them to the very end of the building and sort of shoved them out the door. Pulling and locking it closed once they were outside. Kylie smiled over at her sister.

“Easy peasy.” she said with a wink. The nonchalance of Kylie's handling of the situation was nausea inducing. Antonia hated Francis as much as anyone, but he had been their step father for a large portion of her young life. Buyer's remorse was beginning to set in for Antonia. Not just that. This man in black figure was worrisome. She didn't trust him. Didn't trust the way this whole thing made her feel. As if she had done something unholy. As of she had sold her soul to the devil.

.....To be continued......

#drabble #d; the man in black #part one #//look guys this is so long #//like i cant believe i wrote all of this into one passage long #//but if you read it let me know if you like it

[thatparkinsongirl]

WORLDS.

Friends. No one ever told you life was gonna be this way. The apartment complex has seen better days but it’s a roof over your head and that’s more than enough to be grateful about. There’s a pitch-perfect coffee shop on the corner and the people on your hall are actually fantastic.

Disaster. It’s the end of the world. Everything in ruins. You’re running, running, just trying to survive these last days. You sleep fitfully, even then still alert, one hand tangled with theirs and the other gripped around a gun/wand. Or alternately, you’re the crackpot science team that first discovered something was wrong. You’ve all been locked up behind miles of reinforced steel in the CDC? NSA? Area 51? trying to solve this disaster. You were pulled away from your families, not able to save them, not able to take anything. Coffee, coffee, MRE meals. Microscopes, slides, formulas scribbled across white boards trying not to give in to the impending doom.

Inversion. This is not the world you know. Here, Headmaster Riddle pats a young boy on the shoulder and gives some much needed advice. Here, Grindewald and Dumbledore strike fear in the hearts of all the muggleborns. Here, everything and everyone is just a little off center. Your choices define you. (Borrowed from here)

Darkest. Dark magic thrums through your veins, slick and oily. You crave it, live for it. The forbidden section has been your second home ever since the first time you snuck in second year. You are something to be feared. The magic you play with is going to change the world. It’s not about hurting people (sometimes an unfortunate side effect) or taking over the world necessarily (though that is a goal), it’s about this sickly curiosity in magic. How far can you can go? How many lines can you cross? LOOsely off this in which the golden trio go somewhat dark, https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334630/chapters/14514247. Particularly there’s a whole thing in which they bond themselves to each other in a fit of codependency which just yessssss.

Rich as fuck. Money, money, money. Money is the anthem of success. Fast life, shiny diamonds, the best clothes. Speeding too, too fast down the highway, hand out the window. Cops won’t pull you over; they know better. Your lives are a never-ending party. Super Rich kids by Frank Ocean.

Roadtrip bitches. It’s the summer before university. The last hurrah before you all go your separate ways. Long, too deep conversations around a fire while you all smoke. Roadtrip mix blaring through the speakers. Seeing every weird roadside attraction you can. Talking about growing up, childhood, fears, change. About how you could go a year without speaking to someone but they’re still, always gonna be your best friend.

Political. Is it the west wing or house of cards?? Are they corrupt as fuck, bribing and killing and manipulating their way or they earnest and honest as possible, hearts brimming with desire to make the world something worth living in.

PUnk. idk. Hip hop. DJs. Raves. Tattoo artists. Lighters. Smoke rising up into the sky. Motorcycles and a shit ton of leather. Graffiti in the alleyway behind the bar you own.

Therapy. Post-war, and it’s rough. The physical scars are easy enough to ignore. It’s several months before you break down and join the therapy group at St. Mungos. You all swear you’re only there for the free coffee and doughnuts. Phobias, triggers, panic attacks. Recovery. Late night phone calls cause you had the nightmare again.

Olympics. Fencing? Swimming? Hockey? Gymnastics? Ice skating? Or, I mean, alternately, they could be in the Quidditch world cup. Competitors who like mock each other but also hardcore root for each other. It’s a small community and you all have known each other your entire life. It’s been a fight but here you are on the olympic team, favorites for the gold. 

Doctors. Late night hours. 12 hr shifts. Narcissism. The ultimate god complex. Shitty coffee. Stress. Lost a patient today, saved a patient tomorrow. Fighting over who gets to be second on the awesome heart surgery. A quickie in the on call room because damn your ass looks fine in those scrubs. Quizzing each other over a quick lunch. Complaining about your attending at the bar on your first night off in ages.

Unspeakables. They died, struck down during the war and none of you could bear to survive without them. The plan is put together in the early hours of the morning, feverish. It’s stupid, selfish; all this to save one life. You all join the Unspeakables because the rumor is they’ve been working on creating new time turners. None of you care who suffers for this as long as you can get them back.

How to Get Away With Murder/I Know What You Did Last Summer. You’re tied together by an awful, terrible secret. None of you can risk turning on each other. You’ve made sure of that. Toxic people. Guilt. There’s a body in the morgue with your names on it. It was an accident truly but the covering it up that was deliberate. Maybe some unknown person knows and is blackmailing you all or maybe, maybe they’re just trying to get away with it.

Spaceeeee. Inspired by the Wolf 359 and the Strange Case of Starship Iris. Science. Space. Discovery. Futuristic. Bonding because you’re trapped together in a tiny space ship. Conspiracy. Suicide missions. Technology betraying you. The fate of the entire human race resting on your shoulders. 

Parks&Rec/Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Any job-lawyers, firefighters, coffee-shop. It doesn’t matter because they’ve become a tight-knit family. Work hijinks, skinny love probably, I broke your email after I sent you 20 cat memes in a row. office parties. a hint of danger and risk (ok i admit it i like the firefighter one best). My very first day I was driving around trying to find the staff parking and a car honked, whizzed past me, yelling something crude out the window. It turned out to be my new boss.

Dark Post War. With Voldemort dead, Death Eaters being rounded up left, and peace returned to Wizarding London for the first time in more than a decade, it’s easy to believe that all is well. (The problem is that there is no length that people won’t go to protect their peace once they get it back.) Conscription into the Aurors for eligible wizards is enacted to ensure a strong standing against any lingering Voldemort supporters. A man in a black robe is murdered in the street one night because a young, nervous Auror thought he was a Death Eater. Incredibly harsh sentences handed down for any war crime. When Hogwarts finally reopens its doors over a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, it’s to the complete eradication of the Slytherin house (there are rumors about what happens to the children that the Sorting Hat would’ve sorted into Slytherin) and the addition of core classes. It is not a school but a training ground. Certain shops in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade are shut down for “sedition” and “miscreant behavior”, most notably Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Known war hero, Hermione Granger, is tossed in a Ministry cell for two months for sedition, after she attempts to prevent the arrest of a werewolf. Released war prisoners, people like the Zabini family who did not bear the Dark Mark but who were afflicted with Dark families, and “potential dark wixen” are branded by the Ministry as a warning to the public. All the while, the Ministry reports capturing dangerous Death Eaters, spotting war criminals in Hogsmeade, about danger lurking everywhere. The official statement is that they are trying to right mistakes made after the defeat of Grindewald, if they’d taken a stronger offense then Voldemort never would have happened. What it boils down to though is fear and vengeance and the shifting tide of power. 

Darkest Minds. So I’m finally reading this series since the movie’s coming out soon. I’m only 6 chapters in thus far but yes! this plot! would! definitely! want!

Dark Academia. The Secret History!!! Probably, definitely a secret society!! Mystery! The most pretentious assholes you will ever meet. Arguments over classic literature. Speaking latin to each other so no one else knows what they’re saying. Tweed jackets. Fall in New England. Tea. No i don’t own a tv I believe they’re corrupting the youths’ minds. Insomnia. A 40 page treatise on the Odyssey. 

Alternate Fifth Year. In a world where the young slytherin fifth years spend the summer of between fourth and fifth year, watching their parents with disgust and trepidation. They are ambitious, devoted to self-preservation and they are smart enough to see that following the Dark Lord is a road to ruin. Lucius Malfoy comes back from Death Eater meetings, shaken, Mr. Nott Senior with a long cut down his face. No, the slytherins have no interest in a life like that. It’s too bad then that they’re not even being taught Defense in school. It’s luck that they hear about the group of students that have started practical magic in secret. Canon divergent fifth year where the slytherins join Dumbledore’s Army. Can start after fifth year too but like that’s where it diverges. 

Back Home*. When they say you can’t ever go home again, they mean it, because home isn’t a static location, it’s a word full of extra connotation. It’s tied to a specific time and emotion and feeling. A group of friends return to their small hometown for the first time in eight years for the funeral of a mutual friend. Some of them have vaguely kept in touch but for the most part despite how close they were growing up they’ve all drifted apart. A story about loss, growing up, nostalgia, fear, and friendship. You won’t ever the same kind of friends you had when you were young. 

Shadow Children (Margaret Peterson Haddix). Futuristic, dystopian. Every family is allowed ONLY 2 children yet secret 3rd children do exist, living in the shadows and scraps. Some are lucky enough to get a fake identity and freedom. So I read this series when I was like 11 or something and they’ve kind of haunted me ever since. I’d probably wind up disappointed if I ever tried to reread them but whatever.  Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the first book lately, in regards to all the school kids protesting gun violence and the people in power just looking away as more children die, and just viscerely reminds of the horror I had reading the end of the first book in which (SPOILER) one of the main characters goes to a protest on the front lawn of the white house esque government building, convinced that if enough them protest, if they demand justice, they can get it. Each and every person at the protest is gunned down. For   young me who had largely only read books where everything wound up happy as long as you were brave and honest and full of spirit, this was an enormous shock. Idk how this would work but yes!

CONNECTIONS. 

Bodyguard. Mighty, mighty need for this. You’re the ambassador or president or queen or minister’s kid and your parents hire a bodyguard. You resent their protection. Ruining your semblance of a normal life. Judging you. You can’t help slipping their protection. Heart to hearts. Shared truths. Grudging respect and whatever. Ugh and the sexual tension, more alive than a power line. The attack comes out of left field and it’s a mess. (This. So down to play this out as whatever characters in any world)

Death. Straight up angst here. Final battle death scene. One second they’re right there and the next there’s a flash. You hold your hands over the gaping wound, screaming for a healer but you both know it’s over. Tears mixing with blood. Maybe they become a Hogwarts ghost. (Any character, any sort of relationship-married, dating, siblings, best friends, we shouldve dated but now your dying my arms)

Toxic. Do I feel guilty about having a thing for fictional toxic relationships? Yes, yes I do. But does that change anything? no. “Oh, we broke ages ago.” But everyone rolls their eyes when you say it. Because neither of you can stop and everyone knows. A couple of drinks in and you can’t keep your hands off each other. There’s still jealousy and toxicness and protectiveness and posssesiveness. There’s a dent in the wall from the time you threw a lamp at them. And god, if you could just make it work but love just isn’t enough sometimes. I’d tattoo your name on my arm but i wouldn’t marry you(Any characters)

Married in Vegas. You two hate each other’s guts. You’re constantly trying to one up each other in front of the boss. And you both always have a different way of approaching a problem. You steal candy bars out of their desk and they keep getting you locked out of your computer somehow. But your both the best so of course your selected for the Vegas conference work is holding. What happens next?? well?? a lot of alcohol, you know that. Neither of you quite remember but those rings on your fingers might mean something.

Romeo and juliet. Mob vs. cops or Death eaters vs. Order.  Forbidden romance. Secret meetings. My uncle killed your father. You have a body count that would make them blush. Maybe you’ll turn states evidence for them. Maybe they’re just using you. (any)

Softsoftsoftsoft. Bakery and coffee shop across from each other. Skinny love. A lot of Troye Sivan and Hayley Kiyoko playing. Longing stares, blushing, awkwardness. All your friends say they are definitely into you but??? Or alternately, you co-own the bakery coffee shop and you’ve been dating since third year and your friends all want to kill you. Because ughhh noone should still be that in love. Some serious codependency and domesticity here. Like if anyone’s seen How I Met Your Mother-Lily and Marshall. (any)

Misunderstandings. Classic trope. Of course, you thought they were dating. They live together, steal food from each others plates, share sweaters, tease each other relentlessly, constantly physically affectionate. Really what were you supposed to think. Cue the miscommunication and needless pining and hilarity. (any)

Bonnie and Clyde. Gringotts robbers? Who knows but you’re criminals and you’re good at it. Three steps ahead of the aurors. Careless laughter, drunk on adrenaline. Drive it like you stole it by the Glitch Mob!! and End Credits by Eden!! (any)

Siblings. I’m sorry that all the others are relationship plots because I really do high key love a good best friends/siblings plot. Real siblings or we grew up together and i would murder someone for you siblings. They know each other better than the backs of their hands. Secrets are for other people. Soft plot-just them taking care of each other after a tragedy. Tough love-you fucked off to Paris because you couldn’t deal with your life and they dragged your ass back because when you were kids they promised not to let you make any irreversible mistakes. protective-just. they keep doing dangerous shit and risking their life and you have to knock some sense into their thick skull. Ridiculous-they are everyone’s worst nightmare, stuck together like glue, always causing trouble. Spitting gum down at people from the astronomy tower. Finding ways to beat the anti-cheating quills. Actually helping your sibling get rid of a body. (any)

Best friends/Squad. You all meet at the bar religiously after work. Got each other’s back still, always, forever. Growing up doesn’t mean you have to lose them. (all; I watched the whole first season of golden girls last night so I’ve got a lotta squad feelings. )

Parent and child. Honestly just this song. Heirloom by Sleeping at last!!!! You’re both trying your best but there’s always going to be this tension, these mistakes on both sides. Regrets, nostalgia, angst, softness, forgiveness. (any, but this song always gives me Draco-Scorpius and Harry-Albus vibes)

Eighth Year Partners. PostWar. After a review of Hogwarts’ records, it’s decided that the school year of 97-98 will have to be repeated for all students. In an effort to bring the students of all houses together to promote healing and unity, a random buddy system is set up. A Ravenclaw sixth year paired with a Gryffindor fifth year. A Hufflepuff and Slytherin second year paired. So on and so forth. Though Headmaster McGonagall believed it was a good opportunity, she was loathe to force any student into something they didn’t want, certainly not after the past few years. Thus her only fast rule for the partnerships was sitting together for two meals a week. Some took full advantage of the system, studying together, attending each other’s quidditch games. Others sat in stony silence during the required time only.

@ginevraxweasleyy @marcusflvnt @occlumensism

#my dears my darling ones i made a thing #by no means a comprhensive list im down to do literally anything in any plot in any world but this a few ideas i guess to jumpstart things #cries a few ideas #lollollol #plots