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marley-manson · 1 year

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Finally rewatched GFA and lmao I wildly overestimated how much screen time was dedicated to BJ and Hawkeye’s relationship, oops. I think it’s bc 90% of what they did get was dysfunctional, and they got the Final Goodbye of Greatest Emotional Importance, so it stuck out in my mind.

This time around I still loved Hawkeye’s plot for the most part. Had my take that once he remembers he’s fine talking about it confirmed with the casual way he asks if it’s couch time when Sidney approaches during his letter-writing, as well as him bringing it up later on multiple times, jokingly and not jokingly with Sidney. His reluctance to talk about the bus and his deflection was clearly intended to be a major Something’s Really Wrong Here signal, satisfyingly righted after the revelation with his more casual, in-character willingness to admit to and talk about his mental breakdown.

I am not a huge fan of Sidney’s method of throwing people back into the traumatic war zone asap lmao, I actually misremembered that as the army’s doing, but nope it’s Sidney. I know that’s the psychological theory they’re working with so I take it in the spirit intended, but thematically it kinda sucks and uhhhhh Hawkeye quits surgery anyway so they failed to make it seem successful even if he did operate a few times first.

BJ really is a mess of a character lol, I honestly have no idea what they were doing with him in the finale other than scrambling to find something for him to do, and like half of what he does is let Hawkeye down one last time. Also the reason BJ didn’t leave a note is because he chose to be pressed for time so he could land in San Francisco instead of Seattle, which was Klinger’s first suggestion for his travel itinerary. Plus his refusal to say goodbye functionally states the reason he didn’t leave a note, ie his emotional constipation, which is a very pointed flaw in this episode especially so I don’t think having more time would’ve made a difference.

Also relatedly BJ’s “I just thought there might be something we wanted to say to each other” came across even worse this time around because Hawkeye’s “Look, I know how tough it is for you to say goodbye, so I’ll say it,” calls back to it. It really genuinely was BJ demonstrating his inability to emotionally connect with Hawkeye without Hawkeye doing it first and wanting Hawkeye to read his mind and offer a heartfelt outpouring of emotion without knowing he’s leaving and while in a cell in a mental hospital and right after BJ, who should have more sense than to talk about babies in front of him since he was purportedly on that bus too, triggered him. Evil evil scene for BJ. Also probably my favourite scene in the ep, because I love Hawkeye’s rant so much.

“Would you hold me in your arms or would you let me lie there and bleed?” still works as a commentary on their whole dynamic, but lmao it really does come completely out of left field in the scene itself, Hawkeye went from 0 to 100 in like 2 seconds. It makes sense as an extension of the way BJ left the hospital and then left without a note too, as Hawkeye expressing how he feels about that after stewing for a while, but yeah the actual scene still made me go ‘well that escalated quickly.’ And BJ’s “you don’t even have a cold” response, just totally and probably willfully missing the point, gj guy.

BJ getting drunk and joking about running off with someone during the goodbye party is a bizarre choice lol, and I can see why people want to take it as an oblique confession re Hawkeye because at least it’s meaningful that way and not just making BJ’s scene there a dumb awkward joke. The other way it’s meaningful is if it’s a Sign of BJ’s impending domestic doom ofc, though I’m on the fence about intent there.

Hawkeye’s “I can’t say I loved you all either... but I loved as many of you as I could,” is such a good Hawkeye summation lol, in the jokey, flirty way intended, in the non-gendered way that’s probably unintended, and in a true-on-a-deeper-level way too.

Soon Lee was disappointing honestly. I thought she might have more personality here than in the last ep, but nah. The only moment she had where she showed any kind of personality was her line about wanting to see Klinger in a dress. That was a great joke though lol. I’m curious what she’s like in AfterMASH, but not enough to watch any of it. I do love Klinger staying in Korea for the irony, and I LOVE that it really is the same wedding dress from season 3.

Charles and Margaret were more entertaining than I remembered, I really enjoyed them rehashing old arguments here. I totally forgot that Margaret mentioned wanting to work in a stateside hospital at the very start of the episode before getting all the letters from her father. Definitely doubling down on my belief that she’s not retiring from the military at all, but rather just working at a military hospital. Love her speech to the nurses best.

Mixed feelings on the Charles and musicians plot. It’s fitting, but perhaps not solely in the way intended lol, in that it’s always always always Charles finding sympathy and attachment to someone only after they appeal to one of his pet interests or the sympathies he already has. He really doesn’t change that much - he gets friendlier with some of the other characters, and he reveals more complex and endearing sides of himself, but he doesn’t really grow lol, and once you notice that he only ever starts to care after he projects his interests on someone those moments get a little less endearing. I think he’s still a fantastically written, fun, and genuinely pretty interesting character, but he never quite achieves likeability on a personal level. But hey, maybe that is intended.

Mulcahy’s plot was honestly a little annoying lol, like, dude you made it worse by refusing medical help and keeping it a secret for the sake of like... one more week with the orphans? I do think it was appropriate that he managed to keep his hearing loss hidden though, because it mirrors the way he tended to miss jokes and references throughout the show, and I dig that angle. Also I love his little crisis of faith and the implication that there is no greater purpose or reason, shit just happens in a war zone.

What else... idk lightning round:

- loved everyone cheering for Hawkeye after he drives the tank to the garbage heap except everyone who was in the OR with him who are all concerned.

- also loved Hawkeye driving a tank into a garbage pile just as a piece of symbolism

- love everyone going back to work after peace is declared, that just sums up the show right there, perfect note

- still fucking hate that salute for Potter. it’s fitting, I understand why it’s there, it’s the most appropriate goodbye for Potter, I still hate it.

- that said I do love the like, 20 minutes worth of goodbyes lol. it honestly worked great, pacing, order, each individual exchange, the goodbye party speeches, all pretty damn solid.

- I did not remember that BJ got that motorcycle bc he just took it when the Chinese musicians surrendered lmao. love him driving Hawkeye up to the helicopter pad in it though as a call back to Yalu Brick Road and Blood and Guts w/ Hawkeye acquiescing for once.

- I think it was a mistake to include the forest fire. I know it happened irl, hence why they incorporated it, but like it adds absolutely nothing but an awkward continuity error where it switches from night to afternoon even though they should’ve been bugging out before that, and a melancholy moment where Potter looks at the burned up support poles, which sucks because that’s not a fond home for them. Like come on, if the 4077 burned down in season 3 the MCs would’ve roasted hot dogs over the coals. Also the military march verson of the theme playing during the bug out scene... yeesh.

- but yeah overall solid finale, pretty much what you need after 11 seasons, gj everyone.

#mash #marley on mash #mash s11 #ship hb #also i just got the aftermash/aftermath pun... still an awful show title but marginally less awful now

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yaminerua · 8 months

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This one got away from me a bit yesterday and I fell behind again, haha. I might try to smush today's prompt with tomorrow's to try to catch up again.

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Anyway Day 4's theme was Family, and I couldn't help but think of Jim and Bexley. Needless to say it does cover a bit of Lister’s pregnancy.

Words: 6238

****

The last year or so had, for lack of a better word in the English language to adequately describe it, been pretty smegging bizarre. Perhaps it hadn’t really been any stranger than the year before it, after all waking up from stasis 3 million years after you went in to find that the human race had all but petered quietly out of existence around you while you’d been frozen in time had been quite a shock on its own to say the least, but it had certainly done its best to match that level of weird and expand it to newer and more mind-boggling ranges of nonsense.

Most recently, in one of several misguided attempts to orient themselves towards Earth and find their way out of the uncharted, seemingly unpopulated vastness of deep space, the Boys from the Dwarf had wound up skipping into a parallel dimension and come face to face with versions of themselves which had been familiar in some ways but also very, very different in others.

As if that on its own hadn’t been more than enough of a dosage of strangeness to call it a day, the encounter had ended – as many ill-advised, drunken liaisons do – with one David Lister discovering that he was somehow, impossibly, incomprehensibly, ‘up the duff’, as it were.

Sure, he had known that children were in his future, he had seen the two crying little boys with his own eyes in that brief lightspeed anomaly that had allowed him to glimpse snapshots of things that were yet to happen, but with circumstances as they had been at the time the revelation had led to much curious speculation over just how exactly it was going to come about. Lister was the last living human being after all, floating through deep space on a ship populated only by a computer, a hologram and a humanoid who had evolved from what had once, long ago, been a regular black cat. With no women on board, it had seemed only logical to assume that somewhere out there, waiting to be found, was the person who would one day be the mother of his children.

Well, he hadn’t exactly been wrong about that per se… The mother of his children had indeed been out there. He just hadn’t exactly anticipated that it would end up being himself.

Rimmer had found it absolutely hilarious when it had all first come to pass, when that final little piece of the jigsaw had fallen impeccably into place, filling in the mystery once and for all. There was something almost poetic about it in a strange way, something karmic and deeply, deeply amusing about being impregnated by your alternate universe self, and the sheer thought of it had had him snickering and guffawing at frequent intervals at Lister’s expense throughout the process of Lister’s own staggered, reluctant acceptance of his own fate.

The hilarity of it had, of course, only been short lived. Once the reality of the situation had finally settled and it had dawned on them that Lister was, in fact, going to have to endure a full term of pregnancy if these boys were going to actually be born the full picture had blossomed then into cold, sobering clarity and suddenly become quite decidedly unfunny.

For what felt like an endless eternity after that, Rimmer had busied himself reading book after book on pregnancy, trying and failing to take in as much information as he possibly could ahead of the big day, treating it like he would any other exam or test (which inspired no confidence in anyone who knew Rimmer’s track record with those) while Lister just dealt with it in the only way he could, which was largely by continuing to pretend it wasn’t actually getting closer and closer with every passing day.

The logistics of how exactly things were going to work had been something he hadn’t wanted to think about too closely so it had fallen to Rimmer to read up on it himself instead because at least one of them had to be prepared for this and if Lister himself was going to shirk that responsibility despite having been the one to put himself in this situation in the first place then Rimmer was, as usual, going to have to pick up his slack.

That had been much easier said than done, however. Being a hologram, he’d had to rely largely on the assistance and coordination of the skutters to hold the books and turn the pages and whenever those had failed he’d had to turn to Holly and used vocal commands to navigate pages on harsh, bright screens that made his eyes feel like they were burning in their sockets after hours of staring at them.

Rimmer had never realised just how much went into a pregnancy. He’d never had cause to learn it properly before, of course, but there was no time like the present to suddenly decide to become informed. He’d done his best to attempt to supervise Lister’s eating and drinking habits to ensure every possibility of a healthier birth, and he had reprimanded him every time he had so much as even breathed in the direction of his cigarette packs or alcohol.

He’d drawn up timetables, plotting each significant milestone of the pregnancy, and bored Lister half to death with all the fussy, pedantic little things he did to try to take control of the whole situation and after enduring it for as long as he could Lister had finally rolled his eyes and groaned in aggravated frustration one day and pointed out how much he was starting to sound like a nagging, controlling husband. Rimmer had choked and spluttered in disgusted horror at the implications of such a comparison and had promptly disappeared off to some quiet, isolated part of the ship and avoided being anywhere near him for the rest of the day, which had come as a welcome relief.

Eventually, of course, the slow, steady march of time had brought the final day upon them and there had been no way to continue to put off acknowledging it any longer. By then, thankfully, a few important things had changed on board Red Dwarf. The biggest of these had been that they had acquired a new crew member, a service mechanoid by the name of Kryten who they had crossed paths with once before.

Kryten was well equipped to be able to assist in all manner of things, mostly pertaining to the upkeep and maintenance of the ship’s general tidiness but he also was quite competent in numerous other fields and was, importantly, capable of learning new skills and good at comprehending and retaining the information which was far more than could be said for Rimmer, who had at one point found himself more than halfway through a chapter on natural childbirth before he had belatedly remembered that Lister wouldn’t be experiencing it that way and had flipped, mortified, to the chapter on C-sections and promptly been rendered entirely unable to focus well enough to take anything in.

With Kryten’s presence on board, Rimmer had been privately relieved to discard the initial plans for carrying out the daunting procedure, which would have largely involved him trying desperately to coordinate the skutters to work together to deliver the twins without accidentally killing them or Lister in the process. Needless to say, that was one role he had been more than thankful to be able to hand over to someone else.

When the big day finally arrived, he had tried with all his might not to give a single solitary smeg about any of it. He had been as carefully nonchalant as was possible as Kryten had come in to wheel Lister off to the medical bay, waving after him with a falsely bright “Don’t die, Listy!” as he’d watched him disappear down the corridor. He’d swallowed about as much of the nerves as he could keep down but the fact of the matter was that, in all honesty, he had been absolutely petrified. The little matter of his own continued existence relying heavily on Lister’s survival through this crucial procedure aside, there was – deep, deep down where not even Rimmer dared to investigate – a genuine concern for Lister’s wellbeing in its own right. He didn’t exactly like Lister, and he made that patently clear at every available opportunity, but he didn’t hate him – didn’t really want anything bad to happen to him. Certainly not something bad enough that they wouldn’t be able to laugh about it afterwards (even if Rimmer was the only one who might have been laughing).

While Kryten worked what he hoped was medical magic behind closed doors, Rimmer had paced along the length and breadth of the corridors like a man possessed, wringing his hands and vibrating with anxiety. Several times across the excruciatingly long duration of the procedure, he had become increasingly, frustratingly aware that this behaviour was doing absolutely nothing to shake off the appearance of ‘overly-concerned husband’ but given that the only other person bearing witness to any of it had been the Cat who honestly couldn’t have given a smeg, he’d simply brushed it off and pushed it down every time it had tried to resurface.

When finally, after what had genuinely felt like an eternity, the doors to the medical bay finally slid open and a self-satisfied, proud looking Kryten had walked triumphantly out, wiping his hands, Rimmer had nearly bowled him over with his aggressive impatience. “Well?” he’d snapped urgently, nostrils flared and lips drawn together in a tense, thin line. “What happened? How did it go?”

Kryten had simply smiled genially at him then and announced happily, “It’s two boys!” and if he had been capable of it Rimmer would have throttled him right there.

“I know it’s two boys you half-chewed rubber-headed git! I’m talking about Lister!”

Kryten had been a little put out by the outburst, blinking sheepishly down at the floor, the smile on his face wiped off in an instant. “Oh, yes of course,” he had said, fidgeting slightly before recovering himself and straightening up. “Mister Lister is going to be fine, sir. He just needs to rest up and keep clean.”

Rimmer had rolled his eyes sarcastically and scoffed. “Oh, fantastic, he’s doomed then is he?” he’d said wryly but there hadn’t really been any bite in it. At this point, now that presumably the worst of it had come and gone, he’d simply been left too exhausted for there to be any genuine hard edge to it. In all honesty he’d just been filled with an immense sense of relief that the whole thing was largely over and done with now.

Kryten had paid the remark no mind, instead deciding to inform Rimmer that he was heading off to prepare the room the twins would be staying in once they were ready to do so and had given him permission to go in to see them if he wanted to, requesting only that he be mindful not to wake Lister and then he had been off leaving Rimmer with nothing better to do than do precisely that.

That had been a good few hours ago now and as Rimmer sat peering down into the little crib at the tiny sleeping bundles destined to be named Jim and Bexley, he felt the weight of all these past weeks weigh down heavily on him, equal parts relief and exhaustion.

This had been more work even than preparing for his exams had usually been. At least with those he had been able to take breaks away from it but living with a pregnant buffoon that you had to effectively supervise and educate yourself about had felt like an endless job he had never willingly signed up for.

The boys had been moved into their new room by now, just down the corridor from the bunkroom so that it was near enough to be easily accessible without the sounds of screaming and wailing being too close and loud to get in the way of Lister’s much needed rest or get too much on Rimmer’s nerves.

Lister himself had been moved back into his old room – mostly because he had apparently insisted on it – however given his current condition and the effort that getting up onto the top bunk would have required, Kryten had carefully placed him on the lower bunk without Rimmer getting much of a say in the matter. It didn’t really matter all that much anyway. Lister had already been forced to relocate to Rimmer’s bunk as his growing size had limited his movements so it wasn’t so much of a leap to let him keep using it a little longer. He was pretty certain that once he was finally able to be granted access to his own bed again after Lister was fully recovered he was likely going to have to fumigate the whole mattress and all of its covers but that was a problem for a later date.

It was strange that it was over, all that build up, all that preparation that had been made in advance of this day and now the moment had passed. Now all that stretched on ahead was a new and entirely different situation and it was one that Rimmer was secretly dreading in an entirely different way.

Jim – or was that one Bexley? He couldn’t remember – hiccupped gently in his sleep and snapped him from his thoughts, catching his attention as he shifted a little, letting out a soft, gentle vocalisation as he turned towards his brother. They were so small, so fragile-looking, and Rimmer felt entirely out of his depth thinking of the responsibility of keeping them both safe. He didn’t know the first thing about children. He doubted Lister knew any better. This whole thing was surely going to be a disaster.

Bexley – or simply ‘the other one’ – whimpered slightly, a small, feeble whine that threatened to escalate into something else. “Shhh,” Rimmer said quietly, as soothingly as he could, indicating urgently for the skutter sitting by his feet to initiate the gentle rocking motion he’d instructed it to do in events like these, anything to try to keep the boys content and quiet, though he knew that would only be able to work for so much longer before the problem became something that genuinely required someone else’s assistance.

That was another thing about being a hologram that was going to make this new future difficult to handle. He couldn’t touch anything which meant that he’d be useless at any of the more hands-on aspects of looking after children. There was nothing he would really be able to do to stop the boys from doing something if they wouldn’t listen to his commands (and if they turned out to be anything like Lister was, that was a very likely outcome). Not only that, but he wouldn’t be able to help feed them, or hold them, or change their nappies or any of that – not that those duties would have fallen to him anyway. The most he could hope to do was simply sit as he was now and watch over them quietly, speak to them occasionally and try to soothe them with his words if they started to cry, rocking them gently back to sleep with the aid of a skutter to handle the movement for him.

He supposed he shouldn’t really feel as bereft as he was about this whole thing. These weren’t his children in any capacity. They were Lister’s through and through. Rimmer was effectively just someone else who shared the same space as them, a strange ghostly uncle of sorts at the very most, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be a little more involved in the process, at least a little. Maybe he just wanted some kind of evidence to prove to himself he’d have been any good at this…

He sighed, gesturing for the skutter to ease the rocking to a gentle stop now that the twins seemed to have settled back down again.

He lost track of just how long he sat like that watching the two of them sleeping on peacefully but it must have been quite some time. Kryten had popped in every now and then to check on them and even the Cat had swung by to squint curiously down at them and comment that he hoped they would have better dress sense than their daddy when they grew up.

When the door to the room slid open behind him some time later with another gentle hiss he expected it to be Kryten so when he turned round to find that it was in fact Lister making his way with some difficulty and no small degree of discomfort towards the cot he had to bite his tongue fiercely to keep from shouting for him to get back to bed.

Catching himself in time, he opted instead for hissing the demand but Lister waved him silent, all stubbornness and disobedience as always. “I want to see my boys,” he said firmly and Rimmer couldn’t really argue with that.

He stood up from the chair he’d been seated on and shifted over to the one next to it that Kryen had been using earlier, letting Lister drop down heavily and breathless on the one he’d just vacated, watching the way he winced with pain and clutched at his lower abdomen. “You really should still be in bed, you know. You can’t just walk around all willy-nilly after you’ve been sliced open,” Rimmer said matter-of-factly.

Lister simply offered a partial shrug and leaned carefully forwards over the cot as far as was comfortable, beaming down tiredly but joyfully at the two little boys he’d brought into the world.

“Aren’t they fantastic?” he cooed, awestruck, reaching a hand out to tentatively brush his fingertips feather-light across their little cheeks. “They look just like me.”

“Well,” Rimmer began, his tone sarcastic and utterly unsurprised. “When your mother and father are the same person what do you expect?”

Lister shot him a look, unamused, and turned back to look down at the twins again. “Alright, Rimmer, leave off. Yeah, it’s a bit unconventional but it’s what happened, alright?”

He could hear Rimmer let out a small, indignant ‘tsk’ to his left and decided not to acknowledge it. He wasn’t going to let anything he had to say ruin this moment for him after everything it had taken to get here.

He sat back in his chair, eyes still twinkling proudly, warmly, down at the wholesome little sight, a single shining gift in what had otherwise been a cold and difficult couple of years to process. Behind his ribcage, he felt oddly light, a rosy glow of affection radiating out from his heart and expanding to fill every inch of him, making him feel positively giddy, though that might have also partly been the painkillers.

“I always wanted a family,” he confessed quietly, suddenly, eyes softening with a wistful, distant look of longing. “A proper one, I mean. The one I got did their best but, well…”

He trailed off, ending the sentence with a shrug and a shake of the head. Rimmer didn’t say anything, didn’t really know what to say.

A heavy silence settled between them, oddly tense, before Lister decided to break it again. “Never actually knew me real dad. Or me mum,” he began, speaking aloud to no-one in particular, peeling back the more private, personal layers of his past just a little, giving Rimmer a few more pieces of a jigsaw he’d previously only had scraps of before. “I was left in a box under a pool table in a Liverpool pub when I was still a baby. No idea why…”

Rimmer bit back the urge to say that explained a few things. It didn’t seem appropriate. Instead he remained quiet, watching Lister out of the corner of his eye, noting the way he chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, a little agitated crease forming between his brows, staring absently into the distance for a moment before affixing a falsely bright smile to his face and shaking his head, attempting to mask how he really felt about the whole thing. “I like to think they had a good reason for doing it but… I dunno.” He looked down at Bexley, who had unconsciously grabbed hold of Lister’s finger in his sleep, his tiny little hand loosely clinging on unknowingly to someone to whom such a simple human gesture meant so much.

Lister swallowed hard, struggling to push past the tight little ball of emotion that had formed in his throat. When he spoke, his voice sounded choked. “I always wanted to have sons of me own one day, so I could be there for them, watch them grow, y’know? Do what my parents couldn’t.” He laughed, a little incredulous, disbelieving sound, as he looked around at the room. “Didn’t think this was how it’d end up happening though.”

Rimmer huffed a short, curt laugh beside him, hollow and humourless, and Lister shot him a glance, eyebrow quirked slightly in curiosity. “What about you?” he asked after a moment, searching the tightly drawn lines of Rimmer’s face. “Did you ever want to have kids one day?”

Rimmer didn’t look at him, didn’t dare to. He could feel the burn of that inquisitive stare boring into the side of his head but he kept his gaze fixed straight in front of him, locked on nothing in particular, and Lister watched carefully as he swallowed slowly, adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his uniform shirt.

“I don’t know, to be quite honest with you,” he admitted quietly after a moment, a rare fragile, vulnerable quality to his voice, honest and open in a way Rimmer only occasionally allowed himself to be. “My parents expected me to of course – they expected us all to – but I don’t really know if that kind of life was ever actually in the cards for me.” His face crumpled slightly and a harsh, sharp laugh ripped its way bitterly out of him. “Well, obviously, of course it wasn’t – just look what happened to me!”

Jim stirred suddenly in his sleep in the cot, disturbed by the sudden sound, his little face scrunching up momentarily, seeming just about ready to burst into tears and Lister readied himself to react but the moment never came to pass. He simply settled back down and kept on sleeping peacefully, which was a much appreciated relief for now.

Rimmer became very quiet then, introspective and solemn, his whole form seeming to shrink into itself as he sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly between them. He bowed his head and looked down at them, agitated, flexing his fingers tensely as his brows knitted together.

“I don’t know if I’d have been a good father. Guess I don’t have to ever find out,” he said bitterly, the muscles in his jaw tensing noticeably as he wrung his hands together. “I didn’t exactly have what you would call ideal role models so maybe it’s for the best.”

Lister regarded him sadly, sympathetically, and had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach out there and then and place a supportive, encouraging hand on Rimmer’s right knee. Given the circumstances it would only have made the mood worse.

He’d heard Rimmer talk about his family life before and each revelation had been steadily building a much more detailed picture of Rimmer’s past and all the smegged up little things that had made him into who he was today. He knew very well that he wasn’t joking about them being less than ideal, in fact that was something of an understatement. They’d certainly done a number on him, that was for sure.

Not wanting a repeat of the gloomy mood that talk of his parents usually caused him to descend into, Lister tried for an optimistic, sympathetic smile. “I dunno, man. I think you’d probably have been alright,” he said, and somewhat to his surprise, he meant it quite genuinely.

Rimmer, however, didn’t seem to agree. He scoffed derisively at Lister’s words and rolled his eyes, doubtful. “Oh, please, I know you don’t actually believe that.”

“I do, man. I do,” Lister insisted gently and then, seeing the persistent look of disbelief still painted stubbornly across Rimmer’s features, he huffed a sigh and looked down. “Look, so your parents were smegheads and they got a lot of things wrong but that might’ve worked out in its own weird way. I mean, think about it. Now you have a pretty comprehensive list of things not to do to start off with. Can’t go too far wrong if you stick to that, right?”

Rimmer considered his words for a moment and then begrudgingly offered a stiff nod in agreement. “I suppose,” he said quietly, contemplatively, but there was still a noticeable note of bitterness to his voice, like he still didn’t quite believe that was enough on its own. “What does any of that matter anyway? I’m never going to get to find out what kind of father I might have been.”

That same awful, suffocating silence as before descended once again upon them and this time Lister didn’t know how to break it so he didn’t try to. Instead he let it hang in the air around the two of them, thick and heavy, until one of the twins coughed and startled himself awake.

Lister was quick to reach for him, scooping him up and cradling him tenderly in his arms, crooning softly to him as he rocked him back and forth, the gentle motion enough to stall whatever waterworks might have been about to follow.

Tiny and curious, his little face squinted in enchanted bewilderment up at Lister who beamed warmly back down at him and planted a quick little kiss upon his forehead. “There you go, Bexley. Let’s not wake up your brother just yet, yeah?”

Rimmer found the affection hard to look at, like staring directly at the sun, so he tore his gaze away and fixed it instead upon Jim who had thankfully remained peacefully undisturbed.

“I still think you could have gone with better names than Jim and Bexley,” he said pointedly, glad for the slight change in subject. “There are so many more appropriate options out there.”

Lister shot him an impish grin, mischief glinting gold in the brown of his eyes. “Oh yeah?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Still trying to make Arnold Lister happen are you?”

He waggled his eyebrows teasingly and relished the way Rimmer dissolved into a spluttering flustered mess, the tips of his ears flushing scarlet red in mortified horror.

“Don’t,” Rimmer said warningly, not wanting a repeat of the last time he’d innocently suggested the name. “You know what I meant when I suggested that, Lister. Don’t try to turn it into something else!”

If he hadn’t had his hands full, Lister would have held them up placatingly. “Okay, okay! I won’t,” he insisted but Rimmer seemed doubtful, suspicious, unwilling to let it go quite yet.

It was all the silly little jokes that had been building up over the passing weeks sharing the same space together that had buried themselves under his skin like an itch that couldn’t be scratched and refused to budge. Everything felt like a suggestive insinuation now, an accusation of something his own father would have surely disowned him for – if it had had any truth to it of course, which it didn’t because Rimmer was absolutely, one-hundred percent not whatever it was those implications might try to suggest. It didn’t matter that no-one was left around who would give a smeg about whether he was or wasn’t in any way that would have actually mattered. Rimmer still felt the need to defensively deflect any and all implications regardless.

“Don’t even joke about it,” he said, staring evenly, piercingly, at Lister, hazel eyes dark and deathly serious as he said in a choked, half-hissed, tight voice, “I’m not even remotely that way inclined and don’t you forget it!”

“I never said you were!”

“Well I’m not.”

“Okay! Okay.”

Rimmer seemed to finally relax a fraction, satisfied for now with Lister’s acquiescence. He breathed in deeply, slowly, and released it in a long, steadying exhale, his tensed, squared shoulders finally slackening just a bit.

Lister watched him out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t help himself.

“Even though you were the one who smushed our names together in the first place.”

“Lister!” Rimmer all but shouted, his voice rising to a desperate, rasping hiss, all thoughts of keeping quiet very nearly forgotten in the wake of incandescent, scandalised rage.

Lister laughed as quietly as he could, wincing as the pain in his abdomen seared at the motion, tears beading at the corners of his eyes at the way Rimmer’s nostrils had flared and his whole face had pinched itself tightly to contort around his scrunched up nose. It had been a step too far, he knew that, but Rimmer’s buttons were far too amusing to keep from pressing and he really was being far too defensive about what was genuinely just a little teasing.

He hadn’t meant anything by it, just a little joking around, but every time he did it Rimmer always seemed to become immediately aggressively defensive, his whole body drawing itself taut and rigid with tension, coiled up tight like a spring waiting to snap.

He looked about ready to explode, his jaw set and knuckles white, a pleading, wild, desperate look in his eyes and Lister knew then that he’d pushed him about as far as it was safe to go.

“Alright, I’m sorry!” Lister said, and this time he meant it, not wanting to risk a further escalation.

The apology did little to release Rimmer’s tension, the knuckles of his hands still blooming a ghostly white where he continued to grip them tightly. His mouth was drawn tight and thin, distrust burning fierce and unrelenting in his eyes.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, Lister bit back the urge to utter some remark under his breath about the negative effects of a conservative Ionian upbringing but ultimately decided he preferred not to instigate a full-blown argument in front of his newborn sons. Instead, he turned his attention back to little Bexley in his arms who had started to stir with discomfort again at all the commotion. “Hey, don’t worry, Bexley. That was just your Uncle Smeghead. Nothin’ to worry about. See? From this angle you can see right up his nose into his empty head.”

Rimmer scowled incredulously up at the ceiling and shook his head. He’d had just about as much nonsense as he could take from Lister right about now and here he was still trying to poke fun at him.

“Ha ha, Lister. Very funny,” he said flatly, stonily. “You better be careful what you say around the two of them, you know. If their first words end up being smeghead instead of dad that’ll be a personal failing on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it’ll be worth it for the laugh I’ll get from it, eh?”

Rimmer turned to look at him askance, a thousand possible insults and retorts flying through his head but none of them making it past his lips. There was nothing to say, really. Lister was an imbecile and he was absolutely going to raise his sons into precisely the same kinds of imbecile and the mere prospect of having more than one of that kind of person around was quite frankly a depressing thing to imagine.

“The wrong people get to be parents,” is what he eventually decided on, looking back down at Jim in the cot and wondering if there could have been any hope for either of those two boys’ braincells.

The smile on Lister’s face died then and there and he became oddly quiet, rocking Bexley back to sleep before finally lowering him back into the cot beside his brother.

Sitting back, he watched the two of them silently for a few moments longer, the humming and creaking of Red Dwarf all around them the only other sounds.

Now that he’d been up and about for a while and had had a bit of a joke and a laugh, the exertion was beginning to wear him out, the ache in his abdomen and the heaviness of his body calling for him to yield to the pull and finally go back to bed. His eyes slid closed of their own accord and his head bobbed and lolled as he began to gradually drift off, his body starting to ever-so-slightly tilt to the side, towards Rimmer who only realised what was happening moments before it would have spelled disaster.

“Lister, wake up!” he cried, hands flying up helplessly to try to stop him, passing uselessly through him with no resistance whatsoever.

Lister started awake and caught himself, one hand bracing steadyingly against the chair Rimmer was on, disappearing into Rimmer’s torso as though it were impaling him. He jerked back, alarmed and unconsciously rubbed vigorously at his forearm, momentarily disturbed by the reminder that although Rimmer was very much there in spirit, he was very much not there in person.

“Sorry. Nodded of there for a second,” he muttered sheepishly, unable to lift his gaze to meet Rimmer’s.

“I told you you shouldn’t have got up,” Rimmer said, his tone thick with patronising condescension. “I told you you should still be resting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Lister relented, pushing himself up with great discomfort onto his feet and steadying himself with the rails of the cot.

“For what it’s worth, Rimmer, and I know what you’re gonna say to this but just listen, alright?” Lister held up a hand, silencing whatever interruption Rimmer might have been about to make. “But, in a way, you kind of will know what kinda dad you’d have been. You’re helpin’ me out with these two after all.”

Rimmer’s face twitched a little, that same little pang of defensive discomfort twisting in his gut. “That’s not being a dad, Lister. If anything I’d be something of an uncle.”

Lister shrugged. “Uncle, Dad, whatever. You’re still helpin’ raise them. You never know, we might end up balancing ‘em out in the end.”

“You mean they might not end up the same kind of lazy, slobbish gimboid as you are?” Rimmer said, raising a dubious eyebrow.

Lister frowned, leaning against the doorway. “Well, yeah, that. But also…” He trailed off for a moment and looked away, suddenly unable to look Rimmer in the eye, his face grimacing a little as he tried to shrug off the awkwardness of what he was trying to get out. “I dunno, it’s just good to not be doing it on me own. Yeah, they’re my kids but beyond me, you and Cat and Kryten are all else they’ve got. Smeg, even Holly too.”

He scratched the back of his head restlessly, feeling altogether too exposed, too naked in this rare show of vulnerable honesty towards Rimmer of all people. He risked a glance in Rimmer’s direction, trying to gauge his expression but Rimmer wasn’t looking at him. He was very pointedly facing away.

He fished helplessly for something else to say but he couldn’t think of anything. A yawn was threatening to force its way up his throat and his energy was flagging. He really needed to get back to bed.

“You should probably take a break soon too, Rimmer,” he said, bringing a hand up to shield the yawn as it finally broke through.

Rimmer nodded. “I will when Kryten comes back,” he said simply and Lister nodded in agreement at that.

“Alright. Night, Rimmer.”

With that, the door to the corridor slid open and closed and it was just Rimmer left in the room with the two sleeping boys again, as he had been for much of the day.

Lister was right, he really should take a break. He felt mentally and emotionally spent after everything but he was finding it hard to switch off after months of hyper-vigilant supervision and he didn’t really know what else to do with himself. His bunk was currently occupied and he would sooner die a second death than ever consider using Lister’s even once.

He thought about what Lister had said again about how they would all be contributing together in their own little ways to the collective raising of Jim and Bexley, about how in a funny little way they were all now part of what was surely a very dysfunctional and highly unconventional family unit. Something about that made him feel a tad strange, an unfamiliar little glow of something warm and light in his chest that flitted about like little butterflies, a mix of apprehension and something almost pleasant.

Maybe he would never have been a good dad, and maybe he was a little bit thankful he would never have to truly find out, but for the time, in this current situation, he was quite content to settle for being the best possible uncle he could be.

And they’d call him Uncle Arnie, not Smeghead. He’d make absolutely sure of that.

#smegtober2023 #i let this one get too long and im not really happy with it bc i was absolutely exhausted trying to write it #but i cant spend any more time on it bc im already super behind so ;;;; there it is

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tfotababe · 2 years

Text

Chosen by the land

DESCRIPTION:

I got the idea from my last post. Jude and Cardan being able to control the weather with their mood. I kind of went a little crazy with my imagination and somehow altered (almost) everything about the original story… I also kinda made this because the fact that if Jude stays in Faerie for maybe a few hundred years and somebody drags her to the mortal world she would turn to dust right away because time would run for her again. I doubt Cardan would let that happen or that she would let that happen but I just need reassurance 😔😖🤧

Faerie!Jude (Might turn into a series or maybe just a compilation of scenes in an alternate universe where Jude is born almost fully Fae.)

P.S. If you could tell me what you think/places where you think I could improve in -- maybe it's my grammar, my use of words, or anything at all -- I'd really appreciate it :)

P.S.S. Tell me if you spotted a YOUR THRONE reference ;>

SYNOPSIS:

Jude is resentful of being born a Faerie. She hates how they look at her and how they speak of her. For all that, she can’t seem to let go of the land that makes her livid.

TAGS:

Alternate universe - Jude is born only 1/4 human and the rest is Fae || Scenario || High Queen Jude || Jude’s mom is half Fae || Romance || Maybe fluff in the future

Word count: 3, 272

Can also be read here (Canva) (Docs)

Ch. #1: A Mortal Fae (Next Ch. ->)

JUDE is staring at a reflection in the Lake of Masks. It’s another of ‘those’ days. Again, I hate myself. I hate my father for killing my mother and my mother for being stupid enough to anger a redcap. I hate that they were careless enough to let the situation get so out of hand that even as his anger has gone, as she was six feet under, their children are still affected by the phantom of what they did. Even now, fifteen years after, rumors still go around about a half-fae, half-human wife of a red cap trying to run away with a mortal man for the second time only to get slain. But of course, it would be talked about. The scene took place at a revel. A mortal man, holding the hand of a five-year-old Faerie, the well-known wife of the High General, carrying a pair of twin two-year-old toddlers. Only a few Fae had seen the actual thing happen. Still, who lied to you and said that Fae were private creatures? They have mouths after all, why not put it to good use? Thus, word spread.

JUDE stood up and headed home. I took my time walking through the trees. I breathed in the early morning scent. Faeries are nocturnal creatures. Most of them are asleep. I should be asleep. I’m one of them, after all. No, Fae is in my blood, but other than my horns, all of me looks human. The curves in my body could probably attest to that. Round breast, a curve in my waist and hip, thick legs, and full arms. Faes have flat bodies. I have features that are seemingly appropriate in both worlds, yet I’m still just a piece of a puzzle that fits perfectly but makes the whole image abnormal. I look human, but without glamour, people would be sure to give me a look. I could pretend my horns are part of a costume, but humans are curious creatures. Even as part of a costume they would take interest in my horns. In Elfhame, my head is the only thing Fae. In either, I would be found to be bizarre, strange, peculiar, an unnatural oddball.

JUDE reached her destination. I headed straight to my room. Careful not to wake anyone. When I reach my room, I jump into bed without changing my clothes. I would have to wake up later anyway. I could just wash up then. Right, I’ll sleep now to relieve myself of the things that tire me, to wake up again later to face the things I wanted to relieve myself of.

JUDE was woken up by Tatterfell. I woke up just as the sun was saying farewell. The sky was tinted with shades of yellow, red, and orange. It looked like fire. Fire, I hope to feel before I sleep again later. "You should wash your face before the water goes cold." Tatterfell’s voice broke my train of thought. I look at the small silver tub with a gold rim before dipping my hand in to test the water. The warm water felt nice. I must be really tired. I never thought that bathing or washing myself was a good thing. It felt more like a chore, time wasted. Had it not been for hygiene, I don’t think I would have done it. My mouth formed a small smile by itself at the thought. How amusing; I find my own thoughts laughable. I cup my hands to scoop the water and lean in closer to the small tub so as not to wet my dress. I dry my face and head to the bath that Tatterfell prepared. When I’m done, I get into a pleated rose beige-colored dress. It has a V-neck that, fortunately, shows little of my cleavage. It had bell-type sleeves. It was a simple dress. "Can you wrap my horns in some hair?" I asked Taterfell, who was currently hooking a pointed cincher around my waist. "So you assume that I can refuse?" Silence "Of course." I say, more steadily than I heard the voice in my head say it. "I can't, child. I have a debt to pay. " She says, finishing up the cinchers. Contrary to her tone, she ushered me softly toward the vanity and did as I had requested.

JUDE and Taryn headed to Noggle’s class. Breakfast was good. The cook did a great job today. "The dress… It looks really good on you. You look fresh…" Taryn told me in a hushed voice. I looked over to her and saw that she was already looking at me. Our eyes met, and we burst into a fit of giggles. Really, it’s nice to have a person who can give such compliments.

JUDE and Taryn arrived. Though we gained a few stares from the other Fae, we were lucky enough to not be faced by Cardan and his lackeys when we arrived. Anyway, getting watched like that was a normal thing for us. I saw a free place to lay our blanket. I pointed it to Taryn, then we started to fix our place to make it comfortable enough. "You two make even the dustiest corner seem extravagant with how unpleasantly basic you are." A proud voice carried through the air. Taryn put her hand over mine. "You're wrinkling the blanket." she whispered. My hand relaxed and my jaw felt lighter. I must have tensed up. I turn to face Cardan. I want to punch that smirk off his face. "Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment. " I can’t help the smile that crawls over my face when I see their expressions turn into scowls. Valerian looked especially bitter. I felt the need to keep talking. "Our being basic, differing from the place must mean we look unique. You must be really forgettable if you can’t stand out in plain surroundings." I tease, fake pity evident in my voice. THUMP. I felt pain in my back, pressure on my wrists, and weight on my torso that wasn’t mine. Valerian tackled me and is currently on top of me. I saw a glimpse of the Fae around us. Most were smiling and leering. Some didn’t care. Cardan’s face is unreadable, Locke looked worried, Nicasia looked satisfied. Valerian… He was seething. "Valerian, Jude didn’t mean it!" Taryn said, urgency in her tone. "Cardan! Please stop him! Please, we’re sorry! " Taryn sounds like she isn’t breathing when she says that. Meanwhile, Valerian tries to land punches. I avoided the first, and by the second time, I was able to free myself. I pushed him off me with the left hand he let go of. "You dare consider yourself better than us!" He yelled, lips thinning with every word. My first blow landed straight on his nose. When my fist left his face, blood was dripping down. Before I could land another, Taryn had pulled me back with my arm. Cardan looked at me and said, "Valerian, stop that… '' He pauses, keeping his eyes on mine “Don’t dirty your hands. Let filth stay on the ground where it belongs." He didn’t smile when he said that; instead I heard the grit of his teeth. He must be displeased with my being able to make one of his minions bleed. I’m pleased. Only, since I have a talent for getting under their skin, I can’t help but fire back. "Filth? Dirt? I hope you remember most of me is Fae. Are you implying that you are dirt yourself Cardan? " He only looked at me longer, smiled, then told his group not to waste time on us anymore. Nicasia helped Valerian stand. “Mortal filth.” She scowled at us after Cardan turned his back. “Jude, you scraped your elbow.” She took out a piece of cloth from the basket and tore it into half. Using the smallest bit, she rubbed the blood off with light fingers. When there wasn't any more blood she used the other piece to wrap my right elbow. She said that it should do for a temporary fix.

JUDE’s class took a break. They make their warped view of us too obvious. I sometimes wonder how much worse it would be if we had been fully human. If we had been able to get glamoured, needed salt for our food, or were unable to stop ourselves from dancing at revels… I could only imagine what they would do. From the corner of my eye, I could see Cardan standing up. Nicasia tries to follow him but he says something that makes her look at him with pleading eyes, which Vivi and most mortals might refer to as cute. I personally wouldn’t. She looks like she’s choking on a whole orange. She sits back down and Cardan turns. Our eyes met. He smiles. I suddenly have the urge to use the hand sign Vivi had taught me. She said it meant something very offending that many mortals fight when somebody shows it to them but I doubt he’d know what it means. “Here.” Taryn caught my attention again. I moved my body to face her. While I had been looking around us, letting my mind wander, my twin was setting up the food on the blanket. The pens, inkpots, and parchment are now replaced with the sandwiches, jars of water, and meat that had been packed for us. I smile at Taryn; our silent thank you to each other. I let my skin feel the coldness of the air but it might as well be his lingering gaze. Burning through my nape only to leave a cold crack.

CARDAN headed to the Lake of Masks. Hatred. Cardan felt hatred. Whether it was for Valerian or Jude, he didn’t know. Whom he referred to as dirt and filth he didn’t know either. All he knows is that it’s probably not Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. He hated that name as much as he couldn't get it out of his head. It repeats itself like a spell or a catchy song. He disliked that. He stops his pacing, kneeling in front of the lake instead. When he looked at the lake, rather than his face or any other Fae reflection, he saw her face. Her hazel eyes, her flowing brown hair. The face with the unnervingly dazzling features that appear in both his dreams and nightmares. Except he’d never seen this expression. She had tears in her eyes. Tears that, no matter what he did, he couldn’t prize out. Paired with a look of anger. Angrier than he had ever seen her. After just a few moments, she took a deep breath then as if they had been sea foam, her tears were gone, though they didn’t even fall, her anger left no trace, as though she had never felt it. Next thing he knew, she stood up and left. Just like that. Suddenly, his clothes felt too taut against his skin. Even after he wet his face with the water from the lake, the air still felt hot. He didn’t think he could go back to the lesson. It bored him stupid anyway. Besides, maybe, just maybe, he might not be able to stop himself if he sees her. And so, the cruel prince left the lake, looking agitated.

JUDE and Taryn’s class finished. Surprisingly, Valerian didn’t do anything more. He didn’t even so much as glare in our direction. He just left with Nicasia and Locke. If I hadn’t known better, I would be relieved. However, only a dunce-like creature would assume sudden quietness from an enemy is good. After all, silence weighs heavier than a thousand words. We walked through the woods in silence. Glancing at each other occasionally. We’re identical only in our faces. Taryn was more similar to a Faerie with pointed ears and a body only slightly curved at her bust and bum. While the only thing Faerie that I have are my horns. Horns that even without, Taryn still looks a full Fae. Really. Taryn was meant to be born a folk.

TARYN wondered what her twin was thinking. Jude had always been the rebellious twin. Taryn thought. Still, she hoped that Jude would stop putting her neck on the line. Jude was strong, of course she was. She took their father’s training more seriously than Taryn ever did. Except, even Faeries die if they clash with knives or fists. What more a mortal Fae? Looking at Jude, Taryn took notice of the differences that they had; her round ears and full body. Jude, more akin to humans, still felt more like a Faerie than she did. Sure, Taryn fit in, but only with her features and because she did what the Faeries who hated them told her to. Taryn knew that even if Jude had been fully mortal, she could still turn herself into something that fit into Elfhame. Jude didn’t need to be Fae to fit in because Jude could be poisoned and she’d come back to life, she could be dipped in heat and only come back stronger, she could be tossed into an unfamiliar place and she’d just make that place hers. Taryn’s mind was filled with compliments and astonishment for Jude. She felt small beside Jude. She didn’t like that. What was so different about them? They had the same face. They were both trained by Madoc. Sure, Taryn didn’t pay much attention, but it was because she was a woman. She could just marry a great man. Taryn was strong by herself too. After all, she was able to pull Jude by her arm a while ago. Taryn stopped looking at Jude. She looked straight in front of her instead. She worried if she looked for longer, the disgusting feeling eating at her would take over.

JUDE and Taryn arrived at Madocs estate. When we arrived, an imp told us that Madoc had called us to dine in a few hours. I told Taryn that I would be getting ready in my room. She nodded my way without looking at me. I decided not to take much notice of this. She might have something on her mind that she doesn’t want to share. That’s all right. I headed to my room and opened the windows to let the cold night air in. I felt it in my face and on my now bare arms. When I entered the room, I hesitated not for one second to remove my stuffy clothes. This is also when I notice that the neckline has ripped, that the center gore of my mortal underwear has been visible. It must have torn when Valerian launched himself on me. "The bath is ready." Tatterfell informed me while I removed the pinned hair from my horns. I smile at her through the vanity mirror, she only grunts in return. She turns back to tell me to hurry and get to the bath, then I’m alone again. As I sink into the water, I think back to why I felt hate towards my parents again. I remember a mortal film that Vivi showed us when we visited the mortal realm when we were fifteen and she was eighteen. The girl whom the story focuses on saw parents spending time with their child. Parents. It was something she didn’t have. Seeing something she lacked get enjoyed by another made her feel jealous. I closed my eyes and dipped my head in the water. I never thought I’d feel or even think the same. I kept my head underwater for as long as my lungs could go without air. I figured it wasn’t a long time, despite it not being a brief one either. I breathe in deeply a few times before relaxing against the bath. I hear a rustling just outside the door. I soon realized that I had left the window open. I curse myself while putting my clothes on. I grab the dagger on top of the small table. I creep to the door, making sure my footfalls stay as silent as possible. I push the door open, seizing the first figure that comes into view. Without thinking, I stabbed the opponent. My heart drops. It’s a stand-in. The real opponent is still in my room. I feel a kick at my side, toppling over to the ground, back first. I feel a familiar pain, the familiar pressure on my wrists, and the familiar weight on my torso. I see the moonlight reflecting on blonde strands; Valerian. He landed a punch on my face as I was processing the details. I try to move my arms only to find I can’t move my body. "You turn Elfhame into a dirty place. I’d like to kill you, but that would mean burying you somewhere in Elfhame." He looks up. I keep my expression as nonchalant as I can, though feeling the beating of my heart throughout my body. I’m afraid it would give away my facade. He stands up, a revolting smile plastered on his features. I’m able to move again. I push myself up onto my elbows. "Burn, you hideous mortal. Bring your vile ashes to your rotten world." I look at where his voice comes from right when he throws the candle in the stack of books. He smiles at me. He gives me a despicable look while walking over. The burning fire illuminating his face made his expression look something out of a nightmare. I almost froze yet again, but I was able to stand up just before he could grab me. "Still putting up a fight?" He says through gritted teeth. We go against each other for some time; throwing punches and trying to grab at each other. I land multiple punches to his face though it’s my kick that sends him toppling down. He scowls at me before pulling my leg. I feel the heat creep up my arms, I look to see my sleeves burning. I had landed just a few inches from the fire and my sleeves were caught. I tore them off and stomped on them. I look for Valerian and see him heading for the window. I go at him, ripping his grip from the windowsill. When I hear a thud I close the window. He’s going to be alright.

I look back into my room. It’s a mess; things scattered everywhere, broken pens that he swung my way, torn books, and fire burning through the wooden planks of the floor. I go to the door and yell for somebody to clean my room. While waiting, I took some soil from the ceramic urn vase on both sides of my bed. I put it over the fire to stop it from burning further. A bit of soil smudged on my wrist, only then did I realize that I had burned myself. I tear my other sleeve, it would look far too grotesque to have only one sleeve, to wrap it around my wrist. I don’t want to risk the burn getting worse.

When the small imp, who told us about Madoc wanting us to dine, came into the room. I told her to tidy it up and left for Vivi’s deserted chambers with my change of clothes.

The room felt stifling but I couldn’t bring myself to open the window. I looked around and decided to sit down on her bed. I couldn’t help the sigh that comes out. When I said I wanted to feel fire before I slept, I really didn't mean it this way.

#jurdan fanfic #jurdan supremacy #the folk of the air #jurdan headers #cardan greenbriar #the queen of nothing #judecardan #the wicked king #TFOTA #TFOTA fandom #Holly Black #the cruel prince #jurdan #jude duarte #All characters belong to Highest Queen Holly Black

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fluoresensitivearchived · 3 years

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I'm not sure how you would do this, but maybe like 'something isn't quite right in the water' an eerie sense of wrongness

OCTOBER PROMPTS, DAY ONE: NADINE & THE POND!

What a good prompt! This story is kind of rough, I didn't do any real editing, but I think it's a really cute rough/first draft! Maybe I'll edit it up and put it on the website in November! Also, wow ... First short story published on my actual Tumblr in a minute, everybody clap!

Finally, Nadine was alone. The other children had gone home, lured away from the playground by their parents or dinner, the snap! buzz! of the streetlights coming on. In groups, in pairs, clumped together like homing pigeons, they petered out until it was just Nadine and the swing set, the steep medal slide.

Now, Nadine could unwind herself. For hours, she’d been playing at her own private game of make believe—pretending to be like the others. It was hard work, and took more imagination than any outer space or royal fantasy. To make it believable, to make it real, she had to adjust her spine, change the set of her eyes, and hold her mouth very carefully. She drew her arms away from her side, tried to mirror the posture of the other girls. Nadine tempered her laughter, taught herself how to smile and tease, how to discern mockery from playful banter. By the end of a school day, she was scooped hollow.

The playground after curfew was a great place to replenish herself. There was no one to bother her, no one to perform for. Nadine set her mask aside, and strode over to the swings. She’d been eyeing them for a while, but apparently, it was no longer “cool” to be seen actually playing on any of the equipment. Her peers, the little sect of girls she wished to ingratiate herself with, preferred to sit at the benches and show off their flip phones. Nadine, phoneless, more interested in the company than the possessions, kept letting her gaze drift to the swings.

Now that she was alone, she got on a swing, kicked off her tennis shoes, and kicked off into the sky. What a rush! Every sensation was like bliss—the woodchips crunching against her school socks, the night air whipping up her braids, the feel of the wind against her skin. She took the swing higher, higher, and tilted back at her head. Delicious vertigo, the excitement of being up so high and the fear mingled…Nadine made no noise, no whoop of joy or laughter. She took in deep breaths, felt every nerve in her body alight.

Suddenly, a sound. Nadine dragged her feet hard against the woodchips to bring herself to a stop. It sounded like laughter, bright and high, but not so joyful. It was almost malicious, teasing. Nadine listened to it, but did not move, fear keeping her rooted to the seat of the swing. What if she wasn’t alone? What if some of the kids stayed back to see what she was doing out there? And, thought a sickened Nadine, what if they were all gathered in some shady spot, laughing at her?

Her stomach was oily, roiling. Every time she thought to get up and start home, there came another peal of laughter, higher and meaner than before. Tears stung at her eyes. A lump the size of a peach stone lodged itself in her throat. Nadine held fast to the swing’s chains to give her hands something to do, lest she start scratching herself.

After maybe ten minutes of sitting there petrified, still as a rabbit in headlights, Nadine forced herself up on wobbly, ringing legs. They (if it was a group of kids, as she thought) could laugh all they like, but it was getting cold and she needed to be home before her dad was. She didn’t like the idea of him worrying about her, and there would be no explaining that she was help up at the playground by far-off cackling.

Still, Nadine didn’t want to walk the main street. She could just imagine it, her walking alone and then those kids coming out of the shadows, taunting her, jostling her. Poor Nadine with her mask off, poor Nadine at the swings at night. With enough time and twisting, the story would turn into something ugly. Nadine, you know, that weird girl? The slow one? Well, I saw her at the playground doing some weird ritual on the swings. She looked crazy, a real—

She cut the thought off short, slipped her shoes back on, and started towards the woods. There was a path through the trees that lead right up to Nadine’s backyard. She knew it well enough by day; she couldn’t imagine night changing it all that much.

Slowly, the way lighted by the dim glow of the moon, Nadine cut through the woods. It was strange in the dark, the trees and bushes and metal fences that separated nature from the houses only black silhouettes. She inched herself along, stopping every now and then to admire the look of moonlight on a leaf, revel in the feeling of tingling moths against her forearms. She was usually adverse to weird touches, but there was something appealing about the quiet of the woods, how branches and leaves reached out to her. To hell with castles! If Nadine were the sort to indulge in princess games, she’d want her domain to be of green and dark, cool night air and the evening opera of crickets.

Halfway home, Nadine came across a pool of water. It was black and motionless, and when Nadine put her hand to it, it was strangely warm. Aware of the time but curious, Nadine found a stick and squatted by the water. She threw in leaves, twigs, some small hard things that might’ve been berries or seeds. She imagined she was a little witch brewing up potions, an alchemist making bizarre compounds. Her mind filled, swelled. For a while, there was nothing but the black water, her hand stirring.

So enraptured in her pretend was she that Nadine hardly notice when the face in the water appeared. When she did, finally, see it, she fell back onto her bottom. She panted, blinked, then inched towards the water. Yes, it was there and it was a face. It was almost her face—that was her broad nose, her mouth, her long black box braids, but there was something not quite right about the girl in the water. Something about the set of her mouth, how her eyes sparkled with a sort of barely concealed malevolence.

“Hello!” said the girl in the water.

Nadine waved her hand.

“Can’t you speak?”

Nadine shrugged.

If Nadine did not have much to say, the girl in the water had plenty. She was full of stories, and she told them to Nadine, one after the other. They all seemed to flow together at some point, so Nadine wasn’t able to separate the story about the girl with the donkey skin from the story about the mermaid whose legs turned to seafoam. It was all one thing, one massive tapestry of wolves and monsters, boys raised by monkeys and girls who traded their mother for a pretty drum.

So it went, on and on, until the girl in the water quieted and asked, “Do you want to hear another story?”

Nadine nodded enthusiastically. She sat cross-legged at the mouth of the water, skin pimpled with gooseflesh.

“It’s a really good one. It’s about a faery who gets stuck living with humans. She feels lonely and weird. Only…” The girl in the water frowned. “Only, I can’t tell it to you if you’re up there.”

“Up here?”

“It won’t sound the same if you’re not here with me. Plus, my storybook…I can’t remember the whole thing without the storybook, and I can’t really bring my book to the top. Do you see what I mean?”

Nadine didn’t. The girl had told her so many stories already, and she didn’t see how she could hold a whole treasure trove of tales in her save for one. And besides, it was late at night, even the moon lost to her. No doubt her father was home right now, thinking Nadine was in bed already. She wanted to get back to him, away from the water and the cold. Somehow, suddenly, the stories didn’t sound all that fascinating, and the girl in the water no longer intrigued her. Nadine stood to her feet and told the girl goodbye.

“Wait!” cried the girl. “Don’t you want to hear the story? Don’t you want to come under?”

“No, thank you,” said Nadine, and she continued on her way home, not-so-nice laughter and crickets nipping at her heels.

#🌙#my writing #short story #fluoretober #writeblr

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bored-storyteller · 3 years

Text

All the parts you want. If you have anything specific in mind let me know!

Part 1:"Keep death away"

Part 2:"Beyond the Mask"

39- Tokyo Ghoul- Uta x Human! Reader pt. 3

"Just like you"

His tattooed hand presses against the wardrobe door that he has just closed, right in front of you.

Your breath tickles his knuckles as he hurries to hide the jar from your view, which you only caught a glimpse of it.

Trapped between him and the piece of furniture, your guilty gaze meets his.

"Oops ... sorry." You murmur, barely smiling at him.

Uta sighs slightly, shaking his head with his sweet and calm expression: "no ... I'm sorry, I forgot they were there."

You watch him bend over to open a drawer to look for the leather straps he asked you to retrieve, only to see him return to his workstation soon after.

Were those fingers in there?

The shop has been closed for a while now, and even if you would never say it out loud, this makes you happy. It's not exactly the best for you to always be ready to snap to hide in the bathroom, waiting for his customers to leave.

It hasn't happened many times, actually, but in one of them you heard Uta justify the presence of your smell as "his next meal". It made sense, yet you couldn't ignore a shiver running down your spine.

Despite any moral expectations, since you discovered that that boy is a ghoul you have found yourself much more company with him than before. It is something of yours, mutual. Now that a frightening world has knocked on your door, the one who showed it to you has become your safety and protection, and in the same way Uta comes into your protection with concern and at bottom with a slight sense of guilt it tickles his soul, relieved simply by the relief of not having to hide from you anymore.

Even if you are now aware of who you have in front of you, however the dynamics between you two are still fragile, and above all the dynamics between you and your inner fears are fragile.

The day after the tragic and at the same time sweet evening that opened you to a completely new reality for you, he immediately took care to give you the necessary recommendations: if someone asks you for something, any person, you absolutely must instantly forget that he is a ghoul.

At first you actually felt offended. Did he really think you were that stupid to tell someone about this? Did he think you would ever endanger him?

But soon after, you realized that it was not for his safety that he worried so much. He was afraid for you.

"This is really dangerous" he had told you "If anything happens to me, nobody has to know that you know, okay?"

If anything happens to me.

You couldn't say anything clever at the time, so you just nodded, but something bittersweet had started to tingle in your heart.

He is dangerous, and at the same time in danger. You are in danger of being there with him, you are in many ways. Some would say that you are committing a crime, that you are wrong, that you deserve punishment just because you enjoy his company. Yet you can't feel guilty.

You have so many questions to ask him, but in those days since the revelation you have not asked him even one.

It is so difficult for you to understand what you are feeling. He kills, he eats people, this is now known. He is one of those monsters that the news is talking about so much, one of those monsters that should be exterminated.

Yet you are now there, observing the empty, weeping eyes of a mask behind a display case. He must have done it recently, it's the first time you've seen it.

But still, you are there, in a hidden shop where you risk finding a box of human eyes by opening a drawer, and the thing that scared you the most until the other day is that you can't get the reaction you would expect from you.

You keep looking at the masks and him as you did until last week even though you know.

You didn't tell him, but it all kept you up at night. You've always thought about it, every moment was spent to find a way out of that tangle of thoughts and emotions that went through you both in his presence and in his absence.

It was hard to make peace with yourself, it was almost scary, but in the end you accepted it. You had no choice but to accept it.

He eats people like you, but if he didn't he couldn't exist ...

"I like this mask ..." so sad, so scared, a soul of a poor devil in hell.

"Really? I recently did it. But you know, to tell the truth it gives me a strange feeling. "

Even if he doesn't look at you he is attentive to you. Even if he sits on his stool where you are, he listens to you, he perceives you, much more than you perceive him.

Now you know… someone in that cruel world has to die, and you don't want that someone to be Uta, despite the price.

Yeah, the price, that price you didn't pay.

Now there is one more thing you have to solve with yourself, something else to admit, so fragile and so strong together.

You approach him to see what he is working on - or rather to see him.

When you look at him, every time, you immediately remember that he is a ghoul, but at the same time it is as if you forget him.

You've been spending a lot of time together now, yet each time you want more, and you don't really care how wrong it is.

“Listen…” his peaceful voice quickly distracts you from your thoughts “… you've been pretty quiet lately. Do you feel ok?"

His hands do not stop for a moment to work, to create. He certainly has deadlines to meet and yet what he is doing is not simple work, it is art. You feel privileged to be able to observe it at work.

"I'm sorry, you're right, I've been thinking too much lately."

You just laugh, a little embarrassed and a little really strangely and genuinely amused by that turn that everything is taking, as long as you are with Uta you feel free to smile again, despite everything.

You move closer to get a better look at his fingers intertwining with ribbons and straps. Who knows how he does it.

"Is it really such a big problem that I'm a ghoul?"

His words rain down on you like a cold shower interrupting all consideration, yet on his part they were necessary.

Uta also finds himself strangely surprised. His skilled hands interrupt the art, in the surprise of that new doubt that until now he had ignored.

No, in fact, he hadn't really ignored it. It had simply always presented itself in a thousand other terms that had never been posed as such a placid question.

He had experienced that stigma, that exclusion from the beauty of the world in a thousand sick ways, but never as he is experiencing it now with you.

And again that world that runs too fast for him returns, that world that "loves only humans", yet in his selfishness he prays on the sidelines that you will be able to give up that love that that magnificent world grants you, to stay there immobile, with a Pierrot like him.

For a moment Uta doesn't know what to do, whether to resume his job to avoid your gaze and protect himself, or to risk looking at you, discovering your emotions.

Yet before he can decide, he feels your movement.

You don't even know what you're really doing, you just know that for some reason at that moment you need to feel him as much as possible, to understand, to fix yourself.

Kneeling on the cold floor, in the intimate solitude of the closed shop, you let your arms surround his waist without fear. Your head in his lap, nestled against him as much as possible.

He doesn't react, he just looks at you, blank in the face.

Suddenly he feels angry restlessness rising in him. What are you doing? He can't read it, what does it mean?

For some reason he can't really feel your hug, it's as if he doesn't contemplate it among the possibilities. You're hugging someone else there. Snuggled against his stomach, you are approaching human victims like you, not him. There is no bridge between you two, it is impossible to believe.

There is no way that you, little fragile human, can really accept something so big, he cannot ask it to you, he thinks ... and yet ...

"I like it ..." your words are light, shy, and even fearful. Afraid of the scope of what you are saying, of that bestial confession you are revealing "that you are a ghoul ... I like it ..."

And that's the hard truth. It's just something of him, it's him, it's something attractive.

It is attractive to know that those gentle lips could bite you and trap your flesh, that those light hands could tear you apart. That safe sense of danger he gives you is tempting, and the trust you place in him just makes you enjoy that awareness.

This is hard even for you to admit, but you cannot ignore it, nor leave him unaware.

And once again your words overturn his stage, destroy it and rebuild it according to a new conformity.

He is surprised, you can feel it from his breath that stops for a moment, jumps against your cheek.

One thing he loves about you is that he can't help but believe you. No matter how much those words may be at odds with everything life has taught him, if you say it then it's true for him.

His delicate fingers intertwine with your hair, light, almost shy. His hand caresses you patiently, aware, almost as if he is caressing a child, while he holds you there in a sweet constriction.

"Really?"

His calm question about him is not a request for confirmation, as much as wanting to hear you say the things he never has the words to say.

You rise from your seat, getting back on your feet, but unexpectedly you are prevented from walking away from him.

Now it's his arms that surround your waist, and you find yourself there, trapped between his knees and his arms, without being squeezed. His eyes look at you attentively, his bizarre face shows nothing but his calm composure - which does not at all reflect the vibrations of his heart -.

“I think… it's part of you, you wouldn't be the same otherwise. I like it."

You don't know with what courage you spoke those words, so sure and sincere.

You are not embarrassed, perhaps because you both love that little world that belongs only to you, where no one can see and hear you, that behind the scenes of the circus of life.

And it is your way of seeing reality that he likes, what he needs. That your putting Uta before the ghoul, that small and natural confirms that you always give him. This is what still gives many hope, the existence of someone like you, who knows how to see things in the order in which they should be seen. It is the principle for which love exists between humans and ghouls.

The light and affectionate smile that is painted on his lips is the confirmation that is needed, nothing else.

"I could eat you ..."

"I know" but you won't.

You should be food for him, you are. You are a possible meal, but you are also a person. You are someone. You talk, laugh, joke, cry, get angry ... and over time he has learned to want to keep it all, because he likes the way you are. Though you may be his source of life, just imagining feeding on you becomes painful for him. The thought of devouring you, of consuming you, of making you disappear from the world, of swallowing your body, your laughter and your tears, your voice calling his name… has become extremely painful.

And he's also sure you don't really know what you're saying, he's sure you want to change a lot of things about him if you only knew them, but for now it's okay that you only know that drama.

Indeed, no, it is not a scene. Uta is Uta, whole and sincere. What you know is the real and authentic facade of Uta that you deserve to know, there is nothing wrong with that, and he is sure you know it.

Everyone is modeled on relationships, you do too, but it's not that you are less true with him than with others.

The same goes for him, and despite this he is also aware that the affection that binds him to you will not change when he is talking to Renji, and not even when he is at the center of an auction. Uta is always Uta, and you are always you, no matter where you are or who you are with.

Two extremely complex creatures, monster and prey that still share something so profound and at the same time solid and concrete.

His lips curl slightly more, in a vague expression of veiled sweetness.

"Good."

His hand slips on the table as he stands up, but you don't notice it, too focused on seeing that the other hand hasn't given up on the touch on your hips.

Only when something lands on your face do you wake up. You do not understand it immediately, but the mask, still white and anonymous, is now on you, supported by him.

Before you can say anything or ask for an explanation, Uta is close to you, so close that you know you can feel the hard cover vibrating slightly on your cheeks under his breath.

It is still too early, everything is too delicate to utter certain words between you two, to give voice to deep and primitive feelings, which have nothing forbidden even though society would like you to believe.

It is not for fear that you will not admit what you both know, it is just for the pleasure of enjoying that moment, that moment before, that sweet harboring the affectionate secret.

This is why it is the stiff and cold lips of the mask that are kissed, a slight barrier that separates the delicacy of that touch from you.

A kiss that doesn't whet anyone's appetite, is just a silent admission of something extremely big.

And as the mask came, it goes away, returning to its place, leaving you uncovered and incredulous.

Uta also moves away, returning to turn his attention to the stock cabinet, abandoning you still and dazed in front of that almost dreamlike situation.

"Uta?"

"Yes?"

His answer is always ready as he rummages through the rolls of tissue.

"What was that?"

His quiet face of him turns to you, and you know him well enough to notice that slight amused glint in his eyes.

"What was what?"

“That! You know!"

A slight amused snort from him lets you know you'll never get your answers: "You must have daydreamed."

-End-

#tokyo ghoul #uta tokyo ghoul #uta x human reader #uta x reader #uta tg #tokyo ghoul headcanons #tokyo ghoul x reader #tokyo ghoul oneshot #request #tokyo ghoul uta

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teddyylou · 3 years

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FLASHOVER: Klance - teddyylou

Post-mission hurt/comfort klance. Enjoy xx

“You really can’t come out of one day without a new purple mark on you, can you?” Lance called behind to Keith, his hand intertwined with his, hastily leading him over to a table in the observatory to tend to his bruises.

They were probably better off in the hospital wing, but everyone was still buzzing from the mission, giving everyone else a look over to make sure each team member was still intact. They liked it better when it was just them. Lance had stocked up a storage compartment by the lounges with some first aid, so that they could look at the stars and just sit with each other, alone, out of the way of anyone else’s gaze. They could process the fact that they’d lived to see each other another day, in peace.

Lance smiled as he helped Keith sit up on the table, eyes bright and tone casual and chipper, pretending that he didn’t tremble as he opened the first aid kit, or that he didn’t almost drop the box of band-aids he picked up.

Keith did the same: He pretended it didn’t hurt his back to sit up, and that he wasn’t completely and utterly exhausted both physically and emotionally. It had been a rough battle, they’d both been scared beyond their wits, but for the moment they could set it aside and purport the idea that everything was fine.

“It’s my body itching to be Galra, what can I say,” Keith shrugged, a giddy smirk on his lips as sarcasm bled into his words. Lance sighed a laugh.

“No, it’s you being impulsive and you can say sorry?” Lance’s tone was still upbeat for the sake of their juvenile ritual, but the seriousness of his words weighed down on Keith’s aching shoulders. Lance really wasn’t alright, even if they both were pretending not to know it.

“We won, no one got hurt,” Keith assured him. Lance raised a brow. Instead of retorting, he jabbed a finger into Keith’s rib, casing an immediate jerk reaction from his boyfriend who slapped his hand away. Lance pressed his lips into a think line pointedly. Keith stared back for a moment.

“No one got badly hurt,” He corrected. He could feel the weight of reality weighing down heavier, but it was easier for the both of them to ignore it for a little while longer. They were both so drained from the fight, it was better to keep up the loving banter, shovelling the dread off to future Keith and Lance. Lance rolled his eyes with a huff, eager to let it go for the moment as well.

Lance sponged a disinfectant wipe over Keith’s cheek before placing a band-aid on his wound, a small cut under his eye. He shook his head to himself, breathing out frustrated words under his breath that he didn’t let Keith hear as he used another part of the wipe to sop up the blood that had dried under Keith’s split lip.

Lance stood back and thought for a second, he tugged his lip to the side as if to shrug saying, ‘can’t put a band-aid on that’. So instead, Lance leaned down, offering a warm smile before pecking Keith’s bottom lip gently. He relaxed his shoulders as he stood. ‘All better’.

Lance placed his palms flat to the table, one either side of Keith’s legs. He looked down for a second, eyes darting back and forth, the previous few hours swimming in his head so impactfully Keith could almost pinpoint what part of the mission he was reliving. “You didn’t have to jet off away from the group though,” Lance told him. His voice was suddenly dull, gently being drowned out by the growing feeling of tension building up in the small space between them. Electrical currents zapped around in the mere foot that separated their faces. It was still a quiet hum, but it was also them. The dull roar was almost at its tipping point, like the muffled speaker of a house party that would become clear if someone just opened the door.

“I knew I would have him if I just pushed red to full speed, I had to take the chance,” Keith explained, his tongue the wistful hand that turned the knob.

“Yeah well, we couldn’t see you,” Lance shouted suddenly, his voice dark and deep as he slammed his hands down on the table where they laid. Keith jumped a little where he sat, not expecting the outburst. They were usually pretty good at keeping their cool until they settled their object permanence. Lance took a breath, closing his eyes in silent agreement. They were not about to fight. “Are you feeling okay?” He asked, voice calmer, quivering slightly, eyes darting to all the bruises he was yet to rub Altean healing cream into.

Keith could feel the tension under his voice like it was lacing his throat, sticking to each word as it passed but not quite willing to bubble over again. It was a really stressful battle when it could have been easy. They hadn’t been prepared. Keith knew how scared Lance got when they weren’t prepared.

They were best as a team when they all knew exactly what they had to do, saving some room for someone, usually Keith, to break line for some improvisation. He could see it in the tight miosis of Lance’s pupils, small with bright piercing blue irises showing like he was shell-shocked. Lance was angry at him. Very angry. And he probably deserved it too. But right now, they both just wanted to be close.

“Yeah, the hand-to-hand left me a little dusty though,” Keith said casually, not wanting to alarm Lance any further, attempting a last-ditch effort to lull the unrest back to sleep.

“Let me see your wrist,” Lance said flatly.

“My wrist is fine.”

“Let me see it…” he repeated sternly. “I told you to keep the brace on for longer.”

Keith hesitated but reluctantly held his hand out to Lance. The brunet took it gently and Keith watched intently as he pressed down on different parts carefully. He was afraid of another flashover. He never used to let people help him, scared to show people that he needed it. But Lance was so kind and understanding. He made things feel less serious than they were. But that spark of trust could ignite a conversation to come alive. The delicate circuits they kept insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounded by the emotional charge of tension. They’d get heated like they always did. They’d fight. Keith didn’t want another chance to lose him.

Lance trailed the pads of his fingers up over Keith’s palms to prod the centre of his wrist joint. Keith flinched, feeling the pain shoot straight up his arm like a jolt of electricity. The sudden movement pulled a hiss from him as his entire forearm was encased in pain. It was silent for a moment

“You just don’t listen, do you?” Lance looked up at him from where his head hung, depleted. There it was, the flashover. He wasn’t yelling anymore but his tone was so cold Keith would have preferred it if he’d gotten heated. He’d rather be screamed at by Lance than have to stare into his eyes as the truth settled in that Keith had lied to him, to everybody.

“I tell you,” Lance pushed himself off the bench to pace on the floor in front of Keith. His hands were clenched tight like he was trying not to punch something. “I tell you every. Single. Time. Keith. Don’t push yourself or you’ll be out of commission and no help to anybody, but you just don’t listen. It’s like my words don’t even matter!” Keith winced, he sounded exasperated.

Keith drops his eyes to his lap. They do. You know they do,” he grumbled, face red hot with shame and trepidation.

“Yeah, right,” Lance muttered as he came to a stop in front of Keith again, catching his wrist before he can pull it away. He took some bandages and began to strap the injured limb. Keith felt the heat in his face subside a little. Even when furious, Lance still took care of him, still showed him he loved him.

“Listen… You have to take better care of yourself. If not for you, then for the team. For me. So I know that you aren’t going to get hurt, the kind of hurt we can’t just fix.” Lance went on as he wrapped another layer of bandage, pulling it securely tight. “Look, I know you’re reckless, that’s you and I have learned to love you for it. You like to have a stab,” he even laughed a little. “But being reckless is about not knowing if you can do something and trying it. That’s basically how we run in Voltron. But when you know you can’t do something then doing it anyway isn’t reckless, it’s stupid. You are human Keith, even if it’s only half. You have limits and it’s okay to not be able to do everything. You have to stop this silly one-man team bullshit. You could hurt yourself and get in some sort of trouble that I can’t pull you out of.”

Lance took a deep breath, finishing his work. “I can’t lose you, Keith.” And the fighting was done, the banter was done. The pretending was over as Keith pulled Lance into a desperate kiss, afraid to ever let him go again.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered against his boyfriend’s lips. They ended up on the floor against the table, sitting side by side to look at the stars and revel in the aftersome of the war. How they ended up loving each other so much.

Keith was astonished to think of the bizarre sequence of accidents that brought them to that moment—as if he’d spent years bouncing down a Plinko pegboard, passing through a million harmless decisions, any one of which might’ve changed everything. It made that moment feel so impossible.

“You know, it’s 5 pm home in Texas, all the cadets would be heading down to the mess hall, classes and training done for the day. Life was so easy when you didn’t have to think about it,” he said, almost in disbelief that he’d ever been one of those cadets in this lifetime.

“It’s 4 pm in Havana,” Lance replied.

“Hmm,” Keith hummed, “happy hour.” Lance snorted at that, shrugging as he opened another storage compartment in the table. He pulled out two beers, handing one ice-cold brew to Keith before uncapping his own.

“Always past noon somewhere.”

#klance #laith #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance fic #klance art #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld fic #vld art #klangst #hurt and comfort #klance fluff #klance au #klance drabble #teddywrites

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 years

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Day 4 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!! 🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: The Hoardless Dragon

Summary: Thorin has been waiting his whole life for something interesting to happen in Erebor, and when Tharkun arrives with a “dragon expert” to warn of Smaug’s survival he thinks he may have gotten his wish. However, Thror falling in and out of the gold madness its beneficial to Erebor’s defenses, and it may be that there is more than one dragon to fear.

Tharkun has always been a curious character. Thorin may only be twenty-three, but he knew enough to recognize at least this fact. First off, he carried himself as neither man nor elf. Thorin has always been amicable to the men of Dale, much to his grandfather’s chagrin. Even to a lesser extent, his own father seemed hesitant over his friendship with Girion’s son. Flawed they may be, Thorin would describe men as a race as being unchiseled rock. Rough, but hiding their true value deep within. He would never use this to describe Tharkun.

Likewise, the elves had an almost ethereal, and in Thranduil’s case, haughty air about them that also didn’t apply to the wizard. Tharkun carried the same wisdom and experience as the ageless race, but he was also warm and wizened like he came to expect of men. He could even argue that Tharkun was secretive and stubborn like his own people if his battle of wits with his grandfather was any indication. Yes, Tharkun was odd. However, he was also kind. He encouraged Thorin’s curiosity of what lay beyond the gates of Erebor with tales of stone giants and great eagles. Battles fought long ago, and hidden lands of green hills and little people.

Thror may look at the eccentric being and sneer, but Thrain and Thorin were in near agreement that Tharkun was a true Khuzdbâha (dwarf-friend). That’s not to say Thorin was blind to the fact that Tharkun was a meddlesome interloper who preferred to speak in riddles. Thorin was third in line for the throne after all, and he knew how to watch for a politician’s half-truths. Still, when the herald rushed into the throne room to announce the arrival of the grey wizard, Thorin found himself fidgeting beside his grandfather’s throne in excitement.

Thrain’s eyes were twinkling as he looked over his father’s head at him. Still his words were reprimantory.

“Thorin, behave.”

The young prince ducked his head trying his best to calm himself. He still wasn’t quite used to throne room behavior, and was constantly being reminded to behave. His mother was in fits that he had to attend open court at all thinking him still too young. He was proud of the fact that his father was already training him in his duties to the crown. However, he knew his father wouldn’t have sprung it on him at all if it wasn’t for his grandfather’s declining health.

It was something Thrain and Fris did well to hide from their children, but Thorin wasn’t blind. The days of Thror encouraging Thorin and Frerin in their mischief as they tried to sneak by his office or taking him into the forge to experience his first taste at smithing were far behind him. Now, he could barely catch his grandfather’s attention so absorbed was he in his gold. Even raised to appreciate the might and beauty of Erebor, Thorin had a hard time understanding why his grandfather spent so much time with his gold and gems. Even his smiles and laughter were now replaced with ice glares and harsh words. Thorin loved his grandfather, but he was not so sure that his grandfather loved him anymore. Whatever strange inflection has taken Thror, Thorin hoped Tharkun held the cure.

The doors to the throne room were thrown open once more as Tharkun was escorted down the path with four guards stationed inside. A new precaution his grandfather deemed important to take as of late. Tharkun made no motion that the blatant display of distrust bothered him as he swept his way to the bottom of the steps with a deep bow and wide grin.

“Hail Thror, son of Dain. Hail Thrain, son of Thror. Hail Thorin, son of Thrain. It pleases me greatly to see the sons of Durin in good health and prosperity.”

Thror was content to glare down at the wizard so Thrain took it upon himself to greet their guest.

“Hail Tharkun! If we had known you would be arriving, we would have already pulled out the good mead. As it is, if you intend to join us for dinner tonight, I would see it done.”

“You do know how to tempt me, dear friend. As much as I would like to revel in pleasantries, I believe business must come first.”

“Yes, what storm follows in your wake this time, Tharkun Amsâlakhzar (bringer of bad luck)?” Thror mused.

The room was immediately filled with tension as Tharkun’s eyes narrowed on Erebor’s king in tight scrutiny. He’s never actually seen it in action, but Cousin Fundin, used to tell Thorin stories of Tharkun’s raw power, and how you never anger a wizard. The dwarf prince was half-afraid he was about to get a firsthand account.

“Ha!”

The sudden noise seemed to startle everyone in the room as Thorin turned his head just noticing for the first time that Tharkun did not arrive alone. The strangest being Thorin had ever seen in his life stepped out from behind the wizard. He stood merely an inch or two taller than Thorin which was on the small side for a dwarf. His beardless face, large wooly feet, and slightly pointed ears hidden by bronze curls stood in stark contrast to what Thorin was used to with his own kind having never seen another species of their height. Even his fashion was bizarre with the short trousers, perfectly tailored vest, and a velvet jacket of all things. That’s when Thorin remembered Tharkun’s stories of the little people on the other side of the world. This creature must be a halfling!

“I suppose you had every reason to fear, Grey Wizard, I’ll give you that much.” The halfling snorted, deriving some sort of depravatated humor from the situation.

“And what is this?” Thror demanded.

“Not what, Your Majesty, who. You can be knee deep in a dragon spell, and still have some manners about you.” The smaller male mocked.

Thorin had a detached bewilderment as he watched the impending mine-collapse. His own father didn’t speak to Thror so brazenly, and by the tightened grip on the stone throne, this matter would not be taken lightly. Still he couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘dragon spell’?

“How silly of me!” Tharkun forced the diversion even as his hands tightened on his staff. “King Thror, Prince Thrain, Prince Thorin, allow me to introduce Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

At this the halfling gave a small nod of his head raising the ire of his grandfather. The smaller male would be lucky to leave with his life if he continued on this way. However, Master Baggins' attention then swept over to Thorin himself, and the halfling seemed caught off-guard for the first time tilting his head just slightly as he blinked slowly. The halfling’s hand immediately went to the golden band on his right hand, and he began to fiddle with it while narrowing his eyes on Thorin.

“Why is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire in my mountain?” Thror snarled, pulling Thorin’s attention back to his grandfather and the wizard.

“Bilbo has been my traveling companion as of late.” Tharkun smiled, seeming to think the conversation was back on his terms.

“Not voluntarily, mind you.” The halfling grumbled earning a small whack on his back from the wizard’s staff.

Thorin had to duck his head to hide his mirth at the scene, but when he looked back up the halfling was watching him again. This time with more fondness, as he gave the prince a wry grin and a quick wink.

“You see, I asked Mister Baggins to join me because I noticed stirrings to the north.” Tharkun remarked casually enough.

“Stirrings of what?” Thrain asked curiously.

“That my Prince, is the right question.” Tharkun smiled brightly before his face and tone fell grave in the blink of an eye. “The fire-drake, Smaug, is awakening from his slumber, and he seems to be sniffing out a new hoard to bed in even as we speak. If you do not take precautions, I fear his sights may fall to Erebor.”

The wizard’s warning was met with silence. Thorin wouldn’t lie. There was a small part of him that thought this was fantastic news. Nothing exciting ever happens in Erebor! The entire time he’s shadowed his father, it’s been nothing but boring council meetings, numbers and figures, even their trips down to Dale had become tedious. Now, though, there was something exciting to occupy his attention, and he couldn’t deny that part of him that wanted to charge headfirst and face down a dragon to earn his epithet. Thorin Dragonslayer, they would call him!

Outwardly, he portrayed the same concern he could see on his father’s face. Then his grandfather burst into fits of laughter.

“You have told some tall tales, Wizard, but this one steals the prize! A dragon! Next you’re going to tell me Durin’s Bane itself is knocking on my doors.”

“It is no jest, King Thror.” Tharkun insisted with a tight expression.

Thror sobered up some, but still seemed to discredit the grey figure’s words.

“I have been chased from my home by a dragon before. I know the signs. Erebor is prosperous, it will not fall. Especially to a fire-drake that has been extinct for ages!”

“You ignore the signs.” Mister Baggins stepped forth once more. “They are all here, King Under the Mountain, and the fire-breather Smaug lives as well as a few that your people refer to as cold-drakes. Why, it wouldn’t shock me to find Eisigem still sleeps in Dain’s Halls.”

“Enough, you impertinent imp!” Thror cried, jumping to his feet.

Thorin’s hand fell to his sword at his waist along with the other guards even though he was conflicted about attacking Tharkun and his companion. Still, the hobbit offered his grandfather great insult, and he was not about to deny that.

“Who are you to question the word of the king?” Thror demanded.

Mister Baggins’ lips were pressed in a tight line, and once glance at the dark look from Gandalf sealed his sour mood.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Mister Baggins replied in a clipped tone. “I am but a simple hobbit, and it is clear that I overreached my station.”

“A simple hobbit, in the service of this ustar (interferer).”

“Gandalf is an...old friend. He called on me for a favor, and I found myself in the position of being able to fulfill his request.” Mister Baggins offered in response.

Thror gradually seated himself once more, and Thorin relaxed the grip on his blade. Tharkun stepped in at that point, half shielding the smaller being behind his person.

“Bilbo, you see, is something of a dragon expert.” The wizard offered. “I thought his knowledge would benefit Erebor well with the terrible news I’ve brought.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo with renewed interest. A dragon expert? How many of the beasts had he slain to earn such a title? Thorin found himself hungry for the halfling’s story perhaps more so than he ever yearned for Tharkun’s own.

“Aye, a dragon expert.” Thror huffed wryly. “Why he looks more grocer than warrior. Axe or sword, Mister Baggins, what is your choice?”

He smirked darkly in response to the king’s blatant mocking as he continued to fiddle with the ring on his finger in agitation. “Neither. I’m more fond of using my bare hands and teeth.”

Thror huffed, not impressed with the hobbit’s jest even as Tharkun shifted uncomfortably.

“Your Majesty, I have not brought Bilbo to advise you on how to slay dragons, but on how to prevent their arrival because Smaug is coming. Perhaps not any time soon, but the treasure beneath your feet will be far too alluring, I fear.”

A tense silence fell over the room, and Thorin wanted to shut his eyes against the storm he knew to come. If there was one thing he had learned very well, it was that you did not mention gold in Thror’s presence.

“I see.” Came the unexpectedly calm reply. “You have not brought a dragon expert, but a burglar in my mountain. And use your insane theories of dragons as a front to rob me blind!”

“Your Majesty…” Tharkun began before Thror cut him off, banging his fist on his throne.

“SILENCE!” Thror roared. “I ought to kill you now for such insolence.”

“DO NOT THREATEN ME, THROR SON OF DAIN!”

Like everyone in the room, Thorin shrunk away from the shadows that manifested outwards from Tharkun. Thrain broke protocol to place himself protectively in front of Thorin, and the guards stepped in front of the royal family. None approached Tharkun as they were quickly reminded the wanderer was in fact a wizard of great power.

“I’m not here to rob you!” Tharkun continued before the shadows suddenly died down, and his expression turned soft. “I’m trying to help you.”

There was no movement that followed as all eyes watched the king to see what he would do next. Thorin’s grandfather looked taut as a rope in a pulley. His eyes narrowed as if weighing his chances against the wizard in battle. Thrain’s hand squeezed Thorin’s arm in a reassuring manner, but his eyes remained on Tharkun just as his war hammer remained in his other hand. Thror finally got up and walked to the edge of the dais using its height to tower over Tharkun.

“Get out of my kingdom. You and your abrâfu shaikmashâz (descendent of rats).”

Tharkun’s chin jutted out proudly at the king’s order. Thorin’s eyes sought out the halfling to see how he would react to the slur. Only, the smaller being was no longer behind Tharkun’s cloak. He seemed to be the only one to realize this as his eyes darted over the chamber before finally landing on the halfling’s form. Thorin made a strangled sound in surprise as he jumped away from the throne. All eyes, including Master Baggins’, fell on Thorin as he merely stared in open mouth shock at the being standing on the king’s throne holding the Arkenstone close to his mouth. Almost as if he were speaking to it though Thorin couldn’t make out the words.

“T-THIEF! H-HOW DARE...AKLÂF MENU (curse you)!” Thror sputtered before coming to life and heaving his sword high above his head to smite the halfling.

Thorin could only watch in horror as Bilbo Baggins, dragon expert and friend of Tharkun, remained resolute in his execution, still whispering to the gem. Just when he was about to be struck down, the halfling’s eyes bore into Thror’s own, stopping Thorin’s grandfather in his tracks. It was as if time had been frozen around them. Thorin felt the itch to take a step forward, but Thrain still had his arm securely wrapped around the other. The guards also seemed uneasy about this strange spell being wove around their king and whether they could interfere. Tharkun only watched on with a narrowed, but unsurprised gaze.

Only a few seconds had passed, though they felt like a lifetime, when the Arkenstone’s light dimmed, and iron clattered against the ground. Thorin looked around wildly, but every adult had dropped their weapons and were staring at each other and the halfling with an awed fascination. Thorin looked up at his father as even he loosened his grip breathing deeply as if it were his first out of a long sleep.

“What did you do?” Thrain murmured softly.

The halfling merely hopped off the stone throne, straightening out his vest and jacket before approaching Thror. The king had sunk to his knees, but his blue eyes, the same eyes Thorin had inherited, looked brighter and troubled all at once.

“This is not a jewel, Your Majesty.” Master Baggins began still looking only at the king as he held out the Arkenstone. “This is a petrified dragon heart.”

Gasps rang throughout the room.

“While not as potent as a real dragon heart, it’s been weaving its spell over you all the same. The effects will lessen, though not disappear completely until it’s destroyed. At the very least, I wouldn’t advise putting it back above your head.” The halfling continued to explain as he shoved the stone into Thror’s hands.

“Don’t dragon spells come from locking gazes with the beast?” Thorin asked curiously.

Master Baggins flinched before turning to Thorin with a hard look. His voice, however, was soft and encouraging.

“No, Your Highness. That’s unfortunately a myth. It’s the heartbeat that lulls you.”

“Yes, but...what did you do?” Thrain repeated again.

“I spoke to it in its language and convinced the heart to sleep. Like I said, not a permanent solution, but I do hope it stops the irrational yelling and weapon drawing.”

Thror and Thrain just stared at him dumbfounded.

“You spoke to it…” Thror repeated.

“I did say our friend here was a dragon expert.” Tharkun used this moment to speak up, surprising many who had seemed to forget he was still there.

Thorin watched the hard glare that passed between the two before Master Baggins walked right past the wizard.

“Right, well, if you need me to silence any other madness-inducing gems, I’ll be down in the market. I’m famished.”

The halfling spun on heel, gave a deep bow to the royals, before disappearing out of the hall before anyone could so much as say a word in protest.

“Now, about Smaug…” Tharkun began.

Thror winced as he slowly pulled himself to his feet.

“Peace Tharkun, it’s been a rather...eventful morning. If you are willing to wait until tomorrow...Erebor would be proud to host you and Master Baggins.”

Thorin stared at his grandfather in shock before a small smile began to split his face. Could it be? Did Tharkun and Master Baggins truly fix Thror? Tharkun’s approving smile managed to give Thorin hope that they had achieved the impossible.

“As His Majesty wishes.” Tharkun bowed.

Thror looked to be trying hard not to roll his eyes as he stepped out through the side entrance. Thrain immediately followed, dragging Thorin along behind him even as the younger prince turned to wave goodbye to Tharkun. Once they were in the relative privacy of the royal halls, Thror wrapped Thrain up in a hug.

“Makkê, birashagammi (My son, I’m sorry).”

Thrain didn’t say anything in return. Just clutched his father a little tighter and if either of the dwarrows were crying, Thorin pretended not to see. Instead he was practically vibrating in his desire to be dismissed so he could tell Frerin, Narvi, and Falvi. Obviously something as amazing as meeting a dragon expert was too big to keep from his best friends in the whole mountain.

“I have no patience to keep up appearances for the rest of the day. I would like to retire and actually enjoy my family once more.” Thror’s voice brought Thorin back to the present conversation just in time for a large grin to split his face.

He may just get his wish after all.

#birthdayplotbunnies #bagginshield #thilbo #starterdrabbles #when the only dragon of Erebor loves dwarflings not gold

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lady-wallace · 3 years

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Scars (Febuwhump Day 23: “Don’t Look”)

For today’s @febuwhump prompt: “Don’t Look”

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Synopsis: (For Febuwhump Day 23) Giorno has done his best to hide his past, but it was only a matter of time before Bucciarati found out anyway.

Find me on Ko-fi! I do doodles for coffee ^_^

A/N: This is technically a sequel to my story “Our Burdens to Bear” but can be read by itself :)

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Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

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Giorno sighed with a wince as he pulled himself out of the car, heavy with exhaustion. This had not been an easy mission. How was he supposed to know that a Stand that took the form of vines and thorns would only get stronger when hit with Gold Experience's power instead of the usual repercussions?

Mista, Fugo, and Bucciarati followed him, also a little roughed up, but not as badly as Giorno who the user seemed to have a particular vendetta against.

"I can patch your injuries up if you want, Giorno," Fugo told him.

Giorno vaguely remembered that Fugo's method of patching up involved staples and duct tape and fought a shudder. It was a good thing his Stand could heal, as exhausted as he was. Besides, he would have to take his shirt off completely to treat some of the wounds and he wasn't exactly okay with that…

"It's okay, I'll have Gold Experience do it," Giorno told Fugo, making his way slowly into the house, wanting to shut himself away in his room as quickly as possible.

"Giorno?" Bucciarati called after him, but Giorno simply tossed an "I'm fine" over his shoulder and hurried the rest of the way up the stairs, as quickly as his battered body could go.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he closed his door behind him. Ever since Abbacchio had accidently seen his scars he had tried to be more careful. He just really didn't want to have to recount the story of where they had come from to his new family. Not yet.

He crossed the room to shakily slump onto the end of his bed, letting out a groan as he assessed his injuries. A lot of lacerations, pretty badly bruised ribs that he couldn't do anything about. And there was still a very sharp pain in his lower back for some reason.

No point in putting it off any longer though. He stood and unzipped his coat, pulling it from his shoulders with a wince. He had a pretty bad gash on his upper arm and another across his collarbone. He stepped over to the mirror by the closet and let the coat fall to the floor. Probably had too many holes to be worth saving, but it wasn't like the Don of Passione couldn't get a new suit when he needed one. He winced at his bruised side that was quickly turning black and blue and braced himself as he turned his back to the mirror and tried to see why it was hurting so much.

Giorno forced his eyes away from the scars, lurking under the fresh cuts and blood smeared across his pale skin and focused in on the spot that was giving him so much pain.

Ah, that was why.

There was a huge, probably five-inch thorn from that Stand buried under his skin. He thought he had pulled all those out already, but he guessed he had missed this one.

He summoned Gold Experience, his injured shoulder and side making it impossible for him to reach behind himself to pull it out. Even his Stand's fingers fumbled though, affected by Giorno's sheer exhaustion. It seemed that vine Stand had actually sucked up his energy instead of being repelled by it. His own Stand was usually so precise, but with his own exhaustion Gold slipped trying to get the thorn out and Giorno let out a sharp yelp, feeling fresh blood trickle down his back. He grabbed hold of the closet door to steady himself and took a deep breath. It must be pressing on some nerve to hurt so badly. "Okay, try it again," he finally commanded, a little breathless.

A knock on the door caused him to jolt. "Giorno? Are you all right? I have some bandages."

Bucciarati. Giorno didn't get the chance to tell him he was fine, he snatched his discarded coat up and slung it over his shoulders just as the door opened, revealing the capo, who had a concerned look on his face.

"Giorno?" he asked as the young man pressed himself against his closet door.

"D-don't look," he nearly begged, panic making him desperate.

Bucciarati stopped, frowning, holding a tray of medical supplies in front of him. "Giorno, what's wrong? What happened?"

Giorno felt his heart start to beat rapidly, Gold Experience hovered at his back, phantom hands on his shoulders, shielding him, and Bucciarati placed the tray onto Giorno's desk before taking a step toward the boy.

"Nothing happened, it's fine, I can heal myself." Giorno said firmly.

Bucciarati stopped, his frown increasing. He held out his hand.

"Here, at least let me take that coat of yours to get it cleaned up."

"No!" Giorno said, only holding the garment closer to him.

Exasperation flashed across Bucciarati's face, his hands went to his hips. "Giorno, you're being ridiculous. Tell me what's wrong so I can help you!"

His face turned to shock as Giorno cowered instinctively and slowly slumped to the ground, his knees turning to jelly. Bruno's face instantly softened to one of parental concern and he carefully crouched next to him.

"Giorno…" He reached out and Giorno flinched away, closing his eyes and clutching his jacket around his shoulders as he told himself he was okay, he wasn't back there. It wasn't him.

"Giorno." Bucciarati said again. "If you're hurt, let me help you. You're exhausted, and I would rather not see you suffer. I know what that Stand fight took out of you."

Giorno took a shuddering breath and finally looked up, even though he was still unable to meet Bucciarati's eyes. "I just…It's…complicated."

Bucciarati's face softened impossibly further, a look of understanding in his eyes. "Giorno, I have never judged anyone without knowing the full story, and whatever secrets you have are safe with me. I promise."

Giorno blinked up at him, remembering that even Abbacchio hadn't mocked him for his scars. How the older gangster had even recommended that Giorno go to Bucciarati if he needed to talk. Still…he had wanted it to be his choice, not like this.

Though, if left up to him, would he ever have gone to Bucciarati? Maybe it was easier this way after all.

He took a deep, shaky breath and finally allowed Gold Experience to dissipate. "Th-there's a thorn stuck in my back…" he said.

Bucciarati seemed to be relieved by this admission, having a purpose. He nodded, standing up and offering a hand to Giorno. "Why don't you come sit down then so I can get that out?"

Giorno gave a shaky nod and allowed Bruno to pull him to his feet, helping him over to sit on the edge of the bed. He went to get the tray of first aid stuff, obviously giving Giorno a moment to uncover his back. He didn't. He couldn't seem to stop clutching the ruined coat around himself.

"Giorno? May I see?" Bruno finally asked.

Giorno was silent for a long moment before he nodded. But he still didn't move. Bucciarati waited a second before he reached out cautiously and when Giorno didn't stop him, carefully wrested the coat from Giorno's grip, slipping it away to reveal his back.

Giorno ducked his head so he couldn't see the older man's expression, shuddering uncontrollably as Bruno gently gripped his uninjured shoulder and bent him forward to better see his lower back.

He tsked. "My, that does look nasty. Good thing I brought some tweezers."

Giorno flinched as cold metal hit his tender skin but Bucciarati steadied him and with just a little painful digging, pulled the long thorn out as swiftly as possible before he set to cleaning the wound and taping some gauze over it. He then continued up Giorno's back, and Bucciarati's gentle fingers brushing against his scars were suddenly too much. Giorno jerked away, burying his face in his hands.

"Stop!" he choked out.

"Giorno…"

"I know you see them!" he burst out. "I know they're disgusting. But I'm not weak like that anymore. I—I'm not!"

Bucciarati's hand stilled. "Is that what you think? That having scars makes you weak?"

Giorno jerked his head away, biting his lip until he could taste blood. "I couldn't stop it," he whispered, choking. "That makes me weak."

Bruno swiftly finished up with the bandages and came around to face Giorno, crouching to cup his face in his hands. "It doesn't. We all have scars in one way or another. It doesn't make you weak, it shows that you're capable of surviving."

Giorno blinked and a tear slipped down his face. Bucciarati gently wiped it away with a thumb.

"Mio caro ragazzo," the older man said gently as he reached for Giorno's robe that was lying on the bed where he'd left it that morning. He tucked it around him, covering him up again. "There's no need to feel ashamed."

"He was a bastard," Giorno gritted out. "My mother wasn't any better."

"I'm sorry," Bucciarati said sincerely. "If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here."

"I know," Giorno said with a sniff. "That's what Abbacchio told me."

Bruno looked slightly surprised at that revelation but smiled. "Well, I'm here whenever you're ready. For now, how about some tea…?"

He stopped when Giorno reached out and grabbed his sleeve before he could leave. He didn't know why but he didn't want to be left alone again right now. Didn't like the way his thoughts crashed into each other, weighing him down. Another tear slipped unbidden down his cheek. He must be exhausted.

"Giorno?" Bruno inquired gently.

"Thank you," Giorno whispered. "For—for everything."

He was already tilting but when Bruno stepped forward, he gratefully leaned into his warmth. Bucciarati's arms wrapped around him gently and held him close, rocking him slightly as Giorno's arms wrapped around his waist enjoying the kind of love he had never gotten from his parents as a child. Bruno's hand swiped over his mussed hair, his other lightly stroking his back in a soothing gesture. Giorno decided he was okay being weak right now. Whether he was the Don of Passione or not.

But, eventually Giorno loosened his grip, realizing how long they had been in this position and Bruno pulled away with a fatherly kiss pressed to Giorno's forehead.

"Let's finish getting you cleaned up, hm?" he suggested matter-of-factly. "Then, it's up to you whether you want to come down and join us for supper or if you would rather get some rest."

Giorno sat up a little straighter. He was tired, but even more, he just really wanted to be with his family right now. A reminder that he was no longer living in his past. That it was now nothing more than the product of nightmares and bad memories.

"I'm kind of hungry," he said.

Bucciarati smiled brightly and nodded. "Very well then."

He quickly finished up with the bandages and helped Giorno into a comfortable sweatshirt before allowing him to head downstairs. Giorno was instantly greeted with Mista and Trish arguing about something and Narancia whining to Abbacchio as he and Fugo worked on supper, but the chaos was welcome, and he couldn't help but smile. This was his life now and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

#jojos bizarre adventure #golden wind #vento aureo #jjba #fanfiction #febuwhump #febuwhumpday23 #don't look #scars #giorno giovanna #bruno bucciarati #mama bruno #hurt/comfort #angst #self image issues #tw: past abuse #crying #hugging

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renaerys · 4 years

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PPG One-Shot: Six Degrees Chiller (Brick/Blossom)

A new cute one-shot in honor of @carriedreamerx birthday! In the same high school AU as part 1, part 2, and part 3, but can totally stand-alone. Also posted on my AO3. Tune in for some laughs and some Reds cuteness!

Summary: Brick goes deodorant shopping. It doesn't end well. (Or does it??)

xxx

Brick squinted at the nine-foot shelf packed with a full color wheel of deodorants and antiperspirants. The sheer surfeit of brands and scents was as daunting to behold as it was absolutely batshit insane—how many ways did people need to not smell like a dirty gym sock?

He picked a random stick and scowled at the label as if it had offended him and all his future progeny. Who the fuck would want to smell like mango lassi?

The squeak of a shopping cart rolling down the aisle sent Brick into a febrile panic for a hot second, and he shoved the saccharine deodorant stick back onto the shelf. A geriatric woman with a hunched back, a bright head scarf, and eyes so folded over with wrinkles it was a miracle she could see anything at all wheeled her cart slowly past Brick, who froze where he stood. She smiled politely at him, and he nodded out of sheer self-preservation instinct. The moment she passed him, he yanked the bill of his red cap lower over his eyes.

“Get a grip,” he grumbled. He was an eighteen-year-old guy buying deodorant, not stool softener. He was totally casual and had absolutely no reason to be so fucking paranoid. Nobody who might recognize him was coming to Cooper’s Market at 8 a.m. on a Sunday.

Brick wiped his clammy palms on his jeans and searched the shelves for what he’d come for so he could hurry up and leave. There it was, fifth shelf in a sea of sleek black and edgy, neon letters: Axe Ice Chill.

“Okay, do you consider yourself more of a music lover, sports star, gaming guru, or style icon?” Boomer had asked as he sat cross-legged on the sofa with his laptop open to the Axe “Find Your Magic” test a few months ago.

“Sports star,” Butch had said on his left, and poked the screen that wasn’t a touch-screen.

“That’s you, moron,” Brick had said, totally above this stupid test. “Pick style icon.”

Boomer grinned. “Oh yeah, your hoodies are so stylin’.” He clicked the next question. “Signature scent? Huh, maybe warm and aromatic?”

“Sounds like one of those Yankee holiday candles,” Butch had said.

Unfortunately, he had a point.

“Well, you're not exactly woody and earthy, and you’re definitely not fruity and sweet—”

“Just go to the next one.” Brick clicked on “fresh and cool” and waited for the screen to load. “Smellin’ good!” the loading page flashed at him. Jesus fucking Christ.

When the quiz presented a true or false statement, Butch moved like he had a bug up his ass and slammed the touchpad before Brick or Boomer could do anything about it.

Boomer tried not to laugh. “Dude, come on.”

“Please, he’s a punk-ass dweeb who’d never make the first move in a fight, let alone on a girl—” Butch had taunted.

Brick punched him in the throat with his Super speed and smiled at the sound of his asshat brother gagging. “Choke and die, motherfucker.”

Butch wheezed as he laughed through the pain, and Brick and Boomer breezed through the more generic age and appearance questions: under 18, long hair (“Mane Man!” the quiz gushed, and Brick almost melted Boomer’s laptop right there), and natural look. After an artificially anticipatory loading screen, a picture of a dude with a clown nose crowd surfing in a sepia Instagram filter appeared on the screen with the generic “Be your best self!” encouragement in blocky letters superimposed upon it, and finally the expert, personalized recommendation for Brick’s body spray needs.

“Because you’re hotter when you’re chill.” Brick had cringed when he read that idiotic tagline the first time, and he cringed reading it again now in the deserted personal hygiene aisle where he prayed no one would find him buying this cry-for-help vanity spritz.

However.

He sprayed a bit of mist in the air and reveled in that cool, icy scent that wasn’t a scent so much as a feeling. Six degrees chiller in a bottle. The first time he’d tried it (under great duress), he’d griped and bitched and slammed his bedroom door to get away from his howling brothers. Settled on his bed with a frown, he had to admit it did cool him off. It was almost pleasant. The smell wasn’t overwhelming like that tiger piss Butch bathed in on the daily. But it wasn’t out of this world compared to the generic shit he’d been using before.

It wasn’t until Blossom sneezed on their way out of AP Lit that her ice breath—and understanding—hit him with the force of a cold snap to the balls.

“Sorry, did I get you?” she’d said, abashed as she covered her mouth with one hand and fished out a bottle of Purell from her messenger bag with the other. Her ice splatter fast melted on his shoulder as his too-warm body absorbed the cold with a bizarre, but extremely pleasant, shiver down his spine.

Son of a bitch, but he had a kink.

Which, of course, spiraled way the hell out of control when he found himself here months later with a recycled shopping bag he’d brought so he could carry the three bottles of Axe Ice Chill he planned to purchase home, because Brick planned ahead and liked to keep his bathroom well-stocked.

Which also, of course, was why at that very moment, fate decided to punch him in the dick.

“Bubbles, you have, like, fourteen bottles of shampoo at home! You don’t need another one,” Buttercup groused at 8 in the goddamned morning on a Sunday.

“Those are all different products, not just shampoo. Honestly, Buttercup.” Bubbles zipped into the aisle with Buttercup on her tail just at the moment Brick had his second panic attack in the span of five minutes and completely lost his shit.

He launched the bottle of Axe Ice Chill so hard into the ceiling that it lodged in there tighter than a prairie-dogging turd.

“Brick?” Blossom’s hand on his shoulder nearly sent him yeeting after his abused body spray, if the sheer mortification didn’t rob him of further motor function and exactly one hundred percent of his brain cells.

Like her sisters, she wore a jacket over her pajama pants. They must have just popped over for some last-minute breakfast staples and a side of peer humiliation. But even in those criminally hideous Ugg boots and five boxes of pancake mix in her shopping basket at 8 on a fucking Sunday morning, her smile glowed.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he returned lamely, because that was all she was getting from him until his neurological functions rebooted.

“Hi, Brick,” Buttercup said, suspicious like usual and searching for some excuse to bust his balls for a laugh. “What’re you doing here?”

The Super sisters had cornered him in front of the Teen Spirit, which came in an absolutely frightful eighteen scents because there was nothing pubescent teenagers needed more than eighteen reassurances that their social survival depended on smelling like a potpourri candy bar.

“Shopping, obviously,” Bubbles said. “Ooh, Brick, you have straight hair. What do you think?” She held up two bottles of brightly colored free-range, organic hair shit.

“I think I was just leaving,” he managed.

“Empty-handed?” Buttercup peered at him like he might transform into a literal dick with ears if she only managed not to blink for long enough. He could smell the threat of a joke on her.

“They didn’t have the brand I wanted.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Bubbles said, genuinely stricken.

“Girls, let’s get going. I really want those pancakes,” Blossom said.

“We better grab more syrup. Buttercup finished it all,” Bubbles said, already moving away. She dropped both hair products in Blossom’s basket, not bothering to choose between them.

“Oh please, everybody knows you and the Professor are the syrup fiends in this house.” Buttercup floated after her and waved to Brick. “Hey, tell that shithead to answer my texts. He owes me $20.”

“Uh-huh,” Brick said, fully intending not to mention anything about this conversation to Butch at all.

“Sorry about your favorite brand being sold out,” Blossom said.

It’s fine, he would have said had she not caught his cheek in her hand and pressed a frosty kiss to the corner of his lips before he could do anything about it. Frozen fernlings crept over his cheek and chin, down his neck, and slowly absorbed through his now flushed skin, and he shivered. Without even thinking about it, he reached for her, but she was already walking away to catch up with her sisters.

When she got to the end of the aisle, she shot him a cheeky grin over her shoulder and had the nerve to wink at him. “Stay cool, Brick.”

Red in the face and high on her, Brick just stood there like an idiot gawking at his kind of unofficial girlfriend and the singular dominating object of his fantasies, be they sexual or otherwise. What was dignity when she smiled at him like that? What was a paltry imitation in a bottle when she kissed him like that?

The paltry imitation fell from its hole in the ceiling and exploded on the tiled floor at Brick’s feet with a winter ferocity that, in that moment at least, rivaled Blossom’s in the heat of battle.

When Brick got home later that morning and Boomer asked him why he smelled like a snowman’s asshole, Brick burned the clothes on his back and spent the next half hour in the shower thinking about how he was going to convince Blossom to make the first move and finally make them official.

xxx

Y’all better appreciate the research that went into this fic. That Axe quiz is real and I took it pretending to be Brick, and it literally does spit out a photo of a dude wearing a clown nose in a club. If that’s not a sign from the Daddy that I’ve chosen the righteous path, then idk what is. Sacrifices to my Chrome search history were made for this fic in the name of celebrating Carrie, ergo, worth it.

#Blossick #PPG Reds #Blossom #Brick #Powerpuff Girls #PPG Fanfic #Powerpuff Girls Fanfiction #february fic prompts #ppg shook

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theshipsfirstmate · 4 years

Text

Agents of SHIELD Fic: All My Best Kept Secrets Are the Ones I Didn’t Know I Had

post-SHIELD 7x06 and also post-Agent Carter season 2. peggysous -> daisysous.

doing my best to tie up the loose ends that get Daniel from Peggy to Daisy, because I, like many others, could not have imagined shipping him with anyone else and then the last few eps of SHIELD have taken a sledgehammer to my feelings. so, just like this ship, idk where this came from, but here it is.

Title from “Something in Common” by Dawes.

All My Best Kept Secrets Are the Ones I Didn’t Know I Had (AO3 - wc: 3218)

After Peggy went back to New York, Daniel told himself to take it easy.

And he tried, he really did. He even said it in his head, sometimes, the way Jack had: “Take it easy, Danny boy.” The wise-cracking agent had never stopped teasing him, even after they had become something resembling friends. But he was gone now too, left behind in a past that didn’t feel as distant as it should.

They’d had all of one day together, he and Peg, before everything went to hell. She had kissed him -- in his office, of all places -- and he had reveled in it for a few blissful moments before sending her away with a matching grin on her face, so he could pick her up later that evening for a proper date.

He’d planned on Musso and Frank -- had been carrying around the image in his mind for longer than he’d admit to anyone -- but after he picked her up and saw that mischievous flash in her eyes, he’d called an audible, turning the car south on Western, guessing she’d be up for something a little more adventurous. He was right, she was taken with El Coyote from the moment they walked in, wide-eyed and grinning at everything from the margarita glasses to the friendly waitress who’d winked and called him “Blanquito.”

Looking back at it now, he’s almost glad he doesn’t remember too many more of the details. He doesn’t remember what they ordered or exactly how long they’d sat and talked in that booth. He just remembers the warmth of her eyes, her hand in his across the table, the way she seemed more relaxed than he’d ever known her to be. Those were the things to hold onto.

He’d dropped her off with a gentlemanly kiss at her front door -- and a less-than-gentlemanly follow-up when she’d tried to convince him to come in for coffee. His only regret now was not taking her up on the offer. Not so much for the obvious reason, just to give them a few more easy hours before it all came crashing down.

Because when Daniel returned to his own front door that night, there was a patrolman — one of the new guys, whose name he had to read off his badge in the dim porch light — sitting on the stoop, waiting for him.

“Thompson’s gone,” the kid said. “Never made it on the plane. Signs of a struggle in his room. And a lot of blood.”

The next week was non-stop, chaos and panic and a wild goose chase that had led them everywhere but to Jack. A sinister cloud hung over the entire office, and the spectral whispers of the one name no one wanted to speak aloud echoed in the desperate silences. He and Peggy barely had a chance to look at each other, let alone talk about anything but the latest scraps of evidence, and when it was all over, well, there was no relief there, either.

He’s never gotten used to funerals, and having a hand to hold this time didn’t make it that much easier, not with the weight of failure pressing down on them both.

Thompson had fought hard, that much was clear when they’d finally found him. But it wasn’t enough. That was Daniel’s biggest fear every time he thought about the facts they had been able to gather, every time the unspeakable name echoed in the confines of his restless brain. Cut off one head, and two more take its place -- would they ever be enough to fight it? Would it ever be easier?

__________________

“You know it truly is nothing to do with you, don’t you?” Peggy had asked him, eyes turned down to the table between them, to the cups of coffee untouched and growing cold. This time, Daniel didn’t reach out for her hand. He listened to the buzz of the planes taking off at the Lockheed Air Terminal down the road, and wished it were enough to drown out the whole day entirely.

“Peg, you don’t have to do that,” he’d muttered, feeling childish. “Spare me the pity, I-”

“Daniel,” she’d interrupted, in that tone that left no room for questions. “I’ve never pitied you, and I certainly don’t intend to start now.”

He stared back, silent. That was the problem, you see, with the goodness of a heart like hers. There was no artifice, no way to crack back in a moment like this one. As miserable as it was, he was going to have to sit here and take it.

“Please,” she’d continued, softer, still barely looking at him. “I want to say it. I need you to know.”

He’d huffed out a breath through his nose and aimlessly fiddled with the tiny pitcher of milk. “OK.”

“I want to say…” she had started, stopped and gathered herself, then started again. “I want to tell you that you deserve so much more than what I can give you.”

He’d hated hearing the cliche, even as he weighed its truth. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he deserved, but hadn’t he known it would be this way from the start? Hadn’t a part of him always worried that there wouldn’t be room in her heart for the kind of life he wanted to share?

“It’s not for the reason you think,” she’d insisted, before he could come up with something to say in response. “I promised myself….When Steve died, I promised myself I would keep up the fight.”

She hardly ever said his name aloud. It didn’t ruffle Daniel as much as he expected, but it did make him speak up.

“I’m in it with you, Peg. I hope at least you know that.”

She’d nodded, and then she’d finally looked up -- and he immediately wished to God she hadn’t. Because there, behind the sheen of barely-restrained tears, was their ending.

“All we can do is our best,” she told him, not for the first time. “And I think we both know this fight is going to take the best we have.”

He nodded and swallowed against the lump in his throat he was starting to worry might be permanent.

“But this... It’s too much for me, Daniel. I can’t lose you too.”

A bitter part of his brain pointed out that it was ironic, to say that as she walked away. But he tamped that down, and told her the only truth he could find that felt like it wouldn’t make things worse.

“I’ll miss you, Peg.”

She had reached out then, squeezed his hand fast and tight, telling him the same before swiping beneath her eyes. And then, she was gone.

Easy.

__________________

Daniel had tried, he really had. In his brief moments of free time as they watched the Hydra trail dry up hopelessly once again, he went on a handful of absolutely mediocre dates with the sunny blonde who worked the front desk at the local library and the brunette waitress who left her number on his receipt at the diner. He even let the guys at the office set him up once with a busty redhead who was so forward he spent the next week trying to suss out whether or not they’d paid her.

But there wasn’t anything there. There wasn’t anything anywhere, it seemed. With every interested woman he met -- and there were a few, he didn’t mind saying -- it was the same as it had been with Violet. Perfectly fine, perfectly nice, perfectly room temperature. In another lifetime, maybe he could have convinced himself that’s what it was supposed to feel like. But not now.

And then one day, he walked into his office on a top-secret S.H.I.E.L.D. base, and met a girl from the future.

There was something about her, right from the beginning. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, and he saw something familiar in the mischievous glint in her eye — he’d been able to clock her CIA lie on its face, though it was just one part of a larger, much more confusing puzzle.

At first, he thought his reaction to her was just part of the chaos -- excess adrenaline at the prospect of seeing Peggy unexpectedly and the frantic and unexplainable events that followed. But then it didn’t go away.

She kept surprising him, that was familiar too. Comforting, almost, in a bizarre, backwards kind of way. She saved his life on the train — he’s always had extra respect for a woman who could throw a good punch. And he hadn’t missed the shadow that crossed her face when he mentioned all the things that Hydra had taken from him. There was even more to uncover, he was sure of it. Even finally learning her first name, Daisy, had him furrowing his brow at the dichotomy.

But there was hardly time to dwell on it. He’d expected to drive out of that futuristic aircraft and never see her, or any of her compatriots, ever again. He’d deliver his package to Stark, go home to an empty house, and wake up tomorrow to throw himself back into the work.

The next thing he knew, he was staring at the familiar eagle on the wall, and Agent Coulson was telling him he was dead. Like it was that easy.

__________________

He tried to throw himself into the fight immediately — he’s always been aware of the liability of dead weight and there wasn’t any time to stumble around and gather his bearings if he was going to be useful in the team’s mission to stop the Chronicoms.

Still, he would catch Daisy watching him, warily, like a timer on a bomb. She teased him in the clothing store, elbowing him playfully when he stopped dead at the “modern” 1970s fashions, but when he met her eyes, there was something more insistent looking back at him. It was like she was asking him a question neither of them could put into words, sizing up whether or not he was going to run, or stay, or fit, or break, or...something.

He tried his best to not to give her more to worry about. So he wouldn’t be the one to extract Hydra from S.H.I.E.L.D. in the ‘50s -- as it turned out, there were plenty of other ways to save the world. That was the core of the mission he’d signed up for from the start, and he felt more at ease the more he realized this was a team devoted to the same cause.

But he wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, that made him step up behind her in that underground bar and call her “sweetheart” -- maybe the same misguided sense of chivalry that got him a dressing down after he made Krzeminski apologize to Peggy in the briefing room back in New York. Mercifully, Daisy had gone along with his ruse, surprising him again with a palm pressed to his chest and a conspiratorial grin in his direction.

And he hoped it was duty again, not the memory of that smile, that made him insist on accompanying her to hack into the base. After a confrontation with the scruffy kid with the dark circles under his eyes, he was more aware than ever that this team was just barely more adjusted to their circumstances than he was. But that still didn’t quite explain his growing desire to stay at Daisy’s side.

What he was really looking for, if he’s honest, was a bit of solid ground. What he was wondering was if the feeling in his chest would turn out to be fleeting, if the quaking he’d felt when she touched him was because of her powers — or if it was something else entirely.

Because it seemed like something he never felt with Violet or the librarian or any of the rest. It seemed like it might be something he’s only felt once before. And it’s just his luck that it comes wrapped up in even more danger.

He tagged along just the same, watching her back and trying to learn on his feet about all the things she could do in addition to making the earth shake. She could break into a computer network he can’t even begin to comprehend, she could snap a crystal clear picture of him on that thin screen she said was a telephone, she could quirk an eyebrow at him and make him forget, just for a moment, that his life had descended once again into supernatural chaos.

“You look OK for a guy who just aged 20 years.” She teased him a second time as he marveled at the photo, and his stomach flipped all the way over to melancholy. But he wasn’t totally honest about why.

His heart ached at the thought of Peggy getting the news of his “death,” but the biggest goodbye of all, Daniel had realized, was to the man he used to be. However lonely and lukewarm he thought his life had been, he hadn’t been prepared to lose it so suddenly. There was possibility there, and promise to mourn, and the uncertainty about what lay ahead now had given him a rose-colored rearview mirror to look back at all he had left behind.

But when he told Daisy that this might be his last stop, she had simply turned back to her computer, assuring him their current dilemma was just a minor setback -- “Without us, it’s way worse,” she said.

She said it like she’d already accepted him as part of the team, like another thing she knew that he didn’t was that he hadn’t lost himself to the ether of time travel. She said it like he belonged.

It made the decision seem easy enough.

__________________

When the Malick kid’s goons bring her back, when he sees her limp and bloodied, slumped on the floor beside him, he has another flash to his past -- Peggy lying prone, impaled on a mean-looking length of rebar. He had learned that night how strong she really was. Not just because she had survived, but because she had let him see her at her weakest and most terrified, had let him haul her into his arms and onto his couch and into focus for his fiancee, who he knew would be able to see right through it all.

He had blown up his entire life just for the weak, grateful smile they shared when they realized she was going to be OK. And it had been worth it.

Daisy doesn’t seem the type to let someone stroke her hair either, but Daniel tries to stop himself from drawing any more parallels right then and there. He keeps checking her pulse point like an excuse, and hopes it’s a fair trade-off that he agrees to tell her the story of his rescue.

He doesn’t like to think about Stevens much, about the way he’s carried the potential of that pesky man's life with him every day since he woke up on that stretcher. That’s what you do when someone dies for you. You have to live for them.

That makes him think of Peggy again -- and then, unbidden, of Steve Rogers. He remembers the stories they used to tell about what Captain America was like before the serum: skinny, frail, half a dozen 4F rejections under various pseudonyms. He thinks of that kid, plucked from the life he was supposed to live and thrust onto a pedestal that must have felt completely untenable at times -- given muscle and then immediately handed the weight of the world.

And now there’s Daisy, with these powers. The kind of strength good men would covet and evil men would kill for. And like him, she’s left behind whatever life she had in order to fight her way through space and time and try to save humanity.

Peggy was a woman who ran headfirst into a storm without giving so much as a thought to an umbrella. Daisy, he’s learning, is the storm itself.

So he talks to her, and he keeps talking. He tells her things he’s never told another living person. In fairness, he thinks, he’s technically known her almost 20 years.

He tells her about survival, certain she already knows. He tells her about warfare, a different type than she’s seen, but with a common enemy. He tells her to fight -- and when she shows him the shard of glass she’s snuck back to him in a bloody palm, he knows the way his heart thuds could be just as dangerous as the psychopath in the other room.

Daniel’s always been good at waiting for his moment, and mercifully, it comes not long after Daisy slips completely into unconsciousness. He shifts away from her on the dirty floor to avoid risking further injury, and he readies himself like he had in the trenches.

When the time comes, he fights, just like he knows Stevens must have fought to get him to safety. They catch a lucky break when the earth-rattling powers prove to be too much for Malick to handle, and he carries her back to the ship, leg aching all the way, remembering the stern nurse in the field hospital who had looked down her glasses at him every time he’d complained about the throbbing.

“It’s the beat of your heart, soldier, remember that,” she had snipped as she doled out his meds. “If nothing else, it means you’re still alive.”

The team meets him at the door to help Daisy into their med bay, and when Agent Simmons mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “Not again,” something else twists inside Daniel’s chest. Shrugging off his own first aid until she’s been attended to, he takes a seat by the door to stay present but out of the way. Maybe some small part of him hopes that when she wakes, he’ll be a familiar face.

If he’s honest, he’s never thought about living to see the end of the 20th century, never even considered it. He was a S.H.I.E.L.D. director with war injuries and more than his fair share of close calls, it would have taken nothing short of a miracle. But he doesn’t think twice when the scruffy kid -- Deke, he remembers this time -- tells them they’re about to jump again. He's not sure when he changed his mind, but it’s been changed, nonetheless.

“I’m where I need to be,” he says, as the soft beeps of Daisy’s monitor assure him that if nothing else, she’s still alive.

Easy never felt quite right, anyway.

#first mate fic #daisysous #sousy #daisy x daniel #agents of shield #agent carter #daniel sousa #daisy johnson #peggy carter

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alvacchi · 4 years

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Phantom Thief Hanako-kun AU Story: Chapter 11- Blood

Guess what got continued 👀

I'm feeling pretty rusty after not writing for a month and a half aha. Thank you all for waiting 😂. It takes pretty long to write.

Warning ⚠️: Dark themes ahead (in the tags)

Anyways, here's another chapter uwu~ Enjoy!

---

-Previously in Chapter 10...

-Yashiro got sick yet continued to persist on investigating with a broken heart

-She was personally invited to the heist by Hanako

-Tagging along with police detective Shijima Mei, they encountered Hanako during the heist

-And a sudden gunshot occurred after a striking revelation

-In that moment

-Yashiro's mind went blank

-Blood was shed right afterwards

-Screams and bloody horror erupted

-And Yashiro suddenly found herself on the ground

-What just happened?

-Yashiro's sight was blurry, perhaps from the tears she shed out of shock

-There was an irritating ringing in her ears so she couldn't hear much

-But all she could think of right now was if Hanako was okay

-She tried to look for him in her vision

-Adrenaline rushing through her

-She couldn't find the energy to get up for some reason

-And then she was lifted up by someone

-Hanako, who showed a horrified face that keeps getting paler by the second

-was now crying while holding Yashiro in his arms

-Breaking his promise to not touch her

-He appears to be yelling at her too but Yashiro's hearing was impaired

-After a sense of relief came to Yashiro seeing Hanako was alive, a sharp pain also came along with it

-Yashiro gasped, clutching the spot where it hurts

-The stickiness of the area dawned upon her

-She somehow took the shot in that split second

-and the bullet landed in a vital area

-Shijima was frozen in her spot in the midst of the chaos

-In disbelief that she shot Yashiro like she did with Hanako

-she couldn't help but stare at the scene unfolding before her.

-Deep in Yashiro's thoughts

-and recalling the promise she made to stick by Hanako's side

-She felt sorry that she couldn't keep it as her eyelids grew heavy

-Hanako stopped yelling when he saw her eyes closed

-He paused and appeared to be thinking

-Then, he gently laid Yashiro down and pulled up his sleeves

-What was he up to??

-He grabbed the knife he'd been keeping on him

-Hanako: "This is gonna hurt"

-But no matter, Yashiro had fallen unconscious and her pulse was getting weaker

-Hanako gently lift Yashiro up again with one hand, the knife in his other

-Shijima snapped out of her trance when she saw what he was doing

-She ran to where the two were, grabbing Hanako

-Shijima: "What are you doing?! You're going to kill her!"

-Hanako: [cold] "Get out of my way. I know how to save her."

-Shijima: "You're going to cause more blood loss! Why can't we just go to the hospital!"

-At the word "hospital", Hanako flinched

-Hanako: "Damn it woman! We don't have much time! She's already dying!"

-And Shijima just shut up right there

-Hanako proceeded to carefully dig out the bullet

-Luckily it didn't go too deep and he managed to get it out

-If Yashiro was awake, she would have been screaming bloody murder

-Immediately right after, Hanako took the knife and made a small slash at his wrist, grunting a bit

-Sucking up the blood that appeared, Hanako then placed his mouth over Yashiro's

-If Shijima didn't know any better, it would have looked like he's taking advantage of Yashiro

-In the next few moments, Yashiro's bullet wound was slowly closing itself

-Color was returning back to her face

-And Shijima couldn't understand what was happening

-This was the most bizarre thing she has ever seen

-The sounds of sirens were coming closer

-They were still in the middle of the heist

-Hanako had to get out of there

-He bandaged up his wrist and pulled back down his sleeves

-Listening to Yashiro's breathing, he reassured to himself that she was okay now

-Hanako then turned over to face Shijima

-Hanako: "You take care of her. She should be fine now."

-Shijima: "Huh? Wait!"

-But Hanako disappeared behind his cape into the night and Shijima was left with an unconscious but alive Yashiro

-Sirens continued to echo throughout the night

---

-The next day

-Yashiro slowly opened her eyes to find herself in an unfamiliar room

-Shijima: "You're awake now?"

-Shijima was sitting next to the bed with a sketchbook and files in hand

-Yashiro's eyes took some adjusting before she realized

-Yashiro: "Shijima-san?...Where am I?"

-Shijima: "You're in my room. You fainted during the heist. Since I couldn't wake you up, I just took you to my apartment."

-Yashiro: "Oh."

-After a moment, Yashiro jolted up with a start

-Yashiro: "Wait I fainted?!"

-Shijima laid Yashiro back down

-Shijima: "You've just recovered so please rest for a bit."

-Yashiro: "Huh? But I'm actually feeling fine. My cold is gone and I don't feel any pain. Strange...this almost feels like a dream. I....I thought I died."

-Shijima's hands gripped the papers on her lap at Yashiro's remark

Shijima: "I honestly thought you were going to die as well. It was a miracle. Truly."

-Yashiro: "...Wait, what happened to Hanako-ku--san?"

-Slip of the tongue. Whoops

-Shijima noticed the slip

-She had a feeling something was going on between Hanako and Yashiro since the moment Hanako was yelling in desperation at Yashiro last night

-But mentioning it now may not be the right time

-Now, she wasn't even sure what to think of Hanako

-Whatever he did was not normal

-Shijima: "He got away....Yashiro-san, I'm truly sorry for what happened last night. I was careless and got you involved in my mess..."

-Yashiro: "It's...alright."

-Was it really? Someone could have died that night

-After a moment of silence, Yashiro spoke up about what was bothering her

-Yashiro: "Shijima-san. There's still one more question I have."

-Shijima: "Yes?"

-Yashiro: "How did I survive?"

-Shijima froze for a second. Vivid images flashed before her eyes

-Shijima: "I'm...not exactly sure. Hanako performed some miracle on you. I was only able to watch"

-Yashiro: "I see..."

-Shijima: "I know I've said we would talk about the missing Misaki case after the heist but I think after yesterday's incident, you should rest a little longer. It must have been frightening. I already let Tsuchigomori-san know that you're taking the day off so you don't have to go to the agency."

-Yashiro: "Ah. Thank you."

-Shijima: "I'll be off to do more investigating."

-Shijima showed off her sketchbook and smiled

-Shijima: "Besides being a police detective, I'm also a sketch artist! Someone reported that they need a drawing of a criminal on the loose. And who knows if it might be related to our case~"

-Yashiro: "Heh"

Shijima: "I'll see you later, Yashiro-san. Please have some pancakes for breakfast on the table!"

-Yashiro waved her goodbye

-She got up to go eat a moment later

-As she ate, she realized she could have asked Shijima about the past heist since she was a part of the team

-It might be an uncomfortable topic though

-Shijima didn't seem like she wanted to talk more about what happened

-At the same time, Yashiro was being patient for Hanako so she decided it was for the best

-Yashiro later on left to go to her own apartment

-When Yashiro arrived, she found a pink Mokke at her window

-The pink Mokke gave her a letter and she opened it to read:

-"There's something I should tell you. You deserve to know. Please wait for me tonight. - Hanako"

---

-Later that night

-Hanako showed up at Yashiro's apartment window

-Yashiro was waiting for him

-It was almost like they were back to their usual hangouts

-But they knew otherwise that it was different tonight

-Hanako: "Care for some donuts?"

-He held up a bag of donuts in his hands

-Yashiro couldn't help but smile

-It relaxed the mood around them as Hanako went to sit down at a small table in the room

-Yashiro sat next to him

-The room was silent for a while

-It seemed like Hanako was trying to gather his words

-Yashiro put her hand over Hanako's

-Hanako looked at her, an expression mixed with worry and fright

-Yashiro: "You don't have to avoid touching me. I never agreed to that promise anyways so relax"

-Hanako slightly relaxed as Yashiro told him to

-He spoke softly

-Hanako: "It's a long story"

-Yashiro softened her eyes

-Yashiro: "I'm listening"

-As she waited, Hanako started

-Hanako: "Hanako isn't my real name, obviously. If a thief uses his real name, he would have been caught sooner or later....everything began from this cursed bloodline"

-Hanako's hands clenched while Yashiro clenched his to comfort him

-Hanako: "I was born into a reputable household by the name of Yugi. My mother from that household had a duty to produce an heir to succeed the family. So, she was set up in an arranged marriage with two husbands. That was the tradition withheld for women in the family for generations. Great way to keep a family going, right? Laughable even."

-Yashiro: "..."

-Hanako: "I couldn't laugh though because we were born like that."

-Yashiro: "'We'"?

-Hanako: "You've met Tsukasa before at that place...He was also born with me as part of the Yugi household. We have the same mother."

-Yashiro: "So Tsukasa is your twin brother?"

-Hanako: "It was a rare case of heteropaternal superfecundation, with the odds of one out of four hundred. We are twins born from separate fathers"

-Yashiro: "Born from separate fathers?"

-Hanako: "Yeah. And right after we were born, one of the fathers was discovered to be a criminal. In other words, one of us is born as the son of a criminal."

#toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #hananene #tbhk #jshk #jshk au #hanako kun #tw blood #tw injury #tw death #read at your own risk #the plot is planned like this #hope you guys enjoy #im not good with tagging warnings

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ephemeral-writings · 4 years

Text

Everything I Need // 05

oh sehun x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 4.4k

Everything I Need // oh sehun teaches you a thing or two about life. but falling for the boy who lived across from you was not what you had anticipated.

A/N– Hope you guys are doing well, staying safe and healthy. Please feel free to talk to me if you need a place to displace any anxiety you might have. Also, thank you to anyone that’s still reading this otl i’m sorry for the turtle--snail pace updates, but truly, thank you if you’re still showing interest in this story💓 Please leave me your thoughts!!! Enjoy reading!!

Also, happy birthday to the love of my life, oh sehun; you’ve been my muse since day one and you’ll be my muse until the end.

Part 01 / Part 02 / Part 03 / Part 04 / Part 05

//////

Somehow the dinners with Sehun became a common part of your routine. You would come home from your shift some nights, and Sehun, as if he had memorized your schedule, would knock on your door just minutes after you had returned, asking you if you had eaten yet. Before you knew it, a month had flown by, and then another half.

A friendship, dare you say, was beginning to bloom between you and Sehun; however, whatever feelings you had reserved for the man was left unexplored.

Sehun proved to be a man full of surprises, a new layer of his personality unveiling itself with every time you met up. One minute he’d be a gentleman, grilling meats and plating them on your plate before his own, or swapping dishes with you if you expressed even a mild dislike to the food you decidedly ordered. But next, he’d be teasing you nonstop about your small quirks like your tendency to neatly clean up after a meal-- you called it server tendency-- or how you might have a more serious case of RBF than he does. That argument was still up for debate.

Sehun, from the moments you’re allowed to ponder the man, was nothing you’d expected. His quiet nature that you once thought was from a place of cockiness and judgment turned out to be him being quite the shy and soft-spoken man. His actions, however, were what struck you the most surprised. Like when he’d randomly press his palm to your lower back whenever he ushers you back into your apartment at the end of the night, as if his body had naturally adapted to being close to you; or when he’d stare so intently into your eyes while you’re talking, towering over you easily with his stature, that you feel like he’s looking right into the depths of your soul-- the theatrics of it all was disconcerting. For the most part, despite all the chords he struck somewhat unconsciously, you were set in favor of his presence.

The end of November was creeping in, and so was the cold weather. You realized that once you began layering a long-sleeve underneath your work shirt, and Chanyeol’s music was becoming a new definition of cozy.

“So,” Chanyeol started. “My friend hooked me up with a gig this weekend. I’m thinking about inviting my partner. Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?” He listed off as you’re both closing for the night. You’re closing out the register while Chanyeol stacked the chairs and swept the floor.

“Give me a sec. You know better than to talk to me while I’m counting, Yeol,” you grumbled, finishing off your till five minutes later. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I’m looking at this opportunity to show off my music a little, ya know? Plus, she’s also been more responsive, less edgy. Do you think she’ll agree to go?”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask.” You offered. “Where’s this again?”

“A pretty popular club among the kids at uni actually, called Love Shot,” he said. “You heard of it?”

You racked through your head at the familiar name, and you finally realize that it was the club that Sehun worked at.

“Yeah,” you said, nonchalantly before adding, “Went there for a party once.”

Chanyeol stopped sweeping all together and looked at you as if you had five heads growing out of your neck. “Wait, you went to a party? At a club?” He half asked, half accused, and you almost got offended by his tone of voice, when he added, “And I wasn’t invited?”

You reddened at the realization at how pathetic you must look to other people when you’ve quite successfully hermit yourself from social events, to the point that even Chanyeol finds it unbelievable. “Whatever, Yeol, that isn’t important right now. We’re talking about you.”

“Nu-uh, this changes things. I wasn’t gonna pressure you to come because I know how you are,” you frown deeply at that, to which Chanyeol only points a knowing brow at you. “But, now you have to come, Y/N. You could wing-man me!” He exclaimed as if it was the most ingenious idea he had ever manifested.

“First of all, I don’t know the first thing about wingmanning, you don’t want me to wingman-- or is it wingwoman? you, dude.” You quickly objected to the idea flat out. You could just see it now, you trying to hype Chanyeol and inadvertently making him look stupid instead(not that he doesn’t play part in that himself alone), and by the end of it, you’ll probably make a fool of yourself by trying to rectify what was never there to begin with.

“Please, Y/N,” he begged. “I want you there when I perform some of my new stuff.”

Chanyeol tried persuading you to go watch him perform at Love Shot for the remainder of the night until you finally relented. You don’t really even know why you’re so hesitant on going, but thinking about the night of Jongdae’s birthday makes your stomach churn anxiously.

“Shit, it’s raining,” Chanyeol said when you’ve both clocked out. He nudged you with an elbow, saying, “Let’s go, I’ll drive you home.”

Chanyeol drove a Jeep, one that you find very difficult to get in and out of, but you suppose a free ride home was better than getting caught in the rain.

“You wanna come up? I could make something for us to eat?” You offered when nearing your apartment.

“Sure,” Chanyeol shrugged, claiming anything was better than cereal for dinner. He parked his Jeep in the allotted spot for your unit and cut the engine while you’re pulling your hood over your head for the oncoming rain. “Wanna race?”

“You could run, but you’ll slip and end up hurting yourself.” You chortled, imagining his lumber worth of limbs flailing in the air. Chanyeol ends up half walking, half jogging, heeding your warning as an afterthought than anything else.

While you’re searching for your keys in your purse, footsteps coming up the stairs and voices belonging to young men echoes through the hall. It was Sehun, and he had friends with him--one of which you’ve met before in passing when he had dropped by Sehun’s place while you were also over(for only 5 minutes as you had to use his printer because yours had jammed).

“Oh, it’s you again,” the guy aforementioned spoke, greeting you brightly afterwards. You returned the greeting, ever as awkward, shooting a less stiff one to Sehun as well while he returned a thoughtful look that had your cheeks warming.

“Hi, I’m Baekhyun,” he said, thrusting a hand forward for Chanyeol to take.

“Park Chanyeol,” he replied, voice booming loudly, though not unkindly.

The other man seemed familiar, and you realized after a closer look, it was the other bartender you saw the night of Jongdae’s birthday; he introduces himself as Kim Jongin.

“Did you just get off?” It was Sehun who asked the question that was directed towards you. You nodded, characteristically shy from the attention of both Sehun and his friends.

Something suddenly clicked in Chanyeol’s head then-- you distinctly recognize the spark that flashes across his pupils-- and you think absolutely nothing good could come from whatever he has working in his head.

“We just got off; we work together. And you are?” Chanyeol questioned, tone nosy and maybe a tad bit menacing, but maybe it was because you knew him better. Sehun, having gone quieter than usual, simply tells him his name with no further insertion that would’ve qualmed Chanyeol’s brewing curiosity.

“What a coincidence, these two work together, too,” Baekhyun said, gesturing towards Sehun and Jongin, and because Chanyeol felt like conjuring his inner Holmes, he inquired the said place in which the two--

“Awe fuck,” you thought, brain finally catching up with Chanyeol’s, and with the help of Baekhyun, Chanyeol’s formless scheme began taking shape.

“No shit,” Chanyeol said, stretching out the first word as he turns to you with a sadistic almost-grin. You glared at him, attempting not to wear the anxiety on your face that could possibly, wordlessly confirm his suspicions that might or might not have already gone too far into his head. Chanyeol doesn’t mind your silent pleas to shut up.

As the silent(and painful, for you) interaction between you and Chanyeol transpired, the three male stared, perplexed by the whole ordeal; one man in particular being more bothered by it than the rest.

Sehun hadn’t expected you to talk about him to your friends or anything(even though he does to his’), but he’d be lying if the revelation didn’t strike him as surprising, or made him a tad bit upset.

“Is something wrong?” Baekhyun eventually asked with a wry smile, breaking the tension between you and Chanyeol .

Chanyeol promptly turned to them, slapping on his wide and creepy smile as he explained, “Y/N gets moody when she’s hungry, and she’s supposed to be making us food right about now.” They laughed hesitantly, not quite sure what to make of Chanyeol’s statement, until Sehun spoke up.

“Don’t let us keep you, then.” Sehun nodded curtly, and without further ado, marched into his apartment with Baekhyun and Jongin following. Once they were out of sight, Chanyeol steered you into your own unit, muttering, “Guess I’m staying a little later than planned.”

The week goes by bizarrely quick, what with Chanyeol’s constant tormenting through work and text. After that night, according to him, Sehun was your secret boyfriend whom you’ve been hiding, which was absolutely ridiculous, and you never failed to reject the notion every single time it was brought up.

Thu 15:21 delivered

‘Stop. Tagging. Me. In’

15:22 delivered

‘Relationship memes.’

Yeol Thu 15:24 received

‘im being supportive’

‘its ur first relationship after all’

Chanyeol sent with the stupid face emoji blowing in a tissue attached to his message.

Thu 15:25 delivered

‘im blocking u’

In a blink of an eye, the weekend was at your doorstep. You spent over half an hour agonizing over what to wear, fumbled with your scant collection of makeup only to end up with a few strokes here and there to brighten your dull complexion and to open up your eyes from the evident lack of sleep, and in the end, you looked...decent.

Suddenly, your phone dinged from across the room where it was charging. Chanyeol was reminding you that he was going on at 9pm, and also telling you how nervous he was because he just saw Eun walk in.

20:24 delivered

‘go say hi to her!!’

Yeol 20:25 received

‘GOING’

‘pray i don’t choke’

You grinned, sending him all the luck in the universe so that he doesn’t make a fool of himself. He’s worried about nothing, you thought, for Chanyeol was a kind, thoughtful, and humble guy, not that you’d ever tell him that yourself. Likewise, you’d like to think that he saw the good in you, despite it being so difficult for those qualities to reflect in your eyes, and it was why your friendship was so easy.

As you’re walking out, your phone dinged again. It wasn’t from Chanyeol, but Sehun instead.

Sehun 20:34 received

‘Hey, did I just see your friend at loveshot?’

‘Chanyeol? I think’

20:34 delivered

‘yeah, he said he’s performing there tonight’

You debated adding the fact that you were heading there right then, when suddenly, you contemplated your state of emotions, whether you were excited or anxious to see Sehun again, at Loveshot no less. It was certainly out of your comfort zone, hence the anxiety that bubbled away in your stomach, but Sehun was familiar now and Chanyeol’s a close friend, so it shouldn’t be that terrible. Right?

Sehun didn’t reply immediately, to which you assumed was due to the fact that he was presently on duty. You arrived shortly after, seeing a decent sized queue outside of the club. You were about to shoot a text to Chanyeol to let him know you’d arrived when two messages came in at the same time.

Yeol 20:52 received

‘U here yet?’

Sehun 20:52 received

‘does that mean i’ll see you tonight?’

Ignoring the latter message that short circuited your mind for a second, you responded to Chanyeol’s, and not two minutes later, he emerged from the club’s entrance, peeking around the crowd for your small stature.

“Y/N!” He beckoned you over, whispered something to the bouncer’s ear, and you’re both walking back into the lively albeit dim space before you knew it. Chanyeol’s looking the best you had ever seen him; dressed to the nines in his dark denim over white graphic hoodie, paired with ripped, black jeans and chains draped along his right thigh, you think that this Eun girl would be a fool if she couldn’t see his efforts to impress her when Chanyeol lives in essentially five different hoodies.

“I’m actually shocked that you made it, was sort of expecting you to flake last minute,” Chanyeol said, giving your outfit a subtle once-over and grinning when you rolled your eyes at him. You’re wearing a tight-fitting tank top, one that has lace edging the bust and cropped to your midriff, and to cover up from the cold, you wore a cropped black puffer jacket. Your bottom’s a pair of black high waisted jeans, the slightly flared at the ankles making you look longer than you really are especially with your ankle boots.

“But then again, your secret boyfriend is working tonight, so maybe you’re really here for him, who knows,” he smirked with mirth swimming in his eyes. At that, you remembered Sehun’s message, its implications bringing warmth to your cheeks.

You shoved the tall idiot with an elbow, though it does little to affect him. He’s cackling to himself stupidly all the way until you both reach the bar, a destination you hadn’t noticed you were even heading towards, not with how Chanyeol’s dumb teasing had distracted you, making your cheeks flushed and heart race for nothing. Subtly, you scanned the vicinity for Sehun but spotted him nowhere in sight.

It was Jongin instead that took notice of you first. “Hey, it’s you again,” he said, voice throaty and silvery at the same time. The tone could easily be menacing had it not been for the kindness floating in his orbs or the disarming half-smile he gives you, as if he knew something that you didn’t.

You managed a polite smile in response before Chanyeol abruptly pushed on your shoulders, forcefully planting you on one of the chairs, directly in front of the bar.

“I’m gonna head up now,” he tells you. “Get yourself comfortable before I introduce you to Eun later, cool?”

Letting go of your petty bickering for a moment, you gave his forearms a placatory squeeze while wishing him good luck and off he went.

“Can I grab you something to drink?” Jongin asked when Chanyeol was out of sight. You told him the same thing you told Sehun last time, giving him the freedom to choose for you.

“Sehun’s slacking off somewhere,” Jongin said suddenly, distracting you from watching Chanyeol as he introduced himself. You clapped along with the crowd, though your brain had separated itself and you could only respond to Jongin with a questioning look. What made him think you were looking for Sehun?

“Oh,” he exclaimed, staring over your right shoulder. “Speaking of the devil.”

Sehun ignored the other boy all together, only looking at you as he spoke. “Hey, you never answered my text.” You turned to face him, his expression at first hard then gradually dissolving into something softer the longer he stared at you; he was in his uniform again, minus the velvet bow tie and plaid vest that you assume was specially worn for Jongdae’s birthday event. Even with just the striped button down, a few buttons undone from the top, he managed to garner more looks than you could’ve imagine. His arm goes to prop himself on the countertop as he leaned closer to you since his height was towering over you and glaringly so. You caught a whiff of his scent as you breathed in, attempting to calm your nerves, but laced with the familiar seaside breeze came the all too familiar acrid smell of cigarettes. It was nowhere near the stench that clung to your father’s breath, clothes, and skin, but the effect was there nonetheless.

“Y/N?” Sehun had repeated your name twice before you realized where you were, who he was, and how far you were from the past. His hand had barely grazed your arm when you snapped out of it, unknowingly with a recoil under his touch, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by both Sehun and Jongin. The former leaned in even closer, and asked in a hushed tone, “You okay?”

Not trusting your voice, you only nodded while giving him a weak smile. “I - need to use the restroom, excuse me.” You tried to ignore Sehun’s imploring gaze on you as you got up and walked towards the direction of where the restrooms were.

“Get it together, Y/N,” you muttered under your breath as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You willed your mind to focus on something-- anything-- that was presently in front of you, needed to get a grip on reality. It felt like your brain was being dissected, that your eyes were so distanced and while out of one window you saw your reflection, pale and panic stricken, you also saw your childhood home. You saw your father sitting in his chair with a lit cigarette between his fingers, and his face looking so far gone that he doesn’t even notice you standing right in front of him.

“Well, well,” a voice started, echoing so suddenly on the tiles of the restroom that the image of your father dissipates all together at once. “It looks like my night just got a whole lot more interesting.”

You turned your head, finally grasping onto something real, however unfortunate it was to be no one other than Liah. You groaned internally, from the dull pain in your head or from the prospect of the upcoming headache that the girl will cause? Take a wild guess.

“Wow, didn’t know my existence had such an influence on you. I’m flattered,” you said, face blank as ever.

Liah clucked her tongue, looking annoyed which was no surprise to you. “Don’t be a smartass, Y/N, no one likes a smart,” she drawled. This time you outwardly rolled your eyes, turning to the mirror again as you prepare to tie up your hair. It was getting uncomfortable with how heated your skin got after your little episode.

“But I suppose it’s an upgrade from being a coward, hmm?” She mocked sympathy as if you keeping quiet to her belittling all those years ago wasn’t a result of how miserable she made your life.

You’re trying hard not to lose your cool because the last thing you wanted was to stir something up that frankly shouldn’t be touched. But the word coward pulsates in your ears, clinging adamantly to your memory as it digs and digs for all the names your father has called you, worser than coward. Liah doesn’t mean shit to you, not anymore, you told yourself.

You’ve washed your hand after successfully tying up your hair; it’s messy and unruly but you tell yourself it’s a damn look, especially as you turned, once again, to stare at Liah directly in the eye, and said, “Smartass or coward, I’d rather be those than someone who feeds off of other’s weaknesses.”

If you’d bothered to stay and watch Liah’s reaction, you would’ve seen the utter hatred within her eyes as she tried to stare you into the submission she once did.

You headed back to the bar, thankfully unscathed, but the unwelcome trip down memory lane mired your thoughts as you tried to recomposed yourself.

Jongin was the one who caught your approaching figure first. He nudged Sehun who was polishing a glass by his side before taking a few steps away to tend to some patrons, leaving you and Sehun alone. Well, alone as alone could be when you’re standing in the middle of a packed club.

You plopped back on the same chair from earlier, making as little eye contact as possible with the man.

“You’re flushed,” Sehun bluntly noted. He stopped what he was doing to really look at you. With your hair up, there’s no hiding the rosy hue painting your cheeks and ears. You’d feel too hot with it down, so you bear Sehun’s scrutiny for the moment.

“Because it’s getting hot in here,” you said in a ‘duh’ tone. “Are you making my drink again?”

Sehun squinted at you before deciding to drop questioning your suspicious behavior. “Do you want sex-”

“You don’t have to say the name, y’know,” you tell him quickly, a little panicked and fully blushing. Sehun outrightly smirked and somewhere between the music playing, you imagined Jongin’s laughter.

“Your friend’s growing a fanclub up there,” he said, starting on the drink.

You spun in your seat to see that Chanyeol indeed has some girls fawning over him. A few more tenacious ones slid, not-so-discreetly, crumpled up napkins with what you assume to have scribbled phone numbers on them. You gave credit that Chanyeol politely declined all advances on the spot; with a boyish grin and shake of his head, no one could get mad at that. It made him appear professional, but you also didn’t miss the way he would glance at a certain someone every time it happened.

You snort while muttering, “Way to be subtle.”

“What was that?” Sehun voiced.

Turning your body back around to face him again, you said, “Nothing. Just that there’s gonna be some hearts broken, is all.”

You don’t notice the way Sehun’s grip on the tumbler becomes tighter from your words.

Sehun, for the most part, kept you company for the night. Jongin jumped in every once in a while, and you found him to be quite the clumsy yet the most suavest guy you’d ever met. He reminded you of another tall ogre and that in itself was something that allowed you to release your inhibitions for the night.

“Alright, alright,” you slurred, “What do you call a bear with no teeth?”

Jongin squinted at you, seemingly deep in thought, and opened his mouth to answer but someone else had beaten him to it.

“A gummy bear! Why’re you going around telling my jokes?” Chanyeol blurted. He took advantage of the slouched over position you were in to give you a noogie.

“Ugh, get your crummy hands off of me,” you groaned in protest, not bothering to lift your head to glare at the man. Instead your eyes settled the girl standing next to Chanyeol. “Oh? You must be Eun.”

“And you must be Y/N,” the girl smiled, and you could’ve sworn you heard Chanyeol’s heart beat right out of his chest. She offered you her hand, and before grabbing it, you suppressed the tickle in your bloodstream. You looked more sober in that split second than you probably felt.

“Jeez, how much did she have to drink?” Yeol asked the two tenders.

“Not too much,” Jongin supplied. “We cut her off after she started reciting psych theories to us,” he continued, to which you sing-songed replied with, “The more you know.”

It made Eun giggle so that’s all that mattered. She easily slid into the seat next to you, and left Chanyeol towering over behind you two. Seeing as you were getting acquainted, he excused himself to go talk “business” with the owner.

“Don’t go trying to make yourself sound cooler than you really are, Yeol,” you reprimanded, earning a half-smirk-half-shy-grin from Eun. Jongin offered to show Chanyeol the way to the owner’s office, leaving Sehun to tend once more. You whined for another cocktail, but the man remained steady in his stance to cut you off for the night. Eun doesn’t drink, so he offers her, and yourself, some club soda instead.

Eun was surprisingly easy to talk to; her voice seemed to lull you in like a siren and you think-- it’s no wonder Chanyeol was so taken by her. You have half a mind to straightforwardly tell her, “you know-- Chanyeol’s like-- ready to bust the fattest uwu for you, right?” but then that didn’t seem quite the way to go. You snort like an idiot, stopping Eun mid-sentence. Sehun and Eun exchanged looks.

“You okay there, darling?” It was Eun who asked you while Sehun simultaneously mumbled, “Maybe we should’ve stopped at the first drink.”

You repeatedly tell them “no, no no it’s not that,” but “I was just thinking about how good you and Chanyeol would be - together.”

There was a pregnant silence after that, and you realized that wow, that was a big Not-a-Good-Wingwoman thing to say. Eun looked thoroughly blindsided, and if you could see clearly enough, you would’ve seen the quirk in her lips by your honest words. You let out an indignant sound from your throat, ready to apologize for your stupidity, when Eun suddenly let out an awkward but hearty laughter. Sehun had appeared amused whereas you looked like a fish out of its bowl.

“Thank you, for saying that,” she smiled, making you beam in relief. You knew then that there was more to Eun than you realized. Her eyes glimmered with hope, or maybe it was apprehension, at the prospect of Chanyeol’s affection.

Right then, Chanyeol’s voice boomed, “Alright, ladies,” startling both you and Eun. “Deal’s been sealed. You’re looking at a regular DJ of Loveshot,” he boasted, and as if you had planned it, you both rolled your eyes followed by the mandatory kudos, even by Sehun himself.

“You girls ready to go?” Chanyeol asked.

At the same time that Eun replied yes, you chimed, “I’m gonna stick around for a bit.” Chanyeol sent you a doubtful look, to which you fail-winked back at him while Eun wasn’t looking; he smiled, grateful at first, but then it morphed into something mischievous when he detected the man behind the bar watchful gaze on you.

“Right then,” he echoed, then stared at Sehun when he asked, “Do you mind taking her home?”

Sehun, who had really only glanced at Chanyeol when he spoke to him, returned his eyes on you, and asked, “Do you mind waiting a bit?”

How he manages to sound so soft and gentle yet all the same impassive in his speech unnerved you. You found yourself shaking your head, agreeing with him and whatever was to come.

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munchies-for-thought · 4 years

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The reason your favorite character is flawed and how it changed how I saw my life

Jun 18, 2020

Context: I’m a huge fan of the anime “JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure”. (Reading Part 6 pls don’t spoil kthx bai). Don’t worry. You don’t even have to know about anime to get my message. It’s just the example closest to me.

The revelation behind each flaw

Rohan Kishibe is a character that is incredibly talented as a manga artist. He is so obsessed in his craft that he goes to terrifying and ethically questionable extents to get inspiration for his stories. Sometimes a villain, sometimes a hero. His art is everything for him. Well worth risking his or someone else’s life. He is generally a good guy, and wishes good upon the world. He just won’t go out of his way to make it happen. He is also defeated almost immediately after we meet him.

Rohan Kishibe is indeed one of my favorite characters of all times for a multitude of reasons, yet when describing him, he clearly is a flawed character. Yet this is NOT about him. While you read this blog, please think on the coolest fictional character you can think of. Do you have one in mind? Can you answer the following about your favorite character?

Has your favorite character failed?

Has he been hurt badly?

Are some things out of his control?

Do most people in his world generally understand the struggle they go through?

You’ll see when comparing with friends that we mostly agree on these answers even when thinking on different characters. The interesting truth lies in the common factor behind these answers, and learning a bit from the power of good storytelling.

One of the most precious things that I have gained from playing videogames, watching anime and playing Dungeons & Dragons all my life, is the first-hand knowledge of the power of a good story. Although it is in the HOW you make a good story, where I found this revelation that helped me so much.

What I am trying to say might be simple and even obvious when read, but not truly understood. If you bear with me a bit longer, I will attempt not to say, but to explain. I’ll show you the building blocks of how I learned so you truly understand as I did.

Dungeon and Dragons’ Character Backgrounds

The first time I made a new character in Dungeons and Dragons (Drow Elf Bard btw) I was blown away when I found out that whereas you get to pick from options that greatly impact your likelihood of winning, you also had to pick background and personality options that held no significant impact on your success.

You could choose to be a triumphant noble, a devote acolyte, a successful guild merchant or even a lying charlatan. Hell, if you wanted to you could even pick an orphan who had lost it all in the edgiest way known to man!

The book was also quite good at giving you specific quirks that brought that character to life. All of this happened because D&D is focused on group storytelling. Everyone wants your character to be interesting so their adventure gets 10x cooler when their complex characters interact with yours in intriguing and unexpected ways.

For example:

The secret beauty behind flaws

I was just a tad... confused. I had to chose a flaw? Why would I want to do this? All of these options look just like ugly parts of your character’s personality and could easily affect them negatively within the story.

Was this a balancing feature? A rule simply put there to make you less awesome, so no one is too overpowered? I just could NOT wrap my head around it. I couldn’t understand how this could make things fun. They were ruining my character.

It was until I started maturing as an individual and learned more about game design and storytelling that I started to appreciate how genius that was. No one cares for the story of perfect, bland, basic individuals who always succeed and have never made mistakes before. Because that is not real, it doesn’t work for an interesting story if there’s no sadness. If there’s no pain, you can just simply look away.

It was to be expected of the game designers of the best roleplaying game in the world to know that having flaws, failures, challenges, weaknesses, mistakes, all of them are ESSENTIAL for a great story to be told!

Was there a moment in your favorite character’s story where his failures and his pain made you love them on a whole new level? Aren’t those failures what drives your characters to become who they are? Would it be a better story if they had always succeeded?

So who is this Rohan Kishibe and, as an artist, what is his take on good storytelling?

Rohan’s Philosophy

Not only is Rohan a good example of a flawed character, but he also has a very interesting philosophy. He is a famous and wealthy manga artist. You’ve got to understand that, to Rohan, his craft is EVERYTHING. It is the thing he does best and what defines him.

Let me just show you one quote of his, so you understand his artistic philosophy:

“Reality is the energy that breathes life into a piece of work, and reality itself is entertainment. People often think that manga are drawn from imagination and fantasy, but that’s not actually true! For me, drawing something that i’ve experienced, or something that has moved me, is what makes it interesting!”

His pursuit for inspiration is so great, that he constantly goes to insane lengths to gain inspiration. This unrelenting desire is why he was originally a villain. Yet even when the protagonist defeated him, all Rohan could think of was of how this set of unfortunate and unlucky events was within itself a hell of a REAL story to use as inspiration. He saw value even in his misfortune as long as it was honest, untapped, unadulterated and pure reality. That’s his trade secret as a famous and successful storyteller.

Understanding reality, storytelling and our identity

Warning: We’re about to get metaphysical. You might wanna take that bong hit right now. You’ve been warned.

Talking about reality is like opening Pandora’s box. It is such a massively complex topic that before we can even get to the nitty-gritty of it, let’s just agree on the following for the sake of this conversation:

Depending on how skeptic you are, reality could be mostly subjective or arbitrarily objective. So just follow my lead on this one and match your understanding with mine at least while you read this blog.

NO ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSES OR REALITIES

Fate is merely the belief that there is a predestined way things will happen no matter what. Since its only requirement is also its only consequence, (which is also impossible to prove) then even thinking on fate is pointless or even harmful to an individual as it removes agency from himself and turns him into a bystander in his own life.

Facts are limited to the provable physical world. If you can’t prove it, you don’t KNOW it is real, but you could still believe it to be real.

Our understanding of ourselves, comes partly from how others perceive us and their own subjective view of reality.

As mere humans we don’t completely control reality, but we control how it affects us.

Your own experiences and passions have a gargantuan influence on your interpretation of reality.

Storytelling could be simplified as “the way in which reality is described”.

Changing how you tell a story doesn’t change the facts.

That last one sounds a bit anticlimactic doesn’t it? Specially since we’ve talked so much about storytelling just to find out it can’t change reality. You might even wonder if its uses are only limited to art?

Fret not! This is where it all starts coming together.

My story

Before you disregard storytelling as just an art form, or an overglorified logbook, let’s think outside of the box and take a few leaps with me. Let me show you when was it that it clicked for me:

“Just when the COVID-19 lockdown was about to begin, I was at one of my lowest. I’ve always been someone very adamant on living life as he sees best. Even when friends or family wouldn’t understand my decision, I would still pursue my own path. I was proud of this and felt it made me immune to what other people thought. Yet, years of failed relationships were starting to make me doubt myself.

After an emotional breakdown at Denny’s after being stood-up (Great story for another day) I started worrying that the problem might be me. I’ve always been open to feedback as long as it makes sense to me in a logical way, but I had built so much thought behind who I was, that I didn’t even consider that maybe, I was more flawed than what I had originally assessed.

Maybe if all these bad things kept happening to me, there was a constant behind it all. Judging by the fact that these happened throughout the span of years and with different people, it was only reasonable to assume I was the only constant. Maybe my relationships, both in love and in friendship, were failing not because of individual and complex reasons, but because I was involved in all of them.

Maybe I just won’t build close friends or a family, but I guess I can still find a way to enjoy life. It’s just a lonely life, a very lonely life, but it’s best to face reality head on. That’s what I have always taught myself, right? It would be foolish not to do so when the answer is an inconvenient one. It’s still reality. Better get used to it I guess.”

Wow, that went to a very dark place didn’t it? It’s crazy looking at it in retrospective, but while it happened, it really felt like that was just the facts. I sucked at friends and love. That was just the cold hard reality to me. I mused:

“It’s like if I was a D&D character with low charisma doomed to suck at social encounters... “

and then a sudden realization froze me to the core...

Even if by mere accident, I ended up thinking of myself as a D&D character. Remember all that talk about flawed characters? Well, what if I would see myself as a flawed character? We already agreed that the best characters fail, struggle, suffer, cry, rage, and they make mistakes!

It’s like I had opened a whole new dimension that brought new light into who I was. Those weren’t horrible memories of things that broke me down and I wish no one would ever find out anymore. Those were just wild chapters on the bizarre adventure that is my life. These are badges of honor of what my very own story is!

Storytellers are already influencing your reality

I won’t stand here and tell you that everything bad happens for a good reason. Please be careful not to take the wrong message out of this. That wasn’t what I realized at that moment. I finally was able to see that there were two storytellers that had been affecting me all my life, and I hadn’t really seen their influence before!

Let me unmask these two powerful beings that through their storytelling, had changed my reality.

Powerful Storyteller #1 - Those close to you

Did you notice how the story that I was listening from my friends and love interests was sounding aggressively negative towards my self-value? I thought I didn’t care but I was indeed interpreting my life through their stories.

Since we already understand that we each have our own interpretation of life, good and wrong, then it’s not that hard for us to understand that we will never fully agree on what’s cool. Some of us love things that most people don’t even understand. So when they talk to you, they are inadvertently telling you a story about how you’re weird, instead of fascinating.

If only you could have friends or people who DID understand you, then maybe the stories about you would be seen in a much more positive light. It’s not your friends fault for not understanding, you were just asking something unreasonable from them.

Get yourself surrounded by those who are weird like you. You’ll notice that for the right crowd, you’re just the coolest person just for being who you are. That feeling is just invigorating in every sense.

Powerful Storyteller #2 - Yourself

Back in my story, you can see how I took a lot of my own “interpretations” as “facts” or even “reality” when I told myself my own story. You could have just as well told my same story but in a different way with a much more positive light:

“My relationships did fail, but that doesn’t necessarily reflect on my self-worth. I can continuously fail but love the fact that I’m the type of character that is still hopeful and positive even after repeatedly failing and suffering pain each time.”

It’s important you understand what makes you cool as a character. Because it is your job to tell yourself the story of who you are, what you’ve done, and who you will be. You have already been doing so for as long as you can remember, so you don’t even notice it anymore. You are STILL, to this day, re-telling yourself your story and changing how you feel about some parts of it.

What can we do about it?

So if you already are in charge of such a crucial and delicate task, why don’t you apply what we’ve learned so far? Can’t you see how you as the audience (from your own storytelling) would feel when seeing your main character in emotional pain? Don’t you feel empathy and love towards it because of all it has struggled?

You have the power to choose whether or not you will tell your story as the sad log of things you suck at, or as the crazy adventures of someone who’s just trying to do their best. Someone who is AWESOME because you do understand why he gets so excited when talking about that thing, and why he is so disappointed that that other thing didn’t work out again.

Those dark painful memories are beautiful crystallizations of true art! You already have what Rohan Kishibe is willing to kill to get. You already have an amazing REAL story, you now just have to use your storytelling skills to make yourself some justice, and talk about yourself like the amazing character you are when you tell that story to yourself next time you go to sleep.

At least when it comes to my story, well, the only reason why I would ever even think of writing a blog this long, is because I’ve changed the way I tell my story. I firmly believe that most people will never even have the opportunity to read this, but I have also seen value in these thoughts even if there’s no one besides myself who will listen to my story. If anything, at least I hope my story helps you love your character a bit more, just how I have learned to truly appreciate mine.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for listening to my story. I would always love to hear yours.

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an-ambivalent · 5 years

Text

Oath Of Desires: Six

Synopsis: [Yandere! Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung] [Poly AU]

It had only been them three for a long time. Not one person more, not one person less – just Jungkook, Taehyung and [Name].

Jungkook was elated when Taehyung and [Name] told him that they had become a couple. He literally could not have been happier.

They were his favourite couple, and he loved them both…. A little too much.

When there was a hindrance in Taehyung and [Name]’s relationship which caused them to fall apart, Jungkook was distraught. Afterwards, when he realized the depths of his love for his ‘friends,’ Jungkook made an oath of his dark desires – he was going to do whatever it took to get them back together. And this time, he was also going to become part of their relationship.

Warning: As this story contains yandere themes, the characters display behaviors that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fiction. I do not believe any of the mentioned members would display any sort of this behaviour irl.

___________

“Love is an obsession; it has that quality to it. There are healthy obsessions, [but] mine is [not] one of them.” -Pamela Stephenson

___________

“I kissed [Name],” Jungkook interjected, as Taehyung leaned on the couch with his upper body hunched forward. Since the effects of the sleeping pills still lingered, Taehyung’s body was limpy; and although he was conscious for the most part, a part of his conscious was still in its slumber. After Jungkook’s bold exclamation, silence surrounded them — an uncomfortable silence that was full of unpredictable catastrophic possibilities. Jungkook was merely standing there, blinking owlishly with his large eyes, and his arms hung loosely by his sides, waiting for a response from Taehyung. And due to his groggy state of mind, Taehyung merely stood as he was, not being able to digest Jungkook’s words for a brief moment. “You what?” He asked, and as if he could sense the dread of impending doom one felt before there would be anger, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. Meanwhile for Jungkook, it was like thinking of those words, and saying them out loud again was a sort of revelation he had been waiting to hear his entire life; the pupil of his irises widened slightly as he started intently at Taehyung, and repeated himself. “I kissed [Name].” Just with hearing those three words once again, whatever blissful reality Taehyung had been living in, in which he got away with only caring about his own selfish desires ruled by his insecurities, was shattered. The bliss was now starting to vanish in thin air, leaving nothing, but the suffocating dust of ashes behind. Suddenly, fury seeped into Taehyung, and red clouded his vision. He disregarded his current weak state, and lunged towards Jungkook. Out of everything, Jungkook had not expected Taehyung to become physical with him. As a result, he simply took whatever hurt Taehyung inflicted on him. Taehyung shoved Jungkook angrily, as he began his rant. “You fucking piece of trash, you— you kissed [Name]?! How dare you?! I fucking— this was your plan all along wasn’t it?! You planned to steal her from me since the very beginning, didn’t you? That’s why you clung so pathetically to her all the time. I knew it, I fucking knew you were after her all this time. Your promises of being my best friend and endless loyalty were nothing but bullshit, weren’t they? I should’ve known you were going to turn out to be a bastard and thirst over my girlfriend with how creepily obsessed you were about her all the time,” Taehyung spat, as he clutched the collar of Jungkook’s shirt tightly, and shook him. Due to Jungkook’s build being bigger, heavier and stronger than his, and his current weak state, Taehyung’s attempt of violence did not have much effect on Jungkook. Not to mention, Jungkook’s hair was over casting his eyes, and shadowing his expression, so Taehyung was unable to his reaction. For now, Jungkook merely allowed Taehyung to vent. “Everything was perfect when it was just [Name] and I, before you came and ruined everything. I never doubted, even once, never doubted her love for me before you-- before you came along and took her from me. It was you, it was because of you I became so messed up, your fucking creepy obsession that made me hurt her. You changed her and it was because of you she stopped caring only about me. Why couldn’t you have just gone and died somewhere instead of coming in our lives and messing everything up—“ Taehyung hissed, however, he abruptly stopped talking when he saw that Jungkook’s lips had widened into a wide grin — a manic grin. The suddenness of it was troubling. Even for Taehyung, who had been too invested in his emotions of heartbreak and anger, was forced to snap out of his emotional trance, and examine Jungkook with a cautious gaze. There was an indescribable and minute inkling of fear that formed in his gut, and subconsciously, he gripped Jungkook’s shirt tighter. He glared, and growled. “Why are you grinning you asshole? Am I a joke to you?” Taehyung snapped, as Jungkook combed his hair away from his eyes smoothly, and Taehyung was finally able to get a glimpse of his face. Jungkook’s eyes were twinkling in joy, as his grin widened, and he cupped Taehyung’s cheek tenderly. His unanticipated touch startled Taehyung. With wide eyes, Taehyung’s stare flickered to Jungkook’s hand on his cheek, and then back to Jungkook, who was looking at him with deranged infatuation etched in his eyes. “You don’t have to be so jealous Tae,” Jungkook began using the nickname ‘Tae’ that Taehyung only ever allowed [Name] to call him. Subconsciously, Jungkook licked his lips in a poor attempt to moisturize them. Then, “I love you too,” He confessed sincerely. A sense of utter disgust immediately went through Taehyung. Right away, he roughly shoved Jungkook off him in order to create some distance between them. “You fucking sick psycho! What kind of game do you think you’re playing—“ He voiced, and as he had spoken, he winced at the headache that had been brewing, and suddenly manifested in his head. Taehyung never received the chance to finish his sentence since Jungkook had interrupted him. There was extreme madness glinting in Jungkook’s eyes, which made Taehyung freeze in surprise. “Both you and [Name] will be mine,” Jungkook breathed obsessively, before he raised his arm, clenched his fist, and swung it at Taehyung’s head swiftly, and quickly, and knocking him out.

A few days later [Name] was drenched as she entered Jungkook’s residence. See, instead of catching a ride with Taehyung like she usually did whenever she visited Jungkook at his place, or catching a cab, she had decided she would walk to his place this time. Granted that his place was far away from hers — a couple of kilometres that would usually be a bit too much for a person’s liking to walk it. However, for [Name], it was a work out that she had desperately needed. See, for the last few days, due to her emotional baggage, she had become a mess. [Name] had not eaten, slept, or looked after herself properly, and isolated herself in the four walls of her new apartment’s run down living room.

Each time when [Name] reflected on how she had come onto Jungkook so strongly, only to kick him out and give him no matter in the say, her mental health worsened. She was overwhelmed with guilt, and she hated herself for her recklessness. She had acted selfishly, by pushing herself onto Jungkook in order to find some sort of escape from her emotional predicament, even though he was not even attracted to her. If anything, Jungkook was like a younger brother to her. So, after she had come to her senses, [Name] had felt disgusted with herself. More so, when she realized that what she had done, was exactly the type of thing Taehyung would do — let her emotions rule her actions and cloud her judgement. As much as she did denied it, deep down [Name] knew that she was like Taehyung in many ways — it was one of the main reasons why they always clicked so well together. Their connection, and understanding of each other was impeccable. For that reason, whenever they fought, it hurt more because they knew each other so well, whatever harsh things they said, it was said out of the ugly truth that the other did not want to acknowledge about themselves. They knew each other wounds, and how to cut deeper in it. Aside from this, [Name] felt as if she needed to apologize to Jungkook big time. It took her a few days, but she did manage to collect herself -- even if it was the bare minimum. For a further piece of mind, and due to the nice windy weather, [Name] had decided to walk. She did not think it would rain heavily when she had left her own residence. As a result, there did not carry an umbrella or a raincoat. So, when was nearing Jungkook’s residence, she was only able to shield herself from the rain with her light summer coat that had a loose hood. Of course, it barely protected her. She was drenched, so her wet hair stuck to her skin, droplets of water hung on parts of her clothes and skin, and water was dripping from her coat and down onto the floor. The moment she had entered his residence (the door left unlocked), Jungkook had run up toher to greet her. Frankly speaking, [Name] found this to be a tad strange because of how quickly he had arrived by her side. It was as if he had been waiting eagerly for her arrival this entire time.

Jungkook’s hair was somewhat frizzled, and falling messily over his face. As he took [Name]’s coat off her, she noticed how his warm fingers had lingered on her cold skin a few seconds too long, before he hung it on the coat hanger. Additionally, she also took note of the few new cuts that scarred his cheeks, and a bruise on his lips. The entirety of just this small interaction was a bit bizarre, but [Name] decided not to comment on it. Instead, she waited patiently for Jungkook to invite her in, and offer her a remedy for her shivering body. However, before did invite her in, Jungkook had become preoccupied with something else. Just like her hair, [Name]’s wet clothes were also sticking onto her skin. Since rain had seeped through into [Name]’s shirt, it was now see through. The colour of her bra was visible, and Jungkook’s gaze lingered on it. However, just before [Name] could notice his staring, he snapped out of it, and returned his gaze to her face. She looked absolutely angelic and vulnerable with the way she hugged herself in order to protect herself from the cold. And the way the rain droplets glistened on her — they were like small twinkling diamonds. Just the sight of her made Jungkook’s knees feel weak, and he knew that along with Taehyung, he had to have her. Jungkook gave her a tight lip smile. “Come in [Name], I’ll make you some warm tea. There’s a few hoodies of mine on the couch if you want to borrow one in case you feel too cold. Pick whichever, I don’t mind. I’m sure they’ll all look really lovely on you,” Jungkook said, as he turned around, and walked from the entrance door of his house, to towards the kitchen. The compliment at the end of his sentence was rather weird, and made [Name] furrow her eyebrows in confusion. However, many things about Jungkook were weird and confusing: like the fact that despite being an orphan, he owned his own house without being in debt. Taehyung had once joked about that to her in private. He had said that Jungkook probably had it passed onto him because he killed his entire foster family or something. It was a joke that was just downright insensitive for [Name] so she had told him off for it. But by now, [Name] was accustomed to Jungkook’s weirdness anyway. So, like usually she did, she was quick to shrug this off too. [Name] chose a plain black hoodie to wear, and as Jungkook started making the tea for her, she addressed the elephant in the room. “Thanks for calling me Jungkook even though I promised to be the one to do it…” [Name] started, and trailed off awkwardly. Jungkook’s build prevented her from seeing the things he was putting in her tea. Just as he finished adding a crushed powder of some sleeping pills he had given to Taehyung in her tea, Jungkook quickly threw away the packet, and turned towards [Name]. He smiled widely, showing off his white teeth. The emotion never reached his eyes though. “It’s alright [Name]. That’s what friends are for,” He said, with another wide grin. To be frank, there was a sort of eeriness etched in his smile that sent shivers through [Name]. She nodded awkwardly, and started to fiddle with her fingers nervously, as she spoke once more. “Yeah friends. That was another thing I wanted to talk to you about. Um, you know about the whole situation of me kissing you…” [Name] said, and trailed off, as she glanced away from Jungkook for a moment, and then returned her gaze on him. He licked his lips subconsciously. [Name] noticed how he had suddenly narrowed his eyes at her, and his aura seemed to have darkened. Oh god, she thought, was my kiss really that bad that he’s giving such a horrid expression? Oh god, I really messed up this time. I need to apologize and clear the air with Jungkook if nothing else. “What about it?” Jungkook asked stoically. The lack of emotion in his voice, that was usually always filled with wonder, and a child’s sparkle of curiosity, made [Name] bite her lip in nervousness. Why do I always end up fucking up my life? [Name] wondered, but quickly snapped herself out of it. “I’ll say this one more time and I truly mean it. Jungkook, I’m really sorry about doing that to you. I— I wasn’t in the right state of mind, and I know that that’s no excuse for me using you like that— oh god, I’m so awful. I swear I didn’t mean anything by that kiss, it was just a mistake. I’m so sorry—“ [Name] cried, however, she was abruptly cut off. See, while she had started her little vent, Jungkook had abandoned the tea he was making for her — he had become a wild predator who was driven by his instinctive desires. By the time [Name] had got to her second ‘I’m sorry’ of this chapter, Jungkook stood right before her. Then, he suddenly grabbed her face, and forcefully pressed his lips against her. [Name]’s eyes widened, and she stilled in surprise. As Jungkook increased the intensity of the kiss, he forcefully guided [Name] to stand up on her tiptoes in order to keep up with his pace. This kiss barely lasted, and as soon as the rush of intensity of the kiss had come, it was gone. Jungkook pulled away momentarily, but still kept his face extremely close to [Name]’s as his breath fanned her skin. The [h/c] female stared up at him with wide doe eyes. “You apologize too much mum. If you’re truly sorry for what you’ve done, you can make it up to me by doing what I say,” He said smoothly, and smirking, before he pressed his lips on [Name]’s once again. This time, [Name]’s response was the complete opposite. She did not freeze like she had before, nor reciprocate it like Jungkook wanted her to. Instead, with an incredible amount of strength one would not expect of someone like her, she pushed Jungkook off of her. “What the fuck Jungkook?” [Name] exclaimed, as she wiped her lips with the sleeve of Jungkook’s hoodie she was wearing, in disgust. Jungkook’s eyes widened. “Did a single word of what I said before not go through your thick skull? I said it was a mistake and I regret it. If you try to pull off shit like that again—“ “You’re just confused! You don’t regret it! You love me! You and Taehyung would anything for my happiness, I know it! Here, let me kiss you again and you’ll see what I mean,” Jungkook said, smiling reassuringly, as he tried to grab [Name] and kiss her again. However, he never got to, because [Name] swung her arm instinctively, and punched Jungkook in the face. His head swung back, and there was a loud noise emitted as a result of her hit. Although her hit was strong, it was not enough to have knocked Jungkook out; and while [Name] should have used this time to run away, leave, and get help she stood still frozen in shock. Seemingly, she was not able to comprehend that she had hurt Jungkook like that. Jungkook tilted his head slightly as he straightened himself up. As he brought his face forward, his eyes were wide in anger, and there was blood oozing out of his lips. Of course, being the caring and always selfless person at the wrong times that [Name] was, she blinded herself to his seething expression, and instead focused on his injury. She gasped and took a step closer to him. “Jungkook I’m so sorry—“ BIG MISTAKE. As soon as she had started apologizing, she had stopped. This was because Jungkook had cut her off with a growl, before he lunged at her.

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